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AN: I'm back! *sigh* vacation is over, alas, but as a result, I have several new chapters done! Hurrah!
uhoh.....mess-up by me. For the record, there are going to be dates at the top of the chapters so no one gets confused if I (like I did last chapter) forget to mention the time frame in context. For the record if anyone was confused, it happened four weeks after leaving Port Royal.
Disclaimer: See chapter one, and yes, the title of the chapter I stole from that song, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," (don't ask me who sings it or the copyright, but anywho, it isn't mine)
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Chapter 4: In The Village, The Peaceful Village. . .
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July 11
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A dark skinned woman stretched languidly on the bed of animal fur and straw on which she slept and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her eyes glanced around the small mud and thatch hut and she sighed. There were the remains of small fire at the center directly below a small opening for the smoke, a pot resting on it. There was an elaborate shrine of bird feathers and goatskin against one wall and seashells and dried flowers were strewn across the walls. They had tried their best to make her comfortable here, she thought with a wry smile, the seashells a gift from the friar whom she had befriended.
It was late morning, she knew; the sunlight filtered languidly through the crisscrossed wood that made up the roof. She wasn't used to this, she realized, and she didn't like it.
She was a bloody pirate, a scallywag. She wasn't mean to be royalty or anything of the sort. It couldn't be hard, she had thought at first, nothing more than leading a crew of men. How little had she known, when Salim had first told her of the demon spirit that plagued the village, she had thought it to be a stray wild animal or perhaps wildman of the forest.
How wrong she had been.
Anamaria Santagio, or simply the "malika" as she was addressed here, rose to her feet and pulled on the simple goatskin skirt and slipped the small cotton woven shirt over her head. She pushed back the tent flaps serving as a door and stepped out into the intense African sunlight, the heat of the dry season already beginning to saturate the air.
She surveyed the small bustling village around her. There had been no attack during the night, the first of several nights that had allowed the people to sleep peacefully. As she crossed to the hut in which her aunt lived, she was halted by someone calling to her.
A tall, middle-aged man with graying red hair, his face streaked with orange paint was waving his arms frantically in an attempt to get her attention. However, unlike the villagers, this man was white and European. They called him Jimoh, and he had accepted that as his name, no longer going by his British-given name. Ana didn't know it, nor had she any idea why he had come to Africa in the first place, and he didn't readily volunteer information. Still, he had a good heart and was very kind to her, a favorite of the people. He was a good teacher and in the nine years in which he had lived with the tribe had taught a portion of them English.
"Malika," he hailed her, bowing shortly.
"Anamaria," she corrected and rolled her eyes, pushing him back into the upright position, meriting her a surprised yelp from the man. He never failed to underestimate her strength, she thought wryly, and the two began to walk towards the pastures. "I see that the pepo mbya did not strike last night."
"Yes, thanks to God," he answered her, crossing himself quickly. He was very religious, a friar after all and never ceased to be upset by the native "barbaric" culture.
She allowed herself a small smile at this, remembering when she had first come to this place with Salim. She had been terrified, unable to understand their language and customs; Jimoh was her savoir, explaining to her the culture and acting as a translator between herself and her aunt. Ana's eyes focused on the horizon when she felt a sudden gust of wind, and she was briefly distracted, wondering what the ocean looked like this morning and its sailing conditions.
In the tranquil setting, complete with cattle grazing lazily on the dry grass and scattered young dark skinned boys yelling excitedly as they jabbed at each other with sticks, dodging behind the large beasts. Jimoh absently kicked his foot against a large chunk of dry earth, marveling briefly at how it crumbled into a fine red powder; how amazing it was, how these people used every material from the earth to its fullest potential, including this red-dried clay as dye and color. He watched Ana's regal posture fade and her eyes take on a dissolute expression. Glancing sideways at her, he decided it best to be bold. She was a strong woman, he knew, though immensely secretive on her past. Still—
"I will not ask you why you are so enraptured by the sea with each passing day," he stated finally in Himba. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, so he shifted and continued, "But I will ask how long you have loved him."
Ana's eyes shot to him and burned holes into his features, "And ye shan't get an answer for it's none o'yer bloody business!" she spat.
Jimoh's countenance remained passive, yet inside he was surprised. Malika had not spoken so coarsely before, now revealed in her angry passion, and she must have been careful in these past two months to hide it.
The African woman finally sighed and idly adjusted her necklace, reaching for something in her belt pouch, visibly diminishing in stature. A nervous habit; Jimoh recognized it from past experience. "How did ye know?"
The religious man merely shrugged passively, "I have learned to see what is hidden. Why do you run, child?"
The fire returned to Ana's eyes, "What would ye have me do? I had no idea this," she gestured wildly to the landscape and encompassed village, "existed until a few months ago. I made a promise to my father and I will honor it." She fiddled with one of her rings, "Besides, I cannot leave. I am needed."
"Yes," Jimoh remarked softly, "The people have great faith in you."
"Why?" Ana burst out passionately, "Why do they trust me o'all people? I don't know how t'fix this?"
"The answers will come," Jimoh reassured her, praying he did not speak falsely. "Goodness will triumph over evil. Look at me," the missionary chided gently, "When I cam to this place alone and without friends, I did not think of anything but the beating of my heart and the call to do what is right. You think too much, Malika. Live is simple, live it thus."
Ana smiled wryly, "Ye make it sound easy." She was tired, tired to the bone more than any experience as a pirate had left her. She was exhausted at being awakened to screams and the presence of evil in the night, to the death and the illness. She was exhausted with frustration. More than ever, Jimoh's words had caused her heart to beat again, and more than ever she wanted not to feel it.
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". . . And that, mates, is why we never play stowaway on a pirate ship, savvy?"
Will and Elizabeth plodded along the enthusiastic captain, eyes glazed over, bodies sticky with sweat and dirt as the group followed a small dark- skinned native boy as he darted through the scattered trees and dense brush.
After stopping in several ports and exchanging words (some unfriendly) with the Dutch traders, Jack had finally discovered the nearest port to Ana's tribe. Pulling into the crude port and city, Jack had stepped foot onto the docks, hailing the first street urchin he saw. Showing off his pouch of lifted gold and several key words, the boy's filthy face lit up, showing his few rotten teeth, and he jabbered excitedly in a mixture of his thick native tounge and broken English, "Eeh, Himba. . .day half. . .trees. . ."
Satisfied, Jack had given orders for Gibbs to take the crew into several waters and return in three weeks, bidding firmly that the stowaways accompany the Pearl. However, through a mixture of tears, pleading, threats to certain body parts, and numerous temper tantrums, Elizabeth Swann had finally convinced Jack to let her and her fiancée accompany him.
Suddenly, the boy ahead of them stopped suddenly, jabbering excitedly and pointing. As he looked out to their left, his expression abruptly changed to terrified, and he exclaimed, "Abonsan!" several times before fleeing in the direction of which they had come.
The trio stared blankly after him before Jack rubbed his hands together brusquely and continued on with his staggering gait. "Shall we?" he intoned cheerfully, looking not the slightest be phased.
"Well, this is bloody wonderful," Elizabeth exclaimed sarcastically, stalking after her. Bugs clouded around her face, her dress clung to her body, and mud had begun to seep into her shoes. The gallant adventure she had envisioned so many times before was fading.
"Oh, this is wonderful, just wonderful," Jack mimicked her in a high- pitched, nasal voice, throwing his arms about him, "Let me come, Jack, it'll be grand—"
He slammed to a sudden stop, finding himself on the edge of a large clearing. The trio gaped at the scattered huts throughout the clearing, seeing the sluggish movements of villagers. They watched, unnoticed by the village, as one by one each person approached what appeared to be some sort of shrine composed of large bones and animal horns and one by one fell to their hands and knees before it.
After this ritual had been complete, the people congregated around one centrally-located large hut, only several yards away from where Jack and his companions had attempted to submerge themselves into the brush.
"Any more brilliance on how to handle this, Jack?" Will asked the captain, his tone reflecting doubt and a definitive edginess.
Jack's mouth curved into a familiar gold-toothed smile. "O'course I do," he replied. The pirate rose from his crouched position, striding confidently into the village.
Will and Elizabeth stared wide-eyed and disbelieve after him. Jack, don't-- !" Will hissed, lunging to grab the captain's clothing and significantly missing. "Not good," the blacksmith muttered, creeping after the flamboyant captain, Elizabeth firmly glued to his arm, "Definitely not good."
Not heeding the young couple's hissed warnings, Jack reached within several yards of the murmuring villagers, throwing his arms wide in welcome, "Ahoy there!"
Almost immediately, there was a sudden clatter of weapons and the group was suddenly surrounded by a group of people holding innumerable spears at throat level, faces lit with hostility and fear. Jack slung his pistol around his thumb, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence and surrender. He flashed them a hopeful, gold-glinted smile.
"Parley?"
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"Stop!" A voice yelled suddenly in English, "Basi!"
The surrounded trio snapped to attention, Jack clasping his hands together and raising his eyes skyward, muttering a brief prayer to the powers that be. They watched, astonished, as a man pushed his way through the crowd, murmuring soothing words to the angry people in their native language. Suddenly the owner of the voice burst through the curtain of dark bodies, panting heavily. The three would-be pirates gaped at him. He was a large man, brow slick with perspiration and through his body was streaked with thick red mud and he was dressed in animal skin robes similar to the scant material of the villagers, he was still unmistakably white.
Jack frowned at him, expression betraying his confusion, "Yer supposed to be black."
"I am not?" the man replied, gesturing to his garb.
Elizabeth realized abruptly that the spears had been lowered and launched herself into Will's arms. The people shifted uncomfortably, obviously perplexed by their strange and sudden appearances. The while man suddenly chuckled as a tiny child ran up to him and jabbered anxiously in the native tongue, pointing to the three and gazing up at him with saucer-like eyes. The man shook his head and smiled at the child, before switching his gaze back to the newcomers, "They wish to know if you are gods."
Will and Elizabeth shook their righteous heads furiously as a slow smirk spread across the pirate captain's weathered face, "Depends on who ye ask, mate."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Could you help us, please? We're looking for—" She broke off, looking at Jack for assistance on how to proceed.
"They called her M—"Jack began, his brow knitted in heavy thought, "Ma . . .Mar . . .Mal. . ." He threw his hands in the air in defeat, "About yay high, dark hair an' eyes. . ." He sighed in exasperation, clasping his fingers together with an expression of piety, "Anamaria?"
The man's eyes flickered with something, the pirate could not distinguish what. He muttered something to the child who had spoken before and it scurried back towards a large hut. "I am called Jimoh," the man said.
"Will, Elizabeth," Jack introduced, gesturing to the pair behind him. He pointed his thumb to himself, puffing his chest, "Captain Jack Sparrow."
The crowd suddenly shifted and Jack's features curled warily. Slowly, like a wave, they sank to the dusty ground, each murmuring a revered, "Malika."
"That's the one: malika!" Jack exclaimed triumphantly despite himself.
The crowd had parted and sank to their knees before her and roughly several men pushed Will and Elizabeth to the ground, one grabbing each of Jack's arms, attempting to do the same. He struggling against him, so intent on freeing himself when a sharp commanding female voice broke the silence. Obeying its indecipherable command, the pirate was released.
Rubbing his elbow and muttering distracted curses, the voice's significance suddenly broke into his consciousness. He jerked his head up.
She was several feet away, standing straight and tall among the crouched visitors. Her eyes met his unflinchingly and strong enough, but he saw a weariness and sorrow there that he never before found in her eyes. She was dressed much like the rest, garbed in a dyed maroon cotton shirt, much like the camisoles she had usually worn under her pirate's shift aboard the Pearl, except this reached only to her last rib, leaving her smooth stomach exposed. She had donned a short animal hide skirt, fringed in grey course animal fur. On her head she worse an elaborate headpiece in which many braids had been piled into and a large rose shell necklace hung on a cord around her neck. She worse simple weather sandals and on her wrists and ankles were adorned with bracelets. The garb was almost worthy of her, Jack thought.
Although her gaze locked with his defiantly, she showed little signs of recognition. Jack blinked. He had expected a sound slap, to say the least. That's interesting.
Anamaria sighed very carefully, in her thoughts daring Jack Sparrow to make some snide comment. She knew he wanted a reaction, and she steeled herself not to give it to him. "Take them to my hut," she snapped in some of the few Himba words she knew before turning away in a flurry of beads. There were matters to be attended to before she had time for the likes of Jack Sparrow and his loyal puppy dog accomplices.
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AN: I'm back! *sigh* vacation is over, alas, but as a result, I have several new chapters done! Hurrah!
uhoh.....mess-up by me. For the record, there are going to be dates at the top of the chapters so no one gets confused if I (like I did last chapter) forget to mention the time frame in context. For the record if anyone was confused, it happened four weeks after leaving Port Royal.
Disclaimer: See chapter one, and yes, the title of the chapter I stole from that song, "The Lion Sleeps Tonight," (don't ask me who sings it or the copyright, but anywho, it isn't mine)
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Chapter 4: In The Village, The Peaceful Village. . .
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July 11
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A dark skinned woman stretched languidly on the bed of animal fur and straw on which she slept and sat up, rubbing her eyes. Her eyes glanced around the small mud and thatch hut and she sighed. There were the remains of small fire at the center directly below a small opening for the smoke, a pot resting on it. There was an elaborate shrine of bird feathers and goatskin against one wall and seashells and dried flowers were strewn across the walls. They had tried their best to make her comfortable here, she thought with a wry smile, the seashells a gift from the friar whom she had befriended.
It was late morning, she knew; the sunlight filtered languidly through the crisscrossed wood that made up the roof. She wasn't used to this, she realized, and she didn't like it.
She was a bloody pirate, a scallywag. She wasn't mean to be royalty or anything of the sort. It couldn't be hard, she had thought at first, nothing more than leading a crew of men. How little had she known, when Salim had first told her of the demon spirit that plagued the village, she had thought it to be a stray wild animal or perhaps wildman of the forest.
How wrong she had been.
Anamaria Santagio, or simply the "malika" as she was addressed here, rose to her feet and pulled on the simple goatskin skirt and slipped the small cotton woven shirt over her head. She pushed back the tent flaps serving as a door and stepped out into the intense African sunlight, the heat of the dry season already beginning to saturate the air.
She surveyed the small bustling village around her. There had been no attack during the night, the first of several nights that had allowed the people to sleep peacefully. As she crossed to the hut in which her aunt lived, she was halted by someone calling to her.
A tall, middle-aged man with graying red hair, his face streaked with orange paint was waving his arms frantically in an attempt to get her attention. However, unlike the villagers, this man was white and European. They called him Jimoh, and he had accepted that as his name, no longer going by his British-given name. Ana didn't know it, nor had she any idea why he had come to Africa in the first place, and he didn't readily volunteer information. Still, he had a good heart and was very kind to her, a favorite of the people. He was a good teacher and in the nine years in which he had lived with the tribe had taught a portion of them English.
"Malika," he hailed her, bowing shortly.
"Anamaria," she corrected and rolled her eyes, pushing him back into the upright position, meriting her a surprised yelp from the man. He never failed to underestimate her strength, she thought wryly, and the two began to walk towards the pastures. "I see that the pepo mbya did not strike last night."
"Yes, thanks to God," he answered her, crossing himself quickly. He was very religious, a friar after all and never ceased to be upset by the native "barbaric" culture.
She allowed herself a small smile at this, remembering when she had first come to this place with Salim. She had been terrified, unable to understand their language and customs; Jimoh was her savoir, explaining to her the culture and acting as a translator between herself and her aunt. Ana's eyes focused on the horizon when she felt a sudden gust of wind, and she was briefly distracted, wondering what the ocean looked like this morning and its sailing conditions.
In the tranquil setting, complete with cattle grazing lazily on the dry grass and scattered young dark skinned boys yelling excitedly as they jabbed at each other with sticks, dodging behind the large beasts. Jimoh absently kicked his foot against a large chunk of dry earth, marveling briefly at how it crumbled into a fine red powder; how amazing it was, how these people used every material from the earth to its fullest potential, including this red-dried clay as dye and color. He watched Ana's regal posture fade and her eyes take on a dissolute expression. Glancing sideways at her, he decided it best to be bold. She was a strong woman, he knew, though immensely secretive on her past. Still—
"I will not ask you why you are so enraptured by the sea with each passing day," he stated finally in Himba. Her gaze was fixed on the horizon, so he shifted and continued, "But I will ask how long you have loved him."
Ana's eyes shot to him and burned holes into his features, "And ye shan't get an answer for it's none o'yer bloody business!" she spat.
Jimoh's countenance remained passive, yet inside he was surprised. Malika had not spoken so coarsely before, now revealed in her angry passion, and she must have been careful in these past two months to hide it.
The African woman finally sighed and idly adjusted her necklace, reaching for something in her belt pouch, visibly diminishing in stature. A nervous habit; Jimoh recognized it from past experience. "How did ye know?"
The religious man merely shrugged passively, "I have learned to see what is hidden. Why do you run, child?"
The fire returned to Ana's eyes, "What would ye have me do? I had no idea this," she gestured wildly to the landscape and encompassed village, "existed until a few months ago. I made a promise to my father and I will honor it." She fiddled with one of her rings, "Besides, I cannot leave. I am needed."
"Yes," Jimoh remarked softly, "The people have great faith in you."
"Why?" Ana burst out passionately, "Why do they trust me o'all people? I don't know how t'fix this?"
"The answers will come," Jimoh reassured her, praying he did not speak falsely. "Goodness will triumph over evil. Look at me," the missionary chided gently, "When I cam to this place alone and without friends, I did not think of anything but the beating of my heart and the call to do what is right. You think too much, Malika. Live is simple, live it thus."
Ana smiled wryly, "Ye make it sound easy." She was tired, tired to the bone more than any experience as a pirate had left her. She was exhausted at being awakened to screams and the presence of evil in the night, to the death and the illness. She was exhausted with frustration. More than ever, Jimoh's words had caused her heart to beat again, and more than ever she wanted not to feel it.
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". . . And that, mates, is why we never play stowaway on a pirate ship, savvy?"
Will and Elizabeth plodded along the enthusiastic captain, eyes glazed over, bodies sticky with sweat and dirt as the group followed a small dark- skinned native boy as he darted through the scattered trees and dense brush.
After stopping in several ports and exchanging words (some unfriendly) with the Dutch traders, Jack had finally discovered the nearest port to Ana's tribe. Pulling into the crude port and city, Jack had stepped foot onto the docks, hailing the first street urchin he saw. Showing off his pouch of lifted gold and several key words, the boy's filthy face lit up, showing his few rotten teeth, and he jabbered excitedly in a mixture of his thick native tounge and broken English, "Eeh, Himba. . .day half. . .trees. . ."
Satisfied, Jack had given orders for Gibbs to take the crew into several waters and return in three weeks, bidding firmly that the stowaways accompany the Pearl. However, through a mixture of tears, pleading, threats to certain body parts, and numerous temper tantrums, Elizabeth Swann had finally convinced Jack to let her and her fiancée accompany him.
Suddenly, the boy ahead of them stopped suddenly, jabbering excitedly and pointing. As he looked out to their left, his expression abruptly changed to terrified, and he exclaimed, "Abonsan!" several times before fleeing in the direction of which they had come.
The trio stared blankly after him before Jack rubbed his hands together brusquely and continued on with his staggering gait. "Shall we?" he intoned cheerfully, looking not the slightest be phased.
"Well, this is bloody wonderful," Elizabeth exclaimed sarcastically, stalking after her. Bugs clouded around her face, her dress clung to her body, and mud had begun to seep into her shoes. The gallant adventure she had envisioned so many times before was fading.
"Oh, this is wonderful, just wonderful," Jack mimicked her in a high- pitched, nasal voice, throwing his arms about him, "Let me come, Jack, it'll be grand—"
He slammed to a sudden stop, finding himself on the edge of a large clearing. The trio gaped at the scattered huts throughout the clearing, seeing the sluggish movements of villagers. They watched, unnoticed by the village, as one by one each person approached what appeared to be some sort of shrine composed of large bones and animal horns and one by one fell to their hands and knees before it.
After this ritual had been complete, the people congregated around one centrally-located large hut, only several yards away from where Jack and his companions had attempted to submerge themselves into the brush.
"Any more brilliance on how to handle this, Jack?" Will asked the captain, his tone reflecting doubt and a definitive edginess.
Jack's mouth curved into a familiar gold-toothed smile. "O'course I do," he replied. The pirate rose from his crouched position, striding confidently into the village.
Will and Elizabeth stared wide-eyed and disbelieve after him. Jack, don't-- !" Will hissed, lunging to grab the captain's clothing and significantly missing. "Not good," the blacksmith muttered, creeping after the flamboyant captain, Elizabeth firmly glued to his arm, "Definitely not good."
Not heeding the young couple's hissed warnings, Jack reached within several yards of the murmuring villagers, throwing his arms wide in welcome, "Ahoy there!"
Almost immediately, there was a sudden clatter of weapons and the group was suddenly surrounded by a group of people holding innumerable spears at throat level, faces lit with hostility and fear. Jack slung his pistol around his thumb, raising his hands in a gesture of innocence and surrender. He flashed them a hopeful, gold-glinted smile.
"Parley?"
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"Stop!" A voice yelled suddenly in English, "Basi!"
The surrounded trio snapped to attention, Jack clasping his hands together and raising his eyes skyward, muttering a brief prayer to the powers that be. They watched, astonished, as a man pushed his way through the crowd, murmuring soothing words to the angry people in their native language. Suddenly the owner of the voice burst through the curtain of dark bodies, panting heavily. The three would-be pirates gaped at him. He was a large man, brow slick with perspiration and through his body was streaked with thick red mud and he was dressed in animal skin robes similar to the scant material of the villagers, he was still unmistakably white.
Jack frowned at him, expression betraying his confusion, "Yer supposed to be black."
"I am not?" the man replied, gesturing to his garb.
Elizabeth realized abruptly that the spears had been lowered and launched herself into Will's arms. The people shifted uncomfortably, obviously perplexed by their strange and sudden appearances. The while man suddenly chuckled as a tiny child ran up to him and jabbered anxiously in the native tongue, pointing to the three and gazing up at him with saucer-like eyes. The man shook his head and smiled at the child, before switching his gaze back to the newcomers, "They wish to know if you are gods."
Will and Elizabeth shook their righteous heads furiously as a slow smirk spread across the pirate captain's weathered face, "Depends on who ye ask, mate."
Elizabeth rolled her eyes, "Could you help us, please? We're looking for—" She broke off, looking at Jack for assistance on how to proceed.
"They called her M—"Jack began, his brow knitted in heavy thought, "Ma . . .Mar . . .Mal. . ." He threw his hands in the air in defeat, "About yay high, dark hair an' eyes. . ." He sighed in exasperation, clasping his fingers together with an expression of piety, "Anamaria?"
The man's eyes flickered with something, the pirate could not distinguish what. He muttered something to the child who had spoken before and it scurried back towards a large hut. "I am called Jimoh," the man said.
"Will, Elizabeth," Jack introduced, gesturing to the pair behind him. He pointed his thumb to himself, puffing his chest, "Captain Jack Sparrow."
The crowd suddenly shifted and Jack's features curled warily. Slowly, like a wave, they sank to the dusty ground, each murmuring a revered, "Malika."
"That's the one: malika!" Jack exclaimed triumphantly despite himself.
The crowd had parted and sank to their knees before her and roughly several men pushed Will and Elizabeth to the ground, one grabbing each of Jack's arms, attempting to do the same. He struggling against him, so intent on freeing himself when a sharp commanding female voice broke the silence. Obeying its indecipherable command, the pirate was released.
Rubbing his elbow and muttering distracted curses, the voice's significance suddenly broke into his consciousness. He jerked his head up.
She was several feet away, standing straight and tall among the crouched visitors. Her eyes met his unflinchingly and strong enough, but he saw a weariness and sorrow there that he never before found in her eyes. She was dressed much like the rest, garbed in a dyed maroon cotton shirt, much like the camisoles she had usually worn under her pirate's shift aboard the Pearl, except this reached only to her last rib, leaving her smooth stomach exposed. She had donned a short animal hide skirt, fringed in grey course animal fur. On her head she worse an elaborate headpiece in which many braids had been piled into and a large rose shell necklace hung on a cord around her neck. She worse simple weather sandals and on her wrists and ankles were adorned with bracelets. The garb was almost worthy of her, Jack thought.
Although her gaze locked with his defiantly, she showed little signs of recognition. Jack blinked. He had expected a sound slap, to say the least. That's interesting.
Anamaria sighed very carefully, in her thoughts daring Jack Sparrow to make some snide comment. She knew he wanted a reaction, and she steeled herself not to give it to him. "Take them to my hut," she snapped in some of the few Himba words she knew before turning away in a flurry of beads. There were matters to be attended to before she had time for the likes of Jack Sparrow and his loyal puppy dog accomplices.
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