Rifiuto: Non Miriena

A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia

She let out a sigh; it had taken her two days, for she had pushed the horse probably harder than she should have. But the horse had no seemed to mind; it sensed the urgency in their flight from the tribe, and had gone willingly with her, step by step.

There had been a period where, as she'd crossed through both Yunamata and Scrow territory that she'd been stopped, but upon realizing she was Arjiki, the Yunamata had allowed her to pass, nodding softly in respect. They had heard the news of the Arjiki's princess being stolen by the whites, and had promised to stand by the tribe it it came to war with the white man, though they hoped that war would not come to pass. But before she had fully left Yunamata land, however, Liir had dispatched one of his finest riders- a young woman named Impeccata- to join the young Arjiki woman, so as to make it easier and safer for her to cross through Scrow land and into white. It had taken only moments for the young rider to join Candle, and soon, the two were off, racing through Scrow territory. But when she and Impeccata crossed into Scrow territory, they'd been stopped, however briefly.

The chief had come to her, asking her business in Scrow land, but she had replied that she had naught to do with the Scrow, but that her business was with the whites across the grasslands, in that still new territory of Munch- that it had to do with the princess, stolen by the whites and held captive in their world, that it concerned news of the chief and that it was urgent she deliver the message and fetch the princess back to their tribe before it was too late, before the chief crossed into the next world.

Traper, the Chief of the Scrow, had heard the news of the princess's capture by the whites, and for the briefest of moments, the thought that she had not been protected by the Arjiki had crossed his mind. However, he knew that when Avaric had approached him about her, that the Arjiki was perhaps the best place for her. She would have made a fine Scrow princess had she stayed within the tribe, but it would not have been her home. No, the Arjiki was her home, had been destined to be her home from the moment she was taken in that raid those seven year earlier.

Candle had hesitated on briefly, before simply asking for water for the horse and a bit of dried meat for herself; Impeccata had brought provisions with her, but Candle had gracefully refused the shares she offered. Were the trek not so urgent, she would have requested to put the horse up for the night and rest, but it was not to be- and everyone knew it. With Avaric straddling the thin line between this world and the next, it was so important that she continue on.

Traper had granted her request, giving her meat and water, as well as enough provisions to get both girls through the journey before beckoning a young woman forward. Both girls recognized her; Nastoya, Traper's youngest sister, and a fine rider in her own right. The girl had nodded quickly, hurriedly climbing onto her horse and joining them. Candle had watched, glancing at Impeccata briefly before realizing what was happening.

An envoy.

Each of the tribes had sent an envoy on this mission; a representative from each of the three tribes of what the whites now called the Vinkus- this wild, untamed land of warriors and tribesmen, pagan gods and rituals. And though the whites would look down at them for being women, the tribes knew the value of a woman- women carried the blood; it was within their bodies that children grew, from their most sacred of places that new life was expelled. Women kept not just the fires going, but the tribes going; they were seen as the living embodiment of the goddesses, to be worshiped and honored.

And the fact that the Arjiki's princess had been taken- for despite the color of her skin, she was still to be honored and worshiped like women born of the tribe, for she had borne of her husband's seeds three beautiful children, she had brought life back to the tribe after the death of the Chief's wife and daughter- meant that the greatest slight in tribal law had been committed. It was true that the Scrow were deemed radical in the ways of warfare, attacking wagon trains that passed through their lands, but they, as a tribe, had a right to be; it was true that the Yunamata sought to bargain with the trains that came through their lands, and were seen by other tribes as slightly weaker; and yes, it was true that the Arjiki were a people of peace, who wished for nothing more than to be simply left alone, to worship and live in peace, only fighting when needed, but it was also true in that you do not steal from the Arjiki.

For the Arjiki, like the mythical dragon that lay within the center of Mother Earth, once awakened, could do major damage if they so chose. But Avaric was known for keeping peace, not just among the tribes, but with the white man, by keeping his tribe as far from them as possible. Only once before, had there been another white captive living within the tribe- but that had been long ago, before Candle had been born, and his disappearance had long since been forgotten. It was said that he had died, that he had been stolen back by the whites, that he had died not long after returning to their world, but no one was entirely sure. Eventually, it had become nothing more than a legend, told around the campfires- the mythical white that had preceded their princess, but had most likely never existed to begin with.

Eventually, the three young women had crossed into white territory, under the cover of darkness, just before the rising dawn, they had passed Fort Restwater, unaware that they had passed another horse, with two riders upon it, a young woman in a calico dress, seated before a young man in white's clothes, an elaborate pattern of green, Arjiki tattoos upon his face. They had passed in the early morning before dawn, two ships in the darkness, that would only connect once Candle returned from her mission.

Now though, she turned to both Nastoya and Impeccata; they sat in the outskirts of the town the whites called Nest Hardings; the small cabin Frexpar Thropp had built for his broken family not far, just cross the wheat field before them. "Aspetta, devo andarla a prendere. La principessa mi conosce, verrà a parlarmi." Both women nodded, staying back, as Candle slowly, gently, urged the horse forward with a soft nicker. Eventually, sh reached the front porch, and hesitated. The horse whinied, the noise bringing the four remaining members of the family onto the porch. The teenager's mouth dropped, his eyes widening in surprise.

"It's a squaw!"

But Elphaba, recognition dawning, hurried down the steps, the white nightgown she wore rusting in the breeze, towards the horse she recognized, and the young woman atop it. It had been her horse, the one she had ridden on the days she'd gone with her husband into the grasslands, on the days he'd tried to teach her how to hunt- the beautiful rose grey with the feather she'd braided into its mane not long after her marriage had taken place, the horse she called 'Corvo'- raven- for the tips of its main were a strong black, an oddity within the herd, and one that she swore fit perfectly, for she herself was the oddity among the tribe, with her milk white skin and black hair.

Candle slowly got down, coming around the horse to embrace her princess; Elphaba threw her arms around the teenager, relieved to see a member of her tribe. "Candle-" But she stopped, upon seeing the worry in the teenager's gaze. "Cos'è?" She swallowed thickly, fear filling her heart. "Candle! Mio marito? I miei figli?" The girl shook her head, one phrase softly escaping her lips.

"Il capo, la principessa."

Elphaba's heart stopped briefly. "P... Padre?"

Candle nodded. "Devi venire subito, principessa. Sono stato mandato a riportarti a casa."

Elphaba glanced back at Shell, at Mr. and Mrs. Thropp, before making her decision. Without a word, she nodded, allowing Candle to climb back up first before joining her. Her arms slid around Candle's waist, and she glanced at Shell before the young woman nickered for the horse to turn around. Mrs. Thropp, as though awakening from a dream, suddenly rushed down the steps as the horse took off, following the two horses ahead of it. Her cry cut through the still air of the morning, jarring those who heard it, but none looked back.

"No! Wait! You can't take her! She's my daughter! Sophelia!"