Rifiuto: Non Miriena
A/N: Written: 2012. Rewritten: 2014. Found: 2018.- Licia
They stopped to rest, by the banks of the river; darkness had started to fall, and the horses were tired. As the three girls set up camp, Elphaba wandered to the river's edge, kneeling down to dip her hands in the water. In the rising moonlight, she caught sight of her reflection, and stopped. The woman who stared back at her shifted, going from a white man's gown to a buckskin dress, her hair pulled back in tight, thick braids over each shoulder, white feathers in her black hair.
Her gaze quickly flicked towards the girls, all dressed in their buck-skinned dresses and moccasins. The people of Nest Hardings had called the people of the Thousand Year Grasslands 'savages'- a term for people who were 'uncivilized', in their view- in other words, people not like them. People who lived in tents and off the land, using all the Great Mother provided and thanking her for her sacrifice, people who worshiped many gods as opposed to one, who dressed in the softest of buckskin and tattooed their skin like her tribe, or pierced their noses and lips like the Scrow, or who split their tongues and sliced slightly into the corners of their mouths like the Yunamata were considered savages by the whites. They believed themselves to be the superior race, yet their practices were perhaps more savage than the tribes could ever think of being.
Her gaze turned back to the river, to the girl staring back at her in the buckskin dress. The girl who stared back at her knew her place in her tribe; wife, mother, daughter. She was secure in her place in the tribe, loved by all, but especially her husband and children. She was fluent in Arjiki, was learning the ways of the medicine woman, learning to hunt, so that she could be a warrior in her own right; she was so much more than a woman. A woman in the white world had one role- wife and mother, but in the 'savage' world, a woman was so much more than that.
A woman was worshiped, for being the living embodiment of the Great Mother, for being able to carry and birth children, and therefore keep the tribe going for her ability to carry and bear new life. She was sacred, loved, as important as any man. And her, being the daughter-in-law of the chief, the wife of the Crown Prince, the mother of the future chief...
A moment passed, before the flow of the river shifted the image; her reflection changed, shifting to someone she didn't recognize. It was still her, but older; her long black hair was still pulled back in thick braids, there were four feathers in each, but on her face was a piercing. A single piercing, in the dip between her nose and upper lip, signifying her status as the chieftess- as Fiyero's mate. It was the only piercing the Arjiki allowed; when a man became chief, his wife became the chieftess, his partner in the well-being of the tribe.
The day Fiyero becomes chief, he will receive a tattoo and you a piercing.
And this woman that stared back at her-
Drops fell into the river, causing the image to dissolve before her, leaving her own reflection in its wake. She looked up as the rain continued to fall, coming faster and faster, until a downpour had started, and after a moment, she turned at Candle's voice. "Principessa! Fretta!"
Standing, she hurried to join the girls within the small alcove created by a small cluster of trees near the river's bank. Once within the shelter, the young Scrow rider wrapped a fur around her shoulders, bowing slightly to her, and Elphaba nodded in return. As they settled down to rest and wait out the rain, Elphaba let her gaze wander over the two other women. One was clearly Scrow, and the other, Yunamata.
"I tuoi nomi?"
The girls shared a glance, before each spoke, partially surprised the princess was addressing them directly. "Ah.. Nastoya del Scoria, Principessa."
Elphaba nodded, noticing the small stones within her lips and nose. Nastoya. The last time she had seen Nastoya, the girl had been a child of nine moons when she had been when she'd been captured and taken to the Scrow camp. The girl had grown up extentially since that time; now a young woman of sixteen moons. She had clearly received her piercings upon reaching womanhood, and had grown into a beauty. A moment passed, before she turned to the other girl, who nodded quickly.
"Im... Impeccata, principessa. Della Yunamata."
The princess nodded; she could see the slight scarring at the corners of her mouth, indicating the ritual cutting into the corners of her mouth once she hit a certain age. She could also see the split of her tongue when she spoke, one of the other rituals those in the Yunamata received upon reaching a certain age. The girl was a couple moons older than herself, for she'd been a teenager when Elphaba had arrived at the Arjiki.
Silence settled between the four young women, and Elphaba took that time to study each girl in silence. Both Nastoya and Candle still retained some of their girlhood, but Impeccata, Elphaba knew, had been married and borne at least one child before she herself had married Fiyero. She knew this simply because the last time Liir had sent an envoy to the Arjiki in regards to trade, Impeccata had come with her infant daughter balanced on her hip and a mild swell within her belly. Elphaba herself had been heavily pregnant with Irji at the time. The pains of her labor had started three days after the Yunamata had come to discuss trade and returned to their tribe; Impeccata had given birth to another little girl four months later. She had then borne three more children- another girl, which had died during the birth- and two boys, born two years apart.
The two women shared a glance, a thousand conversations passing between them. After several minutes, she turned her gaze back to the opening of the alcove, letting herself focus on the rain until it slowly lulled her to sleep.