IX.

Ahr-tyr was as good as her word. The next evening Zhe-myrrha, Oriah, and the children stopped by with a new warm tunic for the girl. Rushe-kih recognized immediately the homespun kufak fibers dyed red, a difficult shade which Zhe-Myrrha was famous for.

“There she is!” Oriah exclaimed when he spotted her scampering behind Hem on his way in from the shed. “Look at her, out and about!”

“She’s recovered then?” Zhe-myrrha inquired, “Back to herself?”

“Zicahla is doing very well,” Rushe-kih reported proudly, “She’s still a bit wobbly on her feet, but she’s getting around better than I am, for sure!”

“Zicahla?” Zhe-myrrha asked, “Is that her name? She remembered?”

Hem explained, “That’s the name Rushe-kih has given her for now. It appears the girl has lost her memory, although perhaps she’s from a distant tribe and speaks a language we don’t know. But she is catching on quickly.”

“Eggs!” Zicahla squealed.

“That’s right, child,” Hem smiled gently and announced, “Yesterday, Solee layed! Thirteen beautiful eggs this year, all smooth and strong. A goodly clutch!”

“Zicahla, why not take Ahr-tyr out to see the eggs?” Rushe-kih pronounced slowly, gesturing. “Ahr-tyr. Eggs.” Zicahla beamed as she caught the meaning, and she motioned Ahr-tyr to the door. Out they bolted, hand in hand.

“Indeed, she is a quick learner,” Oriah said, “Whoever she is, she’s no fool.”

The grown-ups ambled outside to the back porch and watched the girls as they reached the shed and slipped inside. Streams of morning sunlight blazed on the dewy grass. A breeze rich with the scent of mountain pine filled Rushe-kih with sudden and complete gratitude. Never had life felt so complete, so filled with purpose. Strangely, it was as if it had always been so, only her missing foot and the scorched ring around the bare tree beyond the shed reminded her otherwise.