“Said what might happen?”

Kishva glanced at me. “You might happen, Vrala Ariah. We know you. We trust you. But all they see is someone from the west.”

I sighed and pulled my hair over one shoulder. It was a hot day, and I was naked to the waist. My hair by then hung almost to the waistband of my pants, a smooth sheet of white that glinted in the bright summer sunlight. Kishva ran a hand through it. Kishva loved my hair, loved the smoothness of it. I cracked a smile, felt what ve wanted, and knew we’d meet in the unpaired’s yurt that night. I had, the second before, wished I looked as Droma as I felt. When Kishva looked at me like that, I didn’t mind my Semadran body so much. “What should I do?”

“Nothing,” Kishva said. “Know that you’ve disrupted the harmony a little, but you should just keep doing what you do. Weave. Mind the children. Stick close to Laavi. They’ll come around.”

“What if they don’t?”

Kishva shrugged. “Time is endless. We’ll cross with another clan. Just don’t startle them. You know, like when we send the little ones to learn the herds.”

I laughed. “Kishva, the Allunga are not goats.”

“Goats, elves, there’s not much difference if you ask me,” ve said, still playing with the ends of my hair. Kishva smiled at me and left me to weave on my own while the Allunga stared at me in suspicion. It had been a long time since I’d been the cause of discord. I’d forgotten how to build walls. I found that out when I tried to shield myself from their tempers and worries and couldn’t. I practiced Yavinaha meditation to let their emotions pass over me. I had a small measure of success with it. The Allunga left that night with no promise to return. I could not help but feel guilty, though no one seemed to care much, and then I couldn’t help but feel guilty for feeling guilty. Kishva did, at least, take my mind off of it when dark fell.