Nayl peers up through her unruly forelock to the canopy. It’s the same as it has always been and yet there is still a deep stirring in her as though so much has changed. The trees rustle with fervor and for a fleeting moment she wonders if that is just her own consciousness seeping into the roots, bring the Jungle – her Jungle – to life. A smile tips up the corners of her mouth, but only slightly because she can hear someone looming near. Her ears twist and grope for the sound footsteps and a voice that cuts through the silence like a knife. ”Yes, yes I am,” she mutters without looking at the sister, drinking in the sight of a scarlet macaw before she does finally tilt her head down to see the woman.
”My home,” although her voice is strong, fierce, there is still a choking of emotion as her memories rise like the tide. ”I’ve only ever known the Jungle.” She doesn’t consider herself divulging too much; this is a sister of the Jungle, her sister when they both spoke the oath. Nayl’s moment had been long ago, but she has noted how the years are mere blinks to an immortal. When she thought time would speckle her face with gray hair or at least show that she has seen more than a decade, she found herself mistaken. The seasons have not affected her since she fully matured. Eternally young, she remembers whispering to herself when she came to the realization, like father.
A lungful of air expands her chest. The humidity clings to her throat and lathers her coat in a thin layer of sweat. ”I’m Nayl,” she has no titles, not anymore. Her blood that runs rampant with past Amazon Queens, princesses, warriors, diplomats, all means nothing now. She is at the base of the totem pole, irrelevant until she scratches her name down in the history books. Just Nayl, she begins to tell herself, but then she remembers: she has never been “just Nayl” and she doesn’t plan to ever be just that, just a name lost in stories.
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