[Closed] Crashing Down on You and Me

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 9 Dentis, 2719
Brunnhold Campus

Aremu could not have guessed, easily, how old the girl sitting next to him on the bench was. He thought perhaps twenty at the outermost - she could have been a few years younger. How many bridges had she seen in her life? What did she know of them?

These days, Aremu thought, slowly, would she even see the bridge that led from Brunnhold outwards? These gardens must have had them - small, delicate things running over streams. He thought of the bridges running through the Rose, through Thul Ka - he understood, he though, why the metaphor had failed. He thought, too, of her writing, and he thought of Lars and the quiet confession the other man had offered him on the streets of the Rose.

But obligation, and its weights? Aremu listened to the Miss Steerpike struggle through sentences and apologies. He thought she understood those quite well.

Aremu listened and he watched, attentively, his head bent slightly to look at her. What other visitor had she had, he wondered. Had they come to tell her of a death or a friend? From the look on her face, he would have ventured the first.

Here, Miss Steerpike said, of her sister. Here. Aremu thought that she could have been glad but hesitant to display it; he thought it possible that someone could feel it inappropriate to be too joyful in the face of grief. He didn’t know what he heard in her voice, but he didn’t think she was glad.

Aremu rose, too, when Aurelie did. “Aurelie,” Aremu repeated, lilting through the vowels and softening the consonants. He inclined his head, frowning slightly. He looked at her, then, and was not sure if it was best to speak. Aurelie, she had said, and she supposed Steerpike was also. Aremu knew something of that; there was a name he would not return to, even if being parted from it had stung.

“Uzoji saved me,” Aremu said, quietly, looking at Aurelie with a little frown. “In more ways than one - perhaps in all the ways a man can be saved. And I saved him as well, and those he loved, a time or two.” He felt the itch of something against his right wrist; it shifted against his pocket. He tucked his left hand in to match it.

“Such things between people create obligations,” Aremu said, quietly. “If we had, either of us, kept track of them all - tallied them up, written them as a ledger, added and subtracted - we would have had time for little else. Friendship meant that in saving his life, I saved my own as well. We had that between us, and it held us together, and it let us spread the weight of all those obligations.”

“I have learned that -“ Aremu exhaled, slowly, “though he is gone,” he said, with a funny little smile, “our friendship is not.”

He was quiet then, for a long moment; he studied her. “I know something too,” Aremu said, carefully, “of what it is to have such obligations with one who cannot call you friend. It is no easy thing.” He eased back, slightly; he looked aside. He thought perhaps he had overstepped; he wondered, uneasily, if any of it had made sense to her, in the end. He had wanted to try, at least; he hoped he had been right to do so.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Her name sounded strange, the way Aremu said it. Not bad--just strange. She wasn't used to hearing it much at all, really, but from a few people. But she had said it and he had accepted it, and for some reason she was glad. Steerpike she might only be in a tenuous way, but Aurelie was a name she felt she could hold on to more firmly. Without hesitation, or thinking of the strangeness that was between her and her sister now. The last of the family line.

Aremu was frowning at her again--he frowned quite a lot, she had noticed. He seemed a very serious sort of person. It was hard for her to imagine the two of them together. Granted, she hadn't know Mr. Ibutatu very well, or at all really, but still. She thought of tree-climbing and kofi produced from a coat pocket. Perhaps it was just the occasion. Or perhaps there was a balance somewhere there, after all. She could only wonder; it wasn't like she'd ever have the chance to know.

Aurelie listened when he spoke, paying closer attention than she might have to someone else. This way of speaking was... Well, it wasn't that the words themselves didn't make sense to her, it just made her feel like there was something she wasn't getting. She was a straightforward creature after all. And not very clever, by her own estimation. But she tried. She thought she might even have succeeded, at least a little.

"Saved, huh..." Aurelie stood there for a moment, thinking about it. She had been changed to be sure, by this strange friendship so abruptly ended. Even she could see it, though if she had to point to where and when and what had shifted, she wasn't so sure she could. Saved, though--she wondered. Had it been for good or for ill? Aurelie still hadn't decided, although she was glad of it either way. And it didn't matter if it was good or bad, in the end, because it was true. A fixed point in her reality.

"I'm--these really meant a lot to me, you know. I wish I could have-- I don't know." Aurelie touched her pocket. She hesitated again. She felt silly, saying this out loud. Once again she didn't know why she was doing so, other than it felt good to feel sad about something with someone else who might feel, at least a little, the same thing. It wasn't quite the same as talking to Fionn about her parents, which had been good for her too, because there was only an abstract frame of reference. And it wasn't the same even talking to Ana, because Ana was... Aurelie didn't know what to make of her sister now. They obviously--it wasn't the same, but it was closer, and she didn't know how to convey how grateful she was for that. So she just kept talking when common sense said she should have stopped.

"I'm sorry, I just keep... We're really very poorly socialized here, you see. Don't get out much." Aurelie made the joke and then winced, regretting it the instant it left her mouth. An awkward laugh and a shrug of her shoulders tried to cover it, inadequately.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 9 Dentis, 2719
Brunnhold Campus

Aremu nodded, when Aurelie said the clippings meant a lot to her. He knew, Aremu wanted to say, I think. He wasn’t sure; it didn’t seem quite right to him, to tell Aurelie that Uzoji had spoken of her to him. He imagined she must know something of it, that she would guess if she hadn’t already, from the fact that he had known where to leave the handkerchief, from the fact that he had known this spot at all.

He knew, Aremu wanted to promise. He didn’t know how; he didn’t know why. It didn’t feel like a lie, in his mouth, on his tongue. He thought he knew the taste of them, by now, the slippery, slimy feel against his teeth, the rough prickling on his tongue. He would know if it was a lie, wouldn’t he?

In the end, silence seemed safer. Aurelie kept going; she tried to fill it.

Aremu’s eyebrows lifted, faintly; she winced. If she could, he thought, he suspected she would have snatched it back and crammed it into her mouth. She made a sound that he was sure had meant to be a laugh.

“It’s not wrong to laugh at it,” Aremu said, with an easier smile now, “if you can.” There were jokes which were bitter, and he could not but feel a hint of bitterness at the edge of that one. There were jokes which lightened, which took something terrible and lessened it, if for just a moment. If there was no value to them, Aremu thought, then why was it that laughter could overwhelm you so, when fear or horror had been all you felt a moment ago?

Whatever the joke, however good or bad, Aremu thought, it was better than silence. He was slowly coming to learn that; he could say it, now, to himself. He had tried for a long time to fit silence between truth and lies. He knew, according to many, that for a man’s honor it was the lie and the not-lie which mattered; silence fell into not-lie. It was a safe place to rest, when you were afraid.

And, Aremu thought, it was a wall to hide behind.

“I've never been much good at it,” Aremu inhaled, softly; he looked around, and then back at Aurelie. He didn’t quite frown, but he wasn’t smiling anymore either. “I can’t imagine what this is like,” he said, quietly. “I don’t know that I wish to.” His hand shifted; the beginning of the impulse to set it on her shoulder eased away inside him. He didn’t want to make her uncomfortable, not more than they both had to be.

Do they mark you, Lars had asked him once. When they find out what you are? Aremu had not known, then, even what he meant; he knew now. He knew what lay beneath these uniforms, what was on Aurelie's upper arm, seared into her skin. He could not bear to think of them, all those children, scarred.

He thought he would answer differently now, if Lars asked him again. Not like that, he wanted to say. But we are marked, too, indelibly; I am marked.

“If you – ” Aremu cleared his throat. “Do you have a way to send a letter out?” He asked, quietly. “If need be?” I know you have your sister, he didn’t say. He didn’t say, it wouldn’t comfort me much, to have my brother.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

That surprised her. Aurelie had made her joke, in poor taste as it was, and instead of frowning more Aremu had actually smiled. How--strange. Her jokes went over so poorly, and this one seemed ill-timed. Although maybe that was the point. There was only so much weight Aurelie could carry at one time. It had to leak out somehow, and that leak was this pathetic excuse for a joke today. She tried a smile back, tentative but not entirely uneasy.

"My jokes are, ah, not often... funny." Aurelie flushed a little, though it could just as easily have been the cold. She shivered a little, and then a little more when Aremu spoke again. Not from the cold, this time. She thought she might have seen his hand move--always the left, she realized, though she couldn't have said why she thought so. But it didn't reach out, and she didn't know that she wanted it to. Aurelie's smile fell from her face and she looked away.

"I wouldn't. Imagine it. It's not--" Aurelie stopped and chewed at her lip. "It is... it's safe. I think. At least..." She thought of last winter. Safe? No. That wasn't true. Or would it have been worse, somewhere else? Aurelie didn't know. While it was true that her thoughts turned more and more to what a life would be outside of these walls, that terror still held her. One among many. "It's supposed to be."

"I suppose--I suppose we're even then. I can't imagine... anything else. Not... hmm." This was a lie, of course. She could picture life outside these walls, just not clearly. Not the way she was. The way everything was. Why was she saying this? She shrank a little into herself, embarrassed to have admitted such a lack of imagination. She could picture something, it was just so absurd she didn't feel she had the right to it. And, Lady preserve her, it had only gotten more elaborate over time. Without realizing it, she brought a hand up to the mark on her arm, underneath her uniform.

Do they take something from you, too? I don't know what it is we are where you come from, if not wayward children. What do we lack? And is it true? Aurelie was ashamed to have let her thoughts turn this way. She almost opened her mouth to apologize, when Aremu asked her about letters.

"A... a l-letter? We're not supposed to--I'm not even supposed to know how to read," she blurted out, startled by the question. "I'm sorry, I mean, er. That is. I've... never had any need to... I've never thought about it?" Aurelie furrowed her brow in thought. Her sister, of course, could send out anything and likely would. Something Aurelie cringed away from the idea of asking her.

Aurelie realized, with the question, that she didn't actually truly know how that worked. One wrote a letter, she knew, and then... where did that go, on campus? Was--postage had to be paid, and she hadn't any wages. Didn't it? Chimes, she really was a child--she didn't even know how to send a letter. Assuming she didn't get caught and punished for writing one to begin with of course. Maybe Alethea knew. She was a courier after all--surely letters were part of her job description. Surely?

"M-maybe. Er. I suppose. I don't..." There's nobody outside who cares about me, she didn't say. Nobody to send one to, should she try. Aurelie shrugged, not sure why he'd asked at all.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 9 Dentis, 2719
Brunnhold Campus

Safe, Aremu thought, was an interesting word to choose. Safe for you? Or safe from you? Are you kept safe, or made safe?

Do you - how many of you know the shape of the way you might be unsafe? Aremu wondered. Wasn’t that why Anaxas did it? Safety? And yet they did not let the harmless ones go; they did not look at the passives who could harm you no worse than a human - less so than some, and less so than many galdori - and offer them a choice.

Safe, Aremu thought. Safe from freedom, maybe.

I can’t imagine anything else, Aurelie said. She held onto her arm, just below where he knew the mark must have been.

Aremu tucked his left hand back into his pocket. He frowned, softly. He wondered if it was a lie. It’s all right, he wanted to tell her, for us to lie. But just because a thing can be done - use it carefully, he wanted to say. No one told them, he thought, about lies and honesty; no one told them, here, about what they did and didn’t have. Not really.

But then sometimes a thing was not a truth or a lie. I can’t imagine anything else, he thought, was a lie. I can’t imagine anything else well; I don’t know what it would be like. I don’t know what I would do, out there; I don’t know what it would mean to be free. But even the vaguest, haziest understanding that there was something else out there - that Mugroba existed - even if you don’t think you can’t fit into it, Aremu wanted to correct, gently, I think you can still imagine it.

Aremu raised his eyebrows when Aurelie said she wasn’t supposed to know how to read, briefly stunned. Wasn’t supposed to - he frowned; he exhaled. He couldn’t understand how all of Anaxas could live beneath a lie. A child, he thought, frowning, at ten. And then after their test - what, a witless, dangerous thing? How could you take the child you had loved, and then -

But he did understand, Aremu thought. The frown deepened; his shoulders tightened, faintly.

She has her sister, he told himself. But - then why is it she cannot send a letter?

“I’ll give you my address,” Aremu said, quietly. “If you need help, send a letter to me.” He thought of the shaky note, the uncertain handwriting. “Send anything,” he said, then, instead. “It will take time for it to reach me, and it will take me time as well to come, but I will.” There was something hard beneath the smooth lilting current of his voice; he met Aurelie’s gaze when he spoke, and he held it, unyielding.

Aremu sat on the bench once more; he took the envelope from his pocket, the one he had thought nothing more than how to bring Uzoji’s farewell, and set it onto his leg. He found a pen as well, and hesitated, only a moment, only a flicker.

Gently, Aremu eased his right wrist from his pocket. Gently, carefully, he set the edges of the wooden fingers along the side of the envelope, holding it in place against the cloth. He bent his head over it, and he wrote, slow and careful, his name, and below it, the address for the Ibutatu Plantation. He wrote the from address for Niccolette Ibutatu, in the Rose, carefully, how she would have done it if she had sent him a letter from Brunnhold. He formed each letter slowly, careful and precise; he took the time he needed.

When it was done, Aremu tucked the pen away, and the prosthetic hand too. He waved the envelope gently through the air, to dry the ink, and looked up at Aurelie. “Do you need the coins for postage?” He asked.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Aurelie's breath came out in a rush. If she needed... help? Aurelie couldn't imagine the kind of help that could come from someone like Aremu Ediwo being needed in her life. She didn't really know what kind of help that would be, but she lived such a small existence. What kind of trouble could she ever really be in, to need to call on him? And moreover, why would he offer? For the memory of a friend? That-- Aurelie swallowed, finally at a loss for words. If she needed him, he would come. Beneath his words there was a feeling she couldn't place, but made it hard for her to look away from his gaze when she caught it.

If she had thought about it, she would maybe have protested. What help could she ever need? Wouldn't it be more dangerous to have the envelope at all? But Aurelie didn't think, too surprised and overwhelmed by the gesture at all to say anything. Instead she just watched as Aremu moved to the bench, taking an envelope from his pocket. She might have looked a little more foolish than usual. When he eased his other hand out of his pocket, to steady the envelope, there was a beat where she didn't know what she was looking at. And then--well, that explained that, didn't it? She blinked, once, then put the thought away.

Careful, careful. Aurelie watched and found herself admiring the precision of the writing. Her own hand was so poor in comparison--she wondered, suddenly, if he had opened the box and seen it for himself. Was that why-- oh. Well. There was nothing she could do about it, but she was ashamed all the same. Aurelie wrote slower than Aremu was right now, for results not nearly as neat.

"Postage?" Aurelie hesitated. She thought of saying no, but they would both know it for a lie. It wasn't like they gave gated passives pocket money. Again, she thought, Ana would have paid for it... But what kind of trouble would she be in, that she would turn to a stranger over her sister? She thought of the edge Ana's voice took, when last they spoke. There might be such a time. Or there wouldn't be, and it wouldn't matter. Aurelie chewed her lip. Then she nodded, not trusting herself to speak. There was, she firmly told herself, no shame in something so far beyond her control. Yes--yes that was. She would just hold onto that. She straightened a little.

"If I--I don't know how to... What can I... This isn't a s-small thing, I don't..." Aurelie stumbled, grateful but confused. Even if she never needed to send the letter--this was something she didn't know how to repay. "You don't even know me," she said at last. "And you've done so much for me to be grateful for, already." She ached, but in a way she thought might be good.

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 9 Dentis, 2719
Brunnhold Campus

Aremu was still waving the envelope gently through the air. He nodded; he handed it to Aurelie. “Careful until the ink dries.” Aremu said, quietly, rising back to his feet.

He reached into his pocket, and counted the coins out into his hand. He knew the cost of postage from Anaxas to Isla Dzum well; from Brunnhold, from Vienda, from the Rose. He added an little extra, to be safe; they did raise the prices, sometimes, of the stamps.

“Here,” Aremu extended the small stack of coins; he did not brush Aurelie’s hand with his when he set the coins in them. He settled his left hand back in his pocket too. Pretending at symmetry, he told himself; he didn’t know if it was vanity or comfort or something else, something harder to define.

Aurelie had questions; she had doubts, when it came to accepting. Aremu nodded, faintly. They were, he thought, good things to worry about, worthwhile things.

“When a man dies in Mugroba,” Aremu said, “it is custom not to be sad, but instead to remember and cherish what he left behind.”

Aremu was quiet for a moment. “I cannot seem to help the sadness,” he said, quiet, brutally honest. “But it makes me only more determined to care for what he cannot, anymore.”

Aremu thought of Isla Dzum, then, the house and the plantation. He thought of the crop of tsug growing even now, the daily scattering of nuts at the foot of the trees, the sugarcane fields waiting, ready for their next chance, the kofi plants, growing from green to red, with pale mottled purple seeds instead, waiting to be cast into the flame and made anew.

He thought of Niccolette, too; he thought of the waves of despair which swamped her, and the grief which leaked from every pore; every pore, Aremu thought, but the ramscott which she worked so hard to keep indectal. He thought of her in Vienda, back straight and chin lifted, doing everything Hawke asked of her in the hope of honoring Uzoji’s memory in the way she saw best.

Neither, Aremu thought; neither did he care for for Uzoji’s sake alone. He loved the plantation, and Niccolette too; he held both precious, and in their own ways they returned that love to him. He thought he understood why Uzoji had been fond of Aurelie, why he had provoked her to anger and thought it for the best. He did not have the time, Aremu thought, to come to know her too. He had to make his choices quickly, and so he had.

And himself? Aremu wondered, for a moment. He too - he too was what Uzoji had left behind. He too deserved... but he did not know what to call it, and this was no time for such thoughts.

Aremu shifted, faintly; he shrugged. “I don’t know what path he saw you on, or what offers he might have made in time. But I think... he would have been glad of this. That is enough for me; I understand if it is not enough for you.”

[Aurelie Steerpike]

Aurelie took the envelope carefully, like it was something fragile she would break. Less the envelope itself, perhaps, and more what was inside it. The weight of the coins seemed lighter, although she couldn't remember the last time she had held so many at once. Those she slipped into her pocket right away, to tangle with the articles and embroidery floss that were already there. Later she would run her thumbs over the edges and corners and wonder at it. She would have to learn where and how to send letters out, how to pay for the postage--if only just in case. It seemed as she ought to know, since she had accepted the envelope and coin both.

Aurelie cocked her head just slightly to the side when Aremu admitted to feeling a sadness he was not, apparently, supposed to. She wasn't sure how grief worked for others. Truly, she barely knew how it worked for herself--she was so ill-practiced in most kinds of feelings. It seemed to her that one could feel both things at once: joy over what had been, and sorrow over what was gone. There might be a contradiction in this, but she didn't think so. Souls returned to the cycle, but mourning was for the living. Or so she thought, but as always she filed this thought away in the sea of her own ignorance. There was quite a lot she didn't know or understand, after all. She opened her mouth to say something, then thought better of it. Her foot tended to go in it instead, when it came to matters like this.

Idly her thoughts strayed to her own life. She tried to picture anyone having this much care if she were disappear one day. Maybe-- someone-- but maybe not, after all. And what would she have left behind? Very little, really. Little to be cared for, especially. But it was a pleasantly strange feeling, to be included in that category for someone else. However tangentially that might be. Even if she didn't understand, really, why.

"No," Aurelie shook her head and smiled. The truest smile she'd had this whole time, though shy and small. "No, it's more than enough. I--I don't know that there's... Well. W-we'll see, I think. Hmm."

Aurelie gingerly touched the ink on the envelope with her finger--it came away clean. Dry enough then, she thought, to tuck away into her pocket. She folded it in half, lining up the edges and corners as precisely as she could, then slipped it in with the coins and all the rest. She couldn't linger much longer, she knew. She hadn't meant to tarry even this long--she hadn't expected any of this, really. She shifted her weight back and forth from foot to foot, feeling like there was something more she should say or do, but not sure what it was.

"I'm, er, I'm afraid I can't stay much... I said I was just going to get some air, I wasn't expecting... to be gone long. M-Matron Rosalis will be looking for me soon, I think. I wouldn't want you to be--er. I mean, that is--I just assumed. Ah." She gestured helplessly at the tree. You were in a tree, she thought desperately. Out of sight. Surely that was deliberate. Still, she hovered. There was something more she wanted to say, if she could grasp what it was.

"I--I don't know if I'll ever... And obviously, you, er... But it would be good," she said slowly, trying to put her hands around what it was she was trying to communicate, "if our paths crossed again. A-at least. I would like it. Uhm. I think."

[Aremu Ediwo]

Morning, 9 Dentis, 2719
Brunnhold Campus

Aurelie smiled, then, and Aremu smiled too. It was easier than he had expected, deep within Brunnhold campus, to smile. Like a joke, Aremu thought, understanding. There was no forgetting, not even for a moment, but there was a lightness none the less.

Aremu didn’t need Aurelie to finish the thought; he could guess, he supposed. If she never sent the letter - if she never asked him to come - Aremu would not mind. He hoped, a part of him, that she would not send for him?

And the rest?

She couldn’t imagine a life outside, Aurelie had said. If you ever find the lie yourself, Aremu wanted to say, gently, you can call me. If it becomes unbearable - there is more than one type of life which can be saved. There is more than one type of threat.

But he had gone far enough, Aremu thought. And, too, there was that which could not be said, or which, he supposed, the saying of made little difference. It had to be felt, in the end, to be believed. He felt an uneasy prickling of awareness, but he looked away from it; it scarcely seemed the time.

Aremu nodded slightly when Aurelie said she had to go. She kept at it though, winding her way through a tangled path of thoughts; he did not try to follow along too closely. Sometimes, Aremu thought, amused; sometimes he knew his limits. She found her way to a gift, though, at the end, or so it seemed to him. He had come to tell her of loss, Aremu thought, and she had thanked him; and now she said she would like to see him again.

“I would like that as well,” Aremu smiled again, and it was none of it a lie. He thought it over carefully; he tried to think what to say. “It is not...” he was quiet. “It is not a place I would come without reason.” Aremu said, gently. “On the one, I leave.”

I hope not to come again, he didn’t say. Or, at least, a part of me does. And the rest?

For so long, Aremu thought, I relied on you, my brother, to be a judge of men and women, to guide me. I trusted you, and you saw clear, more often than not. And now? Is it your own judgment I trust, or is it my own? Whichever, whatever it was, it was a part of him now; Aremu let it be, and did not try too hard to understand.

Did he feel something? If he closed his eyes and looked away - if he reached for her - would he feel it? Aremu did not know; he did not try to know. He set it aside; there was little space for it, he told himself. Not now; just - not now.

[Aurelie Steerpike]

“It is not a place I would come without reason.” The way Aremu said it was gentle, a reminder. Of course he wouldn't. Aurelie already knew that. She couldn't explain, not fully, why it was she still thought she was better off here than anywhere else. She could absolutely explain why someone who did not have to be here would not come without reason. It was a complicated feeling, and she didn't want to chew on it while she stood in the garden. The feeling could just be there, unexamined for now, guiding her understanding. Aurelie nodded, then she hesitated. On the one...

"Would..." Aurelie hesitated, chewing her lip. She didn't want to overstep, mistaking the limits of kindness. But Aremu had said--he'd said he would like it, if they crossed paths again. If that had been a lie, Aurelie couldn't tell, and she rather thought it might not be. That it was unlikely to be, even. Again she remembered being told that the people of Mugroba don't lie, as a rule, and while she understood that there were all kinds of lies... Surely such a sentiment, stated so plainly, couldn't be one of those kinds?

An idea formed in the back of her mind of something she could do, a return for what she felt was a greater gift than she had any right to expect. Yes, he'd come to deliver sad news, it was true. And still she thought that was a gift, because if he hadn't she would always just have wondered. Knowing made her feel like the world was a little bigger and a little closer to her at once.

"I-If you, er, would... I don't want to impose but--if you had the time, tomorrow, at around this same house...? I would maybe like to. Talk. A little more. If you wanted, that is, obviously you don't... Have to or... But I--" Aurelie cut herself off. She took a little steadying breath, and straightened up her posture just a little bit. For courage, something she was trying to find in herself more and more. This time she could raise her face, look at Aremu, and smile in a normal way.

"It's... very rare, that I get the opportunity to-- talk. To anyone. Much. Especially..." Aurelie again gestured vaguely with one of her hands, hoping she made any sense. "And I would like to, er. Do so." She paused, waiting for a reply, before adding on just one thing more. "And, er. Are there any... foods...? You avoid...?"

Was this too selfish of her to ask? If he had planned on leaving the day after tomorrow, surely he would have other business here. Or maybe her last question was strange, or too much, and would be off-putting. Aurelie hoped not. She meant what she said: it was rare that anyone wanted to talk to her much at all, beyond a select few. And those that did? They didn't venture too much further afield than she did. She liked Aremu's careful way of speaking, even if she didn't always understand. She waited, a little hopeful but trying to brace herself against disappointment. One hand came to worry at a pinch of the fabric of her pinafore.