A Sister had broken their spear, and it fell to Dyakida to fix it.
”Stupid hybrid blacksmith didn't do it right. Kin or not, I'm not trusting one of them ever again.” they muttered. If the Alkidike Sister hadn't been an old friend... if they hadn't been a support in Dyakida's darker times... and if Dyakida didn't know that the blacksmith in question was A: the Sister's niece and B: that the Sister was really just venting frustrations and fears about the future through her anger... Well, Dyakida would have felt within her rights to tell her to get her damn spear fixed elsewhere.
But she would repair the spear, though she resolved to do only what was necessary and remind them that their niece had crafted this as their first ever spear and had presented it as a gift to their beloved aunt.
When the Sister was calmer, she would regret what she'd said. Dyakida wondered, as she sanded the new spear shaft, whether she should push for an apology to be given.
Yes. The answer was yes. The young hybrid deserved an apology. Goddess knew, they didn't get enough of those...
…
Who, then, should apologize to Mnyiri?
For if anyone needed an apology, it would be the hybrid (only a quarter?!) who had been sent to die on a poisonous island. Some closed minded elders had done it, but it was the overall culture that was to blame, one that accepted that hybrids – no matter how clear it was that they were wanted by Aisha, the Great Mother of them All – should work extra hard to earn their place or die. It was horrible, and worse still when disaster loomed on the horizon. Mnyiri could have died out there, and Dyakida wouldn't have known. After what they'd shared in the kitchen that day...
Dyakida grit her teeth in anger. Mnyiri was loved. How dare they try to throw her away like broken crystals and wood shavings?! What did that say for the future, what Mnyiri was trying to protect, even now, as she poured over old scrolls and investigated the scenes? Would they let her help? Would they let her out and then push her away? Dyakida could do so little to help her tribe right now, besides what she always did – craft, make weapons, outfit Sisters for the dangers ahead. But she refused to let Mnyiri be used up and thrown away again. And, if she stood up for Mnyiri, she had to stand up for other hybrids as well. It was only logical.
It was also not so different from what she had been doing before. Her protests had usually taen the form of weapons gifted to hybrids and kind words. She'd been quiet and polite outside of that, not getting involved, not making a fuss, not pushing how far people would tolerate the broken crafter Alkidike.
No longer.
If she wanted the future to go any differently than the Extremist skirmish, if she wanted to avoid the tragedies of the Oban war, if she wanted these things to never happen again, she had to call on her Alkidike blood and not back down.
She tied old cloth ornaments to the renewed spear, taken from the old spear. It was the bare minimum of decoration, less than she usually gave. She tested it's weight and, satisfied, she put it aside and sighed, putting her head in her hands and sitting there for a moment.
Speaking out would be hard if no one listened. It was hard, when she didn't know what to say. She was one, weak, voice in the midst of a roaring ocean of reactivity. If she spoke she might not be heard. But if she did not speak, she would never be heard.
She lifted her face to the ceiling and shook out her short hair.
She was a warrior.
She would demand this apology.
Small steps. she thought, cricking her stiff neck, Small steps for a better future.
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