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Loss was not something that the Vandrea faced very often. A young tribe, their sisterhood didn't see many who passed before their time. Wangui recalled that there was one girl, a wilted flower, who didn't make it past her blooming. She was still young herself, so the details weren't fresh in her head. But she recalled the matrons pulling them aside, explaining them what happened after the mothers began to mourn. Wangui accepted it as an unfortunate fate, out of their control. At least the lost daughter knew the embrace of their great mother.

Now, as the tree continued to grow stronger each year, the sisterhood too great strong. At least the Vandrea side of things.

Some of the matrons were growing old, and soon enough Wangui witnessed a death she would remember. The elders who had traveled over when the seed was first planted had grown old. Frail. It was to no surprise that one of the elders would pass from old age. What made it impactful was the fact that she was a nanny, a grandmother to many of the young vandrea.

Wangui remembered the old woman watching the girls close to her age, mostly because their mothers still went out to build up the foundation of the now established isle.

The old woman would often sneak snacks to the young girls, provide them with friendly winks or a warm smile. She would pat them on the back and encourage them like any grandmother would. When many of the younger sisters had heard of the passing, they sobbed and cried until their eyes were swollen, before they were rushed away to focus on something other than the passing.

Wangui knew that soon enough, more of the elders would pass on. It was simply a way of life. They lived to pave the way, as young sisters grew and turned into elders for the next generation.

Still, it hurt to think about such an important, impactful life fading away into the winds of time. Wangui couldn't imagine what might happen if the young sisters would lose their lives before time took it away. Before the great mothers meant for it to be.

That was why Wangui wanted to fight. Not because she needed to at this moment, but because she wanted to ensure she'd be ready for any moment in the future. She hoped there would never be a war, but she'd be ready if one came.

As Wangui walked with the sisters later that night, the stars shining through the dense foliage of the trees above, she found herself in somber silence. Occasionally, she'd take a sip from the mulled wine in the pouch to her side, a new vice she began to explore on the pressing of some older cousins. It soothed her nerves in moments like these, and dulled the more unsavory emotions. Still, she made sure to keep it hidden from the older sisters, as well as her family, because this type of vice was frowned upon for those not ready for the indulgence.

But it was a nice companion at such a sad event.

The group moved through the woods like ghosts, the only sounds their soft feet and the occasional whispers. But the weight of the event kept many silent, including Wangui, as they finally emerged from the woods to the sands of the beach. The view ahead of them was not the land of Belrea, but the distance to the wide sea. Empty. Open. Lonely.

This was the first time she witnessed such a ceremony, though they learned about them in school. Still, she didn't envision it this way, so sad and silent. Watching as they loaded the body of the elder on the pyre, Wangui's focus faded in and out as the matron and young mystic conducted the final ceremony and prayers. Then, the pyre was released and sent to the darkness of the sea.

Slowly, sisters began to wander back home, each taking their time for a final goodbye. Wangui didn't really think of anything during that silence, she had already given her goodbyes to the woman before. Instead, she watched the other sisters cry. The sorry of a lost flower in the field was clear. It was a sticky, heavy feeling that Wangui hated. She never wanted to experience this, not like this, not ever. She never wanted to see a sister die.

Turning away from the group, Wangui headed back home. As she walked away from the fire, she reaffirmed her decision to always be the blade that defended her home, and the shield that protected her sisters. If anyone's life had to fall, hers would be the first. She'd rather others mourn her than continue to mourn her sisters in this manner. Not if she could prevent it.