Sand and Blood

Chapter 8: The Morning Sun

The true nature of a woman cannot be found with simple questions or tests. It can only be found when her child is under the knife's edge or when she must choose between her husband and family.

—Yunujyoraze Byomími

"Wake up, Jìmo!" Chimípu's voice cut through the side of his tent.

Rutejìmo groaned as he cracked open his eyes. His head hurt, and his legs ached from yesterday's run. He wanted just a few more hours to sleep. "Go away!"

He rolled over and closed his eyes.

"Now!" snapped Chimípu. There was a strange tone to her voice—sharpness at the edge of panic. Rutejìmo had never heard her sound like that, and he felt a prickle of fear crawl down his spine.

He sat up sharply and looked around. Spears of sun bore down on the thin fabric of the tent, and the transient coolness from the night was quickly turning into a stifling heat. Not even a trickle of breeze ran through space between the flaps.

He peered out through the opening, but Chimípu was already striding away. Scratching his head, he pulled on a fresh pair of shorts and carefully rolled his dirty clothes into a tube before shoving them into his travel pack. Groaning, he dragged his pack out of his tent and stood up.

The sun was brighter than he expected. He shaded his eyes and peered up. Tachìra, the sun spirit, was a fist's height from the horizon. "They actually let us sleep in?"

"No," snapped Chimípu as she spun around, "they left us in the middle of the night!"

Rutejìmo froze, the prickling along his skin turning into the buzz of a thousand insects. The world spun around him as he stared at her, wondering if he misheard. "W-What?"

"You heard me, sand-blasted incontinent! I said they left us."

"No, Desòchu would never do that. He would never... " Rutejìmo peered around but he didn't see the other tents. "...leave... me...?"

There were only four tents still set up: Rutejìmo's, Pidòhu's, Tsubàyo's, and Karawàbi's. He didn't know where Chimípu's tent had gone, and he wondered where she had set it up. After a few seconds, he guessed that she'd already packed her tent before she woke him up.

The concern cut into him as he scanned the camping area around the three rocks. His brother's tent was gone. So were Gemènyo's and Hyonèku's and all the others. In fact, if it wasn't for the dead fire pit in the center of the three rocks, there would be no sign the clan had spent the night.

Rutejìmo turned back and asked, "Where is everyone?"

Chimípu let out an exasperated sigh. "Do you really think I know the answer to that?" She scanned the horizon, no doubt looking for signs of movement.

"Why not, Chimípu? You know everything else."

"That's because you're an idiot with sand for brains."

Tsubàyo groaned as he came up to them, scratching his ass. "So? They left you behind also, Mípu."

Chimípu glared at him and pointed her longest finger at him. "Listen, Chobìre's shit for a skull, I don't have time for your crap or posturing. I'm going to jog out to that dune," she pointed to a taller ridge of sand, "and see if I can find them. Don't do anything stupid."

Tsubàyo shrugged and scratched the scars on his face and throat.

Chimípu made an exasperated sound and started across the sand. Rutejìmo followed her with his eyes. He was stunned by how fast she had lost her calm and wondered if he shouldn't be more worried himself. Chimípu was always collected and smug. Rutejìmo wasn't sure if he liked the change.