What if the saints of old walked among us today-would we honor their triumphs, or whisper about their secrets?
Zarinna knows the weight of hidden truths. Once devoted, now marked by choices she cannot undo, she carries shame like a shadow she cannot...
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AFTER ABOUT FIFTEEN MINUTES, David finally reached the rough road that led to his village. Driving down those familiar paths stirred memories of his childhood—his laughter with his brother and cousins echoing in his mind. Those were precious days; reminders of how joyful their family once was. Until, of course, the conflicts over land inheritance arose, and the peaceful bond they once shared began to fracture.
David slowed as the narrow pathway to their house came into view. Parking his motorcycle, he began to walk hastily. It was about a ten minute walk, and his body ached for rest after the long trip. After a few minutes, the sight of their little cottage appeared before him. His grandmother sat on the porch, weaving. As soon as she recognized the man approaching, gladness instantly filled her face.
"How have you been doing, Allapo?" David asked, sitting beside his grandmother, Lumnay. A few gray strands had escaped her braid and danced along the sides of her face in the breeze.
"Oh, I've been doing fine, Child. It's been such a long time since you visited! How are you?" she asked, joy unmistakable in her voice.
"I've been doing well, Allapo..."
Lumnay smiled again and returned her gaze to the thread she was positioning.
"That's good to hear. By the way, there's food inside, Child. Go ahead and eat. Would you like some coffee?"
"Sure, Allapo. I'd love that."
"Okay, let's go in—I'll reheat the Barako for you."
David nodded to his grandmother's invitation and stepped inside the house. His gaze was immediately drawn to the sight of tapis and ules scattered around the room—colorful weavings that told the story of their heritage.
He was always amazed by his grandmother's skill. She was one of the few remaining master weavers of her generation, and the ethnic wrap-around skirts and blankets she created were among the most prized in their province.
"David?"
He turned around and saw Lumnay stepping inside.
"Would you please help me bring out some of the old ules I've woven? They need to be laid out under the sun so the dust and mold won't build up. My knees are quite sore now, and the penbillagan is quite a long walk from here."
"Of course, Allapo," David replied. "Where are the ones that need to be brought out?"
Lumnay pointed to a pile of Cordilleran blankets at the edge of the table. David went over and lifted them into his arms.
"I'll eat when I get back, Grandma. I'll just bring these out first."
With that, he stepped outside the cottage and made his way toward the woods. He had to pass through the trees to reach the clearing where the clothesline stood. Dry leaves crackled beneath his boots as he walked briskly. The wind was cooler now; dusk was drawing near. He took a deep breath, savoring the earthy air and the sight before him—tall trees standing like sentinels on both sides of the path, their canopies filtering soft rays of sunlight.
