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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"Where do I insert this again, Allapo?" Zarinna asked, her eyes fixed intently on the shuttle as she waited for Allapo Lumnay's instruction. Fingers trembling slightly, she tried to align the thread with the warp stretched tightly across the wooden loom.
The old woman leaned close, her hands softened with age yet steady and sure. She guided Zarinna's wrist across the warp with gentle patience.
"Here," she breathed. "You must alternate where you insert the shuttle. Let the thread breathe through the spaces. Do not force it."
"Alright, Allapo," Zarinna nodded, trying to mirror the movement with mindful precision.
"So, how are the weaving lessons so far?" David's voice came from behind them. He stepped out from the wooden doorway, sunlight glancing over his features. Zarinna turned briefly toward him.
"It's going well," she replied, returning her gaze to the half-done fabric. The woven red and deep earth-brown threads glowed softly under the afternoon light. "It's harder than I imagined." She squinted, biting her lip as she slid the shuttle once more, carefully aligning its path.
David chuckled and sat beside them on the wooden platform. "At least you're finally doing something you always dreamed of."
Zarinna let out a small laugh, warmth rising in her chest despite her frustrations. "Yeah, you're right."
"But," she added, lifting her eyes to him, "what did Pastor Nestor say?"
"Ah, yes." David exhaled, his gaze stretching toward the mountains that framed the horizon—silent giants wrapped in distant fog. "The mission trip to Kalinga will push through. The brethren there have already begun preparing."
Zarinna nodded, focusing again on the loom. "That's wonderful. I've always wanted to see Kalinga for myself."
"But David," Allapo Lumnay spoke, voice lowering with the gravity of memory and old caution, "be careful when you go. The place you're heading to... it is known to be a nest for terrorists."
Zarinna's hands stilled. The forest breeze suddenly felt sharper.
"Terrorists?" she asked softly.
"Yes, Balasang. The RPA raided a village recently. They took food supplies... and some say, even a young woman." Allapo's expression turned somber, shadows deepening the lines on her face.
"Really?" Zarinna lowered her gaze, a ripple of unease rising through her chest. "Oh my goodness... then we truly need to be careful."
"Allapo!" A voice called from beyond the wooden fence, interrupting the growing tension.
Zarinna looked up—her breath caught.
Lauren.
She approached with a bright, easy smile, her steps confident, familiar, at ease in the space. The air shifted. Zarinna lowered her head instinctively. Ever since the day in the woods, Lauren's presence had become a silent cutting edge. Cold. Distant. Watching. Judging.
