Unia: Echo of Harmony

Rigel, her spirit now as untamed as the mane she wore, dashed through the door, the melody of her song trailing behind her like a ribbon in the wind: “From north to south, from east to west, Their watchful eyes allow no rest; For every trial, every test, They offer solace and suggest.“

In that fleeting moment of unguarded solitude, the sun's rays tenderly kissed the young woman’s skin, and Raquel noticed the door left carelessly ajar. "You could at least close the door," she whispered under her breath. With a swift motion, she reached for the nearest dress, its soft fabric molding to her subtle curves, shielding her from the intrusive gazes of passersby.

As she stepped into the open air, the world outside greeted her with a warm wind, carrying the scent of the upcoming festivity and promise of joy. Rich with the anticipation of the night's celebrations, it filled her lungs, urging her forward in pursuit of her daughter.

Raquel's gaze darted ahead, seeking the silhouette of her spirited daughter. Rigel, a small figure of joy in the distance, skipped with a lively step. Her voice floating up, carrying a song that spoke of the Celestials' grace.

As Raquel quickened her pace, eager to close the distance between her and the fading echoes of Rigel's laughter, the path unfurled before her, lined with wooden homes draped in strings of marigolds and glowing lanterns. The air was alive with the clang of pots and the joyful laughter of children darting through stalls. Each nook of the settlement seemed to transform into a vibrant stage, a living tableau celebrating the memories of those who had once trod these lands.

The narrow, winding paths were lined with the overgrown embrace of nature reclaiming its space and slowing Raquel down. Meanwhile, Rigel threaded her way with the agile ease of a feline, her small boots finding their purchase among the tangled roots and lush green that overreached the path's confines. Her movements were quick and assured, as if the very earth beneath her was an old friend whispering the way forward.

"Rigel, slow down a bit!" Raquel’s voice, tinged with the mirth of a mother's enduring patience, wove through the verdant tapestry of the path, seeking to temper her daughter's brisk pace.

Suddenly, Raquel's attention was drawn to a stain marring the hem of her dress—a splotch of earth unwelcome against the fabric. With an instinct as old as time, she plucked a leaf heavy with dew from an overhanging branch to dab away the offense. Yet, in her attentiveness to the dress, Raquel's balance was betrayed by a sudden, forceful clash, and with grace abandoned, she succumbed to the pull of gravity, her body meeting the earth below.

"¡Caramba, Raquela! What’s this mess?” exclaimed the man, his voice rough with sudden alarm. "I swear my eyes played tricks on me... you're not hurt, are you? May the heavens be kind." His words stumbled into silence as he extended a hand roughened by seasons of labor. Yet, as his gaze unwittingly caught the glimpse of her form revealed through the slipped collar of her dress, a momentary lust flickered in his eyes, a testament to the baser instincts of man.

Perceiving the unwanted attention, she chose to maintain her dignity in silence and regained her stance, her movement graceful despite the fall and soil of the earth clinging to her dress. "It's no big deal," Raquel replied, her voice carried with the composure of nobility.

"Why are you out here, away from the plaza at this time? Everyone’s getting ready for the festival. Noche de las Almas Pasadas! Did you forget?" He exclaimed, his brow furrowed in confusion. His question hung in the air, unexpected and pointed, catching her off guard like an unforeseen arrow.

Her gaze wandered and found itself resting upon a barrel, vast as a noble's appetite, nestled in the bed of his cart. It obstructed the path like a stone giant asleep in the road. "What’s in that big barrel?" Raquel inquired, dismissing the man's question with a flick of her interest. Her words were laced with a lively curiosity as she surveyed the imposing barrel.

The man's chest swelled with pride, and he turned to embrace the barrel as if greeting an old comrade-in-arms. "This barrel? It's full of ale; enough to keep the whole village singing!" he boasted, his hand landing upon the barrel with a thud of finality. "And you, Raquela, will get the first taste!" he declared, his pride as puffed as a mating grouse. Yet when his gaze sought her once more, he was greeted by the empty path, her presence replaced by the rustling whispers of his neighbor's tomato vines. From behind came her voice, light and teasing, "Make sure to save some for me, vale?" Acknowledging her with a nod as solemn as an oath, he watched as she turned and disappeared along the path, the mud a badge of her misadventure. "Don't wander off too far now!" he called after her retreating form, his voice chasing her down the winding path.

"Cabron! Idiot!" Her thoughts began to seethe with resentment, her stride now quickening not from the urgency to catch Rigel but from a woman's scorn at her soiled dress and the indignity of a public fall. Raquel's steps hastened, her mind spilling a stream of curses for the clumsy oaf who had toppled her to the ground earlier, her mood mirroring the tempestuous waters of the Scattered Coast.

The fences of the settlement, built around modest wooden abodes thatched with the straw of the summer harvest, rushed past as she hurried her retreat from the village.

As the shadow of the last house receded, the untamed thicket before Raquel surged like a verdant ocean. This was the small forest, a living testament to the nurturing hands of Raquel and Tabitha. Each carefully planted tree contributed to a lush canopy that mottled the earth with patterns of light and shadow. The air, vibrant with the chorus of birds and fragrant with pine and fresh earth, bespoke a secluded oasis born of their collective labor.

Within her breast, the irritation that had pricked at Raquel's spirit dissolved, replaced by the thought of Tabitha's return. The prospect of her mentor's presence was like the promise of a feast after a hard winter, warming her from the inside out.

Tabitha, that wandering soul chosen by the Celestials, bore a gift more precious than the jewels of the Diamond Ridge: the blessing to make barren earth bloom. A Prophet with the power to sow health and prosperity to kingdoms with but a touch.

Yet, for Raquel, her joy in Tabitha's return was not rooted in the miracles she wrought but in the simple love for a friend. To her, Tabitha was more than a prophet; she was a weaver of tales who transformed the everyday into the enchanting and a guardian who had once eased the burdens of a young woman facing motherhood alone.

As Raquel matured from a young girl into a woman, Tabitha and her husband, Baruch, became steadfast presences in her life, as constant as the Crimson constellation in the night sky. Yet, duty often summoned Tabitha away, and this time, her face had been absent from their midst for two long years. Raquel's heart had been heavy with worry until the very moment the bird brought word of Tabitha's return, and with it, a tide of relief.

Rigel, already at the edge of the thicket, darted ahead with youthful audacity, leaving Raquel trailing behind. The thought of her daughter being the first to embrace Tabitha sparked a flicker of rivalry within her. Despite her labored breathing, Raquel hastened her pace and, quickly closing the distance to the thicket, plunged into the high, dense grass, determined to keep pace with her daughter.

"Tabitha!" Rigel's voice, as sharp and commanding as a hunting hawk's cry, cut through the grove's stillness, startling a cacophony of birds into the sky in a wild flurry of feathers.

Raquel pressed on, her own anticipation a drumbeat that quickened her step. At last, she broke free from the thicket's grasp into a meadow, a secret glen bathed in dazzling light.

Amidst a verdant embrace, Raquel's gaze fell upon Rigel, poised beside a slender tree stretching two meters toward the heavens. Towering beside them stood Tabitha, her majestic horns curving upward like the branches of the forest's eldest tree.