With tears in her eyes, Shyan follows Fassn’s lead, dragging her fingertips through the rough particulate of the floor. Tears splash around her feet, congealing little domes of sand into mud. She feels the friction, tries to feel the warmth. She draws languid spirals, short strokes, chaotic patterns. With focus she can almost feel the individual grains tumbling and careening on their micro scale.
Beside her, Fassn breathes deeply, tasting the stale air of the hut. Cang and Abia join them both on the ground and follow his lead. For a while, amid the din of celebration outside, the gang sits in quiet introspection, before Fassn notices Shyan’s tears have dried. For the first time since suffering the grey creatures’ poison, let alone their antidote, she smiles.