Chapter 7 7. Tidal Waves!
Saintilia POV
(Flashback)
The sun dipped below the horizon, spilling a warm, golden light that set the landscape ablaze. The river was a hub of life, dotted with children splashing and chasing each other in the clear, shimmering water. Their innocent laughter and shouts of excitement echoed through the trees, a soundtrack to the evening. Some plunged beneath the surface while others raced against the gentle current. Nearby, donkeys drank patiently from the riverbank, and men and women knelt, washing their garments with rhythmic beats against the smooth stones. The air was filled with the sound of birds flapping between branches and the trees whistling softly to one another in the wind.
The afternoon sky was brilliant. The children continued their carefree play, a living reminder that amidst life's hardships, moments of pure, unrestrained joy could still be found. I, however, was focused on cleaning the gourds in front of me. It was a difficult task that disgusted me whenever I had to stick my hand inside. But with Jonas’s insistence, he had turned my disgust into enjoyable routine. He was a crafty man, he carved our plates, cups, and utensils from gourds. It was fascinating to watch him transform a hollowed-out shell into something useful and beautiful, then sell them for a small profit.
At the river's edge, the water was gently lapping, creating a soothing melody that accompanied the rhythmic sounds of the village at work. I was squatting, diligently scrubbing a bundle with great care and precision. I preferred cleaning them here, where the river itself helped wash the mess away. I was hard at work, plunging a gourd deep into the water and shaking it to dislodge the last stubborn seeds, that I was completely unaware my body was partially exposed. With every movement of shaking and plunging, the uncovered part of my body became more visible. I was oblivious to the fact that my innocence was on full display for a predator lurking in the shadows.
My face was framed by loose tendrils of dark hair that had escaped my braid, was a mask of focused determination. The faded sun's rays caressed my skin, gilding it in a soft, golden light, while a gentle breeze rustled the thin fabric of my dress, offering little relief from the day's lingering heat. If I saw the onlookers, my mind didn’t register them. Perhaps some watched from a distance, silently admiring the quiet grace of a girl who had already known too much hardship.
There were a group of boys huddled together, whispers and giggles carried by the wind. They peeked from behind one another, their curiosity fixed on me. To them, my work must have looked like a strange dance, a mysterious tango in the water and the gourds as my partners. I paid them no mind. The river was always full of noise and distraction at this hour.
After some time, I sat back on my heels, surveying the cleaned gourds lined up along the bank. The task, once so disgusting to me, was now simple. Jonas had done his job. His infinite patience had turned a chore into a craft, and a lesson into a memory I now clung to. A faint smile touched my lips. He was gone, but in moments like this, his teachings remained. I could almost feel his proud gaze. Satisfied, I began filling each gourd, the cool water a welcome weight. I tied them into two heavy clusters, slinging them over each end of a sturdy tree branch. I hoisted the branch onto my shoulder, the familiar pressure was a comfort. It was time to go home.
The curves of my body shifted with the weight of the gourds when I lifted them. My flimsy dress, damp from the river, clung to my skin, revealing every contour. I was oblivious, my mind already on the path home.
But a few meters away, a pair of anxious eyes tracked my every move.
A prickle of awareness made me turn my head. And there he was. A stranger, his head showing above the water like a hungry crocodile lying and waiting. He was perfectly still, his expression contemplative, his observation so calculated it felt like a physical touch. The children splashed and shouted nearby, churning the water around him, blinded to his presence, as if he were a ghost.
It was clear he had been there for some time. His gaze was not curious; it was intense and predatory, dissecting the fluidity of my movements, devouring the grace of my form. The scene was a perverse contradiction: the innocent chaos of the children's play against the silent, unwavering focus of a hunter. An unsettling intrigue poisoned the tranquility of the river.
Our eyes met, and for a long, frozen minute, his gaze held mine. I didn't recognize him. I felt paralyzed for a moment, surprise that a stranger was so fixated on me. Then, it dawned on me, I looked down and discovered my exposure. I quickly covered myself, my cheeks burning, and looked away, fussing with my dress as if I hadn't seen him at all.
Nearby, some of the boys erupted in laughter, enjoying my embarrassment. I grunted at them, a sound meant to convey ‘have some respect,’ but they only laughed harder, oblivious to my discomfort.
Against my better judgment, I let my gaze drift back to the water. I had to know if he was still there. This time, I avoided his eyes, but I couldn't miss the rest of him. He was emerging from the stream, I was shocked by his muscular body that looked like it was carved from hard labor. My eyes traveled to his face. He was smiling as water cascaded down his chiseled torso, glistening like sweat on the rugged slopes of a mountain.
He was not an attractive man. His smile was a grimace, failing to soften a face with a flat nose and unusually wide nostrils. It was a jarring disconnection to his body crowned by a face that, to me, seemed strangely and pitifully mismatched.
His gaze remained fixed on me, but his eyes seemed unfocused, glazed with an intensity that held my full attention. They were a startling, watery red, which made him look perpetually angry. I felt uncomfortable, trying to think of a logical explanation for his unsettling appearance.
My mind raced. Who was he? In a village this small, a new face was an event. He had to be from one of the neighboring settlements; his presence here was surely a coincidence. Our paths are unlikely to cross again, I told myself, But I couldn't shake my unease, or the lingering curiosity about this mysterious man with the angry red eyes.
I was so fixated on the water cascading over his muscular form that I barely registered his movement. He was suddenly closer, much closer, His voice, startled me when He asked for my name.
The sound jolted me back to myself. I quickly pulled my dress tight, ensuring I was fully covered, and turned my head away, pretending I hadn't heard him. I ignored him, predicting if I did, he would have to go away.