“I’m fine,” I muttered again, pushing past her into the tent. In the darkness of the tent, my head felt better. “Aeryn!” My mother cried, hurrying over to me and embracing me in a warm hug, “Come, sit.”
She indicated towards some thick rugs, layed out on the sand. Glittering silver plates were set in the middle, still glowing slightly from the Ritual.
All silver glows for a few days after being exposed to strong magic. Wincing slightly at my sore muscles, I sat down, opposite my coarse, quiet father. He did not open his eyes as I sat, his mouth moving faintly as he murmured quietly to himself. I tore my eyes away from him, watching my mother walk around the tent. She looked as young as me, except she had a few faint grey streaks in her hair. These were not due to her own age, but rather the shade of my father’s grey hair.
Sandwomen take on streaks of their lovers hair color, usually when they give away their sword. Following my thought, I stared at her sword, fastened securely at my father’s side.