Dhanurana

Chapter 27: Tears

***

The group made their way slowly through the night with Dhanur taking each step gingerly as Brachen tried to make her lean over his shoulder despite her protests. Eventually, Brachen grabbed his daughter and pulled her arm over him. Dhanur had stopped cold, glaring at her father with a seething anger Janurana had yet to see. Dekha had since ceased fidgeting at the spirits on the walls, listening when Dhanur told him it was alright, but she made even him step back.

"I'm. Fine." The words fell from her mouth and landed on Brachen's ears like falling stones.

He tried to match her glare, but threw up his hands. "Fine. You're fine. By the Rays, Zirisa."

"Dhanur."

"A father just tries to help his daughter!"

"You're not m—" She stopped before saying something she would regret and continued to the inn.

It wasn't far from the gate, only a few houses deep. It was situated on the main way through the city, which linked the gate to the jungle beyond and was wide enough for an entire army to march through either way, regardless of the refugees clogging both sides. The inn was one of the few buildings still lit, even with Dhanur's screaming echoing through the city. When they arrived, Brachen leaned on Dekha's bags. His exhaustion finally caught up with him since they weren't in immediate danger anymore with lungs burning and his bones screaming for a bed.

"Please, say you stole your armor if anyone asks," he said.

"Fine." She turned to storm inside.

"Wait, wait. Dhanur. Say Ku oru tumven. Per mu." Brachen spoke the northern as slow as he could. "I want a room, three people."

After she left, he glanced at Janurana who had procured her parasol and held it close. "Better a northern woman ask." His tone was flat and Janurana only nodded. "If either of us did we'd be wandering the whole night."

"Oh, yes." She struggled to find the right words. With Dhanur gone, the lingering odor of garlic under her bandage faded and Janurana was assaulted by the northern city's olfactory noise of sugar, fruit, and jungle plants. "That makes sense. What I was going to ask is if I could, maybe, find some help for you? F-for your hand. You haven't used it and it has become quite swollen. I am at fault so... I want to do something."

As Dhanur loudly and angrily repeated her northern words like an obvious foreigner to the sleepy innkeeper, Janurana avoided Brachen's solemn gaze. He sighed and looked away.

"There is nothing you can do for me right now."

"I'm sorry." She understood his unspoken request, his calm quiet.

"You, are not, your mother. So, thank you," Brachen said.

Again, Janurana wasn't sure who he was convincing.

"The Light shines on us all, even if we don't accept it."

Dhanur reappeared, eyes on Brachen alone. "It's the last room on the right."

"Dhanur." Brachen scolded and held the inn door for her with one foot inside both it and the still burning firelight. "Go inside, Janurana. We'll be in. Oh, and leave your parasol. They're already barely fond of me, best not to give them something else to see."

Janurana fidgeted, looking between the two, then down to her parasol. It looked back up at her, staring with its new single, tiny, almost imperceptible crack. She dared to run her finger over it. Somehow, it felt exactly like the patches on her sari. She hurriedly, and as tenderly as possible, slotted her parasol into Dekha's bags before bowing and heading inside.