Sancha: A Spirit Animals Story

Tarik

When Sancha awoke the next morning, the first thing she noticed was the distant whispers that seemed to be coming from outside. Groggily, she opened her eyes, rubbing away sleep and trying to get the stiffness out of her limbs. She had a vague recollection of a dream: light, sipping something sweet, a seal...it felt fuzzy now. 

AT first, nothing seemed off. Ola wasn't in the hut, but Sancha didn't mind. Part of her longed for solitude. It wasn't until she was more or less awake that Sancha took notice of a large gray shape lying near her feet. The shape moved, rolling over, and Sancha stared blankly at the seal's round eyes.

So...it wasn't a dream.

Sancha hesitated. She stared at her spirit animal. The seal stared back, a curious, perhaps concerned expression, set securely in her eyes. Several long moments passed. Neither girl nor animal moved more than a slight bit, and Sancha felt as if the paralysis that came over her following her sampling the nectar had returned once more. 

At last, the seal let out a sound that was half bark half whimper. Sancha looked about, figuring that perhaps her animal was hungry. Her animal. Part of her couldn't bring herself to refer to the spotted seal as such. She had dreaded the day she would summon an animal. Now she had, but there was no chance for the sickness to take hold of her, thanks to the greencloaks' nectar. Recalling the sickeningly sugary taste, Sancha grimaced.  

She eventually found a pouch of salted herring, and offered handful of its contents to the seal, who sniffed at and them promptly gobbled up the little silver fish. The seal's lips and tongue tickled Sancha's palm, and she giggled faintly at the sensation. Once finished with this set of morsels, the seal looked at Sancha as if expecting further offerings.

"You want more?" Sancha asked, amused. "Well, I suppose there's enough to go around." It occured to her at the moment that she hadn't asked the permission of her host before offering the herring to the seal, but Sancha figured that the animal would likely have sniffed out and eaten the fish of her own accord if Sancha herself hadn't offered it to her.

The hungry animal devoured several more handfuls of herring before rolling onto her back, her flippers resting on her stomach, a look of self satisfaction present on her face. It was such a human-like image that Sancha wondered if the seal was really a seal at all. 

She had forgotten her fears and anxiety for a time, but then she caught hints of the whispering outside, and was drawn back from her thoughts.

"...know. I can't tell what she is. Not Niloan of Zhongese. Maybe Amayan or Euran, but I'm not confident that she's either of those either."

This was Ola. Sancha recognized her voice immediately.

"If you would allow me to speak to her, perhaps this can be sorted out," an unfamiliar male voice replied. Sancha tensed. Her first instinct was to run and not look back, but another instinct to stay and stand her ground emerged just as quickly and with just as much force, battling with the first instinct for control. Sancha didn't blink once as she waited. Footsteps in the sandy soil outside faintly sounded before Ola entered followed by who Sancha presumed was the man Ola had been conversing with.

He had dark skin and darker hair, and was tall, so tall that he had slouch a bit so as not to hit his head on the hut roof. He had wide shoulders and intense dark eyes that were both serious yet also not unkind. Her was dressed in worn leather with an even further worn green cloak draped across his shoulders and running down behind him. A faint glimpse of his arm reveal a tattoo, though Sancha wasn't able to get a good enough look at it to tell what the man's animal partner was. She tensed, knowing that this man, a greencloak, if he found out who she was, might be the greatest danger she faced. He did not look like someone to be messed with, not someone she could outrun easily if she tried. The curved sword that hung from the belt at his waist further cautioned Sanch from any foolish attempts to flee. He stood not too far from the entrance. Was this deliberate, or just by chance? Either way, Sancha felt utterly encased and trapped.

The man stared with an unwavering, neutral gaze at her and then at the animal beside her. His brow furrowed in thought, before he spoke calmly and evenly.

"Ola tells me you've come from far away, not having had your nectar. Are you lost?" 

Sancha shook her head. Not lost. Just exiled.

"Is there anyone we can send a messenger to? Anyone who would want to come retrieve you."

Sancha shook her head, but truthfully, she didn't know. She had no way of knowing if anyone she'd loved or known was looking for her, or if they even cared enough to do so. Zerif probably made it look like she was dead. And besides, she doubted the greencloaks would help return her to her homeland. They'd prefer to keep her prisoner, perhaps have her as leverage against her uncle and family. 

"I am Tarik," the man told her, perhaps sensing her apprehension, and hoping that introductions might make her feel more at ease. "What are you called?"

The former Stetriolan princess swallowed, before she whispered in a low voice:

"My mother named me Sancha."

"Sancha," the man, Tarik, repeated. His brow seemed to furrow as if the name was elsewhere known to him. He sighed. "I fear you aren't safe here, Sancha. Not for long at any rate."

Sancha's eyebrows raised in confusion.

"I mean you no harm," Tarik tried to assure her. "But there are those who  want to take advantage of the young marked like yourself. I know those who can help you."

"The last person who claimed I was in danger and claimed they would help me murdered my father and chased me from my home. Why should I believe you?"

"I wish I could answer that," Tarik replied sadly. He seemed to ponder something for a moment before speaking again. "This man who killed your father? Who is he?"

"Zerif," Sancha replied. "That's what he told us at least." She was not afraid to divulge this information, as Zerif was as much her enemy as he was the world's. If the green cloaks wanted to take care of him, she wouldn't stop them. If anything, she'd be happy to lend a hand in the effort. 

"Zerif," Tarik repeated. "Are you sure that is his name?"

"Again, it's what he told us," Sancha replied. "He could have been lying but I don't know. Do you know of him?"

Tarik nodded. 

"We don't know much, but what we have heard is alarming to say the least."

"I don't doubt it," Sancha responded. "He's a monster."

"From what you've said, I cannot argue with you on that," Tarik agreed. "This is unsettling news." He paused. "Sancha...you may be in more danger than you think. And we...the greencloaks...we may need your help."

"How do I know you won't steal my freedom from me?" Sancha retorted.

"If you mean taking the cloak, that's not a requirement. That is purely up to you."

"If I give you what you need, will I be allowed to leave and never bothered again by your comrades?"

"You will not be a prisoner," Tarik assured her. "But if you choose to depart, we will not be able to protect you."

"I don't need protection," Sancha snapped. 

"I certainly hope that's true," Tarik said. "In any case, we are not at that point just yet. Right now, we...I am asking for your help. And if you let us...we may be able be able to help you. And your partner."

Sancha briefly fixed her eyes on the spotted seal that had now scooted to her human partner's side and was looking up at her with worried black eyes. This worry seemed to change to something else. Sancha couldn't quite place a label to it. Assurance, perhaps? Conviction?

Sancha understood perfectly what the animal was attempting to tell her, but it only made her feel more sorry for the seal. She was a beautiful animal. She deserved a partner who would adore and respect her. Not one who was unable to erase the reminders that a spirit animal bond brought with it. One that could hardly look at her partner without feeling guilt and pain.

Maybe she won't be so lonely. She won't have to put up with me all hours of the day.

"Fine. On one condition. I get to help deal with Zerif. Personally."

"That's not up to me, I'm afraid," Tarik informed. "But we will see what can be done."