Sancha: A Spirit Animals Story

Nightmare

Sancha couldn't sleep. She stared out the porthole of her tiny cabin, aimlessly watching the churning blue waves outside. It was not long before daybreak, and Sancha could see the sky as a dark purple expanse with fading flickers of starlight visible. To her, it looked like an old bruise yet to heal.

Beneath her hammock, the soft breathing of her seal spirit animal could be heard. Sancha wondered if the animal dreamed. She hoped it was of something more pleasant than what she herself had dreamt of in the recent days: her family.

At times her dreams were horrific throughout. She saw flashes of her father's death at the hands of Zerif's jackal. She saw Drina writhing in her sickbed, clawing the sheets till they tore and her own face until she drew blood, with the many eyes of Iskos watching Sancha with malice and contempt. She saw Shane running along the shore, calling her name in despair, before Zerif pushed into the sea after which a shadowy creature Sancha couldn't see would snatch him and swallow him whole. 

But some of her worst dreams were ones that started off less painful, only to be revealed as deceptive, hiding worse suffering for her. These dreams were of her mother, a woman whom Sancha was said to greatly resemble in both face and character. Sancha had been incredibly close to her, and even at the darkest of times, her mother strove to bring joy and raise her children's spirits. But despite all her effort, she was unable to overcome the bonding sickness. Sancha had been only nine years old when her mother passed. It left her broken and if not for her brother's comfort and shared grief, Sancha was sure she'd have become as hollow a husk of a person as her father would later be shortly before he too died.

In her dreams, Sancha's mother would be walking with her and her brother, or showing her plants in the gardens, or pointing out the stars in the sky. Sancha was brought back to some of her happiest memories and she longed to never wake. But then the joyful scenes were broken abruptly and she saw her mother writhing on the floor much like Drina often had. Sancha could hear the screams, even when she feebly attempted to block them out of her ears. 

Sancha had always known she was destined for the same suffering. And yet, by the strangest twist of fate, she had been only one to escape it entirely. And for this, unfathomable guilt weighed heavily on her. How was it fair that she was safe while thousands more, people she knew and loved had to suffer? She knew they were getting closer and closer to Greenhaven, the central keep of the people Sancha held responsible for her nation's misfortunes. She would meet the leaders. She wanted to look them in the eye and ask them how they could sleep at night while so many suffered because of their cruelty. 

But she tried not to let her anger show now. Especially in front of those who's company she kept on the boat. Tarik, though a Greencloak, was kind to her. He never showed hurt when she criticized his comrades in green, and seemed to try to be understanding as much as he could be, though that was certainly a gargantuan task for him. Though she wasn't anywhere near ready to admit it, she liked him. She did so partly because she wanted to like someone in this new world she'd found herself in. It made her almost feel less lonely, and he seemed to be more sympathetic to her than others might be. She might even go as far as to hope for him as her ally. An ally among the Greencloaks might not be so bad. Maybe they'd leave her alone for the most part. Tarik reinforced multiple times the need to ensure her protection, but also seemed to understand that it would be wrong to smother her. Space would do her a good deal of good, but he didn't believe she could fare well on her own, and frankly, Sancha didn't think she could either.

She must have fallen asleep without realizing, because she was abruptly spooked out of a horrible dream that sent her falling to the floor of her cabin with a thud. Sancha, groggy and annoyed at the pain, yet also recovering from this new nightmare, sucked in long breaths, and dried not to tense up. She laid on the floor for a while before she felt a slight tickle against her forearm. The seal was awake, probably thanks to the commotion, and pressing her nose and whiskers against her partner's soft skin. Sancha's eyes adjusted enough for her to see the animal in the dark of the cabin and before she knew it, she had begun to cry. The seal scooted closer, and Sancha did not resist the urge to roll onto her stomach, wrap her arms around the seal's neck, and bury her face in the soft silver and black spotted fur. The seal didn't seem to mind the tears soaking her coat or how tightly Sancha's arms were gripping her. She relaxed into the embrace, resting her head on Sancha's shoulder, silent but for her soft breaths. 

"Why?"

The question left Sancha's mouth without her realizing it. It was less a single question and more a combination of a great many questions. Why comfort me? Why do this after having been kept distant for so long? Why tolerate me?

The seal was as silent as ever, but pressed her snout more into Sancha's neck, her fore flippers coming to rest by the girl's ribs, faintly brushing them. It spoke volumes.