Chapter Text
Her eyes were deeper than the sea, and a darker blue besides. Her hair was a more beautiful orange than the setting of the sun; words could not describe it, but Sunset was close enough.
They didn’t get names until they reached adulthood, so they made up names for each other. Often, one would stick within the village, but sometimes a name was a special bond between two youths, perhaps even a secret, if they managed to keep it that way. Most of the village called her Flower. Most of the village called him Extra.
But she was Sunset to him. And, in those rare moments when she could, she called him Breeze.
Life for the boy who thought of himself as Breeze - because she did - had never been easy. Born to a woman who was punished for conceiving him, denied all but the bare minimum for survival, he was an outcast in the only community he’d ever known, and it was by design. It was a small community, on an island with limited resources. They had chosen, generations ago, that they would plan having children as a community, and no exceptions would be allowed. This rule had almost never been violated.
Until Breeze’s mother, White Feather, had lain with a miqo’te from a visiting trade ship, gotten with child, and chosen to keep it a secret until the child was inevitable. She had been soundly rebuked and punished according to the community’s wisdom, but Breeze was born into the world anyway.
Everyone who lived on the island had tanned skin, sometimes skewing brown. But the tradesman had been of charcoal skin, and from the moment of Breeze’s birth, the truth of his origin was unavoidable.
Making it to twelve years old hadn’t been that much of a feat for Breeze; for most of the time until then, he’d been too young to care overmuch about his status as an “extra” - the other kids his age still played with him, and when he received the occasional kindness from adults, he never noticed that it was in secret.
But as he and his peers came into an age where their individuality began to assert itself, they all came to understand that Breeze was the only one who was different. Breeze learned how to resent it, and the others all learned how to let elevated status go to their heads. Other playful childhood names were supplanted by names like Extra and Burden and Waste. Invitations to play ceased. Any fun that included Breeze was at his expense.
Sunset was the only exception.
In this small community, it was hard for someone to go against the grain; Breeze didn’t fault her for not always speaking up in his defense when the group ganged up on him. He didn’t want her to get pummeled too. But he relished the feel of the cool, damp cloth she’d press to his bruises when they met up in the forest minutes afterward. He lived for the brief comfort of her hand in his, of her head on his shoulder, as he waited for the cuts and scrapes to scab over. His sustenance was not the food he foraged, but the smell of lilac and honeysuckle in her hair.
The first time she called him Breeze, she explained that it was because he moved so lightly through the world; his touch was gentle, his voice was soft, and he never hurt anyone.
It was, by malms, the kindest thing anyone had ever said to him. He’d wept gratefully.
When she asked what her name was, “Sunset” was across his lips so fast it shocked them both.
He’d stammered for a long time before managing to explain that it was because she was more beautiful than a sunset, but he didn’t know any words more beautiful than sunset.
Their brief, nervous kiss after these confessions was Breeze’s first ever, and would be his last for many years to come.
Three days later, it was Breeze’s thirteenth birthday. Cloud-Covers-Sun threw aside the curtain of Breeze’s tiny bedroom, grabbed the front of his sleeping tunic, and hauled him bodily out into the pre-dawn air. Carrying him inches above the ground, he walked to the edge of the village and dumped him into the brush where the forest began.
Breeze didn’t have time to think. He was barely awake, barely knew where he was, and was staring up at the man he hated most in a haze of sleep.
“You are three years from your name day, leech,” snarled the elder. “You will learn to be a soldier. You will enter the woods. You will not return until your name day. Return a moment sooner, and your life is forfeit. Go.”
The words hurt. But there was more pain to be had. As Breeze quickly scanned the witnesses nearby, his eyes fell on Sunset, standing with several other youths. The moment his eyes found hers, she looked away.
Suddenly, all those times she’d stood by as he was mocked and injured felt a little less forgivable. The tenderness she seemed to show him in secret lost its savor; what good was that, if she’d let a whole village treat him like dirt?
He’d understand, years later, how scary it must have been for her, a twelve year old girl, to consider standing up to the only family she’d ever known. He’d learn to forgive her.
But in that moment, his heart broke, and he simply stood, turned his back on the village, and walked away into the trees.
On his name day, he returned to the village. Cloud-Covers-Sun was standing right where he’d been three years prior. He did not allow Breeze - who no longer thought of himself as Breeze, because she did - to come closer than that same brush he’d been thrown into.
“We will wait for the sign,” the elder grumbled, not even making eye contact with Breeze, “and when you have your name you will leave, forever.”
Breeze looked past him into the village. His mother, White Feather, stood nearby, sobbing and wringing her hands. There were some others, but most were going about their business; they had no interest in the name of someone they’d never cared about before.
A flash of bright orange caught his eye, and he turned.
His heart leapt when he saw her. The years had dulled the hurt, and it seemed her beauty had only grown. And then he saw another teen, one of his worst tormentors, step up beside her and slip an arm around her waist. Everything inside him turned to ice.
He didn’t see her apologetic expression. Didn’t hear her starting to say his name. A group of birds flew over the village, and Cloud-Covers-Sun regarded them for a moment.
“Hm. Seven. Yes, that will do. You are Seven Eagles. You have your name. You are an adult. You are banished from this village, for ever. Go, be a soldier. Waste another land’s scant supply. Be a burden on us no longer, Seven Eagles.”
Cloud-Covers-Sun walked away without waiting for a reply.
Seven Eagles considered speaking. He considered attacking. He considered crying. But he was still just ice inside. So he spun on his heel and walked back into the forest.