(through the eyes of Ribh Nivah)
She remained quiet. The others spoke. They laughed. The little one chattered. But Ribhia observed. She calculated.
She wore something that smelled like another body — a boy. Ji Ao. He looked at her too much. He averted his eyes like a recruit in front of a captain, but it was obvious: fear and fascination. The typical look of someone who had never seen a real predator.
The ARE instinct recited inside her mind: Arrogant. Reluctant. Selfish.
The smell... was different. Strange.
Not metallic, nor acrid, nor like dried blood. Not like the stench of decomposing jackal-men or the sweat of the northern cave wolves.
It was warm, full of boiled roots and something... sweet. Yes, it was sweet. Earthy. Warm.
Unknown.
Dangerous.
Strong.
She remained silent, as on the days she hunted among the white mist willows. Any wrong move was the end.
The others spoke. The little one laughed. The boy watched her as if she were a wounded beast, a vision too rare to approach — but close enough for fascination to be confused with fear.
The clothes she wore... belonged to a boy. They smelled of old leaves, dry clay, and skin. His name? Ji Ao Kao.
Too curious. Too distracted. The type who would die at the first attack from a real pack.
She listened. She heard everything.
The steps. The breaths. The hesitations.
And, as always, the old ARE instinct — Arrogant, Reluctant, and Selfish — pulsed. As always.
"They are useless, Nivah," it had said in another life. "Humans only bring trouble. Do not trust any of them."
Distrust. Keep your distance. Never yield. Never accept what is given without pain.
Arrogance to keep distance.
Reluctance to not open up.
Selfishness to survive.
"Hey, girl... are you okay?" someone murmured.
She did not answer.
She looked around like an animal awakening in enemy territory. Her fingers touched the Chi'ia Stone, fastened in leather on the necklace, resting against her chest. It was all that remained. All that was hers.
Dona Tarta — the matriarch. Intelligent. Resilient. Not trustworthy.
Dona Tarta approached. Her eyes were firm as rock, yet gentle. She placed a cloth over her and then a blouse. The gesture was... strange.
The clothes were tight on the shoulders but loose on the wrists and legs. She felt ridiculous. Vulnerable. Unacceptable. She wanted to punch, strike, anything.
But Dona Tarta covered the visible points of discomfort with such a gentle gesture that Ribhia did not know how to react.
To thank was weakness. To refuse was threat. She remained still, like on patrol in the Lower Thar'Laen Gorge, when the jackal-men pretended to lie among the ruins to attack at the slightest movement.
She did not know whether to attack or to thank.
Ribhia remained still, like when she waited for the wolf-men to smell the bait before the leap.
Ji Ao Kao... that boy... watched again.
Then came the girl, Nia, who saved her. Again.
"Look! You will like this. It is good! It is... carrot!"
She wanted to refuse, but Nia insisted.
"Look, you can eat this. It is pure vitamin!" said the girl, putting the carrots in front of her as if offering sacred weapons.
The smell penetrated her defenses. It was... familiar.
Not from war. From childhood? Or from an illusion created to protect her mind?
Carrots.
Bright orange.
Fiber and sweetness.
She almost agreed, without having the slightest idea what Nia meant.
The little one held the orange pieces as sacred offerings.
That color... reminded her of forest roots. The ones that grew in the cleanest corners of the mist.
She took them with her fingers. Not out of trust. By instinct.
And she ate.
Sweet. Crunchy. Real.
It was not poison. It was life.
Her hands moved on their own. Like when she hunted and tore raw meat.
She ate everything. Quickly.
Without manners. Without shame.
She devoured them as if on a forced march after the attack on the Ash Fortress, near the Kurath tribe, where there was only mud and bodies.
"I'm sorry... I was hungry and I did not know," she said, almost without thinking.
"Sorry..." she murmured, almost silently.
Sorry?
She never said that.
Not to fallen allies. Not to spilled blood.
But she said it.
And no one punished her for it.
"It is carrot, you know?!" Nia said proudly.
She never apologized.
Never.
Not to the dying.
Not to the commanders.
But there, with carrot on her palate, it was as if the armor cracked from the inside.
"It is real carrot! And princesses like it, you know?" said Nia, her eyes shining.
Princess?
She was not a princess.
She was a hunter.
The White Mist Hare. The terror of the wolves of the far Sabilaki, or Gray Marsh.
The one who crossed seven warring tribes, camouflaged and without the mask that gave her immense advantage.
The one who survived the ambush by Janckal's accomplices, the Jackal, in the village of Elekrall, leaving only bones and lamentations.
Princess? Not at all.
She was the White Mist Hare.
Shadow of the trees.
Blade among whispers.
The one the infamous Mallcon wolves of nearby tribes called White Action.
The one who crossed swamps with a steady bow, curved blades, and empty gaze... without fear.
But... now... she ate carrot.
With a cute child smiling at her.
"Okay... thank you very much," she whispered, again.
Dona Tarta prepared more food.
Dona Tarta, who observed everything with eagle-like attentive eyes at rest, went to the stove and prepared more.
A hot broth. A hot broth that brought memories of roots cooked with noca leaves — something her people used to celebrate the return of the living... and victorious.
The mist in the air made Ribhia's mind drift for a moment — like in childhood, before the attacks. Before almost everything turned gray.
She ate until her stomach hurt. And it embarrassed her.
Weak. Unarmed. Exposed the blind spot.
Then she ate everything even embarrassed.
Her stomach ached from being so full. But she did not stop.
She was hungry.
For food.
For peace.
At night, they placed her in a room.
Alone.
As she always had been.
But this time, not by force — but by care.
The boy, Ji Ao, was pushed to the sofa. She heard the muffled argument.
She thought she heard voices accusing her... from outside.
"Did you see the way she looks?"
"A wild animal. But Nia seems to like her..."
She understood.
Trust was not given — it was earned.
Even if what she heard was only a whisper, or an extension of her intertwined thoughts, which no longer allowed her to distinguish what she should do, how she should act... or not.
Alone in the room, she removed the mask for a moment and looked at herself in the mirror.
The thin face, scarred on one side, the eyes tense, but alive.
A white strand of fur hung over her hare ears.
She sat in the corner.
Touched the Chi'ia Stone.
Felt the ancient warmth. The pulse of something the forest had left inside her.
In the mist, names are weapons.
But there, she would use another.
She whispered, eyes closed:
"Ribh... Bia... Niva..."
But she allowed herself something lighter, in case someone asked her name.
And, acting:
"You can call me... Ribhia. For now."
Thus began the performance.
But only Nia...
That little girl who disarmed her ARE instinct and her cold rules...
Perhaps one day she would know the true White Mist Hare.
But not today.
She touched her belly with both hands.
Closed her eyes.
Se quiser, posso refinar essa tradução para soar ainda mais literária em inglês, mantendo toda a tensão e lirismo do original.
Quer que eu faça isso também?