Lyra stirred from a deep sleep. Her eyelids fluttered open.
She pressed a hand gently to her head, as if by touch she could ease the heavy weight pressing behind her temples.
She tried to sit up, but her body felt unsteady.
A pair of hands caught her. One on her shoulder, the other steadying her arm helping her ease into a sitting position.
Lyra glanced up and saw that it was the chief wife. She placed a pillow behind Lyra's back for support and handed her a glass of plain water.
She spoke gently in her own language, pointing to Lyra's hands.
Lyra frowned and raised one hand, staring at the intricate floral patterns drawn across her skin in brown ink.
"What is this?" she asked softly.
The woman pointed to a nearby bowl, then to a cluster of green leaves beside it.
"This pattern… from these leaves?" Lyra asked, gesturing between the bowl, the leaves, and her hand.
The woman nodded.
