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Dotharl Khaa is colder at night than Mol Iloh, but warmer when the light of dawn thinks to grace it with its presence. Cirina stands outside one yurt by the springs, breathing in the fresh morning air. The analas slither across the sands, soaking in the sun and spitting fire while manzasiri lumber along carelessly. Cirina thinks of her bow - the gods were not fond of guiding the Mol this far west of the steppe, where dangerous beasts were teeming among the lifeless ground.
She watches the sun slowly crawl into the sky, its rays reflecting off the white sand when it peers over the horizon. Dawn always made her feel at ease; it was a sign the gods had smiled upon them and delivered them another day. Cirina’s hands clasp together, recounting a prayer on her lips as the sun rises. She prays for safety, for guidance, for peace… at least, until a head of pale hair rests itself on her shoulder.
“It's far too early to be praying to your ancestors.” Sadu grumbles near one of her horns, tugging the Mol closer with an arm around her hip.
Cirina receives her embrace with a small smile. “Good morning to you, too.”
“Come back to bed. Today is a day of rest.” Sadu pauses to yawn. “Shar knows you are here, as do others. They’ll not disturb us.”
Though it was her own personal tradition, the Mol cannot deny she feels a little exposed, praying on unfamiliar grounds in the still morning. Cirina follows her back into the yurt, then discards her thick coat. Sadu is already waiting for her with the promise of decadent rest, her white hair tangled from the night before.
“I wasn't praying to my ancestors, I was praying to the gods.” Cirina says as she settles back into Sadu’s collection of soft pelts and wool blankets.
“Oh? And what do your gods say about this, sleeping with a Dotharl in her yurt?” Sadu’s grin is visible even in the darkness.
“Well… they bade me visit you the once, and have yet to steer me away from it.” Cirina shifts closer as the other woman breathes a laugh.
Temulun udgan had told her to seek peace with the Dotharl after the Naadam, so she set off on her yol towards the Nhaama Desert. She expected to be received with suspicion or contempt when she landed outside Dotharl khaa on her feathered mount - what she didn't expect was to be greeted by Sadu khatun herself, who was smitten with her skill during their fateful battle.
“You should stay. Become my wife, and bless my people with your wondrous cooking.” Sadu buries her nose in Cirina’s unkempt hair, humming as she plants a kiss to her temple.
“If it's food you want, I can teach your people how to cook. A Mol would feel out of place staying here, among your great warriors.” They had been surprisingly taken with her first offering of buuz, always asking she bring more the next time she visited. Cirina didn't mind, pleased that her cooking could satisfy even the fearsome Dotharl. The beasts from a Dotharli hunt were larger than what she normally used, and the children were as eager to help her envelop the meat into dumpling skins as they were to duel one another. All of it was familiar yet unfamiliar, without the gods’ whispers through an udgan’s gentle voice.
Sadu lets out a sudden bark of laughter. “Hah! That is dzo dung if I’ve ever heard it. My little lamb, you were absolutely striking at the Nadaam. And though you are far from a Dotharl, I thought you akin to the visage of Nhaama bearing a bow, her aim savage and true.”
Sadu often enjoyed recounting their first brush, even if Cirina had been too focused on nocking arrows to properly notice the khatun during the Naadam. Though, perhaps that wasn't entirely the case - she and a handful of Mol had been caught in a glorious shower of flame when Sadu waved her staff, one that captivated her like falling stars before she remembered the sacred soil at her feet. Though Mol hold no love for war, something in her chest stirred at the sight. It still made a shiver course through her to recall the memory.
“You are of soft words, but words do not make the warrior. You should know that much from our khagan and that fool who sits atop the Dawn Throne.” Sadu’s cerulean gaze is like smoldering embers, the very same that she glimpsed in the heat of the Naadam. Cirina cannot tear her eyes away. “The soul does. And your soul burns brightly - I should hope you are reborn Dotharli in your next life.”
The sentiment makes Cirina’s lips curve upwards wryly, even under her growing blush. “Or perhaps you should curry favor with the elder gods and be born a Mol.”
“I doubt I could stand such a peaceful life.” Sadu scoffs, throwing an arm around the other au ra and tangling their legs. Cirina feels Sadu’s hand at her hip, her fingers idly stroking circles at the patch of scales there.
“Even if I were to stay, the part of my heart I have not shared with you belongs to my people. We may be allies for the day, but by the morrow, I’m sure we’ll find our differences too great.” Though the bittersweet words pass her lips, she leans into Sadu’s touch, intent on remembering it no matter how fleeting it may become.
“That saying only pertains to comrades of war. It is not meant to be used for lovers.” Sadu says the statement with a sharp finality that is either sage or stubborn. Cirina cannot shrink away from her intensity given their current position. She fixes on Sadu’s collarbone instead of meeting her face.
Sadu’s tone is softer when she next speaks. “I am the same as you. I must be here for my people and lead them to another day. But there are several among us who hold ties to other tribes. Some have found their kith and kin in other Xaela when their souls lost sight of Nhaama’s guiding light.”
Cirina remembers one Dotharl guard looking wistfully in the direction of the Uyagir, his eyes guarded but fond, like he longed to be with family in the rocky caverns.
“I didn't know that was possible,” Cirina says with muted amazement.
“It happens more often than you think. Others have found kindred spirits that have touched the very core of their being, more than those in lives before.”
Cirina always thought the Dotharl kept to themselves in their strange, violent ways. But hearing Sadu speak of scattered souls and fate across lives is romantic, almost. Rarely did the Mol treat with tribes known for their ferocity - Cirina supposes it was naive of her to think they did not possess dreams and beliefs like their own.
“Even one of our most promising warriors - Mauci - he has been courting a frail Oronir man for the past two moons now. He still thinks I do not know, but a khatun’s eye is ever watchful.” The mischief in Sadu’s expression is evident as she shares her clansman’s secret. “I do not condemn them for it. Only a Dotharl may know what lies in their soul.”
“And what lies in your soul?” Cirina asks. Just what lay in her soul to drive her to take a meek Mol for a lover?
Sadu is silent, her mirth slowly waning. She then guides Cirina’s hand to rest over the dip of her breasts - the skin is soft and warm, and when Sadu speaks, Cirina can feel the vibrations under her palm. “Sadu’s soul is like fire. At times it burns for battle, for glory, and still for things I do not fully understand. I have been weaned on stories of my past triumphs since I was but a babe, but to be Sadu is entirely different.”
Sadu sighs and Cirina feels her chest rise and fall, encompassing the burden of three lives past. “To carve new experiences bearing this soul is my duty, to ensure that it finds its way back to the Dotharl after the flesh falls in battle, to carry on its desires… and such desires include being with you.”
For a moment, Cirina thinks she can feel the flicker of Sadu’s spirit underneath her touch - then it fades, and it's just the two of them entangled in the bed.
“Stay with me. For the day, at least.” She says. Cirina removes her hand and is fascinated by the way the other’s gaze is calm and deep, like the clear water of Azim khaat.
“...I suppose I’ll have to.” Cirina says finally. “And besides, my yol seems to have taken a liking to yours.” She didn't want to pull the beast away while it was roosting with its new companion.
“Yol or no, my soul has gone through three lives to meet you.” Sadu brings the other Xaela closer as she sinks under the covers, letting her tail wrap around her legs. “I’m not letting you out of this bed even if you beg at the feet of your gods.”
“I will welcome it, then.” She leans over and kisses Sadu with a featherlight brush of her lips, relishing the satisfied hum that it draws from the Dotharl before they're taken by sleep.