Saha had finished shedding her skin. Dry, delicate, paper-thin pieces of what used to be parts of her lay in a neat pile on the floor: a whole translucent mould of an arm, or an ear, or a toe, was stacked with short and long strips that had fallen off on their own or had been scrapped off with the help of a smooth pebble. She had been cooped up in the small room, cheaply that the wanderer could afford in Blue Tavern, for almost a week. Her body had conserved its energy by lulling her to sleep for days and nights, only to wake when her skin itched, without food or drink; now, recuperated and with vision restored, Saha could feel her mouth parched and cracked lips, her stomach grumbled, although, with a look down and feel of her body, she had hardly lost weight. 

She folded up the pile in a piece of cloth to be burned in the forest and put on her light armour. The leather felt a little tight and uncomfortable on her soft skin and etched in more when she moved, but she ignored it knowing her body would toughen up in a few days to its usual self. 

The bedroom tidied, Saha opened the door and stepped out of its enchantment that had been affording her peace and silence and, being sensitive, was struck by the overwhelming odours and aggressive music that had stalked upstairs. Her breathing quickened. There was pipe smoke, rare meat that excited her, strong magic, a multitude of folks from different places, animals, blood and ale - worst of all, she felt stirred to whip out her sword and dance as if she was in a fierce fight. Saha relaxed her grip on the hilt and muttered a spell. A breeze cleared the way and her head. She hurried downstairs, she could feel the bardic influence returning. 

“Bernard!” she called out with nary a glance at the numerous patrons on her way to the front door. “Six for me please! Rare! Put it on my tab, I’ll be back in a bit.” 

The door shut behind her; the guitar was muffled to a quieter sound that let her fully regain control of her senses and Saha found herself interjected into company.

“Good morning, Kat and Hel,” she greeted, and to the stranger, held her left palm to her chest in accordance to polite Naga custom. “Sorry I had to stay away for a while, I had a private matter that needed my attention.” Saha looked at Hel in the eye, as if addressing him, too, as an equal, and continued saying to them both, “I’ll be having breakfast soon, with enough to share, perhaps you’d like to join me.”

Saha excused herself from the trio and walked down the beaten path. The sunlight warmed her skin, a delicious sensation she had missed, and she focused on the fresh air that brought scents of morning dew, grass and dirt from the surrounding forest. It was a short stroll into the woods, the damp ground, brown and green with leaves, under the protection of the tall trees, held an intimacy that felt like home. 

She found a good spot by a fallen log and stilled with her mouth open to breathe in and sense if there was anyone nearby; then she gathered some twigs and cast a spell to start a fire. The Naga untied the pouch she had been carrying in one hand and carefully laid it on top of the flames. It consumed the gift in whole. “Saha’le arimay aksatelaikum,” she gave thanks in her native tongue, for the experiences life had bestowed upon her, for the joys, pains and regrets, for another beginning now was she wiser; then Saha covered the fire with dirt to complete the ritual.