Whitewater Gorge The Door of Death is made of Gold

Where she was from, “watchers of stars” were viewed with both kind and mean eyes. Her parents, however, supported Agana’s every decision, and if she wanted to spend an eternity staring at the stars, then they would accept it.
 
A strange language she spoke; it was different than the Romanian she was used to. Golden gaze watched the pearl with interest; her culture was different than the ones she encountered before, and wanted to learn more about it. In a failed attempt, the woman tried to reproduce the strange phrase she heard, “sd- sdac? No, no, sdax? Yes?” silence, “Sdax – uku- what?” a laugh came out instead of words. Oh well.
 
A place that is no more; her expression suddenly went to blank; perhaps it was not a good idea to ask this. Her lips parted to apologize, but it was too late; Kukutux turned to take what seemed like.. a herb, before returning to her side. Agana’s gaze turned away from her, shamed of her imprudence. “I apologize.. I did not mean to open old wounds,” because she herself knew that old wounds may seem that they heal, but will always be there, as a memory, imprinted in mind for eternity.

“If you don’t mind, what plant is this?” Agana pointed with her nose the herb Kukutux held in her mouth.