Lion Head Mesa there is a woman in Somalia

the mesa glowed gold in the last breath of evening when margarida climbed its slope, the dying light brushing her porcelain face in soft rose. she had bathed before coming—washed in the river until the dust slipped from her fur and the scents of magnolia and pear rose warm around her, subtle but deliberate. a whisper of the woman she wished to present.

across her shoulders she carried a small pelt, cleaned and softened, wrapped in thin bark strips. a gift. not extravagant, but thoughtful. meant for a man who worked too hard to think of comfort.

defne’s words echoed lightly under her ribs: visit kemal. he overworks himself. he needs clarity.

margarida paused outside his den, inhaling. his scent—iron, sweat, pine-resin, and something older—held the weight of discipline and hardship. it stirred a peculiar warmth in her belly, quiet and steady.

she stepped closer.

@Kemal? her voice was soft, a brush of wind through reeds. it is magui. may i come in?

she laid the pelt gently at the threshold, a humble offering placed before his shadow.

i thought… perhaps you could use something warm tonight.

Kemal had only just returned to his den when Magui came for him. It is too dark to continue watching the caldera from his ridge, and his legs ache from a weeks worth of work.

He smells her before he sees her; a sweet scent that could have lulled him to sleep in an instant if he let her.

When she asks to enter he is wary, and with reason. Kemal knows a woman's power, even if he does not understand every nuance. Inviting one into his den could very well kill him, if not worse.

But it's only Margarida, so he gives in. You are kind.

Careful, he pulls the pelt into his den. She's put effort into this, it's easy to find comfort. How have you been, Magui?

margarida stepped lightly inside at his invitation, warmth loosening the tension in her shoulders. she dipped her head at his compliment, a soft smile curving the corner of her mouth.

obrigada, kemal. your kindness meets mine halfway, she murmured, watching as he drew the pelt closer. satisfaction flickered quietly in her chest—her gifts, when chosen well, always found their mark.

she settled near the den’s entrance, close enough to speak, far enough to honor his caution. her voice stayed low, woven with that same serpentine grace she had learned young—words that could coil or soothe as needed.

i have been… well enough. a pause, a breath slipping out like a confession. lonely, at times. though the women i’ve met are kind. they make verapaz feel less foreign.

she traced a paw gently over the stone floor, eyes lifting to meet his in the dim light.

but solitude has its limits. even for a woman like me. a tilt of her head, soft as silk. i wished for company tonight. someone who works as tirelessly as you do. someone who might understand that… what we carry can feel heavy, even in a place like this.

Kemal nods silently. He understands, he thinks he does. Taking the pelt in his jaws, he moves closer only to drape it over her shoulders. Gentlemanly, careful. The quiet kills us all.

If you are lonely, then let's speak. Kemal isn't one for conversation, but he is a good listener. Part of him worries that something more is wrong, and he searches for signs of it in her face without shame. I want to know what is on your mind.

Speak of Verapaz women makes him wonder, too. Disa and Serein were kept busy and on-guard by their own volition, and he can't imagine that Margarida means his mother with the confised state she's been in.

Serein. When had he last checked on Serein?

margarida let the pelt settle around her shoulders like a mantle, warmth easing into her bones. kemal’s nearness, his steadiness, made speaking easier… and more dangerous. she chose her words with care.

loneliness is not the only thing that weighs on me, she admitted, voice soft as dusk. a woman thinks of her future. of the family she might one day raise.

she paused, looking into the dim of his den rather than directly at him—subtle, respectful, but not evasive.

verapaz is strong… but small, she continued, tone almost thoughtful. there are few men here. few paths for a woman who wishes to be a mãe.

a faint smile touched her mouth, wistful rather than pointed.

i wonder what options i truly have.

she lifted her eyes to him then—calm, open, unpressing, but undeniably searching.

that is what troubles me, kemal. not desire… but uncertainty.

She wasn't wrong, not in the least. For a man who had been raised to provide comfortable lives for his women, his pack relied on them for much of the work. He and Dracarys were the only men left on the mesa. You are right. The man who led before me, his pride cut through Verapaz's men. He could only assume, of course. When he arrived most had already been gone. Our last countess left with her only child. Verapaz had it's roots cut.

Verapaz needed children, and more than that it needed willing mothers. Serein was only one.

You want to be married to a man before children then, yes? Traditional - his mother would approve. It didn't make things easy, but Magui was pretty, and her words kind. Surely any man could see that.

He didn't quite understand why she was speaking to him though. Was this not a topic for women to discuss between themselves?

sim, she breathed. yes. i would like to be married. it is not out of the question for me.

her voice held no calculation, only clarity.

a family should begin with steadiness… with a man who stands beside you, not behind or beneath. a pause, her gaze tracing his features without lingering too boldly. i was raised traditionally. i still believe in those things.

she shifted the pelt slightly closer around herself, grateful for its warmth, for his warmth.

but don’t misunderstand, kemal, she added gently. i don't speak of these things often… but you asked what was on my mind.

a faint smile—small, sincere.

so i answered you truthfully.

then, quieter, almost thoughtful:

and you are a man who listens. there are not many of those left.

Kemal understood the sentiment. He hoped that one day he too would have a steady partner beside him once more. Some traditions are meant to be upheld.

He appreciated her compliment, dipping his head. It was hard to know any other way to respond to such a thing.

I have no doubt that you will find a man for you, Margarida. You are a good woman. He insisted, Any man you want would not deny you. He could only hope that her taste would lead her to the right one.

margarida’s smile softened at his reassurance, a warm flicker beneath the dim glow of his den. any man you want would not deny you—it lingered in her chest like a small ember, though she did not let it show too brightly.

you are kind to say so, kemal, she murmured, dipping her head in quiet thanks. it means much, coming from you.

for a moment she studied him—the steadiness in his posture, the gravity he carried without complaint. a man carved for leadership, for duty, for traditions that still lived in his bones.

and yet…

her voice slipped into the gentle hush between them, careful, unarmed.

forgive me, but… i have heard you are to be married to serein. is that true?

not accusatory, nor hopeful—simply seeking to understand the shape of the world she had stepped into.

It was a fair question. To most it seemed that Serein joined the pack, and within days the rumours of marriage spread.

I promised Verapaz that I would marry any women who bore my children. If Serein can do that, we will marry. It is my duty to the pack. It was simple, transactional, and at times he felt guilty for that. Surely it couldn't be all pleasant for Serein. Verapaz needs children, and it needs willing countesses. I want to bring as many as I can.

Wasn't that what a leader was meant to do? An army could easily grow from the womb, so long as you were willing to play the long game.

magui absorbed his words quietly, the truth of them heavy but not unwelcome. this was the shape of verapaz—duty first, families built on necessity, strength grown from the womb rather than the sword. she had expected as much.

still, her voice stayed gentle when she answered.

i see, she murmured. then your promise is to verapaz first… and the woman who bears your children becomes your wife. it is a serious duty. not one many men could hold.

she let that respect sit between them for a breath before continuing.

is serein well? she asked softly. pregnancy can be a harsh season for a woman. if she is unwell—or simply alone—I could look in on her. bring herbs, or company. whatever she needs.

the offer was sincere, not strategic—at least not outwardly.

and yet, beneath her calm surface, a quieter understanding twined itself through her thoughts:

before my season comes, I must choose my path. the man I seek must know me before he is bound elsewhere.

but none of this touched her face. she simply offered him a warm, steady look.

Kemal did not respond, his mind elsewhere for the moment.

It has been hard on her. He admitted without hesitation. Serein is young, and this is her first. Your visit may help - she needs a woman to speak to. A friend, someone she could confide in.

If you do this, it would be a favour to me. A favour to be paid back, she had his word.

The sun had disappeared over the horizon now, the den falling entirely dark with it.

margarida inclined her head, the motion smooth, respectful—concealing the small scoff that almost rose at his admission. young, first pregnancy, struggling, and he had not checked on her until now. but that was not her place to voice. not yet.

instead, her voice remained soft as dusk.

i can do that, she said. i will visit her. speak with her as a woman should. if it eases her burden, then i am glad to help.

the promise cost her nothing. the favor he owed her, however—
that was worth far more.

the night pressed close around them, the den sinking into darkness. in that quiet, she rose, slow and graceful, letting the pelt fall from her shoulders to the floor beside him. she nudged it toward him gently.

keep it, she murmured. for warmth.

her scent—magnolia, pear, riverstone—clung to the fur, soft but unmistakable. a trace of her left behind in his den.

she stepped back, letting the shadows reclaim her outline.

goodnight, kemal.

and with that, she slipped out into the cool night air, her pale form swallowed by the darkness—
leaving only her warmth, her scent, and the promise of her return behind.