A cool breeze slipped through the open window, rattling the thin palm‐thatched shutters. I lay curled on my cot, pajamas damp against my skin from the humid day, but shivers traveled down my spine as moonlight drifted across the floor. From outside, the wind murmured—the same restless voice that had guided the Sage to me—and it sounded less friendly now, like a warning in hushed tones.
I pressed my blankets tighter, trying to block out the night sounds, but in my mind, the memory of swirling dust and chaos from earlier still flickered. My heart pounded with each gust of wind, as though the very air around me might gather into another dangerous storm the moment I let my guard down.
"Hey, stop tossing," a soft voice whispered beside me. My sister, Zahra, leaned in, brushing stray curls from my face. "You've been muttering all night."
I swallowed, blinking to clear the fog of half‐dreams. "I… I'm okay," I mumbled, though my voice wavered. "It's just… the wind keeps talking to me."
She settled onto the edge of my cot, tucking her legs beneath her. "Wind talks to everyone, silly. It sings to the trees and hums to the waves. You're just… listening harder."
I let out a shaky breath. "But what if it demands something I can't give? What if it… hurts people?"
Zahra stroked my hair with gentle fingers. "You did good today, little storm. You saved Musa and helped the caravan. You learned to be gentle." She paused, glancing at the open window where moonlight spilled into the room, making the wooden beams glow silver. "Here."
She began to hum—a lullaby Mother had taught her when she was small. Zahra's voice was soft and unsteady at first, then settled into a comforting rhythm:
"When the tempest roars, be the calm within,Stir the winds with care, let your heart begin,Not to shatter storms, but to guide their song,For a hero's gift is knowing where they belong."
I closed my eyes, imaginations of leaf‐shaped breezes floating in my head. The lullaby's melody reminded me of the first time I felt a gentle swirl under my palms—when I learned that wind could be soft, like a mother's hand brushing away tears.
Outside, the wind replied, rustling through coconut fronds and making their shadows dance across the floor. Each shadow seemed to twist and stretch, like a ghostly audience to Zahra's lullaby. I hugged my knees to my chest, grateful for the warmth of her presence.
After a few lines, her song trailed off into a hum. She stayed beside me, silent, letting the lines echo in the nighttime hush. The world felt enormous and alive with unknowns, but her closeness anchored me.
I turned my head slightly, glimpsing a sliver of silver light where the window stood ajar. I caught sight of my medallion—a small charm Mother tied around my neck when I first came home from the Sage's arrival. The metal surface gleamed in the moonbeams, etched with a simple swirl that resembled a tiny cyclone.
As I watched, the medallion trembled, vibrating with a soft hum that only I could sense. It was as though it shared my heartbeat, echoing the wind's restless chorus even in sleep.
My breath caught. Was it waking? Was my inner current restless again? I tried to pull back, to bury the image of swirling storms in my mind, but curiosity trailed like a soft echo.
Zahra's hand found mine. "It's just the wind saying hello," she whispered. "It knows you're listening. Close your eyes."
I nodded, letting her fingers wrap around mine. The medallion's humming eased, settling into a gentle vibration—like a familiar pulse. The wind, instead of slashing through the shutters, seemed to fold into itself, offering a lullaby of its own.
In the wavering light, I drifted between half‐sleep and wakefulness. The last thing I felt was Zahra's lullaby guiding me into dreams, her voice mingling with the wind's soft sighs.
Tomorrow, I told myself, I would rise again and practice letting the wind breathe where it wanted—no more, no less. Tonight, though, I surrendered to the hush, trusting that the Gale Sage's lessons and my sister's song would keep me safe in the gathering dark.