Jimena felt as though she were flying whenever Kauyumari traveled. Its broad back kept her effortlessly comfortable, though her father seemed anything but. His face was pale as he clung tightly to the long, shimmering blue fur.
She was thrilled at the thought of meeting the Wixárika people. The deer had told her beautiful stories of them in a gentle, feminine tone—stories of songs, harvests, and shared fires. Then its voice would shift, growing deeper and more masculine as it spoke of battles and trials, of endurance carved into generations.
It was strange to hear its gender change so fluidly in her mind. Whenever she asked why, Kauyumari refused to answer. The deep pain behind that refusal reminded her of the look her father had carried after her mother's passing—raw, wordless grief. Seeing the same ache reflected in her spirit guide, she chose not to pry.
She swallowed the bitterness of her own memories, the sweetness that now hurt to recall.
"To many more!" she screamed into the evening sky, letting her pain spill out in a long, wild, "Woohoo!!"
Kauyumari answered in its own way. A powerful bellow rolled from its chest, filled with the sorrow she had glimpsed not long ago within its deep black pupil. The setting sun fused with the brown of its iris, tinting its gaze red—like eyes burning with grief.
Jimena leaned forward, pressing her face into the blue fur. She wrapped her arms around Kauyumari's massive back, trying to ease its sorrow however she could.
"I will help you with the villagers, young chosen."
A gentle voice spoke within her mind. A woman appeared—her face unseen, yet unmistakably maternal. She wore a long huipil of gold, woven with countless scenes of corn. White, red, and blue kernels shifted and glimmered as the woman approached. Jimena couldn't say what marked her as a motherly, only that she was. Life radiated from her—tender plants pushing through soil, communities thriving under shared skies. Her head full of the gorgeous and colorful scenes.
Sudden grief struck Jimena like a blow. A certainty filled her that these futures would never come to pass.
A wisp of broken divinity entered her body, flooding her with unbearable pain.
Her father's distant shouts and Kauyumari's concerned voice were the last things she heard.
Her dreams carried her back to a simpler time. A warmer one.
She had once felt deep agony whenever she visited this place before being chosen. Now, there was peace. She sat before a vast field of maize, watching as the plants grew slowly while the sun traced its path across the sky. The calm stirred the fire within her, making it move differently—less fierce, more alive.
It danced with a sense of life she didn't yet understand.
As the sun set in her dream, Jimena chuckled softly at the warm-fuzzy feeling in her chest.
Jimena awoke the next morning in an unfamiliar place. As two elderly women tended to her body, washing her skin with damp cloths while another chanted—or prayed—in an unknown language. Her mind tried to grasp the meaning, instinctively reaching for understanding, but failed. Each attempt sent a dull ache through her gem whenever she listened too deeply.
Xolo whined from within her gem. His form, cloaked in dancing flames that seemed to greet her, flaring and curling in agitation. He didn't appear injured—only annoyed by the new presence nestled on him.
Jimena dismissed him with a thought, but Xolo barked back in protest. He continued until she finally focused on the unfamiliar fire within her. It wiggled and bobbed gently, tugging at her lips and coaxing a smile from her despite herself. The reaction only irritating her spirit familiar further.
It was a long while before she felt well enough to speak. The thought crossed her mind—as it often did—that she always seemed to end up in situations like this. Still, she didn't regret anything, even if she didn't yet understand what had happened to her.
"Hello," she croaked.
The two women still left tending her snapped to attention at once, crying out in the same unfamiliar words she'd heard earlier. Anxiety fluttered in Jimena's chest—until a young girl entered the tent, holding a clay cup filled with water.
Jimena smiled at her as the girl helped her drink. The water was cool and delicious, spreading warmth through her weak, numb limbs. She choked slightly, and the girl's face tightened with worry, which eased only after Jimena nodded and smiled again.
The elders spoke sharply to the girl—scolding or instructing her—before she nodded, waved shyly at Jimena, and slipped out of the fur-lined tent.
Jimena tried to speak again, but one of the elders gently pressed a hand to her lips, easing her back into the warm bed of furs. They spoke softly to her and to one another, slowing their words once they realized she didn't understand.
Relief washed over Jimena when her father finally entered. The elders addressed him as well, but like her, he didn't understand. He simply nodded respectfully and bowed as they departed.
"How are you?" her father asked, kneeling beside her.
After some time—enough to reassure him and ease his worries—Jimena finally allowed herself to feel it.
Excitement.
Despite the pain and confusion, she felt the spark of adventure burning brightly within her.
Here is a lightly edited continuation of Chapter 86, keeping your voice and imagery intact while tightening flow, clarity, and emotional weight:
With a soft sigh at the sight of her excitement, her father began to explain how she had ended up there—what Kauyumari truly meant to the people of this land, and to the chosen, or shamans, as the Wixárika called them.
He leaned close to her ear and whispered, "They hate the gods here. Kauyumari warned me not to mention them unless asked."
Seeing the shock on her face, he continued, glancing around the tent as though checking for movement or listening ears beyond the furs. "From what little Kauyumari told me, these people have encountered the light gods before. I don't know what happened—but it would be best if we leave once you're well enough."
The unease in his voice gave her pause.
A tremor from her gem eased the worry trying to take root in her chest. Xolo, still sulking, refused to look at her. She left the grouchy dog alone and focused instead on the living golden fire curled atop his back.
Its wormlike movements felt almost like a greeting. Jimena responded instinctively, her own magenta flame rising to meet it. It swayed aggressively, flaring with confusion, its energy pressing close to the golden fire as though trying to consume it.
A feminine voice filled her mind once more, and the power behind it was overwhelming—far more than she could hold.
"papa! Papi..."
A much younger Jimena cried out to the wall of fog before her. Faces formed within it, calling back to her.
Some she recognized. Others she did not. None were her father.
Yet even without understanding their words, their meaning reached her all the same.
Welcome home, Tatei Niwetsika.