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Verdant winds rolled off the rough waves, up the La Noscean cliffs and through the blades of swaying, bountiful wheat in the valley. The large red windmills turned in sync as its long time lover cut through the fabrics with ease, spinning its design romantically.
The bustling of Red Rooster Stead was ever frequent today, merchants traveled out of the city to them for once, seeking well harvested goods that were ripe in the month of the 6th astral moon.
“Stupid man!” A woman roared whilst delivering a hard elbow to a highlander’s hip.
“I told you that the crates of corn are ‘ta be delivered ‘ta Limsa! Not sold here! We were promised good Gil for it and now you went and sold it for less! Tch.”
The woman’s voice errupted in the quiet Stead’s small kitchen area, other workers turned their heads to look at the couple— though in a second— they turned away, used to this sort of thing happening by now when it came to them.
“AGH! Sinopa! I didn’t sell the corn,” exclaimed the man whilst he rubbed his aching side, “I stocked the crates on Bayek and Sabir to take tomorrow! I only just sold a couple of potatoes and squash to Nohsa down at the docks!”
“Oh,” Sinopa grumbled, furrowing her brow and folding her arms atop her large baby bump, “Sorry then, Kuruk,” she sighs, visibly exhausted. “I must’ve saw wrong… Minya’s been kicking all day and I am beat from today’s sales.”
“How do you even know it’s ‘Minya’ in there? It /could/ be Malik,” the mint haired highlander walked closer to his wife, a hand placed gently at the center of her stomach.
This left the red head annoyed, her expressions faded from tired and vulnerable to nothing but cold distaste; a brow twitched at his confident mention of a name she sorely disliked.
“Because /I know/, and besides, she’s got her mother’s arm… she’s been beating my abdomen all damn day with it.”
“BAHAHAHA!” Kuruk’s booming laugh ricochet off the walls of the tavern, his head flung back and his large shoulders jumped enthusiastically. “Atta’lass, she’ll be a Kanza yet! Especially if she’s already given’ya so much trouble,” he winks playfully and she groans.
A soft hand rubs atop a larger, more rougher one, their sandy skin complementing each other beautifully— for a moment— till Sinopa gasps and rips her palm away. Cupping her mouth, she turns away and allows a violent cough to errupt from her esophagus.
She cannot seem to stop the coughing, it continues— and the more it does— the more it’s rattle resembles a snake.
A steady palm is placed upon her heaving back; a cup filled to the brim with water hovers in front of her. Sinopa’s shaken hand reaches for it, and Kuruk does not let go till she is able to catch her breath.
“Mmhh, thank… you,” she croaks as she begins to sip the cool liquid slowly, allowing it to soothe her irritated throat.
“Have you taken your medicine today?” Kuruk questions whilst sweeping her fire red hair over one of her shoulders.
“Aye, I never forget, guess it’s just from over workin’ is all,” she gifts him a simpering smile a sweet kiss to the cheek as reassurance. “I just… need ‘ta lay down is all, take me home, yeah?”
Quickly swiping her bloody palm against her brown dress, Sinopa extends it now to Kuruk who takes her by the arm, holding her sweetly in the crook of his elbow.
Their feet carry them down the steep hills of the Stead, they bid their workers a good night before leaving them to lock up the tavern and secure any goods harvested inside it.
Obsidian crickets chirp hidden in the emerald blades, Nesting Buzzard’s squawk in the small trees and the distant groans of Goobbue’s echo through the starlight atmosphere; a perfect La Noscean night.
“Before we go home, come to the cliff with me,” Sinopa mutters, her voice slightly hoarse and hard to hear if you were not listening for it.
“Sinopa… it’s getting cold and the winds tonight are rough around the cliffs, I don’t want it making your cough worse.”
“Seven hells, is complaining /all/ you do?” Her hand slips from his arm and reaches up to ruffle his sea foam hair; he responds with a scoff.
She reaches the edge before he can, it was high tide. The cold waters crash against the rocks, beads of salt flick upon her cheeks. The winds were indeed rough, but they were equally kind to her… and only her.
Gales cut through ruby locks, blew her dress in every which direction and rallied her fiery heart with overbearing inspiration.
Golden eyes locked upon the calm black horizon, where the stars kissed the sea and told stories of times long passed, stories long forgotten.
The swelling in her heart she felt from this breathtaking view would never be washed away, it was forever etched into her aether, into her blood— and she hoped some day— this spot would bring the same feeling to her daughter. The one she would bring into this star come the next morn, on the 2nd sun of the 6th astral moon.
They would name her Minya.
Happy Birthday, my everlasting sun.