***

Janurana’s toes and fingertips had gone cold, then she snapped awake as Dhanur returned home. Janurana frantically looked around for a wolf or an imp, but remembered where she was, let out a sigh, and clutched her chest.

As wonderful as it would have been to sit and relax until the sun set, Janurana thought it best not to stew in the dirty water. She stood and washed herself with the small rag sitting on the edge of the tub. The murky water ran off her in rivulets and she grimaced at the evidence of just how dirty she had been. Paying particular attention to her feet, cramped all day in her boots that were so worn and dry, she sighed at how much dirt had wormed its way onto them. After cleaning herself fully, she scrubbed her whole body four times and ran her fingers over her skin, reveling in the renewed softness. There was even a squeak when she rubbed them back and forth on her thigh. She had always enjoyed the squeak when she bathed, a friendly reminder that she couldn’t be cleaner if she tried. 

Janurana didn’t even have to ask if Dhanur had a comb nearby, as it sat behind the tub, a few strands of red hair still between its teeth. A small clay jar was next to it, filled with cloves, cinnamon, allspice, and other similar smells. Janurana wondered if the scent was really that strong or if her more sensitive nose could smell through the cork. Another was full of mint leaves and another with Uttaran coconut oil on whose bottle were flecks of her hair. Dhanur did have haphazard leather armor under her scales, but she was far from sloppy.

Janurana poured out the tub, having removed the stopper from the drain, and poured a bit more water in to rinse it out.

“Can you get it?” Dhanur said from beyond the flap having jogged over when she heard the draining water.

“It’s alright. I only filled it half way,” Janurana brushed her off with a smile, even though Dhanur couldn’t see it.

“Yeah? Okay, well, I’ll be up on the roof if ya need any help.” She pursed her lips. “Call me if you need help.”

After splashing handfuls of water onto her hair to soften it, Janurana picked up the polished bronze mirror that was sitting by Dhanur’s comb. She tried to balance it on her knees so she could have both hands to fight the matts in her hair, then paused at the remarkably clear reflection of everything but herself. The mirror was truly powerful as she could see the room in perfect detail, especially since her own reflection was nowhere to be seen. She had the faintest hope that it would be different with a proper mirror. She couldn’t remember when she last looked down at a stagnant pool or small pond to try to see herself, but nothing had changed. She ran her fingers down her round cheeks as if that would reveal them to herself. Regardless, she marveled at the detail of the room in the reflection. 

‘No wonder the fires above the walls were so bright if these were the mirrors behind them,’ she thought.

She tore herself away from it and began the war. Janurana missed so many things about bathing, but brushing her hair was not one of them. To test her wild black hair, she stuffed the comb in, and it stuck in place as it had done for as long as she could remember. She sighed.

Janurana delicately picked apart her hair for what felt like hours, prising it with her fingers where it was too matted for the comb, worried a tooth might fly off. She loosened it with water as best she could and occasionally bargained with it as if it could talk back. But it relented inch by agonizing inch. Eventually, it fell against her shoulders in soft, shiny curls buried under a haze of frizz. As far as Janurana remembered, the wild frizz never left even when drenched in oils. But the knots were parted. Again, she took a moment to enjoy the feeling, running her fingers through the ends just because she finally could again. Not a single strand had been pulled out of her scalp.

A gust of wind blew the curtain open fully, showing her how late the day was getting. The sun had crawled along the sky, closing in on the mountainous horizon, and Janurana was running out of time to wash her clothes.

Avoiding the makeshift pouch she'd sewn onto the hip of her sari, she used her nails to scrape off any particularly thick clods of dirt with extreme care. Janurana didn’t want to guess how much of the dirt had become part of her dress, but she scraped off what hadn't been ground through the fibers. The most troublesome part was her boots. She scraped and scraped with her nails, picking off more and more filth, and paused often to make sure it wasn’t her sole she was removing. Suddenly, her finger popped right through the bottom. They had become so worn that they barely had any sole at all and crumbled to the slightest touch once the armor of packed earth was gone. She pouted, staring blankly at the hole she had made before chewing her lip.

“Madam Dhanur?” Janurana called out.

Dhanur had made her way onto her second floor’s roof via her window and a ladder to stare at the same small mountain off in the north. She silently groaned at how often she watched it, as if it were going to disappear if she didn’t spend her day looking at it. Still, she didn’t stop. Its green peak shined, its color changing with the setting sun. The reddish brown base, the same hue as most of the land, became less prominent as the green summit contrasted with the orange of the evening. A few of the denser pocket forests of the northern Borderlands would have balanced the green tip better, were they not more scarred than the lands outside the Capital. She even saw the northern jungles further beyond if she strained. Dhanur yawned. The shadow of the second floor cast over her, as if it were night time. Occasionally a neighbor would wave and snap her back to reality, asking how she was doing as they milled about their roofs tending to a few potted plants or whipping out their laundry, or shuffled down the streets. 

“Fine.” Dhanur might reply, if she didn’t simply wave.

“Madam Dhanur?” Janurana called again.

Dhanur popped up like a jittery imp, slid forward, and caught one of the wooden posts jutting out from the wall. She pushed herself off, and dropped to the ground, a scar on her shin a constant reminder of why it was essential to dodge the window right below her.

“Yeah?” Dhanur asked as she came inside.

“You have not laid out a gown for me.” Janurana stated from behind the curtain.

Her impertinent tone made Dhanur recoil. “Uh, yeah. Because I didn’t expect you?”

Janurana blinked, remembering that the only other person there was her host, not a servant despite being in a higher class home. “Yes, of course. My apologies. Would you be so kind as to fetch one for me?”

“Sure.” Dhanur rolled her eyes, but procured one all the same. She returned with the thin sleeping gown from the guest room, handing it through the flap. “Washed your clothes?”

“Why, how did you know?” Janurana smiled coyly, “Is there a place out of the way I can hang them to dry?”

“Uh, just give ‘em to me. It’s ok.” 

“No, no. You’ve done more than enough.” 

“It’s fine. I can hang some clothes. Don’t worry.” Dhanur cracked a small smile, hoping to be reassuring, from the other side of the tarp.

“You’re too kind, Madam Dhanur. Thank you so much.” There was an odd pause before Janurana handed off her clothes through the curtain. 

“S’what I should do,” Dhanur said.

As Dhanur sparked up a fire with flint and pyrite, she examined her guest’s attire. She felt it may be an invasion of privacy, but they can tell a lot about a person, as her Abba had told her. She ran her finger over a lump of dirt, stubbornly clinging to the sari. As she tried to pick it off, it took a part of a brown stripe with it. Dhanur jumped.

“Oh, dark.” She whispered quickly. She looked back to the washroom as Janurana slipped out with no sign that she’d heard it, being much too lost in caressing her clean skin. 

“If you want, uh, we can get you new clothes,” she said as she hung up the boots.

“No!” Janurana snapped. “No. Thank you so much for the offer, but I very much like my old sari, thank you.” She bowed. Janurana took one step up, but paused before heading to the guest room. “If I may, Dhanur,” she asked, fidgeting with her robe. “Why did you help me?”

Dhanur paused, rolling the question over in her mind. “You needed help and I should help. Shouldn’t that be enough?” She shrugged. 

“I suppose. I ask because you seemed apprehensive towards the higher born.”

Dhanur didn’t exactly understand Janurana’s words, but she pieced together what they meant. “Used to be a warrior, now I’m not. We don’t really have the best record.”

“Yes, yes.”

“And uh, there was one who was nice. So, ya know.” 

“Thank you. Truly.” Janurana stared past Dhanur, at the largest patch on her Sari.

Dhanur failed to notice how Janurana’s fists tightened as she spoke. “No problem.”