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Aloy awoke with a start. She had been dreaming of Gemini, again. Of Varl. Her heart ached with that now familiar feeling of emptiness, that tangible absence in the cavity of her chest that had been occupied by the Nora brave. She hadn’t even wanted him there in the first place, in that particular space next to her heart. Aloy hadn't wanted anyone there. She had convinced herself that she was comfortable with leaving that place altogether vacant, after Rost. But now, despite her best efforts to buttress herself against the affections of others, she was finding it unbearable to live without Varl’s steady presence and his easy smile. The emptiness in her chest felt all the more stark for having once been filled by her friend.
With an abrupt cry of frustration Aloy flung herself from her bed. It was with deliberate determination that she did not look at Varl’s focus as she dressed hastily and tossed her hair into a single, messy braid. There was nobody in the Base right now but Zo and Beta, and they did not care what her hair looked like, and she needed to get out of this room, now.
She exited her quarters swiftly but stopped short when she found the common area empty. Beta was likely still in bed, she often slept through the morning and sometimes into the afternoon, but Zo rose with the sun, usually waking even before Aloy. Had the Utaru woman returned to Plainsong without mentioning it? No, that was unlike Zo. With a start, Aloy realized she knew just where to find Zo. She turned to exit the Base through the East door.
Zo was where Aloy expected her to be, knelt before the golden blooms that marked Varl’s resting place. She sang quietly under her breath and her hands worked with practiced efficiency on the weaving in her lap. Aloy lowered herself into a cross-legged seat next to her friend.
“Aloy,” Zo murmured in greeting, tilting her head in acknowledgement but not looking up from her task. “I hope my absence didn’t worry you. I wanted to watch the sun rise with Varl, like we used to…” her hands stilled, and her gaze wandered to the horizon, still splashed red as though by blood in the wake of the rising sun. Aloy recognized the signs of her own grief, mirrored in the tired lines around Zo’s eyes and the ragged catch of her breathing, and a fresh wave of sadness washed over her, this time tinged with the helplessness she felt in the face of the other woman’s mourning.
The two sat several moments in silence. As she had so many times before, Aloy wished urgently for the words to say to ease Zo’s pain, but nothing she could say felt right or like it was enough. Finally, desperate to fill the stifling stillness, Aloy gestured to the weaving in Zo’s lap. “What are you making? A basket?”
“Yes.” Zo’s eyes returned from the horizon to the strands of grass that she had arranged carefully in a checkered pattern before her. “One of my paleberry plants has outgrown its current basket so I had thought to make a new one. I’m sure it seems like a waste of time, but I find the weaving … soothing.”
“I don’t think it’s a waste of time,” Aloy responded, and then, before she could think better of it, she blurted “Would you teach me?”
Her feeling of foolishness was lessened considerably at the sight of the amusement that creased around Zo’s eyes at the suggestion. “You want to learn to weave? I admit I did not think you had the patience for something so … peaceful.”
Aloy huffed, but Zo was teasing her and that faraway, pained look in her eyes was easing, so the huntress persevered. “I could learn to weave. How hard can it be? Besides I could use … something … to take my mind off …” She could not bring herself to finish speaking the thought aloud, but Zo nodded her understanding and shifted over, gesturing Aloy to sit closer.
“Here,” Zo explained, “take this strand in your right hand, and hold the weaving in your left. You want to interlace each strand tightly in line with the others, so water and soil won’t escape through them. Here, like this. Once you have a big enough patch, we can begin on the sides.” Zo’s fingers moved deftly and quickly as she spoke, and a small, square patch of weaving seemed to emerge fully formed in her capable hands.
Aloy frowned in concentration as she took over where Zo had left off and set her mind to following the directions. After several minutes, she stopped to observe her handy work. She grimaced at the uneven pattern and glanced at Zo, chagrined. “I uh, guess I’m not very good at this huh?” Zo laughed, and the sound of it crept into Aloy’s chest and settled, like a fox curling in its den, into the hollow space next to her heart that had previously been occupied by Varl. “Not yet, but don’t quit. You’ll get the hang of it. Here, try holding the strand in your right hand like this and using your left hand to correct the spacing as you go.” She leaned over to demonstrate and Aloy caught the gentle scent of palebloom in her hair. The huntress realized suddenly that she’d come to associate that scent with the Base, with … home.
“Hey Zo?” Aloy ventured, and the Utaru gravesinger looked up from her weaving demonstration with one graceful eyebrow arched in question. “I’m really glad you’re here you know. We … I couldn’t do this without you.” Zo’s face softened and she reached out to grasp Aloy’s arm. “Me too Aloy,” she murmured, “thank you.” Aloy met Zo’s eyes uncertainly and willed herself to say all the things she felt, if not with her voice then with her gaze, until a single tear freed itself from Aloy’s eye and made its winding way down her face. She laughed quietly, embarrassed, and moved to wipe the offending tear away, but the moment had passed.
“Now,” Zo said, releasing Aloy’s arm and turning back to what, with some luck, would become a basket, “don’t think you can get out of weaving just by giving me compliments.”
Aloy laughed again, the sound lighter than she had felt in days, and bent once more to her task. “I wouldn’t dream of it,” she replied, and she meant it.