part of this land and the land is part of us.
"Ullabinj whalin ulumni ma compeitie. Uenuar whalin mar tuum dius."
This is where we come from. This is where our spirits return.
"Ma uenuar Manari ualluk boodgas mar ullniak. Mar hueori ullauk une quorum anu sacis. Farun la nori boodgas burgu. Han la for toogi ualluk, fori for toogi la. Boodgas."
We, the people of this land, welcome you to our country. Our traditional lands are ancient and sacred. May you be welcome with respect. If you look after the land, it will look after you. Welcome.
The words were as old as time, engraved into my soul. They were the first words a child heard upon their birth, and the last they would hear before being lowered into the ground.
It was our blessing and reminder of the land on which we lived.
The herald struck up a beat, the tattoo pounding through my chest, hard and fierce.
In time to the beat, I scooped more dirt from my pouch, throwing it across the cobblestone floor in practiced movements.
From east to west, from north to south, from sky to sea and mountain to plain, you represent the best of us, Kit. When you welcome people to our lands you do so on behalf of me, of your mother, of your grandmother and your warrior ancestors. You represent our tribe, Kit. Our legacy. You are a moment in time, the person who is a culmination of all who came before you, and the beginning of all who come after. You, my daughter, are alive.
My father's voice always came to me in moments like this, when the world faded and movement overtook me, guiding each sweep of my hand, each tap of my foot, each dip of my shoulder or tip of my head.
With a final quick beat, the drum fell silent and I slapped my hands on the ground sending dust flying.
Applause burst over me, taking away from the moment. I pushed to my feet, pressing my hands to my heart space, bowing my head.
"Patricia Abigail," my aide called, inviting the first applicant to step forward.
The woman, an independent, stepped close waiting. I reached for her, pulling her clasped hand to my chest, pressing my forehead to hers.
"Boodgas," I greeted. "Uhra im gagado fa mar."
Welcome. May the Gods be with you.
With that my blessing was complete and Patricia stepped back, curtseying low. "And with you, my Queen."
On and on it went, one candidate after another, all of them receiving my blessing.
"Jonathan Tuhana," my aide called, my body stiffening in response.
Jonathan stepped forward, his own peripuni covering his broad shoulders. Underneath, he wore a tailored navy-blue suit. When paired with his peripuni it somehow made him seem less civilized, as if he were a wolf in sheep's clothing.
A shiver ran down my spine as I met his green gaze, the colour just as stunning as I remembered. They held a question in their depths that I had no way of answering.
My pulse beat in my neck as he stepped closer holding out his large hand for me to clasp.
He's just a man, Kit. Just another candidate to greet and bless.
I linked our fingers, noting the rough skin of his palm, the calluses on his fingertips.
This is no mere politician.
In a practiced move, I pulled his arm to my chest, lifting my head slightly to press our foreheads together.
"Boodgas. Uhra im gagado fa mar," I told him, the words coming out breathy and soft as I tried to ignore the heat of his arm on my breast, a contrast to the silky cool of his hair as it brushed against my forehead.
He squeezed my fingers, his skin warm against mine, his fingers inadvertently brushing my breast.
I moved to let go but he held me for a moment longer, his gaze raking my face.
"Jus uhra ehra hamn mar, il Giisera."
And may they be with you, my Queen.
With that he allowed me to let go, stepping back to fall to one knee, bowing in the manner of our warrior ancestors.
Around us, cameras snapped capturing the moment a warrior honoured his Queen.
A warrior who may soon rule.
My aide called the next name and I looked away, pasting a smile I didn't feel on my lips.
You'd do well to stay away from Jonathan Tuhana.
The hairs on the back of my neck prickled and I shifted, catching sight of Jonathan as he rose. Our eyes met, his filled with hunger and heated desire.
For a moment I held his gaze, glorying in the spark that