Navah had never seen anything like the hut before. It had five sloping sides, which was very unlucky. Everyone knew that five was an evil number.
 

Navah was born second daughter to her house, a disappointment to her mother and father, who had expected another son. Her mother died of shame when she realized she had birthed a second girl child and her father named her Navah, which means “regrettable.”

The only one who was kind to Navah was her brother Alsieb.  Navah would sit with Alsieb while he wove his warrior’s shirt and as his hands twisted and pulled at the thick strands of yarn, he would also spin fabulous tales for her about cunning monkey kings, sly fox women, and her favorite, the fearsome witch who lived in the forest.  She barely dared to breathe for fear of disrupting the luck charms his fingers twined into the cloth, but she never missed a single word.    

Now Alsieb was sick, the poison from a bandit’s lance working its way into his heart.  The brigand had stricken off one of Alsieb’s charms at a crucial moment and the green tip had stabbed into his side.