From the hill slope, she could see the Senai village swallowed in pungent, grey smoke. She touched the first houses. All tall huts coated in hissing fire.
The wind snaked at her from all sides and hurled her back, sucking her breath. There were no screams as close, yet she heard a baby cry deep within the ashy storm.
The winds hollowed and singed her face, barking and biting, yet she threw off her gifted robe, roped her hair into a coil, and sped through.
It was hard to make out where the cry came from with all the wind's mutter. It sent her through many flying flames of thatched roofs circling the village.
"Uaa!"
She saw it.
The little squalling baby, wrapped in a hemp-woven basket. Its arms of hempen rope secured onto a branch that curled inward towards the gnarled trunk of the young baobab, vacant of leaves, yet cluttered in branches.
Beside it was a large square of limestone, arced at the top with a blackened roof, matching the height of this stiff-standing tree.
The paint was still visible, running a red line between the top and bottom, two blocks each of once windows, now curtained with fire.
The markings meant there were two homes within this one house. It felt clear that the baby's family lived at the top and could not escape the lick of flames as quickly. So, they used their last breath to spare the child's.
While the homes were used as wicks, the tree lay untouched. Yet the flames rose higher and braver, and once it touched the hemp, there'd be nothing to save the baby. It cried and coughed and suckled its tears.
Salīa stepped back, then jumped, uneven with her grip, yet she kept at it. She kicked into the bark, then a cleft part of the house, hooking her fingers onto a window's frame.
The fire smacked it, and she jumped higher onto the tree, fastening her hand into the first branch. She took a deep breath. Had she missed, she would've fallen and not been able to return.
She gripped her hands tightly, the other on its neighboring branch, and with a loud growl, she swung her legs up and tangled them where her hands were.
The branches crackled, and the baby screamed at the shift. She threw herself to the farther branch to keep the baby balanced.
The fire spat, missing the baby's basket by less than a breath. Urgently, she grounded her legs tightly around the thickest part of the branch and swung the rest of her, grabbing the baby.
The rope arms were already torn and gave a slick jerk, nearly throwing her down. Yet she held tight to the basket, pressing the baby into her chest.
Breathing long and slow, she squeezed her hips on the branch. Although the baobab was a baby itself, it was too tall to jump off without hurting the baby.
She thought of falling on her back, yet the fall might not end as imagined.
The fire grabbed her arm, and the baby fell, basket and all.
Salīa jumped.
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