The wind blew sticks furiously against Nila’s window. Her eyes followed the twigs as they were violently plucked up from the ground and punched against the glass. Marcelo, her brother, also watched, his eyelids drooping of boredom at the sight. The sticks squirmed uncomfortably on the ground, being picked up and carried far away.

‘Hey! Nila!’ Marcelo began to say, but Nila’s eyes were wide open with a mild shock. A leaf was twisting—almost wrestling with the wind, reluctant to come off of the tree. Both children’s eyes flew wide open at the sight of the leaf, falling downwards.

‘What’s going on?’ asked Nila curiously, before her jaw became clamped shut tight. Her face’s expression wavered at the sight of the leaf, sitting on the ground comfortably, no intention of moving. She gaped, poking Marcelo’s back furiously.

‘Wow,’ breathed Marcelo.

Nila’s floor-length hair was pushed out of her face, the twisting brown locks floating in a ghostly way towards the ground, apart from her thin frame. Her large, lilac eyes that seemed out-of-place above her tiny, delicate nose and tight, small mouth. All she could do was continue to stare at what se would later on call the “miracle leaf.”

Marcelo’s jet-black hair that seemed perfectly positioned on his skinny, weak face, shone in the dim light, the electricity zooming back on. Both children didn’t notice. Marcelo’s tan arms held onto the window ledge, pulling him closer in. The leaf still sat carelessly on the ground, wind roaring in circles about it. His small, lilac eyes peered precariously at the leaf, his mind wrapping around the idea it was a symbol. Sent from the Ranurno, his tribe’s god, from somewhere up in the sky.

He oftentimes thought things were symbols—maybe it had something to do with the fact his mother and father came from Symbols, the tribe. They wrote in symbols, drew in symbols and most their legends had some sort of symbol, good or bad. Symbols was well-named.

Nila’s eyes narrowed at it, sunken in disbelief. It still was unmoving and still. In her eyes, it shone gaily through the thick mist and fog that filled the windy air.

‘Well,’ she said quickly, leaping off of her perch on the couch, ‘let’s go!’

She wasn’t one for saying or thinking, Nila was for doing. Marcelo followed her obediently as the two filed out into the dangerous wind. Immediately, Nila got straight to it, but it took Marcelo a lingering moment to get used to the bitter cold that ate at him as soon as he stepped foot outside. Nila bent down next to the leaf, her finger rubbing over its rough surface.

‘This is amazing!’ she cried, motioning for him to come. Her eyes shone with delight. As soon as Marcelo’s hand reached over to it, he realized why. It gave off an exhilarating warmth, sending shivers down his spine.

‘What is it?’ muttered Marcelo, enjoying the feeling sprinkling over his body, taking over the bitter coldness.

‘How would I know?’ snapped Nila. There was a silence in which both minds were brainstorming.

‘Maybe it’s from Ranurno!’ squeaked Marcelo excitedly after a silence.

‘Maybe,’ agreed Nila, her face clearing.

‘Do we have…powers?’ whispered Marcelo. ‘Like the Jinkins?’

‘Probably not. They knew from birth!’

‘Well, maybe Ranuro’s a little late?’

‘Shh, let me think!’

As Nila buried herself in thought—which was a rare thing—Marcelo sat, stroking the leaf tenderly. His fingers grazed the surface, feeling the warmth stretch from his fingers to his toes, giving him the smiles.

‘Marcelo! It’s unanswerable.’

Nila’s face fell.

‘Unless there’s another sign,’ added Marcelo hopefully.

‘True,’ said Nila, standing up with a grunt. ‘But, until then, let’s sleep.’

‘Race you!’

The two children immediately crashed through the path, into the house, and rushed up the stairs. Whatever the leaf’s warmth and stillness meant, it was quickly pushed out of their drowsy minds as the two settled into their beds, the covers enveloping them in a warmth—but the warmth was nothing compared to the leaf’s.

“Holy Ranuro!” came Marcelo’s cry as he pricked his finger on a needle in the bathroom.

‘What?’ asked Nila, emerging from the shower-room. She hadn’t been showering; she had just been drying off her wet hair. It was nice and steamy in there, making it easy for her to think and feel comforted.

Marcelo had his bleeding finger in his clamped-shut mouth, so he was unable to respond. All he could do was blink at her, showing the pain through his tired, early morning eyes.

‘Oh, y’ pricked yourself again? Stupid! C’mon, you’d think after years living here, you’d get used to it?’ Nila sneered, preparing her tooth brush with the leaf toothpaste.

As Marcelo took his finger out of his mouth, he mumbled, ‘Why do you use that horrid stuff? They made candy-flavored!’

‘Ew, candy-flavored? I’m sticking with the classics, thanks.’

Nila stuck the toothbrush in her mouth, her eyebrows raised at herself. Marcelo quietly inched out, not wanting to see Nila’s everyday routine of making faces at herself in the cracked mirror. It wasn’t a very pleasant thing to oversee, and he avoided it if he could.

As he made his way downstairs, a faint buzzing sound splitting the early morning air, he yelled up to Nila, ‘Pupa is at it again!’

He heard Nila’s groan from even where he was, downstairs on the carpeted ground, his toes curling over the plush softness of it.

Marcelo took a deep breath, preparing himself for the stench of his father’s recent project. As he came into the kitchen, the buzzing grew louder to his used-to-silence ears. He grimaced at his father, hoping to hide his disappointment somewhere in his fake smile.

‘Hey,’ he greeted, plopping down at the kitchen table. Pupa didn’t hear him, instead continuing with the buzzing. The buzzing sound, miraculously to us, was coming from his wide mouth. Pupa’s eyes were faraway and dizzied. His father was trying to connect with the creatures that lived in the woods, a dream he had had forever. It was something about being in touch with Ranuro, becoming blessed—understand the real world. He had created a buzzing sound with his lips, dipped his mind into spirituality, and now was trying to connect with the animals. Understand them. He wanted to know them.

Marcelo didn’t really want to know in full detail why, but he knew the outline. His father was a spiritual person, he had known that forever. You couldn’t know Wakaru without knowing he was a spiritual man, always in connection—at least by thought—with Ranuro. Because, of course, he couldn’t fulfill his dream of seeing and touching Ranuro, he felt animals were the next-best thing. So now, here he was, buzzing away.

‘Father?’ repeated Marcelo, staring into him, furiously trying to make eye connection. But, seeing his father’s face as soon as the trance was broken, he regretted it.

‘I was so close!’ he moaned, leaning back and closing his eyes.

‘Sorry,’ said Marcelo quietly, looking down at the apple that sat on the table.

‘It’s ok,’ sighed Pupa, standing up and walking away. Marcelo felt half-bad, but not really. It was too early for that. As Nila waked into the kitchen, she felt a pang of relief.

‘Aha! You scared him off for me? My hero!’ she joked, coming to the table and throwing back the chair, beginning to sit down.

This day was off to a normal start. Where it ended and why was beyond their knowing.

A while later, the two were strolling through the paved roads. The roads had just been paved, the Symbols took quite pride in that. Pupa and Muma lagged behind the sister and brother, talking and stopping occasionally at stands. Meanwhile, Nila and Marcelo were talking. Of course, the subject revolved around the leaf.

‘Find anything out yet?’ inquired Marcelo, cocking his head slightly at a suit of armor.

‘You won’t be strong enough for a couple of years,’ giggled Nila, following his gaze to the armor. Marcelo gave her “a look” and she continued, ‘And no. How would I have? It’s been less than a day!’

‘True.’

The two continued down the road. Nila ran her finger along the glass of a window. Behind the window sat an elegant princess dress.

‘What are you looking at?’ gaped Marcelo, looking at the princess dress.

‘Um, just making fun of those ‘princess’ people’s dresses!’ she said quickly.

‘Sure,’ said Marcelo through an attack of laughter. ‘Aren’t you a tomboy?’

‘I am!’ she cried defensively.

‘What are you doing looking at that?’ Marcelo pointed an accusing finger at the dress. Nila crinkled her eyebrows at him, explaining to him without words that he either would shut up or get beaten up.

‘Um, let’s continue,’ he suggested quickly, dipping deep into the crowds. Nila followed, her eyes gazing one last time at the dress.

‘Now, this is where Ranuro would reach us?’

‘I’m sure!’

Nila’s feet padded the ground softly as she made her way through the endless forest. The ground was carpeted with flowers that were beyond Marcelo’s knowing of what they were—or even their color. The colors ranged from light to dark, pinks to even blacks. You had to choose the correct path, or your feet would be covered with thorns.

Marcelo realized why Nila had chosen this forest as soon as they had squeezed their way through the brambles and bushes that protected the forest like a fence. They were standing on a wide, tall cliff, overlooking a shimmering body of water. Bright, colorful fish swam below, visible to even their eyes from towering high above them.

‘So why here?’ questioned Marcelo, hanging his legs over the cliff.

‘Because, this is Ranuro’s supposed birthplace!’

‘That’s the Swanog Temple.’

‘Noo, he became who he was there! Holy! But, apparently…’ Nila stepped a little to her left. She poked a spot in the grass with her foot. ‘He was born in a cottage that sat right here.’ Marcelo leaned down, catching a glint of gold from in-between grass. It was a plaque. He read it, and nodded.

‘Soo…if it was a sign we’d know here?’

‘I don’t know. I’m trying to figure it out.’

‘All right.’

So the two waited in an expectant silent, lazily closing their eyes against the fall-cold. Suddenly, there was a loud, rushing sound. Both heads picked up, eyes wide and expectantly peering around them. Nila’s mouth curved into a smile.

‘Nila…’ said Marcelo slowly, beginning to spurt up and run away. Nila followed him with her eyes, but stayed unmoving. ‘What?’ she asked, watching him disappear.

‘It’s a real tornado!’

She realized that also, staring at the whirling wind. It was black and ferocious. Her heart rate sped up as did her feet, as she traveled as far away as she could. But, she couldn’t help wondering—from somewhere in her mind—if it was a symbol.