EPISODE: 2

• It lived in the air, in the dry throat, in the way she held her breath whenever she heard footsteps at the door. That first night, he slept drunk. His body dropped heavy onto the mat, and his snoring sounded like a choked thunder. Aena lay far away near the fire. She covered herself with a thin mat and cried, but she made no sound.
• There was no one to hear, no one who cared. Their crying was just another noise lost in the middle of the forest. And those who live in the woods know what isn’t heard isn’t helped. Days later, she broke a pot by accident. She was washing it at the river. It slipped from her hand and cracked against a stone. It was old.
• The edges were already chipped, but that was enough. He came home that afternoon, found out about the pot, and what came next was quick. A yank on her arm, a slap that snapped her head to the side, and a sharp pain that climbed from her shoulder to her soul. He didn’t apologize. didn’t yell, just turned his back and went to bed.
• Awena stayed there on her knees, arm throbbing, eyes locked on the cracked pot. And in that moment, she understood something she hadn’t fully grasped yet. No one was coming to save her. No one was coming to take her back. And if she was going to survive, she’d have to learn to listen to her body before it stopped speaking to her.
• Time in the forest doesn’t follow a clock. The sun is in charge. The rain keeps count of the days. And so the weeks passed. A week woke before the light, washed her face in the river, rubbed caster leaves on her arm, and started her day. She cooked, washed, swept the yard, and at night lay in her corner of the mat.
• Her thoughts heavier than her body, but something inside her wouldn’t go quiet. A small restlessness, almost invisible, but alive, like an okra seed sprouting even. In dry soil, she began to notice the forest’s paths. She started to pay attention to the smell of the leaves, the timing of smoking meat, the hour the birds landed on the branches.
• Without realizing it, she was already learning, not as a wife, but as a woman who watches in order to survive. The pain in her arm became a mark. Not just on the skin, but in her memory. A fine crooked line that seemed to say, “Here, a decision was born.” And every time she looked at it, something inside a wiener grew firmer. She didn’t yell, didn’t talk back, but she didn’t forget either. And within her silence, her scream was growing.
• One that sooner or later would find a way to come out, even if it was through the smell of smoke or the steadiness of her hands. Because a woman’s body may be beaten, may go quiet, may even bow before fear. But the soul, the soul, once it decides to stand tall, can’t be held down, and a wenus, without the hunter knowing it, was already starting to lift its head from within.
• In the village, no one spoke of Aena anymore, as is often the case with poor women who vanished from sight. It was as if she had never existed. Life went on among the backyards, clay pots, and clothes lines. But in the forest, far from the eyes and whispers, something different was beginning to sprout. She woke before the sun, alone on her feet, even before the rooster announced the day, with a cloth tied round her hair and bare feet.
• Awena stepped quietly out of the hut and walked toward the forest with a silence that wasn’t fear. It was focus in her eyes. There was no longer only pain. There was something no one had noticed before. A sharp awareness like someone teaching herself the way to survive. She started by observing the tracks on the ground, animal footprints, the types of leaves that fell from trees, how long it took meat to dry on the smoke rack.
• She ran her hands over tree bark, learning which ones made good tea, which kept mosquitoes away, which scented bath water. She discovered it all on her own, without anyone teaching her, because that’s how her life had always been, learning in silence, living on the margins, listening to what others ignored. In the afternoons, she went to the river with the other women who lived closer to the forest.
• She carried her bundle of clothes like anyone else. But the difference was in her manner while the others talked loudly, laughed, chatted about husbands and children. Awena stayed quiet, washing clothes with steady movements, never interrupting until one day she laughed.
• A small laugh, but it echoed on the rocks like a longforgotten Belle, the oldest woman in the group, stopped scrubbing the blouse in her hands. She looked at Aena and said quietly, “That’s the first time I’ve seen you laugh.” And in that moment, everyone stopped. The sound of water, of soap slapping against stones.

EPISODE: 3

• It all paused as if the world knew that a piece of the past had just cracked. Aina smiled again, this time without shrinking back, and simply replied, “I didn’t even remember what my laugh sounded like.” On the way back from the river, she passed a clay house where a man was trading soap for bananas. She watched, said nothing.
• But the next morning, while the hunter lay passed out with a bottle of kachaka, spilled across the mat, she skinned an animal he had brought home the night before, cleaned it, treated it with ash and patanga leaves, hung it over the smoke rack, and watched as the meat took on color. In less than 2 weeks, she had already mastered the right smoking point.
• She discovered that wrapping the meat in banana leaves preserved the flavor longer. And when she took it to the town market, pretending it was her husband’s order, she came back with her hands full. Soap, salt, and a piece of floral fabric. She hid at the bottom of her bundle. Dot. The hunter never asked, never noticed.
• He thought it all came from the small garden behind the house or favors from the neighbors. He didn’t see because a man who never saw a woman as a person doesn’t notice when she begins to bloom. dot in the forest. A wiener stopped being a shadow. She started walking with a straighter back. Her eyes no longer cast down. She still didn’t talk back. Still slept at the edge of the mat.
• Still felt fear when he raised his voice. But inside her, something was being built. It wasn’t revenge. It wasn’t pride. It was voice. With time, even the forest women began to notice. When she passed by, they’d say, “That one learned to walk with the animals, but never lost her woman’s touch.
• ” They started asking her for advice about herbs, for help with burns or their children’s fevers. And Aina helped with the same calm she used to chop wood or strain coffee. Dot. No one expected her to change. If anyone imagined she might, they thought it would come from exhaustion, sorrow, resignation. But no, Aina was changing with strength. She didn’t run from pain, but she didn’t let it shape her either.
• And that that the world doesn’t know how to handle. Because when a woman starts to see herself with her own eyes without needing a mirror without waiting for praise, without asking permission, even the forest around her learns to respect her steps. And Aina, even if she didn’t know it yet, was already walking a path with no return.
• At the back of the yard, between the cassava plant and the old trunk of a fallen tree, Aena built a small structure of branches and leaves. Nothing big, nothing flashy, just a low rack made of vine and bamboo covered with dry straw and stones around it. There she began to smoke the meat with more care.
• She used the right wood, the right amount of thyme, and the secret, a blend of forest herbs only she knew, learned in the silence of her solitary walks. Every piece of meat gained a flavor unlike any other, a smell that drifted through the woods, and made even the animals stop and sniff.
• She cut it into strips, wrapped it carefully in soft banana leaves, and tied it with thread made from palm fiber. No plastic, no labels. But when her hands handed it over, whoever received it felt there was more than just food. There was care, there was soul. It all started by chance. A traveler passing through from the city stopped to buy a piece of meat.
• Said he’d never tasted anything like it, took it home, and a week later came back. He brought money, seasoning to trade, and a request. He wanted more. Said his wife refused to cook with any other kind of meat. Now, said the neighbors were already asking where that flavor came from. A wina listened in silence, smiled only with her eyes, took the items, nodded in thanks, and returned to work.
• That night, while the hunter slept with dirty feet and an empty bottle, in the corner she drew lines in the dirt with a piece of charcoal, marked how many cuts of meat she could prepare per week, counted on her fingers how much that would trade for soap, flour, kerosene, and in the end she set aside a small pile of dry leaves that smelled like prosperity.
• The business grew slowly like all things that start right. No rush, no noise, a we didn’t speak at the market. She just showed everyone who tasted it came back. That’s how she started trading meat for land. An old man, no longer able to work his field, offered her a small plot near the river in exchange for meat for a year. She accepted, made the deal in silence.
• No paper, just a word and a handshake. Over time, other women began to ask, “What seasoning is this a wiener? Where’s that leaf from?” She’d smile and change the subject, not out of meanness, but because she knew that this knowledge was what kept her alive. It was what set her apart from being forgotten. And in a land where poor women are easily forgotten, knowledge is protection. The hunter, out of place amid it all, remained unaware.
• He thought the house smelled better, but didn’t care. When he was hungry, he ate. When thirsty, he drank. And when people in the village asked about him, he’d say everything was under control. Little did he know that the woman he carried as a shadow was already lighting paths.
• One overcast afternoon, a wiener looked at the pile of stacked banana leaves and felt a knot in her chest. It wasn’t sadness. It was restrained pride. Pride with no one to tell. Her father had handed her over like goods. Her mother had stayed silent out of fear. Her husband ignored her like a piece of furniture.
• But there, between smoke and leaves, she was creating a world that was hers alone. Little by little, she began saving part of what she earned. She buried it in clay pots, sealed with wax, hidden in holes protected by stones. It wasn’t much, but it was hers. Every coin saved, every piece of cloth bought, every handful of salt reserved was a line written in the new story she was telling, not on paper, but in dignity.
• And even if no one saw it, even if no one celebrated, she kept going because she knew that those who wait for applause from the village don’t last. But those who plant with faith harvest with honor. And there, between leaves and smoke, a wiener was already building a kingdom no man would understand until it was too late. Every village has its eyes.
• Even when people pretend not to see, there’s always someone peeking from behind a cloth curtain, watching what they don’t understand, and judging what they refuse to accept. And a wiener, who was growing quietly among smoked meat and banana leaves, soon became the whispered subject in the corners of the market. It was in the details that the change appeared.
• First, the clothes she wore to sell, simple, but with embroidery no one remembered seeing before. Then the soap she brought, fragrant, firm, brightly colored. Then the cloths in her basket, always carefully folded and without a single stain. And then the look in her eyes, because the gaze of a woman who begins to rise, is different.
• It has a shine without arrogance, a steadiness without defiance, and that to some is more dangerous than witchcraft. That it was a wealthy woman from the village who first cast the stone. She had a large stall at the market, sold spices, fine cloth, and trinkets brought from afar. She was used to being the most sought after, the most praised.
• But in recent months, her customers had started to shift. People who used to ask for credit now came with coins in hand, asking, “Got any of that forest girl’s meat?” Or, “Where’s that leaf with the sweet smoky smell?” The woman didn’t like it. didn’t understand how a poor quiet outsider could rise so fast without anyone really knowing how.