“Timbuktu. You’re still here. And come down off Papa’s lap, Juniper, and go brush your teeth. Come on now, go!”

Marigold fixed her daughter with a stern gaze until Juniper reluctantly jumped down and shuffled down the hall.
Wearily, she turned her eyes back to her former husband. His shell glistened a deep violet in the morning glare, and he looked rested, she noted with disgust. Way too rested.

“What,” she grated, “are you still doing here?”

Timbuktu shot her a startled, wounded look, and rose to come to her.

“Back off Tim, I’m not interested in your rationalizing right now. What are you doing here? Did you think I’d let you and false piety in on this day, of all days? That June and I would show our underbellies at one flick of your tail? Well, let me tell you something, Reverend, that’s not how it works! Now go!”

He stared at her, incredulous. “But last night, you were… we were okay. What happened to change that, honey?”

“I’m sober!” she spat. “And what happened to change us being okay happened a long time ago, when you fucked that damn floozy in my bed!”

Tim looked around nervously, hushing her.

“Don’t you dare hush me!” she flared, “This is my house now, Tim”, she added more softly, conscious now of Juniper’s presence in the other room, “and I’d appreciate if you left.”

He opened his mouth, lashed his tail, and shut his mouth again. Marigold had never before seen the honey-tongued preacher without a word to say.

“Your house.” He seemed to choke on the words. “My house, which I built, and my daughter, which I made. Mine. And I fully intend to participate on her pilgrimage to the Holy Place of Giving, and as religious leader and pillar of the community, I have every right!”

She snorted.

“You abrogated your rights in this family, and in this community, buddy. You might have thought about them before making little miss Goldilocks your mistress. And the tabloids! They didn’t even get the race right! Bears and humans? By the Armour, who the hell in their right mind would believe that? But they got the names right, didn’t they, oh no, no mistake there, not at all. And there was nothing your spin doctors could do about that, or the shame your daughter felt! I’m glad I gave the little flipshell leprosy!”

She paused, panting in her rage. “But there is nothing I can do to stop you, you’re right about that. So come. Make a spectacle of the most sacred event in your daughter’s life. I hope it makes you happy.”

“Damn hike”, she muttered as she stalked from the room, lashing her tail.

 
The day was hot and humid as the procession snaked its slow way through the dusty countryside. High Priest Timbuktu led, trying in vain to ignore the whispers and jibes of the fourteen community members behind him. Trust Mari to position her lovely amethyst self right behind him, he thought bitterly, why couldn’t she walk behind with the other women, instead of causing all this turmoil, stirring up the rumours again. His daughter, however… her pale lilac armour would darken as she aged, of course, but she would never sport the same dull browns and grays of the other armadillos, and in the morning sum she was lovely as she walked solemnly to the Place of Giving. She made it all worthwhile; the gossip in the ranks, the long dusty road, the danger and exposure each member there felt in the daylight hours. He would have protected her from it all, but he knew that the pilgrimage had to be completed for Juniper to assume her full status, and he could not deny her that, despite the daylight dangers.

 As mile followed dusty mile and the Place of Giving grew nearer, the excitement of the pilgrims began to grow. Soon the sacred ritual would be upon them, and another member would join the community. The Giving was done earlier now; in recent years the community had been decimated; disease and war had both taken their toll, and they needed all the soldiers they could get. Soon they would have plans in position to attack in force, and with enough soldiers in their ranks they could drive the enemy back for good.

 Just before they crested the hill that sheltered the valley of the Place of Giving, the High Priest motioned the procession to a halt.  From Juniper must make her way alone, proving her courage in the face of the enemy and her ability in battle. She was young for it, even according to the standards of recent years, but she was also one of the fabled Coloured Ones, and Timbuktu had every faith in her. He had not cursed his family with his infidelity with Goldilocks, no matter what the community whispered. She would NOT fail at the Giving.

Tail swinging nervously, she stepped from her mother’s side, resolving not to look back or to either side. She could, and would, do this. Step by step she drew closer to the giving, and as she crested the hill the vertigo and panic welled up to her throat, constricting her breathing and closing her throat on a scream. There they were, the enemy, sitting peacefully below just as if they didn’t have a thousand deaths on their conscience, the flesh, blood and skin of hundreds of her people between their teeth, in their labs, adoring their homes. At this thought the bile rose up as anger in her gorge, and with new determination she stepped towards the armourless pink monstrosities. She would complete the Giving!

 Laughing and oblivious, they sat in a circle on a bright swatch of material, all facing a central object. Tall, square and heavy, it appeared to hold some kind of sustenance for the soft ones. Clamouring, they all grabbed, chewed, slurped and sucked, revolting in their single-minded intensity. Unnoticed, Juniper crept closer, ready to roll into a defensive ball at a moment’s notice. Closer and closer, her breathing laboured now as the fear and revulsion swept back through her, until the moment of Giving was upon her.

And then she squeaked.

 All four pink, snoutless heads turned towards her, their clamour turning to coos and gasps of delight. Soft, clawless paws reached for her, and as they touched her shining lilac shell, her soft little snout, Juniper Gave. She gave everything that she had in her, everything that could muster she spread amongst the four things that pawed her, and then she bit the smallest one. The hot blood rushed into her mouth and the thing yelled and dropped her, and Juniper ran, retching, back to the community. She had succeeded!

Juniper arrived panting back into the midst of her community, relief flooding their tight pinched faces as they noted the triumphant gleam in her dark eyes. She had succeeded in the Giving, and a new soldier joined the ranks! Soon, the push would come, and all the soft pink things would be Given to. With luck, it would drive them from this place and the community would be safe. And as custom dictated and full hearts demanded, every armadillo in the procession rolled into prayer, and gave thanks to the Great One for the gift of the Giving of Leprosy.