Solo A Very Merry Shuuda

[Subira]

Season of Winter, Day 10, 512 AV Of the many holidays, feasts, and festivals celebrated in Ahnatep -- and considering the Eypharian passion for pomp and revelry, the number seemed to grow larger every year -- Shuuda was one of Subira's favorites. The giving and receiving of gift braids, of course, was a major part of it. The pacing of the holiday was another; while most others forced celebrants to pack all their carousing into a single night or two, Shuuda allowed them to savor the holiday over twenty leisurely, pleasant days. As she grew older, though, what Subira began appreciating most about Shuuda was its seriousness. So many other holidays felt like exercises in frivolity and posturing, which annoyed Subira to no end, but Shuuda was about death and life itself. It didn't get more serious than that. Of course, even Shuuda had its indulgent moments, like its very first day, the Day of Adornment. For the sake of Shuuda, though, Subira set to work with a better will than usual. In the morning, with mallet and a list of decorations in hand, she began adorning her cozy, ascetic chamber with various personal totems and symbols. Hours later, she heard a knock at the door and was startled to see the late afternoon sunlight slanting through the window. Turning, she saw her father leaning against the threshold, smiling wryly. "I see you're truly embracing the spirit of Shuuda, Subi," he remarked with a chuckle. "Either that, or your mother has threatened you with a spanking if you didn't cooperate with Shuuda traditions." "Oh, please!" Subira laughed, flushing with good-natured embarrassment. "The last time she did that was when I was seven years old. How do you even remember that?" "I remember everything," her father said wisely, tapping his nose, and his daughter believed him. He patted the wreath of dried pomegranates on the door. "No, my guess is, the only hand Sitra took in your adornments this year was sending the servants to hang this as a sign that our little Subi could use some more romance in her life." Subira's groan gave him all the confirmation he needed. Peering near-sightedly around her chamber, her father continued, "Let me see what you actually chose to represent yourself. Ah yes, the streamers made of canvas are a nice touch. Those are for sailing, of course?" "Of course," Subira agreed, smiling with satisfaction at the wide, dun-colored canvas lengths stretching across her ceiling. They were her pride, her favorite adornment in the entire chamber and a consolation for her mother's insistence on decorating her door with dried pomegranates for romantic love. Her father tilted his head inquisitively toward one of several vases full of dried, pressed flowers. "Ah, sky twine for determination. And," he sniffed the air, swiveling his head toward a small, gold-chased censer in the corner, "is that cedarwood incense you're burning? That's for purity, isn't it?" "Purity?" Subira shook her head, her brow furrowing in confusion. "No, the cedar is for hope, father." Senet shook his head decisively. "No, hope is something else. Night-blooming jasmine, I think? The cedar represents purity, Subi. The priests in Dira's chapel even use cedar oil to help preserve bodies and keep them undisturbed by insects. Besides, how could something that smells that strong and woody stand for hope, anyway?" "I think it smells nice!" Subira protested, taking a sniff herself. "You're sure it means purity?" When her father nodded, she muttered discontentedly, "Oh, drown me for a fool. I really thought it meant hope!" "Well." Senet ruffled his daughter's hair fondly, making her smile despite herself. "Purity is a fine virtue as well, Subi. You are pure of heart and pure in your dedication. And I agree, it does smell pleasing." He put his arm around Subira, just like he had since she was tall enough to come to his shoulder. "That's a fine set of totems you've chosen, even if they weren't all what you thought. Now, come along. Let's see what your mother and siblings have chosen for themselves and see if they're as fitting as yours."

[Subira]

Season of Winter, Day 16, 512 AV The morning after the Day of Truth, Subira happened to pass by her older brother's study and couldn't help snickering when she noticed him lounging at his desk in a dressing robe, while the couch cushions clearly showed the imprint of his head and body. Oh, Iriei, how unfortunately he had responded when his Gilded wife had sidled up to him, eyelashes fluttering, hips swaying, and smile provocative, to ask what the best day of his life was. Clearly, she'd wanted an answer that flattered her, like, "Our wedding day" or "Every day I spend with you." Iriei, unfortunately, hadn't the guile or the sense to say aught else but "The day I built my first ship." His wife's face had darkened, and he'd spent the night on his couch. For her own part, Subira reassured herself that she'd handled all questions with grace and equanimity, even the embarrassing ones like, "Were you or were you not in love with that gorgeous blond Svefra who crewed on Lord Bahhet's ship for a season when you were sixteen?" (The answer was, "Yes." Tesha had laughed and repeated, "I told you so!" a dozen times.) Today, though, her mind dwelt on a different man and different revelations. On the Day of Balance, Ano Cultists poured out of the Librum and into Ahnatep offering equal and opposing lessons. Subira stepped out the door and into the streets in search of a broad, powerful man with a deep, even voice and bulky arms covered in thin, intricate scars, who had left so many questions unanswered last year. Sadly, her search came to nothing. A man like Andrick would have been hard to miss, yet she did miss him. Subira sighed in disappointment. Of course, even if she had found him, tradition would have constrained Subira to say nothing more than the customary greeting, "An eye opens and closes," as she said now to a tall, trim Chaktawe woman who bore the unmistakable coppery skin and long-lashed, black-within-black eyes. "One must rest and one must see," the woman responded. Her voice had a frayed sound in the evening air, doubtless from rendering too many lessons this day. Still, those pure black eyes examined Subira from the top of her head to the tips of her sandal-shod feet alertly and thoroughly, with no trace of weariness. Subira squirmed as the woman's gaze returned to her face and bored seemingly into her soul. A small smile curved the woman's slender lips, so knowing that Subira wondered what those too-dark eyes could possibly have seen. With no further preamble, the woman began to declaim in a clear, beautiful voice, a voice that made even Subira's flesh shiver with delight. It took her a moment to realize the Chaktawe was reciting a love poem in flowery, flowing Arumenic. When she had finished, she repeated it more slowly, word for word, and gestured sharply at Subira to repeat them after her. Subira's jaw dropped in dismay. The woman was not satisfied until Subira could recite the poem perfectly from memory, imitating her inflections and inner meaning as best she could with her duller, less inspiring voice. All the while, Subira wondered privately if she dared leave, for she couldn't imagine how knowledge of this poem could have any significance whatsoever. Then the woman smiled, exposing her strong white teeth, and began reciting a series of vile curses in Common, followed by equally harsh-sounding words in a handful of other languages. At first, Subira had bristled, but then, as understanding slowly sank in, she grinned with amusement. Now this was a lesson she would cheerfully and wholeheartedly absorb. Perhaps it would have just as few applications as the love poem, but learning how to insult someone in another language was so much more fun. "Shyke," she repeated. "Vagik. Awaht…awahtoklo. Skurak. Kotakbil." The dark-eyed cultist's face broke into a broad grin matching her own. As the sun slipped below the horizon, Subira bowed solemnly to the Chaktawe Ano Cultist and turned toward home, her mind enriched by the new knowledge of words of love and words of hate.

[Subira]

Season of Winter, Day 17, Winter 512 In years past, Subira had always mocked those who ran about the Pavilion during the seventh day of Shuuda, the Day of Merchants, like frenzied madmen, looking for last-minute purchases to weave into their gift braids for friends and family. She had long made a practice of buying the various trinkets and presents ahead of time throughout the year, allowing her a leisurely pace that let her select the most fitting items for each recipient. It also spared her the indignity of vying with crowds and haggling with merchants for the last few items to fill out a braid. This day, however, Subira had to become that which she had ridiculed. It wasn't by personal choice nor through any fault of her own, though. It was all because her mother happened to notice Subira tucked in a comfortable chair, reading a biography of Josephine Helm, and asked if she had finished her gift braid for Sahreni yet. "For who?" Subira had exclaimed, nearly dropping her book. "Why do I have to make a braid for him? We've only known each other a season. Less than that!" Her mother had spoken reasonably, urging her to consider the goodwill and favor that could arise from such a small, lighthearted, and thoughtful gesture as weaving a gift braid for her Eysh-na suitor. "But I don't want to!" Subira had declared outright. "I'll have my hands full tomorrow braiding for you, Dunre, Iriei, Tesha, and my friends, and now you want me to make another braid? Besides, do you know how crowded the market will be? I'll have no chance at getting everything I need at the last minute." Her mother had spoken more firmly. "But Minre, this is all your idea, not mine," Subira had objected lamely. "You can't possibly expect me to go out there and bargain like a commoner to get the right presents for Sahreni." Her mother had drawn herself up and delivered a blistering ultimatum. Shuddering from its intensity, Subira had sullenly climbed to her feet and armed herself for a frantic day at the Pavilion. Seriously, why did her mother have to think of things like this? Now, with a servant trailing behind her to carry her purchases and a steward to aid in her purchases, Subira stubbornly fought through the crowds and stalls with mighty efforts to secure the appropriate gifts for Sahreni's gift braid. Even though she would never have thought of it herself, and even though it was far from traditional, Subira was determined to do well by the half-breed now that the idea had been planted into her mind. After all, Sahreni had proven himself unconventional and not unworthy in his words and deeds. Besides, being who he was, the poor fellow wasn't terribly likely to get many gift braids, and one more this Shuuda might bring him a little cheer. It meant a lot of additional trouble for her, to be sure, and the fool had better be properly grateful, but all in all her mother's notion wasn't an entirely bad one. These thoughts gave her strength as she stepped on toes and elbowed a path toward one of many tents selling bags and wrappings for presents. With main force, she thrust aside a loud-voiced grandmother and laid claim to eleven small, translucent silk bags. Her steward paid for them, while Subira proceeded out of the tent with a self-assured swagger. "Hejdi," her steward whispered as he caught up to her, "forgive this one's boldness, but perhaps you would fare better if we procured items according to the paths of least resistance, rather than in this methodical order." Subira shook her head firmly. "No. We go in order. It's the best way to do things. Now, help me find a tent selling lights." Shortly thereafter, in a candlemaker's tent, she was astonished to find that the man was completely out of merchandise. Not even a drip of wax remained. The merchant shrugged helplessly, spreading all four hands wide with false sympathy as he explained how rapacious the crowds had been. At that moment, Subira noticed the wadj-paper lantern hanging in one corner, painted with a bright red blossom. "Perfect," she breathed. Pointing authoritatively to the lantern, she announced, "If you have no candles left, I will take that instead. Snuff its light and bring it with us. Pay him some gold mizas for the trouble," she added to her steward. With that, she swept onward to the next tent, the West Winds' own, where they were well-stocked indeed. Perhaps Subira ought to think more creatively, but it was the best she could do on short notice. Thinking of plausible yet pleasing options for the successive days' gifts from the available wares made her head pound with exertion quickly enough, as the day wore on. Truly, Sahreni had better appreciate her efforts constructing his gift braid. "Finally," she sighed, pressing her fingers to her temples once the final trinket was purchased. Behind her, her bearer almost staggered trying to balance the many bags and bundles she had inflicted on him. "I swear, after all this, I am going to send this braid by messenger. This was too much work!" Still, Subira was satisfied. She had survived the Day of Merchants and emerged with supplies. On a day like this, with a mission like hers, that was enough of a triumph.

[Subira]

Season of Winter, Day 22, 512 AV By now, Subira could no longer remember if she had ever felt guilty for cheating blatantly on the Day of Banquets and having every invitation she received brought to her by servants using trays or tongs. This practice allowed her the chance to examine the various invitations and fastidiously choose from among them without ever handling them herself, neatly bypassing the tradition that she must accept the first two that touched her hands. Everyone she knew did the same thing to avoid accidentally accepting an invitation that they would regret. If she'd ever experienced guilt over this, it had long been subsumed by the assurance that a South's life was too short and their time too valuable to be wasted on tedious or indigestible dinners. This year, she looked over the somewhat diminished array of invitations with narrowed, appraising eyes. While she could still hear tong-wielding servants clattering back and forth with more invitations for other Souths, Subira knew the handful resting before her were all she would get this year. For some reason, few wanted a crotchety old maid with a reputation for neither beauty or charm at their tables. The thought made her snort amusedly. Of the missives before her, the most elegant by far was sent by a noble-born gentleman from the North Winds. Despite its curlicued calligraphy and richly scented wadj, though, Subira turned up her nose. The very sight of the man's name stirred up vague but compelling recollections of a haughty, uninteresting creature she didn't like or respect, even if his nephew's niece's grandfather's third cousin-once-removed was Sadiki of the North Winds. Tucked behind it on the tray, a far humbler invitation made Subira's eyes light up. Addressed to Subira in blunt, blocky letters, the brief note came from her uncle Harpenres' quartermaster, inviting her to supper with his wife and three strapping young sons. Even if his father had sold fruit and vegetables in the Pavilion, the quartermaster was wise, fair, and clever and she thought very well of him indeed. With a decisive air, she reached for the quartermaster's invitation and the one to the family gathering and eagerly announced, "I have chosen!" The servant bearing the tray silently bowed and backed out of the room. That evening, though, Subira was swiftly reminded of another important difference between the North Winds nobleman and her uncle's quartermaster besides temperament: wealth. After exchanging merry, boisterous greetings with their guests and seating them in places of honor on long benches, the family began handing out platters of food that struck Subira as painfully plain and scant. They didn't have any cooks or waiters either, so the quartermaster or his wife frequently excused themselves to fetch the next course and offer it to their guests. A squat, grave woman with a surprisingly luminous smile, the quartermaster's wife smiled proudly as the first course, consisting of bowls of bean soup, traveled down the rows of guests to the children. Taking a sip of the soup, Subira just barely kept herself from making a face. It tasted rough and heavy to her palate, long accustomed to more delicately spiced bisques and broths. There wasn't a single bay leaf in sight, but plenty of salt, which no doubt accounted for his wife's pride in the soup. She quenched her thirst during the next course with several slices of pale, juicy melon, which thankfully tasted much the same as what she was used to. The next course, however, came as a shock to Subira. Remembering the pheasant in mint sauce served with flaky tubers and aromatic onions that she'd eaten two nights ago, she took one look at the chunks of celery and steamed fish being handed around and repressed her sigh with a long sip of beer. The thought that this would be a long, hungry night, though, was quickly cut short when the neighbor on her right, an old sail-maker, began bantering and poking good-natured fun at their host. Subira burst out laughing at one particularly droll pun and even threw in a few quips of her own about her uncle and his quartermaster. Somehow, the laughter and jesting made the fish taste sweeter in her mouth, even if there wasn't quite as much of it as she would've liked. Around when the platters of grapes, jackal nuts, and almonds came around, the guests started singing sea shanties and rowing songs, and Subira's warbling contralto sang along with them. Despite the fun, though, she couldn't help wolfing down great quantities of beef, leeks, cabbage, and fresh-baked barley bread when she returned to attend her family's gathering. Her little sister Teshrshan watched Subira feasting with a mixture of amusement and astonishment. "Sicpw, you're slowing down," Tesha teased. "I think you actually took long enough to taste that last loaf!" "If I wasn't so busy enjoying this bread, I'd definitely shoot back something witty and sharp," Subira mumbled around a mouthful of barley bread. "Where did you go tonight?" Tesha asked. "How in Dira's name did you leave so hungry?" Subira told her. "That sounds like you, Subi," Tesha remarked, a little dryly. "I, on the other hand, went to a dinner hosted by," she named a prominent teacher at the Courtyard of Jackals, "and I certainly ate my fill. Ah, well. Did you enjoy yourself, at least?" "Yes," Subira answered firmly. "I did."

[Subira]

Season of Winter, Day 25, 512 AV "Look!" exclaimed a serving maid, pointing toward the window with her free hand. "The sun's starting to set. That means the Shuuda Semhu production will be starting soon!" Hearing the exclamation and the rising hubbub around her in the tavern, Subira let out a sharp murmur of surprise, followed by a slight growl of vexation. Ever since she had unwrapped the small instrument this morning from the mysterious gift braid that had been left for her at the dock gates, Subira had been studying and toying with it all day, trying to elicit melodies from it with her inexpert lips and fingertips. None of her paltry efforts, of course, had elicited a song even remotely comparable to the sweet music that rang through the streets and inns of all Ahnatep today. She had just persuaded the minstrel at this particular tavern to teach her a simple tune or two to pipe along on her ocarina, when the serving maid decided to make her announcement. At the realization that evening was nigh, the irritatingly pretentious minstrel forgot his promise to teach her and leaped toward the door. A host of other tavern patrons rapidly followed, some even overturning chairs and stools in their excitement. Rolling her eyes, Subira reluctantly tucked her ocarina into her sash and rose to her feet as well. Even an otherwise delightful holiday like Shuuda had its tiresome moments, and for Subira the Night of Sound was one of them. She was too hardworking to have time for something as useless as Semhu and too plain and plebeian to appreciate it. Alas, the South Winds had gold-encrusted front-row seats at the amphitheater, and one duty of the House's younger generation was to fill them on all occasions, sparing their equally working-class elders the caterwauling and pirouetting. From the animated whispers of the crowd, she gathered that this year the production would depict the romance between Dira and her Ethaefal lover. Subira took her time sauntering into the amphitheater, absent-mindedly allowing eager musicians and Semhu enthusiasts ahead of her. She knew she'd be bored to sleep by the play, after all, so why hurry to her seat? And for the first two scenes, Subira's intuition proven correct. The formal-sounding, full-throated wailing that everyone else seemed to find so beautiful was much less pleasing to her ear than a chorus of lusty, brazen sailors belting out a rollicking sea shanty. By the third scene, her eyelids were drooping, her head nodding off to one side. She barely registered an entrance of a radiant, statuesque figure onto the stage, whose spun-silver hair and marble-like skin provoked admiring female murmurs from the audience. Then he opened his mouth and sang. Subira's eyes flew open. "Dira be blessed!" she gasped. Without quite knowing how, Subira found herself leaning forward almost on the edge of her seat, her hands gripping the ornately carved armrests and her face upraised toward the Ethaefal singer like a flower turning toward the sun. She had never heard a voice like his, so powerful in purity, so pure in its power, so soft and sweet and yet sublimely and absolutely masculine. Her ears and nerves alike thrilled to every lyrical, luminous note as his heavenly voice glorified the simple lament he sang, while stretching his sculpted arms skyward in supplication. Sorrow swept through Subira as she listened with mouth open and eyes wide, sorrow and enchantment and wonder, for his voice made her feel as if she were bathed in moonlight tonight. For the rest of the production, she listened spellbound to the Ethaefal's singing. When he was offstage, sleep and boredom threatened to claim her again, but when he reappeared, she could no more pull her attention away than the tide could resist the moon. During the final scene, she felt her soul soaring with exaltation as Dira and the Ethaefal's voices merged into an unearthly harmony, and she knew everyone else's souls soared too. As they were leaving the amphitheater, her cousin Tefau glanced at her and snorted in disbelief. "Subi? Are you…are you crying?" "No!" she denied hotly, wiping any evidence to the contrary from her eyes and smearing kohl onto her cheek. He chuckled. "And here I thought you always hated the Night of Sound." Despite herself, Subira smiled and replied, only half-jesting, "Oh, believe me, I still do. Especially tonight. Tonight was just…" She shuddered and wiped her eyes again, further ruining her makeup, as she remembered how strongly the Ethaefal's voice had affected her and played upon her emotions. "Believe me, I never, ever want to go through another evening like this one, ever again."

[Subira]

Season of Winter, Day 26, 512 AV Now this, thought Subira as she lay stretched out upon the swaying deck of a reed boat drifting along the gloriously sunlit coast of Ahnatep, is the perfect way to spend a day. Blinking through the brilliant sunshine, she lazily opened one eye to gaze contentedly toward the shore, where dozens of bathers bobbed and waded through the water. Small tents pitched for shade dotted the pale golden sand beyond them, and brightly garbed adults and children alike ran or strolled among the tents to play games, collect seashells, and enjoy a pleasant day on the coast. Subira smiled as she watched the shore from afar, teeming with activity and life in fitting tribute to Kihala, goddess of life, to whom this sixteenth day of Shuuda was dedicated. Only the South Winds and their guests, however, could enjoy this day out on the water itself, the salty and undrinkable ocean water that yet bestowed coolness, moisture, sustenance, and a connection to the outside world upon the inhabitants of Ahnatep. Nearly the entire House was drinking in the sunlight and salty breezes in the bay, either aboard their family Mesedjet or a boat of bundled reed like Subira was. This year, her vessel was shared with her cousins Ouza and Tefau, a pair she knew she could count on to both load up their boat with good barley beer and manage to steer it safely home after dark. Sitting beside her now, in fact, was a sturdy cup filled with Shuuda beer. Propping herself on one elbow, Subira stuck in her straw and took a long, sybaritic sip. Though not as fragrant with cinnamon, cloves, and orange rind as the corked bottle she'd received from her mystery gift braid, the beer still warmed her from within and filled her with a sense of well-being. In fact, it made her too warm now, what with the white sun blazing overhead. Subira put down her straw and looked around, wondering where her cousins had gone. As in answer, she heard a splash from below. "Hey, Subira!" called Tefau. "What are you doing up there? Still lazing and drinking in the sun?" "Can you think of a better way to pass one's time?" she challenged him. Slapping the water so that it sprayed upward around him, Tefau grinned winningly up at her. "Already thought of one, cousin. Jump in, why don't you? The water's fine, and you're not the sort to worry over ruining your short tunic with a swim. Unless you're scared of prowling underwater beasties?" Clearly jesting, he made ominous wiggling motions with three hands. Nevertheless, peering down into the clear green water, Subira shivered. Was it truly less than a year ago? She only had to close her eyes and see again a taupe fin cutting relentlessly through leaping, frothing water, coming for her, for her… Ouza's calm voice cut through her trance. "Subira? Are you all right?" With a shudder, she opened her eyes and looked down at him, calm and steady as always, even with Tefau thrashing in circles around him like a porpoise. His dark eyes seemed to penetrate her surface calm and perceive the dread lurking beneath, even if he couldn't grasp its origin. "Don't worry, cousin," he said gently. "It's safe." Somehow, those simple words caused the tension to dissolve from Subira's clenched muscles, leaving only a faint, wry smile in its wake. Her spirits rose, reminding her that today was the Day of Life, not the Day of Reliving Past Disasters. Subira stood up from her half-recumbent position, tugged her short tunic straight, rose onto her tiptoes, and plunged headlong into the water. Tefau cheered as she resurfaced, her braided hair streaming and teeth chattering. "Oh! It's so cold!" Subira gasped. "Laviku's beard, I forgot how chilly the water gets in winter." She swam around for a few moments with vigorous strokes to get her blood moving again, the shock of the cold water receding. Ignoring Tefau and Ouza as they began a race swimming laps around the small reed boat, Subira instead spread her arms and let herself relax into the water. Her tunic spread around her like the petals of a water lily, and her natural buoyancy lifted her up, allowing her to lie on her back in the water and float effortlessly and contentedly. Now this is an even better way to spend a day.

[Subira]

Season of Winter, Day 30, 512 AV It had been decades since Subira had considered herself a child, but to this day she still awoke at dawn on the last day of Shuuda to see small jackals at her feet, wrought from various materials by her parents and siblings. She smiled fondly at the sight, which never failed to charm her no matter how worn and familiar the handmade jackals grew. All had been made for Subira for the Shuudas of her childhood, and all had been carefully cherished and stored away through the years, only reemerging once a year for the last morning of Shuuda. Leaning forward in her low-slung cot, Subira reached out to stroke each beloved creation, remembering how this blocky wooden jackal had been whittled by her brother Iriei when she was nine, how that one was sculpted from veined black marble from the mines of her mother's former House, how her father had surprised his children one year with brass jackals whose mechanical eyes and jaws could open and close with the touch of a lever. Last night, she had taken all the jackals from their special chest and arranged them on the ground in the dark, so that at least their placement would be a surprise. Of course, Subira couldn't have saved all the jackals her family had made for her. She grinned, remembering when she and her little sister Tesha had both carved jackals out of melons for each other. And when she'd preferred jackals of cake, bread, or figs to those of wood or clay. Ah, the priorities of childhood… Eventually, Subira came to understand and value the lesson the jackals taught. Living where they did, between the burning desert and churning sea, death waited for them everywhere, in a sandstorm or a storm at sea, in droughts and floods, in palaces or hovels. The wise Eypharian, be they noble-born or common, knew to welcome Dira and her jackals with grace, if not necessarily with joy. For a while, she simply sat in her cot reliving memories of long-ago Shuudas and years gone past. As the dawn's glow steadily brightened, though, she rose and left the pavilion to eat breakfast with her family. Nibbling on bread toasted over a fire pit and spread with spicy chickpea paste, she sat cross-legged beside the flames and watched other nobles emerging from their large pavilion tents to greet the day.. Her parents and younger sister had risen sometime ago and now sat huddled in blankets by the fire pit against the morning's chill. Beyond them, she could see the smaller tents of city servants and merchants, and beyond them the humble goat-hair tents where the commoners slept. In her heart, Subira saluted the busy and industrious working class of Ahnatep with a feeling of fellowship and affinity, completely unself-conscious even while she reached for a jar of fine golden honey imported from Riverfall to spread some on her bread. One by one, she unraveled the final gifts from her family's braids with sincere thanks and an occasional private groan over the various hopes and wishes expressed therein. Success and glory were all very well, but was her mother seriously hoping for children next year? Or had Subira entirely misinterpreted her gift? She rather hoped she had. Unwrapping the final gift on the mysterious, unlabeled blue-and-green gift braid that had been left for her, though, she received an even greater shock. This braid had already yielded some surprisingly fine and costly presents, but the beautifully illustrated map that Subira unrolled from its fabric parcel literally took her breath away. Truly, it was a marvel, with the arching shape of the continent drawn in pen and ink with masterly precision and delicacy. Subira had always yearned to possess such a map, but it would have been an unseemly extravagance when she was only a young navigator and a futile affectation now that she lacked a ship to navigate at all. And now, she had one. Who could have given her such a gift? A note was writ small in one corner of the map. Squinting in the firelight, Subira read it with mounting astonishment. "May you see the world without fear and return home without burden," she whispered aloud. "Ever your baker…" Andrick. The human. The human baker and lifter of heavy things. The Counterweight of the Ano Cult. Subira clutched the map to her chest with a sense of wonder, feeling suddenly more hopeful and eager for the coming year than she had in a long time. Truly, she thought in a daze, Shuuda could be a magical time of year. Even if Ahnatep's citizens didn't lose their prideful ambitions, at least they softened for a time. Even if she had chafed at the thought of weaving a braid for a half-breed West Wind, she now looked forward to hearing whether he enjoyed her gifts. And even if Ano Cultists claimed not to feel emotion, they still seemed to find ways of expressing their feelings through the holidays and filling their recipients with the overwhelming emotions of joy, gratitude, and excitement.

[Colombina]

The XP Wand Is Waved! I have been keeping up with this thread since you began it and truly enjoyed re-reading it. This is my favorite Shuuda thread, and I hope to use it as an example for future Shuuda writers. You have a wonderful, warm and detailed sketch of SW culture and the holiday. The various Jackals at the end representing the previous years was a perfect touch. It was especially fun to see all the traditions interpreted by your character. I applaud this thread and found it just perfect! (Let me know if I missed anything xp wise.) Subira's Loot 1 XP Ocarina 2 XP Organization 2 XP Rhetoric 2 XP Swimming Lore of the Days of Shuuda Lore of a Love Poem in Arumenic Lore of Various Cultural Swears Lore of Traditional Appearance of Ano Cultists Lore of Eypharian Commoner's Fare Lore of Eypharian Noble's Fare Lore of Traditional Semhu Performances Lore of Ethaefal Appearance Lore of Ahnatep Coastline Colombina is pleased.