Closed Until That Day [Ayatah]

[Razkar]

In the the shadow-tinged world, he was at some place that was... not Taloba. He didn't know if it was even Falyndar. It was some place with drinks. A long bar with bottles behind it. A swarm of barbarians on every table, from all the races of Mizahar... but no Myrians.

No. There were two, at their table. One swaddled in warm clothes of fine manufacture, straight-backed and with an aura of calm and knowledge radiating from... her? Yes, it was a her...

”It’s morning.”

She spoke and Razkar blinked. Wait... was it Razkar? Yes, it had to be him, because he was the one watching the table. But if that was so... the other figure at the table...

A raider. A butcher. A fighter. Fetishes of bone and skin hung off the leathers crisscrossing his torso and waist. They swung from his hair and even from the bone-hilted weapons covering him. His teeth were filed and his every movement shook with tension, like some beast barely restrained. He looked so familiar...

Razkar blinked again, and when his lids parted, he was that figure at the table. Looking at the female. Who was... not afraid of him. No, more than that, she was smiling. Eyes... brown eyes full of love, and all the noise of the tavern was muted to a dull roar around them. Her hand stretched out... and grasped his callused palm.

”Time to -- wake up -- reaver.”

The world shuddered around him like an earthquake. The words seemed to come from further away, vibrating everything solid around them and when he blinked-

-he felt those tiny little kisses across his face, and opened his eyes to see those same brown orbs that looked on the reaver with adoration.

"... Reader..."

She cocked her head to one side and Razkar smiled sleepily, face a picture of childish wonder that others he met in years to come would swear simply was not possible.

But with her, however...

His hand reached up and stroked her face, pulled into sharp relief by Syna's strong rays. He touched her, and she was real. "I had the... strangest dream..." He said, blinking and making his eyes a tad wider. "I must stop reading your books so much." He leaned forward to kiss her and swatted her bare arse at the same time. "Giving me strange visions."

She yelped lowly and swatted him back across the chest, but didn't break the kiss, he noticed. The two of them chuckled into each others' lips for a moment and then broke it off. There was a whiff of sadness there, the same as before but... hope.

Something so precious and so essential for any being, Razkar had only realized a few days ago. Without it, they were nothing. Without that drive and wish and vision for tomorrow to be better than today... what was the point?

"I am due at the Barracks." He said as he stood, hunting for his clothes. Ayatah always marveled that despite being an otherwise staunch and disciplined soldier, when he was her, Razkar flung clothes around like used fruit peelings. "To tie up some loose ends, since my service is over. I'll pick up what is left of mine there... say my goodbyes."

Now it was his turn to try and keep the pain from his voice, back turned to her as he dressed. Most of the fang were new recruits, replacements for the ones lost during their brutal decimation during the Djed Storm and its aftermath. Of the original twelve comrades that Razkar had first marched with, only four were left alive. Three of them he counted as friends, but Oxil... Oxil was his conscience in the Fang. His steadying, calming voice.

He needed that. And he would miss being there for his battle-brother.

"But, ah..." he cleared his throat a little louder than necessary "I will meet you in the Market, if you wish. I'm sure you have... ink and parchment to buy, I guess..."

He finished his clumsy sentence with a shrug and a chuckle. Isn't that what scholars spent all their money on?

[Ayatah]

”Oh really?” she asked with a dangerous smirk, head resting on his chest, ”’Strange’ isn’t the word I’d use to describe my dream….” The words were accompanied by Ayatah lightly tracing her fingertips up, up, up his body, from the middle of his left thigh to the centre of his chest. When he responded with little gasps and groans, her smirk only grew wider. Soon they were both laughing -- kissing in between, of course.

Happiness had returned to them, flooding their lives with the same warmth that it had done before the storm. Much had been lost, yes. But some things were slowly being reclaimed. Their people were sure to recover the jungle eventually; the Dhani would be pushed back into their hellish hole... Falyndar would perhaps be, one day, the home she loved once again.

There were still some things had been lost forever, though… And that thought alone made Ayatah freeze for just less than a second, eyes closed in silent memory in the life that would not be. Then she continued dressing herself.

She had had no other plans for that day, other than leaving of course. But as soon as her family learnt that their clansdaughter would remain in Taloba for a few more days, no doubt they would offload all their spare jobs and tasks for her to do. Leave no family member behind, be it on the battleground or the daily job list; it was one of Quinneth’s favourite ditties.

There were patients in the infirmary she could check up on as well. Originally Ayatah had been reluctant to help out there, knowing more about how to end a life than to repair one. But saving the life of fellow Myrians had been the perfect distraction for her otherwise preoccupied mind. She had bonded with the patients too, though that was a dangerous double-edged sword: pure ecstasy when they walked out of those big wooden doors, but utter disappointment and grief when their eyes clouded and heart stopped.

"I am due at the Barracks. To tie up some loose ends, since my service is over. I'll pick up what is left of mine there... say my goodbyes."

Ayatah recognised that sound, the strain attached to his words. She had heard it in her own voice as much as his over the past season. He had lost -- how many comrades was it? Seven, eight? She could not quite remember, but the numbers were not important. His fangmates were dead: those metaphorical brothers and sisters who, after long enough, were no different to biological siblings. She did not say anything, but extended a hand and rested it upon his. No words could ease his pain, but she hoped the small gesture would bring some comfort.

”Do what you need, my love,” she said softly, tying her hair into some intricate plait that fell down her right shoulder. ”I’ll wait.” And she would, be it for chimes or years.

"I will meet you in the Market, if you wish. I'm sure you have... ink and parchment to buy, I guess..."

Yes, ink and paper. What else did scholars buy? Ayatah had no more of a clue than he did. Was she scholar, or was that something you had to become through paying tuition fees? ”I suppose I’ll look a bit odd if I try to write on the skin of a foe and using his blood for ink…” she said slowly, as if that was what she had actually planned to do.

Dressed, they left the lodge. Outside the youngest Scattered Bones were awake, running riot and playing some game. Quinneth was also up, sitting by the fire next to the blinded Roseane. Ayatah watched them all, dark eyes swallowing the image whole and imprinting it into her memory. This is my home. This will always be my home.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

”I suppose I’ll look a bit odd if I try to write on the skin of a foe and using his blood for ink…”

Razkar turned a little sharper than was normal, looking down at her with his eyebrows at the top of his head... and then slowly smiled.

She's playing with you, idiot.

"Such a wicked sense of humor, my dear," he purred, nuzzling her neck as he finished strapping on his weapons, "Something else I shall truly miss..."

A few whiffs of her skin, rich with those fear-moans she's mentioned before, and he decided he'd better leave, or neither of them would get much done today. He smiled at her one last time and pecked her lips.

"See you later."

The Scattered Bones were, of course, out and about in the early morning, like every other Myrian clan. The first hours of daylight were some of their peak hours, as it were. Prey was still in the near jungle, water was coolest for collection, limbs were well-rested and better-suited for strain... and there was always breakfast to consider. The warrior nodded or raised a hand in greeting to faces he recognized, and realized as he started walking on the crunching path of bones that he would not recognize them for many seasons.

But he could deal with that, he understood as his stride gained speed and purpose. If he could leave her... he could leave anything.

----------

"Atten-shun!"

At once nearly a dozen bare or sandaled feet slammed onto the stone floor as Fang Keran (formerly Rehkuna) snapped to attention with admirable speed. But when their eyes slid to the doorway, there was a sudden ease of tension, followed by a chorus of grumbled curses from the veterans.

"Oh, you, is it? Sod that, then..."

"Fang Leader for a few weeks and he thinks he's bloody entitled."

"My hand, wasn't it?"

Oxil and Zuran chuckled from their tables, where fine cloth and whetstones were laid out along with their weapons. Well, mainly for Zuran. Oxil's massive warhammer required another hammer and chisel to be properly maintained, the brawny warrior relentlessly banging out lumps and scrapes, keeping the bulbous head smooth and as aerodynamic as possible. The recruits went back to their chores or games, some of them almost awestruck as the one from the Shorn Skulls looked over them.

"Where is the Fang Leader?"

"Meeting with command." Oxil said without looking up, but kicked out a chair for his friend. "New orders, apparently. Patrolling, not too far from the city. Petching Dhani are getting bolder and bolder..."

"A shame I will not be with you, then."

That got the reaction he was expecting, much as he was not looking forward to it. The recruits looked up with sudden interest, but the veterans... that would not be the word for it. Shock would be more accurate. Oxil and Zuran's eyes were wide with surprise; Murkel and Itzao looked plain confused. Razkar, not going on a mission? That's just... weird.

It was, of course, Oxil who figured out it went deeper than that.

"But not... with another fang, I take it?"

Razkar nodded shortly, face a careful mask. He had been turning over and over the best way to break this to his men, but now he was in the midst of it and the words were blurted out, it came easier. That first hurdle was the worst. Now all that was left to fill in the gaps.

"I have decide to go on The Pilgrimage. I will be leaving in a couple of days. The Fang Leader knows. So does command."

Oxil nodded slowly. Zuran seemed to slump visibly in his chair. The male was a moody bastard some of the time, and he was a pain in the arse in the Training Yards (and the head, and arms, and legs, and chest...), but even the veterans would grudgingly admit he was one of their best. To lose such an asset...

But big Oxil knew that steady look in his friend's eye. A decision had been made, and Raz had the brains not to make rash ones. Not usually, anyway. He rose from his seat and put out his arm. The two of them clasped, wrist-on-wrist, in the old fashion, and swung each other in for an embrace.

"May Myri guide your hands..."

Razkar squeezed him tight, just for a moment. From doe-eyed recruits to hard-faced veterans, all in a few short years. Dozens of skirmishes and countless patrols. Endless days of training and tedium in the barracks. Nights of drinking and games and fights and pranks and... history. All the things that made a memory worth having.

Now the words became harder.

"... and Dira your blades... brother."

He wondered where Ayatah was, for a fleeting moment, and whether he goodbyes were as hard as this...

[Ayatah]

She watched him leave, standing at the door of their lodge with a dumb little smile on her face. Get a grip, woman! You’re a petching warrior of Myri! But still that smile remained.

”Razkar looked pretty happy for a man whose woman is buggering off today.” Ayatah spun around to find Quinneth peering up at her, covered in thick furs and wearing a smirk of her own.

There’s no way she could know… Ayatah told herself, but she was well aware of her Great-Grandmothers uncanny ability to expect the unexpected. ”He’s dealing with it well.” She suggested feebly, shrugging her shoulders and grinning sheepishly. There was no lying to Quinneth, who could see through even the most detailed and rehearsed deceptions as if they were nothing more than a silly child’s tale.

”We’ll see you both tonight for dinner, then?”

Ayatah didn’t answer that question, but threw the ingenious old woman a bemused look as she walked away. She shouldn’t have been surprised really, having spent most of her life marvelling at how her clan matriarch seemed to know everything that happened amongst the Scattered Bones.

----------

”Couldn’t leave without saying goodbye, ‘ey?”

The spritely voice made her smile, but Ayatah shook her head slowly. ”Change of plan,” she started, making her way over to the first bed in the infirmary. Lying in it was a young man barely out of boyhood, though he looked well enough. ”I’m leaving in a few days.”

Gunser shifted his position and grandly threw back the blankets and furs that kept him warm. Around his middle were several layers of bandages. He began peeling them away himself, but his eyes remained on Aya. He was frowning ”Really, why’s that? You were in such an arsey mood yesterday after saying your goodbyes.” [color=black

”I was not!” She cleared her throat, softening her voice so as not to prove the ignorant youth right. ”I am no longer travelling alone. My--“ She paused, as she always did when she came to describe what Razkar was to her. They had said no vows, so were not officially mates in the eyes of their culture, and ‘lover’ always sounded so sordid and casual - so after nearly three years of kissing and lovin’, titling him came no easier. ”--man friend is leaving as well.”

Man-friend? Who the petch says that?

The young lad exploded into hearty laughter at her sudden awkwardness, making Ayatah’s job of checking his wound particular difficult. ”You’re lucky your on the mend, y’know. Means I can make a quicker job of kicking your arse.” He had been shot in the stomach by a Dhani arrow, but luckily it had not damaged any of his organs. It still amazed her that he was alive, and doing so well. She quickly cleaned the wound, dabbing around it with cold water before placing dark green moss right on top of the narrow cut where the arrow had plummeted into his soft flesh. The whole job took no more than five chimes, but she was happy that she had done it.

Of course that meant she had to say this goodbye one more time….

”When I come back, I want to see you training with all the other little kids.” She said candidly, giving Gunser her best ‘take-me-seriously’ look. But there was a grin on her face all the same, especially when he so obviously prickled at the word ’kid’.

[/color]”Enjoy the outside world, Aya.” There was a chime where she thought he was also being sincere… But that dissolved when he said: ”And when you realise you’re in love with me, let your ‘man-friend’ down easily.”

------

She was still grinning when she left the infirmary, though it dropped slightly when she glanced behind her a final time, looking down that narrow room. Many Myrians had died there, especially since the storm. It was bad enough when a warrior was carried in by his or her comrades, blood spilling from all orifices and with no damn hope of being saved. But the worse kinds of death were those that happened suddenly and unexpectedly, like infections. She had seen wounds almost healed, the patient laughing and jostling about their ‘close encounter with Dira’. But the very next day they might be cold, but still hot to the touch, and feverish and shivering. They never made it to the next day.

But slowly the deaths were becoming less frequent, and now, more often than not patients would walk out of the infirmary healed of their wounds and sicknesses. In some small way, Ayatah had helped with that. Or so she likened to think, anyway.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

Walking away came easier than saying goodbye. Razkar found that out when he left Command's main office, his final season's salary in a cheap sack, bikka jangling against his thigh, and Fang Leader Keran's iron handshake still making his hand ache.

"I am sorry to see you go, male," she had said, and sounded halfway sincere, "Your reputation is... impressive. But The Pilgrimage is a sacred rite for our people." He had pulled him just a fraction closer, steady grey eyes boring into his own. "You have given this the most sincerest thought, I trust?"

Razkar did not hesitate. "I have, mistress. It is what I must do."

"Then go well, Razkar of the Shorn Skulls."

So he did. He went well out the door, down the hallway lined with frescoes of battles and wars past, and out into the sun-washed courtyard. He just kept putting one foot in front of the other... and then he stopped. And turned.

Dozens, scores, perhaps hundreds of skulls from a dozen races were laid into the archway above the Garrison's entrance. Every one was a champion, an enemy that had shed Myrian blood and was only defeated by a warrior of matching courage. Well... not matching. Because they were beheaded, consumed and their bleached skulls made into ornamentation. Centuries worth of enemies and victories. He'd walked under it countless times... and he would not be doing it again for a long time.

"Myri be with you, my brothers."

And with that, Razkar turned his back on the army of Taloba and walked to the Trading Square.

----------

Which was a madhouse, as expected. The Myrians were an orderly and disciplined people, most of the time, but the staggering variety of goods and services on offer in the Square, the haphazard sprawl of tents, stalls and vendors made even the most ordered mind chaotic. Cries and shouts and curses rattled through the air. The stench of spices and meats and parchment and a hundred others assailed Razkar from streets away. And then... he was there.

"Finest bananas in Falyndar! Thee bikka a pound-"

"-perfect for a mate or friend, finest silks from Anhatap-"

"-guaranteed to cure ailments, fermented and tested in the deep Jungle of the south-"

That was just the first ten feet. There were hundreds to go. The warrior weaved his way through the Dhani nest of intersecting corridors and thoroughfares, one hand on his bikkas at all times. Theft was rare in Taloba, mainly because thieves had a hand cut off, regardless of age or gender, but one could never be too careful... especially in desperate and turbulent days.

Which you will not see, a traitorous, doubting voice chimed in from inside his skull as he sidestepped a vendor with a cart crying about the quality of his fish, since you will be far away. You could be here, but you will be running away... oh, sorry, "on The Pilgrimage", yes?

"Who asked you...?"

The voice was about to reply, he was sure, but then he saw her through the next clump of haggling, hustling Myrians. Skin lighter than theirs, shorter than them too, her black hair jostled and flowed as she shook her hair. She was bartering madly with an old woman behind a table laden with what looked like apothecary materials.

Razkar smiled and shook his head. Brave woman, jumping in with these sharks...

[Ayatah]

Haggling was a part of the Myrian culture that Ayatah fortunately excelled at. Her stubborn but patient nature meant that she was quite happy bartering for a good long time; breaking down the spirit of whatever merchant she decided to take on until they finally came to an agreement.

The trading square had always been one of her favourite places in the city. Most merchants sold Myrian-made goods, but there were some that sold exports from across the Suvan Sea, from the eastern or northern cities… Or even from the desert. She still marvelled at those fine desert silks, how they ran through her fingers like water and were even brighter than some of the flowers in the jungle. But she never made a purchase; others could get away with wearing Eypharian-made attire, but that was one step too far in the direction of her paternity.

The traders hardly ever managed to keep the same post two days in a row, though there was some sort of vague organisation to the Trading Square. Fishmongers generally stayed in the shade, saving the noses of all the other merchants and customers. Weapons were more central, as were clothing and wines. But it was the far edge of the grassy square that Ayatah headed towards now, wrinkling her nose when she had to walk past a stall where she suspected the meat was far from fresh.

Jur’qua had grown up amongst the market, when his own father used to sell the trinkets and jewellery made by his clansmen. He began assisting his father as boy aged ten, and quickly grew a sharp tongue and sharper wit. When his father passed, Jur’qua continued running the family stall, though over time he changed his wares from family made knick-knacks to pictures, maps and books. Most were Myrian texts, but he also had a steady flow of literature from the barbaric lands. The latter were a little harder to sell, but a certain half-Eypharian made up for more than half of his trade.

”Ayatah! I thought you were leaving today? I was readying myself to have to close the family business without your support.” The old man clapped his hands as she approached, then held them out in a warm welcome. Over time, the two had formed a strange kind of friendship, though their closeness did not stop them arguing over prices.

She smiled and slipped her hands into his, shaking them both in a well-rehearsed greeting. ”I’m not leaving for a few days, so I thought I’d come and visit my favourite merchant.”

Unfortunately his wares were a little disappointing. There were only two Zeltiva-based books, and she had already bought a copy of one and the other was barely more than a leaflet, it was so sparse of information. But another caught her eye, and before she even touched the brown leather front cover, Jur’qu leapt into his best tradesman performance:

”Aah, a very special book! Written by two men: one of those big blue bastards and a human. Apparently they travelled to all the eastern cities and made notes of the traditional weapons of the people there. They wrote down other things, of course, like the laws of that city or tolerance levels to outsiders. It might be helpful for your adventures, so I’ll sell it to you for five bikka. Special price.”

No it wouldn’t. she thought, but nodded and smiled along all the same, and your special price is about as precious as a drunkards sobriety.

Now came the fun.

”I’ll give you 2 bikka for it.”

”Hm, I could sworn I said five.”

”C’mon… It’s worth no more than two. There are pages missing from the Syliras section.”

”No, there is simply less information about that city.”

”It goes from page eight to page fourteen with nothing in between. Two pages are missing. A bikka for each.”

Eventually, they agreed on three bikka, but neither party were particularly happy about it. Once the bartering was complete, though, they returned to friendly chatter about their respective families and general city gossip. Apparently a herbalist had tied some stinking flower to the underside of a table belonging to one of the fish mongers, making his wares smell even worse (which Ayatah found hard to believe), all because the fisherman had slept with the herbalist’s daughter and then beaten her to a pulp in training yards the next day.

”Before you go, Miss Ayatah, I suggest checking with Shiveen - see that monstrously huge woman selling apothecaries? She has a poultice that apparently cures seasickness… Might come in handy.”

Now that sounded more promising.

The woman was almost as wide as a Tskanna -- and as stubborn. She did indeed sell such a medicine, but charged a hefty sum of ten bikka. An outrageous price! But when Ayatah said as much, the grumpy saleswoman simply pulled a face and dismissed the half-Eypharian, turning her haggling into a full-on battle mission. They argued for a while, but eventually Ayatah gave up. Some people are not worth the business, she thought huffily, hoping that seasickness was something she would not suffer from (oh, how wrong she was).

Shaking her head and grumbling to herself, she stomped off, her brows furrowed and lips pursed. Myri, she hated losing! Fortunately her crankiness dissolved when she finally looked where she was going, and almost walked straight into Razkar. Where did he come from?

”Oh!” Her lips creased into a smile, failed haggling battle all but a distant memory now. Pecking his lips lightly, she held up her single successful purchase. ”A book.” Well, that much was obvious. ”About the barbaric cities and the people that live there… What weapons they use and how easily they are to kill.” She pressed the book against his chest, ”sounds like something that might be helpful to a reaver to read.”

ledger-3 Bikka for the book… which should transfer for -9 Miza I think. Also I hope my maths with the page numbers were correct for double-sided pages. Not my strong point!

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

”A book. About the barbaric cities and the people that live there. What weapons they use and how easily they are to kill. Sounds like something that might be helpful to a reaver to read.”

Razkar smiled fondly as he frowned down at the weathered cover, yellowed pages speaking more volumes about the distance the tome had traveled than the words printed on them. He turned it over a few times, as if it was a strange fossil specimen. Ayatah crushed a smile as she watched him. Not stupid, her male, but still enough of a warrior to regard a book like it might grow a sword arm.

"Arms... Of... Mizahar..."

He sounded the words out slowly, still unused to reading out loud. His eyes flickered up for just a moment in uncertainty, even worry, gauging her reaction. Of course, he needn't have worried. She knew of his... difficulties.

Moreover, Razkar thought with a smile as he tucked the book under his shoulder, it was just like Aya to do something like that. There he was, ready to step from under the canopy and into a world that either hated or feared their people, and how was she helping? Buying him a book. But not because she was some naive sop: but because the book could contain information about his enemies.

We all have our weapons.

"Thank you, my love." He leaned down to kiss her again, softer, and no-one passe dared to knock into the two of them. Well, until- "Hey, be careful!"

"Then take it off the street, warrior!"

Razkar muttered something coarse and took his female's hand, leading her gently to the side of the rough thoroughfare. The controlled chaos of the Trading Square stood aside for few, and he should have understood that-

-and then suddenly her hand as tugged from his, and she was badgering another vendor. Short and squat and with half a nose missing, he saw Ayatah coming and put up both hands in a "surrender" gesture before she even got there, only for her to greet him with a broad smile.

Razkar shook his head. Goddess, he would miss this. He walked softly and slowly behind him, not wanting to interrupt, composing his own mental trading list. Most of his equipment was either strapped to him at that moment or at the Scattered Bones' compound. He'd need to acquire a few things, but they could wait until Black Rock or whatever barbarian port they would come arrive in.

The Myrian sighed and shook his head slowly.

Chief among them will be a... horse. Goddess help me...

Razkar, former warrior of the Taloba Army, waited and watched with loving eyes. Then they became a touch brighter, the smile a mite wider. Ah, there was one big thing they could do today. A certain someone who they simply could not leave Taloba without bidding farewell.

And ironically enough, she was not even in the city walls anymore.

[Ayatah]

The book was a strange gift to give a warrior, especially one who was about to embark on such a traditional, but aggressive, venture. Perhaps yet another weapon would have been a more suitable gesture, but that simply would not have been Ayatah. She had long believed that knowledge was just as important in staying alive as keeping a blade sharp and wounds clean. Though she was also aware that such opinions were… somewhat un-Myrian. It was not that literacy was abhorred in their society; it was simply something that was not hugely important. Most could read to some degree, but like anything, if it was not practised, it was a skill easily forgotten.

His hand took hers, and after giving his fingers a tender squeeze, she followed suit to leave the square.

Until, of course, she caught sight of something else.

The short tradesman was another of her acquaintances through trade. After losing his nose in a blood battle during his military service, Lazon lost his appetite for bloodshed understandably quickly. Instead, he turned his attention to the work of calligraphy and writing, as well as selling ink and paper. Should a Myrian require such things, they were likely to buy it from him. But the stocky little man had another service as well; he wrote letters for those who lacked the skill themselves, and taught others to write. It was through the latter that he had met Ayatah, when she was little more than a frustrated young girl lusting after intellect.

”Searching for quality ink, Eypharian?” He said with a smile on his round face. Unlike so many others, Ayatah knew that that final title was used somewhat affectionately instead of scathingly.

”Yes, do you know where I might get some?” They shared a laugh and instantly began bartering. Lazon was not as tight-fisted as Jur’qua, and Ayatah knew exactly how to sweet-talk him. ”Please Lazon… I would never have been able to leave for Zeltiva without your calligraphy lessons. And your calligraphy is so good….” She pouted, eyes glinting with mischief and hidden laughter.

Finally, the podgy man sighed and threw up his hands. ”You will put me out of business with your glinting skin and neat hand! Fine, fine. Take the lot for one bikka.” He slid two pots of ink and a wad of thick paper across the table. They exchanged the money and Ayatah put her new goods away into her leather satchel. Then Lazon leaned across the table and spoke in a gentler voice, ”and enjoy yourself there. Learn and enjoy it.”

She nodded and smiled, and finally Ayatah was ready to leave the trading square. But there was something they needed to do, and when she turned back to face Razkar, she half-guessed that he too was thinking the same. The prospect of leaving her closest friend was a painful one, but goodbyes must be said, and she had left the best (or perhaps the hardest) until last.

”We need to go and visit our favourite little witch.”

'nother ledger-1 Bikka (3GM) for ink and shizz.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

They called it the Killing Field, but amusingly enough, it had never had to live up to that name. A cleared space of ground extending for two hundred yards around the vast wall surrounding Taloba, the Killing Field existed to provide the city defenders with clear patterns of fire and give any attacking force no cover at all to take advantage of.

But no enemy had gotten close enough to the Sacred City to try... and now the Killing Field was under attack by something else.

"Well, they're making some progress, at least..."

Razkar tried to sound optimistic, but it was difficult to do so when you're spitting out fresh vines. The Killing Field was besieged, overgrown, overrun and constantly embattled these days. As he and Ayatah worked their way through it, they could hear the cacophony of dozens of machetes hacking away at the fresh plants. Ever day they came out and leveled the field. Every morning they returned and found it mostly reclaimed by the Jungle and a suddenly-antagonistic Caiyha.

But we try. What else is there to do?

Now there was almost no way to distinguish the edge of the field and the beginning of the Jungle proper... apart from the canopy, of course. The two Myrians walked briefly in the clear sunshine, stepping out from the shadows cast by the stone hills of Taloba... and then found themselves in shadow again. The Jungle claimed them.

"Now, where is it again...?"

Razkar mused to himself and squinted at the treeline. Wolf's hut should stand out against the green and brown, but that was only in theory, of course. In practicality, after a few years out here in the young Wilds, her home had become so grown over by the resurgent Jungle that it had become as one with the foliage as the tattoos on Razkar's skin. Indivisible.

Hssssss...

"Ah." Razkar said finally, gulping despite himself as he saw a fat, sinewy snake half again as long as him slide from the treeline and wrap itself down in front of... ah-ha! A doorway. "Well... looks like Nissila is in, at any rate..."

Ready when you are, Wolf!

[Ayatah]

"Well, they're making some progress, at least..."

It was all that could be said, really. ‘Some’ progress had indeed been made, but not huge amounts. The jungle crept forward each and every night, imposing on the Scared City as if nothing had been done to stop it the day before. Ayatah began to wonder what would happen should the Myrians cease hacking away at the overgrown foliage… But then again, perhaps that was not worth thinking about. The jungle is like to swallow us, city and all…

It was a worrying prospect -- to say that least. ”Progress is always being made, albeit slowly.”

There was that jab of guilt again. Leaving your home, your family, your fang, your patients… And what for? To attend some city-based university that no doubt preached that her people were nothing more than mindless savages? Well when you say it like that…

No, she mustn’t. Thoughts as that one were dangerous. Remaining in Falynder would bring nothing to her, so Ayatah could provide nothing to her people and home. In some strange, indirect logic, her leaving was for the benefit of Taloba and the Myrians. She was of no use struggling with her own private pains, so if it needed to be done, she may as well do it away from those she loved, so she couldn’t drag them down with her.

Despite the overgrowth, it did not take them long to reach Tinnok’s private lodging. As they came closer, Ayatah’s smile broadened, so by the time the hut came into view, she was practically bounding ahead of Razkar like some excited puppy. There were times that she could be a poker-faced warrior, but there were others where Aya didn’t even seem to bother to hide her excitement and glee. ”Tinny!” She called out, using that sickly sweet nickname she just adored calling her friend (more to see her disapprove of it rather than anything else). ”You have visitors. Aren’t you lucky?”

She threw her lover a final glance, face split into a grin before she rapped on the edge of the doorway. It appeared that she had forgotten the real - and altogether gloomier - reason they had come. But for now, Ayatah was with two people that made her truly joyful (even if for different reasons), and she was damn well sure to enjoy herself. ”Do you have any leftovers of that fruit wine?”

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||