Aramenta listened humbly to the girl's affection towards her voice, and blushed a deep red. It was strange, a peculiar compliment. People normally thought of her speech as unpleasant, queer, or inconvenient. Pitiful, perhaps. Not spirit-like. Or wondrous. She cocked her head, and began to sing: flustered, your-kindness-accepted, surprise, but stopped as the woman rushed on. Nervous. The girl was nervous. Ara stepped back one step, thinking it was perhaps her, her 'wondrous' manner making the other girl uncomfortable.
The horse, though, was more insistent, and pushed hes nose into the side of Ara's face. Ara blushed, as the girl went back into her tent, to get samples. Ara laughed, just a little bit, though no sound came out. Livvy half-smiled, and stroked the horse's jowls, ears, neck, "Ain't you a reg'lar gigolo of a horse, then, baby?" she chuckled softly again. Ara, shyly laid a hand on the horse's neck and patted it gently. The horse snuffled a pushed back against both girls with the air of a victor.
And then, the voice rang out, an angry, seething voice from within the tent. Something about horses, garbled by the tones of anger, and the canvas of the tent. But those angry tones themselves, were clear. And it had come after the Nightsong girl had entered. Ara frowned, and her hand stopped. The horse whickered and pushed at Ara's face, but Livvy was stopping too, now.
Livvy looked at Ara, and Ara looked back, now, frightened, fear heavy like stones in her eyes. Livvy reached over, her face a little sick, and squeezed Ara's hand, softly. Ara listened quietly.
The man's voice rose now to a clear phrase: "Tainting the work with filth?!"
And Ara swallowed hard. That girl, quiet and kind, and clean and young. Like Ara herself, and that voice, filled with the hatred of powerhunger, of the annry man-tantrum of one who desires to have his way in all things, and hasn't had his way in one. Filth? Filth! Filth!
And before she knew it, Ara was striding forward, wiping clumsily across her tear-stained eyes, and Livvy was trundling behind her, "Missy Ara! Missy Ara, you got be careful!" The horse was whinnying softly at their leaving him behind. Ara tried to gather what exactly she planned, but her mind was cloudy with fear and disgust, and revulsion and... anger. Somewhere underneath, it was a feeling she did not know well, and did not love. Her hand went to her side, where her axe hung, and gripped the head of it, her knuckles turning white. And she pulled the tent flap open with dark eyes buried in tear-red-streaked cheeks. Angry eyes. She felt them angry, as she entered, uninvited. Unwelcome, likely.
But something, in that moment took hold of her, perhaps the anger, and it pressed the fear and panic down, and left only the cold hard steel of her disgust. Her back was straight, and her hands were still and settled, and she stood almost in a fighter's stance, looking at the surprised, staring family, slowly, one at a time.
Livvy was beside her, her flabbergasted discomfort quickly covered up by the fierceness of her protective instinct. Ara stood still a moment. The father... the last of his angry words were spilling out as Ara entered:
"Infidelity is a disease that spreads from on woman to the next as easily as a cold."
Ara stared at him hard. HEr arguments were not composed of reason and her anger was merely the unhealthy transmogrification of fear. But Gods in the Ukalas! She was NOT to stand by, not today, not now! She was a grown woman, a wife, soon to be a mother. She was not going to stand by, anymore.
She stared coldly at the father, and leaned in to Livvy's ear, to whisper, as she signed in front of her. Disdain, disgust, distaste. Her hands threw quiet, sharp cornered curses as she narrated.
Livvy replicated these as she dictated her mistress's words.
"Missy Ara say she lookin' for Rue Nightsong, an' thought she was gone go into a pavilion of Drykas to find her. But she thinkin' now, maybe she mis-stepped, since th'on'y person talking here got so little honor, a windmark would burn his skin like a curse."
And Livvy cold and fire-eyed, very stiffly, very courteously, offered a mocking bow.
"Still. If she's here. We'd be grateful to see her."
The words were beyond disrespectful, the sort of thing that started feuds. She was a grown woman yes, by objective standards, but she was still a child in body, practically, and had just entered and insulted the man of a family severely and brazenly, for what? For berating his daughter. The right of any Drykas man.
x
The horse, though, was more insistent, and pushed hes nose into the side of Ara's face. Ara blushed, as the girl went back into her tent, to get samples. Ara laughed, just a little bit, though no sound came out. Livvy half-smiled, and stroked the horse's jowls, ears, neck, "Ain't you a reg'lar gigolo of a horse, then, baby?" she chuckled softly again. Ara, shyly laid a hand on the horse's neck and patted it gently. The horse snuffled a pushed back against both girls with the air of a victor.
And then, the voice rang out, an angry, seething voice from within the tent. Something about horses, garbled by the tones of anger, and the canvas of the tent. But those angry tones themselves, were clear. And it had come after the Nightsong girl had entered. Ara frowned, and her hand stopped. The horse whickered and pushed at Ara's face, but Livvy was stopping too, now.
Livvy looked at Ara, and Ara looked back, now, frightened, fear heavy like stones in her eyes. Livvy reached over, her face a little sick, and squeezed Ara's hand, softly. Ara listened quietly.
The man's voice rose now to a clear phrase: "Tainting the work with filth?!"
And Ara swallowed hard. That girl, quiet and kind, and clean and young. Like Ara herself, and that voice, filled with the hatred of powerhunger, of the annry man-tantrum of one who desires to have his way in all things, and hasn't had his way in one. Filth? Filth! Filth!
And before she knew it, Ara was striding forward, wiping clumsily across her tear-stained eyes, and Livvy was trundling behind her, "Missy Ara! Missy Ara, you got be careful!" The horse was whinnying softly at their leaving him behind. Ara tried to gather what exactly she planned, but her mind was cloudy with fear and disgust, and revulsion and... anger. Somewhere underneath, it was a feeling she did not know well, and did not love. Her hand went to her side, where her axe hung, and gripped the head of it, her knuckles turning white. And she pulled the tent flap open with dark eyes buried in tear-red-streaked cheeks. Angry eyes. She felt them angry, as she entered, uninvited. Unwelcome, likely.
But something, in that moment took hold of her, perhaps the anger, and it pressed the fear and panic down, and left only the cold hard steel of her disgust. Her back was straight, and her hands were still and settled, and she stood almost in a fighter's stance, looking at the surprised, staring family, slowly, one at a time.
Livvy was beside her, her flabbergasted discomfort quickly covered up by the fierceness of her protective instinct. Ara stood still a moment. The father... the last of his angry words were spilling out as Ara entered:
"Infidelity is a disease that spreads from on woman to the next as easily as a cold."
Ara stared at him hard. HEr arguments were not composed of reason and her anger was merely the unhealthy transmogrification of fear. But Gods in the Ukalas! She was NOT to stand by, not today, not now! She was a grown woman, a wife, soon to be a mother. She was not going to stand by, anymore.
She stared coldly at the father, and leaned in to Livvy's ear, to whisper, as she signed in front of her. Disdain, disgust, distaste. Her hands threw quiet, sharp cornered curses as she narrated.
Livvy replicated these as she dictated her mistress's words.
"Missy Ara say she lookin' for Rue Nightsong, an' thought she was gone go into a pavilion of Drykas to find her. But she thinkin' now, maybe she mis-stepped, since th'on'y person talking here got so little honor, a windmark would burn his skin like a curse."
And Livvy cold and fire-eyed, very stiffly, very courteously, offered a mocking bow.
"Still. If she's here. We'd be grateful to see her."
The words were beyond disrespectful, the sort of thing that started feuds. She was a grown woman yes, by objective standards, but she was still a child in body, practically, and had just entered and insulted the man of a family severely and brazenly, for what? For berating his daughter. The right of any Drykas man.
x
