Timestamp: Fall 22, 513
Her heart beat slow in her breast as she sat upon the stool, the Elder of the pavilion brushing her short hair into a shine and then braiding little threads into it, murmuring softly to the woman before her that it was to please her Ankal. None had yet to call the Syliran Wife to Cotice, of course, but the implication remained. She was here for Cotice's benefit alone. None in the family outwardly rejected her, and nearly all of them had embraced her, yet Issy still felt separate from them.
Their language was confusing and clipped and their obsessed attentions bothered her greatly. She liked the feel of a hand through fur or the carress of a digit along her ear, but that dog could scarcely control himself! And here she sat with broken heart unable to escape him and his excessive need. She sighed and the fingers in her hair stopped.
The old woman leaned forward over her shoulder and smiled kindly at the figure on the stool, squeezing her left shoulder as she spoke in slow, broken Common. "You sad cause far home. I help. You knit; make nice blanket for Cotice." The hand then patted her shoulder comfortingly before withdrawing and hurrying to finish braiding through her hair.
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When Tudav had finished, she led Issy through the tents to another part of the ever moving city, gesturing and speaking in that clipped tongue the rest of these foreigners spoke. Issy was forced to follow, her head downcast, her eyes on the ground as feet shuffled along. She had been feeling queasy of late and wondered if her poor appetite might be to blame. Yet, the kelvic could not find the will-enough to eat more, do more, say more. She simply wanted to lay down and be done with the world. But this old woman and the others in the pavilion would not let her let go. They were so unusual to devote such care where their Patron wanted only...
They came to another grouping of tents, the babble of children wafting to her sharp hearing and Issy's gaze rose in brief curiosity. There was a needle and thread stitched into the tents entrance and her head tilted at the non-Common words upon it, but they, like everything else around here, were in Pavi and she could not read it.
Tudav ushered Issy inside now, placing a hand on the tall dame's shoulder to guide her until they reached a boy with an more mature woman. She was heavy with child and looked ready to labor soon; yet, there she sat, stitching and threading and tightening string as she wove some garment-to-be together. The woman had a long, plaited braid hanging over one shoulder and a tattoo curling beneath her ear (even Isedan able to recognize a Chevas). There was the hint of another tattoo visible on her wrists, but she could not tell what they were. These people loved their ink...
Tudav and the stranger conversed heavily, gesturing often in the alien tongue and Issy was able to recognize maybe one word in forty, mostly simple forms such as their names. Then, Tudav left, babbling something and waving her hands, leaving the kelvic alone with what she assumed to be a seamstress. The woman had a kind face and she waved the stranger closer, urging her to sit with a nod of her head to the boy. Said boy quickly rose and moved off to sit on the ground instead, allowing Issy to sit.
Then she spoke. "Tudav tells me you are sad." She began, offering the other a pair of long needles and gesturing to one of the balls of yarn in the box beside her. "Tudav thinks it is because you miss home, but I see differently. My name is Dastina Snowmane and I think I know what might help." Issy looked away then, still silent, still dejected. "Oh, it's alright, sweety. You do not need to talk. Just knit. Finding something to distract your mind from grief can sometimes help you know. What is your name?"
Issy turned pensive, the corners of her eyes tightening and the grip on the needles turning her knuckles white. But the seamstress was kind and went on. "That's alright, you do not need to say if you do not want to. You know-" He gestured to the young boy to come closer now. "Bensil here's mother was a weaver. Bensil, why don't you show her how to do a basic loop?"
The boy stepped up now and took the kelvic's hands in his tiny ones and laid the needles in her lap, taking some of the yarn afterwards and showing her how to make a starter loop that would be the lead for the rest of the pattern. He guided her hands, leaving a four inch tail that was flipped in the middle. The tail was then tucked under the loop and a portion pulled through, creating a kind of eye. Then, he grabbed one of the needles and stuck it back in her hand, showing her how to slip the tip of the needle through the hoop that had been made and holding both strings, tightening it against the needle.
"What is that called, Bensil?"
"A slipknot, miss Dastina. It lets you cast your first row."
"Excellent job! Help her with the first row why don't you?"
Her heart beat slow in her breast as she sat upon the stool, the Elder of the pavilion brushing her short hair into a shine and then braiding little threads into it, murmuring softly to the woman before her that it was to please her Ankal. None had yet to call the Syliran Wife to Cotice, of course, but the implication remained. She was here for Cotice's benefit alone. None in the family outwardly rejected her, and nearly all of them had embraced her, yet Issy still felt separate from them.
Their language was confusing and clipped and their obsessed attentions bothered her greatly. She liked the feel of a hand through fur or the carress of a digit along her ear, but that dog could scarcely control himself! And here she sat with broken heart unable to escape him and his excessive need. She sighed and the fingers in her hair stopped.
The old woman leaned forward over her shoulder and smiled kindly at the figure on the stool, squeezing her left shoulder as she spoke in slow, broken Common. "You sad cause far home. I help. You knit; make nice blanket for Cotice." The hand then patted her shoulder comfortingly before withdrawing and hurrying to finish braiding through her hair.
--------------------
When Tudav had finished, she led Issy through the tents to another part of the ever moving city, gesturing and speaking in that clipped tongue the rest of these foreigners spoke. Issy was forced to follow, her head downcast, her eyes on the ground as feet shuffled along. She had been feeling queasy of late and wondered if her poor appetite might be to blame. Yet, the kelvic could not find the will-enough to eat more, do more, say more. She simply wanted to lay down and be done with the world. But this old woman and the others in the pavilion would not let her let go. They were so unusual to devote such care where their Patron wanted only...
They came to another grouping of tents, the babble of children wafting to her sharp hearing and Issy's gaze rose in brief curiosity. There was a needle and thread stitched into the tents entrance and her head tilted at the non-Common words upon it, but they, like everything else around here, were in Pavi and she could not read it.
Tudav ushered Issy inside now, placing a hand on the tall dame's shoulder to guide her until they reached a boy with an more mature woman. She was heavy with child and looked ready to labor soon; yet, there she sat, stitching and threading and tightening string as she wove some garment-to-be together. The woman had a long, plaited braid hanging over one shoulder and a tattoo curling beneath her ear (even Isedan able to recognize a Chevas). There was the hint of another tattoo visible on her wrists, but she could not tell what they were. These people loved their ink...
Tudav and the stranger conversed heavily, gesturing often in the alien tongue and Issy was able to recognize maybe one word in forty, mostly simple forms such as their names. Then, Tudav left, babbling something and waving her hands, leaving the kelvic alone with what she assumed to be a seamstress. The woman had a kind face and she waved the stranger closer, urging her to sit with a nod of her head to the boy. Said boy quickly rose and moved off to sit on the ground instead, allowing Issy to sit.
Then she spoke. "Tudav tells me you are sad." She began, offering the other a pair of long needles and gesturing to one of the balls of yarn in the box beside her. "Tudav thinks it is because you miss home, but I see differently. My name is Dastina Snowmane and I think I know what might help." Issy looked away then, still silent, still dejected. "Oh, it's alright, sweety. You do not need to talk. Just knit. Finding something to distract your mind from grief can sometimes help you know. What is your name?"
Issy turned pensive, the corners of her eyes tightening and the grip on the needles turning her knuckles white. But the seamstress was kind and went on. "That's alright, you do not need to say if you do not want to. You know-" He gestured to the young boy to come closer now. "Bensil here's mother was a weaver. Bensil, why don't you show her how to do a basic loop?"
The boy stepped up now and took the kelvic's hands in his tiny ones and laid the needles in her lap, taking some of the yarn afterwards and showing her how to make a starter loop that would be the lead for the rest of the pattern. He guided her hands, leaving a four inch tail that was flipped in the middle. The tail was then tucked under the loop and a portion pulled through, creating a kind of eye. Then, he grabbed one of the needles and stuck it back in her hand, showing her how to slip the tip of the needle through the hoop that had been made and holding both strings, tightening it against the needle.
"What is that called, Bensil?"
"A slipknot, miss Dastina. It lets you cast your first row."
"Excellent job! Help her with the first row why don't you?"
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