Closed The Bizarre Bazaar(Oriah)

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick was surprised the way Oriah leapt up to defend the book from his greasy fingers. Truth be told his fingers were more covered in his own saliva that grease from the lamb but he was grateful for her concern regardless. She was right of course. Paper was fragile, and he felt stupid for grabbing at the package like a child. Yet, he was glad he had managed to dodge telling her he was a Kelvic another moment. Sylir’s peace, and Yahals Virtue he’d have to tell her eventually. But not yet... Not yet. He held out his hands and stepped out of the tent so that the excess water that might fall off would water the little bit of grass that grew in the Market. As she sloshed the cool water over his hands, he felt the oddest feeling that he had been baptised in some sort of Benshiran right. He liked the idea, though he suspected it was nothing more than Oriah’s desire to be clean. Bless her heart, he wondered how she managed to deal with being out in the wilderness for days. Nowhere to bathe, nothing to shave with, not even a nice smelling bag of herbs to counter the stench of her own musk. The idea of his beloved Benshira drenched in rain, and smelling like a wet dog amused him, though only because he knew that a well-timed hug and the promise of a real bath would raise her spirits to the point of giddiness. He rubbed his hands together being sure to wash off anything on the backs of his hands, as well as between them. He wished badly for a bar of soap, or perhaps alcohol. Though, it was enough to have clean pure water. She used her coat to dry his hands, and he felt the rush of a strange mixture of feelings. He enjoyed the contact, and at the same time, he felt graciousness for such a personal touch. Rarely was a feeling of happiness so subtle and sweet to elicit both. When she at last exclaimed he was allowed to touch the book he smiled at her with a little softened smirk that hid his wriggling excitement, though he couldn’t hide it from her watchful gaze. ‘Roight now Oi wish only for a dark corner of the market.’ The Kelvic thought to himself as he unfolded the parchment and removed the book. He wanted to kiss her again. Though perhaps the crowded street might not be the best place for such an open expression. Yet, something wasn’t quite right. The moment was missing something. They’d eaten. They needed the proper place to display their spoils. The Fountain in the centre of the market had many folk milling about it. The lip of the well would make an excellent sitting place, but at the cocking of his head Marrick reconsidered. It would be far too easy to drop one of their prizes into the water by mistake and that just wouldn’t do. He looked to the nearby battlements. A good view away from the crowd would do nicely, but the many soldiers than stalked the parapets would need their space. The Kelvic clucked his tongue in thought as each place he found just didn’t quite seem right, and he was sure of himself that he appeared insane. Yet, something inside him had to have the perfect spot just to sit and read with her. He wanted to treasure this moment. Were it cold, a warm hearth would be perfect. Were it raining, a dry room. This was summer. It was a warm day. What they needed was shade. The tents were full of people. What they needed was… Marrick saw it, probably one of the few trees that sporadically dotted the market. Its limbs stretched out broadly, and for the oddest reason it seemed that folk were avoiding it. The fools! It’s a perfectly good tree!!! He watched a moment, and it did indeed seem that the world bustled too much to recognize the boughs of the mighty oak. The look of distraction lifted from his face to be replaced with a little smile. “We shall, but perhaps in a better settin. Better to let this man fill his seats.” With his smile broadening to a grin, he stood and toasted the cook. The man waved back and smiled just before Marrick returned the gesture and downed the water in several long fluid gulps. With a loud ahh, he set down the cup on the table and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. He smiled down at Oriah, and offered her his hand to help her up. When she took it he lifted her up as she stood and nodded toward the tree he had so recently discovered. “Let’s sit there.” Her pleasant smile was all he needed for her to spur him forward. Though slowly. He liked to hold her hand and he didn’t want to rush to their destination. It felt pleasantly cool on such a warm day. As they walked with his pack slung over his shoulder, held in place by his off-hand. He clasped hers as they walked, a little smile on his face. He even dared to wriggle his fingers until they found their way between hers. A soft sigh escaped his throat and his smile grew to a little grin that seemed to reflect Syna’s warmth that day. He could have told her how beautiful she was, though the soft smile he gave her and the occasional squeeze he gave her hand was likely enough for him to remind her of his feelings. She filled him with what the Kelvic could only describe as security. She could ask him for anything. To do anything, and he would likely be powerless to argue lest her request clash violently with her character. They were just two simple people about to sit under a tree and read a book. Together. They reached the tree too soon, and he found a low marble bench to lay his things on. He unclasped his cloak and laid it out like a blanket over the stone with a loud woosh of air, and sat down. The Kelvic, shut his eyes a moment with his hand on the children’s book he held just osmosing the moment. It was as if he could breathe it in or taste it, and the flavour was decidedly sweet. After a final contented sigh he smiled, and fixed Oriah with a look soft and filled with graciousness. “Thank ye fer this. The warld is too dark n’ full of peril. Folk should enjoy the simple things loike this. Some days it seems as if there isn’t enough toime fer any of it.” The dark haired squire took a deep breath and slid the book from its parchment wrap and ran his purified fingers over its embossed surface. “ooh, oi’m tinglin.” He whispered before smiling subtly, and at last he opened the children’s book to its first page. In the books pages contained an inked drawing of a large bird of prey, and three little lizards. They seemed to be cowering away from it as it dove upon them and Marrick ran his finger along the margins. Under the drawing in common was written. “The Three Little Lizards and The Big Hungry Hawk.” He read aloud. Underneath it was what Marrick could only guess was the written shiber. “what does it say Oriah? Can yeh tell me what the little scrawlins are.” He said with a giddiness that was reminiscent of a child. With a great deal of effort he reined in his enthusiasm and tried to carry on with more decorum. “Forgive me. Oi’ don’t mean teh offend. What is the Benshiran written ward called? Is it jest Shiber or is their another term fer’it?”

[Oriah]

When Marrick claimed he wished for a dark corner of the market, Oriah thought of one thing and one thing only:

Nap time.

She had taken naps with her family every late afternoon back in her Tent. It was a way of coping with Syna's relentless heat, which sometimes became so intense during the Summer that a nap was the only thing one could do without being dried to a husk out on the sands. Resting earlier in the day also meant more work could be done later in the evening, when temperatures were less punishing and people were free to exert themselves a little more.

Suffice it to say, with their full bellies and contented states and the warm weather gracing the bizar today, a nap sounded quite divine to the Benshira.

So it was that while one squire scanned for a proper place to sit and read, the other sought out a nice spot for an afternoon doze. And, though neither knew it just then, their eyes landed on the same gem of a location.

Oriah added her own fond gestures of goodbye as Marrick waved to the cook, inexplicably pleased as always to find her companion's thoughtfulness so infallible. It was rare for a Northerner to show so much courtesy in general, let alone within a food tent. Benshiras themselves, especially the older ones, tended to take up the same seats and tables for entire bells, commenting on the weather and their trades and all the bygone years of their youths. And because they were usually elders, no one desired to be rude and ask them to hurry. No one ever asked an elder to hurry for anything. It simply was not done.

But, as with all things, Marrick seemed to display a natural propriety with everything he did. Not so much in the sense of civility and other socially acceptable manners, but in a sort of rightness, for lack of a better description. Most everything the young man did just...seemed like the right thing to do. As a follower of Yahal, Oriah found this fascinating to no end. Where or what was his moral compass? And how did he follow it so unfailingly?

Before she could find the right words in Common to ask, her fellow squire offered his hand to help her stand. Oriah took it gladly, for her own simple pleasure and nothing more or less. Then he pointed to the same tree she'd picked out earlier and her eyes widened a fraction in surprise.

She said nothing of the coincidence, however, only beamed up at him in assent. Together, they walked toward the broad-limbed tree, neither in any hurry for the short journey to be over. Oriah found herself wanting to speak. To blurt on sheer compulsion something like, 'you are so handsome under Syna's light. Under all light. Even under no light.' But that was a mortifying and probably ridiculous thing to say, even if there had been context. Which there wasn't at that moment.

Instead, she tried to keep the burning sensation on her cheeks and the tips of her ears at a minimum and satisfied herself with drinking in Marrick's happy visage. Her contentment only grew he wound his fingers within hers. It just felt good, and natural, and right. To resist would have been like trying not to wiggle one's toes in cool water, or breathe in deep upon detecting a delicious scent in the air.

All too soon, they arrived at their chosen destination. The Benshira stood by, her mouth forming a small "o" as she watched the other squire devote a surprising amount of effort into making their reading spot more comfortable. Setting down her things as well, Oriah patted her clothes and checked her boots before taking a seat beside Marrick, careful not to sully his cloak. Yet more old habits she found resurfacing in the presence of her people. The young woman hadn't dusted off and checked her apparel for sand in years; it lent her a tick's worth of amusement that the routine had chosen to come back now of all times.

"You are most welcome," she responded to Marrick's heartfelt words, "and I agree...life is so much more...busy, and difficult, in this city."

Oriah looked out at the midday crowd for a moment, then turned to meet Marrick's gaze once more. "But at least when we train, we know purpose. And we grow stronger, wiser, not just surviving from day to day. We are truly living, even if it not an easy life. And that is more than most have."

Most of this last part was murmured, the Benshira growing a little lost in her own thoughts. Always, she returned to memories of Priah. Her other half had only seen a fraction of the wonders Oriah had. She wanted to tell Marrick this, to entrust in him the knowledge of her deepest, darkest pain. But it was too morbid for such a fine day. Another time, another place. For now, they had a book to devour, as Marrick seemed almost excited to read it as he had been to eat lunch.

Laughing good naturedly at the raven-haired squire's delight, Oriah leaned closer to see the pictures and words in this new book. The drawings were both humorous and lovely and the words written by a steady, careful hand. She translated the title for him patiently, sounding out the phonetics one by one, until he could repeat them with reasonable accuracy.

"Written word?" Oriah echoed. Hmm, no one had ever asked that of her before. "I think it is same. Just Shiber for both. We do have alphabet, like Common, though. Would you like to learn before we start the reading?"

Scouring her eyes over the dirt near their tree, she found a medium lengthed stick and retrieved it with growing enthusiasm. Then she wrote out the first letter of the Shiber alphabet in the brown earth, which was still slightly damp from the shaded, morning dew. It was just a simple line with a slight curve at the top, but it was the first and also most important letter. "This is like Common 'A,' but we pronounce it more like 'Ehh.' Now you try?"

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick’s slow nodding head felt warm and heavy on his shoulders as he listened in agreement with his beloved companion. The tang of their spicy meal still hung on his tongue while he listened to Oriah speak. She was right of course. They were lucky. He was lucky. One day he swore to himself that he would find out which god was responsible for his ‘luck’ and offer a proper tithe. For now though, he would honour that act by living his life well and full. The Benshira seemed in a far off place today. At times she seemed focussed only on him, but there was something to the roll of her shoulders. Almost as if she were shrugging off an enormous weight that she carried. As his eyes wandered about the imaginary load that she carried he smiled thoughtfully. He loved listening to her speak Shiber, and felt a twinge of jealousy not to fluent such a fluid and beautiful language. He repeated her words carefully to make sure he didn’t miss any of the subtlety. He rolled a couple of the r’s, but he felt that he was being a little bit overly dramatic in his pronunciation of the books title almost as if he were entreating the Benshira with some naughty proposition. “Deh Grys hung’rik Pae’alka.” He repeated the end of the title one last time to try and normalize the way it sounded on his tongue. It was clear he was not used to speaking in Shiber, and the word tasted foreign on his tongue. He wanted it to feel right so badly, and in that focussed clarity, the Kelvic realized why. He wanted to understand her. Shiber was one more piece of the puzzle that was Oriah, and Marrick intended to never cease his pursuit of his goal, until each nibble of knowledge fit perfectly into the tapestry, and he could behold its glory. When she offered to help him recite the alphabet he nodded his head excitedly. “Please!” he said as his smile blossomed like a new spring rose. As she spoke the alphabet he listened closely. He had expected a simple twenty six letter alphabet as was common, but Shiber it seemed had something close to forty. His heart and hope sank just a little beneath the shear mountain of information to absorb and his smile diminished somewhat. Yet, his eyes still held a determination that burned like candle light in a dark room. Marrick listened closely as she spoke the letters of her alphabet. It wasn’t difficult to see how she formed the phonemes with her mouth, mainly due to his fascination with the lips that spilled them like water from a cup. He watched the elegant yet simple characters of Benshiran scrawl as she wrote them in the dirt with her wooden stylus. Their shape seemed propper for a simple people. Yet he imagined their origins were tied to something far older than Common. “Eh” He repeated awkwardly, as he let her place the stick into his open hand. He felt he sounded like a wild goose in the way he had over emphasized the letters sound, but he refused to be daunted. He clasped the stylus gently as she had carried it, holding it almost like an artist’s brush. He studied the character in the dirt closely one last time before bravely attempting to repeat the symbol. When Oriah had written the letter, it had seemed a simple flick of her wrist. Marrick took his time. He gave it the proper attention he felt he needed to give, and the results were not as he had hoped. “Dah, Oi’ve botched it. Hold a tic.” He said as he wiped the dust flat again, closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He considered the sword play that Ser Whitevine had taught him, and he laid heavily on the concept that if a sword was an extension of himself; so too was the stick in his hand. With a short rolling splay of each of his fingers he finessed the stick in his hand and simply laid out a bold stroke in the dirt. He blinked thoughtfully as he compared the two characters side by side. They weren’t perfectly alike, but he felt it was a reasonable imitation. “Do all of the Benshira write the same? Or do different folk have different hand writin?” He said as they moved into the next character. He listened thoughtfully as she instructed him in the basics of her native tongue, and its writing. Most letters were unusual, but some seemed to share a root with common. The symbols though were almost completely foreign, and Marrick’s brow furrowed in a mild frustration that he may not remember so many characters and their meaning. He heaved a long sigh and fiddled with the books paper wrapper for just a moment. Then almost as if two little stones clacked together he began searching for a drawing utensil. His eyes searched the market wildly until they at last rested on an unlit brazier intended to light the evening’s festivities and booths. With a glance to Oriah, his eyes almost begged. “Hold here for a tic.” He asked a subtle desperation to his voice. Like a he was about to go on a short casual stroll he rose from their seat and ambled his way to the brazier. He paused now and again to look over his shoulder to be sure she was still where he had left her. When their eyes would meet he would laugh, when their eyes didn’t he would simply steal a secreted smile for her as she looked at the pages of their book. Upon reaching the brazier he plucked a long piece of charcoal from its depths, and brought it back to their seat. He gave Oriah a little wink as he carefully unfolded the paper the book had been wrapped in and began drawing the symbols of her lesson down so that he may reference them in the future. “Oi can’t study them on moy own if Oi havn’t them on hand can Oi.” He said with a warm smile that lit his eyes. When he had them all written on his piece of paper along with their common counter parts he blew any smudged bits of charcoal away and carefully folded the parchment back up. It was back to their prize then. He thumbed to the first page and smiled. “Perhaps jest the first chapter?” They sat that way for some time reading together. Marrick would read in common, and provided Oriah with the occasional explanation of a word or how to pronounce it. While she read the parts in Shiber. It was far more obvious that Marrick was new to the language, as his pronunciation made him sound as if he were drunk. At least that was how he thought he sounded.

[Oriah]

Oriah did her best to keep a straight face. He just looked so earnest, so eager, like a child itching to prove himself capable. Marrick's frustration only made the picture before her more endearing, his hand was clasped firmly around the makeshift stylus and his lovely mouth set to a tenacious line of determination.

"Do not worry, it takes time," she encouraged. Her new pupil had a long road ahead of him if he truly wished to learn a language as old and nuanced as Shiber, but he didn't appear likely to give up, either. Marrick had a sort of drive in him few others possessed. He was straight as an arrow in more ways than one, his unwavering path propelled solely by some mysterious force Oriah was only beginning to grasp. The Benshira had her god, her people, her ways. And now, Marrick. It was wondrous yet terrifying sometimes how one person could threaten to overwhelm all else that had come to shape her thus far. Nonetheless, she held onto each piece as dearly as if they were her own limbs, using them to guide her through an otherwise chaotic and perilous world.

But the squire beside her came from a completely different origins. The things that drove him...Oriah would not even pretend to understand. Though when it came to freedom and the pursuit of one's own purpose, she supposed the two of them were not entirely unalike.

"Do we all write the same?" she echoed, mulling over Marrick's question. No one had ever asked her that before.

Lost in careful consideration for a moment, Oriah picked up another stick and began gently correcting some of her companion's letters. "I think it is not so different from Common. The words can change, and so can a person's style, but the writing is mostly same. Though in the Tents we do not write as often. There is no need, except for Yahal's most favored."

She went on explaining for a while, speaking of the ways dialects could vary, describing what certain handwriting could reveal about its writer. Marrick was an attentive listener, even if his focus did wander from time to time. He reminded her, oddly enough, of a bird, concentrated intensely in a single direction one moment and then temporarily distracted by another the next. In this case, he had actually gotten up to fetch something. Oriah was confused and a tad bit worried at first. She was afraid she had lectured too long and driven him to seek other forms of amusement.

But, as always, the raven haired squire proved she worried in vain. He tossed glances back now and then as if to make sure she was still there. Whenever their eyes met, he would smile and laugh, the sight of which never failed to bring back the heat in her cheeks. Flustered and utterly at a loss as to what Marrick was doing, Oriah found herself mindlessly staring at the children's book before her. Only to be tempted to look up again, meet his gaze, and then the entire cycle repeated.

Blessed Yahal, what was he up to now?

To her surprise, Marrick returned with a piece of charcoal in his hand. It wasn't until he pulled out the brown paper that their new book had been wrapped in that she finally understood his intentions.

"That is quite clever," Oriah smiled back, pleased beyond words that her student was as committed as he was resourceful. She'd never had to teach Shiber to a foreigner before. The Benshira suspected that, with anyone other than Marrick, her task would have proven to be much, much more difficult.

Together, they made sure his new study sheet was correct and complete. Once it was finished, Marrick blew the excess charcoal away and folded the parchment carefully. He then suggested they read just the first chapter of the book, to which Oriah happily consented. It was as enlightening of an experience as it was heady and sometimes downright distracting. Sitting beside his warmth and impossibly tender presence felt something akin to sinking into a hot bath. She did her best, however, to be as diligent as he was, mimicking new words he spoke and committing their definitions to memory. In return, she would read him the lines in Shiber. Slowly and clearly, over and over, until he had a decent grasp of how the words generally sounded. As for her own pronunciation of Common, there was little hope of improving that with Marrick's lyrical accent. Oriah stifled a giggle at the thought of the two of them speaking exactly alike.

The Benshira had no idea how many chimes or bells had passed, but by the time they were done with the first chapter Syna was almost kissing the horizon. Exhilarating as the entire day had been, Oriah was starting to feel the cost of so much learning in a few short bells, her mind having grown a bit fuzzy and her stomach beginning to protest once more.

"We have made much progress today," she sighed happily at the end of the first chapter. Thus far, the three little lizards, who were each a different shade of green, yellow, and red, had decided to come out of their little sand homes to sun bathe. The hawk had yet to be introduced, but title suggested foreboding enough events to follow. Oriah's knees were beginning to feel the itching need to move though, so the second chapter would have to wait. Rising to stretch a little, she looked to her companion and grinned.

"We can perhaps take break, find more food to try?"

[Marrick Corvis]

When he stole glances at her, the Benshira made little faces that she hid well enough, though the glimmer of amusement still shone in her eyes. Yet, with each passing word, along with Oriah’s corrections improved his speech immensely. Perhaps it was how he focused so closely on her tongue, and lips that helped him. They moved in something between good diction and powerful distraction. Her encouragement was like a soothing balm on his ego as he fumbled through each word, and it helped with the sting of failure, and eased the struggles of his tongue. He nodded in understanding as he considered her explanation of the writing. It seemed that Benshiran writing too as well as their dance were a means of worshipping their god. The different tents it seemed had different lilts to the way they spoke Shiber, as well as how they wrote. He found himself fascinated by the intricacies of her people. The Benshira were remarkable, and complicated, like so many peoples of Mizahar. When she called him clever for writing down the characters he shook his head. “Oi jest want a means of studying. After all, Oi can’t keep yeh, in moy pocket and pull yeh out when Oi need yeh. Mores the pity.” Marrick smiled in spite of himself and slumped his sholder’s. In tiredness as much as disappointment at the obvious realization that they would have to part ways eventually. He watched as she made little corrections to his study parchment, perching his chin over her shoulder. Until he found his opportunistic nature too strong to resist, and he planted a furtive kiss on her neck. Ticks turned to chimes, chimes turned to bells and Syna had begun to set. Many of the native folk of Syliras had begun to head home to their families, while it seemed that the Benshiran population doubled in density. Their reading it seemed had left Marrick feeling strangely energized. He liked the lyrical quality of Shiber. It was as if the language were painted with an artist’s brush, and it was a skill he desperately wished to learn. When Oriah’s stomach growled like a fierce lap cat Marrick bit his lip to keep from laughing and smiled mirthfully. “Aye best teh feed the beast.” He hadn’t finished annunciating the word beast, when his own belly growled and he snorted. “Oh teh be certain, betrayed by m’own belly.” He laughed openly then and stood up, offering her a hand. He packed up their gear and the pair set out into the crowds of milling Benshirans. His observation previously it seemed was becoming correct. The Desert folk were taking over the streets. “What’s happening?” He said as it he watched crowds of people as they began a crowded journey toward the largest tent in the market. The pair got swept up in the crowd their bellies rumbling in unified complaint. Though as the crowd practically pushed them through the threshold of the largest tent Marrick was lost for words. The top was hung from a massive set of wooden timbers, and lashed with leather. Colored glass lanterns hung in bright hues in everything from reds to blues. For the briefest of moments he transformed into a gawking child as his eyes lapped up every sight, sound, and texture in the tent. He simply let himself get pushed forward, like a boat without a rudder. Until a pair of dry and calloused hands set him down on a large pillow. His focus snapped back into reality and he found that fortunately Oriah was still with him. The gnarled hands that had lead him like a child to his seat were those of the old man from the book store. He smiled openly at him and offered the pair of them a bowl of flat bread, with some sort of spiced meal in the middle for dipping. The Kelvic smiled back and looked at the bowl of food with slight lilt of his head before he graciously took a piece of the crispy bread and dipped it into the paste. Before he popped it into his mouth he took another look at the old man and lilted his head toward the other shoulder. “Oi don’t want teh impose. Yeh are too koind.” The old man smiled a beaming grin, with the occasional missing tooth and cackled. “Tonight you are, part of my tent. Sit with me, and my family. Dance with us, eat out food and drink our wine. I invite you.” Marrick’s brow furrowed and his lip pouted just a little in emotion before he clapped a hand onto the old man’s boney shoulder. “That is far beyond any honor Oi could repay, but Oi thank yeh.” Marrick’s furrowed brow curled from one of bittersweet sadness, to one of determination as he turned to Oriah. “How does one say ‘thank you’ again in Shiber?” He said, his jaw set, and his eyes two pools of turbulence.

[Oriah]

She smiled in return and took his hand gladly as he helped her back onto her feet. Oriah wondered if she'd ever be able to stop marveling at the other squire's thoughtful courtesies. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a part of her hoped she wouldn't, and that this...whatever this delightful thing glowing like a warm coal in the pit of her stomach, would go on living forever.

When they had finally packed all of their things and took to the streets once more, the Bizar was filled with Benshiras. Oriah absorbed the sight with another twinge of homesickness. She remembered how Syna's setting always drew people out into the open, bringing them together.

Moving like one, giant organism, Benshiras of all shapes and sizes swept the two squires along with them as they made their way toward the epicenter of the market. She closed her eyes briefly and let the memories wash over her.

It was time for Masha.

"Don't worry," Oriah answered Marrick's question, grinning from ear to ear. Her hand found his with familiar ease, tethering them together in the chattering, advancing mass of people.

Once they were able to enter the tent, both squires looked up and around them with open wonderment, though their reasons were slightly different. While Marrick marveled at these new and exotic sights, Oriah widened her eyes in recognition. The decorations, the layout, the platters of food being passed around by guests and family alike...

...she knew this Tent! The Benshira had had a strange feeling all day that some of the merchants and their wares brought on more nostalgia than most. But it wasn't until she set foot inside this magnificent structure that she was able to pinpoint why.

Those years after Priah had died...the lass wasn't able to remember much. Or, rather, preferred not to. But one of her fonder memories involved a passing group, much like their own, staying for one night. They had set up their tents at a respectful distance and had graciously accepted their neighbor's hospitality. Oriah had stayed moodily in her parent's tent, but one of the children had managed to lure her out. And so it was that for a brief but precious few bells, she forgot her pain and sorrow, finding a small amount of healing in this new friend. When Zelia hugged her goodbye the next day, Oriah was genuinely sorry to see her go. That same night she resisted the urge to shed tears for not one, but two losses in her young, short life thus far.

Now, though, in a strangely, roundabout way, she was back where she had started. Distantly, Oriah was aware that someone had claimed hospitality for them. She sat down with Marrick in a disbelieving daze. It wasn't until Marrick turned to her and asked how to say 'thank you' in Shiber that she finally came to.

Blinking, the Benshira started with a flicker of embarrassment. "Oh, yes! How rude of me..."

She looked up at the kind elder who had offered them a place amongst his family and tent. "Asheen," Oriah spoke up, both for Marrick's benefit and that of the elder's. "You are infinitely kind to offer us such fine hospitality."

"It is no trouble, you are both very welcome," the old man answered in Common, a fond twinkle of amusement shining in his eyes.

Oriah had barely begun to put more wondrous food in her mouth when people around them started to clap and shout in excitement. Quickly following that were the unmistakable doum doum of traditional drums, signifying that the dancing would soon begin.

Almost dropping an entire of cheese and dates in enthusiastic surprise, Oriah quickly got onto her feet once more and held out her hands to pull Marrick with her. There was a wild look in her eyes, merriment shining through with enough force to light fire to a candle. Her heart thumped wildly. She knew what song it would be long before the drums had even begun in earnest. Soon the other instruments would join. She could already see people rising from their pillows, smiles stretching all of their Syna-touched faces.

"Quick!" she squealed, almost losing herself entirely at this opportunity to dance those myriad steps she knew better than her own heart. "The song is about to begin, it is time to dance!"

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick turned to their host and raised a glass of water a genuine graciousness in his heart and he over annunciated the word. “Hasheean” Marrick found his word sounded a little wrong and he worried that he may have said something offensive. The old man smiled at him and chuckled darkly. “Asheen,” He said with a grin. “Ahsh-een” his voice growled as if the man must have spent years smoking a pipe, and the Kelvic found himself smiling in genuine respect for the elder. The pair lifted their glasses and drank. The water had been infused with mint, and the Kelvic found himself going back for another sip. It was strange how the liquid was likely room temperature, yet it tasted as if he were drinking from a mountain spring. Marrick busied himself trying every bit of flavor and texture he could get his hands on. There was some sort of little fruit filed pastry, hot and sweet, with a tangy spiciness to it. He hadn’t the time to ask what it was before another morsel found its way into his hand. A spicy ball of meat that tasted a lot like the spices he had encountered in the market earlier. He found his eyes watering a little before he downed what was left of his water. After that it was hard for him to taste much else apart from that hard spice and the minty refreshment. A clamor arose amongst the crowd and somewhere in the far side of the tent and drums began to sound. Not the deep ‘thuum’ of a war drum, but the light and woody sound of a little hand drum. Marrick puzzled over what it meant and he watched as people both simultaneously cleared an area in the middle of the tent, and flocked there as well forming shapes and lines. Oriah dropped her food, and Marrick felt a strange ominousness, for what did the Benshira love more than food? The thought and memory took shape in his mind. It had been almost a full year since they had done it and the image in his mind coalesced just as she took his hands and told him. Marrick couldn’t help but grin at her as she tugged at his arms like an excited child. Her face filled him with a longing to kiss her then and there. She was beautiful in all her forms and he felt a slight bitter sweetness that spurred him to action. He stood and followed her to the dance floor a needle in his heart. He didn’t want to miss a moment. He would watch her forever if it were possible. Marrick knew it to be impossible, but that made every experience with his companion more important, and precious. The crowds of people took to the floor and the Kelvic wondered what he was doing there. Horns, pipes, and recorders of all manner and shape sounded out in harmony along with the drums. Marrick felt a familiar feeling of the first night the pair had met, and even though he knew he had no chance of beating her, Marrick flashed Oriah a daring glance. And just as she had that fateful night nearly a year ago in the Rearing Stallion, the Kelvic mimicked her gesture by slamming his fist into his palm in challenge. A grin and a wink followed.

[Oriah]

Oriah laughed, high and clear, at Marrick's challenge. She took one of his strong, capable hands in hers as another dancer stepped forward to grip his other and led him a few feet back so they could form a proper circle with the other participants.

"We'll see how long you last, Niblet," she teased.

The Benshira still wasn't entirely sure what that nickname even meant, but Marrick's reactions whenever Sera Mora addressed him as such were priceless enough. No sooner had she said this than the rest of the instruments strike up an energetic melody, prompting all of the dancers to leap into movement.

Truth be told, the beginning of the first dance of Masha--at least in this particular Tent--was not about competition, but about community. Such was usually the case. Together, members and guests of the Tent would come together and join hands as a symbol of their unity. They moved in simple, easy patterns in a large circle, innately keeping the line moving and held together. It was as much for recreational purposes as it was for educational; the younger ones learned at an early age to be considerate of both those in front and those behind, aware at all times of whom they were dancing with and when to make room for late comers.

For the first song, they danced in carefree and welcoming camaraderie, people lending each other a hand if someone missed a step or decided to join in the circle. Oriah showed Marrick the steps with good humor and patience, and everyone around him cheered the squire on regardless of his success or failures. They were happy just to see him trying.

Once the first song ended, however, that was when the game began.

The elderly and less dance-inclined bowed out early. They knew ahead of time they would rather watch than participate, leaving this next dance for the younger and more limber members of their Tent. Suddenly, at least half of the circle had melted into the background, leaving a much smaller, tight knit group of dancers around the bonfire.

The melody began slow at first, and more drummers joined in, some with large, pot-like drums that created great booming rhythms, others with round frame drums edged in metal rings that made a shhh-shhh sound at each twist of the wrist. Oriah showed Marrick the movements once more, taking advantage of this gradual start. First they bent forward, as if sweeping something into their arms from the ground, before tossing their imaginary burdens into the air. Next came a few twists of the waist and sway of the torso before they spun once and started anew. Except, each time the pace increased a notch, a new set of steps were added, and they were forced to keep up with more and more movements.

After a few rounds Oriah and the remaining dancers were hardly aware of their surroundings anymore. They just kept moving, dancing, incorporating more moves, until everything melded into one giant, colorful blur. She had no idea if Marrick was still amidst their ranks or how many participants remained, but by the time the song ended and her awareness returned, the onlookers were roaring and surging forth with approval.

"Oriah, Oriah!" a voice was shouting above the din in achingly familiar Shiber. The squire spun in search of its source, still dazed and exhausted from the dance. "Ori, over here!"

She looked toward her right and her jaw fell. It was none other than the tall, dark haired, dimpled visage of Zelia herself. Older and fuller in both body in mind, to be sure, but still the same old, darling Zelia nonetheless.

The two woman embraced each other warmly, the older of the two not minding in the least that the other was sticky with perspiration. "I--there--blessed Yahal, too many questions to ask and not enough time. Where to even begin? What are you doing here in Syliras with all of these Northerners? And your clothes, your hair, your everything! You've changed so much since I last saw you."

Oriah laughed at this onslaught of questions and kissed her friends hand in elation. "Only on the outside, my friend. You've changed as well! Though you too are still the same old you."

Zelia rolled her eyes in an exaggerated fashion. "Yes, old. Old enough to have four mouths to many to feed and a husband who would rather teach them songs than make sure they do their chores." The woman spoke sternly, but there was a strong current of love flowing beneath her voice as well. "Tell me, Ori, what brings you to this city? I always knew you wouldn't stay in your Tent, but still...the City of Peace, of all places!"

"In many ways," Oriah answered earnestly, "I believe Yahal has guided me here, trial by trial. For I am a squire now of the Order, training to one day become a Knight."

Zelia's azure eyes grew wide at this and her friend only smiled wider. "In fact, I've brought a friend with me today. Another squire. I am teaching him some Shiber..." Oriah looked around until she caught sight of Marrick and motioned him to come closer, excitement still dancing merrily in her eyes.

"Marrick, this is my very old friend Zelia," she introduced on each person's behalf, "And Zelia this is my friend and fellow squire, Marrick Corvis."

"Very pleased to meet you," Zelia beamed, the gesture crinkling the edges of her eyes. "I'm glad to see Ori has found herself in such good company. And handsome too, at that."

Oriah punched her friend gently in the arm. "Since when has your Common gotten so good?"

Zelia grinned impishly. "Since I married a madja for a husband."

Leaning toward Marrick, Oriah explained in hushed tones, "That means mildly stupid Northerner in Shiber."

"Ori!" Zelia cried in mock outrage. "Don't share all of our secrets. What will we do the next time we have fair skinned guests?"

The two women laughed at this and Zelia turned to place a tender hand on Marrick's shoulder. "In all seriousness, I am glad you are here. Both of you. Please, if there's anything you need, anything at all, you need only ask. My home is yours."

"Mama..." A girl child of no more than five or so years appeared by the adults' legs, tugging on one edge of Zelia's skirts. The dark haired mother immediately scooped her up and propped the child on one hip, asking her what was wrong. Oriah waved at the child, who waved back shyly before whispering something into Zelia's ears.

"Well, Ori, Marrick," the older Benshira announced upon hearing her daughter's woes. "It seems I may be the one asking for favors instead tonight. Vina here says her older sisters won't let her dance because she is too small. But I think, perhaps, if she had someone to be her partner...say, a handsome squire for instance..." Zelia winked in Marrick's direction, much to Oriah's barely repressed amusement, and Vina followed her mother's gaze to peer curiously at the squire in question.

The child suddenly began tugging at her mother's collar, excitedly whispering in Shiber for her to please, please, please be allowed to dance with the squire.

Zelia put on a stern facade and raised an eyebrow in Marrick's direction. "Well, squire. What do you say? Would you be willing to promise one dance to this little lady of ours?"

[Marrick Corvis]

The Benshira’s laughter was music that tickled the Kelvic’s very soul. He loved to see her so excited with merriment, and happiness. He could bask in that glow forever. Of course that was until she called him Sera Mora’s little pet name. Marrick pouted in mock offense at the term Niblet, only to give Oriah another wink and a smirk. The music filled Marrick with a rhythm. It was as if he were one with all the people that touched him. Even though he didn’t understand all the maneuvers. It was easy to be swept up simply in their motions. As they danced Marrick remembered something that Oriah had told him once as she held his hand. She had told him that the Benshira dance to please their God, Yahal. Their dancing was a representation. A joyous expression of their family. Their tent. Their lives. Shared their food without asking return, and filling their simple lives with dance and music. Marrick felt the draw of kindred spirits. He had always found as he grew up that survival was the simplest expression of life. The most natural existence. His blunderings made him feel silly, and the laughter he earned was in good humor. He laughed right along with them, and it felt good. Many a cheer, and a cry out of “Mazeen” could be heard. The dancing halted to allow the elderly to escape capture, but as always Marrick was in for the long journey. When the music struck up again. Marrick tried to follow the motions as best he could and he worried incessantly that he was somehow thumbing his nose at their god by not doing it just right. Though as the dance continued, a pattern began to emerge and Marrick clung to that knowledge. As the tempo increased so did the steps. It got so fast, the blue eyed young Kelvic came to simply move on instinct. Each form flowed into the next in a fantastic whirlwind of arms, sweeps, swaying and spinning. Until at last the music ended and Marrick halted breathlessly. Between the laughter that hurt ribs, and the smiling that ached his cheeks the Kelvic had never before felt so at home. So accepted. Marrick caught his breath and shook a couple of outstretched hands. Even weathered a couple of hugs, and the great squeeze of a monster of a man. The Kelvic could have sworn he felt a couple of ribs crack. When he had found his feet again, he leaned against a pole and just drank it all in. For a wild moment in his heart the dark haired squire felt he could have a home here. His eyes searched for Oriah in the crowd if only to smile at her and feel happy. He wanted to share the moment with her. This day had been something truly magical. He owed it to the lovely Benshira, and her golden heart. When his gaze fell upon her she was chatting up one of the other dancers. While he watched her speak he noticed a certain flex to her form that made Marrick think the pair knew one another. Someone from her past he supposed, someone dear to her. They chattered on like a couple of old wives and for whatever reason the concept tickled at the Kelvic’s mind. Though, he tucked the thought away to tantalize his brain later. As Oriah’s head turned and she caught sight of him, Marrick realized he’d been grinning like an idiot. With a quick squirm of his face he stifled his expression and strode forward with a curiousness of an innocent child. When he at last stood beside his companion he nodded his head in greeting and smiled. It wasn’t often he had the opportunity to meet the sly dancers friends, especially old friends. As Oriah introduced her old friend, Marrick couldn’t help but see how genuinely kind this woman Zelia was. Even her words were filled with a kindness that Marrick felt the most overwhelming urge to give her a big hug. “Yeh are too koind teh me dear lass.” He said at last when she told him he was handsome. Marrick found the Benshira’s common feelings in regard to finding a handsome and kind family man endearing to say the least. When the term Madja came up the Kelvic quirked an eyebrow until Oriah leaned into him and explained. The meaning both delighted and tickled Marrick like learning a silly secret always did. The squire chuckled softly and blinked slowly a little smile forming at the corners of his mouth. Zelia’s kind hand found its way to his shoulder and he clapped his own over it to reinforce her gesture. Marrick was about to suggest they move off the floor when the most adorable little child ran up to Oriah’s old friend and clung to her leg. The Kelvic couldn’t remember the last time he’d even seen a child looking so bright eyed and happy. One that wasn’t running from bandits or asking him if their father would be ok as they carted them off to the healer. She called Zelia Mama, and Marrick felt the little girls stare like a stab through his heart. Damn being a bird Kelvic! He thought to himself as nesting behaviors danced through his mind repeatedly making him want to roust the child off to bed for stories or maybe a cup of cocoa. The dark haired squire shook off the feelings with a subtle blink and tilt of his head. Zelia’s request though slammed home for Marrick. Though how could he refuse such a gracious host. “Jest one dance?” Marrick said as he puffed out his chest. “Why just one dance is hardly fittin fer such a distinguished young lady. I’ll give her two, one now, and one later.” Marrick fixed Oriah with a smile both sad and sweet, and knelt down to be at the little girl’s height. When he was so low he bowed down even further letting one hand trail down to touch the ground, while his left rested over his heart. “t’would be moy genuine honor, teh be the dance partner of’so beautiful n’ distinguished a lady. But Oi must insist, that the good lady not sully her honor, n’ allow meh teh ask her.” Marrick lifted his head and looked the little girl in her azure eyes and smiled. “Lady Vina, Daughter of Zelia, and most beautiful lady in all of the Eyktol, would yeh do me the honor of dancing with this humble squire.” Marricks words seemed to touch a cord with little Vina as she smiled at him with the most innocent and genuine blush any child the Kelvic had seen before. That is before she hid her face in her mother’s skirt to giggle. Zelia’s eyes rose for just a moment before she fixed Oriah with a grin. The Kelvic was certain the pair would be talking about him the moment he was out of earshot and the idea amused him. However he had a task to perform, and dwelling on the gossip Oriah might share was hardly embarassing. With a slow hand he offered to lead little Vina out onto the dance floor. The little girl could barely look at him so rosy were her cheeks, and the Kelvic gave her little hand a gentle squeeze when she placed her small hand into his. “Yeh are too koind wee lass.” He said with a smile. As they left the two old women behind the little girl looked up at him with curious eyes. “What does Lass mean?” she said in a voice sweat as honey. The genuine naivety and innocence of the little girl made Marrick smile sweetly back down at her. “Lass means lady, or girl wee one.” He said as he tried to shorten his gate to match the little girls pace. “Oh…” she said as they walked to into the throng of other dancers. “What does ‘wee’ mean?” Marrick laughed and grinned at her. “Wee means little.” The dark haired squire found a spot near the edge of the crowd so that if the child wanted to bow out she could, though the Kelvic knew from experience that the Benshira were a stubborn people. “Well now bonnie Lass,” the squire said with a glint of mischief in his eye. “Are yeh ready teh show these farty elders a thing or two?” The little girls grin echoed Marrick’s as they took up position amongst the new crowd of paired dancers. Though the childs face held the slightest furrow of confusion. “Bonnie means pretty.” Marrick said fixing the Vim with the sweetest of fatherly smiles. “So what sort of dance is this?” The dark haired squire inquired curious as ever. “It’s time for us to speak to Yahal in our own words. Dance freely.” The little girls suggestion seemed a little strange to Marrick as he had only seen people dance to specific maneuvers. So for a brief moment of panic he racked his brain on what to do. The music began to start and Vima began to dance around him. The Kelvic watched her for a moment or two, and tried to Mirror her steps. They danced in their own little circle. Occasionaly he would reach out for her to give her a little lift, so that she could Jump like some of the older ladies. Each time she giggled profusely setting Marrick’s heart to shivers. As musicians crescendoed to a halt at last and Marrick’s little partner was beginning to tire it seemed. With a sweet smile he opened his arms and offered to pick her up. When she glommed onto him he gave the little girls mop of sandy hair a peck. “Wish Oi could keep yah wee lass, but Oi think Oi should give yeh back the yer sweet mum.” Marrick said with a sad smile. As he lifted her into his arms she giggled and squeaked. The little child was tired but in good spirits. The child made Marrick think of children. It was true, he wanted babies of his own but he knew they would be Kelvic. They would be doomed to a short hard life. The unfairness ate him up inside. It wasn’t until they’d wandered off of the floor and searched the pillows for Vima’s family that she reached up and touched his face. Marrick didn’t understand why and then the little girl spoke. “Why are you crying humble squire?” the child said to him as she wiped away a tear. The little girls face looked so sweet and innocent Marrick could hardly refrain from simply sitting down and balling. “Oi have a secret wee one.” Marrick said, his sad and sweet smile returning again to his lips. He knew he couldn’t tell her the whole truth, but a half truth would at least help her understand. “Oi can’t have children, and it saddens me that Oi can’t have one loike you.” The Kelvic explained before he gave the little girls hand a little squeeze. Vima smiled at him for a moment and asked for him to put her down with a flailing gesture toward the floor. When he knelt down she climbed out of his arms with a smile and wiped away another tear from his bristly jawline. Marrick could tell the little girl was trying to find a resolution to his melancholy, for her face looked as though it could tie knots just by turning toward the rope. At last a realization seemed to dawn on the little girl and she grabbed his hand excitedly. “You could become part of our Tent Mr Marrick!” She said with the assurance that only a child could. “You can become a family member in our tent, and travel with us. Raise all the children together with us.” The little girl’s look of approval broke the Kelvic’s heart as he his brows rose and his sad smile grew. “Oi’m afraid Oi can’t do that bonnie wee lass. Oi have a duty teh take care of the people of Syliras. They are moy tent.” Marricks hand gave the girls blond mop of hair a soothing stroke, only to lay his hand on her shoulder. “But yeh are the Koindest Lady Oi’ve met teh offer, yer mum would be proud of yeh.” Little Vima looked disappointed, but she seemed to understand. She nodded her head and scampered of to a large pillow where a tall dark haired man watched where Marrick knelt. He hugged the little girl when she ran up to him and he picked her up. His eyes never left Marrick, though there was something in them. A measure of respect. Just before he turned to give his children to an elderly lady he gave Marrick a tilted nod. Ever reciprocative, Marrick nodded back and found his way back to the Pillow that Oriah and he had been placed on prior to the dance. Only, she was no were to be found. He looked about in search of her but he could not see her. In fact, very few women were around. Many of the men lounged about smoking their pipes talking in Shiber. He couldn’t make out many of the words. Dance, Yahal, Well Done. They strung their words together too quickly for Marrick to even manage to understand snippets. Marrick was about to stand and search for her when a drummer began to patter out a swift beat with his hand drum and the men who lounged about sat up straight and laid down their drinks and pipes. Above them the lanterns covered, save one, which left the tent dimly lit, save for a wide circle in the middle of the carpets. Then as abruptly as he had started, the drummer slapped his hand drum and there was silence. The horns began to blow a strange note, and the drummer struck up anew. A heartbeat of sort. A tattoo both exciting and strangely natural as he pattered out this sound against the stretched hide. Boom pop pop, ba boom pop pop, ba boom pop pop. Each slap of their drum was accompanied by a short pause. Slowly the lantern covers were removed and red shades took their place. They were building up to something, Marrick was certain, but what? The Kelvic could taste his own curiosity on his tongue. Gratefully, after what seemed an eternity in the dark, several women dressed in the most gossamer of silks took to the center of the tent, and began to move with the rhythm. It was a simple repetition of movement, one that they carried on until all were together in the center. Marrick looked about excitedly. He felt over stimulated to the point of distress. While his mind told him tales of how soft their clothing must be, though not nearly as soft as their skin. With a swift hand he took a calming sip of wine only to nearly spit it out. He forced himself to swallow his mouthful only to stare slack jawed. There was his companion, in what Marrick could only describe as mist made into cloth. “Oriah?” he whispered softer than silk. “Pech me”

[Oriah]

It made Oriah feel more than a little disheartened that she would not be able to witness this special dance between Marrick and Vina. Something about the way the other squire played and interacted with children made her heart ache with tenderness. A condition Zelia showed no mercy in teasing her for.

"You want to nest," she grinned and nudged her friend as they made their way to the back of the tent. "Settle down, having little birdlings of your own. It's in your blood as both a Benshira and a woman."

Oriah shook her head in embarrassment. "Maybe one day, Zelia. But I have other things to worry about right now. Yahal has led me to this city and I have a new set of goals before me. Marrick is much the same. He understands."

Even as she said this though, she knew it to be only a poor imitation of truth. It sounded practical and believable enough, but there was every reason to believe that if Marrick could, he would build the most fantastic nest imaginable. Maybe it was the way he had went along with that book merchant's misconceptions. Or maybe it was because of how he looked after her empty bunk night after night until she was able to return. Or maybe it was just something that every mortal innately wished for.

Whatever the case, Oriah found it difficult to admit its appeal. She had spent so many years believing she was following some greater calling, and while she was happy to see that her friend had created such a thriving and loving Tent life, she could not imagine herself playing out these matronly roles the same fashion.

"A more important issue to discuss now," she continued, diverting the subject to something else, "is how on Mizahar you expect me to perform after so long of not dancing. And what will I even wear?"

She had left all of her more unwieldy belongings, including her dancewear and drum, in the safekeeping of the outpost. That and she hadn't performed a proper dance of their heritage in...in years. The last time there had been a true Benshira drummer to accommodate her had been all the way in Zeltiva. Just thinking about it made her heart race with uncharacteristic nervousness.

Zelia simply laughed and wrapped an arm around her friend's shoulder. "Don't worry, Ori. Have faith."

Somehow, Oriah found it difficult to fully trust that devilish smirk playing across her old friend's lips. But she followed anyway. Funny, how faith could draw one through even the most daunting of possibilities.

Truth be told, however, she wasn't so much worried about the success of her impending performance as she was terrified of what Marrick would think. If she tripped, or misstepped, or generally made a fool of herself...Blessed Yahal, what if the dress Zelia had in mind was unflattering? What if she had become unflattering after so many seasons of training? Strange, she had never cared before. Traditional dance in their culture placed no inherent value in how a dancer physically looked. It was always about one's skill and merit.

But somehow with Marrick watching...she took a deep breath and ignored the raucous clamoring of her nerves. They had reached a little, curtained off section in the back of the Tent, where Zelia was now rifling through a trunk of colorful garments.

"Ah hah!" she cried victoriously as she pulled out two sparkling sets of dancewear. "Found them! I've been saving them all these years, but with so many babes coming and going I never found the time to make use of them." She kept one pair for herself and handed Oriah the other.

The squire accepted them with awe and care, passing a hand over the familiar and achingly beautiful fabric. There were small, flat metal discs lining some of the rims and the garment was impossibly smooth to the touch.

"What do you think?" Zelia beamed.

"They're beautiful, Zee," Oriah sighed, unfolding the top piece to hold it against herself. "I haven't worn anything like this in...in years. Does this mean we will be dancing together?"

Snorting, Zelia refolded her set and put it back in the trunk. "I'm a mother of four. They'll think me vain for even considering."

Oriah bent to retrieve the dancewear and shoved it back into her friend's hands. "To Hai with what they think!" she cried in disagreement. "Your daughters will be amazed. Your husband no doubt more in awe than he already is. And you will be doing me a great favor, old friend. When I accidentally suffocate myself in my own veil out there you'll have to be there to rescue me."

Tears and amusement shone in Zelia's eyes as she embraced her friend tightly. "There's the Ori I know," she whispered. "It's good to have you here again."

Oriah hugged her back. "Let us go drop some jaws."

Half a bell later, they were ready. Zelia had done herself a great injustice with the way she had been discouraging herself in the beginning. She looked as stunning as ever, only fuller in figure and not as slim as she used to be. Which, Oriah assured her a thousand times over, worked only in her favor. This dance was meant to be sensual, and sensual worked best with curves. Conversely, Oriah herself had grown leaner over the course of her training, and they had had to tighten the ties of her costume as far as they would go. But together they made for a lovely pair, dressed in complimenting colors, one in rich purple to match her dark features and the other in an olive green to go with her tawnier complexion.

Both impromptu dancers moved in to join the other women in preparation. Once the music began and their cue passed, they drifted forward and began moving in slow, graceful gestures. For the first ten or so chimes, they danced as a unit, each in different colored silks, each lovely in their own way.

But once their opening dance ended, the solos began.

The dancers drifted back to the sides and one by one the individuals amongst their ranks moved to the center to do a solo of their own. Each solo lasted about five or so chimes, earning rounds of applause after their completion. Zelia's performance had brought on a thunderous round of praise, partly due to her unexpected appearance and partly because she proved as apt and spirited of a dancer as she had been in her younger days. Oriah smiled at her friend upon Zelia's return to the shadowed sides, whispering and pointing in the direction of her madja husband's bewildered expression. In response, Zelia gave her a gentle shove forward. It was her turn at last, and she was the final dancer to perform alone.

Oriah motioned for the musicians behind her that she was ready. She'd called out a song to them before making her way to the center and they nodded in understanding. Then she stood still and poised, waiting for the music to begin.

She had chosen a simple song to begin with, one known by most Benshira but not often played. It was a tune that usually accompanied the somewhat rare event of a Tent gaining and losing a member at the same time. Instead of celebrating both arrival and departure separately, they had turned into something of a hybrid celebration, wishing their fond farewells and welcoming with warmth and fanfare in a single event. Oriah had picked this particular piece for both its pace and content; it seemed fitting, in a way, given the sheer volume of old and new faces present in the crowded tent.

Trying not to think about how many people were watching, the squire began a set of slow footwork, back turned to the audience as her arms wound their way through the air one at a time. The right snaked lower and lower before the left joined and she turned, chest and belly undulating as her feet brought her all the way around. The dress she had borrowed favored skirts over pants and the fabric fell all the way to the ground, but fortunately there were openings on either side, allowing her legs more freedom as she swept half moons around the emptied dance floor.

Eventually Oriah drew her arms in to her chest, body curling in on itself as the melody faded to a whisper. Doum pop! The drums snapped back into an upbeat rhythm and her limbs burst forth into the second half of the dance--the welcoming portion--as she smiled from ear to ear and encouraged her audience to clap with her. Oriah made a short circuit around the dance floor's fringes, clapping along and adding a bounce to her steps that made the coins and beads on her garments clink joyfully.

Once she had the whole room clapping, the squire held onto one end of her skirt and swooped back to the center, where she proceeded to give the most lively solo she could muster. She hopped from one foot to the next before executing a more complex set of arm work, undulations, and shimmies, all following the various beats and accents of the drummers behind her.

Towards the end the drums rolled and rolled, Oriah spinning with them, before the stopped with a final slap and she with them, arms poised above and below her torso, chest heaving from exertion but smile still bright and wide as the song ended. As soon as she was done the audience cheered and clapped in appreciation while the rest of the dancers came to join her in a final act to end the performance. Once this was finished they linked arms, standing together in a row and bowed at the same time. Then one by one they danced back into the curtains, disappearing with a wave or kiss until the dance space was empty once again.

But the crowd was still cheering and applauding. Wildly, madly. And, as tradition dictated, the sheer volume of their approval brought the dancers back out for one last dance, after which Oriah was well and truly ready to sink down to the floor and never move again.

By the time it was over for good and she was allowed to wander back to the crowd, the squire all but collapsed onto the pillow beside Marrick, still fully bedecked in her dancewear as she was too warm and sticky with perspiration to change back into her proper clothes. "It is a good thing we ate so much today," she confessed, picking up a cup of water and downing it entirely in one long draught.

Exhaling in relief and using one arm to wipe away some of the water from her chin, Oriah grinned at Marrick and asked, "How was your dancing with our little lady Vina?"