Under An Autumn Sun (Khida)

[Colt]

43rd of fall, 514 a.v
not quite dawn

The sun was just shy of peeking over the eastern horizon when Shahar rolled out of the pile of cloth he called a bed and through the flap of the tent. He had woken early, as he often did, early enough that the color on the skyline was still watery and the world still painted in grey. He knew without looking that he should be quiet; she still rested, and he didn't want to be the one to roust her. The air was crisp and the breeze held a bite to it, enough of one that he pulled on one of his long-sleeved shirts and then his woolen vest. Around his shoulders went the brownish-green cloak, and only then did he finally turn his attentions to the javelin leaning peacefully against the closest thing he had to a door. He slung the quiver over his shoulder and shifted to settle it in place, pulling up his hood to preserve the last traces of the night’s warmth that he could, and then he abandoned the area next to his tent for the world beyond.

He took a moment to stop by the firepit to check that the coals from the night before were still hot, or at least hot enough to make more when he returned, but that was a momentary delay and he was back on his way before three heartbeats had passed. He took care to tiptoe around the spot that the horses had chosen to settle for the night, huddling close together to ward off the deep autumn chill. There was no reason to wake them this early.

Away from the camp he went then, into grasses that were mostly quiet as what remained of the night breeze was gentle and undemanding. The layer of dead grass carpeting the dirt gave way an inch or so under his feet, dead enough for mold to have softened it and, in turn, to soften his steps. While he didn’t really need to be quiet––he didn’t truly hunt before dawn, not in a way that required stealth––he did so anyway, perhaps out of some misplaced notion of respect for the pre-morning serenity that he so often found himself enjoying. It was a rare near-stillness, one that wasn’t usually found during the day, and it was a near-stillness that he loved enough to honor.

To his pleasant surprise, his first trap had been sprung and was now laced tightly around the neck of what looked to be a young ferret, lean-limbed but healthy on the bounty of the season. Such a lush fur, even a small one, would be a prize for any peltmonger.

The creature stirred at his approach, then began to squirm when his shadow fell across its back. The snare hadn’t quite yet slain the thing, it seemed. It grew more emphatic in its writhing the closer Shahar came, but the wire about its neck held it tight. The hunter knelt next to the creature, and after moment of careful aim was able to take it by the scruff and gain some measure of control over its movements. With one hand he was able to turn the animal over, exposing its neck and underbelly, and with the other he pulled his knife from its sheath; he didn’t want to spend longer on this snare than necessary.

He did his best to make the cut swift and clean, deep across the throat and windpipe and through the large artery on the left side of the neck. The ferret let out a screech of pain and thrashed, but Shahar held it where it was. Waiting. And then, in time, its struggling became weaker, calming into vague undulations of the spine and limbs and then descending into little more than twitches. And in another moment, those too became still.

Shahar unwound the snare from around its neck and stored the contraption in a pouch at his belt. There was blood on it now, and he would have to take the scent off before he could expect it to bring down anything else. The ferret was carried by hand, upside-down to let it bleed out more thoroughly; he was wearing his new trousers, the ones he’d bought from Rue, and he didn’t want to stain them if he could help it.

The second trap was empty, and so he moved it to a well-used rabbit trail instead. He’d check it later in the day; the city wouldn’t be moving until tomorrow, and so he could afford to be more relaxed today. And besides, the sun had crested the horizon; there was no reason to spend more time on his traps. The morning had broken. It was high time he returned home.

[Khida]

Khida slept in feathers, only partly because of autumn's cool nights. The falcon usually felt more comfortable on pole or pack than her human skin was laying on ground. Even padded ground. But with dawn so near, the raptor could hardly be said to sleep just now; she dozed, in that quiescent state which was neither asleep nor awake, waiting only some outside stimulus -- or nothing more than the passage of time -- to fully cross from one to the other.

Disruption came in the form of noises from within the tent, a rustle of cloth, a motion in the dimness as he stepped out. The falcon blinked sleepy eyes wide, watching the hunter fetch his things and head off into the grasses. The Kelvic supposed that was her cue to get up too... though, in the soft pre-dawn gloom, she felt no particular urgency to do so. She watched him walk away, until only the rustle of grasses heralded his motion, until even that was beyond sight or hearing. Then the peregrine bestirred herself, lifting her torso up and stretching her wings out wide. She glided down to the flattened grass of the camp, shifting to human in a swirl of light brighter than the lightening sky.

In the sudden absence of feathers, the cold air bit. So did the cool earth underfoot. Khida wrapped her arms about herself reflexively, for the few moments it took her to fetch out her own clothing. Those went on quickly -- shirt, trousers, stockings, shoes -- and did a great deal to insulate her bare skin from air and earth. She left off the cloak, figuring she would be warm enough before too long.

Her bow also came out of the tent, and out of its case. She paused to examine it, studying the interplay of horn and wood and sinew which still seemed strange to the Kelvic's eyes. Then she set about stringing it, as the shopkeeper had instructed and as she had now performed altogether more times than she cared to count -- hooking the lower end against her shin, running the upper limb up behind her other thigh, pushing on the bow until it yielded enough for the string to loop over its top end. It was not a quick process; she didn't try to make it one. Releasing the pressure, Khida checked to ensure the bow itself remained straight. It did; she had strung correctly.

Then she pulled out an arrow, just one, its fletching broken and its head snapped off. A casualty of earlier practicing... but still useful for at least one thing. She chose a place on the edge of the camp, away from the drowsy horses, away from where the hunter had departed by. Feet at shoulder width, one slightly back, neither pointing forward. Focus on the target -- in this case, nothing more than a point where grass stood out against the sky. Check grip on the bow. Breathe deep, relaxed. Bring up the arrow, nock it on the string with the arrow shaft aligned. Pull back to the base of the arrowhead, feathers touching the cheek.

And hold.

It wasn't like flying, this strain on the muscles of her arms and back; flying, the greatest single effort came with the downbeat, with muscles the bow did not engage so much. Khida eased the bow down, sparing a moment's rest to enjoy the absence of strain, then drew the arrow again. Up and down, draw and relax, reiterated over and over until her muscles began to register protest as well as plain effort. Yet drawing the bow also was alike to flying in a way, requiring the efforts of arms and back, the stability of a strong core, the coordination of the entire system. Just... in an entirely different manner than her body, either body, had thus far been conditioned to.

ledgerstockings, wool, medium -- 6 sm
shoes, leather -- 3 sm
cloak, felt, olive green -- 15 sm

total: -2.4 gm

oocYou asked after Khida's normal morning activities. I think it's either a) hunting with Shahar, b) checking her own trap lines, or c) the new development, practicing bow.

Common | Pavi | someone else

[Colt]

He knew without thinking that there would be no shared excursion this morning; the daybreak had not seen Khida take flight nor step away from the camp, as she often did, and it imbued Shahar with a vague curiosity. He suspected that it might be somehow due to the new bow she had so recently brought home, and that, in turn, led his thoughts to hunting, and of what he might do later in the day; the Great Hunt was afoot, and although Shahar didn’t particularly want to compete for status, he wasn’t sure how he would compete for prey itself since every hunter in the city seemed to be stalking as much ground as they could. He would need to be swift and careful in his forays if he wanted to keep bringing in kills.

He did his best to enter the camp quietly to refrain from disturbing Khida in whatever activity she had chosen that had her so focused, a focus he could sense before he saw her. Still, he moved into her line of sight without stepping into her line of fire––just off to the side, where she look at him if she wished. Were they to share even a glance, a flash of recognition, the wordless, everyday relief of returning to each other’s presence, that would be enough of a ‘good morning’ for him.

Shahar sat on a patch of earth and bent grass and spread the dead ferret out before him, turning it onto its back to examine its belly. He tugged a bit at its fur, and the skin slid when he pinched it; the ferret’s pelt seemed to be like that of a hare or a cat, in that it was not strongly attached to the musculature beneath it. Those were the pelts that Shahar liked, and the ones that he felt confident enough to try and skin on his own; antelope and deer hides were glued firmly to the rest of their flesh, and took great effort to peel away. Shahar couldn’t do those without tearing them.

He wondered idly if Khida might wish for him to check her traps or if she wished to attend to it herself after she concluded her activities with the bow, but that was a question that could be asked later.

Shahar drew his knife. For now, he had an animal to skin.

[Khida]

As she drew the arrow back yet again, fletching a ticklish brush across her jawbone, Khida could feel the tension in the bow, the will of the wood and bone and sinew to leap back into its resting state. A countering tension lit through her arms and shoulders and back, each balancing the other, holding the arrow steady between shaft and string. If she released her hold on the arrow, the arms of the bow would snap forward, launching the arrow out into the grass. She didn't let go; there was nothing out there she wanted to hit. Just grass, swaying faintly in the breeze, and a little tuft of cloud like clumps of dandelion seeds blown into the sky.

From behind her, a warmth that wasn't the rising sun, for all that she often felt they had something in common. A sense of closeness, proximity and affection alike; a sense of regard. The Kelvic glanced over to return that regard, the warmth of a welcoming smile echoing down their connection rather than being expressed outwardly. Her glance picked out the burden he carried, sleek and small and furry; quarry from a trap, patently, perhaps something of the weasel kind. It had the right sort of tail hanging down beside. Good. Maybe his early success would bode well for hunting later in the day.

Shared regard dimmed as he set down to process the kill -- not gone, never ever gone, but no longer so immediate and forefront as their gazes parted and each turned attention elsewhere. Khida considered her own task, the still-unfamiliar bow in hand, the accumulating weariness in her muscles. It was enough for now, she decided; later, she would go down and practice actual shooting again, after she had done some other and different things. She didn't want to make her arms too tired all at once.

Besides, she realized, she'd forgotten the little finger-glove. Her fingers made it clear, as she eased the bow down, just how important that bit of equipment really was. A close inspection suggested the soreness would fade in a few chimes -- no real harm done -- but she could follow its implications, and knew to be more careful in the future.

The arrow thus went back into the quiver, and Khida proceeded through the bit of contortion necessary to unstring the bow. That was restored to its case, along with the string, and the whole collection stowed in their tent. When she came back out, she could see he was well along in the skinning, brown fur and pink skin peeling away from red flesh beneath. The Kelvic padded over to observe the process, standing in his shadow, idly reaching out to comb her fingers through his hair much like the falcon might preen another bird's feathers.

"For us, it is?" she asked, curious rather than expecting. If this carcass was meat for the camp, then it would need cooking today. Which she might help with. If not -- well, then it probably wasn't even remotely her concern.

Common | Pavi | someone else

[Colt]

Attentions diverged and tasks were returned to; Shahar had his quarry, Khida her bow.

He set the ferret on the ground in front of him, far enough away that he could lean forward and have more control of where the blood went; he didn’t want to stain his clothes this early. The ferret went on its back, where he could see the cut he’d already made and the directions he would need to make more. The knife was hefted again and positioned at the ferret’s throat where the skin had already been opened. Shahar tilted his head and swiveled the knife, trying the find the best spot…

… and then drew the blade into the flesh, down the throat, across the chest and beyond the stomach, slitting the creature from one end to the other.

The ferret’s pelt was very similar to that of a cat or a rabbit, in that it was loosely attached and easy to move. Unlike a deer, there wouldn’t be as much pulling and tugging as there would simply be trying to find the right place to cut in order to slip the skin free, perhaps clearing out a few tendons or clingy musculature.

Next came four more smaller incisions, one at the inner base of each limb to further aid in the separation process. With those made and the stomach opened, Shahar set down his knife and set both hands to the task before him.

He had rolled back the skin beneath one of the forefeet when he felt the soundless ringing behind him of presence, the shortening of the silver cord in his heart as the other end drew nearer. He slowed in his movements to observe her approach with something other than his eyes, then became still when she reached for his head.

A warmth spread under his skin at her touch, and he turned slightly to lean closer while leaving his messy hands safely where they were.

When she voiced her question, Shahar’s posture took on a vaguely positive tone and he glanced back at his work. Slipping two fingers underneath the pelt, the hunter held it up for her to examine.

“Meat, for us.” The pelt was too nice for them to keep. And even if it hadn’t been, there was still not a great many uses they would have for it.

[Khida]

He answered in the affirmative, and Khida nodded silently. Then he raised the pelt towards her, and she braced her hand lightly against his shoulder, leaning forward to examine it. She didn't understand why he wanted her to look at it -- but she gave her attention where her bondmate requested it. A human might have admired the fur, or praised the hunter's success at removing it from the carcass; the Kelvic was simply satisfied, expecting nothing other than what it was.

The pelt, implicitly, would be sold to some other Drykas. But the meat would be for them. "Stew," she remarked, no question underlying the word. In her experience, small animals were usually good in soups -- and soups were good for autumn nights. Not to mention, stews were easy to make and thus a mainstay of their diet. Her attention veered inward as she followed that line of thought, considering what they had that could be put in a stew.

Vegetables. "We need..." But the statement, begun strongly, faltered; why did the Pavi for vegetables suddenly desert her? "...herbs," Khida finished, reaching for one word and finding something else the only thing which came to mind. Herb also meant a kind of plant, as that girl had made clear; it would do instead.

The Kelvic's thought progressed, as it usually did, from abstract into action. Khida glanced in the direction of the city, studied the freshly-risen sun. The shops in the city might have started to open; if not, they would soon. "Go to buy?" she asked, for she could imagine no reason to delay such an errand when it might be done now. One hand sketched a question in the air beside them both: I, we? She might go, and he continue to process the carcass; or they might go together.

Common | Pavi | someone else

[Colt]

She saw the pelt, tilted forward to examine it, and within moments she was satisfied with what she saw. Her posture was felt, both through the hand on his skin and through the bond between them; she had no opinion of the pelt itself aside from uninvolved contentment with what it inherently was.

Stew, she said, and Shahar sent another flash of positive, affirmation. That was the staple of their meals, and there wasn’t much else that they could do with such a small amount of meat.

She continued to muse aloud on what they would need to accompany the meat into the stew, and the hunter’s mind immediately went to what would be available to them. Fall was a time of bounty for both animal and plant, and there were things he had passed just this morning that would certainly do well in a breakfast stew.

Khida continued their shared train of thought into one of doing, and Shahar frowned––not at his bondmate, but at the ferret in his hands. The skin was not fully taken from the body inside of it, and after that the stomach needed opening and cleaning and the entrails needed burying; he still had labor ahead of him that would take some time.

Nodding to the task in question, Shahar put voice to his dilemma. “Doing still, can’t leave,” yet.

Then again, if Khida were to go into the city for what else they needed, he could both finish his skinning and start heating up the water for when she returned.

“You go, I start stew?” Quicker both of us.

[Khida]

Quick, her hands echoed, inflection suggesting affirmation. It was a good plan he put forward; Khida approved. With the pair in agreement, there seemed no need for further discussion. The Kelvic's steps took her back to their tent, the better to collect both mizas and a pack to carry things in. Leaving Shahar to his tasks, she set out on her own, heading into Endrykas proper.

Along the way, she mused over what should be bought for the stew. Roots generally did well; they proved nearly impossible to cook too long, and had plenty of substance to them. She also wanted something green, because... well, mostly because in Khida's experience, stews included green things. Maybe she would get beans for today's stew. Like roots, beans would cook for as long as they needed them to. Or... maybe she wouldn't. She'd have to find out what was available in the market.

So early in the morning, the Sunrunner Markets were still quiet, a fact which caused Khida a moment's initial consternation. Was it so early the vendors were not even doing business? But no -- here was a pavilion with its side panel raised, set to shade the wares and merchants from the day's sun. Not the wares she wanted, all leatherwork and cords in knots, but a promising sign all the same. There was another, the woman behind the table sketching greeting and something like slow morning friend, although there seemed a subtext Khida didn't quite get. She cast a greeting in return, but continued on; pottery wasn't her interest either.

Eventually, she found a pavilion which was both open for business and selling produce, a tent marked with the green ribbons of the Emerald Clan. A boy lounged behind the table, legs stretched out and arms folded over his chest, clearly discontented with his lot. His focus visibly sharpened upon realizing Khida was approaching his stall; he straightened up and smiled brightly, manner expansive and welcoming although he never quite seemed to meet her gaze. "Good morning!" he exclaimed, welcome welcome. Other words and signs followed, the rhythm of a practiced patter, exhorting the fine qualities of his family's produce. Khida didn't follow exactly what he said, but the gist was impossible to mistake.

She recognized the hopniss on display, sweeping up a handful of the walnut-sized oval tubers. This, she signed. She didn't actually know what plant they came from... but the Drykas ate them in abundance. He spoke again, pleasantries the Kelvic mostly tuned out. Nearby were dried slices of what looked to be another pale root, something which must grow larger than the hopniss. These? she signed with her free hand, making of it a question.

"That's timpsula, of course," he supplied, seeming taken aback by her lack of recognition. He actually looked up to her face then, studying her appearance, gaze lingering on the Chevas mark and a hint of disappointment seeming to shade his manner. "It would go pretty well with hopniss. I recommend the bee balm with those, too, he finished, pointing at a pile of dried leaves down towards the end of the table.

Curiosity piqued, the Kelvic ambled down to investigate the indicated herb. A leaf crushed and rubbed between her fingers proved to smell something like spices she had tasted before, although it wasn't quite familiar. But she agreed it would probably go well, if it tasted the same after cooking as it smelled now. "You need a basket," the boy interrupted suddenly. "Here, wait! I'll get you one."

He was gone into the pavilion before she could even speak.

Common | Pavi | someone else

[Colt]

Affirmation, said her hands, followed by her departure. The labor of two made labor quick.

With their tasks set, Shahar returned his attention to the ferret. He was just at the end of the tail when Khida left the camp for the thick tents of Endrykas, and in another few moments he triumphantly pulled the pelt free of the carcass; the cuts were jagged and rough, but aside from that there were no errant holes or tears in the rest of the skin. It was quite suitable to sell.

But the skinning was not even half the work he had before him, and there was still much to do before Khida returned with other things to put in the stew. Shahar stood and made his way away from the camp, to where the trickling brook gave them their water; it was not much, but it was steady, and it served Shahar well as he knelt and rinsed the blood off of the meat and interior of the skin. When that was done, he draped the pelt over one thigh and hefted the blade once more, piercing the stomach and letting the entrails free; while a deer’s stomach or intestine might serve them to hold water or possessions, a ferret’s were far too small to perform any such duty. They were left next to the brook and covered up with dirt; scavengers would be more interested in buried entrails than Shahar’s stored food, at least for the night, and what was left of the ferret was what the camp itself would eat.

He pause on the way back, gaze catching on a generous spread of purslane; not the most flavorful of plants, but neither was it unpleasant, and it grew thick and plentiful throughout the Sea of Grass. He took half the bushel and then half of another, leaving both to grow another day and returning with two large handfuls of food to go in the pot.

A pot that still needed filling.

Leaving the skin, meat and purslane atop the travois, Shahar unearthed the cast-iron pot and returned to the brook to fill it. The positioning was somewhat difficult, but he managed it; the shadows hadn’t shifted more than a finger-width by the time he returned, burdened with both pot and water.

Only when the meat, pot and purslane were at hand did Shahar turn his attention to the banked fire; while there weren’t any actual flames, there were still embers hidden within the ashes, embers that were easily coaxed back to life with gentle breath and dry grass, followed by sticks and twigs. If he was careful and took his time, the fire would soon be strong enough to devour larger fuel, which would signal the time to put on the pot.

[Khida]

The boy returned promptly with a basket, lightweight but sturdy. He put her chosen goods into it, neatly packing the tubers around the outside, the beebalm in the middle. Then he pushed it across the table towards her. "There you go!" he declared brightly, satisfaction clear in his demeanor. "There's still room in it," he pointed out. "Maybe you'd like to get something else?"

Khida picked the basket up, studying it more closely. It seemed to have been constructed from dethorned briars -- blackberries, maybe, or raspberries. The thinnest strands made up the bottom, woven more tightly than the coarser brambles of the sides. It would be good for carrying these things, she allowed; she didn't say he was right, but as the boy looked on, reading her sentiments in her posture, a hint of smugness seemed to creep into his manner.

She had roots. She had green stuff, although the herb, the beebalm, was small in quantity and strong in flavor. Perhaps more vegetable was called for. Another basket of dried greenery caught her eye, and Khida gestured towards it -- this is? -- before adding two handfuls of the leaves to her basket. "Nettle leaves," the boy supplied. "From last spring. You're lucky, what you see there is all that's left." He sat back down on his stool, anticipation written in the lines of his expression. "That all comes to ten silver mizas.," he stated decisively.

Khida blinked at the boy, then down at the goods in question, surprise quickly supplanted by negation. She had bought vegetables before; this amount had never cost so much. She didn't know all their names; she wasn't stupid. Too much, four her hands sketched, and "Four silver mizas," she supplied aloud. That seemed a much more reasonable value, to her.

"You're pretty," the youth retorted with a broad grin, "but not that pretty." Pretty? What did pretty have to do with anything? "That basket's one silver by itself. And you've got the last of the nettles. That's worth more, this time of year. My mother will tan my hide if I don't get their value."

The basket. Well, that made sense, although he had sounded like he was just giving it to her, before; the fact that it made sense didn't make her any less disgruntled. Dealing with this boy, with all this back and forth over such a simple thing, was tiring. Khida just wanted to take her vegetables and go home. "Seven," she said at last, abrupt and final, taking that number of coins from her sash and depositing them on the table. Scooping up her basket, she started walking away before he could even make a reply.

The youth waved at her back, though she didn't see it, nor how his attention lingered until she was at last out of sight. "Come back anytime!" he called after her, much more cheerful now than he had been in the beginning. And why not? He'd started off his morning with a pretty, albeit off-limits, woman and gotten the better end of the deal to boot. His day was looking up.

ledgerdried veg., com., 0.3 lb -- 1 sm
fresh veg., com., 1 lb -- 2 sm
spice, mint family, 0.5 oz -- 2 cm
basket, medium, com. -- 1 sm
overcharged -- 2.8 sm

total -7 sm

Common | Pavi | someone else