50
fall 516
av
midday, sunny mild
stormblood pavilion
midday, sunny mild
stormblood pavilion
there was a warm glow about this late-Autumn day. While this season had seen the Drykas buffeted by attacks of Zith hordes, by drought, by political unrest, this day was a pool of warm, peaceful respite.
Laughter thrummed in the Stormblood pavilion.
Rufio's fists were red and white with strain as she gripped a goat by its horns, the tension in her forearms taut all the way up her biceps and into her shoulders. Her pectoral muscles, her back and sides were stretching and burning under the strain.
Rufio wrestled a buck (aptly, named Buck). Friendly, smiling blue eyes looked on from within an aging, weather-beaten, grey-whiskered face and Asher Stormblood's laughter joined the chorus of irritated bleating and Rufio's grunting giggles.
Sweat licked across her forehead and the freckled caramel of her arms, while dirt and grass stained the beige crochet vest she wore above a large mustard scarf wrapped as a skirt about her thighs.
The Drykas' bare toes squished into Semele as her calves bulged and her knees bent to gain some sort of leverage on the animal. "Quit...being...so...difficult!" She panted, willing the animal to do as she bid.
Asher shunted his weight from his bad leg to his good as he took a step forward, holding up a hand to interrupt the ridiculous sight before him.
"Rufio, you won't best Buck this way!" He advised, amused, and muttered "geht voune..." under his breath.
Stubborn as the animal she pitted her strength against, Rufio gritted her teeth and shoved the buck's horns with all the might she could muster in that humble 5'3" physique.
Wit, not strength, won out.
Buck bleated defiantly and with a vindictive jerk of his skull, wrenched his horns aside. Rufio's grip, so tense and fixed, felt the tug on her arms-
"AAHH!!"- she screamed,
was flung onto the ground
with a T H U D.
Asher couldn't help himself, he doubled over in a gush of laughter, his arm cradling his stomach, his other hand on his good-knee for support. The freckled Drykas blinked up, surprised, as the Buck wandered off a ways, wagging his tail victoriously.
Rufio felt the beginning of a bruise throb dully in her left shoulderwhere she had landed. As her ochre gaze inspected her wind-marked shoulder closely, she realized the meaningful tattoo etched across her skin was faded. The geometrical patterns patchy in places, wherever it had healed badly last Winter.
Asher held out a hand to his pavilion-sister, who took it gratefully and hauled herself to her feet, dusting herself off as best she could.
"My wind-marks are not as vibrant as they were." She mused, holding her left arm out to see in Syna's caressing touch.
Asher used a rag to wipe sweat from the back of his neck. "Ay, the ink fades with the healing, and time. You can get it retouched with the Lilacwind pavilion." He gestured loosely towards the Amethyst Clan across the myriad of pavilions.
"What am I going to do about that Buck?" The freckled Drykas shot a vengeful look at the goat, who was harassing the does with his lust. Not that she could blame the buck, they were all in heat.
"Ah, leave him to old Ash here. We'll have a chat, me an' him, man-'o-man. You go see about those wind-marks if y'like, before the day gets old."
Rufio's appreciation was a flurry of grass-sign as she beamed at the older Drykas and raced off to find Loha, her strider. "Thanks Ash, I'll help out later!" promise, favour owed.
The animal handler rested his chin in his hand, amused as he watched her race off. Looking to the goats, he shook his head. That Wildmane lived up her her birth-name, he chuckled..
□ □ □
The fortune-teller had cleaned up and woven a braid tightly against her head in her cropped hair, using leathers of Emerald and White to denote her Emerald-now-Diamond Clan status before she'd departed for the Lilacwind tattooists.
Her nose-ring glinted as she peered about the richly dyed tents and banners that denoted the Amethyst Clan. Leaning back to ease her red-dun strider to a halt, the Drykas slipped off his back and stood in front of him with a meaningful posture to capture the stallion's wandering attention.
When the horse's concave nose brushed her forehead, the Drykas lifted her hands and made a sign emphatically with both her hands. 'Wait' it said.
The stallion swiveled his head to peer at her with a deep, thoughtful brown orb, and the Drykas made the sign again. The stallion grunted and flicked his tail. Rufio felt like it was an acknowledgement of sorts, and scratched the Loha's forelock.
With that, she turned towards the large, beautifully painted tent of the legendary tattooists and stepped in to the pavilion. Her ochre gaze flickered and she took in the artistic decor with a sigh of appreciation.
Excitement danced amidst her features.