Contemplation

[Rista]

Timestamp: 20th of Fall 511 AV Location: The Twin Lakes Status: Open The feather twirled between her fingers as she slowly walked over the white sand, a slow dance of white and blue, yellow and red creating new patterns as it shifted in her light grasp. Aside from the never ending roar from Katsikas fall and the sighing of the wind there was nothing to be heard, the stirring of nature overruling any sound of heart or voice that didn't directly call for attention. Even so, compared to the bustling of the Courtyard at this time of day it was quiet here and decidedly more peaceful. With goods to be bought and sold, services to be traded and delicious treats to be had there was no time to spare for casual strolls along the beach. The summer was past, fall had arrived and the city was teething with activity, hunters coming and going with stressed faces. Everyone was busy, and those that actually took the time to spend their Market day at leisure seemed to do it with a kind of frenzy, as if they were trying to get it over with so they could go back to work. The day was clear and bright, the sky seemed endless and without a cloud. The sun didn't seem to have the same strength as before and the wind was cool as it swept by, tugging at the braids around her face. Rista pushed the dark hair behind the ear and looked out over the lower lake, once more trying to understand why exactly she had come here. It was silly, she didn't have a reason to be there and there was absolutely no reason for her to buy a painted feather, not when even the cheapest went for two pinions. The impulse that had made her spend four on this starkly colored tail feather still made her cringe when thinking about it, and not for the first time did the girl wish to go back to the market and take back her purchase. The vendor would be irritated since she had spent nearly a bell lingering by his stall already, unable to decide which one to buy. It couldn't be helped though, her hand had been constantly pulled towards the expensive ones, the grand feathers portraying exquisite landscapes with all the minuscule details painted thoroughly. Not to mention the grand Wind Eagle feathers, large enough to cover the wall of a moderate-sized room. She sighed and sank down on the ground, feet kicking off the sandals and letting the toes burrow into the sand before falling onto her back. For some reason the bright mood wasn't there today. The season had barely started and yet it felt as if though she had already gotten herself into trouble, a mess that she didn't know if she would be able to get out of. Her argument with Kikue had ended with most of her free time being taken away, meaning only rare moments when she were able to practice her archery. Most of her teachers seemed too busy to pay her any attention, and the wounds on her body were taking their time in healing; it was hell to wake up in the morning, when her muscles were still stiff and cold. Walking and moving made it better, but she still couldn't move around like normal. Climbing was out of the question, there was no time for small adventures to the Valley, and the recent plans she had begun to make for a longer hunting trip was being thwarted by stubborn teachers that didn't want to let her go. It would take a lot of talking to persuade them, along with a good bit of luck and perhaps a few white lies... Another sigh passed through her lips, and with a gaze that was empty and introverted the girl looked up towards the sky, the feather spinning as she rolled the end between fingertips. It didn't feel like she had gotten anywhere at all this past season. New faces had been brought before her mind, along with names and ranks that made her mind spin from shear awe. Somehow, for some reason she had been addressed by Endal, not one but three different ones, not to mention the Avora that seemed to have taken interest in her. It was frightening and overwhelming, Rista wasn't used to have so many eyes on her at the same time. What were they expecting when they looked at her, why did they care at all to begin with? She wasn't something to bother with, her best efforts didn't amount to much and they knew it. At least Fois knew it, and the condescending Eagle that had spoken within her mind, ask questions and weighed her words on a scale, until finally deeming her too light. Kovac should know it too; while he didn't say anything during their practice sessions she still couldn't help but feel that she was making him disappointed, her progress wasn't amazing and lately there had been no time to practice between lessons. Her days were full of chores, at night she tumbled into the bed and fell asleep almost before the head touched the pillow, muscles sore and her mind always tired, so tired... There was no time for anything these days. And it was only one season left until her fate would be sealed. Her sleep was riddled with nightmares about it, the moment when she stood in front of all the Inarta, faced by Valtrrrik and finally to be appointed to her caste. She could see it so clearly, every year she had followed the simple ceremony with envy as those older than her rose or fell in rank. When it was her turn, she always saw the face of the Elder drop in disappointment, before holding a hand out silently with a finger pointing towards the section of the drudges, silent and commanding. Not good enough. Not worthy. She was only a half-blood, unskilled and unfit for the life of the true Inarta. Unwelcome. Her limbs shifted in silent unease as the hazy memories played before her inner vision. Lids fell over jet-black eyes until dark lashes touched upon the colored cheeks. The thoughts spun in her mind, grim and relentless as events played out before her inner vision, vivid and haunting in their unaltered truths. Fourteen years of events, one followed by another had led her to where she was now, and for what? Not even on the best of days could she say with confidence that she was worth all the effort people seemed to place on her, from lessons to kindness to mere tolerance of her existence. Ever since she lost her brother to illness it was as if the control over her life had been torn from her hands by some ill fate, as if a power was steering her through life like a puppet. It was a ridiculous thought, the gods must have better things to do than to meddle in the life of a mix-blooded little girl. But the thought wouldn't let go completely. Had she ever called her own shots, had the choices she made ever been truly her own? Fingers closed tightly around the fragile feather, disrupting the fine downs and ruining the simple picture of a bird silhouetted against a bright sunset. Slowly, steadily Rista was pulled down by her thoughts, pressed and forced into a light, restless sleep. Her shifting body dug the small frame deeper into the sand until it cradled her on all sides, fine grains coating the dark, red-streaked hair and digging its way to the half-healed cuts in her skin. Somewhere high above a bird gave off a shrill cry, its voice bouncing between the rocks and echoing until the wind caught hold of it, whisking it away and sending it off over the edge like the warm waters of the lake. Rista didn't hear it, too caught up within her own restless sleep to notice how the feather trembled in her grasp, longing to be freed from her firm grip and dance with the waters of the Fall as well.