Timestamp: 50th day of Winter, 512 AV
"Fair winds and tall grasses."
Akela, of the now-defunct Denusk pavilion from the Amethyst clan, gave a hysterical little laughing fit as she finally closed on to the Mirahil pass that granted access to the city of Zeltiva. How strange it felt to be traveling on foot again, just like in the beginning. And even stranger was the laughter knotted at the base of her throat, finding release in short bursts that left her breathless. Fair winds and tall grasses, indeed.
- - - - - - - - -
About two years earlier
She woke in the middle of the night, her forehead damp with sweat. She had just had a nightmare, but couldn't remember any of it. Moonlight streamed through the open window. She clutched her sheets and pulled at them in mild anger, throwing them across the small room. Akela lay there, allowing Leth to feast on her naked body, scales almost glowing in the pale light. The Ranuri mark on her breast was a dark wine stain on her fair complexion and she regarded it for what felt like a very long time. She was restless - if she hadn't felt like this before, she could have sworn this was the Call. But of course, no such thing could ever happen to her, the un-Konti. She grimaced at the thought and considered her reasons for feeling this way.
'Who am I?'
It was a question she'd asked herself many times ever since her marking. Even before, she'd never been sure what her place in the fabric of the world; Nikali had shattered what few certainties she had been left with. Akela owed the goddess her life, and still thanked her with prayer on occasion; yet, she was losing herself to the mark. She chose not to think about it most of the time, but there were moments such as now when the grip grew loose and the true Akela had an easier time showing through. She had pledged herself to her sister Kavala and what pleased the healer, pleased the warrior as well. She found herself doing the same kind of backbreaking work that Kavala anesthetized herself with, day after day after day, and enjoying it. The Sanctuary kept growing, and it made the girl happy, though the happiness was mostly a reflection of her sister's.
'Who am I?'
The moon did not answer. Akela's eyes wandered to the corner of the room where her sword rested upright against the wall. In the end, the katana always had a way of reminding her who she was. The act of cutting defined her to the core. She was the one whose very soul was sharp, and her life from now on would be a constant battle between the chains that caught the blade, and the blade that cut the chains. When one waxed, the other waned. Her restlessness could only mean she was about to reach one of those turning points. Not even Ranuri could keep her in check forever.
'When something stops being good for you, you cut it off.' It was a teaching she remembered well; possibly the only one Akela had learned that Kavala was still struggling with. Akela knew very well how to cut off a dead beanch, or a live one for that matter. She had cut, and cut, and cut again. She jumped off the bed and paced slowly across the dimly lit the room, like a tiger in her cage. She must leave tonight; she understood it very well. Her will flowed powerful right now, but Kavala could make it crumble. Her very touch filled Akela with the need to look after her. Her voice only spoke in sweet commands to Akela's ears. She just knew she would keep procrastinating if she waited any longer.
There was nothing for the real her in Riverfall. Not now. Her sister had her own dream to pursue, and her lessons to learn. Vanator had found his place amongst the Drykas, with the new wife she'd chosen - very unwisely, if the truth be told. Akela had developed an instant dislike for that Kashik woman that wasn't a Ranuri reflection of her sister's. It was the real thing. Still, he was the Ankal's heir and designated successor, not she. He could marry anyone he wished and sire new blood for the Pavilion. Akela could never make such a claim - and the Zith had probably left her barren, to boot.
She dressed and gathered her belongings, which didn't take very long at all. Akela had always believed in a frugal, spartan way of life, and the only reason she'd gotten accustomed so fast to sleeping under a roof of stone was that Kavala wished for her to do so. Her possessions were few and meaningful. She owned nothing that she couldn't defend with her life if need be. She stepped out of the Sanctuary and bathed in the moonlight for a few moments. The Sea of Grass was just beyond the corner. She could have taken a horse with her, even leaving the proper compensation behind, but none of the Striders had impressed her enough for a deep bond. Glimmer had been a special one; he couldn't easily be replaced.
Akela pressed her back against the wall of the veranda and smiled at Leth. "Gods, protect this place and those who dwell within," she whispered. "Rak'keli, give my sister the gift of life. Cheva, give her the gift of love. And Dira, please tread softly when you visit here. Protect my brother Vanator, as well. He's an oaf but it can't be helped. One day I will be back." She gave a smirk. "If I feel like it."
She left on foot. The notion of speed was hardly important to one without a destination, and the Sea of Grass, for all its savagery, felt like home to Akela. Here everything was laid bare and honest. Here everything hated her and she could hate back to her heart's content. If death came to her along the way, she would welcome it with a smile and a rude gesture. She left with her blade firmly at her side and her chains rattling inside her heart. She left thirsting for blood and song and warmth and flesh and fear and the way of the sword. She craved the horizon, which was itself nature's sublime cut splitting heaven and earth.
