[Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

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The massive stretch of desert that overwhelms Eyktol. Here, a man's water is worth more than his life, and the burying sands are the unfortunate's mute undertaker.

Re: [Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

Postby Zaira on September 24th, 2009, 2:32 am

<”I, will go where ever Yahal leads me. What else can I do? What else is there to tether me still?”> The words were simply spoken with less thought than her previous words. There was no thought to them, the decision made long ago to give herself over Yahal, to find what he thought her fit to seek. Her worldly loves and comforts were gone; all that she had now were gifts and tokens of kindness from the travelers that had cared for her, and the few she passed.

Nothing was left that tied her to her old life, to her own tent but the blood, and memories she held.

She like Abashai tried to imagine the city of tents moving across the sea of green leaves like the rare clouds moved over the burning sands. <”Would you ever leave behind the sands of our home, without knowing if you would ever see them again?”> Zaira turned to look over her shoulder to Abashai as she posed her question aloud.
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Re: [Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

Postby Abashai on September 24th, 2009, 7:15 pm

Abashai turned to Zaira as she posed her question. He paused a moment, studied again the woman with whom he shared the oasis. Her eyes were still weary, but the sparkling blue irises seemed clearer, warmer as the two of traveler's conversation unfolded. Her words could very well have been spoken by himself. They both believed the recent events in their lives had set them on a path, an unseen path laid out by their god. But Abashai knew a little more.

<"Yes, I know I am leaving our home. I have known that whatever I am to learn, wherever Yahal has destined I learn it, that place lies beyond the desert. I do not know how far, or how long it will take to get there."> He looked out over the inky water, the tiny points of reflected starlight slowly dancing as the evening breeze picked up and kissed the pool's surface. He had never considered the possibility that he would not return. <"I guess I always assumed I would come back someday."> The thought of never seeing the desert, the wide open sky, his people ever again saddened him deeply. He sat silent for a moment. He did not like thinking about leaving Eyktol forever.

He turned back to Zaira, picked up his waterskin and offered it to the Benshiran maiden. <What about you, could you leave, not knowing?">
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Re: [Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

Postby Zaira on September 29th, 2009, 3:31 pm

<”There is nothing left here but memories. When it is time to move to the next oasis, the next cliff shadow, it is time to move. I believe my family left me, entrusting me to Yahal, just as I entrust myself.> The words seemed somber, yet the woman smiled finally to the shadows of the night that had fallen around them. Her head tilted and hair slide over her back to fall one side as she turned her face again to look to Abashai.

<”Will you play again my friend?”> It was not a closing of a door, but an opening of a window, her words, to return some lightness to the night her own words seemed to sap from the dancing fire before them. Her fingers stroked through dark strands, listening, to silence, to music, to the sound of the wind upon the sands. And the gentle curve to her lips remained.
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Re: [Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

Postby Abashai on September 29th, 2009, 7:11 pm

With a smile and a nod to his companion, Abashai gladly picked up the plectrum and began to strum the oud's strings. This time, a livelier, simple tune resonated in the instruments pear-shaped body and drifted out to fill the space around the fire. He felt they both needed something encouraging. As Abashai's fingers danced over the strings, the melody hinted at hope and promises still to be fulfilled. He did not sing, his musical talent confined to his hands, but the song was common at mashas and the Benshiran was sure Zaira would recognize it. He hoped it lifted her spirits.

Abashai looked again at Zaira, though he tried not to stare. When he left the tents of his family, he knew no Benshiran father would give his daughter to a wanderer. So, he avoided situations where he would find himself alone with a woman. There was no reason to get his hopes up for a wife, or disappoint the girls who vied for his attention. But there were other reasons, memories of a woman who had deceived him in his youth, an experience that scarred him to this day.

In the warm firelight, Zaira appeared lovely and youthful. He was naturally shy around women on top of everything else, but here, he did not feel the awkwardness he felt around other Benshiran women. Zaira was a kindred of sorts, a fellow wanderer trying to follow the will of god. Though her beauty did not go unnoticed, it did not intimidate or distract him.

The song finished, Abashai strummed random, mellow chords. He knew he should get his bedroll out, make ready to sleep. But the moment was peaceful, like time had blessed him with a respite from the uncertainty of the past few weeks. It was a moment without lonliness, without concern, without care. Though he knew his new friend grieved, he wondered if she felt the same. <"Tell me sister, do you sing"?>
Last edited by Abashai on October 5th, 2009, 2:06 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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Re: [Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

Postby Zaira on October 4th, 2009, 4:55 am

The shadow of a smile upon her lips brightened as Zaira heard the stirrings of a familiar tune that danced away from Abashai’s fingers and the instrument he played. It was like a familiar blanket thrown over you after coming in from the chill of the night. It was nice, sitting beside another, the fire before them, music upon the air. One could almost see the ghosts of figures moving in the dancing shadows, or hear the voices between the strums of strings, if she closed her eyes, perhaps they would no longer be alone in the night, but at the skirts of the greater fire of the caravans. Could look out behind them and see the shapes of tents and others.

Music, made a lonely night, intimate, and seemed to bridge a gap firmly kept in place by wills. Zaira did not look at Abashai, often, for reason. That seemed moot now, now that it seemed they may in fact be keeping close company. To not have a face, a voice, to pin to a memory, a temptation to remain and linger. A handsome face was nice, yet a handsome heart, tempered with wisdom and understanding was weakening.

The music had ended and faded to soft chords that did not interrupt drifting thoughts. She heard the music shift as fingers combed and lightly plaited the tinted waves of her hair, she would not be the one to shatter the spell it had cast that for a moment banished the night that had fallen from more than just the sky.

<”Tell me sister, do you sing?”>

Zaira started from her thoughts, glance towards the source of the words before her eyes fell away. The quick stab of guilt was set aside as Zaira looked up once more her eyes were steady upon her companion, taking in the features of one, she was beginning to feel more certainly would be sharing her fires in the coming nights.

<”I do, and I can, passably. It was never as much joy for me, as my dance, or my fire, but when one is embraced in one art, it is easy to be swept into the arms of another. Have you a song in mind, Abashai, which you would like to hear?”>
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Re: [Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

Postby Abashai on October 5th, 2009, 3:03 pm

The melody he had chosen to play had seemed to please Abashai's companion, if her broadening smile was any indication. The woman glanced at him furtively, then her focus was lost. She stared out over the fire, idly braiding her long hair, and Abashai wondered what visions played before her eyes.

The evening had taken on a familiar air, the feel of a Benshiran masha. Though no tents surrounded them, no bustling family or the bleating of goats, It was nonetheless a very Benshiran evening around the fire. He missed such evenings, even though the fires he visited were never of his own Tents. At the evening fires, everyone was family. Music filled the air, dance stirred the sands, laughter and worship moved the hearts. They were times of warmth and fellowship and belonging.

Taking a chance that Zaira felt it too, that she needed this familiar cultural distraction, he ventured to invite her to participate. He had guessed she was a dancer, as many benshiran women are, but believed it to forward to ask, given the strange circumstances. Singing was a safe offer. Abashai was glad she was open to join him. He was surprised, however, to learn she was not only a dancer, but a fire poi dancer at that.

He mulled over a plethora of songs, searching for one appropriated for the evening. A playful grin crossed his bearded face as he found a suggestion. It was a favorite, especially among children, and his attempt to further lighten the mood. The lyrics exalted the beauty of the desert, the sunrise and sunset, the bright blue skies and the cool oasis pools, all from the perspective of a young she-goat.

Without looking up from his strumming fingers , Abashai replied <"How about 'Psalm of the She-Goat?'"> He glanced up at the young woman with a sheepish smile, awaiting her response.
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Re: [Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

Postby Zaira on October 6th, 2009, 9:55 pm

Lashes long and dark to shield light eyes from the hard sun blinked at the voice and its suggestion. Zaira turned to look at the Abashai with an incredulous expression. A single eyebrow rose in disbelief and mouth slightly a jar. The expression was amused as much surprised, a gentle shake to her head as her hand rose to cover her lips. The unplanned expression was an expressive habit and as she turned her head away, a smile still lingered on her lips.

<“I suppose I can start it, but with no little ones to sweep up into it, the song shall be a lonely one. Missing your own?”> Zaira’s voice was carrying the amusement fainter than how her face had conveyed, but all the same it was there. Her body shifted slightly from facing the fire and night sky to partially facing her companion. The question was not veiled, or hastily tacked onto the end of her words, but asked, and the Benshira woman waited hear Abashai’s answer, the exact reason asked, Zaira did not ponder.

She waited for the answer with curiosity before humming lightly the start of the Psalm, she wouldn’t sing until he played, but it really would only be fair to give the man a chance to counter her question with one of his own.
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Re: [Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

Postby Abashai on October 7th, 2009, 5:38 pm

Abashai watched the woman's reaction. His flippant choice of song may have overstepped a tenuous line. Both the Benshiran male and female were in a situation quite un-Benshiran. Rarely were a man and woman left alone unless married or betrothed (and rarely in the latter case). Here these two strangers were sharing a fire leagues from any family Tents. Abashai suddenly felt keenly aware of the intricate path he and Zaira were traipsing. How subtle glances, unconscious expressions and seemingly idle words were weighed for hidden meaning, levels of acceptance, permissions and warnings, all within the framework of their tradition. It was a dance with which he was quite unfamiliar, but found the company of his new companion worth the effort.

Zaira's was a question that would essentially answer the inquiry are you or have you ever been married?. Since, unless physically unable, all Benshiran couples produced children. Zaira was clever and coy, traits that made the evening's conversation lively and intriguing. It was a fair question, since he already knew of the recent loss of her betrothed.

The Benshiran man turned from Zaira to stare again into the fire. <"No, no little ones of my own." > He decided not to ask the same. Obviously she had no children with her. If she had children, surely there would be a sorrowful explaination of their absense. The mourning woman did not need salt in her wounds. Though she did not warrant an explaination, Abashai felt he needed to qualify his answer. He turned back to her warm, firelit face.

<I love children. But I have no Tents of my own. I am a wanderer traveling from gathering to gathering. Such a life is not fitting for a Benshiran woman, and surely no father would give his daughter to a tentless, flockless man.">

Abashai continued to strum lightly, sufficient to fill any awkward pauses. <"Perhaps the Psalm of the She-Goat is not the right song for this evening." > He gave Zaira a smile, almost apolegetic. <"But tell me this, if it is not prying too much. Why did you not go to Yahebah, or try to find a benevolent tent to take you in?">
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Re: [Flashback] When The Sands Are Kind

Postby Zaira on October 8th, 2009, 9:20 pm

She, was not sure how she felt about this newfound knowledge of her companion. It was strange to try and think of herself no longer subjected by the laws of her people, for who would be near to cast judgment. Yet tradition, still, marked her behavior despite the bucking youth. And even now guided her words.

Truly, would it matter if her companion was married with children and a wife awaiting his return? It, did, oddly, but it was not the case and thoughts were left to fall as they chose in her mind. For a moment silence fell before Abashai broke the silence of his strumming once more, his voice weaving through the notes to speak.

His words through, made the young woman frown slightly. It was such an, archaic view. A lifestyle can change, a tent could be made, gained with any union. All that was needed was love, true love that made a person what to be with another person, share their joys and sorrows, and all the time they had in the world, together.

<”We truly need to find you new women to speak with.”> Was all the young woman said on the matter, with the tinge of something else snatched upon the wind. Perhaps it was best as she shook her head. For another moment silence fell and the music Abashai’s fingers made before he spoke once again. His words made her smile as she slowly stood and shook the sand from her clothes before she smiled at the man beside the fire.

<”Why would I turn my back upon path laid at my feet by a most generous provider? Any other nomad tribe surely would have taken me. Those who cared for me when I could not care for myself offered me place in their tents. I simply choose to follow where our lord sees fit to lead me.”> Her smile was easy this time before looking towards her horse, pack, and the body of water.

<”Forgiveness, my friend. I shall return, I simply wish to make use of the water and night while they, and we are here.”> The woman turned away going to the horse that made soft noises as the human neared. Zaira seemed to have indeed wakened from the slumber that had made her once appear like a specter.

Careful steps, and steady hands pulled out and began the setting up of her tent, it’s entrance bathed in the light from the fire. Bringing her things in, she appeared once again with a small bundle and turning to Natlick the woman and horse circled around the water past the light and barely within sight.

Out of sight from the man who gave her fire and music, the dancer shed her clothing and from the oasis drew water in a bag. Walking away from the waters edge Zaira held the leaking bag above her head letting the streaming water wet her hair, make paths down her face, neck and chest. Wash away the grit of sand, the burn of the winds, and her swirling thoughts. She did this three more times until she felt clean, and cool finally, no longer her blood running hot, or the thoughts of her mind swirling, silenced, washed away by cool waters.

<In the desert, on the cool sands
The sun does brightly shine
Purple morning, amber warning,
Before the sun does rise.

Hear the whisper of the breeze,
Feel the touch of the sky

See the trails and my tail
As the she goat goes bleating by.

High above us, in the heavens,
The sun does brightly shine,

Growing cactus, and grass before us
As we play and sing this rhyme

In the desert, on the cool sands
The sun does brightly shine

Purple morning, amber warning,
Before the sun does rise.

Growing shadows, golden skies
As the fires crack and sing
Smell the wood burn, hear my mother
And all the others as they sing

Tasty grass, and cool sweet water
And the fields where we can roam
It is sandy, but who can complain,
Of the beauty of our home.

Hear the goat song,
And the wind beat
And see the sun so bright and warm
Paint us pictures like no other, t
To keep us smiling till the dawn."> *sung to the tune of 'oh my darling Clementine'

She sang, that silly child's song, amusement, surprised herself that she could remember the words, and more so to, oddly perhaps ease the worry and at least let Abashai aware of where she was in the dark, with only her horse to shield her. And hopefully keep anything else sulking in the night away.

The dancer returned damp and very alert, wet hair braided down her back. Her abaya was on once more, masking the fact she wore less that before her bundled and placed within the tent. Zaira paused upon the entrance of her tent to bid Abashai a good night, her words like and eyes fleeting, from the man, back to the flames before she disappeared within her tent. More surely was to come in the morrow.
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