His hands stilled in the air, Louka peered down at Banti, smothering him with scent. The Wildmane took it for a sign of friendship and grinned happily as he —cautiously —lowered his fingertips towards the feline’s body with the intention of petting its luxurious fur.
“Banti…” he cooed the cat’s name, a little too much the way a man might a puppy, rather unbecoming of a great, wild feline, queen huntress of the grasslands.
As Naiya laughed at him, “I'm sure she doesn't outweigh you, but if you can't remove her, I can do it for you.”
“This is fine.” The Wildmane hunter protested, a fierce rosy hue burned under his freckles and he didn’t look at the lovely red-head, embarrassed.
Rufio watched him, and the temptation to tease him further was so tangible in her posture, as if she were a feline, flicking her tail and about to pounce on the poor mouse. Compassion for his sensitive ego lent her restraint.
Fortunately she was distracted, then, as their newfound acquaintance signed after the meaning of her mother’s writings; diuretic. Now it was Rufio’s turn to blush and she cleared her throat as she answered in sign, confess, not known to me, “my mother’s father was a herbalist in Ekytol. I think…it is a word for…unwell stomach.” Her sign hesitated, before settling on running bottom.
"All useful to the healers, but not good for eating." Naiya grinned ruefully, and Rufio’s weight shifted into the lean of agreement.
"This one is called speedwell, do you have it in your book?"
Rufio looked down at the parchments in her hands, half-forgotten. “Oh," a happy sigh of discovering the pretty flowers in the book after all, disguised lightly by cultural difference. "It is. My mother calls it something different - 'Cyphrus tea' she read aloud. Her gaze sped through the simple recipe and she murmured, “makes a tea for coughs, and salves for troubled skin.”
"Or perhaps it's better just to ask you if you know from your book what we might find at the water that is good for eating?" Naiya suggested.
Rufio nodded good thinking, and flipped through the pages, looking for the Shiber word for ‘water’, ‘river’ or ‘lake’. Louka, by this chime, had managed to shuffle himself out from under the cat, quite unceremoniously, and stood now with half-spear in hand. With only eyes for the beautiful red-head, as he watched the women talk.
That was, until he realised himself, and, in fear of being caught in his open admiration, he cast his gaze hastily to Rufio’s book. Tousling dark ringlets from his brow, he peered at a sketch over her shoulder, and gestured to the river Naiya stood in.
“Isn’t that, that herb, there.” He pointed at a cluster of greenery, which leaves Rufio thought resembled lips. “Hy-sso-p.” Louka pronounced the name slowly with his uncertainty.
“We eat the leaves and stems,” Rufio told him, glancing over her shoulder at her cousin thoughtfully. Considering him, she decided aloud, “Here, look for the word ‘rihr’ beside the sketches. Tell us what we can find” be useful.
Handing him the old, worn book, the crop-haired Wildmane leant over to roll up her pants, and waded down into the river with Naiya. The mud squished in between her bare toes and the cool currents wrapped themselves around her calves. It made Rufio’s breath hitch, and she smiled. It was pleasant to forage in the Fall warmth, and in good company.
As Louka perused the book, his half-spear leaning in the crook of his arm, he glanced at the hunting cat, which he seemed to have offended by forgetting. Meanwhile Rufio couldn’t contain her curiosity about their new acquaintance. “Is Dawnwhisper your birth pavilion? A large family?”
Louka pointed again, eyes cast to the pages with a furrowed brow, his other hand cupping his cleft chin as he spoke. “Those white flowers, in among the big leaves, it’s water hawthorn.” The tracker sauntered down the gentle bank and turned the book around for Rufio.
The half-Drykas leant to peer at the Shiber written there and beamed, “The tubers, leaves and flowers” for eating. With that Rufio took to gathering. Sliding her hands into the water, she let her fingertips follow the flower stems down to the roots. With a firm tug, she broke mature leaves from the long, half-floating stems.
Louka flipped through the parchment again, and turned the sketch towards Naiya. A subtle twinkle hiding behind the doe-like eyes. “Foxtail...” He uttered, half-consciously.
Remembering himself, he shook his shoulders as if waking from a daydream and cleared his throat. Silently he cussed himself, why could he not be more confident around Naiya. “Foxtail,” he repeated, in a deeper baritone, hoping to impress, trying too much, as he gestured to the furry brushes on long, thin stems by the water’s edge for Rufio to gather. He was sure Naiya knew foxtail leaves and stems were edible so he didn’t elaborate.
Rufio huffed her acknowledgement, and waved him on to another page. The Wildmane startled, and flicked hastily onto the next page. With a furrowed brow, he shook his head of curls, “This is in that mother-tongue of yours.” He showed the book to Rufio.
“Water lettuce,” she shrugged and pointed to the rosette-shaped vegetable. “Oh, I fancy lettuce crisps now!” She exclaimed, explaining, "Our aunt chars the leaves over the flames, and puts it with fish and hot spices. It is divine." Her mouth watered.
Louka grinned as he bristled with welcome idea, “Yama is a great cook, you should come to dine with Wildmane...some night.” He faltered toward the end and Rufio rolled her eyes at his clumsy invitation.
Agree "Tal'c is our Ankal, he is very young for Ankal, and we are a small pavilion that has been whittled down by our ancestor's passion for navigation" adventures "Tal'c means to take us back to our clan roots. It would please him to meet more of our clan, and stand on common ground with an experienced hunting family."
Feeling she had amended Louka's faux pas sufficiently so as not to embarrass the whole family, Rufio let her hands return to their foraging task, sinking them back into the cool water to pick off the lower leaves of the lettuce.
She thought on Naiya’s pavilion, wondering if Naiya was married, if her Ankal would find the Wildmanes a suitable pavilion for a daughter, or sister. Unawares, grandmother Wildmane’s matchmaking habit had seemed to root itself in her, carrying her thoughts in its current.
