Completed Thread of Life

[Yomila]

10th of Fall 520 AV

Yomila was a creature of habit. She liked her patterns and routine, how they seemed to calm her otherwise chaotic and mercurial way of being. They helped her to feel settled enough to channel herself in a more positive way. This was new, this desire to grow and thrive. Syliras had cultivated this growth in her; the walls nurtured her, reminding her of what she was working towards; the rigorous training routines of squirehood acting as the water that helped her flourish.

Lately, her routine had deviated.

She usually avoided her apartment. It was too stark. Too solitary. Too buried beneath floors of stone. Despite being stubbornly aloof, there was a small part of her that still missed the overwhelming feeling of being surrounded by others. The noise and the lack of privacy. It was strange to suddenly be in such abundance of the latter. Of quiet. It was unnerving. Now that she had Mykom, her cat, it was different.

He brought life to the small space. Seeing him when she returned from training or errands put an instant smile on her face. The Ethaefal had brought him home with her from The Outpost six days ago and already he had filled a void in her life that she had not realized existed. She was grateful for him beyond measure.

She often found herself sitting and watching him. Time fell away in the moments. It was irrelevant, giving way to her awe and fascination with something that was so small and yet so hugely important to her. His quirks, his mannerisms, his personality. She lived for this tiny creature.

She did not know how long she had been sitting on her chair, body twisted to watch him as he groomed himself diligently. Breaking out of her trance-like state, she regarded one of her own hands and frowned deeply. They were still the same, strange hands they always were - too human, too lined, veined and wrapped in a ruddy tan. They were so ugly and imperfect. She fixed her gaze on her left index, studying how it wasn't quite straight. The mark that sat on the back of that hand was new and unfamiliar.

She noticed her nails, suddenly. Ugly as they were. Dark from dirt and a day stuck inside a gauntlet. Her black eyes returned to Mykom, lips drawing tight.

"You have the right idea."

She dropped that hand and waited. Mykom paused his ablutions and regarded the hand with his vivid gem-like eyes. He sat there for a few ticks and then rose, brushing his body along her relaxed fingers. He turned and rubbed his mouth against them. She could feel his teeth.

She marveled over how she had rearranged her life, her habits for him. How he had her trained. It brought a silly smile to her lips.

"Will you be ok in here while I go clean myself up?"

Such was a new habit of hers. Talking to the cat. Talking to herself.

Mykom, did not reply. His attention was back on his tail, dragging his tongue over it.

She cast a shrewd look at her hand and then rose, gathering what she needed.

tag: solo
nanocount: 530

[Yomila]

10th of Fall 520 AV

A soft sigh escaped her lips as she sank deeper into the bathwater.

With her eyes shut, nothing else existed. Just the soothingly hot water, the steam that rippled up from it in thick streams, tickling her face. She flexed a leg, an ankle, swivelling around in a lazy clockwise motion beneath the water. She utterly luxuriated in the feel of the water caressing her limb.

This was new too. These baths. Water so easily accessible. So warm. So cleansing. She felt pampered just to have frequent access.

There was noise across from her. A gentle, subdued sound of something, someone, easing into the water of the shared bath.

The Ethaefal reluctantly regarded the cause of the break in her serenity, one black eye staring across at the woman who now joined her, arranging herself in a near identical way to how Yomila sat.

She was broad of shoulder and solid. Thicker around her upperhalf than the Ethaefal in either of her forms. Yomila considered this. She must be a laborer. Someone unafraid and familiar with hard, prolonged work. Her nose was flat in an unnatural way that suggested it had been broken in the past. She wore the tan of someone who toiled in the sun; the scars that scattered her skin pale in comparison.

Yomila lifted her outstretched foot. A toe broke the surface.

The woman smiled, looked ready to make a comment but reconsidered and closed her eyes, leaning back.

Pleased, the Ethaefal dropped her foot and did the same.

Chimes passed where the two soaked in silence.

Yomila groped for the small towel that rested near her shoulder. She used it to scrub at her skin, her hands, her feet. The motions disturbed the water and the bath's other occupant.

The Ethaefal said nothing, offered no apology, and continued to work the towel against her skin. She did, however, fix her eyes on the other woman once more, black eyes getting lost in a particular nasty scar on her chest near her shoulder.

The woman followed her gaze and then returned it.

"We all have stories. You look to have your fair share."

Yomila dragged the towel across her own chest, chin and curiosity rising.

"Nothing like that one," she said. "Are you a knight?" and then, voice a touch incredulous, "How did you survive it?"

The woman laughed.

"You're a bold one."

Yomila's only reply was to slide the towel under her chin and up the side of her neck, visibly waiting, expecting a reply.

"I was a knight. And I was lucky to survive."

Yomila's eyes asked for more.

"The nearest healer was half a day's ride away. I would have bled out if not for some quick thinking by my Sergeant. He stitched me up... crudely." Her eyes regarded the ragged looking scar, "but it held. Stopped me bleeding." She reached for her own towel and began to scrub at her skin as well, accepting she wouldn't be relaxing while Yomila continued to pry. "I can't use me arm much since but I can still grip things. I have my life and a new livelihood. A family."

The Ethaefal sat in thought, her hand continuing the motions she had been doing while her mind processed what she had heard. She compared it to her own experiences - as she so often did - and tried to wrap her head around it. All she knew was that injuries like that usually meant death out on the Sea of Grass. Drykas returned with minor injuries, but nothing as severe. She realized, with a start, that she had never considered stitching a wound. Was it like stitching a piece of cloth, she wondered.

Her mind ran.

tag: solo
nanocount: 620
notes -.21 from ledger for bath usage and towels

[Yomila]

10th of Fall 520 AV

Further civilities flowed between the women, Yomila's stilted, the former-knight's humble. The question had been turned back on the Ethaefal: What stories do yours tell.

Yomila had no answer. Her words sounded evasive, rude, aloof, as if they had no time for such chatter. Cold as they were, they were the truth: Nothing I can share.

Her day form's skin was a tapestry of scars that she had no recollection of receiving and she was not the sort to make up tales just to be polite. She had her assumptions; five years spent running fingers over each and every one she could reach had burnt them into her memory, the shapes and sizes. Experience had slowly taught her what might have caused some, but, even then, she couldn't be certain and she wouldn't normally give voice to any of these theories without having solid proof.

The conversation died then and the Ethaefal finished her ablutions in the silence that followed, unbothered, and left without another word.

With the baths behind her, her natural course would have taken her back to her apartment, to Mykom, but the thought that had bore into her mind was still there, unrelenting, fuelled by the sight of that scar and how it had differed so much from her own. It steered her further down, pressing her further beneath layers of stone.

Her wanderings brought her to the bazaar; it bustled with activity and people, the air vibrating with it. The Ethaefal, curious as she was, would have usually cast about the various stalls and shops, hungry eyes eager to browse the wares, to pass judgement where she had no bearings to do so and stare fondly at things she could not afford, but remained resolute and focused. Again, her course deviated, habits skewed. Her eyes sought only one type of stall in particular and they searched for it, pouring over the bounty before her in pursuit of the proverbial needle in a haystack.

She resorted to asking for what it was she sought from the vendors near her, words just short of demands growing nails that dug in to collars and shirts and gave each a shake. Each response was varied: Some asked if she needed assistance finding The Elegant Weave, others motioned vaguely to a far off stall in a bid to get her to leave. One, finally, encouraged her to inquire within The Needy Needle. A lift of a chin and a tilt of a head served as all the directions she would get and her black eyes flickered to where they indicated.

She had heard of the former and, after casting eyes towards the various stalls she was mutely motioned towards, decided it best to pursue the latter as it was nearby and required the least about of footwork.

The Ethaefal's black eyes roamed upon entering the space out of habit to orient herself to her new surroundings and to glean any information on what this place was. After a sweep of the shop, she realized it wasn't something she recognized. It wasn't a shop - or any shop she had ever seen - and it wasn't a warehouse - even though it had a number of crates and barrels filled with items that were being steadily picked through by others. There was a lingering smell of cooked food, but she could see no tables or chairs for dining.

Her face must have been painted in confusion. A small woman approached, a spring in her step and a hum on her lips. Their gazes met.

"Welcome to the Needy Needle. My name is Hailey... are you in need of clothing? Or have you come for a class?"

The Ethaefal stared, perplexed, eyes narrowing as she tried to arrange her thoughts, tried to make heads or tails of this place. Disregarding the woman's question, she asked, "Is this a.. shop?" The uncertainty in her voice rang in her ears and she set her jaw. She said, more firmly, "I was told I could get supplied for stitching here."

Hailey's face changed, first looking equally confused before lighting up brightly. "Oh! I see why you look so confused," her voice was light and fluid. "This is not a shop but a space built for charity. The owner, the good Mama Marie, started it to give back. We take in clothes and food, redistributing the clothes to those who are in need and then use the leftovers of both for instructional classes. You were likely directed here because one of the classes we offer regularly is in sewing and mending garments." Hailey paused then and regarded her.

Everything suddenly slid into place and made sense.

"Oh," was all she said in response, processing everything.

"We offer cooking classes.." Hailey added, the lilt of her voice holding a hint of hesitation, "As well as etiquette. Occasionally there might be others as people offer to teach what they know." She smiled, "Everything is free, but we do encourage those making use of what we offer here to make a donation. Mizas, time, lightly-used garments or food you don't need, anything we can put back in to the Needy Needle."

Yomila was quiet for a long moment. This was a place for community to come together. A place to aid those in bettering themselves and to give back to those in need.

It most certainly wasn't what she expected.

tag: solo
nanocount: 900

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[Yomila]

10th of Fall 520 AV

Yomila stood there silent for a moment. It could have been ticks or a chime, she wasn't sure, but she shook herself as she felt Hailey shift closer.

"This wasn't what I was expecting. I- I didn't." She paused then asked, still lost in her thoughts, "You mentioned classes?"

Hailey smiled softly and ushered her forward, "I did. There is a sewing and mending class going on right now if you would like to sit in on it and see if it is something you are looking for. However, if you only want supplies, then I'm afraid we are not the place for you. I could get a spare scrap of cloth for you to take with you, but that's all the supplies we can part with. The rest we need to keep the classes going."

The Ethaefal was still lost in thought. She managed a reply, "I- yes, I would like to sit in on the class."

Seeing how stitching was done and getting instructions on how to do it would be better than taking an unskilled stab at it on her lonesome. She realized, with a bit of shame, she had been so engrossed in figuring it out that she had no idea where to actually begin outside of acquiring.. what? A needle? Thread? She hadn't even thought to get anything to actually stitch.

The fact that she didn't even know where to begin with it all made her burn with shame. She was grateful for how dim this main room was; it hid the pink in her cheeks.

She followed Hailey and was led to a back area. It opened out into a sparse space dotted with stools and the odd rickety table. The space was dominated by women of every shape and size and various ages, each hunched upon a stool, studiously working on the article of clothing in their hands. Another woman threaded through the bodies, moving slowly, head bent to watch what each were doing. Yomila saw her pause on occasion to offer some advice to one of the woman, take a shirt from another and show how to do whatever was being done with another.

The Ethaefal was frozen in the doorway, watching it all, eyes fixing upon that one woman in particular. Her mind turned over and over, rearranging her thoughts in ways that nearly hurt.

She was an inherently selfish creature. Ever since her fall, she had been dead set on keeping others at bay, on only doing the bare minimum to help and only when there was no way she could get out of it. She had had no desire to further involve herself in the day to day life of mortals, to invest in their lives or this world they lived in. She had felt above it and viewed them beneath her. Even those who had done their best to be good to her, to help when she so adamantly refused.

She had wasted so much time being this way. On existing in this limbo state where she was neither here nor there. But she was here and not there so why was she like this? Why did she keep resisting? It was evident this thing she had once considered a nightmare was no where close to ending. Her connection with Leth felt weaker every day.

The knighthood and her role as a squire had simply been a way to keep herself occupied, a good medium to pour out her frustrations and feed her need for competition - to be better. It was something but not enough to shake what she was, how she had been.

Then there had been that woman.

The mark on her hand, the feeling she had had in her presence. That woman had made her feel everything Tyak had worked so hard to make her see. She had made The Ethaefal see that she needed purpose. Hadn't that woman been the one to point her in the direction of the knights? Hadn't she told her to go with them? That this - her fall, her misery, Tyak's death - was not her end but her beginning?

There had been more.

Life is sacred. Protect it.

It hit her, then, why she was feeling what she was feeling. Why she had been driven from the baths to find something so ridiculous as a needle and thread.

This place, full of goodness and charity, made her see.

She was here because she was supposed to be here. This was her fate, her journey. This place felt tied to the woman she had met on the Kabrin Road somehow. The charity of making sure people were clothed and looked after, had skills to survive and be self-sufficient. Even though Yomila's intentions were to use the knowledge of how to stitch cloth to apply it to stitching skin and wounds, she could see the importance in the basics in everyday life.

Granted, Yomila was always one to try to find connections anywhere she went, to see fate in whatever touched her life - desperate for it.

She had been so lost in her thoughts that she hadn't noticed the woman approach her.

"I heard you will be joining us.."

Yomila shifted her focus, black eyes fixing on the older woman just as her own eyes dropped to Yomila's left hand.

The woman's smiled grew and warmed.

"..Marassa."

tag: solo
nanocount: 901

[Alric Lysane]

Yomila

Hi!

Should you return please update your CS and PM/DM me for your Grade!

~ Alric