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Bêthberry · 08-02-2004, 07:13 PM

Darash sat back, watching the others chew the meat with a desperate resolve and numb hunger. Her arm no longer throbbed with stinging. She looked at Lyshkia with gratitude and then down at the banash. Sensation was returning to her fingers and her hand. She looked back at the woman, her golden face streaked with the marks of dried sweatlines through the coating of dust, and saw this time an ally. It felt good to be alone no longer. They had shared the bread in secret, away from the eyes of the other, as if in bond with each other.

Something had changed, too, with the death of the pygmy, Dorim. Escape from the prison no longer seemed a profound relief. It was instead the beginning of another journey, one which Darash now realised might not mean a return to home but to some other unknown place. She looked up at the sky, flaming red from the mountain on fire, and saw it for the first time as a sky she must learn, instead of as a sky which thwarted her.

Then she looked down at the dust and small rocks Grash had sprinkled over the body of this one, Do-rim. He had pleased her, this Grash. The man knew nglaga mic ta, the rightness of things, to show such respect before he ate. It was more than she had done. She rose, putting the meat aside, and collected as many rocks as her aching arm would allow her. she then laid them around the pygmy's body. "Kwanze," she said, as she laid each stone, looking at Grash, wondering where he had learnt the word she knew, and closing the circle of life which the pygmy--no, dwarf, the others called him--had given up. Lyshkia looked at her questioningly and Raeis stared without a comment, but Darash only nodded and silently mouthed the song of leaving spirit which her people sang for the dead.

It was just as she sat back that the strange one, the one whose skin and hair and eyes looked like other northern men but whose facial bones carried the high cruel haughtiness of men of Harad, fell. He did not move, barely breathing. She looked at him and then at Lyshkia and Raeis and Grash. She was no healer and would not touch him. Instead, she looked down at her arm and busied herself with rewinding the banash while looking through her eyelashes at what others were doing for Aldor. She did not want him dead, but she did not trust this strange falling. He had not been near the She-Spider and could not know her stings. Why was he falling?

"Yah longa ngu," she said to the others, pointing to Aldor, a warrior commanding action. "Hel-up man." She looked at the others and wondered who would know how to treat falling sickness.

08-02-2004, 07:13 PM	#111
Bêthberry Cryptic Aura Join Date: May 2002 Posts: 6,003	Darash sat back, watching the others chew the meat with a desperate resolve and numb hunger. Her arm no longer throbbed with stinging. She looked at Lyshkia with gratitude and then down at the banash. Sensation was returning to her fingers and her hand. She looked back at the woman, her golden face streaked with the marks of dried sweatlines through the coating of dust, and saw this time an ally. It felt good to be alone no longer. They had shared the bread in secret, away from the eyes of the other, as if in bond with each other. Something had changed, too, with the death of the pygmy, Dorim. Escape from the prison no longer seemed a profound relief. It was instead the beginning of another journey, one which Darash now realised might not mean a return to home but to some other unknown place. She looked up at the sky, flaming red from the mountain on fire, and saw it for the first time as a sky she must learn, instead of as a sky which thwarted her. Then she looked down at the dust and small rocks Grash had sprinkled over the body of this one, Do-rim. He had pleased her, this Grash. The man knew nglaga mic ta, the rightness of things, to show such respect before he ate. It was more than she had done. She rose, putting the meat aside, and collected as many rocks as her aching arm would allow her. she then laid them around the pygmy's body. "Kwanze," she said, as she laid each stone, looking at Grash, wondering where he had learnt the word she knew, and closing the circle of life which the pygmy--no, dwarf, the others called him--had given up. Lyshkia looked at her questioningly and Raeis stared without a comment, but Darash only nodded and silently mouthed the song of leaving spirit which her people sang for the dead. It was just as she sat back that the strange one, the one whose skin and hair and eyes looked like other northern men but whose facial bones carried the high cruel haughtiness of men of Harad, fell. He did not move, barely breathing. She looked at him and then at Lyshkia and Raeis and Grash. She was no healer and would not touch him. Instead, she looked down at her arm and busied herself with rewinding the banash while looking through her eyelashes at what others were doing for Aldor. She did not want him dead, but she did not trust this strange falling. He had not been near the She-Spider and could not know her stings. Why was he falling? "Yah longa ngu," she said to the others, pointing to Aldor, a warrior commanding action. "Hel-up man." She looked at the others and wondered who would know how to treat falling sickness.