11th of Summer, 512 AV The city of fire seemed to be rising from the ashes. After the great Djed storm, the people lived in fear. For a while, they mourned the lost. For a while, they panicked about what was to come. For a while, no one did much of anything, for everyone was too concerned about failure to worry about success. But as is the way of the stubborn redheads, they moved on with their lives and dug in their heels for the long run, gradually returning their volcano home to its former glory. Summer had barely begun and already much of the debris had been cleared, allowing many citizens to return to their work. This created not only the necessary supplies for a comfortable living, but it also provided the people with a sense of purpose. Finally, no one had to be lost anymore. And yet there was one woman who found herself more lost than ever. Krysanthe hadn’t done much since the Djed storm. That day, by some odd twist of fate, while everyone else was sent through unbearable pain in their huddle in the Courtyard, she was instead knocked into consciousness, awake and alert. With courage that she mustered from the depths of her being, the woman lead her people to safety, escaping the clouds of raw Djed before they touched down. The leadership and confidence was so unlike her, and from these people she was viewed as a hero. The very concept of being revered absolutely terrified Krys to the bone. Suddenly, people started expecting things of her. Previously, all they had expected was a quiet, depressed, antisocial little woman who never sticks her nose in other people’s business and only offers a helping hand when absolutely necessary. The woman went to an occasional concert or other social gathering, but never with a date, and when she wasn’t working in the Reverie, she was most frequently found locked in her room, keeping to herself. Suddenly, people expected her to be different. They thought she would certainly be a driving force in clearing the debris. They thought that she would be the one to comfort and help those who were shaken by the storm. They at least expected her to make more frequent appearances outside of her private quarters. The only thing these expectations did was drive Krysanthe further into her self induced exile. Still, if there was one thing true of Krysanthe it was true of all the Inartan people. She was hungry. Because of the horrible mutations and disfigurations of many of the Wind Eagles, the food supply was grotesquely low. Everyone was hot and tired and hungry and getting sick of being sick. On the third, there was a storm that lowered the temperature to a comfortable level, for it had been unnaturally high since Ivak’s escape, but that didn’t help with the hunger pains that plagued the city. So naturally, people without eagles took their bows and arrows and spears and nets and whatever else they could and went to go hunt to provide for their people. On the ninth, a mutated creature was brought in. Word of this Djed-altered animal spread like wildfire through the halls. What did it look like? Are other creatures mutated? How badly? Is it safe to eat? Great, now the people were hungry and concerned. Krys, on the other hand, had a fetish with the different. She always admired the strange and those with even the most subtle both physical and mental differences from the whole. But especially physical. When you live your entire life lost in a sea of red and white, the different is really intriguing. Some, naturally, find the different to be frightening or gross or whatever else, and out of what Krysanthe believes is simply jealousy, they shun the different, giving the Inarta a reputation of racism, among other things. But the different did not scare Krys. The different excited Krys. Almost immediately after she caught word of the mutated creature, Krysanthe got it set in her mind that she wanted to go find one for herself. She had gone in and out of Wind Reach only a few times in her life. She had only ever been to Thunder Bay once, and that was years ago. Surely it was incredibly different now. Perhaps she would make a trip there later in the season. For now, she was going on a hunt. Except she had no experience in hunting. Or tracking. Or trapping. Or searching. Or really anything else that would be useful outside. But when Krysanthe gets an idea in her head, there is no turning her mind around. She was determined. On the tenth, she bought herself a net and packed up a few things from her room which had somehow survived the storm. She had a backpack with some dried foods, a razor, flint and steel, an eating knife, and just because it was sitting in her drawer, a bit of soap. She wasn’t sure what she’d use most of the supplies for, but she figured if she had a backpack, it might look like she knew what she was doing. She had never really used the old thing anyways. Once she had her supplies together, she figured it would be best to at least do some research on what she was doing. She spent about an hour and a half in the Enclave, reading (or skimming, mostly, but reading what she felt were the important parts) a book or two on the basics of trapping. She didn't want to catch anything big, after all. Just something small and fun to look at. The 11th of Summer. The day Krysanthe attempts to capture a creature. This should be one for the history books. She grumbled to herself as she stepped from her bedroom. Today, she had her hair drawn back in a single braid, a few strands stubbornly straying to her face. She wore her usual turtle neck vinati and black bryda, and with a look of sheer determination she made her way to Wind Reach’s exit. About half way through her proud stride slowed. She really had no idea what she was doing. She took a few more steps. What was she getting herself into? She stopped. This was a terrible idea. Backing herself up against a wall, Krysanthe searched the area for a familiar face. Who did she know who hunted? Or tracked? Or anything like that? Come to think of it, who did she know? Not that many people. Perhaps if she could find just one person, they could make a makeshift party. Not necessarily a hunting party, but not the ‘let’s all dance and get drunk’ sort of party. No, a party of people who wanted to see strange creatures. Yeah. Sounds like a plan. But who on earth was she going to get to go with her? Her golden eyes scanned the faces of anyone near closely. There must be someone. Perhaps someone else had a similar idea. How would she be able to tell? This will mean actually talking to someone. Great. She tried to summon some of her courage from that day of the Djed storm, but found none. This was going to be harder than she thought. |