Afterwards (Ayatah)

[Razkar]

Razkar was never more aware than when he was in combat. Of any kind. As he circled Ayatah he felt every speck of dirt under his feet; felt every ounce of pressure on their soles. A soft wind blew through the village and when it brushed past him, he fancied that he could feel every hair stand on air.

And he could feel his heart pumping in his chest, not uncontrolled but... excited. Exhilarated. There was a challenge in front of him now, and he could overcome it. The fact that it was her just made it all the sweeter.

He came straight for her this time, thrusting with his gladius for her sternum-

-but changed it halfway through, stepping to his side and wiping diagonally at her right leg-

-only for her dagger to come down in a reverse hold on the inside of his wrist jerking his hand and his gladius outwards-

-opening his chest up perfectly for the short, sharp bunch she delivered to his solar plexus, amplifying it by taking a firm step forwards.

Razkar stumbled back, kicking up dirt, feeling like an anvil had landed on his chest. There was a brief flicker of concern on his "enemy's" face, but once he got his breath back, there was a cocky eyebrow raised instead. Razkar looked down at the red mark on his wrist, and held it up.

"That punch wouldn't have killed a man," he said to the children, "But that block and slash she did with her dagger? That would have opened up my wrist. If I was lucky, it would immobilize my hand. If I wasn't it, could have cut deep enough to open an artery, and then I'd be dead within five chimes."

Razkar cut off his speech and dove forwards again, spurred on by the challenge and his injury. He came slashing at her side, a familiar move that she knocked away with her dagger, so he made for a hay-maker at her head, a big, easy-to-see blow that she ducked under, spinning to her side-

Gotcha.

-as Razkar jerked out his left leg and Ayatah's feet tumbled over it.

[Ayatah]

He was coming at her fast furious now, giving her no time to attack without having to incorporate her own jabs with defending or dodging his swipes.

It was so easy to get lost in the heat of the moment - Ayatah had always been a determined woman, from climbing as high as possible as she could, to winning a sparring match. She often found her mind going completely blank whilst she fought, and afterwards, she would feel a new clarity to her mind. There were no conscious thoughts or worries when she was fighting, as such. Any thoughts were more like jolted sentences that commanded her body to do as told: move! Jump! Down! There, in the stomach! Go for his throat! Dodge that swipe!

She recalled back to her early training in the army, how she had felt almost disjointed and alien there. She had trained as much as any Myrian child - perhaps more so with her obsession to prove herself as one of them. But when she had seen her comrades training, she had felt too long and quick, almost alien.

It had taken the ruthless training of the army to shape Ayatah into seeing herself as a warrior. It was then that her obsession - no, not obsession. Fanaticism for battle and combat had flourished. She was graced with speed and agility, and she would use these to serve her Goddess-Queen as she saw fit.

But there was still that very human - and very woman - part of Ayatah even in the heat of their sparring match. As she saw Razkar stagger backwards, the importance of battle drifted away, and suddenly she was worried. There was, after all, more important things at stake.

A sense of relief washed over Ayatah when she saw that he was actually unhurt - or just slightly bruised. That concern dissolved, and was once again replaced by a fierce spark.

He came forwards again, and this time quicker than he had previously. He was learning her tactics, and before Ayatah was even aware of it, she was toppling over his leg and heading towards the ground. She landed painfully on her side.

When she was younger and training with her cousins, whenever one of them had fallen, their game would be over. But as she had grown up, Ayatah had learnt that falling to the ground did not simply mean that battle was over.

Her dagger had fallen a few good inches away from her, and moving to pick it up would leave her open to his blade.

She would need to attack from below.

Ayatah swung her left leg outwards, catching at his ankles and driving him down to her level.

When she heard him [u]thudp[/i] on the floor, she reached sideways - and winced as the sudden extension of her body pulled open one of the claw marks on her stomach. She would not be able to reach her dagger, so she twisted herself away from it and towards him.

A hand went to his shoulder, and she pinned him on the ground whilst she swung herself over his body. The ending result was her straddling him, on her knees, with a leg either side.

It was not until she was looking down upon him - and felt the familiar twinge of arousal from feeling his body against hers separate by the tiny amounts of material between them - that she turned to the children. Their innocence and naivety of sex and physical relationships meant that their wide eyes was purely from the sparring.

”And… that… shows that…” She swallowed, suddenly forgetting why exactly she had leapt atop of him. Was it an attempt at win their sparring battle? Or had it been another, equally animalistic, urge? ”…Shows that even when you have fallen to the floor that… you can still…”

Mount your man like a tiger in heat?

”… Have an advantage over your… enemy.”

There was a somewhat bemused look upon his face, so she quickly stood up and picked up her weapon. Glancing down to her stomach, she noticed a tiny amount of blood was leaking out of the top of the claw marks.

Shyke.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

Razkar was very careful when he got up from the dirt. He was very, very consciously angling his body and hips so that... it was not showing too prominently. Goddess alone knew what they would tell their parents - and, by extension, his father, sisters and brothers - if they saw... that at the end of their sparring session.

"She is right." He managed to blurt out, trying desperately to sound more confident that his body felt. "While she had me, ah... disabled, she could have crushed my windpipe or my throat, even gouged my eyes out. Perhaps broken my neck. Remember, young ones: the deadliest weapons that Myri gifted you were your hands, your will and your mind. Use them all well."

Something shone wetly on Ayatah's chest and with a brief but fierce tug at his guts, Razkar knew it was blood. Her wounds had opened.

"Class is dismissed! See to the rest of your chores!" Instantly there was a stampede of running, jabbering, jostling figures and Razkar had to shout to be heard over it. "Remember what you learned today!"

Soon they were alone, and Razkar turned to her, voice low but choked with concern. His brown fingers stroked under and above her wounds, frowning at them like they were in his own flesh.

"Not bad... just a little too much strain. We'll go see the healer." She opened her mouth to protest and he silenced her with a snap of his fingers. Later they would both realize with shock that he, a male, had silenced a female, but at that moment, he was in no mood for a debate or a lecture on gender roles. "No. We're going. Now."

An aroma of mingled flesh and smoke drifted over to them, and both Myrians turned their heads up like dogs on the hunt. Razkar smiled and held her hand loosely. His concern was still there, but overlaid upon it was that easy affection he had for her.

It had come hard and fast, this thing between them that was fast turning from an affair to a bond, but he did not deny it when it surfaced.

"Then we shall feast."

[Ayatah]

Now it was Ayatah’s turn to hide her grin as she watched struggle to stand and conceal his dignity at the same time. She briefly turned away from the children, pretending to have something in her eye.

When she turned back, face now full of seriousness, the youngsters were hurrying away, eager to get the rest of their tasks done so they could eat and enjoy the evening. Ayatah watched them go, and was about to speak, but when she turned to face Razkar, she found him already inspecting her stomach.

"Not bad... just a little too much strain. We'll go see the healer."

Her muscles tensed under the brush of his fingers - partly of which was out of pain. The wound had reopened up wider than the original cut due to how she had twisted her body to cause the damage. Still, she did not want him to worry anymore than he seemed to already. Her mouth opened, but he authoritatively silenced her.

"No. We're going. Now."

Admitting defeat was easier than arguing with him, so she nodded her head slowly, ”it’s just a scratch…” Her voice was soft, as if to bring him relief rather than herself. It touched her that he was so concerned - and it perhaps meant just as much to her that she was more concerned for his concern than her bleeding stomach.

As they turned and began walking back towards the center of the village, a new anxiety began to rise up to Ayatah’s stomach. During the few bells that the two of them had spent training the children, the women she had shared her mixed heritage with would have most likely spread the information within their clan. She just hoped that the rest of the Shorn Skulls would react better than those two women had…

Her thumb ran over Razkar’s, and she stole a glance in his direction. It gave her reassurance that he was there with her, and for her.

She could only hope that her father - and those damn multi-armed freaky people of his - would not give the Shorn Skulls a reason to completely reject her.

As they reached the village, and began heading in the direction of the healer’s hut, Ayatah surveyed the many faces around her. Some were certainly looking in her direction - but not necessarily with dislike in their eyes. She recognized the face of one of the women from earlier, and was not surprised when the woman averted her eyes and began whispering animatedly to the person next to her.

But on the bright side - Ayatah had not been chased from the village. A good sign…

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

It was strange how this female was making Razkar perceive his own people. To Myrians, family was everything. Only their loyalty and love for their Goddess-Queen could match it. Razkar knew no other gods beyond Myri, Dira and his own blood. But now, when he saw the occasional furtive whisper or upturned nose, he felt his own blood roil in his veins.

He knew Ayatah saw it, and felt it, every insinuating look and gesture a slap in her face. But he knew better than to make too much of it, and they continued their walk to the healer's home.

"Coming along nicely?"

Mayura nodded from his new position: head cook. The big male boar was neatly roasting over a towering flame, tendrils of fire licking and caressing his skinned body. Already a host of Shorn Skulls were clustered around it, eyes and faces thick with hunger.

Which made Razkar rage inside yet more. Ah, so they're happy to take her spoils, but not talk to her? I see...

Soon they were in Ruwama's tent and the middle-aged female was chopping up herbs for healing salves. A cauldron of something that could have been a blessing or a curse (for all Razkar knew) bubbled merrily away to one side, and all manner of bandages, bindings, potions and tonics were scattered around the hut. Like a good male, Razkar bowed his greeting as she rose.

"Mistress, Ayatah needs your assistance."

"Again?!" The tone was scolding but her face was not as she bustled round her table to the young people. "Goddess, Razkar, you'll wear that female out!"

There was a short but laden silence. Razkar did not trust himself to speak. Thankfully, Ayatah did not, either, and Ruwama chuckled knowingly.

"Oh, close your mouths, both of you. You'll catch flies. Sit down, my dear, I'll see to you. Wait outside, Raz." Now it was Razkar's turn to be silenced, and by a female who'd been doing it well for decades. "No buts! Shoo! You know my ways..."

Razkar did, and let go of Ayatah's hands. Save for the most dire of emergencies, Ruwama worked her craft alone. Razkar did not think what she did was magic, or djed. It was simply the knowledge of forty years collecting, experimenting and harsh, bitter experience. Ruwama remembered every patient she had lost; many were her own blood. And each death had only steeled her resolve to improve her art.

He paused and kissed his woman on the forehead. "I'll be right outside."

Within a moment, he was... and face-to-face with his aunt Fexuo. Her customary scowl was in place and Razkar only barely managed not to sigh in exasperation.

"Aunt, what ails you?"

"Have you heard the rumors about your... friend?"

She spat the word like it was bile and Razkar's jaw clenched. If she noticed, she did not say, nor give any indication she cared. He managed a tight, polite smile and crossed his arms.

"That her father is Eypharian? Yes. She told me the first night we met."

"And you are fine with that?!"

"It does not strike me as something I have much choice in, aunt."

Fexuo's face flushed, sheer indignation running through her. Razkar thought that was her default mindset, anyway.

"True, but your association with her is! She is..."

Now she noticed his face. And his eyes. And the fact that now there was nothing in them save her own reflection.

"Yes?"

"... she is not a true Myrian, Razkar. She does not belong among us."

Razkar knew that in one way, the female was right. Ayatah was not a pure-blood Myrian, and so she would always be somewhat from their race. But that was but one way of many, and he was already tired of hearing arguments to the contrary.

"Ayatah was born in Falyndar and raised of the Scattered Bones clan." He began, voice low and steady, eyes not leaving his aunt's. "She hunted, she fought, and she has honored her clan by learning their ways and respecting them. She has served with the army of Taloba and fought for the Goddess-Queen. If that does now make her as worthy of Myri's love than you, and of equal standing in her chosen children, I care not for the reason why."

Fexuo was stunned by the words, and their tone. Razkar did not rage or snap or hiss. His words were not of a boy holding onto a childish crush, but a man coolly and calmly stating facts. She drew herself up to her full height, and Razkar noticed his sister walking behind her.

"You... You would-"

"Aunt Fexuo!" Sheema said breathlessly, and faking it flawlessly, Razkar thought. She put a hand on her aunt's shoulder and started leading her away. "Thank the Goddess, father needs help with the food. You know how he is...?"

"Me and your brother were-"

But Sheema was not to be distracted and was all but dragging her aunt to her father, babbling voice not slowing down.

"-it's gone all charred and ugly and he's trying to put water on it and the vegetables are getting scorched and-"

She was adroit, but then she always was. Razkar watched with a tiny smile as his sister rescued him from the snapping turtle that was Fexuo, throwing him a thumbs up behind her back as she did.

The male got comfortable in his waiting position outside the hut. The sun was nearly gone, only the suggestion of light now above the canopy. The heat was finally, blissfully fading to the surprising chill of night, brief as it would be. But the bonfire would warm them all, and when Ayatah was finished, Razkar would feed her from his plate, like his father had when...

His smile vanished as he finished that train of thought. Oh. Oh, dear. He really was in trouble...

[Ayatah]

Ayatah was not good in situations like this one. Part of her wanted to keep her eyes downcast, to avoid the critical looks from those that delivered them. Another part - perhaps the more Myrian part of her personality - wanted to walk with pride, challenging those that questioned her heritage. But to do so would be rude to the Shorn Skulls, but then again to avoid their gazes completely would be effectively agreeing with them that she was not Myrian, and therefore completely unworthy.

And even though she was not ‘fully’ Myrian, Ayatah had been bought up amongst her clan just like any Myrian child. Her family had treated her no differently, even if the people outside their clan had regarded her with suspicion and questioning. Any differences that existed between Ayatah and her Myrian peers stemmed from the Eypharian blood in her veins. In one way, it showed that she had been bought up under Myri’s law and eye the same as any dedicated individual of their race.... In another way, it merely highlighted that despite receiving the exact same upbringing, she would never be a ‘true’ Myrian.

Throughout her years, Ayatah had generally witnessed two types of reactions to her mixed-blood. The first was a casual acceptance - a sort of ‘well, you serve Myri, who seems to have accepted you, so who am I to say otherwise?’ mindset. It was these individuals that Ayatah preferred, for obvious reasons. The second broad reaction was one that Ayatah likened to label the ‘ignorant’ mentality: ‘you are not a pureblooded Myrian, therefore you are not one of us, even if you have undergone every ritual a Myrian citizen does and survived them. Regardless of whether Myri accepts you for what you are, I do not’. From her experience, it was nearly impossible to change this outlook.

Fortunately, the Shorn Skulls’ healer did not seem to be aware of Ayatah’s heritage - or simply did not bother about it. As Razkar left, Ayatah sat down and allowed the older woman to investigate her glistening stomach. She answered the healer’s questions; what had reopened the wounds? Had they caused her any trouble before now? Was she mad to push herself too hard whilst sparring with these wounds? The last of the questions made Ayatah laugh and nod her head, smiling. ”I guess I forgot about my battle wounds in the heat of the moment…”

This is better, I’m actually getting along with one of Raz’s clanmates.

"Have you heard the rumors about your... friend?"

Suddenly, she sat up bolt right - much to Ruwama's annoyance. The older woman tutted pushed Ayatah back into the seat, and then continued to clean and treat the wound. Ayatah lay still, but her enjoyment of light conversation had disappeared. Her heart was in her throat, her jaw was clenching and unclenching as she strained to hear the conversation that was taking place outside the healer's hut.

She could not recognize the voice of the woman who had approached Razkar - but it was clear that her opinions of Ayatah were not… positive.

"True, but your association with her is! She is..."

"Yes?"

"... she is not a true Myrian, Razkar. She does not belong among us."

Every muscle in Ayatah’s body tensed, and she held her breath expectantly. She hardly felt Ruwama’s hand pull her slightly forward so the healer could redress Ayatah’s stomach with a light cloth bandage.

Goddess, please…

She was not sure what exactly she was asking the Goddess for - acceptance, perhaps. Or maybe a message from Myri herself to the questioning members of the Shorn Skulls, one that would let them know that Ayatah was had spent her entire life trying to be as Myrian as possible. But there was something else that made Ayatah pray to her Goddess-Queen. It was the absolute fear that the harsh words of his relative would sway Razkar against Ayatah, and turn his affection and care into scepticism and distance. Myri, please, no.

"She hunted, she fought, and she has honored her clan by learning their ways and respecting them. She has served with the army of Taloba and fought for the Goddess-Queen. If that does now make her as worthy of Myri's love than you, and of equal standing in her chosen children, I care not for the reason why."

Ayatah was stunned. She had already been silent, but now she was truly dumbfounded. Razkar had completely disregarded what his female - and older - relative had said. It was incredibly rebellious, almost disrespectful. But the way he had spoken was so casual and cool… It was not an adolescent-like defiant outburst, but a calm and collected statement. His words had not formed out of passion or anger, but out of belief and thinking.

He genuinely doesn’t care about my heritage.

Razkar’s declaration had given her the strength and confidence Ayatah needed to face the rest of his clan. His words rung throughout her mind as she continued to listen. Ruwama had dealt with her stomach, and was now putting away her lotions, potions and bandages. But Ayatah did not move, not until she heard a younger female drag the older away from Razkar. Even then, she waited a chime or two before finally sliding off her seat.

Ayatah exited the hut, and glanced either side of the entrance for Razkar. When her dark eyes caught his, and half-jumped at him. ”Thank you.” She said, quietly enough for only him to hear - but the smile on her face was obvious enough for anyone who happened to glance in their direction to see. Her arms were around his neck, and she held her body against his. ”Thank you, thank you.” She repeated. Then she kissed him, still smiling. ”You… stood up for me.” That smile was still on her lips even when she broke off their kiss, ”that… means more to me than you perhaps know...” A light flush crept up her face as she spoke, and now her smirk had turned from gleeful to sheepish.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

The grass-and-skins door rustled next to Razkar and she stepped out into the evening air, fresh salve on her wounds. He was so happy to see her he did not notice the look on her face-

"Are you-"

-until she enveloped him in a hug.

”Thank you. Thank you, thank you.”

Rakar was stiff as a board, and I mean that without any innuendo. His mind was blank as she was pressed against him, gamely trying and failing to fathom her sudden burst of emotion. Then she kissed him, and he gave up the ghost.

”You… stood up for me. That… means more to me than you perhaps know...”

Razkar opened his mouth and then realized that the walls of Ruwama's hut was not made of brick. Words carried, especially the shrill of his Aunt Fexuo's. She had heard everything...

"... oh." The male and female stood there in a happy but awkward moment, waiting for words to come that would fit the moment. But, alas, youth is not the best place to find a muse, and finally he just shrugged, mirroring her sheepish expression as he looked at his feet. "You're welcome, Aya. I... care about you already. A great deal."

He was still looking down, but holding her hand while he did it. The words came grinding out of him as if each one was being pondered over and researched in detail.

"One day, they'll... see you as I see you. They'll see what I see."

When he looked up, her eyes nearly overwhelmed him. So much beauty and passion in them that he didn't feel like his young mind could take it. Finally Razkar just looked away briefly and kissed her again, but softly.

"Come. I have no tongue for this talk. Sit with me and my family. I will feed you from the beast we both took down earlier today." His easy smile returned, happy not to be confounded and besieged by feelings and thoughts a young man has no hope of understanding. He took her hand and they started walking to the chattering, gossiping knot of Myrians that was Razkar's family. "And you know there's nothing so delicious as meat you've killed yourself..."

[Ayatah]

"You're welcome, Aya. I... care about you already. A great deal."

The words, however awkward and sheepish, meant huge amounts to Ayatah. It was not just that he had stood up for her - something only clan members had done in the past - but the fact he had vocalized his feelings. They were both young, both incapable of voicing their opinions and thoughts at the best of times.

And when everything so fast and intense as this…

"One day, they'll... see you as I see you. They'll see what I see."

She nodded slowly, ”I hope they come to accept me eventually.” Ayatah knew it may take time - hunting a tiger, a boar and training their young would not prove enough to sway Shorn Skulls that now knew of her heritage, and disliked her for it.

Before now, she had never particularly bothered about changing the opinions of others - apart from the unforgiving trainers at the military service. But even then, she had tried so hard to prove herself to them more for her clan than herself. Although her family never blamed her for any raised eyebrows or whispers that followed to the Scattered Bones, she had always retained a sense of guilt. If she had not been born, or had had a Myrian father, her clan would not be perceived any differently to their neighbours.

And for that, Ayatah would perhaps never be able to forgive herself.

But now - with Razkar and the Shorn Skulls - she wanted to prove herself purely for selfish reasons. Or… perhaps not complete selfishness. Ayatah wanted his clan to accept her for her sake - and also for his. For both of them.

Her lips tingled after their kiss, and despite the somewhat… incredulous look on his face that had preceded it, a slow smile crept across her lips. ”I care about you, too, Raz.” She muttered eventually, as if she had not admitted the words to herself yet.

"And you know there's nothing so delicious as meat you've killed yourself..."

She laughed airily, nodding in agreement. ”Truer words were never spoken.” And she let him lead her back towards the center of their village, and the hubbub of voices.

It seemed that Razkar’s confrontation with his aunt had caught wind and been spread around the clan. There was a mixture of disapproval, respect and… perhaps curiousness on the dark faces that watched the two enter the circle of bodies. But this time, Ayatah did not even seem to notice - even when a woman turned to whisper desperately into the ear of her neighbor.

Although their opinions mattered hugely to Ayatah, she equally knew that she was not going to impress them all in just one night. And for now, that didn’t particularly bother her. Razkar completely supported her, and had even defied his family in doing so. Such a... dramatic and rebellious acton spoke volumes in their culture, to both Ayatah as well as his clan.

"Let's hope these pigs taste as good as we hope," She said as she sat down, her fingers still intwined with his. Her other hand shot to her stomach, wincing slightly as the newly reopened wound twisted painfully.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||

[Razkar]

"To Myri and Caiyha. To Syna and Dira. We give thanks and offer our bounty."

Razkar bowed his head with eyes closed as Lowax intoned the words she did every night before dinner, the main meal for the Shorn Skulls. But he did not let go of her hand. All around them, two hundred heads were lowered in respect and reverence, the thoughts of each on thanksgiving (theoretically, anyway).

An endless army of cicadas were already chirping and clicking in the forest, birds were singing the sunset to sleep. If one strained to hear, perhaps growls and squeals could be discerned much further away as the night creatures emerged to hunt and stalk. But from the Myrians, there was no sound but Lowax.

Then it was over, and the Elder of the Shorn Skulls raised her head and smiled.

"Now we feast!"

A roar went up from those two hundred throats as things properly began, neat lines forming to get to the three pigs roasting nicely on spits, not to mention a heft basket of cooked fish. Razkar knew the established order, simple as time-honored as it was: children, Elders, females and males. He could see the order already assert itself in the dozens of figures. Many stayed where they were, but others - the smaller, the older and the more feminine - moved smoothly through them. Razkar stayed with his father and patted Ayatah's hand.

"It's OK." He said simply and pecked her cheek. He could already see the embers of disapproval in her eyes, that he was being he'd back from the prime and choice cuts. But he would not let tonight be ruined. "I will eat soon. Go."

[Ayatah]

Ayatah’s body mirrored those of the people around her. Different clans had different mealtime routines and prayers, but it was simple courtesy to join your hosts in their customs. As such, her eyes closed and her head dipped downwards in the same way that the Shorn Skulls’ did.

But even after she straightened out her spine and her eyes raised from the floor, she could still sense the looks of cool contempt heading her way.

Ignore them, at least for now.

"I will eat soon. Go."

The beginnings of a frown started to appear across her face, but with a gentle push from Razkar, Ayatah stood up. She joined the growing queue of women waiting to have their food served, and was relieved to find herself standing behind one of the children she had taught earlier the night. Looking beyond the lithe girl, however, Ayatah recognized one of the two women who she had first informed about her father’s race.

The other woman gave her a passing cold look, but thankfully said nothing. The young girl, however, turned to Ayatah with a good-natured smile.

"Thanks for teaching us tonight.” Ayatah guessed that the girl was nearing ten years old. She would be old enough to notice the differences between Ayatah and her clanmates - as well as understand to rumours that flittered through her clan - but perhaps not comprehend the implications of them.

”You’re welcome. I’m glad that you enjoyed the lesson.” The queue shuffled forwards, and Ayatah stepped along with it.

”How did you get to be so fast?”

A snorting half-laugh made both child and mixed-blood glance to the other woman. Ayatah tried to ignore the sound, but the child was more inquisitive and kept glancing back to the older woman every so often.

If I don’t mention my Eypharian side, I’ll seemed ashamed of it…

Ayatah swallowed before finally speaking. ”Actually, I’m… part-Eypharian. They have multiple arms and tend to be speedy. So…” Her words hung there awkwardly.

”Multiple arms?” The girl’s face screwed up as she imagined a man or woman with more than two arms. Eventually, she grinned, as if impressed with the concept. ”That’s pretty weird.”

The adjective was by far one of the better ones that Ayatah had heard, and she could not help but smile at the young girl’s curiosity. She had not yet been taught about how the Eypharians were an arrogant, cold race that perceived themselves as Godlier than others, and Ayatah was pleased for this.

After finally receiving her portion of food, Ayatah returned back to the center of the bonfire. She sat down and casually rested a hand on Razkar’s knee. ”Weird. That’s how I have just been described.” There was an easy smile on her face; for now, the chilly looks and judgement did not seem to bother her. ”Is it bad that I’m as pleased as I am about that?” The thought made her chuckle lightheartedly.

|| Ayatah's speech || Ayatah's thoughts || Others' speech ||