Neyasi Tillandsia
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13 of the Day, Spring of 510 A.V.
The Bronze Woods
It was still cold.
Still very, very cold.
And Neyasi had developed a particular distaste for the cold. Sure, Winter meant shorter days and less bright light, but it also meant undeniable cold, that racked Neyasi's frail, lightweight Symenestra body like a spider's web in a storm. At this particular thought, the twenty-year-old Symenestra female drew her thin black silken cloak about herself more tightly. It did little against the cold, in truth, but she neglected to get something thicker to wear.
Neyasi threw down the flint she'd been trying to use to a light a fire, rocking back onto her haunches, and staring moodily at the pile of sticks and tinder. When she'd been traveling with Vordinan, he'd done everything, and it had seemed a lot easier to get by in the wilderness. Now it was just frustrating.
A sudden memory struck her, a tall, thin male figure hunched over a pile of sticks and tinder, not unlike her own, striking the stone with a piece of flint in just such a way that the sparks flew to the pile. As quick as it had come, it started to fade, and Neyasi hurriedly chased after it. Catching it, she dug deeper, and realized that it was not the grey-eyed, lean figure of Vordinan she was looking at, but Drovidin Tillandsia, her dear father. Then, she'd been merely eleven years old.
Neyasi let out a slight smile, one of the few that crossed her face in these times. She quickly brushed it away, and quickly took up the flint and stone once more, doing her best to mimic the fashion in which she'd once seen her father do this. To her astonishment, the sparks caught, and the pile of sticks and tinder began to smoke. And then a sharp gust of wind blew it out.
Neyasi stood up sharply, and kicked the pile of sticks, fed up with the wilderness. Then, she sat down, crossed one leg over the other, placed her elbow on her knee, and allowed her cheek to sink into her palm, letting out a gusty sigh, staring blankly at the ruined attempt at fire. Oh well. She didn't like fire, anyway. Not unless it's keeping me warm. She reminded herself.
At this, she tightened her hold on her cloak, and glanced around. The trees overhead rustled softly, but other than that, the rapidly-cooling Symenestra could not hear or see anything else. And this slightly perturbed her. After all, you never really knew what else was out there, watching you, waiting.
13 of the Day, Spring of 510 A.V.
The Bronze Woods
It was still cold.
Still very, very cold.
And Neyasi had developed a particular distaste for the cold. Sure, Winter meant shorter days and less bright light, but it also meant undeniable cold, that racked Neyasi's frail, lightweight Symenestra body like a spider's web in a storm. At this particular thought, the twenty-year-old Symenestra female drew her thin black silken cloak about herself more tightly. It did little against the cold, in truth, but she neglected to get something thicker to wear.
Neyasi threw down the flint she'd been trying to use to a light a fire, rocking back onto her haunches, and staring moodily at the pile of sticks and tinder. When she'd been traveling with Vordinan, he'd done everything, and it had seemed a lot easier to get by in the wilderness. Now it was just frustrating.
A sudden memory struck her, a tall, thin male figure hunched over a pile of sticks and tinder, not unlike her own, striking the stone with a piece of flint in just such a way that the sparks flew to the pile. As quick as it had come, it started to fade, and Neyasi hurriedly chased after it. Catching it, she dug deeper, and realized that it was not the grey-eyed, lean figure of Vordinan she was looking at, but Drovidin Tillandsia, her dear father. Then, she'd been merely eleven years old.
Neyasi let out a slight smile, one of the few that crossed her face in these times. She quickly brushed it away, and quickly took up the flint and stone once more, doing her best to mimic the fashion in which she'd once seen her father do this. To her astonishment, the sparks caught, and the pile of sticks and tinder began to smoke. And then a sharp gust of wind blew it out.
Neyasi stood up sharply, and kicked the pile of sticks, fed up with the wilderness. Then, she sat down, crossed one leg over the other, placed her elbow on her knee, and allowed her cheek to sink into her palm, letting out a gusty sigh, staring blankly at the ruined attempt at fire. Oh well. She didn't like fire, anyway. Not unless it's keeping me warm. She reminded herself.
At this, she tightened her hold on her cloak, and glanced around. The trees overhead rustled softly, but other than that, the rapidly-cooling Symenestra could not hear or see anything else. And this slightly perturbed her. After all, you never really knew what else was out there, watching you, waiting.
Besides, we all have other things besides Mizahar.
