43rd of Fall, 497 A.V.
"Mother?"
A sweet smile had settled on Jaliya's face as she thumbed through her thick book of leather and vellum, taking care to brush out the sand she found stuck to the pages. Her usually long ebony hair was done up in an intricate ponytail, tossed gently across her shoulder. Through her pursed lips came a quiet hum, that lended music to the scene as her bright blue eyes searched the book for... something.
"Mother?"
Again, no response. Hirem sighed, staring expectantly at Jaliya's face. She can't have not heard me. There's nothing to hear. Outside the tent, the calls of the shepherds were distant, barely audible above the slight whistling of the wind. Noonday in the Burning Lands was a quiet affair, leaving Hirem with nothing but the frustration he felt deep within... as well as the uncomfortable heat that pervaded every tent, dune, and desert rise. The air in the tent was particularly stifling, thanks to the incense candles his mother had insisted on lighting. Wiping perspiration from his brow, the boy glanced outside, wondering what had overcome the camp. No one's listening to me, he thought, remembering how his father had stared right through him in the early morn, how Almas had nearly knocked him over when taking control of the easternmost flock, how Shida had ignored his keening calls for her. Is this some kind of strange magic?
Fearful of some foreign magician working his sinister magic upon his mother, Hirem decided to try once more to rouse her. Stepping forward, the boy grabbed hold of Jaliya's sleeve and tugged. "Mother!"
Finally, she seemed to take notice. "Ben!" she cried, glancing down at the boy, her brow crinkling in disapproval. "What have I said about the grabbing?" Hirem, immediately chastised, let go of her sleeve and stepped back guiltily. Brushing herself off, Jaliya closed the book she had been reading, set it back into her pack, and turned to fix her blue eyes upon Hirem's. There was a smile on her face, but the boy knew the hard look in her eyes well - it had accompanied many a scolding. "What have I said?" She repeated.
He sighed. "Only those that cannot speak are allowed to grab for attention."
His mother nodded approvingly. "And have you learned to speak, little lamb?"
"Yes." Hirem grumbled.
"Very good." Brushing her hair back behind her shoulder, Jaliya closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When she turned her gaze back to her son, the harshness had all but evaporated, leaving only a tender warmth in her gaze. That was one of the many things he liked about his mother: she could never stay angry for long. Unlike his father, who could brood for days on end, Jaliya never let anything sour her happiness. There was a bright light in her that could not be quenched, that bubbled from within and grew infectiously on everyone around... at least, that was how Almas the cowherd had described it. "Now, Hirem. What did you want?"
It was a funny thing, that once Hirem possessed his mother's attention, he was suddenly afraid of telling her what he wanted in the first place. The boy swallowed nervously, unsure of how to break the terribly sad news to Jaliya. His fingers clenched and unclenched round the bracelet in his pocket, and he was tempted to say that it was nothing, and that he was sorry for wasting his mother's time. But the patient look on her face guilted him into holding the bracelet in front of her, his eyes fixated stubbornly on the ground. "It's broken," he muttered, waving the twin pieces of the snapped cord up and down. It was a miracle that the goat carving, now held tight between his fingers, had not slipped off the bracelet and been buried in the desert sand, lost forever. "It happened when I woke up. I - I don't know why it happened. I don't think I broke it in my sleep." The thought of him accidentally destroying his mother's bracelet - the one that she had given him when he had been able to fit on her lap - made his voice quake with fear. "Can you fix it?" He pleaded.
Jaliya gave him an understanding pat on the shoulder. "Oh child. It's not your fault; the leather was old, ready to fray at any moment." Gingerly retrieving the bracelet from Hirem's grasp, she folded both ends around the goat carving and slipped it into her pack. "I'll fix it later tonight," she promised.
The boy didn't understand. "Why can't you fix it now?" He whined.
If his mother was annoyed, she did not show it on her face. "Because, little lamb," she murmured, pushing herself to her feet and brushing the sand off her knees. "I am going to visit my friend, Edyth. We're going to catch up for a bit, maybe do some work together. You remember Edyth, don't you?"
Hirem groaned in response. Of course he remembered Edyth, the very calm and very boring woman that occasionally visited their Tent during the fall seasons. Jaliya also made a point of inviting Edyth to their personal campfire every night after the Masha, and while she was there, Edyth was very quick to point out all the little changes she had observed in Hirem over the seasons. And whenever he tried to defend himself, Edyth just said another clever thing that made his cheeks flare up and his parents burst into good-natured laughter. For years he had dreamed of taking his revenge upon Edyth, but whenever he ended up facing off against her... he lost. Badly. "Mother, there's nothing for me to do today. Father hasn't come back with Almas and Sheskar. None of the herds are ready to graze. Shida's been weaving with her mother all day." If he was a few years younger, he would have thrown himself dramatically at her feet. Instead, Hirem glowered and folded his arms. "We need to share stories."
"Oh? We need to?" Jaliya grinned, wrinkling her nose affectionately at the boy. "Patience, little lamb. We can speak later when I am done."
And with that, his mother left the tent.
Great, Hirem thought, kicking idly at the sand underneath his feet. Just great. Sighing, the boy followed Jaliya out the tent and stared all around, holding his hand up against the sun's glare. The camp was depressingly bare, as most of the Tent members had departed for Yahebah for the fall season. It was just his family, Shida's family, Almas, Sheskar, and the newcomers present, their tents clustered randomly about the sandy rise. At the bottom of the rise squatted a small oasis, sparkling under the noon sun. Three herds of animals were fenced in around the oasis, herds that Hirem knew intimately: there were the aging goats, then the sheep and their newly birthed lambs, and the three cows that Raim had chanced to acquire last year. His father had given Hirem strict instructions not to bother the animals until the late afternoon, giving the young shepherd little to do. Sighing, he glanced over at his mother as she walked towards the distant Edyth's tent, then turned back to the oasis. Heading down the rise, Hirem sat down beside the water's edge, slipped his sandals off, and stuck his bare feet deep into the pool. At least that's a nice chill, he thought, lamenting the emptiness of the day ahead.
"Mother?"
A sweet smile had settled on Jaliya's face as she thumbed through her thick book of leather and vellum, taking care to brush out the sand she found stuck to the pages. Her usually long ebony hair was done up in an intricate ponytail, tossed gently across her shoulder. Through her pursed lips came a quiet hum, that lended music to the scene as her bright blue eyes searched the book for... something.
"Mother?"
Again, no response. Hirem sighed, staring expectantly at Jaliya's face. She can't have not heard me. There's nothing to hear. Outside the tent, the calls of the shepherds were distant, barely audible above the slight whistling of the wind. Noonday in the Burning Lands was a quiet affair, leaving Hirem with nothing but the frustration he felt deep within... as well as the uncomfortable heat that pervaded every tent, dune, and desert rise. The air in the tent was particularly stifling, thanks to the incense candles his mother had insisted on lighting. Wiping perspiration from his brow, the boy glanced outside, wondering what had overcome the camp. No one's listening to me, he thought, remembering how his father had stared right through him in the early morn, how Almas had nearly knocked him over when taking control of the easternmost flock, how Shida had ignored his keening calls for her. Is this some kind of strange magic?
Fearful of some foreign magician working his sinister magic upon his mother, Hirem decided to try once more to rouse her. Stepping forward, the boy grabbed hold of Jaliya's sleeve and tugged. "Mother!"
Finally, she seemed to take notice. "Ben!" she cried, glancing down at the boy, her brow crinkling in disapproval. "What have I said about the grabbing?" Hirem, immediately chastised, let go of her sleeve and stepped back guiltily. Brushing herself off, Jaliya closed the book she had been reading, set it back into her pack, and turned to fix her blue eyes upon Hirem's. There was a smile on her face, but the boy knew the hard look in her eyes well - it had accompanied many a scolding. "What have I said?" She repeated.
He sighed. "Only those that cannot speak are allowed to grab for attention."
His mother nodded approvingly. "And have you learned to speak, little lamb?"
"Yes." Hirem grumbled.
"Very good." Brushing her hair back behind her shoulder, Jaliya closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. When she turned her gaze back to her son, the harshness had all but evaporated, leaving only a tender warmth in her gaze. That was one of the many things he liked about his mother: she could never stay angry for long. Unlike his father, who could brood for days on end, Jaliya never let anything sour her happiness. There was a bright light in her that could not be quenched, that bubbled from within and grew infectiously on everyone around... at least, that was how Almas the cowherd had described it. "Now, Hirem. What did you want?"
It was a funny thing, that once Hirem possessed his mother's attention, he was suddenly afraid of telling her what he wanted in the first place. The boy swallowed nervously, unsure of how to break the terribly sad news to Jaliya. His fingers clenched and unclenched round the bracelet in his pocket, and he was tempted to say that it was nothing, and that he was sorry for wasting his mother's time. But the patient look on her face guilted him into holding the bracelet in front of her, his eyes fixated stubbornly on the ground. "It's broken," he muttered, waving the twin pieces of the snapped cord up and down. It was a miracle that the goat carving, now held tight between his fingers, had not slipped off the bracelet and been buried in the desert sand, lost forever. "It happened when I woke up. I - I don't know why it happened. I don't think I broke it in my sleep." The thought of him accidentally destroying his mother's bracelet - the one that she had given him when he had been able to fit on her lap - made his voice quake with fear. "Can you fix it?" He pleaded.
Jaliya gave him an understanding pat on the shoulder. "Oh child. It's not your fault; the leather was old, ready to fray at any moment." Gingerly retrieving the bracelet from Hirem's grasp, she folded both ends around the goat carving and slipped it into her pack. "I'll fix it later tonight," she promised.
The boy didn't understand. "Why can't you fix it now?" He whined.
If his mother was annoyed, she did not show it on her face. "Because, little lamb," she murmured, pushing herself to her feet and brushing the sand off her knees. "I am going to visit my friend, Edyth. We're going to catch up for a bit, maybe do some work together. You remember Edyth, don't you?"
Hirem groaned in response. Of course he remembered Edyth, the very calm and very boring woman that occasionally visited their Tent during the fall seasons. Jaliya also made a point of inviting Edyth to their personal campfire every night after the Masha, and while she was there, Edyth was very quick to point out all the little changes she had observed in Hirem over the seasons. And whenever he tried to defend himself, Edyth just said another clever thing that made his cheeks flare up and his parents burst into good-natured laughter. For years he had dreamed of taking his revenge upon Edyth, but whenever he ended up facing off against her... he lost. Badly. "Mother, there's nothing for me to do today. Father hasn't come back with Almas and Sheskar. None of the herds are ready to graze. Shida's been weaving with her mother all day." If he was a few years younger, he would have thrown himself dramatically at her feet. Instead, Hirem glowered and folded his arms. "We need to share stories."
"Oh? We need to?" Jaliya grinned, wrinkling her nose affectionately at the boy. "Patience, little lamb. We can speak later when I am done."
And with that, his mother left the tent.
Great, Hirem thought, kicking idly at the sand underneath his feet. Just great. Sighing, the boy followed Jaliya out the tent and stared all around, holding his hand up against the sun's glare. The camp was depressingly bare, as most of the Tent members had departed for Yahebah for the fall season. It was just his family, Shida's family, Almas, Sheskar, and the newcomers present, their tents clustered randomly about the sandy rise. At the bottom of the rise squatted a small oasis, sparkling under the noon sun. Three herds of animals were fenced in around the oasis, herds that Hirem knew intimately: there were the aging goats, then the sheep and their newly birthed lambs, and the three cows that Raim had chanced to acquire last year. His father had given Hirem strict instructions not to bother the animals until the late afternoon, giving the young shepherd little to do. Sighing, he glanced over at his mother as she walked towards the distant Edyth's tent, then turned back to the oasis. Heading down the rise, Hirem sat down beside the water's edge, slipped his sandals off, and stuck his bare feet deep into the pool. At least that's a nice chill, he thought, lamenting the emptiness of the day ahead.
