Spring 3, 515 AV
morning
Khida was not one to visit the Nightsong Pavilion often -- or indeed, ever -- but she knew it nonetheless. The falcon Kelvic overflew the city on a daily basis, and paid particularly close scrutiny to the disposition of Pavilions whenever Endrykas reassembled itself after travel; she often glimpsed familiar profiles in those periods, and the woman's was distinctive. There were only two places Khida typically caught sight of her; one was the shop where she worked, and the other was a residence pavilion simply brimming with Drykas -- most likely the many siblings she had once referred to. Given that, her destination was clear.
Thus Khida made her way through the city, weaving between tents and frequently checking the sky to ensure she hadn't become turned around in the process. The spaces between the pavilions seemed even more crowded than usual, particularly with the two-legged Drykas; she was not used to seeing so many milling about, their loud voices and expressive gestures taking up inordinate amounts of space. They stood around and gabbered at one another in free-flowing word and sign from which the Kelvic could not begin to parse beginning or end, and truthfully did not really try to understand. She had obtained the information she wanted, and now had a place to be, for which these people were only in her way.
So too with their four-footed companions of all sorts. She saw cats sprawled out in the thoroughfares, tail twitching as if to invite someone to step on them and evoke their wrath; she saw dogs lounging outside doorways, plaintive-seeming eyes in contrast to their attentively perked ears. She saw zibri filling the space between one tent and another, nosing at trampled grass until they could tease a mouthful up from the packed stalks; and the ubiquitous striders, of course, mixed in apparently wherever they pleased.
Youths chivvied the herds free of passageways, or attempted to do so, their efforts often met only with flat intransigence as the herbivores went right on grazing. Men and women complained at one another, or at anyone else who would listen, even as they put their hands to such everyday tasks as still needed to be done. They milked cows, hung laundry, practiced at weapons, curried horses, bartered over goods -- except more, as if the very mundane nature of their actions, performed emphatically, might encourage their world to go back to normal.
Or maybe there were just more of them than usual constrained to this finite space.
So too with the Nightsongs, to Khida's admittedly untrained eye, as she approached their pavilion at last. But she thought that perhaps there was more in their bustling activity than for the rest of those she had passed by -- something unusual, as well as all the usual. She hesitated at the edge, observing and taking the measure of those strangers she could see... looking for the one who was not a stranger, the one who belonged with her.
morning
Khida was not one to visit the Nightsong Pavilion often -- or indeed, ever -- but she knew it nonetheless. The falcon Kelvic overflew the city on a daily basis, and paid particularly close scrutiny to the disposition of Pavilions whenever Endrykas reassembled itself after travel; she often glimpsed familiar profiles in those periods, and the woman's was distinctive. There were only two places Khida typically caught sight of her; one was the shop where she worked, and the other was a residence pavilion simply brimming with Drykas -- most likely the many siblings she had once referred to. Given that, her destination was clear.
Thus Khida made her way through the city, weaving between tents and frequently checking the sky to ensure she hadn't become turned around in the process. The spaces between the pavilions seemed even more crowded than usual, particularly with the two-legged Drykas; she was not used to seeing so many milling about, their loud voices and expressive gestures taking up inordinate amounts of space. They stood around and gabbered at one another in free-flowing word and sign from which the Kelvic could not begin to parse beginning or end, and truthfully did not really try to understand. She had obtained the information she wanted, and now had a place to be, for which these people were only in her way.
So too with their four-footed companions of all sorts. She saw cats sprawled out in the thoroughfares, tail twitching as if to invite someone to step on them and evoke their wrath; she saw dogs lounging outside doorways, plaintive-seeming eyes in contrast to their attentively perked ears. She saw zibri filling the space between one tent and another, nosing at trampled grass until they could tease a mouthful up from the packed stalks; and the ubiquitous striders, of course, mixed in apparently wherever they pleased.
Youths chivvied the herds free of passageways, or attempted to do so, their efforts often met only with flat intransigence as the herbivores went right on grazing. Men and women complained at one another, or at anyone else who would listen, even as they put their hands to such everyday tasks as still needed to be done. They milked cows, hung laundry, practiced at weapons, curried horses, bartered over goods -- except more, as if the very mundane nature of their actions, performed emphatically, might encourage their world to go back to normal.
Or maybe there were just more of them than usual constrained to this finite space.
So too with the Nightsongs, to Khida's admittedly untrained eye, as she approached their pavilion at last. But she thought that perhaps there was more in their bustling activity than for the rest of those she had passed by -- something unusual, as well as all the usual. She hesitated at the edge, observing and taking the measure of those strangers she could see... looking for the one who was not a stranger, the one who belonged with her.
Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi
