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Kimba weed rash was simple enough to deal with. Usually the people who came to have kimba rash looked at were young children who got into the red-and-maroon blossoms, or picked them up, not knowing that the skin would break into rashes as red and maroon as the flowers themselves.
Nehrar made a salve for kimba rash out of the stalks of the plant itself; the salve was cool and made the maddening itch stop, and the swelling subside as long as the patient applied the salve every three to four bells in the day.
Kimba weed bloomed in the summer and grew near water, so the medicine tents of Endrykas were full of crying children and the chatter of their mothers. Arandia sat in one of the tents, hearing the noise filter in from the other tents and suffocating in the heat of her work.
Nehrar had shown her how to do it before the day began. To make the salve, Arandia had to mix animal fat with the crushed stalks of kimba weed. It smelled terrible, and the animal fat had to constantly be heated for it to not congeal. Arandia slaved away, sweating into her clothes and on to her upper lip, hair rolled into a bun to keep it from getting into her face and in her work.
Arandia had to be very careful. The blossoms were difficult to separate from the stalks, and Arandia had to wear gloves that she borrowed from The River Flower. The flowers came in bunches of twenty small pods, which shook out their pollen at the slightest disturbance. By the time the sun set, Arandia had made ten small jars of kimba salve, only ten because she worked slowly and carefully; her hands were still clumsy.
Nehrar didn’t look too impressed by the number. “Oh well,” he said good naturedly, as he dismissed her for the day. “You’ll learn.”
The wind was cool by the time Arandia stepped out of the sweltering tent. The wind was such a shock to her that it made her shiver a little, as the sweat dried on her bare arms and the clothes on her back.
Arandia’s mind wandered as she walked through the city streets. Endrykas was full of noise and activity, even at the end of the day, when all the work was done and all that was left was supper. The merriment that came with supper; the singing and the dancing and the telling of stories. The weaving and darning that they had left for the end of the day. The gossip circles around the fire.
Arandia gazed at her feet as she walked, shying away from eye contact with anyone. She thought about the salve and her hands and about Nehrar’s hand on her shoulder, friendly: “You’ll learn.” She thought about the little boy who cried on his mother’s lap, a bubble of snot at his right nostril. She thought about everything and nothing, and was so preoccupied with her silly little thoughts that she did not see Belkaia come up beside her and grab her hand.
Arandia startled. Belkaia laughed. “I startled you,” she said, looking pleased with herself.
Belkaia might have been more of a woman around Dravite, but Arandia and Belkaia were the same age. The little girls in the both of them called out to each other, smiled at each other half-suppressed through each other’s eyes.
Kyanite stood beside his mother, holding on to her hand, smiling big with his little frog mouth.
“Yes, you startled me,” Arandia said. “I was just thinking about you and going to see you. I was going to warn you about the kimba weeds.”
“Kimba weeds?”
“Yes, I’ll tell you all about them.”
“Over dinner,” Belkaia suggested. “You have to come to our camp and visit me like you promised, and I will feed you.”
“I did promise,” Arandia said. She thought about it for a moment. Serai would be all right without her help for the evening. They would be able to make dinner just fine at the Reddawn pavilion. Some of them, like Teke, might even be relieved to not see Arandia there. So Arandia said, “yes, all right, that sounds good,” and followed Belkaia to her family’s camp.
On the way, Arandia told Belkaia about the rashes and the little children. “It’s terrible,” Arandia said. “It’s nothing serious, but it’s such a pity to see them cry so much. The itches really are very bad. You have to be careful not to let Kyanite into the kimba weeds, otherwise he’ll be scratching for days.” She paused. Laughed. “It’s a little funny, too,” she admitted. “The way they fuss.”
Belkaia laughed and shook her head. “You say that,” she said, “but wait until you’re a mother with a sick child. You won’t think it’s so funny then.”
Arandia only smiled. BelkaiaBelkaia and Kyanite are Dravite's NPCs and written with his permission., whose arms were tired, handed Kyanite to Arandia. She carried him the rest of the way, Arandia and Belkaia taking turns making Kyanite laugh. First with a funny voice, and then with a funny story. That evening Kyanite was spoiled with a wealth of woman-kisses on his forehead and his arms.
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20 Summer 515
Evening
Evening
Kimba weed rash was simple enough to deal with. Usually the people who came to have kimba rash looked at were young children who got into the red-and-maroon blossoms, or picked them up, not knowing that the skin would break into rashes as red and maroon as the flowers themselves.
Nehrar made a salve for kimba rash out of the stalks of the plant itself; the salve was cool and made the maddening itch stop, and the swelling subside as long as the patient applied the salve every three to four bells in the day.
Kimba weed bloomed in the summer and grew near water, so the medicine tents of Endrykas were full of crying children and the chatter of their mothers. Arandia sat in one of the tents, hearing the noise filter in from the other tents and suffocating in the heat of her work.
Nehrar had shown her how to do it before the day began. To make the salve, Arandia had to mix animal fat with the crushed stalks of kimba weed. It smelled terrible, and the animal fat had to constantly be heated for it to not congeal. Arandia slaved away, sweating into her clothes and on to her upper lip, hair rolled into a bun to keep it from getting into her face and in her work.
Arandia had to be very careful. The blossoms were difficult to separate from the stalks, and Arandia had to wear gloves that she borrowed from The River Flower. The flowers came in bunches of twenty small pods, which shook out their pollen at the slightest disturbance. By the time the sun set, Arandia had made ten small jars of kimba salve, only ten because she worked slowly and carefully; her hands were still clumsy.
Nehrar didn’t look too impressed by the number. “Oh well,” he said good naturedly, as he dismissed her for the day. “You’ll learn.”
The wind was cool by the time Arandia stepped out of the sweltering tent. The wind was such a shock to her that it made her shiver a little, as the sweat dried on her bare arms and the clothes on her back.
Arandia’s mind wandered as she walked through the city streets. Endrykas was full of noise and activity, even at the end of the day, when all the work was done and all that was left was supper. The merriment that came with supper; the singing and the dancing and the telling of stories. The weaving and darning that they had left for the end of the day. The gossip circles around the fire.
Arandia gazed at her feet as she walked, shying away from eye contact with anyone. She thought about the salve and her hands and about Nehrar’s hand on her shoulder, friendly: “You’ll learn.” She thought about the little boy who cried on his mother’s lap, a bubble of snot at his right nostril. She thought about everything and nothing, and was so preoccupied with her silly little thoughts that she did not see Belkaia come up beside her and grab her hand.
Arandia startled. Belkaia laughed. “I startled you,” she said, looking pleased with herself.
Belkaia might have been more of a woman around Dravite, but Arandia and Belkaia were the same age. The little girls in the both of them called out to each other, smiled at each other half-suppressed through each other’s eyes.
Kyanite stood beside his mother, holding on to her hand, smiling big with his little frog mouth.
“Yes, you startled me,” Arandia said. “I was just thinking about you and going to see you. I was going to warn you about the kimba weeds.”
“Kimba weeds?”
“Yes, I’ll tell you all about them.”
“Over dinner,” Belkaia suggested. “You have to come to our camp and visit me like you promised, and I will feed you.”
“I did promise,” Arandia said. She thought about it for a moment. Serai would be all right without her help for the evening. They would be able to make dinner just fine at the Reddawn pavilion. Some of them, like Teke, might even be relieved to not see Arandia there. So Arandia said, “yes, all right, that sounds good,” and followed Belkaia to her family’s camp.
On the way, Arandia told Belkaia about the rashes and the little children. “It’s terrible,” Arandia said. “It’s nothing serious, but it’s such a pity to see them cry so much. The itches really are very bad. You have to be careful not to let Kyanite into the kimba weeds, otherwise he’ll be scratching for days.” She paused. Laughed. “It’s a little funny, too,” she admitted. “The way they fuss.”
Belkaia laughed and shook her head. “You say that,” she said, “but wait until you’re a mother with a sick child. You won’t think it’s so funny then.”
Arandia only smiled. BelkaiaBelkaia and Kyanite are Dravite's NPCs and written with his permission., whose arms were tired, handed Kyanite to Arandia. She carried him the rest of the way, Arandia and Belkaia taking turns making Kyanite laugh. First with a funny voice, and then with a funny story. That evening Kyanite was spoiled with a wealth of woman-kisses on his forehead and his arms.
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