42nd of Winter, 510 A.V.
8th Bell
It was not the time for fighting, for balled up fists and steely glares promising pain for the opponent. There were no weapons hanging from the lone Myrian girl's hip, save for the old bone dagger fastened to the side of her loincloth, which she wisely carried when traveling from her clan lands to Taloba. It was probably one of the very few times she had come alone to the Arena of Ancients. If not led by her cousin, Keikyo, in their quest for a brutal spar, she was guided to the historical place by Yitmah for a time of guidance and a lesson of some sort. Even so, the latter of the two companions was ultimately the reason she was there now, seated upon the dirt in the center of the Arena with legs crossed and eyes closed. "To rule the battlefield, one must know it," the veteran had admonished her some time ago during a training session in the jungle. "The jungle will tell you all you need to know if you only listen. A warrior must have patience." Unfortunately, patience was anything but one of Kaie's virtues.
It's been at least a chime. It's had to have been a chime by now, She thought wearily, practically forcing herself to remain as solid as a stone. Bronze fingers all but danced upon the tops of her legs, seeming to forget the concept of stillness all together. It was a blessing in itself she hadn't opened her eyes yet. Though very slowly, like the first cool breath of a night's breeze, the world around her was coming to life. First there came the birds. Falyndar's feathered creatures seemed to almost always have their beaks open, twittering and peeping through the tree to one another, hardly stirring even when a predator prowled below in search of an easy meal. For most of her life, the birds were the constant, noisy background. So common were the calls that, after a while, she hardly registered them at all. This time was different. When the itching in her hands finally soothed, she found herself detecting each species' distinct voice from the others.
"There's usually something wrong when the birds go silent," one of the hunters of her clan had told her once, frowning up at the trees bells before a vicious storm wrecked through. She wondered if the same theory applied to things other than weather. Did Caiyha's feathered gifts dislike the Dhani as much as her Myrian kin did? Would they go quiet when the scaled enemy slithered through the undergrowth, or shriek when they dashed between the brush? Would they sing for the foreign sailors that camped along the coast? Perhaps it was best not to rely so heavily on the judgement of birds. A boy from another jungle clan swore he'd seen a tiny bird hop into a crocodile's open mouth, and flit from tooth to tooth picking its jaws clean.
Next there came the gentle cracking of leaves and subtle bending of plant spines under some unknown weight. A tapir maybe? Some sort of rodent? Too small to be a tiger or jaguar, the thirteen year old girl decided with a slow nod to herself. But why so close? Somewhere nearby, a trickle of water caught her attention with a consistency likened to that of a tiny stream, which seemed to answer her previous question. The insects were the final most notable detail for the moment. There always came that constant buzzing that was never too far. In such a humid climate ripe for their existence, one could safely assume a bug was always hovering nearby. Kaie's fingers slipped from her legs to the ground beside her, letting them wove themselves between moss and wandering vines that largely dominated the Arena of Ancients. Of all the things she slowly began to sense on a larger scale, the most tangible of them all was the lingering whisper of Death.
"Your mother told you the story behind this place, yes? Good. It is not one to be taken lightly, lest we forget the wretched years without Myri's light and the blood that's fertilized this old ground," Yitmah said gravely when he had first brought her to the largely abandoned ruins. Upon one of the larger stones, he had extended a finger to point out the rusty stains stuck between a crevice. Blood. "Many stories have been told of fierce warriors that have fallen here. When I was first assigned to a Fang, the Tokoh would often come here to seek guidance from the legendary ghosts before leading us outside Taloba's walls. After a while, I took to doing the same. Perhaps they will answer you more clearly than they ever did either of us." A light breeze rustled through the lazy leaves above, and for once, the young girl thought she might take the old trainer's advice.
8th Bell
It was not the time for fighting, for balled up fists and steely glares promising pain for the opponent. There were no weapons hanging from the lone Myrian girl's hip, save for the old bone dagger fastened to the side of her loincloth, which she wisely carried when traveling from her clan lands to Taloba. It was probably one of the very few times she had come alone to the Arena of Ancients. If not led by her cousin, Keikyo, in their quest for a brutal spar, she was guided to the historical place by Yitmah for a time of guidance and a lesson of some sort. Even so, the latter of the two companions was ultimately the reason she was there now, seated upon the dirt in the center of the Arena with legs crossed and eyes closed. "To rule the battlefield, one must know it," the veteran had admonished her some time ago during a training session in the jungle. "The jungle will tell you all you need to know if you only listen. A warrior must have patience." Unfortunately, patience was anything but one of Kaie's virtues.
It's been at least a chime. It's had to have been a chime by now, She thought wearily, practically forcing herself to remain as solid as a stone. Bronze fingers all but danced upon the tops of her legs, seeming to forget the concept of stillness all together. It was a blessing in itself she hadn't opened her eyes yet. Though very slowly, like the first cool breath of a night's breeze, the world around her was coming to life. First there came the birds. Falyndar's feathered creatures seemed to almost always have their beaks open, twittering and peeping through the tree to one another, hardly stirring even when a predator prowled below in search of an easy meal. For most of her life, the birds were the constant, noisy background. So common were the calls that, after a while, she hardly registered them at all. This time was different. When the itching in her hands finally soothed, she found herself detecting each species' distinct voice from the others.
"There's usually something wrong when the birds go silent," one of the hunters of her clan had told her once, frowning up at the trees bells before a vicious storm wrecked through. She wondered if the same theory applied to things other than weather. Did Caiyha's feathered gifts dislike the Dhani as much as her Myrian kin did? Would they go quiet when the scaled enemy slithered through the undergrowth, or shriek when they dashed between the brush? Would they sing for the foreign sailors that camped along the coast? Perhaps it was best not to rely so heavily on the judgement of birds. A boy from another jungle clan swore he'd seen a tiny bird hop into a crocodile's open mouth, and flit from tooth to tooth picking its jaws clean.
Next there came the gentle cracking of leaves and subtle bending of plant spines under some unknown weight. A tapir maybe? Some sort of rodent? Too small to be a tiger or jaguar, the thirteen year old girl decided with a slow nod to herself. But why so close? Somewhere nearby, a trickle of water caught her attention with a consistency likened to that of a tiny stream, which seemed to answer her previous question. The insects were the final most notable detail for the moment. There always came that constant buzzing that was never too far. In such a humid climate ripe for their existence, one could safely assume a bug was always hovering nearby. Kaie's fingers slipped from her legs to the ground beside her, letting them wove themselves between moss and wandering vines that largely dominated the Arena of Ancients. Of all the things she slowly began to sense on a larger scale, the most tangible of them all was the lingering whisper of Death.
"Your mother told you the story behind this place, yes? Good. It is not one to be taken lightly, lest we forget the wretched years without Myri's light and the blood that's fertilized this old ground," Yitmah said gravely when he had first brought her to the largely abandoned ruins. Upon one of the larger stones, he had extended a finger to point out the rusty stains stuck between a crevice. Blood. "Many stories have been told of fierce warriors that have fallen here. When I was first assigned to a Fang, the Tokoh would often come here to seek guidance from the legendary ghosts before leading us outside Taloba's walls. After a while, I took to doing the same. Perhaps they will answer you more clearly than they ever did either of us." A light breeze rustled through the lazy leaves above, and for once, the young girl thought she might take the old trainer's advice.
