Loose Ends

[Rufio]

　

73rd summer 516 av
morning, windy

Rufio arose early this morning, before Syna, while the air was cooler. It was unusual for the Drykas, who usually burnt the midnight oil sitting by the fire.

She would spend those mysteriously quiet bells holding the casting bones in her hands, dwelling on deeply-rooted nostalgia, or on Life, Death, or the Gods—Fate.

This morning Rufio stumbled about bleary-eyed as quietly as she could, hoping not to wake the rest of the Stormbloods. Ixzo was already gone, Rufio smiled. Her nightlion kelvic must be out hunting already.

Rufio pulls on a sun-faded rust-dyed linen romper, tosses a large undyed scarf around her neck, and grabs a backpack weighted by the humble collection of tools within—full waterskin, flint and steel, eating knife, burlap sack.

As she steps out, barefoot, into the dawn, the half-Drykas is buffetted by the winds that have recently risen up, sweeping across the Sea Of Grass.

A horse nickers quietly nearby, Rufio's cropped dark hair dances in Zulrav's tugging grasp as she turns to smile at the imposing dun-dappled Strider ambling up to her with heavy hoof-falls.

"Loha." Rufio takes the stallion's nose in her hands and rubs his neck rigorously, patting roughly. The stallion's sandy mane whips at her freckled face as he tosses his thick, concave head and nuzzles her hair with his lips, and she laughs, before ducking lightly and glancing back at the Stormblood pavilion tent.

"Hushhh!"—she shh's herself, before she moves around to the horse's side. Setting her hands on his bare back, she grips a handful of mane. "Loha—up, up—"

Her command sees the stallion bend his foreleg at the knee, and Rufio places the arch of her bare foot onto his leg, leaning in, she hoists herself up onto the gentle giant. Pleased, the half-Drykas settles herself just behind his withers, and squeezes her thighs against his flanks.

Loha grunts, and turns, his hooves thudding dully as he meanders at a leisurely walk through the tented city. Rufio sways with his long-strided gait and the stallion's tail brushes in the wind against her bare thighs.

The wind was "whisking away the cobwebs", as her grandmother used to say, describing that sense of invigoration that comes with the wind. A knot was roiling in Rufio's stomach, though, and a frown played subtly along her lips. Anxiety was gnawing within her, and she could not feel the joy in the wind as she rode.

Seasons had past since she left her birth-pavilion, since the stormy parting, the tear-stricken heart-break, the bitter-bitten goodbye. Rufio never thought she would return.

Yet, this morning—after a particularly deep session of thought, and a restless night's sleep—she found the irresistible, undeniable, unsettlingly-deep pull of intuition drawing her back—
　　　　Not-Home.
　　　　　　　Just, back.　
　

[Rufio]

　
　　　　　　"You shouldn't be here."
Rufio had been lingering on the edges of the Wildmane pavilion, half-hidden behind a cart, her strider standing quietly behind her, nudging her shoulder as if to say "go on, go on". In her hands she caressed a length of green-dyed fabric that was tied to a pole of the tent to signify it's blood was of the Emerald Clan.

The Drykas started at the familiar, croaking voice, and as she turned towards it, the emerald fabric slid out of its loosely-tied knot in her hands. The Drykas hid it behind her back, embarrassed.

Rufio felt her will waver but it was too late now, she had been seen, so she stepped out into sight for her grandmother. Raen Wildmane looked older than when Rufio had left her—a needle of surprise pinched at her heart at that.
　　　　　　　　"I know..." Rufio murmured with more sadness than she realised she felt, and tears sprung to her eyes. She bid them back with a clench of her jaw and a steely resolve.

Grandmother Raen stood across from Rufio in sandals and a linen wrap, a blanket draped over her shoulders, and her grey hair braided over one shoulder. Rufio stood across from Grandmother Raen, wearing a furrowed brow and a tense back.

　　　　　The quiet stretched between them.
Grandmother Raen slumped as if weary, and beckoned for Rufio to follow her. "Come in for tea, Ru."

Rufio gave Loha a pat on the shoulder, as if to reassure herself rather than the stallion, and then traced her grandmother's steps into the pavilion tent.

Not much was changed, life carried on without her for the Wildmanes, it seemed.

Rufio wasn't sure how she felt about that. Raen settled herself on furs, and used a poker to stir up the fire beneath the brazier.

"-Cups." The elder motioned bluntly, and Rufio obeyed. After fishing a couple of clay cups out of a basket near the brazier, she folded her legs and sat opposite her grandmother. They watched the water in a small pot simmer to an almost-boil quietly. Rufio dared not look at her grandmother's face, and kept her eyes on the water. Raen, however, was studying her granddaughter's freckled features intensely.

"I heard you joined a pavilion, mh?"
Rufio sucked in a breath, surprised her grandmother knew her most recent change in living arrangements, and then surprised that she was surprised. It was grandmother Raen, she knew everything about everyone. Rufio lifted her gaze to meet her grandmother's face, and tried to discern her thoughts from her wrinkled features, unsuccessfully.
"Yes. Azmere Stormblood, we have took up in his pavilion."
Grandmother Raen quirked a bushy grey brow.
"We?" Elaborate.
Rufio smiled faintly, sensing the matriarchal tone in her grandmother's sign, as well as at the thought of Ixzo, and nodded.
"It is like Ezihiwe—Ixzo—she is mana." Bond-Sister.
Rufio wasn't quite sure how to describe Kelvic bonding to her grandmother, or if her grandmother knew of Kelvics, or Kelvic bonding.
Surprise stole into Raen's weathered features, and her perceptive eyes took in her granddaughter with a new way of seeing. "Aahhh-" her voice was hushed- "You have found family." Bonding, sister, belonging, Stormblood.
Rufio frowned—guilt prickled at her, and an unsettling, uncomfortable sensation—but she agreed hesitantly. "...Y-es..."

Grandmother Raen's matriarchal sternness waxed in place of a fond smile, as she leant forward to take the pot off the heat and poured the tea. Rufio took a cup, cradling it in her hands as she lifted it so the steam wafted against her face. Taking a deep breath in, she exhaled with an appreciative hum. "Raspberry and chamomile."

Grandmother Raen smiled and nodded, and they sipped tea for a few chimes. It felt a little like before, when Ru and her grandmother would drink tea and talk herbs, and life, and Raen would grumble about the state of the youth, and chastise Rufio about finding marriage. Rufio felt a warmth slowly ebb within, not down to just the tea.

So, her grandmother didn't hold a grudge against her.
That was something, at least.

"Tell me—" Raen halted, hesitating, unlike her, and then sighed a croaky sigh. "—why you are here, Rufio."
Like that, the warmth dissipated. Rufio looked around the pavilion, as if hoping that something would jump out and change the current of the conversation.
"It just—felt—" she stared down into her tea, swirling it a little in the cup. "—I didn't like the way I left."
Grandmother Raen said nothing, only sipped her tea.
Rufio cringed inwardly—silence was always bait for spilling your thoughts.Rufio resisted the pull to fill the quiet. But she gave in, as Grandma Raen knew her grandaughter would.
"I just...wanted to say goodbye. Properly." Peace, closure, moving on. Rufio signed passionately with her hands. She had set down the tea, feeling betrayed by the illusion of comfort it had given.

There was a tick silence, painstaking—before Grandma Raen chuckled and nodded at the green bit of cloth poking out of Rufio's pocket. "Are you taking that bit away with you, ah? Talking"—moving on—"But Rufio"—holding on.

The Elder's sign struck Rufio as she stared at the cloth she had accidentally unwound from its post and stuffed in her pocket when she was caught loitering on the edge of the pavilion. Her hands took it out now, and laid it across her lap. She brushed her hand along it thoughtfully.
"I am still Wildmane."
Born, blood, Kin—a little defensive.
The grandmother nodded once—
"Yes." Wildmane Dotra.

Rufio balled the fabric in her hands and looked up at her grandmother. Not seeing the attack she shielded her heart from, she fell into a thoughtful reverie and pondered aloud slowly, shyly—"But, I have Ixzo now. Though, Ixzo is not Drykas. We have joined Stormblood Of Diamond Clan..."

Grandmother Raen smiled as she sensed the hue of confusion that was ebbing to-and-fro within her granddaughter's heart. The child did not know where she belonged. The elder listened and heard the exception that her granddaughter had not considered though. Rufio did belong, at least, to this one—Ixzo.

"Tell me of Ixzo." Curious, well-meaning.
Rufio eyed her grandmother suspiciously for a moment, before she peeled back her defensiveness just a little.
"She's amazing. She's—fierce—Ixzo of the Shorn Skulls—but she's caring too, warm and passionate, independent, loving and kind, mysterious, and so stubborn..." Nightlion. Sister. Kin, love, bond forever.

Rufio had slipped into the embrace of The Bond. Her guard forgotten as she sensed her Kelvic, somewhere off in the Grasslands, likely stalking prey.

Grandmother Raen listened with a little awe. Her Rufio, bonded to a nightlion kelvic—a magnificent, ferocious beast of the Grasslands. The elder didn't know what to say (totally unlike the tornado of a woman with pearls of wisdom to drop on unsuspecting victims at every turn).

Had something happened in that storm?
The elder wondered, deeply superstitious.

Had Zulrav thundered and raged that day—as her granddaughter had, as her grandson had—and split their pavilion asunder meaningfully? The elder watched her granddaughter another moment, thoughtful, curious, wondering of the Gods.

"Well—" She croaked eventually, her words catching in her dry, old throat. She coughed. "You are Rufio Wildmane. Yet you live with the Stormbloods. You lived with the Emerald Clan, but now you live as Diamond Clan." Rufio gazed at her grandmother with surprise. She listened, drinking up her words. "Do not forget, Rufio, that your mother-roots are Benshira, but you bond to Strider, so you have your father's blood in your veins. You are Drykas, too. And now you bond to Ixzo—Nightlion Of Shorn Skulls..."

Rufio could hear the tinge of awe in her grandmother's voice, and it unsettled her a little, sending a faint shiver lightly tingling along her arms. Her grandmother went on. "You have always belonged to more than one plain and path, Rufio, you are made of many colours." Reminder—
　　　　　　—Benshira. Drykas.
　　　　　　　　Wildmane. Stormblood.
　　　　　　　　　　　Emerald. Diamond.
　　　　　　　　　　Strider. Nightlion
　　　　　"All this—" Woven into Rufio.
The signs helped the words to sink in and Rufio felt them embed deeply into her, leaving an indent. Raen sipped at her tea, as Rufio's feelings churned within. The light, slurping sound drew Rufio back, grounding her, and she smiled, and then chuckled quietly. "I have missed you, maisa."

The elder chuckled in her croaky-way, and tipped her cup to encourage Rufio to finish her tea. Rufio did, and then, even as she sensed a goodbye stealing up on this moment of comfort and warmth—was taken with an idea.
　　　　　　"Grand-maisa, help me with something
before I go?"　
　

[Rufio]

　
　
A length of green-dyed cloth twisted around a length of cloth bleached white, and entwined with these lengths of leather thongs stained the colour of red-ochre and black-coffee—as Rufio braided one length over another, under another, over another, under and Raen anchored the start.

"Are the others out hunting?" Rufio guessed, making idle chit-chat as they worked. Grandmother Raen grunted—they were.
"Keep it tight, child. Ah- that piece over, not under."
Rufio glanced at her grandma's hands, relieved that the elder was holding the woven fabrics as she was prone to smacking hands whenever mistakes were made under her guidance.

Rufio did as her grandmother bid, passing the green fabric under the red-ochre, then over the black, then under the white. Sure, braiding was simple-enough to get the hang-of but weaving this many strands confused her eyes every so often. Grandmother Raen was a skillful weaver and the Drykas elder could see patterns in things—how to twist things into a meaningful shape—just as she could (at least, in her own eyes) spin the threads between people, that is, who she thought ought to marry.

It was then that Rufio's love-life the elder wondered about as they wove.
"Whatever became of that Dravite Blackwater, mh?"
Rufio sighed, a wistful lilt she didn't feel the need to hide these days. She often wondered about the Ankal of the Blackwater pavilion, and what had become of that man who had made such a deep impact on her.
"I don't know, I never saw him again. Have you, great-maisa?"
The grandmother sucked her aged, yellow teeth and tutted loudly. "I would not ask if I had."
Rufio shrugged a shoulder, and concentrated on her hands, weaving the black leather under, over, under, over.
Grandma Raen mused aloud—"What of this Azmere Stormblood, ay? Tell me of this Ankal, I do not know him."
Rufio threw her grandmother a look—'not going there' it said. The grandmother grunted and frowned. "Well, you must marry someone, someday, child, and I pray that it is soon. You are not getting any younger."
Rufio's hands paused and she threw her head back as she groaned melodramatically—"I've left the pavilion grandmother, leave my love-life to my new family, ay!"—she begged playfully.
But she nodded, and shared a morsel about her new Ankal, to be kind to her grandmother for showing her how to weave a little—"He is strong. He is of the Watch."
Grandmother Raen hummed appreciatively, excitedly at that news. The Watch was an honourable position within the Drykas. "Is he handsome?"
Rufio rolled her eyes and tossed her hair from her face, she tried to picture Azmere Stormblood without the scars he bore but her thoughts were distracted then.
"Not that thread, child, the white."
Raen caught Rufio's weaving mistake just as she was making it. Rufio groaned, frustration dancing tauntingly at the edges of her mood. "This is going to look a disaster."
Raen tsked and hushed her.

Rufio took a breath, and worked the threads.
Weaving, braiding.

When she got the threads of fabric down to the end, she halted and looked up at her grandmother. Raen encouraged her—"Now we weave a knot that will never come undone unless you choose to untie it, eh."

Grandmother Wildmane talked Rufio through tying a knot—Rufio followed halfway through, and then, confused, tied up the knot, a little haphazardly, in her own way. She expected Raen to chastise her, but the elder smiled and nodded. "Each Drykas ties his knots in his own way, so it is in the Web."

With that, Rufio had made a woven throng that depicted the colours of her life-story. Emerald for Wildmane, Diamond-white for her new pavilion—Stormblood, Black for the Grassland earth, for the Drykas and Red for the deserts of Ekytol, for her Benshira mother. Rufio left tassels on the end of the sash, partly for aesthetic, but partly as she felt that there would be much, much more to weave as her days with the Stormbloods unfolded.

Feeling uplifted and quite pleased with the work—though loose in some places and much too tight in others—Rufio admired the braided piece and thought she might wear it as a necklace, or around her ankle, or, perhaps, she could braid it into her hair.
"Now you will always remember where you have come from, where you are, and wherever life will take you—" Raen lifted her arms, palms upward. 'Zulrav knows what is to come', it said.
Rufio grinned, and was in the middle of signing her thanks when the pavilion flap whooshed and a tall, dark-haired man—Tal'ck, Ankal of the Wildmanes—strode into the tent with sweat-licked shoulders, bow in hand, and a demand growled up his throat—
　　　　"You are not welcome here.
　　　　　　　L-E-A-V-E."

Ledger :

Woven piece
Whole cloth—5SM x 4
x 1.25 (Cotton)
x 1.5 (Dyed green, white, black, red)
—3G 7S 5C

[Jasmine Stormblood]

Let me know if I missed anything

 

Rufio

XP

• Riding- Horse: 1 XP
• Weaving: 1 XP
• Philosophy: 2 XP
• Animal Husbandry: 1 XP
• Socialization: 2 XP

Lores

• Rufio: wants to say good bye properly
• Grandmother Raen: amazed by Rufio's bond to Ixzo
• Rufio: made of many colors

Miscellaneous

• + 1 woven multicolored anklet
• -3 GM 7 SM 5 CM