"... but Ferem" respectful
"-I cannot use The Bones."
The Drykas freckled face was fretful as she sat on a comfortable cushion, arguing with her hands, negotiating with her words. Syna's warmth filtered in through a fog of incense smoke, glinting off her nose-ring, and throwing brunette tones in her usually-dark, cropped mane. The elder, Ferem, fixed her student with her good eye and the ancient-ken swirling within it.
"Cannot?" disbelief "You are afraid, mm?"
Ferem's gnarled hands gestured sternly-yet-softly.
Seated before her, Rufio held her hands mid-air, hesitating, startled by the elder's insight. That truth ruminated in her belly for a chime. Uneasy shunted across her shoulders and reluctance lay in the furling and unfurling of her hands.
"Y-es. I am afraid." Rufio admitted slowly, choosing to bear her vulnerability with heartfelt feeling, trusting in Ferem.
Rufio looked up at the elder. In her black robes, her scarred eye-socket dark and dormant within her "seeing" gaze, Ferem simply stared back.
Rufio waved her hands to filled the silence that stretched, unsure how to explain the daunting dread that settled into her when she thought of picking up The Bones again. "They are...not right." unease, respectful.
As if they heard, lantern fire-light licked across the yellow-white bones, carnivore teeth, herbivore molars, empty charred shells and amber pendant stone, drawing the elder's gaze to them, Rufio's too.
A shadowy fog stalked Rufio's thoughts, in the shape of a wolf. It brought an imperceptible shiver to rake her, raising gooseflesh. A dream she had had once after practicing with the bones for the first, amidst a rain-storm one night.
The elder inhaled and shifted, seeming to settle on something, she croaked.
"They must be cleansed, child. Bathe them in saltwater, and set them in Leth's sight next he is full. He will bring calm to the bones, so when you handle them again, they will be stained with your Djed. After, do not let any other touch them, it will stain them and confuse The Bones' ties, your connection to them and theirs to you."
Rufio's dark brow furrowed, hesitated. She faltered to find a point to present to Ferem, so the Drykas conceded, and nodded begrudgingly. The elder smiled, and spoke in that vague, ominous way she oft did, which Rufio was used to by now but found provoking nonetheless.
"The path has already chosen you, when began the dreams, Rufio."
With that she left, leaving Rufio alone to any who might seek a reading at Ferem's Fortunes. The Drykas puffed out her cheeks, letting the air huff past pouted lips, before she put the pouch of casting bones under the table. She took out her old tarot cards, feeling the familiar stiff hide plaques against her palms as she laid them on the purple silk tablecloth.
Tarot had been her Benshira mother's favoured craft. Her fingertips brushed the faded, painted pictures on their rough, well-worn surfaces—clinging to the fabric of the Past—and she smiled softly, thoughtfully.
Now, though, a young Drykas woman had come, and Rufio's indecisive teetering between Past and What Was To Come was bade into the background of her thoughts.
She signed warmly—Welcome, welcome—gesturing for the Emerald Clan-woman to step into the mysterious tent.
The floor was scattered with rugs and cushions, comfortable, though sweltering warm. Lanterns hung over a few low-tables and the air was tinged with pungent scents of wood, spice and smoke. It was an odd space to be sure. Relaxed yet tense, with the hush of bated breath.
Otherworldly.
