81st of Winter 516
Looking up to the west, I could see Syna beginning to nest below the jungle canopy. We spotted that boar just past high noon and we still haven’t caught it. To be fair, the boar’s small enough to wade beneath the costal tree roots and we, though on strict fitness and diet regimens, aren’t. Come to think of it, we haven’t travelled that far tracking it either. I turn my attention to where we were when we first saw the beast. On the horizon, down the coastline, is the Bayin Outpost, or at least it’s silhouette.
Lihi!
Shyke. I was supposed to be keeping an ear out for that boar. It’s both hard to focus and hard to listen due to the sound of the waves and the water running beneath the mangrove trees. I turn to face my sister-in-arms, expecting a scolding for dozing off.
Her bow is lowered. She’s not expecting to shoot anything. It’s nightfall and we’re not prepared for an extended hunt, she mutters, Let’s head back soon.
Alright, let's see if we can't pull a miracle and find the pig. That meat would be a nice change to the nuts and plants our diet usually is. Not to mention the price the hide will fetch. I close my eyes and try to listen. Nope. Nothing. No slapping in the water that would suggest a cute little meal wandering around nearby. Just the babbling water and the rustling of the leaves in the evening breeze. It would be relaxing if our goal out here wasn’t to claim something else’s blood.
Closing my eyes isn’t helping so maybe I should open them. Any animals in the vicinity? Nope, just pristine paradise. Sad.
Then, I catch it. It’s not matching the blue water, the green and brown mangrove leaves, or the white sand. Thank Myri for this blessing! I let out a war cry that makes my hunting partner flinch. Before she can reprimand me I take off trying to sprint in shin high water. I’m sure she’ll follow.
Up on small dune is exactly what I need; flowers. Immediately I drop onto my knees and pick blossoms from ginger plant, hibiscus bushes, and orchids, among other flora. I could feel the disapproving stare on my back.
All this for flowers? Kotakbil. She jeers.
I knew she was quick to anger but the slur was unexpected. Talking back to a woman who outranked me can only lead to trouble, so I kept my mouth shut and tried to mind to the growing pile of flowers
I’m going back to the outpost. Don’t take too long. You should be in range of bird call communication She says before we say our goodbyes and she takes her leave.
A few more chimes pass before the flowers get too numerous to carry and I being to saunter towards the outpost. I move carefully to prevent more flower loses than necessary. It’s difficult to try and maintain a grasp on these flowers while trying to hold my spear. A flock of birds take off from a mangrove cluster nearby. Their colors are breathtaking as they fleet overhead. By the sound of the water being disturbed, I assume that the boar is still nearby, but I have other priorities. The sound of slapping water sounds less like hooves the more they happen. Whatever is wading in the water is much larger than a hog. It also sound like it’s getting closer from behind.
I clench my spear, but before I can turn and face whatever is approaching me there’s cloth over my face. No, it’s not a cloth it’s a sack over my head and I can’t run away. They’ve locked their arms around my shoulders, and their dragging me somewhere. I can feel them use my spear as a tool to press against my neck.
Let me go! I gasp between attempts to release myself. Nice. They’re sure to listen. Flailing isn’t working. They’ve got a good hold of my core. Who is this? Between struggling I try to call out for help using bird noises, but it’s difficult with my spear restricting my airflow and no use with the face covering on me.
Keep quiet and stop struggling if you want to keep your life! My captor says shortly before momentarily removing one of his arms from around me to strike my head.
That wasn't Myrian, that was Common, and not a Myrian accent. Hell, it didn't even sound Falyndarian. I stop struggling for a moment to process what I heard, but only for a moment, then I continue to wiggle this way and that. This person’s grip around me is slipping. I'm almost free. I try to utter one last appeal, You stop! I almost never speak common, did that make sense?
Great, you speak Common. So you're worth something.
I got a response, so I must be speaking Common. I don’t quite understand what he’s saying though, Worth? What is 'worth?' You let go me! I try once more.
Suddenly, the arms around my chest unravel, but before I can regain my footing, rough, burly hands shove me. Wet sand presses against the sack over my head as my cheek hits the floor. It tastes salty. I try to pick myself up, but the blunt of my spear makes contact with the back of my head. It really hurts. Who ever this person is, they've had their fair share of fights. In a moment, it becomes dark. There's a foot over my head, right above my eyes. The foot makes contact with my face, then everything goes black.
Looking up to the west, I could see Syna beginning to nest below the jungle canopy. We spotted that boar just past high noon and we still haven’t caught it. To be fair, the boar’s small enough to wade beneath the costal tree roots and we, though on strict fitness and diet regimens, aren’t. Come to think of it, we haven’t travelled that far tracking it either. I turn my attention to where we were when we first saw the beast. On the horizon, down the coastline, is the Bayin Outpost, or at least it’s silhouette.
Lihi!
Shyke. I was supposed to be keeping an ear out for that boar. It’s both hard to focus and hard to listen due to the sound of the waves and the water running beneath the mangrove trees. I turn to face my sister-in-arms, expecting a scolding for dozing off.
Her bow is lowered. She’s not expecting to shoot anything. It’s nightfall and we’re not prepared for an extended hunt, she mutters, Let’s head back soon.
Alright, let's see if we can't pull a miracle and find the pig. That meat would be a nice change to the nuts and plants our diet usually is. Not to mention the price the hide will fetch. I close my eyes and try to listen. Nope. Nothing. No slapping in the water that would suggest a cute little meal wandering around nearby. Just the babbling water and the rustling of the leaves in the evening breeze. It would be relaxing if our goal out here wasn’t to claim something else’s blood.
Closing my eyes isn’t helping so maybe I should open them. Any animals in the vicinity? Nope, just pristine paradise. Sad.
Then, I catch it. It’s not matching the blue water, the green and brown mangrove leaves, or the white sand. Thank Myri for this blessing! I let out a war cry that makes my hunting partner flinch. Before she can reprimand me I take off trying to sprint in shin high water. I’m sure she’ll follow.
Up on small dune is exactly what I need; flowers. Immediately I drop onto my knees and pick blossoms from ginger plant, hibiscus bushes, and orchids, among other flora. I could feel the disapproving stare on my back.
All this for flowers? Kotakbil. She jeers.
I knew she was quick to anger but the slur was unexpected. Talking back to a woman who outranked me can only lead to trouble, so I kept my mouth shut and tried to mind to the growing pile of flowers
I’m going back to the outpost. Don’t take too long. You should be in range of bird call communication She says before we say our goodbyes and she takes her leave.
A few more chimes pass before the flowers get too numerous to carry and I being to saunter towards the outpost. I move carefully to prevent more flower loses than necessary. It’s difficult to try and maintain a grasp on these flowers while trying to hold my spear. A flock of birds take off from a mangrove cluster nearby. Their colors are breathtaking as they fleet overhead. By the sound of the water being disturbed, I assume that the boar is still nearby, but I have other priorities. The sound of slapping water sounds less like hooves the more they happen. Whatever is wading in the water is much larger than a hog. It also sound like it’s getting closer from behind.
I clench my spear, but before I can turn and face whatever is approaching me there’s cloth over my face. No, it’s not a cloth it’s a sack over my head and I can’t run away. They’ve locked their arms around my shoulders, and their dragging me somewhere. I can feel them use my spear as a tool to press against my neck.
Let me go! I gasp between attempts to release myself. Nice. They’re sure to listen. Flailing isn’t working. They’ve got a good hold of my core. Who is this? Between struggling I try to call out for help using bird noises, but it’s difficult with my spear restricting my airflow and no use with the face covering on me.
Keep quiet and stop struggling if you want to keep your life! My captor says shortly before momentarily removing one of his arms from around me to strike my head.
That wasn't Myrian, that was Common, and not a Myrian accent. Hell, it didn't even sound Falyndarian. I stop struggling for a moment to process what I heard, but only for a moment, then I continue to wiggle this way and that. This person’s grip around me is slipping. I'm almost free. I try to utter one last appeal, You stop! I almost never speak common, did that make sense?
Great, you speak Common. So you're worth something.
I got a response, so I must be speaking Common. I don’t quite understand what he’s saying though, Worth? What is 'worth?' You let go me! I try once more.
Suddenly, the arms around my chest unravel, but before I can regain my footing, rough, burly hands shove me. Wet sand presses against the sack over my head as my cheek hits the floor. It tastes salty. I try to pick myself up, but the blunt of my spear makes contact with the back of my head. It really hurts. Who ever this person is, they've had their fair share of fights. In a moment, it becomes dark. There's a foot over my head, right above my eyes. The foot makes contact with my face, then everything goes black.