60th of Fall, 518AV
The trek from the winding trail of steps down the Sanikas gates to the Processing Center was almost deadly. The mixed blood was not a dainty creature. She had the height of her Eypharian blood, and the sturdiness of her Chaktawe blood, and still Zulrav was intent on lifting her from the ground. The scribe was not all too happy about today’s work assignment, although she really didn’t have a right to complain. Unless told otherwise, she always assumed she was needed in the Enclave, helping the scribes. Between copying what little common they had, repairing binds, and making paper, Lani was at a point in which she could pretty much do most of the Chiet work without needing to be instructed to anymore. Still, assignments were assignments, and today she was needed with the hunters.
Her skill in wilderness survival probably assigned her to it, she wasn’t a hunter by any means. Still they must be short on Chiet to give her this assignment. She didn’t mind working with the animals or doing menial cleaning when the Dek were overloaded, it was just that she wanted to be able to focus on her language pursuits, and it was a little harder without a plethora of Nari books to browse through, or the enlightened Enclave Avora who could correct her on her use of the language. Most Inarta, even the Chiet, tried to ignore her as much as was possible everywhere else. The news of a black-eyed, not-quite-human foreigner had spread quickly, and most of the rest of the city was still getting used to her. She suspected it caused her more problems, and bullying than most Chiet received. Luckily the work ethic was enough that none did so at the expense of interrupting her work, everyone had work to do, and she was no exception.
“Ay, Cuckoo.” She looked towards the voice, irritated that she answered to the name. She was unsure what the Nari word was, but was confident it was an insult, she had heard it enough. But when her black eyes fell upon the Avora that ran the Processing Center, she knew she could not complain. Or at least, she wasn’t allowed to.
“Hello,” She spoke the Nari word, perfectly pleasantly, hands in her Katinu pockets, waiting for him to tell her what she was to spend the rest of the day doing. Her only saving grace was that it was market day, and although the sun had just risen, she would be given a longer break at noon to allow for her to shop. Even those who worked on market days, like herself, were allowed to attend.
“You’re not with us today.” The relief was tangible, as it released her shoulders form the tight upright position they had been in. She had never skinned an animal in her life, she was good with math, but the center didn’t need extra mathematicians, it was for preparing game for use. But, it was early in the morning and few things had been brought in yet. Instead hunters seemed to mill around, collecting the things they needed and conversing with each other about tactics or locations, or whatever.
“There is an Avora that needs you. Her name is Thistle.” He paused, looking at Lani, and she refrained from frowning at him as she read the judgement in his expression. “You are to do exactly what she asks you to help her.” So he had heard about Narth. The Endal had attempted to keep their meetings a secret, refusing to converse with her in public. Still the horny red-headed bastard had invited her, and her meager outdoor skills, on too many hunting trips for her to remain anonymous. Yes she had actually picked up some scouting tips from him, but not all of their time in the woods was strictly for work. Luckily, despite the odd caste system that she had forced herself to get used to, no one batted an eye at an Endal tumbling in the bushes with a Chiet. Or that the Endal tumbled in the bushes with other Endal and in the bushes with Avora, a fact that had irked the monogamous-minded mixed blood when she first found out. Even if monogamy was a concept to these eagle-riders, he was an Endal, and she would have had no right to complain. “Got that?”
Lani nodded, looking over the fiery red tops of the hunters as if she would be able to spot Thistle easily.
“She is the one with the long bow, and the furs.” He pointed, and Lani’s black gaze narrowed in on the stern-looking woman. She nodded, kept her hands in her pockets, and began toward the Avora. She liked to keep her hands in her pockets in crowded places like these, because her Chaktawe finger tips were too sensitive to all the movement around her, and it could be overwhelming at times. So when the mixed blood reached the woman, she did not wave or offer her hand, instead she gave a warm smile and whistled a Nari greeting.
“Hello, I am Lani. I am a Cheit, and I will work with you today.” The clear and recited Nari phrases still had a thick Common Tongue accent to them, and were a little too formal, showing her newness to the language, and that her grasp was at least good. She had grown so used to swallowing her own pride and personality over this past season, that the hollow, emotionless voice hardly even cracked her up anymore.
Word Count: 924
