[Flashback]Fading Light(Solo)

[Colt]

23rd of Fall, 492 They were uneasy. The woman's screams erupted from the tent steadily, almost rhythmically, undermined by encouragements laced with fear. The Windheel family was large, about fifteen individuals and was stretching the limits of the pavilion's capacity, but there was still barely enough herb lore between them to disinfect a cut. They were alone, in the middle of the Sea of Grass, and though their numbers might discourage a lone Zith or pack of glassbeaks, numbers held no strength in this particular situation. If anything went wrong during a birth out here, there was nothing they would be able to do about it. And from the tone of the screams and the look of the midwives as they hurried steadily back and forth from the tent to empty buckets of bloody water, things were going very, very wrong. While it hadn't been expected, it honestly came as very little surprise. Jahia was a lovely girl; barely seventeen, beautiful, smart, nimble-fingered, and had a dazzling smile. Kieris, the Ankhal, leader of the Windheel pavilion, had been drawn to her like a moth to flame, and the two had fallen deeply in love. The Windheel pavilion was large, and it took little arrangement before her family agreed to allow Kieris to marry her. It was a politely lavish wedding, but the only people that completely enjoyed it were the bride's family and the very ignorant. Most of the Windheel pavilion were courteous to Jahia's kin, prominent figures being Setaha and Veriah, Kieris's first and second wives. While taking on multiple wives was fairly common among the Drykas horseclans, a wife's rank was determined by exactly which one she was. The first wife would always hold the highest rank, and powerlust, pride, and a vengeful spirit were all elements in the first wife Setaha's eyes as she watched Kieris and Jahia. It was obvious the bride and groom were in love; not the childish shyness that led to most first marriages like with Setaha herself, but true love that ran deep and pure. But Setaha was a woman whose will could bring the very gods to their knees, and she swore herself to Jahia's torment. Jahia's pregnancy had been tumultuous, and with delivery so far before the due date rumors had sprung up, and many wondered if Setaha had not cursed the poor girl using some dark magic. The woman herself sat as far away from the tent as she could, talking idly with Veriah, the second wife, and playing with her own two-year-old child Hadar, Kieris's firstborn son and heir to the pavilion. The rest of the pavilion avoided eye contact, talking in low voices and keeping their gazes to the ground.

[Colt]

One of the midwives emerged once again, this time without a bucket. Her eyes were heavy as she approached Kieris and whispered into his ear. He closed his eyes for a moment, and when he opened them they glistened with tears. He nodded and followed her into the massive tent just as the screaming reached a crescendo. The inside of the tent was dim, lit only by a few lamps and braziers. Jahia's cries hurt his ears, heart, and soul, but he steeled himself and entered the room where they were coming from. Jahia was on a bed, one hand held in the strong and supporting grip of another midwife. The midwife looked up from her charge's face as Kieris entered, then nodded and gently replaced her hand with his. The force of his wife's grip was astounding, but he remained there without uttering one sound. Finally she gave one last scream loud enough to shake the stars before seeming to deflate. She turned slowly to look at Kieris, and her words were barely loud enough to hear. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "He’s… still, isn’t he? Silence. “I'm sorry I could not give you child... after all..." Kieris leaned close, stroking her hair as tears fell from his face onto her dress. "It doesn’t matter. We can try again," he said, voice hoarse and unfamiliar to his ears. "... not good enough..." "No, no, I'm sorry for getting angry. I wasn't thinking straight--" She didn't seem to hear him. "I'm sorry... I'm sorry..." Her eyes were fading. "Stop saying that! No! No! Come back!" The midwives bowed their heads as he bent over Jahia's still body. "No... come back..." Within the deep shadows of the pavilion one midwife sat, letting the man weep for his love. He needed his grief, his tears. Their world was a world of power, where life was hard and fast, and tears were seen as a sign of weakness. Yet she knew that tears were just as important as laughter, perhaps even more so. It was cathartic, releasing.

[Colt]

She heard rustling of fabric as Setaha entered the pavilion, and their eyes accidentally met. “Lower your gaze, mongrel,” Setaha said viciously. The midwife obeyed. The first wife went to her husband’s side, bearing a remarkably small amount of grief. She leaned in close to his ear. “Come, my darling, away. Do not dither in a place of death.” His weeping had stopped, and he was unsteady as she put her hands on his shoulder and guided him from the pavilion. Setaha spared one last scathing look at the midwife, and followed him. The other midwife followed, leaving her alone. The midwife clutched a bundle closer to her chest. The white rags were bloody but warm, and when she wrapped them in the folds of her blouse they blended in flawlessly. Cautiously, she put her nose in the air and inhaled deeply, similar to an animal. Satisfied with whatever she detected, she hunched over the bundle and headed outside. The pavilion members were all quite distant from the pavilion itself, and none spared her more than a curious glance as she slipped away.

[Colt]

The sun was setting, and what warmth summer had brought had been blown away by fall. Grass stalks rattled around her as she found herself in a small clearing, carved from the endless plains by a small brook. The midwife put the bundle gently on the ground, then stepped back and began to undress. Her garb was simple, with nothing of the embroidery and decorations that denoted clan rank, for slaves were not allowed to be decorated no matter how skilled they were. When she was completely naked she moved away from her clothes and raised her head, almost as if she was listening to something. Mist suddenly appeared from nowhere and pooled around her, gathering into a thick cloud that hid her completely. There was a flash, lighting it white, and as it dissipated its denizen stepped back into the fading day. In the place of a squat, aging woman stood a hyena. The hyena stepped around its clothes to the bundle and sniffed. A distant sound caused its ears to perk and it stepped over the roll of cloth, growling protectively, but eased when no threat became obvious. Nevertheless, it listened attentively for a full ten seconds before taking the parcel in its mouth and bounding back into the grass.

[Colt]

Its lopsided canter was steady, and she moved with confidence in her destination. Syna began to slip below the horizon, setting the clouds alight and wreathing the sky in flame. Everything was bathed in warm, shadowless, quickly fading light, but the beauty was lost on the hyena. It became darker and darker, but she moved through falling night just as easily as day when the moon began to rise. After what could have been an eternity she saw it; smoke. Pace quickening, she let out one of the loud cackles that hyenas were so infamous for and emerged from the foliage onto the cliff. The campsite was modest, with nothing but a tent and hearth, a slain aurochs, and a man, tensed and with a drawn bow pointed at the hyena. He was tall and lean, not quite in his prime but not quite out of it. His face was chiseled, lines sharp and bladelike, while his eyes were the gray of steel. His clothes were well-worn, looking like they had lasted many years but were prepared to last many more. A tense moment passed, and the man lowered his bow. “Apologies, Myhra.” His voice was deep and strong, not the smoothest but definitely not the roughest. “Did you just change?” The hyena nodded, and the man gestures to the aurochs. “Eat your fill, then.” The animal trotted over to him and set the bundle by his feet, then laughed joyfully and ripped into the wild cow. The man picked it up gingerly and moved some of the folds to see what was within. He took a quick breath. “You have much explaining to do.” The hyena looked at him, face bloody, and he looked back, gaze holding no room for argument. The dog that was not a dog lowered its head in submission, and the mist pooled around it once more. It was gone with a flash, and the aging woman stood in its place, crouched and shivering. The man stood without speaking and approached, causing her to draw back slightly. With a single sweeping motion, he undonned his cloak and draped it over her, and almost missed when she tried to scamper away. He snorted mirthlessly and returned to his stance by the fire, beckoning her to follow.

[Colt]

“What is the meaning of this, Myhra?” he asked, gesturing to the bundle. “Why is it not with its mother?” “He, not it. It’s a boy,” the woman who was also a hyena corrected. “I don’t give a shyke if it’s a boy or girl, and my question remains; why is it not with its mother?” Though he could hide his emotions from another human, she could smell fear coming off of him. “He has no mother,” she said quietly. “Not anymore.” His hard mask broke as pain washed across his face, and he almost seemed to stumble. She watched him owlishly from across the fire. “Why…” he asked after a silence, “why did you bring him here? To me?” She looked down, sadness tinting her features. “I couldn’t think of anything else to do. Kieris loved your sister, loved her more than anything else in the world, and he… I don’t know. I don’t think he’ll be able to accept her death easily. I don’t think he even knows about his new son.” “Does anyone else?” “No. He was born silent, and the other midwife thinks that he was stillborn.” “Yet he is alive. I feel him moving.” “Yes, he is alive. He is strong, seeing how early he came into this world, but he is tired. I brought him here because of Setaha.” The man’s eyes sparked with anger, and Myhra continued. “She will have told everyone that he was stillborn by now. I was afraid she would make it believable. I’m not sure if she would actually kill a child, but it wasn’t something I was willing to risk.” She locked gazes with him. “Daha, I know you’ve never felt like a Windheel. But please, for this boy, become one of us. His father is broken, his mother is dead, and no one else in the pavilion dares defy the first wife. He needs someone to protect him.” There was a long pause. “Is there no one else who can do this?” “There is no one else.” He sighed, defeated. His eyes were blank with sadness, but he pulled the child closer to his chest. “Very well then.” -End-

[Lariat]

Khasr

Experience:



Lores:

Dealing with stress of decision making

Comments

Quite the interesting story, I look forward to seeing how you take this. If you have any questions just send me a pm!