Lost

[Chapiko]

▲▲▲▲▲▲▲ Lost▲▲▲▲▲▲▲ ▲▲▲ Summer 13, 500 AV▲▲▲ The Pavilion was full of wondrous things. Her mother came here twice a year, and Chapiko had finally been old enough to come with her. They needed things that nature couldn't provide for them, she'd say. She had oohed and awed at everything she saw. It was much different than the hide tents that she had known her whole life, and the people were decorated lavishly, with all colours of the rainbow. She'd heard other kids talking about the colourful and mythical Eypharians, and now she could see them up close! It was too bad that she couldn't speak Arumenic, even though her mother could speak it fluently. Chapiko marveled at everything she saw for sale...more often than not, the foreign fruits. So many different kinds, and all she knew were the occasional prickly pears. One especially caught her eye. It was a deep reddish-purple, round, and she saw the stall owner eating one by popping the seeds into his mouth. They looked delicious. "What fruit is that?" She tried her best Common, attempting to void it of any accent, though unsuccessfully. He seemed to understand her, though. "This, this is a pomegranate." "Can I have one?" "If you can pay." She furrowed her brow at this, looking at the fruit. "I'll go find my mommy." She looked around for the familiar face, but all she could see were the many-armed Eypharians. What used to be magical and enchanting was now terrifying. "Mommy? Mommy!?" She looked around wildly, pushing past groups of people casually chatting. Where was she? Was she taken by Zith like Pasho? No, the Zith wouldn't take her in the middle of a city, and she didn't want to think about Pasho right now... "Mommy!" She screamed, now in Common. She didn't know where the 'pomegranate' seller was anymore, this was an unfamiliar area of the Pavilion. She saw a few lavishly dressed people, even more so than everyone else, standing and sitting around stalls selling unknown items. And then, there was someone who looked young. And had two arms. He was dressed just as much as everyone else, but he didn't look scary. Not as scary as everyone else. "Hey. Hey mister." She tugged on his arm a few times, trying to get his attention. He was much taller than her, and obviously much older. But at least he looked younger than everyone else. "Hey, mister, can you help me find my mommy?"

[Sahreni]

No one had told Sahreni to go and monitor the vendor stalls at the West Winds Pavilion that afternoon. He'd simply taken initiative, having nothing else of import to attend to. Without knowing the boy's motives, Sahreni's father would be pleased to see his eldest son taking a personal interest in the family's industry and how it accrued its wealth. Even the halberdier guard accompanying the halfblood had looked impressed when he was ordered to provide escort and protection. Of course, there had been an ulterior purpose to Sahreni's perceived ambitiousness, but he hardly expected anyone to be intuitive enough to realize it. The Villa, in his opinion, was inhospitable today and he had needed to make distance between himself and his family before he did something to get in trouble. Iseret, his step mother, had never been particulary warm toward the bastard, and usually he couldn't make himself concerned with her petty preoccupations against him. However, the two years since her son Nascht had been born—Sahreni's half-brother—she had become especially insufferable. This morning, the toddler had learned a brand new word: "mine". This bright and profound concept, Nascht had eagerly decided, now applied to everything his six, sticky hands could wrap their chubby little fingers around. Food, toys, bits of rubbish, Sahreni's ring. When the halfblood had tried to pry it out of his brother's hands, Iseret had hastily intervened. "He's only playing. Let him have it for now, Sahreni." "Father gave me that ring. What if he swallows it?" "Gods above, I'm not going to let him swallow it. He just thinks it's shiny and pretty. Don't you, Nascht?" "But it's mine." She'd laughed. "I can barely tell you two apart, now." To Hai with her. As if reaching from his very thoughts, a pair of small hands suddenly latched onto Sahreni's arms, yanking him from his private daydream. He stumbled from the assault, and as he quickly righted himself he gawked at the young, jet-eyed girl babbling at him in Common. The darkness of her stare was momentarily startling, and he felt his heart tremble in his chest. "How dare you touch me? Get off, you little thief!" Sahreni tried to yank his arm away, but the little girl was holding fast. There was a panicked desperation held in her round, colorless eyes, but he was too worried about his own well-being to feel any pity for the child. He began to push at her with his other arm. "Guard!" The halberdier, stationed nearby, stepped forward to protect his ward. Two right hands grabbed at the girl's arm, roughly wrenching her free from Sahreni with little effort. The young girl was then discarded violently to the side, tossed to the ground like a piece of refuse. As the halfblood dusted at his sleeve, he glared at the dark skinned girl harshly. Probably an orphaned miscreant running around picking gold out of pockets. Foolish to attack a noble. This was a harsh lesson. "Be off with you, azmasche." Sahreni began leading his guard to the other side of the pavilion, hoping there would be fewer criminals closer to the stands run by actual members of the family.

[Chapiko]

That hurt. She was just pried off and tossed on the ground, as if she were nothing. His skin looked like he bathed in gold dust, and he glared at her as if she were nothing but a petty little criminal. Not only that, but he yelled at her in the funny and confusing language that everyone here seemed to know. Everyone, that is, except for she. She started crying. Tears streamed out of her little black eyes and down her dusty face, causing a few people to glance at her and hurry the other way. "Mommmaaaa." She wailed, over and over until her voice was little more than a murmur. She sniffled. Why was everyone so scary and mean? All she wanted was to find her mother. She glanced around hopelessly, trying to catch a glimpse of the familiar woman. No luck. Again, the waterworks started, making more tracks through the dust. She was still seated, mumbling to herself, sometimes in Common and sometimes in Tawna. "Momma, don't leave me like Pasho did! Mommmmmmyyy. Mommy!" Out loud, with her voice cracking. Maybe someone would understand her Common and help? Not so far...she sat crosslegged in the dirt, hand covering her little eight-year-old face. I knew it was a bad idea to come to Ahnatep! I knew it! I shoulda stayed with my tribe like everyone else. She traced a finger around in the dirt, making a simple pictures and designs. She was tired, hot and dirty from being shoved into the dirt. It was busy all around her, but no one was coming close, instead choosing to keep their distance from the little girl. 'A pickpocket!' they'd think, going off of the young noble's guess and expectations of the girl. That hurt, too.

[Sahreni]

The sound of the girl's squalling rose sharply above the usual clamor of the Pavilion. Sahreni tried to ignore it, briskly making a path through the colorful Ahnatep crowds beneath a sunlit canopy of dyed linens hoisted on strings and poles. There was so much going on in all directions, so many people talking, that it should have been easy to block out the sound of one child. The sound of a baby crying was commonplace in any society, like a dog barking or a merchant shouting about his wares. Ambient sounds of crying, however, weren't usually in such close proximity. And usually not from a child as old as that Chaktawe girl. Or, specifically, crying for "mommy". Sahreni found himself slowing, his feet refusing to cooperate. He could pick out her meaning in the slurs of her muddled Common. "Don't leave me!" A pained look crossed his face as he grimaced against an unexpected surge of pity. Old, buried memories clawed at the backs of his eyes, revisiting him with fleeting images of a smiling face and moist eyes. "Mommy!" Had he ever sounded so shrill? Swallowing, the boy looked over his shoulder. The little girl was still sitting there, flat on her rump, her little round face twisted in torment as she cried at the air. Little hands were balled into fists as her side, caked with dirt and tears. Not a single person was moving to help her. Ahnatep was not known for being kind to the less fortunate. The Chaktawe barely even had a cultural presence here; she'd likely find no allies in a sea of strangers. In some ways, he knew how that felt. The young girl would feel a hand take her shoulder. The skin was soft, unworked, never knowing a day's labor. If she opened her eyes, she'd be staring into Sahreni's blank, russet gaze. He hoped no one but the guard would see him sitting on his heels, kneeling down to the girl's level. His pride certainly didn't like it, but he feared that a larger person would scare her, and cause her to grow louder. As soon as he had her attention, he withdrew his hand and wiped it off on his kilt. "Little girl," he pronounced in practiced, but sharply accented Common. "You're lost, aren't you?" If this was some clever thievery ploy, there would be swift and unforgiving consequences for the guilty parties. "Where is your mother?" Sahreni felt absolutely foolish. If his own mother knew that he was stopping to help a foysha, she'd smack his ear and tell him he was wasting his time. The alternative, however, was abandoning a crying child screaming for her mother. Only one of these brands of shame would let him sleep tonight.

[Chapiko]

A hand on her shoulder. She looked up, at the man she just bothered to help her. Why was he back? It must be a trick. Were they going to throw her out of the city? But then she wouldn't be able to find mommy again! She wouldn't want to lose more family. Pasho was bad enough. But he didn't look mean. At least, not yet. He spoke Common, at least, which was much more comforting than the Arumenic everyone seemed to be spilling out. Even better would be Tawna, but she severely doubted that these Eypharians would take the time to learn a language of any of the other desert dwellers. The red paint band over her face was still holding strong, but a bit seemed to be running from the ferocity of her tears that attacked it. She sniffled, blinking a few tears and a bothersome eyelash out of her eyes. "I don't know where my momma is. All I wanted was to get a...uh..." She struggled to remember the word. Panigranite? No...pam...pom...pomegranate. That's it. "I wanted to get a pomegranate. But then my mommy disappeared! I can't find her and no one will help me. Everyone keeps calling me a...a 'foysha'. I don't know what that is. I don't know that language!" She burst into tears again, covering her face with both her hands. She doubted he could even understand her common, especially since her voice kept cracking and she was choking up. That, and for her heavy accent smudging out the words like wind to sand. No one offered her a second glance, but confused looks were sent up in his direction. 'Helping a foysha?' they'd think. 'How could he?' Certainly gossip and rumors would abound, cracking up his delicate reputation like a hammer to an egg.

[Sahreni]

The crying started again and Sahreni cringed. Perhaps this was a mistake. "Alright, I understand. Stop! Stop crying." Placing his hand on the top of her head, he forced her to look up at him again. The patience was quickly draining out of his young eyes. "Crying is not going to solve anything; it will only give you a headache. I'm certain your mother did not stray far. Now, get on your feet." As an example, Sahreni stood up. He wondered, at first, what kind of mother would thoughtlessly lose track of her child in a crowded place. If it were his own child, he would have secured their hands like an iron clasp. The child's crying, too, was anything but subtle. If her child was not in sight, shouldn't she have come running toward the sound? But the Pavilion was thick with citygoers this afternoon. Dozens of conversations mingled into an unintelligible hum, accentuated with shouting merchants, distant arguments, and women's laughter. Perhaps a single, crying child would not be so easy to track down. Sahreni turned to his guard, uttering a sigh of defeat before looking up into the Eypharian's carefully neutral stare. He felt a pang of guilt, almost fearing the man's judgment, but it was not the guard's place to have an opinion. There was no reason to worry. "Go. See if you can find the mother. I expect she will look the same—dark skin, black eyes, red stripe on the face. It will be better if I am not the only one looking." As the guard melted into a colorful sea of painted hair and glittering skin, the teenager turned and gave an exasperated look to the small girl. He towered over her. "Show me where you saw her last."

[Chapiko]

She sprang up instantly, all signs of the sadness that tinged her features gone. She saw the man talk to an Eypharian in that Gods forsaken language, and watched him run off. Where was he going? To get more people to throw her out of the city? She doubted that by the man's next words. She looked up at him. "Can I hold your hand?" Without waiting for an answer, she grabbed the hand closest to her and held on for dear life. She felt him flinch, but she held on despite his inhibitions. Attempting to lead him through the crowds, past the more-than-occasional Eypharian giving him confused and borderline angry stares. "I last saw her by the Pomegranate Man. My name's Chapiko. What's yours, and why are you dressed so fancy?" She continued along, swinging her arms -- and one of his -- alongside her. She searched the crowds for the familiar figure, the familiar face of red paint, black eyes and dark skin. There were none that she could see. Chaktawe didn't seem too common in the pavilion, but there was rarely a reason for them to be there, anyways. A fellow Chaktawe face would have provided some comfort. "Last summer, me and my sister, Pasho, were playing by an oasis. We were twins." Even now she choked back a sob, but not from losing her mother. From the loss of her sister, her best friend. And to the cause of her night terrors, the whispers. "We'd strayed too far from everyone else. A lot too far. Some Zith took her. I don't know why they didn't take me." She looked around, still not spotting anything familiar. How could mother have strayed so far?

[Sahreni]

"No, there—" was no stopping her, evidently. His hand became the girl's unwilling prisoner, clasped in a surprising grip unbefitting a creature of her size. In the next instant she was dragging him along behind her; he felt like a reluctant horse begrudgingly following its trainer's lead. Of course, Sahreni was far larger than she was and could have broken away if he really wanted to, but that would more than likely start her wailing again. The pomegranate man? She spoke the title matter-of-factly. In her young mind, which filtered the world through a much simpler, brighter lens, she couldn't have possibly gotten more specific. "I am Sahreni," the halfblood muttered as he continued to stumble in tow, "of the West Winds." Not that that meant anything to her. The Chaktawe's black eyes, wet-rimmed with the evidence of her dismay, were wide, curious, and ignorant. He gave no explanation for his manner of dress. It would be only slightly less futile to describe his trappings, his wealth, and his status to a passing stray dog. The Chaktawe girl continued her mumbling, and Sahreni only remembered to listen when she was about halfway through, noticing that she was becoming upset again. With puerile brevity she told the story of a great loss, but the noble couldn't even pretend to be moved by it. Her life was not his, nor were her problems—aside from the present one. Whatever she had experienced before was entirely irrelevant. "I see," he answered her plainly. The girl drew to a stop, looking helpless and flustered. Sahreni watched the anguish build in her face for half a moment. Pitiable little thing. "Then let us work backwards, girl. Think very carefully. Why did you come to the Pavilion? What did your mother intend to purchase? That is where we should look."

[Chapiko]

"Um, my mommy needed to buy things. I'm not sure what." That was incredibly helpful. In all honesty, she had almost no idea what she needed to buy or what she was doing here. She furrowed her brow at a futile attempt to remember anything that her mother had said. She remembered one thing, "Stay close, dear." but that was about it. She spotted someone familiar, a stall nearby. Had she not noticed before? But this wasn't very helpful, either, but she was hungry. Thinking about pomegranates again made her mouth water. She pointed in the direction of the stall. "Can we get a pomegranate? I'm hungry." In her simple, childish mind, it was perfectly okay to ask a stranger to get her food. But in her head, he wasn't a stranger. How could someone be a stranger if she knew his name? It didn't make sense. And he had a funny title, too. 'of the West Winds.' Where there other winds? Some people in her tribe had titles, but none were about wind. She had learned to ignore the voices of the Eypharians, mainly because she couldn't understand them anyways. The clashing smells of perfume that everyone seemed to wear hurt her nose, and she wondered how anyone could stand it. "Why is everyone so colourful? And everyone's wearing so much perfume, it smells bad."

[Sahreni]

Sahreni sighed. The girl's distress had melted very quickly into puerile curiosity, which began to make him question whether she even had a mother. This could still be a ruse. Sahreni would rather consider possible deceit over estimating that in a few years, his little brother would develop behavior just as maddening—if not made even worse by being granted a sense of entitlement. "I am not your mother," the noble told the girl chidingly, barely concealing his growing impatience. There was no need for manners or etiquette around a lowborn child. "And it is not my responsibility to feed you. Or watch you, for that matter. We might conclude then that at present, I have been a much better parent to you than your own." This crowd was impossible. It should have been easy to spot a dark skinned Chaktawe with facepaint and midnight eyes, but the girl had a point. The colorfully donned Eypharians filling the pavilions were an eyestrain, a collage of complete chaos. The spectrum of skin colors, face paint, and varying degrees of dress were so diverse that no one individual had the ability to stand out from the mess. Sahreni imagined his guard might be having better success. Unlike the young nobleman, he would have no qualms with unapologetically pressing his way through a coagulated sea of warm bodies. "What is your mother wearing?" Sahreni looked down at his charge, presently attached to his arm. If she had further inquiries about why this or that, he hadn't seemed to have heard them. Realizing quickly that her answers had been thus far vague and unhelpful, he thought better of waiting for her ultimately meaningless reply. Though only fifteen, he was already quite tall, but he was faring no better in his search than a girl half his height. There was a better solution. "Here." Sahreni knelt down next to her. He checked her feet for sandals, and found them to be bare, but he spent an extra moment considering the strangeness of her webbed toes. "Climb on my shoulders and hold onto my neck. A better vantage point will benefit our search." And so help you, if your bottom is moist, I will throw you off faster than you can think.