Spring 90, 510 AV
There was nowhere safe amid the Sea of Grass. Of course, the caravan route that Irriari sat a few hundred feet away from was safe enough, but no road or weapon could protect her from the relentless assault of memories that tore into her psyche and left her raw. You’re weak. You could have saved her if you trained in something other than poison. You let her die. I bet she screamed out for you, as he killed her. And you were just in the tunnels collecting mushrooms. You could barely even kill him to avenge her. He didn’t suffer as he should. Fierce wasn’t torn to pieces like she was. He didn’t have scraps of his face hanging off from your claws. Weakling. You didn’t protect her, and she trusted you!
Irriari’s claws pricked the edges of her forearms as she grabbed at her arms to try to and numb the internal turmoil with external pain. The regret washed over her in nauseating waves as the zith relived the moment she had walked into the room that held Sevrai’s body. Irriari remembered keening, screaming, and trying to hold the girl. None of it had helped. Her inability to protect Sevrai had left scars on her soul that were deeper than any wound an Akalak could inflict.
Shaking, the zith sobbed. How many times would she be forced to face her failures? For the first time, she pushed herself to remember the times she had protected the girl. She smiled slightly as she remembered the argument with the Elders that had resulted from her desire to keep Sevrai as a slave. They had argued that she would be useless to the colony if she didn’t work in the tunnels. At first, Sevrai had been just another mouth to feed, but her stories of the world outside the Sea of Grass had pulled Irriari from her depression enough that she could become a productive member of the colony again.
Staring down at her blood tipped claws, Irriari wondered how differently the first fight with Fierce would have been if she would have honed her unarmed fighting skills more. How many times had the colony members urged her to do so? They had nearly begged her: Protect yourself, Sunder. You won’t always have your poisons.
After fifteen more chimes of thoughts, the zith was completely lost in the study of her claws. The dark and sturdy keratin structures were as much her birthright as her wings. Humans feared her people because of the weapons that the Valterrain had gifted them. Again and again, the word ‘protect’ sprang into her consciousness. Each fleck of dust and dirt that coated her claws proved a point that she had long ignored. Like her bow, her claws were meant to harm and protect.
As her thoughts became more focused, Irriari moved her clawed hands slowly, marveling in the ethereal substance that had appeared between the edges of her fingertips. The substance was the color of Sevrai’s eyes- a deep green that resembled the beautiful trees that she had witnessed on her flights past the colony towards Riverfall. When Irriari laughed at the thought of Sevrai’s expressive eyes, the substance expanded, covering her claws and fingers up to her knuckles. Curious, the zith pulled her right hand back towards her chest. The hasty movement caused the substance to dissipate. It was obvious to Irriari that she was hallucinating, but she hardly cared. This dream substance was beautiful. When she focused and moved her claws slowly, she could spread it across the length of her hands. It clung tightly to her skin, though it was hardly restrictive. Like her precious Sevrai, it made her feel safe and content. If only she could cover her whole body in it. Maybe, just maybe it would be like getting Sevrai back. The thought reminded her of the nights that her slave had told the story of warrior woman and the men that pursued them. They had burst into laughter at the antics of the desperate men until their stomachs hurt. As Irriari moved her claws past her hands, she found that the substance would go no further.
She tilted her hands slowly, terrified that it would disappear and she would be left with nothing. The majority of it was centered around her claws, while it tapered to near nothingness around her wrists. Slowly, Irriari moved her hands from her lap to her chest, and held them there until the substance disappeared. While nothing would erase the memories of her failure to save Sevrai, the experience she had just had made the wound far more manageable.
There was nowhere safe amid the Sea of Grass. Of course, the caravan route that Irriari sat a few hundred feet away from was safe enough, but no road or weapon could protect her from the relentless assault of memories that tore into her psyche and left her raw. You’re weak. You could have saved her if you trained in something other than poison. You let her die. I bet she screamed out for you, as he killed her. And you were just in the tunnels collecting mushrooms. You could barely even kill him to avenge her. He didn’t suffer as he should. Fierce wasn’t torn to pieces like she was. He didn’t have scraps of his face hanging off from your claws. Weakling. You didn’t protect her, and she trusted you!
Irriari’s claws pricked the edges of her forearms as she grabbed at her arms to try to and numb the internal turmoil with external pain. The regret washed over her in nauseating waves as the zith relived the moment she had walked into the room that held Sevrai’s body. Irriari remembered keening, screaming, and trying to hold the girl. None of it had helped. Her inability to protect Sevrai had left scars on her soul that were deeper than any wound an Akalak could inflict.
Shaking, the zith sobbed. How many times would she be forced to face her failures? For the first time, she pushed herself to remember the times she had protected the girl. She smiled slightly as she remembered the argument with the Elders that had resulted from her desire to keep Sevrai as a slave. They had argued that she would be useless to the colony if she didn’t work in the tunnels. At first, Sevrai had been just another mouth to feed, but her stories of the world outside the Sea of Grass had pulled Irriari from her depression enough that she could become a productive member of the colony again.
Staring down at her blood tipped claws, Irriari wondered how differently the first fight with Fierce would have been if she would have honed her unarmed fighting skills more. How many times had the colony members urged her to do so? They had nearly begged her: Protect yourself, Sunder. You won’t always have your poisons.
After fifteen more chimes of thoughts, the zith was completely lost in the study of her claws. The dark and sturdy keratin structures were as much her birthright as her wings. Humans feared her people because of the weapons that the Valterrain had gifted them. Again and again, the word ‘protect’ sprang into her consciousness. Each fleck of dust and dirt that coated her claws proved a point that she had long ignored. Like her bow, her claws were meant to harm and protect.
As her thoughts became more focused, Irriari moved her clawed hands slowly, marveling in the ethereal substance that had appeared between the edges of her fingertips. The substance was the color of Sevrai’s eyes- a deep green that resembled the beautiful trees that she had witnessed on her flights past the colony towards Riverfall. When Irriari laughed at the thought of Sevrai’s expressive eyes, the substance expanded, covering her claws and fingers up to her knuckles. Curious, the zith pulled her right hand back towards her chest. The hasty movement caused the substance to dissipate. It was obvious to Irriari that she was hallucinating, but she hardly cared. This dream substance was beautiful. When she focused and moved her claws slowly, she could spread it across the length of her hands. It clung tightly to her skin, though it was hardly restrictive. Like her precious Sevrai, it made her feel safe and content. If only she could cover her whole body in it. Maybe, just maybe it would be like getting Sevrai back. The thought reminded her of the nights that her slave had told the story of warrior woman and the men that pursued them. They had burst into laughter at the antics of the desperate men until their stomachs hurt. As Irriari moved her claws past her hands, she found that the substance would go no further.
She tilted her hands slowly, terrified that it would disappear and she would be left with nothing. The majority of it was centered around her claws, while it tapered to near nothingness around her wrists. Slowly, Irriari moved her hands from her lap to her chest, and held them there until the substance disappeared. While nothing would erase the memories of her failure to save Sevrai, the experience she had just had made the wound far more manageable.
