Completed Walkabout

[Silverrain]

Evening, 31 day of Summer, 513 AV

The family pavilion had been set up, beds laid out, tools unpacked. Now, as the sun started to touch the horizon, it was time to go out, meet people, talk and laugh and perhaps dance. Silverrain loved this time of day. It wasn't that she despised the work, she didn't. In fact, at times, she loved it. But this, this was special. This was something more. The chance to connect, to touch, to feel life surging around you. This was her favourite time of day.

Some other newly arrived families were still setting up among those that had been here a while, or those that never really left. The young woman would pause now and then, seeking out familiar faces, but so far, finding none. Adjusting the scarf that held her thick hair back, Silverrain moved on.

Weavers and embroiderers caught her attention. I should learn to sew.. Oh, that pattern is gorgeous. I wish I could weave like that. She was tempted to go ask about the techniques, about possibly learning something but no. Now was not the time. Work was for tomorrow. Tonight she intended on meeting someone new.

Silverrain tucked her thumbs into her belt, continuing to wander. She sought the sounds of music and laughter and conversation. And besides, she realized as she took note of her surroundings, she wasn't quite sure which way led back to her own pavilion.

[Silverrain]

Roaming the alleys that made up the streets of Endrykas, Silverrain found herself next to a small fire, watching men and women dance. She sat at one of the empty stools, leaning forward with elbows on her knees and hands hanging loosely between them. A small smile took her round mouth, her pale eyes bright as she soaked up the energy around her.

A few Drakys stopped to chat with her, and she spoke with each. Things like weather and hunts and small gossip. She joked and laughed and even danced a bit, though she was no where near as graceful as some of the others there.

Sweet summer breezes brushed over her honey skin, the sweat catching the light of the flames and making her look more golden than her norm. It was nights like these that drove the worries from her mind. No worries about chores, about needing to find a spouse, about her body. Things were all right.

[Silverrain]

The evening wound down, the dancers heading to their pavilions. Silverrain was among the first, knowing she'd need some time to find her way home. It had been a good night, but she looked forward to the morrow. In the light of day, once her chores were complete, she'd wander these streets once more. She would see what the other pavilions brought for trade, she'd talk and gossip and perhaps even find some to teach her some new things.

But that was for tomorrow. The matter at hand was finding her way back through the veritable maze of pavilions. Pursing her lips, the young woman decided to simply head in the general direction of her family and sort out which particular avenue she needed when the time came.

The walk was comfortable, the night air invigorating and the sounds of people and horses resting were comforting. Not for the first time, Silverrain wished Crimsonsky would become a permanent fixture of Endrykas. They did, after all, practically follow the migrating city. Always within a couple of days' ride from the main encampment, migrating in a similar, if not exactly the same course. She liked being around the people, meeting so many others. Her brothers and cousins were all wonderful, but it was nice to spend time with people who were not them.

Despite this train of thought, it was with some relief that the young woman found her pavilion. She moved quietly as she came inside, slipping to her small room. As she settled on her bed, she smiled. Tomorrow would be a wonderful day.

[Silverrain]

32nd Day of Summer, 513 AV

The sound of her pavilion woke Silverrain. She stirred from her bed, rising and dressing in a half-awake state. Once she was presentable, the young woman left the large tent and stretched in the morning light. Endrykas was rising and there were chores to be done.

She wandered over to help her cousin water the horses, grinning cheekily at the younger boy. "Find any wives yet?"

The boy went pale and managed to blush all at once. He grunted at her. "Find a husband?

Silverrain just grinned. As she helped her cousin with some of the morning tasks, her attention kept drifting to the other pavilions around them. So many families, so many people. It was distracting in the best of ways. And, in some, the worst, as the girl was whapped upside the head by her cousin, the boy chuckling as he darted off. "Pay attention, Rainy-head."

Sighing, she followed the boy. Breakfast was being made and it smelled delicious. Also, she was sure she was starving.

[Silverrain]

Silverrain helped clear the mess after breakfast and then joined her mother. Sitting next to the woman, the two could not be mistaken for anything other than parent and child. They had the same colouring. She had, however, not inherited her mother's curvier figure. At times the older woman would teasingly lament to her husband, "Why could she not have had your nose or ears? Why your figure?"

Now the two sat, side by side, at looms built to break apart and travel. They moved as if in some odd sort of dance, this weaving together having become a daily ritual so that each motion was exactly what it needed to be, timed without them consciously timing it. They set up their work in silence, the comfortable silence of two beings used to the other's presence. And then, when all was ready, the silence was broken.

They discussed patterns and colours. Silverrain's mother, Tayvah, would lean over and point out errors, or loose weave or give tips for ease and efficiency. The two gossiped in soft tones. In even softer tones, Tayvah would lean over and motion to a passing Drykas man. "Good arms on that one."

Silverrain would give approval or disapproval. "But the hair on them, it would be like wedding a Zith. Ah, but that one, his face is sculpted by a blessed wind."

And so they worked their morning, deft fingers plucking at strings. A mother's hand seeking to help correct and guide a daughter's slip ups. And they hardly ceased talking, though they talked this way every single day.