Completed To Know is Bliss/My Savior Comes: pt III

[Delani Denusk]

Timestamp: Summer 7, 512

Light....

Dark....

Light...

Dark...

Her eyes opened, the grasses were tall and the light of Syna was bright at its highest point, the warmth barely felt.

Her eyes closed, shadows fell across her mind, the mutter of the wind through the shafts of wild grasses and leaves in the low shrubs beneath.

Her eyes opened and the path opened in front of her, for a moment confusing the drykas as she mistook the short downhill for the wide open swaths of land far that Eyris had shown her that first true day over two months ago. When she closed her eyes again, the darkness returned and the whisper of the wind reminded her of voices, ghosts calling her to her demise. Or was it some animal? She could not know. She knew only that she must keep moving.

The problem was, Delani had been going in circles for a week, her trail always returning to the original merging of this particular track she had started following seven days previous. She wouldn't have known it this time, though, for the infection was back in full force and the plants in this part of the grasses the woman was wholly unfamiliar with. She could smell sweet flowers and moist earth and hear the sway of branches in the wind, but she had no idea where they were.

Her hand had been put into a makeshift sling, a strip of her bedroll having been cut off and tied together behind her neck so that she could let the agonized hand rest upon the soft tanned hide that made up her bedroll. When her eyes opened again, she was looking at the hand, or what should have been a hand. The pustules had been replaced with severe swelling, threads of black flecked across the surface of the dead tissue. The muscle and tendons had been hidden beneath the swelling, though, while her joints locked up into a half-claw. Her fingernails had taken on a pasty quality, weak and brittle when she touched them. But it was the infected surface that had methodically begun to march down into the muscle beneath that were frightening. And hot! The heat radiating from the injured hand could have been enough to boil water or even start a fire!

But what could she do? The pain alone kept her vision in a constant state of blur, and when she tried to blink away the tears and agony, the only thing she saw was the vague shadow of the grasses that were her home. Her stores were empty by now and her waterskin beginning to get to the dangerously dry point. And nothing since the broken wheel by the river had been discovered when it came to humanity. She might even have given up her freedom for a Zith if it would bring back to her someone to talk to...someone to help her...

Delani groaned, her feet shuffling and her good hand rubbing sweat from her eyes. The reek of infection was beyond tangible. It could have been a living thing at this point, as though the drykas had been marked with Blight. What an awful curse that would have been: thrown into the wilds, empty of all but the furnace of disease.

Her eyes closed. The ground beneath her continued on, her steps feeling as though no matter the length of her gait, she made no progress. The wind had died and no longer brushed her face with its tenderness. The sun baked her head, drawing more of the precious water from her already dehydrated and ill body. Delani heard a fly, buzzing against her ear. No, not against her ear; over her hand. It landed. It bit. She whimpered and shoo'd it weakly away.

Her eyes opened and something crossed her vision, something distant on the broad trail she walked. It was large, but how far from her, she couldn't know.

Her eyes closed as her feet shuffled on, cracked lips puckering and opening in a vain attempt to draw moisture from her tongue and cheeks if only to have sustenance from them. Faintly, she heard thunder.

Her eyes opened, the distant dark dot was bigger and closer. There was a moment of fear that rose in her breast as her feet betrayed her and continued forwards against her sick minds will. This must be the end. So why should she fear it? The Sea was a dangerous place and only the strong survived. She wasn't strong anymore...

Her eyes closed and the thunder boomed in her aching head. Or was it the sound of her body hitting the ground, puffs of dust rising up around her. The smell of trampled grass and earth filled her nose. Her mind filled with images of Semele reaching with great hands to bring her back to the terra from which the people and their horses came. For a moment, there was regret as fear subsided. Regret that she could not have done more with this gift Eyris had given her...regret that she should die like this, alone and separate from her family...regret that she should die for failure to knowing medicine better to know what plants throughout the Sea could have helped her...

"Let it be quick...for I can take suffering no more..." Was the murmur that slipped from her dry mouth, face askew on the trailface; there was a brief and vague impression of something standing over her and the discordant sounds of blabbering...or bubbling...like a brook...and the warm breath of a nickering horse looking down upon her.

Then, there was darkness.

x

[Praetorian]

Every day at the exact same time, a rather queer ritual was carried out by Loktupar, the leader of a small band of traders traveling through the Sea of Grass. He would wake, jump three times to get his blood flowing, and then walk around his tent to one of his waterskins. Being a Chaktawe, many would look upon this water skin and wonder why it was Loktupar kept it so close to his person, did he not have nearly all of the water he needed store within himself? But the question would quickly be answered as the man began to run the water over his russet skin in a thin trickle, disturbing the dust from sleeping in the wilderness. Every morning he cleaned himself and then disappeared into his tent for the majority of the day, emerging only to eat or help with a problem he had found. But, how had he found a problem within the confines of his tent? Loktupar was a thrice marked follower of Avalis. Each day, after cleaning himself and then grabbing a portion of bread and dried meat to sustain him, the Chaktawe would alight upon a perfectly square cushion and begin to clear his thoughts, to enter a deep and sound meditation. From there, he would immerse himself in the gentle motions of chavi that surrounded him. As the undulating strands of chavi swirled and danced about in the darkness of his mind, Loktupar would often latch onto threads, reading them as one would a scroll stretched out into eternity. As the strings mingled and touched one another, he would often travel from one line of chavi to another without realizing it, gleaning information of what was shortly before, what is, and what quickly will be from their interactions. Through years of practice, Loktupar had honed his ability to focus upon the chavi that represented his people, those who relied upon him for guidance. It was only recently, however, that he had gained his third mark, the one that allowed him to view future events. He had twice saved his caravan from raiders, seeing many deaths in their future and taking the best path to avoid them. Despite his efforts, however, his people continued to hurtle towards the Ukalas as a frightening pace, as if there was nothing he could do about their imminent demise. Such a thought troubled him through the night, but there was often no altering the course of fate. Today was, however, different. On the edge of his view, Loktupar noticed a line of chavi was very close to the blinding light of the Ukalas, signalling that their end was near. As he gingerly touched the gleaming strand of chavi, Loktupar got flashing impressions of tragedy, heartache and hardship, and a pain that seemed to block out the sun. His touch was too light to glean any deeper information, only flashes of the most daunting things. The foremost being her imminent death. But, the longer he touched the strand, delved into the woman's existence, he quickly learned that she could be saved if he acted, now that he was aware of her. Emerging from his meditation far more quickly than was usual, ripping himself from the world of dancing ribbons of chavi and immersing himself once more in the world of solid shapes and static colors. He ran through the camp to the caravan's healer, a fellow Chaktawe named Kyanapa. The old woman asked no questions, having seen the look on the man's face before, and began to prepare various herbs and remedies for whatever was about to be brought to her as Loktupar captured her attention only for the instant needed before dashing off again. Loktupar quickly returned to his tent and his own beast of burden, a large, somber draft horse with a coat the color of a thunderhead. A thunderhead. Loktupar looked off into the distance and used his angle on the thunderhead to get a vague idea of where the woman was based upon what he had seen through her. He took the beast by its lead rope and urged it into a lumbering trot which he ran alongside. ~~~ It took nearly half of a bell, but they finally found the woman, face down in the grass. She was fair haired and fair skinned, built like a palm-tree. The source of her pain, Loktupar quickly learned, was the odd burns that mottled the flesh of her shoulder and her hand. Avoiding touching those, he lifted the woman and lay her over his horse's back, becoming quickly worried as she did not react to his touch or being moved. Perhaps he had taken too long... No! He would not think of that yet. There was still so much for him to do. He urged his stallion into a lope once more, one hand on the woman's leg to keep her steady as they ran back towards the caravan, back towards Kyanapa's healing hands. Loktupar only hoped that she would have the strength to hold on, just for a bit longer.

[Delani Denusk]

She could smell horse and feel the steady jostle of movement through her body. Overwhelmed by infection, the pain this caused as her hand bounced against the side of the beast that trotted on was virtually hidden. There was a vague impression of wind through the disheveled remains of her braid and an even fainter sense of urgency. But what was the rush?

She could not see the man that moved on the other side but the dame felt a hand against her thigh all the same, steadying her as she lay over the horses back. Sight was a non-issue of course as all she really saw was the hazy movement of grass and soil beneath this horses hooves and the steady clip clop when it occasionally struck a stone in the path. This sense of travelling more quickly had come some chimes after she'd been lifted and put onto the horses back, consciousness lifting her upwards briefly before sinking her back into the dark abyss of her fever stricken mind.

The woman groaned, her hand bouncing against the mount again and again, a few of the pustules bursting and oozing fetid red, black, and yellow fluid from the ruptured bubbles. This dripped from her dangling left hand, rolling down her knuckles and off the tips of each finger, bathing it in a rather grotesque shade. Her eyes shut on that sight and slipped from consciousness again, wondering briefly how she could still be alive.

I'm going to die.

This thought continued to rear its ugly head in her subconscious, the imagery of Semele again lifting hands to drag her back into an earthen grave still filling her mind. Maybe it was better to die. If she had understood the plants more, if she had spent more time with the Drykas medicine men and healers, if she'd not gotten Delani and Ahanu killed...

If she had died in their place...

If she had not decided to help find the rogues...

If she had just married him and become the good wife expected of women in the clans...

If she had chosen a different course...

...Strange thoughts these were as she lay slumped across the horses back, the unknown rescuer hurrying back to his allies. The drykas woman had this perverse sense of weightlessness as she lay within her mind, a sense that letting go might not be so bad now. What consequence would it be? For all she knew, this would-be rescuer was no real rescuer, but a slaver who'd found his own way through the grasses and savage wilderness of Cyphrus, bypassing threats and eeking out a secret living here in the treacherous Drykas domain. What consequence would it be to let go?

Would it be so bad? I'm so tired...

x

[Praetorian]

The female seemed to be swaying upon the verge of Dira's realm, one foot in the grave as Loktupar had heard others say. His eyes flickered over to her for an instant, reassessing her condition. Whatever it was that was ailing her hand was obviously getting worse, leaking some fetid pus that cloyed the air around her. But he was no medicine man, no healer. For all he knew, this could have been a good sign, as unlikely as it seemed. Either way, the sooner this woman was brought to Kyanapa, the better off she would be. With a sharp cry, Loktupar dragged the beast into a slightly faster lumber, as they drew closer to his encampment. It was good that she had been so close at hand, otherwise she may have found her grave beneath the grasses of Cyphrus. Queer glances and exchanges were made as the caravan watched their leader hurry through their midst, a stranger upon a horse's back. Though they did not question how the girl had been found, some did begin to make up grand stories between one another about how she had gotten out on to the Sea alone. Some stories were fantastic, claiming that the woman had been blown about from far away by a devilish wind, while others were far more sane. Rumors were even made concerning the woman herself, claiming that she had been one of the strange but beautiful Konti, or one of the gilded Egypharians. Whatever she was, wherever she had come from, the woman was teetering on the brink. She was teetering the wrong way. Loktupar was removing the woman from his horse's back before the creature even finished prancing in place, annoyed for the sudden change in its momentum. Cradling the woman carefully, he clambered up into the large, covered wagon that was Kyanapa's home. Already, the woman had cleared the large table she used to treat patients, leather belts hanging loosely as there was not yet anyone to be restrained as they went pain or fever mad. As he entered, the old woman was placing a small cushion at the head of the table. The cushion was quickly occupied by a golden head as the man lay the woman upon the table, carefully re-positioning her unresponsive limbs. At the sight of the woman's hand, Kyanapa clucked her tongue and began to mutter a list of herbs and poultices and salves she would use, mentally putting them into the most effective order. Loktupar was struck mentally when the old healer worried over whether or not she would be able to save the arm at all, he had never seen her have to remove a limb except for once when a child was born with a deformed limb. This was certainly more serious than he had imagined when he had first sensed her dwindling chavi.

[Delani Denusk]

Light and dark, light and dark. It tugged her in directions she could not possibly go, and each time one came, all the woman could see was shadow. What was the point of Light if she saw not but darkness in it? Was Lady Death simply teasing her before tearing her soul form the half-starved shell it currently possessed?

Delani was murmuring under her breath as the man pulled her from the horses back, her head lolling into the crook of his arm while her right hand hung towards the ground, the quiet glow of the Lormar far more vibrant on the sun-darkened skin that had gone pasty. "Didn't mean....Ahanu don't...'ve I done..." Delirium dragged the woman's words unwillingly out, subconscious regrets and sorrows drifting through a weighted mind.

The man set her upon the table then, her head rolling the other way once she was settled and the clammy flesh growing slick with sweat the burst anew from pores throughout her form. For a moment, twin eyes of intelligent jade, fierce in their unbidden leer, opened to stare upon the man that had brought her here whilst the crone mouthed of what could help this stricken woman. No words accompanied that momentary stare, only a weighted silence, heavy as the world that dragged for half a chime. Then, the eyes slipped closed again, returning the drykas to unconsciousness, leaving behind all sense of awareness.

The wounds were bad, left too long with only minimal amount of treatment. The odor alone suggested it had been too long and they were right to fear that this may require more than herbs and salves and tinctures to save not only life but limb. The flesh that had tried to heal was the worst, the affect on the muscles further down and the tendons and ligaments which tied the hand together not so grievous but bad enough. If it could be saved, Delani would likely never have full function again. Stiff use, no feeling except for possibly pain.

Deep in the matrons mind, the drykas "dreamed".

The child had returned. She looked the same, but her hair was shorter and there was great pain upon the youths face as she stared down at Delani laying on her side upon the ground. But the woman looking up could not be certain if it was physical or emotional pain. It simple was pain that seemed to make even the drykas suffer.

"You knew the answers. They were right in front of you. Why did you ignore them?"

It was the child speaking to her even as Delani reached for the girl. But the girl simply stepped away, depthless eyes of unimaginable intelligence and wisdom turned away and it was as though the Denusk had been struck, a board slapped across her face.

"My Lady, I did not ignore; I just did not understand! I begged you to help me! But so quiet you are and so alone I am."

"You are not alone. Never have you been. You are just blind to them."

This seemed to confuse her and Delani reached for the child, but no sooner did she reach than she sensed the child fleeing from her fingers, those timeless eyes gone from her sight and leaving the woman, now a girl herself, alone in the darkness, waiting and wondering and agonizing over what next.

"Eyris..." She whimpered but no answer did come.

"Eyris..." The word barely whispered in a haggard exhale, oblivious to the two who aided her.

x

[Praetorian]

Loktupar never pretended to have any knowledge of medicine aside from you cut yourself, you wash it out with clean water. So, he was fascinated to watch Kyanapa go through the motions. The first thing he did was understandable to him. The elderly woman took the younger's hand in hers, fingers delicate and gentle as she cleaned the wound and inspected it, clicking her tongue occasionally as if such a grievous situation could easily have been avoided. But could it have? Was this woman foolish, or unlucky? Once her initial examination was done, Kyanapa poured what looked to be slightly cloudy water into the woman's mouth, pinching her lips shut until the woman finished swallowing. Though Loktupar did not know it, this thick mixture would cause the woman's muscles to relax and for her to remain in a light sleep. This would slow bleeding, ease her pain, and keep her from waking and thrashing about without having to be strapped down. To his horror, Kyanapa produce a small, sharp blade and began to quickly cut away bits of diseased flesh, dropping them into a small bucket below. Upon his cry of alarm, the wizened woman leveled her gaze upon the leader of her caravan, silencing him. He could either trust her to do the right thing, or leave. With the same knife, pustules were emptied and examined, filthy excrement washed away as the woman worked. Every once in awhile, Loktupar would catch the scent of decaying flesh and all but gag. He wanted to leave the wagon, to be immersed in clean, clear air. But, this woman had handled her wound, so he steeled himself with gritted teeth and settled down to watch. From there, Kyanapa's hunched form was a blur of motion, of action. She emptied phials onto the flesh, packed wounds with herbs, then began to knit bits of flesh together where she could with precise black stitches. For nearly a bell, they sat in silence as the healer worked over the woman's arm, Loktupar mentally compiling a list of questions he was too afraid to ask. Once, the Seer dropped himself into a shallow meditation, immersing himself in the vibrant strings of chavi to gain a more accurate gauge of the woman's progress. Her line was still weak, as if it would fade away and join the gods at any moment, but he could touch it delicately and follow it into the future. He only went a short while into the future, but he could tell that she would recover and that the two of them would interact a fair few times. And then, he saw something that caused him to tear himself from the streams so abruptly, he was left gasping. Oblivious to the startled man's plight, the healer began to tightly wrap the woman's hand so that it would not swell too terribly. The bindings would have to be changed and the wound cleaned every 6 bells, all through the night. If her infection did not cause a greater fever than she already had, the woman should be able to make it. Without pausing for respite, Kyanapa moved on to the woman's shoulder and toiled there for a fair amount of time, though it appeared to her as if the damage had not been quite as severe. When, finally, both wounds were treated and dressed, the woman slowed. An herbal water was made to fend off the woman's fever and set aside until she woke. And, judging by how she was beginning to stir, it would not be a long wait. The two watchers could only hope that the woman was not fever mad, that they would not have to implement the scratched leather belts that hung from the table.

[Delani Denusk]

The tonic did help to settle the woman further into her subconscious and ease her out of her pained and sick body for a time, letting her rest in a place far from there. The dreams that came in that place were vivid and intense, but even here Delani knew they were just dreams and would bring no harm to her for now. It was a relief to know that.

She dreamed of the grasses flying beneath her and around her; she dreamed of the wind pulling at her undone hair and that of the mane she lightly gripped; she dreamed of the feel of the firm cadence of a horse beneath her as she sat upon its back, yvas keeping her atop. She dreamed of an open sky above, cloudless, no raging storm in sight, and the voice of her father teaching her the old ways and the importance of history. And she dreamed of them, saw their faces in the grasses she passed through, eternal in their shadowy presence. The woman, flying on horse back across the plains of her homeland, saw all of this and more before the tonic began to wear off and consciousness loomed.

For a moment, the girl in the dream resisted, wanting to remain, be away from the misery the waking world now provided. But she could not fully resist the pull, and so, her grip relaxed on this dream that was more memory than imagination.

Evening was here and the low murmur of voices tugged Delani back towards consciousness. She could smell something (not) burning and wondered if perhaps Zith had found her for once. The warmth of the sun had faded, afterall, and night was their time. Those filthy creatures of wing and fur, worse than glassbeaks. Slowly, the woman opened her eyes to see one figure sitting anxiously nearby. She had a brief sense of familiarity before it faded and her head turned to the other side. There, another figure of similar looks but of great age sat. Neither spoke and both watched her while the quiet drone of voices elsewhere continued. It took her a moment to realize they were in a wagon, her eyes looking past the strange, weather-faced woman.

The canvas stretched overhead and Delani followed this with her eyes, studying the shifting shadows upon it. Something outside was burning. That must account for the smell; a fire? How long since she'd sat beside a real fire? For that matter, how long since life that was not predator or prey had been encountered? The thought slipped quickly as she found her throat was horribly dry.

In these moments of revelation, the drykas had forgotten her pain and her discomfort in favor of studying as best she could these little things. It was only when she looked back to the man that had been on her left side and lifted her hands to join her cracked voice in speech did the pain return. It was nowhere near as intense as it had been, but was still enough to spring tears back into her eyes. She'd yet to realize her right hand was packed and wrapped tightly in bandages and poultice.

Settling for just words, she let her hands lower, left resting on her stomach, the soft glow of the Lormar on its back seen. Without using her hands, Pavi was no where near as eloquent as it normally was, coming off more akin to a child's babble than intelligent thoughts and words. Still, she managed it in a single word, unsure if these two strange looking figures would even know what she asked.

"Water..."

x

[Praetorian]

After trading with those living in Endrykas for many years, Loktupar had garnered a basic understanding of the Pavi language. Long sentences and endless hand gestures still baffled him. Water, however, was one of the few words he knew in both language and gesture, though the injured woman was smart enough not to attempt the latter. Turning to Kyanapa, who was far too old and too stubborn to attempt to learn a new language - even her Common was barely basic - Loktupar repeated the request in their native Tawna. The old woman's eyes narrowed for an instant, as if she had forgotten where she left her water skin. Just as Loktupar's patience seemed to reach its end, the woman stood and retrieved a large, sloshing skin from a hook on the outside of her wagon. The skin was capped with a rim of thicker leather bolted onto a hollowed out bull's horn. Removing the stopper, the woman hefted the bag and rested the tip against the younger woman's lips. The water trickled gently at first, as if the healer was warning the infirm woman that a torrent was shortly incoming. When the woman had drunk her fill and Kyanapa was putting away the water skin, Loktupar turned his black gaze upon her, second eyelids flashing over his eyes for an instant before he began to speak in his rhythmic Common. "I know that you are not well, but I must have questions answered before I leave you among my people. Be honest with me, or I will be forced to return you to the Sea." Despite his words, midnight eyes were soft upon the woman, showing his genuine concern for her well being. It would be a shame for his efforts to have been wasted, but his caravan had to come first in all things. "What is your name? Why were you alone? Where are you going?" He paused, fingertips resting upon the table. "Answer me thus, and I will do the same to for you." While Loktupar spoke, Kyanapa began putting her wagon back in order. Now that the woman was out of immediate danger, the old woman quickly lost interest in her, only glancing at her occasionally as if doing so would make her poultices work more quickly. If the woman mentioned how she had come to be injured, immediately her interest would be recaptured, simply so that she would know how to treat similar injuries in the future.

[Delani Denusk]

She saw understanding in the males dark eyes, or what she thought was such. Never had the drykas met a Chaktawe so the flicker of his second-lids seemed strange and enchanting at first. But this was something better left uninvestigated for the time being. Shuffling from her other side soon after brought the woman's head to turn and follow Kyanapa as the waterskin was fetched.

The reverence for the skin was akin to a priest for a blessed item, as though a filled skin had not been seen in ages by the one upon the table. Her lips opened to accept the trickle first and then the surge, biting the nozzle with her teeth to hold it until she had her fill. The flow ran down either side of her mouth to wet her messed braid and cheeks while Delani reclined her head to the wood once more, eyes closing in exhaustion. It was such blessed relief that came with so simple a drink, a relief the woman would scarcely forget as her lucid greens leveled once more with the man when he began to speak.

Her name- that was an easy answer. The other two? Not so much. Slipping into the lesser used Common, the woman replied carefully.

"My name is Delani of Denusk. As for your other questions, that is a long tale my father would have told far better than I, and not something I can give remote justice to at this immediate moment." She paused, turning to stare at the wagon cover overhead before closing her eyes, as though she had drifted to sleep. The drykas remained thus for several chimes before drawing breath again to speak. "I would ask you to understand that there are some things I cannot tell you." Delani left it at that for the moment before, again drawing breath and speaking.

"As for why I am alone, the answer is simple enough; those I had travelled with have....moved on." There was a glean of sorrow in the womans eyes as she said this, a reflection of the suffering too long managed alone. "That hellish storm took them. To where I go..." A longer pause, studying him silently for a time as she weighed the pros and cons of informing this stranger of certain things. She did not know of his trader status, nor could know how well of a relationship he may have had with the Clans. Nonetheless, there were still things the woman on the table simply could not divulge. "...I seek my family and my home. We were separated when the storm struck and now I am lost."

Again, the Drykas' eyes closed and her breathing grew deep and regular, as if she had slipped into sleep once more. But the medicine woman should know these pauses for what they were, should see the tension in the corner of the womans eyes and tightness in her cheeks. She was, quite simply, exhausted. The gulps of water helped, but rest, as natural as it could come, would prove her greatest ally right now. Still, the dame's breathing altered as breath was drawn again to reply, "Before the fever overwhelmed, I remember a wheel by the river Arale... Her eyes remained closed, concentrating through the cloud of her memories following the riverside revelation. "...trapping rabbits near the rivershore...It grows foggy from there. We had sheltered in a small cave somewhere west of Lari Lake when the storm struck." She trailed off with a long sigh. Lari Lake was far to the east and south now, Delani having made it closer to the Bluevein, though it was still some weeks travel away through the overrun and unpredictable trails away.

"I have answered yours; would you answer mine?" Already, she could feel sleep pulling at her again, bone-deep wariness beckoning her to rest for a time longer. "How came you to the grasses? Neither of you are Drykas, though there is a hint in yon elder that I see. But what of you? Your eyes are dark, like Semele when earth has just been tilled. The woman shifted uncomfortably, the Marked hand shifting to touch the bandages delicately, trying not to scratch or press. "Do you know where we are now and if signs of the Clans have been found?"

Common

Pavi

Thoughts

NPC

x

[Praetorian]

"I have answered yours; would you answer mine? How came you to the grasses? Neither of you are Drykas, though there is a hint in yon elder that I see. But what of you? Your eyes are dark, like Semele when earth has just been tilled. Do you know where we are now and if signs of the Clans have been found?" Loktupar chuckled, deep voice creating a sound comparable to a horse trotting over soft earth. "You're a perceptive woman, Delani," his tongue rolled over the foreign name, making it sound sharper than she had, halting ever so slightly after each syllable, "Your story is a sad one, but one that has thankfully not ended. We will help you however we can, dear one." His eyes grew far as he habitually felt himself slipping towards the web of chavi, searching for a path that would make things easier for her, only to stop abruptly, shaking his head so that his inky hair rolled in luxurious waves for an instant. After what he had last seen, Loktupar silently feared being able to return to the realm of time for quite awhile, foolish though his fear-bred ignorance was. "As for who we are, and how we came to travel the Sea of Grass, the answer is backed by a long story for which we have no time. You grow weary, so simple details must suffice. My name is LOK-tu-par, and this is my caravan. We trade among the horse clans and our own people. Your caretaker's name is Ky-AHN-ah-pa." Each name was spoken slowly as he impressed their foreign pronunciation upon the woman. Leaning forward, the Chaktawe's elbows rested upon his knees while his fists supported his face oddly, a sign that he was thinking. "As for your people, I have not sought them out since we made camp. Last time I checked they were, however, only a few days of hard riding away. But, as you know, a day can change everything out here." He sighed, shaking his head once more. "You must rest. I will be back to check on you late on. If you need anything, you have Kyanapa." Without further conversation, the Chaktawe rose, nodded at the two women, and left. Now that her wagon was in shape once more, Kyanapa returned to the woman's side, wizened hands fluttering over her poultices and wrappings as if she could tell their state by brushing her finger over them ever so lightly. "If need, will be out. Not work smells with you here," with a gentle smile, the woman gathered a few bottles and disappeared into the sunlight, leaving the woman to rest and recover. OOCYou can explain Delani's reaction or you can begin the next thread in this series at the time/place of your choosing. I will grade this thread as soon as it is considered "Complete". I've enjoyed this! Can't wait for the next one.