.
28th of Spring, 513AV
Red locks fell into her eyes as she bent over the flint and steel. According to her brethren it was a pretty important thing to learn. She stared at the strange items, not entirely understanding how two small items could possible bring a spark to life as fire. It boggled the mind.
The man stood behind her shoulder, his hand rest lightly on her head as she sat, crossed legged, in front of the kindling. "Briza, it is not a difficult concept," he told her, moving from behind her to take a seat opposite the sticks and her. The red haired beauty looked at him, her eyes still sorrowful. It had been a season since Aska, her eagle and companion, had plummeted to his death, and she'd barely survived the ordeal herself. Now she'd taken it upon herself to learn the skills she would need to leave this place. The man sitting across from her, knew her intentions, but none others had been told. She'd gone about each day much the same; these moments beside the lake were her breaks from the mundane, and her chance to build the courage and knowledge to leave.
Bryok watched her quietly, taking in the way she held the flint against the steel, and laughing at her frustration in the spark not taking. She signed in resignation, and tried to and the tools to him. He shook his head sharply, an indication that this was her skill to learn, the training her burden to bear.
"It's useless!" She cried, striking flint against steel on her 10th attempt, anger evident in her amber eyes. She jumped backwards, with a startled yelp, as the kindling burst into life, flames licking at the wood. "I did it!" She exclaimed, running around the fire to embrace her friend and tutor. He simply smiled at her. For some it could have taken longer. "Never stop perfecting the ability until you can do it in one strike," he chided her gently; he didn't want her getting two excited.
The unspoken instruction was for her to put the small fire out, so she ducked to the lakes edge and cupped some water in her hands, dumping it on the growing flames. The flames were quenched with a sad squelching sound. She knew to wait until the slight breeze had redried the wood.
"We wait, and you learn," he spoke to her, his voice soft as always, gently guiding, teaching her what she needed to know. "Patience is watching the goats graze by the lake, watching each movement of their jaw. Patience is knowing that they will be finished eating, but not rushing it," how true those words resonated with her. In her mind it was better described as being bed ridden for many days, knowing you could get up, but knowing you shouldn't for your healing.
.
.