When Evalin had emerged, Yra regarded the woman with a moment of uncertainty and discomfort before deciding that she likely wouldn't want tea like the rest of them might. Earlier, she would consider herself rude for choosing to not bring a member of a group what she brought the rest of them, but it was winter, and in the end that is what would decide every decision she came to. Two days in, and it had already touched her in ways that were not pleasant, and in ways that she would refuse to share even with her employer.
With one final glance back, Yra regarded the newly fallen ethaefal with something she might later decide was dislike. It was a dishonest expression, however, for Yra was curious and even in this state she loathed to detest that which could allow her greater insight to her own state. She was a child being presented with a newborn sibling and coming to terms with the fact that she may have just been replaced. Rather than mourn it, however, she seethed. She ached. She cared about this newly fallen creature that looked like her in the same ways he so clearly did not, and the turmoil physically hurt her.
Yra continued on her way, gnawing on her tongue to hold out on interrogating the newborn as she had been when she returned. They could wait. She could wait. Infants had to be coddled before they could talk.
The kitchen was a gloomy place in the night, the barest sliver of light from the moon presenting all the illumination the place had to offer. It was chilly within, as if the fire from beyond hadn't the heart to warm the room, and she immediately went to work lighting the fire. Perhaps, she reasoned to herself, the moonborn might wish to eat something. She couldn't recall being hungry in her beginning, but he might be different from her.
Her fingers, cold as they were, fumbled with flint before she struck it just right and sparked a neatly arranged pile of dried grass left by some cook in the earlier hours of the evening. It took time before heat began to fill the room as the lit grass in turn lit the stacked wood and she took that time to select a kettle, traipse to the door, fill it with snow (and realise that snow was cold and her hands didn't like it), and hook it over the fire. This was the literal extent of her cooking knowledge, and it required little work to actually complete. Others who were more capable had done the majority of the hard work, for which she was grateful.
In her solitude, Yra mulled and tormented over laughter and joy and the realisation that she might have actually discovered a facet of herself that made her loathsome. She listened to their indistinct voices, arms crossed and eyes upon the dancing of young flames, fancying that, maybe if Syna had left her, Leth might be willing to take her instead to replace this child of his, if this child had been sent to replace her.
With one final glance back, Yra regarded the newly fallen ethaefal with something she might later decide was dislike. It was a dishonest expression, however, for Yra was curious and even in this state she loathed to detest that which could allow her greater insight to her own state. She was a child being presented with a newborn sibling and coming to terms with the fact that she may have just been replaced. Rather than mourn it, however, she seethed. She ached. She cared about this newly fallen creature that looked like her in the same ways he so clearly did not, and the turmoil physically hurt her.
Yra continued on her way, gnawing on her tongue to hold out on interrogating the newborn as she had been when she returned. They could wait. She could wait. Infants had to be coddled before they could talk.
The kitchen was a gloomy place in the night, the barest sliver of light from the moon presenting all the illumination the place had to offer. It was chilly within, as if the fire from beyond hadn't the heart to warm the room, and she immediately went to work lighting the fire. Perhaps, she reasoned to herself, the moonborn might wish to eat something. She couldn't recall being hungry in her beginning, but he might be different from her.
Her fingers, cold as they were, fumbled with flint before she struck it just right and sparked a neatly arranged pile of dried grass left by some cook in the earlier hours of the evening. It took time before heat began to fill the room as the lit grass in turn lit the stacked wood and she took that time to select a kettle, traipse to the door, fill it with snow (and realise that snow was cold and her hands didn't like it), and hook it over the fire. This was the literal extent of her cooking knowledge, and it required little work to actually complete. Others who were more capable had done the majority of the hard work, for which she was grateful.
In her solitude, Yra mulled and tormented over laughter and joy and the realisation that she might have actually discovered a facet of herself that made her loathsome. She listened to their indistinct voices, arms crossed and eyes upon the dancing of young flames, fancying that, maybe if Syna had left her, Leth might be willing to take her instead to replace this child of his, if this child had been sent to replace her.
