Winter 39, 514 AV
early morning
Khida made her way into the tent city perhaps a bell after dawn, a single ferret carcass to show for her morning's round of the traps. A weak showing to be sure, small and gamey as the little predators were wont to be; it was nothing she cared to eat, nor even to offer for her bondmate's consideration. But the Drykas took in nearly everything, and found a way to put it to use; whatever her trap did snare, someone would value, and nothing went unappreciated. So it was that she trudged half the breadth of the city to deliver a single winter ferret carcass.
Today, the sprawl of tents was nearly as large as she had ever seen it to be -- not quite so large as before the summer of the Zith attacks, and yet more pavilions had fallen with the past year's drought. But it was still a singularly lively, rambunctious, colorful clutter; one she would be pleased to quit herself of once this errand was completed.
By comparison, the Kelvic herself was a plebeian sight -- wrap-shirt of felt in its natural tannish hue, dark brown trousers, drab grayish-green cloak, dark hair loose to her shoulders. The only true color she bore was a red sash over her hips, its worn edge peeking from under the hem of her shirt as she moved. She neither rode, which left her to trail in the dust of high-spirited youths racing down the corridors between tents, nor even led a horse, or was followed by one, as others among the Drykas might sometimes be. Yet, as she arrived at Hunter's Allegiance, she mirrored the greeting of Zethar with easy fluidity, as he cast that gesture towards her around the shoulder of a man she did not know.
Khida did not disrupt their discussion, but turned to another to address her own business. The transaction between them was as short and simple as any regular exchange should be, leaving the Kelvic lighter of tangible burden but heavier of thought -- not because she had come out any worse in the bargain, but because she had to come so far for such a trivial exchange. But... kills didn't keep, not for long, not even in the cooler winter of the plains. It was come now or let it go to waste -- or eat the thing themselves, and Khida was not now driven to that resort.
Her musings, and her casual exit from the pavilion, were cut short by a familiar voice rising above the background din. "Khida! Do not go yet!" he called, enunciating his Pavi with some care for the Kelvic's lack of fluency. "I have a job for you, you and this man here."
She paused at the sound of her name, paused to consider Zethar and the man with him, her manner considering and cautious. He -- Zethar -- seemed to like putting people together, or maybe just putting people together with her; even at their very first meeting, he had done so. Khida didn't mind, exactly... but she thought it strange. As was this man, this tall Drykas with the scar on his face. The Kelvic studied him for a few moments, and also the manner of the man who sought to throw them together. Finally, she walked forward, coming to within arm's reach and easy conversational distance. Maybe. Task is? she asked in Sign, reflexive as that had become despite her limited vocabulary.
early morning
Khida made her way into the tent city perhaps a bell after dawn, a single ferret carcass to show for her morning's round of the traps. A weak showing to be sure, small and gamey as the little predators were wont to be; it was nothing she cared to eat, nor even to offer for her bondmate's consideration. But the Drykas took in nearly everything, and found a way to put it to use; whatever her trap did snare, someone would value, and nothing went unappreciated. So it was that she trudged half the breadth of the city to deliver a single winter ferret carcass.
Today, the sprawl of tents was nearly as large as she had ever seen it to be -- not quite so large as before the summer of the Zith attacks, and yet more pavilions had fallen with the past year's drought. But it was still a singularly lively, rambunctious, colorful clutter; one she would be pleased to quit herself of once this errand was completed.
By comparison, the Kelvic herself was a plebeian sight -- wrap-shirt of felt in its natural tannish hue, dark brown trousers, drab grayish-green cloak, dark hair loose to her shoulders. The only true color she bore was a red sash over her hips, its worn edge peeking from under the hem of her shirt as she moved. She neither rode, which left her to trail in the dust of high-spirited youths racing down the corridors between tents, nor even led a horse, or was followed by one, as others among the Drykas might sometimes be. Yet, as she arrived at Hunter's Allegiance, she mirrored the greeting of Zethar with easy fluidity, as he cast that gesture towards her around the shoulder of a man she did not know.
Khida did not disrupt their discussion, but turned to another to address her own business. The transaction between them was as short and simple as any regular exchange should be, leaving the Kelvic lighter of tangible burden but heavier of thought -- not because she had come out any worse in the bargain, but because she had to come so far for such a trivial exchange. But... kills didn't keep, not for long, not even in the cooler winter of the plains. It was come now or let it go to waste -- or eat the thing themselves, and Khida was not now driven to that resort.
Her musings, and her casual exit from the pavilion, were cut short by a familiar voice rising above the background din. "Khida! Do not go yet!" he called, enunciating his Pavi with some care for the Kelvic's lack of fluency. "I have a job for you, you and this man here."
She paused at the sound of her name, paused to consider Zethar and the man with him, her manner considering and cautious. He -- Zethar -- seemed to like putting people together, or maybe just putting people together with her; even at their very first meeting, he had done so. Khida didn't mind, exactly... but she thought it strange. As was this man, this tall Drykas with the scar on his face. The Kelvic studied him for a few moments, and also the manner of the man who sought to throw them together. Finally, she walked forward, coming to within arm's reach and easy conversational distance. Maybe. Task is? she asked in Sign, reflexive as that had become despite her limited vocabulary.
Common | Pavi | someone else