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15 Fall 515
1 Bell 32 Chimes
15 Fall 515
1 Bell 32 Chimes
It was late, the middle of the night. Rufio woke with a start. It was dark, and quiet. Beyond the comforting embrace of her tent came the low sounds of herds napping, and embers dying down to coals.
The whisper of a male voice echoed in her sleepy mind. It was remnant of a dream from which strange, unsettling depths she had stirred, suddenly. A dream full of looming shadows, gnarled old tree back masks, and forks of lightning that lingered longer than they naturally should.
Her cheeks were wet, and it was then Rufio realised she was crying. Befuddlement drew her brows closer and her lips puckered lightly. She raised a hand to touch her moist skin and wicked away the tears hurriedly.
Slowly an ebb of sorrow pulsed deep within her, at her core. There was an ache there, where her heart resided. With her awareness of its presence its depth grew, and enlarged. It grew proportionately unbearable; as if overwhelming her small frame.
Large, round tears spilled from her eyes anew. Her palms closed into soft fists against her chest, and she curled in around herself. Sorrow-full sobs came in wrenching, silent, shudders; unexplained.
Unbidden; where had this pain came from? A river, spilling forth; some dam within fractured by an experience in the season past.
'The Dark One is near.'
As the tears subsided a little, the words echoed, more prominently than before. She searched her memories and the imagery of a dying man's face flickered behind her gaze. A momentary picture, just an imprint left behind like in a flash of lightning.
She had been there when lightning struck a man and he had been taken from this life into the next. While the memory was foggy now, and Ru was so fundamentally well-adjusted to the inevitability of Death, it was the man's words that had stuck.
They stuck in her throat, now, swollen and sore. She murmured them aloud, slow and testing. "The Dark One..." Subtly a shiver racked her, as if at the very touching of her voice to the night.
Suddenly she sighed a long, well-needed exhale, and it felt as if she had been out of breath; like she had been holding it in the tenure of that fitful sleep. Rufio felt oddly better by the emptying of her lungs. By the emptying of crying.
As sleep gave way to wakened senses she felt the hug of her fur blanket wrapped around her semi-naked form. Her feet twitched; the air was cool, licking at her toes. With these sensations beyond the emotional self alighting in this way, the ache was ebbing gently. A receding tide.
Her cocoa orbs glittered as they darted about the shadows lurking about her humble abode. The gold ring pierced through her nose glinted lightly in Leth's silvery light that peeked through a hole in her tent she had been meaning to mend.
Everything was muted and soft in the midnight din and Rufio was comforted by it. The dark had never held much fear for her, not even as a child. Within its embrace, and its quiet, the half-Drykas found her emotional equilibrium.
Rising on her right elbow, she reached out her left hand for the cup of water standing on the ground nearby. Blowing a tiny spider off that had perched on its lip for a drink, itself, before sipping. The liquid was cold and quenching, and the nightmare's hold grew fainter as her body took on the physical world of sensation.
She dried away the moistness on her cheeks and ran a hand through the short, thick strands of her hair a few times. As if she had dusted off the nightmare, her lids grew heavy again. She plumped up her bedroll before letting herself collapse back onto it.
"What does it mean?.."
She spoke in Shiber, not Pavi, in her sleepiness. Her voice was melodic and more feminine in this language, lilting like a song whose rhythm had been rendered into words.
'It was just the pain-delirious ramblings of a dying man', she chastised herself, feeling slightly foolish for her superstitions. Nonetheless it niggled somewhere within her, wherever those beliefs lay stubborn and un-shifting.
Answers would come unexpectedly and when the gods willed. That's what her mother would have said.
With a long and quiet yawn that seemed to reach into all her body the half-Drykas relaxed. Issuing a murmur in Shiber Rufio besought her mother's god Yahal for faith and courage; in Pavi her father's, Caihya and Zulrav, for protection and wisdom.
On the heels of those prayers sleep stole over her again. Though it was deep and full of strange dreams playing tauntingly just beyond consciousness' grasp.
The whisper of a male voice echoed in her sleepy mind. It was remnant of a dream from which strange, unsettling depths she had stirred, suddenly. A dream full of looming shadows, gnarled old tree back masks, and forks of lightning that lingered longer than they naturally should.
Her cheeks were wet, and it was then Rufio realised she was crying. Befuddlement drew her brows closer and her lips puckered lightly. She raised a hand to touch her moist skin and wicked away the tears hurriedly.
Slowly an ebb of sorrow pulsed deep within her, at her core. There was an ache there, where her heart resided. With her awareness of its presence its depth grew, and enlarged. It grew proportionately unbearable; as if overwhelming her small frame.
Large, round tears spilled from her eyes anew. Her palms closed into soft fists against her chest, and she curled in around herself. Sorrow-full sobs came in wrenching, silent, shudders; unexplained.
Unbidden; where had this pain came from? A river, spilling forth; some dam within fractured by an experience in the season past.
'The Dark One is near.'
As the tears subsided a little, the words echoed, more prominently than before. She searched her memories and the imagery of a dying man's face flickered behind her gaze. A momentary picture, just an imprint left behind like in a flash of lightning.
She had been there when lightning struck a man and he had been taken from this life into the next. While the memory was foggy now, and Ru was so fundamentally well-adjusted to the inevitability of Death, it was the man's words that had stuck.
They stuck in her throat, now, swollen and sore. She murmured them aloud, slow and testing. "The Dark One..." Subtly a shiver racked her, as if at the very touching of her voice to the night.
Suddenly she sighed a long, well-needed exhale, and it felt as if she had been out of breath; like she had been holding it in the tenure of that fitful sleep. Rufio felt oddly better by the emptying of her lungs. By the emptying of crying.
As sleep gave way to wakened senses she felt the hug of her fur blanket wrapped around her semi-naked form. Her feet twitched; the air was cool, licking at her toes. With these sensations beyond the emotional self alighting in this way, the ache was ebbing gently. A receding tide.
Her cocoa orbs glittered as they darted about the shadows lurking about her humble abode. The gold ring pierced through her nose glinted lightly in Leth's silvery light that peeked through a hole in her tent she had been meaning to mend.
Everything was muted and soft in the midnight din and Rufio was comforted by it. The dark had never held much fear for her, not even as a child. Within its embrace, and its quiet, the half-Drykas found her emotional equilibrium.
Rising on her right elbow, she reached out her left hand for the cup of water standing on the ground nearby. Blowing a tiny spider off that had perched on its lip for a drink, itself, before sipping. The liquid was cold and quenching, and the nightmare's hold grew fainter as her body took on the physical world of sensation.
She dried away the moistness on her cheeks and ran a hand through the short, thick strands of her hair a few times. As if she had dusted off the nightmare, her lids grew heavy again. She plumped up her bedroll before letting herself collapse back onto it.
"What does it mean?.."
She spoke in Shiber, not Pavi, in her sleepiness. Her voice was melodic and more feminine in this language, lilting like a song whose rhythm had been rendered into words.
'It was just the pain-delirious ramblings of a dying man', she chastised herself, feeling slightly foolish for her superstitions. Nonetheless it niggled somewhere within her, wherever those beliefs lay stubborn and un-shifting.
Answers would come unexpectedly and when the gods willed. That's what her mother would have said.
With a long and quiet yawn that seemed to reach into all her body the half-Drykas relaxed. Issuing a murmur in Shiber Rufio besought her mother's god Yahal for faith and courage; in Pavi her father's, Caihya and Zulrav, for protection and wisdom.
On the heels of those prayers sleep stole over her again. Though it was deep and full of strange dreams playing tauntingly just beyond consciousness' grasp.
