50th Day of Winter
First bell of afternoon
A makeshift cover was thrown across the top of six poles, the canvas stretched loosely and tied off on the ground just aside from the heart fire. Several fires burned hot beneath the shade, an array of tables and tools beneath them, haphazard and crowded together.
The scene was in response to the offering of a woman who lived in the desert, skin darkened to the color of a cattail and with the rough hewn look of a woman who had worked hard her entire life. She had told the ankal of the pavilion housing them that she would like to teach him a simple recipe for flat bread. Not only a flat bread, but one that would allow the people to collect and store the grain they came across for entire seasons.
So the draw to the lesson was great, the Drykas flocking in numbers far larger than expected, and that was when they'd thrown the crowd out of the pavilion and into the streets. The canvas cover was to stave off the rain that had persisted over most nights, better to do the extra work than to have the fires put out by the rain.
"This recipe we use when the grain begins to grow old, or when we are ready to move on from one place to the next. This bread is made, the grain ground and cooked, then hung on string above the other belongings in the wagons. It takes less space than transporting the whole grain, and it keeps far longer, as many as three seasons."
The woman spoke with an accent, clearly Pavi wasn't her first language, but she spoke it with a familiarity that said this was not her first visit to the city of tents.
Naiya had crowded around a fire with a large flat rock rather than with the heavy irons, she had to be realistic, and with so much of her money going towards feeding everyone, she wouldn't be buying much of anything any time soon. Her appearance in the city made by force of will, the trade off between knowing how to make bread winning over her afternoon. After a failed hunt that morning her mood was sour, she sat quietly, straining against the slow pace, but knowing this was a better use of her time.
"On the tables you'll find an assortment of grains, ones that we had stored carefully. There are stones, bowls, and mortar and pestle sets for you to use, choose your tool wisely, and begin grinding grains. You'll need a nice pile of flour, oat, and grains to get started."
Naiya's table was one with more primitive tools, a stone that had been pounded into a shallow basin, a larger rounded stone, and a large flat stone. She poured a handful of the assorted grains into the basin, her grinding rock rough, and too large for her hand, but she put it to use anyway. She started with circles, attempting to mash the grains into flour. She ground away for a few minutes before checking her work.
Hardly anything had been done, the circular motion seeming not to help much. She frowned at the grains, a muted growl escaping her lips. She tried again, tapping away at the stone instead, more force in her efforts this time.
The pounding was louder, and not much more effective. Her next attempt was more forceful, dragging the stone across the grain, back and forward across the length of the stone. She pressed with strength that was hard to find, having to adjust her angle to find the correct position of her body to apply the leverage she needed.
She took to the work with more fervor than needed, the strength and repetitive motion of the task allowing her to work out the frustration she felt at the slow pace and her failed hunting. The relief at the physical labor, the concentration of using her muscles in unfamiliar ways, it was all a break from the misery she faced everyday that Shahar was gone. It lent her to overdoing, perhaps, attacking the work with more focus and heated strength than she might have needed.
First bell of afternoon
A makeshift cover was thrown across the top of six poles, the canvas stretched loosely and tied off on the ground just aside from the heart fire. Several fires burned hot beneath the shade, an array of tables and tools beneath them, haphazard and crowded together.
The scene was in response to the offering of a woman who lived in the desert, skin darkened to the color of a cattail and with the rough hewn look of a woman who had worked hard her entire life. She had told the ankal of the pavilion housing them that she would like to teach him a simple recipe for flat bread. Not only a flat bread, but one that would allow the people to collect and store the grain they came across for entire seasons.
So the draw to the lesson was great, the Drykas flocking in numbers far larger than expected, and that was when they'd thrown the crowd out of the pavilion and into the streets. The canvas cover was to stave off the rain that had persisted over most nights, better to do the extra work than to have the fires put out by the rain.
"This recipe we use when the grain begins to grow old, or when we are ready to move on from one place to the next. This bread is made, the grain ground and cooked, then hung on string above the other belongings in the wagons. It takes less space than transporting the whole grain, and it keeps far longer, as many as three seasons."
The woman spoke with an accent, clearly Pavi wasn't her first language, but she spoke it with a familiarity that said this was not her first visit to the city of tents.
Naiya had crowded around a fire with a large flat rock rather than with the heavy irons, she had to be realistic, and with so much of her money going towards feeding everyone, she wouldn't be buying much of anything any time soon. Her appearance in the city made by force of will, the trade off between knowing how to make bread winning over her afternoon. After a failed hunt that morning her mood was sour, she sat quietly, straining against the slow pace, but knowing this was a better use of her time.
"On the tables you'll find an assortment of grains, ones that we had stored carefully. There are stones, bowls, and mortar and pestle sets for you to use, choose your tool wisely, and begin grinding grains. You'll need a nice pile of flour, oat, and grains to get started."
Naiya's table was one with more primitive tools, a stone that had been pounded into a shallow basin, a larger rounded stone, and a large flat stone. She poured a handful of the assorted grains into the basin, her grinding rock rough, and too large for her hand, but she put it to use anyway. She started with circles, attempting to mash the grains into flour. She ground away for a few minutes before checking her work.
Hardly anything had been done, the circular motion seeming not to help much. She frowned at the grains, a muted growl escaping her lips. She tried again, tapping away at the stone instead, more force in her efforts this time.
The pounding was louder, and not much more effective. Her next attempt was more forceful, dragging the stone across the grain, back and forward across the length of the stone. She pressed with strength that was hard to find, having to adjust her angle to find the correct position of her body to apply the leverage she needed.
She took to the work with more fervor than needed, the strength and repetitive motion of the task allowing her to work out the frustration she felt at the slow pace and her failed hunting. The relief at the physical labor, the concentration of using her muscles in unfamiliar ways, it was all a break from the misery she faced everyday that Shahar was gone. It lent her to overdoing, perhaps, attacking the work with more focus and heated strength than she might have needed.
