Solo Blending In

[Ruvya]

1 FALL 518
Tarsin's Boarding House, 11 bells

　　　　" Ruvya, there is something for you."
"Huh?" Ruvya was pattering down the hallway on the way to her room, when she heard Tarsin's voice call her to retrace her steps into the large boarding house kitchen. There, the crackling heat of the burner stove wrapped her weary bones in warmth and the smell of cattails cooking wafted over her invitingly.

　　　　　　　　"For me?" curious surprise. The drykas couldn't help the grass-sign that her hands danced as she looked towards the boarding house keeper. He was sitting in his usual spot at the head of the impressive, if well-worn, wooden table. Winters were catching up with the man, with his thinning silver hair and large gold spectacles perched on his crooked nose, yet out from under his heavy brows eyes that shone with lively wit peered up at her.
"Yes, for you, my dear. The courier said it is from the south." He gave her a look and a smile, and pushed the parcel towards her.
Ruvya's heart fluttered and she dashed to the table to reach for the parcel, almost desperately, though her fingertips hovered hesitantly. "Is it sure?" She asked, as if Tarsin would snatch it back from her and was playing a mean trick.

　　　　Tarsin looked down at the book in his hands and emphasised, "Are you sure." Then he frowned and muttered playfully, "Well, if you don't want it...The courier said it was given to him in Syliras and told to be certain it was delivered under threat of painful death by being trodden by one hundred horses." He paused to lick his fingers so he could turn a page in the blue backed book in his hands, before adding casually, "It is from a clan leader, I believe."
Ruvya gasped lightly.
"The poor fellow wouldn't leave until I promised him that I would personally hold the item until I gave it to you myself. It is from an important person, I suppose?" Tarsin asked casually, peeking up at her over the rim of his glasses. Despite his tone, he was unable to curb his curiosity from dancing in his eyes, Ruvya noticed.
She grinned widely, "It is father."—who else made a habit of threatening death and terrifying the wits out of walahk when he gave them orders? She scoffed silently.

　　　　With that she swept up the small box and dashed out of the kitchen and up the two flights of stairs to her room. Shutting herself in, the drykas laid her back against the sturdy wooden door, slightly out of breath, and cradled the box in her hands as if it were magical.

　　　　When she got her breath back, the drykas strode over to her bed, climbed on, kicking her boots off as she did, and sat cross-legged in the middle of her blankets. She poured over the box, raven hair loose and spilling down her shoulders, as she unravelled the leather twine that was tied tightly around it. When the thick cloth, oiled for protection against moisture, fell away, Ruvya found a small wooden box. She stroked the soft, gnarled grain appreciatively, knowing how difficult wood was to come by in the steppe. Father had gone to trouble to make this, especially for her. A smile fluttered into her copper features, dimpling her cheeks under the black inverted triangle that was etched there in her soft skin.

　　　　When she opened the box, she let out an appreciative sigh and her head fell to the side fondly. Inside among a bed of dried grasses was a silver bracelet. At first the drykas didn't notice the jewellery piece as she lifted the box to take a deep breath in of the grasses it was nestled in. She could still smell the sweetness of Summer on them, and just for a moment she was there.
　　

: 637 :

[Ruvya]

Six years ago, in Fall
The Sea Of Grass
9 Bells in the morning...

　　　　" you see this marking?" 　　　Father waved his fingers over a patch of disturbed grasses, drawing Ruvya's interest as she moved to kneel by his side and examine the tracks left in the wet muck.

　　　　The girl's brows rose at how fresh the little paw prints were, a few in the front so perfectly printed in Semele, she could even make out the five toes of the animal that made them. Tell me, source, belonging, test. Her Father's weathered fingers shaped, an amused smile twitching at his mouth as he watched his youngest offspring's expression shift from curiosity to concentration.

　　　　Ruvya's gaze moved from the dried mud lining her father's fingernails, to the little pawprints as she tried to imagine what the critter's feet must have looked like. As she leaned lower, against her bent knee, her long hair fell into her face and she had to tuck the black tresses behind her ear. At first all Ruvya could think of was the way the hunting cats left pawprints in the frosts in Winter. Those were the kinds of tracks most familiar to her.

　　　　After a short few ticks, though, she decided they weren't the same shape. Felines tended to stalk on their tip-toes, so their pad size was smaller. Their paw-prints tended to look rounder than these, too, with their toes neatly printed in a row in front of their paw-pad. In the tracks Ruvya was studying now, the toes of the paws were splayed out farther apart, giving the paw a wide look. Not at all like a feline stalking. It occured to her that the animal must have been running, not walking. Well, not sprinting, they weren't particularly deep prints.

　　　　"Not a cat. A cat's prints are shorter, and quieter." Ruvya shrugged, her brow furrowed. Father shifted slightly in acknowledgement but uttered no hints. The Nighthoof daughter sighed and shook her head. Lost "I don't know what made these. Just, not a cat. Or a dog. A dog's prints are bigger, longer, more fierce." Ruvya added as it occurred to her that the guard dogs around Endrykas tended to leave longer, more angular shaped tracks.
Father 'hmmed' and still said nothing.
Ruvya huffed and shoved his shoulder with hers in complaint, "Father?" she coaxed him.
The Nighthoof Ankal chuckled and gave in, "They are stoat tracks."

　　　　He motioned with his hands to the bristly grasses and the rocky steppe that meandered down to the Bluevein River, which cut its way across the vast plains like a giant glittering snake. Ruvya's gaze followed but she didn't understand and shook her head, her confusion and need for Father to say more settled into the lay of her palms.
"I know because I've seen them before."

　　　　Ruvya looked at the impish smile twitching along her Father's thin lips under his sharp, angular cheekbones and gave him a deadpan frown. He chuckled lightly and pointed to the rocky ledges again, where Zulrav and Makutsi had sent the wind and rain and weathered away Semele's soft earth to reveal the old river bed where it had once been. Caiyha's leafy and mossy creations had seeped back in but it would take Her many Springs to reclaim the land again. "You see the river, and the rocks?"
　　　　　　　　Ruvya nodded. Obviously.
　　　　She resisted an impulsive eye-roll, now Father was telling her what she wanted to know.

　　　　"Stoats will hunt for mice and eggs among these rocks. These are their prints, and you can memorise them now, but don't forget tracking is not just about the prints left behind in Semele. Remember to look at where you are, the lay of the land, the water, the grasses." A tuft of grass rustled as he pulled the rough, yellow blades gently through his hands. "Look here, the blades are bent." He picked out a few blades of the grass where the stoat had brushed past and bent them. "These things can tell you about a print in the dirt too. The direction the stoat was going. Whether he stopped to sniff, or if this is a used trail."

　　　　Ruvya looked around her and sucked in a breath.
　　　　"You mean, I have to look at all of this?" 　　

700

[Ruvya]

　　　　 father laughed at the sound of astonishment in her voice and prodded her. "This stoat left prints, yes, that makes our hunt a little easier. But if it had rained this morning and washed away these tracks there are more ways than one to pick up his trail." Ruvya nodded, still looking about her, as if every shift in the grass or placement of a rock was anew. A clue, a hint, a beacon of secrets just waiting to be read.

　　　　　　　　"I never saw this way before..."

　　　　Father poked her teasingly, "Now maybe you won't drag your feet behind me, wishing you were lazing on your furs to Gods-knows what bell in the afternoon."
Ruvya squinted at him and huffed. Father took his annoying, prodding finger and gestured to the stoat trail. "Alright, master tracker, find the stoat. We have traps to set and dinner to catch." He tugged on the wiry sinews laced to his belt and grinned.

　　　　Ruvya couldn't help his impishness seep into her, felt her lips tug up despite her efforts to appear sullen. She stood, dusting off her wool leggings and readjusted her water-skin and pack, and looked at the direction the tracks were going. Now she could see the trail her Father had been trying to point out to her for the last ten chimes—

—broken grass blades, not quite sitting with the rest;
—rocks that had been gently dislodged and upturned, covered in muck instead of moss;
—the hiding places a stoat might like if he saw a hawk;
—equally, the hiding places a stoat might search for a meal;
—the river nearby, offering a refreshing drink in the midday heat.

　　　　　　　　"This way."

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　The twelve-year-old stated, confident and bemused with her new sense of 'Tracker Sight'. Father rose to his feet and let Ruvya lead the way with a mock bow. The teen resisted the urge to respond and trudged along the Bluevein's floodplain, looking for more prints to keep her right and secretly just a little smug that she was the one leading now.

　　　　It didn't take long, following the trail, and Ruvya wondered that she had never really noticed animal trails before—or that she had and simply never thought to wonder about them. She was enjoying the hunt, stalking down the noticeable pathway that Caiyha's critters had trodden into the grasses. Father was beaming as he watched his daughter kneel by a clump of flattened grasses, then hop over day-old scat to inspect a tumble of small stones beside a knoll in the old river bank.

　　　　"Ruvya," He'd call every now and then, and hover by the track she had missed or the scat she had taken for dirt. His intelligent narrow eyes watched as the teen trudged back down the bank. "Cautious, child, you don't want to ruin the signs you have missed." He warned. Ruvya froze and looked down at her boots, and the flattened grasses and worn earth beneath them.

　　　　"Oh," She acknowledge and trod—brow furrowed deeply as she inspected her path—retracing herself until she saw the scat. "Is this?" She glanced up at Father enquiringly. He nodded and then pointed to the gnarled roots of a dead tree still clinging to the dry, compacted earth. Ruvya looked and didn't really know what she was meant to be looking at, when the wave of her father's hands drew her attention. We are close, his sign fluttered meaningfully, before he placed a finger to his lips. Ruvya sucked in a breath and spun to take another look at the tangle of the tree roots up the hill.

　　　　The drykas teen watched her father crouch, and followed suite, bending her knees and pressing her fingertips into Semele's soft skin as they climbed the steep bank. When they were halfway up, Ruvya turned to look at the Bluevein River, glistening in Syna's cheery morning glow. They were far enough away that the river was a quiet murmur. Ruvya wondered idly how loud the river was close up, and if there were fish playing in its currents, when a sharp hiss brought her focus back to her father.

　　　　He signaled to her feet sharply—watch. Ebbed had Father's smiling humor, in place of his smile was now a seriousness that made his angular features stern. Ruvya nodded, feeling the seriousness of his mood filter into herself. He turned and continued to climb up, while Ruvya watched her father roll his boots heel to toe, noticed that he tested the rocky ridges he set his boots against before putting his whole weight into moving up.

　　　　Ruvya looked down at her feet and the dry, dusty dirt that was crunched beneath her soles. With it she felt the thrill of anxiety tremble through her. Don't mess this up—bade her silent plea.　

801

[Ruvya]

　　　　 ruvya watched intently as Father took an old piece of wood, no longer than her forearm, from the sack at his hip. The teen was crouched so low against the ridge of the dry river bank that she could smell the dry grasses, wafting in her breaths just inches from her face.

　　　　Her father turned slightly from where he lay in the dirt to show her the piece of wood. Ruvya took it from his hands and studied it. It was sharpened at one end, like a pike, and had a notch carved into the blunt end. Quietly, she passed it back to her father, who had retrieved the game knife from his boot and proceeded to unravel the twine hanging from his belt.

　　　　Ruvya watched him wrap the end of the twin around the wood, settling it into the notch. He held it out for Ruvya to see as he tugged on the twine, first pulling up, then down. The twine didn't budge from the notch in the wood, nor did it snap. Ruvya nodded her understanding. The Nighthoof ankal measured out a foot and a half of twine and cut it loose from that gathered at his belt. Ruvya's expression was somber as he wound it into a loop. He held it out for Ruvya to see, as he put his fist into the loop and looked meaningfully at her. Ruvya raised her hand and made a fist, and nodded. Fits, yes.

　　　　Father shuffled slightly, growing uncomfortable against the hard dirt, drawing himself closer to Ruvya. There, he wrapped the loose end of the twine around the length that he had secured to the stake, and tied a knot with it. Ruvya watched as he pulled the knot up and down the twine secured to the stake, making the loop tighter and looser. The knot slid up and down the twine, and Ruvya nodded. I see it. Before Father undid the knot and handed her the twine and stake.

　　　　The teen took them gingerly in her hands, butterflies flurried in her stomach wit her nerves. Watching a knot be tied was very different from copying to make that knot in your own hands. At first Ruvya crossed the two ends of the twine and made to put the stake through the loop she had made. Her brows furrowed. No, that wasn't right. It was making the noose smaller, but the knot wasn't sliding on the twine like her father's. The ankal shook his head and took back the twine and stake. He made the knot again, this time taking each step at a time. Ruvya watched carefully, utterly absorbed by the directions he twisted the twine. When she tried the second time, she got it.

　　　　Grinning triumphantly, Ruvya tugged on the trap until the noose fit around her fist, and passed it back to her father. The ankal tested the knot by pulling on it, hard. Satisfied by its strength, he nodded curtly, and let a few short words flutter on his fingers. Will not break, good, now watch. Ruvya did as he bid, and watched as her father turned back onto his belly and began to crawl, every so quietly, to a hole in the cracked and split earth under the tangle of the tree roots. Her eyes widened lightly—a nest.

　　　　Father halted barely two feet from the dark spot under a large rock jutting out from under the exposed tree roots. They look like bony fingers, scratching out of Semele and straining for the Big Blue Above. Ruvya thought idly. As her gaze traced the gnarled, blackened bark of the tree reaching up, with its spindly, leafless branches, a shiver prickled along her spine and raised the baby hairs at her neck.

　　　　That tree had been struck by lightning. Zulrav's fury had struck it dead. Now it was a blackened corpse, a ghost of life, the ash of its leafy flesh dust at their feet.　

660

[Ruvya]

　　　　 at the skeleton tree; Ruvya found the bracelet...

　　　　The teen saw her father's invitation and crawled up over the ridge to settle herself on her belly in the dirt next to her father. Her dark eyes peered into the tunnel the stoats had burrowed into Semele curiously. However, she couldn't see anything past the entrance so she returned her wandering attention to the task of setting up the trap. Father had placed it in her hands and indicated in the rocky ledges where she could set it to the right of the nest's entrance.

　　　　Ruvya took the smooth wooden stake and set it gently in a crack in a large rock. Father tugged on her linen blouse, making the teen turn with a light startle. He set his lips in a determined line, shhh, it encouraged. He pointed to the stake in her hands, and made a wriggling motion with his hands, then a snap. It's too loose. So Ruvya shuffled back again and wriggled the stake, pushing as much as she could with her skinny arms, until the wood was well and truly lodged into the crack. When she glanced at Father for reassurance, he nodded. That's it, we go, we wait.

　　　　Ruvya beamed, pride welled into her shoulders. That was it, she had set her very first basic snare trap. As the drykas' wriggled back over the lip of the ridge Ruvya couldn't help cast a wary glance at the tree roots sticking up out of the soil. It was then, among the shriveled, blackened knots she saw something silver catch Syna's light. Her brow furrowed as she leaned this way and that, trying to see what it was. Though father's tap on her calf told her to 'keep moving', the teen had other intentions.

　　　　Before her father could reach out to stop her, the drykas made a beline for the strange silver thing. Shuffling along the dirt on her belly like a snake, Ruvya crawling up the steep ridge. Setting the soles of her feet against the rocky ledges that had been napped out of Semele by the wind and rain, the thirteen-year-old reached up for the silver thing. She could see now that it was tarnished and as her fingers just brushed it, it was smooth too. The silver glinted in Syna's heat, taunting her just out of reach.

　　　　With a grunt and a puff, Ruvya finally let her arm sink to the ground and waited for a few ticks as she tried to catch her breath back. When a sudden weight fell against her left leg the teen startled so hard her boots almost lost grip on her footholds. It was Father. He steadied her with his strong, reassuring arms, hugging her slight body against his. The teen smiled at him appreciatively, though her heart sunk at the angry look he wore. What are you doing? It demanded to know. Ruvya swallowed the tremble of her heart and pointed up to the silver thing in the tree roots. Her father peered, brows knitting his prominent forehead, as hers had, trying to get a look.

　　　　Father patted her back and gestured for her to climb down. I will see/ He signed. Ruvya nodded, not daring to disobey him. With a quick glance at the trap they had set, she scurried down the bank as quietly as she could despite the odd trickle of loose stones that cascaded with her footfalls. When she was safely down, the Nighthoof Ankal turned back to the silver thing, and reached up for it. His rough fingers curled around the slim curve of its surface and found it was lodged in. The tree roots had grown around it some seasons before Zulrav had seen fit to strike the tree asunder.

　　　　Ruvya watched as her father steadied his grip on the silver circle and tugged on it. It was there from the bottom of the ten foot ridge the drykas teen suddenly realised how steep the rocky outcrop was and her heart skittered as thoughts of her father falling flitted through her mind. "Father—" She warned softly. The ankal didn't stir to his daughter's worry. His mouth was set in a determined line as he lifted his grip off the rocks and leaned his body weight against the ridge, lifting both hands to grip the silver thing. Ruvya saw what he was upto and bit her lip. Gods, be careful father, she begged silently.

　　　　The Nighthoof ankal tugged. He wrestled with the tree. Tugged and tugged, until finally, the tree roots gave way with a sharp—CRACK!

　　　　Ruvya felt her heart leap into her throat. Her father swung his arms, gorilla-like, for a precarious tick, when he finally shunted his weight forward and managed to get a grip on the rocky ridge again. The thirteen-year-old at the bottom sighed loudly with relief. Her father turned gently to brandish his prize to her with a triumphant grin and a light chuckle borne of anxiety. Ruvya gave him a look, yet didn't bid the infectuous grin from dancing into her own copper features. Come down! She ushered him, hand on hip as if she were Mother.

　　　　The ankal skillfully—if cautiously—shuffled down the old river bank and sighed with relief when his boots clunked against the mossy bed. "It's a bracelet." Ruvya shared the flicker of childish astonishment she heard in the lilt of his announcement. "Here, love, you take it." He held it out to her, and Ruvya took it. Curiously she looked at it. Giving it a shine on her leggings to dislodge some of the dried dirt, she looked at it again admiringly, before slipping it onto her wrist. It was a little big a fit, not well-made, with dents and curves in it, but Ruvya was quite pleased with its simplicity.

　　　　"It's not worth much, if anything, but you keep it, love; maybe you can find a use for it," he said.
Ruvya grinned and leaned up on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek. Appreciate gift, father. With an afterthought she poked his arm and scolded him. Nearly died, foolish, very precious.
The Nighthoof Ankal waved off her prodding and dusted himself off as if to say I don't know what you're talking about.

　　　　They walked on in warm quiet; they had more trails to finds and traps to lay yet while Syna still dappled the steppe with Her generous glow.　

1,072

[Ruvya]

　　　　 Sitting on her bed in Tarsin's Boarding House remembering this afternoon she had shared with her father tugged on some deep sinew Ruvya had forgot she possessed. Had she forgot how to smile so genuinely, so deeply, since the horrible night her strider died? She was smiling now, full of nostalgia and affection for her family. Where had he found her bracelet? She thought she'd lost it one Winter. He must have found it. Why had he never given it back to her—before she left?

　　　　Just like that, her smile ebbed and the warmth that flooded her cooled as her thoughts rose to answer her queries of denial. It had been a long time since she had spoken to her father. It wasn't like she had been kind to him—after he had spilled the blood of her soul-brother into Semele. Ruvya's smile altogether vanished. Coldly she banished those thoughts away. "It wasn't his fault." Ruvya reminded herself quietly. It felt so long ago. It was. It had been five years since that fateful, tragic night.

　　　　The sinews of her heart pulled uncomfortably taut. Regret slumped into her shoulders. The drykas sighed and looked up to gaze out of the window next to her bed. The scent of pine, and fish, and fresh, crisp North air filled her room. The SPLOSH and PLUNK of ravosala as they ferried passengers down the canal below her window filtered into the quiet. It was comforting to notice these things—to be here, now, and not there, then. Ravok was not her home, it was a foreign and still-as-of-yet unusual place but unfamiliarity was what she needed. A place to be where being who she was, or what had happened to her did not matter. Where wind-marks were just tattoos.

　　　　The drykas slipped on the silver bracelet and slid the lid back onto the little wooden box before setting the box down onto her bedside lovingly. Father knew you needed this. Ruvya thought about the bracelet, casting a glance to the tapestry that she had hung on her wall too. The history of her pavilion was woven into those old threads. Suddenly the weight of it pressed upon her and the nine-teen-year-old felt restless. Grabbing her wool coat from the back of a chair in the corner, the drykas shrugged into her boots and left the boarding house.

　　　　Clunking down the hallway in her boots, the drykas passed by a couple who were staying in one of the rooms on the ground floor on the stairs. Where usually the sight of a moody Ruvya gave them pause and drew their wary looks, this time they simply leaned in to the wall and the drykas glided down the stairs, passing them without a fuss. Even when she strode into the reception lounge and passed Tarsin, the boarding house owner did not look up to ask if she would be returning for evening meal or would be dining out as he usually asked. Ruvya felt the subtle shift and strode out into the streets of Ravok with nowhere in mind to go, just that she wanted to walk.

　　　　The citizens that passed her by did not stir at the sight of her as she had become accustomed to. A stout man in a well-fitting, pressed suite bumped into her lightly as they brushed by one-another on the more-than-ample boardwalk, almost dropping the file of papers in his hands to be scattered into the canals, and, even when she reached out a black-inked hand to offer her automatic grass-sign apology, he hardly noticed her. Ruvya, at first, stared in surprise. When she remembered—the bracelet.

　　　　Brushing it with her fingertips, the drykas felt the warm, dented silver and smiled softly. I almost forgot. The nine-teen-year-old reminded herself to pay more heed to her path, and breathed in a deep, satisfied sigh, before rolling her shoulders, and carried on her walk. The Bracelet of Blending lending her just the right amount of magical camouflage and deflection to enjoy the sights and sounds of the lake-city, without the stares and gawks of nosy Ravokians along the way. That soft, impish she shared with the Nighthoof ankal played along her lips as she enjoyed the unlikely freedom of blending in.　

713

[Ruvya]

Observation +6
Socialization +4
Tracking +3
Leadership +1
Trapping +2
Climbing +1
Hunting +3
Investigation +1
Stealth +1
Scavenge +1

Father: Enjoys scaring the wits out of Endrykas visitors
Father: Likes to poke fun at Ruvya
Tracking: Stoat
Tracking: Identifying feline tracks
Tracking: Identifying canine tracks
Tracking: Animals leave trails along well-used paths
Tracking: Deeper a print the faster an animal is moving
Tracking: Look for signs in the flora as well as for tracks in the soil
Hunting: Taking on the perspective of your prey to look at the surroundings
Tracking: Take care not to tread over tracks
Trapping: Setting a basic noose snare
Ruvya: Struggles to forgive her father
Nighthoof Tapestry: Tells the origin tale of the Nighthoof pavilion
Bracelet of Blending: Allows the wearer to blend in to the crowd