[Caution: Suggestive Language]
Jonak lay on the snow.
The snow was cold, he knew. But he couldn't feel it. His leg was bleeding, he knew. But he couldn't feel that, either. The snow was white, he knew. But he could hardly see it.
//What else is white? Something. Something. I know...//
The blood made dark, warm puddles in the clean, cold snow.
//The white. The snow is white. The snow is like - like - //
Jonak fell asleep. When he woke, he did not know. For all he could tell, he might still be dreaming. //- like the Opaka. The White One. The White Mammoth.//
And it was cold again. Despite the furs of Otter, and White Leopard, and Horned Grass-Eater.
//I am dying,// he thought as he saw something just slightly less white than the snow coming towards him across the whiteness. //Opaka is coming. He has come to take my Avik, my named-soul. I will give it to him...I no longer want to fight.//
He called out with what little strength was left. The words came out and scudded across the snow like the wind. "Opaka...Mne Avik ess - "
And he fainted as Opaka touched his leg.
A soft tongue click pierces the wind's wailing as the snow begins to pile up under the new shadow. A fur-covered hand hovers near the wound as whuffles and grunts fly through the flittering flakes.
Without any warning, the stooped figure lurches up to its feet. The two fur covered forelimbs scoop under the fallen man's arms, easily hoisting him through the snow.
It takes only a few seconds for the snow to cover the trails of blood.
Jonak awoke to warmth, and darkness, and pain. "Opaka," he mumbled, remembering, then saw something stirring in the shadows. He raised his head as best he could and peered out into the fire-lit flickering blackness.
There was something there. Something wrapped in furs - as, he finally noticed, he was: something moving. He looked out into the darkness for some time in silence and stillness. It was a dark cave. There was no exit, and little there except him, the fire, and the Other.
Finally, he spoke. "Rathi?" "Hello?"
His words echoed, and the bats awoke overhead. Their eyes shone in the darkness like stars.
"Cha-pa?" The Other jumps and half turns, for moment appearing only as some hairy beast with two dark eyes shining out from within a face of fur. "Ranna-ek, eila!" The voice seems surprised, perhaps a bit relieved.
The Other reaches its hand up to its face and the fur falls back, revealing the face of a girl, though more womanly than girl in appearance. From eyes of a green not seen since spring comes a piercing gaze, broken not by the three sharply painted vertical lines over her left eye, and not by the absent tendrils escaping around her face and the plait at the back of her neck, the color of afternoon sunshine; gold tinted dark by reds and browns.
The firelight dances in her eyes as she clucks her tongue, yanking off the fur leg-covering without any forewarning. A tug on the bandage tightens it again.
"An-ah, keepin kala-ek nanae coona linn?" The eyes meet his expectantly, the face framed by the sparkling bat eyes.
Jonak shrinks backwards. //Who is this woman?// he wonders. //She is not like those of my tribe...and - // he realizes suddenely that the pain in his leg, though present, is hardly noticable. // - and she did something to me.//
"Coona linn?" she repeats, slowly, head inclined towards him.
Fear flickers through his eyes like the last spasm of a guttering candle.
"Khee, khee, luma num kana." Her tone is soft, an attempt at gentleness, gesturing at his leg with furred hands.
Jonak shrinks away from the woman - if woman she is. //The Nasha has done something to my leg already!// he thinks in panic.
"Vinala-some? Hisi!" What have you done? Who are you?
"Vah?"
He struggles upright. Better die in the cold and snow than in the cave of some unnamed Nasha.
"Areeenah!" Without giving him time to blink, the girl's hand impacts Jonak's chest, forcing him back onto his back.
Jonak struggles feebly, then...
Keeping her hand there, firmly, she pulls off one of the many furs from around her shoulders and rolls it up, tucking it comfortably under his head.
...his eyes widen in suprise. //This is no Nasha...no Nasha named in the tales was ever *kind.*//
"Ke-pek. Vanna?" She presses gently on his chest, indicating he should remain as he is, then removes her hand. "Nanae sala, neh." The Other points to his leg. "Anna ke-pek. Vanna?"
Jonak crinkles his brow. "Wanna?" he tries, and fails, to pronouce the word the Na - //no, the woman// - had used. //This woman. Why can't she speak the Tribes' language?// He frowns. "Kess," he says, pointing to his leg.
"Vah?" She blinks her large, colorful eyes. Considering him carefully, she stoops back to the fire nearby an dchecks a pot of something which is just beginning to emit a hunger-stirring odor.
Turning back to him, she points to his leg. "Annah. Ne vanna.. 'kess'..." she puzzles as she picks up a bowl made of wood and sets it near the fire to warm. She pulls off her fur mittens and briskly rubs her hands together.
Jonak nods. "Kess," he repeats.
She still appears puzzled...
Jonak sighs, and suddenly feels very tired.
After a few minutes, she stands up next to he rpot and uses a crude ladel to spoon over the ingredients - mostly chunks of meat and a few native mountain plants - into the waiting bowl. Helping him sit up, She hands the steaming bowl to Jonak plus a small, crudely carved spoon, then places a skin filled with a sweet liquid which burns pleasantly on swallowing - some sort of wine, perhaps. Ever vigilant, she squats on her heels a few feet from him to watch him eat, eating nothing herself.
Jonak looks at the food, then back again to the woman. He is reminded of the Moon-Singers who he once saw clustered around a kill.
"Oo-kin, " she insists, gesturing to the food and to his mouth.
He sniffs the stew a few times. //Meat of the Swift-runner...and seeds of the plant-that-follows the sun.// He does not recognize anything else in the stew, but eventually hunger overcomes caution. He tries a bite of the stew, then another. And another. Soon, it is gone. He hands the bowl back to the woman.
She beams brilliantly, nodding to him as she sets about cleaning up the bowl and cooling off the rest of the stew for storage.
Jonak gives a small, tired smile which turns into a grimace as a wave of pain washes over his leg.
"Orak," he says. "Thank you." He lays down and tries to sleep. Night steals over him without his noticing, and soon he is deep in dreams.
Checking on his leg quietly while he sleeps, the young woman places another fur over Jonak, then crawls into her own pile of furs.
Jonak wakens from some horrible dream in the middle of the night. The fire burns low, and the pain from the White One burns high in his leg and his memory. He stares into the smoke rising from the embers until he is hypnotized by the nearly-formed shapes dancing within. He dares not go back to sleep. This is how the woman finds him in the morning, long after the last smoke has faded.
A sleepy murmur precedes the woman's awakening. She yawns and immediately roll s out of her furs to check on Jonak's leg, neglecting her own warmth in the process, for she seems ot have slept in only light clothing.
Clucking her tongue at his apparent unrest, she unbinds his wound, then takes a wet cloth to it. The woman crushes a few herbs in her right hand and sprinkles them over the open wound, then picks up what appears to be a roughly made shirt, ripping it across and binding his leg with it.
Jonak looks with bright eyes at the herbs. "Ula?" he asks. What are they?
Settling back to sit cross legged, she mixes up a drink for Jonak using a bit of the wine from the last eve and a few chosen herbs. She offers it to him as she begins to rise, wrapping furs about herself.
Jonak looks with half-suspicion at the drink, then puts it on the ground. He shakes his head and points to the drink. "Dra." No. He does not want to sleep.
She clucks her tongue again, seemingly annoyed. She points to his leg, then to the drink. "Aka-nae!" Grumbling, she sets about packing up a few items in the cave, knocking ice from her boots.
But sleep he does. Exhaustion creeps up on him and springs like a Moon-singer, swiftly and quietly.
When he half-wakes, he is thirsty. Something is put into his hand and he drinks it without thinking, without questioning. He falls to sleep again.
Then, later - much later than any natural sleep could have been - he wakes.
Light glares into Jonak's sleep and eyes, bouncing off bare rock and resounding like thunder through the area. The added furs have been stripped from his body, but he finds that only a relief, for the heat here is warm as any fire. His bedding is comfortable and cool, and there is the sound of running water near his head. The injured leg is now swaddled comfortably in bandages and gives off no pain, unlike the light which is blinding.
He opens his eyes and blinks slowly. He reaches up a hand to shade his eyes from the glare. //Where am I?// he thinks groggily.
"Una?" A familar voice inquires as a shadow falls over his vision. It is again the woman, this time dressed as one might expect a warrior, in primitive skins, leaning on a spear as her hair and the feathers woven into it fall across her shoulders and face. The shadow moves, and Jonak feels a cup pressed to his lips again, this time with sweet water tumbling over his lips.
It takes a moment for Jonak to distinguish the woman from her shilouhette. He looks at her curiously, and reaches out to examine one of the feathers, a bright green iridescent one he has never seen before. //This is not from any of the hunter-birds,// he thinks, //or the blackbirds or the Nightwatchers.//
He sits upright and drinks the water gratefully in huge gulps. He did not know how thirsty he was.
She beams at him, settling more comfortably on her knees, refilling the cup and offering it to him again.
He strives to look past the woman, out into a larger area opening up off of the room where he apparently was placed. "Lakani?" he says. Where am I? He points around to the walls around and overhead to make the sense of the word clearer.
"Naya." Her answer is more of its own Enigma than a reply, but from he way she no longer is tense, but looks perfectly natural, this would probably be her home.
"Naya?" He looks around. The clearing is indeed beautiful. And so warm! He blinks. //She brought me into summer,// he thinks in awe. He smiles at the woman, and peers past her. There is a bed of some sort...and more green space. Much more than she could ever use by herself. He raises an eyebrow. "Eva?" he asks. "Others?"
She blinks again at him.
He sighs and gives up entirely on ever being able to get this woman to talk properly.
He shivers. He has never been completely enclosed before. Even in a cave there has always been an entrance, and somewhere where he could see a small piece of sky, and see green, however slight.
She moves around the clearing as she awaits his senses to return, humming along with the sounds of birds in the background, a tiny furry bounding out of the woods and around her ankles before leaping over to him to investigate.
Jonak reaches a careful hand out to the furry. After a moment he recognizes it as a water-diver. His spiritguide. "Karash," he says reverently to it, and dips his head in greeting. He makes small - and, he hopes, friendly - water-diver noises to it.
It chrrrrs at him, cocking its head before leaping into the brook and sliding up beside the girl and whirring at her. She laughs, and replies, with a sort of 'I don't understand him, either', tone.
He smiles.
As if to answer his earlier question, a voice rings out from the edge of the woods.
"Elatha!"
Jonak blinks. /Elatha is how she is Called, then,/ he thinks.
Jonak's savior jumps and turns to the sound of the name, trying her best to fend off the rapid barrage of questions coming from a group of three or four older women. They check over Jonak's wounds, while addressing the first by that one word, 'Elatha'. Their arguing seems to be going nowhere, when the water-diver chirrs and lights out for the pool with a splash. They grow quiet and bow their heads, only silence greeting them.
Then, a rustle. An aged figure steps forth from the trees, hair white as the freshly fallen snow, grasping with gnarled hands an oaken staff. The robes rustle no more than the trees did, once handsome features hidden by wrinkles doubled over on themselves. The figure leans over near Jonak, and grins a toothless smile, small eyes lost in the folds of his face.
Jonak stares frankly at the old man, then nods. /Here is an elder deserving much respect, no matter what tribe he is from,/ he thinks.
Indeed, the others, who had been chattering, gaze at him with reverence and a kind of love shining in their eyes - even his young savior.
Then, in a voice which identifies the figure as a man, he speaks in Jonak's own tongue, the language itself as worn and accented as the speaker.
"How are you feeling?"
Jonak blinks once, twice. "I am much better now," he says.
"Very good. Young Elatha hoped she hadn't caused harm to you when she treated you with the Ka-Pak herbs. They know the herbs cause me more harm than good, " he wheezes a chuckle, " so they make the assumption it is the same for all."
Jonak blinks. "What do they do to you?" he asks.
"I fall into an unnatural sleep for a few days. It worried them; they said I mumbled many odd things during the sleep."
Jonak frowns.
He pauses for a moment, then a torrent of questions spills out of him like a spring flood. "Who are you? Where am I? Who is this woman? Why did she rescue me? Why is it so warm here? Are there other Ramo* here? Does anyone here other than you speak the proper speech? What kind of herbs did she - " he gestures to Elatha - "give me to heal the wounds I had?"
*[OOC: Ramo is the name that Jonak's people use to refer to themselves.]
Suddenly, he realizes he is the foriegner here, and if anything, he should be the one being asked questions of. He smiles embarassedly.
The Elder wheezes a laugh again. "That, dear man, will take a lot of explaining. I shall do my best to answer all you need to know - but only after we eat." He turns his ancient head and speaks a few words to the women, who scatter. Elatha returns a few moments later with bowls and cups full of honeyed wines, settling nearby on her knees.
The Elder picks up one bowl and hands the other to Jonak.
Jonak takes the drink gratefully. It smells like rasperries.
"My name was long ago lost to time, but these women call me Grishnaw. As far as I can understand, it means Blessed Elder in their tongue. You're currently in their homeland, Azh'a, located within the Great Mountains. Why it is warm here, I do not know."
"Azh'a." Jonak rolls the words on his tounge like a mouthful of the wine.
"These women are a part of a Tribe, known amid themselves as Laran'a. The girl that rescued you is Called Elatha, and she's seen somewhere near 20 Sun Cycles. She's my daughter, one of about 4, and has been taught in Herbal Lore. She says she came across you in the snow during a Hunt. She saw you were injured and decided to help. Elatha has set up this small area beside her own bed for you to rest in until you are well enough to move around on your own. Since it is she who saved you, it is she who is bound to care for you." Another wheeze, this one taking him a few moments to recover from. "The language they speak is different from ours, but understandable with a little time. I'm sure *cough* you'll get *cough* the hang of it.."
He breaks off, starting to cough violently. Out of the darkness which has gathered since he began to speak, the women rush in once more, scooping him up and coddling him off and away, leaving Jonak with Elatha, who seems not to notice him, as she looks after him in concern.
Jonak politely keeps his face impassive, but is in turmoil inside. "You say - with time?" Jonak asks. "But - I want to -" /Exactly how old *is* this Grishnaw?/ he thinks.
But his question remains unanswered as the old man is lead away in a wheezing fit of coughs.
His frown suddenely turns into a rock of fear sitting inside his body, his mind. /I am not staying in this place./
"Fala nek?" she offers after a minute, almost shyly, holding up the jug of drink and pointing to Jonak's cup.
Jonak nods. "Kala." Thank you.
"Donah!" Elana beams at him an dfills his cup, moving after to the sling bed between two rock shards and fleshing out the soft netting with a leafy looking fluff or down, then tucking a hand woven blanket rippled through with warm colors of the way the sun glows before it yields to its sister, moon.
"Tan'na ek, du tar, " she attempts to explain, poiting to him, then to the sling bed, cushioning her head on her hands and mimicking sleep. "Tan'na. Vah?"
Jonak shakes his head and stands up abruptly, spilling the drink, ignoring the pain in his leg like dull fire. The drink seeps into the ground slowly and leaves a vague blue stain. 'I do not want to sleep!' he suddenely shouts in his own language. 'I want to leave!'
"Ay-yah!" Elatha's eyes widen like a doe having noticed the hunter with bow drawn. For an instant as Jonak looks at her, the tough, fiery young woman is replaced by that frightened, totally taken aback doe like quality, jumping back at least a foot. The river behind ripples as not one, but three otter heads break the surface to croon to her, soothing, but the slightly hurt look in her eyes doesn't fade, as if she wonders what she did that so badly offended him.
Jonak looks back at Elatha and does not move.
She gazes back at him, eyes wide.
'I want to leave,' he says slowly, deliberately, and turns to stare at Eletha. He does not blink as he looks her directly in the eyes.
Elatha struggles for a moment to control the sudden fear at his anger flash. "Anna ke-pek, " she says softly, and hold sher hand out towards his leg. Biting her lip, she tries his word. "Kess? Kess ke-pek.." Her green eyes seem darkened in a worried concern as her hand reaches fo a strip of bandage. "Ke-pek," she tries to explain, pointing directly at the wound in the leg. "Ke-pek. Anna - kess - ke-pek."
Jonak sighs. /Finally she is speaking so I can understand,/ he thinks, /and she says things I know./
Finally, words fail her. She knows he doesn't understand and now is afraid to approach him. With a deep breath, she stands an dgoes a littel closer, pointing at him. "Du." To the bed. "Tan'na." To the injured leg. "Anna ke-pek." Then to the bandages in her hand and the bed, making a wrapping motion around her own leg, then a coming together motion in bringing her hands to a clasp. "Ne ke-pek." She points to her own leg, bouncing on it to show its strength. "Vanna?" Her look is vaguely hopeful.
The three otters int he riverbed climb up, shaking themselves off before all tumbling into the sling bed, taking up as much room as three little furry animals can. Elatha makes an indignant noise and proceeds to scold them rapidly, but their only response is to rub their heads against her hand, then do the same to Jonak. Despite her best efforts to remove them, they continue to bounce back into the bed.
She huffs and sighs, plunking into a sitting position with an utterly miserable look, picking at the cup Jonak tossed aside, washing it out slowly. Elatha sighs, defeated, and replaces the cup with the other dishes. Kneeling she dips her hands into the river, washing her face even as the fire red of the setting sun dances across the ripples, making water into liquid fire. Lifting a handful to the sky, Elatha murmurs in a soft tone, then let the water run down over her. Thrice she does this, then tosses a stone into the pond. Without another word, she begins to make a bed for herself on the ground, gathering and heaping palm fronds, her bed meant for her guest.
/This woman will never understand me!/ he thinks with a hint of anger before it dissolves, leaving nothing but a slight numbing of the emotions in its wake. He watches her make a bed on the ground to sleep on, and sighs. /I cannot leave in the darkness,/ he thinks. He trudges over to the bed and lays down faceup, naming the stars and wondering if she is thinking of her own old stories.
She carefully moves to the fire on all fours, adding a few small twings and kindling to keep the blaze low but warm, then moves back to her bed. A yawn, and a long stretch accompanied with a quiet humming of what seems to be a lullaby, and the young woman carefully lies down on the rocky ground, head pillowed on her arms.
/How can she sleep on the ground like that, without even a reed cushion?/ he wonders. He had had to sleep once like that, during the Seeking-Time, but he had still been awake to see the sun come up the next morning. His leg twinges. /So much activity was not good,/ he realizes, and wonders if he will get any sleep this night, either.
A soft scuffle, like a whisper, may draw his attention back to her, as perhaps a dozen otters snuggle up alongside Elatha, like a warm blanket. Still, she stills every few minutes, sighing.
Her eyes follow the track of her guest's, and she, too, gazes up at the stars, lashes briefly dipping, but not in drowsiness.
Jonak sighs as he looks up. He may as well do something to take his mind off of the pain. He begins to whisper the star-songs of his tribe quietly as he picks out each constellation.
"First in the night sky
we learn the Constant,
the true-leader,
the star by which all the others
pass by, bow, and die
only to rise
you will follow this star
on your own nights' journeys
the one called Opak, the Homestar."
"Flint
the first gift
brought meat to us
but also war and death
and so the one called Lest, the Double,
hangs in shape like an arrowhead."
"The handle of
the one called Crelos, Cooking-Pot
points to Opak
as after a long hunt
the smells of spiced meat
and the bays of well-known wolf-dogs
draw us home."
"Then there are the star-friends
who remind us of water
its sparkle
its rush
its abundance of Dancers-In-The-Water
so good to eat
and when we look up and see
the one called Akvi the Long Drop of Water,
we remember
and grateful we drink..."
As he speaks, Elatha rolls up and leans on one elbow, watching him, then glancing up along his gaze as he speaks, listening intently. her eyes shine softly, as she looks wistful, wishing she could understand.
Jonak slowly becomes aware of Elatha watching him, but does not acknowledge her. [He] lulls off into a silence that gradually becomes a series of barely-heard snores.
Elatha smiles and waits until his breathing is deep, and regular, before she gets up silently, picking up four or five of the otters and tucking them around his sleeping form to keep him warm and comfy. Silently, she curls back up in her makeshift bed, watching him to make certain he doesn't rouse for almost an hour before her lashes dip and stay closed.
Jonak mumbles as the furry creatures are arranged around him, but does not wake up.
He is rudely awakened by a screaming flock of birds. He sits upright much too fast, and winces. He gently moves the sleeping otters off of him, and scratches their heads gently while he looks at the still-sleeping Elatha. /How could she sleep through all that noise?/
A moment later, she sits up, arching in a long stretch. One hand covers a yawn as Elatha moves to her feet and unbinds her hair from the braid. The golden strands fall in a golden cascade over her shoulders and back, shining in the morning light as she inspects his leg and removes the bandages.
Jonak smiles at her, and hesitantly reaches out a hand to touch her hair. It is suprisingly soft to the touch, and slides through his fingers easily.
Elatha start at the sudden touch and flushes, tucking her hair behind her ears before she continues, looking very sheepish.
Jonak quickly draws his hand away.
She flushes a deeper shade, not looking at him.
Jonak coughs embarassedly and rolls over, his back to her, his mind a muddle of thoughts and emotions.
She gives a soft noise of consideration, then begins to pull herbs and strips of clean bandage from a bag next to the hammock, the former of which she begins to make into a pastey balm. Her touch is feather-light as she observes the wound, probing it.
He looks curiously at the paste. He points to the different ingredients. "Nasha?" "What is in them?"
Noting his interest, she pulls one of each of the herbs and hands it to him for inspection, naming them as she hands them to him. "Rr-ana. Moish. Lil. Yeeln. Veela."
He recognizes the one she calls "Lil" and points to it. "Ora," he says. The Bringer of the Small Sleep.
"Or-ra?" she tries, examining the small plant.
He sighs and rolls back over. /Saying nothing does nothing./ He nods. "Ora," he says again, emphasizing the sound of the word. He pantomimes sleeping, then waking up quickly again, then points to the herb.
"Vah!" She nods enthusiastically. Carefully, she gestures to his leg, then gives a cry as if she were in pain. Pointing to the herb, then to his leg, she sighs as if relaxing after a hard day's work. "Vanna?"
"Yal'a meh, " she comments, seemingly pleased. She sets up the bowl of paste to one side and the bandages to the other. She blinks suddenly. "Vah! Me'anna tu al'ina fah tu narea anna, vinda Elatha, Vinda!" Shaking her head, she turns to Jonak and curls her hands in an odd formation against her chest, giving a slight bow. "A'lla nepek meh, tu nah? Vah! Tu an'ne orren."
Jonak listens to Elatha's speech without understanding, as he listens to the speech of the ones-with-feathers.
She bolts off, scooping up a clean bowl, and opening a small compartment in the rocks. Piling the bowl with what appears to be a type of berry, she then pulls out a jug full of a creamy ivory liquid, both of which she sets next to Jonak (and within his reach). Fetching a few pieces of a flat, rounded bread, she places them with the berries and fruit and hands them to Jonak along with a mug filled with the drink.
Jonak sniffs curiously at the food and drink before eating. Once he does so, however, he munches on the sweetly sour berries and cream with great abandon. Soon most of the meal is gone.
Elatha beams a brilliant smile at him, offering up another handful of berries if he's interested.
"Nepek me, " she says cheerfully, looking rather ashamed, as if she should've fed him sooner. Without another word, but an almost motherly eye to make certain he eats, she sets about making his leg comfortable again, washing it, applying the paste and a split, then wrapping it in warm, fresh bandages softer than the makeshift ones. Once satisfied with her work, she settles to watch him eat.
A shiver strikes her suddenly and she briskly rubs her hands along her soft arms. Elatha rises then, and pulls another fur from her makeshift bed on the floor, and, instead of wrapping it around her bare shoulders, tucks it over Jonak, cushioning his leg carefully.
Jonak begins to protest but thinks better of it. /I was cold, anyway./ He smiles at Elatha.
She grins, her own bronzed skin prickling with goosebumps.
She offers him a suddenly shy smile as she withdraws, and puts a hand to herself. "Elatha, " she pronounces slowly.
"Ey vani," he says. "Grishnaw del-ek k ey." Grishnaw had already told him her name, but he smiled at Elatha anyway. Perhaps she hadn't heard. He pointed to himself. "Jonak."
"Vah! Grishnaw, " she nods, looking sheepish again. "Grishnaw nae pulin tu, Jo-nak." She spreads her hands with a look of 'I didn't know', then smiles and sets about cleaning up the area, rolling her own small pile of furs into a bundle adn tucking it out of the way.
Jonak shrugs. /What is she trying to say?/ he wonders. /I wish I knew./ He points to the furs and scattered berries lying on the ground. "L kasa mi u?" Can I help you? /Much help I will be, with my foot./
"Ne Vanna.." She puzzles for a moment and looks around, thinking perhaps he is displeased with the mess. With a slight shrug, she scoops up the furs and folds them neatly into a stack in the corner. From behind a crevice, she pulls forth a broom made of sticks bound with a leather thong, and sweeps the berries into a pile. She places two fingers to her lips and looses a shrill, long whistle.
Patterpat. Patter. ScribblescribblepatterpatterPATTERPAT!
He looks interestedly in the direction of the scrabbling noises, and grins delightedly when many water-paddlers come hurtling towards the berry pile.
His caretaker giggles softly.
Jonak grins.
Otters, perhaps a dozen, spring into view, and seat themselves around the berry pile. With all the manners of a Lord or Lady, they pick away at their breakfast.
Elatha aims a grin at Jonak, tossing her now free blonde hair over her shoulders.
Jonak looks curiously at her hair. Last night, he had not noticed its strange color, like the sun, like grass-color in the Times of Warmth. /It is beautiful./
Humming, she busies herself, pulling free a second set of clothing and setting it on a rock by the river. She doesn't seem to give a second thought to it as she starts to unlace her halter top, shrugging free of it. A few seconds later, her skirt follows. She gives a feline stretch, her body naked and fair in the morning light. With a flick of her hands, she tosses her old clothing into the shallower end of the pool.
Jonak coughs. He opens his mouth as if to speak, but simply stares. Occasionally, he glances quickly away, blushing, but then looks back again.
Her steps are soft as she makes her way to the tranquil pool of water, slipping into it up to her shoulders. She tips her head back, wetting her hair, treading water as she half turns to smile at Jonak, holding up a hand to show how the water lightly steams, warmed from some unknown source. Still humming, she sets about washing the previous day's dirt from her skin, hair, and clothing.
He swallows as heat, not caused by the steam rising from the water, begins to shiver its way up his back; sits motionless, as frozen as he was when she found him in the snow.
If she notices his sudden change in behavior, Elatha doesn't seem to acknowledge it. She picks up a wooden bowl, dipping it and rinsing her hair through. Her slender fingers comb through the soaked curls as she carefully washes herself from head to toe.
Jonak's fingers twitch.
Finishing her own bathing, her attention shifts to her clothing, which she rinses once through, then sets up upon a ledge towards the back of the pool.
Then, she takes a moment for herself, stretching in the warm water as if she belonged there, sighing sensually. An otter bounces in from finishing his meal, and she laughs. Elatha carefully takes his paws and does a little water dance with him, bobbing underwater and skimming along the surface.
Laughing still, she lets him go and waves before emerging fully from the water. Droplets run over her figure's curves, tracing lines in glistening streams. Her tune for humming picks up again as she picks up a light hide to wrap around her torso. The end of the skin comes to just above her mid thigh, and the top ties off into a hand made loop under one arm which seems to snugly hold up the makeshift wrap as if it were a towel.
"Aa..." Jonak whimpers, and stares for a moment more before abruptly closing his mouth, and staring intently at a brown rock that is laying on the ground next to his toe. He licks his lips nervously. "Eyu - " he begins, then stops. /By the Son of the Clouds, she is beautiful. Golden like the slit-eyed mountain hunters./
At the whimper, she glances up to make certain he's not in pain.
Jonak glances off to one side as Elatha looks at him.
She blinks at him, slowly, with her green eyes, then resumes her business.
Elatha wrings out her hair and tosses it back over her shoulder. A previously unnoticed bucket is retrieved. After filling it, she places it on the shallow end of the pond where the water runs perhaps two foot deep. Her tongue clicks as she hrms to herself, then nods.
With nothing but a slightly shy smile, she makes her way over to Jonak. Pulling on his arm, she urges him to a sitting position, then to his feet, leaning heavily on her. Her aim appears to be to get him to where she placed the bucket...
Where he leans against her, touches her, he feels warmth spread throughout his body, *feels* her skin against his own. He shivers, swallows. Forgets to breathe.
While he's standing, she leans him on a tree and makes another noise of consideration. Suddenly, her hands start to pluck at his clothing. Elatha bites her lip, almost scowling at the unfamiliar cloth, and gives a good hard tug at it.
Jonak catches her hand in his own. Feels each finger against his palm. Looks up into her eyes. They are green, like the trees at the Time of Warmth, like the plants that grow in the pools. He realizes, with suprise, that he is still breathing. He realizes that he is holding her hand.
He lets it go gently, slowly. Turns awkwardly to the side and undoes the fastenings of his own clothing. Swallows, turns back, and lets the crude garment of skins drop to the ground. He looks at Elatha. The warm-cold breeze skitters over his naked skin.
Elatha's head cocks as she examines him for any further injury. Her eyebrows raise at anatomical differences, then she blushes a bit as she doesn't mean to stare.
She shakes herself loose of her thought train and eases him into the shallow water. Oddly enough, the final coating of leaves she'd used on the cast of his leg keeps the water from fully penetrating into the bandages. Cupping her hands, she douses him with the warm, relaxing water, hand washing his bare skin.
Jonak closes his eyes. Feels her hands, light, sure, travel over his back and shoulders, leaving trails of heat in their wake, a heat gentler and more intense that that of the steaming pool water.
Elatha works her way over his shoulders, back and down along his arms. Starting on his chest, she manuevers with care, scrubbing off the dust of the travels with firm but soft motions.
As she finishes his torso, the girl stops, looking momentarily at a loss. Blushing once again, she fetches the bowl she used to wash herself and motions for him to finish the more "delicate" areas of his physique.
He opens his eyes abruptly when she stops washing him, and opens them to find her blushing, proffering a bowl. He smiles slowly, takes the bowl, and finishes washing. He sighs.
She blushes again, splashing him with a quick swipe of her hand.
Elatha herself continues by rinsing out his hair, brushing it through as she did her own. Stifling a giggle, she dumps another bowlful of water over his head.
Jonak smiles and leans bak slightly onto Elatha as she runs her fingers through his shoulder-length black hair.
Her hands lightly comb out his hair, sweeping it back off his face. She cups her fingers as she kneels in front of him, pulling a handful or water up to splash on his face, wiping off dirt and dried sweat with soft motions of her fingers.
She's almost nose to nose with him as she tilts his head back to further cleanse his features, rubbing a thumb over his stubble and giggling softly. Her look turns momentarily curious and she leans closer to examine this oddly placed hair.
Her fingers feel like fire on his face.
/I should not do this. I do not know what the customs here are yet. What if Grishnaw is angry? I - / the rational part of his mind suddenly disappears. All that is left is the warm sun on his back and the warmer hands on his face.
He takes a step forward, reaches a hesitant hand up to draw her head closer -
A flush suddenly rushes her cheeks as she realizes just how badly she's violating his personal space, and she withdraws. Covering her shyness with a giggle, she flicks water towards his face and rises up out of the stream.
- and chokes on scalding water as Elatha splashes him.
He coughs for a moment, then gets out of the pool. /This may be best for now, until I learn more of this tribe,/ his mind thinks.
He looks at the otters swimming in the stream as she changes. But he cannot get rid of the feeling of her hands on his cheek.
Leaving him, then, to finish his bath, she goes over to his clothing to dust it off. Elatha washes it in much the same fashion she did hers, setting it alongside her own on her drying rock. Her figure vanishes from sight for but a second as she returns with an armload of well worn but clean and familiar looking clothes for Jonak.
"Grishnaw, " she offers cheerfully as she sets them beside his bed. While he enjoys the warm water, she cleans out and remakes his sling, arranging soft pillows of fur.
He limps out of the water warm, clean, and relatively content. He shakes his head like a Moon-Singer, and water scatters in all directions. With some effort, he puts the warm, dry, clean clothing onto his slightly damp body. "Risho Grishnaw?" he asks, turning to Elatha and tugging the final item of clothing, a detachable furred hood, over his mostly wet hair. /I need to speak to him./
"Grishnaw? Vah, an'na. Sek." She holds up a hand as if asking him to wait a moment, and sheds her thin shift. With a shiver, she all but prances over to where she set out the clothing for herself, fastening the short skirt of animal skin around her waist. The white fur of the skin is distinct against her darker toned skin, making the black spots all the more striking. The halter matches, lacing up in the front in a similar style to the black fur she'd worn earlier.
"Mmmmmmh!" Elatha stretches, rolling up to her tiptoes as a yawn takes her.
"Grishnaw!" she says decisively, and nods to Jonak. Pausing only a moment to toss on a couple bangles made of oiled wood and to bind her hair at the nape of her neck with a leather thong, she trots off into the forest, barefoot.
Jonak follows after her as fast as his leg allows.
She tsks when she realizes he's following her. Pausing, she slips an arm around him again so he won't have to bear much weight on the injured limb over a ten minute walk.
/What did she expect me to do?/ he wonders. /Stay there?/ He leans on her a bit more than is strictly necessary.
The paths through the jungle are well defined, but lead to one central area. It's surrounded on three sides by rocky walls etched with caves. A fire burns at its center, and a cliff at one end spews forth an enormous roaring waterfall. Overhead, the sky seems impossibly blue.
Jonak looks about in wonder. "Such beauty," he says in his own tongue.
"Kah, " she seems to agree, smiling. Very beautiful.
Women of all ages are scattered about the area. The older ones seem to be minding a kettle near the fire, and a few around Elatha's age more nearby, in a ringed circle with joined hands. Most are laughing, appearing to enjoy themselves.
Strains of music drift through the area, and without thinking, Elatha picks up the tune. "Kakuremba, kakuremba. Kakuremba, kakuremba." Her voice is soft and husky, and her body seems to sway in the minutest amount. Green eyes shining, she beams a smile at the nearest girl, who, spotting Jonak, bursts into giggles and races over to the singing group with her skirt flapping around her thighs.
As Elatha sets Jonak down against a large rock for comfort, a chorus of giggles greets them. The dancing group has snuck closer, peering at Jonak with wide, curious eyes. Occasionally, a whisper creeps through them and causes another flurry of giggles.
"Kan' eyie ek, Elaaaaaatha!" one of them sing songs, and Elatha shoots the girl a dirty look.
Jonak looks with a slight bit of curiosity - and a sense of mounting unease - at the women. /Where are the men?/ he wonders. /Surely...off hunting?/
Making certain Jonak's not looking, his companion sticks her tongue out at the other girl, who giggles merrily.
"Vak el, An'asa! Uma thil. VAK!" she enthuses, making scat motions with her hands. They scatter briefly.
"Grishnaw, " she assures Jonak, and motions for him to stay. She dashes off towards a cave in the cliff face a fair distance away, pausing to bow regards to two strong looking women guarding the entrance.
Meanwhile, the group of girls regathers like a flock of birds, peering at Jonak, and gradually closing the space between themselves and him.
"Aah, " one murmurs from almost right behind him. "Eh yan'ek l'lana. Vah?"
Jonak jumps, and frowns at the woman.
"Aii-ee!" another seems to agree as she squats in front of him. She points at the hood he wears. "Grishnaw..!"
"Vanna al'ora eh kar'in! Grishnaw? Naw-gen?"
"Ah? Kin-gen?"
"Kin Grishnaw?"
He blinks. The only word he understands is 'Grishnaw,' and he says nothing.
"Vah!"
A ripple of astonishment works its way through them, and another reaches out, touching his arm.
Jonak looks at the women confusedly.
"Eh! Kin-gen! Yae, yae!"
"Bah! Gree-law!" The old, wizened voice rings suddenly through the clamor. "Greh!"
Gasps rush from the gathered, adn the girls all scatter as if they'd seen a fire. Elatha carefully helps ancient Grishnaw to the ground beside Jonak, then sprints for the women near the fire.
"Hello again, young Jonak, " Grishnaw smiles.
Jonak smiles at Grishnaw with relief. "Hello." He pauses, and swallows. "Thank you for coming to talk. I want to ask you, Elder - where are the men of this tribe? Away on a hunt? This is the hunting season, but... I have seen no men at all. No sick, weak, or elderly, except yourself. No male-children. And what did you mean, 'with time I will become used to their speech?'" He looks anxiously at the Elder, expecting to recieve honest answers, and letting the Elder know this.
"Ah, I left you with many questions, mmhmm." Grishnaw settles down, a withered chipmunk in a pile of snowy robes. "I will answer as many as I can."
A gnarled hand traces the knotted wood of his staff, only the slight hue difference marking the aged limbs as different.
"There are no men here. Only myself, and you. My traveling companion died perhaps four winters ago, and the previous elder thirteen before that." He pauses.
Jonak blinks. "What?" he whispers, to himself.
"These women only bear female children, it would seem. They carry their bloodline by rescuing lost travellers and hunters, caring for them, and mating them. Sometimes the travellers choose to stay. Often, they choose to return to their homelands and leave only their seed behind."
"What?" he asks again, this time more loudly. "Mating them?" He frowns. "You speak of it as if we were nothing more than animals!"
"Forgive me, " Grishnaw wheezes, resettling himself. Elatha fusses over him as his ancient bones creak, and she wraps a hand woven blanket about his shoulders. "These people are very much associated with nature. To them, the term "mate" or "to mate" is a respectable one. They believe themselves - and humans in general - to be an elevated animal. We are, simply, a part of the environment. I've been here so long, I tend to use their way of thinking." His grin reveals crooked rows of aged teeth.
"Oh," Jonak says quietly. "I am sorry."
"You have the same choice, " the elderly man sighs, a wheeze like the autumn wind through fading leaves. "Elatha will escort you back down the mountain after the melting time, if that is your choice. It's not safe to travel until then."
Jonak thinks, //At least they gave me a choice.//
"And in that time you'll spend here, the few months before the melting, you'll be surprised how much of their tongue you'll learn." His head turns up suddenly as Elatha approaches, bearing two cups of a steaming tea.
She beams at him, then at Jonak, as she places the cups before him. Then her hand slides to her brow, sheidling her eyes from the sun. "Ay'ya! Til-ai ferri duane chek!"
"Hmmm?' The old man cranes his neck to follow her gaze. There stands a woman, bronze and shining with sweat, hoisting a buck twice her size by its horns. "Ah. Til-ai has brought down a buck for dinner. She is quite the huntress."
Grishnaw offers an ancient, wise smile to Jonak. "They are a strong breed, these women."
Jonak takes the tea from Elatha, but does not smile at her. He looks at the woman-huntress, but does not really see her. //Tonight will be a night for thinking.//
Elatha rattles off to Grishnaw, who grunts and waves her away. Her slender form dances in a run like a spring doe as she darts to help the other huntress. "Ay-yiyiyiyi!" she calls, laughing.
"So," the man finally says, after a brief but very quiet pause, "are they - you - expecting me to mate with them?" Another pause. "What if I - don't?"
"You will not be forced, " Grishnaw chuckles, amused. "Everything is voluntary. They offer their hospitality with no strings, Son. Elatha will take you to the mountain's base after the thaw. You're not their captive." The older man begins to laugh, a sort of wheezing rumble like when the snow breaks near the spring and tumbles down the mountain.
Jonak slowly begins to smile, although it is still evident that he has not lost his wariness of strange ways and strange women.
"Most men, " Grishnaw laughs, holing his stomach in his immense amusement, "would be honored! You are quite the man, Young Jonak." The elder man gives the younger a bearish swipe to the shoulder with one gnarled hand.
Jonak grins, and is suprised at the strength that the old man still posesses when Grishnaw's hand connects with his own shoulder.
Meanwhile, Elatha returns from the crowd bearing a large basket of tubers and vegetables on her shoulder. The girls call back and forth to each other, laughing merrily, and Elatha bears the basket over to the steaming cauldron the older women are tending. She exchanges smiles, then kneels next to a second basket as she pulls a knife from her belt. A handful of others join her, peeling and slicing the vegetables into the other container, which is gradually emptied into the steaming brew. After a while, the tantalizing scent of warm, simmering food.
"Hm," Jonak mutters as his stomach begins to growl like a cornered moon-singer. "I was hungrier than I thought," he says to Grishnaw, and stands up. He offers the old man his hand. "Come and eat, Elder Grishnaw."
Grinning, Grishnaw waggles his finger. "They will bring us food here. I do not think you are quite ready to sit among the young women."
"Are you sure it is not the other way around?" Jonak chuckles.
"Perhaps, perhaps." He chuckles.
"They are most enchanted with you, and know not the limit of personal space. You might start a fight between them." The ancient man hides a smile behind a fold of his robe.
Jonak looks as if he has no idea what the Elder is talking about.
Chuckling, Grishnaw shakes his head, glancing up at the parade of females headed in their direction. "You will see, I'm afraid."
The hunter grins and tries to look even more innocent, with a marked lack of success. He realizes how ridiculous he must seem and begins to laugh even more.
The elder simply grins.
The group of women, a mixture of young and older, approach with baskets and bowls. The younger seem to pile themselves around Jonak with doe-like eyes while their elders shake their heads and chuckle. Almost cooing to him, the young women pile Jonak's plate with fresh bread and vegetables, placing a bowl of thick veal stew next to it. Ever doting, as his cup of berry wine diminishes, it is refilled, as is his plate. All eyes seem to be gazing at him with all the innocence of a newborn lamb.
"Somehow I do not think that my 'what is happening' look is working," Jonak chuckles to Grishnaw. He takes the bread, dips it in the stew, and begins to eat hungrily.
As soon as he begins work on one loaf of bread, another mysteriously appears on the plate. Only a glimpse of a retreating hand hints at the doting.
"This is wonderful," he comments to no one in particular. The veal is tender and juicy, and the vegetables are perhaps the best he has ever tasted, even though the crispy bright orange-root is something he has never seen before. Every so often, he takes small sips of the wine, but soon grows more thirsty. "How would I ask them for water?" he asks Grishnaw. "The thick wine is making me thirst."
"Bah!" Grishnaw motions to the girls. "Fin-leh!" They scrabble into motions and soon a cup of cool, fresh water. Without missing a beat, they assume their doe eyed gazing again.
"Is 'Fin-leh' water?" Jonak asks. "Thank you," he says as he turns to the women.
"Yes." Grishnaw gives a trademark wolfish grin.
"Fin-leh. Fin-leh." Jonak tries out the unfamiliar word.
Strangely, Elatha is not among them.
Across the field, she is helping to stretch the skin of the buck on a tanning rack for the morning. She wipes her face as she drips with sweat, then goes to tend the fire, squatting low before it.
Jonak looks curiously across the open space at Elatha. "Why is she not serving with the others?" he questions around a mouthful of bread and wild onions.
"She is in training with the girl who caught the stag and is duty bound to help her clean the carcass. As a hunt-pair, they will not eat tonight. They're also responsible for the celebration after the meal is eaten."
Jonak blinks. "So Elatha is training to be a huntress? Surely - it is best for her if she eats something, at least tomorrow." Jonak frowns. "I am a hunter, and though eating too much before a hunt can be deadly, so can eating nothing at all. It is hard to outrun the fleet grass-eaters and the white-toothed hunters alike if you are weak and dizzy."
The elder chuckles. "The fasting is part of the ceremony. They are thanking the stag for giving its life for the sake of the tribe. She will eat with her hunting companions tomorrow at dawn in a smaller ritual. Tonight is a celebration of the hunt."
"Ah." The hunter nods. "That is good."
Across the clearing, Elatha rises from the fire and moves to pull several large cylindrical objects strung with rope and wood. A few others help her to arrange them near the fire. They laugh very softly to each other, and toss out a few sticks like objects to the surrounding women. Elatha and the girl who brought down the stag smile and bow to the other girls and leave the clearing...
"What are those?" Jonak asks curiously." I have never seen such things." He stands up to get a better look at them.
"Drums. Or, at least, their version of them. You shall see," Grishnaw smiles.
"Will there be singing?" Jonak asks. "And would I be permitted to join in it?"
"Perhaps. They improvise most of it."
Jonak smiles.
Grishnaw chuckles deeply. "You are lucky. This celebration will be outstanding."
Jonak, no longer hungry, sits back on his heels and waits for whatever festivities there will be to begin. "Good."
A call sounds from the other side of the clearing, and most of the younger women rise and run towards the fire. The older women around Grishnaw collect the dishes and help both men to their feet. They lead both to slung chairs near the fire's warmth and help them settle into the comfortable chairs. Nearby, younger woman take their places at drums, others picking up flutes and an array of other instruments.
Jonak settles in his chair as the moon rises and the fire brightens.
Soft like a heartbeat, the drums begin to come to life. Two girls near the fire feed pieces of green wood onto the fire, causing it to smoke as the drums begin to gather speed and rhythm.
As the smoke begins to clear, the girls who had tended to the buck become visible in a ring around the fire. Each is clothed in a snow white loincloth and top. Whorls of body pain dance with the flicker shadows to form mesmerizing patterns on the skin. Their hair is free flowing in a myriad of hues, and braided through with feathers and charms. Directly in front of Jonak and Grishnaw stands Elatha, her skin shining with a greased sweat. Her lips curve in a smile, and in a bashful way, her eyes don't meet either of theirs as she looks at the ground.
Almost despite himself, Jonak finds himself thinking how beatiful Elatha is. Then he shakes his head like a wet moon-singer after an unexpected dunking. /They are expecting me to do this,/ he thinks, /to think this way. To - to somehow create their next generation single-hande -- well, by myself./ He turns and looks for a moment at Grishnaw. /At least the Elder here had three or four others for help./ He sighs. /I just don't know./ Then, he looks down and discovers that his feet are tapping out the rythym of the drumbeat. He frowns. /This is going to be much harder than I thought./
The tune picks up in its driving pulse and the girls begin to move to the tune. In the fluttering light of the fire, their painted, triumphant forms weave out beautiful patterns and motions. Perhaps it's just the flames. Perhaps it's the music. Either way, the dancers float like birds through a bright summer sky as the light sensuously ripples and slides over their skin.
Elatha seems to relax into the dance and bursts into a smile, laughter floating from her. Rolling calls echo from girl to girl as they taunt each other, each breaking the synchronization of the dance to form their own version. For a moment, it seems to be a war of the twisting female figures. Elatha holds holds a straight face for as long as she can, but her eyes glitter like stars. One by one, the other girls drop from the "competition" by bursting into laughter, until Elatha and her hunt Mistress are left facing each other.
Jonak watches with growing bemusement as the women try as hard as they possibly can not to laugh - and, of course, fail miserably the harder they try.
The drumbeat throbs as the girls match each other's every motion. After a moment, Elatha appears to take charge, giving a firm stamp with one foot and breaking the stare between the women. Sweat drips down her figure. The other giggles and claps her hands which causes the other girls to form rank once more. The drum thunder to a halt and the girls cease, nodding to the others seated around the fire, who cheer.
Jonak chuckles.
Elatha grins and hugs her friend. Her blonde hair is tousled now, but she almost trembles from her excitement.
"Hai!" the other calls, and the drums roll into thunder once more. Elatha and her friends join into a new dance, freely moving about.
Jonak sits back and enjoys the dance as best he can. It appears he has no other choice.
As the tune weaves on, each girl darts out to another in the clearing and extends her hand. By choice, each either shakes their head, or takes the hand offered and is pulled into the dance. After a few rounds, Elatha and her Hunt Mistress approach Jonak and Grishnaw, respectively. They offer their hands. Grishnaw grins.
Jonak looks at Grishnaw for a moment. /A wise Elder, indeed/.
"It's up to you, Son. Elatha will help you bear weight on your leg if you wish to join in. But they expect nothing of you other than for you to heal."
With that, Grishnaw is pulled up into the dance. Though aged and slow, the Hunt Mistress and he dance together, laughing, as if they both were in their prime. Grishnaw's staff remains leaning against his chair, his hands held by the younger girl to help steady him.
"Mm?" Elatha cocks her head like a bird down at Jonak, smiling. She's having fun, and wishes to share it with her friend.
Jonak bites the corner of his mouth for a moment. /It did look like fun/. Then, eyes twinkling, he nods and takes Elatha's hand.
Elatha beams and helps him up gently. Leading him to a spot near the fire, she gently braces his leg by leaning the side with the injured leg against her opposite side, locking the side of her body to his so she bears part of his weight.
Gently, she begins to dance, one arm around him for support until he gains his balance and is inspired enough to step out on his own. her grin sparkles like her eyes as she weaves in dance around him, losing herself to the music - but centered enough to keep a watchful eye on his leg.
Jonak wobbles about a bit as the dance begins. He feels like a water-bird, forced to stand on one leg. He wonders how they balance with so little effort. Finally, though, his balance is centered, and he can concentrate less on falling over, and more on enjoying the dance. He is grateful for the quiet reassurance of Elatha helping him. He smiles at her.
She beams back, dancing around and with him, lightly tangling her fingers in his. Her laughter floats around his ears gently, movements as graceful and lithe as a panther running through the moon light woods. Flame shadows dance on her sweat drenched skin, and her vibrant green eyes seem to slit, half closed, as she weaves her dance.
"This is wonderful," he says in his own language, softly.
Overhead, the stars themselves seem to dance as the fire smokes and flickers warmth. Time seems to stop as the drums beat a rhythm soon paralleled by the heartbeat of all the dancers.
Jonak hums under his breath. It is a song that seems to come from everywhere and nowhere. As the wind moves over the grass, his song moves and changes without pattern, but making a beautiful noise of its own.
Across form him, Elatha beams, humming along so her soft, husky voice play sagainst his, complimenting it. As she dances, she begins to sing, the words not making sense to Jonak, but lilting and soothing.
The melodies intertwine, weaving like the dance-steps as the fire crackles and throws orange bits of itself up into the sky. Jonak looks at Elatha and simply smiles. The night is warm, the music is wonderfully strange, and he is dancing with - he must admit it - a beatiful *and* kind woman.
The music weaves for an eternity it seems, flowing gracefully from one pattern to another, all born from an origin deep within. Wafting smoke from the fire gives the area an ethereal look as Elatha sets him gently back in his chair.
Gently, she picks up his hands and turns them over, kissing the roughened palms softly of each. The huntress placing Grishnaw in his seat does the same to the older man, and both bow backwards out of the area.
Jonak smiles as the woman leads him back to his chair. He sits down gently and smiles at Elatha as she takes his hands in her own. When Elatha quickly begins to bend down and kiss them, he looks surprised, but before he can begin to protest, he sees that Grishnaw is receiving the same treatment. After a moment, he turns and whispers to Grishnaw. "Is that the custom here?"
Grishnaw nods at Jonak, smiling gently. "It is a thank you. For dancing."
"Vah!" Elatha gasps and cautiously approaches Grishanw. She speaks to him, gesturing with some concern towards Jonak. The older man chuckles. "She wishes to know if you will be all right with the fact she will not be the one watching over you tonight."
"Well... who will be?"
"An older woman who acts as my helper. Her name is Glata."
"May I meet her?"
"You will later. She is that woman over there." Grishnaw points to a rather large woman with sleek salt and pepper hair pulled into a tight bun near the nape of her neck.
"Is Elatha going to be somewhere?" Despite himself, Jonak frowns slightly. He had gotten used to Elatha.
"Yes. She will be performing a midnight watch with her huntmistress in preparation for their expedition tomorrow."
"Oh. Well, it will be fine with me." He smiles slightly.
Grishnaw nods to Elatha, who look relieved, then smiles shyly at Jonak. She spins and takes off at a lope with her huntmistress, skimming across the ground
"What - what would have happened if I had said no?"
"She would've forsaken her duties. Dishonored herself, really, as she is apprenticed to her huntmistress."
"Oh." This 'oh' has a different tone to it - a surprised expression of exactly how far his hosts would have gone to please him, mingled with a bit of disappointment that he hadn't said no.
Across the field, barely illuminated by the soft glow of the dying fire, Elatha's sun gold hair catches the light as her head turns. She gazes at Jonak for a long moment, looking decidedly undecided, then her figure fades along with the rest of the group into the dark line of trees.
A few moments later, the woman identified by Grishnaw emerges. She peers at Jonak with dark yes set fairly close together over a long, beak-like nose. "Hmm." is all she says as she helps Grishnaw to his feet, then turns to hand Jonak a crutch to hobble on. "Dis way, " she rumbles, like a bear having just awoken from a long and restless nap.
Jonak looks for a moment at Elatha, then takes the crutch and limps after the woman, uncertain.
She leads the two, Grishnaw on her arm, to a similar clearing to what Elatha uses. It is, perhaps, a bit more secluded, with umbrella leaves lining the edges of the small creek. The clearing is ovular, as if they were inside a giant egg. The stones alongside the river are etched with words Jonak would recognize. Names, words, bits and pieces of old stories. The litter of pots and clothing folded near Grishnaw's bed speaks volumes of Jonak's home.
Glata carefully eases Grishnaw into his thickly padded sling bed, then sets about making a thick nest of furs near the creek for Jonak, leaving him to his own devices. Mumbling to herself in a mixture of Grishnaw's tongue and her own, she sets about cleaning the area. Those reminders of Jonak's home are quickly stacked into holes in the rocks by the sleeping Grishnaw.
Jonak hobbles over to the creek, bends over with some difficulty, and cups some water in his hand. He can see some water-swimmers, small and golden, dart around in the shallows. The water is fresh and clear, and the moon is bright. Jonak notes that his bed is made. His leg aches, his mind is worn out with thinking, and he is tired. He sinks gratefully into the fur bed, smiles at the woman and Grishnaw, then drifts off to sleep.
-*-
Sometime later, the leaves beside his bed rustle softly. A pair of slender hands reach out gently, unwrapping his leg. The fingertips brush his skin softly...
Jonak mumbles, rolls over, and opens his eyes slightly. The moon overhead is very bright.
Moonlight plays over the golden hair tumbling over the figure's shoulders. She places one finger to her lips, carefully checking his leg.
Jonak's eyes widen in surprise, then he winces as the starlight blinds him momentarily. He waves two or three fingers to her, careful not to speak. He smiles up at Elatha.
Elatha returns his smile, carefully applying some salve to the leg, then wrapping it up properly. On her hand and knees, she check to make certain the furs cover him sufficiently for warmth, then kneels by his head, remaking the bunched up fur into the comfortable pillow he's used it while supporting his head on her lap.
Jonak cuddles deeper into the furs, and smiles serenely.
She finally looks satisfied as she nestles him into the furs, softly stroking his hair away from his face. Her touch is gentle, stroking, though pausing to check his forehead for signs of a fever.
Jonak opens one eye and motions Elatha back to whatever ceremony she is in, hoping she won't get caught.
Sighing a little, Elatha smiles at him. Gathering her feet under her, she crouches... then, her eyes soften and she bites her lip. A hesitation, then she leans forward to softly kiss his forehead. Then she is on her feet and gone, nothing but a whisper in the shadows.
Jonak rolls over for a moment, then sighs and frowns. He falls asleep looking at the moon and dreaming of Elatha.
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