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+---- Thread: a nighttime flight (/showthread.php?tid=7121)
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a nighttime flight - Zamara - 05-02-2022
There were holes in her shoes.
She could feel them opening up into greater and greater rifts the further she trudged, as inevitable as the lowering sun over the horizon. It would be dark soon and she had no shelter, no fire, and there were holes in her shoes.
It was her own fault, really. She had not prepared for the trials of the wilderness, being largely ignorant of what they might have in store. She had not brought anything but the fine clothing upon her back and a bit of rations that she had already gone through. It was dawning upon her how foolish this escape had truly been.
Even still, the thought of turning back and attempting to explain her sudden disappearance to the gamehouse that Zamara had fled from filled the young dancer with a sourness that kept her blistering feet moving forward. Surely, she thought, there will be a kindhearted traveler before long that could guide her to relative safety. Or perhaps even give up a little food.
Her stomach rumbled not for the first time that day and she began to wonder how difficult it would be to catch some small creature to cook up. Even the plants she knew very little of had begun to look appealing despite the dangers they might hold. Zamara was growing desperate and the night was rapidly approaching.
She perked as she heard something in the distance. A noise steadily increased in volume the further ahead she walked and soon she realized that it was the trickling sounds of a flowing creek. Thank the gods she thought and her pace quickened despite the discomfort it brought as she eagerly pursued the noises. She moved recklessly, hoping to beat the sun before she lost its guiding light when her ankle caught the wrong end of a crooked stone and it rolled painfully. Zamara was flung forward and might have been seriously injured were it not for the sudden discovery of the creek she had been chasing; her hands splashed into its chilly waters up to their elbows and soaked her entire torso from the waist up. Miserable, the young woman pushed herself awkwardly out from the creek’s bed and sat herself upon its bank.
Zamara’s chest swelled with a held breath that she then let out in a rapid whoosh. Her eyes turned skyward with a morose glare, as though it were the stars fault for her rashness. “Well. Now what?” She asked them with futility in her voice as she tugged off her ruined sandals and cast them aside.
RE: a nighttime flight - Chaele - 05-03-2022
The hapless intruder can be heard long before she can be seen, grumbling and stomping as she did. Chaele had been filling their waterskin when they first detected her but, upon realizing that she was approaching, darted into the underbrush. They are not the least conspicuous thing in the oerwoud, but luckily this place is rife with distractions-- the poor girl had made plenty of her own.
At first they simply watch her like a vulture, curious and unsympathetic. Human finger bones are particularly good for warding totems, after all, and their livers are valuable for divination rituals. But Chaele cannot help but wince as she twists her ankle. The creature becomes more like an injured bird than witless prey, all but demanding a guiding hand. Although she is clearly not native to these lands, neither is she a threat to them.
Her words are easy enough to answer, and the shaman does not seem to mind that they might startle her as they reply from the darkness between the trees, [say]“Sit back. Put your injured foot up on that rock.”[/say]
A gnarled, rune-carved hand reaches out of their cloak and points toward said rock as they emerge from the foliage. Remaining out of arm’s reach, perhaps they still seem to loom over the prone woman’s form as they inspect the injury from afar. The scrutinizing tilt of their head is amplified by the long antlers protruding from their skull mask.
[say]“I have wrappings for it,”[/say] they mention, almost like an offer for help that does not quite find the pitch of genuine care. There is no use for bedside manner when there is no bed. [say]“You are lucky you are not dead.”[/say]
RE: a nighttime flight - Zamara - 05-03-2022
The voice cut through the haze of her self-pity like a heated knife, tearing her back to the sudden present and the fact that she was in hostile territory. There had been no warning; no sense of being watched to accompany the sudden sound. Zamara was immediately unsettled and on high alert.
Immediately she went low to the ground on her hands and knees as her eyes frantically scanned the darkness to find either the source of this disembodied voice or spot any other potential attackers.
At first, none were forthcoming. And then the trees themselves seemed to be addressing her as one of their shadowy numbers suddenly appeared to move and grow a beckoning hand. Zamara bit her tongue to keep herself from shrieking out in sudden terror and every tale of every monster she had ever heard suddenly came rushing back into her near-panicked mind. She lay there, crouched like an animal with eyes fixated upon this gnarled arm.
After many tense moments, Zamara began to realize that there was no attack coming. Instead the low voice and its appendage seemed to wish to aid her and bade her sit upon a nearby rock. The girl found herself cursing her foolish wish for a traveler to happen upon her; certainly any that moved in the night in these terrifying, wild lands could not possibly bear her any kindness. And yet this strange tree was offering to bind her injury.
Zamara’s only true option was to acquiesce and crawl over to the indicated rock. There would be an opening, perhaps, where she could get the upper hand long enough to limp away from danger. As she did, the tree seemed to take on a more familiar shape until she saw the person for whom they were as they stepped into the pale moonlight.
Their appearance did little to comfort Zamara’s concerns, for they appeared to be practically emerging from a fable. They were covered in strange markings and wore the trappings of the forest- a truly primal look. The dancer made no reply as they approached, but nor did she attempt to flee. She watched this strange figure with eyes as wide as any doe’s, eventually murmuring a single sentence in her frozen state.
“Please…don’t hurt me.”
RE: a nighttime flight - Chaele - 05-03-2022
What a fool they were, for taking pity on this wounded creature. She deserves to die, for being so unprepared; the forest deserves to claim her, as it does all things when their time has come. But there is something about this one-- the shape of her eyes, the design of her skirts, the smell of her fear-- that reminds Chaele of something deep rooted and long forgotten. As they kneel beside Zamara’s outstretched ankle, they loose an irritated sigh.
[say] “You have done enough of that to yourself,”[/say] is the flat reply as they retrieve a small roll of gauze from their pack and begin to unwind it. Their movements are awkward and human, despite what the mask and scars might suggest. They do seem to have a strange habit of turning their head from side to side, causing the antlers to sway like branches in wind, but it is only to better see the other woman through the mask’s monocular holes. Peering at the injury as they do so, the healer adds, [say]“At least there is probably nothing broken.”[/say]
They do not warn her before lifting her foot by the heel and wrapping it tightly in the yellowing bandages, hands tending with practiced swiftness and not enough gentleness. Even as they work, their eyes wander toward the soaked shirt and discarded sandals, calculating.
[say]“You are a long way from home,”[/say] they observe, though perhaps it need not have been said. [say]“Why are you here?”[/say]
RE: a nighttime flight - Zamara - 05-04-2022
Curiously, this fabled figure seemed to have no desire to hurt her. Indeed the concern, though aloof and somewhat condescending, appeared to be altogether genuine. Zamara was thrown off guard- caught between abject fear and utter helplessness. The face of the figure was terrifying to behold but the closer they neared the more she began to realize that this was nothing more than a rather elaborate mask. For what reason, the young woman could not possibly say.
She was becoming aware of the pitiable figure that she must have struck, crumpled there and bathed in moonlight while cowering beneath this probably mad person. But even as they spoke, Zamara knew that they spoke the truth; it was her own fault for ending up in this state.Whatever happened to her now was just the same.
Her soaked palms slap the ground and her fingers dig into the mud of the bank amidst the manipulations pressed upon her. Before she knew it, her heel was bound and dulled to a much more tolerable throbbing while finally the eyes of the person behind the frightening skull sought her own. The mere act of it reassured her on some instinctive level.
It took Zamara some time and a wetting of her lips to find her voice again. [say]”What does it matter? I don’t intend on going back, if that is what you wish.”[/say]
RE: a nighttime flight - Chaele - 05-04-2022
Chaele is patient in the quiet. They prefer the sounds of the forest-- the buzzing of insects, the rustle of winds, the meandering waters of the adjacent river-- to the complexity of language and human social structures. The eyes that are locked with theirs contain so many nuances of panic and resentment and perhaps even gratitude; the more they look, the deeper they see. But soon enough the pause breaks, and the shaman sits back.
[say]“I wish nothing of you,” [/say]they reply, eyes averting toward their surroundings in an instinct of vigilance. This watering hole is a relief to the weary wanderer, but there are more creatures that wander than this pair of people. [say]“Except perhaps that you learn how to fend for yourself in a place like this, if you insist on living in it.”[/say]
This mortal spirit is also aware of the figure they strike, though the skull mask and the dark skirts and the flesh carvings were less an intention to frighten and more a manifestation of their own esoteric rites. It does not matter what this girl thinks of them, only that the forest is protected and the magicks of the world are discovered. Things have not always been this way though. The dark eyes behind the ivory know what it is to slap bare feet to sand, to hear whispers in narrow alleys, to thread seaglass into bracelets and rings.
[say]“I am from Torchline, too. But when I ventured east, I brought food. A flinsteel. Proper boots.”[/say]
RE: a nighttime flight - Zamara - 05-05-2022
Even muffled from the mask that was rapidly losing that visceral terror that had frozen Zamara to the spot, the young dancer could detect the strange and somewhat halting speech from this figure. It was as though they spoke rarely which, Zamara supposed, was probably accurate. Or perhaps every word was intentionally chosen, as though there were deeper meanings behind each syllable.
Strangely, that same initial fear was not just leaving her but becoming something new. This was a veritable adventure already and some small part of her was hoping for some deeper meaning other than a foolish young woman fleeing from the only place that accepted her. Could this odd shamanistic-looking person represent an archetype from the fables that she had grown up idolizing? Was there, somehow, the hand of the gods in this possibly portentous meeting?
It was an altogether too innocent hope and Zamara knew it, but she could feel herself indulging it all the same. Here was a person from Torchline- if they were to be believed…but perhaps they claimed this just to make her feel at ease. A wise woman would be wary, she figured.
Moving slowly, she pulled herself backwards and away from them until she was perched more readily upon a flat stone. While she could not stand, she had no intention of becoming easy prey if the figure proved deceptive. A well-timed illusion could turn the tide in her favor and Zamara kept the option close at hand.
[say]”I…had little time.”[/say] She eventually decided to utter. [say]”And no coin to speak of. Who are you?”[/say]
RE: a nighttime flight - Chaele - 05-05-2022
It is true that the wild woman does not have much experience in idle conversation; their otherwise unwavering patience runs thin for wasted words. Neither do they consider this particular meeting opportune or fated, though perhaps in hindsight it might seem so. For now they are simply focused on solving the problems ahead, and ensuring the forest is not damaged in the process.
[say]“I am called Chaele,”[/say] they answer, assuming the woman’s name would be afforded in return without their needing to ask for it. Talk of time and money give them pause, a passing beat that shapes their voice into a tone of caution. [say]“Should I be worried about anyone in pursuit of you?”[/say]
The little retreat does not go unnoticed, but the shaman cannot honor the space that is made between them. They reach into their pack, bulky and tattered with years of use, and retrieve a small ration. It seems to be made of various seeds sealed together with a hardened sap, with the occasional maggot wedged in for protein. They lean toward her, a long arm outstretched in offering. [say]“Eat this.”[/say] The gift is withdrawn somewhat as they notice the mud on her hands, but then offered again. There is water to wash in, should she choose to, but Chaele is hardly one to object to a little dirt.
Then they sit back, finding a root to sit on as they indulge in a bite of a similar ration. It is used to gesture to a nearby hanging branch as they suggest, [say]“Hang your shirt there to dry. I will make the leather for your boots from the next beast who visits the water side.”[/say]
RE: a nighttime flight - Zamara - 05-06-2022
So the wild person had a name and something akin to manners. She was used to dealing with a greater brusqueness from so-called “civilized” people, so this was in truth a welcome reprieve…if a very strange one.
[say]”My name is Zamara.”[/say] She replied with halting words. [say]”And no…there is no one that will follow me out here. I’m alone.”[/say]
There was a moment of hazy sadness that drew her eyes downward as she lost focus, but quickly it was gone as she recalled her surroundings. When she did, she came back to a seedy little thing being thrust into her face that made her scrunch up with distaste when the smell hit her and she discovered there were maggots folded into the ration. Not wishing to be rude, she delicately took the food between two fingers and laid it gently in her lap with an awkward: [say]”...my thanks.”[/say]
As far as courtesies went, stripping in front of a stranger was not exactly common- yet it was another practice that she was unfortunately familiar with. Even still, there was a distinct hesitancy in her careful disrobing before this still-mysterious figure. Zamara shivered as the bright blouse peeled off of her wet, algae-speckled torso and with a bit of hopping upon her good leg she managed to drape it carefully over the indicated branch.
[say]”If you are from Torchline…why are you out here?”[/say] The question is asked with sufficient innocence by the shivering and half-naked young dancer.
RE: a nighttime flight - Chaele - 05-06-2022
Her bare skin is of little consequence to Chaele, who knew exactly what they were suggesting when they offered their help. The girl’s physical health is more important than the comfort of her modesty, just as it is more important than the tastes of her tongue. The shaman gestures between Zamara’s hand and her mouth, insisting that she nourish herself. [say]“There is no spiced ramphire steak in the Oerwoud, child. And I will not have wasted my time on a starved corpse. Eat.”[/say]
There is a cloak in their pack to cure the shivering in her shoulders, but the air is warm enough and her skin will dry better in the open air. In the meantime, Chaele keeps their ears alert for the sound of any approaching animal. They keep their voice low as they reply, [say]“Because it is a cesspit of hypocrisy, full of people who have forgotten where they came from. Because its walls and boardwalks will rot and decay while places like this,”[/say] They lift a scarred hand toward the trees, the water, the soil. [say]“Will stand in timelessness.”[/say]
It is not the first time they have uttered such words to those who have little appreciation for them. Chaele never hesitates to speak of the world as they know it, however true or untrue it might seem to others. In fact, there is a thread of passion in their voice where it was previously absent. [say]“There is power here. Ley lines crossing, spirits lurking, intentions rooted deep. Perhaps you were drawn to them, as I was.”[/say]
RE: a nighttime flight - Zamara - 05-09-2022
With one arm draped over herself and the other clutching her ration with but two fingers only, Zamara looked down at the distasteful bit of food and struggled with the growling of her stomach as well as the obligation to this kindly shaman. A fat, dead maggot garnished the side she stared at and with futile childishness she plucked it from the bar so that she could properly pretend the rest did not have more waiting for her to crunch into. She shuddered, then took a bite.
Her face immediately scrunched up as the dry thing spread across her tongue and she hurried to be done with it. Zamara gagged after another chomp and, despite her gnawing hunger, encountered trouble in finishing it. After it was reduced to crumbs upon the ground the disgusted dancer crawled her way over toward the water to wash the taste away as best she could.
As she lay prone, she listened to Chaele. And then she looked up to the landscape she spoke of. Suddenly, it was as if Zamara were seeing it for the first time since she had wandered into this wilderness, filtered through the eyes of the shaman.
A cacophony of noises was the first thing she noticed. The songs of birds mingled with the distant croaks of frogs and the constantly chirping and buzzing of a thousand different varieties of insects. The trees withstood their shapes in the failing light but seemed to take on a more sentinel-like appearance, as though they were guards upon the horizon offering shelter to any that could claim it. The creek, she realized, was fed by a larger river uphill and split off to generate dozens of other similar paths. The blood in the veins of this living, breathing organism.
Slowly Zamara pushed herself back into a sitting position and turned her gaze back to Chaele, then began to assault her own lip beneath a nervous chewing. [say]”I…have nowhere to go. And I can’t go back there…you are right about every bit of it.”[/say]
The pause after she fell silent was pregnant and hopeful.
RE: a nighttime flight - Chaele - 05-09-2022
Chaele only watches Zamara’s struggle with the ration for a few moments before they can no longer bear it, averting their gaze to the forest beyond under the pretense of keeping watch. A noise in the underbrush alerts them to a larger animal in their midst, though likely not a predator given its careless tread. Their gaze returns to the lost girl as she speaks, meeting hers with grave intention.
[say]“Then you must learn to survive here. It is not as difficult as it might seem, with the right guidance. You are lucky that this place is not so harsh in winter, but if I am to be your guide you must learn quickly and live humbly.”[/say] They pluck the plump maggot off of the ground where Zamara had discarded it, drawing it beneath her mask and swallowing it whole. [say]“Your instincts will be a valuable asset, but I must guess that you have more than that to offer. What are your skills? What do you know about--”[/say]
The shaman pauses as the underbrush parts on their side of the river, a short distance down the bank behind Zamara. They raise a finger to the jagged nose of the skull mask, demanding silence as they rise to a crouch. A young hog has lowered its head toward the wishtide to take a drink. [say]“Your new shoes,”[/say] Chaele whispers faintly, at the edge of perception, as they point a steady finger over the other woman’s slender shoulder. With the other hand they draw a hunting knife from their pack. [say]“And our next meal. What will you do?”[/say]
RE: a nighttime flight - Zamara - 05-10-2022
[say]”You…you want me to kill it?”[/say] Zamara’s tone was filled with the incredulity of a girl who never had to provide her own meals. She had learned to cook well enough- but the act of butchery itself was as foreign to her as the wilds she now found herself within.
She had turned her attention away from Chaele to follow the pointing finger and had fixated her gaze upon the brazen animal that was ignorant of any coming danger. It seemed like such a cruel fate for this poor beast that only sought to slake his thirst and the trepidation shone brightly in Zamara’s expression.
[say]”I’ve never…that is to say, I haven’t… isn’t it dangerous?”[/say]
Zamara looked down to the blade of the knife clutched within a weathered hand as though it were something completely unknown to her. She tried to imagine plunging it into the flesh of the boar. Letting the blood run over the ground. Watching the eyes lose their light. The young woman broke out into a cold sweat and let out a soft whimper. She found no voice to summon, so instead looked up to Chaele with eyes as wide as the moon and shook her head from side to side like a child trying to refuse a healthy but tasteless meal.
RE: a nighttime flight - Chaele - 05-10-2022
They had hoped to witness some instinct to hide, to stalk, to harness some skill that might aid in a young hunt. But this injured bird proves to be even more of a fledgling than she initially seemed to be, leaving Chaele to do the deed with haste and without complaint.
Zamara’s questions are answered by the silent unclasping of the shaman’s cloak and the careful steps that carry them toward and past her. Chaele uses the soft tufts of grass within the slick mud to quiet their progress until they are about a man’s length away; the knife is outstretched warily ahead, beside an empty hand that reaches just as far. Once they are close enough, the carved runes on their forearms seem to deepen with dark shadows, which rise like ink in water from their flesh and snake through the air toward the unwitting animal.
It sees the magic in its periphery, but by then it is too late. The squeal of surprise subsides into an enervated groan as its knees buckle and its hooves slip in the riverbank, its life force dispersed into exhaustion and entropy. Then the huntress descends, straddling the faltering creature and opening its neck in a single, practiced movement. A curtain of blood pools in the water before Chaele manages to pull the fresh corpse further ashore, muttering.
[say]“I take this life from the land, that it might nourish and aid me, as I nourish and aid the land. May its spirit join the spirits of the land, that it might guide and protect me, as I guide and protect the land. Life to earth and earth to life. So is the circle drawn.”[/say]
They wet one hand in the warm blood, drawing a grooved circle around the space where the boar gave its life. Then they grasp their own neck, painting it in reverence, before turning the animal on its back. Standing, they turn toward Zamara in quiet triumph. [say]“Can you help me carry it? My camp is not far.”[/say]