I awoke early this morning; as the lar-torvis was coming up. The day ahead of me would be a long one and I needed to get started. I bathed again and changed my garments. Shaved my face, which had become unkempt with whiskers. I would have to speak with Ayguili about my need to leave for a few days. I could only hope he would understand.
After that it was the task of collecting everything. All her wagons. All her property and assets. The bosk would have to be harnessed and the rest tied off to the back of the first. A few men, those who seemed to accept my previous outpouring of emotion for what it was, offered to assist me in the task and I accepted.
And at the very end of that procession of wagons was Yew. Tethered to the rear of the last wagon. The work was steadily completed and done mostly in silence. Once everything had been relocated to the area of my own wagons, I had the daunting task of going through it all. Those things of Saitirri and Lazlo were seperated out first and placed in a single wagon. Next, things that could be redistributed amongst the Tribe were seperated out; food items, the basic art supplies, some of the clothing, etc.
All of this took the better half of the day to complete. And when it was done, everything else that was left had been loaded onto a single wagon. And that wagon was harnessed to a team of bosk. Yew and another kaiila were tethered to the rear of the wagon. I climbed aboard the wagon and took hold of the reins, giving them a sharp snap to start the bosk off. The team strained in their yokes, but the wagon began to move. And it was driven away from the harigga. The bosk herds seperated to make way for the wagon as I drove it towards the open plains. I rode until I couldn't see the harigga or the herds anymore, then kept riding. I rode until the sky was beginning to grow dusky, then finally decided to make camp.
I felt this would be the best time to begin. When the lar-torvis was still in the sky and the three moons were starting to rise and join him. It was neither day nor night and neither celestial ruled the sky unopposed. I gathered myself and rose, with quiva in hand, and approached Yew, who was still tethered. I think he could sense the turmoil within me. Smell it on my skin. I stood there with him for several ehn. Talking to him, stroking his neck, feeling the powerful beat of his heart.
I closed my eyes and lifted the quiva slowly. Opening them, I placed the quiva at the side of Yew's neck. With a sudden coiling of muscle the blade of the weapon was plunged into the kaiila's flesh and muscle. Yew squealed and reared, striking out with his clawed paws. He clipped the wagon and left a deep gouge in the wood. I think I started screaming then too. I can't be sure if the moisture I felt on my face were just more tears or the splattering of Yew's blood. I yanked down on the quiva with all my strength and the blade cut a large gash through the muscle, severing the artery in the creatures neck.
I staggered back and watched as Yew's blood poured from the wound, weakening the creature. I watched as his once strong legs began to shake until they could no longer support his weight. I watched as Yew collapsed to the ground, his blood still gushing from that wound. And I watched as he grew still and the last of his life poured out onto the ground. I bore witness to yet another death.
When Yew grew still and his chest ceased it's perpetual rise and fall, I approached his body. I laid my hands on the side of his chest and I could still feel the warmth of his body. It was already starting to fade, but I could still feel it. I dropped down onto my knees then, and lifted my quiva once more. I sliced open the kaiila's belly, spilling his innards onto the grass and across my thighs. I had slaughtered many an animal in my days. It was a simple fact of life. Thus, I couldn't understand why now, as I did this, I could feel my stomach turning sour. Why, as I pushed my hands inside his body, did it feel as though a pair of hands were digging through my own guts? When my hand closed around Yew's heart, why did my own chest suddenly feel so tight and constricted? I cut his heart free and began to draw the organ from within the body. And the closer I brought his heart to me, I felt a stirring within me. My hands were pulled free from the corpse and clutched in one was the heart of Yew. I leaned back on my heels then, throwing my head back and screamed. Again. I cursed the Sky. I cursed and damned the Sky from the very bottom of the blackness inside me.
When there was nothing left in me to pour out I slumped forward, over Yews body and asked for his forgiveness. Then I assured him his place of honor was secured.
After a few more ehn I finally stood once more. I was splattered in blood from nearly head to toe. Craddling that precious heart in my heads, as if it might break should I drop it, I went back to the plaform of the wagon. Sitting on the steps was a tin large enough to hold the heart. And I placed the organ in the tin and carefully sealed the lid back on. The tin was taken inside the wagon and laid with an arrangement of other objects that seemed to vaguely resemble a human shape. The tin with the heart was placed among the other objects, but in the general location of where a persons heart would be.
Afterwards, mentally exhausted, I went out to sit by the campfire. I hadn't cleaned myself of the blood and realized that I probably wouldn't any time soon. As I sat there, lost in the damnation of my own thoughts, I heard a woman's voice calling a name.
There was no conscious thought to it as I rose and moved away from the campfire to secret myself away in the shadows. The woman's footsteps were hurried. She called excitedly, the name of a man. And then suddenly, just outside the perimeter of the camp, she stopped and became quiet. She realized the mistake she made, no doubt, and began backing away. After she took a couple of steps back, I called out to her.
"There's no point in running. There's nowhere for you to run to."
She didn't listen. She ran anyway. Calling some polite apology for the misunderstanding and a farwell.
The madness in me siezed upon this moment. This fleeing woman. She was prey. She was mine to take and unleash myself upon! There was no conscious thought to rising from the grass and shadows I was crouched in. I was running; my legs pumping, my heart thundering in my chest, the air racking through my chest as I inhaled and exhaled. The fact that I would or could catch her was never in doubt. I was not incumbered by her robes or her dainty slippers. I was not fooled by the lay of the land and each step in my sprint after her was sure.
Reaching out, I grabbed at her shoulder. I felt my fingers close around the fabric of the robe, but also her joint. And my fingers dug in just as surely as if there had been claws sprouting from the tips of my fingers, instead of just brittle nails. Eventually, I wound up with a fistful of her robe, which I yanked back on as it slowed my pace and then stopped. The woman was jerked back suddenly and she bounced off my chest. My bloody chest. There was no hesiation on her part. She started thrashing and beating her small fists against my chest. Her attempts to struggle free were met with force in kind. I kicked her legs out from under her and forced her to the ground rather unpleasantly. I heard the air rush out of her lungs when her back met with the unyeilding ground.
I sat on her, struggling to catch her wrists so they could be likewise pinned to the ground. She continued to beat on my chest. I don't think she ever realized just how filthy she was becoming. Her expensive garments stained with blood. Her flesh also becoming smeared. Once I had her wrists pinned to the ground, she continued to buck her hips in the vain effort to throw me off. Leaning over her, my face mere horts from her own, I spoke in little more than a hissed whisper.
"Cease your struggles unless you wish for me to slit your throat."
She became very still suddenly, as I loomed over her. Then she... recognized me.
"I know you!" Her voice held the quality of grasping for hope, while not sure there would be anything there to actually hold onto. "I helpd you at the fair!" My own recognition took a few moments longer to trigger. But then I remembered. I had seen her at the Love War, among the merchant stalls. She was the Turian woman whose caravan I had planned to raid, just to secure her.
The whole time I struggled with her, binding her wrists behind her back and hobbling her feet, she was screaming that she knew me. That she'd helped me. Each time she threw those accusations at me, I felt a twinge of... something. Guilt? Pain? Sorrow? I don't know what it was, but I ignored it for now and brought her back to my camp.
After that it was the task of collecting everything. All her wagons. All her property and assets. The bosk would have to be harnessed and the rest tied off to the back of the first. A few men, those who seemed to accept my previous outpouring of emotion for what it was, offered to assist me in the task and I accepted.
And at the very end of that procession of wagons was Yew. Tethered to the rear of the last wagon. The work was steadily completed and done mostly in silence. Once everything had been relocated to the area of my own wagons, I had the daunting task of going through it all. Those things of Saitirri and Lazlo were seperated out first and placed in a single wagon. Next, things that could be redistributed amongst the Tribe were seperated out; food items, the basic art supplies, some of the clothing, etc.
All of this took the better half of the day to complete. And when it was done, everything else that was left had been loaded onto a single wagon. And that wagon was harnessed to a team of bosk. Yew and another kaiila were tethered to the rear of the wagon. I climbed aboard the wagon and took hold of the reins, giving them a sharp snap to start the bosk off. The team strained in their yokes, but the wagon began to move. And it was driven away from the harigga. The bosk herds seperated to make way for the wagon as I drove it towards the open plains. I rode until I couldn't see the harigga or the herds anymore, then kept riding. I rode until the sky was beginning to grow dusky, then finally decided to make camp.
I felt this would be the best time to begin. When the lar-torvis was still in the sky and the three moons were starting to rise and join him. It was neither day nor night and neither celestial ruled the sky unopposed. I gathered myself and rose, with quiva in hand, and approached Yew, who was still tethered. I think he could sense the turmoil within me. Smell it on my skin. I stood there with him for several ehn. Talking to him, stroking his neck, feeling the powerful beat of his heart.
I closed my eyes and lifted the quiva slowly. Opening them, I placed the quiva at the side of Yew's neck. With a sudden coiling of muscle the blade of the weapon was plunged into the kaiila's flesh and muscle. Yew squealed and reared, striking out with his clawed paws. He clipped the wagon and left a deep gouge in the wood. I think I started screaming then too. I can't be sure if the moisture I felt on my face were just more tears or the splattering of Yew's blood. I yanked down on the quiva with all my strength and the blade cut a large gash through the muscle, severing the artery in the creatures neck.
I staggered back and watched as Yew's blood poured from the wound, weakening the creature. I watched as his once strong legs began to shake until they could no longer support his weight. I watched as Yew collapsed to the ground, his blood still gushing from that wound. And I watched as he grew still and the last of his life poured out onto the ground. I bore witness to yet another death.
When Yew grew still and his chest ceased it's perpetual rise and fall, I approached his body. I laid my hands on the side of his chest and I could still feel the warmth of his body. It was already starting to fade, but I could still feel it. I dropped down onto my knees then, and lifted my quiva once more. I sliced open the kaiila's belly, spilling his innards onto the grass and across my thighs. I had slaughtered many an animal in my days. It was a simple fact of life. Thus, I couldn't understand why now, as I did this, I could feel my stomach turning sour. Why, as I pushed my hands inside his body, did it feel as though a pair of hands were digging through my own guts? When my hand closed around Yew's heart, why did my own chest suddenly feel so tight and constricted? I cut his heart free and began to draw the organ from within the body. And the closer I brought his heart to me, I felt a stirring within me. My hands were pulled free from the corpse and clutched in one was the heart of Yew. I leaned back on my heels then, throwing my head back and screamed. Again. I cursed the Sky. I cursed and damned the Sky from the very bottom of the blackness inside me.
When there was nothing left in me to pour out I slumped forward, over Yews body and asked for his forgiveness. Then I assured him his place of honor was secured.
After a few more ehn I finally stood once more. I was splattered in blood from nearly head to toe. Craddling that precious heart in my heads, as if it might break should I drop it, I went back to the plaform of the wagon. Sitting on the steps was a tin large enough to hold the heart. And I placed the organ in the tin and carefully sealed the lid back on. The tin was taken inside the wagon and laid with an arrangement of other objects that seemed to vaguely resemble a human shape. The tin with the heart was placed among the other objects, but in the general location of where a persons heart would be.
Afterwards, mentally exhausted, I went out to sit by the campfire. I hadn't cleaned myself of the blood and realized that I probably wouldn't any time soon. As I sat there, lost in the damnation of my own thoughts, I heard a woman's voice calling a name.
There was no conscious thought to it as I rose and moved away from the campfire to secret myself away in the shadows. The woman's footsteps were hurried. She called excitedly, the name of a man. And then suddenly, just outside the perimeter of the camp, she stopped and became quiet. She realized the mistake she made, no doubt, and began backing away. After she took a couple of steps back, I called out to her.
"There's no point in running. There's nowhere for you to run to."
She didn't listen. She ran anyway. Calling some polite apology for the misunderstanding and a farwell.
The madness in me siezed upon this moment. This fleeing woman. She was prey. She was mine to take and unleash myself upon! There was no conscious thought to rising from the grass and shadows I was crouched in. I was running; my legs pumping, my heart thundering in my chest, the air racking through my chest as I inhaled and exhaled. The fact that I would or could catch her was never in doubt. I was not incumbered by her robes or her dainty slippers. I was not fooled by the lay of the land and each step in my sprint after her was sure.
Reaching out, I grabbed at her shoulder. I felt my fingers close around the fabric of the robe, but also her joint. And my fingers dug in just as surely as if there had been claws sprouting from the tips of my fingers, instead of just brittle nails. Eventually, I wound up with a fistful of her robe, which I yanked back on as it slowed my pace and then stopped. The woman was jerked back suddenly and she bounced off my chest. My bloody chest. There was no hesiation on her part. She started thrashing and beating her small fists against my chest. Her attempts to struggle free were met with force in kind. I kicked her legs out from under her and forced her to the ground rather unpleasantly. I heard the air rush out of her lungs when her back met with the unyeilding ground.
I sat on her, struggling to catch her wrists so they could be likewise pinned to the ground. She continued to beat on my chest. I don't think she ever realized just how filthy she was becoming. Her expensive garments stained with blood. Her flesh also becoming smeared. Once I had her wrists pinned to the ground, she continued to buck her hips in the vain effort to throw me off. Leaning over her, my face mere horts from her own, I spoke in little more than a hissed whisper.
"Cease your struggles unless you wish for me to slit your throat."
She became very still suddenly, as I loomed over her. Then she... recognized me.
"I know you!" Her voice held the quality of grasping for hope, while not sure there would be anything there to actually hold onto. "I helpd you at the fair!" My own recognition took a few moments longer to trigger. But then I remembered. I had seen her at the Love War, among the merchant stalls. She was the Turian woman whose caravan I had planned to raid, just to secure her.
The whole time I struggled with her, binding her wrists behind her back and hobbling her feet, she was screaming that she knew me. That she'd helped me. Each time she threw those accusations at me, I felt a twinge of... something. Guilt? Pain? Sorrow? I don't know what it was, but I ignored it for now and brought her back to my camp.
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