Half a bell after the elders arrived at the fire, the blazing pinks and oranges of the rising sun had begun to bleed pale blue at the edges. The sharp shadows of the flame K'ile Tia spun softened along with the chill that swept in every night and out every morning, leaving behind ephemeral pools of dew the tribe would religiously took advantage of.
To K'deiki's aged eyes, she judged the whole of the tribe to be in attendance - all save for one that brought a brief frown. Anxious huntresses, not wanting to waste too much of the day that could be spent collecting food, mingled with strangely more attentive youth as the tribe settled into place around the now healthily blazing fire.
Placing the stone sigil in the sand at her feet, K'deiki slowly moved to her feet, looking in turn to the other elders at her side before directing her gaze outward, through the flames.
"Eight suns have passed by the will of Azeyma since one of our sisters took her heart in hand and approached the elders," she began, and what her voice lacked in volume it made up for in authority, carrying in the still, morning air as sure as the sun cut through the sky above. "It was not the first time she had chosen to do so, but it was the first time we deemed her words more than youthful rebellion." To her right, K'takka smiled under the white cloth that wrapped her head.
Cloudy eyes left the flames to scan the crowd around them and K'deiki continued, "You have likely heard already the purpose for this circle, but now I speak it before the tribe, with Azeyma as our witness: The desert has given us food and water and shelter, but it has taken from us much more since the sky fell burning, five years past. The desert is our home, but it has grown unwelcoming. Azeyma will not abandon her people, but neither will she coddle us as children." The elder paused, bowing her head briefly both to catch her breath and consider her next words. "... We do not wish to leave our home, but some of our brothers and sisters fear we must. We stand here now, beneath Azeyma's watchful eye, and decide our own fate. Speak your thoughts to the flames so that we may decide together."
To K'deiki's aged eyes, she judged the whole of the tribe to be in attendance - all save for one that brought a brief frown. Anxious huntresses, not wanting to waste too much of the day that could be spent collecting food, mingled with strangely more attentive youth as the tribe settled into place around the now healthily blazing fire.
Placing the stone sigil in the sand at her feet, K'deiki slowly moved to her feet, looking in turn to the other elders at her side before directing her gaze outward, through the flames.
"Eight suns have passed by the will of Azeyma since one of our sisters took her heart in hand and approached the elders," she began, and what her voice lacked in volume it made up for in authority, carrying in the still, morning air as sure as the sun cut through the sky above. "It was not the first time she had chosen to do so, but it was the first time we deemed her words more than youthful rebellion." To her right, K'takka smiled under the white cloth that wrapped her head.
Cloudy eyes left the flames to scan the crowd around them and K'deiki continued, "You have likely heard already the purpose for this circle, but now I speak it before the tribe, with Azeyma as our witness: The desert has given us food and water and shelter, but it has taken from us much more since the sky fell burning, five years past. The desert is our home, but it has grown unwelcoming. Azeyma will not abandon her people, but neither will she coddle us as children." The elder paused, bowing her head briefly both to catch her breath and consider her next words. "... We do not wish to leave our home, but some of our brothers and sisters fear we must. We stand here now, beneath Azeyma's watchful eye, and decide our own fate. Speak your thoughts to the flames so that we may decide together."
![[Image: AntiThalSig.png]](https://dl.dropboxusercontent.com/u/179079766/AntiThalSig.png)
"Song dogs barking at the break of dawn, lightning pushes the edges of a thunderstorm; and these streets, quiet as a sleeping army, send their battered dreams to heaven."
Hipparion Tribe (Sagolii)Â - Â Antimony Jhanhi's Wiki
