When K'yohko inserted himself, K'takka gladly eased her weight off of K'ailia, letting the bowl be pushed off the girl's head so that she could be lifted into the hands of her just and disciplined father. K'takka's thin lips smirked, eyes gleaming at her son. He may make a better Elder than a Nunh, as great of a Nunh as he was.
When he released K'ailia again, K'takka watch the girl collapse, and then slammed the bowl down on her head. She growled, "And now you are angry? Sad, flimsy child. Selfish. The spirit of the lesson has no interest to you, nor does the suffering of others." K'takka's tone turned heckling as she crouched over K'ailia, "You have not been mutilated. You have seen none of your children die. Nothing have you lost or suffered worth lamenting, and yet all you think off is that poor little K'ailia wants to come home. Your return insults all of us! Insults yourself most of all!"
To be honest, she was having fun. She was not cruel, and there had been some inkling of a want to teach the girl, of a thought that she might warrant mercy. But she was too stubborn, too sure of herself. She was unteachable. K'ailia would never change her ways because she thought herself better than the world around her. Always had the girl been abusive of her elders, never respectful. K'ailia was like an echo of K'aijeen that had sought to conceal itself, but had been revealed in time. She could only pray that K'luha was not going to act as K'piru had, turning bleak inside.
Standing, K'takka spun on the other Elders, "You have been wiser than I this day. I should not have spoken to the girl." Her silver eyes fell on K'deiki, "Perhaps she was born an outsider, but more likely it was a mistake to pretend she had passed her trial of adulthood. She was a selfish child, taking much, and brought nothing back to us."
K'takka imagined the darkness that had taken K'piru after her daughter had left, a despair that had left her ghostly, pale, ill. After the Calamity, the woman had all but died to it. Perhaps this was the source of the disease that K'yohko perceived, and perhaps not. But they would have to keep a careful eye on K'luha.
As for K'ile Tia, who had not even returned from the scouting mission, who had been outpaced by a selfish, rotten child...
The thin woman hissed, her voice towards the exit carrying sharp and long as an arrow from a bow, "Yohko. Return to us." This said, the thin, ancient woman retreated. She felt older than she had in a long time, the scarred flesh on her tail and back turning strangely cold as she moved into the shadowed tent, seeking the comfort of the furs and pillows her adoring scions had gifted to her. Such presents were fewer now. Her children were thinning with time and age.
When he released K'ailia again, K'takka watch the girl collapse, and then slammed the bowl down on her head. She growled, "And now you are angry? Sad, flimsy child. Selfish. The spirit of the lesson has no interest to you, nor does the suffering of others." K'takka's tone turned heckling as she crouched over K'ailia, "You have not been mutilated. You have seen none of your children die. Nothing have you lost or suffered worth lamenting, and yet all you think off is that poor little K'ailia wants to come home. Your return insults all of us! Insults yourself most of all!"
To be honest, she was having fun. She was not cruel, and there had been some inkling of a want to teach the girl, of a thought that she might warrant mercy. But she was too stubborn, too sure of herself. She was unteachable. K'ailia would never change her ways because she thought herself better than the world around her. Always had the girl been abusive of her elders, never respectful. K'ailia was like an echo of K'aijeen that had sought to conceal itself, but had been revealed in time. She could only pray that K'luha was not going to act as K'piru had, turning bleak inside.
Standing, K'takka spun on the other Elders, "You have been wiser than I this day. I should not have spoken to the girl." Her silver eyes fell on K'deiki, "Perhaps she was born an outsider, but more likely it was a mistake to pretend she had passed her trial of adulthood. She was a selfish child, taking much, and brought nothing back to us."
K'takka imagined the darkness that had taken K'piru after her daughter had left, a despair that had left her ghostly, pale, ill. After the Calamity, the woman had all but died to it. Perhaps this was the source of the disease that K'yohko perceived, and perhaps not. But they would have to keep a careful eye on K'luha.
As for K'ile Tia, who had not even returned from the scouting mission, who had been outpaced by a selfish, rotten child...
The thin woman hissed, her voice towards the exit carrying sharp and long as an arrow from a bow, "Yohko. Return to us." This said, the thin, ancient woman retreated. She felt older than she had in a long time, the scarred flesh on her tail and back turning strangely cold as she moved into the shadowed tent, seeking the comfort of the furs and pillows her adoring scions had gifted to her. Such presents were fewer now. Her children were thinning with time and age.
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