K'ile Tia paused outside of the elders' tent at the center of the Hipparion Tribe's camp. The sun hung high over the deep Sagolii, burning its way through the exposed skin on his shoulders and back. Through hair red as a fire, he watched K'luha Haaz being carried into the Shamans' tent by K'rahto Tia and K'nahli Yohko. Behind them followed K'zhumi, the shaman, and K'tahja, who was K'luha's adopted daughter. K'ile had played at being K'tajha's adoptive father, and wanted to teach her how to dance, but what were the chances of that when the girl's real father, K'yhoko Nunh, was still alive and so well-respected.
Any other Tia would've left it at that and let K'yohko have the child for his own. But K'ile did not think that K'yohko was a very good father and for whatever reason -- likely the Tia's affection for K'luha -- he wanted K'tahjha to have more happiness in her life than K'yohko was able to provide. The tribe's last great Nunh had been K'ile's brother, K'thalen, a joyful man and an excellent father. K'ile was no K'thalen, but he was certainly no K'yohko either.
K'ile Tia's ears twitched as he listened to K'luha's pained shouts, the woman's injuries being agitated by the movement. She was in the shaman's care, now, though, and K'tahjha was there to comfort her. K'ile didn't need to worry. Everything would be fine.
He flicked his wrist and the five tiny stones on his bracelet flickered. Then he turned away from the sunlight and stepped into the elders' tent. It was shaded and stuffy, warm, with the scent of incense. The fetishes hanging from the ceiling were unfamiliar. He wasn't sure how the ancient Miqo'te managed to build and hang new constructs of bone and animal sinew so frequently, but he didn't know for sure what specific purposes they served either. His ritual was and always had been fire dancing, a very different but perhaps no less important part of the beliefs.
K'deiki blended in with the shadows and the dirt, as though she became one with the tent as soon as she entered. K'ile saw off in the dark shadows of a corner, the large glowing plates of the elder K'takka's silver eyes. It was all that was visible of her, besides her frayed and rickety silhouette curled into a tight ball upon luxurious pillows. The eyes stared at K'ile, wide awake, unreadable.
He could not see K'janhi, the last of the only three elders to survive the Calamity. Like the firedancers, their numbers had been decimated. Unlike them, however, K'ile was the singular firedancer to survive Cartenau.
K'ile ducked his head now, make his meager stature even shorter. He made his ears fall limp to either side of his head, forced his tail still, slowed his strides to a timid shuffle. K'luha had said the elders wanted to see him immediately, that they were angry with him and would punish him. He was not surprised. One of K'ile's jobs was the enforcement of punishment doled out by the elders, so he knew well what agitated them and what sort of behavior they required alongside apologies.
For one, K'ile maintained silence. The instant he stepped into the tent, he had lost all right to speak or act. It had been a ritual portal into a world in which he possessed no knowledge or wisdom. He came empty but for his feeble will, his tiny wants, so small that to even utter them would be a waste of breath. He took on this guise out of faith in the elders, that they would not be callous, that they would give him the wisdom and the knowledge he needed, and that they would put value on the things he desired without need to be convinced.
All K'ile had to do was to decide if he should kneel immediately or wait until they demanded that he do so. He opted for the former, placing himself in an open spot of dirt near the front of the tent and dropping to his knees there, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him.
((Tagging: K'deiki, K'zhumi, K'luha, K'tahjha, K'nahlo, K'rahto, K'takka, K'janhi, K'iara, etcetera. This thread brought to you by the letter 'K', for Hipparion!... wait.))
Any other Tia would've left it at that and let K'yohko have the child for his own. But K'ile did not think that K'yohko was a very good father and for whatever reason -- likely the Tia's affection for K'luha -- he wanted K'tahjha to have more happiness in her life than K'yohko was able to provide. The tribe's last great Nunh had been K'ile's brother, K'thalen, a joyful man and an excellent father. K'ile was no K'thalen, but he was certainly no K'yohko either.
K'ile Tia's ears twitched as he listened to K'luha's pained shouts, the woman's injuries being agitated by the movement. She was in the shaman's care, now, though, and K'tahjha was there to comfort her. K'ile didn't need to worry. Everything would be fine.
He flicked his wrist and the five tiny stones on his bracelet flickered. Then he turned away from the sunlight and stepped into the elders' tent. It was shaded and stuffy, warm, with the scent of incense. The fetishes hanging from the ceiling were unfamiliar. He wasn't sure how the ancient Miqo'te managed to build and hang new constructs of bone and animal sinew so frequently, but he didn't know for sure what specific purposes they served either. His ritual was and always had been fire dancing, a very different but perhaps no less important part of the beliefs.
K'deiki blended in with the shadows and the dirt, as though she became one with the tent as soon as she entered. K'ile saw off in the dark shadows of a corner, the large glowing plates of the elder K'takka's silver eyes. It was all that was visible of her, besides her frayed and rickety silhouette curled into a tight ball upon luxurious pillows. The eyes stared at K'ile, wide awake, unreadable.
He could not see K'janhi, the last of the only three elders to survive the Calamity. Like the firedancers, their numbers had been decimated. Unlike them, however, K'ile was the singular firedancer to survive Cartenau.
K'ile ducked his head now, make his meager stature even shorter. He made his ears fall limp to either side of his head, forced his tail still, slowed his strides to a timid shuffle. K'luha had said the elders wanted to see him immediately, that they were angry with him and would punish him. He was not surprised. One of K'ile's jobs was the enforcement of punishment doled out by the elders, so he knew well what agitated them and what sort of behavior they required alongside apologies.
For one, K'ile maintained silence. The instant he stepped into the tent, he had lost all right to speak or act. It had been a ritual portal into a world in which he possessed no knowledge or wisdom. He came empty but for his feeble will, his tiny wants, so small that to even utter them would be a waste of breath. He took on this guise out of faith in the elders, that they would not be callous, that they would give him the wisdom and the knowledge he needed, and that they would put value on the things he desired without need to be convinced.
All K'ile had to do was to decide if he should kneel immediately or wait until they demanded that he do so. He opted for the former, placing himself in an open spot of dirt near the front of the tent and dropping to his knees there, keeping his eyes on the ground in front of him.
((Tagging: K'deiki, K'zhumi, K'luha, K'tahjha, K'nahlo, K'rahto, K'takka, K'janhi, K'iara, etcetera. This thread brought to you by the letter 'K', for Hipparion!... wait.))