Post by Itanecrio on Apr 5, 2010 18:04:42 GMT -5
Amongst the tall grasses stirred the east wind, billowing the makeshift garb of the pale being that had remained so impossibly still it was as if he were a statue graven from time-bleached bone. The pale one seemed to have been waiting for the wind, whose head tilted while slowly he stood. Pale eyes gleaming in the bruised light the pale one looked out. Beyond the horizon brooded ever heightening clouds, dark, and flat topped as anvils. The tall being flattened his ears, broad nose shifting with the draught of an immense breath of air. There, in that direction lay the forest. He had become disoriented two days earlier, and remained in place, hunched low to the ground with his arms bound about his knees, until some sign came to him.
Another shape watched this all, and now decided to approach the pale giant. Itan's ears titled back, his ice-tundra senses having the same accuracy and range as a bow. He stood firm and watched the Itami rider approach, knowing an arrow would have found him if the Itami wished him dead. No bows were mightier, nor the reputation more deadly.
The Itami-knight hefted his lance, the point up in a sign of parley, and in turn Itan showed that he bore no real weapon but those tools he needed to hunt as he wandered.
"You are far from the snows Bone-man, and your death might be near to you." Spoke the Itami, his accent as patient and rolling as the grasslands.
Itan tossed his chin at the clouds. "That storm?"
The knight nodded. "All of this place will be flooded."
Itan nodded, allowing his body to show his humility and supplication. "Elder, what promise would you ask of me, if you showed me a path to safety."
The Elder tossed his chin. "None for now. But I see you are far from home, and brave, and free. I would not see that squandered by unhappy chance. You are far from the spirit of Eywa that you know. You must re-learn her ways here upon the plain."
Itan smiled. "I am listening Elder."
The elder smiled too, now, so dark blue as to appear black, but for the iridescent markings that glittered copiously about his linear form as if ground diamonds had been painted across his skin. Hufwexre introduced himself, now eighty seven years old, living largely by his own means -having stepped away from the tribe migration to make room for his eight mighty sons.
Itan fell in with him easily, but noticed a telling scar: twin marks each side of the bridge of his narrow nose, where once -Itan guessed, that as a captain to the Tsahik Hufwexre had borne the piercing of the spine of office. "For now." Huwexre called over his shoulder. "You will ride behind me. There is a place we will go, and there will be others. You will be welcome there, after a fashion, but it would behove you to find helpful tasks to show your gratitude. Maybe my sons will be there, which will be easier for us both."
Itan needed the greater part of his concentration to keep on the Itami's mount, but made a sound to show he was listening. While they rode he became aware of how dangerously thirsty he had become. Even a Tuyeteira-warrior must at last drink, though none could endure thirst nor hunger nearly so long.
"We are going to a sacred place?" Itan asked between the thundrous breaths of the Pa'li.
"No, a school. A place where young warriors can learn. There is more strength there than wisdom, more ambition than patience." Called Hufwexre.
Itan settled into the rhythm of the Pa'li's stride, allowing his muscles to cushion the movements. It seemed, as had every stride of his journey, he was led ever further away from the Tree of Souls, and ever from one peril into the face of the next.
Another shape watched this all, and now decided to approach the pale giant. Itan's ears titled back, his ice-tundra senses having the same accuracy and range as a bow. He stood firm and watched the Itami rider approach, knowing an arrow would have found him if the Itami wished him dead. No bows were mightier, nor the reputation more deadly.
The Itami-knight hefted his lance, the point up in a sign of parley, and in turn Itan showed that he bore no real weapon but those tools he needed to hunt as he wandered.
"You are far from the snows Bone-man, and your death might be near to you." Spoke the Itami, his accent as patient and rolling as the grasslands.
Itan tossed his chin at the clouds. "That storm?"
The knight nodded. "All of this place will be flooded."
Itan nodded, allowing his body to show his humility and supplication. "Elder, what promise would you ask of me, if you showed me a path to safety."
The Elder tossed his chin. "None for now. But I see you are far from home, and brave, and free. I would not see that squandered by unhappy chance. You are far from the spirit of Eywa that you know. You must re-learn her ways here upon the plain."
Itan smiled. "I am listening Elder."
The elder smiled too, now, so dark blue as to appear black, but for the iridescent markings that glittered copiously about his linear form as if ground diamonds had been painted across his skin. Hufwexre introduced himself, now eighty seven years old, living largely by his own means -having stepped away from the tribe migration to make room for his eight mighty sons.
Itan fell in with him easily, but noticed a telling scar: twin marks each side of the bridge of his narrow nose, where once -Itan guessed, that as a captain to the Tsahik Hufwexre had borne the piercing of the spine of office. "For now." Huwexre called over his shoulder. "You will ride behind me. There is a place we will go, and there will be others. You will be welcome there, after a fashion, but it would behove you to find helpful tasks to show your gratitude. Maybe my sons will be there, which will be easier for us both."
Itan needed the greater part of his concentration to keep on the Itami's mount, but made a sound to show he was listening. While they rode he became aware of how dangerously thirsty he had become. Even a Tuyeteira-warrior must at last drink, though none could endure thirst nor hunger nearly so long.
"We are going to a sacred place?" Itan asked between the thundrous breaths of the Pa'li.
"No, a school. A place where young warriors can learn. There is more strength there than wisdom, more ambition than patience." Called Hufwexre.
Itan settled into the rhythm of the Pa'li's stride, allowing his muscles to cushion the movements. It seemed, as had every stride of his journey, he was led ever further away from the Tree of Souls, and ever from one peril into the face of the next.