Post by Selvagem on Aug 16, 2008 21:41:40 GMT -8
(OOC> This scene takes place in “The Gather Begins”, the first night of the Caminar Gather when C’cao went down to Search Selvagem for the gold egg.)
C’cao
Firelight flickered burnish-red over the silver pendant of a canine standing proud and noble, dangling small though prominent from a loosely-tied string, strung around the neck of a dark-haired man in rider knots. Pale blue eyes scanned the gathering, quick and alert, almost anxious. Passing quietly through the celebrating throngs, the greenrider went his way in shadows, hoping to find what he sought and be off, still unnoticed.
In the shadows of a wagon beside the great bonfire, a Caminar woman in her middle ages stooped to grinding flour and tending the pot beside her. A small child, no more than 3 turns of age, played at her feet, and her long black hair fell in waves over her shoulders. She had left it un-tied for the occasion, even though long hair could be a hazard in cooking. Beside her, an older woman was kneading dough for the firepot nearby, making pan-fried bread in the lack of a proper oven. She spoke to her companion in noestacan over the buzz of the cheering crowds.
“…right fun it is, though we’re in the midst of this dragon place. Think how much more fun it’ll be on the plains….
The long-haired woman at the grinder endured her companion’s talk patiently. Her face was worn like her hands with the wind and the open plains that the Caminar caravens loved so, but her eyes were lovely and her features delicate, and it was plain that she would had been quite the beauty in her youth.
“I’m sorry, fair ladies, but I must ask a favour: do you know of one named Selvagem?”
The silence behind her told her that her companion was befuddled. She did not speak the Common language of all Pern, and had never learnt to speak it. With a soft sigh, the tall woman turned, placing her feet carefully to avoid upsetting the child at her feet. The asker, as it turned out, was a young man of dark features and near-luminous pale eyes, bright as stars in a shadowed face. The long-haired woman smiled a cordial welcome and spoke over the crowd, her voice naturally musical, strong.
“Forgive her quietness, Ida doesn’t speak Common. There was a child named Selvagem, daughter of Martelo, but no one has seen her for a turn…”
Her voice trailed off as firelight flashed on a pendant, pale as silver, strung across the man’s neck. Sentence forgotten, she stared, and stared again, and then turned her eyes to the pale blue gaze that hinted like riddles at a dark memory long buried and gone.
But the young man was already making his thanks and apologies for disturbing, and had turned to walk on. She wanted to scream, to shout, to run after him and grab him and turn him around. To see his eyes and his face, and the pendant he wore. But she could only stand, mute in shock, as his retreating back with the undeniable rider knots receded, and finally disappeared behind a throng of gallivanting ladies. An exclamation snapped back her mind and her attention.
“Adoravel, the pot is boiling over!”
Turning quickly, the woman grabbed towel and tongs, and pulled the soup pot off the fire. Ida had risen and come to her side, hastily pulling the wailing child away from the steaming pot. She glanced at her companion, wrinkled brows ceased with concern.
“What happened back there? Are you alright?”
The long-haired woman took a deep breath, coughed against the steam rising from the heated pot, and smiled thinly.
“Yes Ida, I’m alright. I’ll be fine now.”
C’cao
Firelight flickered burnish-red over the silver pendant of a canine standing proud and noble, dangling small though prominent from a loosely-tied string, strung around the neck of a dark-haired man in rider knots. Pale blue eyes scanned the gathering, quick and alert, almost anxious. Passing quietly through the celebrating throngs, the greenrider went his way in shadows, hoping to find what he sought and be off, still unnoticed.
In the shadows of a wagon beside the great bonfire, a Caminar woman in her middle ages stooped to grinding flour and tending the pot beside her. A small child, no more than 3 turns of age, played at her feet, and her long black hair fell in waves over her shoulders. She had left it un-tied for the occasion, even though long hair could be a hazard in cooking. Beside her, an older woman was kneading dough for the firepot nearby, making pan-fried bread in the lack of a proper oven. She spoke to her companion in noestacan over the buzz of the cheering crowds.
“…right fun it is, though we’re in the midst of this dragon place. Think how much more fun it’ll be on the plains….
The long-haired woman at the grinder endured her companion’s talk patiently. Her face was worn like her hands with the wind and the open plains that the Caminar caravens loved so, but her eyes were lovely and her features delicate, and it was plain that she would had been quite the beauty in her youth.
“I’m sorry, fair ladies, but I must ask a favour: do you know of one named Selvagem?”
The silence behind her told her that her companion was befuddled. She did not speak the Common language of all Pern, and had never learnt to speak it. With a soft sigh, the tall woman turned, placing her feet carefully to avoid upsetting the child at her feet. The asker, as it turned out, was a young man of dark features and near-luminous pale eyes, bright as stars in a shadowed face. The long-haired woman smiled a cordial welcome and spoke over the crowd, her voice naturally musical, strong.
“Forgive her quietness, Ida doesn’t speak Common. There was a child named Selvagem, daughter of Martelo, but no one has seen her for a turn…”
Her voice trailed off as firelight flashed on a pendant, pale as silver, strung across the man’s neck. Sentence forgotten, she stared, and stared again, and then turned her eyes to the pale blue gaze that hinted like riddles at a dark memory long buried and gone.
But the young man was already making his thanks and apologies for disturbing, and had turned to walk on. She wanted to scream, to shout, to run after him and grab him and turn him around. To see his eyes and his face, and the pendant he wore. But she could only stand, mute in shock, as his retreating back with the undeniable rider knots receded, and finally disappeared behind a throng of gallivanting ladies. An exclamation snapped back her mind and her attention.
“Adoravel, the pot is boiling over!”
Turning quickly, the woman grabbed towel and tongs, and pulled the soup pot off the fire. Ida had risen and come to her side, hastily pulling the wailing child away from the steaming pot. She glanced at her companion, wrinkled brows ceased with concern.
“What happened back there? Are you alright?”
The long-haired woman took a deep breath, coughed against the steam rising from the heated pot, and smiled thinly.
“Yes Ida, I’m alright. I’ll be fine now.”