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As the Zaire travel to to the Amn Shar Oasis in the southern sands of the Sahara, there are several watering holes along the way to sustain them for the journey. Yet, the summer has been unseasonably hot - even for the ocean of fire that the Sahara is often known to be. And several such spots have dried up. Already dedicated to the journey without the time or means to journey back, the tribe have continued onwards, placing all of their hopes upon a small oasis just a few days away from the Amn Shar. They arrive, only to find that the water has dried up to the smallest of supplies. There is only enough for perhaps half of the tribe. And those who do not drink are at serious risk of not making the following days' journey to their relief in Amn Shar. The people look to their leader and Leier, seeking guidance in how to decide who will receive the literal water of life. Some are loyal and supportive of whatever he chooses. Others consider him to be a man that is too sensitive for such a decision and too bias over the fact that recent rumour suggests that the Leierin is with child...
JD
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As the Zaire travel to to the Amn Shar Oasis in the southern sands of the Sahara, there are several watering holes along the way to sustain them for the journey. Yet, the summer has been unseasonably hot - even for the ocean of fire that the Sahara is often known to be. And several such spots have dried up. Already dedicated to the journey without the time or means to journey back, the tribe have continued onwards, placing all of their hopes upon a small oasis just a few days away from the Amn Shar. They arrive, only to find that the water has dried up to the smallest of supplies. There is only enough for perhaps half of the tribe. And those who do not drink are at serious risk of not making the following days' journey to their relief in Amn Shar. The people look to their leader and Leier, seeking guidance in how to decide who will receive the literal water of life. Some are loyal and supportive of whatever he chooses. Others consider him to be a man that is too sensitive for such a decision and too bias over the fact that recent rumour suggests that the Leierin is with child...
Pure Survival Provincial Story - Bedoa
As the Zaire travel to to the Amn Shar Oasis in the southern sands of the Sahara, there are several watering holes along the way to sustain them for the journey. Yet, the summer has been unseasonably hot - even for the ocean of fire that the Sahara is often known to be. And several such spots have dried up. Already dedicated to the journey without the time or means to journey back, the tribe have continued onwards, placing all of their hopes upon a small oasis just a few days away from the Amn Shar. They arrive, only to find that the water has dried up to the smallest of supplies. There is only enough for perhaps half of the tribe. And those who do not drink are at serious risk of not making the following days' journey to their relief in Amn Shar. The people look to their leader and Leier, seeking guidance in how to decide who will receive the literal water of life. Some are loyal and supportive of whatever he chooses. Others consider him to be a man that is too sensitive for such a decision and too bias over the fact that recent rumour suggests that the Leierin is with child...
Neena had lived in all kinds of climates throughout her travelling life. It was part of the consequences - both positive and negative - of being a lone wanderer without a home. You were subject to the elements - without sanctuary to return to and hide away within when nature decided to bite back with just a little too much sharpness for your liking. Neena had sailed through hurricanes in the Aegean Sea. She had travelled, bare-footed through Egypt in its hottest months. She had witnessed sandstorms, learnt to swim via near drowning and had spent two weeks traversing foliage that had ended up leaving her with a rash from head to foot.
But never had she experienced heat like this.
She remembered once, when she was very small, travelling Bedoa with her first owner as a born slave and suffering a heatwave similar to this kind. At the time they had had to travel by night and therefore sleep during the day and she remembered vague flashes of trying to fall into slumber in a sweltering hawe that was so hot she felt ready to cry for relief. She had sweat through her clothes, become cold with the frigid dampness of old musk and felt as if the entire earth was pressing down upon her chest. Suffocating her with her own inability to breathe in the air too thick with heat. She had drowned in the heat.
Now, the temperature was continuing to rise, as it had done for weeks on end. Neena was sweating at her temples and down her back and had already stripped down to her more natural attire of a short and colour tunic that bared her arms and legs to the sun. Whilst she risked the drying, peeling and burning of her skin, she preferred such dangers to the feeling of suffocation beneath layers of regal attire. Whilst she never wished to shame Hasani, in such circumstances, Neena was telling propriety to go hang. She was hot, and she was going to relieve that however she could.
Luckily, the nights were a little cooler. Able to sleep - sometimes alone and sometimes with her husband - whether Tanishe was there or not - Neena still had the energy to traverse as they did towards the Oasis that would offer them relief. Having given up her camel to the tribe's use, allowing the weaker of the Zaire people to take turns upon its back, Neena had walked almost the entire way - bizarre and out of sorts for a secondary queen. Her legs were burning with the pressure of strenuous exercise and she had pulled her hair up to tie it atop her head in a sprouting top that kept it away from her neck. Her lips had dried and cracked, her face had hollowed a little - soured without its natural shine from lack of water. The skin on her shoulders, along the tops of her arms and down the front of her thighs was peeling. Her feet were an aching mess, rubbed raw by the sands and burnt by the heat they soaked up from the sun.
And yet still she walked, because walking was all that could be done.
"Come!" Neena said with a smile that broke her lower lip in the centre and made it smart. The woman she spoke to was trying to shepherd three children who were so worn out they could not bear to continue walking. "I hear there is water and food and even flowers at Amn Shar!" She told them with encouragement. "I promise that when we've all had a drink, I'm going to sleep for a week and then teach you how to sign a rude song I learnt!" Even Neena's mischievous teasing could only garner a token smile from the children, but Neena hoped that it might encourage them to stop giving their mother such a hard time just for a few more hours.
Soon, they would reach the oasis that Hasani had talked of. They were a few days from Amn Shar and they would need what resources the smaller oasis could give if they were to reach the southern respite alive.
It hadn't been his fault that the weather had turned half-way through their journey. They had been committed by then and unable to turn back. And if Amn Shar was as it was told, it would hold enough water and fertile lands to fill their bellies and resources for the next several months. It had been worth the travel... Until none of them could breathe for the heat.
Suffering alongside them but knowing herself to be perfectly healthy, Neena sympathised for those with additional conditions. Those with heart or blood ailments, or who were old with aching joints... Those who were with child.
Neena glanced over her shoulder as she had done several times during their journey towards where Hasani and Tanishe rode near the back of the group. There, their Leier could ensure that they were all walking in a straight direction and that they were not leaving behind stragglers. Neena had taken up a position far closer to the front, where she could hope to encourage her fellow Zaire to keep moving.
One of the older members of the tribe - one who had been with them longer than Neena - called out that the final rise of the dunes was in sight. That - he was certain - the oasis was just on the other side, ready to set them right for the final leg to Amn Shar.
With energy that Neena didn't know she still had, the second wife of the Leier, set her pace into a jog and hurried forwards, up and over the rise. It didn't take her long to climb it, despite her breathing coming heavy and painful by the end thanks to the heat making it ten times harder than it should have been. But what hurt most was what she saw upon its other side.
The oasis that they had all been banking on was at least three times smaller than Neena had imagined in her mind's eye.
Her gaze narrowed as she assessed the site. Five trees - three dead husks - stood around the outside of a small pool that would likely feed half of the tribe a handful of the water they all so desperately needed an entire bath of.
Which meant that not everyone was going to drink.
And not everyone was going to make it to Amn Shar.
Looking back as her husband's people eagerly followed her up the ridge, Neena recognised the danger immediately. Tired, hungry and desperate people become violent in their need to survive.
"Guards!" Neena called, taking one of those rare times when she utilised her powers as the second wife of the Leier. Several men who had been operating as warriors at the front of the travelling column in order to lead the way, turned to her with their attention. "Close off the pool." She told them, expecting looks that would suggest her to be insane. "Do it! No-one is to access to the water before the Leier. He is to decide what we do now." This at least went down far easier. Loyal to their leader, the warriors hurried down the other side of the dune and towards the small pool of water, in order to protect it from their own desperate people.
Turning to look down the column once more, Neena's expression must have told her husband everything he needed to know...
That sacrifices would now have to be made.
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Dec 14, 2019 20:54:47 GMT
Posted In Pure Survival on Dec 14, 2019 20:54:47 GMT
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Neena had lived in all kinds of climates throughout her travelling life. It was part of the consequences - both positive and negative - of being a lone wanderer without a home. You were subject to the elements - without sanctuary to return to and hide away within when nature decided to bite back with just a little too much sharpness for your liking. Neena had sailed through hurricanes in the Aegean Sea. She had travelled, bare-footed through Egypt in its hottest months. She had witnessed sandstorms, learnt to swim via near drowning and had spent two weeks traversing foliage that had ended up leaving her with a rash from head to foot.
But never had she experienced heat like this.
She remembered once, when she was very small, travelling Bedoa with her first owner as a born slave and suffering a heatwave similar to this kind. At the time they had had to travel by night and therefore sleep during the day and she remembered vague flashes of trying to fall into slumber in a sweltering hawe that was so hot she felt ready to cry for relief. She had sweat through her clothes, become cold with the frigid dampness of old musk and felt as if the entire earth was pressing down upon her chest. Suffocating her with her own inability to breathe in the air too thick with heat. She had drowned in the heat.
Now, the temperature was continuing to rise, as it had done for weeks on end. Neena was sweating at her temples and down her back and had already stripped down to her more natural attire of a short and colour tunic that bared her arms and legs to the sun. Whilst she risked the drying, peeling and burning of her skin, she preferred such dangers to the feeling of suffocation beneath layers of regal attire. Whilst she never wished to shame Hasani, in such circumstances, Neena was telling propriety to go hang. She was hot, and she was going to relieve that however she could.
Luckily, the nights were a little cooler. Able to sleep - sometimes alone and sometimes with her husband - whether Tanishe was there or not - Neena still had the energy to traverse as they did towards the Oasis that would offer them relief. Having given up her camel to the tribe's use, allowing the weaker of the Zaire people to take turns upon its back, Neena had walked almost the entire way - bizarre and out of sorts for a secondary queen. Her legs were burning with the pressure of strenuous exercise and she had pulled her hair up to tie it atop her head in a sprouting top that kept it away from her neck. Her lips had dried and cracked, her face had hollowed a little - soured without its natural shine from lack of water. The skin on her shoulders, along the tops of her arms and down the front of her thighs was peeling. Her feet were an aching mess, rubbed raw by the sands and burnt by the heat they soaked up from the sun.
And yet still she walked, because walking was all that could be done.
"Come!" Neena said with a smile that broke her lower lip in the centre and made it smart. The woman she spoke to was trying to shepherd three children who were so worn out they could not bear to continue walking. "I hear there is water and food and even flowers at Amn Shar!" She told them with encouragement. "I promise that when we've all had a drink, I'm going to sleep for a week and then teach you how to sign a rude song I learnt!" Even Neena's mischievous teasing could only garner a token smile from the children, but Neena hoped that it might encourage them to stop giving their mother such a hard time just for a few more hours.
Soon, they would reach the oasis that Hasani had talked of. They were a few days from Amn Shar and they would need what resources the smaller oasis could give if they were to reach the southern respite alive.
It hadn't been his fault that the weather had turned half-way through their journey. They had been committed by then and unable to turn back. And if Amn Shar was as it was told, it would hold enough water and fertile lands to fill their bellies and resources for the next several months. It had been worth the travel... Until none of them could breathe for the heat.
Suffering alongside them but knowing herself to be perfectly healthy, Neena sympathised for those with additional conditions. Those with heart or blood ailments, or who were old with aching joints... Those who were with child.
Neena glanced over her shoulder as she had done several times during their journey towards where Hasani and Tanishe rode near the back of the group. There, their Leier could ensure that they were all walking in a straight direction and that they were not leaving behind stragglers. Neena had taken up a position far closer to the front, where she could hope to encourage her fellow Zaire to keep moving.
One of the older members of the tribe - one who had been with them longer than Neena - called out that the final rise of the dunes was in sight. That - he was certain - the oasis was just on the other side, ready to set them right for the final leg to Amn Shar.
With energy that Neena didn't know she still had, the second wife of the Leier, set her pace into a jog and hurried forwards, up and over the rise. It didn't take her long to climb it, despite her breathing coming heavy and painful by the end thanks to the heat making it ten times harder than it should have been. But what hurt most was what she saw upon its other side.
The oasis that they had all been banking on was at least three times smaller than Neena had imagined in her mind's eye.
Her gaze narrowed as she assessed the site. Five trees - three dead husks - stood around the outside of a small pool that would likely feed half of the tribe a handful of the water they all so desperately needed an entire bath of.
Which meant that not everyone was going to drink.
And not everyone was going to make it to Amn Shar.
Looking back as her husband's people eagerly followed her up the ridge, Neena recognised the danger immediately. Tired, hungry and desperate people become violent in their need to survive.
"Guards!" Neena called, taking one of those rare times when she utilised her powers as the second wife of the Leier. Several men who had been operating as warriors at the front of the travelling column in order to lead the way, turned to her with their attention. "Close off the pool." She told them, expecting looks that would suggest her to be insane. "Do it! No-one is to access to the water before the Leier. He is to decide what we do now." This at least went down far easier. Loyal to their leader, the warriors hurried down the other side of the dune and towards the small pool of water, in order to protect it from their own desperate people.
Turning to look down the column once more, Neena's expression must have told her husband everything he needed to know...
That sacrifices would now have to be made.
Neena had lived in all kinds of climates throughout her travelling life. It was part of the consequences - both positive and negative - of being a lone wanderer without a home. You were subject to the elements - without sanctuary to return to and hide away within when nature decided to bite back with just a little too much sharpness for your liking. Neena had sailed through hurricanes in the Aegean Sea. She had travelled, bare-footed through Egypt in its hottest months. She had witnessed sandstorms, learnt to swim via near drowning and had spent two weeks traversing foliage that had ended up leaving her with a rash from head to foot.
But never had she experienced heat like this.
She remembered once, when she was very small, travelling Bedoa with her first owner as a born slave and suffering a heatwave similar to this kind. At the time they had had to travel by night and therefore sleep during the day and she remembered vague flashes of trying to fall into slumber in a sweltering hawe that was so hot she felt ready to cry for relief. She had sweat through her clothes, become cold with the frigid dampness of old musk and felt as if the entire earth was pressing down upon her chest. Suffocating her with her own inability to breathe in the air too thick with heat. She had drowned in the heat.
Now, the temperature was continuing to rise, as it had done for weeks on end. Neena was sweating at her temples and down her back and had already stripped down to her more natural attire of a short and colour tunic that bared her arms and legs to the sun. Whilst she risked the drying, peeling and burning of her skin, she preferred such dangers to the feeling of suffocation beneath layers of regal attire. Whilst she never wished to shame Hasani, in such circumstances, Neena was telling propriety to go hang. She was hot, and she was going to relieve that however she could.
Luckily, the nights were a little cooler. Able to sleep - sometimes alone and sometimes with her husband - whether Tanishe was there or not - Neena still had the energy to traverse as they did towards the Oasis that would offer them relief. Having given up her camel to the tribe's use, allowing the weaker of the Zaire people to take turns upon its back, Neena had walked almost the entire way - bizarre and out of sorts for a secondary queen. Her legs were burning with the pressure of strenuous exercise and she had pulled her hair up to tie it atop her head in a sprouting top that kept it away from her neck. Her lips had dried and cracked, her face had hollowed a little - soured without its natural shine from lack of water. The skin on her shoulders, along the tops of her arms and down the front of her thighs was peeling. Her feet were an aching mess, rubbed raw by the sands and burnt by the heat they soaked up from the sun.
And yet still she walked, because walking was all that could be done.
"Come!" Neena said with a smile that broke her lower lip in the centre and made it smart. The woman she spoke to was trying to shepherd three children who were so worn out they could not bear to continue walking. "I hear there is water and food and even flowers at Amn Shar!" She told them with encouragement. "I promise that when we've all had a drink, I'm going to sleep for a week and then teach you how to sign a rude song I learnt!" Even Neena's mischievous teasing could only garner a token smile from the children, but Neena hoped that it might encourage them to stop giving their mother such a hard time just for a few more hours.
Soon, they would reach the oasis that Hasani had talked of. They were a few days from Amn Shar and they would need what resources the smaller oasis could give if they were to reach the southern respite alive.
It hadn't been his fault that the weather had turned half-way through their journey. They had been committed by then and unable to turn back. And if Amn Shar was as it was told, it would hold enough water and fertile lands to fill their bellies and resources for the next several months. It had been worth the travel... Until none of them could breathe for the heat.
Suffering alongside them but knowing herself to be perfectly healthy, Neena sympathised for those with additional conditions. Those with heart or blood ailments, or who were old with aching joints... Those who were with child.
Neena glanced over her shoulder as she had done several times during their journey towards where Hasani and Tanishe rode near the back of the group. There, their Leier could ensure that they were all walking in a straight direction and that they were not leaving behind stragglers. Neena had taken up a position far closer to the front, where she could hope to encourage her fellow Zaire to keep moving.
One of the older members of the tribe - one who had been with them longer than Neena - called out that the final rise of the dunes was in sight. That - he was certain - the oasis was just on the other side, ready to set them right for the final leg to Amn Shar.
With energy that Neena didn't know she still had, the second wife of the Leier, set her pace into a jog and hurried forwards, up and over the rise. It didn't take her long to climb it, despite her breathing coming heavy and painful by the end thanks to the heat making it ten times harder than it should have been. But what hurt most was what she saw upon its other side.
The oasis that they had all been banking on was at least three times smaller than Neena had imagined in her mind's eye.
Her gaze narrowed as she assessed the site. Five trees - three dead husks - stood around the outside of a small pool that would likely feed half of the tribe a handful of the water they all so desperately needed an entire bath of.
Which meant that not everyone was going to drink.
And not everyone was going to make it to Amn Shar.
Looking back as her husband's people eagerly followed her up the ridge, Neena recognised the danger immediately. Tired, hungry and desperate people become violent in their need to survive.
"Guards!" Neena called, taking one of those rare times when she utilised her powers as the second wife of the Leier. Several men who had been operating as warriors at the front of the travelling column in order to lead the way, turned to her with their attention. "Close off the pool." She told them, expecting looks that would suggest her to be insane. "Do it! No-one is to access to the water before the Leier. He is to decide what we do now." This at least went down far easier. Loyal to their leader, the warriors hurried down the other side of the dune and towards the small pool of water, in order to protect it from their own desperate people.
Turning to look down the column once more, Neena's expression must have told her husband everything he needed to know...
That sacrifices would now have to be made.
As they approached the next watering place in the growing dusk, Mwenye's camel pricked her ears and picked up her feet a bit more energetically, and from her back he heaved a sigh of relief. She smelled water. They had been traveling only in the early hours and late, finding shelter in the heat of the sun to keep from sweating more than they could help, but they had not dared dawdle either, and not all of the tribe could travel through the night either; not even all the camels and goats were surefooted in the dark, and the tribe did not have enough camels that everyone could ride. He was riding because he was more exhausted than his mount; she could go a week without water if she really needed to, while he could not.
He'd shared his water ration with the youngest children yesterday and this morning as well. He knew better than to go completely without, but he'd bled his camel instead, and he hadn't had much to eat either, which helped. Digestion used up water, especially when it was dried jerky. They would all need salt when they arrived at Amm Shar as well, but for now...
Mwenye was up near the front when the tiny refuge came into sight, and he frowned. This was not a lush oasis in the best of years, but anywhere there was water, something grew, and it seemed the greenery on the horizon was less than he remembered. Maybe he'd let it grow in his mind from anticipation. Still...
He twisted in his seat, eyes scanning the tribe trailing out behind. They were oddly quiet, even the babies had given up crying for the most part. How of many of them would die if there was no water for them? Which of them would die? Even the ancestors couldn't see the future. As they drew closer, his frown deepened.
There would not be enough water. He knew it with a certainty that belied his mere twenty-four years. There might... He desperately hoped there would be, if everyone rationed sensibly, there might be enough. Judging just by the health of the oasis plants certainly could not get him an accurate measure of how many Sa' of water there was... but there would not be enough if the first to arrive simply drank their fill. Of that, he was certain.
He was about to say something, when the Leier's second wife came to the same conclusion and gave the right order. "I'll find Hasani," he told her. Without really waiting for a response, except the inevitable delay while he argued with his suddenly obstreperous animal about the need to turn away from the scent of water, he headed back through the tribe. He knew his friend would be at the back, making sure nobody fell too far behind.
It was amazing how well fear worked to wake you up, Mwenye reflected. He knew he would not be getting water today. No - he knew how long he could go without water, how long he had done so, one long ill-prepared solo journey through the sands years ago, and he would not die in the three more days to Ann Omar. Though... it might take four... people were stumbling, even some of the camels looked haggard. The colts, in particular, could not go nearly as long without water as a racing camel in her prime. His frown deepened. The longer they took, the more people would die...
"Hasani." His voice was urgent, and he swung down from his camel, taking the toddler the Leier was carrying and putting her on al shahif's back in his place. "There is not enough water. You need to be at the front, to decide who drinks." He took a deep breath. "I can make it to Ann Ommar, even without water. If I take Rutendo and Kayin, maybe a couple of the other young men with the fastest camels, we can get there by dawn. We can fill all the tribe's waterskins and come back tomorrow night, meet the rest of the tribe on the way. We won't need water now if we can drink our fill tomorrow, or not much. Maybe a bit for the camels, so they can run." He rubbed his short hair. If they let the camels drink, and the youngest children, they could all drink camel's blood for a day or so... but that would require them to trust entirely that Mwenye and whoever else he took came back as quickly as he thought they could, when their camels were already exhausted and their humps practically gone, whereas if they butchered some of the camels and accepted that the infants of the tribe would die, they could carry some water with them and rest might all make it without splitting up. But that would be Hasani's decision. And, he reminded himself, he still did not know exactly how much water there was.
"Take my camel," he told the Leier. "I will make sure no-one falls."
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Dec 14, 2019 21:23:25 GMT
Posted In Pure Survival on Dec 14, 2019 21:23:25 GMT
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As they approached the next watering place in the growing dusk, Mwenye's camel pricked her ears and picked up her feet a bit more energetically, and from her back he heaved a sigh of relief. She smelled water. They had been traveling only in the early hours and late, finding shelter in the heat of the sun to keep from sweating more than they could help, but they had not dared dawdle either, and not all of the tribe could travel through the night either; not even all the camels and goats were surefooted in the dark, and the tribe did not have enough camels that everyone could ride. He was riding because he was more exhausted than his mount; she could go a week without water if she really needed to, while he could not.
He'd shared his water ration with the youngest children yesterday and this morning as well. He knew better than to go completely without, but he'd bled his camel instead, and he hadn't had much to eat either, which helped. Digestion used up water, especially when it was dried jerky. They would all need salt when they arrived at Amm Shar as well, but for now...
Mwenye was up near the front when the tiny refuge came into sight, and he frowned. This was not a lush oasis in the best of years, but anywhere there was water, something grew, and it seemed the greenery on the horizon was less than he remembered. Maybe he'd let it grow in his mind from anticipation. Still...
He twisted in his seat, eyes scanning the tribe trailing out behind. They were oddly quiet, even the babies had given up crying for the most part. How of many of them would die if there was no water for them? Which of them would die? Even the ancestors couldn't see the future. As they drew closer, his frown deepened.
There would not be enough water. He knew it with a certainty that belied his mere twenty-four years. There might... He desperately hoped there would be, if everyone rationed sensibly, there might be enough. Judging just by the health of the oasis plants certainly could not get him an accurate measure of how many Sa' of water there was... but there would not be enough if the first to arrive simply drank their fill. Of that, he was certain.
He was about to say something, when the Leier's second wife came to the same conclusion and gave the right order. "I'll find Hasani," he told her. Without really waiting for a response, except the inevitable delay while he argued with his suddenly obstreperous animal about the need to turn away from the scent of water, he headed back through the tribe. He knew his friend would be at the back, making sure nobody fell too far behind.
It was amazing how well fear worked to wake you up, Mwenye reflected. He knew he would not be getting water today. No - he knew how long he could go without water, how long he had done so, one long ill-prepared solo journey through the sands years ago, and he would not die in the three more days to Ann Omar. Though... it might take four... people were stumbling, even some of the camels looked haggard. The colts, in particular, could not go nearly as long without water as a racing camel in her prime. His frown deepened. The longer they took, the more people would die...
"Hasani." His voice was urgent, and he swung down from his camel, taking the toddler the Leier was carrying and putting her on al shahif's back in his place. "There is not enough water. You need to be at the front, to decide who drinks." He took a deep breath. "I can make it to Ann Ommar, even without water. If I take Rutendo and Kayin, maybe a couple of the other young men with the fastest camels, we can get there by dawn. We can fill all the tribe's waterskins and come back tomorrow night, meet the rest of the tribe on the way. We won't need water now if we can drink our fill tomorrow, or not much. Maybe a bit for the camels, so they can run." He rubbed his short hair. If they let the camels drink, and the youngest children, they could all drink camel's blood for a day or so... but that would require them to trust entirely that Mwenye and whoever else he took came back as quickly as he thought they could, when their camels were already exhausted and their humps practically gone, whereas if they butchered some of the camels and accepted that the infants of the tribe would die, they could carry some water with them and rest might all make it without splitting up. But that would be Hasani's decision. And, he reminded himself, he still did not know exactly how much water there was.
"Take my camel," he told the Leier. "I will make sure no-one falls."
As they approached the next watering place in the growing dusk, Mwenye's camel pricked her ears and picked up her feet a bit more energetically, and from her back he heaved a sigh of relief. She smelled water. They had been traveling only in the early hours and late, finding shelter in the heat of the sun to keep from sweating more than they could help, but they had not dared dawdle either, and not all of the tribe could travel through the night either; not even all the camels and goats were surefooted in the dark, and the tribe did not have enough camels that everyone could ride. He was riding because he was more exhausted than his mount; she could go a week without water if she really needed to, while he could not.
He'd shared his water ration with the youngest children yesterday and this morning as well. He knew better than to go completely without, but he'd bled his camel instead, and he hadn't had much to eat either, which helped. Digestion used up water, especially when it was dried jerky. They would all need salt when they arrived at Amm Shar as well, but for now...
Mwenye was up near the front when the tiny refuge came into sight, and he frowned. This was not a lush oasis in the best of years, but anywhere there was water, something grew, and it seemed the greenery on the horizon was less than he remembered. Maybe he'd let it grow in his mind from anticipation. Still...
He twisted in his seat, eyes scanning the tribe trailing out behind. They were oddly quiet, even the babies had given up crying for the most part. How of many of them would die if there was no water for them? Which of them would die? Even the ancestors couldn't see the future. As they drew closer, his frown deepened.
There would not be enough water. He knew it with a certainty that belied his mere twenty-four years. There might... He desperately hoped there would be, if everyone rationed sensibly, there might be enough. Judging just by the health of the oasis plants certainly could not get him an accurate measure of how many Sa' of water there was... but there would not be enough if the first to arrive simply drank their fill. Of that, he was certain.
He was about to say something, when the Leier's second wife came to the same conclusion and gave the right order. "I'll find Hasani," he told her. Without really waiting for a response, except the inevitable delay while he argued with his suddenly obstreperous animal about the need to turn away from the scent of water, he headed back through the tribe. He knew his friend would be at the back, making sure nobody fell too far behind.
It was amazing how well fear worked to wake you up, Mwenye reflected. He knew he would not be getting water today. No - he knew how long he could go without water, how long he had done so, one long ill-prepared solo journey through the sands years ago, and he would not die in the three more days to Ann Omar. Though... it might take four... people were stumbling, even some of the camels looked haggard. The colts, in particular, could not go nearly as long without water as a racing camel in her prime. His frown deepened. The longer they took, the more people would die...
"Hasani." His voice was urgent, and he swung down from his camel, taking the toddler the Leier was carrying and putting her on al shahif's back in his place. "There is not enough water. You need to be at the front, to decide who drinks." He took a deep breath. "I can make it to Ann Ommar, even without water. If I take Rutendo and Kayin, maybe a couple of the other young men with the fastest camels, we can get there by dawn. We can fill all the tribe's waterskins and come back tomorrow night, meet the rest of the tribe on the way. We won't need water now if we can drink our fill tomorrow, or not much. Maybe a bit for the camels, so they can run." He rubbed his short hair. If they let the camels drink, and the youngest children, they could all drink camel's blood for a day or so... but that would require them to trust entirely that Mwenye and whoever else he took came back as quickly as he thought they could, when their camels were already exhausted and their humps practically gone, whereas if they butchered some of the camels and accepted that the infants of the tribe would die, they could carry some water with them and rest might all make it without splitting up. But that would be Hasani's decision. And, he reminded himself, he still did not know exactly how much water there was.
"Take my camel," he told the Leier. "I will make sure no-one falls."
If given the choice, Tanishe would have ridden at the head of the caravan every single time. In the back, there was a huge cloud of dust that managed to work its way into every crease and crevice of her clothes, her hair, and her exposed skin. Sometimes she even found it in her undergarments, and who knew how that happened. Even with her veil over her face, she still kept her eyes narrowed most of the time to avoid the grainy particles kicked up by the entire rest of the tribe. This was a nightmare way to travel and she’d have traded places with her sister wife in a millisecond if she could, but she didn’t put up any verbal complaints. No one had asked if she’d like to ride back here. She was told to do so, and so she did. Hasani liked to be able to see that his people made it safely and that there were no stragglers, and at the moment, she was with child, and that meant he wanted her nearer to him at all times, she supposed, so that he could keep an eye on her and make sure nothing went wrong. Like it always somehow did.
This one was much further along than the last few times she’d managed to get pregnant, and she was beginning to hope that she could carry it to term. Her stomach had even begun to swell just the tiniest, tiniest bit. Or she was imagining it and pooching out her belly so that it wouldn’t be quite so flat. Either way, she rode with her hand protectively over her abdomen, melting under the driving heat and trying to swallow a few times a minute so that she could have the feel of something wet in her throat, but her mouth was growing so dry, that even her saliva was not working anymore.
The camel plodded on, not needing the water like the rest of the tribe and she imagined, as she looked down at its hump, that if they took a knife and carved this animal open, they would find a huge pitcher of water inside. That was ridiculous, of course, but she hadn’t spoken in hours and she was growing weary of travel. If she could not occupy herself with random and silly thoughts, she might go mad. Slowly, rippling back to them, she heard that they were nearing the Oasis. Glancing at Hasani, she smiled at him, though he wouldn’t be able to see it and croaked out some sort of celebratory sound.
Her elation was short lived. Mwenye found them and came to deliver the worst news possible: There wasn’t enough water. She didn’t go see for herself, though. Instead, she looked to her husband and pulled down her veil, exposing her face. Her hand pressed against her stomach and she felt awful for asking without asking, but she would definitely be needing water if their child was to have a chance. She, the children of the group, the elders. Tanishe did not envy the predicament they were in, nor the predicament Hasani was now in of judging who needed the water and who didn’t. Selfishly, she wanted to keep this child, but she was Leierin, and it seemed to be the Zaire way for the king’s family to set the example. She did not know what he would do.
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If given the choice, Tanishe would have ridden at the head of the caravan every single time. In the back, there was a huge cloud of dust that managed to work its way into every crease and crevice of her clothes, her hair, and her exposed skin. Sometimes she even found it in her undergarments, and who knew how that happened. Even with her veil over her face, she still kept her eyes narrowed most of the time to avoid the grainy particles kicked up by the entire rest of the tribe. This was a nightmare way to travel and she’d have traded places with her sister wife in a millisecond if she could, but she didn’t put up any verbal complaints. No one had asked if she’d like to ride back here. She was told to do so, and so she did. Hasani liked to be able to see that his people made it safely and that there were no stragglers, and at the moment, she was with child, and that meant he wanted her nearer to him at all times, she supposed, so that he could keep an eye on her and make sure nothing went wrong. Like it always somehow did.
This one was much further along than the last few times she’d managed to get pregnant, and she was beginning to hope that she could carry it to term. Her stomach had even begun to swell just the tiniest, tiniest bit. Or she was imagining it and pooching out her belly so that it wouldn’t be quite so flat. Either way, she rode with her hand protectively over her abdomen, melting under the driving heat and trying to swallow a few times a minute so that she could have the feel of something wet in her throat, but her mouth was growing so dry, that even her saliva was not working anymore.
The camel plodded on, not needing the water like the rest of the tribe and she imagined, as she looked down at its hump, that if they took a knife and carved this animal open, they would find a huge pitcher of water inside. That was ridiculous, of course, but she hadn’t spoken in hours and she was growing weary of travel. If she could not occupy herself with random and silly thoughts, she might go mad. Slowly, rippling back to them, she heard that they were nearing the Oasis. Glancing at Hasani, she smiled at him, though he wouldn’t be able to see it and croaked out some sort of celebratory sound.
Her elation was short lived. Mwenye found them and came to deliver the worst news possible: There wasn’t enough water. She didn’t go see for herself, though. Instead, she looked to her husband and pulled down her veil, exposing her face. Her hand pressed against her stomach and she felt awful for asking without asking, but she would definitely be needing water if their child was to have a chance. She, the children of the group, the elders. Tanishe did not envy the predicament they were in, nor the predicament Hasani was now in of judging who needed the water and who didn’t. Selfishly, she wanted to keep this child, but she was Leierin, and it seemed to be the Zaire way for the king’s family to set the example. She did not know what he would do.
If given the choice, Tanishe would have ridden at the head of the caravan every single time. In the back, there was a huge cloud of dust that managed to work its way into every crease and crevice of her clothes, her hair, and her exposed skin. Sometimes she even found it in her undergarments, and who knew how that happened. Even with her veil over her face, she still kept her eyes narrowed most of the time to avoid the grainy particles kicked up by the entire rest of the tribe. This was a nightmare way to travel and she’d have traded places with her sister wife in a millisecond if she could, but she didn’t put up any verbal complaints. No one had asked if she’d like to ride back here. She was told to do so, and so she did. Hasani liked to be able to see that his people made it safely and that there were no stragglers, and at the moment, she was with child, and that meant he wanted her nearer to him at all times, she supposed, so that he could keep an eye on her and make sure nothing went wrong. Like it always somehow did.
This one was much further along than the last few times she’d managed to get pregnant, and she was beginning to hope that she could carry it to term. Her stomach had even begun to swell just the tiniest, tiniest bit. Or she was imagining it and pooching out her belly so that it wouldn’t be quite so flat. Either way, she rode with her hand protectively over her abdomen, melting under the driving heat and trying to swallow a few times a minute so that she could have the feel of something wet in her throat, but her mouth was growing so dry, that even her saliva was not working anymore.
The camel plodded on, not needing the water like the rest of the tribe and she imagined, as she looked down at its hump, that if they took a knife and carved this animal open, they would find a huge pitcher of water inside. That was ridiculous, of course, but she hadn’t spoken in hours and she was growing weary of travel. If she could not occupy herself with random and silly thoughts, she might go mad. Slowly, rippling back to them, she heard that they were nearing the Oasis. Glancing at Hasani, she smiled at him, though he wouldn’t be able to see it and croaked out some sort of celebratory sound.
Her elation was short lived. Mwenye found them and came to deliver the worst news possible: There wasn’t enough water. She didn’t go see for herself, though. Instead, she looked to her husband and pulled down her veil, exposing her face. Her hand pressed against her stomach and she felt awful for asking without asking, but she would definitely be needing water if their child was to have a chance. She, the children of the group, the elders. Tanishe did not envy the predicament they were in, nor the predicament Hasani was now in of judging who needed the water and who didn’t. Selfishly, she wanted to keep this child, but she was Leierin, and it seemed to be the Zaire way for the king’s family to set the example. She did not know what he would do.
The heat was stifling. More stifling than Hasani had ever experienced in his life. The leier was deeply considering the idea that maybe the ancestors were punishing him yet again. Not only was he unable to bring an heir into the world with either of his wives, he was now being faced with such unseasonable heat that he was considering what his options were if the worst were to happen. A few days before, the man had been exceedingly happy. His wife, his leierin, was with child. A viable child. One that was likely to live this time. But the onslaught of the heat was quickly turning his mind to the grief and realization that the babe may not ever get the chance to thrive in this world.
Not if this heat continued in such a brutally intense manner. What wter the tribe had left, Hasani had done his best to ration to those who needed it most. He had had a sip or two, but he did not count himself among those who must have water at all cost. He would die of thirst before he would allow others to do so just so that he could have a drink. The heat made his head ache and the camel was truly starting to hurt his back and every limb was starting to numb to both heat and discomfort from riding so long. The ride to Amn Shar was not meant to be this strenuous. It was not mean to be this brutal. This was one of the most difficult journies that he had ever experienced, and the growing lack of water was starting to feed Hasani a number of doubts.
In himself, in his abilities, and in what was to happen if they weren't to get water, and quickly.
He knew the next oasis to be over the next dune and the leier couldn't help but find excitement in the prospect of a drink. Of water. Of anything that could help sustain himself and his people. That was everything they needed and everything he had been praying to the ancestors for the last few days. To watch his own people withering and dragging, to watch tiny children and elders struggling to survive on the searing sands. To know that many of the pregnant mothers, including his own wife, might lose their children to the heat and lack of water. It threatened to break the leier from his stilted position upon the camel. The approach of Mwenye had Hasani tense. The way the tribe stopped before the edge of the dune and the way that some of the warriors rushed down the other side... the look of his second wife...
Hasani's heart sunk in his chest and he dismounted from the camel, hardly hearing everything that Mwenye said at first. Instead, he motioned his closest friend along with him, "Halt, brothers and sisters," Hasani called as he started to trail quickly toward the front on his own two feet. His back ached and each stride felt like a wildfire streaking down his spine, but he made it up the dune in order to look down into the flagging oasis below. Grief curled through him, already knowing that he would have to make many decisions he would not be proud of. Many that might hurt people. Many that might leave some dead for the sake of others.
Exhausted, thirsty, and suddenly far more stressed than he had been minutes before when the only thing he had been hoping for was water, Hasani now found himself hoping that most of his tribe would come out of this situation alive. As the tribe came to a halt behind him, just before the top of the hill, Hasani turned to all of them, unable to hide the fear in his own gaze. There was just a flash, but then he composed his own features, motioning for Tanishe to join and and Neena toward the top of the dune.
"The oasis below is low on water," Hasani announced first, "There is not enough to go around, so we must confer with one another and determine the best course of action," Hasani called to his people, his heart breaking when he noted some of the enraged features of a few of his tribesmen... and the disillusioned expressions of the mothers and tiny children who were hardly making it as it was. Putting his hand up in order to will his tribe to hold on while he, his wives, and one of the tribe's prophets spoke with one another, Hasani turned to fix his gaze on them. "The women and children need water first," he declared quietly, "And those who may not have had anything to drink for longer than the rest of the tribe. Anyone who has been giving water to others instead of taking it for themselves," he reasoned, then looking to Mwenye, "We might have to bleed a few of the camels, but I am more inclined to send those of the tribe who can make a faster trip ahead to Amn Shar tonight."
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Dec 27, 2019 23:39:46 GMT
Posted In Pure Survival on Dec 27, 2019 23:39:46 GMT
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The heat was stifling. More stifling than Hasani had ever experienced in his life. The leier was deeply considering the idea that maybe the ancestors were punishing him yet again. Not only was he unable to bring an heir into the world with either of his wives, he was now being faced with such unseasonable heat that he was considering what his options were if the worst were to happen. A few days before, the man had been exceedingly happy. His wife, his leierin, was with child. A viable child. One that was likely to live this time. But the onslaught of the heat was quickly turning his mind to the grief and realization that the babe may not ever get the chance to thrive in this world.
Not if this heat continued in such a brutally intense manner. What wter the tribe had left, Hasani had done his best to ration to those who needed it most. He had had a sip or two, but he did not count himself among those who must have water at all cost. He would die of thirst before he would allow others to do so just so that he could have a drink. The heat made his head ache and the camel was truly starting to hurt his back and every limb was starting to numb to both heat and discomfort from riding so long. The ride to Amn Shar was not meant to be this strenuous. It was not mean to be this brutal. This was one of the most difficult journies that he had ever experienced, and the growing lack of water was starting to feed Hasani a number of doubts.
In himself, in his abilities, and in what was to happen if they weren't to get water, and quickly.
He knew the next oasis to be over the next dune and the leier couldn't help but find excitement in the prospect of a drink. Of water. Of anything that could help sustain himself and his people. That was everything they needed and everything he had been praying to the ancestors for the last few days. To watch his own people withering and dragging, to watch tiny children and elders struggling to survive on the searing sands. To know that many of the pregnant mothers, including his own wife, might lose their children to the heat and lack of water. It threatened to break the leier from his stilted position upon the camel. The approach of Mwenye had Hasani tense. The way the tribe stopped before the edge of the dune and the way that some of the warriors rushed down the other side... the look of his second wife...
Hasani's heart sunk in his chest and he dismounted from the camel, hardly hearing everything that Mwenye said at first. Instead, he motioned his closest friend along with him, "Halt, brothers and sisters," Hasani called as he started to trail quickly toward the front on his own two feet. His back ached and each stride felt like a wildfire streaking down his spine, but he made it up the dune in order to look down into the flagging oasis below. Grief curled through him, already knowing that he would have to make many decisions he would not be proud of. Many that might hurt people. Many that might leave some dead for the sake of others.
Exhausted, thirsty, and suddenly far more stressed than he had been minutes before when the only thing he had been hoping for was water, Hasani now found himself hoping that most of his tribe would come out of this situation alive. As the tribe came to a halt behind him, just before the top of the hill, Hasani turned to all of them, unable to hide the fear in his own gaze. There was just a flash, but then he composed his own features, motioning for Tanishe to join and and Neena toward the top of the dune.
"The oasis below is low on water," Hasani announced first, "There is not enough to go around, so we must confer with one another and determine the best course of action," Hasani called to his people, his heart breaking when he noted some of the enraged features of a few of his tribesmen... and the disillusioned expressions of the mothers and tiny children who were hardly making it as it was. Putting his hand up in order to will his tribe to hold on while he, his wives, and one of the tribe's prophets spoke with one another, Hasani turned to fix his gaze on them. "The women and children need water first," he declared quietly, "And those who may not have had anything to drink for longer than the rest of the tribe. Anyone who has been giving water to others instead of taking it for themselves," he reasoned, then looking to Mwenye, "We might have to bleed a few of the camels, but I am more inclined to send those of the tribe who can make a faster trip ahead to Amn Shar tonight."
The heat was stifling. More stifling than Hasani had ever experienced in his life. The leier was deeply considering the idea that maybe the ancestors were punishing him yet again. Not only was he unable to bring an heir into the world with either of his wives, he was now being faced with such unseasonable heat that he was considering what his options were if the worst were to happen. A few days before, the man had been exceedingly happy. His wife, his leierin, was with child. A viable child. One that was likely to live this time. But the onslaught of the heat was quickly turning his mind to the grief and realization that the babe may not ever get the chance to thrive in this world.
Not if this heat continued in such a brutally intense manner. What wter the tribe had left, Hasani had done his best to ration to those who needed it most. He had had a sip or two, but he did not count himself among those who must have water at all cost. He would die of thirst before he would allow others to do so just so that he could have a drink. The heat made his head ache and the camel was truly starting to hurt his back and every limb was starting to numb to both heat and discomfort from riding so long. The ride to Amn Shar was not meant to be this strenuous. It was not mean to be this brutal. This was one of the most difficult journies that he had ever experienced, and the growing lack of water was starting to feed Hasani a number of doubts.
In himself, in his abilities, and in what was to happen if they weren't to get water, and quickly.
He knew the next oasis to be over the next dune and the leier couldn't help but find excitement in the prospect of a drink. Of water. Of anything that could help sustain himself and his people. That was everything they needed and everything he had been praying to the ancestors for the last few days. To watch his own people withering and dragging, to watch tiny children and elders struggling to survive on the searing sands. To know that many of the pregnant mothers, including his own wife, might lose their children to the heat and lack of water. It threatened to break the leier from his stilted position upon the camel. The approach of Mwenye had Hasani tense. The way the tribe stopped before the edge of the dune and the way that some of the warriors rushed down the other side... the look of his second wife...
Hasani's heart sunk in his chest and he dismounted from the camel, hardly hearing everything that Mwenye said at first. Instead, he motioned his closest friend along with him, "Halt, brothers and sisters," Hasani called as he started to trail quickly toward the front on his own two feet. His back ached and each stride felt like a wildfire streaking down his spine, but he made it up the dune in order to look down into the flagging oasis below. Grief curled through him, already knowing that he would have to make many decisions he would not be proud of. Many that might hurt people. Many that might leave some dead for the sake of others.
Exhausted, thirsty, and suddenly far more stressed than he had been minutes before when the only thing he had been hoping for was water, Hasani now found himself hoping that most of his tribe would come out of this situation alive. As the tribe came to a halt behind him, just before the top of the hill, Hasani turned to all of them, unable to hide the fear in his own gaze. There was just a flash, but then he composed his own features, motioning for Tanishe to join and and Neena toward the top of the dune.
"The oasis below is low on water," Hasani announced first, "There is not enough to go around, so we must confer with one another and determine the best course of action," Hasani called to his people, his heart breaking when he noted some of the enraged features of a few of his tribesmen... and the disillusioned expressions of the mothers and tiny children who were hardly making it as it was. Putting his hand up in order to will his tribe to hold on while he, his wives, and one of the tribe's prophets spoke with one another, Hasani turned to fix his gaze on them. "The women and children need water first," he declared quietly, "And those who may not have had anything to drink for longer than the rest of the tribe. Anyone who has been giving water to others instead of taking it for themselves," he reasoned, then looking to Mwenye, "We might have to bleed a few of the camels, but I am more inclined to send those of the tribe who can make a faster trip ahead to Amn Shar tonight."
The promise of water, before it was snatched away, had given strength to people's feet, and few of the tribe were truly straggling behind, and so despite his concern, Mwenye was not that far behind Hasani as he crested the last dune before the oasis.
He nodded firmly at the Leier's approval of his idea. "I know who to take. The best riders may not have the fastest camels, or the least exhausted - We may need you to order some folks to trade with us until we all make it to Aman Sharr. I should hope everyone would all see sense, but - sorry Hasani - people are going to cooperate faster if they have someone else to blame for a difficult decision." It wasn't like Hasani didn't already know that, and the prophet's mouth twisted in wry sympathy.
"If..." He chewed his lip. There were harsh truths that needed to be said, not because any of them did not know them, but because speaking them aloud made it harder to make decisions based only on the most optimistic assumptions. Like Hasani, though, he disliked doing so. "Advice based on guesswork is poor advice," he announced instead. "I need to see exactly how much water there actually is."
He turned and headed down towards the water, a glance out of the corner of his eye ensuring Hasani was following. When he arrived at the small pool, he crouched down on his heels, ignoring how the sight and smell of fresh water sharply reminded him of his thirst. Mwenye would not have survived this long if he did not have the iron self-control that allowed him to ration carefully regardless of his body's complaints. He examined the water with a careful eye, comparing the current level to the wear on the rocks showing it's more usual shoreline, and squinted down past the surface glare to judge the remaining depth of the pool.
"The camels will need some too, but we cannot let them drink their fill," was his assessment. "We could butcher a couple of the oldest." That would save them those camels' worth of ration, and also provide blood for those warriors who were judged not desperate enough to need a full ration of water to drink. One could not subsist solely on camel's blood for long - Mwenye might not know the term iron poisoning, but he was certainly aware of the effects - but it was a slower death than dehydration, and sometimes survival just meant not dying before the next oasis.
"The elders will need more water than the warriors, and the tribe has need of their wisdom - but if any, in their wisdom, choose not to accept it, do not push it on them, Hasani. I know Olayinka has been giving her water to her grandchildren, and she will doubtless insist on not drinking until absolutely everyone else has." Mwenye expected the Leier would fight the ancestors themselves for the chance to bring every single one of his tribe alive to An Sharr, but this was a prophet's job - to see clearly, and lay the truth bare, and ensure the Leier made decisions fully mindful of all their traditions. "It is their right to decide when they wish to give themselves to the sands, and given this..." Another wry twist of his lips. "You are tasked with making hard decisions, my friend, but do not forget you are not the only one allowed to."
He sighed, and looked back at the water. "It would be a safer bet to give no water to the youngest children, and all the adults the same ration. If you have to ask who has been going short, some will lie." He gave the Leier another look. "Somehow I do not expect you will do that, though." He stood up, and stepped back from the shore. "I suggest the tribe drink all of it, and every drop left of our stores, rest, and move on quickly. It will save the annoyance of guarding it, and we will rejoin you that much sooner. But I will need to take nearly every one of the tribe's waterskins in order to bring enough back - it will mean you will have no water tomorrow. If, ancestors forfend, we do not return quickly enough..." He shrugged. He'd already spoken that truth once. "Hasani, if you let the weakest drink first, there still may not be enough for the strongest to all survive." He turned away. "Butcher some of the camels, and maybe. I will gather my riders."
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The promise of water, before it was snatched away, had given strength to people's feet, and few of the tribe were truly straggling behind, and so despite his concern, Mwenye was not that far behind Hasani as he crested the last dune before the oasis.
He nodded firmly at the Leier's approval of his idea. "I know who to take. The best riders may not have the fastest camels, or the least exhausted - We may need you to order some folks to trade with us until we all make it to Aman Sharr. I should hope everyone would all see sense, but - sorry Hasani - people are going to cooperate faster if they have someone else to blame for a difficult decision." It wasn't like Hasani didn't already know that, and the prophet's mouth twisted in wry sympathy.
"If..." He chewed his lip. There were harsh truths that needed to be said, not because any of them did not know them, but because speaking them aloud made it harder to make decisions based only on the most optimistic assumptions. Like Hasani, though, he disliked doing so. "Advice based on guesswork is poor advice," he announced instead. "I need to see exactly how much water there actually is."
He turned and headed down towards the water, a glance out of the corner of his eye ensuring Hasani was following. When he arrived at the small pool, he crouched down on his heels, ignoring how the sight and smell of fresh water sharply reminded him of his thirst. Mwenye would not have survived this long if he did not have the iron self-control that allowed him to ration carefully regardless of his body's complaints. He examined the water with a careful eye, comparing the current level to the wear on the rocks showing it's more usual shoreline, and squinted down past the surface glare to judge the remaining depth of the pool.
"The camels will need some too, but we cannot let them drink their fill," was his assessment. "We could butcher a couple of the oldest." That would save them those camels' worth of ration, and also provide blood for those warriors who were judged not desperate enough to need a full ration of water to drink. One could not subsist solely on camel's blood for long - Mwenye might not know the term iron poisoning, but he was certainly aware of the effects - but it was a slower death than dehydration, and sometimes survival just meant not dying before the next oasis.
"The elders will need more water than the warriors, and the tribe has need of their wisdom - but if any, in their wisdom, choose not to accept it, do not push it on them, Hasani. I know Olayinka has been giving her water to her grandchildren, and she will doubtless insist on not drinking until absolutely everyone else has." Mwenye expected the Leier would fight the ancestors themselves for the chance to bring every single one of his tribe alive to An Sharr, but this was a prophet's job - to see clearly, and lay the truth bare, and ensure the Leier made decisions fully mindful of all their traditions. "It is their right to decide when they wish to give themselves to the sands, and given this..." Another wry twist of his lips. "You are tasked with making hard decisions, my friend, but do not forget you are not the only one allowed to."
He sighed, and looked back at the water. "It would be a safer bet to give no water to the youngest children, and all the adults the same ration. If you have to ask who has been going short, some will lie." He gave the Leier another look. "Somehow I do not expect you will do that, though." He stood up, and stepped back from the shore. "I suggest the tribe drink all of it, and every drop left of our stores, rest, and move on quickly. It will save the annoyance of guarding it, and we will rejoin you that much sooner. But I will need to take nearly every one of the tribe's waterskins in order to bring enough back - it will mean you will have no water tomorrow. If, ancestors forfend, we do not return quickly enough..." He shrugged. He'd already spoken that truth once. "Hasani, if you let the weakest drink first, there still may not be enough for the strongest to all survive." He turned away. "Butcher some of the camels, and maybe. I will gather my riders."
The promise of water, before it was snatched away, had given strength to people's feet, and few of the tribe were truly straggling behind, and so despite his concern, Mwenye was not that far behind Hasani as he crested the last dune before the oasis.
He nodded firmly at the Leier's approval of his idea. "I know who to take. The best riders may not have the fastest camels, or the least exhausted - We may need you to order some folks to trade with us until we all make it to Aman Sharr. I should hope everyone would all see sense, but - sorry Hasani - people are going to cooperate faster if they have someone else to blame for a difficult decision." It wasn't like Hasani didn't already know that, and the prophet's mouth twisted in wry sympathy.
"If..." He chewed his lip. There were harsh truths that needed to be said, not because any of them did not know them, but because speaking them aloud made it harder to make decisions based only on the most optimistic assumptions. Like Hasani, though, he disliked doing so. "Advice based on guesswork is poor advice," he announced instead. "I need to see exactly how much water there actually is."
He turned and headed down towards the water, a glance out of the corner of his eye ensuring Hasani was following. When he arrived at the small pool, he crouched down on his heels, ignoring how the sight and smell of fresh water sharply reminded him of his thirst. Mwenye would not have survived this long if he did not have the iron self-control that allowed him to ration carefully regardless of his body's complaints. He examined the water with a careful eye, comparing the current level to the wear on the rocks showing it's more usual shoreline, and squinted down past the surface glare to judge the remaining depth of the pool.
"The camels will need some too, but we cannot let them drink their fill," was his assessment. "We could butcher a couple of the oldest." That would save them those camels' worth of ration, and also provide blood for those warriors who were judged not desperate enough to need a full ration of water to drink. One could not subsist solely on camel's blood for long - Mwenye might not know the term iron poisoning, but he was certainly aware of the effects - but it was a slower death than dehydration, and sometimes survival just meant not dying before the next oasis.
"The elders will need more water than the warriors, and the tribe has need of their wisdom - but if any, in their wisdom, choose not to accept it, do not push it on them, Hasani. I know Olayinka has been giving her water to her grandchildren, and she will doubtless insist on not drinking until absolutely everyone else has." Mwenye expected the Leier would fight the ancestors themselves for the chance to bring every single one of his tribe alive to An Sharr, but this was a prophet's job - to see clearly, and lay the truth bare, and ensure the Leier made decisions fully mindful of all their traditions. "It is their right to decide when they wish to give themselves to the sands, and given this..." Another wry twist of his lips. "You are tasked with making hard decisions, my friend, but do not forget you are not the only one allowed to."
He sighed, and looked back at the water. "It would be a safer bet to give no water to the youngest children, and all the adults the same ration. If you have to ask who has been going short, some will lie." He gave the Leier another look. "Somehow I do not expect you will do that, though." He stood up, and stepped back from the shore. "I suggest the tribe drink all of it, and every drop left of our stores, rest, and move on quickly. It will save the annoyance of guarding it, and we will rejoin you that much sooner. But I will need to take nearly every one of the tribe's waterskins in order to bring enough back - it will mean you will have no water tomorrow. If, ancestors forfend, we do not return quickly enough..." He shrugged. He'd already spoken that truth once. "Hasani, if you let the weakest drink first, there still may not be enough for the strongest to all survive." He turned away. "Butcher some of the camels, and maybe. I will gather my riders."
Pregnant though she might be, Tanishe turned and slid down the side of the camel with practiced ease. Her movements were not yet encumbered by her only very slightly round tummy. It was still not visible through her clothes, much to her dismay. She’d have liked to have been about to give birth, but impatience rarely aided anything, and she was attempting very much to be patient. Right now, with what Mwenye had told them, she was half glad that she wasn’t going to have Hasani’s baby at this moment. They’d need water.
The camel’s thick, oily fur slid between her fingers and she hit the ground with a light sound, following after her husband’s quickly advancing footsteps. She was not quite as quick as he was and ended up coming to the conversation near the middle of the beginning. Still saying nothing, she frowned, listening, and glancing every so often at her husband. None of these options would satisfy him. They certainly didn’t satisfy her. It was an impossible situation, an impossible call to make, and she almost said that they should perform a rain ritual, to call the clouds to them. Perhaps, if they asked the ancestors, some miracle would happen? Surely they didn’t have to decide between maintaining healthy adults and losing children? Did they?
Her throat was as scratchy and dry as the sand they stood on and her tongue felt swollen and thick in her mouth. The dust that had permeated her entire being stuck in her eyelashes and the portions of her braids that were visible. Somehow it had worked its way into her nostrils and she rubbed at her nose beneath her veil, finally pulling that free to reveal her face. She did not hide the unhappy tilt to her jaw and shaded her eyes to see into the Oasis. It was the law of life; not everyone made it to be an elder. As sad as that was, there was no changing it, and no magicking water into existence. There would be some tribe members who would not make it to the next water source. She tried not to consider that she might be among that number.
Bleeding the animals was the very last thing they should try. It would do in a pinch, but it would hurt them if they did it for long, and waste the animals in the process. Animals who could carry on for a long time without water themselves. Better to give the humans the water and let the animals die carrying them to the next source, if absolutely necessary. She thought risking the camels was better, especially considering how little water the animals needed. They weren’t horses. They wouldn’t expire quite like the others seemed to be indicating.
“Husband, if I may speak?” Tansihe drew closer to Hasani, not really wanting to speak to anyone but him, and keeping her voice low. “I think it best to do as Mwenye suggests. Keep the tribe moving. We die if we stay. We have a chance if we move. Babies do not need the water, as they are nursing. At worst, we let the little ones nurse from mothers, any under five summers? The rest, we give water? And any elders who refuse, we let them refuse.” Giving him a deferential nod, she stepped back away.
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Pregnant though she might be, Tanishe turned and slid down the side of the camel with practiced ease. Her movements were not yet encumbered by her only very slightly round tummy. It was still not visible through her clothes, much to her dismay. She’d have liked to have been about to give birth, but impatience rarely aided anything, and she was attempting very much to be patient. Right now, with what Mwenye had told them, she was half glad that she wasn’t going to have Hasani’s baby at this moment. They’d need water.
The camel’s thick, oily fur slid between her fingers and she hit the ground with a light sound, following after her husband’s quickly advancing footsteps. She was not quite as quick as he was and ended up coming to the conversation near the middle of the beginning. Still saying nothing, she frowned, listening, and glancing every so often at her husband. None of these options would satisfy him. They certainly didn’t satisfy her. It was an impossible situation, an impossible call to make, and she almost said that they should perform a rain ritual, to call the clouds to them. Perhaps, if they asked the ancestors, some miracle would happen? Surely they didn’t have to decide between maintaining healthy adults and losing children? Did they?
Her throat was as scratchy and dry as the sand they stood on and her tongue felt swollen and thick in her mouth. The dust that had permeated her entire being stuck in her eyelashes and the portions of her braids that were visible. Somehow it had worked its way into her nostrils and she rubbed at her nose beneath her veil, finally pulling that free to reveal her face. She did not hide the unhappy tilt to her jaw and shaded her eyes to see into the Oasis. It was the law of life; not everyone made it to be an elder. As sad as that was, there was no changing it, and no magicking water into existence. There would be some tribe members who would not make it to the next water source. She tried not to consider that she might be among that number.
Bleeding the animals was the very last thing they should try. It would do in a pinch, but it would hurt them if they did it for long, and waste the animals in the process. Animals who could carry on for a long time without water themselves. Better to give the humans the water and let the animals die carrying them to the next source, if absolutely necessary. She thought risking the camels was better, especially considering how little water the animals needed. They weren’t horses. They wouldn’t expire quite like the others seemed to be indicating.
“Husband, if I may speak?” Tansihe drew closer to Hasani, not really wanting to speak to anyone but him, and keeping her voice low. “I think it best to do as Mwenye suggests. Keep the tribe moving. We die if we stay. We have a chance if we move. Babies do not need the water, as they are nursing. At worst, we let the little ones nurse from mothers, any under five summers? The rest, we give water? And any elders who refuse, we let them refuse.” Giving him a deferential nod, she stepped back away.
Pregnant though she might be, Tanishe turned and slid down the side of the camel with practiced ease. Her movements were not yet encumbered by her only very slightly round tummy. It was still not visible through her clothes, much to her dismay. She’d have liked to have been about to give birth, but impatience rarely aided anything, and she was attempting very much to be patient. Right now, with what Mwenye had told them, she was half glad that she wasn’t going to have Hasani’s baby at this moment. They’d need water.
The camel’s thick, oily fur slid between her fingers and she hit the ground with a light sound, following after her husband’s quickly advancing footsteps. She was not quite as quick as he was and ended up coming to the conversation near the middle of the beginning. Still saying nothing, she frowned, listening, and glancing every so often at her husband. None of these options would satisfy him. They certainly didn’t satisfy her. It was an impossible situation, an impossible call to make, and she almost said that they should perform a rain ritual, to call the clouds to them. Perhaps, if they asked the ancestors, some miracle would happen? Surely they didn’t have to decide between maintaining healthy adults and losing children? Did they?
Her throat was as scratchy and dry as the sand they stood on and her tongue felt swollen and thick in her mouth. The dust that had permeated her entire being stuck in her eyelashes and the portions of her braids that were visible. Somehow it had worked its way into her nostrils and she rubbed at her nose beneath her veil, finally pulling that free to reveal her face. She did not hide the unhappy tilt to her jaw and shaded her eyes to see into the Oasis. It was the law of life; not everyone made it to be an elder. As sad as that was, there was no changing it, and no magicking water into existence. There would be some tribe members who would not make it to the next water source. She tried not to consider that she might be among that number.
Bleeding the animals was the very last thing they should try. It would do in a pinch, but it would hurt them if they did it for long, and waste the animals in the process. Animals who could carry on for a long time without water themselves. Better to give the humans the water and let the animals die carrying them to the next source, if absolutely necessary. She thought risking the camels was better, especially considering how little water the animals needed. They weren’t horses. They wouldn’t expire quite like the others seemed to be indicating.
“Husband, if I may speak?” Tansihe drew closer to Hasani, not really wanting to speak to anyone but him, and keeping her voice low. “I think it best to do as Mwenye suggests. Keep the tribe moving. We die if we stay. We have a chance if we move. Babies do not need the water, as they are nursing. At worst, we let the little ones nurse from mothers, any under five summers? The rest, we give water? And any elders who refuse, we let them refuse.” Giving him a deferential nod, she stepped back away.
Neena was a curious second wife to a Leier at the best of times. Were her predecessor to Hasani's hand to pass away for some reason, she would Leierin. And yet she never carried herself or behaved as if she were only a step away from the position of a Bedoan queen. For one, she had no desire to see any harm come to the woman she had come to love as her own. Second, she simply was not the kind of individual who had ever sought great power, nor would know what to do with it now that she was close to it. Even as a second wife, she wielded a semblance of control and authority through her access to the Leier's good graces and yet she rarely spoke to guards in the way that she had done or handled herself like a royal. Her marriage, in fact, had changed her little.
Joining the little group who stood at the head of the tribe, deciding on the best course of action, Neena didn't listen properly to discussions. Instead, she was distracted by the faces of the people - the look of horror, of upset... of disenchantment that had crossed over each of their faces in turn. She sympathised with their pain, already feeling as if she were a dried-out husk without spit, sweat or even the moisture in her eyes. She felt dry and gritty and dirty and generally so leeched of energy it was hard to stand.
When the subject of children drinking from mothers and camels being slaughtered came to the topic of conversation, Neena was even more useless to proceedings. She was not someone who made hard choices. For her own life? Sure. She would make the decisions that were needed to survive and carry on. But in the name of someone else? No. She could never make decisions that would affect whether someone else lived or died. That took far too much responsibility for her. And she despised those who luxuriated in such power or craved it. Perhaps it was one of the reasons she had come to love Hasani so. He wielded all the power in the world over the lives of his people but sought it not. He was a true and valuable leader, because he did not wish to be one.
Mwenye's plan to ride out to Amn Sharr was a good one. But she was worried that it would take him longer than intended. It was likely that they might be able to reach the Oasis by mid-morning the next day, or even dawn. But there was no telling how many tribes would be the oasis, if there would be haggling to be done, if there wouldn't be a shortage of water as there was here... and then the journey back - with water enough for the whole tribe - would be a much slower journey. It was likely that water would only meet the tribe by the middle of the following night or even the dawn of the third.
Yet, Neena didn't not feel that she was one to make such assessments. She was not a leader.
What she was, however, was one who knew people. Who knew the power of the mind and the strength of spirit, and the way that emotions held a certain momentum. If one person started to a positive ambience, the others started to follow. The same as negative woes.
So, despite the fact that it made her feel as if her dry cheeks and crumbling lips might crack with the straight, Neena blinked her eyes to brightness and smiled her usual broad grin as she looked out over the people. Bowing out of the discussions that her sister wife and husband were so adept at and yet did not need her ignorance clouding chatter, Neena moved to walk out towards the people of the Zaire, frustrated by the lengths of kaftan she wore that identified her as the second wife. Not that she needed such identification. It had been many years since she had married Hasani and everyone had known Neena long before any formal ceremony.
"Don't worry!" She called to the nearest ones, her cheeks broad and her attitude light. She walked with a deliberate bounce to her step that was no longer natural but something she had to make the effort to add to her gait, but on the deep sand no-one would notice the difference. "Our Leier has a plan that will see us all well." She told them, and a few glances were shared between those that looked uncertain. Neena made her smile bigger. "Has he ever steered us wrong before? Do I look worried?"
Several people started to straighten a little in hope before a yell from inside the group called out a harsh phrase that Neena knew to be only sparked by fear.
"Of course you're not worried! His Greatness would never let his wife suffer!"
Dangnabit. Neena cursed in her head. And she was just starting to get people to calm...
"Then I won't let him!" Neena called back, without much thinking of the consequences (as per her natural character). "I will be the last to drink!" she told the man, making an oath before everyone between herself and he (whoever it was). A ripple of murmurs went over the group at such an assurance and Neena took the opportunity to spread her arms wide.
"That is how confident I am, everyone! We shall all be fine. We just have to pray to the ancestors for a little more strength to wait another day. This is a test of patience, nothing more." She turned to look at some of the older women in the tribe - those who had known hard times and admired the qualities of persistence and grace. "A day of patience, friends. That's all is needed. Come-"
And with some gestures and encouragement, the older generations of the tribe started to organise the younger, as Neena encouraged them into a seated circle of prayer; one that would keep them calm as water was given out and would allow their muscles a moment to relax before they were to journey on their way.
At Neena's direction, some poles were taken from the camels and a simple and make-shift kaftan shade was created. Nothing like a full hawe, but enough to keep off some of the heat whilst the weakest could be given water. Neena just hoped that, whilst in the quiet murmuring of prayer floated over the tribe, there would be less likelihood over the meagre offerings of the watering hole.
It was only when she felt them to be calm enough to be left that Neena moved back towards the group as they were coming to their decisions on how to move forward.
“Tanii.” She said quietly to her sister-wife, a hand coming to her elbow. “You should sit down under the shade…”
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Jan 20, 2020 17:35:40 GMT
Posted In Pure Survival on Jan 20, 2020 17:35:40 GMT
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Neena was a curious second wife to a Leier at the best of times. Were her predecessor to Hasani's hand to pass away for some reason, she would Leierin. And yet she never carried herself or behaved as if she were only a step away from the position of a Bedoan queen. For one, she had no desire to see any harm come to the woman she had come to love as her own. Second, she simply was not the kind of individual who had ever sought great power, nor would know what to do with it now that she was close to it. Even as a second wife, she wielded a semblance of control and authority through her access to the Leier's good graces and yet she rarely spoke to guards in the way that she had done or handled herself like a royal. Her marriage, in fact, had changed her little.
Joining the little group who stood at the head of the tribe, deciding on the best course of action, Neena didn't listen properly to discussions. Instead, she was distracted by the faces of the people - the look of horror, of upset... of disenchantment that had crossed over each of their faces in turn. She sympathised with their pain, already feeling as if she were a dried-out husk without spit, sweat or even the moisture in her eyes. She felt dry and gritty and dirty and generally so leeched of energy it was hard to stand.
When the subject of children drinking from mothers and camels being slaughtered came to the topic of conversation, Neena was even more useless to proceedings. She was not someone who made hard choices. For her own life? Sure. She would make the decisions that were needed to survive and carry on. But in the name of someone else? No. She could never make decisions that would affect whether someone else lived or died. That took far too much responsibility for her. And she despised those who luxuriated in such power or craved it. Perhaps it was one of the reasons she had come to love Hasani so. He wielded all the power in the world over the lives of his people but sought it not. He was a true and valuable leader, because he did not wish to be one.
Mwenye's plan to ride out to Amn Sharr was a good one. But she was worried that it would take him longer than intended. It was likely that they might be able to reach the Oasis by mid-morning the next day, or even dawn. But there was no telling how many tribes would be the oasis, if there would be haggling to be done, if there wouldn't be a shortage of water as there was here... and then the journey back - with water enough for the whole tribe - would be a much slower journey. It was likely that water would only meet the tribe by the middle of the following night or even the dawn of the third.
Yet, Neena didn't not feel that she was one to make such assessments. She was not a leader.
What she was, however, was one who knew people. Who knew the power of the mind and the strength of spirit, and the way that emotions held a certain momentum. If one person started to a positive ambience, the others started to follow. The same as negative woes.
So, despite the fact that it made her feel as if her dry cheeks and crumbling lips might crack with the straight, Neena blinked her eyes to brightness and smiled her usual broad grin as she looked out over the people. Bowing out of the discussions that her sister wife and husband were so adept at and yet did not need her ignorance clouding chatter, Neena moved to walk out towards the people of the Zaire, frustrated by the lengths of kaftan she wore that identified her as the second wife. Not that she needed such identification. It had been many years since she had married Hasani and everyone had known Neena long before any formal ceremony.
"Don't worry!" She called to the nearest ones, her cheeks broad and her attitude light. She walked with a deliberate bounce to her step that was no longer natural but something she had to make the effort to add to her gait, but on the deep sand no-one would notice the difference. "Our Leier has a plan that will see us all well." She told them, and a few glances were shared between those that looked uncertain. Neena made her smile bigger. "Has he ever steered us wrong before? Do I look worried?"
Several people started to straighten a little in hope before a yell from inside the group called out a harsh phrase that Neena knew to be only sparked by fear.
"Of course you're not worried! His Greatness would never let his wife suffer!"
Dangnabit. Neena cursed in her head. And she was just starting to get people to calm...
"Then I won't let him!" Neena called back, without much thinking of the consequences (as per her natural character). "I will be the last to drink!" she told the man, making an oath before everyone between herself and he (whoever it was). A ripple of murmurs went over the group at such an assurance and Neena took the opportunity to spread her arms wide.
"That is how confident I am, everyone! We shall all be fine. We just have to pray to the ancestors for a little more strength to wait another day. This is a test of patience, nothing more." She turned to look at some of the older women in the tribe - those who had known hard times and admired the qualities of persistence and grace. "A day of patience, friends. That's all is needed. Come-"
And with some gestures and encouragement, the older generations of the tribe started to organise the younger, as Neena encouraged them into a seated circle of prayer; one that would keep them calm as water was given out and would allow their muscles a moment to relax before they were to journey on their way.
At Neena's direction, some poles were taken from the camels and a simple and make-shift kaftan shade was created. Nothing like a full hawe, but enough to keep off some of the heat whilst the weakest could be given water. Neena just hoped that, whilst in the quiet murmuring of prayer floated over the tribe, there would be less likelihood over the meagre offerings of the watering hole.
It was only when she felt them to be calm enough to be left that Neena moved back towards the group as they were coming to their decisions on how to move forward.
“Tanii.” She said quietly to her sister-wife, a hand coming to her elbow. “You should sit down under the shade…”
Neena was a curious second wife to a Leier at the best of times. Were her predecessor to Hasani's hand to pass away for some reason, she would Leierin. And yet she never carried herself or behaved as if she were only a step away from the position of a Bedoan queen. For one, she had no desire to see any harm come to the woman she had come to love as her own. Second, she simply was not the kind of individual who had ever sought great power, nor would know what to do with it now that she was close to it. Even as a second wife, she wielded a semblance of control and authority through her access to the Leier's good graces and yet she rarely spoke to guards in the way that she had done or handled herself like a royal. Her marriage, in fact, had changed her little.
Joining the little group who stood at the head of the tribe, deciding on the best course of action, Neena didn't listen properly to discussions. Instead, she was distracted by the faces of the people - the look of horror, of upset... of disenchantment that had crossed over each of their faces in turn. She sympathised with their pain, already feeling as if she were a dried-out husk without spit, sweat or even the moisture in her eyes. She felt dry and gritty and dirty and generally so leeched of energy it was hard to stand.
When the subject of children drinking from mothers and camels being slaughtered came to the topic of conversation, Neena was even more useless to proceedings. She was not someone who made hard choices. For her own life? Sure. She would make the decisions that were needed to survive and carry on. But in the name of someone else? No. She could never make decisions that would affect whether someone else lived or died. That took far too much responsibility for her. And she despised those who luxuriated in such power or craved it. Perhaps it was one of the reasons she had come to love Hasani so. He wielded all the power in the world over the lives of his people but sought it not. He was a true and valuable leader, because he did not wish to be one.
Mwenye's plan to ride out to Amn Sharr was a good one. But she was worried that it would take him longer than intended. It was likely that they might be able to reach the Oasis by mid-morning the next day, or even dawn. But there was no telling how many tribes would be the oasis, if there would be haggling to be done, if there wouldn't be a shortage of water as there was here... and then the journey back - with water enough for the whole tribe - would be a much slower journey. It was likely that water would only meet the tribe by the middle of the following night or even the dawn of the third.
Yet, Neena didn't not feel that she was one to make such assessments. She was not a leader.
What she was, however, was one who knew people. Who knew the power of the mind and the strength of spirit, and the way that emotions held a certain momentum. If one person started to a positive ambience, the others started to follow. The same as negative woes.
So, despite the fact that it made her feel as if her dry cheeks and crumbling lips might crack with the straight, Neena blinked her eyes to brightness and smiled her usual broad grin as she looked out over the people. Bowing out of the discussions that her sister wife and husband were so adept at and yet did not need her ignorance clouding chatter, Neena moved to walk out towards the people of the Zaire, frustrated by the lengths of kaftan she wore that identified her as the second wife. Not that she needed such identification. It had been many years since she had married Hasani and everyone had known Neena long before any formal ceremony.
"Don't worry!" She called to the nearest ones, her cheeks broad and her attitude light. She walked with a deliberate bounce to her step that was no longer natural but something she had to make the effort to add to her gait, but on the deep sand no-one would notice the difference. "Our Leier has a plan that will see us all well." She told them, and a few glances were shared between those that looked uncertain. Neena made her smile bigger. "Has he ever steered us wrong before? Do I look worried?"
Several people started to straighten a little in hope before a yell from inside the group called out a harsh phrase that Neena knew to be only sparked by fear.
"Of course you're not worried! His Greatness would never let his wife suffer!"
Dangnabit. Neena cursed in her head. And she was just starting to get people to calm...
"Then I won't let him!" Neena called back, without much thinking of the consequences (as per her natural character). "I will be the last to drink!" she told the man, making an oath before everyone between herself and he (whoever it was). A ripple of murmurs went over the group at such an assurance and Neena took the opportunity to spread her arms wide.
"That is how confident I am, everyone! We shall all be fine. We just have to pray to the ancestors for a little more strength to wait another day. This is a test of patience, nothing more." She turned to look at some of the older women in the tribe - those who had known hard times and admired the qualities of persistence and grace. "A day of patience, friends. That's all is needed. Come-"
And with some gestures and encouragement, the older generations of the tribe started to organise the younger, as Neena encouraged them into a seated circle of prayer; one that would keep them calm as water was given out and would allow their muscles a moment to relax before they were to journey on their way.
At Neena's direction, some poles were taken from the camels and a simple and make-shift kaftan shade was created. Nothing like a full hawe, but enough to keep off some of the heat whilst the weakest could be given water. Neena just hoped that, whilst in the quiet murmuring of prayer floated over the tribe, there would be less likelihood over the meagre offerings of the watering hole.
It was only when she felt them to be calm enough to be left that Neena moved back towards the group as they were coming to their decisions on how to move forward.
“Tanii.” She said quietly to her sister-wife, a hand coming to her elbow. “You should sit down under the shade…”
There was too much noise in his mind. It was especially overwhelming because the thought of water had been the only thing on his mind for hours. Each step that potentially brought them toward relief was all that had given the leier hope. A young twenty-six and with hundreds of his tribe to look after, to protect, to keep from danger and death, Hasani was starting to feel the strain. He was starting to falter in his want to do his duty and instead found that he wanted to bury his head in the sands instead.
Then again, if they did not keep moving toward water, far more than just him would be buried under these dunes. These people who had loved him and had raised him, who had given him his position as leier when he was only 18, they were more important to him than anything. He would lay down his life to ensure that every man, woman, child, and elder lived through this journey.
Perhaps this entire leg of the journey had been his fault. His own oversights and lack of preparedness had lead them to this moment. His people were dying of thirst and it was, in all actuality, his fault. If he had thought to prepare them better, to know that the heat would be unseasonable and many of them would end up without water and without hope... maybe they would have waited longer to get moving or simply gone in a different direction.
But now there was so much chatter from both Mwenye and Tanishe and then the spewed dissent from his own people. The leier found his blood running cold with silent panic despite his overheated body seeking relief. Perhaps death if it did not find water. Rubbing sharply at his face, the leier showed that single moment of weakness. With his throat as dry as a bone, his tongue thick in his mouth, and his head pounding worse than he had ever experienced in his life, Hasani could not find it in him to keep a stoic, unconcerned face. Because he was concerned. He was concerned for his people and their lives. Every last one of them was important. He had witnessed many of these people's marriages, births, had hunted with them and eaten with them. He had helped them with anything they asked, and accepted help when he'd found himself overwhelmed.
No one wanted to be the man that sentenced his people to death. No one wanted to be the man to decide who got to drink and who got to die. For some reason, Neena's assertion that she would be the last to drink made him panic more and his gaze shot to his second wife. "No. I shall be the very last to drink," he said as calmly as he could before putting both fo his hands up to Tanishe and Mwenye. "I think I need to speak with someone with more experience. Excuse me, my leierin, my friend," the man noted in a wavering tone as he turned on his heel in search for Tanishe's mother, Lindiwe. For some reason, his overwhelmed mind had found the need for another opinion from a woman who had long helped her own husband make these same decisions long before Hasani had taken the mantle of leier.
Finding his mother in law among some of the more far-flung crowds of Zaire tribesmen, Hasani did not hide the confusion and inexperience that he was now feeling. Swallowing a little, he reached a hand out to Lindiwe, "May I speak with you, mother?" he asked gently, "Alone?"
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There was too much noise in his mind. It was especially overwhelming because the thought of water had been the only thing on his mind for hours. Each step that potentially brought them toward relief was all that had given the leier hope. A young twenty-six and with hundreds of his tribe to look after, to protect, to keep from danger and death, Hasani was starting to feel the strain. He was starting to falter in his want to do his duty and instead found that he wanted to bury his head in the sands instead.
Then again, if they did not keep moving toward water, far more than just him would be buried under these dunes. These people who had loved him and had raised him, who had given him his position as leier when he was only 18, they were more important to him than anything. He would lay down his life to ensure that every man, woman, child, and elder lived through this journey.
Perhaps this entire leg of the journey had been his fault. His own oversights and lack of preparedness had lead them to this moment. His people were dying of thirst and it was, in all actuality, his fault. If he had thought to prepare them better, to know that the heat would be unseasonable and many of them would end up without water and without hope... maybe they would have waited longer to get moving or simply gone in a different direction.
But now there was so much chatter from both Mwenye and Tanishe and then the spewed dissent from his own people. The leier found his blood running cold with silent panic despite his overheated body seeking relief. Perhaps death if it did not find water. Rubbing sharply at his face, the leier showed that single moment of weakness. With his throat as dry as a bone, his tongue thick in his mouth, and his head pounding worse than he had ever experienced in his life, Hasani could not find it in him to keep a stoic, unconcerned face. Because he was concerned. He was concerned for his people and their lives. Every last one of them was important. He had witnessed many of these people's marriages, births, had hunted with them and eaten with them. He had helped them with anything they asked, and accepted help when he'd found himself overwhelmed.
No one wanted to be the man that sentenced his people to death. No one wanted to be the man to decide who got to drink and who got to die. For some reason, Neena's assertion that she would be the last to drink made him panic more and his gaze shot to his second wife. "No. I shall be the very last to drink," he said as calmly as he could before putting both fo his hands up to Tanishe and Mwenye. "I think I need to speak with someone with more experience. Excuse me, my leierin, my friend," the man noted in a wavering tone as he turned on his heel in search for Tanishe's mother, Lindiwe. For some reason, his overwhelmed mind had found the need for another opinion from a woman who had long helped her own husband make these same decisions long before Hasani had taken the mantle of leier.
Finding his mother in law among some of the more far-flung crowds of Zaire tribesmen, Hasani did not hide the confusion and inexperience that he was now feeling. Swallowing a little, he reached a hand out to Lindiwe, "May I speak with you, mother?" he asked gently, "Alone?"
There was too much noise in his mind. It was especially overwhelming because the thought of water had been the only thing on his mind for hours. Each step that potentially brought them toward relief was all that had given the leier hope. A young twenty-six and with hundreds of his tribe to look after, to protect, to keep from danger and death, Hasani was starting to feel the strain. He was starting to falter in his want to do his duty and instead found that he wanted to bury his head in the sands instead.
Then again, if they did not keep moving toward water, far more than just him would be buried under these dunes. These people who had loved him and had raised him, who had given him his position as leier when he was only 18, they were more important to him than anything. He would lay down his life to ensure that every man, woman, child, and elder lived through this journey.
Perhaps this entire leg of the journey had been his fault. His own oversights and lack of preparedness had lead them to this moment. His people were dying of thirst and it was, in all actuality, his fault. If he had thought to prepare them better, to know that the heat would be unseasonable and many of them would end up without water and without hope... maybe they would have waited longer to get moving or simply gone in a different direction.
But now there was so much chatter from both Mwenye and Tanishe and then the spewed dissent from his own people. The leier found his blood running cold with silent panic despite his overheated body seeking relief. Perhaps death if it did not find water. Rubbing sharply at his face, the leier showed that single moment of weakness. With his throat as dry as a bone, his tongue thick in his mouth, and his head pounding worse than he had ever experienced in his life, Hasani could not find it in him to keep a stoic, unconcerned face. Because he was concerned. He was concerned for his people and their lives. Every last one of them was important. He had witnessed many of these people's marriages, births, had hunted with them and eaten with them. He had helped them with anything they asked, and accepted help when he'd found himself overwhelmed.
No one wanted to be the man that sentenced his people to death. No one wanted to be the man to decide who got to drink and who got to die. For some reason, Neena's assertion that she would be the last to drink made him panic more and his gaze shot to his second wife. "No. I shall be the very last to drink," he said as calmly as he could before putting both fo his hands up to Tanishe and Mwenye. "I think I need to speak with someone with more experience. Excuse me, my leierin, my friend," the man noted in a wavering tone as he turned on his heel in search for Tanishe's mother, Lindiwe. For some reason, his overwhelmed mind had found the need for another opinion from a woman who had long helped her own husband make these same decisions long before Hasani had taken the mantle of leier.
Finding his mother in law among some of the more far-flung crowds of Zaire tribesmen, Hasani did not hide the confusion and inexperience that he was now feeling. Swallowing a little, he reached a hand out to Lindiwe, "May I speak with you, mother?" he asked gently, "Alone?"
Traveling between her son, Shange and her daughter, Jalah, Lindiwe had stopped paying attention altogether to the discussion between her children. What should have been reaching her ears were sounds of joyous celebration. At the head of the line, there should be singing and dancing. Hands waving in the air, feet stomping, the clinking bangles making tinkling sounds of music in the air. Instead, there was a stillness that made Lindiwe narrow her eyes and the corners of her mouth tighten. Something wasn’t right.
Slipping off her camel, she didn’t answer the questions of either Shange or Jalah and neither one shouted after her for more than a few seconds. Together, they made their camels lie down so that they could dismount after her. Sand and dirt crunched under their feet and soon the trio made their way to the front but Hasani met them, looking terse and worried. Lindiwe said nothing as she approached him, holding up her hand behind her to silence Jalah, who’d already started to barge in, demanding to know what was going on. “Hush, child,” Lindiwe’s words didn’t snap out of her mouth, but they were firm enough to silence her middle child.
Hasani, it seemed, understood that they were going to get nothing done properly with Jalah butting in and with Shange also likely wanting to put in his opinion. Probably that was why he asked to speak to Lindiwe alone. She nodded to him, hardly going to refuse such a request and followed him to where he felt most comfortable to speak to her, but before he could get out what he wanted, she asked her own question instead.
“Please, Leier, explain what is going on.” This was said in a respectful tone, but with the understanding that it wasn’t really a request. She fully expected to be appraised of the situation, because she felt that she already had a grasp of what was going on. Her eyes wandered to where she could just see her daughter standing and then back to her son-in-law, listening as she was made fully aware of the situation. Lindiwe didn’t betray by look or expression how this news made her stomach clench and her heart skip a few beats. She swallowed hard.
“And what has been put forward as a solution?” she asked after a moment, listening to the plans thus far. Lindiwe was silent for a long time, contemplating the best course of action; the one that would save the most lives; the one that would save the life of her unborn grandchild. She didn’t have to ask Tanishe to know that her girl was inwardly terrified of losing this baby and it made the matriarch’s heart ache to know exactly how likely it was. In Hasani’s face, in every line and every look, she could see that he had the same anxiety.
“This is an impossible choice,” she said at last. “What are you going to do?”
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Traveling between her son, Shange and her daughter, Jalah, Lindiwe had stopped paying attention altogether to the discussion between her children. What should have been reaching her ears were sounds of joyous celebration. At the head of the line, there should be singing and dancing. Hands waving in the air, feet stomping, the clinking bangles making tinkling sounds of music in the air. Instead, there was a stillness that made Lindiwe narrow her eyes and the corners of her mouth tighten. Something wasn’t right.
Slipping off her camel, she didn’t answer the questions of either Shange or Jalah and neither one shouted after her for more than a few seconds. Together, they made their camels lie down so that they could dismount after her. Sand and dirt crunched under their feet and soon the trio made their way to the front but Hasani met them, looking terse and worried. Lindiwe said nothing as she approached him, holding up her hand behind her to silence Jalah, who’d already started to barge in, demanding to know what was going on. “Hush, child,” Lindiwe’s words didn’t snap out of her mouth, but they were firm enough to silence her middle child.
Hasani, it seemed, understood that they were going to get nothing done properly with Jalah butting in and with Shange also likely wanting to put in his opinion. Probably that was why he asked to speak to Lindiwe alone. She nodded to him, hardly going to refuse such a request and followed him to where he felt most comfortable to speak to her, but before he could get out what he wanted, she asked her own question instead.
“Please, Leier, explain what is going on.” This was said in a respectful tone, but with the understanding that it wasn’t really a request. She fully expected to be appraised of the situation, because she felt that she already had a grasp of what was going on. Her eyes wandered to where she could just see her daughter standing and then back to her son-in-law, listening as she was made fully aware of the situation. Lindiwe didn’t betray by look or expression how this news made her stomach clench and her heart skip a few beats. She swallowed hard.
“And what has been put forward as a solution?” she asked after a moment, listening to the plans thus far. Lindiwe was silent for a long time, contemplating the best course of action; the one that would save the most lives; the one that would save the life of her unborn grandchild. She didn’t have to ask Tanishe to know that her girl was inwardly terrified of losing this baby and it made the matriarch’s heart ache to know exactly how likely it was. In Hasani’s face, in every line and every look, she could see that he had the same anxiety.
“This is an impossible choice,” she said at last. “What are you going to do?”
Traveling between her son, Shange and her daughter, Jalah, Lindiwe had stopped paying attention altogether to the discussion between her children. What should have been reaching her ears were sounds of joyous celebration. At the head of the line, there should be singing and dancing. Hands waving in the air, feet stomping, the clinking bangles making tinkling sounds of music in the air. Instead, there was a stillness that made Lindiwe narrow her eyes and the corners of her mouth tighten. Something wasn’t right.
Slipping off her camel, she didn’t answer the questions of either Shange or Jalah and neither one shouted after her for more than a few seconds. Together, they made their camels lie down so that they could dismount after her. Sand and dirt crunched under their feet and soon the trio made their way to the front but Hasani met them, looking terse and worried. Lindiwe said nothing as she approached him, holding up her hand behind her to silence Jalah, who’d already started to barge in, demanding to know what was going on. “Hush, child,” Lindiwe’s words didn’t snap out of her mouth, but they were firm enough to silence her middle child.
Hasani, it seemed, understood that they were going to get nothing done properly with Jalah butting in and with Shange also likely wanting to put in his opinion. Probably that was why he asked to speak to Lindiwe alone. She nodded to him, hardly going to refuse such a request and followed him to where he felt most comfortable to speak to her, but before he could get out what he wanted, she asked her own question instead.
“Please, Leier, explain what is going on.” This was said in a respectful tone, but with the understanding that it wasn’t really a request. She fully expected to be appraised of the situation, because she felt that she already had a grasp of what was going on. Her eyes wandered to where she could just see her daughter standing and then back to her son-in-law, listening as she was made fully aware of the situation. Lindiwe didn’t betray by look or expression how this news made her stomach clench and her heart skip a few beats. She swallowed hard.
“And what has been put forward as a solution?” she asked after a moment, listening to the plans thus far. Lindiwe was silent for a long time, contemplating the best course of action; the one that would save the most lives; the one that would save the life of her unborn grandchild. She didn’t have to ask Tanishe to know that her girl was inwardly terrified of losing this baby and it made the matriarch’s heart ache to know exactly how likely it was. In Hasani’s face, in every line and every look, she could see that he had the same anxiety.
“This is an impossible choice,” she said at last. “What are you going to do?”
It was an impossible choice, and his remonstrance at making a decision in front of the rest of the tribe had led him here. In the quiet solitude that he was able to find with Lindiwe, Hasani felt that he could calmly think through the situation. Without so many eyes directly on him, with his back to everyone but his mother-in-law, his mother, he could actually catch a breath. It was hard and his throat almost screamed for the relief of water, the ache somewhat unbearable. But he would bear it if it meant that the rest of his tribe, his family got to drink and see another day.
"I..." Hasani finally trailed off when he had had a few moments to really think about it. There was less pressure in the calming company of Lindiwe, and sometimes that was what he needed. He had been leier for a number of years already, but Lindiwe had been leierin for far many more than Tanishe. The wisdom was what Hasani both needed and respected. "I don't know," he admitted at first, seemingly unsure of what he was supposed to choose. He knew what would be the best, with the least number of lives lost, but to sentence any of his family to die was something that seemed to eviscerate Hasani from the inside out.
"I think I will have to agree with both Mwenye and Tanishe," Hasani finally admitted slowly, rubbing hard at his head. It was his first right of discomfort and frustration since they had started down the road of debate. "The babes will have to suckle from the mothers and we shall have to keep going as fast and as far as we can until we make it to the next oasis," he finally decided. He knew that he really hadn't given Lindiwe a chance to speak on it further, but just having someone to quietly bounce an idea off without needing them to actually respond was more helpful than anything. Removing the extra voices, the extra cries for movement, helped beyond measure.
"Thank you, Lindiwe. Just being here helps," he admitted, immediately turning away and starting back toward the front of the tribe so that he could address them all at once. It was not a decision he could make lightly and it was not something that Hasani truly wanted to admit to the rest of the tribe. Things could backfire quickly, and that was what Hasani was most worried about. The backlash that would likely affect both himself and his family. And every single one of these people was his family. It felt as if he were sentencing his own brother, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents... everyone to death with a few words.
He walked past his wives and his friend, a grave look on his face as he took his place at the front of the tribe. "My tribe!" Hasani declared as he came to a stop, trying to meet the eye of everyone in turn. "The watering hole below is almost drained," he said as calmly as he could, "There is not enough water for all," he didn't think there was any reason to mince the words he spoke. "But we must keep going. We cannot stay here if there is no water to keep us going and alive through the next few days. From here on, babes under five cycles will need to suckle from their mothers for their water. From here, we will each drink from what water we have left in our stores and what water is down over the dune. We will each take the same ration of water, with no exceptions," he said firmly, his gaze drifting from person to person.
Then his gaze landed on a group of elders, "The only people allowed to refuse are the elders, for their wisdom is coveted and expected, and should their wisdom wish to drive them toward the ancestors instead, the tribe will be forced to accept their decisions and allow them their honor and peace."
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Apr 25, 2020 17:08:19 GMT
Posted In Pure Survival on Apr 25, 2020 17:08:19 GMT
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It was an impossible choice, and his remonstrance at making a decision in front of the rest of the tribe had led him here. In the quiet solitude that he was able to find with Lindiwe, Hasani felt that he could calmly think through the situation. Without so many eyes directly on him, with his back to everyone but his mother-in-law, his mother, he could actually catch a breath. It was hard and his throat almost screamed for the relief of water, the ache somewhat unbearable. But he would bear it if it meant that the rest of his tribe, his family got to drink and see another day.
"I..." Hasani finally trailed off when he had had a few moments to really think about it. There was less pressure in the calming company of Lindiwe, and sometimes that was what he needed. He had been leier for a number of years already, but Lindiwe had been leierin for far many more than Tanishe. The wisdom was what Hasani both needed and respected. "I don't know," he admitted at first, seemingly unsure of what he was supposed to choose. He knew what would be the best, with the least number of lives lost, but to sentence any of his family to die was something that seemed to eviscerate Hasani from the inside out.
"I think I will have to agree with both Mwenye and Tanishe," Hasani finally admitted slowly, rubbing hard at his head. It was his first right of discomfort and frustration since they had started down the road of debate. "The babes will have to suckle from the mothers and we shall have to keep going as fast and as far as we can until we make it to the next oasis," he finally decided. He knew that he really hadn't given Lindiwe a chance to speak on it further, but just having someone to quietly bounce an idea off without needing them to actually respond was more helpful than anything. Removing the extra voices, the extra cries for movement, helped beyond measure.
"Thank you, Lindiwe. Just being here helps," he admitted, immediately turning away and starting back toward the front of the tribe so that he could address them all at once. It was not a decision he could make lightly and it was not something that Hasani truly wanted to admit to the rest of the tribe. Things could backfire quickly, and that was what Hasani was most worried about. The backlash that would likely affect both himself and his family. And every single one of these people was his family. It felt as if he were sentencing his own brother, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents... everyone to death with a few words.
He walked past his wives and his friend, a grave look on his face as he took his place at the front of the tribe. "My tribe!" Hasani declared as he came to a stop, trying to meet the eye of everyone in turn. "The watering hole below is almost drained," he said as calmly as he could, "There is not enough water for all," he didn't think there was any reason to mince the words he spoke. "But we must keep going. We cannot stay here if there is no water to keep us going and alive through the next few days. From here on, babes under five cycles will need to suckle from their mothers for their water. From here, we will each drink from what water we have left in our stores and what water is down over the dune. We will each take the same ration of water, with no exceptions," he said firmly, his gaze drifting from person to person.
Then his gaze landed on a group of elders, "The only people allowed to refuse are the elders, for their wisdom is coveted and expected, and should their wisdom wish to drive them toward the ancestors instead, the tribe will be forced to accept their decisions and allow them their honor and peace."
It was an impossible choice, and his remonstrance at making a decision in front of the rest of the tribe had led him here. In the quiet solitude that he was able to find with Lindiwe, Hasani felt that he could calmly think through the situation. Without so many eyes directly on him, with his back to everyone but his mother-in-law, his mother, he could actually catch a breath. It was hard and his throat almost screamed for the relief of water, the ache somewhat unbearable. But he would bear it if it meant that the rest of his tribe, his family got to drink and see another day.
"I..." Hasani finally trailed off when he had had a few moments to really think about it. There was less pressure in the calming company of Lindiwe, and sometimes that was what he needed. He had been leier for a number of years already, but Lindiwe had been leierin for far many more than Tanishe. The wisdom was what Hasani both needed and respected. "I don't know," he admitted at first, seemingly unsure of what he was supposed to choose. He knew what would be the best, with the least number of lives lost, but to sentence any of his family to die was something that seemed to eviscerate Hasani from the inside out.
"I think I will have to agree with both Mwenye and Tanishe," Hasani finally admitted slowly, rubbing hard at his head. It was his first right of discomfort and frustration since they had started down the road of debate. "The babes will have to suckle from the mothers and we shall have to keep going as fast and as far as we can until we make it to the next oasis," he finally decided. He knew that he really hadn't given Lindiwe a chance to speak on it further, but just having someone to quietly bounce an idea off without needing them to actually respond was more helpful than anything. Removing the extra voices, the extra cries for movement, helped beyond measure.
"Thank you, Lindiwe. Just being here helps," he admitted, immediately turning away and starting back toward the front of the tribe so that he could address them all at once. It was not a decision he could make lightly and it was not something that Hasani truly wanted to admit to the rest of the tribe. Things could backfire quickly, and that was what Hasani was most worried about. The backlash that would likely affect both himself and his family. And every single one of these people was his family. It felt as if he were sentencing his own brother, sisters, aunts, uncles, grandparents... everyone to death with a few words.
He walked past his wives and his friend, a grave look on his face as he took his place at the front of the tribe. "My tribe!" Hasani declared as he came to a stop, trying to meet the eye of everyone in turn. "The watering hole below is almost drained," he said as calmly as he could, "There is not enough water for all," he didn't think there was any reason to mince the words he spoke. "But we must keep going. We cannot stay here if there is no water to keep us going and alive through the next few days. From here on, babes under five cycles will need to suckle from their mothers for their water. From here, we will each drink from what water we have left in our stores and what water is down over the dune. We will each take the same ration of water, with no exceptions," he said firmly, his gaze drifting from person to person.
Then his gaze landed on a group of elders, "The only people allowed to refuse are the elders, for their wisdom is coveted and expected, and should their wisdom wish to drive them toward the ancestors instead, the tribe will be forced to accept their decisions and allow them their honor and peace."
As she stood waiting for Hasani to make a decision one way or the other, Lindiwe brushed her fingertips across her burning throat. With her mouth as dry as the ground at their feet, swallowing was uncomfortable and nearing painful. Her gaze, so direct most of the time, rested on her son-in-law’s right shoulder. It was a move she did on purpose, knowing full well the kind of weight he had there. Every man, woman, and child stood upon Hasani’s shoulders and she did not envy the position he held within the tribe. Many a night she’d listened to her own late husband’s murmured worries and concerns, offering solace where she could and advice when asked. It was being asked of her now, from a different, younger leier. A man who’d been a boy not so very long ago, and in his lost expression, she saw the lost child still lurking there.
When he finally spoke, the terrible decision lingered in the air between them. She looked over at her daughters, at his second wife, at the prophet, at her son. Her own thirst burned fierce and, selfishly, she did not want to die. “Tanishe must have my portion of water,” she said after a few seconds. “If it comes to that.”
And it would.
His thanks to her for listening was met with a grave nod. She did not smile because there was nothing to smile about. All she’d done was listen to him decide how to let less people die. There wasn’t a right or wrong answer. Just one with heftier consequences. Waiting for him to walk about five feet away before she started after him, she joined Tanishe, holding her eldest’s hand and standing tall, watching the Leier give his announcement.
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May 31, 2020 22:48:02 GMT
Posted In Pure Survival on May 31, 2020 22:48:02 GMT
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As she stood waiting for Hasani to make a decision one way or the other, Lindiwe brushed her fingertips across her burning throat. With her mouth as dry as the ground at their feet, swallowing was uncomfortable and nearing painful. Her gaze, so direct most of the time, rested on her son-in-law’s right shoulder. It was a move she did on purpose, knowing full well the kind of weight he had there. Every man, woman, and child stood upon Hasani’s shoulders and she did not envy the position he held within the tribe. Many a night she’d listened to her own late husband’s murmured worries and concerns, offering solace where she could and advice when asked. It was being asked of her now, from a different, younger leier. A man who’d been a boy not so very long ago, and in his lost expression, she saw the lost child still lurking there.
When he finally spoke, the terrible decision lingered in the air between them. She looked over at her daughters, at his second wife, at the prophet, at her son. Her own thirst burned fierce and, selfishly, she did not want to die. “Tanishe must have my portion of water,” she said after a few seconds. “If it comes to that.”
And it would.
His thanks to her for listening was met with a grave nod. She did not smile because there was nothing to smile about. All she’d done was listen to him decide how to let less people die. There wasn’t a right or wrong answer. Just one with heftier consequences. Waiting for him to walk about five feet away before she started after him, she joined Tanishe, holding her eldest’s hand and standing tall, watching the Leier give his announcement.
As she stood waiting for Hasani to make a decision one way or the other, Lindiwe brushed her fingertips across her burning throat. With her mouth as dry as the ground at their feet, swallowing was uncomfortable and nearing painful. Her gaze, so direct most of the time, rested on her son-in-law’s right shoulder. It was a move she did on purpose, knowing full well the kind of weight he had there. Every man, woman, and child stood upon Hasani’s shoulders and she did not envy the position he held within the tribe. Many a night she’d listened to her own late husband’s murmured worries and concerns, offering solace where she could and advice when asked. It was being asked of her now, from a different, younger leier. A man who’d been a boy not so very long ago, and in his lost expression, she saw the lost child still lurking there.
When he finally spoke, the terrible decision lingered in the air between them. She looked over at her daughters, at his second wife, at the prophet, at her son. Her own thirst burned fierce and, selfishly, she did not want to die. “Tanishe must have my portion of water,” she said after a few seconds. “If it comes to that.”
And it would.
His thanks to her for listening was met with a grave nod. She did not smile because there was nothing to smile about. All she’d done was listen to him decide how to let less people die. There wasn’t a right or wrong answer. Just one with heftier consequences. Waiting for him to walk about five feet away before she started after him, she joined Tanishe, holding her eldest’s hand and standing tall, watching the Leier give his announcement.
Mwenye left Hasani to discuss with his mother-in-law who should have what ration, and strode out among the tribe, calling names. When he had his group gathered, he asked them each about the conditions of their camels, and explained his plan. Thoughtfully, a couple shook their heads, but still contributed what they could, even if it was just advice. Mwenye knew these men, and they trusted their prophet, but even the Ancestors' assurances of success - which he did not give in so many words anyway - was no guarantee of anything. The tribe would reach Amon Shar. As to individuals... well that was another matter.
One man admitted his wife was pregnant, but offered to trade his best camel, who was still in good condition, if needed. Another man accepted the trade with thanks and no criticism, despite having young children himself. Of the others, one spoke of helping his parents, another admitted he likely did not have the endurance left for a hard ride. Mwenye was not concerned, no more than he was surprised; the number he was left with was the the number he thought he needed, a good mix of experience and youthful strength.
Mwenye rejoined Hasani while the others dispersed. "I have four ready for a hard ride, plus myself," he informed the Leier, after he had announced his decision. "They are unpacking the camels for others of their families to carry until we return, and gathering the water jugs."
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Mwenye left Hasani to discuss with his mother-in-law who should have what ration, and strode out among the tribe, calling names. When he had his group gathered, he asked them each about the conditions of their camels, and explained his plan. Thoughtfully, a couple shook their heads, but still contributed what they could, even if it was just advice. Mwenye knew these men, and they trusted their prophet, but even the Ancestors' assurances of success - which he did not give in so many words anyway - was no guarantee of anything. The tribe would reach Amon Shar. As to individuals... well that was another matter.
One man admitted his wife was pregnant, but offered to trade his best camel, who was still in good condition, if needed. Another man accepted the trade with thanks and no criticism, despite having young children himself. Of the others, one spoke of helping his parents, another admitted he likely did not have the endurance left for a hard ride. Mwenye was not concerned, no more than he was surprised; the number he was left with was the the number he thought he needed, a good mix of experience and youthful strength.
Mwenye rejoined Hasani while the others dispersed. "I have four ready for a hard ride, plus myself," he informed the Leier, after he had announced his decision. "They are unpacking the camels for others of their families to carry until we return, and gathering the water jugs."
Mwenye left Hasani to discuss with his mother-in-law who should have what ration, and strode out among the tribe, calling names. When he had his group gathered, he asked them each about the conditions of their camels, and explained his plan. Thoughtfully, a couple shook their heads, but still contributed what they could, even if it was just advice. Mwenye knew these men, and they trusted their prophet, but even the Ancestors' assurances of success - which he did not give in so many words anyway - was no guarantee of anything. The tribe would reach Amon Shar. As to individuals... well that was another matter.
One man admitted his wife was pregnant, but offered to trade his best camel, who was still in good condition, if needed. Another man accepted the trade with thanks and no criticism, despite having young children himself. Of the others, one spoke of helping his parents, another admitted he likely did not have the endurance left for a hard ride. Mwenye was not concerned, no more than he was surprised; the number he was left with was the the number he thought he needed, a good mix of experience and youthful strength.
Mwenye rejoined Hasani while the others dispersed. "I have four ready for a hard ride, plus myself," he informed the Leier, after he had announced his decision. "They are unpacking the camels for others of their families to carry until we return, and gathering the water jugs."
Tanishe chewed the end of her thumbnail, watching her husband speaking to the group. When Neena moved away from their sides, she turned her head slightly to watch where her sister wife went, but seeing that Neena was merely heading towards their people, she shifted her attention back to the task at hand. Neena’s voice resounded in a few moments, though, carrying over the rocky surface to echo in loud, boisterous, cheerfully happy tones. Tones that Tanishe did not altogether think should be happening now. Hasani evidently wanted a quiet word and drew her mother with him for a little talk. Tanishe glanced at Mwenye for a moment, catching his eye but ultimately, her attention moved back to Neena. Mwenye moved away from her then, off to see to his own errands.
She watched the faces of her people as they regarded the bouncing way Neena trotted up to them. Neena’s graceful arms arced through the air as she tried and failed to rouse the populace into some spirit of levity. Under the faded white light of the sun, so hot even its color was gone, no one wanted to smile. They wanted to drink. They did not want to be made to feel joy where there could be none. Predictably, the tribe did not like being told that there was no problem when there clearly was one.
Part of her wanted to walk over to Neena and quietly place her hand against the woman’s back, to either convince her to be less boisterous or possibly soothe her and the two of them stand silently as one. But it was too far and too much energy. Her hand, instead, rested against her own stomach, worry gnawing hard at her. This one must stay...she could not lose it...and so she did not go and turned back to watch Hasani and her mother, though the two of them were heading back this way.
At that moment, Neena’s touch brushed against her elbow and Tanishe turned to look at the shade Neena’d had erected. ”Tanii, you should sit down under the shade…”
“And you should not be the last to drink,” she said softly. “That will be for Hasani. No, I will stay, but I will not deny I want your hand.” And here she reached for Neena’s hand to lace their fingers together, leaning on her sister wife. The lack of water and the searing heat was making Tanishe hideously tired, even more so than pregnancy tended to do. That was all she ever got from pregnancies; tired and ill, and never a baby to show for it. Sorrow was always to be hers, it seemed, where babies were concerned.
Her mother came then and held her hand on her other side. Tanishe did not react when Lindiwe decreed that she would give her portion to her. Instead she squeezed both Neena and Linidwe’s hands. They hadn’t reached that yet and she prayed they would not.
For her part, Tanishe did not agree that everyone should have the same rations. She felt that pregnant women should have perhaps two fingers width more...but then, that was possibly making it so that someone else could not have some. For some of these women, they could try again. For herself...she did not know if it would ultimately matter, but she had begun to hope that this time it would be different...this time…
She stopped that train of thought right there when she felt the prickle in her nose and the burning in her eyes. There weren’t any other real options. And she stayed quiet, not contradicting Hasani’s public word. Instead, she squeezed her mother’s hand tight and swallowed hard.
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Jul 19, 2020 18:45:43 GMT
Posted In Pure Survival on Jul 19, 2020 18:45:43 GMT
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Tanishe chewed the end of her thumbnail, watching her husband speaking to the group. When Neena moved away from their sides, she turned her head slightly to watch where her sister wife went, but seeing that Neena was merely heading towards their people, she shifted her attention back to the task at hand. Neena’s voice resounded in a few moments, though, carrying over the rocky surface to echo in loud, boisterous, cheerfully happy tones. Tones that Tanishe did not altogether think should be happening now. Hasani evidently wanted a quiet word and drew her mother with him for a little talk. Tanishe glanced at Mwenye for a moment, catching his eye but ultimately, her attention moved back to Neena. Mwenye moved away from her then, off to see to his own errands.
She watched the faces of her people as they regarded the bouncing way Neena trotted up to them. Neena’s graceful arms arced through the air as she tried and failed to rouse the populace into some spirit of levity. Under the faded white light of the sun, so hot even its color was gone, no one wanted to smile. They wanted to drink. They did not want to be made to feel joy where there could be none. Predictably, the tribe did not like being told that there was no problem when there clearly was one.
Part of her wanted to walk over to Neena and quietly place her hand against the woman’s back, to either convince her to be less boisterous or possibly soothe her and the two of them stand silently as one. But it was too far and too much energy. Her hand, instead, rested against her own stomach, worry gnawing hard at her. This one must stay...she could not lose it...and so she did not go and turned back to watch Hasani and her mother, though the two of them were heading back this way.
At that moment, Neena’s touch brushed against her elbow and Tanishe turned to look at the shade Neena’d had erected. ”Tanii, you should sit down under the shade…”
“And you should not be the last to drink,” she said softly. “That will be for Hasani. No, I will stay, but I will not deny I want your hand.” And here she reached for Neena’s hand to lace their fingers together, leaning on her sister wife. The lack of water and the searing heat was making Tanishe hideously tired, even more so than pregnancy tended to do. That was all she ever got from pregnancies; tired and ill, and never a baby to show for it. Sorrow was always to be hers, it seemed, where babies were concerned.
Her mother came then and held her hand on her other side. Tanishe did not react when Lindiwe decreed that she would give her portion to her. Instead she squeezed both Neena and Linidwe’s hands. They hadn’t reached that yet and she prayed they would not.
For her part, Tanishe did not agree that everyone should have the same rations. She felt that pregnant women should have perhaps two fingers width more...but then, that was possibly making it so that someone else could not have some. For some of these women, they could try again. For herself...she did not know if it would ultimately matter, but she had begun to hope that this time it would be different...this time…
She stopped that train of thought right there when she felt the prickle in her nose and the burning in her eyes. There weren’t any other real options. And she stayed quiet, not contradicting Hasani’s public word. Instead, she squeezed her mother’s hand tight and swallowed hard.
Tanishe chewed the end of her thumbnail, watching her husband speaking to the group. When Neena moved away from their sides, she turned her head slightly to watch where her sister wife went, but seeing that Neena was merely heading towards their people, she shifted her attention back to the task at hand. Neena’s voice resounded in a few moments, though, carrying over the rocky surface to echo in loud, boisterous, cheerfully happy tones. Tones that Tanishe did not altogether think should be happening now. Hasani evidently wanted a quiet word and drew her mother with him for a little talk. Tanishe glanced at Mwenye for a moment, catching his eye but ultimately, her attention moved back to Neena. Mwenye moved away from her then, off to see to his own errands.
She watched the faces of her people as they regarded the bouncing way Neena trotted up to them. Neena’s graceful arms arced through the air as she tried and failed to rouse the populace into some spirit of levity. Under the faded white light of the sun, so hot even its color was gone, no one wanted to smile. They wanted to drink. They did not want to be made to feel joy where there could be none. Predictably, the tribe did not like being told that there was no problem when there clearly was one.
Part of her wanted to walk over to Neena and quietly place her hand against the woman’s back, to either convince her to be less boisterous or possibly soothe her and the two of them stand silently as one. But it was too far and too much energy. Her hand, instead, rested against her own stomach, worry gnawing hard at her. This one must stay...she could not lose it...and so she did not go and turned back to watch Hasani and her mother, though the two of them were heading back this way.
At that moment, Neena’s touch brushed against her elbow and Tanishe turned to look at the shade Neena’d had erected. ”Tanii, you should sit down under the shade…”
“And you should not be the last to drink,” she said softly. “That will be for Hasani. No, I will stay, but I will not deny I want your hand.” And here she reached for Neena’s hand to lace their fingers together, leaning on her sister wife. The lack of water and the searing heat was making Tanishe hideously tired, even more so than pregnancy tended to do. That was all she ever got from pregnancies; tired and ill, and never a baby to show for it. Sorrow was always to be hers, it seemed, where babies were concerned.
Her mother came then and held her hand on her other side. Tanishe did not react when Lindiwe decreed that she would give her portion to her. Instead she squeezed both Neena and Linidwe’s hands. They hadn’t reached that yet and she prayed they would not.
For her part, Tanishe did not agree that everyone should have the same rations. She felt that pregnant women should have perhaps two fingers width more...but then, that was possibly making it so that someone else could not have some. For some of these women, they could try again. For herself...she did not know if it would ultimately matter, but she had begun to hope that this time it would be different...this time…
She stopped that train of thought right there when she felt the prickle in her nose and the burning in her eyes. There weren’t any other real options. And she stayed quiet, not contradicting Hasani’s public word. Instead, she squeezed her mother’s hand tight and swallowed hard.
When Neena came back to Tanishe, wanting her to sit beneath the shade and cool off from the sun, the woman resisted. She wished to stay amongst the decision-makers of the group and Neena could understand why. Tanii was wise, objective, clear of mind and big of heart. She was a wonderful Leierin to her people. She was responsible and duty-bound and she thought everything through instead of just flying with her first instinct. Neena had never been able to do such things.
This was why Neena had attempted to help the mood of the people. She hadn't been intending to disregard the danger, or be flippant over the consequences of such a disaster of lack of water. But she also didn't believe that she could help. She had no divination abilities to find new oasis sources, nor did she have the capability of mind that Tanii and Hasani so possessed. She would be of little help to the discussions of the tribe’s future. She could only do that which she was skilled in; making people smile.
She had thought that a happy tribesman would be able to deal with the approaching trials better. That if they were cheered then their mind would not focus on how much their belly ached or how dry their tongue was. That they might be able to continue on without water for longer in between rations. The mind was a powerful thing and had seen Neena through periods of starvation longer than she cared to think about.
But perhaps she had been naive.
When Tanii drew her close and insisted that all she needed was Neena's hand to hold, Neena's lips popped open ready to protest. The woman was pregnant and she needed rest and recuperation. Even if she understood why Tanii wants to be here in the thick of things, she couldn't find her compassion for the woman allowing her to agree with it. Tanii needed to be cooled.
On the other hand, Neena had known that look in the woman's eye before and knew exactly the stubborn streak that it heralded. Tanii wasn't going to move regardless of what Neena did.
So, the only thing she could do was snap her mouth shut and interlink her fingers with Tanishe's.
Moving to stand directly beside the woman, the lengths of their arms pressing together, Neena to the chance to show comfort, letting her head fall sideways and her cheek to rest on Tanii's shoulder. When such a fearful trial was being set before them, no-one would turn shrewd eyes upon sister-wives giving one another comfort.
When Lindiwe said that her own portion of water would go to Tanii if it was necessary, Neena felt a softness for the woman that she rarely had the chance to feel. Her relationship with the old woman was complicated. Mostly due to Lindiwe's completely polar opposite personality to her daughter's sister-wife. Neither of them quite knew what to make of the other.
As Hasani addressed the people and made his plan clearer, Neena remained where she was, supporting Tanii and holding her hand. Her only movement was to call out to their husband just a few steps away and ask him for confirmation on just what he wished of them.
This time, Neena asked what she could do to help, instead of trying to step out on her own. Who said an old dog couldn't learn new tricks?
"What can we do, Hasani?" She asked him. "What do you want us to do?"
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Jul 23, 2020 19:47:05 GMT
Posted In Pure Survival on Jul 23, 2020 19:47:05 GMT
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When Neena came back to Tanishe, wanting her to sit beneath the shade and cool off from the sun, the woman resisted. She wished to stay amongst the decision-makers of the group and Neena could understand why. Tanii was wise, objective, clear of mind and big of heart. She was a wonderful Leierin to her people. She was responsible and duty-bound and she thought everything through instead of just flying with her first instinct. Neena had never been able to do such things.
This was why Neena had attempted to help the mood of the people. She hadn't been intending to disregard the danger, or be flippant over the consequences of such a disaster of lack of water. But she also didn't believe that she could help. She had no divination abilities to find new oasis sources, nor did she have the capability of mind that Tanii and Hasani so possessed. She would be of little help to the discussions of the tribe’s future. She could only do that which she was skilled in; making people smile.
She had thought that a happy tribesman would be able to deal with the approaching trials better. That if they were cheered then their mind would not focus on how much their belly ached or how dry their tongue was. That they might be able to continue on without water for longer in between rations. The mind was a powerful thing and had seen Neena through periods of starvation longer than she cared to think about.
But perhaps she had been naive.
When Tanii drew her close and insisted that all she needed was Neena's hand to hold, Neena's lips popped open ready to protest. The woman was pregnant and she needed rest and recuperation. Even if she understood why Tanii wants to be here in the thick of things, she couldn't find her compassion for the woman allowing her to agree with it. Tanii needed to be cooled.
On the other hand, Neena had known that look in the woman's eye before and knew exactly the stubborn streak that it heralded. Tanii wasn't going to move regardless of what Neena did.
So, the only thing she could do was snap her mouth shut and interlink her fingers with Tanishe's.
Moving to stand directly beside the woman, the lengths of their arms pressing together, Neena to the chance to show comfort, letting her head fall sideways and her cheek to rest on Tanii's shoulder. When such a fearful trial was being set before them, no-one would turn shrewd eyes upon sister-wives giving one another comfort.
When Lindiwe said that her own portion of water would go to Tanii if it was necessary, Neena felt a softness for the woman that she rarely had the chance to feel. Her relationship with the old woman was complicated. Mostly due to Lindiwe's completely polar opposite personality to her daughter's sister-wife. Neither of them quite knew what to make of the other.
As Hasani addressed the people and made his plan clearer, Neena remained where she was, supporting Tanii and holding her hand. Her only movement was to call out to their husband just a few steps away and ask him for confirmation on just what he wished of them.
This time, Neena asked what she could do to help, instead of trying to step out on her own. Who said an old dog couldn't learn new tricks?
"What can we do, Hasani?" She asked him. "What do you want us to do?"
When Neena came back to Tanishe, wanting her to sit beneath the shade and cool off from the sun, the woman resisted. She wished to stay amongst the decision-makers of the group and Neena could understand why. Tanii was wise, objective, clear of mind and big of heart. She was a wonderful Leierin to her people. She was responsible and duty-bound and she thought everything through instead of just flying with her first instinct. Neena had never been able to do such things.
This was why Neena had attempted to help the mood of the people. She hadn't been intending to disregard the danger, or be flippant over the consequences of such a disaster of lack of water. But she also didn't believe that she could help. She had no divination abilities to find new oasis sources, nor did she have the capability of mind that Tanii and Hasani so possessed. She would be of little help to the discussions of the tribe’s future. She could only do that which she was skilled in; making people smile.
She had thought that a happy tribesman would be able to deal with the approaching trials better. That if they were cheered then their mind would not focus on how much their belly ached or how dry their tongue was. That they might be able to continue on without water for longer in between rations. The mind was a powerful thing and had seen Neena through periods of starvation longer than she cared to think about.
But perhaps she had been naive.
When Tanii drew her close and insisted that all she needed was Neena's hand to hold, Neena's lips popped open ready to protest. The woman was pregnant and she needed rest and recuperation. Even if she understood why Tanii wants to be here in the thick of things, she couldn't find her compassion for the woman allowing her to agree with it. Tanii needed to be cooled.
On the other hand, Neena had known that look in the woman's eye before and knew exactly the stubborn streak that it heralded. Tanii wasn't going to move regardless of what Neena did.
So, the only thing she could do was snap her mouth shut and interlink her fingers with Tanishe's.
Moving to stand directly beside the woman, the lengths of their arms pressing together, Neena to the chance to show comfort, letting her head fall sideways and her cheek to rest on Tanii's shoulder. When such a fearful trial was being set before them, no-one would turn shrewd eyes upon sister-wives giving one another comfort.
When Lindiwe said that her own portion of water would go to Tanii if it was necessary, Neena felt a softness for the woman that she rarely had the chance to feel. Her relationship with the old woman was complicated. Mostly due to Lindiwe's completely polar opposite personality to her daughter's sister-wife. Neither of them quite knew what to make of the other.
As Hasani addressed the people and made his plan clearer, Neena remained where she was, supporting Tanii and holding her hand. Her only movement was to call out to their husband just a few steps away and ask him for confirmation on just what he wished of them.
This time, Neena asked what she could do to help, instead of trying to step out on her own. Who said an old dog couldn't learn new tricks?
"What can we do, Hasani?" She asked him. "What do you want us to do?"
