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Following the disaster that had been the training with the younger warriors of the tribe, Hasani found his irritation with the young slave girl cooled. For the moment. Why the leier had been so concerned with her health and the state of her pretty neck, he really didn't know. All he did know was that watching her put herself into such danger had struck a chord with him that he was not keen on repeating. But he had let her off easy enough, forcing her to stand with him and watch the rest of the training, but even that had not been without its own trials.
He wasn't sure what he felt about Neena at that moment, but it was a mixture between confusion and innate curiosity that he could not break himself of. The man was wildly curious, burning with questions, and needing to know literally every single detail he could about the slave. He had never taken this sort of interest in anyone except Tanishe, but he wasn't sure that his interest held the same promise that his wife's had. Tanishe had, well, become his wife. If that was where his mind with heading with Neena, even he wasn't sure what that would truly mean.
For now, he was happy to continue to ask her questions. To get to know her and listen in on the little stories that she told the children of the tribe when she was focused on keeping them occupied and out from underfoot. She made a valiant and efficient effort. Hasani had no true complaints about it, and he wouldn't. Her help was invaluable.
With the early Ayyar sun starting to set over the desert sands, the tribe had fallen into a quiet lull. Fires were being started to ward away the chill, food was being shared among tribesman and slave, and drink was being passed about for enjoyment as everyone found a moment to wind down for the day. Hasani himself had spent most of his day with Tanishe, hunting for herbs and the like to replenish the tribe's stores. It was not his favorite thing to do in a day, but the presence of his wife made it bearable. Hasani himself knew little of the herbs and medicine that the tribe used, so he always found himself out of his element. However, he always felt nothing but pride in his wife and her extensive knowledge of everything medicinal. Truly, if the tribe did not have her or the other healers to learn from, Hasani was sure that the Zaire would be much different than they were as a people.
Trailing to the fire that Hasani had started with his own hands, he set down a few cushions for him and his wife to sit upon while they enjoyed their evening meal. His gaze trailed to Tanishe and he found himself smiling sweetly at her. "Sometimes I worry that you take no time to rest, leierin," Hasani chastised his wife, letting his gaze trail about the warm glow of the other fires that were now home to gathering adults, elders, and children. A few of the elders joined them at the first, dragging their own cushions to sit upon. Hasani waved them over to take some of the food that Tanishe had prepared, knowing that there would be no way that just he and his wife would eat everything that she had prepared.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Following the disaster that had been the training with the younger warriors of the tribe, Hasani found his irritation with the young slave girl cooled. For the moment. Why the leier had been so concerned with her health and the state of her pretty neck, he really didn't know. All he did know was that watching her put herself into such danger had struck a chord with him that he was not keen on repeating. But he had let her off easy enough, forcing her to stand with him and watch the rest of the training, but even that had not been without its own trials.
He wasn't sure what he felt about Neena at that moment, but it was a mixture between confusion and innate curiosity that he could not break himself of. The man was wildly curious, burning with questions, and needing to know literally every single detail he could about the slave. He had never taken this sort of interest in anyone except Tanishe, but he wasn't sure that his interest held the same promise that his wife's had. Tanishe had, well, become his wife. If that was where his mind with heading with Neena, even he wasn't sure what that would truly mean.
For now, he was happy to continue to ask her questions. To get to know her and listen in on the little stories that she told the children of the tribe when she was focused on keeping them occupied and out from underfoot. She made a valiant and efficient effort. Hasani had no true complaints about it, and he wouldn't. Her help was invaluable.
With the early Ayyar sun starting to set over the desert sands, the tribe had fallen into a quiet lull. Fires were being started to ward away the chill, food was being shared among tribesman and slave, and drink was being passed about for enjoyment as everyone found a moment to wind down for the day. Hasani himself had spent most of his day with Tanishe, hunting for herbs and the like to replenish the tribe's stores. It was not his favorite thing to do in a day, but the presence of his wife made it bearable. Hasani himself knew little of the herbs and medicine that the tribe used, so he always found himself out of his element. However, he always felt nothing but pride in his wife and her extensive knowledge of everything medicinal. Truly, if the tribe did not have her or the other healers to learn from, Hasani was sure that the Zaire would be much different than they were as a people.
Trailing to the fire that Hasani had started with his own hands, he set down a few cushions for him and his wife to sit upon while they enjoyed their evening meal. His gaze trailed to Tanishe and he found himself smiling sweetly at her. "Sometimes I worry that you take no time to rest, leierin," Hasani chastised his wife, letting his gaze trail about the warm glow of the other fires that were now home to gathering adults, elders, and children. A few of the elders joined them at the first, dragging their own cushions to sit upon. Hasani waved them over to take some of the food that Tanishe had prepared, knowing that there would be no way that just he and his wife would eat everything that she had prepared.
Following the disaster that had been the training with the younger warriors of the tribe, Hasani found his irritation with the young slave girl cooled. For the moment. Why the leier had been so concerned with her health and the state of her pretty neck, he really didn't know. All he did know was that watching her put herself into such danger had struck a chord with him that he was not keen on repeating. But he had let her off easy enough, forcing her to stand with him and watch the rest of the training, but even that had not been without its own trials.
He wasn't sure what he felt about Neena at that moment, but it was a mixture between confusion and innate curiosity that he could not break himself of. The man was wildly curious, burning with questions, and needing to know literally every single detail he could about the slave. He had never taken this sort of interest in anyone except Tanishe, but he wasn't sure that his interest held the same promise that his wife's had. Tanishe had, well, become his wife. If that was where his mind with heading with Neena, even he wasn't sure what that would truly mean.
For now, he was happy to continue to ask her questions. To get to know her and listen in on the little stories that she told the children of the tribe when she was focused on keeping them occupied and out from underfoot. She made a valiant and efficient effort. Hasani had no true complaints about it, and he wouldn't. Her help was invaluable.
With the early Ayyar sun starting to set over the desert sands, the tribe had fallen into a quiet lull. Fires were being started to ward away the chill, food was being shared among tribesman and slave, and drink was being passed about for enjoyment as everyone found a moment to wind down for the day. Hasani himself had spent most of his day with Tanishe, hunting for herbs and the like to replenish the tribe's stores. It was not his favorite thing to do in a day, but the presence of his wife made it bearable. Hasani himself knew little of the herbs and medicine that the tribe used, so he always found himself out of his element. However, he always felt nothing but pride in his wife and her extensive knowledge of everything medicinal. Truly, if the tribe did not have her or the other healers to learn from, Hasani was sure that the Zaire would be much different than they were as a people.
Trailing to the fire that Hasani had started with his own hands, he set down a few cushions for him and his wife to sit upon while they enjoyed their evening meal. His gaze trailed to Tanishe and he found himself smiling sweetly at her. "Sometimes I worry that you take no time to rest, leierin," Hasani chastised his wife, letting his gaze trail about the warm glow of the other fires that were now home to gathering adults, elders, and children. A few of the elders joined them at the first, dragging their own cushions to sit upon. Hasani waved them over to take some of the food that Tanishe had prepared, knowing that there would be no way that just he and his wife would eat everything that she had prepared.
For many people, the day that Neena had had would have been exhausting. Taking care of children was perhaps one of the most effort and draining experiences many could partake in. Especially when the sun was at its highest in the middle part of the day and it was cooling in the year enough that no sleep was taken at noon. Instead, Neena was given free range over a small group of perhaps a dozen children from the tribe to distract and care for, for the day and she had done so without any of the harrowing exhaustion that others - including their parents - might feel.
A practical reason for this might have been the fact that she was not the primary carer for each of the kids. Not sentenced to being responsible for a small bundle of live energy every day of every week of every month and year, meant that she didn't have the mentality of the task being never ending. She had only until the sun set with the children and when the moon had completely risen free of the horizon it was universally the time for the young ones to return to their families and partake in the evening meal.
Another reason was more to do with Neena as a person. She was an extrovert. And being around others - even lively and young ones - meant that her energy levels were constantly stoked and encouraged. She would gain in eagerness and excitement the more time she spent with those whose minds could turn on a dime and continue to surprise her. She was never tired out by other people. She was more set buzzing by the company.
As such, by the time night started to drop, Neena was alive and well. Her muscles were active and eager for movement and activity after chasing around small beings from one length of the tribe to another. Her mind was awake and bristled with creative concepts. And her eyes were bright with wakefulness. It went against her nature to sit down and eat quietly and take time to detox after the day. She was far too exuberant and full of life to settle down just yet...
And yet she was also hungry. So, with the intent on fuelling up for whatever the evening was set to bring, Neena was quick to find a place for herself in a small group with the crotchety Jhameetza, a few warriors and several other slaves who were crouched around the same fire a few yards away from that of the Leier.
Without noticing where Hasani and his wife had chosen to dine, Neena was open to accepting whatever food was pushed her way: a meaty and vegetable broth in a carved ivory bowl and a hunk of flat bread that could be used as both accompaniment and utensil.
Ravenous, Neena set upon the food and then watched with wife eyes and open ears as members of their little group started to talk of their day. Neena contributed a little, talking of amusing things several of the young ones had done, which sparked Jhameetza saying such behaviours came from their grandparents - whom she had known way back so many years ago.
And so, the stories began...
As soon as Neena was finished with her food, it was a natural move that she became the most common voice in the group. As others turned to their dishes and meals, Neena got up from where she had sat cross-legged and rearranged her position so that she was in a crouch, her knees splayed and her butt rested on her heels. She leaned forwards, her hands coming up to gesture and silhouette the images her voice created, their shadows in the fire setting the light dancing over the sands.
She was asked to describe her time at sea and what it was like to sail on the ocean. She talked of how the ocean was like the sands of the dessert, undulating and fluid. Yet they moved... as if it were a giant kaftan held at each corner and shaken by different sets of hands. She shifted on her feet, swaying from one side the other, hands our stretched as if for balance to describe what it was like to stand upon the deck of the ship.
Whilst Neena was no wordsmith and no great linguist or scholar, she was a wonderful story-teller. Her turn of phrase was not as good as an old Greek friend's was, but her enthusiasm for her subject, her vivid energy and dedication to the effect of her words were what made her descriptions come alive, more than the syllables themselves.
Not a selfish teller of tall tales, Neena never took the story where her audience were unwilling to follow, allowing their questions to lead to new anecdotes instead of the other way around. She would watch with amusement when eyes lit up with curiosity and her smile grew wide as she continued to entertain, her hands creating the illusion of reality before her...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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For many people, the day that Neena had had would have been exhausting. Taking care of children was perhaps one of the most effort and draining experiences many could partake in. Especially when the sun was at its highest in the middle part of the day and it was cooling in the year enough that no sleep was taken at noon. Instead, Neena was given free range over a small group of perhaps a dozen children from the tribe to distract and care for, for the day and she had done so without any of the harrowing exhaustion that others - including their parents - might feel.
A practical reason for this might have been the fact that she was not the primary carer for each of the kids. Not sentenced to being responsible for a small bundle of live energy every day of every week of every month and year, meant that she didn't have the mentality of the task being never ending. She had only until the sun set with the children and when the moon had completely risen free of the horizon it was universally the time for the young ones to return to their families and partake in the evening meal.
Another reason was more to do with Neena as a person. She was an extrovert. And being around others - even lively and young ones - meant that her energy levels were constantly stoked and encouraged. She would gain in eagerness and excitement the more time she spent with those whose minds could turn on a dime and continue to surprise her. She was never tired out by other people. She was more set buzzing by the company.
As such, by the time night started to drop, Neena was alive and well. Her muscles were active and eager for movement and activity after chasing around small beings from one length of the tribe to another. Her mind was awake and bristled with creative concepts. And her eyes were bright with wakefulness. It went against her nature to sit down and eat quietly and take time to detox after the day. She was far too exuberant and full of life to settle down just yet...
And yet she was also hungry. So, with the intent on fuelling up for whatever the evening was set to bring, Neena was quick to find a place for herself in a small group with the crotchety Jhameetza, a few warriors and several other slaves who were crouched around the same fire a few yards away from that of the Leier.
Without noticing where Hasani and his wife had chosen to dine, Neena was open to accepting whatever food was pushed her way: a meaty and vegetable broth in a carved ivory bowl and a hunk of flat bread that could be used as both accompaniment and utensil.
Ravenous, Neena set upon the food and then watched with wife eyes and open ears as members of their little group started to talk of their day. Neena contributed a little, talking of amusing things several of the young ones had done, which sparked Jhameetza saying such behaviours came from their grandparents - whom she had known way back so many years ago.
And so, the stories began...
As soon as Neena was finished with her food, it was a natural move that she became the most common voice in the group. As others turned to their dishes and meals, Neena got up from where she had sat cross-legged and rearranged her position so that she was in a crouch, her knees splayed and her butt rested on her heels. She leaned forwards, her hands coming up to gesture and silhouette the images her voice created, their shadows in the fire setting the light dancing over the sands.
She was asked to describe her time at sea and what it was like to sail on the ocean. She talked of how the ocean was like the sands of the dessert, undulating and fluid. Yet they moved... as if it were a giant kaftan held at each corner and shaken by different sets of hands. She shifted on her feet, swaying from one side the other, hands our stretched as if for balance to describe what it was like to stand upon the deck of the ship.
Whilst Neena was no wordsmith and no great linguist or scholar, she was a wonderful story-teller. Her turn of phrase was not as good as an old Greek friend's was, but her enthusiasm for her subject, her vivid energy and dedication to the effect of her words were what made her descriptions come alive, more than the syllables themselves.
Not a selfish teller of tall tales, Neena never took the story where her audience were unwilling to follow, allowing their questions to lead to new anecdotes instead of the other way around. She would watch with amusement when eyes lit up with curiosity and her smile grew wide as she continued to entertain, her hands creating the illusion of reality before her...
For many people, the day that Neena had had would have been exhausting. Taking care of children was perhaps one of the most effort and draining experiences many could partake in. Especially when the sun was at its highest in the middle part of the day and it was cooling in the year enough that no sleep was taken at noon. Instead, Neena was given free range over a small group of perhaps a dozen children from the tribe to distract and care for, for the day and she had done so without any of the harrowing exhaustion that others - including their parents - might feel.
A practical reason for this might have been the fact that she was not the primary carer for each of the kids. Not sentenced to being responsible for a small bundle of live energy every day of every week of every month and year, meant that she didn't have the mentality of the task being never ending. She had only until the sun set with the children and when the moon had completely risen free of the horizon it was universally the time for the young ones to return to their families and partake in the evening meal.
Another reason was more to do with Neena as a person. She was an extrovert. And being around others - even lively and young ones - meant that her energy levels were constantly stoked and encouraged. She would gain in eagerness and excitement the more time she spent with those whose minds could turn on a dime and continue to surprise her. She was never tired out by other people. She was more set buzzing by the company.
As such, by the time night started to drop, Neena was alive and well. Her muscles were active and eager for movement and activity after chasing around small beings from one length of the tribe to another. Her mind was awake and bristled with creative concepts. And her eyes were bright with wakefulness. It went against her nature to sit down and eat quietly and take time to detox after the day. She was far too exuberant and full of life to settle down just yet...
And yet she was also hungry. So, with the intent on fuelling up for whatever the evening was set to bring, Neena was quick to find a place for herself in a small group with the crotchety Jhameetza, a few warriors and several other slaves who were crouched around the same fire a few yards away from that of the Leier.
Without noticing where Hasani and his wife had chosen to dine, Neena was open to accepting whatever food was pushed her way: a meaty and vegetable broth in a carved ivory bowl and a hunk of flat bread that could be used as both accompaniment and utensil.
Ravenous, Neena set upon the food and then watched with wife eyes and open ears as members of their little group started to talk of their day. Neena contributed a little, talking of amusing things several of the young ones had done, which sparked Jhameetza saying such behaviours came from their grandparents - whom she had known way back so many years ago.
And so, the stories began...
As soon as Neena was finished with her food, it was a natural move that she became the most common voice in the group. As others turned to their dishes and meals, Neena got up from where she had sat cross-legged and rearranged her position so that she was in a crouch, her knees splayed and her butt rested on her heels. She leaned forwards, her hands coming up to gesture and silhouette the images her voice created, their shadows in the fire setting the light dancing over the sands.
She was asked to describe her time at sea and what it was like to sail on the ocean. She talked of how the ocean was like the sands of the dessert, undulating and fluid. Yet they moved... as if it were a giant kaftan held at each corner and shaken by different sets of hands. She shifted on her feet, swaying from one side the other, hands our stretched as if for balance to describe what it was like to stand upon the deck of the ship.
Whilst Neena was no wordsmith and no great linguist or scholar, she was a wonderful story-teller. Her turn of phrase was not as good as an old Greek friend's was, but her enthusiasm for her subject, her vivid energy and dedication to the effect of her words were what made her descriptions come alive, more than the syllables themselves.
Not a selfish teller of tall tales, Neena never took the story where her audience were unwilling to follow, allowing their questions to lead to new anecdotes instead of the other way around. She would watch with amusement when eyes lit up with curiosity and her smile grew wide as she continued to entertain, her hands creating the illusion of reality before her...
Unlike her husband, hunting for herbs and roots and plants was one of Tanishe’s favorite things to do. She liked the wet earth under her fingers as she dug into the sand, plucking up the roots of this plant or that. The scent of grasses in her nose as she bent low to the ground filled her with a great sense of peace. To be out under the everlasting sky, with the wind softly blowing against her skin, the sleeves of her kaftan rolled up and her leather pouch at her side, she was most at home. In the Medical hawe, she enjoyed her work. She needed the warm feeling that filled her soul when she helped to lift someone’s head enough in order to assist them into drinking broth, or the excitement that came with a patient making a full recovery after being so close to joining the ancestors. But there were days, like yesterday, when she could not save everyone. One of their warriors had suffered a pointless accident while showing off and his injuries had been severe. Despite the man’s own will to live, and Tanishe’s desperate attempts to save him, he’d died while she was in the midst of staunching his wound. His blood was warm on her hands as he’d drawn his last, wet, rasping breath. The herbs and the pleasing, non-humanness of the plants calmed her heart after such tragedies. She did not cry for the man. She rarely cried for any patient who passed on anymore, but his life essence stayed with her, nonetheless.
She’d thought about the event constantly and hadn’t wanted to eat with just her husband that night. What she’d wanted was company, and so she’d made enough food to tempt her sister and brother and mother to come join them, but there was still more to go around and it was as she’d hoped; Hasani had invited still more. Soon, they were partaking of something akin to a feast. Laughter, chatter - life - was happening around her and she lay her head against Hasani’s shoulder while he ate, spinning a sprig of fragrant mint between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes on the embers of the cooking fire. The flames were low, but someone had fed it more dried dung and it was flaring to life again.
"Sometimes I worry that you take no time to rest, leierin," Hasani’s tone made her lift her head and look up at him. The distance she’d had all day was still there and she couldn’t quite bring herself to be as obedient to his whims as usual. It was at this point that she should nod and tell him that she would rest, but she pulled away, drawing her knees up to her chest, her eyes drifting back to the green mint spinning in her fingers, leaving little bits of green against her fingertips and beneath one nail.
“This is my rest,” she said quietly, and then she tossed the mint in the fire. It settled over the crimson coals, green, lovely, alive. Then, all at once, its leaves curled and flared in orange ribbons. The whole spring blackened and disintegrated, never even catching fire. It simply died; unremarkable, but its burnt scent lingered in the air. Tanishe’s gaze drifted over to Neena, who was telling an animated story that she couldn’t quite catch all the words to.
“She has so much life,” Tanishe murmured, pointing out the other woman. “The children talk about her when they come to the tent.” Not only ill people visited the hawe. The children of the tribe ran around in little groups of their own and there was a particular gaggle of little girls who wouldn’t leave the medical tent alone. Whether it was because Tanishe wouldn’t allow them entrance when someone was ill with breathing trouble, or the tent’s bright color, she didn’t know, but if Neena was in charge of them, Tanishe didn’t see the girls for the whole day. They would appear of Neena was busy with something else.
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Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Unlike her husband, hunting for herbs and roots and plants was one of Tanishe’s favorite things to do. She liked the wet earth under her fingers as she dug into the sand, plucking up the roots of this plant or that. The scent of grasses in her nose as she bent low to the ground filled her with a great sense of peace. To be out under the everlasting sky, with the wind softly blowing against her skin, the sleeves of her kaftan rolled up and her leather pouch at her side, she was most at home. In the Medical hawe, she enjoyed her work. She needed the warm feeling that filled her soul when she helped to lift someone’s head enough in order to assist them into drinking broth, or the excitement that came with a patient making a full recovery after being so close to joining the ancestors. But there were days, like yesterday, when she could not save everyone. One of their warriors had suffered a pointless accident while showing off and his injuries had been severe. Despite the man’s own will to live, and Tanishe’s desperate attempts to save him, he’d died while she was in the midst of staunching his wound. His blood was warm on her hands as he’d drawn his last, wet, rasping breath. The herbs and the pleasing, non-humanness of the plants calmed her heart after such tragedies. She did not cry for the man. She rarely cried for any patient who passed on anymore, but his life essence stayed with her, nonetheless.
She’d thought about the event constantly and hadn’t wanted to eat with just her husband that night. What she’d wanted was company, and so she’d made enough food to tempt her sister and brother and mother to come join them, but there was still more to go around and it was as she’d hoped; Hasani had invited still more. Soon, they were partaking of something akin to a feast. Laughter, chatter - life - was happening around her and she lay her head against Hasani’s shoulder while he ate, spinning a sprig of fragrant mint between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes on the embers of the cooking fire. The flames were low, but someone had fed it more dried dung and it was flaring to life again.
"Sometimes I worry that you take no time to rest, leierin," Hasani’s tone made her lift her head and look up at him. The distance she’d had all day was still there and she couldn’t quite bring herself to be as obedient to his whims as usual. It was at this point that she should nod and tell him that she would rest, but she pulled away, drawing her knees up to her chest, her eyes drifting back to the green mint spinning in her fingers, leaving little bits of green against her fingertips and beneath one nail.
“This is my rest,” she said quietly, and then she tossed the mint in the fire. It settled over the crimson coals, green, lovely, alive. Then, all at once, its leaves curled and flared in orange ribbons. The whole spring blackened and disintegrated, never even catching fire. It simply died; unremarkable, but its burnt scent lingered in the air. Tanishe’s gaze drifted over to Neena, who was telling an animated story that she couldn’t quite catch all the words to.
“She has so much life,” Tanishe murmured, pointing out the other woman. “The children talk about her when they come to the tent.” Not only ill people visited the hawe. The children of the tribe ran around in little groups of their own and there was a particular gaggle of little girls who wouldn’t leave the medical tent alone. Whether it was because Tanishe wouldn’t allow them entrance when someone was ill with breathing trouble, or the tent’s bright color, she didn’t know, but if Neena was in charge of them, Tanishe didn’t see the girls for the whole day. They would appear of Neena was busy with something else.
Unlike her husband, hunting for herbs and roots and plants was one of Tanishe’s favorite things to do. She liked the wet earth under her fingers as she dug into the sand, plucking up the roots of this plant or that. The scent of grasses in her nose as she bent low to the ground filled her with a great sense of peace. To be out under the everlasting sky, with the wind softly blowing against her skin, the sleeves of her kaftan rolled up and her leather pouch at her side, she was most at home. In the Medical hawe, she enjoyed her work. She needed the warm feeling that filled her soul when she helped to lift someone’s head enough in order to assist them into drinking broth, or the excitement that came with a patient making a full recovery after being so close to joining the ancestors. But there were days, like yesterday, when she could not save everyone. One of their warriors had suffered a pointless accident while showing off and his injuries had been severe. Despite the man’s own will to live, and Tanishe’s desperate attempts to save him, he’d died while she was in the midst of staunching his wound. His blood was warm on her hands as he’d drawn his last, wet, rasping breath. The herbs and the pleasing, non-humanness of the plants calmed her heart after such tragedies. She did not cry for the man. She rarely cried for any patient who passed on anymore, but his life essence stayed with her, nonetheless.
She’d thought about the event constantly and hadn’t wanted to eat with just her husband that night. What she’d wanted was company, and so she’d made enough food to tempt her sister and brother and mother to come join them, but there was still more to go around and it was as she’d hoped; Hasani had invited still more. Soon, they were partaking of something akin to a feast. Laughter, chatter - life - was happening around her and she lay her head against Hasani’s shoulder while he ate, spinning a sprig of fragrant mint between her thumb and forefinger, her eyes on the embers of the cooking fire. The flames were low, but someone had fed it more dried dung and it was flaring to life again.
"Sometimes I worry that you take no time to rest, leierin," Hasani’s tone made her lift her head and look up at him. The distance she’d had all day was still there and she couldn’t quite bring herself to be as obedient to his whims as usual. It was at this point that she should nod and tell him that she would rest, but she pulled away, drawing her knees up to her chest, her eyes drifting back to the green mint spinning in her fingers, leaving little bits of green against her fingertips and beneath one nail.
“This is my rest,” she said quietly, and then she tossed the mint in the fire. It settled over the crimson coals, green, lovely, alive. Then, all at once, its leaves curled and flared in orange ribbons. The whole spring blackened and disintegrated, never even catching fire. It simply died; unremarkable, but its burnt scent lingered in the air. Tanishe’s gaze drifted over to Neena, who was telling an animated story that she couldn’t quite catch all the words to.
“She has so much life,” Tanishe murmured, pointing out the other woman. “The children talk about her when they come to the tent.” Not only ill people visited the hawe. The children of the tribe ran around in little groups of their own and there was a particular gaggle of little girls who wouldn’t leave the medical tent alone. Whether it was because Tanishe wouldn’t allow them entrance when someone was ill with breathing trouble, or the tent’s bright color, she didn’t know, but if Neena was in charge of them, Tanishe didn’t see the girls for the whole day. They would appear of Neena was busy with something else.
The leier found his fingertips grazing gently up the back of his wife's arm, trying to guide her back into laying her head on his shoulder. The desert was hot, but it was not too hot to allow a little bit of a snuggle. Especially as the world darkened around them and it was the fires that warmed them rather than the sun. When Tanishe had pulled away from him, watching the sprig of mint that was pinched between her fingers, he let his dark gaze show the concern that he felt. The young leier was not one to keep himself entirely impassive and unfeeling.
That just wasn't his personality and refusing to show that he was human was not something he was ever keen on doing. Hasani enjoyed that his tribemates could see him as a person and not just a leader. That was why he was not going to hide his concern or his frustrations unless the moment was truly vital. The man was of the opinion that there was always a time and a place, and this was truly one of those times.
Tanishe asserted that this was her rest, but he wasn't so sure. He didn't question her, knowing from experience that it wasn't always the best idea. Hasani had been close with the warrior that had died the night previous and he, too, was sad about the passing. But Tanishe was closer in those last moments of the man's life. Those affected a person far more than the memory of a friendship ever could.
What he did not expect was the mention of Neena. Hasani dragged his gaze from Tanishe and let it settle on the animated slave girl that sat across at the next fire. "She does," the leier said slowly, thinking about some of his own interactions with her. She was wild and seemed to hold more freedom than any of them despite being a slave. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to know that someone could have so little regard for their position in life. Neena was wordly and curious and Hasani hadn't been able to stop himself from asking too many questions or letting his anger get the better of him when she decidedly did something ill-advised. "I have spoken with her on many occasions. She has a penchant for the spoken word and many experiences to back up the words that fall from her lips," Hasani said slowly before glancing down at his wife.
"Perhaps we should join them?" he asked lightly, pushing himself to his feet and offering Tanishe his hand. A story might help her mood and Neena had an energy about her that could make anyone just the slightest bit happier when they were feeling down. "I want to see what it is she's telling them since they seem so engaged," he added, thinking about the fact that they hadn't had a good storyteller in the Zaire tribe for many a moon since their eldest member passed on. The man had been like magic, able to weave words in much the same way that Neena could. Taking Tanishe's hand in his own, he lead the two of them across the cooling sands and into the circle of the next fire.
A few of the tribesmen moved to make space for Hasani and Tanishe to settle in, and Hasani ensured that his wife sat before he did, keeping her hand in his own but letting his gaze fixate on the young storyteller than held everyone's rapt attention.
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The leier found his fingertips grazing gently up the back of his wife's arm, trying to guide her back into laying her head on his shoulder. The desert was hot, but it was not too hot to allow a little bit of a snuggle. Especially as the world darkened around them and it was the fires that warmed them rather than the sun. When Tanishe had pulled away from him, watching the sprig of mint that was pinched between her fingers, he let his dark gaze show the concern that he felt. The young leier was not one to keep himself entirely impassive and unfeeling.
That just wasn't his personality and refusing to show that he was human was not something he was ever keen on doing. Hasani enjoyed that his tribemates could see him as a person and not just a leader. That was why he was not going to hide his concern or his frustrations unless the moment was truly vital. The man was of the opinion that there was always a time and a place, and this was truly one of those times.
Tanishe asserted that this was her rest, but he wasn't so sure. He didn't question her, knowing from experience that it wasn't always the best idea. Hasani had been close with the warrior that had died the night previous and he, too, was sad about the passing. But Tanishe was closer in those last moments of the man's life. Those affected a person far more than the memory of a friendship ever could.
What he did not expect was the mention of Neena. Hasani dragged his gaze from Tanishe and let it settle on the animated slave girl that sat across at the next fire. "She does," the leier said slowly, thinking about some of his own interactions with her. She was wild and seemed to hold more freedom than any of them despite being a slave. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to know that someone could have so little regard for their position in life. Neena was wordly and curious and Hasani hadn't been able to stop himself from asking too many questions or letting his anger get the better of him when she decidedly did something ill-advised. "I have spoken with her on many occasions. She has a penchant for the spoken word and many experiences to back up the words that fall from her lips," Hasani said slowly before glancing down at his wife.
"Perhaps we should join them?" he asked lightly, pushing himself to his feet and offering Tanishe his hand. A story might help her mood and Neena had an energy about her that could make anyone just the slightest bit happier when they were feeling down. "I want to see what it is she's telling them since they seem so engaged," he added, thinking about the fact that they hadn't had a good storyteller in the Zaire tribe for many a moon since their eldest member passed on. The man had been like magic, able to weave words in much the same way that Neena could. Taking Tanishe's hand in his own, he lead the two of them across the cooling sands and into the circle of the next fire.
A few of the tribesmen moved to make space for Hasani and Tanishe to settle in, and Hasani ensured that his wife sat before he did, keeping her hand in his own but letting his gaze fixate on the young storyteller than held everyone's rapt attention.
The leier found his fingertips grazing gently up the back of his wife's arm, trying to guide her back into laying her head on his shoulder. The desert was hot, but it was not too hot to allow a little bit of a snuggle. Especially as the world darkened around them and it was the fires that warmed them rather than the sun. When Tanishe had pulled away from him, watching the sprig of mint that was pinched between her fingers, he let his dark gaze show the concern that he felt. The young leier was not one to keep himself entirely impassive and unfeeling.
That just wasn't his personality and refusing to show that he was human was not something he was ever keen on doing. Hasani enjoyed that his tribemates could see him as a person and not just a leader. That was why he was not going to hide his concern or his frustrations unless the moment was truly vital. The man was of the opinion that there was always a time and a place, and this was truly one of those times.
Tanishe asserted that this was her rest, but he wasn't so sure. He didn't question her, knowing from experience that it wasn't always the best idea. Hasani had been close with the warrior that had died the night previous and he, too, was sad about the passing. But Tanishe was closer in those last moments of the man's life. Those affected a person far more than the memory of a friendship ever could.
What he did not expect was the mention of Neena. Hasani dragged his gaze from Tanishe and let it settle on the animated slave girl that sat across at the next fire. "She does," the leier said slowly, thinking about some of his own interactions with her. She was wild and seemed to hold more freedom than any of them despite being a slave. It was both exhilarating and terrifying to know that someone could have so little regard for their position in life. Neena was wordly and curious and Hasani hadn't been able to stop himself from asking too many questions or letting his anger get the better of him when she decidedly did something ill-advised. "I have spoken with her on many occasions. She has a penchant for the spoken word and many experiences to back up the words that fall from her lips," Hasani said slowly before glancing down at his wife.
"Perhaps we should join them?" he asked lightly, pushing himself to his feet and offering Tanishe his hand. A story might help her mood and Neena had an energy about her that could make anyone just the slightest bit happier when they were feeling down. "I want to see what it is she's telling them since they seem so engaged," he added, thinking about the fact that they hadn't had a good storyteller in the Zaire tribe for many a moon since their eldest member passed on. The man had been like magic, able to weave words in much the same way that Neena could. Taking Tanishe's hand in his own, he lead the two of them across the cooling sands and into the circle of the next fire.
A few of the tribesmen moved to make space for Hasani and Tanishe to settle in, and Hasani ensured that his wife sat before he did, keeping her hand in his own but letting his gaze fixate on the young storyteller than held everyone's rapt attention.
For Neena, it mattered not who her audience was. She didn't feel the need to alter her words or change her presentation depending on whether she spoke to a group of slaves or to the Leier of the tribe himself. So, when Hasani came along and wanted to partake in a moment of her tale, she was happy to keep right on as if he had never interrupted. As others within the little circle that she entertained parted in order to provide their leader with a place to sit, Neena continued to speak as if no movement had occurred, keeping the focus and rapt attention of others around the fire.
"When a storm hits the waters..." She told them, the hands she was using to show the movement of the sea suddenly taking flight and rocking harsher and heavier on the air. "The wind picks up the sea like a giant, scooping hand and rocks it into turbulent waves and crashing walls of water." Her legs extended and then lowered so that her arms and hands could make more dramatic upheavals in the shadows of the firelight.
"Like a sandstorm, it turns the ground unstable, it creates great storms of water and rain. Lightening - fire from the sky - shoots down from the clouds and boils the water to steam!" Neena made a clashing noise in the back of her teeth to mimic the lightning that the Grecian sailors she had sailed with would say came from the king of their Gods. Then her fingers danced in ripples as her tongue hissed between her teeth to illustrate the steam that rose from the oceans.
Gasps and curious eyes followed her as the members of the tribe tried to imagine a world of water, where it rained so often and created meadows and dunes of waves. When one spoke up to murmur that the sailors of the sea must never be thirsty, Neena was quick to raise a finger and remind them -
"You cannot drink the waters of the sea. It's salty and only makes your thirst greater! Instead, you must pack into cargo all that you need to drink. The same as we do when travelling…"
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For Neena, it mattered not who her audience was. She didn't feel the need to alter her words or change her presentation depending on whether she spoke to a group of slaves or to the Leier of the tribe himself. So, when Hasani came along and wanted to partake in a moment of her tale, she was happy to keep right on as if he had never interrupted. As others within the little circle that she entertained parted in order to provide their leader with a place to sit, Neena continued to speak as if no movement had occurred, keeping the focus and rapt attention of others around the fire.
"When a storm hits the waters..." She told them, the hands she was using to show the movement of the sea suddenly taking flight and rocking harsher and heavier on the air. "The wind picks up the sea like a giant, scooping hand and rocks it into turbulent waves and crashing walls of water." Her legs extended and then lowered so that her arms and hands could make more dramatic upheavals in the shadows of the firelight.
"Like a sandstorm, it turns the ground unstable, it creates great storms of water and rain. Lightening - fire from the sky - shoots down from the clouds and boils the water to steam!" Neena made a clashing noise in the back of her teeth to mimic the lightning that the Grecian sailors she had sailed with would say came from the king of their Gods. Then her fingers danced in ripples as her tongue hissed between her teeth to illustrate the steam that rose from the oceans.
Gasps and curious eyes followed her as the members of the tribe tried to imagine a world of water, where it rained so often and created meadows and dunes of waves. When one spoke up to murmur that the sailors of the sea must never be thirsty, Neena was quick to raise a finger and remind them -
"You cannot drink the waters of the sea. It's salty and only makes your thirst greater! Instead, you must pack into cargo all that you need to drink. The same as we do when travelling…"
For Neena, it mattered not who her audience was. She didn't feel the need to alter her words or change her presentation depending on whether she spoke to a group of slaves or to the Leier of the tribe himself. So, when Hasani came along and wanted to partake in a moment of her tale, she was happy to keep right on as if he had never interrupted. As others within the little circle that she entertained parted in order to provide their leader with a place to sit, Neena continued to speak as if no movement had occurred, keeping the focus and rapt attention of others around the fire.
"When a storm hits the waters..." She told them, the hands she was using to show the movement of the sea suddenly taking flight and rocking harsher and heavier on the air. "The wind picks up the sea like a giant, scooping hand and rocks it into turbulent waves and crashing walls of water." Her legs extended and then lowered so that her arms and hands could make more dramatic upheavals in the shadows of the firelight.
"Like a sandstorm, it turns the ground unstable, it creates great storms of water and rain. Lightening - fire from the sky - shoots down from the clouds and boils the water to steam!" Neena made a clashing noise in the back of her teeth to mimic the lightning that the Grecian sailors she had sailed with would say came from the king of their Gods. Then her fingers danced in ripples as her tongue hissed between her teeth to illustrate the steam that rose from the oceans.
Gasps and curious eyes followed her as the members of the tribe tried to imagine a world of water, where it rained so often and created meadows and dunes of waves. When one spoke up to murmur that the sailors of the sea must never be thirsty, Neena was quick to raise a finger and remind them -
"You cannot drink the waters of the sea. It's salty and only makes your thirst greater! Instead, you must pack into cargo all that you need to drink. The same as we do when travelling…"
Hasani’s eyes followed to where she pointed and before she knew it, her husband was standing, hand out, expecting her to follow. Tanishe hesitated for a fraction of a second but her hand slipped into her husband’s and she stood, dusting off the back of her kaftan, and followed him to the other fire. She hadn’t meant much by the comment, but Hasani had surely acted on it quick enough. He hadn’t necessarily shared with her every single interaction of every single day, and if he had, she still didn’t remember his mentioning having many interactions with the slave girl. Jealousy hadn’t settled in her chest, but neither was Tanishe so naive. Though the idea might not have occurred to her husband, it now occurred to her. Was he interested in the slave girl?
As they neared the fire where Neena spoke, and Tanishe settled down into her place with Hasani nestling in beside her, she stared at Neena. It was easy to do with Neena being the center of attention and would have been rude to look anywhere else. This gave rise to Tanishe’s thoughts as she surveyed Neena in only the way a woman could; assessing a woman’s notion of what made another woman pretty or attractive to the opposite sex.
She barely listened to the story for which she had so little scope. Of course she knew what rain was, and of course she’d seen the ocean, but it was such a small inlet in comparison to what it was like out on the water that Tanishe was not picturing the same story that Neena was telling. In her mind, there was sand. Endless rivers of sand and the thunder and lightning struck land. For undulating seas, she pictured sloping dunes and a ship the size that Neena was describing, Tanishe couldn’t even supply anything to mimic it. She’d never seen a large ship.
Instead, she watched the way Neena spoke, the way the firelight played across the planes of her face, and how the orange light turned Neena’s arms bronze as she waved them about in her tale. Keeping her hand in Hasani’s, Tanishe finally looked up at her husband, noting that he was transfixed as everyone else. She looked back at Neena again and wondered if she’d missed something between her husband and the slave girl, or, if there was nothing to miss at all. Hasani was unusual in having only one wife. Men did not usually stay with only one woman forever. Especially one that couldn’t give him the child he needed.
This thought did not make her sad, or angry, or jealous. It left her strangely silent inside. As though there was nothing there at all. No heart, no brain, no lungs. She leaned her head on Hasani’s shoulder, eyes still on Neena, her mind suddenly blank with no thoughts at all. It was one of the rare times in life that she simply was.
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Hasani’s eyes followed to where she pointed and before she knew it, her husband was standing, hand out, expecting her to follow. Tanishe hesitated for a fraction of a second but her hand slipped into her husband’s and she stood, dusting off the back of her kaftan, and followed him to the other fire. She hadn’t meant much by the comment, but Hasani had surely acted on it quick enough. He hadn’t necessarily shared with her every single interaction of every single day, and if he had, she still didn’t remember his mentioning having many interactions with the slave girl. Jealousy hadn’t settled in her chest, but neither was Tanishe so naive. Though the idea might not have occurred to her husband, it now occurred to her. Was he interested in the slave girl?
As they neared the fire where Neena spoke, and Tanishe settled down into her place with Hasani nestling in beside her, she stared at Neena. It was easy to do with Neena being the center of attention and would have been rude to look anywhere else. This gave rise to Tanishe’s thoughts as she surveyed Neena in only the way a woman could; assessing a woman’s notion of what made another woman pretty or attractive to the opposite sex.
She barely listened to the story for which she had so little scope. Of course she knew what rain was, and of course she’d seen the ocean, but it was such a small inlet in comparison to what it was like out on the water that Tanishe was not picturing the same story that Neena was telling. In her mind, there was sand. Endless rivers of sand and the thunder and lightning struck land. For undulating seas, she pictured sloping dunes and a ship the size that Neena was describing, Tanishe couldn’t even supply anything to mimic it. She’d never seen a large ship.
Instead, she watched the way Neena spoke, the way the firelight played across the planes of her face, and how the orange light turned Neena’s arms bronze as she waved them about in her tale. Keeping her hand in Hasani’s, Tanishe finally looked up at her husband, noting that he was transfixed as everyone else. She looked back at Neena again and wondered if she’d missed something between her husband and the slave girl, or, if there was nothing to miss at all. Hasani was unusual in having only one wife. Men did not usually stay with only one woman forever. Especially one that couldn’t give him the child he needed.
This thought did not make her sad, or angry, or jealous. It left her strangely silent inside. As though there was nothing there at all. No heart, no brain, no lungs. She leaned her head on Hasani’s shoulder, eyes still on Neena, her mind suddenly blank with no thoughts at all. It was one of the rare times in life that she simply was.
Hasani’s eyes followed to where she pointed and before she knew it, her husband was standing, hand out, expecting her to follow. Tanishe hesitated for a fraction of a second but her hand slipped into her husband’s and she stood, dusting off the back of her kaftan, and followed him to the other fire. She hadn’t meant much by the comment, but Hasani had surely acted on it quick enough. He hadn’t necessarily shared with her every single interaction of every single day, and if he had, she still didn’t remember his mentioning having many interactions with the slave girl. Jealousy hadn’t settled in her chest, but neither was Tanishe so naive. Though the idea might not have occurred to her husband, it now occurred to her. Was he interested in the slave girl?
As they neared the fire where Neena spoke, and Tanishe settled down into her place with Hasani nestling in beside her, she stared at Neena. It was easy to do with Neena being the center of attention and would have been rude to look anywhere else. This gave rise to Tanishe’s thoughts as she surveyed Neena in only the way a woman could; assessing a woman’s notion of what made another woman pretty or attractive to the opposite sex.
She barely listened to the story for which she had so little scope. Of course she knew what rain was, and of course she’d seen the ocean, but it was such a small inlet in comparison to what it was like out on the water that Tanishe was not picturing the same story that Neena was telling. In her mind, there was sand. Endless rivers of sand and the thunder and lightning struck land. For undulating seas, she pictured sloping dunes and a ship the size that Neena was describing, Tanishe couldn’t even supply anything to mimic it. She’d never seen a large ship.
Instead, she watched the way Neena spoke, the way the firelight played across the planes of her face, and how the orange light turned Neena’s arms bronze as she waved them about in her tale. Keeping her hand in Hasani’s, Tanishe finally looked up at her husband, noting that he was transfixed as everyone else. She looked back at Neena again and wondered if she’d missed something between her husband and the slave girl, or, if there was nothing to miss at all. Hasani was unusual in having only one wife. Men did not usually stay with only one woman forever. Especially one that couldn’t give him the child he needed.
This thought did not make her sad, or angry, or jealous. It left her strangely silent inside. As though there was nothing there at all. No heart, no brain, no lungs. She leaned her head on Hasani’s shoulder, eyes still on Neena, her mind suddenly blank with no thoughts at all. It was one of the rare times in life that she simply was.
Marriage had never once crossed Hasani's mind. At least, not relating to Neena. Not at all. Admittedly, Hasani found himself just as rapt into attention as the tribe members around them. He had not had as much interaction with Neena as many of the other Zaire, but he felt as if he'd had a good amount to at least let him get to know the young slave girl. But he never really thought about her beauty, though she was beautiful in her own right. Often, thoughts of beauty often left him thinking about Tanishe, which then left him bothering her on her off moments just so that he could love on her.
No, marriage hadn't crossed his mind. As odd as it was for him to only have one wife, he still hadn't been leier for very long. It felt greedy to become the leader of the tribe and then to immediately take on another wife while he and Tanishe were still, technically, getting their bearings as leaders. As guidance. As people to look to when things became strained. Though his gaze was focused on Neena as Hasani and Tanishe sat down with the rest of the tribe that was gathered around Neena, his mind was on his wife. He found himself absently playing with her fingers with his own, enthralled by the story, but equally enthralled with his own wife and how soft and warm she was.
Hasani slowly shifted the two of them so that he could wrap his arms around Tanishe once she laid her head on his shoulder, encouraging her more into his lap so that he could rest his chin on her shoulder and hold her from behind. At the same time, he pressed a kiss to the top of Tanishe's head, nodding along with the story in the same way that elders did when they were thinking deeply.
The description of the oceans, of the ships that glided atop their infinite waters, was something that did actually turn his mind. Even the idea that the salt water of the ocean would dry a person out, dehydrate them, that was interesting. It was hard not to be enthralled by the entire idea, his brows furrowed in silent interest and contention with himself. It truly couldn't be that salty, could it? That seemed unviable. How did the fish that supposedly live in the ocean survive off of water that was filled with salt? Wouldn't they also dry up?
It was the idea of having to pack all of the water onto a ship that sailed across the water that really confused him, and Hasani found himself finally speaking up after listening for so long. "If you fill a ship with cargo, where do you put it? How do you fit anything else inside of it? Where do the people sleep? Are they manned by only a few people? How does the boat not sink into the water? How does it float across so easily?" he asked in a rather large rush, not really thinking about how many questions that he was asking of the slave girl.
He wasn't sure if Tanishe had any questions, but she was rather quiet and he found himself leaning around to look into her face, wondering why it was that she wasn't as enthralled by the stories that Neena told them as everyone else was. When he had set Neena to explaining all of Hasani's questions, because many of the tribe members listening protested if she tried to skip a single one of them, he rubbed Tanishe's back carefully. "Are you well, Tani?" he asked his wife softly, so only she could hear.
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Marriage had never once crossed Hasani's mind. At least, not relating to Neena. Not at all. Admittedly, Hasani found himself just as rapt into attention as the tribe members around them. He had not had as much interaction with Neena as many of the other Zaire, but he felt as if he'd had a good amount to at least let him get to know the young slave girl. But he never really thought about her beauty, though she was beautiful in her own right. Often, thoughts of beauty often left him thinking about Tanishe, which then left him bothering her on her off moments just so that he could love on her.
No, marriage hadn't crossed his mind. As odd as it was for him to only have one wife, he still hadn't been leier for very long. It felt greedy to become the leader of the tribe and then to immediately take on another wife while he and Tanishe were still, technically, getting their bearings as leaders. As guidance. As people to look to when things became strained. Though his gaze was focused on Neena as Hasani and Tanishe sat down with the rest of the tribe that was gathered around Neena, his mind was on his wife. He found himself absently playing with her fingers with his own, enthralled by the story, but equally enthralled with his own wife and how soft and warm she was.
Hasani slowly shifted the two of them so that he could wrap his arms around Tanishe once she laid her head on his shoulder, encouraging her more into his lap so that he could rest his chin on her shoulder and hold her from behind. At the same time, he pressed a kiss to the top of Tanishe's head, nodding along with the story in the same way that elders did when they were thinking deeply.
The description of the oceans, of the ships that glided atop their infinite waters, was something that did actually turn his mind. Even the idea that the salt water of the ocean would dry a person out, dehydrate them, that was interesting. It was hard not to be enthralled by the entire idea, his brows furrowed in silent interest and contention with himself. It truly couldn't be that salty, could it? That seemed unviable. How did the fish that supposedly live in the ocean survive off of water that was filled with salt? Wouldn't they also dry up?
It was the idea of having to pack all of the water onto a ship that sailed across the water that really confused him, and Hasani found himself finally speaking up after listening for so long. "If you fill a ship with cargo, where do you put it? How do you fit anything else inside of it? Where do the people sleep? Are they manned by only a few people? How does the boat not sink into the water? How does it float across so easily?" he asked in a rather large rush, not really thinking about how many questions that he was asking of the slave girl.
He wasn't sure if Tanishe had any questions, but she was rather quiet and he found himself leaning around to look into her face, wondering why it was that she wasn't as enthralled by the stories that Neena told them as everyone else was. When he had set Neena to explaining all of Hasani's questions, because many of the tribe members listening protested if she tried to skip a single one of them, he rubbed Tanishe's back carefully. "Are you well, Tani?" he asked his wife softly, so only she could hear.
Marriage had never once crossed Hasani's mind. At least, not relating to Neena. Not at all. Admittedly, Hasani found himself just as rapt into attention as the tribe members around them. He had not had as much interaction with Neena as many of the other Zaire, but he felt as if he'd had a good amount to at least let him get to know the young slave girl. But he never really thought about her beauty, though she was beautiful in her own right. Often, thoughts of beauty often left him thinking about Tanishe, which then left him bothering her on her off moments just so that he could love on her.
No, marriage hadn't crossed his mind. As odd as it was for him to only have one wife, he still hadn't been leier for very long. It felt greedy to become the leader of the tribe and then to immediately take on another wife while he and Tanishe were still, technically, getting their bearings as leaders. As guidance. As people to look to when things became strained. Though his gaze was focused on Neena as Hasani and Tanishe sat down with the rest of the tribe that was gathered around Neena, his mind was on his wife. He found himself absently playing with her fingers with his own, enthralled by the story, but equally enthralled with his own wife and how soft and warm she was.
Hasani slowly shifted the two of them so that he could wrap his arms around Tanishe once she laid her head on his shoulder, encouraging her more into his lap so that he could rest his chin on her shoulder and hold her from behind. At the same time, he pressed a kiss to the top of Tanishe's head, nodding along with the story in the same way that elders did when they were thinking deeply.
The description of the oceans, of the ships that glided atop their infinite waters, was something that did actually turn his mind. Even the idea that the salt water of the ocean would dry a person out, dehydrate them, that was interesting. It was hard not to be enthralled by the entire idea, his brows furrowed in silent interest and contention with himself. It truly couldn't be that salty, could it? That seemed unviable. How did the fish that supposedly live in the ocean survive off of water that was filled with salt? Wouldn't they also dry up?
It was the idea of having to pack all of the water onto a ship that sailed across the water that really confused him, and Hasani found himself finally speaking up after listening for so long. "If you fill a ship with cargo, where do you put it? How do you fit anything else inside of it? Where do the people sleep? Are they manned by only a few people? How does the boat not sink into the water? How does it float across so easily?" he asked in a rather large rush, not really thinking about how many questions that he was asking of the slave girl.
He wasn't sure if Tanishe had any questions, but she was rather quiet and he found himself leaning around to look into her face, wondering why it was that she wasn't as enthralled by the stories that Neena told them as everyone else was. When he had set Neena to explaining all of Hasani's questions, because many of the tribe members listening protested if she tried to skip a single one of them, he rubbed Tanishe's back carefully. "Are you well, Tani?" he asked his wife softly, so only she could hear.
Neena was a skilled story-teller. Not because of her words or her language but because she took an audience on a journey, she brought them into the realm of fiction that she created with her hands, features and descriptions. So, when a member of her audience asked questions, when they cried out in protest or made comments upon the events of the tale, she was never put off. Never thrown off of her game in weaving the narrative. Because questions and exclamations were simply proof. Evidence that the story was stealing into the minds of those around her. Where it would settle until it had been mulled and thought upon. And then eventually drawn towards the heart. Where it would rest for as long as the listener allowed.
So, when Hasani asked so many questions, peppered into the air before him and encouraging others of his people to nod and frown and seek their own desired answers to such queries, Neena only smiled. Her grin was broad and engaged and eager. She looked across the faces of those she was entertaining, not egotistical in the attention but genuinely excited by the looks of interest upon their faces...
"Our great Leier is wise!" Neena stated with flattery, a hand coming up with a single raised finger. She smiled at the man, with a flashing glint in her eye. "He knows the questions to ask and the details to seek."
Instead of focusing on the leader of their people as she gave the answers to his puzzlement, Neena took in the entire group in her gaze. She focused on all who were present. Some still eating from the bowls before them and others leaving the orts of their evening repast to lay forgotten in their crossed legged laps. To all she gave the answers that Hasani had asked for...
"Think of a stick or a log upon the water! It floats does it not? Wood is special. It sits upon the top of the waves. The sailors I journeyed with believed in great Gods who managed and controlled the waters. They prayed to them for safe passage as they went, so that they would not sink. For too much water above the ship - on its floor and down in the cabins beneath, where the cargo was kept, and it would indeed sink to the bottom of the ocean." She glanced for a moment at Hasani before continuing. "It is on this floor - the deck of the ship - on which the sailors sleep. There would be perhaps two dozen of us, no more. But we lost and gained crew with every sail and port. Sometimes at night, if their life lines of rope were not fastened, men would be sucked away by the waters. We would wake the next morning to find them drowned and gone..." Neena's voice had sunk to a dark and morbid tone of mystery and horror that had eyes widening and spines bending as her audience leaned in just a little to listen harder...
She smiled darkly.
"It is a dangerous life to live upon the sea..."
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Neena was a skilled story-teller. Not because of her words or her language but because she took an audience on a journey, she brought them into the realm of fiction that she created with her hands, features and descriptions. So, when a member of her audience asked questions, when they cried out in protest or made comments upon the events of the tale, she was never put off. Never thrown off of her game in weaving the narrative. Because questions and exclamations were simply proof. Evidence that the story was stealing into the minds of those around her. Where it would settle until it had been mulled and thought upon. And then eventually drawn towards the heart. Where it would rest for as long as the listener allowed.
So, when Hasani asked so many questions, peppered into the air before him and encouraging others of his people to nod and frown and seek their own desired answers to such queries, Neena only smiled. Her grin was broad and engaged and eager. She looked across the faces of those she was entertaining, not egotistical in the attention but genuinely excited by the looks of interest upon their faces...
"Our great Leier is wise!" Neena stated with flattery, a hand coming up with a single raised finger. She smiled at the man, with a flashing glint in her eye. "He knows the questions to ask and the details to seek."
Instead of focusing on the leader of their people as she gave the answers to his puzzlement, Neena took in the entire group in her gaze. She focused on all who were present. Some still eating from the bowls before them and others leaving the orts of their evening repast to lay forgotten in their crossed legged laps. To all she gave the answers that Hasani had asked for...
"Think of a stick or a log upon the water! It floats does it not? Wood is special. It sits upon the top of the waves. The sailors I journeyed with believed in great Gods who managed and controlled the waters. They prayed to them for safe passage as they went, so that they would not sink. For too much water above the ship - on its floor and down in the cabins beneath, where the cargo was kept, and it would indeed sink to the bottom of the ocean." She glanced for a moment at Hasani before continuing. "It is on this floor - the deck of the ship - on which the sailors sleep. There would be perhaps two dozen of us, no more. But we lost and gained crew with every sail and port. Sometimes at night, if their life lines of rope were not fastened, men would be sucked away by the waters. We would wake the next morning to find them drowned and gone..." Neena's voice had sunk to a dark and morbid tone of mystery and horror that had eyes widening and spines bending as her audience leaned in just a little to listen harder...
She smiled darkly.
"It is a dangerous life to live upon the sea..."
Neena was a skilled story-teller. Not because of her words or her language but because she took an audience on a journey, she brought them into the realm of fiction that she created with her hands, features and descriptions. So, when a member of her audience asked questions, when they cried out in protest or made comments upon the events of the tale, she was never put off. Never thrown off of her game in weaving the narrative. Because questions and exclamations were simply proof. Evidence that the story was stealing into the minds of those around her. Where it would settle until it had been mulled and thought upon. And then eventually drawn towards the heart. Where it would rest for as long as the listener allowed.
So, when Hasani asked so many questions, peppered into the air before him and encouraging others of his people to nod and frown and seek their own desired answers to such queries, Neena only smiled. Her grin was broad and engaged and eager. She looked across the faces of those she was entertaining, not egotistical in the attention but genuinely excited by the looks of interest upon their faces...
"Our great Leier is wise!" Neena stated with flattery, a hand coming up with a single raised finger. She smiled at the man, with a flashing glint in her eye. "He knows the questions to ask and the details to seek."
Instead of focusing on the leader of their people as she gave the answers to his puzzlement, Neena took in the entire group in her gaze. She focused on all who were present. Some still eating from the bowls before them and others leaving the orts of their evening repast to lay forgotten in their crossed legged laps. To all she gave the answers that Hasani had asked for...
"Think of a stick or a log upon the water! It floats does it not? Wood is special. It sits upon the top of the waves. The sailors I journeyed with believed in great Gods who managed and controlled the waters. They prayed to them for safe passage as they went, so that they would not sink. For too much water above the ship - on its floor and down in the cabins beneath, where the cargo was kept, and it would indeed sink to the bottom of the ocean." She glanced for a moment at Hasani before continuing. "It is on this floor - the deck of the ship - on which the sailors sleep. There would be perhaps two dozen of us, no more. But we lost and gained crew with every sail and port. Sometimes at night, if their life lines of rope were not fastened, men would be sucked away by the waters. We would wake the next morning to find them drowned and gone..." Neena's voice had sunk to a dark and morbid tone of mystery and horror that had eyes widening and spines bending as her audience leaned in just a little to listen harder...
She smiled darkly.
"It is a dangerous life to live upon the sea..."
Her mood went unaltered and uninterrupted as Hasani’s arms came around her. Shifting between his legs, her back against his chest, she brought up her hands to his arm. Her fingers curled over the muscle of his forearm and she used the heat of his skin, the deep rumble of his voice as he called out questions to their story teller, to anchor herself to the moment. The occasional sound of a sandal sole scrubbing against the gritty dirt and the crackle of the fire were all familiar key points to keep her grounded. She was in danger of internally drifting, her thoughts as formless as Neena’s sea. Or maybe more like the ever shifting sands of the desert, silver in moonlight - containing nothing but undulating earth for hundreds of miles.
She was not too terribly interested in these tales that could not add to her daily life. What she cared about involved great spiritual journeys, tales of ancestors, the stories their warriors brought back. Things connected to the desert that she could possibly see or touch one day. These sea people, who were they to her? It was then that Tanishe pulled away from her inner self, dissatisfied with the bitter tinge of those thoughts. They weren’t kind. Those men sleeping on wooden boards in a huge, fathomless ocean of undrinkable water were the sons and fathers of others. They were important elsewhere.
Hasani rested his head on her shoulder. She absently stroked his arm, eyes never leaving Neena, nore the graceful arc of Neena’s limbs as they moved through the air, weaving mystery and drama into her words. In the firelight, Neena’s face glowed like polished gold, highlighting the perfect curve of her mouth, the adorable slope of her nose, and the stubborn tilt of her chin. Hasani’s question of ‘was she well’ received only a hum in reply but she straightened up and twisted to set her lips against his ear. Her question was one she didn’t want overheard by anyone else.
“You look at her with such interest,” she said and let her gaze slide back to Neena. “You have me wondering if our desired child might come through another’s bright spirit.”
Tanishe was no fool. If she could not give her husband his child, perhaps Neena would. Perhaps Neena would give all three of them a bubbly, beautiful, lyrical child. One who told stories and danced as gracefully as a bird arcing through the sky. “Or have I misread you?” In a society such as theirs, Tanishe had regarded Hasani’s single marriage as always a temporary thing. She expected that, sooner or later, he would choose another and she thought perhaps he’d finally done exactly that with Neena.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Her mood went unaltered and uninterrupted as Hasani’s arms came around her. Shifting between his legs, her back against his chest, she brought up her hands to his arm. Her fingers curled over the muscle of his forearm and she used the heat of his skin, the deep rumble of his voice as he called out questions to their story teller, to anchor herself to the moment. The occasional sound of a sandal sole scrubbing against the gritty dirt and the crackle of the fire were all familiar key points to keep her grounded. She was in danger of internally drifting, her thoughts as formless as Neena’s sea. Or maybe more like the ever shifting sands of the desert, silver in moonlight - containing nothing but undulating earth for hundreds of miles.
She was not too terribly interested in these tales that could not add to her daily life. What she cared about involved great spiritual journeys, tales of ancestors, the stories their warriors brought back. Things connected to the desert that she could possibly see or touch one day. These sea people, who were they to her? It was then that Tanishe pulled away from her inner self, dissatisfied with the bitter tinge of those thoughts. They weren’t kind. Those men sleeping on wooden boards in a huge, fathomless ocean of undrinkable water were the sons and fathers of others. They were important elsewhere.
Hasani rested his head on her shoulder. She absently stroked his arm, eyes never leaving Neena, nore the graceful arc of Neena’s limbs as they moved through the air, weaving mystery and drama into her words. In the firelight, Neena’s face glowed like polished gold, highlighting the perfect curve of her mouth, the adorable slope of her nose, and the stubborn tilt of her chin. Hasani’s question of ‘was she well’ received only a hum in reply but she straightened up and twisted to set her lips against his ear. Her question was one she didn’t want overheard by anyone else.
“You look at her with such interest,” she said and let her gaze slide back to Neena. “You have me wondering if our desired child might come through another’s bright spirit.”
Tanishe was no fool. If she could not give her husband his child, perhaps Neena would. Perhaps Neena would give all three of them a bubbly, beautiful, lyrical child. One who told stories and danced as gracefully as a bird arcing through the sky. “Or have I misread you?” In a society such as theirs, Tanishe had regarded Hasani’s single marriage as always a temporary thing. She expected that, sooner or later, he would choose another and she thought perhaps he’d finally done exactly that with Neena.
Her mood went unaltered and uninterrupted as Hasani’s arms came around her. Shifting between his legs, her back against his chest, she brought up her hands to his arm. Her fingers curled over the muscle of his forearm and she used the heat of his skin, the deep rumble of his voice as he called out questions to their story teller, to anchor herself to the moment. The occasional sound of a sandal sole scrubbing against the gritty dirt and the crackle of the fire were all familiar key points to keep her grounded. She was in danger of internally drifting, her thoughts as formless as Neena’s sea. Or maybe more like the ever shifting sands of the desert, silver in moonlight - containing nothing but undulating earth for hundreds of miles.
She was not too terribly interested in these tales that could not add to her daily life. What she cared about involved great spiritual journeys, tales of ancestors, the stories their warriors brought back. Things connected to the desert that she could possibly see or touch one day. These sea people, who were they to her? It was then that Tanishe pulled away from her inner self, dissatisfied with the bitter tinge of those thoughts. They weren’t kind. Those men sleeping on wooden boards in a huge, fathomless ocean of undrinkable water were the sons and fathers of others. They were important elsewhere.
Hasani rested his head on her shoulder. She absently stroked his arm, eyes never leaving Neena, nore the graceful arc of Neena’s limbs as they moved through the air, weaving mystery and drama into her words. In the firelight, Neena’s face glowed like polished gold, highlighting the perfect curve of her mouth, the adorable slope of her nose, and the stubborn tilt of her chin. Hasani’s question of ‘was she well’ received only a hum in reply but she straightened up and twisted to set her lips against his ear. Her question was one she didn’t want overheard by anyone else.
“You look at her with such interest,” she said and let her gaze slide back to Neena. “You have me wondering if our desired child might come through another’s bright spirit.”
Tanishe was no fool. If she could not give her husband his child, perhaps Neena would. Perhaps Neena would give all three of them a bubbly, beautiful, lyrical child. One who told stories and danced as gracefully as a bird arcing through the sky. “Or have I misread you?” In a society such as theirs, Tanishe had regarded Hasani’s single marriage as always a temporary thing. She expected that, sooner or later, he would choose another and she thought perhaps he’d finally done exactly that with Neena.
Hasani was enthralled by the stories that Neena weaved before his eyes. If only because he could almost see it. Though, he imagined the entire sea to be like the body of water that bordered the Port of the West. He couldn't imagine it any larger, not so large as the sands that they made their home upon. For the sands were nearly endless. As much as the tribes wandered them, they were in a state of constant change. No two visits were the same. No location was the same as when one saw it last. That was how the sands worked. They were tangible to him, and for a moment, he was imagining a great wooden ship sailing across the sand, the sands moving in the same way that water rolled and roiled and washed up across the beaches that the Bedoans could actually reach.
It was an odd thing to think about, and Hasani was interested in such imaginings until Tanishe turned her head, her lips turning to his ear. For a moment, just the motion had his stomach dropping and the sudden and stark desire for his wife was unhidden as he dropped his gaze toward her body instead of watching Neena's form. But it was her words that floored him and had him forgetting his desire in an instant. The words were not spoken with malice but with... hope?
The leier's brow furrowed and he turned his head to fully watch his wife's face. He had never thought of taking on another wife. Many leier's of other tribes could have many, but he'd never considered the posibility for himself and the leierin. He was happy with her and her alone, but he would not deny that they both wanted children... and perhaps someone new in their lives could make such an impact that they had been praying for. Perhaps Neena was the key to seeing Hasani's legacy continuing after he was dead and gone and buried to the depths of the sands below.
"I had not thought about such a thing until now," Hasani said quietly, still keeping their very soft conversation between the two of them. "And now I wonder if others are seeing the same thing that you are," he admitted, looking up toward Neena as she continued to speak. This time, when he gazed upon her, he saw her in a different light. As a woman that his wife had given quiet permission for him to approach. It was an odd feeling to consider it, but it was not unpleasant. In fact, it had hope once more roiling through his veins as he dropped his head against Tanishe's neck once more, leaving a kiss into the crook of her neck. "It is something I will begin to consider."
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Hasani was enthralled by the stories that Neena weaved before his eyes. If only because he could almost see it. Though, he imagined the entire sea to be like the body of water that bordered the Port of the West. He couldn't imagine it any larger, not so large as the sands that they made their home upon. For the sands were nearly endless. As much as the tribes wandered them, they were in a state of constant change. No two visits were the same. No location was the same as when one saw it last. That was how the sands worked. They were tangible to him, and for a moment, he was imagining a great wooden ship sailing across the sand, the sands moving in the same way that water rolled and roiled and washed up across the beaches that the Bedoans could actually reach.
It was an odd thing to think about, and Hasani was interested in such imaginings until Tanishe turned her head, her lips turning to his ear. For a moment, just the motion had his stomach dropping and the sudden and stark desire for his wife was unhidden as he dropped his gaze toward her body instead of watching Neena's form. But it was her words that floored him and had him forgetting his desire in an instant. The words were not spoken with malice but with... hope?
The leier's brow furrowed and he turned his head to fully watch his wife's face. He had never thought of taking on another wife. Many leier's of other tribes could have many, but he'd never considered the posibility for himself and the leierin. He was happy with her and her alone, but he would not deny that they both wanted children... and perhaps someone new in their lives could make such an impact that they had been praying for. Perhaps Neena was the key to seeing Hasani's legacy continuing after he was dead and gone and buried to the depths of the sands below.
"I had not thought about such a thing until now," Hasani said quietly, still keeping their very soft conversation between the two of them. "And now I wonder if others are seeing the same thing that you are," he admitted, looking up toward Neena as she continued to speak. This time, when he gazed upon her, he saw her in a different light. As a woman that his wife had given quiet permission for him to approach. It was an odd feeling to consider it, but it was not unpleasant. In fact, it had hope once more roiling through his veins as he dropped his head against Tanishe's neck once more, leaving a kiss into the crook of her neck. "It is something I will begin to consider."
Hasani was enthralled by the stories that Neena weaved before his eyes. If only because he could almost see it. Though, he imagined the entire sea to be like the body of water that bordered the Port of the West. He couldn't imagine it any larger, not so large as the sands that they made their home upon. For the sands were nearly endless. As much as the tribes wandered them, they were in a state of constant change. No two visits were the same. No location was the same as when one saw it last. That was how the sands worked. They were tangible to him, and for a moment, he was imagining a great wooden ship sailing across the sand, the sands moving in the same way that water rolled and roiled and washed up across the beaches that the Bedoans could actually reach.
It was an odd thing to think about, and Hasani was interested in such imaginings until Tanishe turned her head, her lips turning to his ear. For a moment, just the motion had his stomach dropping and the sudden and stark desire for his wife was unhidden as he dropped his gaze toward her body instead of watching Neena's form. But it was her words that floored him and had him forgetting his desire in an instant. The words were not spoken with malice but with... hope?
The leier's brow furrowed and he turned his head to fully watch his wife's face. He had never thought of taking on another wife. Many leier's of other tribes could have many, but he'd never considered the posibility for himself and the leierin. He was happy with her and her alone, but he would not deny that they both wanted children... and perhaps someone new in their lives could make such an impact that they had been praying for. Perhaps Neena was the key to seeing Hasani's legacy continuing after he was dead and gone and buried to the depths of the sands below.
"I had not thought about such a thing until now," Hasani said quietly, still keeping their very soft conversation between the two of them. "And now I wonder if others are seeing the same thing that you are," he admitted, looking up toward Neena as she continued to speak. This time, when he gazed upon her, he saw her in a different light. As a woman that his wife had given quiet permission for him to approach. It was an odd feeling to consider it, but it was not unpleasant. In fact, it had hope once more roiling through his veins as he dropped his head against Tanishe's neck once more, leaving a kiss into the crook of her neck. "It is something I will begin to consider."
Neena was not an unkind being. She cares for what others thought, felt or suffered and was always the first to leap into action when aid was surely needed. But she was also an individual that was passionate in her pursuits and held a spirit that only ever allowed herself to be entirely drowned in her current activity.
As such, whilst an observant people person by nature, Neena was too focused on the stories she was telling to notice the quite conversation between the Leier and his wife. Not that she would have been able to hear the murmured discussion even if she had. Instead, her expressions remained animated and her stare upon her audience. Particularly the children. She had always found kids to have the most vibrant of imaginations and be the finest and most active of audiences.
Even as she spoke of the water, miming the undulating movement of the waves with her hands, several of her youngest listeners mimicked her, giggling as they showed their gestures to one another.
In truth, the significance of the moment between a blissful wedded couple and the implications it might have upon her own life were entirely missed by the subject of their conversation. Neena was too lost in the reactions of those around her and in her efforts to capture the wonder of tales from lands across the sea...
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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Neena was not an unkind being. She cares for what others thought, felt or suffered and was always the first to leap into action when aid was surely needed. But she was also an individual that was passionate in her pursuits and held a spirit that only ever allowed herself to be entirely drowned in her current activity.
As such, whilst an observant people person by nature, Neena was too focused on the stories she was telling to notice the quite conversation between the Leier and his wife. Not that she would have been able to hear the murmured discussion even if she had. Instead, her expressions remained animated and her stare upon her audience. Particularly the children. She had always found kids to have the most vibrant of imaginations and be the finest and most active of audiences.
Even as she spoke of the water, miming the undulating movement of the waves with her hands, several of her youngest listeners mimicked her, giggling as they showed their gestures to one another.
In truth, the significance of the moment between a blissful wedded couple and the implications it might have upon her own life were entirely missed by the subject of their conversation. Neena was too lost in the reactions of those around her and in her efforts to capture the wonder of tales from lands across the sea...
Neena was not an unkind being. She cares for what others thought, felt or suffered and was always the first to leap into action when aid was surely needed. But she was also an individual that was passionate in her pursuits and held a spirit that only ever allowed herself to be entirely drowned in her current activity.
As such, whilst an observant people person by nature, Neena was too focused on the stories she was telling to notice the quite conversation between the Leier and his wife. Not that she would have been able to hear the murmured discussion even if she had. Instead, her expressions remained animated and her stare upon her audience. Particularly the children. She had always found kids to have the most vibrant of imaginations and be the finest and most active of audiences.
Even as she spoke of the water, miming the undulating movement of the waves with her hands, several of her youngest listeners mimicked her, giggling as they showed their gestures to one another.
In truth, the significance of the moment between a blissful wedded couple and the implications it might have upon her own life were entirely missed by the subject of their conversation. Neena was too lost in the reactions of those around her and in her efforts to capture the wonder of tales from lands across the sea...