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A sudden sandstorm in the Sahara desert that has raged on and disrupted all forms of life amongst the sandy dunes of Bedoa has forced many of the tribes within the kingdom to seek refuge in the only place they could all get to – the Port of the West. It is a rare occasion where few of the Bedoan gesin’s share close proximity for a period longer than a brief few days, and many find not just new friends, but new tempers flaring as well
JD
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JD
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A sudden sandstorm in the Sahara desert that has raged on and disrupted all forms of life amongst the sandy dunes of Bedoa has forced many of the tribes within the kingdom to seek refuge in the only place they could all get to – the Port of the West. It is a rare occasion where few of the Bedoan gesin’s share close proximity for a period longer than a brief few days, and many find not just new friends, but new tempers flaring as well
Sand In My Eyes Event - Bedoa
A sudden sandstorm in the Sahara desert that has raged on and disrupted all forms of life amongst the sandy dunes of Bedoa has forced many of the tribes within the kingdom to seek refuge in the only place they could all get to – the Port of the West. It is a rare occasion where few of the Bedoan gesin’s share close proximity for a period longer than a brief few days, and many find not just new friends, but new tempers flaring as well
The gathering of so many unfamiliar people set Jawahir on edge, and though she had the urge and felt compelled to stay with her family, she was also intrigued by the different dialects. She knew a few of them, like the Ubuntu and Nubi dialects, since they weren't that much different and her father spoke them quite fluently. The biting sand had forced them all here, and it felt worse than normal to Jawahir, though she only had 21 years of experience, some she did not even recall and were lost to her forever as anything would be lost in this sandstorm.
As far as Jawahir knew, all her people were here, safe with them. She could feel her skin begin to crawl though as she imagined being buried like the dead in the storm. She had always thought the tradition a rather peaceful way of respecting the dead while also not having to carry the extra weight or smell the deceased. She hated to admit that she enjoyed a part of the letting go, but she would never tell anybody that sometimes she wonders what it is like to be buried under a dune where no one will ever find you.
She was wondering if she should attempt to make conversation with other women from the tribes, if her mother would be scoping out who was available for her daughter. She could imagine her father speaking with some of those more prone to war in an attempt to keep peace among them all, but she herself felt too nervous to do anything other than look for a suitable piece of jewelry for love. She wasn't the diplomat. She wasn't good enough at the talking, the coming up with solutions to be one anyways, and besides, even if she was, she was a woman. Some gesins treated them differently, and though as a Leierseunin, Jawahir had always felt comfortable, she was a touch anxious that others would not be as respectful.
She desired to speak to someone familiar, or perhaps even someone she wouldn't feel threatened by. A man passed her and she felt like the last watering hole in all of Africa, like he was some animal. She ducked out of the way and went to go find her mother, who she hoped was not speaking to anyone. It would be pleasant, if only mildly so, to speak with her, and Jawahir was wary of the other strangers. Surely none of her mothers critiques would be as bad as having a bad conversation with strangers, and at least she would be in the watchful eye of someone who cared about her, be it for her own reasons or for Jawahir's own safety. She could have taken a slave with her, or a warrior, but she was a little curious about potential suitors in other gesins, and did not wish to alienate any that may have been scared away by such a person, and besides, she thought they would think her mother as important as her, so there might already be warriors around her, or other women.
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The gathering of so many unfamiliar people set Jawahir on edge, and though she had the urge and felt compelled to stay with her family, she was also intrigued by the different dialects. She knew a few of them, like the Ubuntu and Nubi dialects, since they weren't that much different and her father spoke them quite fluently. The biting sand had forced them all here, and it felt worse than normal to Jawahir, though she only had 21 years of experience, some she did not even recall and were lost to her forever as anything would be lost in this sandstorm.
As far as Jawahir knew, all her people were here, safe with them. She could feel her skin begin to crawl though as she imagined being buried like the dead in the storm. She had always thought the tradition a rather peaceful way of respecting the dead while also not having to carry the extra weight or smell the deceased. She hated to admit that she enjoyed a part of the letting go, but she would never tell anybody that sometimes she wonders what it is like to be buried under a dune where no one will ever find you.
She was wondering if she should attempt to make conversation with other women from the tribes, if her mother would be scoping out who was available for her daughter. She could imagine her father speaking with some of those more prone to war in an attempt to keep peace among them all, but she herself felt too nervous to do anything other than look for a suitable piece of jewelry for love. She wasn't the diplomat. She wasn't good enough at the talking, the coming up with solutions to be one anyways, and besides, even if she was, she was a woman. Some gesins treated them differently, and though as a Leierseunin, Jawahir had always felt comfortable, she was a touch anxious that others would not be as respectful.
She desired to speak to someone familiar, or perhaps even someone she wouldn't feel threatened by. A man passed her and she felt like the last watering hole in all of Africa, like he was some animal. She ducked out of the way and went to go find her mother, who she hoped was not speaking to anyone. It would be pleasant, if only mildly so, to speak with her, and Jawahir was wary of the other strangers. Surely none of her mothers critiques would be as bad as having a bad conversation with strangers, and at least she would be in the watchful eye of someone who cared about her, be it for her own reasons or for Jawahir's own safety. She could have taken a slave with her, or a warrior, but she was a little curious about potential suitors in other gesins, and did not wish to alienate any that may have been scared away by such a person, and besides, she thought they would think her mother as important as her, so there might already be warriors around her, or other women.
The gathering of so many unfamiliar people set Jawahir on edge, and though she had the urge and felt compelled to stay with her family, she was also intrigued by the different dialects. She knew a few of them, like the Ubuntu and Nubi dialects, since they weren't that much different and her father spoke them quite fluently. The biting sand had forced them all here, and it felt worse than normal to Jawahir, though she only had 21 years of experience, some she did not even recall and were lost to her forever as anything would be lost in this sandstorm.
As far as Jawahir knew, all her people were here, safe with them. She could feel her skin begin to crawl though as she imagined being buried like the dead in the storm. She had always thought the tradition a rather peaceful way of respecting the dead while also not having to carry the extra weight or smell the deceased. She hated to admit that she enjoyed a part of the letting go, but she would never tell anybody that sometimes she wonders what it is like to be buried under a dune where no one will ever find you.
She was wondering if she should attempt to make conversation with other women from the tribes, if her mother would be scoping out who was available for her daughter. She could imagine her father speaking with some of those more prone to war in an attempt to keep peace among them all, but she herself felt too nervous to do anything other than look for a suitable piece of jewelry for love. She wasn't the diplomat. She wasn't good enough at the talking, the coming up with solutions to be one anyways, and besides, even if she was, she was a woman. Some gesins treated them differently, and though as a Leierseunin, Jawahir had always felt comfortable, she was a touch anxious that others would not be as respectful.
She desired to speak to someone familiar, or perhaps even someone she wouldn't feel threatened by. A man passed her and she felt like the last watering hole in all of Africa, like he was some animal. She ducked out of the way and went to go find her mother, who she hoped was not speaking to anyone. It would be pleasant, if only mildly so, to speak with her, and Jawahir was wary of the other strangers. Surely none of her mothers critiques would be as bad as having a bad conversation with strangers, and at least she would be in the watchful eye of someone who cared about her, be it for her own reasons or for Jawahir's own safety. She could have taken a slave with her, or a warrior, but she was a little curious about potential suitors in other gesins, and did not wish to alienate any that may have been scared away by such a person, and besides, she thought they would think her mother as important as her, so there might already be warriors around her, or other women.
The tribe had been dragging by the end of their journey to the Port of the West. Hasani, at one point, had implored Tanishe and Shange to lead the tribe forward against the harsh winds of the sandstorm. Hasani had trailed back, helping and urging stragglers to keep going. To keep moving and trust the ancestors and the path they were being led down. It was the old and children he was most worried about. The tribe moved together, and Hasani refused to leave a single tribemate behind. Absolutely no one was allowed to stay behind to the mercy of the harmful sands.
Keeping the furthest to the back of the group, Hasani made suer to always remain last in the line. This meant he would lose not a single soul. Such a thought put the Leier's heart and spirit at ease. But in the fever heat of the coming storm, Hasani often found himself pausing, feeling as if he were missing someone. It was in these moments that he would see the lithe, exotic form of Neena amid the buffetting sands. Neena or a leopard. Both visions were harrowingly depressing. If she were walking to the front with her sister-wife, she would be complaining about the storm of her camel. His heart squeezed again as he urged his camel faster forward, finding that he had started to trail too far from his tribe.
In the back of his mind, he heard that playful, musical laughter and whipped his head to the side in near desperation. It still felt like his nomadic, wild wife should have been there with them. But shew ould not be allowed to return for fear of their laws. She would need to die for her abandonment of the tribe, of her duties as a wife. Even a tribe as inclined to peace as the Zaire would not allow that lapse in tradition.
The hard ride through the desert in an effort to escape the fringes of the storm was taxing, but in the end, no one was lost. The Zaire was one of the last tribes to descend on the port, mixing immediately among the other peoples that had already set up their camps. There were more people here than Hasani liked to be around, but he found that he would have to deal with it. The entire tribe would have to take each day in stride until the sandstorm ended and all of the tribes went their separate ways.
After a long while barking orders and getting his tribe settled with their tents and food starting over fires, Hasani finally felt as he could breathe. Everyone was safe. They had not lost anyone. All of the children appeared relieved to be able to run and play with each other, many of them mingling with children from other tribes as they darted about underfoot.
Moving through the throngs of tribesmen and women, Hasani simply settled his hands behind his back, walking alone and keeping his gaze darting about as if to keep track of all of his own tribe members. He wasn't entirely watching everywhere he was going, so when he literally smashed into another person, he realized how exhausted he was. The leier reached out to take Jawahir's elbow and keep her from falling to the dirt with a gentle grip. Then light lit his gaze as he smiled down at the young woman. "I apologize," he stated very calmly, "I was not being attentive. Are you alright?"
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The tribe had been dragging by the end of their journey to the Port of the West. Hasani, at one point, had implored Tanishe and Shange to lead the tribe forward against the harsh winds of the sandstorm. Hasani had trailed back, helping and urging stragglers to keep going. To keep moving and trust the ancestors and the path they were being led down. It was the old and children he was most worried about. The tribe moved together, and Hasani refused to leave a single tribemate behind. Absolutely no one was allowed to stay behind to the mercy of the harmful sands.
Keeping the furthest to the back of the group, Hasani made suer to always remain last in the line. This meant he would lose not a single soul. Such a thought put the Leier's heart and spirit at ease. But in the fever heat of the coming storm, Hasani often found himself pausing, feeling as if he were missing someone. It was in these moments that he would see the lithe, exotic form of Neena amid the buffetting sands. Neena or a leopard. Both visions were harrowingly depressing. If she were walking to the front with her sister-wife, she would be complaining about the storm of her camel. His heart squeezed again as he urged his camel faster forward, finding that he had started to trail too far from his tribe.
In the back of his mind, he heard that playful, musical laughter and whipped his head to the side in near desperation. It still felt like his nomadic, wild wife should have been there with them. But shew ould not be allowed to return for fear of their laws. She would need to die for her abandonment of the tribe, of her duties as a wife. Even a tribe as inclined to peace as the Zaire would not allow that lapse in tradition.
The hard ride through the desert in an effort to escape the fringes of the storm was taxing, but in the end, no one was lost. The Zaire was one of the last tribes to descend on the port, mixing immediately among the other peoples that had already set up their camps. There were more people here than Hasani liked to be around, but he found that he would have to deal with it. The entire tribe would have to take each day in stride until the sandstorm ended and all of the tribes went their separate ways.
After a long while barking orders and getting his tribe settled with their tents and food starting over fires, Hasani finally felt as he could breathe. Everyone was safe. They had not lost anyone. All of the children appeared relieved to be able to run and play with each other, many of them mingling with children from other tribes as they darted about underfoot.
Moving through the throngs of tribesmen and women, Hasani simply settled his hands behind his back, walking alone and keeping his gaze darting about as if to keep track of all of his own tribe members. He wasn't entirely watching everywhere he was going, so when he literally smashed into another person, he realized how exhausted he was. The leier reached out to take Jawahir's elbow and keep her from falling to the dirt with a gentle grip. Then light lit his gaze as he smiled down at the young woman. "I apologize," he stated very calmly, "I was not being attentive. Are you alright?"
The tribe had been dragging by the end of their journey to the Port of the West. Hasani, at one point, had implored Tanishe and Shange to lead the tribe forward against the harsh winds of the sandstorm. Hasani had trailed back, helping and urging stragglers to keep going. To keep moving and trust the ancestors and the path they were being led down. It was the old and children he was most worried about. The tribe moved together, and Hasani refused to leave a single tribemate behind. Absolutely no one was allowed to stay behind to the mercy of the harmful sands.
Keeping the furthest to the back of the group, Hasani made suer to always remain last in the line. This meant he would lose not a single soul. Such a thought put the Leier's heart and spirit at ease. But in the fever heat of the coming storm, Hasani often found himself pausing, feeling as if he were missing someone. It was in these moments that he would see the lithe, exotic form of Neena amid the buffetting sands. Neena or a leopard. Both visions were harrowingly depressing. If she were walking to the front with her sister-wife, she would be complaining about the storm of her camel. His heart squeezed again as he urged his camel faster forward, finding that he had started to trail too far from his tribe.
In the back of his mind, he heard that playful, musical laughter and whipped his head to the side in near desperation. It still felt like his nomadic, wild wife should have been there with them. But shew ould not be allowed to return for fear of their laws. She would need to die for her abandonment of the tribe, of her duties as a wife. Even a tribe as inclined to peace as the Zaire would not allow that lapse in tradition.
The hard ride through the desert in an effort to escape the fringes of the storm was taxing, but in the end, no one was lost. The Zaire was one of the last tribes to descend on the port, mixing immediately among the other peoples that had already set up their camps. There were more people here than Hasani liked to be around, but he found that he would have to deal with it. The entire tribe would have to take each day in stride until the sandstorm ended and all of the tribes went their separate ways.
After a long while barking orders and getting his tribe settled with their tents and food starting over fires, Hasani finally felt as he could breathe. Everyone was safe. They had not lost anyone. All of the children appeared relieved to be able to run and play with each other, many of them mingling with children from other tribes as they darted about underfoot.
Moving through the throngs of tribesmen and women, Hasani simply settled his hands behind his back, walking alone and keeping his gaze darting about as if to keep track of all of his own tribe members. He wasn't entirely watching everywhere he was going, so when he literally smashed into another person, he realized how exhausted he was. The leier reached out to take Jawahir's elbow and keep her from falling to the dirt with a gentle grip. Then light lit his gaze as he smiled down at the young woman. "I apologize," he stated very calmly, "I was not being attentive. Are you alright?"
There were voices in the winds of the storm, but they were not speaking to him, and Mwenye ignored them. His camel was carrying three youngsters, and their packs, in addition to all of his possessions, and she gave him a look that said she was about as fed up as she was willing to put up with, and any more nonsense and he would be dealing with the only being in the desert sands more stubborn than his great-grandfather. He ignored that, too. Until the wind became grittier, and suddenly the contrary beast was more than happy to hurry forward, despite the weight on her back. "That's what I've been telling you," he muttered to the camel. This storm was too big to simply take shelter under a canvas and wait for it to blow over; it would likelier than not dump far more sand on top of anyone who tried than one could dig oneself out of.
The land changed slowly under their feet, shifting sands gradually yielding to hard-packed scrub, until finally - finally - they came to the area of the port itself, too far from the dunes for the storm to threaten them, for the desert wind would drop it's cargo of sand before it reached here, if it even made it so far against the opposing sea winds. As soon as the camel in front of her stopped, his own dropped to the ground, and he helped the children down and pointed them back in the direction of their parents, then looked around, evaluating who was where, and who needed help. Without wife and children of his own, and perfectly willing to not bother with his own tent for a night, the prophet was able to help others of the tribe, whether those with too many young children to be able to concentrate on a single task for long, or those elders with too few children to help them. Today, Mwenye found himself unloading camels and lifting tent poles for those in the second group, until he heard the Leier's voice and glanced over with a sigh of relief. Hassain was clearly exhausted, but didn't look worried or upset, which meant everyone had made it safely.
Al salouf wouldn't need water for another day or so, so he simply left her with her sisters and asked his mother whether she wanted him to look for anything in particular among those who had set up stalls looking for trade. Sensible; it was a rare opportunity with everyone here, and Mwenye intended to take advantage of it as well, though at the moment he simply wanted to take the measure of what was available, and find out what others were looking for. The voices in the wind were gone, and so far as he could tell all of the chatter amongst and between the gathered tribes that he heard was from actual, live people, which was something of a relief. He wasn't nearly as exhausted as Hassain, who'd been walking back and forth keeping everyone else going, and had as a result covered at least twice the distance as any of the rest of them, but he was certainly glad not to be bothered by any nonsense. Hassain... hmm, his friend was probably tired enough to be, well, Mwenye wouldn't ever apply the word stupid to his leir, but he took a full waterskin and went looking for him anyway.
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There were voices in the winds of the storm, but they were not speaking to him, and Mwenye ignored them. His camel was carrying three youngsters, and their packs, in addition to all of his possessions, and she gave him a look that said she was about as fed up as she was willing to put up with, and any more nonsense and he would be dealing with the only being in the desert sands more stubborn than his great-grandfather. He ignored that, too. Until the wind became grittier, and suddenly the contrary beast was more than happy to hurry forward, despite the weight on her back. "That's what I've been telling you," he muttered to the camel. This storm was too big to simply take shelter under a canvas and wait for it to blow over; it would likelier than not dump far more sand on top of anyone who tried than one could dig oneself out of.
The land changed slowly under their feet, shifting sands gradually yielding to hard-packed scrub, until finally - finally - they came to the area of the port itself, too far from the dunes for the storm to threaten them, for the desert wind would drop it's cargo of sand before it reached here, if it even made it so far against the opposing sea winds. As soon as the camel in front of her stopped, his own dropped to the ground, and he helped the children down and pointed them back in the direction of their parents, then looked around, evaluating who was where, and who needed help. Without wife and children of his own, and perfectly willing to not bother with his own tent for a night, the prophet was able to help others of the tribe, whether those with too many young children to be able to concentrate on a single task for long, or those elders with too few children to help them. Today, Mwenye found himself unloading camels and lifting tent poles for those in the second group, until he heard the Leier's voice and glanced over with a sigh of relief. Hassain was clearly exhausted, but didn't look worried or upset, which meant everyone had made it safely.
Al salouf wouldn't need water for another day or so, so he simply left her with her sisters and asked his mother whether she wanted him to look for anything in particular among those who had set up stalls looking for trade. Sensible; it was a rare opportunity with everyone here, and Mwenye intended to take advantage of it as well, though at the moment he simply wanted to take the measure of what was available, and find out what others were looking for. The voices in the wind were gone, and so far as he could tell all of the chatter amongst and between the gathered tribes that he heard was from actual, live people, which was something of a relief. He wasn't nearly as exhausted as Hassain, who'd been walking back and forth keeping everyone else going, and had as a result covered at least twice the distance as any of the rest of them, but he was certainly glad not to be bothered by any nonsense. Hassain... hmm, his friend was probably tired enough to be, well, Mwenye wouldn't ever apply the word stupid to his leir, but he took a full waterskin and went looking for him anyway.
There were voices in the winds of the storm, but they were not speaking to him, and Mwenye ignored them. His camel was carrying three youngsters, and their packs, in addition to all of his possessions, and she gave him a look that said she was about as fed up as she was willing to put up with, and any more nonsense and he would be dealing with the only being in the desert sands more stubborn than his great-grandfather. He ignored that, too. Until the wind became grittier, and suddenly the contrary beast was more than happy to hurry forward, despite the weight on her back. "That's what I've been telling you," he muttered to the camel. This storm was too big to simply take shelter under a canvas and wait for it to blow over; it would likelier than not dump far more sand on top of anyone who tried than one could dig oneself out of.
The land changed slowly under their feet, shifting sands gradually yielding to hard-packed scrub, until finally - finally - they came to the area of the port itself, too far from the dunes for the storm to threaten them, for the desert wind would drop it's cargo of sand before it reached here, if it even made it so far against the opposing sea winds. As soon as the camel in front of her stopped, his own dropped to the ground, and he helped the children down and pointed them back in the direction of their parents, then looked around, evaluating who was where, and who needed help. Without wife and children of his own, and perfectly willing to not bother with his own tent for a night, the prophet was able to help others of the tribe, whether those with too many young children to be able to concentrate on a single task for long, or those elders with too few children to help them. Today, Mwenye found himself unloading camels and lifting tent poles for those in the second group, until he heard the Leier's voice and glanced over with a sigh of relief. Hassain was clearly exhausted, but didn't look worried or upset, which meant everyone had made it safely.
Al salouf wouldn't need water for another day or so, so he simply left her with her sisters and asked his mother whether she wanted him to look for anything in particular among those who had set up stalls looking for trade. Sensible; it was a rare opportunity with everyone here, and Mwenye intended to take advantage of it as well, though at the moment he simply wanted to take the measure of what was available, and find out what others were looking for. The voices in the wind were gone, and so far as he could tell all of the chatter amongst and between the gathered tribes that he heard was from actual, live people, which was something of a relief. He wasn't nearly as exhausted as Hassain, who'd been walking back and forth keeping everyone else going, and had as a result covered at least twice the distance as any of the rest of them, but he was certainly glad not to be bothered by any nonsense. Hassain... hmm, his friend was probably tired enough to be, well, Mwenye wouldn't ever apply the word stupid to his leir, but he took a full waterskin and went looking for him anyway.
The thought of a sandstorm burying them all alive filled her stomach with cold dread. Her preference was that Hasani would be up at the front with her, rather than at the back. He was looking out for stragglers, she knew, but what if he got caught and was a straggler himself? She wouldn’t know until it was far too late. With those pleasant thoughts in mind, she and Shange did as her husband had told them to do, and ensured that they were on the right path. Her mother and sister were somewhere just behind them, in the safety of the front middle.
She’d set the pace faster than either the people or her camel would normally have liked, but under the circumstances, no one complained, not even the animal. It was as if Lelik knew a storm was approaching, which, Tanishe reflected, he probably did. Her veil was pulled tightly over her face to protect from the grit of the storm attempting to blow around them. Only occasionally did she peek out, but mostly she did not need to. Lelik’s main idea was to get away from the storm, not go toward it and it wasn’t like they were going to hit any landmarks, other than the Port that they were heading to.
After a huge, terrible climb up the dunes, they were down the other side and in relative safety of the Port of the West. Several women behind her broke into loud chanting songs as they made their way into Port. There was a good deal of excitement and she waited by the edge, asking Shange if he would lead the people where they needed to go while she waited to make sure that Hasani was safe.
Once she saw his handsome face, she directed Lelik towards the port, intending on setting up their tent. It would have been a horrible job to try to do on her own but she’d never ever need to worry about that. The tribe helped each other get their individual tents ready, and while hers was the one set up first, she was by no means the first one to get to enjoy her tent. That only meant that she went to help her family first, and from there, on down the line to whichever group needed it.
While Hasani prowled and children frolicked and Mwenye went to give Hasani water, she and the other women were setting up poles, unrolling fabric, settling animals into makeshift pens, setting about getting fires going; it was going to be a late night. By the time the embers were burned down enough for cooking, which would take hours, they still had to actually cook their food. Luckily, most of them had dried food from the road that could tide them over.
Tanishe pulled off her headdress as she wandered back to the Leier’s tent, rubbing the back of her neck with her small hand, and wondering what exactly she was going to pull together. Her sister had tagged along at her heels but the presence of another woman made her uneasy and she’d asked her to see to their mother instead. Mostly she was still missing Neena and she didn’t want help with the bedrolls or organizing their clothes or setting down soft furs inside the tent. She just wanted life back the way it was, but wishing would change nothing.
She hadn’t gotten as far as organizing the tent but she at least had the fire going soon enough and stood with her arms folded, looking out at the hoards of people. It was rare to see so many in one place. The scent of water hung in the air - something she was sensitive to, with living out in the desert. It was different than smelling rain. Less clean and with the town, held the stench of urine as well. This was going to be a joy.
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The thought of a sandstorm burying them all alive filled her stomach with cold dread. Her preference was that Hasani would be up at the front with her, rather than at the back. He was looking out for stragglers, she knew, but what if he got caught and was a straggler himself? She wouldn’t know until it was far too late. With those pleasant thoughts in mind, she and Shange did as her husband had told them to do, and ensured that they were on the right path. Her mother and sister were somewhere just behind them, in the safety of the front middle.
She’d set the pace faster than either the people or her camel would normally have liked, but under the circumstances, no one complained, not even the animal. It was as if Lelik knew a storm was approaching, which, Tanishe reflected, he probably did. Her veil was pulled tightly over her face to protect from the grit of the storm attempting to blow around them. Only occasionally did she peek out, but mostly she did not need to. Lelik’s main idea was to get away from the storm, not go toward it and it wasn’t like they were going to hit any landmarks, other than the Port that they were heading to.
After a huge, terrible climb up the dunes, they were down the other side and in relative safety of the Port of the West. Several women behind her broke into loud chanting songs as they made their way into Port. There was a good deal of excitement and she waited by the edge, asking Shange if he would lead the people where they needed to go while she waited to make sure that Hasani was safe.
Once she saw his handsome face, she directed Lelik towards the port, intending on setting up their tent. It would have been a horrible job to try to do on her own but she’d never ever need to worry about that. The tribe helped each other get their individual tents ready, and while hers was the one set up first, she was by no means the first one to get to enjoy her tent. That only meant that she went to help her family first, and from there, on down the line to whichever group needed it.
While Hasani prowled and children frolicked and Mwenye went to give Hasani water, she and the other women were setting up poles, unrolling fabric, settling animals into makeshift pens, setting about getting fires going; it was going to be a late night. By the time the embers were burned down enough for cooking, which would take hours, they still had to actually cook their food. Luckily, most of them had dried food from the road that could tide them over.
Tanishe pulled off her headdress as she wandered back to the Leier’s tent, rubbing the back of her neck with her small hand, and wondering what exactly she was going to pull together. Her sister had tagged along at her heels but the presence of another woman made her uneasy and she’d asked her to see to their mother instead. Mostly she was still missing Neena and she didn’t want help with the bedrolls or organizing their clothes or setting down soft furs inside the tent. She just wanted life back the way it was, but wishing would change nothing.
She hadn’t gotten as far as organizing the tent but she at least had the fire going soon enough and stood with her arms folded, looking out at the hoards of people. It was rare to see so many in one place. The scent of water hung in the air - something she was sensitive to, with living out in the desert. It was different than smelling rain. Less clean and with the town, held the stench of urine as well. This was going to be a joy.
The thought of a sandstorm burying them all alive filled her stomach with cold dread. Her preference was that Hasani would be up at the front with her, rather than at the back. He was looking out for stragglers, she knew, but what if he got caught and was a straggler himself? She wouldn’t know until it was far too late. With those pleasant thoughts in mind, she and Shange did as her husband had told them to do, and ensured that they were on the right path. Her mother and sister were somewhere just behind them, in the safety of the front middle.
She’d set the pace faster than either the people or her camel would normally have liked, but under the circumstances, no one complained, not even the animal. It was as if Lelik knew a storm was approaching, which, Tanishe reflected, he probably did. Her veil was pulled tightly over her face to protect from the grit of the storm attempting to blow around them. Only occasionally did she peek out, but mostly she did not need to. Lelik’s main idea was to get away from the storm, not go toward it and it wasn’t like they were going to hit any landmarks, other than the Port that they were heading to.
After a huge, terrible climb up the dunes, they were down the other side and in relative safety of the Port of the West. Several women behind her broke into loud chanting songs as they made their way into Port. There was a good deal of excitement and she waited by the edge, asking Shange if he would lead the people where they needed to go while she waited to make sure that Hasani was safe.
Once she saw his handsome face, she directed Lelik towards the port, intending on setting up their tent. It would have been a horrible job to try to do on her own but she’d never ever need to worry about that. The tribe helped each other get their individual tents ready, and while hers was the one set up first, she was by no means the first one to get to enjoy her tent. That only meant that she went to help her family first, and from there, on down the line to whichever group needed it.
While Hasani prowled and children frolicked and Mwenye went to give Hasani water, she and the other women were setting up poles, unrolling fabric, settling animals into makeshift pens, setting about getting fires going; it was going to be a late night. By the time the embers were burned down enough for cooking, which would take hours, they still had to actually cook their food. Luckily, most of them had dried food from the road that could tide them over.
Tanishe pulled off her headdress as she wandered back to the Leier’s tent, rubbing the back of her neck with her small hand, and wondering what exactly she was going to pull together. Her sister had tagged along at her heels but the presence of another woman made her uneasy and she’d asked her to see to their mother instead. Mostly she was still missing Neena and she didn’t want help with the bedrolls or organizing their clothes or setting down soft furs inside the tent. She just wanted life back the way it was, but wishing would change nothing.
She hadn’t gotten as far as organizing the tent but she at least had the fire going soon enough and stood with her arms folded, looking out at the hoards of people. It was rare to see so many in one place. The scent of water hung in the air - something she was sensitive to, with living out in the desert. It was different than smelling rain. Less clean and with the town, held the stench of urine as well. This was going to be a joy.
This port was not a place that his crew cared to step foot on, with very little chance of any sort of profit to be found, Saro set off on his own from the ship on a small rowboat with what ever supplies he thought he would need for a few days on dry land. With an agreed upon day where they ship would return to these waters and Saro would rejoin them, he watched as his family sailed off. He whistled a happy tune as he rowed himself towards shore. He had not yet been to Bedoa, and though he expected not to make any money there by any means, he was curious by nature. Saro had spent his life sailing and travelling, and he loved seeing all the cultures and traditions and just how different they all were. This time was no different, he wished to set foot on these lands, even if the only thing he left with was knowledge of the customs of these lands.
It took him a little while to make it to land, but eventually his little wooden rowboat made it to the dock and he tied it up so it wouldn’t go any where before he climbed up off the boat, grabbing the sack that contained all of his supplies. He paused and looked, it seemed as if there was some sort of gathering at the port, which he found odd. From what various crew members had told him of the Bedoan people, they were nomadic and lived in separated groups. Something was going on, and he thought this trip might prove to be even more interesting than he had hoped.
He headed forward and off the docks, towards where people seemed to be setting up camps and herding livestock. He didn’t miss the looks he got from people as he passed by them, but the pirate merely nodded and smiled at them, hoping no one thought he had an ill intentions. Though to be fair, normally he was the sort to get himself and others into some trouble, so far he had no thoughts to do such things.
He approached the first person who looked like they might be a little friendly, though perhaps he was wrong about that, he supposed he would find out when he approached her.
“Excuse me, my lady?” He said as he approached, having no idea if she would even understand him. He knew bits of a few languages, though he wasn’t sure it was any that she would understand either. It wouldn’t be the first time he largely had to rely on hand gestures and motions to get his point across.
“What’s going on here? It seems odd for so many to be in one place.” He said, waiting for a reply, or a lack of reply before he would try other methods of communicating with her.
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This port was not a place that his crew cared to step foot on, with very little chance of any sort of profit to be found, Saro set off on his own from the ship on a small rowboat with what ever supplies he thought he would need for a few days on dry land. With an agreed upon day where they ship would return to these waters and Saro would rejoin them, he watched as his family sailed off. He whistled a happy tune as he rowed himself towards shore. He had not yet been to Bedoa, and though he expected not to make any money there by any means, he was curious by nature. Saro had spent his life sailing and travelling, and he loved seeing all the cultures and traditions and just how different they all were. This time was no different, he wished to set foot on these lands, even if the only thing he left with was knowledge of the customs of these lands.
It took him a little while to make it to land, but eventually his little wooden rowboat made it to the dock and he tied it up so it wouldn’t go any where before he climbed up off the boat, grabbing the sack that contained all of his supplies. He paused and looked, it seemed as if there was some sort of gathering at the port, which he found odd. From what various crew members had told him of the Bedoan people, they were nomadic and lived in separated groups. Something was going on, and he thought this trip might prove to be even more interesting than he had hoped.
He headed forward and off the docks, towards where people seemed to be setting up camps and herding livestock. He didn’t miss the looks he got from people as he passed by them, but the pirate merely nodded and smiled at them, hoping no one thought he had an ill intentions. Though to be fair, normally he was the sort to get himself and others into some trouble, so far he had no thoughts to do such things.
He approached the first person who looked like they might be a little friendly, though perhaps he was wrong about that, he supposed he would find out when he approached her.
“Excuse me, my lady?” He said as he approached, having no idea if she would even understand him. He knew bits of a few languages, though he wasn’t sure it was any that she would understand either. It wouldn’t be the first time he largely had to rely on hand gestures and motions to get his point across.
“What’s going on here? It seems odd for so many to be in one place.” He said, waiting for a reply, or a lack of reply before he would try other methods of communicating with her.
This port was not a place that his crew cared to step foot on, with very little chance of any sort of profit to be found, Saro set off on his own from the ship on a small rowboat with what ever supplies he thought he would need for a few days on dry land. With an agreed upon day where they ship would return to these waters and Saro would rejoin them, he watched as his family sailed off. He whistled a happy tune as he rowed himself towards shore. He had not yet been to Bedoa, and though he expected not to make any money there by any means, he was curious by nature. Saro had spent his life sailing and travelling, and he loved seeing all the cultures and traditions and just how different they all were. This time was no different, he wished to set foot on these lands, even if the only thing he left with was knowledge of the customs of these lands.
It took him a little while to make it to land, but eventually his little wooden rowboat made it to the dock and he tied it up so it wouldn’t go any where before he climbed up off the boat, grabbing the sack that contained all of his supplies. He paused and looked, it seemed as if there was some sort of gathering at the port, which he found odd. From what various crew members had told him of the Bedoan people, they were nomadic and lived in separated groups. Something was going on, and he thought this trip might prove to be even more interesting than he had hoped.
He headed forward and off the docks, towards where people seemed to be setting up camps and herding livestock. He didn’t miss the looks he got from people as he passed by them, but the pirate merely nodded and smiled at them, hoping no one thought he had an ill intentions. Though to be fair, normally he was the sort to get himself and others into some trouble, so far he had no thoughts to do such things.
He approached the first person who looked like they might be a little friendly, though perhaps he was wrong about that, he supposed he would find out when he approached her.
“Excuse me, my lady?” He said as he approached, having no idea if she would even understand him. He knew bits of a few languages, though he wasn’t sure it was any that she would understand either. It wouldn’t be the first time he largely had to rely on hand gestures and motions to get his point across.
“What’s going on here? It seems odd for so many to be in one place.” He said, waiting for a reply, or a lack of reply before he would try other methods of communicating with her.
She’d been looking beyond the mud huts and the swarms of people toward the ship she’d seen bobbing up and down on the water. The sight was so rare, and so foreign that she was drawn down nearer to the shore, quite before she was aware her legs were carrying her. It was one of those dream like walks, where she would move across the intervening landscape and people melted away before her, allowing her to pass as though they, themselves, were apparitions.
From the ship, she watched the progress of a small boat being swept along by the waves, carried ever closer toward shore. Her gaze was glued to this human inside the boat. The long, straight dark hair was strange but the pale skin was even more odd. He wasn’t the first person like that she’d ever seen, but he was one of the very few and she was intrigued, and had the strongest impulse to touch his hair. She would not, of course, but the want was there.
She watched with undisguised shock as he tied up his boat...and left it. He glanced around a little bit and she was pleased to find he was coming towards her. Obviously he needed to be warned, but even as she opened her mouth to speak, out of his mouth tumbled a language she did not understand. The inflection of a question was clear, but the rest of it was lost. His language was a little too fast for her to hear anything other than a blur of sound. She wasn’t even totally sure when he was taking breaths to speak.
Her attention flitted over his shoulder and she watched as a few children crept toward his boat. They were not of the Zaire tribe or she would have stopped them, but instead she pointed behind him. The tribes did not have a word for boat or ship. So she called it was she assumed it was.
“Your water mount.” Her tone was quiet.
Just then, a gorgeous woman in a bright orange dress crossed in front of the boat where she was pointing. A man shouted at the woman in orange. The woman shouted back. A camel broke loose from someone’s hold and also came lolling through. She wasn’t sure if he would see his boat or be distracted.
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She’d been looking beyond the mud huts and the swarms of people toward the ship she’d seen bobbing up and down on the water. The sight was so rare, and so foreign that she was drawn down nearer to the shore, quite before she was aware her legs were carrying her. It was one of those dream like walks, where she would move across the intervening landscape and people melted away before her, allowing her to pass as though they, themselves, were apparitions.
From the ship, she watched the progress of a small boat being swept along by the waves, carried ever closer toward shore. Her gaze was glued to this human inside the boat. The long, straight dark hair was strange but the pale skin was even more odd. He wasn’t the first person like that she’d ever seen, but he was one of the very few and she was intrigued, and had the strongest impulse to touch his hair. She would not, of course, but the want was there.
She watched with undisguised shock as he tied up his boat...and left it. He glanced around a little bit and she was pleased to find he was coming towards her. Obviously he needed to be warned, but even as she opened her mouth to speak, out of his mouth tumbled a language she did not understand. The inflection of a question was clear, but the rest of it was lost. His language was a little too fast for her to hear anything other than a blur of sound. She wasn’t even totally sure when he was taking breaths to speak.
Her attention flitted over his shoulder and she watched as a few children crept toward his boat. They were not of the Zaire tribe or she would have stopped them, but instead she pointed behind him. The tribes did not have a word for boat or ship. So she called it was she assumed it was.
“Your water mount.” Her tone was quiet.
Just then, a gorgeous woman in a bright orange dress crossed in front of the boat where she was pointing. A man shouted at the woman in orange. The woman shouted back. A camel broke loose from someone’s hold and also came lolling through. She wasn’t sure if he would see his boat or be distracted.
She’d been looking beyond the mud huts and the swarms of people toward the ship she’d seen bobbing up and down on the water. The sight was so rare, and so foreign that she was drawn down nearer to the shore, quite before she was aware her legs were carrying her. It was one of those dream like walks, where she would move across the intervening landscape and people melted away before her, allowing her to pass as though they, themselves, were apparitions.
From the ship, she watched the progress of a small boat being swept along by the waves, carried ever closer toward shore. Her gaze was glued to this human inside the boat. The long, straight dark hair was strange but the pale skin was even more odd. He wasn’t the first person like that she’d ever seen, but he was one of the very few and she was intrigued, and had the strongest impulse to touch his hair. She would not, of course, but the want was there.
She watched with undisguised shock as he tied up his boat...and left it. He glanced around a little bit and she was pleased to find he was coming towards her. Obviously he needed to be warned, but even as she opened her mouth to speak, out of his mouth tumbled a language she did not understand. The inflection of a question was clear, but the rest of it was lost. His language was a little too fast for her to hear anything other than a blur of sound. She wasn’t even totally sure when he was taking breaths to speak.
Her attention flitted over his shoulder and she watched as a few children crept toward his boat. They were not of the Zaire tribe or she would have stopped them, but instead she pointed behind him. The tribes did not have a word for boat or ship. So she called it was she assumed it was.
“Your water mount.” Her tone was quiet.
Just then, a gorgeous woman in a bright orange dress crossed in front of the boat where she was pointing. A man shouted at the woman in orange. The woman shouted back. A camel broke loose from someone’s hold and also came lolling through. She wasn’t sure if he would see his boat or be distracted.
He wasn’t sure if she didn’t understand what he had said or she just didn’t care, as she looked over his shoulder instead of answering him. She was pretty, but he wasn’t confident enough in the way Bedoa worked to hit on her, last thing he needed was to get executed or something for offending her or someone important she might know. Besides that, odds were they didn’t speak the same language, though that hadn’t stopped him before, it was probably better that he just put any ideas of any flirtation aside while he was in this new land. At least until he figured out some of their language or the way things worked.
She pointed behind him and said something that he definitely didn’t understand, and so he turned to see what she was pointing at, spotting a woman dressed in bright colours who was rather enchanting, and she was speaking that language he didn’t understand, yelling back to a man who had yelled to her, and a camel came wandering through as well. A beast which he had seen before, so it held no awe for him. He had no idea though, what this woman was trying to point out to him, did it have something to do with the woman in orange? Perhaps she thought he would be excited to see a camel?
Saro turned back to her with a confused look, not quite sure what to do here. He wondered if she spoke any other language, though from what he had heard these people were rather isolated, so he doubted any of them spoke anything other than their own dialects. He reached up to tie back his long hair with a piece of leather string he carried with him, the wind was picking up a little and he hated when it blew his hair all over.
He looked around again, trying to figure out how to interact with this woman. He had no idea how to put his previous question into hand gestures, so instead he moved onto what he wanted to know next. He needed to set up his tent, have some where to sleep while he was there, but he didn’t want to be in the way either. For a pirate, Saro was rather adamant about not offending anyone this time around.
He set his bag down, opening it, he reached in and pulled out the small fabric tent that he would need to set up, showing it to her, he pointed to the land beyond the port they stood on, where everyone else seemed to be taking up space, and he spoke as little as possible, hoping that if she didn’t understand his words she would at least understand that he was asking a question.
“Where can I set my tent up?” He asked, putting the fabric back into his bag and closing it up for now, figuring that if his point hadn’t gotten across showing her the tent the first time, it probably wouldn’t help to wave it around in her face.
Saro was standing with his back to his rowboat again, completely unaware of any children who may be attempting to climb in it at the moment.
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He wasn’t sure if she didn’t understand what he had said or she just didn’t care, as she looked over his shoulder instead of answering him. She was pretty, but he wasn’t confident enough in the way Bedoa worked to hit on her, last thing he needed was to get executed or something for offending her or someone important she might know. Besides that, odds were they didn’t speak the same language, though that hadn’t stopped him before, it was probably better that he just put any ideas of any flirtation aside while he was in this new land. At least until he figured out some of their language or the way things worked.
She pointed behind him and said something that he definitely didn’t understand, and so he turned to see what she was pointing at, spotting a woman dressed in bright colours who was rather enchanting, and she was speaking that language he didn’t understand, yelling back to a man who had yelled to her, and a camel came wandering through as well. A beast which he had seen before, so it held no awe for him. He had no idea though, what this woman was trying to point out to him, did it have something to do with the woman in orange? Perhaps she thought he would be excited to see a camel?
Saro turned back to her with a confused look, not quite sure what to do here. He wondered if she spoke any other language, though from what he had heard these people were rather isolated, so he doubted any of them spoke anything other than their own dialects. He reached up to tie back his long hair with a piece of leather string he carried with him, the wind was picking up a little and he hated when it blew his hair all over.
He looked around again, trying to figure out how to interact with this woman. He had no idea how to put his previous question into hand gestures, so instead he moved onto what he wanted to know next. He needed to set up his tent, have some where to sleep while he was there, but he didn’t want to be in the way either. For a pirate, Saro was rather adamant about not offending anyone this time around.
He set his bag down, opening it, he reached in and pulled out the small fabric tent that he would need to set up, showing it to her, he pointed to the land beyond the port they stood on, where everyone else seemed to be taking up space, and he spoke as little as possible, hoping that if she didn’t understand his words she would at least understand that he was asking a question.
“Where can I set my tent up?” He asked, putting the fabric back into his bag and closing it up for now, figuring that if his point hadn’t gotten across showing her the tent the first time, it probably wouldn’t help to wave it around in her face.
Saro was standing with his back to his rowboat again, completely unaware of any children who may be attempting to climb in it at the moment.
He wasn’t sure if she didn’t understand what he had said or she just didn’t care, as she looked over his shoulder instead of answering him. She was pretty, but he wasn’t confident enough in the way Bedoa worked to hit on her, last thing he needed was to get executed or something for offending her or someone important she might know. Besides that, odds were they didn’t speak the same language, though that hadn’t stopped him before, it was probably better that he just put any ideas of any flirtation aside while he was in this new land. At least until he figured out some of their language or the way things worked.
She pointed behind him and said something that he definitely didn’t understand, and so he turned to see what she was pointing at, spotting a woman dressed in bright colours who was rather enchanting, and she was speaking that language he didn’t understand, yelling back to a man who had yelled to her, and a camel came wandering through as well. A beast which he had seen before, so it held no awe for him. He had no idea though, what this woman was trying to point out to him, did it have something to do with the woman in orange? Perhaps she thought he would be excited to see a camel?
Saro turned back to her with a confused look, not quite sure what to do here. He wondered if she spoke any other language, though from what he had heard these people were rather isolated, so he doubted any of them spoke anything other than their own dialects. He reached up to tie back his long hair with a piece of leather string he carried with him, the wind was picking up a little and he hated when it blew his hair all over.
He looked around again, trying to figure out how to interact with this woman. He had no idea how to put his previous question into hand gestures, so instead he moved onto what he wanted to know next. He needed to set up his tent, have some where to sleep while he was there, but he didn’t want to be in the way either. For a pirate, Saro was rather adamant about not offending anyone this time around.
He set his bag down, opening it, he reached in and pulled out the small fabric tent that he would need to set up, showing it to her, he pointed to the land beyond the port they stood on, where everyone else seemed to be taking up space, and he spoke as little as possible, hoping that if she didn’t understand his words she would at least understand that he was asking a question.
“Where can I set my tent up?” He asked, putting the fabric back into his bag and closing it up for now, figuring that if his point hadn’t gotten across showing her the tent the first time, it probably wouldn’t help to wave it around in her face.
Saro was standing with his back to his rowboat again, completely unaware of any children who may be attempting to climb in it at the moment.
The children were in the boat now. She was satisfied right at first, when he turned to look. There. He would see, she was sure. Her hands planted themselves firmly on her hips, however, when he turned around to give her a confused look. Hadn’t he seen? Or...or maybe he didn’t care? Maybe he liked for children to play in his boat. She wasn’t sure but it looked unsteady and she was growing a little concerned.
The woman in orange was finally jerked out of the way but the camel was causing a fuss by not budging. It groaned loudly and resisted its owner pulling it. Someone else came behind and swatted it with a stick but the camel merely spit at the person. Tashine was beginning to wonder if the ancestors were playing little tricks. Perhaps this man was meant to be here?
That brought her attention back to him and she watched him do the oddest thing. He bent down and opened his pack to reveal a tent. She squatted down to look, interested in this tent. It was different than the ones the Bedoans used. Smaller, with poles that looked like they were probably his height or a little less. Maybe this was meant for one person. Was he offering to trade?
“You want to trade that with me?” she asked, patting it. But then he closed it back up and she was more confused than ever. “Or…” she paused, tilting her head at him. “No trade?”
Maybe he did. She wasn’t totally sure what she would do with a one person tent, but she couldn’t figure out what else a foreigner would be doing here, if not on trading business. Obviously he’d have to come back with her to her tent.
She smiled at him and opened her hands to show that she was friendly. “Come,” she motioned him to follow her, even going so far as to curl her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and give in a gentle tug. “Come.” Then she turned and began to walk back up the small slope to the flatter parts of the port where many, many tents were set up.
Glancing back, she smiled encouragingly again at him and pointed to her tent. “I have things to trade in there,” she made sure her voice was nice and soothing. “Maybe you would like medicines? Or linens?” Those would be very useful as bandages, perhaps. She thought nothing of taking this strange man up to the tent because there were so many people around them. Nothing bad would happen to her.
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The children were in the boat now. She was satisfied right at first, when he turned to look. There. He would see, she was sure. Her hands planted themselves firmly on her hips, however, when he turned around to give her a confused look. Hadn’t he seen? Or...or maybe he didn’t care? Maybe he liked for children to play in his boat. She wasn’t sure but it looked unsteady and she was growing a little concerned.
The woman in orange was finally jerked out of the way but the camel was causing a fuss by not budging. It groaned loudly and resisted its owner pulling it. Someone else came behind and swatted it with a stick but the camel merely spit at the person. Tashine was beginning to wonder if the ancestors were playing little tricks. Perhaps this man was meant to be here?
That brought her attention back to him and she watched him do the oddest thing. He bent down and opened his pack to reveal a tent. She squatted down to look, interested in this tent. It was different than the ones the Bedoans used. Smaller, with poles that looked like they were probably his height or a little less. Maybe this was meant for one person. Was he offering to trade?
“You want to trade that with me?” she asked, patting it. But then he closed it back up and she was more confused than ever. “Or…” she paused, tilting her head at him. “No trade?”
Maybe he did. She wasn’t totally sure what she would do with a one person tent, but she couldn’t figure out what else a foreigner would be doing here, if not on trading business. Obviously he’d have to come back with her to her tent.
She smiled at him and opened her hands to show that she was friendly. “Come,” she motioned him to follow her, even going so far as to curl her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and give in a gentle tug. “Come.” Then she turned and began to walk back up the small slope to the flatter parts of the port where many, many tents were set up.
Glancing back, she smiled encouragingly again at him and pointed to her tent. “I have things to trade in there,” she made sure her voice was nice and soothing. “Maybe you would like medicines? Or linens?” Those would be very useful as bandages, perhaps. She thought nothing of taking this strange man up to the tent because there were so many people around them. Nothing bad would happen to her.
The children were in the boat now. She was satisfied right at first, when he turned to look. There. He would see, she was sure. Her hands planted themselves firmly on her hips, however, when he turned around to give her a confused look. Hadn’t he seen? Or...or maybe he didn’t care? Maybe he liked for children to play in his boat. She wasn’t sure but it looked unsteady and she was growing a little concerned.
The woman in orange was finally jerked out of the way but the camel was causing a fuss by not budging. It groaned loudly and resisted its owner pulling it. Someone else came behind and swatted it with a stick but the camel merely spit at the person. Tashine was beginning to wonder if the ancestors were playing little tricks. Perhaps this man was meant to be here?
That brought her attention back to him and she watched him do the oddest thing. He bent down and opened his pack to reveal a tent. She squatted down to look, interested in this tent. It was different than the ones the Bedoans used. Smaller, with poles that looked like they were probably his height or a little less. Maybe this was meant for one person. Was he offering to trade?
“You want to trade that with me?” she asked, patting it. But then he closed it back up and she was more confused than ever. “Or…” she paused, tilting her head at him. “No trade?”
Maybe he did. She wasn’t totally sure what she would do with a one person tent, but she couldn’t figure out what else a foreigner would be doing here, if not on trading business. Obviously he’d have to come back with her to her tent.
She smiled at him and opened her hands to show that she was friendly. “Come,” she motioned him to follow her, even going so far as to curl her fingers into the fabric of his shirt and give in a gentle tug. “Come.” Then she turned and began to walk back up the small slope to the flatter parts of the port where many, many tents were set up.
Glancing back, she smiled encouragingly again at him and pointed to her tent. “I have things to trade in there,” she made sure her voice was nice and soothing. “Maybe you would like medicines? Or linens?” Those would be very useful as bandages, perhaps. She thought nothing of taking this strange man up to the tent because there were so many people around them. Nothing bad would happen to her.
Saro was still completely oblivious to the children playing in his rowboat, he assumed that these people would have very little use for a boat, as far as he knew they weren’t exactly the seafaring type, so he hadn’t thought twice about leaving the small vessel in the water unattended. She seemed to give up on what ever she was trying to show him once he had pulled his tent out of his pack.
The look on her face was one of slight confusion, and Saro wondered if perhaps he had not gotten his point across like he thought he had. This might be tougher than he thought it would be, perhaps she was not used to people from other places coming around. He doubted she had seen many, so the whole world of trying to communicate without words would most likely be new to her.
She suddenly stood, speaking again and tugging on his shirt to get him to follow, he grabbed his pack and slung it over his back as she lead him up to where everyone was setting up their camps, and he felt a bit of relief. She must have caught on to what he was asking for, and now she would lead him to where he could set up for a few nights while he was there.
But alas, it seemed she had not understood as she lead him towards a large tent and pointed at it, speaking in a soft and sweet voice. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at her with a questioning look. Was she... seducing him? He thought perhaps it was just another misunderstanding and it was best not to jump to that conclusion immediately, though if that was what was happening, he definitely wouldn’t complain.
He looked around for a moment.
“Is there anyone who speaks another language?” He asked, though it was a slim chance, he spoke the basics of a few languages he’d learned on his travels, and if anyone there spoke even a bit of one of his other languages he could communicate what he was getting at. He realized though, even if they did, she would have no idea that he was asking her if someone did. It was a bit frustrating, though he knew it wasn’t either of their faults.
He tried to think of how to get his point across about wishing to set his tent up some where that he wouldn’t be in the way. His gaze went back to her as he thought. Hand gestures would have to do, or he would have to at least keep trying until she got the point.
He spoke as he made gestures. “Where..” He started, motioning around to the area around them. “Can I...” He pointed to himself. “Set up my tent?” He finished, pointing to his bag and then making a hand signal to symbolize setting up his tent.
“Uhmm...” He made an extra motion, putting his hands together and tilting his head to signal that he was using them as a pillow, hoping she would understand he meant sleeping, then pointing to his bag again to signify his tent. He had no idea if she was going to understand any of this, and if not he supposed he would just need to go and set his tent up some where out of the way of all of them and try to find someone to teach him at least a bit of their language. He was determined to learn, and thankfully he was pretty patient most of the time, though it was a little frustrating at first, he knew once he got a few words it would be a lot easier.
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Saro was still completely oblivious to the children playing in his rowboat, he assumed that these people would have very little use for a boat, as far as he knew they weren’t exactly the seafaring type, so he hadn’t thought twice about leaving the small vessel in the water unattended. She seemed to give up on what ever she was trying to show him once he had pulled his tent out of his pack.
The look on her face was one of slight confusion, and Saro wondered if perhaps he had not gotten his point across like he thought he had. This might be tougher than he thought it would be, perhaps she was not used to people from other places coming around. He doubted she had seen many, so the whole world of trying to communicate without words would most likely be new to her.
She suddenly stood, speaking again and tugging on his shirt to get him to follow, he grabbed his pack and slung it over his back as she lead him up to where everyone was setting up their camps, and he felt a bit of relief. She must have caught on to what he was asking for, and now she would lead him to where he could set up for a few nights while he was there.
But alas, it seemed she had not understood as she lead him towards a large tent and pointed at it, speaking in a soft and sweet voice. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at her with a questioning look. Was she... seducing him? He thought perhaps it was just another misunderstanding and it was best not to jump to that conclusion immediately, though if that was what was happening, he definitely wouldn’t complain.
He looked around for a moment.
“Is there anyone who speaks another language?” He asked, though it was a slim chance, he spoke the basics of a few languages he’d learned on his travels, and if anyone there spoke even a bit of one of his other languages he could communicate what he was getting at. He realized though, even if they did, she would have no idea that he was asking her if someone did. It was a bit frustrating, though he knew it wasn’t either of their faults.
He tried to think of how to get his point across about wishing to set his tent up some where that he wouldn’t be in the way. His gaze went back to her as he thought. Hand gestures would have to do, or he would have to at least keep trying until she got the point.
He spoke as he made gestures. “Where..” He started, motioning around to the area around them. “Can I...” He pointed to himself. “Set up my tent?” He finished, pointing to his bag and then making a hand signal to symbolize setting up his tent.
“Uhmm...” He made an extra motion, putting his hands together and tilting his head to signal that he was using them as a pillow, hoping she would understand he meant sleeping, then pointing to his bag again to signify his tent. He had no idea if she was going to understand any of this, and if not he supposed he would just need to go and set his tent up some where out of the way of all of them and try to find someone to teach him at least a bit of their language. He was determined to learn, and thankfully he was pretty patient most of the time, though it was a little frustrating at first, he knew once he got a few words it would be a lot easier.
Saro was still completely oblivious to the children playing in his rowboat, he assumed that these people would have very little use for a boat, as far as he knew they weren’t exactly the seafaring type, so he hadn’t thought twice about leaving the small vessel in the water unattended. She seemed to give up on what ever she was trying to show him once he had pulled his tent out of his pack.
The look on her face was one of slight confusion, and Saro wondered if perhaps he had not gotten his point across like he thought he had. This might be tougher than he thought it would be, perhaps she was not used to people from other places coming around. He doubted she had seen many, so the whole world of trying to communicate without words would most likely be new to her.
She suddenly stood, speaking again and tugging on his shirt to get him to follow, he grabbed his pack and slung it over his back as she lead him up to where everyone was setting up their camps, and he felt a bit of relief. She must have caught on to what he was asking for, and now she would lead him to where he could set up for a few nights while he was there.
But alas, it seemed she had not understood as she lead him towards a large tent and pointed at it, speaking in a soft and sweet voice. His eyebrows furrowed and he looked at her with a questioning look. Was she... seducing him? He thought perhaps it was just another misunderstanding and it was best not to jump to that conclusion immediately, though if that was what was happening, he definitely wouldn’t complain.
He looked around for a moment.
“Is there anyone who speaks another language?” He asked, though it was a slim chance, he spoke the basics of a few languages he’d learned on his travels, and if anyone there spoke even a bit of one of his other languages he could communicate what he was getting at. He realized though, even if they did, she would have no idea that he was asking her if someone did. It was a bit frustrating, though he knew it wasn’t either of their faults.
He tried to think of how to get his point across about wishing to set his tent up some where that he wouldn’t be in the way. His gaze went back to her as he thought. Hand gestures would have to do, or he would have to at least keep trying until she got the point.
He spoke as he made gestures. “Where..” He started, motioning around to the area around them. “Can I...” He pointed to himself. “Set up my tent?” He finished, pointing to his bag and then making a hand signal to symbolize setting up his tent.
“Uhmm...” He made an extra motion, putting his hands together and tilting his head to signal that he was using them as a pillow, hoping she would understand he meant sleeping, then pointing to his bag again to signify his tent. He had no idea if she was going to understand any of this, and if not he supposed he would just need to go and set his tent up some where out of the way of all of them and try to find someone to teach him at least a bit of their language. He was determined to learn, and thankfully he was pretty patient most of the time, though it was a little frustrating at first, he knew once he got a few words it would be a lot easier.
Jawahir jumped a little when a strange man bumped into her. "I'm fine." she said, calmly, both for his benefit and her own. "I'm certain we all are a little nervous at the moment." she nodded, and stood herself up. In faint recognition of meeting him at least once before, or having seen him, she relaxed a little. It may not have seemed like much, but Jawahir had been on her guard during the storm. She was worried that others would try to take advantage of this moment to hurt her because everybody was together, it would be easy to pin the blame on someone else. It wasn't that Jawahir would brag of her status, at least to a stranger, but she considered herself an important part of her tribe. Less important than Bashira, sure, but at least tied with Hanuni or her mother, Farashuu. She gently brushed off his grip, and nodded appreciatively. Most things men did for her were for her own good.
Jawahir watched as the niece of one of her good friends ran off with another girl who she did not recognize. It was odd how children got along so well with each other, while some grown men could not stand each other based off of simple things. Admittedly, Jawahir understood defending one's own religion. She was devoted to the ancestors, and those who were downright disrespectful wore on her nerves. Once, Jawahir had heard a friend say to her that her sister, who lived with a different tribe that Jawahir could not quite recall, had exposed her breasts before a child was born to the woman and her husband! Jawahir was glad her kitenge and kanga covered her, while still showing her proudest aspect--her face. She wasn't afraid to show her beauty, and it was one of the only things she thought she came close to matching, even surpassing her elder half-sister in.
She would not, however, be keen to distract a married man, as she was almost completely certain he was. Now if only she could place a name to his face. Jawahir considered herself protected by those in her tribe, who she saw around her, and recognizing this man as the Leier of his people, if things had not changed greatly since the last time they spoke, felt no strong unease around him, though as many of her people would have been, she was on her guard. The Zaire were not people that the Rwandi spent time with frequently, although Jawahir found them a frankly very interesting people. She'd even taken up learning language after meeting one of the man before her's wives. She learned a small portion of Egyptian from her father, who had seemed to think it nice that Jawahir was taking interest in an intelligent pursuit.
"Do you believe the sandstorm will be on for long, your greatness?" Jawahir said, using the formal title of the Leier in place of his name, which escaped her. Her father and her father's first wife paid attention to those types of things, but if it was not the name of a female friend, it might be lost to her.
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Jawahir jumped a little when a strange man bumped into her. "I'm fine." she said, calmly, both for his benefit and her own. "I'm certain we all are a little nervous at the moment." she nodded, and stood herself up. In faint recognition of meeting him at least once before, or having seen him, she relaxed a little. It may not have seemed like much, but Jawahir had been on her guard during the storm. She was worried that others would try to take advantage of this moment to hurt her because everybody was together, it would be easy to pin the blame on someone else. It wasn't that Jawahir would brag of her status, at least to a stranger, but she considered herself an important part of her tribe. Less important than Bashira, sure, but at least tied with Hanuni or her mother, Farashuu. She gently brushed off his grip, and nodded appreciatively. Most things men did for her were for her own good.
Jawahir watched as the niece of one of her good friends ran off with another girl who she did not recognize. It was odd how children got along so well with each other, while some grown men could not stand each other based off of simple things. Admittedly, Jawahir understood defending one's own religion. She was devoted to the ancestors, and those who were downright disrespectful wore on her nerves. Once, Jawahir had heard a friend say to her that her sister, who lived with a different tribe that Jawahir could not quite recall, had exposed her breasts before a child was born to the woman and her husband! Jawahir was glad her kitenge and kanga covered her, while still showing her proudest aspect--her face. She wasn't afraid to show her beauty, and it was one of the only things she thought she came close to matching, even surpassing her elder half-sister in.
She would not, however, be keen to distract a married man, as she was almost completely certain he was. Now if only she could place a name to his face. Jawahir considered herself protected by those in her tribe, who she saw around her, and recognizing this man as the Leier of his people, if things had not changed greatly since the last time they spoke, felt no strong unease around him, though as many of her people would have been, she was on her guard. The Zaire were not people that the Rwandi spent time with frequently, although Jawahir found them a frankly very interesting people. She'd even taken up learning language after meeting one of the man before her's wives. She learned a small portion of Egyptian from her father, who had seemed to think it nice that Jawahir was taking interest in an intelligent pursuit.
"Do you believe the sandstorm will be on for long, your greatness?" Jawahir said, using the formal title of the Leier in place of his name, which escaped her. Her father and her father's first wife paid attention to those types of things, but if it was not the name of a female friend, it might be lost to her.
Jawahir jumped a little when a strange man bumped into her. "I'm fine." she said, calmly, both for his benefit and her own. "I'm certain we all are a little nervous at the moment." she nodded, and stood herself up. In faint recognition of meeting him at least once before, or having seen him, she relaxed a little. It may not have seemed like much, but Jawahir had been on her guard during the storm. She was worried that others would try to take advantage of this moment to hurt her because everybody was together, it would be easy to pin the blame on someone else. It wasn't that Jawahir would brag of her status, at least to a stranger, but she considered herself an important part of her tribe. Less important than Bashira, sure, but at least tied with Hanuni or her mother, Farashuu. She gently brushed off his grip, and nodded appreciatively. Most things men did for her were for her own good.
Jawahir watched as the niece of one of her good friends ran off with another girl who she did not recognize. It was odd how children got along so well with each other, while some grown men could not stand each other based off of simple things. Admittedly, Jawahir understood defending one's own religion. She was devoted to the ancestors, and those who were downright disrespectful wore on her nerves. Once, Jawahir had heard a friend say to her that her sister, who lived with a different tribe that Jawahir could not quite recall, had exposed her breasts before a child was born to the woman and her husband! Jawahir was glad her kitenge and kanga covered her, while still showing her proudest aspect--her face. She wasn't afraid to show her beauty, and it was one of the only things she thought she came close to matching, even surpassing her elder half-sister in.
She would not, however, be keen to distract a married man, as she was almost completely certain he was. Now if only she could place a name to his face. Jawahir considered herself protected by those in her tribe, who she saw around her, and recognizing this man as the Leier of his people, if things had not changed greatly since the last time they spoke, felt no strong unease around him, though as many of her people would have been, she was on her guard. The Zaire were not people that the Rwandi spent time with frequently, although Jawahir found them a frankly very interesting people. She'd even taken up learning language after meeting one of the man before her's wives. She learned a small portion of Egyptian from her father, who had seemed to think it nice that Jawahir was taking interest in an intelligent pursuit.
"Do you believe the sandstorm will be on for long, your greatness?" Jawahir said, using the formal title of the Leier in place of his name, which escaped her. Her father and her father's first wife paid attention to those types of things, but if it was not the name of a female friend, it might be lost to her.
Ah, there he was. And practically dead on his feet, as predicted. Mwenye turned suddenly when a camel spat at him, and waved off the owner's apologies. "He has had a stressful day, I am sure, and I have enough wisdom not to expect good manners from a tired camel." Then he had to suffer through thanks for his good grace, and when he tried to cut it short by pointing out that he was on his way to attend his Leir, the woman switched to apologizing profusely for delaying him. He finally managed to extract himself, and slipped through the crowd in Hasani's direction again, this time paying a bit more attention to his surroundings. He wondered whether she had heard some rumour about him specifically, or was just that nervous about potentially offending someone with such a mix of tribes around her. Either way, it left the Zaire prophet more irritated than he'd have been at no apology at all.
"Hasani, I realize that your behaviour is sometimes similar, but you are not in fact a camel," he informed his Leier tartly as he thrust the waterskin into the bigger man's hands.
Then he looked at the woman Hasani had been talking to and smiled as he noticed she was pretty. Then his expression turned a bit wry as he realized his irreverent attitude probably hadn't made the best impression. Contrary to what some might believe, Mwenye had in fact noticed that women existed, and quite a while ago, but he was shy enough to keep the fact of his crushes to himself, and sensible enough not to cling to them despite nothing coming of them. He didn't recognize that he might not be making a first impression; Jadwahir had been veiled the last time he had met her, and that several years ago.
"Sorry, I, ah, didn't mean to interrupt you." The apology was intended for both of them, more or less, though it was the woman's presence that had prompted it, and he was looking at her more than at his friend and Leier.
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Ah, there he was. And practically dead on his feet, as predicted. Mwenye turned suddenly when a camel spat at him, and waved off the owner's apologies. "He has had a stressful day, I am sure, and I have enough wisdom not to expect good manners from a tired camel." Then he had to suffer through thanks for his good grace, and when he tried to cut it short by pointing out that he was on his way to attend his Leir, the woman switched to apologizing profusely for delaying him. He finally managed to extract himself, and slipped through the crowd in Hasani's direction again, this time paying a bit more attention to his surroundings. He wondered whether she had heard some rumour about him specifically, or was just that nervous about potentially offending someone with such a mix of tribes around her. Either way, it left the Zaire prophet more irritated than he'd have been at no apology at all.
"Hasani, I realize that your behaviour is sometimes similar, but you are not in fact a camel," he informed his Leier tartly as he thrust the waterskin into the bigger man's hands.
Then he looked at the woman Hasani had been talking to and smiled as he noticed she was pretty. Then his expression turned a bit wry as he realized his irreverent attitude probably hadn't made the best impression. Contrary to what some might believe, Mwenye had in fact noticed that women existed, and quite a while ago, but he was shy enough to keep the fact of his crushes to himself, and sensible enough not to cling to them despite nothing coming of them. He didn't recognize that he might not be making a first impression; Jadwahir had been veiled the last time he had met her, and that several years ago.
"Sorry, I, ah, didn't mean to interrupt you." The apology was intended for both of them, more or less, though it was the woman's presence that had prompted it, and he was looking at her more than at his friend and Leier.
Ah, there he was. And practically dead on his feet, as predicted. Mwenye turned suddenly when a camel spat at him, and waved off the owner's apologies. "He has had a stressful day, I am sure, and I have enough wisdom not to expect good manners from a tired camel." Then he had to suffer through thanks for his good grace, and when he tried to cut it short by pointing out that he was on his way to attend his Leir, the woman switched to apologizing profusely for delaying him. He finally managed to extract himself, and slipped through the crowd in Hasani's direction again, this time paying a bit more attention to his surroundings. He wondered whether she had heard some rumour about him specifically, or was just that nervous about potentially offending someone with such a mix of tribes around her. Either way, it left the Zaire prophet more irritated than he'd have been at no apology at all.
"Hasani, I realize that your behaviour is sometimes similar, but you are not in fact a camel," he informed his Leier tartly as he thrust the waterskin into the bigger man's hands.
Then he looked at the woman Hasani had been talking to and smiled as he noticed she was pretty. Then his expression turned a bit wry as he realized his irreverent attitude probably hadn't made the best impression. Contrary to what some might believe, Mwenye had in fact noticed that women existed, and quite a while ago, but he was shy enough to keep the fact of his crushes to himself, and sensible enough not to cling to them despite nothing coming of them. He didn't recognize that he might not be making a first impression; Jadwahir had been veiled the last time he had met her, and that several years ago.
"Sorry, I, ah, didn't mean to interrupt you." The apology was intended for both of them, more or less, though it was the woman's presence that had prompted it, and he was looking at her more than at his friend and Leier.
As she walked to the tent, she heard Saro’s voice lilting out behind her. He had a pleasant, smooth sort of voice. A bit like her husband’s and she liked the sound of his language. It was a lyrical, bouncing language. Mostly soft vowels with soft wooshings. She was not a linguist like her sister wife, Neena was, but she had learned to enjoy the things Neena did. Though Neena was no longer with them, she felt compelled to welcome this foreigner. There would be no confusion now if Neena was standing right with her. They would have alighted on a language the other girl knew and then she could have warned Saro about his boat.
If either of them had looked back, they would have seen not only children in the boat, but adults too. The boat was sinking under the weight of so many people in it. Water gushed over the sides and now people were scrambling to get out. Thankfully, once their weight was gone, the boat was fine, but a nice fine, dirty pool of brine sat in the bottom of it to welcome Saro when he returned.
She turned completely around when he continued to try to speak and chewed on her thumbnail, listening intently as he made vague motions with his hands and again gestured to his tent. The tent she was trading him. Perhaps he was trying to convey that it was as good as the tents surrounding them. She hoped so.
“Yes, yes!” she nodded, smiling warmly at him and motioning for him to hurry. “I have many things in the tent.” She pointed at her tent, keeping her palm open to him so that he would know to come with her. When he made the pillow motion, though, she definitely understood that to mean sleep. And then she realized what the problem was. He meant to sleep in her tent as trade. Well she was just not that kind of woman.
“No,” she shook her head and came close to him, putting a hand gently on his arm and looking up into his face. With her other hand on her chest, she smiled. “You are not hideous,” she said comfortingly. “But I am Leiern. Married. You cannot sleep in my tent.” Then she tugged on his tent with two fingers. “I will still trade with you, though.” Giving him a nice pat, she tugged on his sleeve. “Come. Just things, mind. We’re not sleeping.” She made the pillow motion back at him and shook her head.
As she pulled him along with her, she pointed to herself. “My name is Tanishe. Tanishe,” she pointed to herself again and then gestured at him with an expectant smile, waiting for his name. Who knew if he'd understand her or not but it was worth a try. After all, if they were going to trade, she did want to know his name. Though where on this flat rock he was going to sleep, she didn’t know. If he traded his tent with her, then he had no place, but then, she reflected, he was obviously going to get back into his water mount and leave. Clearly he’d just come to get rid of the tent. She wondered what he’d want for it.
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As she walked to the tent, she heard Saro’s voice lilting out behind her. He had a pleasant, smooth sort of voice. A bit like her husband’s and she liked the sound of his language. It was a lyrical, bouncing language. Mostly soft vowels with soft wooshings. She was not a linguist like her sister wife, Neena was, but she had learned to enjoy the things Neena did. Though Neena was no longer with them, she felt compelled to welcome this foreigner. There would be no confusion now if Neena was standing right with her. They would have alighted on a language the other girl knew and then she could have warned Saro about his boat.
If either of them had looked back, they would have seen not only children in the boat, but adults too. The boat was sinking under the weight of so many people in it. Water gushed over the sides and now people were scrambling to get out. Thankfully, once their weight was gone, the boat was fine, but a nice fine, dirty pool of brine sat in the bottom of it to welcome Saro when he returned.
She turned completely around when he continued to try to speak and chewed on her thumbnail, listening intently as he made vague motions with his hands and again gestured to his tent. The tent she was trading him. Perhaps he was trying to convey that it was as good as the tents surrounding them. She hoped so.
“Yes, yes!” she nodded, smiling warmly at him and motioning for him to hurry. “I have many things in the tent.” She pointed at her tent, keeping her palm open to him so that he would know to come with her. When he made the pillow motion, though, she definitely understood that to mean sleep. And then she realized what the problem was. He meant to sleep in her tent as trade. Well she was just not that kind of woman.
“No,” she shook her head and came close to him, putting a hand gently on his arm and looking up into his face. With her other hand on her chest, she smiled. “You are not hideous,” she said comfortingly. “But I am Leiern. Married. You cannot sleep in my tent.” Then she tugged on his tent with two fingers. “I will still trade with you, though.” Giving him a nice pat, she tugged on his sleeve. “Come. Just things, mind. We’re not sleeping.” She made the pillow motion back at him and shook her head.
As she pulled him along with her, she pointed to herself. “My name is Tanishe. Tanishe,” she pointed to herself again and then gestured at him with an expectant smile, waiting for his name. Who knew if he'd understand her or not but it was worth a try. After all, if they were going to trade, she did want to know his name. Though where on this flat rock he was going to sleep, she didn’t know. If he traded his tent with her, then he had no place, but then, she reflected, he was obviously going to get back into his water mount and leave. Clearly he’d just come to get rid of the tent. She wondered what he’d want for it.
As she walked to the tent, she heard Saro’s voice lilting out behind her. He had a pleasant, smooth sort of voice. A bit like her husband’s and she liked the sound of his language. It was a lyrical, bouncing language. Mostly soft vowels with soft wooshings. She was not a linguist like her sister wife, Neena was, but she had learned to enjoy the things Neena did. Though Neena was no longer with them, she felt compelled to welcome this foreigner. There would be no confusion now if Neena was standing right with her. They would have alighted on a language the other girl knew and then she could have warned Saro about his boat.
If either of them had looked back, they would have seen not only children in the boat, but adults too. The boat was sinking under the weight of so many people in it. Water gushed over the sides and now people were scrambling to get out. Thankfully, once their weight was gone, the boat was fine, but a nice fine, dirty pool of brine sat in the bottom of it to welcome Saro when he returned.
She turned completely around when he continued to try to speak and chewed on her thumbnail, listening intently as he made vague motions with his hands and again gestured to his tent. The tent she was trading him. Perhaps he was trying to convey that it was as good as the tents surrounding them. She hoped so.
“Yes, yes!” she nodded, smiling warmly at him and motioning for him to hurry. “I have many things in the tent.” She pointed at her tent, keeping her palm open to him so that he would know to come with her. When he made the pillow motion, though, she definitely understood that to mean sleep. And then she realized what the problem was. He meant to sleep in her tent as trade. Well she was just not that kind of woman.
“No,” she shook her head and came close to him, putting a hand gently on his arm and looking up into his face. With her other hand on her chest, she smiled. “You are not hideous,” she said comfortingly. “But I am Leiern. Married. You cannot sleep in my tent.” Then she tugged on his tent with two fingers. “I will still trade with you, though.” Giving him a nice pat, she tugged on his sleeve. “Come. Just things, mind. We’re not sleeping.” She made the pillow motion back at him and shook her head.
As she pulled him along with her, she pointed to herself. “My name is Tanishe. Tanishe,” she pointed to herself again and then gestured at him with an expectant smile, waiting for his name. Who knew if he'd understand her or not but it was worth a try. After all, if they were going to trade, she did want to know his name. Though where on this flat rock he was going to sleep, she didn’t know. If he traded his tent with her, then he had no place, but then, she reflected, he was obviously going to get back into his water mount and leave. Clearly he’d just come to get rid of the tent. She wondered what he’d want for it.
When she nodded he thought perhaps she had understood what he meant with his gestures, but then she just motioned him to follow her further, and he realized that she still did not understand what he was asking of her. He sincerely hoped that some where in the area there was someone who spoked a shared language with him, or it was going to be very difficult to get anything done. The worst part was, he still had no idea what she thought they were doing. She kept pointing to a large tent, and he couldn’t figure out what she thought was going on.
She shook her head at his gesture to sleep and put a hand on his arm, the look of confusion was clear on his face. She was saying he could not set his tent up near them? It seemed that he was wasting his time here with her, neither of them having any idea what the other was saying or doing, and he wasn’t even going to be able to set up his camp near them. He would have to try to get out of this and see if he could find someone who would be a little more accommodating, even better if it was someone who spoke a language he knew at least some of.
She patted him and tugged on his sleeve, then motioned again that he could not camp near them, but still wanted him to follow her. At this point he truly had no clue what was happening. Was she bringing him to someone who spoke the same language as him perhaps? Why did she keep motioning at his tent? He regretted even showing her it, but he had thought the gesture would get his point across. He was very wrong.
He at least understood what she was getting at this time, pointing to herself and repeating a word. That must be her name, Tanishe. He followed suit and pointed to himself after she had gestured his way.
“Saro.” He said, giving her a small smile despite his confusion. She seemed nice enough, but it did not look like either of them were going to be able to communicate well without words. He wondered if she often met people from other lands, surely not or she might have been a little better at the gestures and perhaps would even know a few words of another language.
He shrugged and followed her anyways, curious to see where she was leading him and what she planned on doing once they got where ever it was that they were going.
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When she nodded he thought perhaps she had understood what he meant with his gestures, but then she just motioned him to follow her further, and he realized that she still did not understand what he was asking of her. He sincerely hoped that some where in the area there was someone who spoked a shared language with him, or it was going to be very difficult to get anything done. The worst part was, he still had no idea what she thought they were doing. She kept pointing to a large tent, and he couldn’t figure out what she thought was going on.
She shook her head at his gesture to sleep and put a hand on his arm, the look of confusion was clear on his face. She was saying he could not set his tent up near them? It seemed that he was wasting his time here with her, neither of them having any idea what the other was saying or doing, and he wasn’t even going to be able to set up his camp near them. He would have to try to get out of this and see if he could find someone who would be a little more accommodating, even better if it was someone who spoke a language he knew at least some of.
She patted him and tugged on his sleeve, then motioned again that he could not camp near them, but still wanted him to follow her. At this point he truly had no clue what was happening. Was she bringing him to someone who spoke the same language as him perhaps? Why did she keep motioning at his tent? He regretted even showing her it, but he had thought the gesture would get his point across. He was very wrong.
He at least understood what she was getting at this time, pointing to herself and repeating a word. That must be her name, Tanishe. He followed suit and pointed to himself after she had gestured his way.
“Saro.” He said, giving her a small smile despite his confusion. She seemed nice enough, but it did not look like either of them were going to be able to communicate well without words. He wondered if she often met people from other lands, surely not or she might have been a little better at the gestures and perhaps would even know a few words of another language.
He shrugged and followed her anyways, curious to see where she was leading him and what she planned on doing once they got where ever it was that they were going.
When she nodded he thought perhaps she had understood what he meant with his gestures, but then she just motioned him to follow her further, and he realized that she still did not understand what he was asking of her. He sincerely hoped that some where in the area there was someone who spoked a shared language with him, or it was going to be very difficult to get anything done. The worst part was, he still had no idea what she thought they were doing. She kept pointing to a large tent, and he couldn’t figure out what she thought was going on.
She shook her head at his gesture to sleep and put a hand on his arm, the look of confusion was clear on his face. She was saying he could not set his tent up near them? It seemed that he was wasting his time here with her, neither of them having any idea what the other was saying or doing, and he wasn’t even going to be able to set up his camp near them. He would have to try to get out of this and see if he could find someone who would be a little more accommodating, even better if it was someone who spoke a language he knew at least some of.
She patted him and tugged on his sleeve, then motioned again that he could not camp near them, but still wanted him to follow her. At this point he truly had no clue what was happening. Was she bringing him to someone who spoke the same language as him perhaps? Why did she keep motioning at his tent? He regretted even showing her it, but he had thought the gesture would get his point across. He was very wrong.
He at least understood what she was getting at this time, pointing to herself and repeating a word. That must be her name, Tanishe. He followed suit and pointed to himself after she had gestured his way.
“Saro.” He said, giving her a small smile despite his confusion. She seemed nice enough, but it did not look like either of them were going to be able to communicate well without words. He wondered if she often met people from other lands, surely not or she might have been a little better at the gestures and perhaps would even know a few words of another language.
He shrugged and followed her anyways, curious to see where she was leading him and what she planned on doing once they got where ever it was that they were going.
“Saro,” she nodded at it. That was an interesting name. Just to make sure, though, since they were confusing everything, she pointed to herself again. “Tanishe,” and then at him. “Saro.” Perfect. She was positive that this was a naming thing and it was nice to finally know something for sure.
They were not very far away from the tent. Because it was daylight, and because there were so many people around, she did not think it improper in the least to be leading him here. Of course she would not have the tent flaps closed. She wasn’t that foolish. This trade would all be done in view of everyone.
They passed several of her tribe who side eyed Saro in outright confusion and suspicion. Who was he? Why was he in their midst? What was he doing with their Leiren? Tanishe smiled at them all as they walked. They offered her a smile in return but didn’t smile much at Saro. Except the children following their mothers. They were intensely interested in this outsider. The children left their mothers to bounce and dance around Saro, pulling at his clothes, laughing and jumping to try to catch hold of his hair. Their little fingers grabbed at his arms, interested in the difference in skin color. For most of them, this was the first person like him they’d ever seen. Tanishe also harbored a secret desire to feel his hair but she wouldn’t ever dare.
She laughed and shooed the children. They backed off a little but mostly stayed within view until their mothers physically dragged them away. Tanishe smiled at Saro and gave him a shrug. Children. What can you do?
They were at the tent now and Tanishe affixed the flaps so that it was wide open. She pointed to the ground right outside the tent and said in a sweet, but firm voice, “Stay.” Then she went in and over to the bags that their belongings were in, trying to decide what she was willing to part with. Coming back with an armload of things, she knelt down on the floor of the tent, spreading out a Kaftan, colorful beaded necklaces, some bangles, and a knife. Obviously she wasn’t going to part with the plants she had. They were too valuable.
Smiling up at Saro, she indicated her things and then pointed to his tent. “Trade?” Again she gestured to the things before her, all of them settled between her and Saro. Then she pointed to his tent and repeated the word trade.
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This character is currently a work in progress.
Check out their information page here.
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“Saro,” she nodded at it. That was an interesting name. Just to make sure, though, since they were confusing everything, she pointed to herself again. “Tanishe,” and then at him. “Saro.” Perfect. She was positive that this was a naming thing and it was nice to finally know something for sure.
They were not very far away from the tent. Because it was daylight, and because there were so many people around, she did not think it improper in the least to be leading him here. Of course she would not have the tent flaps closed. She wasn’t that foolish. This trade would all be done in view of everyone.
They passed several of her tribe who side eyed Saro in outright confusion and suspicion. Who was he? Why was he in their midst? What was he doing with their Leiren? Tanishe smiled at them all as they walked. They offered her a smile in return but didn’t smile much at Saro. Except the children following their mothers. They were intensely interested in this outsider. The children left their mothers to bounce and dance around Saro, pulling at his clothes, laughing and jumping to try to catch hold of his hair. Their little fingers grabbed at his arms, interested in the difference in skin color. For most of them, this was the first person like him they’d ever seen. Tanishe also harbored a secret desire to feel his hair but she wouldn’t ever dare.
She laughed and shooed the children. They backed off a little but mostly stayed within view until their mothers physically dragged them away. Tanishe smiled at Saro and gave him a shrug. Children. What can you do?
They were at the tent now and Tanishe affixed the flaps so that it was wide open. She pointed to the ground right outside the tent and said in a sweet, but firm voice, “Stay.” Then she went in and over to the bags that their belongings were in, trying to decide what she was willing to part with. Coming back with an armload of things, she knelt down on the floor of the tent, spreading out a Kaftan, colorful beaded necklaces, some bangles, and a knife. Obviously she wasn’t going to part with the plants she had. They were too valuable.
Smiling up at Saro, she indicated her things and then pointed to his tent. “Trade?” Again she gestured to the things before her, all of them settled between her and Saro. Then she pointed to his tent and repeated the word trade.
“Saro,” she nodded at it. That was an interesting name. Just to make sure, though, since they were confusing everything, she pointed to herself again. “Tanishe,” and then at him. “Saro.” Perfect. She was positive that this was a naming thing and it was nice to finally know something for sure.
They were not very far away from the tent. Because it was daylight, and because there were so many people around, she did not think it improper in the least to be leading him here. Of course she would not have the tent flaps closed. She wasn’t that foolish. This trade would all be done in view of everyone.
They passed several of her tribe who side eyed Saro in outright confusion and suspicion. Who was he? Why was he in their midst? What was he doing with their Leiren? Tanishe smiled at them all as they walked. They offered her a smile in return but didn’t smile much at Saro. Except the children following their mothers. They were intensely interested in this outsider. The children left their mothers to bounce and dance around Saro, pulling at his clothes, laughing and jumping to try to catch hold of his hair. Their little fingers grabbed at his arms, interested in the difference in skin color. For most of them, this was the first person like him they’d ever seen. Tanishe also harbored a secret desire to feel his hair but she wouldn’t ever dare.
She laughed and shooed the children. They backed off a little but mostly stayed within view until their mothers physically dragged them away. Tanishe smiled at Saro and gave him a shrug. Children. What can you do?
They were at the tent now and Tanishe affixed the flaps so that it was wide open. She pointed to the ground right outside the tent and said in a sweet, but firm voice, “Stay.” Then she went in and over to the bags that their belongings were in, trying to decide what she was willing to part with. Coming back with an armload of things, she knelt down on the floor of the tent, spreading out a Kaftan, colorful beaded necklaces, some bangles, and a knife. Obviously she wasn’t going to part with the plants she had. They were too valuable.
Smiling up at Saro, she indicated her things and then pointed to his tent. “Trade?” Again she gestured to the things before her, all of them settled between her and Saro. Then she pointed to his tent and repeated the word trade.