Xenofos — Hungry Guardswoman
????, Darkness Season, Season/Movement Week
Darkness Season/Movement Week/Clay Day/Late afternoon. [[[s02:session-21|Session 21]]]
Clayday has been kind of quiet day in the camp. Necessary chores have been done but no major undertakings have been started.
Xenofos sits outside the yurt, trying to tune his cithara. He has managed to break a string.
Berra has slept in, but now she scrunches her way out of the yurt onto a fresh but thin layer of snow. It is the frozen ground, not the white surface, that makes the sound under her hobnailed boots. “I’m starving,” she announces.
“I suppose there are leftovers from yesterday’s feast. Though less than might be expected…” He rises from the low stool.
“I didn’t eat. Anything’s good. And urg. Tired. On my feet.” She stretches, twisting like she is showing off in the gymnasium, but with enough armour in the way that it is clearly not the case.
He stowes his ill-lucked instrument away. “I suppose khan would feel obliged to see the guard who made feast safe will not waste away of hunger. It would look bad.”
“Oh, yeah. There was a feast?” Apparently nobody mentioned that part.
“In the khan’s yurt. It was not just kumiss served though it featured heavily.”
“Walk me there? It might be a bit strange to have me just turn up and eat.” Berra shrugs. “Unless it would be stranger to have you there too.”
“This has been pretty weird day. But what I saw people have been visiting him during the afternoon.”
“Oh. That’s why Yelm is over there.” Berra nods. “I missed training, then. Two days. But one of them was spent as a guard so that’s fine.” She lets Xenofos lead the way.
Scholar strides with long steps but adjusts his speed to Berra’s so she does not need to run.
Berra walks fast, as always, but on the way asks straight out, “Did Varanis hit you by accident? One of the boys told me she hit you in sparring.”
“She scored a hit in sparring, yes.” He shrugs. “Those happen.”
“Yeah. They said there was lots of blood and you were dead. I said I’d probably have heard already.” Berra manages to pull ahead a little, nimbly avoiding something complicated under the snow by accelerating and leaping it. “How are you? Do you have any cithara strings?” She hops a few steps, on landing.
“Blood? There was not even any cut. I did go down pretty spectacularly though. I tried to dodge the blow and was way late and way out of balance when it landed.”
“Lots of blood. And the wailing of women. But you seem pretty alive to me. Heart still beating?” Berra grins at him, walking backwards, half jogging.
“I don’t think I have yet met Humakt for the final time.” He smiles wryly.
“There is not much I can say to that which does not worry people, so I’ll shut up.” Berra does just that, walking in silence after announcing she will.
Then, a moment later, she looks regretful, but holds to saying nothing.
“It is not a bad day to be alive. And getting hit on sparring did not really make it worse.”
He looks at the sky.
Berra nods, wide-eyed, quickly. “Mmhm.”1 X fumbles insight but passes truth Is Berra is trying to get attention, perhaps… perhaps out of a wish to have him look at her more? Talk to her? Jealousy is impossible, and yet she has chosen him to look at like that.
“I don’t think Varanis meant any harm. She was quite worried she might have hurt me. and that pommel strike was brutally effective. A move of yours?”
He seems bit more talkative than normal.
“Um?” Berra shrugs. “I was being quiet. But I don’t know. I’ve forgotten what to say when I go into a chief’s yurt, too.”
He stops and takes a long look at her. “Is something ailing you?”
“Yeah. I’m really hungry.” She is bouncing on the spot now.
“Greetings o Khan, may I introduce to you one who was guarding the camp, while others had feast” Xenofos calls out as he enters the grand yurt
” She is starving after her diligent service, but I said to her khan of Straw weavers would not let that happen.”
Berra stumbles out her own greeting in Praxian, but manages a thanks for the hospitality in trade talk, clearly enough.
Khan looks like he has been suffering from the hangover and curing it with the principle of likes cure like. It takes him a moment to answer. “No, he would not let such thing happen. Have kumiss. Roast to our guests.”
Berra, tiny in a room of warriors and well fed men and women, wrings her hands together behind her back and manages to stay still for the length of that entire conversation. Then, she settles to food