"Getting Acquainted"

Log Date:
	1/28, 2/7/99

Log Cast:
	Kiera, Faanshi, Ulima (NPC), Jihaad

Log Intro:
	The judgement of Khalid Atar has been rendered.
	Hashim, Warlord of Clan Sarazen, has broken the sacred surahs of
the Amir-al. For his crimes, the Warlord is to undergo the Jhor at sunrise
ritual suicide to send his soul to be judged by Ashur Masad and Ushas,
the Holy Father and Holy Mother of Khalid Atar.
	Faanshi has been accepted into Clan Khalida as the servant of
Kiera, the Favored of the Khalid... and her heart-mother, the wise-woman
Ulima, has also been taken into the Clan. But Ulima has been instructed to
keep Faanshi's rogue magic under control, and both of them have been told
bluntly that should they ever be discovered to act like candala, their
God-King will put them to death.
	Dire though this pronouncement is, it is not enough to lessen the
awe and wonder that Faanshi has felt upon beholding her God-King for the
first time in her life. Finding him both beautiful and terrible, the girl
willingly accepts the deliverance the Khalid has granted her, considering
herself the most fortunate of shudra... and finally realizing that, indeed,
the Amir-al is _real_, in a way that his raising of the smoking mountain had
failed to accomplish for her.
	When the next morning dawns, the shudra and her old guardian
breathe prayers of thanks to Ushas with the daunting stench of Hashim's
burning body to underscore the impact of their suddenly changed station.
Ulima takes pity upon the girl and keeps her far away from the place where
the Warlord is burned, knowing in her heart that Faanshi's uncontrolled 
magic would not withstand the man's dying pain. But once the Jhor has been
completed, Ulima wastes no time in commencing the carrying out of the orders
of the Amir-al -- that Faanshi should wear the colors of Clan Khalida, and
that she should serve her new mistress, Kiera.
	The only problem is determining what kind of service the winged
girl requires...

----------
Morning, and Kiera was gone. Nowhere, could Faanshi find her, even if she 
  bothered to look. But about mid-morning, closer to noon, a large hawk winged 
  its way into the encampment, past alert but untroubled guards, and landed 
  atop the Khalid-Atar's tent. There it sat for some time then, as if 
  considering, it dropped off again, circled and flew into the tent proper. 
  Not too long later, Kiera, dressed in the same outfit she has always been 
  seen in, plus boots, pads out. Dried blood is in the creases of her fingers, 
  under her nails, and stains her left cheek. Kiera herself seems unhurt, if 
  annoyed at the cold, and she heads for the tent that Faanshi would have been 
  directed to, had she asked... It's a tarp, pulled very near a roaring fire, 
  under which Kiera and resting Agni-Haidar often loiter.

As for Faanshi... well, the shudra girl is there, under the tarp, where she 
  has hauled armfuls of precious fuel for the fire to keep it going, for she 
  has not known when her new imphada would return. Shaken of appearance is 
  Faanshi, and she has been all morning, ever since Ulima woke her for the 
  dawn prayers to Ushas... and even if her heart-mother had not, the stench of 
  the fire set for the burning of Warlord Hashim would have woken her anyway. 
  Some of that stench still hangs about the camp, though by the middle of the 
  morning, winds have mostly cleared the air. Now, Faanshi and Ulima both are 
  just under the tarp, hands and eyes occupied with the task of adjusting the 
  fit of the new clothing in the colors of Khalida Clan that they have managed 
  to acquire for the girl. Faanshi stands shivering under Ulima's critical 
  eye... and at Kiera's swooping in, she can be seen to start, distractedly.

Kiera actually walks, within the confines of the camp. If she were to fly, 
  with her wingspan, she'd hurt herself and a lot of inanimate objects. But 
  Kiera is quick to note the changes in Faanshi, and Kiera sees now in the 
  light, the 'heart-mother' Ulima. Silent by nature, she just nods, before she 
  stops at the periphery of the fire, eying it warily. Breezes shift, such 
  that the smoke coils away from those under the tarp, without actually 
  pulling too much heat away. "Faanshi. I see you have decided to come into 
  the Clan? I am glad of this. And what else happened last night?"

Still clad in white robes is Ulima, but in deference to the Clan which has 
  accepted her and her charge, she now wears a blue sari over the top of her 
  robes. The old woman raises her wrinkled visage to the approaching figure of 
  Kiera, and she smiles serenely, murmuring, "Imphada, our greetings. Faanshi, 
  stand still, child, so that I may finish this stitch."

And Faanshi, in the midst of Ulima's cuttings and stitchings at the choli 
  she's wearing -- an interesting proposition given that the old priestess is 
  doing this while she's also still wearing a sari -- turns as best she can to 
  Kiera. She is veiled, but rather more lightly than Kiera had last seen her, 
  enough that the enormous smile that blossoms out across her face can be 
  glimpsed behind translucent blue. Her eyes are entirely unshielded, and full 
  of a tangle of emotions as she dips her head deferentially by way of 
  greeting... and avoiding the kneeling that she recalls the imphada does not 
  like. "Yes, imphada," she answers softly, but swiftly. "The Amir-al allowed 
  us to come to Khalida..." She pauses, though, unsure how much else Kiera 
  might have missed.

On the perimeter of the camp moves a towering black clad Agni-Haidar on 
  patrol. His movements are sure with purpose behind each stride. About his 
  legs whirlwinds of snow dance, stirred up by his steps and the frigid wind.

"I saw up until when the Khalid asked you to approach him. After that... I do 
  not know. I think I saw, this morning, the warlord die." Hawk's memories are 
  sketchy at best. Usually, in fact, they are not shared with this form. Kiera 
  flicks her gaze around, recognizes the tall form of Jihaad, and tracks him 
  for a moment, before she looks back at Faanshi and Ulima. "You are happy?" 
  Both of you?

Faanshi can be seen to look uneasy; her only response to the Warlord's death, 
  even now that it is several hours past, is a blanching of her golden skin. 
  Ulima murmurs, "May Ushas have mercy upon him," as she knots the seam she 
  has finished, and then she nods firmly at her work, arranging Faanshi's sari 
  more propelry over the back of her choli now.

And Faanshi, rather vividly transformed now that she is wearing the bright 
  hues of Khalida rather than the drab garb she had worn before, manages a 
  firmer expression. Her unease passes, and she says without hesitation, "I 
  _am_ happy... and Imphada Kiera, I wanted to say..." She takes a step 
  forward, blinking over her shoulder to make sure that she won't disrupt the 
  old priestess at her stitcheries, before she continues, "I owe you so 
  much...! And I wanted to ask -- the Amir-al..." She pauses, her voice 
  changing as she utters the title, speaking of awe and wonder. "... did not 
  say -- how do you wish me to serve you?"

The winged halfbreed considers this, cocking her head somewhat at an angle and 
  remaining silent for a few moments, oblivious if this causes any discomfort. 
  "When we are back at Atesh-Gah, on days that I cannot catch my food, then I 
  would ask that you fetch something for me, out of the caves." 'Caves' is 
  KieraSpeak for the buildings. It's made of stone, and she cannot see the 
  sky, so... "And I will teach you to tan the hides of the rabbits and 
  squirrels I catch. And sort feathers, for those that can be sold. But..." 
  She falls silent again. "I do not know of more. If you see me doing 
  something that is too much unlike the Varati, you should tell me, for I 
  still learn, and I do not wish to anger the Khalid-Atar." much. "Is this 
  alright?"

Finishing his patrol, the massive Agni-Haidar strides into the camp. He nods 
  to his brethren as he passes them. He moves the warmth of a fire. Finding 
  one, he holds his hand over the flames and rubs them vigorously

If Faanshi is bothered, she certainly gives no sign of it; indeed, the maiden 
  gazes down at the shorter halfbreed with all appearances of hanging on her 
  every word. A bit of consternation crosses her brow, though, at the thought 
  of _her_ teaching Kiera something, and green eyes flash their gaze back to 
  Ulima once more. "Ulima is _my_ teacher," she begins hesitantly.

Ulima looks up, black eyes brightening, and considering the winged figure 
  before her. "I shall be honored to instruct you as is needed, Imphada 
  Kiera," she says, her voice reedy and thin, but steady. As another of the 
  Agni-Haidar draws near to the fire, the priestess appends, "Faanshi, my 
  child, do not neglect the fire."

The shudra girl quickly bobs her head, stepping to the pile of gathered fuel, 
  more grases and peat than wood, for true wood has become scarce with the 
  passing of the great army across the plains. "Please excuse me, imphadi," 
  she says shyly to Jihaad, as she adds some of the grasses to the crackling 
  flame.

Jihaad nods his cowl shrouded head to the shudra girl as she feeds the fire. 
  His hard green eyes which are concealed focus on the fire intenty.

Kiera inclines her head to Ulima, hooding her gaze somewhat and responding, 
  "Thank you. You are the 'heart-mother' of Faanshi? Ulima? I am Kiera." There 
  wasn't exaclty the time last night, to make the necessary introductions. "I 
  sleep at night, so I was unable to see you after the Khalid spoke with us. 
  How is it that Faanshi was healed?" Wings shift, and Kiera does step back as 
  the fire crackles. Again, the breeze deflects smoke away from Kiera, and now 
  away from the Agni-Haidar who once offered her kaffe. Kiera's regard is 
  unblinking and steady on Ulima, though.

"I am Ulima, Ulima Jaroun... Khalida." Perhaps the old priestess has just 
  caught herself before saying 'Sarazen'? Her black eyes twinkle briefly. As 
  Faanshi glances up unsurely from where she tends the fire, Ulima goes on 
  complacently, "There was a Nabi, imphada, summoned by the Khalid, who 
  attended to the healing of the daughter of my heart." She concludes by 
  bobbing her covered head to the warrior who has drawn near to the fire.

Faanshi can't quite help but blink in startlement at the sheer _size_ of the 
  warrior, even as she proffers, "I think... the Nabi's name was... Jhonan?"

Kiera doesn't quite glance over to Faanshi, since she's speaking to Ulima, but 
  a few of the lines that draw her shoulders tight, routinely, relax somewhat. 
  Maybe it was Ulima's expression. Maybe Faanshi's unasked-for comment, but 
  whatever, the flavor of having an unguarded conversation, private despite of 
  the uninterested gaze of the Agni-Haider, that seems to draw Kiera back to 
  another time, another place. Another culture. "I do not know any of the Nabi 
  here, Faanshi. I know of few of the others, except for Teacher - Aurora. The 
  other wind-mage." Though, that said, Kiera does glance at Jihaad again for a 
  moment. "And the Khalid-Atar, but he is busy, often."

"Yes," says Ulima in satisfaction as Faanshi identifies the healer, "and when 
  we locate him, child, you shall make unto him an offering of gratitude, for 
  he contributed to our salvation." To Kiera, she appends sagely, "Such does 
  not surprise, Imphada Kiera."

Faanshi's eyes go wide over her veil, undisguised awe still lingering in their 
  green depths at Kiera's last few words. In a small shy voice, she murmurs, 
  "I... remember an Aurora in the tent. She calls the winds, too...?"

So now Kiera turns her gaze full on Faanshi, just as she has those other few 
  times she's spoken with her fellow halfbreed, "Yes. Aurora is my teacher, 
  and much more powrful than I. They... The Empyreans... Took her wings. You 
  are a healer with much power, they have said. Someday, if you are powerful 
  enough... Maybe you could heal her wings back." Kiera's mind sometimes 
  suprises those who consider her dull, or purely animalistic. Of course there 
  must be a reason that Khalid favors Kiera, and it's probably not for her 
  bizzare looks. "Did the Khalid-Atar say that there would be a teacher for 
  you, Faanshi?"

Ulima, at Kiera's next words, looks entirely unsurprised; Faanshi, on the 
  other hand, noticeably flushes despite the fact that the lower half of her 
  face is veiled in blue. Her hands involuntarily close into slender fists, 
  pressing to her breast, and she says humbly, "The Most High..." Again, that 
  flare of shyness and wonder across her eyes; it's obvious that the Khalid 
  has powerfully affected this girl. "... ordered that Ulima is to keep my... 
  magic from going awry... and perhaps... if I am deserving, I could be could 
  be Atarvani... or Ushashti...!" Her gaze flashes back to Ulima, who reaches 
  nimbly round into a basket beside her and comes up with a black tunic, which 
  she promptly begins to mend. And Faanshi finishes softly, "I am to serve you 
  for now, imphada."

Alright. Then Kiera switches back to Ulima, still herself not having blinked, 
  once. "You are healer? Can teach her to use her magic? Or... " The mind 
  spins. If this is true, why haven't you done it yet, Ulima, when the girl 
  was beaten every time she inadvertantly harmed her master. To Faanshi, 
  quickly, Kiera glances and half-smiles, a brief gesture which includes a 
  shoulder, "I do not have many needs, Faanshi, and I can do them all myself. 
  I only wanted a companion."

"I do not heal, imphada," says Ulima soberly, "else I should have taught 
  Faanshi long ago. We shall discuss how to help her best, until such time as 
  the Amir-al deems her worthy of a teacher. Until then, Faanshi, my child, 
  assist me with the sewing."

Faanshi quickly reaches into the basket, even as she shoots Kiera another 
  vivid look which her veil cannot entirely disguise. "I have never had a 
  companion before," she offers earnestly, a bit of a twinkle of her own 
  coming into her gaze.

Still standing, and standing still, Kiera does not offer to sew. Instead, to 
  keep her fingers busy, she pulls a wing around, to begin to carefully pluck 
  at her feathers, with taloned fingers. "I was raised Sylvan," Kiera 
  volunteers, "And I was ... Considered very different, not just 
  half-different, from them. My mother was scorned upon my birth, and it 
  eventually robbed her of her sanity. She was a werehawk, like I am, but she 
  went mad and turned into a beast that was both hawk and Sylvan." Kiera's 
  expression is mute, her voice light as if she recites a lesson learned. "She 
  lived like this for several winters, until she was killed by a griffon, and 
  eaten. I returned to my mother's clan, after that, bringing what I could 
  find that remained of her, for a ceremony. My mother's mother told me to go 
  to Haven, to find others of my kind. Instead, the Khalid-Atar found me - do 
  not /ever/ call him anything other than Varati." Kiera's gaze is sharp, 
  then, and direcltlyy on Faanshi. "Or a god or king." Advice, from someone 
  who has Been There, Done That. "And he took me in, after he understood that 
  I had not meant to insult him. I swore myself to him, and to the Varati, and 
  lately he has made me part of his Clan, and honored me."

Neither Faanshi nor Ulima seem to expect Kiera to sew; indeed, the priestess 
  contentedly settles herself in with redoing the seam along the black tunic, 
  and Faanshi tentatively begins work on a rent in the blue garment she has 
  taken into her own hands. But most of her attention is obviously solidly 
  fastened upon the winged figure standing before her. The shudra keeps her 
  silence as long as Kiera speaks, listening intently, and emphatically 
  nodding at the advice as to how to address the Khalid. Only when she has 
  finished does Faanshi murmur anxiously, "Could... I ask your advice... about 
  the Khalid...?"

"Yes." Kiera answers, though she then points out, "But I am not Varati, and I 
  do not know very well the traditions that are supposed to be used. He 
  tolerates me, because he knows I learn, yet." That is, her mistakes. Her 
  many mistakes. And her outright refusal to wear a veil.

Faanshi seems to consider this, quite seriously, and then she glances at Ulima 
  before continuing, "Ulima and I have discussed it, but I thought... 
  perhaps... since you are his Favored one... you would know if there would be 
  a proper homage -- a gift -- something to give thanks for what he has done 
  for us?" As she speaks, Faanshi's soft voice takes on a note of fervor and 
  hope, gaining a surety it doesn't seem to normally have, or at least has not 
  so far.

Uh.... No clue. Kiera's eyes seem to widen even more, which is remarkable, 
  considering their already birdlike appearance. "I do not know that. But I 
  will ask him, if you wish. I have never done such a thing. I still wish to 
  ask the Khalid-Atar if he hears, when people pray, though they are far away 
  from him." Kiera's mind isn't so childlike as it is completely pragmantic. 
  She falls silent again, glances to Ulima and then furrows her brow. "Among 
  the Sylvan, it is looked well upon, to give loved ones tokens."

Ulima smiles, listening to all of this, the nests of wrinkles at the corners 
  of her bright black eyes crinkling amiably. As her needle flashes in and out 
  of black cloth, Faanshi blurts out, "Oh, but how could he not? I prayed each 
  night that he would deliver--" She cuts off, blushing again so vividly that 
  color creeps up into the golden skin around her eyes and nose.

"Because," Kiera points out carefully, "His ears were not where your voice 
  was." Social mores seem lost on Kiera, as well as the dubious wisdom of 
  questioning a god's omnipotience. Then again, that's not what Kiera thinks 
  she's doing.

Faanshi blinks at this, several times, willing enough to accept this new 
  information from her imphada, who after all has been in the presence of the 
  Amir-al far more often than she. Ulima, in the meantime, puts in placidly, 
  "Well, whether or not he heard your prayers, my child, deliver us he has." 
  The priestess's gaze returns to Kiera, and she confides in tones of maternal 
  pride, "Faanshi knows the chodana, imphada, and the surahs of Duty and 
  Devotion have prompted her question, you see."

Kiera looks blank, as if she is privately wondering, behind that impassive 
  mask that is her face, if she is 1) supposed to know what this is or 2) be 
  impressed by it. "She knows what?" Better ask, rather than risk looking the 
  fool for assuming anything.

Faanshi's green eyes go wide. So do Ulima's black ones, for that matter. The 
  shudra's gaze immediately flashes back to the priestess, and Ulima pauses in 
  her sewing to sit forward, peering searchingly up at the winged Favored of 
  the Amir-al. She pauses, considering her words, before she finally inquires, 
  "You are Favored, imphada, yet the Khalid has not spoken to you of his 
  sacred surahs?"

Now there's a touch of humour darkening Kiera's eyes as she looks at the two 
  of you. "The Khalid-Atar had me taught by a few Atarvani, but I understood 
  little of what they said, because I knew little of the Varati, then. Now, I 
  might learn more, but then... They wasted their time, trying to have me 
  learn to recite words I did not underdstand, with meanings that were 
  unnatural to me. Now I have watched the Varati for two years, and I see more 
  of the traditions, the reasons, and that which I did not see, only meeting 
  them. I speak with the Khalid-Atar, and I ask him, or I watch those in 
  Atesh-Gah. But his sacred Surahs... I do not know them exactly. No." Kiera 
  then looks at Faanshi alone, and she speaks again, "When I asked the 
  Khalid-Atar to see about Faanshi, I spoke also that she might teach me 
  better of the Varati ways."

This, clearly, startles the shudra girl. "I, teach?" she blurts.

Ulima gives forth a small throaty chuckle. "You _do_ know the chodana, my 
  child, and you would serve your imphada by teaching it to her."

Faanshi swallows behind her veil, but raises her gaze back to Kiera. "I would 
  gladly try," she ventures.

Kiera nods. "Good. That would please the Khalid-Atar. And Rabi - you will meet 
  her when we return - she teaches me to read. I am to learn to read and 
  write, so I can set to parchment, the tale of Lyceanae." Given that Kiera 
  was the only other one there. She falls quiet, then, and draws in a deep 
  breath, releasing it while she glances in that direction, to look at the new 
  mountain.

Visibly brightening, Faanshi nods her head... and she brightens even more at 
  the mention of reading. But as Kiera's attention distracts, both Faanshi's 
  and Ulima's gazes follow hers to the newly made mountain peak. The priestess 
  sketches the sigil of the dawn across her brow, and Faanshi stares long at 
  the mountain before murmuring to Kiera, "We felt the shaking of the 
  ground..."

The winged 'breed has nothing to add to that. Nothing. At length, she looks 
  back ato Ulima and asks, "You are a wise woman? I had not heard of that 
  before. What is it that you do, Ulima?"

Accepting the change in subject with unruffled calm, Ulima gently remonstrates 
  Faanshi, "Your seam, my child." And as Faanshi bends back to the sewing, the 
  priestess goes on, "I am Ushashti, Imphada. Although we all pay due honor 
  and devotion to the Khalid, I am also a priestess of his holy Mother. It is 
  my duty to teach the young women of my Clan what all young women should 
  know."

"Ulima sees things," puts in Faanshi, returning to her confiding tone, and 
  it's now her turn to express a bit of quiet pride.

"What--?" Kiera is about to ask, then she is interrupted, wants to add a 
  second question, "What is it that all young women should know, Imphada? And 
  what do you see? Other than the visions about Faanshi and her mother?" Kiera 
  was awake for that part. And she'd love to know what Varati women are 
  supposed to know.

Ulima gives another low, reedy chuckle, as she studies Kiera with those alert 
  dark eyes of hers. "So many questions! You are not unlike this one." And she 
  inclines her aged head towards the girl sitting nearby. "One at a time, 
  then, Favored one. The knowledge of women encompasses the coming of first 
  flows, the pleasing of one's husband, the bearing of children... and what 
  happens to a woman when she grows as aged as I. It encompasses the ways of 
  healing without magic, by herb and by good common sense." She stops there, 
  though a slight secretive look about her wrinkled visage suggests she knows 
  more than she is telling -- perhaps because of the Agni-Haidar, Atarvani, 
  and other men who seem constantly in motion throughout this stretch of the 
  camp of Clan Khalida. "As to what I see, one might argue that perhaps I have 
  a larger share of common sense than many."

Faanshi puts in firmly, "She saw that coming to the army would mean the death 
  of Hashim...!" And as she utters this, Ulima's feathery gray brows go up, 
  though again, she seems to know more than she puts into words.

Alright. Then Kiera switches back to Ulima, still herself not having blinked, 
  once. "You are healer? Can teach her to use her magic? Or... " The mind 
  spins. If this is true, why haven't you done it yet, Ulima, when the girl 
  was beaten every time she inadvertantly harmed her master. To Faanshi, 
  quickly, Kiera glances and half-smiles, a brief gesture which includes a 
  shoulder, "I do not have many needs, Faanshi, and I can do them all myself. 
  I only wanted a companion."

"I do not heal, imphada," says Ulima soberly, "else I should have taught 
  Faanshi long ago. We shall discuss how to help her best, until such time as 
  the Amir-al deems her worthy of a teacher. Until then, Faanshi, my child, 
  assist me with the sewing."

Faanshi quickly reaches into the basket, even as she shoots Kiera another 
  vivid look which her veil cannot entirely disguise. "I have never had a 
  companion before," she offers earnestly, a bit of a twinkle of her own 
  coming into her gaze.

Still standing, and standing still, Kiera does not offer to sew. Instead, to 
  keep her fingers busy, she pulls a wing around, to begin to carefully pluck 
  at her feathers, with taloned fingers. "I was raised Sylvan," Kiera 
  volunteers, "And I was ... Considered very different, not just 
  half-different, from them. My mother was scorned upon my birth, and it 
  eventually robbed her of her sanity. She was a werehawk, like I am, but she 
  went mad and turned into a beast that was both hawk and Sylvan." Kiera's 
  expression is mute, her voice light as if she recites a lesson learned. "She 
  lived like this for several winters, until she was killed by a griffon, and 
  eaten. I returned to my mother's clan, after that, bringing what I could 
  find that remained of her, for a ceremony. My mother's mother told me to go 
  to Haven, to find others of my kind. Instead, the Khalid-Atar found me - do 
  not /ever/ call him anything other than Varati." Kiera's gaze is sharp, 
  then, and direcltlyy on Faanshi. "Or a god or king." Advice, from someone 
  who has Been There, Done That. "And he took me in, after he understood that 
  I had not meant to insult him. I swore myself to him, and to the Varati, and 
  lately he has made me part of his Clan, and honored me."

Neither Faanshi nor Ulima seem to expect Kiera to sew; indeed, the priestess 
  contentedly settles herself in with redoing the seam along the black tunic, 
  and Faanshi tentatively begins work on a rent in the blue garment she has 
  taken into her own hands. But most of her attention is obviously solidly 
  fastened upon the winged figure standing before her. The shudra keeps her 
  silence as long as Kiera speaks, listening intently, and emphatically 
  nodding at the advice as to how to address the Khalid. Only when she has 
  finished does Faanshi murmur anxiously, "Could... I ask your advice... about 
  the Khalid...?"

"Yes." Kiera answers, though she then points out, "But I am not Varati, and I 
  do not know very well the traditions that are supposed to be used. He 
  tolerates me, because he knows I learn, yet." That is, her mistakes. Her 
  many mistakes. And her outright refusal to wear a veil.

Faanshi seems to consider this, quite seriously, and then she glances at Ulima 
  before continuing, "Ulima and I have discussed it, but I thought... 
  perhaps... since you are his Favored one... you would know if there would be 
  a proper homage -- a gift -- something to give thanks for what he has done 
  for us?" As she speaks, Faanshi's soft voice takes on a note of fervor and 
  hope, gaining a surety it doesn't seem to normally have, or at least has not 
  so far.

Uh.... No clue. Kiera's eyes seem to widen even more, which is remarkable, 
  considering their already birdlike appearance. "I do not know that. But I 
  will ask him, if you wish. I have never done such a thing. I still wish to 
  ask the Khalid-Atar if he hears, when people pray, though they are far away 
  from him." Kiera's mind isn't so childlike as it is completely pragmantic. 
  She falls silent again, glances to Ulima and then furrows her brow. "Among 
  the Sylvan, it is looked well upon, to give loved ones tokens."

Ulima smiles, listening to all of this, the nests of wrinkles at the corners 
  of her bright black eyes crinkling amiably. As her needle flashes in and out 
  of black cloth, Faanshi blurts out, "Oh, but how could he not? I prayed each 
  night that he would deliver--" She cuts off, blushing again so vividly that 
  color creeps up into the golden skin around her eyes and nose.

"Because," Kiera points out carefully, "His ears were not where your voice 
  was." Social mores seem lost on Kiera, as well as the dubious wisdom of 
  questioning a god's onmipotience. Then again, that's not what Kiera thinks 
  she's doing.

Faanshi blinks at this, several times, willing enough to accept this new 
  information from her imphada, who after all has been in the presence of the 
  Amir-al far more often than she. Ulima, in the meantime, puts in placidly, 
  "Well, whether or not he heard your prayers, my child, deliver us he has." 
  The priestess's gaze returns to Kiera, and she confides in tones of maternal 
  pride, "Faanshi knows the chodana, imphada, and the surahs of Duty and 
  Devotion have prompted her question, you see."

Kiera looks blank, as if she is privately wondering, behind that impassive 
  mask that is her face, if she is 1) supposed to know what this is or 2) be 
  impressed by it. "She knows what?" Better ask, rather than risk looking the 
  fool for assuming anything.

Faanshi's green eyes go wide. So do Ulima's black ones, for that matter. The 
  shudra's gaze immediately flashes back to the priestess, and Ulima pauses in 
  her sewing to sit forward, peering searchingly up at the winged Favored of 
  the Amir-al. She pauses, considering her words, before she finally inquires, 
  "You are Favored, imphada, yet the Khalid has not spoken to you of his 
  sacred surahs?"

Now there's a touch of humour darkening Kiera's eyes as she looks at the two 
  of you. "The Khalid-Atar had me taught by a few Atarvani, but I understood 
  little of what they said, because I knew little of the Varati, then. Now, I 
  might learn more, but then... They wasted their time, trying to have me 
  learn to recite words I did not underdstand, with meanings that were 
  unnatural to me. Now I have watched the Varati for two years, and I see more 
  of the traditions, the reasons, and that which I did not see, only meeting 
  them. I speak with the Khalid-Atar, and I ask him, or I watch those in 
  Atesh-Gah. But his sacred Surahs... I do not know them exactly. No." Kiera 
  then looks at Faanshi alone, and she speaks again, "When I asked the 
  Khalid-Atar to see about Faanshi, I spoke also that she might teach me 
  better of the Varati ways."

This, clearly, startles the shudra girl. "I, teach?" she blurts.

Ulima gives forth a small throaty chuckle. "You _do_ know the chodana, my 
  child, and you would serve your imphada by teaching it to her."

Faanshi swallows behind her veil, but raises her gaze back to Kiera. "I would 
  gladly try," she ventures.

Kiera nods. "Good. That would please the Khalid-Atar. And Rabi - you will meet 
  her when we return - she teaches me to read. I am to learn to read and 
  write, so I can set to parchment, the tale of Lyceanae." Given that Kiera 
  was the only other one there. She falls quiet, then, and draws in a deep 
  breath, releasing it while she glances in that direction, to look at the new 
  mountain.

Visibly brightening, Faanshi nods her head... and she brightens even more at 
  the mention of reading. But as Kiera's attention distracts, both Faanshi's 
  and Ulima's gazes follow hers to the newly made mountain peak. The priestess 
  sketches the sigil of the dawn across her brow, and Faanshi stares long at 
  the mountain before murmuring to Kiera, "We felt the shaking of the 
  ground..."

The winged 'breed has nothing to add to that. Nothing. At length, she looks 
  back ato Ulima and asks, "You are a wise woman? I had not heard of that 
  before. What is it that you do, Ulima?"

Accepting the change in subject with unruffled calm, Ulima gently remonstrates 
  Faanshi, "Your seam, my child." And as Faanshi bends back to the sewing, the 
  priestess goes on, "I am Ushashti, Imphada. Although we all pay due honor 
  and devotion to the Khalid, I am also a priestess of his holy Mother. It is 
  my duty to teach the young women of my Clan what all young women should 
  know."

"Ulima sees things," puts in Faanshi, returning to her confiding tone, and 
  it's now her turn to express a bit of quiet pride.

"What--?" Kiera is about to ask, then she is interrupted, wants to add a 
  second question, "What is it that all young women should know, Imphada? And 
  what do you see? Other than the visions about Faanshi and her mother?" Kiera 
  was awake for that part. And she'd love to know what Varati women are 
  supposed to know.

Ulima gives another low, reedy chuckle, as she studies Kiera with those alert 
  dark eyes of hers. "So many questions! You are not unlike this one." And she 
  inclines her aged head towards the girl sitting nearby. "One at a time, 
  then, Favored one. The knowledge of women encompasses the coming of first 
  flows, the pleasing of one's husband, the bearing of children... and what 
  happens to a woman when she grows as aged as I. It encompasses the ways of 
  healing without magic, by herb and by good common sense." She stops there, 
  though a slight secretive look about her wrinkled visage suggests she knows 
  more than she is telling -- perhaps because of the Agni-Haidar, Atarvani, 
  and other men who seem constantly in motion throughout this stretch of the 
  camp of Clan Khalida. "As to what I see, one might argue that perhaps I have 
  a larger share of common sense than many."

Faanshi puts in firmly, "She saw that coming to the army would mean the death 
  of Hashim...!" And as she utters this, Ulima's feathery gray brows go up, 
  though again, she seems to know more than she puts into words.

A larger share of common sense. Kiera rests that unblinking stare of hers 
  upon the old woman for a considerable amount of time, then switches to eye 
  Faanshi for a moment. "I do not see into the future, and the sense that I 
  may have, is common to Sylvans, not to the Varati. Nor do I know what the 
  Varati women should know, as you have spoken it." She pauses, glances toward 
  the camp and slowly sweeps her attention over it, or so seems to. Likely she 
  is thinking. "I have spoken with the Khalid-Atar about my taking a mate, and 
  he will allow me to be different thant he Varati women, because I was raised 
  in another society. But he wishes that I take a Varati male, as a mate." 
  Ulima is the final stop for Kiera's gaze. "Someday, I should like to know 
  what a Varati male would expect of his mate."

In apparent fascination, Faanshi drinks in Kiera's every word, but it's fairly 
  easy to glean from the way her green gaze keeps returning to Ulima that the 
  shudra girl is about as in the dark on these sorts of topics as her new 
  winged lady. Ulima, on the other hand, curves her wrinkled lips into a 
  gentle sort of smile. "Ah yes. That, my child, is the difficult question. 
  Perhaps, then, someday I shall tell you." Her birdlike eyes dart to include 
  Faanshi in this, as she goes on, "I shall tell you both."

How about /now/? Kiera is more than old enough to know such things. Sylvans of 
  her age have several children already, while Kiera is yet a maiden. Her 
  wings shuffle and a breeze seems to echo the brief annoyance. "I do not 
  think I will ever have a mate. Any who wish to court me, must ask the 
  Khalid, to do so." Right there, that's strike #1. "And I will not share my 
  mate with other females." Strike #2. "I am a halfbreed, and not born 
  Varati." Strike #3. "And I am much older than the women who marry, usually." 
  Out. Kiera then looks at Faanshi for a moment, consideringly. "If you have 
  children... I would like to help you. With them." More than anything, Kiera 
  wants children.

Unruffledly, Ulima continues to sew, her gnarled hands surprisingly deft as 
  they make her needle flash back and forth through the fabric of the black 
  tunic she mends. Clearly ready with a reply, she nevertheless glances at 
  Faanshi as Kiera's attention diverts to her.

And Faanshi, a brief shifting beneath her new translucent blue veil suggesting 
  she's just bitten her lower lip, listens to Kiera's words with mounting 
  dismay and a rising blush. "I... I do not think I should expect to be 
  married any time soon," she mumbles.

Rabi's child should have been born by now, and Kiera has never been able to 
  see him. She draws in a breath and releases it in a silent sigh, then going 
  to look at the sky. "THe Khalid-Atar says that we shall move, in the next 
  few days. THe camp will march. I am to scout. I will not be around so much. 
  Is this OK?" She glances back to the two of you.

At this new subject change, Faanshi tilts her head, inwardly wondering if 
  Kiera always shifts her topics of conversation as swiftly as the wind alters 
  its courses. Before Ulima can proffer any reply, the young shudra blurts, 
  unsure whether she might have troubled the other halfbreed somehow, "You 
  have your duties, Imphada Kiera... how could I, I mean, of course it is 
  alright... and yes," she finds herself adding in an earnest rush, "if I ever 
  bore a child... it would bring me joy to see you smile upon it." She 
  straightens up a bit where she sits, the garment and needle in her slender 
  golden hands forgotten, her green eyes turning full and fervent over the top 
  of her veil.

Ulima, to this, merely smiles to herself and keeps sewing.

"My mother had one child, and she bore me in shame, raised me in shame. If I 
  have a child, the Khalid-Atar has told me already, that the child will be 
  Varati, and of Khalida." That, atop the other graces Khalid has shown Kiera, 
  has secured her devotion for all time. Now the wigned halfbreed glances 
  down, at the fire. "I hope to have a child someday." A thought pauses her, 
  and she readdresses her attentionto the older woman, "Maybe... You could 
  teach me.... Or us... What is is, that a Varati male seeks, in a mate." 
  There you go, Ulima. A gen-u-ine chance to play Cupid. What old lady could 
  resist that?

Ulima inclines her aged head with a slight motion, a bob that makes her even 
  more resemble a small bird for all that she is taller than Faanshi. "And so 
  I shall, my children," she replies equably. She pauses in her sewing, just 
  enough to consider both of the young females before her, and her lined 
  visage grows more solemn. "I will speak first of the surah of Propagation, 
  since it seems to me that the Khalid has begun to speak of this already with 
  you, Imphada Kiera. A man of the Varati will expect his wife to bear him 
  many children, to honor him and his family, but most of all in the glory of 
  Khalid Atar. Because of this, a man may take many wives, in order to sire as 
  many children as he can." She pauses to consider Kiera with her bird-bright 
  eyes, then, as if she expects the young winged woman to take this ill.

Kiera has already been told that this will not be required of Kiera, so she 
  sees no point in wasting her breath to argue it. No. She merely listens, 
  with a natural mask on her features, hiding her reactions. She may, however, 
  sneak a glance at Faanshi, when Ulima looks over to the other halfbreed.

Does Faanshi mark Kiera's glance? Perhaps not, for her attention has strayed 
  to and stayed upon the aged woman. From the look of her leaf-hued eyes, 
  Ulima is everything in the world to the shudra girl; devotion shines in that 
  green gaze, along with a ripple of anxiety, the same sort of anxiety that 
  crossed her eyes when she shunted the question of her own children away 
  before.

Ulima goes on, unruffled by the lack of apparent response, "Most other men of 
  our people will expect a wife to uphold the surah of Respect -- for the 
  Khalid has taught us to respect and obey those whose castes and ranks are 
  higher than our own, and so it is with a husband and his wives."

"The Sylvans," Kiera mentions, "Do not kill one another, by gender. So when 
  they fight, or war upon others, the men and women are killed equally. Here, 
  the men die, and the women do not. If the women are to have husbands, all, 
  there are not enough men." Just mentioning, but maybe it's a touch of logic 
  that is an insight to Kiera's mind, to what she may believe, or how she 
  might rationalize a culture she strives to understand.

To this, Ulima smiles slightly. "I would expect," she says to Kiera, "that 
  when the armies return to the homelands of the Varati, the warriors will 
  find themselves much in demand as husbands, and may have their pick of two 
  or three wives apiece."

To that, Kiera says nothing. She will not share a mate. Period. Neither does 
  she lift or drop her gaze, or blink or look away. She just waits. Privately 
  miserable. Timin? He has his Other Woman, who Kiera would kill seven times 
  over, if she knew who she was. Another halfbreed? A mongrel? All the 
  Varati... Taken, and likely none would have a halfbreed, when they could 
  have a fullbreed.

Ulima looks from one face to the other, from the veiled one to the one framed 
  in short tufted brown hair, and a kind of pained compassion softens her dark 
  gaze. "The lot of a Varati wife is not easy, my children," she says gently. 
  "Only if a woman is fortunate will her husband uphold the surah of Respect 
  to her -- for not only does the Khalid teach us that those of lower castes 
  should respect those of higher ones, but also that the reverse holds true. 
  Furthermore, the best of husbands will also uphold the surahs of Compassion 
  and Honor in the treatment of their wives. The _very_ best of husbands..." 
  She pauses, a slight smile once more curving her aged lips before she 
  finishes, "_They_ will even love their wives."

Likely a mongrel male hasn't heard of these rules. And halfbreeds seem to make 
  their own. Kiera will have to look into the rules the mongrels live by. She 
  can't imagine that Khalid will allow her to take a Sylvan husband. Or... 
  Those other two races, even if Kiera found an Empyrean she could tolerate. 
  The woman remains silent now, on any comparision between Varati culture and 
  Sylvan. She wouldn't even know where to begin that dialouge.

Faanshi's slender frame begins to droop visibly. "I too am halfbreed," she 
  murmurs uneasily. "I do not think I will be able to... honor Khalid Atar 
  with children." She lowers her eyes.

And Ulima blows out a soft sigh, leaning forward to consider both of the young 
  halfbreed females. To Faanshi she says, "My heart-daughter, you are wise to 
  expect that a husband will not come to you any time soon, but do not lose 
  your hope; it is not beyond all possibility." Her gaze flicks to Kiera, 
  then, and she goes on, "And you, young imphada, have the favor of the Son of 
  the Dawn; this alone may well attract a man's eye to you, for the mere hope 
  of stepping farther into the Khalid's holy light. If such a man was to find 
  you, and your union is meant to be..." She lays a few more neat stitches 
  into the black tunic, and finishes sagely, "Then while the favor of the 
  Khalid may attract that man's eye, you yourself will hold it. And him."

Nice of you to say this, Ulima. Kiera remains unconvinced. Somethign akin to a 
  smile touches her lips, shifts her stance and she nods. "I hope so. And 
  maybe the Faanshi will become Atarvani, and that will draw a man to her." 
  Same boat, Faanshi. The 'maybe' cruise line, scheduled for stops at Hope, 
  Disappointment and Lonliness. But... The ship is likely full.

Faanshi makes a face, not quite as skeptical as Kiera about the old woman's 
  assurances, but nevertheless still not entirely accepting the presence of 
  truth within them.

Ulima, however, merely emits another soft reedy chuckle. "So sure are the both 
  of you, the looks in your eyes exactly the same, for all that you look no 
  more alike than night and day. So sure are you both that you will not find 
  husbands. Stranger things have happened -- after all, my children, you found 
  each other."

Faanshi, to this, can't help but glance at Kiera.

Kiera considers this, too. There are probably several hundred halfbreeds in 
  the Varati kingdom, according to the estimate of its god. Two found each 
  other. The question is, how many men are within that kingdom who would 
  accept one of thse several hundred halfbreeds. And /where/ are they? Kiera 
  draws in a breath and then glances away. "I should fly, soon. Scouting. If 
  you cannot find me, and you need help, ask the Teacher. Dawn. Aurora."

Ulima accepts this, yet another change in subject, with a complacent nod. 
  Faanshi, in the meantime, turns her gaze more fully back to the other young 
  woman, saying earnestly, "We will remember... and thank you..." Her mouth is 
  mostly hidden by her blue veil, no more than a hint of lips behind the 
  translucent silken stuff, but her eyes lighten... perhaps in a smile.

Clearly, Kiera does not want to leave. She draws in one final warm breath of 
  air, before she turns to step away. "I shall see you again soon. Ulima, 
  Faanshi." A few more paces takes Kiera into a clearer area, where, witha 
  beating of wings and an uplift of air, she flies.

[End log.]