"A Startling Audience" Log Date: 11/7, 11/8/00 Log Cast: Faanshi, Kedar, Asha Log Intro: With a profound dream about her lost beloved Lyre in the middle of what had been yet another night of heartsick anguish, Faanshi has much to her own surprise somehow found a way to make peace with herself about his death... and honor his memory at the same time. It seems an easy enough thing to do: look for the less-used, less-visited places, take the precious namesake instrument that has come into her hands, and sing a private hymn of praise to the memory of the man she loved and to Khalid and His Holy Mother. But Faanshi is accustomed to creeping about unseen, unnoticed, unheard. She is _not_ accustomed to singing, or to how the notes of a lyre -- not to mention the untried voice of a young woman -- can rise up to attract notice even when she would will it otherwise. That it would shock a respectable older shudra can hardly surprise her, but it also gains her the notice of a young Lion of Fire. Or rather, the additional notice, for the Janizar Kedar has already experienced her magic. Now, Faanshi is about to discover that the simple music of a shudra can prompt a surprising amount of conversation from one of the Agni-Haidar.... *===========================< In Character Time >===========================* Time of day: Morning Date on Aether: Friday, May 10, 3907. Year on Earth: 1507 A.D. Phase of the Moon: Waning Crescent Season: Spring Weather: Clouds Temperature: Cool *==========================================================================* Stable Roof - Atesh-Gah - Haven The white and grey granite motif that cobbles the courtyard floor, below, is repeated here in elegant, sweeping style. The roof slants at a pitch which allows run-off of precipitation without compromising footing--either Varati or of the great queen wyvern who sometimes resides within the stable. From its top height to its bottom gutter, the stable roof stands lower than the surrounding walls of Atesh-Gah, but allows impressive visibility of the structures and events within those walls. Marring the aesthetic quality of the roof is a pile of several blankets. The corners of the blankets are wedged down--crammed between roof tiles and weighted with stones that used to live in the garden--to remain fixed in their location. A collection of mahogany-brown feathers in creases of the blankets and nearby cracks of the roof might well indicate who has defiled the cleanliness of the roof with these blankets. Obvious exits: Down She's running out of private places to sing -- but even so, as far as Faanshi is concerned, up on the roof where she knows that her former Imphada Kiera still often lurks is doubtless about the safest place in Atesh-Gah she can make a song without running the risk of being overheard, either by potentially disapproving Varati or by candala strangers. She hopes. Besides, the little nest of blankets feels almost... comforting. Thinking almost as much of her misplaced first friend -- and where _is_ the Imphada these days, anyway? -- Faanshi has settled herself down amongst the weather-beaten blankets and their scattering of feathers. Cross-legged, with the leather satchel that had borne the precious battered lyre into her keeping nestled in her lap, the shudra maiden draws out the instrument and looks skyward. It's amazing how much more of the sky one can see from up here... and up here, she won't disturb the women of Ushas either as she makes her own hymn to the dawn. First sunlight sees her ready... and as the beginnings of the dawn gleam over the Varati citadel, the first few notes out of the carefully tuned lyre begin to waft up into the air. Kedar was one of the fortunate Agni-Haidar with the less-than-dignified duty of looking after the wyvern again this morning. But he's done the task dreaded even by the naraki with the kind of calm accept that he's shown for just about any disgraceful or horrible task he's had thrown at him by his superiors. After refitting the reins and making sure the beasts are fed and well-behaved, he leaves the stables again. As the first rays of sun shine down on his back as he enters the courtyard, he halts in his stride. Halts to listen to the odd, unfamiliar tune he can hear coming from /somewhere/. Trying to find out the source of the singing, he turns around slowly, sharpening his ears while trying to pinpoint with his eyes the music's origin. No one, at least no one down around the stable entrance, seems to be in sight. And nevertheless, that soft simple melody is coming from somewhere, four measures plucked out on the strings of a lyre and then joined by an ethereal soprano that carries from up on the stable roof far better than the girl hiding up there is aware: Dawn-Mother, touch me with the warmth of your light For I'm left behind, and my dear one's gone before A great sea lies between me and my love And a fierce wyvern prowls upon the wide and empty shore It's not swift, this song, but nor does the tempo plod. Like the notes plucked upon the lyre, the melody sung is a simple one... almost chanted, reverently, to the blossoming dawn. And most assuredly coming from somewhere overhead. Once the first lines have been sung, the Lion's eyes have been raised upwards. At least he's discovered by now that the chant is coming from _somewhere above_ by now. Since there are not too many heightened places near that allow such a performance, he spots Faanshi's form huddled on the stable-roof briefly later. Once he found the singer, he just studies her and listens idly to her reverent tune. A small, relaxed smile settles on the youthful features, and somehow, despite the stark black uniform and deadly blade hanging from his hip, the adolescant seems absolutely peaceful, almost serene in this moment. The maiden on the roof is not clad entirely in black -- but still, her black sari and veil cover much of her form, making her a shadow against the dawnslight brightening the eastern sky. Unaware that she's attracted a listener, she straightens up a bit there up on the rooftop, her voice scaling up into a higher range as she goes on: I know not how to bear the ache within each time I speak his name I know not how to find the strength I need so that I may survive Son of Sunrise, grant the comfort of your endless living flame And if I can bear to face the wyvern, let me thrive... If I can bear the face the wyvern, let me thrive She is not a master singer by any stretch of the imagination. Any Atarvani acolyte singing the bhajanas to the Most High in the temple each week could probably surpass her in strength of voice and purity of pitch... but still, the shudra's untrained soprano hits truly more notes than it misses, and does so with a shy plaintive sweetness that echoes the earnest summer-green gaze lifted up towards Ushas in her power in the sky. Asha steps gracefully out into the courtyard, her plump form swathed in the navy blue linen of her sari. She blinks at the sound of sining comeing from the stables. Could one of the horses have learned to sing? Kedar is not a music expert by any stretch. Most of the music he has been exposed to were the deep chants of Khalid's glorification, sung by his peers with more devotion than talent, or the hostile, aggressive war-tunes of the rebellious forces. So he's pleasently surprised by the way this one maiden sings the high-pitched melody to the dawn. Enchanted by the tune, he just stays close to the stable entrance, looking up to the shudra, missing the approach of another Agni-Haidar Janizar. "Kedar. Have you checked..." The curt, rumbling interruption is graced only with a gesture, but no words: A finger on Kedar's lips and another finger pointing up to the musician tell the fellow warrior to be still. Swiftly, the attention is refocuses once more upon the lonely sitting figure on the roof. The other newcomer has not been noticed yet. Asha blinks at the figure on the roof. She bows to the Agni-Haidar, and then calls out to the girl. "Faanshi, what are you doing up there?" It would have to be an extremely agile horse to make it up _atop_ the stable -- and a horse given hands by the Hawk of Heaven as well, for underneath the soft and earnest words sung barely loud enough to echo upon one's consciousness are the plucked notes of the strings of a lyre. Moreover, it would have to be a horse who's decided to sing praise to the Holy Mother of the Amir-al, on this particular dawn: Blessed Ushas, bathe me with the brilliance of your light I don't know how long I'll journey till this-- And, quite abruptly, as Asha calls out, the song comes to a skidding halt. Green eyes go wide above Faanshi's ebon veil, and veil or no veil, the alarm that sweeps over her is palpable. Someone's heard her? _Seen_ her? Oh, Ushas, not here, too...? Asha calls again. "Do you have permission to sing on those stables? Come down at once, you will get beaten, you foolish girl!" Kedar flicks an annoyed glance at Asha, who has dared to interrupt the music. "She's singing," he answers in a brief, precise tone. "Are you here to punish her for it?" The Agni-Haidar at his side just watches the process with an expression of incomprehension, shaking his head before he turns once more, heading back into the Atesh-Gah. Whatever he wanted to talk with Kedar about, it wasn't all that urgent, anyways. Asha falls to her knees and goes silent as the Agni-Haidar addresses her. Oh by the fire what has that foolish girl gotten her into now? There is a brief scrabbling sound from overhead, as Faanshi inches forward on the roof to get a better view of exactly who is down below. The voice of the Messala shudra she recognizes, and she cannot help but wilt a little that even that comparatively friendly woman has reacted as she was certain the folk of Atesh-Gah probably would if they caught her: with stern disapproval. But when she gets a glimpse of Kedar's lean dark-clad form before whom Asha immediately kneels, the halfbreed maiden goes abruptly pale. She can't let that woman take a chastisement that by rights ought to be hers, surely? For a fraction of an instant Faanshi slams her eyes shut, a lump rising up sharply in her throat and an apology -- _I'm sorry, Lyre! I will find you a place to sing where no one will stop me, I pledge it!_ -- welling up in the back of her mind. Then as hastily as she can manage and still treat the lyre with tender care, she stuffs it into its satchel, cradles the satchel to her breast, and comes scrambling down to the ladder she'd used to climb up onto the roof in the first place. "Imphadi, Imphada, forgive me," she calls out tinily, "I-I did not mean to disturb anyone...!" Kedar turns a stern gaze upon the kneeling woman on her knees in front of her. "You did not answer my question, shudra," he asserts. Not in a hostile, but certainly demanding way. "If you were ordered to make her stop or punish her, then go ahead and do so. Otherwise, be still. It is not your place to determine what is allowed on the stable roof and what is not." After delivering his chiding speech, he turns once again in a slow movement, to look up to where Faanshi is cowering on the ledge of the roof. A firm hand raises in the air, indicating the halfbreed to stop her descend. "You did not disturb. You did not awake anybody. And your song was not finished." His deep voice is calm and now smoother again -- not so much friendly or polite, but perhaps as nice as one could expect from one of the Lions of Fire. Asha keeps her head down. "Yes, oh Lion of the Fire. I did not mean any disrespect. Please forgive this low one her error." At the top of the ladder, Faanshi immediately freezes as soon as she sees the hand uplifted to her. It's not exactly possible to kneel where she is, nor can she really demurely lower her gaze when she happens to be in a location physically higher than that of the warrior; therefore, she settles for the best she can manage, trying to avoid Kedar's keen dark gaze by looking anywhere but down into his face. Her heart gives a little lurch at the thought of trying to continue her private bhajana when she knows for a fact that there are other ears besides hers in range -- and despite the figurative wyvern that had been named in the verse and the chorus, one might think she's risking having to come down off the ladder and go face one of the actual wyverns within the stables, if the tension in her frame is any indication. Nevertheless, she somehow manages to ask humbly, "Does... the Imphadi wish me... to continue?" Kedar waves the raised hand dismissively over his shoulder, telling Asha without looking back at her, "Don't make judgements and assume authority outside of your station again, shudra." That statement could be a considered one of forgiveness, of sorts. His eyes and chin still raised to the lithe figure on the ladder, he speaks, "You have started the song. You are allowed to finish it." No indication whether he likes her to finish it is made, but those things matter little to Kedar. "But remember, the Hawk of Heaven has returned. There is no reason to proclaim a mourning song." Asha just remains on her knees, quietly murmuring "Yes, Imphadi." Her experssion is hidden by her veils. What has the foolish girl gotten them into now? Singing on the stables, no less, in front of the Agni-Haidar! "It... is not... supposed to be a mourning song, Imphadi," murmurs Faanshi, profoundly shyly -- and then immediately she catches herself, flushing red behind her veil and aware of how she must sound, having been overheard singing the first half of the hymn she made for a Mongrel bard she doesn't dare mention inside Atesh-Gah's walls. And aware, too, of how she must look when most of the garb she wears is the black of grief. She hasn't been ordered, necessarily... but from the standpoint of a shudra, even a mild suggestion from an Agni-Haidar qualifies as an order. She settles herself to perch upon the very edge of the roof, acutely uncomfortable, but at least... she can still see the dawn from up here. The halfbreed girl steals one furtive look down at the older shudra, certain she's in for a stern lecture later out of the hearing of the young warrior. But for now, at least, she swallows hard behind her veil and adheres to his suggestion. This time, however, she does not pull the lyre back out of its satchel; instead, she cradles it protectively close, as though it were a very small child. Without its strings to accompany her, barely above a whisper, she sings. Blessed Ushas, bathe me with the brilliance of your light I don't know how long I'll journey till this life of mine is done I must somehow cross this water, though I'm lost and I'm alone And I know not who'll come with me towards the distant setting sun Let me build myself a sturdy boat to sail upon the waves Let me row the oars in my two hands until I reach his side Hawk of Heaven, grant me courage to last thoroughout my days And if I climb upon the wyvern, let me ride If I climb upon the wyvern, let me ride Kedar blinks in quiet surprise at the revelation that the song about one being gone could not be a mourning song (unimaginable that it's not a song about Khalid). But he remains silent for the moment, not wanting to delay or interrupt the honest ceremony any longer. So, with Asha being hopefully quiet now as well, he tilts his head to listen sharper to the words now delivered in a much more quiet tune, unaware of the tension and nervousness causing it. Asha remains kneeling silently. Is the girl unaware that such odd behavior draws attention, and that the last thing a shudra is worthy of is attention? Is she not aware her role is one of quiet, silent, invisible service to those more worthy than herself? Or is it perhaps that she wants attention? Perhaps the attention of a certain Agni-Haidar? Yes certainly a stern, motherly word or warning or six is in order. Still kneeling silently with her head bowed she runs over a few choice phrases in her mind. No, not a mourning song... rather, an acknowledgement of one who has passed, and a prayer to be able to find the strength to go on without him. That is what Faanshi has tried to put into this hymn she has made to the Holy Mother, and perhaps that is a bit more obvious with the final verse and chorus: Lady of the Morning, fill me with your gentle light So I can hasten other's journeys by the easing of their pain Let me find the ones who'll not deny the contact of my hands Let me wash away their suff'ring like the cleansing of the rain And, at last, her voice gains a bit more strength and volume; Faanshi cannot rival the pure-voiced acolytes that sing in the temple, no. But still... there is something clear and sweet there nevertheless: Let me soar across this ocean on the strength of shining wings Let me lift my voice in union with the wyvern's mighty cry Holy Atar, let me hear the inner song that wisdom sings And if I ride upon the wyvern, let me fly... Attention? From an Agni-Haidar? If Faanshi had any idea what Asha was thinking, she might be moved for one of the first times in her life to let out a burst of near-hysterical laughter. But still, one might perchance wonder how invisible the shudra maiden in her black sari thinks she can be, as she lets her voice drop down shyly again on the final line: And if I ride upon the wyvern, let me fly...! Kedar is not in the least capable of understanding the meaning of the chant or the emotions that are expressed with it, but it seems the beauty of carefully brought forth tune and the clearness of the soprano voice are enough to appease him. With a light shining from his eyes as peaceful and touched as few others have seen from this Janizar, he waits patiently to let the shudra finish her devotional song. It's perhaps not so much the halfbreed huddled in dark veils perching upon the roof's ledge that draws his attention, but only the melody carried by Faanshi's singing. When, at last, the final line is delivered, he nods in acknowledgement, satisfied with the fact that that which has been started has come to an end. Asha still remains kneeling. There's nothing else she can or will do until dismissed by the Agni-Haidar. You descend to the courtyard below. Courtyard - Atesh-Gah - Haven(#430RJM$) If indeed the Hebrew folk of lost Earth are correct in their legends, then this must be the legendary garden from which mankind was expelled. The flat expanse of the great courtyard of Atesh-Gah is covered in the most luxurious grass of bright emerald green, broken only by a cobblestone path for riding and walking to prevent wear upon the lawn. Rich copses of carefully tended wood grow by the walls, lovingly groomed flower gardens acting as a barrier of colour before the rising trees. Perhaps even more relaxing than the sight of the yard are the sensations of it. The lovely scents of flower and tree; honey-suckle, apple blossom, peach, and jasmine; combine with the soft cushion of green grass to provide a sense of peace and harmony that defies the looming sand-hued walls of unbreakable stone. Not even the shadowed maw of the main gate, nor the blocky, unimpressive presence of the impenetrable main keep can overshadow the beauty of this place. Indeed, the stark contrast serves only to enhance it. Contents: Asha Kedar Obvious exits: Temple Fountain Out Entrance Foyer Stables Now, it seems, would be a good time to flee. However, Faanshi does not have the luxury of taking to the air as Imphada Kiera might have done -- even aside from the general lack of wings or wind-magic Kiera would have used to remove herself. No, Faanshi must come down the ladder, and essay her departure upon the ground. Within her is the tiniest kernel of relief that she was in fact able to finish -- though she swears all the same to that memory in the back of her mind that she _will_ do the whole song again, somewhere even quieter. Another day. Asha can hardly be likened to a wyvern that must be faced... but the warrior could, for all that Kedar makes a singularly small, two-footed, and tailless wyvern. A girl who has sung a prayer for strength to face wyverns, however, can hardly dally upon the roof. The halfbreed maid descends, the satchel with her instrument borne with utmost care, and once she is actually down upon the ground she finally follows Asha's example and kneels, head bowed. Kedar has already forgotten about Asha's presence, but now that the chanting has ceased, he remembers again that there is somebody kneeling at his side. Only realizing now that the shudra expects to hear some word from him on what to do, he notes quietly to her, "You may go back to your duties." Good thing nobody questions Kedar's duties right now, for listening to shudra performances is most likely not one of them. Once Faanshi has struggled down the ladder, to prostrate herself in front of the warrior, he tells her a bit irritably, "Get to your feet." A bit calmer, he adds, "You sing well. But you sang of his leaving. And other things. Of strength and bravery. He is back, now." Asha rises and bows silently to Keder. She gives Faanshi one level look which says - I will speak to you later. Then she turns and glides back towards the Atesh-Gah. Oh dear. Faanshi doesn't miss Asha's look, and for a moment the halfbreed can feel her heart almost physically sinking within her chest. She is not of Asha's Clan, but then again, that hasn't stopped many of the older shudra from taking the opportunity to chastise a halfbreed like her before. Face the wyvern, indeed. Swallowing hard, Faanshi pulls herself to her feet as she has been commanded, trying to keep a squeak out of her voice as she murmurs, "Thank you, Imphadi... but I... I-I was not singing _about_ the Most High, but more... t-to Him, and His Holy Mother--" Her heart sinks a little further, and she cuts herself off sharply. Just stop, shudra. Right there. You have absolutely no business correcting an Agni-Haidar. Even if he _is_ wrong. ... Do you? Kedar's smooth features crease a little as he listens to Faanshi's stammered explanation. He remains silent for a moment, pondering, before it dawns on him. "You have sung about a man. A mortal. And requested /His/ assistance." Questioning eyebrows wander up again, "Is that right?" "Yes, Imphadi," murmurs Faanshi. Standing though she now is, as straight and tall as she can manage -- for even servants of Clan Khalida exhibit good posture -- she keeps her gaze solidly pointed downward. Which is probably fortunate, for it helps hide the way her eyes turn liquid at the thought of the man she's lost. She can bear the thought of Lyre without weeping now... just barely... but she hasn't yet mastered keeping the tightness out of her throat and chest. Even when she sings to his memory. Kedar has gotten used to talking to people who refure to look at him, even if it is a bit annoying. His expression straightens once more as he looks down inquisitively at the shudra. "Tell me about this song. And the man it is about." Of course, the young warrior simply cannot know what the girl is feeling behind her black veil, cannot understand the emotional pain such a request can cause. There is pain, too. Faanshi's arms tighten reflexively upon the satchel she's bearing within them, making her very aware of the shape of the lyre within it pressing into her breast. Above the smoke-black veil hiding her lower face her eyes go abruptly liquid, and she has to close them sharply for a moment or two to try to ward off the threat of tears... and a threat of panic, as well. What can she say, to an Agni-Haidar of all people, in answer to questions like those? It is not exactly an interrogation, for all that she isn't sure she can tell the difference between this young Janizar's tone and that of other Lions who have questioned her before... like the Kaimakam Amipal, or the Seraskier Zuhayr. "He... would have been my husband, Imphadi," she begins at last, the voice that had chanted softly to the light of Ushas now turning ever so slightly ragged. "But h... he is dead. I made the song... to ask the Most High and His Holy Mother to grant me... strength to continue to live without him." It's not exactly an interrogation by a dreadful, menacing warrior, no, just the curiosity of a youth who has caught a glimpse of something he does not understand. Yet the facade of dignity and control remains about his features, even if the light in those innocent brown eyes softens up. A minute of silence drifts by, before the young soldier concludes, "I understand. You do well to ask the Neverending Fire for strength and protection. His light gives warmth to those who keep to his faith. And his wings shelter those who deserve it." His tone falls again, pausing briefly, before he adds, "But you will find another who's children you will bear. Or one will be given to you. So it is best to honor his memory, and then stride bravely ahead. For he has already begun his next life." So much for words of wisdom from an indoctrinated killer machine. Whether anybody really wants or needs them remains to be seen, but, then again, they're all free. Ah, but even these words are welcome to one who's sorely needed a glimmer of comfort from the otherwise stoic people of her mother. Sylvans and Mongrels alike have gone out of their way to console Faanshi -- but the halfbreed maiden, whose soul has been described as Sylvan by one of those very candala out in the city, has chosen Varati ways as her own. Torn as she is between what lies outside Atesh-Gah and what lies within, to be given this sage pronouncement from one of the Hawk of Heaven's own warriors now helps bolster the healer's desolate heart. Her head comes up fractionally, not enough to look into the face of her questioner, but perhaps enough to give a glimpse of summer-leaf eyes turned a trifle distant, sad, but peaceful. "I do not think there w... will ever be another man, Imphadi," she whispers, "but... the rest of what you say I tell myself in my heart... thank you." Kedar does not know what lies outside on the streets of Haven, but he knows that what is true within Atesh-Gah and true to Varati is right, no matter what the candala say. So what he says is not meant to lift the spirit of a servant, or to earn the first genuine 'thank you' received in his life, but simply to make sure that Faanshi understands how things are and how things will be. "You serve your masters best by assuring there is another man. A man who you will bear children for. Believe in that, strive for it, and it will come true." Yeah, right. And now close your eyes, believe really strongly, and pigs will start to fly. Pigs might fly. Or a girl born of two races might suddenly turn into the Warlord's daughter she would have been if her mother had not chosen to commit her heart and her body to the loving of a Sylvan thief. Many the night has passed in which Faanshi has wished that she'd awaken the next morning with pure blood flowing through her veins, but with each dawn she rises, pigs are still earthbound, her blood still tainted. Faanshi's eyes turn as wary as those gentle green orbs can possibly become; twenty years of stoic resignation, after all, are a powerful argument against even this rock-firm assurance. Swallowing hard behind her veil, still hugging the satchel with the precious lyre within, she braces herself against the disdain she's sure she's about to provoke -- but she cannot permit this young warrior to continue to try to console her in a manner of which she is unworthy. "My... blood... is impure, honored Lion," she whispers, slender shoulders braced now as though a whip might fall upon them at any second. "He... who would have been my husband... was a Mongrel man. I do not think any Varati man would have me... I have thought, perhaps, that I could use my magic to help the Daughters of Fire honor the tenth surah w-where I cannot myself." Toneless her words become now, almost bleak, though not quite. There's still a wistful sort of peace there, just enough to pull her back from actual despair. This maiden is not a happy one... but she is at least at peace. The admission which should summon the wrath of the Lion falls off coldly from him. In fact, it hardly comes as any surprise, considering he has noted Faanshi's green eyes before. The only aspect that makes his gaze flicker for a moment is her talk of the tenth surah. Surely, he has heard of the surahs that apply for those not of the Agni-Haidar caste, but that doesn't mean he knows the number of each one of them. But none of that changes what he is about to say. "You are a shudra. So your mate will be shudra," he determines cooly. "And strive to fulfill the surahs in whatever way you can! Fulfill your duty in your station with all you have. But do not go above yourself." It seems all so clear, so simple, so obvious from Kedar's confidently spoken words. And certainly no reason to whine or cower -- but perhaps that, too, is the way of the shudra. If there's anything Faanshi's learned and learned hard and well in the first seventeen years of her life, it's to keep her pains to herself. There is a difference between bald statements of fact and harping upon the hurts those facts might have brought to you; the statement of her mixed blood now made, the maiden says nothing more about it, and if anything, the lack of frigid disgust to which she is accustomed even drains a fractional measure of tension out of her frame. Nor does she cower. She might have, once, newer out of the abuse dealt her by a Warlord whose mind had snapped from guilt, fury, and superstition. But Faanshi is a different maiden now. Her gaze remains down -- but is that not proper? She is a woman, after all. But she stands straight and as tall as she can manage, and for all that her slender arm cradles that satchel as though it were made of gold, she does not tremble. "If the Amir-al chooses to send me a shudra man who will accept me, I will be his wife and gladly, Imphadi," she murmurs, and truthfully, with no stammer or hesitation in her quiet voice. If there's anyone who could make pigs fly, it would be the Hawk of Heaven, no? "Until then... I will serve with my magic and the labor of my hands, as best I can." While Kedar learned his lessons perhaps under different circumstances, the lessons themselves might not have been all that different. Simularly to the abused shudra, he has learned to hide pain -- or, perhaps more than that, to accept it as a part of his life. And while this acceptance is almost natural to ihm by now, he still has to undergo the learning process of understanding how others, not having undergone the brutal school of obediance and violence he has experienced, deal with pain. But for today, he learned and taught enough to a servant so unlike himself. All that needs to be said has been said. "What will happen, will happen," he concludes insightfully, then twists around in an abrubt, militairy movement, preparing to march off without any more words of farewell to Faanshi. The healer hadn't expected thanks when she healed the Lions -- and now she does not expect farewells, as the young warrior takes his leave. He is Agni-Haidar; in the world according to a shudra, he may come and go as he wills, and it is her place to accept it. She has only enough time to incline her head in respectful acknowledgement before his footsteps are carrying him away. But when it is safe for her to do so, she peeks after him, delicate black brows knitted together in consternation... and thought. What goes into making a Lion of Fire is beyond her ken; such things are not divulged to shudra, and especially not to her. That there could be something in common between one of Khalid Atar's chosen warriors and a girl whose only offset to her tainted blood is the power she carries in her hands -- the hiding of pain, and the acceptance of it as a part of life -- is just as beyond her, and the possibilty doesn't even occur to her. But a Lion has stopped to talk with her. Not once, but twice. That alone is enough to give her pause, and even as she finally makes herself move to fetch Kosha from the kennels and slip out into the city to begin her daily walk through Bordertown, it's enough to make her glance skyward in search of flying pigs. And to thank Ushas, silently, for enough strength to have faced a little wyvern... and thrived. [End log.]