"The Totem of Her Soul"

Log Date:
	11/1, 11/2/00

Log Cast:
	Trina, BroadShoulders, Faanshi, Firesong (NPC emitted by Faanshi,
BroadSoulders)

Log Intro:
	Slowly, carefully, a Faanshi made fragile by her grief for her lost
beloved has done her best to take up her normal life once more. As part of
it, she has needed to bring the word to the God-King -- for Thalia 
Tritonides Khalida is still set aside by the Hawk of Heaven, requiring
Faanshi to deal with Khalid Himself regarding the orders His wife had given
her -- that she has at last found one within the city who can speak for
the tribe of city Sylvans, and who is willing to talk with the Amir-al on
the matter of the ritual that still-unknown Children of Earth had violated.
Now, she awaits the command of Khalid to bring BroadShoulders before Him,
and in the meantime, she goes to tell the aged smith what has transpired
since last they spoke....

*===========================< In Character Time >===========================* 
             Time of day:  Afternoon 
          Date on Aether:  Tuesday, April 30, 3907. 
           Year on Earth:  1507 A.D. 
       Phase of the Moon:  Full 
                  Season:  Spring 
                 Weather:  Clear Skies 
             Temperature:  Warm 
*==========================================================================*

Secret Garden - Bordertown - Haven
A small piece of paradise amidst the noise and bustle of Haven, the little 
  garden has been carefully tended over decades, if not centuries, and now it 
  has taken over the central courtyard of the once-Varati building. The 
  original fountain has become a deep-bowled flower with stamens of 
  ever-changing water, nearly to the brim; the pillars, typical of Varati 
  style, are host to ivy, climbing roses and creepers of all sorts. In beds of 
  soil pretty plants mingle with medicinal herbs, and favourite forage for the 
  visiting creatures is present in abundance. The animals the city tribe hold 
  dear come to this place, and they are welcomed. There are small benches and 
  screened-off corners; not many, since the garden is tiny, but a few. Shade 
  is provided by the balconies looking onto the garden, for each overhangs it 
  a small way, but for the most part the sun shines into this secluded place, 
  and the fountain provides cool air and a gentle, persistant noise.
Contents:
BroadShoulders(#2418PVXcem)
Trina
Obvious exits:
Small Door <SD>

The tranquility of the garden hangs heavy and warm in the spring sunshine, 
  scented by the light fragrance of the few flowers that have opened. High on 
  one of the branches, a flash of white can be seen: it is a snowy owl, her 
  dappled wings folded neatly about her as her talons wrap snugly around the 
  branch on which she perches. And, just as neatly folded is a pile of clothes 
  left near the roots of the tree, warmed by the same sunbeams as the owl far 
  above.

The old smith who owns and tends the garden is taking an afternoon off, dozing 
  happily on a shaded bench near the fountain. Every now and again an emerald 
  eye opens, watching the owl above as a slight smile twists his lips in 
  response to a scurry of fear from the undergrowth - but for the most part, 
  BroadShoulders is enjoying the peace and quiet of his own little corner of 
  paradise in the busy City. The sounds of the street seem far away from here, 
  and the bustle of daily life leaves this place untouched in its serene 
  tranquility.

Into this small haven comes an interruption -- or, rather, three of them. One 
  of BroadShoulders' young apprentices emerges from the forge, holding open 
  the door for a slender, willowy figure in a black sari, and for the sizeable 
  hound that lopes into this patch of green at her side. Kosha's senses are on 
  the alert the moment the door is open, and the dog sniffs vigorously at the 
  air as he emerges. Faanshi peeks up gravely above the top of her ebon veil, 
  holding back shyly while the apprentice approaches his master, reaching over 
  to tap BroadShoulders upon the shoulder. "Elder?" comes an earnest murmur. 
  "Sorry to disturb... but the healer, the one from Atesh-Gah? She's come to 
  see you!"

The owl's head tilts lazily onto its side as her round yellow eyes blink 
  curiously at the newcomers...all of them. Her wings lift, rustle, and fold 
  around themselves once more, and she shifts her weight on her taloned feet 
  as her gaze comes to rest on the dog, steady and wary.

BroadShoulders opens emerald eyes once more at Firesong's touch, grinning up 
  at the lad. "Has she now, Firesong? But who's this Elder fellow?" He swings 
  his legs off the bench and stands, bowing courteously to the Healer. "I take 
  it the hour of my doom is at hand, Faanshi Lonewalker's child?" He seems 
  quite relaxed and at peace with himself, and pleased to see the halfbreed as 
  well.

The youth grins, winking to acknowledge the humor in BroadShoulder's words, 
  and discreetly withdrawing once he waves Faanshi forward; perhaps the girl's 
  put a touch of sobriety into him for once? But for whatever reason, the 
  apprentice leaves BroadShoulders and his visitor to their business and 
  vanishes back into the forge. Faanshi is left, therefore, to venture 
  uncertainly nearer, saying earnestly, "Namaste', Imph--Elder. Chookma." She 
  bows as seems to be her way, hands palm to palm at her breast. As she 
  straightens up again the maiden adds earnestly, "Forgive me coming to 
  disturb you in your hour of rest... but I have come to tell you... the 
  Amir-al has not summoned me to bring you, not yet, no." Her brow crinkles 
  under the edge of her somber-hued sari as she appends, "I am... no longer 
  sure when He will do so. He has stopped holding audiences within Atesh-Gah 
  and the seneschal will not tell me when they will resume." Very softly, very 
  gravely, the halfbreed maiden concludes, "I apologize, Elder...!"

A faint rustle stirs the last few fallen leaves at the base of the tree, dry 
  and crackling from their long winter on the ground. And the owl's attention 
  is drawn suddenly away from the dog and girl - her head tilts down, feathers 
  arching up in alertness. One moment more - and then with a swish, the pale 
  wings spread wide as the owl launches herself from the branch and down 
  towards the rustling leaves.

BroadShoulders shrugs. "Can't be helped, hmm? Come and sit down, child - you 
  look like you need a dose of peace and quiet." As Trina drops, he points 
  quietly to the descending owl, watching her stoop, seemingly unsurprised by 
  the night-bird's actions in broad daylight. The Garden is no stranger to 
  this sort of thing.

A small bemused growl escapes Kosha as the dog can't help but notice the big 
  bird's descent; watching the avian, Kosha lays his ears back and stares 
  fixedly in that direction, attention distracted for once off his mistress. 
  For her own part Faanshi peeks about shyly, before gingerly settling down 
  upon the end of the bench upon which the smith had just been dozing. Far 
  more sanguine about shapeshifters than the hound, the halfbreed girl watches 
  Trina just long enough to gain the suspicion that that is no ordinary owl 
  before her, and then modestly looks down again. "Thank you, Elder," she 
  murmurs. "This place... it is lovely."

For an instant, there is a flash of brown fur emerging from the dusty pile of 
  fallen leaves - but no sooner is it seen than it is snapped up. With a 
  sickly wet crunch, the hapless mouse is trapped within the firm grasp of the 
  owl's talons, squeezed tight as the bird soars back up to her perch. There, 
  in the comfortable shade, she settles down to her snack, her satisfied 
  tranquility restored.

As the bird settles back on her perch, the smith chuckles softly, taking a 
  seat on another shady bench sitting near Faanshi's. "My thanks. My ancestors 
  and I have done our humble best here - although I wouldn't compare it with a 
  Varati garden."

This, apparently, surprises Faanshi. "You have seen some, sir?" she blurts, 
  head turning in BroadShoulder's direction now though she isn't quite at ease 
  enough to look him in the eye. Not, perhaps, out of any unusual tension -- 
  but rather the shyness of a creature not entirely certain of the safety of 
  the place in which she finds herself.

Snap! Crunch! Squish! The sounds of the owl's contented eating float gently 
  down from the branch above. Oblivious of the other conversation, now, she 
  concentrates only on the matter at hand. Or at foot and at beak, as the case 
  may be.

BroadShoulders says "I have, though I found them too cultivated for my taste." 
  And here, indeed, there is the appearance of wildness kept within margins so 
  that one plant does not crowd out all the others, but enough that none has 
  anything else determined for them. "So many neat rows do not sit well on my 
  eyes, pretty though they may be. Look at this one, for instance." Sitting 
  beneath the bench is a massive, shaggy clump of something only recogniseable 
  by the leaves as a herb. It looks nothing like its carefully-tended 
  counterparts, but somehow feels more right. "She prefers the shade beneath a 
  rock, and yet she is planted under trees."

Not entirely certain whether he is bothered by that owl or envying her the 
  mouse-snack, Kosha stares fixedly up into the branches, ears still back and 
  another little whine rumbling in his throat. In the meantime, Faanshi leans 
  over to peer beneath the bench, gaze settling upon the leaves of the green 
  growing thing in question. Is that recognition that glimmers in her eyes for 
  a moment? "The... planting of things is not the way of most of the Children 
  of Fire," she admits timidly. "At least... not the ones I have seen."

Beak full with mouse-scraps, the owl cocks her head at the dog, narrowing her 
  yellow eyes at him as he whines. And then, almost tauntingly, she gulps down 
  the shreds of meat, tipping her head back upright, and daintily lifts her 
  taloned foot to bite off another chunk.

BroadShoulders has paid little attention to the owl once she was settled in 
  the tree, but looks at her now and frowns to see her taunting the dog. In a 
  tone calm but overlaid with sternness, he says "Manners, graisha. You may 
  need his help one day. Stop teasing him." With that, he turns back to 
  Faanshi with a smile. "They do seem to be good at bonfires, though, Healer. 
  As good at bonfires as we are at planting." Poor choice of topic, perhaps, 
  but it gets the point across.

"Green growing things can nurture the eye, Elder," says Faanshi then, her 
  voice not rising, still soft and shy, though the set of her black-garbed 
  frame does tense ever so slightly. Is it because she is unused to vocalizing 
  her opinions to a man that she sounds so unsure? Or unused to vocalizing 
  them at all? But still... Faanshi does speak that opinion, nevertheless. 
  "But sometimes... so can fire." The scold to Trina -- and the confirmation 
  that she is, indeed, more than a mere owl -- draws her summer-green gaze in 
  the shifter's direction once again, while Kosha whimpers hopefully up into 
  the branches and then dips his nose down to rummage through the leaves. 
  Maybe he can find a mouse, too!

Still close enough to humanity that she can understand the elder's words, the 
  owl gives an indignant little fluff of her wings in response. But she does 
  behave, settling down with her snack again. As the dog begins to shuffle 
  through the leaves, the owl peers down, leaning as far forward as she can. 
  Carefully, she edges out on the branch, talons clinging tighter and tighter 
  as the circle of wood dwindles. And then, when she is poised directly over 
  Kosha, she opens her beak, letting the last bit of mouse plummet down to 
  land on his head.

BroadShoulders grins at Faanshi. "I know what you mean, Healer. There is 
  something uplifting about a good fire, isn't there? If you'd rather stare at 
  one of those, the Forge is lit, and Firesong will happily stare at you for 
  as long as he can get away with it." The owl receives a nod of approval as 
  she shares her catch - manners are vital between predators, and the smith is 
  sure that Trina knows it really.

Whuff? What? Wait? Where? Kosha yurfs as the mouse-bit hits his head, shooting 
  his startled gaze in several directions before he finally seems to realize 
  that food has just hit him out of the sky. Then he promptly slurps up the 
  tidbit, tail wagging his pleasure even if it's fleeting at best. Watching 
  this, Faanshi cannot be seen to smile -- her veil, even though it seems to 
  be a new one, just as effectively hiding her expression as the last one had 
  done -- but at least her gaze does soften noticeably. That is, until she 
  blinks in startlement at the smith, and those eyes of hers drop their gaze 
  right down to the ground. "I-I am," she stammers shyly, "content to converse 
  here, Elder..." There do not, after all, appear to be any apprentices who'd 
  like to stare at her in immediate sight.

It's hard to tell whether the owl is more satisfied at the dog's confusion or 
  his pleasure - of course, it's hard to tell anything about what the owl is 
  feeling when she closes those huge round eyes, as she does now. Her task 
  completed, she shifts her weight to secure her more precarious perch on the 
  end of the branch and settles down.

BroadShoulders chuckles softly. "Firesong will be so disappointed, you know? 
  But he will simply have to live with it. He will doubtless curse me later 
  for keeping the pleasure of your company all to myself."

Oh dear. Flustered, Faanshi shoots a wide-eyed glance back towards the door 
  through which Firesong has disappeared -- a look, one might posit, the mouse 
  Trina just consumed might have worn just before the owl graisha pounced upon 
  it. "I..." That's all she's able to say for a moment, before she regains 
  enough composure to continue tinily, "I... do not think... my company is 
  much pleasure right now, Elder... but thank you...!"

BroadShoulders chuckles again. "I really ought to get to know you better, you 
  know? I owe it to Lonewalker, really, as well as to you yourself. Hmm, 
  Healer, tell me - have you started teaching yet?"

The mouse is long forgotten, as is the dog, and even the people below. The 
  owl's head tucks neatly under her wing, hiding her beak and tightly-closed 
  eyes from view and shielding herself from the fading afternoon light, and 
  after a few moments, she is slumbering peacefully.

If there is anything that could pull Faanshi's attention back from the 
  alarming prospect of a young Sylvan who might have been taking more interest 
  in her than she thinks is warranted, it's the mention of her father's name 
  -- and the question that the smith puts to her. The maiden turns slowly back 
  around, then pulls in a breath and answers earnestly, "I have been asked to, 
  yes, Elder...!"

BroadShoulders nods. "Good. That talent of yours is too good to waste, hmm? 
  Oh, don't worry, I'm not going to ask you to teach anyone - I just wanted to 
  be sure you felt yourself capable of it."

Unsettledly, Faanshi lays her hands in her lap, fingers fidgeting with one 
  another. Her gaze rests downward upon them now, out of long habit if nothing 
  else. "My acarya thinks so," she breathes. "And... the Warlord of Messala. I 
  am to teach his sister... and one of the Ushasti women. They all seem to 
  think that I can do it... I have been praying that they are right...!" And 
  is that a bit of relief coming in to ease her voice, at the smith's 
  assurance that he isn't about to drop another student onto her head, as 
  Trina had done to Kosha with her tidbit of mouse? There is a moment of 
  silence from her, another, and then Faanshi appends in utmost uncertainty, 
  "You have mentioned my father... twice now..."

BroadShoulders nods. "I have every confidence in your ability to teach, 
  Faanshi. Believe in my judgement, if not your own, hmm? And yes, your father 
  was a friend of mine. It's always troubled me that I never had the chance to 
  meet his daughter - until now, at least."

"But how did you know--" Like a fawn peeking out from within a bush, Faanshi 
  finally looks up at the aged smith, the blossoming curiosity she cannot 
  repress beginning to overtake years of ingrained habit. The halfbreed's brow 
  remains crinkled... and then it clears, as a possibility occurs to her, one 
  with which she is not entirely certain she is comfortable even though it 
  seems to make sense. "The Grandmother Tanith... she knew? She saw?"

BroadShoulders says "Actually, no, it wasn't just Tanith. It was both of us. I 
  was a Seer myself, back then, and we both had a different vision about the 
  same thing. Lonewalker featured in both, though, so we put our heads 
  together and worked it out. Something about the dawn saving a child of 
  Lonewalker's, was mine. Tanith saw a daughter of flame and earth, shielded 
  from the sword by the dawn."

Saved by the dawn. Faanshi gasps out involuntarily, straightening up where she 
  sits, "My heart-mother...!" And then the import of something else the smith 
  says belatedly sinks in. The shudra's black-saried head tilts a bit, and 
  once more her brow crinkles up, delicate dark eyebrows knitting above those 
  great liquid eyes. "You... _were_ a seer, Elder?" Though it is likely 
  Faanshi does not realize the evidence of her finally growing comfortable 
  enough about this man to express insights as they strike her, she finishes 
  impulsively, "The magic storms that came to the city... they took the 
  visions from you?"

BroadShoulders nods. "They did. It was actually a bit of a relief for all of 
  us, to tell the truth - it's dangerous to collapse without warning in my 
  line of work, and since Tanith still Sees I'm just as useful to the Tribe as 
  I ever was, if not more so."

Not needing to be clairvoyant to possess an active imagination, Faanshi 
  shudders softly at the idea of falling over into the fire of a forge, arms 
  wrapping about herself for a moment in a reflexive barrier against pain... 
  even imaginary pain. "It is good that you still have a place," she whispers, 
  after a moment.

BroadShoulders looks puzzled. "Of course I still have a place, Healer! A Tribe 
  stays together, through thick and thin - each contributes what they can, and 
  if they cannot contribute then the others support them. We know that there 
  is more than one way to measure value."

Slowly, hesitantly, Faanshi bobs her head. And then a new possibility occurs 
  to her, one which she scarcely dares to voice. Still, up comes her gaze 
  again, twin points of green framed on all sides by sungolden skin and a 
  smoke-black sari and veil. "My father was... one of... your tribe?"

BroadShoulders says "He was not a member, no. He was too footloose to want to 
  stay in one place, you see. But he knew of us, knew a lot of us, and would 
  have had a place had he wanted to settle down. Unfortunately, he never took 
  it."

Faanshi's arms have not moved; now, her gaze turns up and out, distant, a 
  little lost. "He came to Sarazen instead," she murmurs, "a-and made me..."

BroadShoulders smiles softly. "And through him, you have come to meet us. Full 
  circle, you see? The Gods move in mysterious ways..."

Indeed they do, though Faanshi's experience with gods _is_ rather constricted; 
  difficult for it not to be, under her circumstances. But the maiden's 
  attention comes back to the old smith, nevertheless. If she smiles, it 
  cannot be seen, but at least her gaze is once more focused upon the present. 
  "I... do not think I am very much like him," she ventures.

BroadShoulders says "I don't think so either. You've managed to sit on a bench 
  for more than ten minutes. He used to wander around, watch the fountain, 
  tease the badger we had back then..."

The notion of someone related to _her_ doing an action she's seen Kosha try 
  more than once in the green place within the city is baffling enough that 
  Faanshi shoots an unconscious glance at her hound -- who, this very moment, 
  is occupied with prowling about this tiny nook of a garden, thoroughly 
  sniffing at everything in sight and on the hunt for further mice now that 
  it's apparent no further treats are going to hit him from above. "My... 
  father... teased _badgers_?" the healer breathes, clearly astonished.

BroadShoulders says "Just the one, aye, he did. Used to wave a leafy branch 
  around the poor thing's eyes. Why it never took a chunk out of him I'll 
  never know." BroadShoulders looks at Kosha too, and grins. "Aye, just like 
  that he was. Always into everything."

Faanshi can almost see it, a golden-haired Sylvan with green eyes and a 
  crooked grin -- borrowed from a certain bard who still lives on in her 
  memory even if no other fashion -- taunting a badger and skittering back out 
  of the way each time it got too angry with him. For a long moment, she is 
  very silent, her gaze still on the dog even as Kosha finally rousts out a 
  mouse of his own and gulps it down. And then she says, her voice very small, 
  "The... Warlord... was a very big badger."

BroadShoulders nods, losing all the good humour and instead finding sympathy 
  for the girl. "The Warlord was, yes. And Lonewalker couldn't escape in time, 
  could he. But Faanshi, I want you to see your father as I knew him. He loved 
  life, and was always living every minute to the full. He lived as much as 
  any three normal Sylvans with full lives - and he would have been so proud 
  of you, my dear girl, so proud. A Healer, and a strong one? Mind, he'd join 
  me in cursing the Varati culture from here to a century forwards for what 
  they've done to you."

If Faanshi can be said to do _anything_ abruptly, then let it be said than her 
  head does abruptly swivel back towards her companion, while the rest of her 
  slender frame goes rigid in reaction to his words. For several moments, she 
  is simply struck speechless. Then at last she blurts, "You... you speak as 
  though the Varati people have all broken the holy surahs against me, 
  Elder...!"

BroadShoulders snorts, and only just manages not to swear. "Bug... never mind 
  the Surahs, Faanshi. I don't mind the Surahs. Most of them are good rules, 
  but how do you think I feel about being told I should be reviled just 
  because I don't see your God-King as mine? I'm Sylvan, not Varati, and I 
  worship different Gods, live by different rules. If you had chosen your 
  Surahs, I'd not mind - but they've been beaten into you, unless I miss my 
  guess, and I'm not happy with that. The Surahs are fine, as far as they go - 
  but they aren't rules I could live by and like it."

All traces of the comfort she has developed in the smith's presence leave 
  Faanshi's frame and face -- what little is visible of the latter, at any 
  rate. She rises, feeling all at once as if she has been struck in the heart 
  with a dagger, and unable to keep tears from pricking up sharply in her 
  eyes. Recent and raw as the grief inside her yet remains, she cannot stop 
  herself from weeping, though she seems to somehow have found enough strength 
  to keep it from overcoming her. "My heart-mother Ulima taught me the holy 
  surahs, Elder," she whispers, soft voice turning hoarse and ragged. "She 
  never beat me. Not once. The only one who has ever struck me -- th-the 
  Warlord--" The gentle tones catch then, syllables caught on a roughness 
  within the maiden's throat. Faanshi turns away from the smith, struggling to 
  get herself under control. She cannot bear to look at him, not now, but 
  somehow she makes herself continue to speak. "The Warlord Hashim was m-made 
  to take his own life as a surah-breaker by the holy justice of the Most 
  High, who delivered me from him. No Varati has r-raised a hand against me 
  since." It is not often that Faanshi is able to say that, and it is stark 
  comfort, but it also seems to let her straighten up and turn around, with 
  stricken eyes, to look upon BroadShoulders once more. Even now, tears 
  trickle forth from her eyes. "I am not a wise woman, Elder... but I do not 
  see that the surahs by which I live say I must revile you or your ways. I 
  will not do so." The corollary one might expect to this -- a request that he 
  not revile _her_ ways -- remains unvoiced. Here and now, especially here and 
  now, Faanshi will ask nothing for herself. She bows instead, whispering a 
  sorrowful, "Namaste'" -- and she turns to head for the door, whistling three 
  soft notes that command the attention of the dog.

BroadShoulders is devastated by the sudden change that has come over the 
  Healer. He sounds on the edge of tears himself as he stands, expression full 
  of sorrow, saying "Healer, please, do not go because an old man opens his 
  mouth wide enough for both his feet to fit. I know they are important to 
  you, and that your mentor loved you. Let me explain what I have said, let me 
  tell you what the Surahs are used for towards those of us who are not 
  protected by them? I do not revile them, but I do not follow them either, 
  and I could not. Sylvan ways are different, child, unbelievably different. I 
  expect you to argue with me, as all my other friends do, to debate on the 
  virtues of this and that, to battle with words and remain friends. I 
  sometimes forget that you do not know our ways... forgive me. Please. 
  Faanshi, DawnDove, Lonewalker's daughter, I apologise with all my heart for 
  the hurt I have done you with careless words."

Kosha comes over, and then pauses in bafflement as the girl does not in fact 
  head towards the door. While the hound quirks his head, ears up, Faanshi 
  turns slowly back around to face the agitated Sylvan. Dampness fills her 
  eyes, trickling down to wet her cheeks and the top of her veil; behind those 
  tears is a veritable tangle of emotion that ultimately amounts to a single 
  result, that of this gentle dove of a healer seemingly having discovered 
  that she has been cornered by a hawk. Perhaps no Varati has beaten her, but 
  was it a Varati responsible for the wary lack of trust in those summer-leaf 
  eyes? She could say much, but what she finally rasps out is, "Wh... what did 
  you call me?"

Emerald eyes have melted in sorrow and caring, as BroadShoulders answers 
  "DawnDove, you mean? If you do not like it, say so - but you are deserving 
  of a Sylvan name, for everything you have done for my people as well as your 
  blood, and that one seemed to fit." The Elder looks his true age and older 
  at the moment, as every line on his face is obvious in his sorrow. The 
  sparkling life that usually animates him, making him seem years younger, has 
  fled for the moment with the thought that he might have done you harm.

"Elder, I... I am... only half a Sylvan--" Those expressive eyes of hers have 
  turned a little wild now, and Faanshi takes a step backward, old memory 
  surging up hard within her, and perhaps that's old fear in her voice now as 
  she croaks, "And I have... hardly done anything... tried t-to speak to the 
  Maharani, the Kaimakam, th-the Amir-al, but I do not deserve -- I could not 
  possibly--"

BroadShoulders sighs and sits down again. "You may be only half-Sylvan, 
  DawnDove, but there are many with no Sylvan blood at all who have been given 
  names. And anyone within a Tribe has a Name, Sylvan or no. You have done a 
  lot for my friends, and that alone would entitle you to a Name, never mind 
  that you have little influence with your other blood-kin. We judge a woman 
  by what she does, not who her friends are. That you have Sylvan blood only 
  means I'm kicking myself for not having found you one earlier. Is the Name 
  alright, or would you prefer another?"

"But... but what's wrong with _Faanshi_?" the maiden whispers, pleadingly, 
  even as she struggles to stem the flow of her tears, or at the very least 
  stand upright, to look up, to try to speak in defense of a way of life that 
  has not been at all easy to bear... but which nevertheless has made her what 
  she is. She has been urged to argue. Twenty years of deference make it 
  difficult indeed for her to argue with an elder and a man -- especially when 
  the last one who tried to encourage her to do so turned against her. But 
  argue she does now, even if all she can think to say is to lay out one of 
  her deepest, starkest pains for the smith's consideration. "It is a _good_ 
  name! A-almost all I have left f-rom my heart-mother... she _loved_ me...! 
  Everyone o-outside Atesh-Gah thinks that the Varati cannot love... it's not 
  true! It's not true!"

BroadShoulders says "Hey, hey, hush, hmm? *I* know the Varati can love, eh? 
  Try as they might to appear as soulless monsters, anyone who knows a bit 
  about the Surahs know that they can, and do, love. How many tragedies are 
  there in Varati legends proving just that, hmm?" The smith is trying to calm 
  you down, now. "A Sylvan name is an honour, Faanshi. You know why we have 
  such odd names, yes? Why I am BroadShoulders now, but was ManySmiles all 
  those years ago?" A test?"

It is too soon, her emotions still too overburdened by the loss of the person 
  dearest to her in the world, for Faanshi to be able to look at 
  BroadShoulders for long. Her gaze drops down to her sandaled feet while the 
  tears keep coming, her arms wrapping about her frame in meager comfort. 
  "Th-the names are given... to fit the bearer," she whispers. "My acarya has 
  said so."

BroadShoulders says "Your - acaryer? - is right. They are. A Sylvan soul has a 
  totem, and yours totem is Dove; it fits too well to ignore. Tanith Saw it, 
  Saw you as a dove in a vision recently, as I Saw it years ago. Dove is part 
  of you, and therefore we name you for Her. The dawn - that is similar. You 
  swear by - Ushas, is it? - and you call her the Dawn. You've been seen 
  singing to the dawn, and again, the dawn has featured in visions about you. 
  The dawn is as woven with your nature as Dove, and so we honour that as 
  well. I'd imagine that's your Varati nature coming forth as well. So - to 
  me, you are DawnDove. Varati and Sylvan both."

For several moments the maiden is silent, no sound escaping her, not even that 
  of her weeping. Is it the Varati, too, who have taught her now to cry 
  without making noise? While Kosha scoots up close to her, tail wagging 
  anxiously at the sight of her distress, Faanshi stares down dolefully at 
  him. But at last she seems to go still, or at the very least a little less 
  tense. And she murmurs, profoundly uncertainly, "I h-have been... heard?"

BroadShoulders nods, commenting softly "I have graisha friends, remember? And 
  I only live across the road from FallingStar. You didn't sing much, but I 
  was awake to hear you when you did. No-one around here sings like that, 
  especially not to the dawn."

Again Faanshi is silent, but this time it is for a very different reason: deep 
  shyness, rather than deep grief. Her voice gone very small, the halfbreed 
  murmurs, "I... did not know... I was that loud, with my voice, or the 
  lyre... forgive me if I woke you...!"

BroadShoulders chuckles. "You didn't wake me. I'm usually awake an hour before 
  dawn, getting the fire hot again and cleaning the shop for the day's custom. 
  I did have to poke Firesong a few times to get him back to sweeping, 
  though." Though that obviously wasn't your fault, since it's presented as a 
  joke, and the smith thinks it's quite funny that the nuisance of a boy is 
  just at that age where women are the most wonderful creatures on earth...

"I... I see... I apologize if I kept your apprentice from his rightful 
  tasks..." Another apology; evidently, the notion that she's begun to attract 
  audiences with the attempts she's made in the mornings as of late to lift up 
  songs to the dawn has flustered Faanshi in an entirely new fashion. Still 
  though, it can't entirely banish the sharp lump that rose up within her 
  throat at the reasoning that the smith gave her for the name he's suggested 
  should be hers. Tinily, awkwardly, she appends, "You... understand that 
  there _is_ Varati in me...?"

BroadShoulders says "I'm Sylvan, remember? I *can't* deny your nature, any 
  more than I can deny that that over there is a tree. I wish I'd met you 
  sooner, and I wish I'd had the raising of you instead of your mother's side 
  of the family, but that can't be helped now. It *is*, however, my duty to 
  the Sylvan in you to make you aware of *our* ways. You know enough of the 
  ways of your mother's people to instruct us all - but you should not forget 
  that you are Sylvan too. And since I'm the closest thing to an uncle on your 
  father's side, and an Elder to boot, I get to show you what your Sylvan 
  blood means."

"I... I have..." Faanshi turns around again at last, that wariness still 
  lingering in her liquid eyes -- but at least now, she's decided to look at 
  the old smith again. With effort she finishes, "I have never known... family 
  of my father's people. My acarya's kin have come closest... but they are her 
  kin. Not mine."

BroadShoulders nods. "Since your half-brother follows in his father's 
  footsteps, I'm afraid I don't know next time he'll be around - and you 
  half-sister is mated with a fellow in a Forest Tribe, I'm afraid, so I can't 
  reach her either. I don't think there are any more of you - at least, if 
  there were, he never said. I don't know of any other living relatives of his 
  - so, as I said, I'm the closest thing to an uncle on your Sylvan side, 
  since your father was a friend of mine."

There are ways that BroadShoulders could have startled Faanshi more greatly -- 
  but not many. He would almost have had to proclaim that he was really Khalid 
  in disguise and throw off a great aura of flame right here in the garden to 
  top the effect his words have upon the halfbreed maiden now. 
  "Br-brother...?" she croaks, eyes going round over her veil, color draining 
  out of what little is visible of her face. "Sis... I have...?" On top of 
  everything else, this is enough to bring a sudden weakness to Faanshi's 
  limbs; her knees begin to wobble beneath her, and the shudra abruptly looks 
  as though she may topple over.

BroadShoulders leaps up in an attempt to catch the girl before she falls...

It's not hard. There is hardly any substance, tall though Faanshi is, to her 
  delicate frame; for the burly smith, catching her is as effortless as 
  lifting a shirt off a chair or a leaf off the ground. Her black-saried form 
  crumples against his arms, though she does not faint, not entirely. Still 
  she can be heard to mumble, thunderstruck, "I-I-I have a... brother? A 
  sister...?" All the while, watching this, Kosha whines and tries to leap up 
  to put his front paws upon the girl, though he is forestalled by the elder's 
  swift motion.

BroadShoulders nods, soberly. "You never knew? Yes. You are not alone, 
  DawnDove. They are older than you, as well - next time one of them stops by, 
  I'll get them to come and talk with you. If you don't mind, that is." Gentle 
  and caring, the old smith smells mostly of smoke. His hands are rough and 
  calloused, and his arms scarred by sparks of flying metal. He tries to sit 
  the Shudra down on a bench again, waving her towards one but not 
  relinquishing his hold on her until she takes her own weight back again, at 
  which point he moves back to his own bench.

"I... I did not know... I-I never knew..." Just as easily as she was caught, 
  Faanshi is easily set down again. The moment BroadShoulders steps away, 
  Kosha is there to try to comfort the healer -- practically in her lap, 
  though he is of a size these days that he can fit little more there than his 
  big furry head and a paw. Still, the dog's anxious effort is enough to make 
  Faanshi wrap her arms about him while she cries. "Th-there was no way to 
  know...!"

BroadShoulders says "Of course not. I do apologise, I thought someone had said 
  something already." The smith smiles. "Yes, you have a brother and a sister, 
  and your sister at least has a child. Your brother? Who knows. Too much like 
  his father, if you get what I mean. He's gone a-roving in Sylvan territory, 
  last I heard, so he should be safe enough. He learnt from his father's 
  mistake. Do you want me to try and get word to your sister?"

That jolts Faanshi's head up again, and alarm floods into eyes still damp from 
  her tears, though for the immediate moment she appears to have ceased to 
  make new ones. "I-I don't know!" she positively yelps -- a strange enough 
  noise coming out of her that it makes Kosha jump. "I...I would not know what 
  to say... I need to... I need to think about this... I must pray, Elder... 
  I..." She shoots to her feet again, still unsteady, but now far too 
  unsettled to sit still for long. Her restlessness infects the hound, who 
  wags his tail back and forth a time or two and jumps again.

BroadShoulders holds his hands up, open and spread wide to either side. "Hey! 
  I said it's your choice, and I meant it. Let me know when you're ready, hmm? 
  GreenTree doesn't know you exist, either." The smith grins, and jokes again. 
  "Any more bits of your world I can turn upside-down while I'm at it? I seem 
  to be doing that a lot, just recently."

"I-I do not think I can bear another shock, Elder..." Wait a minute. Is that 
  humor, from Faanshi? It might almost be, though it's tough to tell for 
  certain. The shudra pulls in several deep breaths, striving as hard as she 
  can to hold on to what's left of her composure. "Not... not right now. 
  F-forgive my weakness... I am... I still... cry very easily...!"

BroadShoulders looks puzzled. "Weakness? I don't see it as a weakness to be 
  able to show what you feel. Sob away. I've got plenty of clean cloths if you 
  want, and a nice soft shoulder if you need that too. My shirt has been cried 
  all over a few times..."

Once again, Faanshi peeks up at the smith -- and once again, there's a hint of 
  wary uncertainty in the young woman's summer-green eyes. She does not step 
  forward to take BroadShoulders up on his offer, though for a fraction of an 
  instant she peeks at one of the shoulders that gave him his name, almost 
  longingly. "You are... kind to offer, Elder," she whispers then, dipping her 
  gaze down so that she might rub a dainty hand across it, to try to clear the 
  tears from her vision. "B-but... I must go. I must think, and pray... about 
  what you have said, a-and I must prepare to teach the sister of Messala's 
  Warlord, a-and the Maithuna Kerani..." And with that she straightens, stoic 
  as any Varati, for all that she is far slenderer than any Daughter of Fire.

BroadShoulders nods. "Far be it from me to keep you from teaching. And 
  remember that I have confidence in you, at least - your magic is too strong 
  to allow you to err. Revel in the gift of the Gods, hmm? Whichever ones are 
  responsible, they gave you magic. Have faith, eh?" He stands, and bows to 
  you, recognising that the talk is over.

"I try, Elder," whispers Faanshi then, bowing once more in that Varati way of 
  hers... and then once again whistling to her hound to keep him at her side, 
  while she turns for the second time to the door. She glances back a single 
  time before she opens it up to slip through it, letting Kosha scamper past 
  her -- and before she follows him, she whispers again by way of farewell, "I 
  try...!"

[End log.]