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+--- Thread: GO Little child (/showthread.php?tid=12876)
Little child - Eha - 7/23/2026
Eha made it. Footpaws bleeding. She limped along. Her mother did her best to keep them clean. Medicinal herbs atop them. All was tried. And truly they did not hurt that much. With all the herbs.
But she sat and watched the moon. Her little body tired and sore. Her mind on the stars.
RE: Little child - Tatsaaye' - 7/23/2026
Night falls slowly over the water. Tatsaaye' tastes the rich scent of leaf-rot, the fresh brightness of lakewater, the stagnant musk of algae and swamp. Somewhere nearby is the salt sea; and beneath that, almost hidden... blood.
She follows with a curious nose.
The caribou hunters come one by one, and the ghost-talker and sun children slower than the rest. Tatsaaye' is tired, limbs aching with a thousand thousand steps that even a week's respite has not erased, but a restless energy still thrums down to the very pads of her paws.
Storm-girl finds Eha where she sits, nose pointed to the sky.
Tatsaaye' tracks her stare to the distant glimmers of light. The stars make the same shapes in the swamp as they did in the meltwater mouth of her den, looking out into the rainy black, and between them a half-circle of glowing moon.
She sits, tail curling against hind legs. Cen had spoken of spirits- she had listened- but she does not see raven or caribou in the depthless black. Quietly, almost in a whisper: "What're you looking for?"
She follows with a curious nose.
The caribou hunters come one by one, and the ghost-talker and sun children slower than the rest. Tatsaaye' is tired, limbs aching with a thousand thousand steps that even a week's respite has not erased, but a restless energy still thrums down to the very pads of her paws.
Storm-girl finds Eha where she sits, nose pointed to the sky.
Tatsaaye' tracks her stare to the distant glimmers of light. The stars make the same shapes in the swamp as they did in the meltwater mouth of her den, looking out into the rainy black, and between them a half-circle of glowing moon.
She sits, tail curling against hind legs. Cen had spoken of spirits- she had listened- but she does not see raven or caribou in the depthless black. Quietly, almost in a whisper: "What're you looking for?"
RE: Little child - Eha - 7/30/2026
Eha was handling her paws gingerly. But the sky was beautiful. There was something about night and teh stars and the moon. That spoke to the small girl. So she was a bit startled as she was no longer alone.
Eha turns to smile at the older girl. Not for. Just lookin' moon. Star. Sky! Beauty
She did not know the entire complexities of the language. And she was still learning a lot. But she knew enough to share what she was staring at. But it was nothing, but what she loved.
Love moon.
RE: Little child - Tatsaaye' - 7/31/2026
It is something Cen said many nights ago before the march which she remembers now. You will be teachers to them. You will guide them.
Now that she has proven herself, and wears the snowy feather that proves she has come through this first march as one of the strongest to bear the name Lanzadoii- it does not feel so intensely that she must grasp what she can with claws and teeth.
Tatsaaye' smiles tentatively back at sunwoman's daughter. She has made it here too, after all, and so is worthy of baring Lanzadoii name. She wonders if Cen will grant it to Nutuyikruk too, or if she will only remain slave.
Her nose wrinkles.
But storm-girl is not satisfied with words and the beauty of distant things. She wants to know them; to understand, like how she understands the sun feeds the grass and the grass feeds the insects, the chirping crickets feed the swallows, the swallows feed the circling hawks.
"What is it?" she asks.
Now that she has proven herself, and wears the snowy feather that proves she has come through this first march as one of the strongest to bear the name Lanzadoii- it does not feel so intensely that she must grasp what she can with claws and teeth.
Tatsaaye' smiles tentatively back at sunwoman's daughter. She has made it here too, after all, and so is worthy of baring Lanzadoii name. She wonders if Cen will grant it to Nutuyikruk too, or if she will only remain slave.
Her nose wrinkles.
But storm-girl is not satisfied with words and the beauty of distant things. She wants to know them; to understand, like how she understands the sun feeds the grass and the grass feeds the insects, the chirping crickets feed the swallows, the swallows feed the circling hawks.
"What is it?" she asks.
RE: Little child - Eha - 8/4/2026
Eha did not know the words the leader had spoken. She did not know anyone would teach. She did feel the distance between her and some of the others. She saw how her mother was treated slightly different. She had no words for this. It just was.
Eha admired the feather. She was not strong enough as the big kids to get one. She looked at her tiny paws. At the skin that was broken and torn. She had tried though.
She made a soft hum noise. She could not fully describe it. There was a pull to the moon. The stars held stories of the past. It was love and grief and sadness all mixed. It was joy and sorrow. It was just what it was. But she tried.
Stories in stars. Moon powerful.
RE: Little child - Tatsaaye' - 8/4/2026
Tatsaaye' side eyes Eha's paws. Hers bled with every step two weeks ago, stinging pain every time she moved. But a daughter of darkfang knows to hide these things, and the lingering aches are tucked away, though she is glad for this rest.
Above them, the stars glitter like chips of river-quartz. The sky is very black, now, with none of the golds and pinks and purples of sunset. It is easier to hide beneath.
"What stories?"
Her brow furrows. "Cen talks about spirits. Mother..."
She falters. This march has taught her much about the things that move the earth. The shift of wind that means a storm is coming, long before it blows in; the way the birds circle when there is a body beneath them waiting to be picked clean; the best ways to move at dusk and dawn before the sun grows high and burning.
She has not spoken often, and struggles for the words. "Don't say much."
Above them, the stars glitter like chips of river-quartz. The sky is very black, now, with none of the golds and pinks and purples of sunset. It is easier to hide beneath.
"What stories?"
Her brow furrows. "Cen talks about spirits. Mother..."
She falters. This march has taught her much about the things that move the earth. The shift of wind that means a storm is coming, long before it blows in; the way the birds circle when there is a body beneath them waiting to be picked clean; the best ways to move at dusk and dawn before the sun grows high and burning.
She has not spoken often, and struggles for the words. "Don't say much."