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Another Life (Cheshire Smirk & darkangel76)

"The tundra will bear no cultivated seed. Only it's own sparse scrub grass and berry bushes can find take root in the permafrost. For us, the harvest is celebrated whenever the ships return to port. Even now preparations are being made within Vaern's walls to receive the fruits of our labor. You will love the drums."

Kegs would be tapped and the halls of Vaern would be alive with songs of both triumph and sorrow, switching depending upon the will of the gathering. Should enough fermented spirits be consumed, perhaps there would be dancing...Possibly brawling. One never could really tell what would happen at the Revel. This particular Revel would be the last festival before the Spirit of the Hunt, rituals to usher in the spring. Ordinarily Arzale would be looking forward to the festivities, the honors and the specially fortified drinks...Though now it all seemed so empty. Arzale's grey eyes slid closed and he let out a long sigh, fighting back a fresh wave of grief. This was getting quite old! Death happened and dwelling on the fact did nothing but weaken you! For a moment Arzale's teeth gritted as he pushed the negativity away, deadening himself once to emotion yet again.

"After we are received at port our rest, and your training begins. Your training should pass most of the winter. Then the wilds will wake from winter's grasp and game will become plentiful. The Spirit of the Hunt will take the land. The caribou herds will gather for their season while Wolfsong echoes across the night and fish swarm the rivers. We will not raid again until the Longest Shadow stretches across the land, signifying the end of the hunt."

The Longest Shadow was how the Sunderfangs termed the Autumnal Equinox. The Spirit of the Hunt was something that could lift even Arzale's downed spirits. In the past emissaries from other tribes had come to welcome in the Spirit, bringing their own smoked game and fermented mead to contribute to the feast. A whole week the celebrations lasted, then the First Hunt took place. The First Hunt was a sacred ritual, those who participated left into the wilds and did not return until they brought back their first kill of the year. Prowling across the tundra stalking game, moving as one with the wilds and truly connecting with one's inner beast...It was bliss at it's finest. Arzale had been known to set out immediately after the first hunt, spending as long as two weeks out in the wilds. Few doubted his prowess as he always returned with catches that were the source of several local legends, bearing trophies of the sort that had never been seen before.

"Do your people welcome in The Spirit of the Hunt?"
 
The north sounded cold and cruel, a wild and untamed place that she most certainly had no right to traverse let alone gaze out upon. It would swallow her whole from the picture Arzale was painting and it made her leery of when the ship finally took port. The only solace Amarylis took in everything was being able to hear those drums. Perhaps that would quell her nerves and ease the knots she felt in the pit of her tummy. Or maybe that was just sea-sickness? No. Though the ship rocked roughly in the stormy waters, she found it wasn't bothering her half as much as she expected, at least not while the music played. But then, music always gave her comfort. Always.

"We have hunters in Merrowdowns, yes," Amarylis said softly, her head bobbling slightly as she nodded. The ship continued to rock and without much thought, she moved to sit down on the bed's edge, just enough to keep balance and not topple over.

Amarylis thought on the hunters of her hometown and how they would gather together as a group and hunt for the town. Everything in the town was done that way—for the good of all. Her own family had been farmers for the people, though her mother had been a skilled seamstress. But the hunters were renowned for their strength and bravery. They would set out into the Forest of Shadows and spend many nights away before returning, going off-trail into the darkest corners that the fairy stories of old warned against traversing. It was a wonder that any of them returned at all. Yet time and again they did and always with enough game to feed the town during the harshest of times.

"Though we tend to celebrate our harvests with a bit more fervor and celebration," Amarylis added. She wondered why that was. Never before had she questioned that until now. Never had she thought much on the hunters of Merrowdowns until Arzale's question. Her eyebrows knitted and she frowned. "I've never really thought on why," she admitted, her cheeks flushing a bit. "However, the reason we hold our harvests so dear is because there was one year several decades back where Merrowdowns suffered a terrible frost."

Amarylis knew the story quite well. It was one passed down from generation to generation and why Merrowdowns cherished every harvest and every crop. It was why they placed farmers in such high regard and had respect for plant life and nature in general.

"A terrible frost befell Merrowdowns during an unlikely season destroying nearly every crop. There was no harvest that year, no replanting. And then the blizzards came. The river froze and the way into the forest was nearly impassable. The weather was so unexpected and unusual for our region. Never had anything like it ever touched the region before nor has it since. Whispers say it had been a curse or perhaps a warning, but to this day no one knows. Many died and the town had to nearly be rebuilt. Those who survived placed special honors on the harvest and farming and we pray that such a curse never again befalls us."

Amarylis' expression went distant. She wondered if that unnatural cold that had come to Merrowdowns would be similar in the northern tundras Arzale spoke of. Would she get to experience what her ancestors did all those years ago?

"Do your people believe in curses?" Amarylis then asked Arzale, hoping she wasn't being too forward.
 
"Only a fool would not. Curses are as real as winter's frost."

Arzale had seen horrible things wrought by an angered shaman's curse. Salves and poisons, wicked tinctures profaned with ancient words that made flesh rot and blood boil. The Northern Wastes thrummed with an ancient power, something long forgotten by most 'civilized' lands. There was a dark reason behind the name Sunderfang, a reason no Southernblood knew. Of course, that was something Amarylis would get to learn for herself much, much further down the road! The North changed it's inhabitants, sharpening and drawing one closer to their feral instincts. How well would Amarylis react to the sight of Sunderfang hunting wolves, great shaggy beasts that were longer than their masters tall, and almost as heavy as a grown man. The wolves did not take well to sea travel and as such were greatly unknown to the world at large.

Perhaps Merrowdown's freeze had been an unintentional side effect of a Sunderfang curse that had been cast during the war of Three Rivers. Sunderfang Shamans had united together in chant to the Frost Mother, pleading for her wrath to come down upon their foes. The spirits had answered with a freeze that laid thick upon the land at a time when the invading tribes had not anticipated such chill. The frigid curse had halted the attack against Vaern, but at a steep price. Two hundred Sunderfang children and elders succumbed to the frost, though the losses from the attackers easily tripled that number. Arzale could personally attest to the potency of a Shaman's incantations. One time in his life had his people gone to war with another tribe, and that one time he had been one of the warriors granted Verr-Salma, The Hunger. It was hard not to shudder as Arzale thought of that month long war. Arzale remembered the single-minded fury with which he fought, remembered how intoxicating the scent of blood had been. Remembered never going to sleep, but always waking on the battlefield with the bodies of his foes stacking around him.

((Shall we time skip a little?))
 
Amarylis had to smile a little as Arzale made it plainly clear that he, and more than likely his people, believed in curses. Her own people in Merrowdowns never spoke much about curses, but they had their stories and legends. Those meant to frighten and instill terror, to teach lessons and morals. The Great Freeze, as it had become known in her region was something of an anomaly, a story passed down from generation to generation and why the harvests were considered so important and celebrated so joyously each time they came to pass.

But the whispers... they remained as such, no one being able to explain the cause. Every year a hushed fear fell over Merrowdowns while everyone prepared for the harvests. Children would hum the songs that came about telling the tale of the Great Freeze while everyone else worked and prepared. Amarylis could almost taste that odd sense of anxiety as she thought on her home, her family.

How she missed them all.

~~~

A few days later...

Though the sun was shining, the air was crisp and full of bite. Amarylis could feel the chill as the winds blew, the cold air passing through the fabrics of her clothes as she slowly walked above deck. Strangely, the air felt invigorating and she needed that after being cooped up for so long. The past few days had been storm-filled, so she hadn't had the chance to really be outside. Coupling that with adjusting to life on the rough waters of the sea, she felt like she was finally feeling like her normal self once again.

Amarylis walked toward the port side of the ship and looked out onto the water. Just how far away from home was she now? She had no idea and she wondered just how much closer she was to their destination and what that would mean. Her thoughts drifted to the weapons stored below in her room. It would mean training, hardship and so many other things she feared. Just then the wind blew, her ashy hair blowing across her face and over her flesh. She could feel the goose bumps forming and she smiled. Giggling softly, she pushed her hair out of her eyes and shivered. It honestly felt good to be outside.

At that, Amarylis stretched and began to hum an older tune. It was a traditional song of her hometown. She found comfort in the melody, her pale eyes fixed upon the water as the ship sailed along, the sun still shining overhead.
 
Arzale surfaced from below deck, dressed a bit more comfortably than he had been previously. Soft, doeskin leggings and a loose fitting long sleeved fur-lined tunic, the attire was definitely designed for cold weather. Two large bowls of a hearty, thick and steaming root and meat stew, two heavy tankards of mead and two crusts of bread rested on a metal tray. The seas were calm and so moving with so many things was rather easy, Arzale settling down on the deck beside Amarylis, his back to the ship's railing. Arzale offered Amarylis one of the bowls, while setting the second tankard of mead at her feet. Once she took her bowl he began to eat in silence, thankful for the prompt and reliable schedule of the ship's cooks. Proper food and plenty of spirits was the best way to keep morale up during the long journey home, rumbling bellies and dry throats had a tendency to make ship-bound Sunderfangs a testy lot. Warriors by nature and choice, things got violent when tempers rose...Which meant that "plenty of spirits" probably wasn't the best idea. Then again, who didn't enjoy a nice drunken brawl every couple of nights? Boring people, that's who.

Arzale himself had been known to dive without hesitation into fist-fights the second they started (whether or not they even involved him!) He relished any opportunity for combat, even if it was nothing more than non-lethal fisticuffs over who finished off the keg and didn't tap another, who moved the grindstone, all the little things worth fighting over. At this very moment in time though Arzale's mind wasn't on fighting, it was on what the future would bring. Once the Revels were over Arzale planned on going hunting and taking Amarylis along, show her the beauty and heart of the tundra. Amarylis would need to learn to not only adapt to the Sunderfang life, but love it. Hopefully she would see be able to see all that there was beyond the brutality of raiding. But how could a southern-blood understand such things? To a Sunderfang it was a simple enough answer. They did not feel regret or remorse when hunting the open tundra or foraging for berries and roots. How was raiding any different from hunting? A town with proper militia could certainly defend itself better than any deer, and the risks were certainly much higher. Trade was something for equals, something for allies and you only allied with those who would be valuable in times of war. A wolf did not take pity upon the slow rabbit, why should there be any exception in human nature?
 
Amarylis turned the moment Arzale arrived. She saw he was carrying a bowl of food and she had to admit the sight of it was a welcome one. The scent filled her nose and the aroma alone was enough to maker her face light up. Without further hesitation, she took the bowl and gave him a nod of thanks.

"Thank you," Amarylis said, her voice soft, though her expression full of life and vigor.

Immediately, Amarylis plunged her fork into the bowl and began to eat, her pale eyes almost rolling into the back of her head as she chewed and swallowed the food down. The taste and texture was a bit different than what she was used to, but it was no less delicious than the meals of her hometown. As she ate her meal, her thoughts drifted slightly. She wondered if after everything.—that was if she was able to miraculously do all these things that Arzale seemed to think she could do—if he would ever travel back with her to Merrowdowns so that he could see the place for himself. Maybe during one of the festivals...

It was an odd thought. And Amarylis wondered why she even had it. It was presumptuous to think she could even succeed at these tasks that lie ahead of her and... Why would a warrior from the north want to see a place so far south, let alone inland? No. It was a silly notion. A silly thought, one best forgotten. He'd have no interest in seeing it.

Amarylis' thoughts turned to home again, her heart suddenly heavy. Trying not to dwell on things, she looked back out at the water and concentrated on eating. When finished, she looked down at the tankard and picked it up to take a sip. Slowly she brought it to her lips.

The liquid burned as it went down Amarylis' throat. Almost instantly she began to cough and she had all she could do not to drop it. She clutched her chest and then covered her mouth, her cheeks reddening fast both from the drink as well as from embarrassment. She hadn't expected such a strong drink so early and her tiny body wasn't used to consuming such things so regularly.

"Oh my..." Amarylis gasped.
 
The way Amarylis reacted to her first sip of mead provoked a few laughs from Arzale. Obviously spirited drinks weren't as large a part of her culture as it was for the Sunderfangs. Arzale took a long, deep drink from his own tankard and then another two more before he spoke. In three gulps the warrior had nearly drained his mead; Arzale had grown up drinking the stuff more frequently than most people drank cold, clear water so the sight of a person having trouble with just one sip was quite funny. This particular batch was mild compared to the potent brew that was being prepared for the Revels. Distilled and re-fortified several times, Revel spirits were known to quickly dispatch even those with the heartiest of constitutions in a relatively quick manner. Sadly no such spirit was available on the ship at the moment; Mead would have to do.

"I should have warned you...We brew our mead to rival the strength of our warriors."

Grey eyes roamed up to the clear skies above. Today the seas would be calm and travel swift, it was a good day to indulge a little. Oh how funny it would be to see Amarylis nice and inebriated! Judging by the reddening of her cheeks it probably wouldn't take more than two full mugs to knock Amarylis firmly on her rear and leave her loopy. That thought became goal, Arzale knowing Amarylis would be too proud and too afraid of causing affront to not drink whatever was put in front of her. The ship needed some entertainment and few things were more amusing than drunk Southernbloods. Hopefully alcohol would loosen Amarylis' tongue a little and help ease her out of her shell. The girl had a timid side she needed to do away with, otherwise the Sunderfang women waiting back at Vaern would eat her alive. Even Sunderfang younglings were full of spirit and fire, raised fiercely proud and taught to bow to no fear.
 
To rival the strength of their warriors indeed! Amarylis wondered if that was Arzale's way of making fun of her. From the sounds of the laughter rolling over his lips, she was fairly certain that was the point of his comment. She couldn't help it if her people chose not to imbibe such strong things on a daily basis. Perhaps the hunters did... but... she didn't know. She grew up with farmers.

Amarylis could feel her cheeks burning, the heat so strong she knew they were a bright shade of scarlet. Standing there in brief silence, she inwardly began to curse at herself. The fact that she'd let her mind even ponder the notion that Arzale might find some sort of interest in seeing where she came from suddenly seemed all the sillier. After all, how could anyone who mocked his supposed Shield Maiden give a damn?

Pushing her mousy hair out of her face, Amarylis thrust her near empty bowl and the tankard at Arzale. "Take them and leave me be," she stated, her voice laced with embarrassment as well as anger and frustration. She could feel her eyes dampening, so she quickly turned on her heels and walked several feet away from him so that he wouldn't see just how upset she'd become.

When Amarylis stopped, she leaned against the railing and let her eyes fix upon the water. Oh how she missed home—her family, the flowers, the music... so many things. And now they were in the past and something she would probably never get to see again. Never had she felt more lost and alone. But she'd show them, especially Arzale. She'd show them all that her people had more to them than they realized, even if it meant her death. After all, what did she have to lose now? Her fate had already been so very altered. She accepted that a few days ago. But now, now she was ready. She might be smaller, weaker and not used to many things.

But they would never extinguish the flame that burned inside her.

Or so she hoped with all her heart.
 
darkangel76 said:
To rival the strength of their warriors indeed! Amarylis wondered if that was Arzale's way of making fun of her. From the sounds of the laughter rolling over his lips, she was fairly certain that was the point of his comment. She couldn't help it if her people chose not to imbibe such strong things on a daily basis. Perhaps the hunters did... but... she didn't know. She grew up with farmers.

Amarylis could feel her cheeks burning, the heat so strong she knew they were a bright shade of scarlet. Standing there in brief silence, she inwardly began to curse at herself. The fact that she'd let her mind even ponder the notion that Arzale might find some sort of interest in seeing where she came from suddenly seemed all the sillier. After all, how could anyone who mocked his supposed Shield Maiden give a damn?

Pushing her mousy hair out of her face, Amarylis thrust her near empty bowl and the tankard at Arzale. "Take them and leave me be," she stated, her voice laced with embarrassment as well as anger and frustration. She could feel her eyes dampening, so she quickly turned on her heels and walked several feet away from him so that he wouldn't see just how upset she'd become.

When Amarylis stopped, she leaned against the railing and let her eyes fix upon the water. Oh how she missed home—her family, the flowers, the music... so many things. And now they were in the past and something she would probably never get to see again. Never had she felt more lost and alone. But she'd show them, especially Arzale. She'd show them all that her people had more to them than they realized, even if it meant her death. After all, what did she have to lose now? Her fate had already been so very altered. She accepted that a few days ago. But now, now she was ready. She might be smaller, weaker and not used to many things.

But they would never extinguish the flame that burned inside her.

Or so she hoped with all her heart.
Click to expand...

Well...This is awkward. Arzale sighed and stood slowly, setting aside the tankard and bowl. He had been attempting to laugh with her, not at her expense. As for seeing Merrowdowns, Arzale was certainly interested in seeing more of the world. The only problem with that idea would be getting away from the tribe. If a Sunderfang scout caught wind of a secluded village with a steady harvest, it would certainly be pillaged and razed to the ground. Arzale moved beside Amarylis and spoke, figuring he owed her an apology. Obviously what he considered a jest others would consider hurtful.

"My words were not meant to offend. It was just amusing to see somebody react that way to our brew. You have to remember how little peaceful interaction we have with Southernbloods."

Silence came next as Arzale peered out over the calm waters, looking North towards Vaern. This journey was already starting to wear on Arzale. In the past Larethia and Arzale would pass the time sparring and revising the forms, talking battle strategy and reminiscing over past triumphs. Now though, all that waited was silence. Common ground was a struggle, all that Arzale shared with Amarylis was music. Would asking her more about her homeland help? Or would that just make the aches in her heart worse? Arzale felt as if he was trying to spear fish blind-folded on a loose rock, wobbling around doing his best to stay balanced, let alone actually find his mark. Any response from Amarylis would be better than nothing, even if she just got even angrier. Arzale greatly preferred sound and fury to silent sorrow, no matter the situation.
 
As Amarylis' cool blue gaze remained transfixed on the waters, she could feel his presence before he spoke. That was one thing she'd realized since boarding the Sunderfang vessel. Arzale had a presence about him, though she'd noticed it that fateful day back on the beach in Belbarren. She could feel him approaching and found herself soon engulfed in his shadow. It wasn't an ominous feeling, though she knew it would be to any he chose to point his weapons at. She recalled the way in which he and his previous Shield Maiden had fought before...

When Arzale spoke, Amarylis turned her head and gave him a nod. "Just, why is that?" she then asked.

Amarylis could still feel her blood boiling to a degree, an inner fire that had awakened when he'd laughed at—no, with her, she corrected herself, though she had a hard time truly accepting that even though she desperately wanted to.

"Why is there no peace between the north and the south? Just what was that display all about in Belbarren?" Amarylis' eyes went narrow as she looked at Arzale. "They were a peaceful trading town. They'd have easily made trade with you. But..." her voice trailed and she shook her head. "You just tore through them, hurt them, slaughtered them. You took. And for what reason?" She let out a sharp breath, her eyes piercing with a fire that had been suddenly sparked. "It was barbaric. How would you feel if someone took from you, slaughtered your family, burned your home?"

Amarylis could hear her voice faltering as the passion in her tone escalated. Suddenly, she noticed that her hands had balled into fists at her sides, her nails digging into her palms and making them bleed. At this realization, she relaxed them. Letting out a soft sigh, she dropped her gaze and stared at the wood planks beneath her feet.

Damn it!

Looking back up at Arzale once more, Amarylis wondered if she'd angered the man or had merely amused him more than she had already. Either way, her day definitely had not gotten off to a good start. She just hoped it would somehow get better. Surely, it could not get worse.
 
"Why does a bear feast upon salmon when it could survive on berries?"

Arzale took no offense at her tone, or her questions. This was a necessary conversation, a chance for Arzale to give Amarylis a look at a different cultures' perspective. However, Arzale was somewhat taken aback that she didn't know why the people of the North did not trade with Southernbloods. Surely her people remembered the Time of Troubles? They had to know of the War of Five Brothers...The war that had shattered the Great Union. Or had such grizzly details of history been forgotten? Had those who stayed in the Land of Plenty buried the truth of their Ill-gotten and hard-defended land?

"The Sunderfang tribe trades only with it's allies, only with those they fight beside. Few in the Land of Plenty remember how to fight. They are too concerned with coin and thrift to understand the value of strength. "

Hopefully one question and one statement would help Amarylis understand the stance Arzale's tribe took on foreigners. Now Arzale would speak on just how his people had ended up in the North. It was funny she mentioned being stripped of home and slaughtered, for that was the very thing that had forced the first people to move North a thousand years ago. Arzale's ancestors had landed as craftsmen, artists, musicians and lovers in the most inhospitable part of the world. They had been thrown from the swaddled cradle of civilization into the heart of the wild, from the jaws of war to the maws of beasts. The land had reshaped the Sunderfang tribe, had shown them that they were but lost babes that did not understand the truth of the world. The wild taught the strong and culled the weak, stripping away those who could not adapt.

"A long, long time ago my ancestors were part of a great nation in the Land of Plenty. All people belonged to his nation, it's boundaries spread from the stinging sands of the south to the rocky coasts of the north, it thrived in the sprawling forests of the west and the rolling plains of the east. Five brothers shared dominion over the land, each passing his rule onto eldest son...Until the youngest of the Five Brothers decided that he wanted more. The time of troubles began and my people, musicians and craftsmen who'd spread themselves across the land and forgot strength were reminded of what truly mattered. Flame and hatred pushed us North, forced us to take our trading vessels and leave the Land of Plenty behind. When my ancestors landed on the North they could not hunt and were more inclined to craft a ring than forge a blade. But the wilds taught those who could adapt and nurtured our strength. Now we thrive in accord with the Heart of the Tundra and survive by our strength and wit, not the kindness and good manners of others."

There was a reason Belbarren had been attacked instead of a more fortified port city. Sunderfang scouts moved in smaller crafts, searching for any undefended hold or weakened people. When a land with an excess of resources and a lack of strength was found the Sunderfangs descended like a pack of wolves upon deer, taking what was theirs by right of strength.
 
Amarlyis looked up into Arzale's steely gray eyes as he spoke of a past from long ago. She'd never learned the stories of which he'd spoken, didn't know of the 'war' or the 'troubles'. Whether that had been on purpose, because it hadn't directly affected her people or for some other reasons, she didn't know. But nonetheless, hearing the long tale made a knot form deep in the pit of her tummy. It made her question things—many things. She was aware of her own naivete. Her parents alone had made it clear that her leaving Merrowdowns wasn't the best of ideas.

And she'd learned why that fateful day in Belbarren.

But now, Amarylis was beginning to question more things. Why was she the one to doubt? How was it that this man could make her question everything she ever knew in just a few simple words after making fun of her only a few moments ago? It hardly seemed fair. But she knew she couldn't stay angry at him, at least not for now—even if she didn't fully understand the way his people did things or why. Regardless, they'd been driven to their fate, forced to live as they did. They'd not been given a choice so from her own perspective, bitterness—not just the wilds nor the cold—shaped them. And for that, she could not fault them. She could not fault Arzale.

"I... I'm sorry so much happened to your people," Amaraylis finally said. She turned to stare at the wooden planks again. "I didn't mean to judge." She paused a moment as her hands clasped together before her, almost wringing themselves together as her mind reeled with both thought and emotion. "We weren't taught of those times back where I'm from. I'm afraid such legend is lost, at least at Merrowdowns. Though we have tales warning us not to cross into the northern borders. Perhaps that is all that remains of your tale?" She bit down on her lip and looked back up into his eyes. "I'm sorry that is all that remains, that the whole story is lost."

Amarylis' eyes expressed their apology, also a sadness at the possibility that stories from long ago in her land had been forgotten. She had also fancied such tales, wanted to know about the world, the people... so learning that something might have been shattered and destroyed even where she was from was enough to make her frown. It was also another realization at just how big the world truly was and how little she truly knew... at just how small she was within it all.
 
"Those that have no reason to remember the past generally forget it. I cannot fault you for questioning that which does not make sense to you. We are not born into this world omniscient."

The apology was unnecessary, Arzale had not been alive during such harsh times. Arzale felt no pity or remorse for his people, or those that they raided. To a Sunderfang raiding was nothing more or less than survival of the fittest, simple predation. The strong preyed upon the weak, no matter the scenario. In 'civilized' lands the strong were those who controlled the most currency...Something that was only done through exploitation, extortion and opportunism. The Sunderfang way of life cut out such underhanded tactics for a more direct approach. You traded with your equals, traded with those who could match your strength and took from the weak. Those who didn't bother to learn how to defend themselves, to keep their harvests were no different from the squirrels that were eaten by wolves. It was the way of nature, and the way of the Sunderfang. Arzale knew such a ruthless train of thought was foreign to Amarylis, though he was sure that the frigid winds of the North would toughen Amarylis' outlook up. Amarylis would learn the true way, learn it, embrace it and be a paragon of such ways. The gods would not take one like Larethia and give the tribe anything less in exchange. Amarylis just needed time.

"I am surprised that your people didn't know more of us. Most 'civilized' realms know our ships by their sails, know what awaits the weak when we cross the horizon."

So many times in the past Sunderfang vessels had been spotted and subsequently attacked a port before word could be sent to the heart of the kingdom that protected the port to ask for aid. Several times foreign aid had arrived at the attacked port just late enough to see the Sunderfang vessels departing from the remains of their assault, holding everything the village had held of value beneath their decks. What was noteworthy about the Sunderfangs: They rarely took prisoners. Some of the other tribes valued slaves and traded heavily for them, the Sunderfangs saw worth only in the strong. Occasionally a particularly skilled guard or warrior that had taken residence within the port would be captured and offered the ultimatum of join or die. Amarylis herself had been roped into their civilization in much the same manner. She had displayed strength of the heart by doing what she could to assist Larethia, even though had been the Sunderfangs that were on the offensive and not sleepy Belbarren.
 
Amarylis came from Merrowdowns, a small inland town nestled beyond the Forest of Shadow. It was tucked away from prying eyes and most predators, a safe haven. There was reason why her people lived as they did—as hermits from the rest of the lands of the south. It was probably why only a few hunted and fewer traded and definitely why they kept to themselves—self sufficient, providing for themselves all that they needed, letting the forest and river provide the rest.

Fantastic tales of old were sung during times of celebration, sung at the firesides of many homes, by the children and the elderly. Still others, like herself, felt 'the yearning', that want to leave the safety of what they'd established, even after the rebuilding years of the Great Freeze—a time that bound them together even more strongly than their melancholy ballads could capture. Yes, her people were tightly bonded, a community where everyone looked out for the other, helped and provided for everyone else, especially during times of need.

Her parents had always hoped that she'd give up her fancy dreams of travel and lay focus on her more natural—though somewhat latent—talents. Talents she'd chosen to ignore, much to her parents dismay... And any discussions of which would typically result in her running out, needing time alone.

But in Amarylis' mind there was no discussion to be had. It conjured up too many memories of that one time she'd chosen to go exploring. That one moment in her life she'd never shared with anyone, refused to speak of. Funny how now she was having to face those memories in a way, now that she was aboard a strange vessel bound for the wild north. She didn't feel ready, but at least Arzale and his people didn't know of the hidden caves around where she lived. Caves that held strange folk, with strange powers—some that could even make time stand still.

Maybe that was why she had no troubles believing in curses and whispers... among other things sung in the ballads of old.

Just then Amarylis shivered as her thoughts dwelled on that time back in the cave and immediately her thoughts shifted back to what had happened in Belbarren. She could see the dying woman's face so vividly—Arzale's previous Shield Maiden. It had been far too late for her... far too late. There was nothing anyone could've done... not even her.

Not even her. And she remembered that time in the caves. The darkness and so much more.

Yet, as Amarylis thought on those final moments in Belbarren, a strange wave of sadness washed over her. How had she known it was too late? Was it the woman's pallor, her voice? Was it the blood? She closed her eyes for a moment knowing the answer, but not wishing to think any more on it.

She was the daughter of farmers... nothing more.

As Amarylis opened her eyes, she looked at Arzale and let out a soft sigh. "There is much about Merrowdowns you do not know or understand just as there is much I do not know or understand about your tribe," she stated plainly, her voice almost a whisper. "Do not be so arrogant to think that your nation's notoriety precedes it and gives it infamy in all corners of the world." She hung her head slightly. "I do not mean to sound out of line, but the world is much bigger than you or I."

Amarylis feared that her words might be too bold, her body language expressing that as she brought her arms about her middle.

"If I've offended," Amarylis then added, her eyes seeking Arzale's. "I apologize. I know there is still much to learn about the world and all the people in it."
 
"The world is a vast place. Merrowdowns is fortunate to be tucked so far away from the strife and turmoil that is rampant elsewhere."

Arzale suddenly thought of what life would be like if the shoe was on the other foot, he being forced to adapt to the ways of another people. Could Arzale change his predatory ways? Sadly the honest answer was no. Twenty eight winters in the North had shown the warrior a path in life he could never forsake. Arzale's life among 'civilized' folk would be a short one, undoubtedly ending in bloodshed and a premature demise. Hopefully the frost would toughen Amarylis up and open her eyes to the necessity of their way of life. Steely eyes swept over Amarylis' face, Arzale appreciating the courage she showed by speaking out when she thought he had spoken out of turn. Such acts were very important, Amarylis would need to be tough around the other trainees. Though they may be several winters younger they had been born into this culture and had the ferocity of young wolves hungry for first blood. The younglings were the least of Amarylis' problems though...The other Maidens were visibly displeased with Arzale's decision even if they wouldn't voice their malcontent. Every now and again a woman would pass across the deck, sparing no trouble in shooting Amarylis a crushing stare, eye contact meant to remind her that she was an outsider, that she was beneath them. Strength was what a Sunderfang respected most, regardless of whether it was physical strength or strength of will. If Amaralyis allowed herself to be pushed around she would find her Harrowing to be a most miserable time.

While Amarylis thought on her own dark secrets Arzale looked to the North. Closer and closer they drew, Arzale able to feel that strange otherworldy hum that permeated the air, the North was a ley-line of the world's arcane energies, the intersection which all flows met and encircled each other. A land where the veil between worlds was thin and the impossible could happen. When Amarylis apologize Arzale gave a light shake of the head. Different points of view were important and discussing them even more so. The girl had a nasty habit of apologizing too much. Were all Southernbloods so afraid of upsetting others? Sunderfangs expected straight-forward discussion and expected concerns to be voiced readily by those that had them. Every man and woman was born with a voice and had an obligation to make use of it when the time came, even if voicing one's thoughts may inconvenience another. Arzale would not be offended by somebody speaking from the heart. Deception was the only thing that got Arzale's hackles up. Being lied to made him more angry than any other act in this world.
"No need to apologize for speaking your mind. It is better to speak out of turn than it is to sit and allow malcontent to fester."
 
Amarylis nodded. She was glad to not have offended Arzale as that was hardly her intent. But it did nothing to lessen the sadness and heavy weight she felt inside as she thought on her home and all the people she'd left behind. She was beginning to think herself a fool for having left her home so rashly, succumbing to the pull of 'the yearning'. She saw the look on her parents' faces once she'd made up her mind, told them of her grandiose plans to travel the world, to learn and to experience. They warned her it would bring nothing but trouble, had pleaded she bring a guardian. But she wanted nothing of that, wouldn't hear of it. No. It had been something she needed to do on her own.

Looking over at Arzale, she gave him a half smile and reached up to tuck a stray lock behind an ear. The wind was blowing rather heavily, but it was pleasant despite the crisp bite it held. She let out another soft sigh. "Thank you," she said, her eyes looking downward, her thoughts straying back to the beach at Belbarren and how she'd ended up on the Sunderfang ship.

The world was strange, full of darkness and oddity, things she couldn't even begin to understand. She was still trying to understand many things about herself. Or was she trying to run away from them? She didn't know. But being where she was, memories were being triggered, ones of a time she'd tried to push away, ones she'd refuse to speak on or even think about if she was able to help herself. Though as she stood there, her mind wandering a bit, her thoughts always went back to the beach and then back to the cave.

The darkness.

Amarylis shivered as a knot formed in the pit of her tummy. For so long she'd tried to understand what had happened to her that fateful day a few years back, but she was unable to find an answer. No matter how hard she tried to find one, it always eluded her and the idea of being cursed just made her feel frightened. It was bad enough that her people always felt fear around each harvest, holding their breath and softly humming tunes to help pass the time until the day of celebration dawned upon them all. She knew such stories she had to share—one occurring so close to home—would only add to the tension they felt. It had been an anomaly; a matter of happenstance... but the fact that it occurred was enough to let all of Merrowdowns know that they weren't alone.

Shaking off the feeling, Amarylis looked back up at Arzale, deciding to try and lighten the mood. "Do you... that is... is there anything else to drink besides mead?" she asked, her cheeks reddening a little as she bit down upon her lower lip.
 
"...Other than...Hrm..."

Something other than mead? Well, there WAS fresh water...But who would willingly choose water over mead? Except of course for the purpose of basic biological needs. Sadly one could not persist on Mead alone, regardless of how devotedly many of his tribe had tried. Was there anything potable other than water or mead? No, no there was not. The squeezed juices of the few fruits and berries that would grow in the north did not hold up well to sea travel nor did they last much longer than a few days once squeezed. They'd consumed their stores of milk on the journey to Belbarren, having packed very little of the stuff as it was quite perishable After spending a moment failing to come up with an answer other than water or mead Arzale admitted defeat.

"We have...Water."

Arzale didn't like saying the word. Bland and tasteless, water was something reserved for hydration during a taxing hunt or something to fend off the heat of the forge. Arzale made his way to the stairs that lead below deck, waiting for Amarylis to follow in tow. The kitchens had barrels of water in the larder...Along with some potential left-overs from breakfast. Arzale's stomach managed a low rumble at the thought of more food. The warrior had an appetite that few could match and was oft equated to a swarm of locusts if allowed to take free reign over stockpiled food. Several Maidens passed, looking Amarylis over before openly shaking their heads in disbelief. Arzale saw such actions and his fists clenched, the warrior's lips curling back into an angerered snarl. The sleight had not been against his honor, and so it was not his place to retaliate.
 
Amarylis winced as the words left her lips. No doubt she came off as soft, weak and probably even a bit silly. Then again, she'd already proven as much when she'd coughed and sputtered the moment the mead had touched her lips and then burned her throat as she'd swallowed it down. As it was, she could already feel a mild rush to the head with that tiny sip she'd taken and it was beyond mortifying. But, she'd never let on about that. She had to have some semblance of dignity and pride. As it was she already felt ridiculously out of place amongst these warrior-people. And there need to make herself feel even more so as far as she was concerned. Not to mention such feelings were only making her miss home, her family all the more. Did that add to her weakness? Oh, what she wouldn't give to feel the embrace of her parents right then.

Honestly, such thoughts made her wonder if she could ever truly adapt to all the strange things suddenly befalling her. Amarylis was sure she could learn to do so with some things over time. Though that wasn't to say it wouldn't be difficult. Her mother had always told her she was stubborn, living too much in the clouds and in her little world of fancy. But she couldn't help herself. Those stories of old held too much intrigue for her to ignore them and then... the cave...

Damn.

Amarylis didn't like that her thoughts were constantly bringing her back to that dark place. And here she'd thought that by leaving Merrowdowns she could get away from that. Ah, and there she was admitting the truth. Hanging her head slightly, she knew that was partly why she'd had to succumb to 'the yearning'. It wasn't just about quelling the desire to experience life, but to get away from things that frightened, things that were and always would be. No matter. She was on a ship now and heading north, her hopes that she could somehow adapt and learn... fit in. But...

Jut then, Arzale mentioned the water and instantly Amarylis' thoughts drifted back to the moment and she felt her muscles relax. Had she been that tense? Giving him a smile, she nodded happily at the prospect of being able to drink something that wouldn't knock her off her feet and probably cause her to do something beyond foolish. Without hesitation, she clasped her hands together and began to follow him. As they moved across the deck and headed below toward the kitchens, she felt the stares. They were hard and casting judgment and the weight of them were nearly unbearable.

Amarylis bit down on her lip, her head turning to look at the women who shook their heads at her. She could see their disgust and displeasure. Their doubt. Were they really that unaccepting of anyone who wasn't of their own? It made her blood boil at the thought that people could be so judgmental. She knew what she was, but it was hardly dishonorable. What was wrong with softness? What was wrong with peaceful, simple ways? She could feel a fire burning inside as a heaviness grew. She loved her home, her family, her people. If she could grow to accept them, why couldn't the same be returned?

"Is it the way of the Sunderfang women to cast such harsh judgment upon their own sex if they come from another region or belong to a different clan?" Amarylis suddenly asked as she and Arzale moved past, her own pace slowing. "Take from the weak," she continued. "And for what purpose?" She turned to look at them, her lips turned down into a frown. "Because you can? To prove a point?" She shook her head, her eyes suddenly tearing up. "Pity." She then looked at Arzale for a moment before looking back at the women once again. "Soon there will be no beauty left in the land if you do that. Nothing soft... Are we to harden everything, make it cold and strong?" At that, she began to walk faster again. "Surely, I hope not. That is not a world I wish to live in."

Tears rolled down Amarylis' cheeks as she tried to move away from the women. She was certain she'd insulted them—and possibly more. But they'd initiated the insults with the stares and other gestures of insult. She just felt badly that her thoughts had to be spoken so plainly, so bluntly. And now, more than ever, she feared arriving at their destination and what it would mean for her after the supposed celebrations Arzale had mentioned would occur finished out.
 
darkangel76 said:
Amarylis winced as the words left her lips. No doubt she came off as soft, weak and probably even a bit silly. Then again, she'd already proven as much when she'd coughed and sputtered the moment the mead had touched her lips and then burned her throat as she'd swallowed it down. As it was, she could already feel a mild rush to the head with that tiny sip she'd taken and it was beyond mortifying. But, she'd never let on about that. She had to have some semblance of dignity and pride. As it was she already felt ridiculously out of place amongst these warrior-people. And there need to make herself feel even more so as far as she was concerned. Not to mention such feelings were only making her miss home, her family all the more. Did that add to her weakness? Oh, what she wouldn't give to feel the embrace of her parents right then.

Honestly, such thoughts made her wonder if she could ever truly adapt to all the strange things suddenly befalling her. Amarylis was sure she could learn to do so with some things over time. Though that wasn't to say it wouldn't be difficult. Her mother had always told her she was stubborn, living too much in the clouds and in her little world of fancy. But she couldn't help herself. Those stories of old held too much intrigue for her to ignore them and then... the cave...

Damn.

Amarylis didn't like that her thoughts were constantly bringing her back to that dark place. And here she'd thought that by leaving Merrowdowns she could get away from that. Ah, and there she was admitting the truth. Hanging her head slightly, she knew that was partly why she'd had to succumb to 'the yearning'. It wasn't just about quelling the desire to experience life, but to get away from things that frightened, things that were and always would be. No matter. She was on a ship now and heading north, her hopes that she could somehow adapt and learn... fit in. But...

Jut then, Arzale mentioned the water and instantly Amarylis' thoughts drifted back to the moment and she felt her muscles relax. Had she been that tense? Giving him a smile, she nodded happily at the prospect of being able to drink something that wouldn't knock her off her feet and probably cause her to do something beyond foolish. Without hesitation, she clasped her hands together and began to follow him. As they moved across the deck and headed below toward the kitchens, she felt the stares. They were hard and casting judgment and the weight of them were nearly unbearable.

Amarylis bit down on her lip, her head turning to look at the women who shook their heads at her. She could see their disgust and displeasure. Their doubt. Were they really that unaccepting of anyone who wasn't of their own? It made her blood boil at the thought that people could be so judgmental. She knew what she was, but it was hardly dishonorable. What was wrong with softness? What was wrong with peaceful, simple ways? She could feel a fire burning inside as a heaviness grew. She loved her home, her family, her people. If she could grow to accept them, why couldn't the same be returned?

"Is it the way of the Sunderfang women to cast such harsh judgment upon their own sex if they come from another region or belong to a different clan?" Amarylis suddenly asked as she and Arzale moved past, her own pace slowing. "Take from the weak," she continued. "And for what purpose?" She turned to look at them, her lips turned down into a frown. "Because you can? To prove a point?" She shook her head, her eyes suddenly tearing up. "Pity." She then looked at Arzale for a moment before looking back at the women once again. "Soon there will be no beauty left in the land if you do that. Nothing soft... Are we to harden everything, make it cold and strong?" At that, she began to walk faster again. "Surely, I hope not. That is not a world I wish to live in."

Tears rolled down Amarylis' cheeks as she tried to move away from the women. She was certain she'd insulted them—and possibly more. But they'd initiated the insults with the stares and other gestures of insult. She just felt badly that her thoughts had to be spoken so plainly, so bluntly. And now, more than ever, she feared arriving at their destination and what it would mean for her after the supposed celebrations Arzale had mentioned would occur finished out.
Click to expand...

The heartfelt and philosophical question was met with...Raucous laughter. The three women steadied themselves against the ship's railing as they shook with mirth, one of them almost dropping her spear. The one that had nearly dropped her weapon quieted quickly but continued smirking nonetheless. At this Arzale froze and turned slowly on the spot, steel grey eyes gleaming like the edge of a freshly sharpened blade, an aura of malevolence tangible around him. The body language was challenging, his gaze ordering the woman to keep silent. The laughter ceased abruptly and the smallest of the women stepped forward, barely able to look squarely at Arzale's chest. She turned her hazel eyes to Amaralys and responded to her questions in icy tones.
"We look down upon the weak. Why do we take? Because we can and we need the supplies...Not the owners. There is no reason to parley with those who cannot defend themselves."

The woman stepped swiftly around Arzale and then directly in front of Amarylis, looking her dead in the eye as she barred the girl's progress. A stray gust of wind pushed the woman's blond tresses away from her face, revealing the right half of her face. A heavy scar ran from her right eyebrow all the way down her cheek, along her jaw and then down her throat, vanishing beneath the leather and chain she wore. Judging by the depth of the scar it looked as if the woman had at one point in her life scarcely avoided a blow that would've cleaved her in two. Rage smoldered in the woman's eyes at the insolence of this outsider...This weakling! Head clearly full of nonsense about fairness and compassion.

"Tell me...If we were to establish trade with the meek, who would guard the trade routes?"

The woman did not allow Amarylis time to respond, instead she spat at Amarylis' feet before once again forcing eye contact. It was amazing how a woman that barely crested five feet in height managed to loom so impressively, to hold such stern and imposing countenance. Why was she even wasting time explaining the Sunderfang way of life to an outsider? To one who had lived a life of leisure and pleasure?

"The responsibility would fall to the Baar'skorr. Southernbloods can scarcely hold their harbors let alone fortify sea routes. And what happens when our 'allies' show their weak bellies? What happens when diplomacy with their neighbors fail? Baar'skorr blood is shed because our 'allies' are too weak to defend themselves. That path is of no value to our people. The courtesy of trade is reserved only for the strong, only for equals. A rabbit does not question it's place among wolves. It's about time you learned why."

In an instant the woman cooled, stepping back and away from Amarylis. Arzale tensed, knowing what was coming next. Unfortunately the warrior also knew that intervening would only make matters worse. The woman dropped her spear and kicked it away, making it clear this was to be a combat of honor. Then the woman swung hard and fast for Amarylis' gut, hand clenched tight into a fist. Win or lose, this was something Amarylis had to fight on her own. Victory for Amarylis would mean some measure of respect...Even if the girl lost terribly she would find some honor if she fought back, held her ground without fear and did her best to reciprocate punishment. Crying for help, attempting to retreat or having Arzale intervene would disgrace them both.
 
The woman's words were like poisonous venom to Amarylis' ears. There was no logic or reason to be found. She would never come to understand or appreciate anything soft or precious, never treasure or care for anything. Her blood was as cold as the tundra from which she came. Perhaps that was just how the Sunderfang were? No. She refused to believe it. Arzale had told her the stories of where they'd come from... surely they hadn't forgotten. She recalled seeing a tiny spark of it in Arzale when he'd played the mandolin. No. It was there hidden beneath the layers of ice they'd chosen to hide behind.

Take from the weak. Why not protect and nurture it? Why not help and teach it?

Bullying and flexing muscle could not be the only answer and as Amarylis turned her head slightly, she noticed Arzale's clenched fists, the look in his eyes. He was... angry? She couldn't miss the emotions that were just beginning to roil beneath his surface, that passion that he was keeping at bay yet wanted to lash out.

Just then, the woman spat, her words pure acid as they dripped from her tongue in cool challenge. Amarylis swallowed as the words settled in her mind. Was this truly the way of things? Was this how they settled everything? She knew what the woman was trying to prove—take from the weak, the strong shall prevail. The outcome would indeed be clear. As her mind dwelled on it, her thoughts were suddenly interrupted.

"Ooofff...." Amarylis let out a loud grunt as the fist suddenly connected to her gut. She nearly fell backwards, her hands instantly moving to protect where she'd just been hit.

The pain was intense and the blow swift and on the mark. Amarylis felt as if she would vomit and sucked in a sharp breath as she tried to regain her bearings. She looked up at the woman who'd struck her, her eyebrows knitted together as she frowned. Again, the woman came after her, lunging for her gut again before parrying only to strike Amarylis across the face. This time, Amarylis fell down, her hands reaching out toward the floorboards to help brace the fall. The moment she landed, she felt dizzy, bright twinkling specks dancing just out of reach as she stared out toward the feet of those standing near.

And what was that in her mouth? Metallic liquid... surely not...

Amarylis pushed herself up, though as she did, she felt a swift kick at her ribs causing her to wince and let out another groan. Her body was hurting and it was becoming harder to move. Rolling over, she could see the woman standing above her, her silhouette stark against the bright sky. Again, she saw the woman's foot coming at her and again she moved her hands up to protect herself. But this time, as she did so, she adjusted herself slight and grabbed the woman's calf causing her to fall over.

The woman fell on top of Amarylis with a hard thus, but it hardly mattered. She was in such pain that she didn't notice. As she looked at the exposed knee—the back of it—of the woman that was close to her face, she twisted herself slightly and bit down. She bit down hard, with all her might until she tasted more blood upon her tongue. It was the only thing she could think to do, the only thing she could think to try. She knew it was hopeless and in the end she'd be the one to suffer. But if she could at least give this woman a mark she'd never forget, she'd be satisfied.
 
A howl of pain echoed out across the still seas as Amarylis bit at a gap in the woman's chain and leather. During the raid a halberd had ripped through her armor, opening a gaping hole exposing the soft underflesh of her knee. Again and again the woman brought her heel down like an ax on Amarylis, attacking any vulnerable spot that could be found. Strong legs flexed as she bludgeoned the girl repeatedly, each strike harder than the last until Amarylis released the grip on her knee. When Amarylis finally relinquished her hold the woman gave one last vicious elbow before rolling away and pushing herself shakily to her feet. The wound was a flesh wound, but it certainly stung and would scar up quite nicely. The woman retrieved her spear and made her way back to her two companions, refusing to limp regardless of how badly her injured leg burned. Together the three women departed in silence, pleased with the results of the altercation. After some more beatings and a good deal of harsh training Amarylis might just make a fine maiden after all. Sunderfang women respected inner strength as much as outer strength, a woman who stood by her word and fought for her beliefs(No matter what they were) was a woman the Maidens could come to appreciate. Earning the appreciation of the Maidens was actually much harder than that of the Warriors. Sunderfang men generally only concerned themselves with their own maiden and their craft. Socializing, judging and knocking people around in the hierarchy was a woman's job.

Arzale knelt down and moved to aid Amarylis and help her get steady on her feet. The girl had managed to put up some semblance of a fight, hadn't cowered or wept for mercy. That was a very good thing, at least now the women couldn't say Amarylis was completely soft. No matter how much Arzale had wanted to intervene, he knew he could not. Such an action would only make Amarylis' treatment even worse and make her coming Harrowing nothing short of hellish. Amarylis would have to defend her own honor, have to prove her own strength. Arzale could however offer praise for what she had accomplished and give the girl a crash course on hand to hand combat so she was better prepared for such attacks in the future. It would be a rough road and a harsh transition for Amarylis, but Arzale had faith in the woman's tenacity. He was certain her concept of beauty would change when she saw the tundra, came to understand first hand the true way of life. She would see the underlying beauty in strength, the majesty of predation when she stalked the tundra with Arzale. The tundra would hopefully be Amarylis' greatest teacher. Hopefully Amarylis would open herself to the heart of the tundra, would allow those primal instincts she'd been taught to suppress to finally flourish and thrive.

"You did well."
 
The pain that coursed through Amarylis was unlike anything she'd ever felt. Her entire body hurt and she found it difficult to so much as move. She was dizzy, the light blaring down from the bright sky suddenly hurting her eyes and the chill of the winds feeling like a thousand knives as it whipped across her flesh. There was a hush as she heard the woman get up and leave her where she lied without a care. But then, she'd proven her point. Hadn't she? Amarylis knew that was exactly what the woman thought, but in her own heart, she still felt as she had before this blatant display of the strong lording over someone weaker than themselves. And she would hold onto that with all her might and all that she was. Of course, she didn't expect this woman or anyone else on board the ship to understand...

How could they? They were too swayed by the bitterness of the cold in which they'd sought sanctuary and solace. It had taken hold of their hearts and their will, turning and twisting them into something that no longer valued all of the precious life out there. Would they harm a babe because it couldn't fend for itself? It was weaker... According to their logic, it would be no different. But then, they probably held some sort of exception there...

Exceptions. Twisted and laughable and just... Amarylis could feel her insides aching just as much as her outsides. She'd never understand them. Not ever.

Suddenly, Amarylis felt strong hands grabbing at her, helping her up. She'd rather just lie there... But all too soon, she was on her feet, her head aching as everything about her spun. It didn't help that the ship rocked slightly as it moved across the waters, still heading north and to a destination that she was not looking forward to reaching, a people she was dreading to have to face full on.

Amarylis turned toward Arzale, her face throbbing—undoubtedly bruising—from the blows she'd received. Her pale eyes found his as she tried to focus.

"I know I lost," Amarylis began. "And I know I'll lose many times over... but know this..." her voice trailed and her eyes flashed. "I will never lose who I am to anyone. Not anyone." Her thoughts drifted to the cave for a brief moment. "I will hold what is dear to me and what I believe in my heart and nothing anyone does to me or has me do will change that." Her knees wobbled a bit, the pain running through her strong. "I am who I am..." Her eyes welled up slightly, her hands balling into fists. "And that is Amarylis Maylin from Merrowdowns."

At that, Amarylis could feel her knees buckling, though she did her best to remain standing tall.
 
"Hold onto that, but remember...Survival comes first."

An arm slipped around Amarylis' waist, lending support so the girl could walk without risk of falling. It was funny that Amarylis thought of Sunderfang younglings, even Sunderfang children were 'hard and cold', more akin to wolf pups than playful children. While Southernblood children played games like tag, hide-and-go-seek and other silly things, Sunderfang children spent their time wrestling, sparring and tracking, living evidence of the strength and prevalence of the Sunderfang dogma of strength and cunning above all else. Bullying though was actually somewhat rare among the children as they learned from a young age that every Sunderfang life mattered, that teamwork and unity were of constant need to ensure the tribe's survival. Most children attended their first burial at as young as three winters, and would normally see five or more before their fourth. The young were not shielded from the reality of death, but were guided to understanding the inevitable by their parents. By their fifth winter Sunderfang children were taught to track and take the small game that lived in close proximity to Vaern and were taught how to clean and carve the larger game brought home from hunting trips. By the age of seven lessons on first aid began, the children learning how to suture, prepare poultices and tie tourniquets. At ten a child was considered old enough to hunt with their parents, and at sixteen they were expected to bring down their first saber-lion or boar alone...Or at least, apparently alone. One of the tribe's master hunters always followed the adolescent, stalking from the shadows and ensuring the youth didn't get in over their head. Rescue was rarely required, but when it was the older and more experienced Sunderfang came quickly to aid and protect.

There was no shame in receiving aid, the very fact that Amarylis was even moving after such a thrashing was testament to her inner resolve. Few who'd ever gotten into an altercation with Friya were able to move on their own afterwords, the woman was as ferocious as a cornered badger when angered. Even her warrior Mjorr had come to be wary of her temper, knowing the Maiden was a powder keg awaiting the slightest spark. Every now and again a maiden or warrior would pass, nodding at Arzale and Amarylis. The normally catty maidens that passed seemed appeased by the bruises forming across Amarylis' cheeks and the way she limped, someone had finally knocked the outsider around a bit, started to break her in. Amarylis would find her treatment slightly better...Until she healed of course. Odds are the cycle of battery and recovery would repeat itself until Amarylis could hold her own and prove she was too strong to push around...Or until she broke down completely. Arzale had faith that the first would happen and not the latter, knew Amarylis would be a quick study once she allowed her conscience to take the back-seat to instinct. The tundra would harden her up...

Arzale lead Amarylis through the underbelly of the ship, taking a slow pace so that Amarylis didn't need to lean on him much for support. Their steady progress allowed Amarylis time to study the polished and treated interior of the vessel. Dark red wood, stained and sealed with various oils made up the interior. Each door frame was intricately carved, runework and imagery spidering up, along, and down, telling of the exploits and heritage of each warrior and maiden that resided in that room. Even the floorboards were adorned with meticulous inscriptions of various beasts and many stories detailing the past and myth. Beauty was all around Amarylis, she just had to look to find it. Every single object artificed by Sunderfang craftsmen was designed for purpose but also personalized to the owner. Hard things could also be beautiful...If only Amarylis would open her eyes and see it! Eventually the two made their way to the galley, and one of the ship's cooks obliged Arzale's request for water with one of those large tankards, though this one filled to the brim with cool, fresh water. Arzale offered the tankard to Amarylis, knowing she'd appreciate how cold it was.
 
Amarylis tilted her head slightly at Arzale's words, but found herself nodding at them nonetheless. Out of instinct or just reaction, she couldn't be sure. But the odd thing was she found herself believing him, believing he meant what he'd uttered. Every syllable. She winced slightly as pain suddenly jolted through her tiny body, though she tried to cover it up, as he helped her further to stand up and then proceed forward, moving... walking... each step suddenly so difficult. No. She wouldn't let them be. She wouldn't let them get the better of her.

Slowly, Amarylis moved forward. She just had to trust that should she fall, Arzale would be there. As it was, he was guiding her, steadying her. That would be enough. It would have to be. As he led her down below, she had to take her time to prevent herself from falling. Her body hurt and moving too quickly just made her dizzy. So, as they walked, she took care to gain her bearings with each step, her eyes glancing about herself, taking in her surroundings.

It was in these tranquil moments that she noticed a few things. Perhaps it was the lighting or maybe the blows she'd taken earlier by that woman...just then, she felt a sharp pain stabbing through her head and she reached up to touch her face. Every inch of it was so tender, bruised and battered just like the rest of her. But as they quietly walked, she noticed the artwork carved within wood. Had it always been there? Was it elsewhere? She wondered... just like she wondered about Arzale's ability to play music... Such odd contrasts.

Absently, Amarylis allowed one of her hands to brush against some of the carvings as she and Arzale walked by. She felt a need to touch it, though she made it seem as if she was trying to balance herself a little. Finally, they reached galley and she was offered water—the drink she'd asked for after sputtering and coughing when she'd swallowed down the mead unexpectedly.

"Thank you," Amarylis said, her voice soft, showing gratitude. She took hold of the tankard and she drank deeply. The water was cold and refreshing, tasting wonderful against her tongue and lips. It was exactly what she wanted and needed and even more so after what had happened with that woman.

Unable to help herself, Amarylis took many sips. Water dribbling down along her chin and even onto her dress. She was so thirsty and at a point where she hardly cared how she was coming off as she drank the contents down. After a while, she finally brought the tankard away from her lips and looked up at Arzale.

"Thank you for this," Amarylis said again. "Might be a small thing to most, but it means a lot to me." She looked down at the water she was holding for a moment before looking back up at him once again, biting down on her lip briefly before speaking. "Next time, if I'm able, I'll bite her arm."

Instantly, Amarylis, could feel her cheeks redden a little and once again, she bit down on her lip. Feeling out of place, she lifted the tankard back up and took another sip of her water.
 
"The next time someone assaults your honor, give them one chance to stand down and then strike. Disrespect among our people is equivalent to a physical attack. When a person loses face they are seen as weak...You do not want to be seen as weak. However, do not draw steel against a fellow Sunderfang unless they have already done so. Fist-fights and brawls are common-place, but using weapons in honor-disputes outside of the Ring of Sorrows is forbidden. The aggressor is to stop when the other is defeated, assaulting someone after victory is a dire disgrace."

Sunderfang politics had parallels to a wolf pack that were easily drawn. What was most baffling though was how important the concept of honor was to the Sunderfangs, even if their stance on such a concept was so outlandish. These 'savage' people clearly lived by a strict, if not somewhat esoteric code with definite nuances and laws, rigid customs that were heavily enforced. Arzale was sure Amarylis would learn quickly enough, find her strength quickly enough. Once the girl found that strength she would find life with the Sunderfangs much easier. When she could display her strength she'd find herself welcome as a Sunderfang, treated as if she was Northborn.

Arzale watched Amarylis guzzle down the water as if it was the only thing keeping her alive. The poor girl was probably parched, it'd been well over a day since any liquid besides a few drops of mead touched her throat. All in all Arzale thought that today's events had been a step in the right direction. Amarylis had proved that she wasn't a doormat today, proved that she would stand up for herself no matter the odds. Unfortunately there was little Arzale could do to prepare Amarylis for her Harrowing, fledgling and budding Maidens were an unpredictable and vicious lot, each of them burning with the desire to prove their strength to the tribe, and to their potential warriors. The same could be said for adolescent warriors. The closer to the age of Ascension a Sunderfang youth became the more rowdy they became, that desperate need to prove themselves burning hotter and hotter with every passing day.

Would Amarylis stay in the training quarters? Arzale was leaning towards putting his foot down and demanding she stay in Larethia's quarters, the large chamber that adjoined his. While in need of training, she was already spoken for as a Maiden. As such Arzale intended to have plenty of time to train and spar with her personally, ensure she learned his unique combat style as swiftly as possible.
 
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