Great Bear Wilderness umntu ngumtu ngabantu

the male appears to praimfaya through the filter of her limited perception, for lack of a better word, disoriented; and for a moment as he calls out to her in a foreign tongue she does not know, praimfaya wars between compassion and the ruthlessness of her broken heart, of the commander of death. he is not kru and thus she is not bound by duty to aid him. not to mention, she is not sure what is wrong with him. the whole situation is a wild card and he may very well be dangerous. help my?, he speaks to her again. help. she understands that word, at least.

she doesn't move: not nearer or further away. instead, she stays stoically in place, frostbound gaze lingering, only to dart up to his ear as he swivels it in her direction in time with his words. his common is poor ...but it occurs to her that so would her own if not for ingram and diaspora. spirits, she wants to rip her beating heart from her chest. it was a compassionate thing, her heart and it aches for her father and her mother, both gone from her now.

to be commander is to be alone... this time it is not linkoln's voice that speaks but her own inner voice.

but to be commander was also to know compassion. the three pillars. wisdom. compassion. strength.

your ear? praimfaya reiterates to make sure what she assumed is right, making up her mind. she ghosts nearer a few steps, cautious, frostbound gaze watching for any signs that his intentions were ill. i'm no healer, the worlida admits. but ...what's wrong? she asks, hoping that she might be of even a little assistance.

nanowrimo: 296