Great Bear Wilderness umntu ngumtu ngabantu

"a fly has gotten caught in your character's ear!"

the sun's heat reigned down upon the land. the clouds thickened at the horizon, signifying an incoming storm. it would be difficult to find rest beneath the rain so anathi resigned to have a nap beforehand. soon, rain would become snow; he wondered if the wolves of this land could survive.

there was a divot near the trunk of a tall oak. the hunter nestled tightly into the crevice and began to doze off in silence.

hardly a moment had passed. the buzzing began almost instantaneously. ay! he called, rising up onto all fours. anathi's eye began to water as he swivelled his ear and shook his head. the insect caught inside had found its grip and refused to let go, much to the hunter's dismay.

i just realized this isn't marked with a post icon — if it's not all welcome let me know and i'll delete this post. <3

the first thing praimfaya notices within the rain that begins its downpour in the wake of the thickening clouds upon the once sunny horizon, is the male's pelage. it is a shade of muddied red that calls forth to her mind henwen. though upon closer inspection as the pale worlida ghosts a few steps closer, she determines that henwen's shade of red is indisputably prettier. it almost makes her jealous ...and curious about where her pale and silver pelage comes from. with blodreina and ingram both gone she knows that now she'll never know. the black smudges beneath her eyes, she thinks, must be a tribute from her father's genes — though this is more of what she tells herself as opposed to fact.

the stranger appears to be slumbering and using the sound of rainfall as a barrier she intends to keep moving ...figuring it is about time she return to roangeda... when suddenly he springs up and hollars. praimfaya starts, head snapping in his direction, hackles bristling as she watches him shake his head. has he seen her? but alas, the worlida is not known for being shy ( to the dismay of those sworn to protect her, she is sure ).

are... you ok? though her natural instinct is to begin speaking in trigedasleng she has enough experience with the wilds she was born to, to know that many do not know the language of her people.

nanowrimo: 242

all good in the neighborhood.

the buzzing seemed to echo from deeper and deeper in the canal. the insect was holding on for dear life, yelling for the disruptance to end. it hadn't been its fault that anathi's ear was filthy enough to get caught in; he thought about this in an effort to calm himself back down. 

the steady beating of his heart, the sound of rushing blood. there was a cacophony of unpleasant sounds that seemed to amplify one another. anathi looked around frantically for a possible solution, but he instead saw the body of a nearby stranger. ndincede? he called. 

anathi sucked his teeth and thought to try again. help my? there were few who knew the true tongue, so it was better that he try something else. in my oor. the hunter swivelled his ear for emphasis, only further maddening the beat inside.

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

the words were like gibberish but the compassionate tone was universally understood. ear, anathi repeated, n insek. moments like these made him wish that he'd paid more attention to his mother's lessons.

anathi was desperate to be understood. there would be little viable verbal communication between them and he knew that. the hunter settled down onto his belly and rolled into partial submission on his side. the infiltrated ear continued to swivel and shift while he waited for the stranger's reaction.

ear, the man reiterates for her. praimfaya, feeling — to no one's fault — the stirrings of frustration and helplessness at the language barrier that exists between them, nods. there is something wrong with his ear. perhaps, she thinks, the situation is not so helpless after all. admittedly, their progress of communication is slow but they are making ground and that it something. except ...she is woefully reminded, as she has spoken to him mere seconds ago, that she is no healer.

insek. he tells her and it is, thankfully, close enough to the common equivalent that she is able to understand. the man has an insect in his ear. try as she might, the young worlida cannot entirely keep the confusion from her face. that can happen? is what her befuddled expression asks but she regains control of her visage soon enough and smooths it away as she hesitantly draws nearer yet, as if she plans to inspect the occupied ear.

nevermind that she doesn't have the first clue as to how to aid the poor man. ok, praimfaya says, peering left and then right as if something might give her sudden inspiration, only to look back at him with a terse, albeit contemplative expression. closer now than she was previously, she can hear the muffled buzz of the fly making its home in his ear. what attracts flies?, she asks herself. rotting meat. although, given the famine ( or tail end of it? ) praimfaya doubts there is an overabundance of rotting meat laying about. if lone wolves didn't snatch it up she doesn't doubt scavengers would've.

the only other thing that comes to her mind is a slim branch of a particularly sappy pine she passed not too far from their current position. maybe, she thinks, she could trap it in the sap and lift it from his ear ...but that sounds unwise. like a last resort sort of desperate. hm, she draws aloud, not realizing she's even made the contemplative noise. i'm going to see if i can find some rotting meat. maybe draw it out of your ear that way. ok? she asks him, hoping that he will just have to trust her. to return. to not mess up his hearing ...if her desperate last resort plan needed to be turned to.

nanowrimo: 392

there was a tense silent that fell between them. the woman approached with a cautious stride to complement the hunter's apparent apprehension. the trust that they had cultivated was fragile, weak, but it seemed to carry smoothly across the interaction. 

once the inspection was over, anathi stood slowly and worked to center himself. the insect, although small, was obnoxious enough to have left him somewhat disoriented. he listened intently to his savior's words as though paying a little more attention would help him understand. 

out of your ear, she'd said. anathi, still having little grasp on what was to come, nodded his head and plopped back onto his hindquarters.

the stranger nods and though praimfaya, given how their conversation has gone thus far, isn't sure how much of her words he's understood has to trust that he trusts her enough to not abandon him in what she knows is a time of need. putting that kind of trust forth when they are strangers that don't even know the other's name...well, its asking a lot. if she was lucky, she would find something left discarded by a small scavenger and she could omit the idea of sappy tree branch at all. she's never came across a situation like this — didn't think it was possible — and thus she could only hope that creativity and lazy and/or sickly scavengers were on her side.

stay. praimfaya tells him firmly. i'll be back. she assures him, emphasizing as best she can with tone. and then she turns and begins her search. anticipation works into her nerves as she tests the scents that line the general area of the wilderness, careful not to stray too far.

and then, lo and behold, lady fortune appears to be on her side for praimfaya follows her nose right to the sickly sweet scent of decaying half eaten squirrel. despite the young worlida's misgivings on if he would be enough to free the stranger from the torment of the little beastie in his ear, praimfaya scoops the corpse betwixt her jaws all the same and lopes back to where she's last left him. assuming he remains, fleetfooted steps take her nearer than she allowed herself previously — trusting him not to attack her — as she sits the corpse upon the earth between them and takes a step back and focusing her frostbound gaze upon his ear, hoping that what she assumes is a delicacy to the fly is enough to draw it out of the man's ear.

nanowrimo: 316

it is difficult to distract oneself from the jibes of an irate fly. the hunter tried counting aloud the leaves of a nearby tree.

een en twintig
twee en twintig
drie en twintig

when that didn't work, he tried cloudgazing.

dit is soortgelyk aan ... 'n vis, dink ek.

the final resort would have been seeing how long he would yank at his claw before it became too painful. thankfully, the woman returned before he could delve into something so stupid. 

there was a moment of unsurety wherein anathi froze with confusion. wat? he asked, finding himself thoroughly perplexed. the buzzing in his ear continued to roar, furthering his irritation. the insect bounced fervently inside of his canal.

finally, the plan of action set in. oh! he sighed, grinning as he knelt closer to the squirrel. the fly continued to fight its way out but after a moment of almost there!, anathi began to lose hope.

praimfaya eyes him as he appears to freeze in confusion, the word wat, coupled with the confusion currently dominating the male's visage is enough to tell praimfaya what he means. at least, she assumes given the closeness the word harbors to the common 'what'. rotten meat. fly. she tries to communicate as simply as she can, again feeling that rise of confusion on the barrier that exists between them. it wasn't anyone's fault, she tells herself, again.

thankfully, however, he seemed to clue into her thought process with the rotting piece of corpse. flies loved rotting things, praimfaya had come to learn. she could only hope that the fly in his ear, told to be such by the distinct volume and sound of its wings, also loved rotting things. the young worlida really hoped that she doesn't need to result to her plan b ...which even from its conception hardly sounds safe.

is it working? praimfaya asks excitedly, hovering nearer, forgetting in that brief instance of radiant hope that he probably couldn't understand her.

the minutes were passing by while the two of them waited (in vain) for the fly to make its appearance. the girl stepped closer so anathi stepped back to keep a respectful distance, though his ear remained pressed almost flush to the meat.

she spoke and he understand (somewhat). working? she'd asked, to which anathi replied, werk. the fly was almost out but something was keeping it from escape. 

finally, after a very frustrating waiting period, anathi huffed and sat back up. he turned to the girl and shook his head solemnly because no, it did not werk.

praimfaya's disappointment is palpable as he informs her that her plan didn't work. she frowns, ears feathering back to careen against the curve of her skull before pushing forward in consideration. she peers left and then right, a soft humming noise vibrating in her throat as she runs through any other plans she can conceive of. the more she gives thought to the sap in his ear the worse of an idea it sounds until she is forced to strike the idea entirely. it is too risky; too dangerous. she isn't a medic and could end up doing permanent damage to him though her intentions are good.

she does not want that on her conscious.

she sniffs around, trying to find something more appalling than rotting meat that might entice the fly out of his ear once and for all. but ends her pacing in front of him with a droop of her shoulders. i don't know what else to try, she admits. i'm sorry.

some time passes and eventually with another apology — assuming the fly hadn't moved — and words of well wishing praimfaya leaves the male and heads back home.