Sick is not fun stuff!
Word Count → 339
She was relieved that she wasn't turned away; sleep had been a scarce luxury since leaving the Great Tribe, as she always feared those who had attacked them in the first place. To have been so close to finding Dawali and then having failed? It simply wasn't possible. But as it was, the snowy woman eased her fears. Yes. Dawali was there. She stepped into the unfamiliar-but-comforting territory without hesitation and followed the Etikaiele Gata in silence. There was no need for words. The woman did not speak to the Amara, and the Fire Tender's mind was so cluttered with the news for her brother that she had no desire for idle chatter. Of course, after some time the winter creature she followed changed the atmosphere with questions of her own.
Chitsa glanced up with amber eyes as her name was asked and her path within the Tribe. Still, silence remained. The woman rubbed her palms together, twisting thick braids and curls about a finger. A sigh passed through her and into the air. "Chitsa. I walk the path of Fire Tending, like yourself." Creme fingers rubbed at the spaces between her eyes and muzzle, trying to wake up her tired features with movement. It wasn't really working, but she tried to pretend. As they neared the village, through the trees where the forest met field, Chitsa seemed unfazed. Whether it was the exhaustion itself or simply being used to such a thing, she maintained the solemn expression while they neared.
This woman was not her brother, but this woman was a sister in the Tribe, and Chitsa's ears fell back slightly as she cleared her throat. "How has Dawali been? Has he been taking care of himself?" At first, she hadn't realized the pull of losing a loved one when Mischka died, but being in a similar situation, Chitsa could sympathize with the brother who had helped to raise her in her youth. Though others had come back to visit, Dawali had not been seen for some time. She worried.
Image courtesy of fras@Flickr; table by the Mentors!
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