08-30-2009, 05:40 PM
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Word Count: 571 Dawali smiled at Noir as she proudly put forward that she had not broken the faste. Good, he was relieved. She seemed somewhat put off by having to sit back by the others, but he could only blame himself for that. He had been too lenient with her, had not been enough of a leader - she had not learned to know him as others of this tribe had. She had learned to know him as a male who was helpful and fun, but in the end not as a male to be respected and to take orders from. But, she would learn, and he saw that she was older now, and more able to understand. Taking a moment to look at his tribesmembers, he continued with the ceremony. The grains of sand that flew at the fire gradually choked its supply of oxygen, and the darkness of the night sunk in on those present. His own fiery colors fainted, its hues and saturation no longer as vivid as before. At last, only the torches were the source of light, and the ceremonial ground they stood on was a dark and gray mass of stone. Pairs of eyes shone at him, catching on every ray of light they could, to see in the dark. It was not a problem, they all had excellent sight even in darker situations, but the difference was immediate and noticeable. Waiting a moment, Dawali glanced at Hanna and bent down to take the sacred embers out of their compartment. It was an old stone box carved by some craftsmen hundreds of years ago. Since then, they had been kept alive by the fire Master. The relighting was usually the Fire Master's job, but as they had none, the Chief would have to fill that role. Slowly, he kindled flame from dry twigs he had collected beforehand. Within minutes, the flames rose to catch onto larger pieces of wood, and as he fed it, it slowly grew to a size similar as the previous had been. Smiling, he rose and again addressed his tribe's members, now concluding the ceremony. "The flames soar high again, and this ceremony is at its end. We have sacrificed our meals for a week, and now we are rewarded with the plentiful rewards of the summer." His eye twinkled as he for a moment considered choosing more formal words, but as he turned and swung his arm towards the pile of food his voice rang playfully. "Dig in!" There was raw and roasted, tongue and thigh, even liver and heart - sought after pieces. There was fish and crops, fruit and berries, traditional nut-bread and a fine assortment of prepared tobacco. Knowing of his continued obligation to fasting, Dawali did not take anything from the pile. Instead, he pulled out a simple flute - the same as he played at the last ceremony - and sat onto a carpet in a corner of the ceremonial ground. The flute played only five tones, but in three pitches, and the melodies it sung told stories older than their ages combined. |