The Language We Covet

Ralla · 08-29-2011, 02:13 PM

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(Nootau: Visible)

In the observatory Ralla sat at the small desk, awaiting the arrival of her tribe mate, Luna. It was a little after dusk, and the candles burning in the hut let their wispy strands of smoke drift to the opening in the ceiling, losing themselves in the dark night. It would be awhile before the new moon decided to peek out, and it was rather cloudy that night, so the candles would have to do for the time being.

At their meeting, Luna had asked to learn more about AniWaya--culture, language, all that it was--and Ralla had graciously accepted to teach her it. There was a time when she had retained her title that these teachings were regular at the Great Fire, but now she could only feel its warmth from a distance, banished by her demotion. But it was no time to reminisce: Luna would soon be there. Nootau sat on his perch as usual--a bird of habit if nothing else--and watched as Ralla went about the room straightening things up. The sand table had finally been properly made, and Ralla had many planned uses for it. Instead of charting the stars tonight, however, it would act as a reusable writing tablet so that they may not waste ink or paper. All of Ralla's writing utensils sat on their shelves neatly, and below them were hundreds of manuscripts, in a sense. Some were scrolls, others bound copies with string, and more still only stacks of paper. But each was a chronicle of legends, songs, lore, and all things of the culture she had learned. In fact, she was only partly done--there was still so much more to write. The walls, decorated with the constellations in a bright white paint to be stark against the dark brown, still seemed dim in the candle-light, but still, the light would suffice.

Moon walks. "Moon talks." Moon thinks.

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