11-19-2011, 04:20 AM
Swentzle had set up camp last night in a clearing that, for all intents and purposes, was exactly twice as large as he needed it to be. There was enough room for Hamza to graze near the trees, and a high roost in the darkness of the branches had proven perfect for Citlali. Despite her odd level of activity during the day, she was an owl, and prone to nodding off at all hours--except, of course, when he was asleep. Fovea had gone off to hunt somewhere, leaving Swentzle sitting by himself--and yet not alone--in an admittedly small clearing, setting about his task of building a fire. This clearing had probably been a campsite before, as there was already a pit dug and circled in stones when he'd arrived; he'd discovered that when he fell flat on his face just after dismounting Hamza.
Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he took the flint and a large rock in one hand each, and began striking them together, always away from himself, sending sparks onto the carefully arranged pile of branches. Luckily he'd found dry wood; there had been rainfall recently, so he hadn't been certain. After a long moment of careful, precise strikes, there was a sudden crack and sizzle, and a light began dancing before his eyes. He set his tools aside, bending to blow the flame brighter, and then sat back, satisfied. He rubbed his hands together for a moment, before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Hamza, adeste." "Hamza, come here." The bison's head lifted lazily, and then heavy footsteps indicated his approach. Hamza settled a few feet away, beginning to graze in his new spot, and flicked an ear as if to say, "I've come." Swentzle rose and patted his hearty flank, before his hands drifted to the bags slung over Hamza's broad back. In them he found a bowl of what he knew to be red powder, and his Awk. "Boni pueri, Hamza." "Good boy, Hamza." Swentzle patted the buffalo again and settled before his fire, crossing his legs and beginning to shake the Awk rhythmically. A bit of the red powder thrown into the fire turned the resulting smoke a burnt orange color, and the smell of chile and cinnamon began wafting around him. Swentzle began chanting an old prayer, shaking his Awk as he did so. The words by now had become so familiar that he felt a great comfort in them, almost as though he were at home, in his own hut, with his daughter playing outside.
"Benedictus domum benedictum qui alligat obligat. Benedictus spiritum ducit, benedictum sit cibus." "Blessed be the home, blessed be the ties that bind. Blessed be the spirit that guides; blessed be the food that provides." And then, more quietly, "Blessed be."
Narrowing his eyes in concentration, he took the flint and a large rock in one hand each, and began striking them together, always away from himself, sending sparks onto the carefully arranged pile of branches. Luckily he'd found dry wood; there had been rainfall recently, so he hadn't been certain. After a long moment of careful, precise strikes, there was a sudden crack and sizzle, and a light began dancing before his eyes. He set his tools aside, bending to blow the flame brighter, and then sat back, satisfied. He rubbed his hands together for a moment, before he closed his eyes and took a deep breath.
"Hamza, adeste." "Hamza, come here." The bison's head lifted lazily, and then heavy footsteps indicated his approach. Hamza settled a few feet away, beginning to graze in his new spot, and flicked an ear as if to say, "I've come." Swentzle rose and patted his hearty flank, before his hands drifted to the bags slung over Hamza's broad back. In them he found a bowl of what he knew to be red powder, and his Awk. "Boni pueri, Hamza." "Good boy, Hamza." Swentzle patted the buffalo again and settled before his fire, crossing his legs and beginning to shake the Awk rhythmically. A bit of the red powder thrown into the fire turned the resulting smoke a burnt orange color, and the smell of chile and cinnamon began wafting around him. Swentzle began chanting an old prayer, shaking his Awk as he did so. The words by now had become so familiar that he felt a great comfort in them, almost as though he were at home, in his own hut, with his daughter playing outside.
"Benedictus domum benedictum qui alligat obligat. Benedictus spiritum ducit, benedictum sit cibus." "Blessed be the home, blessed be the ties that bind. Blessed be the spirit that guides; blessed be the food that provides." And then, more quietly, "Blessed be."