He was bound. What a heartbreaking seance. Atop his horse, Dawali could scarce look up, but studied Belle's mane thoroughly. While he understood the politics of what was going on completely, his disbelief was still overwhelmingly powerful. He sat there in this very real situation, and was not certain of anything any longer, other than how uncertain he was. His life was uncertain. Did he fear returning to the Great Tribe? No. He didn't think so, at least. They would not kill him - Maska would vouch for him. Wouldn't he? Would his punishment ever end? There was more to come, in the eyes of his daughters, his brothers and sisters -- and his grieving mother. Perhaps it was just pure luck that his father had died.
It was ironic, how his passion for this place still ruled him. The pride he had felt at observing his tribe's members, the joys of surviving the winter -- it was still in his chest, somewhere. Soon, it would be another year since the tribe had been founded, and Dawali had been so green then. Green, and faithfully obedient to Chief Ayegali, who out of the blue had left them not to return. She had left him to his own, and where was her guilt? The Great Tribe, chiefless. Where was her guilt? There was only his guilt, and his blame. His crime, and his blasphemy. It had been weeks, moons, since he had seen Gvihita. Would he even care if she ever returned? She had taken flight along with his dignity on the day he had spoken to Ralla about Cour des Miracles and the letter. The day his actions had bought his beloved tribe more trouble. And now, all the dead... How fitting that he had been a Gola Watsi, a Bone Bearer, when he first came here. He still was - he had appointed himself Master, but it was not valid. And now the Bone Bearer had sung his blasphemous, grief-stricken prayers for warriors who had asked for war and gotten it. He would leave this wreck of a family who no longer wanted his guidance, and face another family in ruins from his actions. There was an odd balance in the world, when the scale tipped this way, for he had burned them all in his quest to bring the Great Fire justice, pride and safety in this place, and now he left them to pick up the pieces on their own. It was all his own doing.
He lifted his gaze for a moment and stared painfully at the particularly familiar faces that surrounded him. It was only his past moons' experience in keeping his suffering at bay that stopped him from decorating his face with pearls at the sight of them. Songan and Sanuye... And then there was Claudius. Who had he betrayed the most? He looked away from Claudius' face and returned to the study of horse hair. Some father figures, that boy collected. His sister's face he would not look at, had not looked at. Perhaps this was the greater betrayal.
#maritd { padding:35px; }
#maritd p { padding-left:0px; text-indent:0px; margin-left:0px; text-align:; line-height:1.4em;}
#maritd b, #marit i { font-family: cambria, serif; font-size: 1.3em; }
#maritd .count { text-align:right; float:right; font-family: cambria, serif; }
#maritd .separator { font-family: 'Bookman Old Style', serif; font-size: 2em; display: block; font-style: italic; margin: 20px 0 20px 0; border-top:1px solid; border-bottom: 1px solid; padding: 10px 0 10px 0; text-align: right; }</style>[/html]