a piece of home

Unatsikanogeni Adahy · 07-07-2012, 04:41 PM

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Set the day Una joined, around noon. His spirit guide is not around. +416

don't let yesterday use up too much of today.

After the collie woman had accepted him into the Tribe, Unatsikanogeni had set to exploring the area and comparing it to where he’d come from. He was pleased to see the wood and stone huts that many of the Great Tribe had slept in, although some of these in the village were collapsed and broken; newer-looking ones stood proudly among their ruin. Among these houses were the usual torches, yet to be lit as the sun was at its zenith.

And, of course, the Great Fire burned near the Town Hall.

The man stood and watched it for a long time, rubbing his white arm awkwardly. He remembered the flickers it threw when he failed in his duty, the scarlet tongues leaping at the air and backlighting the silhouettes of the enemies. In the daytime, in AniWaya, it seemed less threatening, almost mundane; it could have been any bonfire. Only the knowledge of what it signified made it seem more majestic than it was; he knew that, at night, it would illuminate the village and serve as a beacon for lost souls, a symbol of history and spirituality.

Sadly, Unatsi wondered how many AniWayans knew the story.

Eventually, the newly-ranked worker turned away from the flames and snuck back through the village. He knew that he’d want to claim a hut as his own, but before he did, he wanted to know the layout of his would-be neighbors’ homes. He was a bit reluctant to be in the middle of it all, but a little place on the outskirts of the village would suit his needs. It wasn’t as if it’d be a far walk even if he did stay away from the others; he had no intention of hiding himself away more than he had to (even if Udanvti would let him).

Yawning, he adjusted the sack hanging over his shoulder. He was still dead-tired, and even collapsing under the shade of a tree near where he’d been accepted had done little to change that. He might have to settle on a hut sooner than he’d thought.

Resigned, the red wolf trudged toward one such home, only to stop and sniff. He almost hadn’t noticed the familiar scent—his mind had simply accepted it as right, as home—but now he remembered the conversation before the departure of this particular smell from the Tribe. He shook his head in disbelief, approaching the hut and breathing in more of the scent, his voice tentative.

“O-Ookah Aranck?”

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