Date: Nov 26
Note: Please allow for Vigilante and Savina to reply first, possibly also Claudius. If none of them have posted in three days, just go ahead.

Those leaving are the following: Maska Ahote, Dawali Amara, Chitsa Amara (NPC), Wematin Kuruk (NPC), Gvwalodi (NPC) and a couple of PNPC's. The members of the party are all mounted. Maska, Dawali and Wematin are bound.

Maska was not very comfortable with his situation. Once Ulilohi had arrived, he had been confident that she would make them understand his position. Vigilante and Savina, they were no less brutal than what they claimed him to be, rising over their subject like royalty. Maska had never done such a thing, for in his mind he had done everything in his power to right the erring ways of the people he had come here to observe. Certainly, it had never been his orders from Chief Aatu to assume leadership of the tribe, but how could he not? They did not understand the level of wrong he had come here and seen, how Dawali had pranced around with his ceremonial gown and eagle feathers twisted into his mane, calling himself Chief. Such blasphemous behavior! And yet the Amara was the only one sensible enough to recognise his generosity as he granted him life over death. To be left in a cell-like cabin, tied, three mere survivors of all the glory that had taken place here - it was saddening. What had AniWayan morals come to, when a member of the council he came from, whose orders he had taken, would not support him? He secretly suspected that she was eager to take his place, that it was appetence and not her morals were in charge. It would only befit this place, if that were the case. But, at least he knew that she would never name herself Chief. It was universal law that only the sacred beings, the Spirit Guides, could name a Chief. At least this lesson had been learnt, or so he thought.

He was lucky to be a fair rider in this situation. With his weakling legs, he had had to be, growing up. His hands were tied in front of him, and although he could easily break free of them using his teeth, he would not. They had come here to see him beaten, and here he was, put on display for all the hateful wretches to spit on, should they choose to do so. Dawali and Wematin sat atop horses next to him, and the "occupant leaders" were here. Maska stared with a cold gaze at Ulilohi who stood nearby and said nothing at this injustice. They seemed to accept her, and he could only imagine what lies she had to have filled their heads with.

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.

It was perhaps the most tense situation she had ever been in. The prisoners sat there, passive, and all she could do was stare at them. The havoc... the conflicts would take so much tidying, the broken friendships might never heal. She did not know either personally, but she was puzzled by their appearance. While she knew that Maska had always been feverently traditional, she had never thought something like this could come from him. And the Amaras were a hardworking family, and yet... Dawali's sister, Chitsa. She stood by the party with her chin high. Her hands were free, but barely: she had eluded capture despite supporting Maska, for her support had never been physical. Still, her presence was unnerving, and Ulilohi was happy to see that Gvwalodi would be accompanying the party, though she would miss his warmth beneath the sheets. She was passive as well, not entirely certain about her position. Her gaze shifted and she looked to Vigilante and Savina, Claudius stood there, too. What could she do but stare at them, sitting there bound like cattle, in all their shame? She was a mere spectator to their suffering -- or in Maska's case, his suffering to come.

Inside, she sighed. This was no goodbye, it was a greeting, for now that the old symbols of leadership left them, Savina and Vigilante would return to their true homes to lick their wounds, and Ulilohi would be left with the daunting task of leading this broken tribe through the winter, and coming out on the other side unscathed. She felt about as little as Dawali looked.