Death of an enkidukai

[Mask]

She ran up to him and slapped him in the face.
“You told me that you would protect him!”
The screaming of a infuriated mother, making people turn their heads. A Ynnwn walked by and chuckled. The Dermorian followed him with his gaze, and the smirk vanished from the Ynnwn's face. He quickly walked off, embarrassed -

She cried, her face buried in his coat. Tears dropped down onto his chestplate, washed away the dust in long streaks. He just hold her, carefully, a short woman with blond hairs turning white. His mother. And there they stood, in some Hydlaa backyard. Old toys littered on the ground, and he remembered them just like everything else. Flotsam from a different time.

The children stared at him, the youngest clinging the gown of one of the older. Each and everyone of them had dirt under their broken fingernails. A blue-eyed Ylian girl, a bunch of withered flowers in her hand looked at him, hiding behind her older sister.
“Where is Malal?”

_
The dermorian reached for his backpack and got up. The children where playing with their new toys, and hopefully mother would find the small box with tria he had left for her.
The Ylian stood in the hallway, holding a basket full of laundry. She stood as if she had been there all day, a anemic shadow in the doorway. Empty clothes lines in the backyard behind her. How old was she? Twenty? Her eyes had the color of blue ice, and he knew before she spoke -
“Did he say something?”
He shook his head and carefully placed the small notebook in her basket. She stepped aside, and he walked out, escaping the grey shadows. When he was out at the street again, he still could hear her cry. Doubtfull that the poems would help her. He suddenly felt old, very old. Like granite.

-
His hair fell.
He remembered the face reflected in the water bowl, felt the blade scratching over his head, the cuts, the blood, but no pain.
He could do this by himself now, stood up and burnt his hair in the fire. Blood on his hands as he run them over his bald skull.
But these wounds would heal fast.

[Tessra]

It's so sad... and yet very poignant.  Very well written, I'd love to see more of it.

[Mask]

Originally, I wanted it to be that short since I am not so sure about the rest of the story. I could, however, do some more writing and see if the end result is decent enough to be presented here. 

[Mask]

She had forbidden him to come, and he was sure to regret this decision later on. Cold rain in his face, fingertips white, hidden in the depth of his coat's pockets. The wind swept the words away they spoke; and the dermorian was sure they meant something to them: guided and guarded by prayers to the Gods, the remains descended into the burial well. The man recited the First Verse of the Fallen in his thoughts, forbidden to do anything but watch.

Body of blood and bones, formed from starbreath and clay
In death, your spirit finds release: may you live on
Evermore

Those in the worn grey coats did not turn their heads, not noticed him. By the time they started to look around, he was gone already. While it was a duty to attend the last voyage of the mortal shell, it was a duty to honor the spirit.
He needed to escape this city for a while. And while he made his way trough the streets, past busy people, exchanging simple monosyllabic conversations with those he knew, his spirit paced back and forth.
So he left the city until it was nothing more but a faint silhouette far behind him.



_
The old woman looked down on her. The old, scared face smiled a warm smile.
Staggering forward, she choked and coughed. Breathing felt like walking now; thousand daggers kissing her.
“You made it, child.”
There was something hard on the ground, and she stumbled over it. Somebody cursed, and the enkidukai quickly staggered on.

Grass under her feet, sweet soft grass. There was a wall, and she staggered away from it, still hearing him cry in pain, smelling his burnt fur.
“Come. Rest, my child.”
The dagger slipped from her hand, a few more steps. Then she collapsed to the ground -

[Mask]

This morning's dishes rattled as she dropped the book onto the table.
“Who was this woman you were talking with?!”
He looked her straight into the eyes without an answer.
“Just like all the money you have, all of a sudden? Just look at you.” Her voice had a concerned mother's reproachful timbre; but it could only worm a shrug out of him.
“I work.”
She slumped down into the chair and eyed the bag. He watched the dew on the plants in the garden. They needed water, just like the window – only those facing the street were cleaned regularly, he concluded.
“Who is she, Voron? Is it your child?”
He chuckled and shook his head. “No. Where did you get that idea from?” Anamyêl did not respond. This kind of habit might run in the family, but did she really think he was just like his father?

“I have not seen you at the burial well.”
“But I have seen you.” He turned around and made a small bow. “Find good use for the tria, mother.”
And then he left, sure that she still sat there, alone with a book on Talad's teachings at a set table. And the street was filled with stench and rats in this morning's shadows, with a damp cold drawn like an old coat over the city.

“Hey! Wait!”
She came running after him. Her voice told of her uncertainty, and there was something odd in her blue eyes. The Ylian blushed.
“You are going to the Garden, right?”
He shook his head and noticed how she looked at him. Not quite what she expected. “I will be there later today.”
She hid behind her warm smile.
“I see. May the light shine on your path.”

_
She crossed the empty plaza; climbed the stairs deep in thought. Of course, she knew: there was nothing odd in Hydlaa except the city itself. But he was different, everything was foreign about him and in the same moment so familiar. She had overheard him and Mother earlier that morning; and the pain she felt in her heart made her wish she had none.
Somehow she needed to stop her thoughts, needed to work a lot, needed the city's trouble around her. But even her green refuge was only filled with dew and silence this morning. So much here was dripping with memories, soaked in moments they had here together: the bench, the fountain, the grass and the flowers. Everything. The scent of his fur, the tone of his voice lingered here as if he would suddenly step out of a nearby tree's shadow and hug her. Eventually, these remnants would fade and disappear like dew under the crystal's heat; as would all -
And she fell on her knees, slowly, trying to reach the Great Mother with her prayers. But even the birds' song felt empty. The young woman opened her eyes. Then a cry escaped her throat.

The enkidukai supported herself on a low branch of a nearby tree, shivering. She was tall, lean even, and clad in the dried mud and blood and what little was left of her armor. She staggered forward.
“Abde, abde...”

She wrapped her in her light coat, shivering. Malal told her how to do these things, but now all was gone.
“It is alright. Everything will be alright. Talk to me! Help, I need help! HELP!”

_
The pain was gone, or just sleeping. She was in a tent. It was hot, uncomfortable, somehow smelly. People talked outside. New clothes, good. Even her amulet was still there, she could feel it. Wait. Slip away in the cover of the night. She was good at this. She knew that she could do it – and so, in the cover of the night, she got up and slipped away, sure that nobody would miss her. Who should miss her? The alleys where comfortably dark, so she returned to the place with the trees. That was easy. Hiding there, in the bushes. The ylian woman was good, but gone. Maybe getting in trouble for helping her. Maybe not. The Mother would help her too.
Time to think.


Fin

(1396 words. I hope you enjoyed the read.)

[Tessra]

Very nice!  Thank you for sharing this with us!

[Onilise]

  I like the writing style