Desnind, The Medicine House
50th of Vhalar, 679
The Sev’ryn had not paid much attention to her after her journey, nor did Navyri want them to. She had arrived in the city of trees with no knowledge of Desnind, and everything about it was a cultural shock. People bartered and traded, worshiping an Immortal named Moseke. Most curious, there was no slavery, and Navyri found herself sitting at the treehouse window, losing breaks at a time to people watching.
When she had arrived, on the brink of death, her boat had slowed to a gentle stop and with the last bits of strength, she had thrown the anchor and crawled over the side. The water shocked her, and she contemplated allowing it to claim her as it did her father. Dark skinned fishermen in strangely shaped boats (dugout canoes, she would later discover) sailed and plucked her from the shallow waves, clucking in a language that sounded far away as she faded in and out of consciousness.
Between the dark faces and shadow of unconsciousness that wavered at the edge of her vision, the shrieking of strange creatures resounded. They sounded far off; singers announcing her landing. The color green - Navyri had never seen so much of it and tried to focus on the treetops as she was wrapped upon a gurney made of branches and twine, crying out when they touched her scorched skin. Beady eyes peered down at her from the canopy, feathered necks craning and bobbing in interest and then - Navyri’s whimpered in pain, her head rolled to the side, unable to meet their scrutinous gaze.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, streaking her skin; blurry flashes of Curio flying overhead reassured her. She had only just met the avian days before, but she wanted him close. Each jostling of the gurney set a blazing pain across her arms and shoulders and she could hold out no longer. Her eyes closed and allowed sleep to take her.
50th of Vhalar, 679
The Sev’ryn had not paid much attention to her after her journey, nor did Navyri want them to. She had arrived in the city of trees with no knowledge of Desnind, and everything about it was a cultural shock. People bartered and traded, worshiping an Immortal named Moseke. Most curious, there was no slavery, and Navyri found herself sitting at the treehouse window, losing breaks at a time to people watching.
When she had arrived, on the brink of death, her boat had slowed to a gentle stop and with the last bits of strength, she had thrown the anchor and crawled over the side. The water shocked her, and she contemplated allowing it to claim her as it did her father. Dark skinned fishermen in strangely shaped boats (dugout canoes, she would later discover) sailed and plucked her from the shallow waves, clucking in a language that sounded far away as she faded in and out of consciousness.
Between the dark faces and shadow of unconsciousness that wavered at the edge of her vision, the shrieking of strange creatures resounded. They sounded far off; singers announcing her landing. The color green - Navyri had never seen so much of it and tried to focus on the treetops as she was wrapped upon a gurney made of branches and twine, crying out when they touched her scorched skin. Beady eyes peered down at her from the canopy, feathered necks craning and bobbing in interest and then - Navyri’s whimpered in pain, her head rolled to the side, unable to meet their scrutinous gaze.
Tears rolled down her cheeks, streaking her skin; blurry flashes of Curio flying overhead reassured her. She had only just met the avian days before, but she wanted him close. Each jostling of the gurney set a blazing pain across her arms and shoulders and she could hold out no longer. Her eyes closed and allowed sleep to take her.