31st Ashan 719
“I’m going to run to the human sector and have your status registered,” Azreal has been flying all over the city since they arrived yesterday and it was beginning to show. His head feathers, usually slicked back were sticking up in wild disarray and he set the sack of ingredients on the wooden table with uncharacteristic clumsiness. He was breathless, too, “Will you be okay while I’m gone?”
“I’ll be fine; you worry too much.”
“Someone has to,” he eyed the elementary Avrellian reader in her possession and paused to watch her wrist move across the page as she copied the text meticulously. Yeva was starting with the basic symbols of the language and he was impressed by how neatly she wrote them. Azrael almost thought to praise her until her mouth opened and she tried to replicate the sounds of spoken Lorien to match.
Azrael howled in amusement, his wings fluffing in his entertainment.
A rush of panic gripped her, “It’s not funny!”
“It is.”
Yeva’s cheeks reddened to cherries and she glued her eyes to the tome, unable to bring herself to look at his stupid grinning face, “I’m trying,” she spat stubbornly.
“Slaves aren’t supposed to know how to read,” he teased, “You’d be better off learning Dehasin-”
“I’m not your slave!” she snapped, stabbing the quill into the vial of ink with fire in her eyes, “I’ll learn what I want.”
Despite the jungle heat, the room turned icy and Azreal’s expression hardened. He took a deep breath and rapped his talons against the table. For a second, Yeva thought he would apologize, but he turned towards the exit instead. An apology? His pride wouldn’t allow it, “I’ll be back soon. You should prep dinner.”
Yeva would need to learn to curb her impulses, and soon. Had another Avriel been present and witnessed such disrespect, they would have demanded punishment and what would he be forced to do? The silver eyed male hadn’t meant to upset her, but her fuse was shorter than usual. Anyone across the world would be tense, he reasoned, jumping from the cave.
The two could talk when he came back.
She copied a few more symbols, embarrassed and fuming. She hadn’t thought her Lorien had been so bad, and yet he mocked her. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t speak the language and when she tried to practice again, the residual humiliation made it hard to form the words. Her lips were tight, locking up in an effort to protect her from further distress. Eventually, she gave up.
With a sigh, Yeva rose to her feet, reaching for the bag of food. Prep dinner. It was the least she could do for Azrael, rude humor or not. After all, her involvement here was just the indulgence of her own whims.
Yeva didn’t know how to cook, but she began pulling the items out one by one. An onion, a lemon, a jar of uncooked rice. There was parchment tied off with twine that she began to undo, gasping and dropping the half opened fish, it’ blacked eye and gaping mouth jiggling when it smacked back onto the table, “Ugh,” she grimaced, leaning forward to peel it away from the wood. An outline of oil lingered and she could practically smell the river. Very quickly she pulled the paper back over its face and went to wipe her hands off on a cloth hanging by the unlit fire pit.
Knives and spices hung from racks drilled into the wall, and she found a piece of flint and steel, beside it a box of tinder. Her bare feet a soft scuffle across the stone floor, she settled by the pit and rearranged a few logs, tucking a bit of the firestarter at the base. Sitting on her knees, Yeva (unsuccessfully) smacked the flint and steel together over and over, hoping for sparks. Frowning in determination, she didn’t look up when she heard someone land at the door.
“I’m sorry I got upset, I-” Yeva looked up and her voice caught. Brown eyes widening, a flash of fear danced across her expression and she struggled to keep her voice calm. The Avriel at the door was not Azrael. What was she supposed to say? He hadn’t told her this would happen. Not wanting to admit the other male wasn’t there, although it would become obvious within trills, Yeva blurted the first thing that came to her mind, “I don’t know how to start a fire.”
She rushed to her feet and took a nervous step backward, "A-are you here for dinner?"
“I’ll be fine; you worry too much.”
“Someone has to,” he eyed the elementary Avrellian reader in her possession and paused to watch her wrist move across the page as she copied the text meticulously. Yeva was starting with the basic symbols of the language and he was impressed by how neatly she wrote them. Azrael almost thought to praise her until her mouth opened and she tried to replicate the sounds of spoken Lorien to match.
Azrael howled in amusement, his wings fluffing in his entertainment.
A rush of panic gripped her, “It’s not funny!”
“It is.”
Yeva’s cheeks reddened to cherries and she glued her eyes to the tome, unable to bring herself to look at his stupid grinning face, “I’m trying,” she spat stubbornly.
“Slaves aren’t supposed to know how to read,” he teased, “You’d be better off learning Dehasin-”
“I’m not your slave!” she snapped, stabbing the quill into the vial of ink with fire in her eyes, “I’ll learn what I want.”
Despite the jungle heat, the room turned icy and Azreal’s expression hardened. He took a deep breath and rapped his talons against the table. For a second, Yeva thought he would apologize, but he turned towards the exit instead. An apology? His pride wouldn’t allow it, “I’ll be back soon. You should prep dinner.”
Yeva would need to learn to curb her impulses, and soon. Had another Avriel been present and witnessed such disrespect, they would have demanded punishment and what would he be forced to do? The silver eyed male hadn’t meant to upset her, but her fuse was shorter than usual. Anyone across the world would be tense, he reasoned, jumping from the cave.
The two could talk when he came back.
She copied a few more symbols, embarrassed and fuming. She hadn’t thought her Lorien had been so bad, and yet he mocked her. It wasn’t her fault she didn’t speak the language and when she tried to practice again, the residual humiliation made it hard to form the words. Her lips were tight, locking up in an effort to protect her from further distress. Eventually, she gave up.
With a sigh, Yeva rose to her feet, reaching for the bag of food. Prep dinner. It was the least she could do for Azrael, rude humor or not. After all, her involvement here was just the indulgence of her own whims.
Yeva didn’t know how to cook, but she began pulling the items out one by one. An onion, a lemon, a jar of uncooked rice. There was parchment tied off with twine that she began to undo, gasping and dropping the half opened fish, it’ blacked eye and gaping mouth jiggling when it smacked back onto the table, “Ugh,” she grimaced, leaning forward to peel it away from the wood. An outline of oil lingered and she could practically smell the river. Very quickly she pulled the paper back over its face and went to wipe her hands off on a cloth hanging by the unlit fire pit.
Knives and spices hung from racks drilled into the wall, and she found a piece of flint and steel, beside it a box of tinder. Her bare feet a soft scuffle across the stone floor, she settled by the pit and rearranged a few logs, tucking a bit of the firestarter at the base. Sitting on her knees, Yeva (unsuccessfully) smacked the flint and steel together over and over, hoping for sparks. Frowning in determination, she didn’t look up when she heard someone land at the door.
“I’m sorry I got upset, I-” Yeva looked up and her voice caught. Brown eyes widening, a flash of fear danced across her expression and she struggled to keep her voice calm. The Avriel at the door was not Azrael. What was she supposed to say? He hadn’t told her this would happen. Not wanting to admit the other male wasn’t there, although it would become obvious within trills, Yeva blurted the first thing that came to her mind, “I don’t know how to start a fire.”
She rushed to her feet and took a nervous step backward, "A-are you here for dinner?"