29 Ymiden 719
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The human sector was far more animated than the first time she had walked through the streets, a gaggle of Biqaj children playing with a pair of sticks in replacement of training swords. They swung wildly and shrieked with joy, no real learning session outside of their imagination. Pretenders of war, if only they knew what that entailed. It was good they didn't, Yeva thought solemnly, mulling over the rumor she had heard that morning. Was Raskalarn behind the storm that afflicted so many of the Athart's citizens?
A woman named Nora approached and crouched down, handing her a bundle of willow shoots freshly boiled and stripped. She spoke in Dehasin, knowing that the red head did not follow. It had been quite the language barrier, but Yeva found the community close knit and determined. They helped one another, even those who did not quite fit in, and through perseverance, and many, many hand gestures, Yeva had acquired the ability to relay simple thought. If she pointed to herself and repeated Yeva, they understood. If she pointed to them afterwards, they would often introduce themselves. She had learned some very basic nouns, and the words for yes, no, and stop. On the days she was lucky, she found a slave or freeborn willing and able to translate enough to get her through the door and a roof over her head for the night in exchange for work. If she wasn't, she rolled up her cloak and slept beside the streets.
A place to stay had been the bare necessity, but carrying on like this was proving difficult. Her stomach growled and she pretended to not have noticed when the woman tried to meet her eyes. As many of the humans she encountered were slaves in some form or the other, they often did not have much to share and Yeva couldn't bring herself to ask. Very little rice or beans would make it to their plate, sometimes paired with a mashed jungle root or a slice of fruit she did not recognize. Plastering on a smile, she reached for the materials and tapped it in quick succession.
"Reeds," the woman answered followed by twisting and pointing to something behind her, "Basket. Yeva."
"Oh, I see," Realizing they were going to be crafting these structures, she nodded with interest. She had never made one, but it had always seemed like a useful skill, "Reeds," she touched the material and then gestured to where the woman had motioned, "Basket." She nodded but repeated the words slower and Yeva followed, making an effort to hit each syllable. "Bas-ket."
Nora looked pleased and she gently took one of the willow stalks from Yeva's dainty fingers and weighed it in her hand. The intended use of the basket must have determined the thickness of the reed, as a pet basket made of light cane would not have the necessary body or firmness for such a shape or purpose. The slave motioned many times to the length of the piece, which must have been necessary to note, and one by one, Nora pulled six of the thickest reeds from the lot. Pulling a sharpened stone from the pocket of a well worn smock, Nora re-positioned her hands to allow the best view , before cutting small splits into half of their centers. Picking the stick up, she pushed her knife through with practiced ease until each slit remained two inches long and then began working in the untouched three through the holes until a wooden "x" was formed.
"Slath." Nora handed the creation over for Yeva to touch and observe, and the younger woman found it a bit amusing she would learn the Dehasin words for basket weaving, but not the Common terms.
A woman named Nora approached and crouched down, handing her a bundle of willow shoots freshly boiled and stripped. She spoke in Dehasin, knowing that the red head did not follow. It had been quite the language barrier, but Yeva found the community close knit and determined. They helped one another, even those who did not quite fit in, and through perseverance, and many, many hand gestures, Yeva had acquired the ability to relay simple thought. If she pointed to herself and repeated Yeva, they understood. If she pointed to them afterwards, they would often introduce themselves. She had learned some very basic nouns, and the words for yes, no, and stop. On the days she was lucky, she found a slave or freeborn willing and able to translate enough to get her through the door and a roof over her head for the night in exchange for work. If she wasn't, she rolled up her cloak and slept beside the streets.
A place to stay had been the bare necessity, but carrying on like this was proving difficult. Her stomach growled and she pretended to not have noticed when the woman tried to meet her eyes. As many of the humans she encountered were slaves in some form or the other, they often did not have much to share and Yeva couldn't bring herself to ask. Very little rice or beans would make it to their plate, sometimes paired with a mashed jungle root or a slice of fruit she did not recognize. Plastering on a smile, she reached for the materials and tapped it in quick succession.
"Reeds," the woman answered followed by twisting and pointing to something behind her, "Basket. Yeva."
"Oh, I see," Realizing they were going to be crafting these structures, she nodded with interest. She had never made one, but it had always seemed like a useful skill, "Reeds," she touched the material and then gestured to where the woman had motioned, "Basket." She nodded but repeated the words slower and Yeva followed, making an effort to hit each syllable. "Bas-ket."
Nora looked pleased and she gently took one of the willow stalks from Yeva's dainty fingers and weighed it in her hand. The intended use of the basket must have determined the thickness of the reed, as a pet basket made of light cane would not have the necessary body or firmness for such a shape or purpose. The slave motioned many times to the length of the piece, which must have been necessary to note, and one by one, Nora pulled six of the thickest reeds from the lot. Pulling a sharpened stone from the pocket of a well worn smock, Nora re-positioned her hands to allow the best view , before cutting small splits into half of their centers. Picking the stick up, she pushed her knife through with practiced ease until each slit remained two inches long and then began working in the untouched three through the holes until a wooden "x" was formed.
"Slath." Nora handed the creation over for Yeva to touch and observe, and the younger woman found it a bit amusing she would learn the Dehasin words for basket weaving, but not the Common terms.
