(no subject)
The wagon rolled up the packed dirt road. The driver, a young Gen woman, waved
hello with her free hand. Ilyana smiled, returning the gesture, as did a few other ambrov Rior.
The team of horses came to a stop some twenty yards away. Ilyana walked over,
greeting the driver politely in Simelan. "Welcome to Rior, be it for joy or
sorrow, gain or loss," formally spoken. "I am Ilyana Dumas, Sosectu in Rior."
The group introduced themselves, one at a time. Their leader was an elderly
Sime named Tyrla, a tall, white-haired woman who bowed slightly.
"Good fortune follow thee, and trouble fall away, Sosectu Dumas." Tyrla held out a hand, palm up. Ilyana clasped it in hers, smiling as Tyrla's handling tentacles brushed her wrist.
"Will you come inside, or rest here?" Ilyana had had manners drilled into her; hospitality came first, before curiosity. "You must be parched, after such a long ride."
"We would prefer to stay near the wagon," Tyrla answered, her tone oddly hesitant. "There's one traveling with us who isn't well--she's awake, but shouldn't be moved too much."
Ilyana's eyebrows lifted. The sentries hadn't mentioned any of the group being injured, or ill--"Ahh," as comprehension dawned. Changeover. "Of course,
you're welcome to rest here as long as you wish to," she said kindly, in answer to Tyrla's unspoken question. "If she'll need a Companion for her First, there are some newly trained Gens here who haven't yet paired off."
"I can serve her need, and I believe she would prefer that," Tyrla replied,
tension leaving her posture. "It was wishing for a safe place to care for her.
She has some hours yet to go, it's only second stage."
She gave Ilyana an odd look, her eyes going unfocused.
Ilyana hissed, sharply indrawn breath, as the dulled ache she'd been enduring
abruptly became razor-edged, as if a hundred knives had pierced her skin
all at once. She doubled over,feeling blood trickle from her nostrils, tasting it on her upper lip. Behind her, she heard one of the renSimes scream. Tyrla paled, and stepped forward swiftly, augmenting, to catch her shoulders before Ilyana fell.
There was a rapid conversation among the gypsies, in their dialect, and then
Tyrla eased Ilyana to the ground and backed away.
"Sosectu." One of the other gypsy Simes knelt, reaching for her arms, his tentacles out--laterals as well as handling tentacles.
His hands rested on her forearms. The pain eased, and she managed to whisper
a hoarse "yes", letting their fields mesh.