Who

Keelie

What

Keelie contemplates a fork.

(Back-dated to take place the evening after Eating like a Human Being.)

When

It is sunset of the thirteenth day of the twelfth month of the fifth turn of the 12th pass.

Where

Jungle, Southern Weyr

OOC Date 25 Sep 2015 04:00

 

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"I will not give up who I am."
Braveheart Theme by James Horner


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Jungle

As the clearing is left behind, a deep silence permeates and soaks into the very ground that towering trees grow out of, accompanied by the humid heat of the enclosed rainforest. The silence is broken by the chittering call of wild firelizards, the chirruping of distant avians, and the ominous rustling of large, feline predators that stalk the deeper, heart of the jungle. Vines drape from the trees, falling to the jungle floor, which carries the hint of decay. Water drips from the canopy above, the soft sound almost musical against the echoing call of the jungles denizens. Westward, with the tangled overgrowth and the shadows of the deeper rainforest, the forest looms dangerous.
The area is thickly forested with many banyan and sandalwood trees.


Keelie uses her core muscles to easily pull herself up by the branches, nimble fingers finding the familiar holds, bare toes splayed against bark and red hair hanging down. She is putting as much distance as possible between herself and the greenrider assigned to watch her below.

It is not the same having someone else there in her jungle, someone waiting for her. It feels like a violation of privacy. Even if the woman is nice and respects her trees, which she seems to. Keelie needs to be free! Having someone else there, supervising - she feels like she's on a leash. But she is in a favourite tree and is reaching the top - the best v-shaped branch, that holds her as gently as a lover. The girl sprawls out, taking in the beautiful sight of the moons hanging in the endless indigo sky, under-lit with soft pinks and oranges; She watches the familiar sea of stars come out to play and begin to shine like a million fireflies.

Something in her pouch pokes her, and she pulls out a fork.

The fork.

Settling back against the branch, she finds the comfortable groove, slightly downwards-slanted and concaving perfectly to her body. She lifts a handful of starlit red tresses and lightly pulls the utensil through the gently curled ends of her hair.

She is living at the Weyr. She is slowly learning to read and write. She is even taking those decorum classes, leaning to be a lady - and sat through the proper way to eat, using a spoon. (It did not go well - maybe next time.) But the fork, she refused to use. It symbolizes so much more. So much more than just using it to comb her hair.

This fork - she runs her hand across its shiny surface, the tiny decorative markings that look like leaves and roses, and the crude shape of a dragon. She found it in the tall grass the first day she was exploring around the Weyr, before she left home, before she left her jungle, and her trees, and her safety, before her life changed completely.

This fork - this metaphorical different-from-the-rest-of-her-tribe part of herself that her mother rejected. The mother that will not be there watching in the stands, the mother that doesn't even know where she is, let alone that she's a Candidate. Although she might guess. If she were brave enough - if she cared enough - if her mother wasn't so afraid of what she didn't understand. Keelie is surprised by the tear she feels sliding down her cheek. She brushes it away with the back of her hand.

She holds the utensil reverently in both hands, and closes her eyes.

"I will not give up who I am."

She speaks softly, to soul of the trees, to the leaves, to the small animals and insects and spinners that understand, even if no one else does.

The greenrider is calling her name. She can hear it drifting up through the branches, muffled by leaves. Keelie sighs. All of these restrictions. Soon they will be over, and she will be out of those barracks and be able to return to the wild, visiting the Weyr only when she wants to. Or, she will have a dragon. Both of those things sound good to her. The fork is tucked safely away back into her pouch.

The thought of returning to those barracks brings on a wave of nausea. But she has friends there. She can do this. The girl flips over onto her stomach, peeking down. The darkness of night has swallowed the jungle. She can see the shine of the woman's flaxen hair. Keelie sticks to the shadows and changes branches quietly on the way down. If she has to have a guide, she is at least going to have the satisfaction of startling her when she suddenly drops down out of the tree.

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