Wenizu Iyerot’e Newi (May 3010) {Odothel}
Oct 13, 2018 11:44:22 GMT -5
Post by ELIRA on Oct 13, 2018 11:44:22 GMT -5
Led through the halls again, Kelet could do nothing but follow, though a peace settled over her for the sound of the flowing water and the golden lights shining from where she knew not. Gold, like the eyes of the one who had led her here, to a place where none had spoken harshly, where her bonds had been cut, and her wounds tended. She could already feel the power of the herbs seeping into her torn skin, and the warmth of healing beginning to set in.
Gold too was the song which came from the lips of the one leading her. Kelet could not mimic the sounds, nor sing with her, but she did not need to sing to hear it come as a thousand voices. She sang softly but her tone echoed through winding halls, and through the deep places when they crossed over bridges. It seemed to meld with the sound of the running waters. Kelet walked easily. Her ankles were not encumbered. Her wrists were light. So light she did not know what to do with them, and she moved her fingers in the light. The wrappings on her wrists hid the ugly wounds, but here and there when they passed near a waterfall, Kelet could not help but reach out with light fingers to touch the moving waters. The once dry bandages on her wrists were damp from them before they had even reached the room where her savior had led.
This one was a musician, Kelet had not heard the voice of any other rising up as hers, and well toned came every note. It left Kelet hanging on edge, longing to know the meaning of the words, though she seemed almost to be able to feel them. Before long, they were within another room. This a private room, and from the way the woman led her through, it was clear to Kelet that it was her own, and her suspicions were confirmed at the sight of the golden harp; a musician of this realm. Everything about the dark haired woman was golden, and Kelet was in wonder upon it. She sensed no thing foul, no false intention.
“Altan zürkh setgel,” Kelet uttered softly as she followed to the wardrobe, touching lightly the back of her gown. Golden heart, she had said, the words simple, and wishing she could speak them clearly to the one who was with her. She sighed, watching as she fingered through the wardrobe, pulling out a gown more beautiful than Kelet had ever before seen. White and beaded elegant silver like moonlight. Her breath hitched in her throat for a moment, and she saw the intent in the woman’s eyes that she would take and wear it. It was obvious to Kelet that the torn remnants of her own clothing were not suitable, nor would she have wished to dress in such for civilized company, yet this seemed to fair for words, and Kelet’s hands were still dingy. She would not even touch the garment for fear of sullying it.
The sound of bells made Kelet’s ears perk, and she looked down.
“Byell,” Kelet said softly, a distant smile tugging on the corner of her lips, looking up to the golden eyed woman for a moment before reaching out her hand to pluck them from her palm. Kelet would not have known, but the word in the language of Nalaikh was similar to that of Westron. Bells. They would ring from throughout all the city. The women wore them upon their ankles, and upon their wrists.
As they shook out their linens and mats, as they swept the floors, and swung their baskets, the tinkling of bells could be heard about the city. Some wore them upon their skirts as they swished, and larger bells and gongs chimed from the towers. Something in the ringing was delightful; as delightful as the sound of running water, and Kelet’s small smile did not leave her lips as she closed her eyes and breathed, ringing the bells nearer her sensitive ears. Uncertain why the nostalgic memories brought peace to her. The peace of her captivity. Most of it had been peaceful, though she had longed to leave, she also had felt a joy in the ringing of the bells and the day to day sounds that the city gave. It had been her home for as long as she could remember, and now she was away from home. Though perhaps she had found a new one.
Kelet’s grey eyes opened again, and she reached out to touch again the pointed ear of the one standing before her. Ears so like hers, and the others had been too. The smith, the guards, the healer. This strange land was nostalgia in herself, for the faint memories she held of her Mëmë seemed to live within the others.
“Ta bol minii naiz. Bi ömnö ni khoyor khölööröö yavsan naiztai baisangüi.” Though the language harsh spoken, the words were softly intoned. You are a friend to me. I have not before had a friend who walked on two legs.