On Education...

by Netah
==Chapter 1: On Indiscretion==
"Idiot!"
The voice of the normally soft-spoken woman was almost as much of a blow as the actual stinging slap that connected with Netah's face, sending her stumbling. She blinked hard, trying to reconcile the swimming image of her mother as she pushed to her feet, her misplaced hand sending a stack of books and papers exploding over the floor of the tent they shared, carefully printed Taurahe and Orcish words scattering over the loose skins that served as rugs.
Netah likewise found it difficult to gather her words, they kept slipping away in a haze. "I didn't...I didn't do anything..."
"Of course you did! I can see it, smell it all over you!" Aluli yelled, her voice hoarse and viewed with a clinical detachment, overwrought. She waved at her daughter, as if she could somehow dispel the miasma of Peacebloom smoke, liquor and sweat that clung to her, her clothes askew, the braids in her hair half-undone and the briarthorn-bloom that had been carefully placed there absent save for a crushed petal or two.
"I didn't..." Netah said weakly, but truthfully she wasn't so sure. All she wanted to do now that she was back at her own tent was lie down and close her eyes for a while.
"This! What is this?!" Aluli tore at Netah's wrist, and she wailed in response, her addled senses stripping years as well as her composure from her.
"Mama, don't! No!" Netah cried out, choking back a sob as a makeshift bracelet was pried off her wrist, broken in the attempt, made from carefully woven Peacebloom stems.
"Who gave you this? For what?!" Netah's mother held back sobs of her own, her small black body quivering with terror and fury.
"I don't...I don't know, Mama...I just want to sleep..." Netah wept, large tears rolling through the fur on her cheeks.
Aluli sat abruptly, her head in her hands, and after a while she started to gather the scattered learning materials. "I wanted better for you than this, Netah...I didn't want you to end up like me..."
Netah started to help her, slowly and groggily. "Nothing is ruined, Mama, everything is all right...tomorrow things will go back to the way they were, it was just one night, one gathering..."
Aluli simply shook her head, going quiet again, and methodically started to stack the books by the first letter on their spines, the only part of them that she could read.
The next month, when it was clear, Netah and Aluli journeyed to the Bluffs, as what they needed could not be easily obtained in the village, not without questions. Netah did as she was told, and Aluli held the girl as she cried, and bled, and brought her books to soothe her and to help her pass the time.
==Chapter 2: On Paths==
The old bull was watching her again.
Netah narrowed her eyes in the direction of the man, his scarred chest bare, his teeth clenched around the stem of his pipe. He nodded slightly in her direction as she passed, and the little girl twitched her tail indignantly, scurrying on her way with the firewood she'd gathered, following the other children to the pile where they were setting up the nightly bonfire.
She could see, from a distance, that he was talking to her mother, and her mother wasn't happy about it. Her perpetually nervous face was even more pinched, and she wrung her hands as she talked. The movements of her head were sharper, her brows more drawn down than usual. She was angry.
Netah wondered if she was in trouble for what happened the other day, and a swell of nervous fear churned in the pit of her stomach.
He'd told them to do it, said that they had to, and of all the children she was the one he'd handed the knife to, even over the boys who'd been eagerly waving their arms for it, or the girls who had been cowering and weeping. She'd asked the quickest way, and he had nodded, then, watching her closely...it felt like his eyes were looking all the way down through her to the bottoms of her hooves. On the INSIDE.
There was a reptilian hiss as she collided with something solid and scaly, and she whirled to see the intent eye of a raptor focused on her. It was smaller than usual, and its scales were black. It bared its teeth, crouching, preparing to spring...
"Void." A firm voice rumbled behind it. The raptor's eyes narrowed, and it slowly uncurled from its striking position, as if it had thought of the notion itself.
One of the other boys jeered at the owner of the voice and the raptor, from a safe distance of course. "Snow-y Snow-y go back to the Snowhooves, Snow!" The rather uncreative boy shouted, and the nearby children laughed. Netah remarked the lighter fur on his chest, inside his arms - a half-blood, then.
"I didn't ask for your help, SNOW!" Netah growled, quick to turn and deflect any negative attention that might come her way onto a convenient target.
The young man grinned unpleasantly in her direction, shouldering his rifle. "I'll make sure I don't stop him next time, then." As if to emphasize his point the raptor snapped inches from her muzzle.
The girl bristled with fury and no small amount of fear, her nearly-forgotten firewood held tightly to her chest, but she didn't back down until her mother hurried to her side, tugging her away slightly. The scarred man ambled over as well and nodded at the younger man, who grunted and tugged sharply at his short beard by way of greeting.
"Netah...this is Dakos," Aluli said, her eyes not leaving him, and her grip on Netah's arm was unnecessarily hard although her voice remained as soft as ever. "You're going to be going to see him from now on, for training."
Netah blinked up at her mother, and then at Dakos. "Every day?"
Dakos arched an eyebrow at Aluli, and she nodded, defeatedly. "Every day. BUT this doesn't mean that your normal studies will end," Aluli tilted her chin up a bit defiantly.
Dakos simply nodded at this, eying Netah searchingly. "There are a few other children your age I'm seeing to. You'll join them in the afternoon, and then stay on until nightfall."
Netah blinked owlishly, confused. "Nightfall?"
Dakos nodded again, and the old bull started to walk away. Netah's mother pressed her against her skirts, holding on to her tightly, her expression drawn and pensive.
"We begin tomorrow."
==Chapter 3: On Learning==
Netah rolled her shoulder, grimacing, heading to the communal area set up for people to eat, to talk, to meet around the fires. Most of the food would be long gone, but if she was lucky she could find a rabbit nearby and do something with it in the dying embers.
"Again!" Dakos growled, and swung a punch towards Netah's midriff, hard. She managed to twist out of the way, but not far enough, and it had landed on her shoulder instead.
"Not fast enough! You're smaller, weaker than the others, you have to be faster. Again!"
She saw something moving at the corner of her vision and followed it into the darkness, drawing one of the daggers concealed at her hips, moving quietly as the low moonlight gleamed along the edge. She crouched low, watching the underbrush intently...
"Hello, rabbit," A voice said behind her, and she whirled, her dagger still in hand.
Two bulky young men from the camp, barely older than her although quite a bit bigger, stepped from around trees where they had apparently been waiting...for her? She eyed them nervously.
She sighed as her mother started in on the daily ritual of helping her wrap and tie her rapidly blooming breasts, pinning them tightly against her body, making molehills out of mountains.
"Mother. Really. I don't see the point of all this," Netah said with a frown, wincing slightly as she mother tugged the bindings harder in response.
"You already know why. Plain, Netah, you have to be plain..." She nervously unraveled one of Netah's braids, redoing it, making it tight and severe and fall at an unflattering angle across her forehead, which made her face look wider than it was.
"Because otherwise the boys will notice me," Netah intoned with a slight roll of her eyes, as if reciting a litany she knew by heart.
"The men, Netah, the MEN will notice you," Aluli said, chewing her lower lip as she redid the opposite braid as well.
"And what if I want them to notice me?" Netah asked sullenly, and then yelped as her mother tugged her braid hard, to get her attention.
"NO," Aluli said, her voice shaking with anger. "You're not going to make the mistakes I did. You're destined for more than this," She gestured around the simple tent, her eyes aflame. "This tribe holds nothing more for me than you, but I swear it, Netah, you will have more than this..."
Netah fell into an uneasy silence, as she always did when her mother got into one of her moods, meekly allowing her to continue to make her as unnoticeable as she possibly could.
Netah straightened slowly, looking from one man to the other, directly into their eyes. I am not weak, her body language said. I present a challenge.
"Greetings," she said guardedly, her expression neutral.
"It's awfully late for a girl like you to be out here on the outskirts of the camp," The larger of the two leered, a heavy ring pierced through his nose.
"Gotta be careful," the other nodded, the tip of one of his horns having been snapped off at some point. "A centaur or a coyote could GET'CHA!" He jumped at Netah, stopping just short of her, his hands held up in a mock-threatening manner.
Netah didn't flinch, narrowing her eyes slightly. "I'm fine, just hunting some dinner. Don't let me keep you."
She turned to leave but found a large hand wrapped around her arm, holding her firmly in place.
"Hungry, are ya? I bet we could find something around here for you to eat..." The larger man grinned at his buddy, who snickered unpleasantly. He pulled Netah closer, and she drew herself up to her full height, swallowing hard.
"Let me be on my way. I'm not interested in either of you. This is your last warning," She said, low and menacing, growling slightly to disguise the tremble in her voice, fighting down the surge of fear and anger in the pit of her stomach.
"Ooo, our last warning! You hear that?" The one with the broken horn said with feigned fright, apparently quite the jokester.
The larger young bull tugged her arm again, his fingers holding her with bruising force, and something inside of her snapped. With a snarl she shook off his hand, grabbing hold of both of his horns and tugging his head down as her knee came up. The bone in his head was predictably thick, but so was the bone in her leg, and they came together with a crack. She tossed him aside with a twist, and before his friend could really react to what had happened she sliced at his chest with her dagger, the metal cutting through the simple harness he was wearing and to the skin and muscle beneath - not deeply, but enough to hurt and to bleed.
He bent over slightly in surprise, his eyes wide as his hands went to his chest, and she swung her leg back and then forward again, her hoof connecting between his legs with crushing force. He went down with a high-pitched cry, but she hadn't noticed his friend getting back to his feet, swinging at her.
She leaned back as far as she could as quickly as she could, and the punch met empty air. Bracing her hands on the ground she kicked viciously at his leg, and was satisfied to hear snapping bone as her hoof hit true.
With the both of them downed, one who would likely bear a permanent limp, she knew better than to stick around and gloat. She slipped into the shadows, running straight home, having quite lost her appetite anyway.
Some time later the two staggered back into camp, the larger man supported by his friend as he hopped in one-leggedly. They saw a familiar figure by the remains of the fire, and the smaller one snarled angrily.
"What the Nether, man?! You said that girl was up for a good time!" He shouted, gesturing furiously with his free hand.
The old, scarred bull sheltered his pipe from the breeze as he used a stray branch from the fire to light it and took a meditative puff from it before he replied. "Guess I was wrong," he said, looking into the embers with a slight smirk.
==Chapter 4: On Family==
Netah tossed back the flap of the tent she shared with her mother, stumbling in after another long evening of training, rolling her shoulder with a frown.
The first thing she noted was that it was abnormally still. Her mother's bedding was undisturbed from when Netah had left. She quirked an eyebrow...it wasn't unusual for her mother to wander about with this chore or errand or that, but it wasn't like her to be out this late. She glanced to her own blankets, catching sight of a flash of white. She ran her thumb over the paper where the pictograph for "sister" had been painstakingly scrawled out.
Netah's frown deepened. Her aunt Nezhoni had been expecting a child soon, perhaps she had had it or was having it and wanted her sister there...but she lived in Feralas, and Feralas was suddenly a dangerous place to be. The Druids living and working there had experienced a rash of sudden raids and murders...
Her hooves fell against the packed earth with practiced, easy rhythm, a ground-eating lope that would carry her at a steady pace without tiring her early. If nothing else, she should pay her respects to the new baby.
Netah's ear flicked uneasily as she passed Camp Mojache, catching sight of the mingling of non-Grimtotem Shu'halo, Trolls and Orcs, unfamiliar drumbeats and scents drifting up on the air. Her eyes wandered in the darkness up the hill towards the Grimtotem camp, for some reason relieved to see the camp's fires still burning. She started to walk up towards the light when she rather unceremoniously collided with a young, tan-furred Shu'halo man. The sack in his grasp rattled, and he looked her over with a small frown.
"Mmh. Sorry," Netah grunted, and the man hefted the sack, as if judging its weight, peering at her. Eventually he just nodded and slung his large axe over his shoulder, continuing on his way. Netah rolled her eyes. Did they not teach manners on the Bluffs these days?
The scent is what she noticed first. Her steps slowed as the air filled with an acrid, coppery tang, one she knew all too well. Her eyes scanned the village with increasing alarm, and then quickened again as she started catching sight of dark, hunched shapes strewn about the ground. She recoiled in surprise as her hoof collided with the body of a young brave in the dimly-lit darkness, staring at the sky, blood smeared across the horrible gash in his chest.
His horns were missing, hacked off roughly and unevenly at the base.
Netah's hand went to her mouth as her alarm grew. The Grimtotem had enemies, it was certain, even ones who would slay members of the tribe in such a brutal way. But as her eyes scanned the all too quiet camp she noticed more bodies...more and more...all with their horns removed. Her pace turned into a flat run as she headed for the tent where her aunt stayed, only wavering to dodge the glassy-eyed bodies.
There was a larger shape directly in the path, rough-furred and brown, a bear. More than a bear...it too had had horns, horns that had been savagely wrenched out, its neck lolling at an awkward, broken angle. Around that broad neck was a charm tied by simple twine, and Netah's hands flexed as she realized that she had seen Nezhoni wear it. Panic bubbled within her, but she did not let it take hold. She carried on towards the tent.
She didn't have to go inside. A short distance away a black shape laid hunched, curled in on itself. A shape too familiar, each curve drawing an unbidden memory of hair being brushed, a hand laid against a cheek, being playfully bumped by a hip. Deep ruts marked the earth from the tent to her hooves. Netah's mind remarked dispassionately that she had been dragged. Dragged from the tent. Aluli was not a fighter by any stretch of the imagination. She would have been hiding. The earth was stained deep red beneath her.
Netah fell to her knees next to her mother's body. She had to know by what means, by what method. Unsurprisingly the familiar horns that her hands had grasped so many times when she was small were gone, splinters of horn and bone jutting from the sides of her head. Her neck had nearly been severed by a large, heavy weapon. Netah nudged her mother's body, catching sight of something unfamiliar grasped in her hands, her whole body curled around it protectively.
Aluli Grimtotem rolled lifelessly to one side, and the bundle in her arms spilled limply to the ground. A distant, cool part of Netah's mind remarked that the baby had been a boy. Nezhoni would have been proud. He had not been killed like the others, but likely Aluli had fallen on him when she died, and he was very, very small.
As she got to her feet she heard rustlings of life further back in the camp, it had not been wiped out entirely, and the survivors were starting emerge to pick through the dead, to find and see to their tribe members. Something in the complete lack of shock in their slightly dulled eyes told her that this was not a new occurrence.
Netah did not weep, or snarl with a bloodthirsty rage, or likewise curl into a ball and wait for death to find her as well. It was her dubious gift that in times like these she did what needed to be done, and nothing more.
She crouched near Camp Mojache, her gaze sharp, her hands on the hilts of her daggers as she moved silently through the shadows, choosing her steps carefully. She caught sight of the young Tauren man from before, who unslung the sack from his shoulder in front of an Orc who nodded to him, gesturing to one side.
The man opened the sack, and one after another horns started to fall out, all varying shapes, sizes and colors. There had to be more than a dozen of them, likely close to twenty. They clattered and tumbled into an indistinguishable mass in a large pile as high as Netah's eye of the same thing, horns after horns after horns. The Orc pressed something into the Tauren's hand, and he went on his way.
Anger did start to twist in the pit of her stomach now, but she took a deep breath, letting it simmer into a cold rage. One that would be productive, that she could use.
The Shu'halo man ventured out of the camp again, mounted up on a dusty Kodo that was fortunately ambling quite slowly as the man unfolded a map, turning it this way and that as he peered at his surroundings.
The Kodo made a low, bawling sound as it was stabbed in the back of a hind leg, and the abrupt stop sent the Tauren tumbling from his saddle. Netah was on him in a second, knocking him flat to the ground, his arms pinned by her knees.
"P-please, don't hurt me!" The man said, wide eyed and alarmed, and Netah saw that she had been wrong. Not a man at all. Younger than she'd first thought, hardly more than a boy. There was a faint clatter, and silver coins fell from his grasp. Not even a lot of silver. About sixty-five, a quick glance told her. "There was a bounty, they asked me at the camp to do it!"
There were so many things she wanted to say. "Is that what the life of a Grimtotem is worth?" Was one of them. Or, "Did my mother beg for her life before you killed her?" Or even "Are we really so different, you and I, that you can't see that you're killing your own people?"
She didn't say any of that, however. Instead she stuck her dagger into his mouth, turning the sharp edge outwards, and tore it through his cheek. He cried out in alarm as his face was split into a too-wide, involuntary grin, the gash coiling almost like a serpent up his face. It would be easily healed, but would leave a mark that he would carry for the rest of his days.
"Know the price for what you have done here today," She said, her eyes narrowed. "My people will know you by that mark, and will give you no peace until the end of your life."
Standing, she aimed a savage kick at his stomach and he curled protectively around himself. She curled her lip in disgust and started down the road again, heading towards Stonetalon.
It wasn't until she was home again, in the now entirely too-empty tent, that she allowed her weakness to overcome her and she started to cry.
==Chapter 5: On Lessons==
Netah crouched low outside the tent, partially hidden by the Barrens brush. The tilt of the supporting poles said it was hastily pitched in the night, by someone in a hurry. A small curl of smoke came from the top, indicating a low, cautious fire. The inhabitants were afraid of drawing attention to themselves.
It was unfortunate in a way, Netah pondered, that their relative, tenuous safety had been an illusion all along. She wasn't much of a tracker, but fortunately she'd been assigned to tail the tent's inhabitants for a while now, since before they fled Grimtotem-held lands.
The sounds of cooking, of low, hushed singing could be heard. Netah bided her time, leaning in a tree's shadow. She could stay like this for days if she had to, and had before. Her opportunity would come before then, though.
The sounds within the tent stilled, quieted. Netah's hands moved to the daggers at her hips and she crept forward, her ears perked for any sound, her eyes scanning the horizon. Cautiously she nudged the flap of the tent open and narrowed her eyes, taking in the dark shape stretched out under a tangled lump of blankets.
Now that she was inside there was no time to hesitate, but hesitation was never something she had a problem with. She moved forward in one swift stride, pushing the dark-furred figure over roughly, her hoof in the center of the girl's chest. She grabbed a handful of her mane, and her blue eyes went wide in recognition, taking in a deep breath, her mouth poised to speak. Perhaps to yell, perhaps to bargain, it didn't matter. Netah swiftly drew her dagger across her throat and the only sound was a gurgling groan.
Netah looked the girl over thoughtfully - she thought of her as a girl, but really they were about the same age. Her ears should suffice. She quickly detatched them, folding them into a cloth and tucking them away in her pack.
A thin, reedy cry startled her, but she let out the breath she didn't know she'd been holding with a sigh. The child. She stood, looking over the contents of the tent in a calculating fashion, trying to ignore the little fists circling in the air as the cries grew more hearty. She'd seen the girl use some kind of device to carry it...
Her ears flattened with mild exasperation, she scooped up the baby. Mottled brown and black fur gave away its mixed parentage, and it blinked at her with its mother's wide blue eyes before resuming its flailing cries. Netah turned with a low growl, starting to rifle through the tent's belongings--
A wide, brown furred chest blocked her way, clad in laced leather. "Give me my CHILD!" The broken-horned man snarled, lunging at her, swinging his staff to catch her in the leg. The first thing Netah thought, dimly, as she moved a hair too slow to completely dodge the blow, was "Shit." She hadn't realized that this was their rendezvous point. She hissed involuntarily as the dull wood collided with her calf. That was going to leave a nasty bruise. But the second thing she thought, as she turned and stepped forward instead of away, bringing her dagger up into the man's ribcage, was that Bluff-huggers couldn't fight worth a damn.
Some time later she limped from the tent, the baby now obliviously sleeping and strapped to her back in some kind of wicker baby-carrying contraption, and she reflected that really, it was for the best that the father was now out of the way as well.
*****************************
Dakos stood on a low rise overlooking the Grimtotem camp in Aparaje, a thin trail of smoke rising from his pipe. He didn't turn at the sound behind him but instead nodded in greeting as the lean hunter came up the hill.
No shifted, favoring his good leg, and eyed the elder Grimtotem. "You wanted to speak?" He said simply, cutting directly to the matter at hand.
Dakos nodded silently, flaring his nostrils with a low snort and a puff of smoke. "In a moment. I have a small matter to attend to first."
"Mmm," No furrowed his brow, tugging on his beard.
There was a figure in the distance, walking a bit unevenly, leaning into a wooden staff for support, a pack on its back. As Netah drew closer she shouldered the carrier on her back, removing the baby who was contentedly sucking on its fingers. She narrowed her eyes slightly at No and then turned to Dakos, holding out the child and a folded, bloody cloth containing two sets of ears.
Dakos nodded with satisfaction, taking the child up. Netah glanced to No again, whose eyes were likewise narrowed, watching the elder Grimtotem cautiously. Dakos glanced at her leg. "Not broken, is it?"
Netah shook her head. "Just a bruise. She named the child--"
Dakos cut her off with a curt gesture. "It doesn't matter. It'll be given to a more fit caretaker, raised in the tribe's ways. They'll give it a name."
Netah ducked her head briefly in acknowledgment. "Is that all?"
"That will be all. Well done, girl," Dakos nodded.
She felt the tracker's eyes on her as she turned and descended the hill, but the elder's eyes were locked on Snow. There had been rumors of him spending an undue amount of time of late in the Human lands, with an Elf of all things that he had tried to disguise, poorly mind you, as a Troll when he returned.
Netah grinned to herself. The more unreliable Snow got, the more opportunities she herself had to rise in status. She couldn't help but wonder, though, if all that wasn't as much a warning to her as well as the wayward tracker...
==Chapter 6: On Preparation==
Netah stretched widely as she woke, snorting as the fist of one of the Blackclaw brothers landed across her muzzle as he too stretched in his sleep. She tossed it off of her in annoyance and tossed back the tent flap, peering out at the dawn starting to illuminate the Grimtotem camp above Aparaje. It looked like the Pridehoof girl had already headed out as well, likely Dakos had her training already.
She returned to her own tent for her daily ritual. If Dakos or Aki had a problem with that, they could bring it up to her. She drew up a basin of water at the communal well, gathered a handful of dirt and a handful of sagebrush, and took it into the privacy of her tent, where she meticulously started to wash. 
Aluli stood at the entrance to their tent, peering out to the camp. her arms crossed firmly as her tail thrashed in silent anxiety. Behind her, Netah used a sponge and a basin of water to wash, a careful daily ritual as proscribed by Dakos. First, a thorough washing. Then she rubbed grasses into her fur, to mask her own scent as much as possible. Then the dry dust, to dull the gloss of her black fur. 
Her own ritual. She sharpened her sharpest knife, cutting paths, edges, nooks into the bottoms of her hooves, dozens of angular cuts to fray and soften the undersides of the hard surfaces of them, making it easier for her to walk soundlessly on solid ground. Each one was to a measured depth, as more vigorous cuts could easily develop into painful splits and cracks.
And then her mother's ritual. Aluli knelt next to her, taking out swaths of fresh bandages, starting to wrap them around her chest. Netah sighed at this. "This is SUCH a waste of bandages..."
Aluli pulled them tighter with a deep frown, drawing a wince from Netah. "Not if it keeps you safe."
Safe, Netah pondered. Was she safe? She'd taken steps more effective than her mother's measures, had learned to protect herself. She'd certainly been able to keep the Blackclaws off of her, as well as many other would-be "suitors" over the years. She didn't find anything appealing about the traditional Grimtotem method of flirting, mostly involving lewd remarks and grabby hands. Some girls would nearly be beside themselves, giddy, and some would fight back but in a playful way meant to encourage further attention.
When Netah fought grabby hands, she broke fingers. It was enough to discourage nearly anyone, who usually called her a crazy bitch and went about their business. Usually their business involved finding a healer.
Not all of her lessons in self-protection had come so easily, though.
She slid daggers into a sheath at each hip, testing each for firmness and yet ease of removal.
Netah ached from head to toe, and she stumbled to her tent unsteadily. She had been trying to push herself farther and farther every night, and it was at most an hour until dawn. 
She stopped for a moment at the threshold, taking a deep breath. Sometimes, if she concentrated, she could still smell her mother's scent right when she entered, no other time. The tent seemed powerfully empty without her.
The next thing she knew was there was a large presence behind her, pushing her through sheer momentum forward into the darkness. An arm moved firmly her waist, and a hand like an iron vise closed around the wrist of her fighting hand. She struggled to stay on her feet, but the combination of her physical exhaustion and a deep weariness that seemed to reach to the bottom of her soul, in the end, made it impossible. Pinned to the ground under her unknown assailant's weight, her free hand balled uselessly into a fist, unable to reach the dagger on her other side.
It was over with fairly quickly and was about what she expected. She curled her lip in anger and disgust at the hot breath on the back of her neck when she was certain he was finished, and growled quietly, warningly. "Get out."
The man did so without a word, his anonymous shape outlined against the night sky as he pushed through the tent flap. Netah didn't have the energy to do anything but slump the rest of the way to the ground and close her eyes, unmoving, until morning.
The very next day she obtained a dagger for her other hip and redoubled her efforts in training her left hand in its use. But she never again stayed out so late, or pushed herself so close to collapse before returning. Weeks later her monthly flow continued without interruption, and she offered a silent prayer to the Earthmother that she hadn't had to make another trip to the Bluffs.
She started the process of stretching and going through some rudimentary exercises - likely today would be like all the days preceding it and she would spend the whole day sitting in the camp uselessly again, but she wasn't going to let herself get slow and soft in the meantime. She tied her braids together loosely to keep them from swinging in her face and then bent at the waist, pressing her hands flatly to the ground, her legs splayed, feeling the burning protest of the muscles in her thighs and calves.
Flexibility is what this situation called for, in more ways than one.
Netah looked up at the inside of Aang's makeshift tent to the side of the road in the Barrens searchingly. She didn't know what she was looking for. As if sensing that she wasn't entirely involved his hand moved with uncharacteristic gentility down her side, he kept trying to meet her eyes. He had to know that she wasn't here seeking anything from him specifically. 
After talking to the Troll questions and frustrations had built up inside of her to a critical point, and she had somehow found herself here, now, doing this. That it had been her choice, that she had been sober and had asked for it, she had hoped to find whatever nebulous thing the Troll had been hinting at, some element to the process that she had somehow missed. So far, no great mysteries seemed to be revealing themselves to her.
With a soft sigh she closed her eyes, trying to recapture a scent, a presence, a crooked, tusky grin...
Netah stood, arching her back, and quirked an eyebrow as she caught sight of the Pridehoof girl blithely strolling out of the camp. She was allowed to leave? Anger started to simmer inside of her, but she pushed it out of the way. The girl was walking whatever path Dakos was setting out for her now, and it was gladly not her business anymore.
Still...
What role was she going to have in the tribe now? Was she really ruined forever, or just on some kind of probation? Was Dakos waiting for some sign from her that she was still loyal to her tribe, still willing to perform her duties?
She briefly pondered and then just as quickly dismissed the possibility of going to Aang for help. Since her critical misstep that night he'd sought to exploit her vulnerabilities and force her compliance in his crazed schemes. Her actions were having unintended consequences all over the place, and if she was going to survive this, she was going to need to start thinking over all the implications of the things she did before she did any fool thing that came into her head far more carefully than ever before.
Still...
She looked to the hills above the camp thoughtfully. She wanted to see him again, the Troll, despite the fact that it was painfully unwise, despite that everything she'd experienced should have if anything made her reluctant and uneager to get closer to him. 
She knew that she was leaving herself painfully unprotected and vulnerable. But even telling herself that, plainly, couldn't manage to change how she felt and what she wanted.
Category: Stories