Remembrance

The grass is soft under the night breeze. The wood settles down in the burning fire with a gentle crackling sound. Alone under unfamiliar stars, Dax listens to the silence of these plains, only broken up by the cry of a lone bird every now and then. A far cry from the jungles and the swamps she has known for her whole life, where nights are a cacophony of noises from birds, frogs, dinosaurs, and more, echoing the eternal dance between predator and prey. Back there, she would never have dared to sleep by an open fire. Here, the land is soft, with gently rolling hills and a nice wind to tickle your nose. No traitorous vegetation hiding deadly quicksand; no snake pretending to be a tree branch to catch its victim unaware; no pack of lizards silently coordinating to take down a bigger prey; no frogs that can kill you with a mere touch.
 
She misses it. One has to prove themselves every day, in an endless struggle to remain the best predator. It keeps things simple. Life was simple. Here, prey is tame and predators make themselves scarce. Nature is meant to mold you and make you stronger, not coddle you like a brood guardian.
 
Of course, the Soft Flesh are the largest challenge to face. In Q’Barra, the tribe means comfort, safety, solidarity. The tribe supports everyone and everyone provides for the tribe. In these strange lands, the tribe is a failure. They lack resources, people go hungry and sick. Their own chieftain was almost murdered in the heart of their camp. Where is their honor? Their eyes must be lowered from such failures, but they do not show any shame. The Prince, as they call him, even acted like training warriors would be an insult to the foreign power that allow them to stay. It makes no sense, but Dax does not know how to explain it to them in their common tongue. How can one expect respect if one does not show strength? Prey is killed but fellow predators are respected.
 
Thankfully some Soft Flesh have honor, like the one who calls himself Terfel Glas. He provides to his tribe and has the sensible idea to better train and arm the so-called warriors that protect the tent city. He is thoughtful and has already proven himself to be a decisive and efficient warrior. Dax is proud to be indebted to him - it would have cost her much honor to be indebted to many of the Soft Flesh she has met so far. Terfel’s offspring shows promise - maybe she can help him so he has a chance to achieve honor when he gets of age.
 
The creature called Warden remains a mystery. There is a sincere desire to serve and provide, which brings much honor, as well as very clever ways to approach battle, such as playing dead to trick his enemies. At the same time he is always talking, a constant stream of words, often nonsensical and to no purpose she can see. Surely this is only a diversion tactic, to lull them into lowering their guard before he can strike. He used to be a war machine after all - Dax knows that much. She has been prepared for such an attack, but it has been weeks now and nothing happened. Maybe this is really who he is. She must remember that the rules of the Soft Flesh are not the ones of the Masvirik’uala.
 
The priest called Kalshana has also shown honor several times, providing for a tribe that is not her own, and staying true to her principles. She looks human, but she smells different from the other humans. She seems the softest of them all, often showing her teeth to others in that strange gesture they call a smile, and offering to brew herbs to everyone she meets, friend as well as foe. Still, she has proven worthy in battle and dextrous with the mace she carries. A soft skin, but a hard core.
 
Suddenly an unknown bird flies a bit too close to Dax, breaking her away from the reverie and sending a gust of wind to rock the flames. Her frills redden briefly in shame - the lack of attention could have cost her life. Even a youngling would not make such a mistake. Worse, she is evaluating her companions’ honor when she herself has lost face so terribly that she cannot return to her homeland, at least until she figures out a way of regaining her honor. Knowing this, who is she to watch, and judge?
 
The Masvirik’uala will never accept one who has fallen such as she - breaking away from Masvirik’s corruption has never been done, until she did, somehow. Dax caresses the silver arrow pendant around her neck. She was holding that pendant when she Awoke, and it has been with her ever since. A deep, irrational fear grabs her when she thinks about that pendant. What if she lost it? Could He call to her again? Or worse, what if the pendant has nothing to do with her salvation? If so, how did she break away?
 
She cannot regain her honor until she understands.
 
In the meantime, she must remain humble, watch, and learn. The Soft Flesh seem weak at first glance but there is strength in them. She will hone her strength as well so she can one day face her dishonor.
 
Dax looks up to the stars unchanged. If she watches for long enough, she would see them revolve around her, slowly spinning like the shamans spin around the fire pit during the Day of Remembrance. When she was younger, she used to climb high up in the canopy, lie down on a branch and fall asleep to the comforting movement of the tree. The Dream was there, to welcome her into its familiar embrace, bringing her closer to her kin, providing a shared purpose. Not anymore. When she closes her eyes at night, only darkness awaits.
 
Darkness, and loneliness.