Concavenator:
It was not a cheerful morning, nor would one come for a long time. But it was morning, and that was cause for celebration enough. All the windows of the inn were boarded and bound with half-rotten rope, and the bitter wind outside made them clatter savagely. Indeed, only the last vestiges of winter torpor would allow any 'ikra to sleep in that building and retain her sanity. Still, a faint bluish light blew in from the north when the cracks and fissures happened to align.
Kukri Taika-Daagru crouched on the moist floorboards, her tail feathers slowly sweeping the cold grit behind her, her aching eyes fixed on the papers of her Poleward journey. The engravings of the Thunder Mountains were frightening: fangs and claws of stone sliding out of icy gums to bite the sky and tear at the clouds. The flickering, feeble light of the tallow candle made them look all the hungrier; the very idea of such a place existing, out there in the invincible winter night, was hateful. Kukri could only hope that the engraver had let her fancy exceed reality, or at least that sunlight would make those peaks and ridges gentler.
A sound could be heard from outside, above the clattering window boards and the babble of the sleepers. This inn just outside Yakak'ratu, the last before the ground rose up as the fearful mountains, was surprisingly well-stocked with travelers and peddlers. Some were clearly active outside already, trying to exploit the few minutes of sunlight, propping up the stands for the coming spring festival.
Sleep would not come for Kukri. She should keep revising her papers, perhaps try to recruit some fellow guest into her mission; but the air inside was damp and moldy and reeking of rendered fat and penguin soup. She longed to take a few steps outside, if the bitter wind allowed it.
pinkgothic:
Kukri would have to wait for the winds to ease. Her mission was one of science, not of heroism, although she might not wholly wish to deny a certain overlap between the notions. Regardless, it was wise not to be reckless about it. This was as far as the ice would yet come and she would have to go before the dawning spring made it recede, but it did not necessitate starting her journey in this weather. There were many days still of the ice simply being where she needed it to be.
The greatest risk was to die in a blizzard. The second greatest was of falling to her death between the yawning cracks of ice or stone. In that, the depictions she was staring at in her mild insomnia were quite adequate - these mountains would kill her if she didn't approach them with care. It was good she didn't intend to journey far; others had drawn these maps at their own peril, and while there were no doubt ghastly inaccuracies hidden in details that might yet prove dangerous to her, she was not the cartographer meant to circumscribe the mountain range.
That, at least, was a blessing.
No matter her stubbornness, she felt some regret at her choices. This was as far from any warming down as she was likely to get. Comfort was something she would at best find once her mission was complete, far from here, in a direction she wasn't about to embark on.
But the work was important.
So was sleep. She lay her head on her forepaws and closed her eyes, trying for it once more, knowing full well it wouldn't work. Her patience for the attempt evaporated a minute into the fruitless ritual; instead, she rose tiredly, letting her restless energy take her to the door, as she considered finding one of locals and ask them for their weather report of the coming days - as though it was at all likely to have changed from what she had last heard. In any case, at this point, she could either stare at the map in apprehension or challenge herself a little in a weather she was bound to encounter on her journey. Latter might at least exhaust her and grant her some easy sleep.
Concavenator:
Outside, the cold was harsh, but not unendurable. The damnable dampness of the inn had soaked Kurkri's black feathers and was now blooming into frost, which she hurriedly scraped off. The wind came as an avalanche down from the looming mass in the south, but couldn't quite penetrate under her coat, nor make her lose her footing. To the depths with it, her ancestors had lived through worse.
Distant sounds of thunder came with the wind; doubtlessly, the ice cracking and shifting in the earliest phase of the vernal thaw. Soon the lowlands and the tundra would be soaked with meltwater, and swarming with midges and mosquitoes. The glaciers didn't look diminished yet; they had turned a pale blue, flecked with the red of the dawn-sunset, as if fires had been set within the icy bulk.
She paced back and forth for a while, her boots cracking through the snow's upper crust, and finally moved to the street on the northern side of the building. Five or six people were trudging in the snow, carrying wooden poles and planks, and rolles of rope, and folded canvas rubbed with tar; and little by little they were pulling up stands and banks for the festival's future visitors. Even in this dismal weather, they could not afford much delay; the seventh and last Day of Awakening would come soon, when the Sun would finally detach from the horizon for the first time in the year.
By the seventh day the place should be ready for pilgrims and travellers; the spring festival was all the richer and gayer in the cold and lonely Yakak'ratu, and drew attendance from many places. And by the same day, Kukri ought to be at the edge of the ice, taking her measurements. She approached the workers. Perhaps someone in the city, free from the burdens of the Guild of Carpenters, would consider following her?
pinkgothic:
It was not technically her calling to offer her help erecting the stands. Back home, she wouldn't even have considered it for as much as a fleeting moment - it would hardly have been tolerated much more than she would tolerate someone giving her opinions on the extent and quality of the glacial expanse over the generations.
Similarly, it was not technically her calling to interrupt the work and it was best to wait for a break in the activity, by which time this fleeting hint of dawn would be over and a long, drawn-out twilight would take its place before the night fell yet again.
Talking to someone soon was paramount, though. Someone more familiar with the local terrain would certainly be a good travel companion to have. Even someone not familiar with the terrain would be of great use in helping her carry provisions and equipment, and if she did fall without crippling herself, in helping her back on track.
She pulled her coat a little tighter about herself, breathing thin clouds of frost into the air, and stepped closer to the commotion. Between the wind's brushes of breath, she raised her voice to ask: “Might anyone here be free to travel in the coming days, to assist this representative of the Society of Natural Philosophy in a journey to the edge of the ice?”
Concavenator:
Some of the workers stopped, mostly the younger ones, unsure. The eldest, who balanced heavy planks even as her muzzle feathers were turning grey and sparse, approached Kukri. “Not before the Month of Water”, she began rather brusquely. “We've got to finish building before then”. Her Chaatai was flawless in form, somewhat shaped by a hissing Tayaka accent, but she obviously hadn't had many relations with members of the upper guilds; had Kukri ever addressed her own colleagues this way, they would have pretended not to hear.
She lowered one end of the wooden plank into the snow, and leaned against it, looking much more comfortable than it should be possible in such an environment. “We've few women after last year's draft, and the poxes before that”. The draft, at least, should have spared Yakak'ratu's men, but it didn't need to be said that nobody would have let their son or husband leave with a stranger, even if they'd had no eggs to care for. “Go see the shacks behind the inn, or the temple's yard – plenty of people with nothing to do, over there”.
pinkgothic:
Kukri was certainly envious of the ease in which the workers braved the weather, herself merely able to tolerate it. It highlighted just how crucial it would be to have a travel companion. The manner in which she was dismissed, however, did not sit right with her, though she chose not to comment on it - there was nothing to be gained from pointing out poor form, when nothing the woman had said was technically incorrect. (Indeed, sometimes even correcting something that was technically incorrect was a waste of time, serving neither practical nor educational purpose.)
The only reasonable response, then, was to thank the woman for the suggestion - which Kukri did - and be on her way to explore the option. She did not honestly expect to find anything. People described as having nothing to do were often poor material for doing anything at all.
Concavenator:
Indeed, the temple's yard, half-illuminated by the few braziers that were still burning, was mostly occupied by street children that still hopped in the manner of nestlings every few steps; women leaning against the rough stone wall in a state halfway between intoxication and drunken slumber; and a few men that would, sell their services as nest-tenders and housekeepers.
Kukri had seen plenty of wretched poverty in the streets of Chaatai already. Fortunately her duties at the guildhouse were frequent and urgent enough that she had to keep a steady brisk pace through the streets, and could pay little attention to their content. She did not have that luxury now. 'Au'a the Merciful must certainly accept all who appeal to Her, whatever their faults; but Kukri would have to show more discernment. After all, she was pursuing a sacred mission.
pinkgothic:
There was an urge to take a deep breath to temper herself, but the icy air firmly argued against it. Instead, Kukri worked her tongue along the roof of her mouth, her attention wandering through the yard. The most able-bodied were the men, of course, but they were considerably less likely to be educated for the manner of gruelling travel she had to do than any local woman.
The children could likely be taught easily, possibly even in time for the trek, but no amount of pragmatism made her consider it in earnest. Even ignoring all ethical considerations, they would be able to bear fewer loads and they would not have the very experience she ideally sought.
But as drunkards were right out, she went back over the idea of asking the men, even as she continued to scan for the signs of any woman who was perhaps merely poor, not drunk, though she expected those were less likely to show themselves openly, if indeed they had any pride. And any woman should have at least some pride, if she hadn't seared it away with drink.
Concavenator:
It was hard to judge who was in fact drunk to the point of impotence, who was more lightly altered, and who was merely half-asleep. There was one woman sitting parallel to the stone wall, in a covered corner mostly free from snow, with her tail up against the wall. She did seem quite young, with no obvious infirmity, and the way she fidgeted with the pebbles on the ground suggested that her mind was not entirely clouded. Yet there must be a reason if she wasn't out helping with the building. Perhaps she'd been excluded out of some foolish prejudice that Kukri couln't guess, or perhaps she actually was unable to do heavy work for less visible reasons.
Another woman was sitting on a stack of firewood, her coarse boots tapping softly on the lower logs. Her toeclaws looked recently sharpened, and there were tiny featherless scars on her muzzle;she was talking with a man wrapped in a greenish cloak, haggling in a way that indicated some rapidity of thought.
As for the other men, six or seven of them, they seemed to have had little luck, and some were clearly looking at Kukri with strained hope. One was carrying a heavy bundle, which she dearly hoped did not contain an egg. They had at least the advantage of a lighter frame, and probably few who would protest their absence. Still, Kukri hesitated at taking any man in such a dangerous journey if there was any alternative, even though these men were clearly used to far harsher conditions than those of Chaatai.
pinkgothic:
The biggest issue with asking one of the men was that they would surely say 'yes', wholly in absence of whether or not they could shoulder the burden she would require they carry (metaphorical or otherwise). She wasn't altogether willing to rule them out entirely, but she would approach the women first - at least the one that looked less absorbed in bartering and, for that matter, less likely to slit her throat.
Her tongue probed at her teeth as she made her way toward the woman with the pebbles, inwardly steeling herself for a potentially ghastly revelation about her mental health or personality.
“Excuse me,” she interrupted the woman's present wandering thoughts, fashioning her tone into something as soft and accommodating as she could get away with without outright dismantling her status. “I am of the Society of Natural Philosophy, presently looking for some assistance in the coming days, for a journey to the edge of the ice and back. Might you be fit and free for such a task?”
It was, perhaps, vaguely implying more than it should - namely that the woman could seize upon the task if she so wished without further scrutiny, as long as she considered herself fit for the task.
Concavenator:
The woman looked up from the ground, and jutted her head forward in a more dignitous pose. There still wasn't anything obviously wrong with her, besides the frail feathers and thin face that could be expected from anyone in the late winter. She stared at Kukri for an uncomfortably long time,as if she'd been unsure that the new presence wasn't a confused drunkard or someone mocking her. “What for?” she asked suddenly. “And for how much?”
The funds given to Kukri by the Society were hardly generous; she had already resolved to pay for her meals and lodging out of her own stipend.
pinkgothic:
“I am to take measurements of the ice, but will hardly make the journey to my destination without a companion, someone both capable of helping me carry provisions and equipment and to share in some degree of first aid should something happen to what is then either of us,” Kukri elaborated in the briefest fashion, hoping it would for now suffice for the woman to gauge whether it was a task of interest to her. “I regrettably have no direct means to pay you,” she admitted. “But I can provide for you and I can offer to act as a mentor if you have any interest at all in applying to the Society of Natural Philosophy,” Kukri offered.
In absence of goods to trade or funds to give, Kukri's time was the only commodity she could readily promise, and she did not do it gladly, having plenty of tasks both in pursuit of her profession and private to fill it with. It was unusual for the offer she had made to be spoken of this frankly, something she was acutely aware of - typically the guilds waited for the guildless to express interest, and even then, mentorship was the exception, not the rule, with most applicants practically left to fend for themselves to prove themselves worthy.
It was only the matter-of-fact tone of voice she said it in that stopped it from sounding like the mark of desperation, but the effect was substantial. It was clear it was essentially the only card she could play, but also that she was frankly willing to play it, and that she could play it for anyone else qualified for the task if present company sought to take advantage of her situation.
That the bottleneck was finding 'anyone else qualified' was left unstated - and, despite circumstances, not necessarily obvious to onlookers.
Concavenator:
The woman in the yard turned away her gaze, thinking over Kukri's words. “No direct means to pay her” was clearly not enough to smash the deal in the nest, which spoke of her situation. The offer of mentorship could have been intriguing, if the woman believed the guild likely to accept her, as it would mean a lifelong guarantee of shelter, a modest wage, and some protection by and from the law. The chapter of Yakak'ratu had no permanently residing members, but that could change. Of course the guild wasn't at all likely to welcome a low-born from a frontier city, and Kukri, who just barely qualified, couldn't offer strong recommendations. But a brave enterprise that captured the hearts of the public, and the retrieval of good data, would improve her chances by far.
Still, a podocarp planted for next year doesn't cure hunger today. The promise of “providing” would have to carry most of the deal's weight, and would have to be convincing. Eventually she said, with a note of uncertainty in her voice: “… How long we'd be gone?” It was quite possible that she didn't expect to eat at all during the expedition; or at least, she expected to be expected to do so.
pinkgothic:
Kukri wasn't oblivious to the tone the question had been delivered in, but knew no remedy but for a frank response: “I do not expect we would be gone for more than ten days, even if poor luck should plague us along the way and during the measurements. If we are quick to progress, we might be back in as few as five.” It took her a moment to catch on to the possible subtext, however, and add: “We will both need our strength, which is why some of what needs to be carried are the provisions. We're of no use to anyone if we starve to death.”
Concavenator:
The full list of provisions had been rewritten and trimmed to a minimum back in Chaatai. Enough dried food – dried mushrooms, smoked penguin, canned blubber – for twelve days, with many recommendations not to dally; an alcohol stove and its fuel; very little water, on the assumption that the alcohol stove would suffice to make it from gathered snow; a single change of heavy coats, mercifully waterproof; a single rifle, which should be useless if there were no large theropods around, and useless in a much less pleasant way if there were; plus whatever Kukri would purchase along the way with her own money.
In the right season, Yakak'ratu would have been full of traders, hunters, trappers, loggers well used to long journeys in this dismal land and whose expertise could have been purchased (even outlaws, if truly necessary, though the guild would never grant it). This was not the right season, and all such people were far away, sleeping in deep torpor, or working for the coming holiday.
The woman jutted her head forward and up at once, perhaps to infuse some dignity into her posture while fearing to offend Kukri by being too impudent. Her countenance become more solid and her gaze more direct, as if she'd found something to look forward to for the first time in many days. “Have you got your stuff already? I can carry it”, she said.
pinkgothic:
The whole thing was manageable; a bit tight for two, perhaps, but manageable. If indeed they did have to go a day or two without food due to a run of bad luck, it would be somewhat miserable, but hardly life-threatening. And if indeed their bad luck was such that it became a problem, it was likely that fate would have made any reasonable amount of provisions insufficient, be it by trapping them in a crevice in wait of an unlikely rescue, or because a wild animal had stolen their supplies, or any number of terrible happenstances that were best not imagined too vividly, given how helpless they were to prevent it entirely.
The bigger problem from Kukri's perspective was that this seemed altogether too reasonable. She was not an untrusting soul, but the scepticism inherent to the sciences required of her to have some plausible explanations for this woman's agreeable personality and cooperation.
Still, rebuking the woman's enthusiasm now was rude and counter-productive. Kukri gestured acknowledgement - some rest might be preferrable, but she wasn't likely to get it anyway, as she'd already established earlier. “But forgive me my rudeness, I have hardly finished introducing myself. I am Kukri Taika-Daagru,” she said, hoping to prompt her new acquaintance to introduce herself in turn.
Concavenator:
“I'm Giya”, she answered, finally standing up. She tilted her head back in a little bow, like the one nestlings were taught to make to their grandparents, and housekeepers to their employers. She must have been crouching in that yard for a long time, for her legs were visibly stiff, and the feathers on her chest thoroughly soaked in molten snow. The remiges on her arms had been shorn and were regrowing messily, some missing altogether
Now that Kukri could see her in her entirety, Giya did not seem maimed or terribly weakened by her present state, although Kukri resolved to allow her more than her share of whale blubber. Some interest in her surroundings had even appeared in her eyes. Giya studied Kukri from head to boots for several heartbeats, as if to make sure that it wasn't a hallucination or a mocking dream. But she must have been anxious to prove herself useful. “Where must we go? I can leave right now. I'll carry everything for you”.
pinkgothic:
Kukri allowed some friendly amusement to leak into her body language. “If it were such that a single 'ikra could carry it easily over the stretch we must cross, I would not have been looking for aid,” she pointed out, but made sure to keep her tone encouraging. Then followed a pause, in which she considered whether 'right now' was a time she wanted to leave - her tiredness said no, but she doubted retiring for a few hours would fix it. Ironically, she suspected that she would sleep better once she was on her way, wherever they first paused to rest.
There was really no reason not to be frank about it, establish an honest working relationship. “Do you want to leave now? In all truth the start of our journey is still flexible by several hours. On the one hand, I too am anxious to get going, to the degree that it has interfered with my rest. On the other hand, it has interfered with my rest.”
She paused to look Giya over. “If it is all the same to you, I believe we would both benefit if I were to show you the path I've charted on my maps - and I would enjoy if you might tell me of your life, to the degree you are comfortable speaking of it.” A bit of socialising in the relative warmth of the inn. A bit forced, given they were strangers to each other, but bound not to be too unpleasant - unless, of course, there were unpleasant truths to uncover.
Concavenator:
“Yes, yes,” answered Giya, with an eagerness almost untraceable to desperation. But she said nothing more until they were inside.
Crossing the threshold, squinting in the sudden wavering lamplight, Giya cast a discreet glance at the innkeeper, who however seemed to be drifting between sleep and wake. Alone, she obviously couldn't justify her presence in there; the great luxuries of a dripping, mold-blotched ceiling and a slimy wooden floor were apparently above her reach. The warmth, above all, was divine, and Kukri thought she could hear her companion mutter thanks to 'Au'a the Merciful. Giya's feathers quivered and relaxed as she opened her arms as to gather the flow of warm air.
All of Kukri's baggage was stored in her room upstairs, accessible from a treacherous ladder (not more so than the others). The dregs of a mushroom soup were still cooling on a low cabinet, and the packages, laboriously taken from the train car and pushed up the ladder one by one, were strewn around the bed, as if to shield it from the rest of the world.
Giya slowly swiveled her head around to absorb the whole scene, and whispered: “Haven't had a room for a long time”.
pinkgothic:
“All the more reason to spend some time in one, then,” Kukri encouraged, herself feeling as though she were thawing out a little from her little excursion. The smell of the place - having briefly assaulted her as they had come in - honestly didn't seem quite so bad as it had earlier, in part owed to the luxury of knowing it wouldn't bother her that much longer.
For a moment, she let her thoughts drift visibly across the room and attach to the papers she'd consulted earlier, stepping toward them with fresh lamplight, as though perhaps hoping to spot something she'd overlooked earlier. It took her a moment to incorporate Giya in her musings: “Here you can see the planned route.” She traced the back of a claw against the map, following the marked line for long enough to unambiguously gesture to it.
Concavenator:
Giya contemplated the path in silence for a few heartbeats. Kukri believed to have seen some relief in her posture: she must have expected a much longer journey. A short path, however, was not necessarily an easy one. With the sheaf of maps were bound etchings and engravings of the terrible polar landscape: tooth-like rows of ice blades, brutally bare granite cliffs, caravans of astrapotheres whipped across blinding snowstorms, chaoses of cracking, shifting ice concealing tar-black lakes. These scenes were romantic exaggerations, to be sure, and they wouldn't venture so far in the Polar Fields anyway.
Still, Kukri found herself wandering whether the pictures should be hid, or pointed out as the fancy they were, for the for Giya's peace of mind, and for Kukri's own.
Giya gave no comment, besides following the little colored line with her muzzle. The guest spoke little, and when she did, it was only to offer agreement to any request. Was there anything concerning in that silence? Should Kukri attempt to probe further?
pinkgothic:
“I see it doesn't seem to conflict with anything you've been told about the region,” Kukri remarked and finally sat down on the floorboards again. There were better places to be sitting, but not many warmer ones for quite a distance, and given how much standing and walking they would be doing soon, Kukri took the opportunity.
“Take a look at the gear we'll be taking along,” Kukri encouraged. “See what you're comfortable carrying - and tell me a bit about yourself as you do, if you will?” she prompted, keeping with the previously suggested socialising schedule.
Concavenator:
Giya stepped toward the jumble of provisions, and started rummaging in it. She followed her nose to the packets of smoked meat, and later to the bottles of raw alcohol for the lamp, only to recoil in apparent disgust at the last moment. She pulled the battered rifle from the tarp, pawing at the freshly polished barrel with excitement. She did not pay as much attention to the boxes of gunpowder and bullets. At that, Kukri felt a fleeting shiver, but Giya did not free the rifle enough to even attempt to use it.
After she had examined the baggage to her satisfaction, perhaps excited most by the opportunity to touch wealth without being caned away, Giya turned to Kukri. “I can carry the rifle and the bedding, and the – and some of the food”. She caught herself; maybe she feared that offering to carry all the food would have raised suspicions of future betrayal. That still accounted for most of the weight, leaving out the lamp and its fuel, which she didn't seem to like. “It will be… good”, she added, “I can work hard. I have done many trips like this, when I was younger. I won't eat much more than before. My father cannot come, though, but now I can work for him”.
pinkgothic:
'Wealth' would have been a bit of an overstatement, but was clear that fate had not been the most kind to Giya, so even the gear granted to Kukri was a sight for her to behold.
Kukri was a little disappointed in Giya's response. Technically, 'I have done many trips like this when I was younger' was indeed Giya telling her a bit about her life, but it was a bit thinner than expected, and not in the spirit of things. Still, at this point, judging by Giya's demeanour, it seemed to be mostly a shyness driving her, a fear of being judged, perhaps, and not so much some dark secret.
She did notice, however, that she spoke only of her father. It wasn't inherently unusual, but in the present context began to suggest something. “I don't doubt your ability.” A white lie, perhaps, but not that far from the truth that Kukri felt bad for speaking it - there was vigour in Giya's manner that suggested she was physically capable, at least to the degree that they needed for the trip, which, to be fair, was not too much. “But forgive me my curiosity - is Yakak'ratu your home?”
Perhaps the right way to go about it was to first volunteer more about her own life, but for the moment she was going to try the direct route, remind her unlikely assistant that she wanted to know more about her.
Concavenator:
Kukri's own life had not been terribly exciting. Her work had absorbed mostly of her energies, and she found shale and moss to be more pleasant companions than most feathered, speaking beings. There was a tale, told in filigrees on stone and in the slime-paths of worms, a poem whose lines were whispered in anthills and river gorges, a song whose notes came one every hundred generations. There was – she knew – beauty and wisdom far in excess of the petty chatters of women and men, of the gruesome glories of kingdoms, but it was so fiendishly scattered and concealed, a tale so maddeningly hard to follow.
There Kukri turned all her attentions when the world of mortal 'ikra felt pettier and crueler than usual. Once she thought she'd found an exception, one fragment of 'ikra-kind that was almost as beautiful, almost as sweet as the song of stones and rivers; but that had been long gone. It had left a hole, like the ones that fallen trees open in the ground; but rain and wind had come, and the hole had quietly filled with detritus.
Did Giya feel the same? Some of Kukri's colleagues would have scoffed at the idea that the lowborn of the borderlands could have thoughts more complex than those of cattle. Yet so little of Kukri's own state of mind passed through the blackness of her feathers. Why not the same for that poor creature?
Giya was quiet for a while, and then said: “I was born in Yakak'ratu, I think. My father is from here. I have done many trips like this, but I always come back here”. It was hard to say if the last sentence was spoken with relief or despair.
pinkgothic:
There was, perhaps, not much of a way around it now. “And what of your mother?” Kukri asked, taking care to choose an inflection that was non-threatening, merely a reflection of encouraging curiosity.
Concavenator:
At the last word, Giya flinched, as if bitten by a gadfly. She shied away, her head moving back and up, and turned toward the moldy wallboard. Kukri's tone had been the gentlest of which she was capable, but no gentleness would probably have sufficed.
“I don't know”, she answered, studying a particularly continent-like patch of mold, “I was only with my father and my siblings. We never heard of her at all”.
pinkgothic:
It gave Kukri pause. Perhaps this wasn't the entire explanation for Giya's plight, but it seemed as though it was quite likely to be a large component in what had put her into her miserable position - however the details of it might manifest - in the first place.
For one, it wasn't as though Giya could have followed in her mother's footsteps, assuming she had held a respectable job. For two, as much as Kukri did not want to be mired in stereotypes, the father was likely to be overwhelmed by the situation. Certainly Giya's situation didn't suggest otherwise.
Several questions immediately came to mind - had Giya's mother died? Had she simply abandoned her family in pursuit of some nebulous goal? Were Giya's siblings still alive and how were they faring? Did they help each other?
But all of those questions seemed poor form to ask.
After quite some time of polite silence, Kukri said: “I'm very sorry. That must have been difficult for you,” fully aware how generic it was. But it was no less true for that.
Concavenator:
Giya's posture lost some of its tenseness, her head sinking back into the ruffled feathers of her chest. She looked again around the smoky room, into the flickering shadows and the overflowing bags. She scratched her muzzle with a claw, and quietly tapped her tailfan against the floor, though she stopped suddenly, as if she feared to draw attention on it. Finally she spoke: “It is what it is. I live here, I work, I go with you. My father and brothers will wait, I hope not very long”.
pinkgothic:
Again Kukri lingered in some silence, considering the information that had been presented to her. Why no one had yet to employ Giya, who was clearly desperate to work and at least willing to promise following through with whatever the job demanded of her, was something of a mystery. Even by the most cynical standards, surely someone was at least willing to exploit her desperation, in which case she would have had little time to listlessly linger in the streets.
Kukri began to check their travel equipment, ensuring that it was either adequately bound or in the process of being made so. She had a few changes in mind in how her supplies were arranged, but none of it would take too much of their time.
She took the opportunity to be frank about her curiosity: “What happened to your previous occupation?”
Concavenator:
Giya drew a deep breath. “I can't be too long away from the nest. My father and brothers, some are very young, I have to take care of them – not enough sisters, now – I would stay here to work on the feast, or go to Chaatai, but I must be back, I must always be back – let's not be away too long, please –”
pinkgothic:
'Not enough sisters, now' painted a grim picture. Either they had perished or abandoned their family. But a practically-minded 'ikra would try to get the older brothers to help with the care of the family as well.
The greater concern came encoded in the phrase 'some are very young'. If Giya did not know her mother, but there were brothers younger than her, it suggested her father was quite irresponsible.
Kukri paused in her preparatory work to look at Giya with concern. “Should we tell your family that you'll be away for a few days before we go?” she encouraged.
Kukri didn't look forward to speaking to a man who could not keep his base instincts in check, but she supposed it was only right to accompany Giya if they were to announce the quest, make it credible - especially if there was a chance that other young women had abandoned the family.
Concavenator:
In the best case, Giya's father had accepted to take care of eggs whose parents had neglected to recover them. In the middling case, he had placed undeserved trust into lovers who had later abandoned the household. Perhaps then the eggs had hatched already, or he hadn't found in himself to toss them in the snow. Either way, there were worse sins than an excess of trust; but poor judgment was one of these, at least in the eyes of 'Au'a the Watchful, in whose name Kukri had sworn many oaths for the guild. In the worst case, the man had been drunken on the pleasures of caretaking, and forgotten for whose benefit a nest was built. Hopefully that was not the answer.
Giya's countenance gave a sign of surprise. “Ye-yes”, she stammered, “Please, if you will, madam”. Apparently she hadn't expected or even hoped for that concession. “But…” she looked at the half-empty plate of cold soup. “Maybe, if you will, I could bring some… If you will, madam, for them”.
pinkgothic:
Kukri had not agreed to feed Giya's family and there was a risk that if she did, there would be an expectation of doing it again - her instinct was to decline as politely as she could. But on reflection, it was likely only one less meal, given they were going to be gone for the next couple of days, and it was a cold one by now, to boot.
Kukri regarded her future assistant with gentle scepticism. There was no use not being honest about it.
“You may - but I would like you to understand, my provisions cover only the both of us, and I am unfortunately not so handsomely paid as that I would not be cutting it close. I would like to say otherwise, but going forward, I will not be able to also care for your family.”
Concavenator:
The light in Giya's eyes dimmed somewhat, but not as much as it was a hundred heartbeats before. “Yes. Yes, I– understand, of course, madam, yes”. She did not pick up the bowl yet; she'd probably want to take up the food outside, in the discretion of the shadows. There was still energy in her posture, an impressive amount, in fact, compared with the sullenness of her speech.
She was now muttering something that could have been more thanks, more for her own benefit than Kukri's, and in fact they seemed to be in the Yakak'ratu dialect. At the same time, she moved toward the travel charts, as if now she could bear more easily to study them.
pinkgothic:
If nothing else, Giya was polite. Kukri just hoped the politeness would maintain itself and not give way to disgruntlement and aggression somewhere in the middle of the journey. Giya did not seem the type to adopt such a mood easily, but it would be wise not to rule it out entirely.
Still, as much as it was appropriate, it seemed like an unnecessary emphasis of Giya's status to call Kukri 'madam'. “You can call me Kukri, no need for formalities,” Kukri encouraged. “We'll need to depend on each other on the journey, which is best done amongst equals.”
It was a charming fantasy for them to be at all 'equals', but it would be a useful fantasy for both of them to indulge in at least superficially.
Kukri made no effort to stop Giya from taking a new look at the notes. “Do you happen to have any experience with the specific terrain we'll be crossing, or know enough to guess at a good first location for a camp?” she asked, trying to make it clear with her tone that she expected 'no' and would not be disappointed by it.
Concavenator:
“Yes, of course, yes. Ah…” Giya did not quite bring herself to utter Kukri's name. But she paid more attention to the chart, and concentrated very strongly on the contour lines, as if looking for something useful to say. It was not clear whether she had ever seen any map of her kind; all her experience of the terrain was probbaly from ground-level. Which, in fact, could be much more useful than one who knew every detail of the glacial plains but had never walked a step on it.
For a while all sounds came from outside, whistling wind, and wood falling on wood, and quick-paced chatter among the workers. Finally Giya said: “There is much wind, strong wind, always. We must keep on the coats, and we must rest between rocks. Else fire will die, and we also may die. People in caravans sleep in the center with all the astrapotheres around, but we don't have them, no? We must also burn all our dung, so specters cannot find us, because they burrow in the snow – burn it and let the wind carry the ash far away…”
pinkgothic:
The comments Giya made came as what was in sum a pleasant surprise to Kukri, having expected none at all. The remarks on coats, winds, fire and rock might be common sense, but it was better than a noncommittal grumble by far, and indeed suggested some familiarity with the terrain, at the very least cognitively.
She had no idea what a 'specter' was and it sounded like superstition to her, but if it was instead was a mythological shadow of a local creature they should avoid, the advice was sound. It did mean spending effort on making those fires - effort and perhaps some kindling, if necessary - but it was not so pressing a problem as for Kukri to want to challenge Giya's superstitions here and now, especially if they might yet prove to have a basis in reality, as local folklore was often prone to.
“I appreciate the advice,” she said. Nonetheless curious about the superstition, she asked: “Have you ever encountered or observed one of these specters?” And, reasoning that there might be an answer even if the previous question resulted in 'no', owed to the details in stories about them: “What are they like?”
Concavenator:
Giya's mouth opened and snapped shut again, perhaps seeking a way to fix her host's dismal ignorance without offending her. “…They come at night, under the snow. You don't see them, you don't see them, ever. They make sounds, like they hiss, you can hear it; but they come when you sleep. They take a woman or a man, or if you are travelling with children they take a child. They take it and it goes along with them, and it becomes one specter more. They follow smell, of dung and unfinished food.”
pinkgothic:
Kukri kept her body language neutral while the superstitious tale was told, nodding along politely. She did respect the story - she could imagine there being something to it, that there were predators out there that sought out their prey by smell, preferentially picking off people as they slept.
She kept her interpretation to herself for now; there was a chance that discussing it might become relevant eventually, but she was happy to defer to Giya as a local guide in this matter unless she thought the fancy might threaten rather than assist their survival.
“They indeed sound as though best avoided,” she concurred. “I appreciate the warning.” And she did; it wasn't even a lie. No one back in Grikaa had warned her about anything like it. The standard warnings about predators applied, of course, but that's precisely what they were: Standard. This was considerably more specific - which hardly guaranteed it was true, but was certainly pleasantly actionable.
And it was just vague enough that it did not even inspire fear.
Concavenator:
Between her general apprehensions and the fears she must have relived as she spoke, Giya's temperature must have risen uncomfortably, as she leaned against the outer wall and let the bitter wind filtering through the boards cool her face.
Then she slightly shifted her stance, bringing one eye to level with a slit between two wooden boards, and peered deep into the bluish expanse of snow. Was she actually looking forward to leaving this dismal city for a while, and return to the harsh but purposeful travels of her youth? Or was she simply hoping – and she was hardly blameworthy in this case – to be back quickly with some relief for her family?
It was time to organize their leave. The guild would give no funds for even one wasted day, and Kukri had more than just herself to manage now. Neither party would linger in that inn for longer than needed, and the horrors of the Polar Fields called, strangely inviting for once.