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The Zaire tribe have outlasted a sand storm but too many within a small area at the Port of the West has led to a common difficulty... illness. With too many people in too tight a space, a fever has run rampant through the Bedoan tribes. Whilst many look to the Zaire for their skills in medicine, others keep their borders tight between the hawes, dependant on only themselves. But those who turn to the more healer minded Gesin find the specialist of the tribes stretched thin and worried as they believe even the ancestors to have perhaps forsaken them. For their prophet @mwenye is one of many to have succumbed to the fever.
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The Zaire tribe have outlasted a sand storm but too many within a small area at the Port of the West has led to a common difficulty... illness. With too many people in too tight a space, a fever has run rampant through the Bedoan tribes. Whilst many look to the Zaire for their skills in medicine, others keep their borders tight between the hawes, dependant on only themselves. But those who turn to the more healer minded Gesin find the specialist of the tribes stretched thin and worried as they believe even the ancestors to have perhaps forsaken them. For their prophet @mwenye is one of many to have succumbed to the fever.
Heated Flesh Event - Bedoa
The Zaire tribe have outlasted a sand storm but too many within a small area at the Port of the West has led to a common difficulty... illness. With too many people in too tight a space, a fever has run rampant through the Bedoan tribes. Whilst many look to the Zaire for their skills in medicine, others keep their borders tight between the hawes, dependant on only themselves. But those who turn to the more healer minded Gesin find the specialist of the tribes stretched thin and worried as they believe even the ancestors to have perhaps forsaken them. For their prophet @mwenye is one of many to have succumbed to the fever.
Water is the lifeblood of the desert.
Sun and sand. Beauty and honor.
The sea is poison. Do not look there for succor.
We cannot stay.
We cannot go.
Obey your leier.
The sun beat down on him, while behind closed eyes Mwenye listened to the voices of his ancestors. Some spoke advice, some proverbs, some nonsense. Some argued with each other. The broiling desert heat had always done this, alone and with no distractions he heard them clearly, jumbled amidst his own thoughts, but he could not hold an actual conversation. For that, he needed opiates, the drugs allowing his mind to wander in a direction he chose, to seek out one particular voice or another.
Drink your water, you fool boy.
Now that probably was sensible advice. His great (-great?) grandmother was always calling him 'fool boy' and being sensible. Never any advice that went beyond the immediate, but a solid counterbalance to those who only ever spoke of the future or the past, and well worth listening to.
Illness in the tribes is an ill sign. Madness may follow.
Do not drink of the endless waters. That well is poisoned.
Ill winds come from the desert sands as well.
It is proper that the tribes be separate.
Do not meddle. This is for others to decide.
It is a prophet's duty to meddle.
Foolish boy.
When you have no advice, keep your mouth shut.
Same to you.
Mwyenye sighed and opened his eyes, surprised to find he was in his own tent, the sunlight filtering in the open door holding a sharp brightness very unlike the haze of the desert's full heat. He pushed his blanket aside and tried to sit up, and abruptly felt freezing cold.
Water. He definitely needed water. The throbbing in his temples was secondary - a headache caused by sun-blindness or the voices being too loud wouldn't kill him. Gritty eyes and lips starting to crack and the general feeling of weakness pointed at a far more serious problem. He swallowed, glad he still had spit and concerned that doing so hurt.
Didn't see this coming, did you?
It was a long time coming, that was all. The timing is off.
Well, can't save him every time. That's not right.
The prophet finally managed to shove himself upright despite his shaking muscles, and looked around from the better vantage of a sitting position.
"Oh, do shut up until I've had some water at least," he muttered under his breath, despite doubting any of them would listen. Did he have any of his drugs left? He remembered making a note to get more the next time they went to trade with the Egyptians, but somehow couldn't remember if it was because he was running low or completely out.
Water first.
Why was it so hard to think?
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Jan 22, 2020 19:31:07 GMT
Posted In Heated Flesh on Jan 22, 2020 19:31:07 GMT
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Water is the lifeblood of the desert.
Sun and sand. Beauty and honor.
The sea is poison. Do not look there for succor.
We cannot stay.
We cannot go.
Obey your leier.
The sun beat down on him, while behind closed eyes Mwenye listened to the voices of his ancestors. Some spoke advice, some proverbs, some nonsense. Some argued with each other. The broiling desert heat had always done this, alone and with no distractions he heard them clearly, jumbled amidst his own thoughts, but he could not hold an actual conversation. For that, he needed opiates, the drugs allowing his mind to wander in a direction he chose, to seek out one particular voice or another.
Drink your water, you fool boy.
Now that probably was sensible advice. His great (-great?) grandmother was always calling him 'fool boy' and being sensible. Never any advice that went beyond the immediate, but a solid counterbalance to those who only ever spoke of the future or the past, and well worth listening to.
Illness in the tribes is an ill sign. Madness may follow.
Do not drink of the endless waters. That well is poisoned.
Ill winds come from the desert sands as well.
It is proper that the tribes be separate.
Do not meddle. This is for others to decide.
It is a prophet's duty to meddle.
Foolish boy.
When you have no advice, keep your mouth shut.
Same to you.
Mwyenye sighed and opened his eyes, surprised to find he was in his own tent, the sunlight filtering in the open door holding a sharp brightness very unlike the haze of the desert's full heat. He pushed his blanket aside and tried to sit up, and abruptly felt freezing cold.
Water. He definitely needed water. The throbbing in his temples was secondary - a headache caused by sun-blindness or the voices being too loud wouldn't kill him. Gritty eyes and lips starting to crack and the general feeling of weakness pointed at a far more serious problem. He swallowed, glad he still had spit and concerned that doing so hurt.
Didn't see this coming, did you?
It was a long time coming, that was all. The timing is off.
Well, can't save him every time. That's not right.
The prophet finally managed to shove himself upright despite his shaking muscles, and looked around from the better vantage of a sitting position.
"Oh, do shut up until I've had some water at least," he muttered under his breath, despite doubting any of them would listen. Did he have any of his drugs left? He remembered making a note to get more the next time they went to trade with the Egyptians, but somehow couldn't remember if it was because he was running low or completely out.
Water first.
Why was it so hard to think?
Water is the lifeblood of the desert.
Sun and sand. Beauty and honor.
The sea is poison. Do not look there for succor.
We cannot stay.
We cannot go.
Obey your leier.
The sun beat down on him, while behind closed eyes Mwenye listened to the voices of his ancestors. Some spoke advice, some proverbs, some nonsense. Some argued with each other. The broiling desert heat had always done this, alone and with no distractions he heard them clearly, jumbled amidst his own thoughts, but he could not hold an actual conversation. For that, he needed opiates, the drugs allowing his mind to wander in a direction he chose, to seek out one particular voice or another.
Drink your water, you fool boy.
Now that probably was sensible advice. His great (-great?) grandmother was always calling him 'fool boy' and being sensible. Never any advice that went beyond the immediate, but a solid counterbalance to those who only ever spoke of the future or the past, and well worth listening to.
Illness in the tribes is an ill sign. Madness may follow.
Do not drink of the endless waters. That well is poisoned.
Ill winds come from the desert sands as well.
It is proper that the tribes be separate.
Do not meddle. This is for others to decide.
It is a prophet's duty to meddle.
Foolish boy.
When you have no advice, keep your mouth shut.
Same to you.
Mwyenye sighed and opened his eyes, surprised to find he was in his own tent, the sunlight filtering in the open door holding a sharp brightness very unlike the haze of the desert's full heat. He pushed his blanket aside and tried to sit up, and abruptly felt freezing cold.
Water. He definitely needed water. The throbbing in his temples was secondary - a headache caused by sun-blindness or the voices being too loud wouldn't kill him. Gritty eyes and lips starting to crack and the general feeling of weakness pointed at a far more serious problem. He swallowed, glad he still had spit and concerned that doing so hurt.
Didn't see this coming, did you?
It was a long time coming, that was all. The timing is off.
Well, can't save him every time. That's not right.
The prophet finally managed to shove himself upright despite his shaking muscles, and looked around from the better vantage of a sitting position.
"Oh, do shut up until I've had some water at least," he muttered under his breath, despite doubting any of them would listen. Did he have any of his drugs left? He remembered making a note to get more the next time they went to trade with the Egyptians, but somehow couldn't remember if it was because he was running low or completely out.
Water first.
Why was it so hard to think?
Despite her own recent loss of yet another heir for Hasani, Tanishe had to go on. Life would not stop for her internal grief and honestly? She didn’t want to sit and ruminate on what she would clearly never have. With her leather satchel slung over her shoulder, she was one of several healers moving through the expanse of tents, stopping here and there to check on who was sick and who was well. The ones who were well were being instructed to move, while the ones who held illness were told to stay. The medicale hawe was too full to take on more with fever and she didn’t think it right to move those who didn’t absolutely need to move. The problem was that there weren’t enough people to nurse the sick.
A slick shine coated her forehead and face and she lifted her wrist to gauge her own temperature. As yet, she was fine. A relief. In her hands, she carried a large pot of rooibos tea. In the cauldron at her own tent, there was more steeping away and she was moving back and forth in an endless relay to keep filling the pot and then take it back out again to newer tents. Both well and ill were instructed to either drink the tea she’d brought, or boil their own. It was too nourishing to be taken only by the sick. Hopefully it would stave off illness for those who were well, too. The ones she truly worried for were those with little children and the elderly. Ones like herself or her husband, who were young and strong, were not at great risk of death.
Even so, the spectre of death hung about the camp. There were many who remembered the rampant illness that had claimed so many of their numbers years before. It was in times like this that she thought of her father and how pale he’d become, how ashy and gray his skin had looked towards the end, while his cheeks were dark with flaming fever. She felt her eyes burn at the memory and turned her face against her shoulder, wiping her wet eyes and pushed breath through her teeth. Now wasn’t the time. Keep focused. There was no time to stay in her own head.
Coming upon the next tent, she found the flap already flung open. Bending at the waist, she peered inside and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t need to ask if anyone had the fever. She could smell the illness from here. “Hello?” she checked as her eyes adjusted to the shadowed interior. A form was sitting bolt upright and Tanishe crouched down to allow the light to illuminate the figure. “Mwenye,” she said gently, bringing the pot down to the tent floor and easing herself inside. “Mwenye, where are your cups?” she asked, glancing around and not wanting to sift through his things. He did not look overly well. His expression was unfocused and she could see the shiver and the sweat. “I’m going to touch you,” she said gently, placing her wrist against his neck and head before drawing back. His skin was fire. “I have tea for you, Mwenye.” She kept using his name in a soft, soothing tone. Patients, she’d found, responded better when their names were used.
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Jan 28, 2020 15:54:46 GMT
Posted In Heated Flesh on Jan 28, 2020 15:54:46 GMT
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Despite her own recent loss of yet another heir for Hasani, Tanishe had to go on. Life would not stop for her internal grief and honestly? She didn’t want to sit and ruminate on what she would clearly never have. With her leather satchel slung over her shoulder, she was one of several healers moving through the expanse of tents, stopping here and there to check on who was sick and who was well. The ones who were well were being instructed to move, while the ones who held illness were told to stay. The medicale hawe was too full to take on more with fever and she didn’t think it right to move those who didn’t absolutely need to move. The problem was that there weren’t enough people to nurse the sick.
A slick shine coated her forehead and face and she lifted her wrist to gauge her own temperature. As yet, she was fine. A relief. In her hands, she carried a large pot of rooibos tea. In the cauldron at her own tent, there was more steeping away and she was moving back and forth in an endless relay to keep filling the pot and then take it back out again to newer tents. Both well and ill were instructed to either drink the tea she’d brought, or boil their own. It was too nourishing to be taken only by the sick. Hopefully it would stave off illness for those who were well, too. The ones she truly worried for were those with little children and the elderly. Ones like herself or her husband, who were young and strong, were not at great risk of death.
Even so, the spectre of death hung about the camp. There were many who remembered the rampant illness that had claimed so many of their numbers years before. It was in times like this that she thought of her father and how pale he’d become, how ashy and gray his skin had looked towards the end, while his cheeks were dark with flaming fever. She felt her eyes burn at the memory and turned her face against her shoulder, wiping her wet eyes and pushed breath through her teeth. Now wasn’t the time. Keep focused. There was no time to stay in her own head.
Coming upon the next tent, she found the flap already flung open. Bending at the waist, she peered inside and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t need to ask if anyone had the fever. She could smell the illness from here. “Hello?” she checked as her eyes adjusted to the shadowed interior. A form was sitting bolt upright and Tanishe crouched down to allow the light to illuminate the figure. “Mwenye,” she said gently, bringing the pot down to the tent floor and easing herself inside. “Mwenye, where are your cups?” she asked, glancing around and not wanting to sift through his things. He did not look overly well. His expression was unfocused and she could see the shiver and the sweat. “I’m going to touch you,” she said gently, placing her wrist against his neck and head before drawing back. His skin was fire. “I have tea for you, Mwenye.” She kept using his name in a soft, soothing tone. Patients, she’d found, responded better when their names were used.
Despite her own recent loss of yet another heir for Hasani, Tanishe had to go on. Life would not stop for her internal grief and honestly? She didn’t want to sit and ruminate on what she would clearly never have. With her leather satchel slung over her shoulder, she was one of several healers moving through the expanse of tents, stopping here and there to check on who was sick and who was well. The ones who were well were being instructed to move, while the ones who held illness were told to stay. The medicale hawe was too full to take on more with fever and she didn’t think it right to move those who didn’t absolutely need to move. The problem was that there weren’t enough people to nurse the sick.
A slick shine coated her forehead and face and she lifted her wrist to gauge her own temperature. As yet, she was fine. A relief. In her hands, she carried a large pot of rooibos tea. In the cauldron at her own tent, there was more steeping away and she was moving back and forth in an endless relay to keep filling the pot and then take it back out again to newer tents. Both well and ill were instructed to either drink the tea she’d brought, or boil their own. It was too nourishing to be taken only by the sick. Hopefully it would stave off illness for those who were well, too. The ones she truly worried for were those with little children and the elderly. Ones like herself or her husband, who were young and strong, were not at great risk of death.
Even so, the spectre of death hung about the camp. There were many who remembered the rampant illness that had claimed so many of their numbers years before. It was in times like this that she thought of her father and how pale he’d become, how ashy and gray his skin had looked towards the end, while his cheeks were dark with flaming fever. She felt her eyes burn at the memory and turned her face against her shoulder, wiping her wet eyes and pushed breath through her teeth. Now wasn’t the time. Keep focused. There was no time to stay in her own head.
Coming upon the next tent, she found the flap already flung open. Bending at the waist, she peered inside and wrinkled her nose. She didn’t need to ask if anyone had the fever. She could smell the illness from here. “Hello?” she checked as her eyes adjusted to the shadowed interior. A form was sitting bolt upright and Tanishe crouched down to allow the light to illuminate the figure. “Mwenye,” she said gently, bringing the pot down to the tent floor and easing herself inside. “Mwenye, where are your cups?” she asked, glancing around and not wanting to sift through his things. He did not look overly well. His expression was unfocused and she could see the shiver and the sweat. “I’m going to touch you,” she said gently, placing her wrist against his neck and head before drawing back. His skin was fire. “I have tea for you, Mwenye.” She kept using his name in a soft, soothing tone. Patients, she’d found, responded better when their names were used.
"Hmm? Oh, thank you, Tanishe. Cups are over there. Mbali is complaining about the tribes not dispersing yet. Has Hasani decided when we will leave? The seventh season is coming soon. We need to make sure there is enough water." He sounded coherent, which was why he rarely got accused of being crazy.
Mwenye settled back down, trusting the leierien to take care of things. He was tired, that exhausted, shifting-sands feeling where thinking was hard and nothing quite made sense. "Could you hand me a blanket, please?" Why did it feel as cold as a winter night? He rubbed his jaw, and felt the flush on his cheek.
Oh - he had a fever. That explained some of what the ancestors had told him. Also why he felt like shit.
"Thank you," he repeated, when he was handed a cup of the tea. It felt heavy, but he had been bone-weary enough times in his life that he was confident in his ability to take care with it. "I should speak with Hasani." This is for others to decide. The prophet frowned. "Or maybe not." It is a prophet's duty to meddle. He sighed. "They can't agree with each other. How is the rest of the tribe? There was..." A line of concentration appeared between his eyebrows as he struggled to remember fever-dreams quickly blowing out of reach. "I dreamed of a lost child, I think. I don't quite remember - I was asleep." He smiled at his own joke, hoping to cheer up the worried woman before him. "Ime didn't try to run off to the Ubuntu encampment again, did she?"
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"Hmm? Oh, thank you, Tanishe. Cups are over there. Mbali is complaining about the tribes not dispersing yet. Has Hasani decided when we will leave? The seventh season is coming soon. We need to make sure there is enough water." He sounded coherent, which was why he rarely got accused of being crazy.
Mwenye settled back down, trusting the leierien to take care of things. He was tired, that exhausted, shifting-sands feeling where thinking was hard and nothing quite made sense. "Could you hand me a blanket, please?" Why did it feel as cold as a winter night? He rubbed his jaw, and felt the flush on his cheek.
Oh - he had a fever. That explained some of what the ancestors had told him. Also why he felt like shit.
"Thank you," he repeated, when he was handed a cup of the tea. It felt heavy, but he had been bone-weary enough times in his life that he was confident in his ability to take care with it. "I should speak with Hasani." This is for others to decide. The prophet frowned. "Or maybe not." It is a prophet's duty to meddle. He sighed. "They can't agree with each other. How is the rest of the tribe? There was..." A line of concentration appeared between his eyebrows as he struggled to remember fever-dreams quickly blowing out of reach. "I dreamed of a lost child, I think. I don't quite remember - I was asleep." He smiled at his own joke, hoping to cheer up the worried woman before him. "Ime didn't try to run off to the Ubuntu encampment again, did she?"
"Hmm? Oh, thank you, Tanishe. Cups are over there. Mbali is complaining about the tribes not dispersing yet. Has Hasani decided when we will leave? The seventh season is coming soon. We need to make sure there is enough water." He sounded coherent, which was why he rarely got accused of being crazy.
Mwenye settled back down, trusting the leierien to take care of things. He was tired, that exhausted, shifting-sands feeling where thinking was hard and nothing quite made sense. "Could you hand me a blanket, please?" Why did it feel as cold as a winter night? He rubbed his jaw, and felt the flush on his cheek.
Oh - he had a fever. That explained some of what the ancestors had told him. Also why he felt like shit.
"Thank you," he repeated, when he was handed a cup of the tea. It felt heavy, but he had been bone-weary enough times in his life that he was confident in his ability to take care with it. "I should speak with Hasani." This is for others to decide. The prophet frowned. "Or maybe not." It is a prophet's duty to meddle. He sighed. "They can't agree with each other. How is the rest of the tribe? There was..." A line of concentration appeared between his eyebrows as he struggled to remember fever-dreams quickly blowing out of reach. "I dreamed of a lost child, I think. I don't quite remember - I was asleep." He smiled at his own joke, hoping to cheer up the worried woman before him. "Ime didn't try to run off to the Ubuntu encampment again, did she?"
Tanishe wanted to feel Mwenye’s head again. The silver sheen of sweat across his brow gave him a nearly holy appearance but she refrained as he jabbered on. Half crouching through his tent, she stepped over this cushion and around that bag until she’d settled in the corner where his utensils and dishes were kept. He needed a wife, she thought to herself. Someone to take care of this tent for him. It had the distinct feel of a bachelor about it. As she moved back to his side, she reflected that there were so many things that could have been organized differently for him that, she felt, would have made things easier to find.
By the time she reached his side again, he’d lain back down. She smiled at him as she poured the tea. “Hasani hasn’t spoken to me about when we are leaving,” Tanishe placed the tea cup into his hand. “But do not concern yourself about water. We are not in danger of not having it while here.”
When he’d thanked her for the tea, she nodded but said nothing, watching to ensure that he’d drunk his tea. The voices that afflicted or soothed him, depending on circumstance, were entirely unknown to her. All she knew was that Mwenye seemed particularly selected by the ancestors. People whispered that he was a prophet, a holy man, and that if he cursed you, or perhaps even interceded on your behalf to the ancestors, whatever you wanted came to pass.
"I should speak with Hasani," Mwenye said after a few moments. Tanishe frowned at him.
“Oh?” she asked but didn’t outright tell him he wasn’t going to do anything of the sort this instant. Not unless she had to. He was a man and it wasn’t in her nature to boss men around. The only time she did and without any conscience about it was when they were ill or injured, too confused to know their own minds.
"Or maybe not. They can't agree with each other. How is the rest of the tribe? There was..."
They? Tanishe frowned and reached forward again, touching her fingers to his temple and his neck. He was hotter than burning embers. She reached into her back and pulled out the jar that she’d been carrying around. Inside was a damp cloth and she sponged it against his face and neck. “Shhh…” she soothed but he would keep talking, despite her gentle insistence that he be quiet.
"I dreamed of a lost child, I think. I don't quite remember - I was asleep."
There was no point in hiding it, despite the momentary pang that ripped through her. “Yes prophet,” she said softly. “I lost another.” Then, he mentioned Ime, a name Tanishe didn’t recognize, asking something about the ubuntu.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, not bothering to argue with someone entirely feverish. “Sleep. You’re ill.”
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Tanishe wanted to feel Mwenye’s head again. The silver sheen of sweat across his brow gave him a nearly holy appearance but she refrained as he jabbered on. Half crouching through his tent, she stepped over this cushion and around that bag until she’d settled in the corner where his utensils and dishes were kept. He needed a wife, she thought to herself. Someone to take care of this tent for him. It had the distinct feel of a bachelor about it. As she moved back to his side, she reflected that there were so many things that could have been organized differently for him that, she felt, would have made things easier to find.
By the time she reached his side again, he’d lain back down. She smiled at him as she poured the tea. “Hasani hasn’t spoken to me about when we are leaving,” Tanishe placed the tea cup into his hand. “But do not concern yourself about water. We are not in danger of not having it while here.”
When he’d thanked her for the tea, she nodded but said nothing, watching to ensure that he’d drunk his tea. The voices that afflicted or soothed him, depending on circumstance, were entirely unknown to her. All she knew was that Mwenye seemed particularly selected by the ancestors. People whispered that he was a prophet, a holy man, and that if he cursed you, or perhaps even interceded on your behalf to the ancestors, whatever you wanted came to pass.
"I should speak with Hasani," Mwenye said after a few moments. Tanishe frowned at him.
“Oh?” she asked but didn’t outright tell him he wasn’t going to do anything of the sort this instant. Not unless she had to. He was a man and it wasn’t in her nature to boss men around. The only time she did and without any conscience about it was when they were ill or injured, too confused to know their own minds.
"Or maybe not. They can't agree with each other. How is the rest of the tribe? There was..."
They? Tanishe frowned and reached forward again, touching her fingers to his temple and his neck. He was hotter than burning embers. She reached into her back and pulled out the jar that she’d been carrying around. Inside was a damp cloth and she sponged it against his face and neck. “Shhh…” she soothed but he would keep talking, despite her gentle insistence that he be quiet.
"I dreamed of a lost child, I think. I don't quite remember - I was asleep."
There was no point in hiding it, despite the momentary pang that ripped through her. “Yes prophet,” she said softly. “I lost another.” Then, he mentioned Ime, a name Tanishe didn’t recognize, asking something about the ubuntu.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, not bothering to argue with someone entirely feverish. “Sleep. You’re ill.”
Tanishe wanted to feel Mwenye’s head again. The silver sheen of sweat across his brow gave him a nearly holy appearance but she refrained as he jabbered on. Half crouching through his tent, she stepped over this cushion and around that bag until she’d settled in the corner where his utensils and dishes were kept. He needed a wife, she thought to herself. Someone to take care of this tent for him. It had the distinct feel of a bachelor about it. As she moved back to his side, she reflected that there were so many things that could have been organized differently for him that, she felt, would have made things easier to find.
By the time she reached his side again, he’d lain back down. She smiled at him as she poured the tea. “Hasani hasn’t spoken to me about when we are leaving,” Tanishe placed the tea cup into his hand. “But do not concern yourself about water. We are not in danger of not having it while here.”
When he’d thanked her for the tea, she nodded but said nothing, watching to ensure that he’d drunk his tea. The voices that afflicted or soothed him, depending on circumstance, were entirely unknown to her. All she knew was that Mwenye seemed particularly selected by the ancestors. People whispered that he was a prophet, a holy man, and that if he cursed you, or perhaps even interceded on your behalf to the ancestors, whatever you wanted came to pass.
"I should speak with Hasani," Mwenye said after a few moments. Tanishe frowned at him.
“Oh?” she asked but didn’t outright tell him he wasn’t going to do anything of the sort this instant. Not unless she had to. He was a man and it wasn’t in her nature to boss men around. The only time she did and without any conscience about it was when they were ill or injured, too confused to know their own minds.
"Or maybe not. They can't agree with each other. How is the rest of the tribe? There was..."
They? Tanishe frowned and reached forward again, touching her fingers to his temple and his neck. He was hotter than burning embers. She reached into her back and pulled out the jar that she’d been carrying around. Inside was a damp cloth and she sponged it against his face and neck. “Shhh…” she soothed but he would keep talking, despite her gentle insistence that he be quiet.
"I dreamed of a lost child, I think. I don't quite remember - I was asleep."
There was no point in hiding it, despite the momentary pang that ripped through her. “Yes prophet,” she said softly. “I lost another.” Then, he mentioned Ime, a name Tanishe didn’t recognize, asking something about the ubuntu.”
“I don’t think so,” she said, not bothering to argue with someone entirely feverish. “Sleep. You’re ill.”
Saro had been hanging around with the tribes by the water for awhile now, his spoken Bedoan was a lot better, and for the most part he was able to at least get his point across when speaking, and was able to understand most of what others were saying to him. He had a long way to go before he would consider himself any kind of fluent, but he was making progress and it had made life among the tribes easier. The hardest part he found was to repress his flirty nature, especially when the young women seemed to interested in the foreign man. He was doing his best to be as inoffensive as he could, and he wasn’t sure the Bedoans would feel too happy about this foreign man sleeping with all their women. It was difficult to keep his hands to himself, but so far he had managed.
He was jobless at the moment, though he was sure that would change. He heard tell that there was some sort of sickness spreading through the population, and he was certain that Tanishe would need his help in the medical tent, at least in some capacity. Or else Hasani would need his assistance with a hunt, or getting water. Someone would need him for something, of that much he was sure. He wasn’t complaining, it made the day pass when he had stuff to do, and with how gracious the tribe had been with taking him in, he definitely owed them as much. For the most part they had started getting used to him being around, though he was sure that he still wasn’t fully trusted, he was at least not glared at where ever he went. The only thing he could do is continue to work hard to earn his place there, and hope that at some point in the next how ever long it would take them to get to Egypt, they would become more comfortable with him. Hasani and Tanishe had at least taken to his company quick enough.
He didn’t have a purpose right then, he was merely walking, if no one found him and asked for assistance with something, he figured he would just take a wander down to the water. He had felt a little homesick already for his home upon the seas, though they were still close to the water, it wasn’t the same as being upon it. He could at the very least look out on it, smell the breeze coming off of the sea and if he closed his eyes, he could see himself transported once more upon his ship with the men and women that made up his crew and family.
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Saro had been hanging around with the tribes by the water for awhile now, his spoken Bedoan was a lot better, and for the most part he was able to at least get his point across when speaking, and was able to understand most of what others were saying to him. He had a long way to go before he would consider himself any kind of fluent, but he was making progress and it had made life among the tribes easier. The hardest part he found was to repress his flirty nature, especially when the young women seemed to interested in the foreign man. He was doing his best to be as inoffensive as he could, and he wasn’t sure the Bedoans would feel too happy about this foreign man sleeping with all their women. It was difficult to keep his hands to himself, but so far he had managed.
He was jobless at the moment, though he was sure that would change. He heard tell that there was some sort of sickness spreading through the population, and he was certain that Tanishe would need his help in the medical tent, at least in some capacity. Or else Hasani would need his assistance with a hunt, or getting water. Someone would need him for something, of that much he was sure. He wasn’t complaining, it made the day pass when he had stuff to do, and with how gracious the tribe had been with taking him in, he definitely owed them as much. For the most part they had started getting used to him being around, though he was sure that he still wasn’t fully trusted, he was at least not glared at where ever he went. The only thing he could do is continue to work hard to earn his place there, and hope that at some point in the next how ever long it would take them to get to Egypt, they would become more comfortable with him. Hasani and Tanishe had at least taken to his company quick enough.
He didn’t have a purpose right then, he was merely walking, if no one found him and asked for assistance with something, he figured he would just take a wander down to the water. He had felt a little homesick already for his home upon the seas, though they were still close to the water, it wasn’t the same as being upon it. He could at the very least look out on it, smell the breeze coming off of the sea and if he closed his eyes, he could see himself transported once more upon his ship with the men and women that made up his crew and family.
Saro had been hanging around with the tribes by the water for awhile now, his spoken Bedoan was a lot better, and for the most part he was able to at least get his point across when speaking, and was able to understand most of what others were saying to him. He had a long way to go before he would consider himself any kind of fluent, but he was making progress and it had made life among the tribes easier. The hardest part he found was to repress his flirty nature, especially when the young women seemed to interested in the foreign man. He was doing his best to be as inoffensive as he could, and he wasn’t sure the Bedoans would feel too happy about this foreign man sleeping with all their women. It was difficult to keep his hands to himself, but so far he had managed.
He was jobless at the moment, though he was sure that would change. He heard tell that there was some sort of sickness spreading through the population, and he was certain that Tanishe would need his help in the medical tent, at least in some capacity. Or else Hasani would need his assistance with a hunt, or getting water. Someone would need him for something, of that much he was sure. He wasn’t complaining, it made the day pass when he had stuff to do, and with how gracious the tribe had been with taking him in, he definitely owed them as much. For the most part they had started getting used to him being around, though he was sure that he still wasn’t fully trusted, he was at least not glared at where ever he went. The only thing he could do is continue to work hard to earn his place there, and hope that at some point in the next how ever long it would take them to get to Egypt, they would become more comfortable with him. Hasani and Tanishe had at least taken to his company quick enough.
He didn’t have a purpose right then, he was merely walking, if no one found him and asked for assistance with something, he figured he would just take a wander down to the water. He had felt a little homesick already for his home upon the seas, though they were still close to the water, it wasn’t the same as being upon it. He could at the very least look out on it, smell the breeze coming off of the sea and if he closed his eyes, he could see himself transported once more upon his ship with the men and women that made up his crew and family.
That... was probably a good idea. Mwenye finished his tea and handed the concerned woman back the cup. "Yes, leirein." Odd, Mwenye was hardly ever formal. He hadn't really realized what he'd said, just lay down quietly again and closed his eyes. Having someone look after him - even just not having to worry about keeping track of his own water supply, let alone not having to push himself to keep moving to the nearest oasis no matter how horrid he felt - was an unusual experience, but one he appreciated.
Odd, disjointed dreams that blurred the line between waking and sleeping were not new, and he muttered something annoyed-sounding but entirely incomprehensible under his breath before seeming to drift off again.
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Mar 27, 2020 16:16:55 GMT
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That... was probably a good idea. Mwenye finished his tea and handed the concerned woman back the cup. "Yes, leirein." Odd, Mwenye was hardly ever formal. He hadn't really realized what he'd said, just lay down quietly again and closed his eyes. Having someone look after him - even just not having to worry about keeping track of his own water supply, let alone not having to push himself to keep moving to the nearest oasis no matter how horrid he felt - was an unusual experience, but one he appreciated.
Odd, disjointed dreams that blurred the line between waking and sleeping were not new, and he muttered something annoyed-sounding but entirely incomprehensible under his breath before seeming to drift off again.
That... was probably a good idea. Mwenye finished his tea and handed the concerned woman back the cup. "Yes, leirein." Odd, Mwenye was hardly ever formal. He hadn't really realized what he'd said, just lay down quietly again and closed his eyes. Having someone look after him - even just not having to worry about keeping track of his own water supply, let alone not having to push himself to keep moving to the nearest oasis no matter how horrid he felt - was an unusual experience, but one he appreciated.
Odd, disjointed dreams that blurred the line between waking and sleeping were not new, and he muttered something annoyed-sounding but entirely incomprehensible under his breath before seeming to drift off again.
Tanishe surveyed Mwenye, knowing he was definitely more ill than most. She wouldn’t be able to move him on her own. Waiting until he’d complied with her request, she took the cup from him and watched as his eyelids slid closed. At first, he still appeared somewhat pained, but as sleep overtook him, the muscles of his face relaxed and he looked peaceful. Peaceful and shining with sweat. This close to him, she didn’t have to actually touch him to feel the heat radiating off his skin like blazing hot sun on the endless sands.
Setting the cup down, Tanishe rose and moved to the tent’s entrance. There, walking tall and pale like a man from the beyond, was Saro. Was he a gift from the Ancestors? He must be, always in the right place at the right time. Tanishe waved to get his attention. Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to shout. Raising her voice was so against her own nature that she hated to do it even for a good reason.
Her hand curled by her face as she waited for him to notice her. It took two tries, her bracelets making more sound than her voice did, clinking away down her arm as she waved it, until Saro noticed her. She waved him over and waited until he was within a normal speaking distance before saying, “Please help?” Of course he wouldn’t know much, if any, of their language, but Tanishe made large gestures and pointed inside the ill smelling tent to where Mwenye lay.
“He is ill,” Tanishe was saying, pressing her fingertips to her forehead and then jerking them away as though her own forehead was too hot to touch. And then, “I need to move him.” For this, she ducked back into the tent and crouched at Mwenye’s feet, ready to pick up the blanket corners there beneath him and pointed for Saro to get his head. “We take him to the hawe,” she was saying, aiming to come back for her bucket of water later. She couldn’t very well carry both, now could she?
Using Saro to help her, she waited until he understood, or at least she hoped he understood, what she wanted him to do. Between the two of them, they gently lifted Mwenye off the ground, using his blanket as a stretcher, and brought him out into the sunlight, away from the gloomy interior of his tent. She stopped and talked Saro through making a wide circle so that he could be the one walking backwards, mostly using her shoulder and nudging it in the direction she wanted him to go.
The way the Bedoan tents were set up, in neat rows, there were clear paths that they could take to the medical hawe, which was unmissable due to it’s purple fabric with blue and white stripes. It was there that they would deposit Mwenye to be cared for as one of the patients that needed more watching and more care. After all, he was their prophet.
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Tanishe surveyed Mwenye, knowing he was definitely more ill than most. She wouldn’t be able to move him on her own. Waiting until he’d complied with her request, she took the cup from him and watched as his eyelids slid closed. At first, he still appeared somewhat pained, but as sleep overtook him, the muscles of his face relaxed and he looked peaceful. Peaceful and shining with sweat. This close to him, she didn’t have to actually touch him to feel the heat radiating off his skin like blazing hot sun on the endless sands.
Setting the cup down, Tanishe rose and moved to the tent’s entrance. There, walking tall and pale like a man from the beyond, was Saro. Was he a gift from the Ancestors? He must be, always in the right place at the right time. Tanishe waved to get his attention. Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to shout. Raising her voice was so against her own nature that she hated to do it even for a good reason.
Her hand curled by her face as she waited for him to notice her. It took two tries, her bracelets making more sound than her voice did, clinking away down her arm as she waved it, until Saro noticed her. She waved him over and waited until he was within a normal speaking distance before saying, “Please help?” Of course he wouldn’t know much, if any, of their language, but Tanishe made large gestures and pointed inside the ill smelling tent to where Mwenye lay.
“He is ill,” Tanishe was saying, pressing her fingertips to her forehead and then jerking them away as though her own forehead was too hot to touch. And then, “I need to move him.” For this, she ducked back into the tent and crouched at Mwenye’s feet, ready to pick up the blanket corners there beneath him and pointed for Saro to get his head. “We take him to the hawe,” she was saying, aiming to come back for her bucket of water later. She couldn’t very well carry both, now could she?
Using Saro to help her, she waited until he understood, or at least she hoped he understood, what she wanted him to do. Between the two of them, they gently lifted Mwenye off the ground, using his blanket as a stretcher, and brought him out into the sunlight, away from the gloomy interior of his tent. She stopped and talked Saro through making a wide circle so that he could be the one walking backwards, mostly using her shoulder and nudging it in the direction she wanted him to go.
The way the Bedoan tents were set up, in neat rows, there were clear paths that they could take to the medical hawe, which was unmissable due to it’s purple fabric with blue and white stripes. It was there that they would deposit Mwenye to be cared for as one of the patients that needed more watching and more care. After all, he was their prophet.
Tanishe surveyed Mwenye, knowing he was definitely more ill than most. She wouldn’t be able to move him on her own. Waiting until he’d complied with her request, she took the cup from him and watched as his eyelids slid closed. At first, he still appeared somewhat pained, but as sleep overtook him, the muscles of his face relaxed and he looked peaceful. Peaceful and shining with sweat. This close to him, she didn’t have to actually touch him to feel the heat radiating off his skin like blazing hot sun on the endless sands.
Setting the cup down, Tanishe rose and moved to the tent’s entrance. There, walking tall and pale like a man from the beyond, was Saro. Was he a gift from the Ancestors? He must be, always in the right place at the right time. Tanishe waved to get his attention. Even now, she couldn’t bring herself to shout. Raising her voice was so against her own nature that she hated to do it even for a good reason.
Her hand curled by her face as she waited for him to notice her. It took two tries, her bracelets making more sound than her voice did, clinking away down her arm as she waved it, until Saro noticed her. She waved him over and waited until he was within a normal speaking distance before saying, “Please help?” Of course he wouldn’t know much, if any, of their language, but Tanishe made large gestures and pointed inside the ill smelling tent to where Mwenye lay.
“He is ill,” Tanishe was saying, pressing her fingertips to her forehead and then jerking them away as though her own forehead was too hot to touch. And then, “I need to move him.” For this, she ducked back into the tent and crouched at Mwenye’s feet, ready to pick up the blanket corners there beneath him and pointed for Saro to get his head. “We take him to the hawe,” she was saying, aiming to come back for her bucket of water later. She couldn’t very well carry both, now could she?
Using Saro to help her, she waited until he understood, or at least she hoped he understood, what she wanted him to do. Between the two of them, they gently lifted Mwenye off the ground, using his blanket as a stretcher, and brought him out into the sunlight, away from the gloomy interior of his tent. She stopped and talked Saro through making a wide circle so that he could be the one walking backwards, mostly using her shoulder and nudging it in the direction she wanted him to go.
The way the Bedoan tents were set up, in neat rows, there were clear paths that they could take to the medical hawe, which was unmissable due to it’s purple fabric with blue and white stripes. It was there that they would deposit Mwenye to be cared for as one of the patients that needed more watching and more care. After all, he was their prophet.
Saro’s attention was caught by Tanishe waving, and he turned his attention to her, making his way over. She looked concerned, and he wondered what could possibly be going on to make her so worried. He supposed she would tell him, clearly she wanted him to come over for a reason. His assumption was she had work for him to do.
Saro wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying, but he could sort of guess the context from her actions, and the worry that was written on her features. He didn’t question it, assuming what ever it was needed his attention now, he ducked into the tent with her and saw her go over to Mwenye who was laying on a blanket and not looking overly well. The man was strange, but Saro had no problems with him and definitely did not wish any harm on him. He understood the point as Tanishe grabbed the end of the blanket he laid on.
The pirate quickly hurried to the front of the blanket, following Tanishe’s example, he grabbed the corners tightly, making sure he would be able to carry the weight of the prophet on the blanket without it slipping from his grip. He gave Tanishe a nod to signal that he was ready for them to team lift him. At least he was not overly heavy.
They lifted him without any real problems, and Saro let Tanishe lead them to the medical tent, matching her pace to make sure that neither of them were tripping over their feet trying to keep up without dropping the man off the blanket. They made it to the tent and placed him gently on a cot. But Saro did not leave quite yet. He had no idea what was wrong with him, his medical knowledge was very limited, on the ship if you got sick you either got over it or you died and found yourself in a watery grave.
He wasn’t sure she would understand that he was there to help, but he stepped back to give her room for what she needed, but stood there waiting for any instructions. At a time like this it would be nice for him to be fluent in her language, or her in one of his, but unfortunately they were not and it wasn’t as if there was time or that much of a reason to go and fetch someone to translate. He was sure that they could get by with motions and pointing.
For the most part he assumed the only things she would need from him she would be able to point to and he would bring them. There wasn’t much else for him to do, he did not know how to help Mwenye, and he had no idea if Tanishe knew how either.
At the moment he was a little worried that it might be something contagious, if it was, it could easily spread through the whole encampment, and he sure hoped that they wouldn’t find some reason to blame him for such things. He didn’t see how it was something he could have brought, he wasn’t sick.
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Saro’s attention was caught by Tanishe waving, and he turned his attention to her, making his way over. She looked concerned, and he wondered what could possibly be going on to make her so worried. He supposed she would tell him, clearly she wanted him to come over for a reason. His assumption was she had work for him to do.
Saro wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying, but he could sort of guess the context from her actions, and the worry that was written on her features. He didn’t question it, assuming what ever it was needed his attention now, he ducked into the tent with her and saw her go over to Mwenye who was laying on a blanket and not looking overly well. The man was strange, but Saro had no problems with him and definitely did not wish any harm on him. He understood the point as Tanishe grabbed the end of the blanket he laid on.
The pirate quickly hurried to the front of the blanket, following Tanishe’s example, he grabbed the corners tightly, making sure he would be able to carry the weight of the prophet on the blanket without it slipping from his grip. He gave Tanishe a nod to signal that he was ready for them to team lift him. At least he was not overly heavy.
They lifted him without any real problems, and Saro let Tanishe lead them to the medical tent, matching her pace to make sure that neither of them were tripping over their feet trying to keep up without dropping the man off the blanket. They made it to the tent and placed him gently on a cot. But Saro did not leave quite yet. He had no idea what was wrong with him, his medical knowledge was very limited, on the ship if you got sick you either got over it or you died and found yourself in a watery grave.
He wasn’t sure she would understand that he was there to help, but he stepped back to give her room for what she needed, but stood there waiting for any instructions. At a time like this it would be nice for him to be fluent in her language, or her in one of his, but unfortunately they were not and it wasn’t as if there was time or that much of a reason to go and fetch someone to translate. He was sure that they could get by with motions and pointing.
For the most part he assumed the only things she would need from him she would be able to point to and he would bring them. There wasn’t much else for him to do, he did not know how to help Mwenye, and he had no idea if Tanishe knew how either.
At the moment he was a little worried that it might be something contagious, if it was, it could easily spread through the whole encampment, and he sure hoped that they wouldn’t find some reason to blame him for such things. He didn’t see how it was something he could have brought, he wasn’t sick.
Saro’s attention was caught by Tanishe waving, and he turned his attention to her, making his way over. She looked concerned, and he wondered what could possibly be going on to make her so worried. He supposed she would tell him, clearly she wanted him to come over for a reason. His assumption was she had work for him to do.
Saro wasn’t entirely sure what she was saying, but he could sort of guess the context from her actions, and the worry that was written on her features. He didn’t question it, assuming what ever it was needed his attention now, he ducked into the tent with her and saw her go over to Mwenye who was laying on a blanket and not looking overly well. The man was strange, but Saro had no problems with him and definitely did not wish any harm on him. He understood the point as Tanishe grabbed the end of the blanket he laid on.
The pirate quickly hurried to the front of the blanket, following Tanishe’s example, he grabbed the corners tightly, making sure he would be able to carry the weight of the prophet on the blanket without it slipping from his grip. He gave Tanishe a nod to signal that he was ready for them to team lift him. At least he was not overly heavy.
They lifted him without any real problems, and Saro let Tanishe lead them to the medical tent, matching her pace to make sure that neither of them were tripping over their feet trying to keep up without dropping the man off the blanket. They made it to the tent and placed him gently on a cot. But Saro did not leave quite yet. He had no idea what was wrong with him, his medical knowledge was very limited, on the ship if you got sick you either got over it or you died and found yourself in a watery grave.
He wasn’t sure she would understand that he was there to help, but he stepped back to give her room for what she needed, but stood there waiting for any instructions. At a time like this it would be nice for him to be fluent in her language, or her in one of his, but unfortunately they were not and it wasn’t as if there was time or that much of a reason to go and fetch someone to translate. He was sure that they could get by with motions and pointing.
For the most part he assumed the only things she would need from him she would be able to point to and he would bring them. There wasn’t much else for him to do, he did not know how to help Mwenye, and he had no idea if Tanishe knew how either.
At the moment he was a little worried that it might be something contagious, if it was, it could easily spread through the whole encampment, and he sure hoped that they wouldn’t find some reason to blame him for such things. He didn’t see how it was something he could have brought, he wasn’t sick.
Gossip Heated Flesh
"The ancestors... they are punishing us!"
"They must be... why else is this plague struck upon our Gesin?"
"It's not just our Gesin - it's others too! This is a curse upon all Bedoans. It is like our forebears suffered with Oorsprong. What is it that we've done?"
"We should all start to pray..."
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"They must be... why else is this plague struck upon our Gesin?"
"It's not just our Gesin - it's others too! This is a curse upon all Bedoans. It is like our forebears suffered with Oorsprong. What is it that we've done?"
"We should all start to pray..."
Gossip Heated Flesh
"The ancestors... they are punishing us!"
"They must be... why else is this plague struck upon our Gesin?"
"It's not just our Gesin - it's others too! This is a curse upon all Bedoans. It is like our forebears suffered with Oorsprong. What is it that we've done?"
"We should all start to pray..."
Tanishe was not a woman to curse and she did not do it now, even though she tried several times to get Saro to lead the way. She’d wanted him to do it because she could simply direct him, being the one who would act as a rudder. Though she used her shoulder to point, widened her eyes, practically craned her neck in the direction of the medical hawe, it was in vain. Her headwrap nearly slipped off and the tightening and pulling of her braids made her give up. Smiling at Saro, with only a mild sigh her only betrayal of slight unhappiness, she took the lead. The irritation was so minor that by the time she finally took the backwards steps necessary to start their journey, her features were serene again and she was only interested in getting the prophet to the medical hawe. This was no one’s fault, of course. She couldn’t speak Saro’s native tongue any better than he could understand hers. It was just...one of those things.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as they moved and she wished that there was someone else to take Mwenye but, the problem was, people were falling ill quickly and the warriors, who spent their time training together, laughing with each other, sharing fires and meals together, were all collectively coming down with the fever. Whispers eeked out of tents they passed like an evil fog, with voices all speaking that this was some sort of judgement from the ancestors. Maybe. Or maybe it was simply an illness. Tanishe was not a prophetess but she did deal with the ill more often than most and noticed trends. When people congregated together, illness spread. Whether from close contact or gross vileness of heart, she did not know, nor was she sure that the two weren’t linked.
She and Saro, as gently as they could do, transported Mwenye to the medical hawe, placing him, blanket and all, on the cot. Tanishe moved around Saro, getting a cloth and placing it on Mwenye’s burning forehead. Brushing the backs of her fingers against Mwenye’s skin, she winced at the heat. Not good. Nearly immediately, another physician came over to take over examination, leaving Tanishe free to return to her previous duties. When she noticed Saro standing there looking like he needed something to do, she reached for a fresh jug of water and placed it gingerly in his arms.
“Come,” she said and at the same time gestured for him to follow. “We will go see who else is ill.” This was going to be quite the day. Of course, the tent was not large enough for the entire tribe to fit in. Not even an eighth of them would fit. This was for either the most important of tribe members, or the most ill who had a reasonable chance of recovery. The rest? They would stay with family and be cared for as best they could while Tanishe and her counterparts went around delivering tea and supplies whenever they could.
“I am going to be run ragged,” Tanishe said softly to Saro as they walked along the rows to Mwenye’s tent, where she’d left her water bucket and cup. Once those were retrieved, she looked to the next tent. “I’m going to use you as a beast of burden,” she told him, knowing full well he wouldn’t understand. “I can’t carry the next one on my own.” And off they went to the next person.
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May 28, 2020 15:20:20 GMT
Posted In Heated Flesh on May 28, 2020 15:20:20 GMT
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Tanishe was not a woman to curse and she did not do it now, even though she tried several times to get Saro to lead the way. She’d wanted him to do it because she could simply direct him, being the one who would act as a rudder. Though she used her shoulder to point, widened her eyes, practically craned her neck in the direction of the medical hawe, it was in vain. Her headwrap nearly slipped off and the tightening and pulling of her braids made her give up. Smiling at Saro, with only a mild sigh her only betrayal of slight unhappiness, she took the lead. The irritation was so minor that by the time she finally took the backwards steps necessary to start their journey, her features were serene again and she was only interested in getting the prophet to the medical hawe. This was no one’s fault, of course. She couldn’t speak Saro’s native tongue any better than he could understand hers. It was just...one of those things.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as they moved and she wished that there was someone else to take Mwenye but, the problem was, people were falling ill quickly and the warriors, who spent their time training together, laughing with each other, sharing fires and meals together, were all collectively coming down with the fever. Whispers eeked out of tents they passed like an evil fog, with voices all speaking that this was some sort of judgement from the ancestors. Maybe. Or maybe it was simply an illness. Tanishe was not a prophetess but she did deal with the ill more often than most and noticed trends. When people congregated together, illness spread. Whether from close contact or gross vileness of heart, she did not know, nor was she sure that the two weren’t linked.
She and Saro, as gently as they could do, transported Mwenye to the medical hawe, placing him, blanket and all, on the cot. Tanishe moved around Saro, getting a cloth and placing it on Mwenye’s burning forehead. Brushing the backs of her fingers against Mwenye’s skin, she winced at the heat. Not good. Nearly immediately, another physician came over to take over examination, leaving Tanishe free to return to her previous duties. When she noticed Saro standing there looking like he needed something to do, she reached for a fresh jug of water and placed it gingerly in his arms.
“Come,” she said and at the same time gestured for him to follow. “We will go see who else is ill.” This was going to be quite the day. Of course, the tent was not large enough for the entire tribe to fit in. Not even an eighth of them would fit. This was for either the most important of tribe members, or the most ill who had a reasonable chance of recovery. The rest? They would stay with family and be cared for as best they could while Tanishe and her counterparts went around delivering tea and supplies whenever they could.
“I am going to be run ragged,” Tanishe said softly to Saro as they walked along the rows to Mwenye’s tent, where she’d left her water bucket and cup. Once those were retrieved, she looked to the next tent. “I’m going to use you as a beast of burden,” she told him, knowing full well he wouldn’t understand. “I can’t carry the next one on my own.” And off they went to the next person.
Tanishe was not a woman to curse and she did not do it now, even though she tried several times to get Saro to lead the way. She’d wanted him to do it because she could simply direct him, being the one who would act as a rudder. Though she used her shoulder to point, widened her eyes, practically craned her neck in the direction of the medical hawe, it was in vain. Her headwrap nearly slipped off and the tightening and pulling of her braids made her give up. Smiling at Saro, with only a mild sigh her only betrayal of slight unhappiness, she took the lead. The irritation was so minor that by the time she finally took the backwards steps necessary to start their journey, her features were serene again and she was only interested in getting the prophet to the medical hawe. This was no one’s fault, of course. She couldn’t speak Saro’s native tongue any better than he could understand hers. It was just...one of those things.
Sweat beaded on her forehead as they moved and she wished that there was someone else to take Mwenye but, the problem was, people were falling ill quickly and the warriors, who spent their time training together, laughing with each other, sharing fires and meals together, were all collectively coming down with the fever. Whispers eeked out of tents they passed like an evil fog, with voices all speaking that this was some sort of judgement from the ancestors. Maybe. Or maybe it was simply an illness. Tanishe was not a prophetess but she did deal with the ill more often than most and noticed trends. When people congregated together, illness spread. Whether from close contact or gross vileness of heart, she did not know, nor was she sure that the two weren’t linked.
She and Saro, as gently as they could do, transported Mwenye to the medical hawe, placing him, blanket and all, on the cot. Tanishe moved around Saro, getting a cloth and placing it on Mwenye’s burning forehead. Brushing the backs of her fingers against Mwenye’s skin, she winced at the heat. Not good. Nearly immediately, another physician came over to take over examination, leaving Tanishe free to return to her previous duties. When she noticed Saro standing there looking like he needed something to do, she reached for a fresh jug of water and placed it gingerly in his arms.
“Come,” she said and at the same time gestured for him to follow. “We will go see who else is ill.” This was going to be quite the day. Of course, the tent was not large enough for the entire tribe to fit in. Not even an eighth of them would fit. This was for either the most important of tribe members, or the most ill who had a reasonable chance of recovery. The rest? They would stay with family and be cared for as best they could while Tanishe and her counterparts went around delivering tea and supplies whenever they could.
“I am going to be run ragged,” Tanishe said softly to Saro as they walked along the rows to Mwenye’s tent, where she’d left her water bucket and cup. Once those were retrieved, she looked to the next tent. “I’m going to use you as a beast of burden,” she told him, knowing full well he wouldn’t understand. “I can’t carry the next one on my own.” And off they went to the next person.
The desert sands were hot. The Port of the West, despite the soft breeze from the bay, was hot. The little clothing the leier did wear felt like it was choking him off, making him overwhelmingly hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. It was the only word that he could think in that moment, settled down with one of the elders who had been struck hard with fever. Hasani had the man braced against his side and was ladling the warm tea down the throat of the elder, the back of his hand pressed to the older man's forehead.
Hasani was no healer, but he knew how warm someone felt when fever had taken them. The problem was... the old man didn't feel any warmer than himself. That had anxiety gnawing sharply at the leier's stomach, and he ignored it, unwilling to admit that he was one of the sick.
It was not long before Hasani had helped the healer settle the elder down in the medicine tent. There was little discussion between the healer and the leier, except for the young woman to close the distance between the two of them. Her delicate hand pressed to his forehead and her mouth immediately twisted into a frown, "Leier," Hanni said quietly, reaching her other hand for his arm in a rather swift motion. "You should lay down," she continued in a soft manner, "You're burning up."
Hasani could only stare at her, his stomach seeming to drop with the furthered anxiety that he felt. "But I..." the man started, wanting to be stubborn right away. Hasani stopped himself from speaking, knowing that it would be no good to walk among both healthy and sick if he were also ill.
If the fever was to take his mind the way it had started taking those of his tribe, then he would be utterly useless. Leier or not, he would not be useful if he could not articulate words, and already, his mind could hardly make sense of anything at all. His dark gaze slid carefully toward the middle of the tent as he tried to recall the name of the healer in front of him, a girl he had seen born when he was only ten. He couldn't think of Hanni's name and that frustrated him. "Yes, I think you're right," Hasani finally said, his tone defeated.
Hanni pulled her hand from his forehead, her delicate features starting to knit with concern as she started to guide Hasani toward a seat. "Someone find the leierin," she threw over her shoulder at whatever other healers or slaves were in the healing hawe.
A young male slave shot out of the tent and down the rows of Zaire hawes, in search of the leierin. He was thankful he found her so quickly, having known her to be checking in on the tribe's prophet. He skidded to a halt on the sand behind her. "Leierin!" the young boy cried, "The leier has taken fever," he declared, turning and pointing back toward the medicine hawe.
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The desert sands were hot. The Port of the West, despite the soft breeze from the bay, was hot. The little clothing the leier did wear felt like it was choking him off, making him overwhelmingly hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. It was the only word that he could think in that moment, settled down with one of the elders who had been struck hard with fever. Hasani had the man braced against his side and was ladling the warm tea down the throat of the elder, the back of his hand pressed to the older man's forehead.
Hasani was no healer, but he knew how warm someone felt when fever had taken them. The problem was... the old man didn't feel any warmer than himself. That had anxiety gnawing sharply at the leier's stomach, and he ignored it, unwilling to admit that he was one of the sick.
It was not long before Hasani had helped the healer settle the elder down in the medicine tent. There was little discussion between the healer and the leier, except for the young woman to close the distance between the two of them. Her delicate hand pressed to his forehead and her mouth immediately twisted into a frown, "Leier," Hanni said quietly, reaching her other hand for his arm in a rather swift motion. "You should lay down," she continued in a soft manner, "You're burning up."
Hasani could only stare at her, his stomach seeming to drop with the furthered anxiety that he felt. "But I..." the man started, wanting to be stubborn right away. Hasani stopped himself from speaking, knowing that it would be no good to walk among both healthy and sick if he were also ill.
If the fever was to take his mind the way it had started taking those of his tribe, then he would be utterly useless. Leier or not, he would not be useful if he could not articulate words, and already, his mind could hardly make sense of anything at all. His dark gaze slid carefully toward the middle of the tent as he tried to recall the name of the healer in front of him, a girl he had seen born when he was only ten. He couldn't think of Hanni's name and that frustrated him. "Yes, I think you're right," Hasani finally said, his tone defeated.
Hanni pulled her hand from his forehead, her delicate features starting to knit with concern as she started to guide Hasani toward a seat. "Someone find the leierin," she threw over her shoulder at whatever other healers or slaves were in the healing hawe.
A young male slave shot out of the tent and down the rows of Zaire hawes, in search of the leierin. He was thankful he found her so quickly, having known her to be checking in on the tribe's prophet. He skidded to a halt on the sand behind her. "Leierin!" the young boy cried, "The leier has taken fever," he declared, turning and pointing back toward the medicine hawe.
The desert sands were hot. The Port of the West, despite the soft breeze from the bay, was hot. The little clothing the leier did wear felt like it was choking him off, making him overwhelmingly hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. It was the only word that he could think in that moment, settled down with one of the elders who had been struck hard with fever. Hasani had the man braced against his side and was ladling the warm tea down the throat of the elder, the back of his hand pressed to the older man's forehead.
Hasani was no healer, but he knew how warm someone felt when fever had taken them. The problem was... the old man didn't feel any warmer than himself. That had anxiety gnawing sharply at the leier's stomach, and he ignored it, unwilling to admit that he was one of the sick.
It was not long before Hasani had helped the healer settle the elder down in the medicine tent. There was little discussion between the healer and the leier, except for the young woman to close the distance between the two of them. Her delicate hand pressed to his forehead and her mouth immediately twisted into a frown, "Leier," Hanni said quietly, reaching her other hand for his arm in a rather swift motion. "You should lay down," she continued in a soft manner, "You're burning up."
Hasani could only stare at her, his stomach seeming to drop with the furthered anxiety that he felt. "But I..." the man started, wanting to be stubborn right away. Hasani stopped himself from speaking, knowing that it would be no good to walk among both healthy and sick if he were also ill.
If the fever was to take his mind the way it had started taking those of his tribe, then he would be utterly useless. Leier or not, he would not be useful if he could not articulate words, and already, his mind could hardly make sense of anything at all. His dark gaze slid carefully toward the middle of the tent as he tried to recall the name of the healer in front of him, a girl he had seen born when he was only ten. He couldn't think of Hanni's name and that frustrated him. "Yes, I think you're right," Hasani finally said, his tone defeated.
Hanni pulled her hand from his forehead, her delicate features starting to knit with concern as she started to guide Hasani toward a seat. "Someone find the leierin," she threw over her shoulder at whatever other healers or slaves were in the healing hawe.
A young male slave shot out of the tent and down the rows of Zaire hawes, in search of the leierin. He was thankful he found her so quickly, having known her to be checking in on the tribe's prophet. He skidded to a halt on the sand behind her. "Leierin!" the young boy cried, "The leier has taken fever," he declared, turning and pointing back toward the medicine hawe.
Saro took the water was it was handed to him, glad to at least have something to do. He knew very little about anything medical, but he wanted to help, so what ever Tanishe and the other healers needed, he would be there to help. He was not someone who would just stand aside and watch the rest of them scramble as their people fell sick and potentially died.
He just hoped like hell that he didn’t come down with what ever they were getting. He had no idea how it worked, but he knew that sometimes things could spread from one person to another.
But he had no idea if this was one of those things, or if something had just happened to cause it, or why this had started to spread. Saro knew very very little about medical issues, and what he did know was very basic. Put pressure on a wound to try to stop the bleeding, clean it out with alcohol, keep clean bandages on it. Cut off infected limbs where possible. That was the extent to what Saro knew when it came to any sort of medical knowledge. That was all he had ever needed to know.
He followed her, even if he only understood part of what she had said to him, he had a pretty good guess what his use would be as he hauled the jug of water along behind her. He was used a lot among the tribe for exactly this, and he didn’t complain. He needed to pay his dues, to carry his own weight since they had been kind enough to bring him in and allow him to stay with them.
They had just begun to tend to those who would not fit in the medical tent, when someone came running up to them, shouting in a panicked voice. He didn’t know exactly what was being said, but what he did catch made him believe that Hasani had come down with the fever. He felt his heart drop and he looked over at Tanishe.
He would let her decide if they went to her husband, or left him in the hands of the other healers and continued on with the others. From what he could gather, not only from Tanishe and Hasani’s relationship, but from how important the leader was to these tribes, they would likely make their way back quickly to the medical tent to tend to Hasani.
But it was not his call to make.
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Saro took the water was it was handed to him, glad to at least have something to do. He knew very little about anything medical, but he wanted to help, so what ever Tanishe and the other healers needed, he would be there to help. He was not someone who would just stand aside and watch the rest of them scramble as their people fell sick and potentially died.
He just hoped like hell that he didn’t come down with what ever they were getting. He had no idea how it worked, but he knew that sometimes things could spread from one person to another.
But he had no idea if this was one of those things, or if something had just happened to cause it, or why this had started to spread. Saro knew very very little about medical issues, and what he did know was very basic. Put pressure on a wound to try to stop the bleeding, clean it out with alcohol, keep clean bandages on it. Cut off infected limbs where possible. That was the extent to what Saro knew when it came to any sort of medical knowledge. That was all he had ever needed to know.
He followed her, even if he only understood part of what she had said to him, he had a pretty good guess what his use would be as he hauled the jug of water along behind her. He was used a lot among the tribe for exactly this, and he didn’t complain. He needed to pay his dues, to carry his own weight since they had been kind enough to bring him in and allow him to stay with them.
They had just begun to tend to those who would not fit in the medical tent, when someone came running up to them, shouting in a panicked voice. He didn’t know exactly what was being said, but what he did catch made him believe that Hasani had come down with the fever. He felt his heart drop and he looked over at Tanishe.
He would let her decide if they went to her husband, or left him in the hands of the other healers and continued on with the others. From what he could gather, not only from Tanishe and Hasani’s relationship, but from how important the leader was to these tribes, they would likely make their way back quickly to the medical tent to tend to Hasani.
But it was not his call to make.
Saro took the water was it was handed to him, glad to at least have something to do. He knew very little about anything medical, but he wanted to help, so what ever Tanishe and the other healers needed, he would be there to help. He was not someone who would just stand aside and watch the rest of them scramble as their people fell sick and potentially died.
He just hoped like hell that he didn’t come down with what ever they were getting. He had no idea how it worked, but he knew that sometimes things could spread from one person to another.
But he had no idea if this was one of those things, or if something had just happened to cause it, or why this had started to spread. Saro knew very very little about medical issues, and what he did know was very basic. Put pressure on a wound to try to stop the bleeding, clean it out with alcohol, keep clean bandages on it. Cut off infected limbs where possible. That was the extent to what Saro knew when it came to any sort of medical knowledge. That was all he had ever needed to know.
He followed her, even if he only understood part of what she had said to him, he had a pretty good guess what his use would be as he hauled the jug of water along behind her. He was used a lot among the tribe for exactly this, and he didn’t complain. He needed to pay his dues, to carry his own weight since they had been kind enough to bring him in and allow him to stay with them.
They had just begun to tend to those who would not fit in the medical tent, when someone came running up to them, shouting in a panicked voice. He didn’t know exactly what was being said, but what he did catch made him believe that Hasani had come down with the fever. He felt his heart drop and he looked over at Tanishe.
He would let her decide if they went to her husband, or left him in the hands of the other healers and continued on with the others. From what he could gather, not only from Tanishe and Hasani’s relationship, but from how important the leader was to these tribes, they would likely make their way back quickly to the medical tent to tend to Hasani.
But it was not his call to make.
Tanishe wiped the back of her hand across the wet sheen of her forehead as her eyes roamed the expanse of tents. There were so many people and there was so much potential for the fever to spread. She stood outside of the tent entrance of the last person they’d helped, her thoughts wandering over the logistics of possibly splitting the camp in two and how much work that might be versus how much it might help. The problem was that she hadn’t ever dealt with the scale of something like this on her own. She was acutely aware of what rampant illness could do to her tribe. Her own father was carried off to the ancestors by illness. A great leier like him should have fallen in a fight like a warrior or died peacefully once his hair was white as snow capped mountains.
She drew in a heavy breath and exhaled it slowly, trying to clear the past from her mind. Dull thuds pattering down the row drew her notice and she watched a boy dashing towards them. What now? Judging by his speed, she guessed that it was nothing to do with fever. Perhaps someone was more grievously injured. That she could more abley and readily deal with.
”The leier has taken fever!”
Tanishe glanced at Saro, then back at the boy. Images of her father’s face contorted in pain hit her forcefully again. Her brother Sange had nearly succumbed to the disease. She swallowed, working her jaw. “Thank you,” she said with all the serenity she could muster. She then asked the boy who was tending to Hasani. When she learned it was Hanni, she nodded. “Good. I will go to him when I have finished these rounds.”
Truthfully she wanted to go to him now. She wanted to sink to her knees beside his bed and to be the one dabbing a cloth of cool water against his forehead and cheeks and chest. She wanted to be the one to smooth the herbs on his chest and to prepare the tea he needed to take. She wanted to adjust his pillow, to pile him with blankets and to douse him with cold water by turns. But Tanishe did not bow to what she wanted. She was Leierin. That meant that what she wanted did not ultimately matter. Her husband was in the care of capable healers and her tribe needed her to finish this task first. Any healer could and would perform the tasks for Hasani. The knowledge was not a secret kept to herself.
To her companion, she softly said, “Come. There is more work to be done.” And continued on down the row to the next tent. Hasani might want her there, but if he was lucid enough, he would understand why she could not and would not come immediately. Even if she did, his fever would not be reduced simply due to her presence. He could wait. He would not die within the hour.
They kept on with their task, Tanishe mostly blocking out Hasani from her thoughts so that she could focus on the other members of her tribe. She and Saro had to go get clean water several times, to make new tea several times, and to refill the water bucket more than once. It was evening by the time that they made it to the medical hawe. Tanishe came to the side of Hasani’s bed and eased herself onto the edge. “My leier,” she said softly. “You have been careless.” She tucked his sheets around him more carefully as she spoke. “It is reckless to get sick. You must be well. We need you.”
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Tanishe wiped the back of her hand across the wet sheen of her forehead as her eyes roamed the expanse of tents. There were so many people and there was so much potential for the fever to spread. She stood outside of the tent entrance of the last person they’d helped, her thoughts wandering over the logistics of possibly splitting the camp in two and how much work that might be versus how much it might help. The problem was that she hadn’t ever dealt with the scale of something like this on her own. She was acutely aware of what rampant illness could do to her tribe. Her own father was carried off to the ancestors by illness. A great leier like him should have fallen in a fight like a warrior or died peacefully once his hair was white as snow capped mountains.
She drew in a heavy breath and exhaled it slowly, trying to clear the past from her mind. Dull thuds pattering down the row drew her notice and she watched a boy dashing towards them. What now? Judging by his speed, she guessed that it was nothing to do with fever. Perhaps someone was more grievously injured. That she could more abley and readily deal with.
”The leier has taken fever!”
Tanishe glanced at Saro, then back at the boy. Images of her father’s face contorted in pain hit her forcefully again. Her brother Sange had nearly succumbed to the disease. She swallowed, working her jaw. “Thank you,” she said with all the serenity she could muster. She then asked the boy who was tending to Hasani. When she learned it was Hanni, she nodded. “Good. I will go to him when I have finished these rounds.”
Truthfully she wanted to go to him now. She wanted to sink to her knees beside his bed and to be the one dabbing a cloth of cool water against his forehead and cheeks and chest. She wanted to be the one to smooth the herbs on his chest and to prepare the tea he needed to take. She wanted to adjust his pillow, to pile him with blankets and to douse him with cold water by turns. But Tanishe did not bow to what she wanted. She was Leierin. That meant that what she wanted did not ultimately matter. Her husband was in the care of capable healers and her tribe needed her to finish this task first. Any healer could and would perform the tasks for Hasani. The knowledge was not a secret kept to herself.
To her companion, she softly said, “Come. There is more work to be done.” And continued on down the row to the next tent. Hasani might want her there, but if he was lucid enough, he would understand why she could not and would not come immediately. Even if she did, his fever would not be reduced simply due to her presence. He could wait. He would not die within the hour.
They kept on with their task, Tanishe mostly blocking out Hasani from her thoughts so that she could focus on the other members of her tribe. She and Saro had to go get clean water several times, to make new tea several times, and to refill the water bucket more than once. It was evening by the time that they made it to the medical hawe. Tanishe came to the side of Hasani’s bed and eased herself onto the edge. “My leier,” she said softly. “You have been careless.” She tucked his sheets around him more carefully as she spoke. “It is reckless to get sick. You must be well. We need you.”
Tanishe wiped the back of her hand across the wet sheen of her forehead as her eyes roamed the expanse of tents. There were so many people and there was so much potential for the fever to spread. She stood outside of the tent entrance of the last person they’d helped, her thoughts wandering over the logistics of possibly splitting the camp in two and how much work that might be versus how much it might help. The problem was that she hadn’t ever dealt with the scale of something like this on her own. She was acutely aware of what rampant illness could do to her tribe. Her own father was carried off to the ancestors by illness. A great leier like him should have fallen in a fight like a warrior or died peacefully once his hair was white as snow capped mountains.
She drew in a heavy breath and exhaled it slowly, trying to clear the past from her mind. Dull thuds pattering down the row drew her notice and she watched a boy dashing towards them. What now? Judging by his speed, she guessed that it was nothing to do with fever. Perhaps someone was more grievously injured. That she could more abley and readily deal with.
”The leier has taken fever!”
Tanishe glanced at Saro, then back at the boy. Images of her father’s face contorted in pain hit her forcefully again. Her brother Sange had nearly succumbed to the disease. She swallowed, working her jaw. “Thank you,” she said with all the serenity she could muster. She then asked the boy who was tending to Hasani. When she learned it was Hanni, she nodded. “Good. I will go to him when I have finished these rounds.”
Truthfully she wanted to go to him now. She wanted to sink to her knees beside his bed and to be the one dabbing a cloth of cool water against his forehead and cheeks and chest. She wanted to be the one to smooth the herbs on his chest and to prepare the tea he needed to take. She wanted to adjust his pillow, to pile him with blankets and to douse him with cold water by turns. But Tanishe did not bow to what she wanted. She was Leierin. That meant that what she wanted did not ultimately matter. Her husband was in the care of capable healers and her tribe needed her to finish this task first. Any healer could and would perform the tasks for Hasani. The knowledge was not a secret kept to herself.
To her companion, she softly said, “Come. There is more work to be done.” And continued on down the row to the next tent. Hasani might want her there, but if he was lucid enough, he would understand why she could not and would not come immediately. Even if she did, his fever would not be reduced simply due to her presence. He could wait. He would not die within the hour.
They kept on with their task, Tanishe mostly blocking out Hasani from her thoughts so that she could focus on the other members of her tribe. She and Saro had to go get clean water several times, to make new tea several times, and to refill the water bucket more than once. It was evening by the time that they made it to the medical hawe. Tanishe came to the side of Hasani’s bed and eased herself onto the edge. “My leier,” she said softly. “You have been careless.” She tucked his sheets around him more carefully as she spoke. “It is reckless to get sick. You must be well. We need you.”
Saro had a decent amount of respect for Tanishe as it was, but that only increased as she didn’t immediately run to her husbands side. He knew most people would, but Tanishe wanted to take care of her people first and foremost. Hasani was not the only one who fell ill during this time. There were many who needed assistance, and while he knew that she could not take care of all of them, the two of them needed to try. He would do what ever was needed of him to help the Leieren.
He nodded as she said they should start moving on, that they should get to work. He completely agreed. The two of them needed to tend to those that needed them. He too worried for Hasani, likely not as much as his wife did, but the two of them had started bonding and Saro considered him a friend. The last thing he wanted to see was Hasani fall ill and potentially lose his life from this. He just had to believe that it wouldn’t happen, he had to be optimistic.
He followed her for the day, carrying what ever she needed him to carry, helping move people so they could be comfortable, brewing tea and helping her get them to drink it. What ever Tanishe asked of him, he did no questions asked. She was the one who would know how to deal with this. When a fever broke out on the boat, the crew members were isolated and they would either recover or they would die and that would be it. There was no tending to them and there was no nursing them back to health.
They finally made it back to the medical tent, and Tanishe immediately went to her husband unsurprisingly. Saro did not want to intrude on their moment, so instead he started helping around the tent. If Tanishe needed him, he knew that she would call him with no hesitation. He would visit with Hasani when Tanishe had had a chance to tend to him, to make sure he was at least sort of okay.
Some of the healers called out, both of them were smaller woman, and they were trying to help a larger warrior into the tent, the large man nearly pulling them both down with his inability to walk. Saro hurried over.
While he was not as big as most of the tribes warriors, he would be able to help the man walk to a bed a lot easier than the small healer women.
He ducked under the man’s arm and helped him over, shouldering most of his weight since the warrior could hardly walk through the weakness the fever seemed to bring on. He got him to a bed, but just barely as the healers began preparing tea and other things to help this man.
Saro looked around.
There was hardly any beds left, one or two that he could notice at least. Where would they put all the sick?
He supposed many would have to suffer in their own tents and such, and he felt for them. These people were quickly becoming like his family, and this devastating situation was tough to deal with.
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Saro had a decent amount of respect for Tanishe as it was, but that only increased as she didn’t immediately run to her husbands side. He knew most people would, but Tanishe wanted to take care of her people first and foremost. Hasani was not the only one who fell ill during this time. There were many who needed assistance, and while he knew that she could not take care of all of them, the two of them needed to try. He would do what ever was needed of him to help the Leieren.
He nodded as she said they should start moving on, that they should get to work. He completely agreed. The two of them needed to tend to those that needed them. He too worried for Hasani, likely not as much as his wife did, but the two of them had started bonding and Saro considered him a friend. The last thing he wanted to see was Hasani fall ill and potentially lose his life from this. He just had to believe that it wouldn’t happen, he had to be optimistic.
He followed her for the day, carrying what ever she needed him to carry, helping move people so they could be comfortable, brewing tea and helping her get them to drink it. What ever Tanishe asked of him, he did no questions asked. She was the one who would know how to deal with this. When a fever broke out on the boat, the crew members were isolated and they would either recover or they would die and that would be it. There was no tending to them and there was no nursing them back to health.
They finally made it back to the medical tent, and Tanishe immediately went to her husband unsurprisingly. Saro did not want to intrude on their moment, so instead he started helping around the tent. If Tanishe needed him, he knew that she would call him with no hesitation. He would visit with Hasani when Tanishe had had a chance to tend to him, to make sure he was at least sort of okay.
Some of the healers called out, both of them were smaller woman, and they were trying to help a larger warrior into the tent, the large man nearly pulling them both down with his inability to walk. Saro hurried over.
While he was not as big as most of the tribes warriors, he would be able to help the man walk to a bed a lot easier than the small healer women.
He ducked under the man’s arm and helped him over, shouldering most of his weight since the warrior could hardly walk through the weakness the fever seemed to bring on. He got him to a bed, but just barely as the healers began preparing tea and other things to help this man.
Saro looked around.
There was hardly any beds left, one or two that he could notice at least. Where would they put all the sick?
He supposed many would have to suffer in their own tents and such, and he felt for them. These people were quickly becoming like his family, and this devastating situation was tough to deal with.
Saro had a decent amount of respect for Tanishe as it was, but that only increased as she didn’t immediately run to her husbands side. He knew most people would, but Tanishe wanted to take care of her people first and foremost. Hasani was not the only one who fell ill during this time. There were many who needed assistance, and while he knew that she could not take care of all of them, the two of them needed to try. He would do what ever was needed of him to help the Leieren.
He nodded as she said they should start moving on, that they should get to work. He completely agreed. The two of them needed to tend to those that needed them. He too worried for Hasani, likely not as much as his wife did, but the two of them had started bonding and Saro considered him a friend. The last thing he wanted to see was Hasani fall ill and potentially lose his life from this. He just had to believe that it wouldn’t happen, he had to be optimistic.
He followed her for the day, carrying what ever she needed him to carry, helping move people so they could be comfortable, brewing tea and helping her get them to drink it. What ever Tanishe asked of him, he did no questions asked. She was the one who would know how to deal with this. When a fever broke out on the boat, the crew members were isolated and they would either recover or they would die and that would be it. There was no tending to them and there was no nursing them back to health.
They finally made it back to the medical tent, and Tanishe immediately went to her husband unsurprisingly. Saro did not want to intrude on their moment, so instead he started helping around the tent. If Tanishe needed him, he knew that she would call him with no hesitation. He would visit with Hasani when Tanishe had had a chance to tend to him, to make sure he was at least sort of okay.
Some of the healers called out, both of them were smaller woman, and they were trying to help a larger warrior into the tent, the large man nearly pulling them both down with his inability to walk. Saro hurried over.
While he was not as big as most of the tribes warriors, he would be able to help the man walk to a bed a lot easier than the small healer women.
He ducked under the man’s arm and helped him over, shouldering most of his weight since the warrior could hardly walk through the weakness the fever seemed to bring on. He got him to a bed, but just barely as the healers began preparing tea and other things to help this man.
Saro looked around.
There was hardly any beds left, one or two that he could notice at least. Where would they put all the sick?
He supposed many would have to suffer in their own tents and such, and he felt for them. These people were quickly becoming like his family, and this devastating situation was tough to deal with.