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Amiti nodded. “Yes, I-Hey!” He’d been about to launch into a story about how he’d come to learn the language. It wasn’t an overly thrilling tale and his only burden in sharing it was to excuse himself from having these two think he spent a considerable amount of time outside Judea. Yahweh forbid that he be associated with these hedonistic Egyptians with their many gods and their disgusting habit of marrying siblings. Gross. Except that neither Hasani nor his new friend were listening. They were speaking together in their rapid, unintelligible language.
Their exchange was brief but Amiti was growing irritated again. He watched them laugh and quip. His fists still gripping the satchel strap were white, the blood vessels straining on the back of his hands. His jaw clenched hard and his nostrils flared as his gaze bored holes into the two of them. Finally, Hasani turned back to him.
”"What is it you were trying so hard to ask me, Amiti?"
“BAH!” Amiti exploded.
The other man offered a question at nearly the same moment that made Amiti actually jump up and down in temper. "Have you spent long in Egypt?"
“AHHH!” he only just jerked his voice in and stopped just short of shouting. “I don’t spend any time in Egypt!” he said through gritted teeth. “Which is what I was trying to say just now!” This was a travesty. A real, honest to God travesty. “I don’t marry my sister. I don’t even have a sister. And if you think I would marry one, even if I had one, you two have another thing coming! Good DAY, SIRS!”
He stormed off in search of his cousin, very done with this confusing conversation.
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"So you speak coptic,” Hasani said.
Amiti nodded. “Yes, I-Hey!” He’d been about to launch into a story about how he’d come to learn the language. It wasn’t an overly thrilling tale and his only burden in sharing it was to excuse himself from having these two think he spent a considerable amount of time outside Judea. Yahweh forbid that he be associated with these hedonistic Egyptians with their many gods and their disgusting habit of marrying siblings. Gross. Except that neither Hasani nor his new friend were listening. They were speaking together in their rapid, unintelligible language.
Their exchange was brief but Amiti was growing irritated again. He watched them laugh and quip. His fists still gripping the satchel strap were white, the blood vessels straining on the back of his hands. His jaw clenched hard and his nostrils flared as his gaze bored holes into the two of them. Finally, Hasani turned back to him.
”"What is it you were trying so hard to ask me, Amiti?"
“BAH!” Amiti exploded.
The other man offered a question at nearly the same moment that made Amiti actually jump up and down in temper. "Have you spent long in Egypt?"
“AHHH!” he only just jerked his voice in and stopped just short of shouting. “I don’t spend any time in Egypt!” he said through gritted teeth. “Which is what I was trying to say just now!” This was a travesty. A real, honest to God travesty. “I don’t marry my sister. I don’t even have a sister. And if you think I would marry one, even if I had one, you two have another thing coming! Good DAY, SIRS!”
He stormed off in search of his cousin, very done with this confusing conversation.
"So you speak coptic,” Hasani said.
Amiti nodded. “Yes, I-Hey!” He’d been about to launch into a story about how he’d come to learn the language. It wasn’t an overly thrilling tale and his only burden in sharing it was to excuse himself from having these two think he spent a considerable amount of time outside Judea. Yahweh forbid that he be associated with these hedonistic Egyptians with their many gods and their disgusting habit of marrying siblings. Gross. Except that neither Hasani nor his new friend were listening. They were speaking together in their rapid, unintelligible language.
Their exchange was brief but Amiti was growing irritated again. He watched them laugh and quip. His fists still gripping the satchel strap were white, the blood vessels straining on the back of his hands. His jaw clenched hard and his nostrils flared as his gaze bored holes into the two of them. Finally, Hasani turned back to him.
”"What is it you were trying so hard to ask me, Amiti?"
“BAH!” Amiti exploded.
The other man offered a question at nearly the same moment that made Amiti actually jump up and down in temper. "Have you spent long in Egypt?"
“AHHH!” he only just jerked his voice in and stopped just short of shouting. “I don’t spend any time in Egypt!” he said through gritted teeth. “Which is what I was trying to say just now!” This was a travesty. A real, honest to God travesty. “I don’t marry my sister. I don’t even have a sister. And if you think I would marry one, even if I had one, you two have another thing coming! Good DAY, SIRS!”
He stormed off in search of his cousin, very done with this confusing conversation.
Mwenye blinked at the judean. "What." It wasn't really a question, which was good, because it was also in his own language. The confused look wasn't terribly hard to misinterpret, but only assuming one was paying attention in the first place.
"Does this mean you not want to buy anything?" he called cheekily after the man currently storming away. Hasani wasn't wrong - there was something amusing about a grown man throwing a tantrum like a toddler. But like many things, the fact it stood out enough from the expected to be funny was also a cause for some concern. The Beodin were naturally cautious about the new and the strange, and Mwenye was no exception. His eyes turned thoughtful, even though a small smile still hovered around his mouth.
"I wonder what set him off like that. I'm pretty sure I didn't accidentally ask him if he'd gotten married in Egypt." Amiti's words really hadn't made any sense in the context of their brief conversation. Mwenye sighed and made a face. Either the man was crazy, or he was the type to get mad at all the wrong people for something that had happened far earlier, and either way... "I should go try to keep him away from the young women, I suppose. Don't need him getting into any more misunderstandings." The prophet wasn't assuming the stranger would behave badly around women specifically, but just that those were likeliest to not know how to deal with a ranting foreigner, and if the man was insane, he certainly couldn't be allowed near anyone pregnant, or with an infant. Such things could be infectious, before a child was old enough to have their own personality.
Bare feet were silent on sun-baked sand, and Mwenye was so used to that he didn't think about that either as he hurried to catch up. "Excuse me, my friend." Unlike before, there was no laughter bubbling through his voice, instead he appeared calm and level-headed, with a hint of curiosity and no trace of anger. "Was any other of the Zaire has been accusing you or attacking you? I nor my king meant to upset you."
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Mwenye blinked at the judean. "What." It wasn't really a question, which was good, because it was also in his own language. The confused look wasn't terribly hard to misinterpret, but only assuming one was paying attention in the first place.
"Does this mean you not want to buy anything?" he called cheekily after the man currently storming away. Hasani wasn't wrong - there was something amusing about a grown man throwing a tantrum like a toddler. But like many things, the fact it stood out enough from the expected to be funny was also a cause for some concern. The Beodin were naturally cautious about the new and the strange, and Mwenye was no exception. His eyes turned thoughtful, even though a small smile still hovered around his mouth.
"I wonder what set him off like that. I'm pretty sure I didn't accidentally ask him if he'd gotten married in Egypt." Amiti's words really hadn't made any sense in the context of their brief conversation. Mwenye sighed and made a face. Either the man was crazy, or he was the type to get mad at all the wrong people for something that had happened far earlier, and either way... "I should go try to keep him away from the young women, I suppose. Don't need him getting into any more misunderstandings." The prophet wasn't assuming the stranger would behave badly around women specifically, but just that those were likeliest to not know how to deal with a ranting foreigner, and if the man was insane, he certainly couldn't be allowed near anyone pregnant, or with an infant. Such things could be infectious, before a child was old enough to have their own personality.
Bare feet were silent on sun-baked sand, and Mwenye was so used to that he didn't think about that either as he hurried to catch up. "Excuse me, my friend." Unlike before, there was no laughter bubbling through his voice, instead he appeared calm and level-headed, with a hint of curiosity and no trace of anger. "Was any other of the Zaire has been accusing you or attacking you? I nor my king meant to upset you."
Mwenye blinked at the judean. "What." It wasn't really a question, which was good, because it was also in his own language. The confused look wasn't terribly hard to misinterpret, but only assuming one was paying attention in the first place.
"Does this mean you not want to buy anything?" he called cheekily after the man currently storming away. Hasani wasn't wrong - there was something amusing about a grown man throwing a tantrum like a toddler. But like many things, the fact it stood out enough from the expected to be funny was also a cause for some concern. The Beodin were naturally cautious about the new and the strange, and Mwenye was no exception. His eyes turned thoughtful, even though a small smile still hovered around his mouth.
"I wonder what set him off like that. I'm pretty sure I didn't accidentally ask him if he'd gotten married in Egypt." Amiti's words really hadn't made any sense in the context of their brief conversation. Mwenye sighed and made a face. Either the man was crazy, or he was the type to get mad at all the wrong people for something that had happened far earlier, and either way... "I should go try to keep him away from the young women, I suppose. Don't need him getting into any more misunderstandings." The prophet wasn't assuming the stranger would behave badly around women specifically, but just that those were likeliest to not know how to deal with a ranting foreigner, and if the man was insane, he certainly couldn't be allowed near anyone pregnant, or with an infant. Such things could be infectious, before a child was old enough to have their own personality.
Bare feet were silent on sun-baked sand, and Mwenye was so used to that he didn't think about that either as he hurried to catch up. "Excuse me, my friend." Unlike before, there was no laughter bubbling through his voice, instead he appeared calm and level-headed, with a hint of curiosity and no trace of anger. "Was any other of the Zaire has been accusing you or attacking you? I nor my king meant to upset you."
He stomped through the makeshift marketplace. There were set up stalls on either side of him. Some had coverings, some didn’t. A few had tables, some had their wares on rugs in front of them. All of them, bar none, had faces that were unfamiliar and completely foreign. Bright eyes stared at him as he made his way through the throng of people, dodging this half naked person and that. Everyone was dressed in vivid, eye watering colors and all he wanted to do right now was scream. The whole thing was made all the worse because he knew he was in the wrong. He was a grown man and shouldn’t be acting this way but his pride was at a point where he couldn’t go back and face the two men he’d left behind.
"Excuse me, my friend." Mwenye called after him and Amiti ignored him. He stopped once he came to a crossroads of sorts, looking to the right and left, trying to decide which way to go. By now, Mwenye caught up to him and Amiti was forced to turn around or be even more rude than he had been just now. "Was any other of the Zaire has been accusing you or attacking you? I nor my king meant to upset you."
“Look, you’re nice people I’m sure,” Amiti clutched at the strap of his bag again. He paused, drawing in a huge breath and exhaling it. His brows knit together, his brown eyes betrayed his plain annoyance, even though he was valiantly trying for a polite tone. “I just don’t think this conversation should continue. All I wanted to know was how your people make medicines. This has all been very confusing and, frankly, not worth the trouble. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find my cousin. I’ve lost him somewhere. Good day.”
Amiti turned to the left, still questing for Yonatan.
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He stomped through the makeshift marketplace. There were set up stalls on either side of him. Some had coverings, some didn’t. A few had tables, some had their wares on rugs in front of them. All of them, bar none, had faces that were unfamiliar and completely foreign. Bright eyes stared at him as he made his way through the throng of people, dodging this half naked person and that. Everyone was dressed in vivid, eye watering colors and all he wanted to do right now was scream. The whole thing was made all the worse because he knew he was in the wrong. He was a grown man and shouldn’t be acting this way but his pride was at a point where he couldn’t go back and face the two men he’d left behind.
"Excuse me, my friend." Mwenye called after him and Amiti ignored him. He stopped once he came to a crossroads of sorts, looking to the right and left, trying to decide which way to go. By now, Mwenye caught up to him and Amiti was forced to turn around or be even more rude than he had been just now. "Was any other of the Zaire has been accusing you or attacking you? I nor my king meant to upset you."
“Look, you’re nice people I’m sure,” Amiti clutched at the strap of his bag again. He paused, drawing in a huge breath and exhaling it. His brows knit together, his brown eyes betrayed his plain annoyance, even though he was valiantly trying for a polite tone. “I just don’t think this conversation should continue. All I wanted to know was how your people make medicines. This has all been very confusing and, frankly, not worth the trouble. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find my cousin. I’ve lost him somewhere. Good day.”
Amiti turned to the left, still questing for Yonatan.
He stomped through the makeshift marketplace. There were set up stalls on either side of him. Some had coverings, some didn’t. A few had tables, some had their wares on rugs in front of them. All of them, bar none, had faces that were unfamiliar and completely foreign. Bright eyes stared at him as he made his way through the throng of people, dodging this half naked person and that. Everyone was dressed in vivid, eye watering colors and all he wanted to do right now was scream. The whole thing was made all the worse because he knew he was in the wrong. He was a grown man and shouldn’t be acting this way but his pride was at a point where he couldn’t go back and face the two men he’d left behind.
"Excuse me, my friend." Mwenye called after him and Amiti ignored him. He stopped once he came to a crossroads of sorts, looking to the right and left, trying to decide which way to go. By now, Mwenye caught up to him and Amiti was forced to turn around or be even more rude than he had been just now. "Was any other of the Zaire has been accusing you or attacking you? I nor my king meant to upset you."
“Look, you’re nice people I’m sure,” Amiti clutched at the strap of his bag again. He paused, drawing in a huge breath and exhaling it. His brows knit together, his brown eyes betrayed his plain annoyance, even though he was valiantly trying for a polite tone. “I just don’t think this conversation should continue. All I wanted to know was how your people make medicines. This has all been very confusing and, frankly, not worth the trouble. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to find my cousin. I’ve lost him somewhere. Good day.”
Amiti turned to the left, still questing for Yonatan.
Hasani was not at all bothered nor surprised at the behavior of the Judean man. Admittedly, much of the fault landed on Hasani himself, though he would not admit it out loud. It would have been rather easy to test whether the man knew another language besides Hebrew. Hasani was only saddened that he had not been able to have a civil conversation with the man. Bedoans were known to be distrustful of strangers, but Hasani liked people. He liked meeting people, especially new people. People he could teach and guide in their customs.
Some tribes did not like the idea of sharing customs and culture, but Hasani did not allow his tribe to be one of those that was so cold toward outsiders that they could not even speak of more than trade agreements. Neena had long taught him that people were worldly and interesting. They were worth getting to know. They were worth forming relationships with. A run-in such as this one was not overly surprising but had been few and far between in Hasani’s experience.
Quiet and not wanting to inflame the man further, Hasani only followed after Mwenye, saying nothing else to get Amiti’s attention. At least yet. He allowed the young prophet to do most of the talking until Amiti took over and expressed his disinterest in continuing their conversation. Hasani kept his displeasure and concern off of his features, simply resting large arms against his dark chest. He seemed to nod sagely, understanding Amiti’s need to escape the situation that the leier had accidentally subjected him to.
“Please give your cousin my regards, Amiti. I apologize for all of the misunderstanding and miscommunication. I pray to the ancestors that you will not allow this exchange to color your view of the tribes the next time you run into us,” Hasani said cordially, reaching out to put a hand on Mwenye’s shoulder. “Come, Mwenye. We have trades and stalls to attend to,” he guided the man away from Amiti, shooing him off in the direction of his work. Hasani only gave him a slight wave, dismissing him as he, too, went back to his own duties.
The horrid exchange would not weigh heavily on his mind for long. Hasani had other things to worry about.
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Hasani was not at all bothered nor surprised at the behavior of the Judean man. Admittedly, much of the fault landed on Hasani himself, though he would not admit it out loud. It would have been rather easy to test whether the man knew another language besides Hebrew. Hasani was only saddened that he had not been able to have a civil conversation with the man. Bedoans were known to be distrustful of strangers, but Hasani liked people. He liked meeting people, especially new people. People he could teach and guide in their customs.
Some tribes did not like the idea of sharing customs and culture, but Hasani did not allow his tribe to be one of those that was so cold toward outsiders that they could not even speak of more than trade agreements. Neena had long taught him that people were worldly and interesting. They were worth getting to know. They were worth forming relationships with. A run-in such as this one was not overly surprising but had been few and far between in Hasani’s experience.
Quiet and not wanting to inflame the man further, Hasani only followed after Mwenye, saying nothing else to get Amiti’s attention. At least yet. He allowed the young prophet to do most of the talking until Amiti took over and expressed his disinterest in continuing their conversation. Hasani kept his displeasure and concern off of his features, simply resting large arms against his dark chest. He seemed to nod sagely, understanding Amiti’s need to escape the situation that the leier had accidentally subjected him to.
“Please give your cousin my regards, Amiti. I apologize for all of the misunderstanding and miscommunication. I pray to the ancestors that you will not allow this exchange to color your view of the tribes the next time you run into us,” Hasani said cordially, reaching out to put a hand on Mwenye’s shoulder. “Come, Mwenye. We have trades and stalls to attend to,” he guided the man away from Amiti, shooing him off in the direction of his work. Hasani only gave him a slight wave, dismissing him as he, too, went back to his own duties.
The horrid exchange would not weigh heavily on his mind for long. Hasani had other things to worry about.
Hasani was not at all bothered nor surprised at the behavior of the Judean man. Admittedly, much of the fault landed on Hasani himself, though he would not admit it out loud. It would have been rather easy to test whether the man knew another language besides Hebrew. Hasani was only saddened that he had not been able to have a civil conversation with the man. Bedoans were known to be distrustful of strangers, but Hasani liked people. He liked meeting people, especially new people. People he could teach and guide in their customs.
Some tribes did not like the idea of sharing customs and culture, but Hasani did not allow his tribe to be one of those that was so cold toward outsiders that they could not even speak of more than trade agreements. Neena had long taught him that people were worldly and interesting. They were worth getting to know. They were worth forming relationships with. A run-in such as this one was not overly surprising but had been few and far between in Hasani’s experience.
Quiet and not wanting to inflame the man further, Hasani only followed after Mwenye, saying nothing else to get Amiti’s attention. At least yet. He allowed the young prophet to do most of the talking until Amiti took over and expressed his disinterest in continuing their conversation. Hasani kept his displeasure and concern off of his features, simply resting large arms against his dark chest. He seemed to nod sagely, understanding Amiti’s need to escape the situation that the leier had accidentally subjected him to.
“Please give your cousin my regards, Amiti. I apologize for all of the misunderstanding and miscommunication. I pray to the ancestors that you will not allow this exchange to color your view of the tribes the next time you run into us,” Hasani said cordially, reaching out to put a hand on Mwenye’s shoulder. “Come, Mwenye. We have trades and stalls to attend to,” he guided the man away from Amiti, shooing him off in the direction of his work. Hasani only gave him a slight wave, dismissing him as he, too, went back to his own duties.
The horrid exchange would not weigh heavily on his mind for long. Hasani had other things to worry about.