except his height. Whatever, I like him.
Boring, too close to me. New challenge: civilizational divide. Unpronounceable-y-name-girl.
Uyng was in the garbage when the strangers came.
Carefully picking her knee-deep steps through the middenfield, she held her nose. This wasn't even her job. Her stupid brother had thrown her bow, her beautiful custom bow with the perfect draw that her second-uncle had given to her, he had cast it, arcing out over the reeking offal of three greatfamilies, viciously hurled it, and through her tears she had seen it landing somewhere on the left. She was about halfway between the spot where she thought it had landed and the nearest edge.
He was just jealous because she was a better shot. Just because she had the dedication to actually practice, and all he liked to do was drink the fermented fruits brought by the trading families. She skirted around the carcasses of large grazing beasts from some forgotten feast, long since collapsed into themselves. When she got her bow back she'd wait until he raised a gourd to drink and then put an arrow right through it. The earth shook.
She jumped up and nearly landed on the brittle ribs of the grazing beast. Distant shouts emerged from houses, drawing their people racing out behind them as if connected by strings. There!
She scooped up her bow began the hopping, shuffling journey out of the middenfield. What had that been? She remembered godly elders of the largest families describing the sleeping movements of the earthmother, but they also recounted the countless and increasingly improbably conquests of the sunfather. The commotion from the houses was growing. The men must have returned.
Fire! A flash from beyond the houses, gone as quickly as it had come. She ran, heedless of the offal clinging to her heels. She scooped an arrow, nicked but still perfectly notchable, and flew around the empty houses toward the sound of her families.
Boring, too close to me. New challenge: civilizational divide. Unpronounceable-y-name-girl.
Uyng was in the garbage when the strangers came.
Carefully picking her knee-deep steps through the middenfield, she held her nose. This wasn't even her job. Her stupid brother had thrown her bow, her beautiful custom bow with the perfect draw that her second-uncle had given to her, he had cast it, arcing out over the reeking offal of three greatfamilies, viciously hurled it, and through her tears she had seen it landing somewhere on the left. She was about halfway between the spot where she thought it had landed and the nearest edge.
He was just jealous because she was a better shot. Just because she had the dedication to actually practice, and all he liked to do was drink the fermented fruits brought by the trading families. She skirted around the carcasses of large grazing beasts from some forgotten feast, long since collapsed into themselves. When she got her bow back she'd wait until he raised a gourd to drink and then put an arrow right through it. The earth shook.
She jumped up and nearly landed on the brittle ribs of the grazing beast. Distant shouts emerged from houses, drawing their people racing out behind them as if connected by strings. There!
She scooped up her bow began the hopping, shuffling journey out of the middenfield. What had that been? She remembered godly elders of the largest families describing the sleeping movements of the earthmother, but they also recounted the countless and increasingly improbably conquests of the sunfather. The commotion from the houses was growing. The men must have returned.
Fire! A flash from beyond the houses, gone as quickly as it had come. She ran, heedless of the offal clinging to her heels. She scooped an arrow, nicked but still perfectly notchable, and flew around the empty houses toward the sound of her families.
