@commandercousland​ tagged me on a writing meme, so here we go:
The rules are as follows: go to page 7 of a WIP, skip to the 7th line, share 7 sentences, and tag 7 more writers to continue the challenge.
When she next woke in the viddathlok--that was what they had called it, hadn't they?--it was dawn, everything still hurt, and she was being scrutinised by only the second Qunari woman she'd ever seen in her life. The priest that Senaan had mentioned, most likely, judging from the air of incense that hung about her--along with something sharper and more herbal that she couldn't quite place. The Qunari was a head taller than a man, and gracefully built besides. The layered robes she wore ranged from deep purple to a very faint lavender close to the skin. Her eyes were a honey gold below white lashes; almost the same colour as the collar around her long neck and the bangles around her wrists. Two pairs of short horns sprouted backward over her skull from her forehead and temples, and were bound with a complex pattern of white cords. Her snow-white hair was braided and woven with odd beads in front, but hung loose at her back.
Tagging @hornkerling @defira85 @hornkerling @atomicpen @jhameia @spirrum @wataksampingan to continue the train!
Anya is live and ready to show you everything. Watch her strip, dance, and perform exclusive shows just for you. Interact in real-time and make your fantasies come true.
âś“ Live Streamingâś“ Interactive Chatâś“ Private Showsâś“ HD Qualityâś“ Free Actions
Free to watch • No registration required • HD streaming
“And who do we have here?” the priestess said, staring down at their unexpected guest.
The woman stared back from where she sat, her fists balled up in the blanket the healer had thrown about her shoulders. Rain dripped onto the floor from her long, dark hair and the hem of her coarse shift, and the fingers that gripped the warm woven wool had blue-tinged nails. She was no great beauty, by any standard - nose too flat (and currently bleeding), lips too thin, face too long. But those dark brown eyes, perfectly shaped, flashed with both fire and fear. They were the eyes of a cornered animal that might yet do anything to preserve itself. She was tall for a human, but still shorter by a head compared to the army medic beside her: a woman dressed in green and white, with skin the colour of ash, eyes the colour of dawn, and horns the colour of ebony, as long as a man’s hand. “Senaan, your report?” the priestess asked, switching back to the Qunari tongue.
“Yes, Qunra,” she said, replying in the same, raising her voice above a sudden clap of thunder. “Sentries saw her at the gates, hands in the air, in a state of panic. They say she came from the southern jungle. She almost fainted, and they brought her to me. Her feet were bleeding badly and it looks like she ran into several clumps of thorned palms on the way here. I have bandaged her wounds and given her herbs to calm her down...but there is a knife scar on the inside of her dominant arm, and it is still fresh. This worries me.”
Qunra stepped forward and took the woman’s arm in one hand.. She could see the scar Senaan was talking about, long and straight and still slightly raw. Tevinter steel had done that, she was sure. She could also see the leaves tangled in her hair, the mud and blood on her face, and the long, thin scratches up and down her arms. Satisfied, she released her grip and the arm disappeared quickly back under the blanket.
“Do you understand me, child?” she spoke once more, in the Trade tongue most humans used in daily life. The woman perked up, recognising the words, and nodded firmly. Her tight, tense position, however, did not change. “They call me Qunra. I am a priestess of the Qunari. Do you have a name?” This question was greeted with a vigorous shake of the head. “What do you remember from before?”
“I was--” The woman coughed. Her voice was scratchy, timid. “I was r-running. Through the jungle. Chased. I don’t know for how long. Then I saw the walls of Seheron. It...it gets fuzzy after that.” She looked to Qunra, eyes pleading, the hands upon the blankets clenched so tight the knuckles stood out in pale knots under the skin. “Please don’t send me away. I didn’t mean nobody no harm, just--please don’t make me go back out there.”
“If we had thought you able to bring harm, you would not be here now. Are you dangerous?”
“N-not a mage.”
“Not exactly my question. What chased you, will it threaten Seheron as well?”
Although she was shivering violently, the nameless woman still managed to look somewhat thoughtful. “I don’t think he would. He’s not strong enough to try.”
“Ah. A he.”
“A magister. He was--he hurt me. So I ran.” The last was said with eyes tight shut. “I’m Tevinter, but I’m not like him, I swear I’m not, I’m nothing like him, no, nothing--” She steadied herself, and steeled herself as if the words she spoke next were made of dragon’s fire. “Make me like you, mother. Make me Qunari.”
“Strange words to hear, if not unwelcome,” the healer said, not very quietly. Qunra ignored her.
“Advice, human, and warning: those words have weight. You may choose to remain here. But you may never return to where you came from.”
The human pulled the woolen blanket even tighter round her shoulders, crossing her bandaged feet at the ankles. “Don’t have anywhere left to go back to. Don’t want to go back, neither.” Her voice did not waver, but her cheeks were suddenly wet again. “I hear what people say: that as long as you submit, there’s a place for you with the Qunari. I have no coin, no blade, only myself here. But I’ll do anything to make that enough.”
“Parshaara.” Qunra’s voice was soft as she shook her horned head. “I cannot make you a Qunari.” She turned to go, and did not see the anguish cross the woman’s face. “But your own effort might. Senaan, see to her for the night. You, follow her every instruction. Someone will come for you later. You will join your fellow viddathari then.”
“The viddathari?” the woman repeated. “What does that word mean?”
“It means--” Qunra had to pause to translate. “--that you will be made whole again.” As she left Senaan to her tasks, she thought she heard the human call “Thank you!” at her back. Surely it was the wind playing tricks.
When she woke, [Latan] found herself staring at a Qunari woman for only the second time in her life...dressed in light violet-grey robes, with white ribbons wound around her slim horns, and carried herself with a quiet assurance. Her long, silvery hair was worn loose, falling in a straight and shining mass over her shoulders. Her eyes were a honey gold below white lashes; almost the same colour as the collar around her long neck and the bangles around her wrists. Obviously she was no longer a young maiden, but there was no sign of her true age save for a faint smattering of fine lines spidering out from the corners of her eyes. Perhaps Qunari did not age like men did.
The little elven girl drives her to distraction, blessed as she is with too much energy. And the human girl is biddable enough, but so timid she's really starting to wonder. At least the Fog Warrior is adapting well...until someone steps on one of the plants under her charge and she slings a clod of earth into their face.
