Fantasy Totum revolutum

[kevintheradioguy]

"It comes and goes.", shrugged the man. "I have been a sickly child, and not much best as an adult. I suddenly got worse... way, way worse than before this morning, and given we've spent so much time going through the abandoned houses in the middle of epidemic, and how fast this infection spreads... well, I could put two together."

His sister just shook her head. She didn't respond to the last inquiry, probably thinking it's irrelevant, and turned her back to her brother, again, demonstrating with her body language she was offended. The man darted a glare in her direction, and lowered his voice to a whisper: "I can stay here if it is needed. Wouldn't want to suddenly jump into delirium and start walking around, chasing people like a vampire, but if I need to stay here, I will. Just whatever it is, tell her I'm all right and that she should go home. I don't want her to catch it as well just because she wants to be near."

 

[Featherstone]

"Phthsis can cause fever, chills, and similar symptoms, so it may be an uncanny coincidence. This is the first time you've noticed your symptoms getting worse, and it started with fever? No exacerbation of the cough, anything like that, within the past few days? And about the appetite?" he prompted further. Fever, at least as far as he'd observed, didn't seem to crop up in patients in the plague's early stages, and Murad seemed quite coherent now--nothing like a man on the brink of death. He never thought he'd be hoping for phthsis, but here he was, doing just that. "Were you delirious when you had the fever?"

He reached out slowly as he spoke, not wanting to startle the man, and pressed the back of his hand to his forehead to feel for the remnants of a fever. Although it was possible, he'd never seen someone with the pest have a fever break--it got worse until they died an agonizing death amidst their nightmares.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

The man smiled, though with sad irony. "Appetite? In a town low on food?", he chuckled, entertained, and it immediately grew into a fit of cough. he still had fever, however. He was pale, and gaunt, with purple circles around his reddened eyes, him trying to suppress shivers no doubt brought by said fever, as he was burning down and feeling cold all at the same time. There was no doubt he was heavily ill, but a closer examination was needed to understand clearly what it was. "No, doctor. Appetite is fine. Because there is none. And haven't been for a few days now. We didn't have anything to eat for almost a week, and after a few days you just sort of... stop feeling it.", he squeezed out, voice now creaky and low, as he tried to catch his heavy, wheezing breath.

Indeed, Noah knew that with a good supply of water, starvation was easy on a person, and went down with no pain or discomfort. They just... withered away in a few weeks, sometimes - months. It was obvious by the condition of the siblings they have, in fact, been starving for a while, with both having discoloured skin and bony faces, their bodies draining any resources stored in fatty tissue to sustain themselves, and them getting more and more skinny. Some of the Capital dandy folk would love to change places, but rural areas like these usually favoured someone who had some meat on their bones, so such weight loss wasn't a reason for pride at all.

 

[Featherstone]

He had a point on the food. Sometimes the protocol-dictated questions lost their worth in certain situations; now was one of those times. But it was protocol, so it'd get asked regardless--just in case. "Has your fever been getting progressively worse since this morning?" Once he got his answer, he fell silent, gesturing for them to do the same, and he slid the stethoscope into his ears. His gaze fell to the ground as he focused on his hearing, his instructions soft-spoken. Inhale; exhale; cough. He didn't expect to find anything definitive--if he had those symptoms, Noah was likely to find obstructed breathing indicative of a respiratory issue, but they all sounded about the same.

The more he spoke to them, the more he was inclined to try to keep Murad isolated for twenty-four hours and see how symptoms progressed. Keeping his sister for six to twelve would probably be sufficient--symptoms typically cropped up pretty quickly, or had so far--and he could make sure the two got their rations that night.

When he finished listening, he moved on to feeling the man's neck for any evidence of swollen lymph nodes, a sign that would sway him to phthsis rather than pest. "Any nausea? Vomiting, anything of that sort, lack of food notwithstanding?"

 

[kevintheradioguy]

"It's really hard to tell.", the man responded, shrugging. "Not only I don't have anything to measure it at hand, after a while, like with hunger, you just stop noticing, but... I can still stand on my feet and do something, at least. Something I'm really surprised of. I was even thinking getting back to our work...", at this point, Noah heard a quiet grumble behind his back, mixing into something like 'as you should'. "...but I didn't want to infect anyone, especially the little ones. Maybe some nausea, but I don't know if it's this or the recent lack of food. It does feel like heavy flu, but that's how it starts, right?"

Locking the man up for a while was a good call on Noah's part - the infection developed fast, and it would be absolutely obvious whether or not he has the plague or not. But as he examined the man closer and closer, checking his temperature and breathing, heartbeat, looking for any swelling and pain, he had realised this wouldn't be necessary. While it did look somewhat like sand pest, some things weren't symptomatic. The man coughed out blood - which had never happened; he was too clear of a mind; and more importantly, he was all covered in a glittering layer of sticky sweat, while the sickness dried people up, making their skin look and feel like sand - hence the name. It was, in fact, deeply untreated tuberculosis, like his sister stated, and by the way the man looked, he wouldn't survive the night.

 

[Featherstone]

Noah was relieved, a relief that tasted bitter on the back of his tongue. The man was unlikely to see the next morning, but it wasn't the pest. He ignored the voice behind him--he was working, and had neither the time nor patience to argue with someone about where his duties were--and, soon enough, pulled away. He slid the scarf from his face and, as he always did, wiped alcohol over his stethoscope and his fingers to put it away. He would've wished for more time to talk to them, to deliver such news slowly, but his watch neither stopped nor slowed, and he couldn't.

"I have some good news and some bad news, then," he explained, stalling his movements to put his attention onto Murad and his sister. "It's not the sand pest, it's phthsis, as your sister anticipated. I would advise...going home, making yourself comfortable as you can. Seeing your family and thinking hard about whatever you'd like to say or lay to rest." Although he hadn't yet outright stated that he expected death to come quickly, it was heavily implied by both his words and his somber tone. "It's been lurking a long time and the recent malnutrition hasn't helped. I am sorry. If I had something to bring you to health, I would offer it." But antibiotics were valuable, and he was too far gone. Even in a hospital in the city the man likely wouldn't have survived.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

The news should've been a shock the the man, but he took them with solemn acceptance instead. He has been thinking about it for a while, it seems, and even if with no plague he as ready for the worst outcome. If anything, he was relieved he wouldn't be in delirium in his last moment. "I am...", he started, pointing at his sister, obviously trying to say that she as the only family there was left, but the woman stood up.

"I told you.", she said, almost accusatory. She, just as him, was pale, gaunt, empty-eyed, and sickly-looking, and Noah had no idea where all this energy came from. Maybe, desperation. "You should've gotten back to work. You don't help anyone by sitting here and being afraid!", the woman pointed outside. "We could be doing something good out there, whether you have pest or not. We could be helping!", she darted an angry glare at Noah, but although she said nothing, her thoughts were obvious. How dared he suggesting lying down and grieving, when they could be helping?

 

[Featherstone]

Noah bit back a soft sigh, lifting his bag. He had to admire her fervor in such a broken situation, and even his acceptance. Such realities were harsh; he wouldn't have blamed them for reactions more adverse. More difficult. But he was glad for it, because even with her vehemence, this was easier to handle than a denial of actuality and pleas he couldn't answer.

"Pest or not, phthsis is a very transmittable and dangerous disease. There's been epidemics of it alone. Work as you must, but your brother shouldn't be out and about and in contact with people or things that people will touch, lest they fall prey as well. And you should be careful of it to make sure that you aren't spreading anything contaminated--sharing dishes and the like. If you want to help regardless, more hands can be used at the grocery to ration food, but your brother is incredibly ill, miss. I urge you to think about your decision and not make it in too much haste. As work is, though, I'm afraid I'm on a clock that's running out, and there's nothing more I can do for you. Please, do us all a service, and keep him away from other people; if you must help, do so alone."

 

[kevintheradioguy]

"And what about the children?", the woman made half-a-step towards Noah. Just like in his dream, she was full of energy, but at least she wasn't looking for anything to hit him with. "You have locked those other districts for a good reason, but have you even been there since? Do you know how many babies are crying their little lungs out in their cribs, left alone by their parents who were too out of their mind from fever to care about them? Is anyone getting them? I haven't seen a single person except us to do something about it and I can't do this alone! You're not suggesting we leave babies to starve to death, instead of taking a chance of them getting treatable disease! And what are these six thousand people that are left, if there are no children? We're die out any way this way, it'll just take twenty years longer!", as she spoke, tears were welling in her eyes. Noah saw her and her brother earlier, running through the streets, house to house, and he could've assumed they were helping the orderlies with the bodies, but they weren't. They were looking for little kids, forgotten about in locked-up districts, and she must've seen too many of that already; both living and dead people - toddlers - to handle. That explained why he saw cribs being hauled somewhere a week ago - something he found a bit odd, but forgot immediately about. Her eyes were wide, dilated, she was pale and trembling, though not of fever or sickness. She had a nervous breakdown - Noah could tell - PTSD maybe - and it looked like the only way of coping with it was doing exactly what caused it. Though there was a point in her words: she was a small woman. She could't beak a window or tear off the planks sealing the doors on her own, or carry everyone they'd find alone. She needed someone stronger for that.

 

[Featherstone]

What about the children?

Her question resounded distantly in his ears, as if he heard it through reverberating ringing. The children, who were high-maintenance, who could easily succumb to sickness, who required care and did nothing for the community. The children, lives of innocent potential, watching their world burn. But children could be born after this. Humans were a resource that was replaceable. Not individualistically, of course, but replaceable enough. If he spent time helping her with children now, or finding someone to, he'd be forfeiting time he could be spending trying to find answers to the plague that would have the whole town dead within days, with or without its children.

It was cold, Noah knew, but toddlers and infants were expendable or, at the very least, low on his priority list. They had nothing to offer. If she wanted to drag Murad out and keep going after them--what did it matter, really? Phthsis was treatable, and he wasn't sure that he wanted to incur further wrath by telling people to leave kids to die. And would it be enough of a vector to pose a significant risk to the general population? So long as he wasn't in close contact with other people who were starving and waiting for the pest to take them...Malnutrition increased the odds of contraction and death, weakening the immune system as it did...

The man at least had the decency for a look of fleeting shame cross his face. He hadn't known they were finding kids, and as much as he cognitively understood that they weren't a priority, he didn't much like the thought of abandoning them. Phthsis was already here, anyways--it was anywhere, in one quantity or another. And it wasn't as if Murad had just become contagious--if he died tonight, most of the damage had already been done, and lives could still be saved.

"Alright," he agreed. "Just be careful when in close proximity to the general populace and the like. Things like phthsis are just going to get more dangerous the more stress the population endures and the smaller it gets. Murad, wear a mask of some kind, if possible, to keep from passing it on to the children. Young ones who are already half-starved are that much more likely to die from it and we don't have antibiotics in liberal amounts at the moment. Be careful, and good luck. I'm...glad to hear that someone is doing such work. I've assumed you were helping the orderlies with bodies.

"And...neither of you spoke to the Judge today, did you?" he added as an afterthought, just as he turned to go. If Murad had, thinking he was sick, could that be the infected that Gregor Caine had spoken of? Was it probable enough to warrant even a fleeting hope?

 

[kevintheradioguy]

"The Judge?", the man asked. "No. And what of? Why would he even have time for the likes of us?", people obviously held the man in high regard, almost revered him, and didn't think he'd want to even talk to them.

His sister sniffed. "It's your orderlies who should be doing this, not us! There is no help in hauling dead bodies around, and marauding neighbours' houses, when there are living people they lock in to starve to death.", she took her brother's hand, squeezing it tight to drag him along outside and to their mission. "I don't know if it's them who have no heart for leaving the most helpless behind, or you for allowing it."

 

[Featherstone]

Cleaning the bodies prevented spreading infection from them, but he didn't say it. Didn't bother to defend himself. Was she wrong? Sacrifices had to be made, and even when it was the correct decision, it could still be ruthless. Where would they even bring the children, who would take care of them? There wasn't enough food for the adults and elder children, much less the young ones. He didn't answer her, but his eyes dropped, stalling momentarily in light of the harsh truth.

But, no matter how heartless he was, standing there did nothing for anyone.

Noah shook the uncertainty off and resumed his quick stride, half-jogging to the door and back outside. Find the locals, find answers--that was the plan, the prayer. His pace didn't slow once he reached the street. If anything, he quickened, ticks echoing in his ears and the scent of death burning his nostrils in a distant echo of his nightmare's mistakes; a constant reminder of what hung in the balance. He turned down the street to direct towards the grocery--he should've asked the orderly where, precisely, the locals were, but in his rush, remembering for the detail slipped his mind. Now that was costing him valuable minutes. If the orderly wasn't there, maybe the clerk would know something. Maybe.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

People idly walked around the houses, but all too many of them did so around the store, waiting for it to be open, but not wanting to be too obvious with this. The back door was open, and the dark house was lit up by a couple of candles inside - as many as they could find. This was nearly not enough for good work, but other options were going around town seeking for any more, or opening doors and windows, causing too much excitement for the public. Two of three clerks were inside, going through packages and crates, barking stray phrases to each other from time to time. The orderly was there, in the storage area, where on tall shelves rested crates, filled with milk bottles. He seemed to be asked to do this task specifically because of the stilts, allowing him to look into each of the crates that rested on top shelves without taking them off and risking breaking anything. Which he did, gently tugging at each of them, and counting bottles, taking out any empty ones to place on the floor.

 

[Featherstone]

Noah swiftly approached the orderly, uttering an 'excuse me' to announce his appearance. At least progress was being made somewhere, and he was hopefully following through on his promise to the townspeople. He needed their faith, of which he had none.

"Sorry to bother you again," Noah apologized, eyes going down to his watch. "I'm afraid that in my haste I forgot to ask--where, exactly, is the local camp? I recall the edge of town, but I'm afraid there's more than one of those." It was a wry, faint sort of humor that injected his tone. The situation overall was hard to make light of and it showed in the flatness of the words' delivery.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

The Orderly's head turned slightly to Noah, before he resumed his work further. "To be honest, I get a little paranoid that you and me - people that deal with the sick so much - are now in food storage for the entire town.", he idly remarked. Of course, they were handling the bottles, so chances of contamination weren't high, but there was bread, and beat, and fish in a room across. In an open room across. The man didn't really hang to that thought for long, though.

"I'm not sure myself.", his unfortunate response was. "I just heard rumours. It was behind the Cathedral, but after it became an isolation ward, they say they moved their camp. But people specifically mentioned 'right under our windows', so that can be taken as a starting point. Or just walking around, collecting rumours, and asking about as well.", Noah might've net been the best at that, but if an orderly could do that, Noah could too. Of course, he also was a bigger and badder wolf in the eyes of people.

 

[Featherstone]

Perhaps the orderly wasn't wrong to be concerned over it. It elicited a certain nervousness in Noah, too, but there were few hands and six thousand people to feed within hours. Noah's face remained neutral when the news was delivered, but it wasn't optimal. Did he have time for this? But what were his other options--tracking down a miracle girl, to what end? "Well, thank you nonetheless," he smiled in spite of himself. Rumors.

"Good afternoon and good luck," he said, then made his departure, sliding back out onto the street. There were plenty of people around the store; maybe one of them would be able to shed light onto the situation? Once on the street, he surveyed his surroundings, trying to work out where to go next, hoping for someone that seemed remotely approachable and like they weren't going to run the minute he addressed them.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

Noah didn't make himself the most popular man in town, so approachability of people was dubious at best. If the camp moved from behind the Cathedral, it cut out a huge chunk of the city borders for them. The eastern part was cut off by the rivers. O he had only south and north to explore, and maybe a little bit of western part of town - the one that wasn't too close to the Cathedral. For all the tales of barbarians not being affected by the disease, they surely avoided his isolation ward.

But for all the quarantine and fear, most of those six or so thousand people in the area were outside. They knew about the sickness, yes, but didn't want to spend their days there, in the crowded walls of cold buildings, instead spending time on the sun, saying good-bye to the belated summer, cherishing last drops of light and warmth before the cold came. There were kids running around so fast they looked like little foxes, dashing in and out of the tall grass, women standing in small groups, quietly talking about something, gloomy older men picking places under yellowed trees to have a smoke; others going through trash bins, searching for anything useful in the town low on resources. Lots of people, but their friendliness to the 'city dandy' was dubious.

 

[Featherstone]

The plague seemed to have done little to convince people of the wisdom of avoiding each other. It was alive as ever, something to Noah's chagrin, pressing his lips into a straight line. They already knew what he told them; was saying it again going to do anything aside from incurring their angers again? Their relative unfriendliness notwithstanding, he didn't precisely need them to like him, just to talk--and if they'd talk to a man in a crow mask on stilts who'd been dragging away bodies, then he was hopeful that he could get them to talk to him.

Standing there wasn't getting him any answers, though. After only a few seconds' hesitation, Noah approached the nearest group of people, coming close enough to garner their attention but not so near as to make them uncomfortable. Or any more so than he already would by even addressing them. He did so with the warmest tone and faint smile he could muster, but he could still hear Gregory Caine's unfortunately accurate assessment of his social skills playing in the back of his head. "Excuse me, I'm sorry to interrupt; might you be able to tell me where the locals' camp has moved to? I've heard rumors of their presence but I'm afraid no one's been able to offer anything very specific."

 

[kevintheradioguy]

"The locals? Aren't we the locals?", the immediate answer was. They seemed to be separating themselves from the barbarian tribes quite a bit, even if people grew up with that nation around, built on their land, raised children with them. There were as many barbarian kids around as there were of townsfolk, and it was surprising there was still certain xenophobia coming from them. Albeit, with Noah arriving, the two groups usually riled up against him. It was true that Noah didn't need people to like him per se, and that'd be fine if he lived in a world of logic. As it was, people more often used their heart than their brain, and would much rather follow some miracle woman that spoke to them in a nice way, rather than a professional that was ruthless.

 

[Featherstone]

"Well...yes," he affirmed, albeit somewhat awkwardly. What had he expected, really? This to be simple? "I don't mean to imply otherwise, I apologize if I've caused offense. I was referring only to the..." 'Barbarian' was a sure way to have someone want to cave his head in. Tribesmen? Native seemed almost as obtuse as barbarian did. "Nomads, given that they're the locals who...camp. Typically. Camping as in, a subset of locals, not the only ones." What was he going to get next; "What, don't we camp too? Don't we travel between places?" None of the agitation crossed over into his words; rather, his stalling rhythm belied more uncertainty than distaste. He didn't quite have the energy to even truly feel exasperation all that intensely. No doubt he'd be going from this to nonsense tribal babble about gods and reality or something.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

"Oh. Those people.", by the pursed lips it was obvious that they didn't quite like talking about the barbarians. Which was odd, all things considered. "Why would you even need them?", another, more sarcastic question was asked: it seemed that living in stone buildings and wearing mass-produces clothes was a reason for the the townsfolk to feel much more superior to the tribes.

"I have no idea. Don' think I want to know. Unless just to go there and drive them off, back into the plains.", was the first reply, but still, the people looked at each other, expecting someone to know something. They mumbled among each other, agreeing that if someone's looking for them, they must be close, and they didn't quite appreciate such neighbours. In the end, however, one person remarked in a meek voice that they thought they saw what looked like tents further away south in the grasses. "Just before the tower.", they specified, nodding back to a structure not as tall as Noah would expect from a real tower, looking more like a giant mace sticking out of the ground than a real tower. Its role was still unknown to the man, and as far as he knew, to local people either. "Though it might have been the wind.", they added.

The tower stood in the golden grass of the plains, not too far from the town, but far enough for the way there to seem eerily terrifying. It was maybe a quarter of a mile south from the edge of town, which,a s he learned, stood on a steep rocky hill that dropped down a couple dozen feet, opening up beautiful sight of the fields from the windows. But however stunning landscape was, there was something ominous there. Something that made Noah not quite want to go too far into the grass, almost as if the earth itself would rise to swallow him just as soon as he walk out of sight. And it was easy to walk out of sight: when there was no mist there, wind shuffled the grass, creating a whirlwind of pollen and seeds, covering the landscape with a honey-yellow veil.

 

[Featherstone]

Yes, those people. As if they hadn't been able to figure that out from the context of his initial query. Did they have no thought for the valuable time being wasted? He ignored the sarcasm and avoidance until he got his response--engaging seemed useless--and only dipped his head and uttered an appreciative 'thanks' to the one who offered him an actual answer. With this, he stepped back, tipped his hat, bid the group farewell, and hurried on his way. He picked up his pace once more, jogging through the streets to book the quarter mile and keep any time wasting to a minimum, slowing only when he reached the edge of the grassland.

The uncertain trepidation that crept back beneath his subconscious thought in visceral warning was impossible not to hear. The scent of honey and pollen--real honey and pollen, not the twisted, rotting dream-scent--might've been comforting if not for that nervousness clinging to the edges of his mind. Still, he pushed it away, returning his focus to his goal: finding the camp. He pulled his attention off of the strange feeling, although he did make note of it. Logical as he was, war had taught him not to write off such instinct entirely. Slowly--carefully--Noah picked his way down the hill towards the so-called tower where he hoped the barbarians would be, ears trained for any sound that might alert him to something's approach and gaze constantly scanning over the top of the grass.

 

[kevintheradioguy]

The worst thing about going there was the fact that Noah had to go past Stillwater - a weird, observatory-like round building with a large pond he used to live in when only just arriving here. His hostess, Etha Young, took her own life a few days before for no apparent reason, jumping off the Cathedral's top floor to her doom. Ever since then, the house was barred and uninhabited, and each time he passed it, he felt a weird, gnawing pain in his gut, some odd sensation. Even now, however little time he had to spend circling around it, he could swear he heard Etha's voice whispering something through the nailed window, the echo of her voice rumbling through the walls, even though whenever he peeked inside, there was no one there, none of the locks picked, no windows broken. No one inside. It was as if her spirit teased him. Blamed him for not saving the delicate woman from herself. She seemed like someone who needed saving, waiting for a knight to pick her up and drive her away from this tower.

The path to the tower led through the yard of Stillwater, and to the edge of the hill. Large rocks created almost a ravine underneath, and only a small, narrow, snaking trail lead down, barely visible even from the top, and once Noah entered it, he was once more cut out from the outside world, alone with his thoughts. The path was so narrow, his wide shoulders brushed over the tall grass that took every chance to sprout between the cracks, filling what little air there was in this herb tunnel with quiet hissing. He turned left, and right, and left, and right, following a slight slope down, listening to the grass whispering in his ears, and as soon as he reached the bottom, and walked out, almost felt a hungry rumble of the earth beneath. And as he took a few steps out, here it was. Almost at the very edge of the ravine, as if using the rocky slope as a wall - the camp they spoke of. These were round and oval large tents made of hides, supported by tied up and clay-covered bones of large cattle. Tanning racks and large bowls, stone tables with mortars and paint stands nested between the tents, rounding a large campfire. The locals erected a few totem-like poles, between which a young, barely dressed woman with an intricate hairdo danced to the echoing sounds of drums, twisting and contorting her body in unimaginable ways. Another two - behind her, standing still, holding a large bull skull by giant curved horns, bone covering their faces. This was all observed by a crowd of a few dozen men and women in crude hide clothes, and a couple of children, entranced by the dance.

But the man wasn't able to take a few steps towards it, when the nearest boulder moved, and Noah realised that there was a girl leaning over it for all that time, her skin and clothes of the same colour as stone itself, keeping her hidden. She trotted closer - uncomfortable so - hair cut shot, colourful markings on her face, but the most fascinating part was her clothes. They weren't intricate or special - on the contrary, she wore nothing but a torn sack from the looks of it - large holes covering this short, rough dress. But that was a fascinating thing. She was almost naked, not wearing any shoes and from what Noah could see through the tears - not even undergarments, but she didn't look cold or uncomfortable at all. "Yǿu tнe dǿctǿг.", she stated. She didn't ask. It was as if she just decided that from now on Noah would be the doctor, and this was not up for debate. For someone who looked no older than nineteen and could barely speak Noah's language, she was quite confident. "We нave been expecting yǿu." As soon as she saw Noah trying to respond, her little finger landed on his lips, keeping him quiet. "Nǿ.", she said, interrupting him even though he didn't manage to say a thing. "Fiгst - yǿu listen fiгst, yes? Нusband ǿf me. Нe want yǿu nǿ tгeating нim. But нe нuгt. Гefuses tǿ live. We need нim tǿ live until evening. Until sun kisses нǿгizǿn. Yǿu нelp."

 

[Featherstone]

Word must've spread faster than he expected, for this girl to so quickly expect--then again, he wasn't so easily mistaken for someone else, wearing wool and with a doctor's bag slung over his shoulder, but as far as he could tell no one come ahead of him. How, too, she'd escaped his notice, he wasn't sure; he'd been so careful to be on watch, and even still...He didn't even try to speak once she raised her fingers to her lips--he may as well let her finish, rather than be rude--but did find himself resisting the urge to pass her his jacket. He didn't want the gesture to be interpreted as impolite, somehow, with an implication that her attire was wrong, and she didn't seem cold. And, still, every fibre of his being that adhered to the manners he'd been raised with distracted him, as if somehow this was more important than everything else.

Why she wanted him to live to evening specifically, Noah couldn't quite tell. It didn't seem like his place to ask, though. If a life needed his help, then he would offer it. That was his duty. Slowly, the man nodded. "Yes, of course. If you take me to him then I'll do my utmost, miss."

 

[kevintheradioguy]

Nodding, the girl grabbed him by the wrist, dragging along to the camp. As they got closer, it became better visible and clearer, details of intricate embroideries on the tents and drawings across the hides obvious. Noah did his homework, but found nothing but a few stray mentions of local tribes, and as such, he might as well have been the first person to actually come this close to the barbarians, and be this... intimate of sorts. He saw bowls with chestnuts, painted with some odd symbols, and a sack of crude beads near a half-made colourful necklace, a mess of something bright-crimson, and smelling of sugar and berries in one of the mortars, as well as few bags with colourful powders near the campfire - probably to colour fire or produce a specific scent.

Not everyone seemed to be happy about him being here. Noticing the movement, a few people locked their eyes at Noah, quickly gathering, and whispering about, until one man separated from the group, directing himself towards him. This did not go past the girl, that let go of his hand, pointing to one of the tents. "Tнat ǿne.", she quickly said, hurrying to catch the man following them, engaging into a dialogue in an unknown language. Noah didn't understand a word, but by the tone and gestures, the man seemed to be suggesting an outsider was not welcome at whatever ritual they had, while the girl argued about the same thing: Noah was welcome here because of it. They might have used different words, but their tone and gestures were quite easy to interpret.