No, for once, the title of this blog post does not refer to anything involving the Dangerverse, or even the Chronicles of Glenscar, in both of which I have used puns relying on the meanings of names. It is simply an indication that the narrator of the Fiction Friday post for today (yes, it's back!) is somehow important to her people.
How so? Well, today's little story is a Trycanta tale, and our storyteller is... but perhaps I should let her speak for herself, while I get back to the Dangerverse. Chapter 63 of SD is overdue, after all, and it's going to be a big one. Here, then, is today's Fiction Friday post. Send me some love and I hope to have a chapter for you tonight!
In the city, there is never an hour without a ritual, or so I am told. I have never been there myself. Though I can assume the same form as the people of the cities, still they would look strangely at me there, with my hair streaked orange and black, with that same hot orange in my eyes. For I took my first breath in the moment of the Sun Hawk's final dive, but I let out my first cry under the light of the Dark Friend's stars, and thus the colors of those two gods are forever mingled in me.
I hear that in the city, each god and goddess has a temple dedicated solely to them. This seems very strange to me, for the Twelve are a family, mothers and fathers, sisters and brothers, wives and husbands. Perhaps in the city, where all is crowded and noisy, to dwell in one's own space is the height of luxury, but in the countryside, where I live, comfort and safety is best ensured by the sharing of one's home with family. So the Twelve are worshiped under one roof in our temples, with their shrines all lining the walls of the great round chamber at the temple's heart, and I do not think they are displeased by the difference.
The temples do have some use in the cities, I suppose, for the chiming of bells for different services throughout the day and night helps people to know the time, which must be difficult when so much of the Twins' beautiful sky is covered up by ugly clouds of smoke or tall towers of brick and stone. Myself, I prefer to sleep through the heat of the day in the cool of the Forest Shade's trees, or sun myself on a ledge in the mountains of the Master, until his bride, the Bountiful Huntress, sees fit to send prey to my hunting so that I may bring home fresh meat for my family's table.
My name is Emeli, "sweet one" in the language of my father, and I am a woman of the world called Trycanta. I am a lyqui, a child of two races, one of which was almost dead until the other came to its aid. I have heard that across the Dancer's sea, other peoples have other ways. Perhaps someday I will go out and see for myself.