It's not my birthday
Posted: Fri Feb 19, 2021 4:45 am
48th of Frost, 120
The day had come at last. Arkash had spent the night tossing and turning in fear and anticipation for what the proceeding day might hold for him. Despite his nerves, he couldn't deny that he was intrigued by what such a ceremony could hold.
The Boydd Kinship, a village fo Rathor in the north of Tyrclaid, had taken him in and promised to help him understand and learn more of their culture. The price of such hospitality was respect; respect for their customs and traditions, respect for their people, respect for their work. One of their traditions was the Coming of Age Ceremony, which Arkash had forgone in his youth.
It was no fault of his own; Liu was killed after his sixteenth birthday, and Cojack was too ill to even walk himself to the outhouse. His eighteenth birthday was spent working, like the rest of his birthdays before and after that. He'd told Dorn and a number of the other villagers of his unfortunate circumstances, and they'd taken pity enough to lend him their aid in completing the ceremony.
It was a ceremony to welcome young rath into adulthood. Before its completion, rath of all shapes and sizes were treated like children. In that sense, Arkash was something of an overgrown child in their eyes. He hated it, but they'd treated him with more respect than a typical child since his acceptance to undergo the ceremony. Did he care for it? No. Arkash had taken lives, shot down powerful knights, and led revolutions. He felt like anything but a child, but what he felt meant nothing if no one around him agreed.
So he started the day as he had for the past week, bundled in the furs of Tavlin's spare bed. A stretch of his arms and a click of his shoulder limbered him up for the day. He used the pail of well-drawn water to clean any dried venomous drool from his lips and dressed in his furs. He was slow and sluggish first thing in the morning, as he'd bled most of his heat in the night. So, he painstakingly made his way to the bathhouse to soak. The village was empty, at least in the square. Rel was not chopping wood, Tavlin wasn't fishing or anything of the like. He squinted but thought not much of it until he found the bathhouse empty.
There was always at least one other ice-blood soaking whenever he visited the steam room. Thankfully, the coals were still burning, and he could soak and absorb the heat of the water in peace. The solitude did not help, for he sat on edge, waiting for someone to enter. No one did, not one soul. By the time he left the bathhouse, redressed in his furs and cloak of feathers, the village remained empty. A cloud hung above the land, draping the various cottages and snowy fields in its shadow. Had something happened?
He had directions for that morning; more of a designated task. He was to visit the community's hall, also known as Dorn's house. It was a long room that connected to the goose's living chambers, as he recalled. A long table with more than enough stools to seat the whole kinship, and two fireplaces to ensure the whole room stayed warm for such events in Frost.
He stepped up to the porch and paused as his dranoch hearing picked up on all the noises beyond the door. A brief pull of air through his nose affirmed that most of the kinship was there, lying in wait. He could almost feel their heartbeats as the thudding organs in their chests reverberated through his senses.
The rath lifted his claws to his eyes, and exhaled the brief inhale. He'd been worried for them, but as it happened, they were trying to surprise him. He teared up a little when a subtle burn his throat stirred, then swallowed hard and rubbed his lids to dispel the accumulated tears in his misty eyes. He had to at least pretend to be surprised, and he couldn't do so if he was already tearing up. So, with a couple of deep breaths, he composed himself and pulled the door handle to let himself in.
The windows were covered with thick blankets, which left the room covered in darkness. The only lights were two torches, which were held by Tavlin and Sharok respectively. He could see fine, of course. He tried not to look about at the gathered rath as to not give away his dranoch's night eye and instead looked between the two torches. The whole room had been decorated with dyed scraps of felt and fabric, which hung from the ceiling on pieces of string. The decorations were old and worn, and he could imagine the villagers had gotten years of use out of them for when rathor came of age. It was embarrassing and flattering in the same brush.
In complete silence, Tavlin and Sharok lowered their torches to the twin hearths, and other villagers dropped the drapes that covered the windows to allow light to flood the room. Arkash's eyes half-closed to squint at the rush of light, but everyone there was illuminated. Before his eyes could adjust, his ears were flooded with a chorus in which half the room called 'HAPPY BIRTHDAY, ARKASH!' and the other half, a 'HAPPY <LATE> BIRTHDAY, ARKASH!' to bellow something almost incoherent. If it weren't for his improved hearing, he'd not have caught where they differed.
He smiled uncomfortably while he recovered from the sound and the light alike, but he could hear Rel berating whichever side of the divide she wasn't on. "Dummies!" She spoke with a growl. "You're not supposed to add the 'Late' part. That's not how this goes!"
Korr, the crocodile beastalt met her with "Well it's not his birthday, it doesn't make sense."
"I concur," returned Sharok, the iguana neoalt.
"You're breaking tradition!" hissed Sheki.
"Enough," spoke Dorn, the goose chief of the kinship. "Save the bickering for afterward. Today's a day of celebration; a Rathor is entering adulthood. Do try to set an example." he scolded with a furrow to his brow.
A resounding 'yes chief', from the involved parties followed his warning. He had to agree, it didn't make sense to wish him a happy birthday given that he was late; but if such a ceremony happened exclusively on a rathor's eighteenth birthday, it made sense to start it with such wishes.
Even if it wasn't his birthday, the amount of effort the kinship had put in for him was staggering. The first five minutes alone made up for all the years past, and he began to tear up again. Part of him believed he didn't deserve such kindness, but another part of his suppressed such thoughts. Dorn was right; it was a day of celebration. He had no cause to allow his own mind to ruin it for him. "Thank you," he spoke at last with a smile beneath his teary eyes, "all of you."
His gratitude alone was enough for those gathered; some thirty Rathor. He'd not spoken to all of them yet and only knew maybe half by name. Even Corti was there, despite her grumpiness in earlier days. It was almost too much. How could they treat him so warmly despite not knowing him? The grand family, he thought. They did treat him like one of their own; he felt as trusted.
Chatter broke out among those gathered, and Arkash could make out the conversations that discussed the butchering of the welcoming wish. A lot of them, Rel included were already laughing off the disagreement. They felt like a family to Arkash, and he thought so as he made his way to the goose. Even if they weren't related by blood, they behaved as though they were.
Along the way to the goose, a number of paws and hands alike pat him on the back, and took him by the shoulder, only for those to whom they belonged to wish him well. He removed his feathered cloak on the way and hung it up on the wall before he arrived at Dorn's side. He smiled there and bowed his head in a display of respect. "Thank you so much for this," he spoke sincerely. His eyes still watered and his voice shook a little while he spoke. "No one's ever done something like this for me... it almost feels like a dream," he confessed with a brief, uncomfortable laugh.
A winged arm met his shoulder then, and another lifted his chin to hold his head upright. Dorn brought the dragon's eyes to fastened upon him, where he tilted his head. "No tears, Ark," he spoke simply. "Today's the day you become a man. You'll have your last meal as a boy here soon enough, then we'll move on to the rites in the next room. Okay?"
Arkash brushed the tears from his watery eyes at that and forced a smile above his confused expression "Rites?" He asked, unsure. Such a thing sounded cryptic and ominous, at least in his ears. Was he to eat the heart of a sacrificial goat or something?
Dorn simply tilted his head and nodded briefly. "You'll see; don't worry about it. For now, just enjoy the celebrations," he offered with an extension of his wing. From the hall's pantry, various wooden plates of meat, vegetables, and grubs were brought and served on the long table for anyone to take from. Some were cooked, others were left raw. he supposed that the rath had big appetites and an even bigger range of dietary requirements. Not one food suited all rath. His own eyes were set on the meats and the fish; seafood was something he'd oh-so-rarely indulged, but it was up there among his favorites. A glance about the room revealed the twitching noses of the predator species' present; they all smelt the same things he could. He laughed a breath, then returned his gaze to Dorn before he bowed his head again.
The rest of the day was spent eating, drinking, and talking with the kinship. It took a significant amount of self-control not to force himself to eat any more than he could as a regular mortal, but it became easier when the meat-eaters of the kinship finished off the platters. His appetite for vegetables had diminished since he was gifted Fayeth's blood, but he didn't mind. His serrated teeth always had trouble chewing them.
He was, of course, denied all alcohol whenever he reached for such a thing by mistake; he wasn't an adult in their eyes. As such, the drink was off-limits. At some point in the festivities, Tavlin and Sharok exchanged a glance before they got up to meet with Dorn at the head of the table, and the three proceeded into the east wing of the hall through a door. He quirked his brow, but Rel's drunken bellowing quickly stole his attention, and he thought nothing of it.
