Natani didn't feel right. Something felt . . . off, to her.

Now - to be fair - this was a given, on most days. Some joints ache when it rains and other joints ache when it's sunny, and a whole swath of joints just ache whenever they feel like it. Natani found that at her age, the discovery of new aches, pains, twinges, funny feelings, and strange joint-related noises was a daily occurrence. But when a new and strange feeling came over her, she couldn't help but worry.

Most probably it was just poorly cooked chicken. Her eldest son, Shako, was a fearless hunter and a loving father, but the old Roen couldn't properly roast a chicken for all the spears on the ridge. But he had seemed so proud of his half-burnt, half-raw creation that the old matron couldn't help but go back for seconds, just to humor the boy.

Yes, that is probably it. She thought, not that she truly believed herself. Regardless, she had long since learned that it is always far better to err on the side of safety. So, with a resigned sigh, she began to meditate.

When she was a youth, Natani would strip herself naked, and sit on the table in the center of her cart and stick cotton in her ears, to eliminate all possible distractions. However, now, with her age and experience, the old woman knew the pathways in her mind so well that she did not even have to get out of her rocking chair. She simply closed her eyes, and brushed aside all other thoughts. Perhaps it took longer this way, but the years had also taught her patience.

The old woman sat in her rocking chair, out on her front porch, lost in her own world of meditation.

One single thought flowed - one idea, phrased a thousand different ways, considered from a multitude of different angles, and weighed on myriad scales, all within her mind.

Roughly translated to the less elegant Estuan tongue, her question boiled down to: What the Clock is Going On?!?

Osane was pulling his hair again. Today she had decided that her legs were useless, and no matter how much he tried to coax her, she sat on the ground and bawled until he picked her up. And only him-- when Itzal had been given a turn, Osane's silver tones had filled the air once again-- so it was up to Nicias to quiet her. Wasn't it always? Either way, he felt she was getting too big for this. Next time he would have to Be Stern. If he could find it in his heart to actually do it. Osane was one of his few weaknesses, he felt.

Argi and Itzal were walking behind him a few paces, arguing about something. Something to do with bugs? Nic turned, just to make sure no bug ingesting was going on. If it had been, he would have wanted to take part. He was out of luck, however, Itzal and Argi were speaking gibberish to each other, pretending to be warriors from another land with a strange language. Nic's imagination soared.

His sister wiggled on top of his shoulder and pulled his hair to the left. Without half a thought he was already disentangling her little fists.

"Osane." He said suddenly (suddenly, because Nicias never felt the need to chatter, so when he spoke it was always suddenly and without any seeming cause or reason). "Osane, do you wish to play a game?" Although she didn't reply, he could tell she was listening. She fidgeted a little less.

"Once, in a land very far away, there were two travelers. They had traveled many miles and dust coated their feet. Their clothes were threadbare. But these men were warriors, with great shining weapons."

His brothers recognized the beginning of a story and walked closer, trying to listen while still uttering a random sound or two to each other, pretending their game was more important than his story.

"In this land, there were great monsters with two heads-- taller than a house! (That's us, Osane)." He bounced a little to make her laugh, "Now one day, the travelers came to rest by a very large stone. When the ground began shaking they did not worry because quakes were not unusual in their area...but they should have. The great monster roared--" He roared, causing Osane to emit a shriek of laughter and then attempt a roar of her own, "And then they knew it was not a quake! But they were not truly scared. Not until the monster began chasing them, thinking to make the warriors his next meal!"

With these words he turned around and ran after Itzal and Argi, who had long since stopped their chatter to listen to the story. They yelped and scrambled away. The game was a fun one-- with Itzal and Argi attempting to 'kill' the monster by getting close to it, and Osane and Nicias roaring and chasing the pair.

It might have lasted for quite awhile, as these games of Nic's tended to, had Itzal not taken it into his head to swat at Osane with a stick. It caught her on the cheek and drew blood. The howl that followed it made it clear the monster was quite dead, and the game dissipated. Itzal went to hide behind a tree, lest Nic take it into his mind to thrash him then and there, although Nic himself was busy trying to quiet her.

He spotted Natani sitting on her porch and carried a struggling, screaming Osane to her. "Grandmother, do you have any sweets?" He asked with a sort of helpless air that made him endearing.

Old Natani was more than used to this sort of thing. She had given birth to seven children, after all, and if one can maintain sanity in a household of nine, then one can maintain some semblance of concentration through anything short of a minor apocalypse.

In any case, she was close to done anyways. She was not looking for a complete answer, after all. She simply wanted to know whether she should be worried for her city - if her world was in peril, she wanted to at least be aware of it's presence. If danger truly did loom, then she would spend many sleepless nights communing with the mona, speaking of her fears and listening to their whispers - exchanging rumors with the spirits and the gods. But if there was no burgeoning tragedy, then her community always had less dire matters to be attended to.

Finally, the words of power rolled off her tongue - with practiced ease - and the spell was complete.

Her eyes flickered open. "I'm sorry, my child, but my ears are not what they once were. What did you say?" She asked the boy, with a kindly smile.

"Osane, stop screaming!" Nic protested, trying to cover the girl's mouth with a brown hand and yelping when small teeth clamped down against his hand. Once he'd wrenched them out it only seemed to cause the tiny girl to scream louder.

"Sweets?!" He begged, promising himself to give Itzal a few good kicks later when this was all over. Nicias attempted to pick her up. It was like wrestling with a hurricane, if hurricanes were tiny and had arms and legs and teeth and could have won a prize in screaming competitions.

"Please Grandmother?"

Natani gave the child a knowing look. A trained professional in the Art of Knowing Looks, Natani's mere glance sometimes seemed to carry a small library worth of knowledge. Her wrinkled face creased into a friendly old-woman smile - that special sort of smile that naturally puts children at ease, and which for some inexplicable reason cannot be accurately replicated by non-grandmothers.

Then her voice lashed out like a steel trap. "Nicias Mattin! You 'orrible little boy, you let go of your little sister this instant, or so help me I'll have you sweeping out my cart 'till the day Naulas plants a tree!" Her words are barely loud enough to qualify as a shout, but her voice carries the weight and power of a woman who raised seven healthy boys to adulthood and survived to tell the tale. "And Osane Mattin! You take one more bite out of that and I'll make you swallow the whole thing, and I don't think you got enough stomach!"

She hated to be interrupted from her meditations, but the raising of children is the work of a tribe, and from the look of things, there was much work to be done.

Nic was used to following orders. And orders from Elders, he felt, were especially important. He immediately let go, making a face that promised he would definitely be whining about this if she hadn't told him to stand still.

"I wasn't doing anything..." He said, which was rather much more than what he usually said in the presence of others. Nicias kept turning his head back to keep an eye on his two brothers, and then staring at the ground. He was itching to pick up Osane and run off before old Natani had a chance to do anything.

Natani raised an inquisitive eyebrow. "Now, that's not exactly true, I don't think." She waved a dismissive hand. The moment was passed. "But, as it so happens, I have come across something rather sweet recently . . . "

She drew her hand from her pocket, revealing a small handful of candied cherries - and the good sort, too. "The only question is, have you earned them?"

Rising to her feet, Natani leaned heavily on her staff. "A worthy tribesman should know it's world, and it's ways. So tell me, child, what are the three disciplines of magic?" She held up a single candied cherry between her thumb and forefinger, just outside Nicias's snatching range.

Nicias, who was scowling because he had only been attempting to get the sweets to stop Osane from screaming, perked up considerably when old Natani held up the candied cherries. Apparently his brothers were interested as well, because they began to inch closer. He turned and shot them a glare, before trying to fix his face into one of complete innocence. It was an expression that said he deserved the candy, because he was so good.

Her question was easy enough. "Jolta." He replied immediately, telling her the first one with ease. One day he hoped to become a master of this discipline...to shape the very earth with magic...he'd seen it, of course. But to actually do it...

He brought his mind back to the task at hand, as it had already started to wander into mysterious tales. "Eh...Mans..." He wracked his brains for the third.

"Zan...eh..." No. That wasn't it. Nic looked solemn as he tried to remember the last one, eyebrows drawn and mouth quirked to the side. "Er..." He looked up, trying to catch a hint on Grandmother's face. No luck. Her face was as stone. He looked down again, a little guilty for trying to cheat his way out of this.

"Erg...ai?"

Natani tutted. "Close, very close, little one. But not quite." She looked thoughtful for a moment. "But those are merely their names, not what they are. Each is, after all, an art in and of itself."

She smiled congenially. "So, I think I will still give you the candy, if you can tell me what the three arts do." She grinning, watching the child expectantly.

Nic folded his arms. If he hadn't wanted that candied cherry so bad he might have left after getting the first three wrong. It was Erga...Fool...

Her next question he was much more comfortable.

"Jolta is for shaping the stones...Mans is for thinking and asking questions and telling the Gods (may they keep us well) our stories...ehh...Erga is fire and water and lightning." He made a motion with his hand, like a lightning bolt striking the ground.

((SFSR! Finals, doncha know. And I forgot about this thread, among all the madness.))

"Tsk tsk" clucked the old grandmother. "Such glib answers work well on the young - your schoolteachers, perhaps. But when an old, old lady like me asks you a question like that, you can be pretty sure she expects something a mite more philosophical-like." She said, with a wry, self-deprecating smile. "But your answer for Mans was . . . acceptable, at least. And since that's the only one that actually counts . . . " She winked at the boy. "I suppose I'll let you have that one."

She gently tossed a piece of candy in his general direction, her arthritic fingers trusting his youthful reflexes to make the catch, wherever it goes. "Now, for the whole bag: if you could ask the gods a question - and get an honest reply - what would you ask?" She asked, as she drew an over-full packet of candies from her pouch.

She grinned like a cat. "And remember: think Philosophical-Like."

The candy landed a few short steps away from where nic dove and fell on the ground. Instead of shunning it, he licked the dirty part away and handed it to Osane. "Don't swallow." He warned, keeping his eye on Natani, as if afraid she'd run away with the rest of the candy. His body was also poised to run after her-- if need be. His mouth tasted like dirt and he licked his hand to get rid of the coating, then wiped it on his pants.

Her question made him pause and he scratched his head. He knew what his Daoa would want him to say. Ask how to find happiness.

But Nic was rather on his father's side when it came to matters about the Gods and Spirits.

"I don't think I would ask them anything." He said with a slow shrug, keeping his serious eyes on the old woman, "Life's too complicated already without the Gods (may they grace us forever) sticking their noses into things. If you ask me we got to mostly figure stuff out on our own. Isn't no use bothering the Gods with our worries. They have bigger things to think about than me."

It was a lot of talking for Nic and he picked at a scab meditatively. "Plus you never know what answer you're gonna get. That's a danger." The scab peeled off and left pink skin in its wake with part of it bleeding. "And I don't have anything to ask. My ma always says that if you don't have anything to say keep your maw shut. Mouth." He corrected himself automatically.

Natani's eyes twinkled when the boy gave the candy to his sister. And brightened even more when he gave his answer.

She considered the answer for a moment, as if tasting it, then nodded with satisfaction. "A good answer. Packed nicely with barrels of enlightenment and cartloads of profundity." She smiled. "But everybody knows that a proper old-wise-lady question would not be complete without surprise follow ups." She winked at the boy.

"The Art of Knowing is a gift and a responsibility. We of the Art speak to the powers that surround us all, and tell them our secrets, tell them our stories. In return, they tell us theirs. If you had a god's ear and they bid you speak, what would you say?" Her eyes sharpened, awaiting his answer. The drawstring for the bag of candies wound tight around her fingers.

There was a long silence where Nic merely stared at Natani gravely, as only children can-- the weight of the world appeared to be on his shoulders.

"I would tell them about an old woman who promised us sweets but would not give them up even after we answered them correctly."

His opinion was clear. Surprise questions weren't fair. Old Natani may not have noticed but Nic had changed his grammar to 'us'. Itzal and Argi were now close enough to him that they were within arms length. Their elder brother only moved to cross his arms and continue to stare down the old woman.

Old Natani crowed, laughing heartily. "Very well, boy. Very well." She tossed the bag at the child. "You've earned that a few times over, I rather suspect."

"Now, before you go, let old Natani have a look at that scab. It's always easier to treat a cut than an infection, you know." She squinted at the wound with elderly eyes. "And you've got some dirty fingers on you."

Nic caught the bag eagerly and his brothers immediately crowded around. Osane joined them; Although she didn't know what the clamour was about, she was having in on it or else.

"Stop!" Nic growled at the three of them, and they ceased. He handed out one cherry to each brother (although he punched Itzal on the arm as he gave him his), and ate one himself. The rest he put in his pants pocket, where they would remain forgotten until later, found like a wonderful surprise. Osane crowed for one but he refused her curtly. This time she didn't scream, instead latching onto his leg.

Only after he had chewed on his cherry enough to satisfy himself did he feel the need to answer the old woman. Fingers were fixed easily enough. He licked his sticky hands and sucked on each finger individually, then dried them on his pants and showed them to Noros. See? Clean!

Her other statement had been more confusing. "Scabs?" He asked slowly, his hand going to the one he'd been picking and continuing to pull at it, reopening the wound. What did she want with his scabs? He had never bothered to count them but he was quite confident that he had enough for it to count as battle experience.

"Don't pick at that, boy." She snapped, waving a reprimanding finger. "And come closer, so Old Natani can get a better look. It looks to me like it might be getting infected."

She shakes her head. "Picking open scabs with dirty fingers. I know for fact I taught your mother better'n that, and I'm betting she taught you better just the same." She tsked as she dug through her pouches for the proper materials for a simple poultice. "Now, let me see that scar." The unwavering certainty in her voice transformed a simple request into an ironclad command.

Nic disentangled Osane from his legs and took reluctant steps towards the old woman, shooting back a 'help me' glance towards his brothers. They shrugged and grinned, then began chattering to each other in their made up language.

If Nicias had been a cat his ears would have gone back.

"They're not dirty." He said, staring at his just-cleaned hands, and then looking at his scab. He thought for half a second he might refuse her but his arm seemed to move of its own accord. The eldest Mattin hated healings. They hurt. Picking at scabs was fun, like scratching an itch...But getting then cleaned stung and he hated it.

Natani clucked scoldingly. "Now, now. I'm just going to put a little poultice on there." She said, frowning at the scar. "Not infected yet, but absolutely filthy."

She uncorked a flask and tipped a bit into a clean rag. The stink of strong grain alcohol slowly wafted up. "Now, as I'm sure you're aware, this will sting a bit." She grinned at the boy. "But not nearly as much as the infection would, so hold still."

Nicias held still, although his face was already flinching in anticipation of the sting. He considered running once again... and then set his teeth. If he'd just cleaned the cuts like his Daoa told him to he wouldn't be in this situation. But Nic couldn't usually be troubled enough to bother. He was always in the middle of climbing or running-- and those things could not be interrupted.[/i]

She flicked the rag expertly over the former scab. It stung - to be sure - but not nearly as much as it should have. Natani had treated innumerable wounds over her many years, and she had gotten quite adept at the art. Magic, she always thought, was only the first resort of the foolish. Much can be done without needing to bother the Mona.

She pressed a small patch of herb-soaked cloth onto the wound. "Now, hold this on there until it dries. It'll stick on so long as you don't pick at it. And if you pick at it, I'll find out, and you'll wish you hadn't." She smiled. "Now, run along. And remember what you've heard and what you've said."

Nic winced, acting as if it hurt much more than it had, and stared at the old woman accusingly. He held the cloth to the wound, planning on throwing it out later. He heard what she said next and winced. Okay. So she could read minds. That was probably an elder thing. Maybe he'd learn to do it when he got old.

He nodded impatiently and then glanced at Osane.

"We're going." He told her curtly. She wasn't hurt-- this was often how her older brother spoke to her and her two brothers. Osane trotted after him towards Itzal and Argi and the small family left towards home.