They jostled and Murron scowled, they glared and Murron sighed, but Frith's words about Aunt Kotha--Murron's own mental name for her as she'd grown up alongside Sabu and Sita--made her gasp in the silence that had followed. Her hand froze on the knife.

The next series of events flashed by like moments and Murron found herself looking at someone she nearly considered family trying to strangle a friend. The stout little Roek woman snapped her knife against against her makeshift cutting board and the sharded bone flew against the pot with a muted BERNG.

Out.

Out! She screamed. Or, she would have screamed if she'd been allowed so basic a right. As it was, she only growled and brandished her cutting board. Sage and rosemary scattered when she stood and whipped her weapon about. The strangler was beat upside the head and the clawing one earned a similar treatment. Out! Out, out, out of my house! Out of my home! Murron hissed from her throat and bared her teeth. Murron had given such treatment to many as a younger woman. To the age of twenty-two she had been a proper firebrand--a beautiful creature with a hot-blooded nature. She'd pushed it down and turned such fire into perseverance to survive as one banished and she'd not played the firebrand in many many years.

It seemed that meekness had not so overtaken her that she no longer knew how to be an impulsive Roek and she fully intended to beat both men senseless unless they vacated her home.

OUT!

The blows were felt on Sabu Imani's head, each jostling him, but none knocking him back to his senses. He still saw red when he looked at Frith Rair. He still felt bile in the back of his throat when he heard the words in his head, again and again. What they did remind him of was that there was another in this house besides he and the small man. A friend.

The hand stayed on the man's neck. Even as the blood slowly oozed from the marks the hunter's nails had left, even from the screaming pain of tendons being pushed beyond their limits. His teeth seemed to set themselves harder against each other as he reached with his other arm for the hem of Frith's pants. His feet shifted under him into a very low crouch. And then, with a great intake of breath, he attempted to lift Frith off of the ground.

The hammer throw was a very basic throw, and one his sister liked to use on him often. Sabu was a quick boy, and could gain momentum quickly. Sita would so often grab him by his arm and leg and swing him in circles until throwing him out of the ring. He didn't have enough room in Murron's little mud hut for such a maneuver, but being a wrestler meant knowing how to improvise.

He twisted at the waist, hoping to use the tensile strength generated by his great, thick spine to fling Frith out of his friend's home. He had relinquished and entered into Murron Uita's home first. Now this man would leave first.

As Murron lashed out, Frith tore his eyes away from Sabu and on to the woman. The hand around his neck, the blood pooling beneath his fingernails did not exist only her rage. That fire in her belly that the flats had long wanted to extinguish. Frith knew it well, saw it in himself and was pretty impressed, or he would have been were Sabu's fist not tight around his neck.

As it was, he realised all too late Sabu's intention and could do nothing but brace himself in order to land in a way that would do minimal damage to his body, that would leave him prepared and ready for the wildman's next attack.

(( The dice say: Sabu: 4, Frith 2 ))

Frith was a small man, but he was not a light man. Years spent in the flats had given his lean muscles the density of hard work, and he was heavier than he appeared. Even so, Sabu was a practiced wrestler. Instinctively, he knew mass and inertia, knew the twists and turns inherent to the tangle of wrestling as well as he knew the mutable animal paths of the forest floor.

Quickly, the wildman hefted Frith in the tiny shack, sending him soaring out the door as if he were a mere sack of hay. For a full second, the ex-beggar was airborne. He had ample time to tuck into a roll, and he landed smoothly. Too smoothly-- the slick mud gave way beneath him, and he skidded out of control.

Frith slammed into an innocent bystander--Sabu’s brick template--and despite Sabu’s craftsmanship, the wooden frame exploded in a flower of boards and nails. The pieces fell to the muddy ground with a plip-plap-plop.

Anger pounded in Murron's ears. She heard the snap of that template, but she did not find herself caring much.

Her water was boiling fast and there were things to do if supper was to be ready. Meat to slash, herbs to rip, vegetables to savage. There was battle to be done even in Murron's home, and even within Murron.

Oh why did those stubborn, hot-blooded, bull-headed, men have to fight now? Why now when just moments before she'd felt so happy? So...welcome and wanted and.... She'd been having another of those dangerous moments, she realized. Another of those times that she fooled herself into thinking that she could have some semblance of normal or natural or even tribe life. Murron knew she should stop trying to fool herself. When your dinner guests begin ripping at each other you know that you have no semblance of normal.

Murron realized that she was ripping at the meat in her hands. She sighed and threw it into the pot along with the rest of the herbs and dried vegetables.

Where did that bottle of spiced wine get to?

Sabu didn't feel any rage over the destruction of his template. In his mind, he did not even think of making another. There was, however, a grim satisfaction of seeing Frith Rair splayed out on the mud. As soon as his friend began attacking him, he leaped out, back into the mud. He was upon Frith, one shoulder dug into the small of his back, all his weight behind it. The hand of the other arm enclosed around the man's hair, and pulled his head back, his neck bending until Frith looked up into the sky.

"APOLOGIZE FRITH RAIR!" Sabu bellowed, no boisterous spirit or good nature in the timbre of his voice. "APOLOGIZE TO MY MOTHER FOR THE SLANDERS THAT YOU LAID ON HER IN HER DEATH! APOLOGIZE FOR CLAIMING TO BE SO VIRTUOUS, BUT SEEING NOTHING WRONG IN INSULTING A WOMAN WHO DID YOU NO FAULT! APOLOGIZE NOW, FRITH RAIR!" His voice became harsh, raspy from yelling at a volume that not even his voice was accustomed to. There was such anguish, such anger in his voice. An incredulous anger. Why would Frith Rair have said such things? Was he merely trying to anger Sabu? If such was the case, then each inch he sunk in the mud, each each wave of anguish from his head bending up to face the sun, were testaments to his success. Blood oozing from his arm dripped down onto the hunter's back. The pain in his tendons screamed into his head, but he ignored it still. He would sooner have his sinews snap and his hand be rendered useless than relinquish the grip he had on this wick.

Frith gritted his fist around mud, trying to push himself to his feet. There were many things he may have thought, had his thoughts not been so focused on the task at hand, fighting off the pressure of the larger, and indeed stronger, man. Who was Sabu Imani to take such umbrage a simple words? They had called his mother a whore for having birthed him, when he was first taken him to that pole in front of the whole village, tied alongside his friend for those days.

They had said much worse to, of Elahra, of what he had done with her, of what- they said- he had done with Inle too, dragged the friendships through the mud. The Roek had thought nothing of insulting Elahra in her death, by their inaction, by insinuating she was a slut, an incestuous slut no less and Frith had wanted to kill every last one of them with his bare hands. But what had he got? Ten years of silence, while they were free to hate all they wanted. There had never been any apologies then, though he had dearly loved to do what Sabu did to him. Well, no more.

“Rot in the forest,” spat Frith, wriggling like a worm on a rope against Sabu’s grip. His neck felt as though it may snap, hair pulled back, grasped in Sabu’s fat mit of a hand. It reminded him of a child’s game, say ‘dabrunno’ or I won’t let you go. Even as a child, Frith had been stubborn as a mule, and years in the flats had hardened him further, when you had to be stubborn just to stay alive.

And then Frith stopped struggling, went limp, like he was refusing to play this game any more. Let the wildman do as he pleased. And still the bearded, older man said nothing. A weary disgruntled expression masking one of pain. But his hands, in the mud clawed at a shard of Sabu's broken nrick template, grasping around a sharp slab of splinters. Graceful when he needed to be, like all the best hunters, Frith jerked his body and tried to send the shard into Sabu's thigh.

(( Sabu: 6, Frith: 4. ))

The grapple was well within the domain of the last Imani, and Sabu’s grip held tight despite Frith’s wriggling. However, he had left the hunter’s arms free, and Frith managed to jostle into a slightly less painful position.

With his head held back, Frith could not aim his stab with the scrap of wood. His wrist collided with Sabu’s thigh instead, and the wildman, in all his rage, did not budge.

Sabu felt the ineffective stab at his thigh and growled. He began to bend Frith even further back, but then he stopped. He was letting his anger get the better of him. He was only focusing on causing pain. For a moment, his head unclouded. Murron was watching as he bent this man in half. His mother too... he was sure she was watching as he growled like a beast and beat Frith like he was one of the wild animals from the forest. This wasn't the way to do things. Frith Rair... had insulted his mother, but his mother would never have him do this to someone because of that.

Why was he thinking like this? What pleasures was he getting from this man, his fellow tribesman, writhing in agony? Sabu breathed deeply, and slowly lifted his elbow off of the man's back, maintaining pressure on it all the while. He snaked it around one of the hunter's arms, then brought the hand holding onto Frith's hair to clasp his arm, effectively bear hugging the smaller man. His grip was strong, but he didn't seek to suffocate or to break ribs. Just to hold down.

"Frith Rair," he wheezed, trying to keep his voice even as he panted from exertion, "I want only an apology. Please, my mother has done you no harm, only me... and we can settle our grievances like men. We do not have to bring anyone into our squabble but ourselves." He said this with a certain insight, as he thought of his friend Murron, his best and oldest friend, who's dinner had been wrecked by the two men because of some petty grudge and... yes and his own jealousy. "We should not hurt the ones we care about, Frith Rair."

“Do not…insult me…Sabu Imani,” said Frith teeth gritted, shame stinging at being held down like some dying animal by Sabu, “You wish to solve this like men? I would treat you to act like one. Why do you cuddle me like some long lost lover?” He was doing it again. Penance, blood sacrifices, shorn off fingers in the soil.

Frith Rair begged to be beaten, again and again. A man was a man but for the bruises on his wrists and the pain in his eyes. It had been this way since Elahra and Frith saw no resolution to this feud but for spilt blood. No resolution for any of them, Murron Uita, Onin Rair, Sabu Imani, Frith Rair, Tzul Droon or the long dead forms of Nuet Uita and Elahra Ayli but for the spilling of blood on the earth.

“You started this,” hissed Frith to Sabu, and in a way he had, that mistrust had been there from the outset, brought to the quickest of boils. And Frith was nothing if not always, fatally, strong in his conviction.

He felt his torso caked and sticky with mud, the dirty traitor and the Wildman neither of them more than animals. Again he gripped his shard of wood, unpeturbed by his first failure and tried once again to drive it into flesh.

(( Frith: 2, Sabu: 4. Sorry it's shortish! ))

As Sabu had the smaller man in a tight grapple, Frith’s arm could do little to gain momentum. The strike simply prodded the wildman, breaking neither skin nor cloth.

A raven landed atop a gangly tree, watching the two men curiously. Fights did occur in the Beggar Flats, wordless arguments over scraps of food and the like, but usually they ended quickly. This fight, however, looked more promising to the carrion feeder, and it let out a chuckling croak in anticipation.

Sabu felt the second prod against him. It was so slight, like a sting from a wasp. It made him realize something. This fight was pointless, but it seemed that trying to entreat to Frith Rair's rationality would be just as pointless. Every time it seemed that the two would come close to, if not making amends, then agree to keep their disputes with each other to themselves, he only came back with more insults, more sleights. Why did he feel so strong against Sabu, why did he say such things?

"There is more poison in your tongue than in any snake I have ever seen, Frith Rair. Every time you choose to open your mouth, all I hear is words laced in venom. I do not know what I have done to wrong you so, I do not know what my mother has done. I do not know why you think so little of Murron Uita, that you will not swallow whatever hate you have for me, and allow us to deal with it away from her." This entire rebuttal was spoken in a harsh whisper. "You are my senior and a fellow tribesman, but if I cuddle you like a lover, you whine at me like a craven child! I started this? We are grubbing in the mud like pigs, Frith Rair! Now you listen to me." He tightened his hold a little more on the smaller man in hopes of making him more prone to listening.

"You will apologize to my mother, Frith Rair. Then, when you have done so, you will be released. We shall go to Murron Uita, and we shall beg for her forgiveness in the way we acted. We shall eat and enjoy her company. She deserves better than us, but... we" and it did pain him to say 'we', "... we are all she has here. Whatever you have against me, against the way I live, keep with me, Frith Rair." He knew that whatever opinion this man had of him in his hate twisted head, he could not be seen as any more womanly so he felt no problem in finally sinking to the bottom. "... Please, Frith Rair."

You think yourself better than me Sabu Imani?Frith thought angrily, dark eyes darker than night and yet filled with white hot burning fire. What could he know of having nothing but pride, he had chosen to live as an outcast but Frith and Murron had no choice, Sabu had knowledge of loss but he had no idea what it meant to grieve for a decade in silence, no word of comfort from another living soul…nothing but your mind and your own pride, your own belief in yourself to keep you alive. And there had been those that had not survived the flats and it might take days to find them, collapsed on the floor after consuming poisons, hung from trees at the very edges of the flats…Frith had seen rotten forms with his own eyes, cut down an arsonist from a tree with the flat of a stone. There was nothing but strength and hardness, he tried to tell himself, left in these bones- feeling old before their time and yet to look on Murron Uita, on his family, there was still softeness.

“I apologize to your mother, Sabu Imani,” he growled, “It was not my place to insult her character. It is always wrong to speak ill of the dead.”

“But,” he stressed and there was always a but, ”It is not I who has a problem with you, oh great and good Sabu Imani who is so kind a generous with his time, to break bread with a pair of beggars. You could stand to sit with a banished man? You would drink wine with a traitor to the Roek? You would trust your friend with an attempted murderer? There are not many who would,” Frith spat onto the ground. He had seen men like Sabu throw stones at him, bruise his chest, break the skin on his lips, and each one of them now became Sabu Imani. Part of him knew that he was not just talking to Imani but to the whole tribe.

He wanted to sell his goods to Roek people so he could bring rice to his mother and fine things to thank her for, in her own way, sticking by her son, he wanted to have a healer see to his father without resorting to blackmail. He simply wanted the past to be the past, to bury Elahra and the boy he once was.

“You ask me why I speak with venom? You expect me to act the snake Sabu Imani….you sit and you watch and you judge. Why do you act so shocked when I perform in exactly the way you have wished?” again he wriggled.

“And I will sit with Murron Uita and I will apologize to her, but not out of any dues towards you- but because I know what this means to her, you cannot understand Sabu Imani, what it means to be cast out, to be spat on until it has happened to you. You feel you suffer at the hands of your tribe because the hunters would not let you play with them as a child?” Frith spat on the ground. “I have sworn to treat Murron well.” It was an oath sealed in blood. "I do not and I will not break my oaths lightly."

The growled slanders from outside were easily audible to Murron and she ground her teeth tighter with all of it. Those two were being horrible. At least Sabu was apologizing somewhat, the little that he could, but Frith...

Murron empathized with Frith more than she let herself admit. Frith had nothing but his own pride. Murron had more, really. She had at least one friend who would care if she one day collapsed from the weight of her circumstance and died of heartache. Who was kind to her and brought her gifts that made survival a little easier. And he would talk to her. That was the best gift he gave, truly. To talk with someone and share a common bond with another living person was a true gift to one such as her. For ten years, Frith had none of that.

On that saddening note, the stew was ready.

Murron allowed herself the whisper of a sigh as she served bowls to two empty places along with the spiced wine. She sat a moment longer to consider the empty places before she took a deep breath--steeling herself. A deep frown creased between her brows. By the Gods, Supper was ready and it would be served.

The stout woman rose from her home and prepared to do something she had not done in nine years. Lessons she'd begged her parents for so far back in time had done her some good as a part of the tribe, but had little place here.... She found her two friends still where she had figured the would be, still in the position she had figured they would be in. Murron Uita took a deep breath and braced her field for the task. With a short series of steady hand motions and foot placements, Murron imagined the ooze of the Beggar Flats pushing Sabu and Frith apart and rendering them immobile to the waist in sludge as she cast Joltai.

It had been a long time, yes, but the mona had not forgotten Murron Uita. They listened to her now as she asked them to separate and bind the two men. If they were slow to answer, well, it had been quite a long time.

Murron could taste the mud she was manipulating on the tip of her tongue as it pushed sluggishly against Sabu and Frith, pulling them apart. It was mostly effective-- they were no longer locked together, though the immobility she had wished for did not come.

Sabu felt the mud come up between him and Frith and yelped as it pushed them away, sucked at him slightly. It was so slow, but not even Sabu's strength could stop the mud wave from depositing him a bout a foot from where he was originally arms and legs splayed out.

He shook his head a bit and tried to figure out what had happened. Looking towards Murron's house, he saw the silent woman standing with her hand still out. He realized what happened. He rolled himself over kneeled down, and dipped his head low in an apology to his friend.

"Murron Uita... I am deeply ashamed at how I acted. I allowed my temper, and... and my own prejudices to get the better of me," he shook his head as he spoke. Frith Rair's presence... it stirred such feelings in him before. He had never lost control like that. It was horrible... but it was still there. Even as he kneeled and sincerely expressed his shame, in the bottom of his stomach, there was somehting hissing to Frith Rair "If you weren't here this wouldn't have happened! Why should one such as you be near Murron Uita?"

He pushed it down though. He would deal with his own feelings later. Today was his friend's day, and she would have Frith Rair dine with them. Still with his head bowed, he told her, "if you can still find it in you to have me over, I shall be honored and humbled. If not, I shall understand and return to my home."

The mud pushing Sabu away allowed the smaller man to find once again a more comfortable position as he stretched his body trying to shake out the knots the Imani man had tied into his muscles...mud stained torso tightened as he twisted to the side before stopping and looking at Murron. Who did not look best pleased. To say the very least.

Frith, being a man of fewer words- a leftover from his time in the flats simply punctuated Sabu’s own grovelling with a short but entirely sincere,
“I am sorry, Murron.” But, looking down at his mud binding the faintest ghost of a smile twitched from beneath his beard. “I am also impressed. I have not seen Joltai cast in a long time.”

Strong woman, strong and perfectly capable of handling herself he noted- proficient with staff and also with her use of magic, himself having not so much as beseeched the mona for a simple jolta. His father was a craftsman, who used his own hands to make permanent shapes in the rock and had nothing to teach Frith, for he knew nothing himself. The more he saw of Murron, the more impressed Frith became.

If only the same could be said of Sabu, who seemed to be weaselling his way back into Murron’s affections and the while looking at Frith as though he were some rotting scrap of carrion growing hot and putrid under the harsh glare of the midday sun.