["Fiamma" is Italian for "flame." "Fiametta" is "spark." "Fiamma d'Amore" is a dance. I would imagine that people who know her native language might call this short little 13-year-old a "spark." Fiamma has spent too much time playing in a tavern and being called things like "squirt" to object to an diminutives on her name.]
On the Caravan Trail.
The caravan guard known as Shadya does her martial arts practise daily (if at all possible) after morning prayers and before evening prayers. The half-elf has no doubt observed her at those times. Her solo exercises consist of something that almost appears to be a sword dance, and then, a series of target shooting with her characteristic recurved "bow of the desert".
During one of these sessions shortly after the half-elf joined the caravan, Shadya notices the small stranger watching. The warrior finishes retrieving her arrows from the target and moves towards the foreigner. "May peace be with you, O Small Lady of Music," she calls in her melodious language. "Are you wishing to practise the art?" I have arrows enough for two," looking Fiamma over carefully, "But it would seem thou hast no bow. Shall we see if the caravan master has properly supplied his train with extra weapons?" The tall warrior does not offer the half-elf her own bow.
Fiamma looks up at the tall robed figure, at Shadya's muscles, and then glances at herself. (She's actually quite strong for a little pip just over 5', but still....) She wouldn't dream of trying to use a high-tension bow. The half-elf uses the form of address she'd heard the other guardsmen using. [Perhaps that would translate to "Cuisinart"?] "Yes, Lady Guard, I would very much like to learn to shoot well, and well, please call me Fiamma."
The guard chuckles behind her face veil and bows with a flourish. "I am called Shadya, Fiyamma."
The two examine what weaponry the Caravan Master has made available and Shadya chooses a bow for Fiamma. To the half-elf's untrained eye it does not look so very different from Shadya's own which is now safely encased in an elaborate bow case suspended from the warrior's belt. Shadya has Fiamma string the bow and then the two trot back to the camel-feed (Hey, what else is a hay bale?) target for more practise. The sting of the bow string on gauntlet-less left wrist eventually brings an end to the practise. The warrior shows the bard how to care for her weapon's storage.
"Come," says Shadya, "and I will make you a wrist guard. It won't be pretty, but 'twill do until someone more skilled can make you one." The warrior gets an awl and some leather strapping from that used to repair camel harnesses and sets to work. With characteristic diffidence, Shadya says, while fixing a strap, "Might you teach me some of your songs, sometime, Fiyamma?"
"Uh, I'd have to say that a wrist guard would be a great idea." Fiamma agrees. "Maybe you could find me a new right arm, too." She watches the guard working with the leather. "I'd be happy to teach you some of the songs that I've learned. Do you sing or play an instrument?" She laughs for a moment, shaking out her right arm. "Not that I'm going to play my fiddle at the moment. But most of the songs that I know are in my native tongue. I could teach them to you that way or try to translate some of them." She paused, "Hanging out with Mom in the tavern has given me more of an ... earthy repetoire of ditties. But I do know a couple epics of three ....""If you practise this as you practise your insturments, you will have a new right arm," Shadya's voice displays her friendliness. "There was choral practise as part of my schooling, growing up. But I have never learned an instrument. I - would not mind learning something of your tongue; there are many times where it behooves a guard to know more than she is thought to know. I wouldst learn if you will teach."
[For what it is worth, Shadya has room for several languages amongst her open skill slots. And she does have "singing" as a skill. I imagine her as having a fairly rich contralto singing voice.]
Shadya does not seem to react particularly to the content of Fiamma's songs - earthy or epic - when they are translated. However, the one epic song that displays the highest level of honour does draw from her a laconic, "That is good."
At a rest period, Shadya speaks up. "This is my first trip to the forested lands." She grins slightly. "You may have guessed." [In actuality, Shadya hasn't had much opportunity to make a fool of herself: she does her duties, exercises, and supervises the other guards - all with no fuss and bother. I expect that the Caravan Master has done most of the interacting with foreigners. Even when he is not around, the desert people tend to keep themselves to themselves; not allowing the ordinary stable hands to tend the horses and camels.] She goes on. "Where is this tavern where thou didst grow up? Not that wherein you joined us, surely?" Her tone is that of someone curious for knowledge, not gossipy prying.
Fiamma answers, "I'm afraid that I've spent little time outside the village where your caravan picked me up. Not much happens there really. At least that I know about, although I did once help a woman ... or something ... I think she was a woman ... escape from being locked up in our inn. I spent most of my time helping Mom with chores at the inn, and whenever I got any free time I'd go over and help Harvey with the horses. He gave me my horse, Star, as a going away gift."
"I knew that I wanted to see more of the world, though," the little bard went on, "That's why I joined with you all. In this journey you've already taken me farther than I've been before." She pauses for a moment then says, "'Your trip to the forested lands'? You mean that there are lands without trees?" She's rummaging in her pack for some songs that could make use of Shadya's particular vocal strengths, perhaps throwing in some more spoken than sung sorts of poetry, too.
Shadya answers, "In the lands of my people, trees and water are as jewels, hidden in a land designed to test the worth of man and beast. There there are mountains of sand that change with the winds to challenge one's sense of direction. There are formations of rock, too, which change little save to be covered and uncovered by the sands. The winds and sands and waters are ruled by djinns and spirits, and one's soul must be strong to make one's way amidst them. But the stars - ah, the stars are like to nowhere else. Like sunlit tears on a vast sea of black, like diamonds on a sheet of velvet, like your heart's delight made solid and scattered into the night. 'Tis all of wealth and grandeur and majesty, that land of the desert." Shadya lapses into silence for a few moments, and then excuses herself to go tend her horse.
"Fiamma & Shadya" copyright 1996 S.Swinehart, C.Ebert & S.Knowles. The contents of this site are copyright 2004 Sheryl A. Knowles unless otherwise specified. All rights reserved.