Legends of Belariath
Amathaunta
A day in the life of a halfbreed.
"Mother? Mother! Where are you?" Amathaunta called from the kitchen. She had looked all over downstairs, the young woman not seeing her mother."I'm just here, dear, in the garden." A musical voice called. Musical, loving voice. The girl moves to the window, open to the spring breeze, and leans out of it, deep cobalt skin shimmering in the sunlight. Her hair, pure white, hangs in a long braid down her back, a summery dress of bright blue clinging to her small, well curved frame. Her mother was kneeling in the garden, in a similar dress of dark green. She looked absolutely nothing like her. She was Sylvan, her hair a strawberry blonde, her skin lightly tanned from her work outside, slender and graceful. As the elf looks up at her daughter from her work with the strawberry plants, her brilliant green eyes smile along with her lips. "What is it, Ama?" The girl pulls herself up onto the windowsill, sitting with her feet hanging outside of the house as she speaks. "I was going to go to the festival, will you be coming with me, or should I look for you there later?" The Sylvan woman, who didn't look much older than her daughter, waved a dirt-smudged hand. "You go on ahead, I'll be around later. I need to finish here." Amathaunta nodded, and turned back around on the sill, hopping into the kitchen so she could leave through the front door. After collecting her money pouch with the small earnings she had from working various odd jobs for friends of her mother, as well as taking a silk scarf, and wrapping it about her face and head as a veil, she would leave the little house.
The town was in an amongst huge, ancient trees, sunlight filtering down through the canopy, illuminating the scattered houses. It lacked the order of some places, but one thing was a constant, all the little pathways led to a clearing in the center of town, surrounded by stalls and shops. This clearing today was filled with much more than the regular assortment, people from more distant, as well as neighboring towns and cities stopping for the weekend, to hock their wares. The festival was a celebration of spring, as well as a chance to see and buy things from the world outside of this ancient forest. Amathaunta, this one time of the year, actually didn't stand out so much. The rest of the year she was like a square peg in a village of round pegs, skin marking her as something other than full Sylvan. There were a handful of other halfbreeds in the village, but they were all either half human, or half high elven. For all that, she never felt too out of place, until the festival had come and gone, leaving her with a taste of these other races.
Smells of exotic cooking drifted from the rows of stalls, the sounds of birds from far off, stalls full of silks and other luxurious fabrics, stalls of finely made dwarven weapons (And ale), stalls of silver and gold jewelry. There was almost anything you could ask for here on this weekend. And on top of that, there were bards, dancers, contortionists, all manner of entertainers, that would take turns performing in the small ring in the very center of this mass. People came and went, often leaving a few copper for the entertainers troubles. Sometimes booing at a bad joke. This was where Amathaunta found herself drawn to, as the rythmic sounds of drums and trilling zills called to her.
Pushing through a group of mostly male spectators, she stopped when she was able to lay her violet eyes on this ring set aside for performances. Slow blink as she watches a group of half a dozen women in flowing skirts and cropped tops, all in bright colors, dancing in a way she had never seen before. Hips and arms and chests and stomachs, they all moved independantly from one another, but all in sinuous movement, with sudden snaps and jerks accented by the rich, beating drums. The movement and skill was hypnotizing, yes, but what caught and held her attention more so was the fact that they all wore veils. Something she had only known herself to do, though she was told the Sheyka all covered their faces as well. Something else caught her attention, as she glanced around the slowly growing crowd: All eyes were glued to these women. In fact, most of the males were fairly drooling, even the Sylvan youths who had shunned her in favor of someone full blooded, where staring and likely fantasizing about this mixed bunch of women.
She had never really considered what she'd do with her life, but it didn't take much of watching these women dancing to know she had to learn. She waited till they finished, and started to disperse into the crowd, before she shoved her way towards one of the women, striking up a conversation. Where had she learned to dance? How long had she be dancing? Could she teach someone? Someone like Ama? The woman, whose name was Lillia, agreed to tell her all about it...as long as Ama slowed down so she could understand her. They shared a meal of sweet rolls and honey while they talked, and the more she learned, the more she was sure this was what she wanted to do. It was nearly dusk when she left Lillia, who promised to ask the other women if they would mind an apprentice, of sorts.
Amathaunta picked her way through the crowd, not really sure where she'd find her mother, but her guesses eventually led her to a stall of herbs, there her mother was chatting away with the owner, talking about...well, herbs. Amathaunta had never been much for plants herself, though she had learned the basics to please her mother. After waiting politely for a few moments, she finally managed to get her mother away from the stall, and pulled her aside behind a tent of clothing to speak to her. It was obvious her mother wasn't keen on the idea of her only daughter running off with a dancing troupe, but after Ama had pled her case, she admitted it was time for her to make her own way, and if it wasn't to be as a druid, so be it.
Back home, her mother helped her pack a few things, holding back the occasional sniffle. "I always knew you'd wander off, I suppose. It's in your blood. Just know you're always welcome here if you decide you want to come back." She tucked a small coin purse into Ama's small bag, when the halfbreed wasn't looking. "Yes, mother. And thank you. I will be sure to write now and then, so you know I'm fine." She turned about to put a few more folded pieces of clothing into the bag, along with her brush and the few pieces of simple jewelry she owned. "I think that's everything. I'd better go meet them...they could turn me away, still." With a long embrace, they said goodbye, and without much ado, Ama left her home to head back into town, where the market was seeming a bit more rowdy now that the sun was down and the drink had had time to set it. Thankfully, the troupe welcomed her with open arms, explaining it was rare they found someone who wanted to join them. And indeed on their travels, with Ama learning more every day, they only met one other who asked to follow along.
Several years she spent, traveling by day, and practicing when they stopped for rest. It didn't take long for her to pick up the dance, her great love for it making it seem less like a chore. Soon enough she was dancing with the others when they stopped in villages large and small, and her exotic skin tone that many of the smaller places had never seen, drew in more people than the dancing alone would have. She thrived on the attention, and the exhilaration of the dance itself. But human life spans being what they were, one by one the women decided to leave the troupe, to settle down, tiring of the constant travel. Eventually it was just Lillia and herself, and they decided to part ways, as two people a dance troupe doesn't make. A year or so was spent wandering on her own, solo performances bringing her what little coin she needed, until she happened upon an unusual inn. It seems her traveling is over, for now. Though her mind is quickly changed, and it's anyone's guess as to how long.