Yasha Cadera
Mom'alor
“Yaim” Yasha cried, stifling childish sobs by biting harshly into her blood covered bottom lip. “Toby, Yaim.”
Home.
Mama wasn’t there anymore, and the soul of a little girl was lost in the abyss. Little Yash’ika leapt back from the form of Mordecai after one last attempt at curb stomping his head to pieces. She dashed behind [member="Tobias Dib"], hugging his leg. Yet, the danger for now seemed to subside. The child peered up as her stone knife rested on Tobias’ person.
She felt warm again.
“Nuh-n-ner v-vod.” Yash’ika stuttered, pointing at [member="Hannibal Dib"] with a doleful stare. Scampering up Toby’s back, Yash’ika curled up in a piggy-back, ethereal arms around his neck, legs clinging to the sides of his chest. “Yaim, Toby. I perr pi' aliit’. I kam'd vomd da xi osami omi'pali. I miss my family. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
The closer to Tobias little Yash’ika got, the more bits of her Epicant tongue translated to his mind. Stone kad on his belt, memories seeped through. Years and years of them, a lone child existing off the carrion in the dark. Figures would appear, warriors in the Field of Blades, never long before they too went out. Never long before they became One with the Force.
The Netherworld was a holding pattern for souls, which had not reached their limit of deed or time, souls which would eventually become one with the universal Force, or Manda. Yash’ika was tethered to a breathing being, one who never died. Yasha Mantis had never tasted the bitter waters of her own death, for it was stripped of her, placed in a constantly dying little girl. The soul clinging to Toby’s back pleaded with every fibre to be released from her half-life, to return to her Manda.
Her oneness.
Little Yash’ika wanted to go home. She needed it, as water is needed by a dry garden bed.
Home. Take me home, she seemed to say, so hungry for affection and safety she clung to a stranger’s back and whispered stories in his and his brother’s ears. Secrets, tales, the magic of the spheres, childish limericks…
Home. When could they go home?
Home.
Mama wasn’t there anymore, and the soul of a little girl was lost in the abyss. Little Yash’ika leapt back from the form of Mordecai after one last attempt at curb stomping his head to pieces. She dashed behind [member="Tobias Dib"], hugging his leg. Yet, the danger for now seemed to subside. The child peered up as her stone knife rested on Tobias’ person.
She felt warm again.
“Nuh-n-ner v-vod.” Yash’ika stuttered, pointing at [member="Hannibal Dib"] with a doleful stare. Scampering up Toby’s back, Yash’ika curled up in a piggy-back, ethereal arms around his neck, legs clinging to the sides of his chest. “Yaim, Toby. I perr pi' aliit’. I kam'd vomd da xi osami omi'pali. I miss my family. I don’t want to be alone anymore.”
The closer to Tobias little Yash’ika got, the more bits of her Epicant tongue translated to his mind. Stone kad on his belt, memories seeped through. Years and years of them, a lone child existing off the carrion in the dark. Figures would appear, warriors in the Field of Blades, never long before they too went out. Never long before they became One with the Force.
The Netherworld was a holding pattern for souls, which had not reached their limit of deed or time, souls which would eventually become one with the universal Force, or Manda. Yash’ika was tethered to a breathing being, one who never died. Yasha Mantis had never tasted the bitter waters of her own death, for it was stripped of her, placed in a constantly dying little girl. The soul clinging to Toby’s back pleaded with every fibre to be released from her half-life, to return to her Manda.
Her oneness.
Little Yash’ika wanted to go home. She needed it, as water is needed by a dry garden bed.
Home. Take me home, she seemed to say, so hungry for affection and safety she clung to a stranger’s back and whispered stories in his and his brother’s ears. Secrets, tales, the magic of the spheres, childish limericks…
Home. When could they go home?