[P] These are portents

[Turhan]

“ bone to rune ”

What he believed was thunder had been the sounds of a discontent God. From a simple storm to an unexpected Tempest, what he initially perceived as hail was actually stone (and lots of it).   What appeared to be a simple scatter of precipitation became a meteor shower of rubble which consisted of anything and all things Turhan once knew to be a part of Veneror.  The shock of force knocked him off his cloven feet and landed him heavily on a hip that he couldn't spare.  After that, it was easy to understand how he became buried in temple ruins even at this distance.


Trapped like this, in the darkness of a temporary tomb, he wondered (but would probably never remember) how long it would take to be found.  He believed Vespera would not leave him like this.  He believed he was meant to do something other than die alone.  He believed that Atatu would find him -- she always did.  Knowing his pupil as well as he did, he trusted that Three was already on her way.  Turhan allowed his faith in Vespera to calm his fluttering heart, to slow his racing thoughts, to guide him away from the incredible pain he was experiencing as he mentally built walls to block out the negativity of it all.  Be calm, be still, be grateful ..  In Nyanja, he soothed any anxieties over by his mantras.  What else could he do? Suffering was a waste of time.   


More than a few hours passed but to Turhan it felt like an eternity.  The Witch Doctor located and began to exhume the old man from his mock grave.  Despite the Witch Doctor's questionable health, her strength was savage as the rocks flew away from the Elder in a frantic fit to free him.  Her raw voice pulled him from his peaceful meditation when Atatu called him by name.  He had suffered enough minor injuries to warrant her worry about him dying but he wished she wouldn't.  Over the years, the Elder had grown increasingly delicate as he drew closer towards the end of his journey. But dammnit if it was to be today - they still had much to do.  "I want to go home.  Atatu.  We go now."  


Turhan grunted at her when she wouldn't let him up.  Before she could (or would) move him she appeared to accessing the damage.  The gash on his hip did not bleed nearly as much as might have on a young horse's body.  It helped to be older than dirt, it might have not been blood at all with as slow moving and as dark red as it was.  A network of bruising promised to dapple his skin for days - most likely weeks.  Blood trickled down his nose where a falling stone nearly brained him if not for the coo skull mask.  Before it fell off and got lost in the ruins, it opened up the thin skin over his broad nose.  He snorted when it dripped into his nostrils and aggitated his sinuses, then sprayed blood dust at the Witch Doctor's face.


"Atatu.  Is hurt?"


*Atatu: the Ilati Elder's name for @Batty
*Atatu is the Njanja word for 'Three'.

T U R H A N
skull to dust

@Batty @Random Events