I Saaga

The yelping of coyotes resounds within the darkening evening. Coyotes
are the nomads and the wolves of the desert; wild animals that travel in packs
and move long distances in search of prey in these arid surroundings. Their
burrows and dens are in the sandy foothills, one
knows not to venture too close to these dens when the females haveheat or have
a young litter.

Evening casts its twilight over the dunes and sandy pediments. It weaves
shadows of shrubberies and cacti that struggle to retain their hold on the
ground, even if the desert winds and sandstorms that have already ceased for
the night. Leaves of the palm trees of this small oasis rustle a bit in the
slightest of breezes. A stray, juvenile coyote growls slightly as it passes,
yellow eyes flashing from the lengthening shadows.

Much like the coyotes, we too are nomads. We move around the desert and erect
our tents wherever we can find a fresh supply of water and
resources each time as the cycle of the year brings humidity to
different places, dependant on the season. It has been like this for as long as
I can remember.

We search for something. Every year our goal is unite the Hand of
Tsaraziko with the statue, summoning forth a node and attempting to
release Gaudiguch, our lost city, from its trap in time. During the
three winter months the project is at a halt and we settle our camp
somewhere near the oasis. A time of celebration and relaxation as we are not
pursuing our ultimate goal. I do not know much of the lost city, perhaps it is
just a tale that the Elders tell to the young in order to keep them searching.
Perhaps it is long lost and nonexistent. It is not in my judgement to say.

The water of the oasis feels cold to my scales as I wade slowly into the pool,
up to my knees, and fill the water kegs with fresh water. Evening twilight
shrouds the dunes and softens the mountains in vision and for a moment, I
contemplate the beauty that surrounds me. I bathe quickly in the pool, smiling
to myself. Many of my kind do not like water as much as I do; it clears my
thoughts.

Who am I? I do not know much about myself. I lost my family when I was a mere
whelp and do not remember them in great detail. The Elders say they were
devoured by Kethuru when all Creation was threatened and I have been raised by
the tribe. I am an outsider though, to the ones my age. I have no family and
thus I sleep in the tents of the warriors, getting in the way. They say that I
will never make a woman, being too thin and pale in the colour of my scales. I
sigh to myself and lift the water kegs on top my head. The pale desert evening
darkens slowly as I head back towards the fires of the camp. Accompanied by the
thundering sound of sandojin-hide drums and singing dracnaris from the fires of
the camp, the Evening Song resounds in the air:

"Dith varh ndisii, ndisii varh tikachi
Tlochii akhar khariya ama ma dur tikachii
Oumvarg tikhacoii ilwx nath scuii
Dithika marung

Varsh yrhii dur tzarii, Xssalo Zokar
Moorg tla Ximimi Sacoii
Nath zachar oumvarg michiba dur Sacoii
Nlathw zoachi ayzoang

Thakabuch gaidia dur nath Tzillich;
Llawriii chorthaka okhariya nath tzluum
Oumvarg vaurgii dur tzarii, ak zoakimi lliwarh
Chun nath Gaudax Zoak comucha

Oumvarg xorgii dur tzarii, tzarii kuchulwa
Nath zachar dur nath saryi-tlakeecha
Oum nath ndois moorhii
Muurg xath xsarichi"

(Translation)

Sand to grains, grains to stone
Dunes crossed by stones' circle
Into boulders on the edges
Sandstone ascends

Behind our tents, the Father Sun
Sets along our Sacred Mountains
The warmth into the Mountains' heart
Sets lava ablaze

Last moment of the Chase;
Beams dance across the oasis
Into our eyes, a fiery glow
From the Eternal flame reflects

Into our scales we gather
The warmth of the day's basking
In the nocturnal deserts
But spirit dwells

II Teaka Iborchi

Ah, the joys of being accompanied by the scaly friends you love! From
the darkness of the desert, familiar faces appear into the sphere of
light the crackling fire casts around it when the Evening Song calls.
They bring with them soft cushions, thick pillows to sit on and place
them on the sands, aye, the beautiful silk cushions of our very own
Dairuchi village. I am glad to see so many faces this evening.

Here come the water kegs. The young female places them carefully beside the
wine jugs and curtseys slightly. She is an orphan, her parents died defending
the Creation in the second coming of Kethuru. Such honour they held, and the
Fates cut their threads as it was their time to go. I admit that this girl does
not yet portray such honour; she is very pale and skinny, I do not know if she
can even breathe fire yet. Poor youth, so shyly she eyes her surroundings.

I follow her around with my gaze as she settles silently on the very edge of
the sphere of light. She reminds me of someone I knew a long ago. They indeed
do look alike! Such resemblance! I will need to look better after this one
here.

III Saaga

The fire crackles gleefully as I stretch my limbs and settle down on the cool
sand. The stars are very bright tonight and I pour myself a small
glass of wine from a jug that passes from hand to hand. Eyes follow me
from the other side of the fire; it is the most respectable Elder Iborchi
himself. I turn my head quickly away, embarrassed. Did I do something wrong? Is
the water not good? Does he expect me to throw some more wood into the fire? I
quickly stand and apply some more wood to be consumed by the flames. Across the
fire, Elder Iborchi smiles to me. I settle down quietly.

Elder Iborchi beckons me to come to him. I walk to him slowly, bewildered. He
beckons me to sit. Next to him? I cannot sit alongside an Elder! His eyes stay
firm and he smiles to me encouragingly. I cannot feel but warmth within.
Someone accepts me?

"-Now, young Saaga, we shall speak! Don't be afraid! We have a lot to
discuss."