Entry #176, Noon
Two men arrived at our doorstep via flowerpots today.
And as they, a merry old man and his surly-looking nephew, stood brushing soil off their scruffy clothes, I couldn't help but gape at them. It's not everyday a couple of refugees pop out of flowerpots like daisies.
Ah, transportation—that was what they were here for, apparently. I heard snippets of conversation as the elderly flower shop owner, Fung, spoke with certain urgency. The old man behind Fung (and nearly three times his girth) had a wide smile on his face, nodding along to the shop owner's appeal while Surly Boy continued to look surly. His nose and cheeks were sunburned and peeling, with beads of sweat gathering on his forehead; he looked the epitome of everything surly, like an itchy jackalope-fur blanket. If he were a firebender, his glare alone could set something on fire—namely yours truly, as he has now caught me staring—
Quick, write something!
The sun is at its peak, blasting down on the desert and scorching the dunes—as well as on Surly Boy's nose…
Good. He's looking away.
From the looks of their clothing, they're refugees from somewhere in the west or down south, not that many refugees cut through the desert—they value their lives too much to risk it alone and there was no way they would ever ask a Sandbender to guide them. Absolutely not! Sandbender folk were scavengers and raiders and bandits and not to be trusted one bit.*
*Note the heavy sarcasm.
But, in all seriousness, they must be pretty desperate to ask us for help. I gather this from the reiterations of "urgent!" and "very urgent!"
Mother doesn't seem to be buying the "urgent" part, as she just offered them tea (the old man wholeheartedly accepted, though, while Surly Boy looked ready to combust). I think I'll stay in the furthest corners of our rock-and-sand house, unnoticed and away from the strangers and Fung, and continue repairing my sand-sailer's spare sail (can never be too prepared) and write some more. Shanti, the demon spawn and my dearest sister, is another story.
Upon the old man's statement of the strangeness of the tea, the demon spawn flounced up to the kitchen table where everyone is seated and said, "that's because it's diluted cactus juice flavored with buzzard wasp honey!" (Read: it's foul).
Surly Boy promptly spat out his tea, revolted.
I'll admit, I almost laughed. Namrin: 0, Demon Spawn: 1.
"It is an acquired taste," said Fung.
Surly Boy keeps fidgeting and looking around our hut, as if a sand shark is about to burst through the sand and eat him (granted, it has happened before to another unfortunate soul). I'm starting to feel as if something shady is about to go down.
Mother just shooed Shanti away. She's looking at me. Uh oh.
Entry #177, Dusk
In exactly half an hour, I am supposed to meet the flowerpot duo near the camelephant pen and then escort them across the entire, stupid, hot desert via sand-sailer.
Currently, I'm hiding in the dugout (behind our hut) with the village deer dog. We call him The Deer Dog, with capitals and everything because he's really the only deer dog within tens of miles. More like the only animal (aside from the camelephants) that we haven't eaten, because once you name something, it just isn't right to eat it. Something to do with morality, I think.
Anyway, the old man says his name is Mushi (pronounced Moo-shee, not mushy) and Surly Boy is otherwise known as Lee.
He doesn't look like a Lee.
They want me, a simple sandbender, to bend them all the way up to the edge of this stupid hot desert in less than a week. What am I, a camelephant?
Oh, Demon Spawn is calling me.
More later.
Entry #178, Evening
If I'm ever captured and interrogated by the Fire Nation, all they would have to do is wave a couple gold and silver pieces under my nose and I'd tell them my deepest darkest secrets (like that one time I kissed my cousin Roscoe… I was six years old and experimenting).
Fung bribed me and I caved. But to be honest, it was a lot of silver and gold pieces, enough to buy that nice writing set I saw in the Oasis and possibly three and a half camelephants. When you live smack in the middle of a desert, there's not much opportunity to make money. Maybe I should start a desert ferry business.
As I write this, I'm sitting around the fire with old man Mushi and Surly Boy Lee. While Surly Boy isn't very good company (all he does is brood and look surly), his portly uncle has a pleasant singing voice. It's been several hours since nightfall, and only one since we made camp. Surly Boy's lying on his bedroll, obviously exhausted from all the sulking and brooding he's done. I think he is asleep; he no longer looks like he tasted Mother's cactus/buzzard wasp tea. Blech.
Oh wait, he's awake…and glaring into the fire like it personally offended him (though he may just hate fire, what with that burn scar seared over the side of his face). I never noticed how much his eyes resemble gold. Strange.
Entry #179, Way Too Early
It's been a while. Stuff happened. Namely Demon Spawn and The Deer Dog.
…And my inevitable demise.
The night after Entry #178 (because I don't keep track of the days), our odd little trio had set up camp for the night, nestled near my sand-sailer, and just when I was about to conk out for the next six or so hours, guess who becomes an instant, travel-sized warrior (just add water)? Surly Boy, that's who.
It was a clear night, as most nights were, with the stars shining in the thousands and the air stagnant. On nights like these, you can see for miles on end, even the smallest of embers. I wasn't worried about anyone seeing our fire. The beetle-headed merchants were quite friendly and the other tribes don't outright steal from travellers, so, aside from rogue sand sharks, we weren't in any danger.
Mushi was already asleep, snoring so loud that the Northern Water Tribe could probably hear him; but Surly Boy was brooding and staring at the fire (something he does quite often), when suddenly, he leapt to his feet and squinted into the distance.
"There!" he said, frenziedly pointing at the tiny light. "In the distance. There's a fire!"
Channeling the spirit of a camelephant, I grunted.
"Well, aren't you going to do something?" he asked. "They may be following us."
Grunt.
He let out a growl of frustration and began stalking towards the light, saying that he was going to check it out.
Lesson One: don't go looking for trouble.
Which is exactly what Lee was doing. Stupid Surly Boy and his need to investigate.
He was already quite far away by the time I got to me feet and scrambled after him, seeing as whoever was there would probably kill him or take his money and then kill him—either way, not a savory end. They're like buzzard wasps and only attack if provoked. What's that saying? Don't poke the sleeping sabre-tooth moose lion? Yeah, that's it.
While I took amusement in his inability to stay on his feet for more than a few seconds, it was becoming counterproductive, and we sandbenders are all about productivity and efficiency—hence the sand-sailers. So, walking behind Surly Boy, I bended the sand just a tweak. He didn't acknowledge me or anything, but I'm sure he was incredibly thankful that he wasn't getting any more sand down his trousers.
Why did I ever agree to this? I'm one of the tribal leaders' daughters (granted there are only three leaders and two and a half dozen villagers), shouldn't I be getting special treatment or something? I'm technically royalty. Sort of. Too bad Naren isn't here; he would have had a field day with Surly Boy—made fun of his surly attitude and his surly strut and his surly face. I miss him.
I think I got a little distracted at some point, because Lee let out a strangled yelp and slid down the side of a dune, his cry echoing across the desert. By the time I got to the bottom of the dune, he was spitting out sand and grumbling angrily to himself.
"Great," he said. "Just great."
"Yeah, and look," I told him, "the fire's gone out."
Lee's face contorted and turned red.
The same thing happened the next night. Spot the fire, stalk the fire, fall, shout, fire gone. I kind of felt sorry for Lee (he really was trying hard to be protective), especially after I realized that the fire was following us. I took matters into my own hands. Maneuvering around the desert was a piece of cactus cake, and in a matter of minutes I was upon a deserted campsite, the fire's coals still warm.
At this point, I probably would've shrugged and headed back to get some sleep, but Surly Boy Lee didn't seem the type to shrug and give up. But, then again, it wasn't that hard to figure out where our follower had hidden—the giant camelephant foot sticking out from under a massive pile of sand and disturbed rock was a dead giveaway. Not to mention the heavy panting courtesy of The Deer Dog.
"Spirits, Shanti, you suck at hiding," I said.
Only her eyes were visible when her head popped through the sand pile, the rest covered in strips of cloth, as was custom (and sensible).
And thus comes into play my inevitable demise, though, between you and me, I'm going to try and 'evit' it as much as possible.
The conversation went something along the lines of this:
Me: What are you doing here?
Demon Spawn: I overheard Mom talking to the Mehdi Tribe's leader.
Me: Oh, Sha-Mu?
Demon Spawn (rolling her eyes): Sha-Mo. And you better start calling him pops.
Me: What are you talking about?
Demon Spawn: Marriage. Duh. Mom wants to link the tribes, with you and Ghashiun. You're getting married, Nam. Congrats.
Lee (appearing out of nowhere, extremely shocked): You're getting married?!
So, there you have it. My inevitable demise.
Entry #180, Night
You have got to be joking. Honestly. I know I wear plenty of layers, but come on! My eyes are feminine, aren't they? I've always thought they were kind of sultry, especially when I line them with charcoal paste (though Shanti says I look like a raccoon-dog when I do that).
To clear things up, Lee (read: Surly Boy) thought I was a guy. His justification: "you grunt a lot and your face is covered." He is now sleeping on the dunes, and not on my semi-comfortable sand-sailer. The sand shark can have him.
Honestly, this kid will be the death of me (he's a year younger than me—totally a kid). All he does is complain about every possible thing and his crazy uncle keeps trying to drink from the cacti and Shanti is slowing us down with the stupid camelephant. I did not sign up for this.
Entry #181, Still night but later
Gahhh!
Entry #182, Even later
I don't care how attractive this kid is—if he says one more thing about my cooking, I'm going to toss him to the buzzard wasps, slathered in gilacorn eggs.
What the hell, I might as well toss Ghashiun the Betrothed in, too.
Screw the patriarchy.
Entry #183, Before lunch
(I'm starving—Mushi ate half our food supply last night)
This trip keeps getting worse. Sandstorms. Hate them.
Entry #184, Still before lunch
Might as well write down our exploits of the day.
After arguing with Shanti about pulling her weight (she doesn't do anything. She's almost as useless as Surly Boy—even The Deer Dog is more useful), I forced her to take over the sailer for a bit while we crossed this entire, stupid, hot desert.
And of course, she can't do anything right when she does something.
There we were, cruising along, until Shanti nearly plows into a pack of giant rhinoceros beetles driven by the beetle-headed merchants.
They were cool about it, thankfully, and we were about to go on our merry way when Surly Boy and his big fat mouth made some stupid comment about the merchants' hats (Never insult a beetle-headed merchant's heritage, it'll be the last thing you do). I try to smooth things over. The merchants were mollified. And then what does Surly Boy do?
(I just sent him a glare. He's now returning the favor tenfold.)
That's right. He opens his big fat mouth, again.
So, we sailed away a.s.a.p.
Right into a sandstorm. On the bright side, I think we lost the merchants for the time being.
Entry #185
We have not lost them.
Entry #186
Managed to barter camelephant for our freedom.
Offered them Surly Boy's head. They declined.
Entry #187
Now that I think of it (as I recline on my sand-sailer while Shanti does all the work), Mushi and Surly Boy acted really weird with the merchants. Like, shifty-weird. Something's up.
Entry #188, Same night
Around the campfire again.
Mushi's singing.
Entry #189
Shanti's joined in.
My ears are bleeding.
Entry #190
Surly Boy and I have found (silent) kinship in our mutual hatred for our relatives' singing over a cup of diluted cactus juice and gilacorn eggs.
Entry #191, Much later, same night
Being plagued with images of wedding robes and Ghashiun's ugly mug, concluding with a final picturesque scene of an ancient (read: middle-aged), dead-eyed version of myself with a brood of tykes running rampant and then a sand shark eating us all.
Entry #192, Midday
Lunch break, have time to write.
The day started early, well before the sun rose, and in an effort to make up for the time lost to the sandstorm, I had Shanti give me an extra hand with the sand-sailer. She complained the entire time, muttering something about child labor and slave driver. Maybe the sand shark would be interested in an appetizer before his main meal of roasted surliness.
The dunes tapered off as we neared the edge of the desert, giving way to solid ground and a more forgiving landscape. I have only ever been to the edge twice before, once with Father on tribal business and another time to see Naren off when he joined the army. The tribe doesn't stray too far from the desert these days.
And the exact reason why was presented in the form of half a dozen Fire Nation soldiers.
I had lowered the sand-sailer's sail mere moments before a small but noisy troop rode past on six, burly komodo rhinos. I grabbed Surly Boy's collar and yanked him behind a dune, making sure his uncle and my sister were out of the soldiers' line of sight.
Surly Boy Lee was not happy. "What are y—"
He didn't get another word out, being on the receiving end of a mouthful of sandy hand wrappings. After a firm gesture to shut it and a jab in the direction of the Fire Nation soldiers, I slowly peeked over the top of the dune, watching the troop until they disappeared in the horizon.
"Oh my," said Mushi as Surly Boy wrenched my hand from his mouth. "That was a close call."
Lee gritted his teeth, whether out of anger or from the sand, looking as surly and cross as ever. "What are they doing here?"
"Scouts," said Shanti, adjusting her head coverings.
"There's a Fire Nation colony southwest of here, near Omashu." I elaborated while shrugging on my pack and handing them theirs. "They're looking to expand inland; you know, the closer to the capital, the better."
Surly Boy Lee frowned and gazed (with increasing broody surliness) in the direction where the soldiers had disappeared. Shanti scratched her nose. The tension was rather thick.
I made sure Mushi had all of the necessary documents to get on the ferry and a map with the route to Full Moon Bay, which was only two days' worth of walking. In the few days that I had known the refugees, I was rather fond of Mushi and his loud snoring and cheerful singing. Would it be too much to say that I might even miss Surly Boy's brooding surliness?
I somehow found myself then in front of Surly Boy. He grimaced, but I think it was some sort of attempt at a smile. He settled for a nod when he saw my expression (which held a bit of alarm), and I returned the gesture, not exactly sure where we stood.
"Right," I told him. "Have a safe trip. Watch out for saber-tooth moose lions."
"Watch out for what?" he asked, alarmed, with eyes the size of dinner plates, but his uncle was already ushering him away, bidding Shanti and I a jolly goodbye.
I shared a look with the Demon Spawn and she shrugged. The Deer Dog barked. I told him that if he didn't shut it, he would be the sand shark's main course.
Entry #193, Evening
Well, I know I've done some stupid things in my life, but this really takes the cactus cake.
Entry #194, Early Morning
For clarification: I'm going to Ba Sing Se.
Spirits help me.
A/N: This is a little something I wrote ages ago (2 years in fact!), and a few months ago I rewrote it. Thought I'd share it.
Thanks for reading!