Yasha Cadera
Mom'alor
"Mama? Mama, you gotta have a drink." An Epicanthix girl-child pushed both hands on her mother's shoulder. [member="Aditya Mantis"]' head and upper body lulled to the side with the girl's pushes, but she did not wake. A stir skewed her face, fading to the lucid sweats of the past few days. "Mama get up! Mama! Mama!!" The girl shook her mother. She tried to pour some water down her mother's throat. Aditya surged, bucked, sputtered... fell back asleep.
"Mama!" Yasha backhanded Aditya in the face. The girl frowned and wiped her sticky hand on her armourweave rags. Mama's side smelled funny, like rotten meat Mama wouldn't let Yasha eat. The wound in Mama's tummy burned to the touch. It was puffy and red.
Mama's arms had gotten cold in the night.
"Mama..." Yasha's lip wobbled. At six years of age, the limited concepts of mortality and wisdom had yet to develop, but what Yasha did know was her mother hadn't gotten any better with a couple of naps and a safe place. The Mando'ad adiik pulled her arms around her knees and snuggled under her mother's arm inside the hidey-hole she'd found after the hell monster'd attacked them.
"I'm gonna take care of you, Mama." She wiped her mother's clammy face and tugged their only blanket around her. When Yasha was smelly, Mama took her for a bath.
Maybe a bath would help Mama feel better. Alone in Hell, the daughter of [member="Preliat Mantis"] frowned hard to stop her lip from wobbling. She'd seen many things die, but slow? Like Mama? No! Mama was gonna get up! She was gonna take care of Yasha!
"I'm too little, Mama... but I'll save you."
Yasha poked her head out of the hidey-hole built out of the side of bric-a-brac, old machinery and the bones of those unfortunate enough to be born in or subsequently enter Hell. Quiet. As all clear as she could know. The little Mando'ad'ika pulled Mama's bag diagonally over her shoulder and dug through its' pieces of Aditya's Beskar'gam (or what remained of it) until she found the buy'ce. Plopping it on her head, she turned the flickering screens on and pushed buttons on the gauntlet like Mama used to do every day when she thought someone was coming for them. Yasha took the buy'ce off and plunked it back in the bag, which to rights, weighed near as much as she did.
A Mandalorian Rally Master's distress signal flickered weakly into existence. Wrapping her mother with the blanket underneath her, Yasha put her hands on the top corners and heaved. A couple of tries and the child began to move her mother out of the hole and into the ruined landscape. Give Mama a bath. That would help. It had to, right?
The child fought for every metre, tugging and pulling with what remained of her shoes (no more than leather layered together and tied with a bow) gripping into the uneven ground. She had to make for cover. Cover spot to cover spot, the game Mama played with Yasha every day.
[member="Isley Verd"]
"Mama!" Yasha backhanded Aditya in the face. The girl frowned and wiped her sticky hand on her armourweave rags. Mama's side smelled funny, like rotten meat Mama wouldn't let Yasha eat. The wound in Mama's tummy burned to the touch. It was puffy and red.
Mama's arms had gotten cold in the night.
"Mama..." Yasha's lip wobbled. At six years of age, the limited concepts of mortality and wisdom had yet to develop, but what Yasha did know was her mother hadn't gotten any better with a couple of naps and a safe place. The Mando'ad adiik pulled her arms around her knees and snuggled under her mother's arm inside the hidey-hole she'd found after the hell monster'd attacked them.
"I'm gonna take care of you, Mama." She wiped her mother's clammy face and tugged their only blanket around her. When Yasha was smelly, Mama took her for a bath.
Maybe a bath would help Mama feel better. Alone in Hell, the daughter of [member="Preliat Mantis"] frowned hard to stop her lip from wobbling. She'd seen many things die, but slow? Like Mama? No! Mama was gonna get up! She was gonna take care of Yasha!
"I'm too little, Mama... but I'll save you."
Yasha poked her head out of the hidey-hole built out of the side of bric-a-brac, old machinery and the bones of those unfortunate enough to be born in or subsequently enter Hell. Quiet. As all clear as she could know. The little Mando'ad'ika pulled Mama's bag diagonally over her shoulder and dug through its' pieces of Aditya's Beskar'gam (or what remained of it) until she found the buy'ce. Plopping it on her head, she turned the flickering screens on and pushed buttons on the gauntlet like Mama used to do every day when she thought someone was coming for them. Yasha took the buy'ce off and plunked it back in the bag, which to rights, weighed near as much as she did.
A Mandalorian Rally Master's distress signal flickered weakly into existence. Wrapping her mother with the blanket underneath her, Yasha put her hands on the top corners and heaved. A couple of tries and the child began to move her mother out of the hole and into the ruined landscape. Give Mama a bath. That would help. It had to, right?
The child fought for every metre, tugging and pulling with what remained of her shoes (no more than leather layered together and tied with a bow) gripping into the uneven ground. She had to make for cover. Cover spot to cover spot, the game Mama played with Yasha every day.
[member="Isley Verd"]