Private Tea and Butchery

[Pyeth Raffinki]

Rishi didn't have prisons, not the Raffinki anyway. House arrest was the best they could do. With two guards at the door, Pyeth was ushered into the empty halls of his old nest. His once childhood home was left as he remembered it. His bed was circular fashioned from whatever they could scavenge from the local forests and nearby ship graveyards still left over from the consecutive wars fought over the planet's exonium industries. He expected the soft mosses used to cushion their bodies in what was otherwise a neat pile of timber to have rotted away. What he saw surprised him.

It was tidy with animal furs stacked high to one side, used for those rare cold nights or whenever he wanted to cuddle and comfort himself after a bad day. Too small for him now, but everything had been maintained as if his father had been longing for his return. After all that had happened to him since returning home, the destruction and imprisonment, it was uplifting to see someone wanted him here. Also surprising, his father, the chief hunter-gatherer, was authoritarian respecting the wishes of his fellow elders without question, even condemning his son.

He turned away before the memory soured, looking for something to distract his mind as he waited for Tiland Kortun . His eyes caught the iridescent feathers catching the light that pierced the thatch roof, a small necklace decorated in the plumes of his father and mother. Such items were not gifts, but a memory of those that had fallen. Mother was dead then, probably consumed by the same 'Ghost Plague' now afflicting his people. Facing societal collapse wasn't reason enough to forgive and forget his sins. He approached it and flinched as he plucked a feather of his own, adding it to the necklace.

"I'm sorry I wasn't there for you." Pyeth drifted, falling to his knees as the wave of regret punched his gut. Perhaps, saving Aashi was a mistake. He never wanted to be a Jedi, the Force, despite what Tiland said was beginning to feel like a curse, not the guiding light. Even so, he had to trust in the Force. Meditate. Maybe it will give him answers? But first, he needed some tea.

Assuming his dad kept things in order, there should still be dry herbs he used to make his mother's old medicines. The fire pit would provide the warmth necessary to boil and after a few minutes of searching, he found what he was looking for, a stash of uchamon. Uchamon was a low-growing herb, known for a sharp minty flavour they used to burn it creating smoke that when inhaled helped clear the throat. Using pastel and mortar he began grinding them down, before putting the dry herbs into the pot.

It was crude, and would probably be called butchery by Tiland but it was all he had.

 

[Tiland Kortun]

Pyeth Raffinki

To say the situation was delicate... was an understatement. In fact, things were looking decidedly negative, but he let the concern pass through his mind like water. It would do him no good worrying about the past or the future.

He breathed deeply, then paused, twitching his nose. Someone was making tea of some sort. Pyeth, he suspected, judging by the suspicious looks tossed his way.

They were uneasy with both outsiders and Pyeth's return. The disease made it even worse. The circumstances were ultimately outside of his hands. All he could do was trust in the Force and follow it.

He stood, leaning on the staff, and went through the small village to where his companion had been placed on house arrest. Two guards were at the door, but a carefully placed sheepish smile of embarrassment was enough to make them uncomfortable enough to let him through.

"That tea smells excellent," he said quietly, taking a seat on the floor, with his back to the door.

 

[Pyeth Raffinki]

Tiland Kortun

Hearing Tiland's voice, Pyeth leapt to his feet and stood at attention. "Master. I did not expect you would come." He searched around for a moment, then placed down a porcelain bowl. It, like everything else, was different. Much like the furniture and decorations interwoven into walls and floors.

Seeing Tiland take a seat on the floor, he wasn't sure if to feel grateful or disappointed. No one had visited him thus far, besides the stranger who dropped off meagre food supplies. Not that he held them to account; he knew times were tough. "Thank you."

"Do you want some?" He asked, looking down at the bubbling pot, a feint smile creeping behind his beak. "Why am I making tea again... maybe you are a bigger influence on me than I thought?" Shaking his head, he returned to his position and began to stir the leaves with a wooden spoon, making sure to do so in straight lines as Tiland had taught him rather than in a circular motion.

"I trust negotiations went well?" He asked hopefully, giving little regard to his situation.

 

[Tiland Kortun]

Pyeth Raffinki

"I will certainly take some tea," Tiland said, smiling faintly, and settled himself beside the small table. "It would be ill-mannered of me not to come see you. Negotiations..." He shrugged after a moment. "They could be going better. But they could just as easily be going worse. There is a great deal at work here. It will take patience and time, I think."

He wasn't sure what he could do. Much had been fractured here, twisted and corrupted with bitterness, fear, and grief. This was not a disease that could be cured. It was a garden that would need to be weeded, cared for, and redone for healing to be complete. Not just physically but mentally and emotionally as well.

It would be the work of years to heal these rifts, if such a thing were possible.

 

[Pyeth Raffinki]

Pyeth dimmed the flames, and watched the bowl begin to cool. "I appreciate it." He purred, "You don't realise how much you miss the whistles of a tea pot, or the vibrations of a overworked Hyperdrive until it is gone."

Hearing of the negotiations he nodded, as though he expected as much. Nothing yet had gone to plan, and at every turn it seemed something else was thrown against him.

"Maybe Vedas is right. Maybe me being here is causing nothing but trouble, rather than helping." He leaned forward gently pouring some tea for Tiland, then filling his own bowl. Outside the crack of thunder and rain rushed into the cliffs painting them a rustic red.

Reacting quickly, Pyeth turned to the cracks of the hut. "Well it's about time." He took a drink, and leaned across to a pouch dragging it across the room to begin taking stock. He was planning on escaping, using the rain and storm as cover. While his conviction was shaken, he couldn't in good conscience ignore his father's disappearance.

Tiland Kortun