The letter was from the tribe. She knew that meant trouble.
A’lauri was never a strong reader. Certainly she’d been educated on everything she needed to know to survive, but the tribe had always been practical with their lessons: First, you learn how to run. Then you learn how to survive. Then you learn how to hunt. And far, far down the list came your numbers and letters. The result was a woman with a sharp mind and the muscle of a huntress, but very little in the way of reading skills—and the rest of the tribe was aware of it. So when a courier approached A’lauri carrying a carefully-sealed letter from home, she knew something had to be up. No one would contact her by mail unless things were serious.
It was business as usual at The Quicksand that night, which for A’lauri meant there were plenty of folks to spy on. She’d taken to eavesdropping for fun and profit, and she’d found the spacious tavern to be the perfect place to hear a story or two, or to find some extra work, or even pick up a few secrets she wasn’t meant to hear. Tonight was just as loud and chaotic as any other night: The first table was occupied by two raucous lalafellin women, nearly at blows over ownership of an emerald roughly the size of their fists. The second table contained a drinking contest between an elezen scholar and a hyuran soldier, both surrounded by people hurling various bets on the table. The middle of the floor had been commandeered by a group of miqo’tes in matching outfits dancing and producing an awful noise they had apparently mistaken for pleasant singing. A’lauri chose a tiny table on the other side of the room, sat down with a plate of the tavern’s famous meatballs, and began to attack the contents of the letter.
A few minutes later, she found herself smiling. The letter was from A’njae, an old friend of hers since childhood. His writing began:
Damn, what’s it been, a few months now? Hope this message finds you sometime soon. Sorry bout makin’ it a letter and all. I know you’d rather this kinda stuff be face to face, but yer big ol’ dumb face is over in the big ol’ dumb city, so this is gonna have to do. Heh.
Home’s good, in case you’ve been wondering. The young hunters miss ya, and and the nunh could use a good beating.
This was something she was always up for. Her nunh was an arrogant, sexist fellow she’d gleefully nicknamed “Pigshit.” He was something of a decent fighter, which was all the excuse she’d needed to thrash him at any chance she got.
Stuffing her face full of meatballs, she continued to slowly read the letter:
Actually, now I mention home, there’s actually something you need to know. ‘S kinda the whole reason I’m trying to get this message to you. You know how we’re a branch tribe? As in, not the main group?
A’lauri wrinkled her nose as she processed these few sentences. She hated being reminded that her tribe wasn’t the “main” tribe. The Antelope tribe as a whole had its roots in La Noscea, but a small number had splintered off decades ago due to a large disagreement, eventually settling in the warm savannahs of Thanalan.
A’lauri had known those lands her whole life, and no one could tell her the tribe she loved was any less than another. She’d had little contact with the “main” tribe, and less interest in changing that fact. Nothing could shake her love for the tribe. Nothing could change her loyalty. Therefore, nothing could have prepared her for what she was about to read.
…Well, for the past couple weeks, the leaders’ve been talkin’ things over and well, it looks like we’re gonna be joining up with the main tribe again. As in, packing up and heading out.
She wasn’t a strong reader. She knew that. Maybe she was wrong about what she’d just read. Hastily she leaned forward in her chair and flattened the note in front of herself. She began to sound out each word individually, running her fingers down the sentences as she read.
“No… no no no… no, I’m readin’ this wrong, we can’t… no, no, no, no…”
She read the paragraph six times, each time slower than the last, each time with the same results. Her stomach began to turn as she sounded out the words.
She hasn’t realized she was yelling. Several heads had turned in her direction as she hunched over the parchment, agonizing over its meaning.
I know this is big news n’ all. I just thought I’d write you so you can come see home like it’s always been one last time before…
Her head was spinning now. She could hear voices yelling, perhaps calling to her, but they were muffled and dim, as if coming from far away. She couldn’t—or wouldn’t listen. Her entire world at that moment was the letter’s final words:
…before we start tearing everything down for good.
She was on her feet now. Her last scream was enough to silence her section. An entire side of the room was staring, some with anger and annoyance. The yelling voices had stopped, now replaced with one distinct voice—that of the tavern’s owner, Momodi.
“Hey! HEY! You’ll keep your voice down in my establishment! And just what in the hells is wrong, anyway? What’s all the yellin’ for?”
“My home…” A’lauri growled, through now-gritted teeth. “My home is… I can’t let this… I… I can stop this. Godsdammit, someone’s gonna be sorry. I swear someone’s gonna be sorry.”
Momodi had opened her mouth to ask another question, but it would be too late. A’lauri had turned and bolted for the door.
For the first time in months, she was going home.
