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The Sweat Tent

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Cenn had arrived at the Hold maybe fifteen minutes before he settled.  He walked casually across the scarce Hold.  Many of his men were near Cairhien, or stationed in various parts of the Car'a'carns land.  He had just arrived back from Cairhien, spending nearly a week there to reacquaint and tell the warriors that stationed there of Ghauls disappearance and his raising.


The dragon tattoo that slid up his right arm still felt awkward, as he could feel the scales sickly attach themselves to the base to the shoulder of his arm.  It was gold, yet had a tinge of green towards it.  He closed his eyes for a moment to catch himself, trying to put what he say in Rhuidean in the back of his mind.


He arrived at the tent he was looking for, and began to dismantle his cadin'sor.  The two large spears on his back he took off, placing them in a neat pile ontop of his worn clothes.  He breathed in deeply, closed his eyes, and opened the tent flap.  It had been nearly a month since he had been raised, and the people were beginning to adjust.  His friends that he had known before looked at him different though, and this left an unsettling aftertaste in Cenns mouth.


Friends he had known before had left, or disappeared. Cor, his blood-brother from the Stone Dogs; he had not seen him for too long.  He often missed the company of him and his pet, some sort of giant-like cat.  He missed the companies of Sullyn, the only female Thunder Walker he had ever known.  Ghaul, the Chief that had brought him in and offered him shade and water.


Most had gone missing, some had died.  He missed them, but his duty was to his people now.  He must be strong if his Clan is to be strong.  It is time for new, a time for change.  He looked around the tent, the majority of the chatter had stopped or died down to mere whispers.  He felt awkward.  A month ago, he would be laughing and joking with these people; now they looked as if he was not one of them anymore. 


He sat down next to a lovely Maiden and a Hama N'Dore, which used to be his society.  He belonged to no society now, he was in all but none.  Some nodded at him in grimace, others frowned.  Some were receptive, and smiled gleefully and hysterically like the old days to Cenn.  He offered a weak smile back, and nodded to others.  His head bowed down to admire the dirt below his feet.  He looked underneath him and took a staera from the neat below him.  He casually wiped away the dirt and grime from his thighs, working down to his ankles.


Every once in a while, someone would open a small talk conversation with Cenn, but often to not he left the conversation dwindling in the air.  "Congratulations, Cenn.  We are yours to command!" Some were sincere, others mocked as if he was not a true Chief.  It would pass, eventually, but it made Cenn feel uncomfortable.


A young aiel, much younger than Cenn, looked at him and began to speak,






Clan Chief

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