Last Free of Clan

[Theori]

Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. The needle pierced her skin, repetitively, rhythmically. Two lines down, two across. The first, sweeping up from its leftmost end, a sharp digression from the end back inwards, the shifting up and back out. The second, a more gentle curve to the right. She'd come of age over a week ago, her rite of passage smaller than it should have been, performed in secret with another clan rather than celebrated by all those who'd passed this year in her own. Her golden armring glinted proudly on her forearm, proof that the Essharan's couldn't take everything from her. From them. Even that was tainted by the knowledge that many of the same made up some Last Sight bastard's trophy collection. Her Father's armring, passed down from the head of the Clan since an Arsali served their people as High Lord, centuries ago, made into a shiny sign of a stolen victory. Just the thought of it sickened her. He was gone. All of them were, dead or enslaved. But not her. She remained, the last free of her Clan. The last of the Arsali.

Tap tap tap. Tap tap tap. Finally, the needle ceased. It was inked over her heart now, proudly, the clanmark of Arsali. That mark that linked her with her lost people, with all her ancestors. She was Arsali. They marked themselves in honour of their clan, of their history, of their victory over their enemies.

She was determined that come her death, no inch of her would remain unmarked.