[b]Kilaro rock, western Bapentui[/b]

“Where is it we came from?” the young satyr asked. A filly of no older than ten, long oily hair fell from her head in braided dreads. The light of fire danced on the side of her face. The inside of the tent was dark, thick hide shielding the dusty interior from the sun outside.

“It was the Moa.” said another. Older. A matured mare. A full woman. Long curly hair crowning her, shining in the light of the fires. Looking into a mirror of silver she worked her fingers through her mane, combing out the frizzy strands and working to straighten them into consistent braids.

“The Moa Afar saw the creation that was that of Moinki and they lusted.” the older Satyr said, pulling beads from a brass dish alongside the mirror. Rolling them in her long slender fingers. Brightly painted nails shimmered with a shellac gloss finish. Much like the large beads, “In the Great Plains they ran as their home they looked down, and wished to have been ploughed, or be ploughed by the creation of Moinki. They had much in the way of their own fruits, but to taste and to feel the suppleness of another was tempting unto them.”

She turned to her ward, her dark face glowed healthily in the fire-light that illuminated her tent. Drawn across her soft, round cheekbones were paths of red and white. There was no shyness in her smile, in the glow of her emerald eyes. And even without paint her dark earthly skin was as rich as marsh clay.

“They descended on the Moinki creation, enticing them with their heavenly presence. Appearing before them as their own and convincing them they loved them, at least for the night. In earthly and heavenly arms they copulated until the sun rose over the horizon, revealing to the Moinki the ruse they had been tricked into. Before them were not the tall slender women and men that had come to them, but the bodies of silver horses and zebra. Goat stood among them.

“Before Moinki's clay sons and daughters could comprehend, or Moinki realize the Moa Afar ascended back to heaven with the seed of the Moin, or their heavenly seed sown into them.” she paused her story as she tied her frizy hair into a complacent knot as she slid the first of the many large beads onto the wayward strains. Putting her concentration into dressing her dark nightly hair.

“Some say nine years passed before the first fruits of the great copulation between mortal and spirit bore its first fruit. And born into the dust and in Heaven the first Afarid were born. Beautiful creatures that pleased the Afar, as they were created on the merger of two powers: one of their own, the other of another. They were the divine unification of the best of worlds.

“However, Moinki discovered then what had happened and became enraged. As the Afar set down our ancestors into the green world they had created so many eons ago they were approached by the monkey king Moinki himself who demanded the new children slaughtered, with him he brought the hybrid children born of his daughters' wombs.

“But the noble and beautiful Afar were confident in themselves and in their sense of honor and of pride. Standing firm against Moinki they refused. Bitterly enraged against this refusal from his own house Moinki ordered the earth-born to be murdered in the droves, claiming he would begin to fix this humiliation on his being. Forgetting the freedoms that was in all spirits, earthly or heavenly.

“But before he could force the hand of his First Son to raise the First Rock against the Afarid of the Earth the great Cele Moa – patron lord appointed by the Afar above them – intervened with her sun's fire and blinded the First Son and Moinki. In her swiftness and absolute brilliance she turned to steal away to safety the earthly Afarid. And whisked them away in her brilliance.

“With her host she fled west against Moinki.”

“And then?” the young satyr asked, her bright eyes glowing with curious wonder. Her hands gripped the wooden table as he hooves kicked impatiently in the air.

The older simply smiled, “Is this related at all to your first question?” she asked, giggling softly. Motherly. Though she was not, she had sired enough to know how to act. It shown well on her, and was a badge of honor on the elder satyr. But all the same she retained a fit and wonderful build complimentary to her position. Many a jagged scar though crossed her belly, carving the lines from whence her own children had to be saved.

“I guess not...” the young satyr said, “But I would like to know!” she demanded loudly.

“Patience and kindness, dear Moisi.” the young one's guardian scolded, “We may be free spirits, but there is no excuse we should be rude and evil.”

“I'm sorry Seusebi...” Moisi weakly apologized. Bowing her head, “But could you tell me?”

“I guess I could.” Seusebi Ashra Zekor said leaning on a hoof and swishing her tail to the side, combing through the coarse hairs to tie them into a braid.

“Moinki's rage did not simply end.” she continued, “He kept his demands and pursued the Afar to their Earthly roams where they taught their children to live in peace with their elder siblings. But Moinki and his host disturbed the great plains that was to be their homes and he shouted and jeered from the hills and mountains. Threatening to cast fire into the Savannah and the jungles.

“Sensing the danger of an out of control Moa, the Afar appealed to Bodye for safety, making the case they had done nothing to destroy creation.

“And Bodye did not respond with words. But with gesture. A great rain washed the mountains where Moinki besieged the Afar soaking him out and turning his golden crown into a soaked cup of chilling water. The Monkey King became appealed, and angered. But subsequently afraid and despondent as he could not swim.

“As the rains swelled he fell from his mountain top and into the valleys that filled with water. He struggled and thrashed, but sank into the depths of that flooding valley. But no Moa may not die, he only weakened.

“When the rains eased and Cele Moa was permitted to raise her sun into the sky over the mountains the waters dried to reveal a weaker Moa. But there was no promise humilation would keep the spirit at bay, and in a glorious flare Cele cast a fire so strong on Moniki she burned from him his physical body and shattered his spirit, breaking them up and spreading it across the world where it flew panicked and startled into his children.

“With his shattered spirit they inherited not only Moinki's creativity as we have our own from being birthed by the Spirits, but his anger. They inherited the rage and aggression he had at that moment, and the bitterness of his resentment.

“Many of Moinki's sons became thus jealous of the Afarid and the rest of creation. They devised war against others and themselves. They became in effect: modern humans.”

“Are the humans bad then?” Moisi asked, “I have never met a human...” she added nervously, and knowing of what was to happen.

“Then your chance is coming.” Ashra said, “And no, many may be jealous beings but there are those among them that are good and respectful. Those who have not inherited Moinki's war-like anger. Though, you are not to meet one of these.” she said in a low voice, pulling the final braid tight on her tail. Turning to her ward the Seusebi held out her arms, “Am I ready?” she asked.

“You are.” Moisi smiled excitedly. Ashra smiled, turning to the silver mirror and taking her staff from alongside it.

“Then let us hold court.” she said. Walking to the side she held out her arms and threw open the door of the heavy leathery tent, letting in with the force of a flood the light of the Savanah's afternoon. Opened to the world the excited hum of insects and the cawing of birds washed in with as much force as the light.

Jumping from the table Moisi trotted for the door, followed by her Guardian.

From the sun piercing light came to warm and shine off the beaded outfits the wore. Hanging loose from Moisi's pre-adolescent shoulders was a robe of beads woven over red cotton. Strips of brass shone along the shoulders, making her glow in the afternoon light.

Alongside her Ashra was a tall and proud mare. Her rich dark complexion brilliant in the light. The fine lines of her face faint in the lively warmth of noon. She stared out knowingly and patiently, her stoic expression commanded respect and honor from her female guard as they abruptly stood at attention, glittering scale plates and spear points only serving to bringing more light to her procession down the guarded aisle. As if orchestrated by Cele Moa herself to make a presentation of intimidation, the sky itself even complied.

The great Seusebi strode out between the guards, holding back her shoulders in a silk and cotton robe of a hundred colors. Beads formed a belt at her hip, extenuating her still narrow build and full motherly breast. Strong arms held her staff aloft as she walked forward with a bobbing sway.

“Seusebi Ashra!” a booming man's voice declared, she turned to face the man, bowing her head to her eldest son: the heir apparent. Niyo Yesobi. She had been young when she had given birth to him, not much older than the young filly trailing her. She had been just as young when she was married to Yesobi himself. Moisi would have been wedded already if she was not a bastard.

Niyo stood by stiff as any soldier, still dressed in his armor. An iron mask with a cartoonish grin, a tall raised hat, long billowing cloth running down behind his back. A single ostrich feather stuck up from his hat. Spear and shield in hand.

“Presenting to the defendant Madai of Af on charges of murder, and plotting to commit murder on Oboi Mami of Bugan.” he added. He did the ritual well, whether in the wilderness or at the great temple itself.

Walking out into a large opening Ashra saw the man she was to try and charge. A human, black, naked in all but torn rags about his crotch. Deep gashes and cuts raked across his skin. He glared up at the Seusebi disapprovingly, scowling. There was contempt behind his eyes. Ashra hated such looks.

Sitting down at her chair before him she looked down at the groveling defendant. The rising and distantly near visage of Kilaro rock stood in the distant haze. Just beyond it was the land they ceased to call their own, where this man was from.

“I've met your father.” Ashra said, folding her hands into her lap as she kicked her hooves crossed, “He was an honorable person. But how come you defy his honor by being present enough to be charged as an assassin?” she asked.

“To the burning fires of Hell, this trial.” Madai cursed, spitting into the dust, “I didn't intend for any murder. I didn't do anything.”

“So they all claim,” Ashra said, “Do we have the defense?”

“My brother does.” another human said, more respectably dressed in a long light robe.

“Present it to me. Let us begin the trial.” Ashra invited.