Yala moved her brush over the dark skin in front of her, leaving a broad yellow line in it's wake. It curled around the shoulder and down under the clavicle until it met it's twin in the center of hunter's chest. Similar lines already covered his arms and legs. She dipped another tool into the paint – a small bone that had been flattened at the tip – and began doting white paint between the lines she had finished. As she painted, the chanting of the other men and women filled her ears as they performed similar work. Yala sang with them, but slightly quieter so that the other voices drowned her out. Truthfully, it was not one of her strongest skills. 

She had been up before the sun this morning, which was not a habit for her but the importance of today's celebration more than warranted it. The sky had begun to brighten as Yala and four other young ones gathered water and brought it to the central fireplace, outside the elders' hut. It didn't take long to mix the paint; the ochres and clay powders had been prepared over the last several days. All that needed to be done was mix it with water and animal fat, and the paint would remain on the skin for most of the day. As the sun crested the horizon, they started singing. With the light, the village awoke. Most of the hunters were already awake and gathered nearby preparing for the hunt, but now all the Ansharin were about their days' business.  

Yala stood back slightly and took in her work. The design was relatively simple, more would be added for the feast after the days hunt. But for now, the man was covered in a framework of lines that represented the boundaries of oasis and the surrounding hunting grounds. Later she would fill in details from today's and previous hunts. Yala bowed her head in respect to the elder man and moved to the next hunter who had just arrived.  

'[i]Oh[/i]' She thought, as she looked to where she thought his face would be. And as it turned out, wasn't. 

Yala had not seen who the new arrival was. Which was ironic, as he was fairly hard to mistake. Without breaking the song though - it would continue until the hunting party left - Yala coated her brush in yellow paint again and set about following the lines that littered the young Akit'r's skin. Painting Tobu was always easy. Her brow soon furrowed in annoyance though. It was not past the first hour of sunlight, and the young man was already covered in sweat and dust. Normally, she would not have noticed, but this was probably going to affect how well the paint stuck to his skin. Yala's own painted skin - decorated by the others with patterns of arched white lines that layered over each other, like the scales of certain beasts out in the Dreamscape - would last until well after the feast but she doubted his would last 'till he returned to the village. She gave him a look of [i]slight[/i] judgement as she brushed off what she could from the arm she was painting.