Yardie (prime)/Everyone's a Critic
Kraken’s Fall - Sharing Garden
((My thanks extended to Fehala and Aihan for their permission for mentioning their characters, and for the fun IC experience at Flyr Keh'nira. And speaking of Flyr Keh'nira, thanks to Traiva and Saesyra for hosting such a fun event and for their permissions in the mentions!))
Yardie pulled open the white picket fence and entered Nereid Cradle’s sharing garden, squinting beyond the seagrass baskets and box planters into a cluster of various herbs and vegetation. Wide nostrils flared at the arrival of Spring, soaking the air with its herbal perfume. The bamboo irrigation system carried fresh water from Tenebrous Cauldron, producing a hydroponic symphony that twitched his pointy ears. Imaera herself could have strolled across the premises, swept a well-manicured finger through the nutrient-rich soil, and nodded in approval. Unfortunately for Faendryl, he lacked attunement to nature’s call and could not listen to her gentle whispers and subtle gestures.
Yardie could have used gentle and subtle words at the Flyr Keh’nira festival hosted by Traiva and Saesyra. As usual, he brought samples of his cuisine, the art of flavors elegantly presented on a plate for eager palates to enjoy vibrant tastes. Often, the Panicky Phantom made impressions with his flavorful combinations. However, that day, he encountered Fehala and her companion, Aihan, two Sylvankind dedicated to Imaera’s will with strict demands regarding preparing seafood and desserts. Needless to say, they were somewhat critical of his flavor combinations. It was the first time someone had not enjoyed his food.
The Yardie of five years ago would have taken it personally, fuming at the disapproval. Today, he felt a twinge of youthful irritation, infused with remnants of Faendryl culture that often surfed upon the sea of hubris. Life away from New Ta’Faendryl calmed those emotions, and his worldview had been enriched by various cultures and creeds, creating convictions that questioned the status quo and the world itself. So, instead of dismissing their Sylvan critique, he embraced it to learn, grow, and improve.
“Her nails need work,” Yardie thought as memories flickered across Fehala’s hands. The marks of her dignity, with hidden bits of dirt caked upon her fingertips, hinted at a love for all things natural. This was not a common trend among many of the rangers he knew, but they, too, had no fear of soil. Fehala seemed at home with topsoil, a notion foreign to the dry climate of his birthplace. “They have the elements; we had bugs and lizards.” Seafood was not a Faendryl staple; if anything, it was a delicacy. It did not require aggressive flavors. In that respect, the two Sylvans had a valid point.
Yardie felt a tug at his left sleeve. He glanced down. Medijine, the orphaned child from Mist Harbor who Yardie had taken under his care, looked up, her braided red hair shifting as she met his gaze. “You look for spice?” she asked in her broken Mist Harbor accent.
The Faendryl shook his head and placed a finger to his lips. He sifted through the various herbs as she followed, and then, upon approaching the stands of dill weed, he inhaled the fragrance deeply, letting it dance in his mind. “We’re going to make bass tonight, Spinnerette. Get the fishing poles ready, okay? Oh, and please fetch the high-gloss clear bottle from the rosewood case? I’ve a nail appointment.”
The young girl nodded and dashed away. Yardie gently pulled at the handful of dill weed. “Challenge accepted, Fehala.”