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Yaji was born on a boat. Djanni, his mother, could not be stopped from her expeditions. Her mother begged her to stay still and rest, her father forbade her from leaving, and her husband tried to physically stop her. He got a black eye and a lashing of the tongue for his efforts, and still she went. The tiny tempest, the fisher-people of their tribe called her. She was a storm that followed her own course, and any who stood in her path were driftwood in a hurricane. Djinni stormed out of the camp and cast off in her canoe, alone. She knew a place where sweet berries grew, and it was only a few miles upriver. The little woman did not feel alone, for the sky was clear and the winter stars shone above her. Djinni was tired, and her anger had expired. She could always find peace in the constellations that had guided her people for centuries. When the contractions began, she could do nothing but let her canoe drift back towards home as she tried not to tip the vessel in the sudden feirce torment her body wreaked upon her. She screamed, and the jungle screamed back. A cacophony of birds and monkeys exploded from the dark canopy above, unknown creatures shook the undergrowth in their mad dash to escape the source of the terrible noise. Only the chorus of wild voices and the host of stars bore witness to Djinni the storm-girl deliver her own first child on the dark waters of an unnamed river. When her husband and his search party finally found her, she had Ponyaji wrapped in the blanket she had woven for him, quietly humming a lullaby to him as he slept, drifting slowly.
Yaji was born on a boat. Djanni, his mother, could not be stopped from her expeditions. Her mother begged her to stay still and rest, her father forbade her from leaving, and her husband tried to physically stop her. He got a black eye and a lashing of the tongue for his efforts, and still she went. The tiny tempest, the fisher-people of their tribe called her. She was a storm that followed her own course, and any who stood in her path were driftwood in a hurricane. Djinni stormed out of the camp and cast off in her canoe, alone. She knew a place where sweet berries grew, and it was only a few miles upriver. The little woman did not feel alone, for the sky was clear and the winter stars shone above her. Djinni was tired, and her anger had expired. She could always find peace in the constellations that had guided her people for centuries. When the contractions began, she could do nothing but let her canoe drift back towards home as she tried not to tip the vessel in the sudden feirce torment her body wreaked upon her. She screamed, and the jungle screamed back. A cacophony of birds and monkeys exploded from the dark canopy above, unknown creatures shook the undergrowth in their mad dash to escape the source of the terrible noise. Only the chorus of wild voices and the host of stars bore witness to Djinni the storm-girl deliver her own first child on the dark waters of an unnamed river. When her husband and his search party finally found her, she had Ponyaji wrapped in the blanket she had woven for him, quietly humming a lullaby to him as he slept, drifting slowly. Yaji was meant to be a great fisherman and a strong fighter, a man child to protect the tribe and honor their ways. He inherited his mother's wandering nature however, and every moment was spent running through the jungle, climbing trees and imitating animal sounds. He did not want to be a fisherman. He'd heard too many stories of distant lands and exotic people. Everyone told him to follow the stars, that they would show him the right way to go, but Yaji saw something different than did his father. He thought his mother understood, but she had been sick for a long time and was worried for her boy, and he did not have the gale force winds of the tiny tempest at his back. It seemed that his destiny was to become a fisherman, marry, and produce more strong boys and girls for the tribe. All that changed when a stranger came into their midst...
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