# Document — Anothen/.gemini/tmp/apps/tool-outputs/session-2834ac85-277d-41eb-9df1-483069fa296b/run_shell_command_run_shell_command_1773276456734_0_7m25qe.txt
{
"output": "Output too large. Showing first 8,000 and last 32,000 characters. For full output see: C:\\Users\\Praxillax\\.gemini\\tmp\\apps\\tool-outputs\\session-2834ac85-277d-41eb-9df1-483069fa296b\\run_shell_command_1773276456734_0.txt\nOutput: Buulnayzh waited with terrible anxiety for the return of his son. He kept tugging unconsciously on the hood of his leather parka and glancing out through the trees to see if the movement he’d caught out of the corner of his eye was his child returning. Young Zhakari had always been rather inept, gifted with intelligence if lacking in wisdom, but was utterly devoid of any hunting skill. It wasn’t due as much to his lack of trying as it was to the fact that he was simply born with the hunting prowess of a dandelion and the trapping skill of a spider plant (We think we’re ok with the English proper plant names used to communicate Veezhavai thought – weapons like atlatls are Zhangheen, yet no problem expressing that, but…something about using proper plant names bothers me – can’t put my finger on it. May or may not keep this – gotta love the play on words though – lion and spider). Years of dedication (if drifting off into daydreams while trying to learn how to use an atlatl poison a blow dart (atlatls probably used by the plains zhangheen, the zhanthawgheen, blowpipes by the zhandugheen? Yes, this is correct.) or aim a bow counted as dedication) had failed to improve his talents, and neither disappointment from his father nor chiding from the other children had changed that; at least, not until the last month or so. The boy had obviously become infatuated with sweet little Weezhwoe, and since his right to seek a wife was dependent on his success in this hunt, his interest in becoming a true hunter had developed considerably there at the very end. His father hoped it hadn't developed too late. The boy had finally reached his thirteenth year and it was time for him to prove he was a capable member of the Binzhmai faction, a hunterRarely does a boy return from his Hulwaya, his rite of manhood, in the first day. Zhakari was no different. Unfortunately for his father, it was not the second day of his Hulwaya either, nor the third. Nor the fourth. In all the history of the Binzhmai faction there was no tale of a child that hadn’t returned, but by the morning of the fifth day, Buulnayzh had begun to fear that his son had come to a horrible end. It wouldn’t be the first time in the history of the Zhandugheen people, just the first time for Faction Binzhmai. Buulnayzh tugged at his parkaA Hulwaya consisted of one simple challenge; kill and bring back to the faction enough food to gift every member a meal. For faction Binzhmai this usually entailed shooting one deer or boar, or trapping five to ten rabbits or the like. The faction was loose in its rules as to what consisted of a meal, at least when it came to Hulwayas, and so even the most clumsy of children had a relatively easy time establishing their place as a man. Buulnayzh whispered to himself, “Be firm of foot and hit the There was movement in the brush, the sound of bushes rustling. In the chill early morning darkness, Buulnayzh tried to make his low-light vision work better, as if peering harder, focusing more, would cause it to become more effective, but he could not, at first, make out what worked its way through the trees. Then his son came into sight, a hefty carcass dragging behind him on a makeshift leather stretcher, constructed of branches and the boy’s cloak, and his father let out a loud, shaking sigh o“Zhakari,” he exclaimed as he worked his way quickly to where the boy was at – er, man was at – to help him with his burden, “my belly nearly fell out behind me for the sinking in me. Why The boy dropped the end of the stretcher he was dragging and turned on his father. “The hunt! The hunt took me so many days, apa! Did I not bring you the faction meal? Have I not taken my standing amongst the men? My heart would have leaped to have brought I hungered to bring you the meal the first day. shown you that I am a man equal to Gezhma. The eyes of my heart see that you hungered for it too, yes? Instead, you mock me, as all the others do? Then you would have had no lack, yes, instead of mocking me just like as all the others? Wh...why do you even begin to ASK such a the question? You have no view of wherHis son screamed, “JUST DON'T SPEAK TO ME. BITE YOUR TONGUE! LWhat was this? In all his life Buulnayzh had never seen his soft-spoken son in such a state. He was startled and caught off guard. This was a day of celebration, not conflict, the pinnacBuulnayzh found himself flushed and defensive. “I – I was not laughing.” The brown speckles on the white blotches of his skin turned almost black as the swathes of tan darkened. The tan blotches of his skin turned darker, the brown speckles on the white speckled brown almost black. The boy seemed fatigued, but didn't appear to be injured, and the father naturally sought for some clue, something to tell him the story of his child's distress, his eyes falling on the body of his son's hunt. It was hefty, something to be proud of, but - skinless and headless? An abrupt, inexplicable fear washed over him, and he suddenly felt sicker more sick than when he thought his son might have died. Something felt desperately wrong. “My son, what fell upoZhakari bent and picked up the end of the stretcher again and heaved forward. He didn’t answer his father, his weary body staggering for just a moment as he worked to get the stretcher moving again with the weight of his kill heavy upon it, and then trudged toward the faction camp. His father instinctively reached to help, but then pulled back. He didn't know if his offer would be taken well or poorly, not to mention that it would look better for the boy if he carried the kill into camp on his own. He didn’t see his son’s eyes well up with tears nor hear thHere start looking to how you can improve the feel. Last time you read this next paragraph, it didn't draw you in – seemed a little abrupt. You might just re-write this paragraph and pickIt was to be a day of festivities. The light of morning had just crested the horizon, and the more dedicated men of the faction had gathered at the heart of camp to sing the Hylothoy, the song of the risen sun. As their voices, deep and thrumming, rose into the cold morning air, their song awakened the camp and summoned one and all to the day's work, the men to theirs outside the camp, the women to theirs inside. The lyrics sang of separation; just as the rising sun instructs light to separate from shadow, so the words instructed the dividing of the women from the men (If you haven't already, the first time you mention the hylaytha be sure to note that it is a song of uniting - done). Women and children came to the entryways of their shelters and lifted the flap that served as a door, many of the little ones still rubbing sleep out of their eyes - a few of the elderIt was to be a day of festivities, though the camp didn’t know it yet. The orange rays of early morning reached through the mottled shadows of the forest and into faction Binzhmai, where it found the more dedicated men gathered at its center, ready to sing the Hylothoy, the song of the risen sun. Their voices, deep and thrumming, began to rise into the cold morning air, reaching through the walls of leather and woven, living, branches, roots and vines that composed the tents of the camp, and to the pointed ears of the mottled-skinned Zhandugheen people sleeping within. The lyrics sang of separation; just as the rising sun instructs light to separate from shadow, so the words instructed the dividing of the women from the men. Mothers and their children came to the entryways of their shelters and lifted the flap that served as a door, many of the little ones still rubbing sleep out of their eyes - a few of the elder ones too. The beat of the tune began slowly, drowsily, but as it continued, it gathered speed. Other men, latecomers, joined the circle, adding their voices, and the volume grew, the song building in intensity. Many of the more alert members of the fact\n\n... [44,538 characters omitted] ...\n\ney rolled, each trying to get a better hold on the other. Fear, thick like wet sand crawled through his tense belly, holding onto that shirt sleeve, not thinking anymore, struggling...and then in the blink of an eye it had released him to try and get a better hold, and he was able to get his knife point against its chest. Holding the blade, both hands now, rolling, and feeling his hands tight against its ribs. Knife in hands, hands tight against ribs, struggle abating. And then the strange words spoZhakari slumped forward. He moved off of Eenat, shoulders hung, hands laying limply beside him. Nobody knew what was happening. One thing was sure – there was no more joy in the watching of this reenactment, this catastrophe. One baby began to cry, and that triggered another. Nobody was really eating much anyZhakari lifted his head. His voice was now much quieter and everyone except for the faction members in the first row had to lean in to be able to hear him at all. “He had killed it. His bowels felt as though (used interchangeable with ‘if’) they might fall out of him, though (used interchangeably with ‘however’ which is abstract. In Hebrew, ‘Except what’ is translated as ‘however’), because it was fawlthawgheen, and the mouth of his heart told him that he might be banished or killed for treason.” He paused again. Had he just said it was fawlthawgheen? He searched the faces of the zhandupoy and zhanduma to see if that was it, one half of him hoping that he'd just given it away and that this pathetic rot of a life would be coming to an end, the other half terrified of the same. Almost as if hearing it from the other side of a glade, he heard his voice still talking. “So he took the carcass of the animal that he’d slain, skinNobody was coming toward him. Ooluōzh wasn't sending warriors to take him captive. His emotions now so shattered that he felt numb, his body was still responding to the adrenaline and he paused to take several short breaths. Finally he said without zeal, “His zhandupoy did not threaten banishment or death, though. Instead In its stead he offered reached out with words thaHe stood up then and looked over at Ooluōzh. “You are a giver, and I see that. May my tomorrow hold for me that I am a giverEenat lay where he was for a moment, mind reeling. He finally was able to lay hold of a thought that expressed what he felt clearly enough. Flying gut pile!! Slowly, he got up and dusted himself off. By the light of a new moon, he’d not even really had a chance to die properly. Feeling a little embarrassed, he snuck out of the firelight and back in with the rest of the fOoluōzh sighed inwardly. He wasn’t so sure of his judgment regarding Zhakari, now that he’d heard the tale, seen the way it had gone, listened to the admission of his intent to go into fawlthawgheen territory for the animal. That was intent to directly break a command issued to all Faction Binzhmai. How often he’d learned the lesson of that ancient idiom, ‘Yesterday’s eyes always see better than tomorrow’s.’ Further thought on the suTathik, looking more than a little concerned, caught his eye, but Ooluōzh could only shrug. He was committed at this point, and the ceremony wasn’t finished. He motioned slightly with his head, and she acquiesced. Together they stepped forward to the Hualzha and turned to face the faction, standing on either side of it next to their respective judgment seats. Ooluōzh called out to Buulnayzh, “Will the father of Zhakari bring his son Buulnayzh went rather timidly to his son and motioned to him with his head. Zhakari, in a half-daze, stood up and joined him. The two of them came forward together, Buulnayzh with almost mincing steps, his son looking like he’d come out of a war zoneIt was with some degree of irony that Ooluōzh recited the next part of the ceremony. “Buulnayzh, man of Faction Binzhmai and father to Zhakari, you approach the Hualzha with firmness of foBuulnayzh went to recite words all male zhandugheen had memorized from childhood. “I do. I seek a separation from boyhood for my son Zhakari, that he would be titled a man and given all that belongs-to (in Hebrew, this appears to always be an implied word, or is translated ‘is from’) men; a shelter of his own, a voice in the gheen and eyes to seek his wife. I seek the sepaOoluōzh nodded. Turning to the boy he said, “Zhakari, you have proven by feeding us all meat that you are a right hand of Faction Binzhmai. As of this day, you will no longer be under the cover of your father, it will no longer be that your actions aFor Zhakari, time stopped completely. As the sentence registered within his mind, he felt like he was falling, plunging into darkness. Whatever Zhakari did today he would be responsible for, but not what he did yesterday, not what he did last night. What happened last night, that would be his father's fault in As Ooluōzh continued, the skin of Zhakari's entire body darkened. “As a man, what you do will change the course of the faction for increase or loss, and so I extend to you that which is mine to give, that you may issue a command to us all. Taste what it is to change turn the course of the faction. Come forward The dawveezh was the horn of judgment made of elaborately decorated ivory. The horn itself came from a forest animal called a kruzhdhūmarr. Larger than a horse, male kruzhdhūmarr had a wide, flat, bony horn that swept back from either temple and joined up behind their head to become a single, fused unit. The animals used their horns in vicious combat, where two of the massive beasts would rear up and smash their heads together. They were made of stuff nearly as sturdy as iron, though much lighter, and the outer edges of the horn were covered in sharp ridges that, once filed down, were perfect for drilling small holes to hang all manner of decorative items from. (Right about here, if you have not stated it earlier, you’ll want to explain that new men get to issue a law, since the verbiage you’re using in the zhandugheen language doesn’t necessarily make that clear. “Changing the course” just doesn’t perfectly translate to “make law”. Actually, you explained this earlier – around page 23? Just need to verify that it’s sufficient to allow the reader Ooluōzh extended his hand toward Zhakari, but the young man didn't move. Buulnayzh reached over and nudged his son with his elbow, and when the boy still didn't move, looked around rather uncomfortably. Finally, he reached over, put his hand on the bZhakari staggered and, in a daze, took the dawveezh with his right hand. Tathik stepped from where she stood to the side of the Hualzha and reached out and caught his left hand. She stepped forward, and had to tug slightly to get her counterpart moving, and together the two of them ascended the three steps of thMost men, when they sat upon the ruling chair for the faction felt, for a moment, the weight and joy that comes with being proclaimed leader. They sat upright, proud, victorious, chests puffed out, heads high, looking down on the faction with a sense of pride, honor and strength. Not this time. Zhakari sat in it like a piece of limp clothing, leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, head hanging, barely clasping the dawveezh which dangled within an inch of the floor. His body language was such that nobody would have been surprised if he’d burst into tears oTathik, on the other hand, held her form tall, back straight, her left hand on the arm of her judgment seat. In her right hand, clutched to her chest, she held the faction’s dawghain, the female’s counterpart to the dawveezh. It was a hammer, made, not from the boney horn from the head used for combat and defense, but from the back thigh bone of a kruzhdhūmarr wherein the creature’s great strength lay, the handle of it wrapped in ancient leather and set in a square of obsidian, polished black so that its dimpled glass sides glinted in the firelight. The pommel of the tool, as well as the haft where it joined the hammer In ancient custom, just as the dawveezh was blown to summon a gathering to court, so the dawghain was used to issue the gavel strike that set a judgment in stone. Now more ceremonial than practical, they were still an integral part of zhandugheen law and life. (Need to detail the origins of the dawveezh and dawghain – see Launchings notes “After the creation of the zhandugheen”) They were the symbols of strength, taken from the largest and most powerful of forest creatures, and symbols of order, male and female, one from the head to symbolize solutions, the other from the leg to symbolize foundation. One made from a weapon and shield, the other made from combining bone and stone. One issued a call, the other issued finality. There was no providence without creation, no command without consent, no mind without heart, no man without woman. Separate but one, more than a family, they were a single body with many parts and at the same time, two halves of a whole. Each had a position, a part to play in life, a place to belong. It was a piece of them, deep inside, the pulse of instinct bringing bridging unity with individuality. These were the symbols of the gathering of the forest brethren. They were the These were the symbols of the zIt was here, sitting in the judgment seat above the Hualzha that a man was meant to truly understand his role – provider, protector, husband and father, brother – MAN. It was here, holding the dawveezh that a young man was meant to feel the transference from child to adult, to encourage him to understand the depths of his responsibility as well as the joy that comes with it. This was it, the pinnacle from which he could look out across time, seeing his past and accepting his future as the right hand of the faction, projecting how he would bring life to the lifegivers and play his part in creating a better man, a better family, a better faction, a better race. That is what was meantNot so for Zhakari. He was sitting, crushed under the burden of his realization that his father was responsible for his actions last night. He had known all his life that his father was accountable for his actions until he crossed over to adulthood but had never really dwelt on. How could he have forgotten? Had he forgotten? Would it have mattered if he hadn't? It wasn't as if he'd gone out of his way to kill the fawlthawgheen; he'd simply intended to get the animal and its young and bring them all home, triumphant. Killing a mother who was defending her young was a particularly impressive feat, wow the faction, finally gain some respect, be applauded. In his haste, he'd not grabbed the young, left them hanging on the wall, the proof of his excessive bravery, but, what did it matter? It was all a false front. HE WAS A LIAR! He was a coward. He was a criminal, and if ever it were discovered, his father would be the one banished. Maybe killed. Almost certainly killed. Was that right? His mind raced over the possibilities, but his fear brought all of them back to one blinding conclusion. His father would be executed and he would most likely be...what? What would tHe wished with all his heart that he could go back and unkill the fawlthawgheen, unkill the beast and her young, and simply come back to camp empty handed and accept his status as vorbhoyli. Better to accept that tame future, one without honor or pride, but a certain, predictable future, than this that he'd set in motion. The fear of his worst nightmare didn't compare with From her judgment seat, Tathik called out, “Zhakari, have you pHe glanced up at his apa, who, completely unaware of what had transpired last night or what was going through his son's head, nodded at him as if to say, 'Well, go on, declare your course change.' (Perhaps put, ‘Well, go on, make your command.’?) HisHe couldn't go back. He couldn't unkill the beast or the fawlthawgheen. No declaration of course change would undo that. For a moment he stepped outside himself and looked to the welfare of the future. No, he couldn't undo that, but he could declare something that might preserve others from having to suffer thLooking away from his apa, he lifted his head and answered, “I have, zhanduma.” His eyes sought for Weezhwoe again, but he had no hope that she would be there. His hopelessness was not diZhakari took a deep breath and nodded. “As you command, so I shall make it,” he said, uttering ceremonial words spoken by countless others before him as they were ushered into manhood. “My ruling is this...” He paused as he considered his words, and the faction, already captivated by the bizarre series of event“Hulwayas from this day forward will last no more than five days. At the end of the five days, if there is no meat to be had, the zhandugheen youth returns a man the same as if he’d fed the faction. It is his effort labor that suffices, not his succeAcross the gathering the sense of awe was shattered and replaced with incredulity. Tathik found herself turning to look at him as if he might, after all, be were empty-headed. What was he thinking? Did he actually believe, even for one second, that he would be permitted to issue a law that would change the ancient traditions of the zhandugheen from time immemorial? That he would in a single stroke alter the course set by the wisdom of the ancients? There was a reason for a man being someone who can feed the faction – it was about survival, not good feelings. Those who could not feed the whole were not men, they were vorbhoyli - invalids. They were considered disabled. The entire point of the Hulwaya was to keep the factions strong, not help the individual feel good. That would make the people a weaker people from one generation to the next until they were as weak and pathetic as the fawlthawgheen. Those who did not complete it were still welcomed back, but they were ineligible for marriage. They were not permitted to make children, because their blood wasn’t strong enough. Faction Binzhmai was loose on their ruling as it was. Did this child think that he would changThe zhanduma folded her arms and did not strike the dais with her hammer. Instead she recited words that she’d never had to speak before, not in an official capacity. She said, “I will not support this. I veto your law (ruling? Commandment? Or is lThe whole faction was a bit stunned. Many of them whispered amongst themselves, others stood in silence, a bit gape mouthed, others giggled at the excitement. Nobody could think of a time where a Hulwaya had gone like this – couldn’t think of even hearing about such a bizarre series of events. Eenat couldn’t help but think that Zhakari’s Hulwaya far exceeded his in being memorable, and frankly, he was perfectly content at this point with it that way. Delighted, even. Far, far better to disappear into obscurity than be remembered for the ages as an earth-shaking reject. Wow, yes. What woman would ever want to be his wife? Not only that, but every man dreamt of being zhandupoy, and when a faction got too big, it would separate into two, creating a new faction with a new zhandupoy. After this, it was impossible to imagine that Zhakari would ever be considered for Poor Buulnayzh. He understood why his child would try to pass such a law, that he was trying to save others from suffering through what he had, whatever that was, but...how could he not have known he would be declined?? It was evident that his boy wasn’t telling them something, that he was hiding the true reason behind his ruling. It was utterly humiliating, for son and father alike, for anything a son did was attributed to the father until the rite of passage was completed and Buulnayzh didn't know for sure if, at this moment in time, his son was already considered man or not. Mothers were responsible for the actions of their daughters, and in the same way, fathers were responsible for the actions of their sons. A child was considered a parOoluōzh caught the father’s eye and motioned for him to come quickly. The patriarch obviously wanted to get this slow death of a Hulwaya over with as fast as possible. He wanted to put thBuulnayzh walked quickly to the fire. This part above all else was the part he was had been dreading. He looked down at the handle of the ceramic brand that had been sitting in the white coals of the fire for several hours now, awaiting this moment in time. Absently he reached over and rubbed the scarred flesh on the meat of his upper arm where he’d been branded by his father when he had become an adult. How was he going to be able tAs the father moved to retrieve the brand, Ooluōzh called out the next ceremonial sentence, solidifying the veto of the matriarch. “So be it!” He felt a little sick for the boy. He was setting one miserable record after another. He continued, “Let Buulnayzh was out of time. There was no delaying this without adding to the boy’s humiliation. He quickly put on the double-layered, heavy leather glove that sat on the rocks near the brand and used it to pick grab the handle of the brand up. Even though the handle was itself not in the fire, the heat still conducted up its length and warmed his fingers through the thick leather. Turning to the Hualzha he moved quickly to his son’s side. Reaching out, he grabbed his boy’s arm to hold it steady and brought the brand up, aimed at the meat above his tricep. Heart pounding, stomach aching, voice quivering, he called out to his son for all to hear, “Bear this mark with a lifted strenFor Zhakari, time again slowed to a near standstill. Out of the corner of his wide-opened eyes he saw the red hot ceramic tip of the brand moving forward, the look of horror on his father’s face, his gritted teeth, the sweat beaded on his brow. The grip on his arm was of stone, fingers sunk into his thirteen year old arm so tight it felt almost as if his father had seized him by the bone. The rush of adrenaline, the quickness and shortness of breath, tingles of electricity running up his spine and across his skin, raising bumps of flesh, making his skin look like a plucked bird...but what he was feeling wasn’t fear of bCrimes worthy of banishment were accompanied by a different brand, the criminal's brand, and once that brand had been given, there was no turning back. If a man were guilty of his own crimBuulnayzh moved before he could think and did what had to be done. He didn’t hear himself whimper, and then the end of the brand contacted flesh. He’d been taught that, if he wanted it clean he needed to be fast, but firm. If he moved timidly, gripped lightly, the boy might flinch and move against the end of the brand, searing more flesh than was necessary and creating a misshapen mark. Pressing hard, the burn would cook down through the skin quickly and keep the brand from moving too much even Zhakari screamed, but as his father prepared to remove the brand, the boy reached out and grabbed the blazing hot bar in his hand! Buulnayzh screamed out also, flinching horribly, trying to get the brand off his son and out of his clenched fist. The brand came off the boy's arm for a moment, but he was able to wrench it back, this time against his left cheek, searing himself a second time. The whole faction shouted in startlement and horror. Ooluōzh shocked, but not out of his wits, leapt at the boy, reaching for his arm as his father yanked on the brand so hard that Zhakari was pulled sideways out of the chair. The ancient, ceremonial brand, made from fired clay, was not designed to take this kind of tension and snapped in half as the boy spilled out of the judgment seat. (Do you want to talk more about this, its history, like the dawveezh and dawghain? If so, you need to make a name for it. Insert above where Buulnayzh is first going to it right after Ooluōzh wants to put the ceremony out of its misery. Also will need to pay attention to Ooluōzh's thoughts shortly after the next chapter break. Left this behind because of road-weariness and not wanting to overload the reader with new terms or culture. Trying to keep it all intricate but memorable and still be concise.) The patriarch halfway caught him and with either uncanny reflexes or good fortune was able to twist enough to keep either of them from landing on the now cast aside, broken end of the still red hot brand. Together they crumpled to the ground with a grunt. Buulnayzh stumbled backward, tripped over a bump in the earth and fell, landing hard on his hands before rocking backward and hitting his head. What was left of the handle of the brand cracked apart. He didn’t care. He sprang forward, swatting the hot brand away from his son and the patriarch as Ooluōzh began to try and extrTathik descended quickly from the dais to where Ooluōzh was standing up, dusting himself off. She knelt down beside Buulnayzh, now huddled protectively over his son who lay in quivering shock beneath him. She patted the father, who looked up at her aShe was already pulling the soaking numb weed from a pouch at her side. She had prepared only enough for one brand, though, and the young man now had three; one on his arm, one on his cheek and one in his hand. Zhakari had flipped onto his right side, keeping the burnt flesh out of the dirt and clutched the wrist of his cooked right hand with his left. It was into this han“Grip this tightly, Zhakari.” She pressed the dripping foliage into his clawed fingers, and he did as he was told. Tathik looked up, her eyes searching the faces of the faction until she spied the faction’s strongest healer, young Kezhenie. “QuicklyKezhenie immediately came to her side, already reaching for theAs the young woman knelt down next to her matriarch, Tathik asked her, “Can you share the pain long enough for me to get more Buulnayzh leaned over Zhakari and rocked back and forth, holding his son’s head in one hand, and his right arm in the other. The reason Tathik had sought out Kezhenie, aside from the fact that she was by far the greatest healer of Faction Binzhmai, was that and any of the other surrounding factions. one of her gifts lay in pain sharing. She was able to reach out, tap into the power of the talisman she wore around her neck, and extend herself into her patient. Through this, she could share in their pain, taking whatever portion of it she chose to, alleviating her patient’s suffering while other remedies were applied. Though she was capable of wound sharing as well (a gift that came to her quite naturally), and had been more than willing to on a few occasions in the past, she had been strictly forbidden to do so by her zhanduma because the result was that she literally took the wound from her patient into herself, and if it scarred, the scar was hers – for life. She could not share away her own wounds. The slightly crooked toes of her right foot boreGripping the stone from her necklace in one hand, Kezhenie reached out with her other and felt for the edge of the boy’s yaiyo, the halo that surrounded all things living, not touching him yet, but seeking to tie in a little in order to make her extension more easily solidified. She found it, like little sharp pebbles and fragments of shattered stone against her skin, shimmering and jolting. For a moment she focused on the noises and feelings of the chaotic world around her, the crying children, scared mothers, yammering men, pleading father, sobbing son, the discomfort of the hard packed earth beneath her knees, the smell of cooked flesh and the aroma of sopping numb weed – and then she began to tune them out, one at a time. After years of experience, she had become gifted at it, and it took only a matter of moments for her to gain enough focus to risk full contact. Having been asked by the zhanduma to do it increased her willingness, and the fact that this boy was someone she knew increased it tenfold. She breathed in and then set her hand on his aKnowing exactly what she was looking for made it easy to extend in, but what she found was completely unexpected. There was no physical pain, not from the burning, though there was most certainly a feeling of something being grossly physically wrong. What she did feel, and was suddenly drawn to, was a horrific pain in the chest and belly that spoke to her of emotional torment on a scale that she had personally never experienced before. She reached out to tap that pain, to share an ache that ran fSuddenly she found herself jolted out, and she yelped with surprise. The young man hissed at her, “No! It’s mine! Don’t.” Kezhenie leaned down, her face close to his. “It’s ok. Let meZhakari shook his head. “It’s mine. Don’t take it. I’m sorryBy the end of that night, Ooluōzh was worn out. Moving quickly through the faction, he’d provided direction and comfort where it was wanted and instruction where it was necessary. It had still taken quite some time to get everyone calm – well, that was an overstatement. It had still taken quite some time to get the faction functioning properly again whilst still in the midst of heightened emotion. Calm had proven to be elusive. This day would be the central topic of conversation for weeks, maybe months, to come. Hulwayas like this didn't come along even oHis greatest disappointment was the loss of the vezhool, the broken brand. That brand had been made for Faction Binzhmai when the faction had first parted from its parent, Faction Yōwheelō, many generations ago. It had traveled with them before his great-grandparents had been born, treated with a depth of respect equal to the dawveezh and dawghain. Made from clay, it had been inherently fragile from its inception, but the respect given it by all of the men throughout the generations that had been branded by it was such that none of them had broken it though there were hundreds of fathers gripping it tightly, hundreds of sons holding themselves still in the face of blazing pain...until now. It was ironic that the brand had met its demise not as the result of fearing the fire, but rather indulging it. The branding tip itself would be kept as a memento by him and all future zhandupoy of Faction Binzhmai, but there was no way to re-attach it to its handle. A new vezhool would have to be constructed now. (Would you like to make this a scene for cultural enrichment? You could use it to describe some history. outliAs to Zhakari, Tathik and Kezhenie had cared for him and his injuries, all three of which were deep and would leave scars for life. The boy would be fortunate if he ever got to use his right hand again, though Kezhenie had said she felt that, with her direction in helping to heal the wound, he might recover someday. What he would never recover from was the scar on his face. A brand on the cheek was reserved for criminal actions that were just short of being worthy of death, given by a faction to those that were considered a threat to the whole of the species, and marked so that no matter what faction they ran across, it would be known that they were convicts. Each faction had their own vezhool and that meant that if a scarred criminal left their faction, any other faction they ran across would know to look for the gathering that brand had come from, so that they might learn of the crime. A branded cheek was meant to keep a zhan from being able to integrate into any society anywhere – ever. In comparison, male vorhoyli received no brand, females no piercing, but could, if they chose, attempt to find a different faction that might take them in. That was unlikely, because an adult with no brand or piercing would be recognized by any faction as an invalid, but factions and circumstances differed from one to the next, and so vorbhoyli could have hope that, if they left their faction, they might live a better life somewhere else, far far away where their factions didn't interact with those that might take them in. Not so those with a criminal's brand. They had been marked – far worse than being a vorbhoyli. Ooluōzh felt worse for the boy's father than he did for the son, frankly. Buulnayzh had also been burnt, batting the brand away from his son and the patriarch, but his injury was merely a flesh wound. The brand had been hot enough to make large, thick blisters on the fingers of his right hand, but time would care for that. It was the inner pain he knew the father was experiencing that created sympathy in him. He felt a kinship to Buulnayzh, in that both of them had lost their wives when their child was little. That was where the similarities stopped. Gezhma, the patriarch’s son, had grown to be the faction’s greatest warrior, stern, very serious and sober-minded, strong as a kruzdhūmarr and as skilled with both bow and staff as any zhandugheen Ooluōzh had ever seen. It was all about trying to fill his father’s footsteps, and what was true was that, if Ooluōzh were to pass away, no male had better odds of being voted zhandupoy than he. Zhakari, on the other hand, had always been a daydreamer, constantly lost in his own world, unable to focus. He was not strong, not large, not gifted in any particular area. Still, Ooluōzh couldn’t help but feel Buulnayzh’s pain. He suffered every bit as much as did his child, maybe more so. Had it been Gezhma suffering like that, he knew he would have been destroyed inside, eaten alive with anxiety and sorrow. How that poor man must be feeling. (When Ghezhma is facing execution, tThe zhandupoy went to the door of his shelter and opened it onto the night. The camp was quiet now, silenced by sleep. The air was quite chill, but at that moment he was enjoying its feel on his skin. He breathed it in deeply and blew out a cloud of white wisp. There was one question yet that still haunted him. The ceremony had come to its very end, only one sentence left to speak, one set of ceremonial words left to say that hadn’t been said. Once the branding was finished, the zhandupoy was supposed to say, “Zhakari, all of Faction Binzhmai sees that you are a man!” It was such a small part, but a significant one, the final declaration of acceptance, the official statement of manhood. In its absence, however, came the question, was Zhakari to be accepted as a man, or was he vorbhoyli, his trial incomplete? The reality was it was solely his fault that the ceremony had not been completed, solely his fault that the vezhool was broken, that he was scarred, that his father was burnt. Ooluōzh had had second thoughts when the boy was reenacting his hunt, how he had gone to the fawlthawgheen land with every intention of trespassing. The consequences for such an action were potentially monstrous, and yet, to avoid his own humiliation, he’d been willing to do it anyway? What did that say of his character? But at the same time, he had brought a meal for one and all, and no small meal at that. There was still plenty to go around. A Hulwaya wasn’t a moral test, but a physical and mental one. Could the man feed the faction? If yes, then he was man. If not, then he was vorbhoyli. In addition, the brand of adulthood was on the boy, given per Ooluōzh’s own instruction, even if the brand of criminal was there as well, and vorbhoyli were not branded with anything. But then, there was a ceremony to go through that was required before recognition of manhood was accepted, and Zhakari had not only interrupted it, he’d deOoluōzh sighed. He'd have to speak with Zhakari and find out more about why he'd marked himself a criminal before any decision was to be made, see if that swayed his thoughts one way or another. Tathik would be coming with him this time. This wasn't his decision to make alone. (Make sure you follow-up on this. Not sure if you wrote it later on or not. It’s been too long since you read all this...)\nProcess Group PGID: 157624"
}
---
## Canonical spine (M_L)
**PRIMUS:** Willful avoidance of harm of self and others equally.
**SECUNDUS:** Willful seeking of healing of self and others equally.
**TERTIUM:** Willful pursuit of benefit of self and others equally.
Love is the sole logic that produces mutual prosperity without a zero-sum trade.
- Full paper: `MASTER DOCS/PAPER/Another_Paper_Draft_v1.md`
- OSF preregistration: https://osf.io/qa54c
- Corpus phase: extract v0.1 (mined from local Braid archive)