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Dyakida would have been a Guardian by now.

She thought this as she carved part of a new bow out of wood that felt full of nostalgia and youthful energy.

She would, Dyakida fantasized, have ridden a kinfa. flying high in the air,she would have been able to see everything. She would have found the answers to the puzzles that battle brought, and with brilliant reasoning and cunning strategy – and well placed arrows – would have brought her tribe victory.

Dyakida occasionally thought about what could have been, had she not been so foolish as to get her eyes stained with caustic venom as a prentice. She liked to imagine that she would have been an exemplar of Alkidike warriordom, though a strategist more than a soldier. Maybe she would have turned the tide of the Oban war, or stopped the Extremists with sheer charisma... she chuckled out loud, grinning at the thought.

“What are you laughing at, 'kida?” Ah, a Sister must have been passing by.

“Nothing.” she said, waving them off before returning to her work, “Just a thought.”

It was all right to have ones fantasies, but that was all they were – thoughts. Imaginings. Fantasies. Unrealities. This was reality, for her one of carving and setting and weighing and careful feeling. It was important to her, and to her tribe, and she was happy to be on this path, and she certainly could fight with words and deeds, but...

Her smile faded.

She could do so little besides that. If she was that Guardian, on that kinfa, with that bow, she could fight in wars and offer advice. She would be respected and listened to. As she was, in reality, she was respected but it was not practical in any way. Certainly, who would need the help of a blind blacksmith to fight the kidnapping threat?

She couldn't read any scrolls. She couldn't protect her Sisters. She couldn't 'keep an eye out' for anything. She could only carve things, and what good was that when those monsters could come wherever they please and steal whoever they pleased whenever they pleased?! She could do nothing, just as she couldn't do anything before.

A useless Alkidike.

She winced as one of her tools nicked her hand. She set her work aside for when her injury had been assessed and her mind was more eased, holding her hand above her heart to keep it from bleeding too much.

I can't think that way. she rebuked herself angrily, both for her distraction and for her sad thoughts. She needed to be confident. Her work meant that she was there, fighting with her Sisters, in their hands. Her service to her tribe helped them in deeper ways than being a warrior would.

Still, it would be wonderful if she could contribute in some other way. Some physical way, that required strength. But what could she do? Nothing.

Nicks and cuts came with the job – she washed her hands to clean it, checked the wound with her fingers (not bad, just a scratch) and took it as a sign to take a break. A walk, perhaps, to sooth her soul.

After all, she told herself, she didn't need to do anything more than what she was doing... right?