22, Fall 513Endrykas was chaos, as far as Timshel could tell. The last of the caravan had arrived mid-morning, and already he could see some Drykas pavilions breaking down for their daily move. At the same time, other tents moved up to take their place. To Timshel, the whole city seemed like a stone, hard, rolling slowly around the outskirts of the grass sea, orbiting the center of Cyphrus. Like two sides of a stone, morning Endrykas was different from evening Endrykas, but it was still made of the same stuff, and it was all the time kicking and gathering dirt and moss to carry with it-- and leaving behind an undulating footprint in its path.
Currently, it was mid-day Endrykas, and the stone was in full motion. Timshel felt his head spin just watching it all. He stretched his arms up way up into the air, twisted to crack his back, and looked over his shoulder at the rest of his companions. He saw sagging shoulders. Heads were held low to their chests. Over to his five-o'clock, Timshel caught sight of one particularly old merchant-traveler snoring loudly on his horse while his poor daughter tried to manage the reigns from around his waist. Timshel blinked, also feeling the full weight of gravity as his body anticipated warm stew and a soft bed later that night.
...
They were just finishing setting up the tents on the outskirts of the city, when they were met by a young local wearing thick leather armor and a short sword by his side. Military no doubt. Bright brown eyes shown through his helm and long black hair flowed behind it.
“Ho, traders,” he said, deftly bringing his horse 'round to face them. “Welcome to Endrykas. I'm a Ra'athi of The Watch. If you're lost, I'll be happy to guide you in the right direction.” His accent was thick, but he spoke fluent enough Common.
Timshel spoke up, “Well I'm fine with my lodgings, but Jas here is a bit high maintenance. Perhaps their's something available for her?”
The guard laughed and made some sort of hand gesture. Then he said, “Follow me”.
...
Up close, the local didn't seem like much more than a boy. Nineteen cycles, at most. Timshel watched as his long black hair bounced in unison with the horses mane. He didn't have the normal girdle and tack of most riders, but rather, a colorful mat and breast collar beneath a sort of girth with grips and hooks for the rider to hold on to. The horse's glassy coat glistened beneath it with a certain freedom and mobility.
“So sleek and streamlined,” Timshel said, eying his own tack and girdle. Jasmeet snorted. “Oh, don't be insecure, Jas.”
Finally, they arrived at a large purple tent with a line of posts beside it. Between the posts were a line of horses, tethered or otherwise, with a handful of Drykas men and women tending them. The boy dismounted and walked up to one, an older woman who was grooming a horse and smiling. The two said something in another language, gesturing the whole time. Timshel dismounted and brought Jas up next to the boy's horse.
“Here, Kelna will take care of her,” the boy said. The woman maintained her smile and held out her hand.
“Don't worry, she's in good hands,” she said.
“Oh, it's not you I'm worried about,” Timshel said, looking first at the large operation she was running-- then Jas. “You be a good girl now,” he said to her as he handed over the reigns.
“Do you want a ride back to the outskirts?” the watchman asked when the transaction was done.
“Oh, no no. I think I'll take a walk.”
The guardsman gave Timshel a queer look before shrugging, mounting his horse and trotting away. Timshel watched him go and then walked into the depths of the town.