20th of winter, 515 a.v
midday
It was nearing noon, and the sun was sparkling brilliantly off of the thin layer of snow on the ground. Days before, the layer had been thick and sparkling and almost blinding in its crystalline brilliance, but days under Syna’s glare and the steady, everyday ministrations of creatures that went about their lives had rendered the snow an almost sickly shade of cream, at least in the places where it hadn’t been eradicated entirely. What was left was trodden and solid, almost to the point of being ice, and so Shahar took care to avoid them as he and his horse picked their way through the rattling grass in search of a meal.
He had left Endrykas some while ago, although his path had carved diagonally and looped about rather than forging straight away from the city. The tents had moved once again, and his camp, being less complicated than most, had been pitched quickly and efficiently, leaving him free to be one of the first to explore their new grounds. It would be another day or two before he had to range particularly far to find what he needed.
As it was, he had found leeway to be careful in his exploration of the new landscape; he had often heard outsiders lament how every place in the Sea of Grass looked the exact same as everywhere else, and it was a lament which often baffled him; in his view, every place was completely unique and new, with different herds and flocks and prey-paths carved with stories and habits of those that had made them. Here, a rutted path told the tale of the three-legged hyena that passed by every day, limping but strong with youthful vigor––how had the hyena come by three legs, being so young? Had it been born that way? Had it been mauled by a night lion, the eternal enemies of all hyenas? Nowhere else in the Sea of Grass lived that same hyena, and so Shahar could not comprehend how one might perceive all places to be the same.
There were people in this world that he simply did not try to understand.
The high daylight had left the world somewhat cool rather than outright cold, and with his cloak and sheepskin vest, Shahar was comfortable. Akaidras, too, seemed happy with the nice weather, picking up his hooves cheerfully as they made their way west. Tuka trotted happily alongside them, ears perked and nose pointed into the wind, but Shahar had previously given the hunting cat firm instruction not to look for anything; this trip was to learn the land, not to hunt.
It was when shadows were at their shortest that the three of them finally discovered a gentle dip in the rolling grass and the pale green of living plants filling it. A sure sign of water, and certainly of things to bring home. When he urged his strider over the crest of the hill, he was rewarded with the sight of a shallow, half-frozen pond. A scraggly willow bent above, fronds caught in the ice, but it was the stand of cattails that caught Shahar’s eye; cattail roots were a thick, filling food, something that would be foolish to ignore with winter hovering around him. If he could upend a few of those, perhaps he could then look for any of the animals that came to this pond for water and bring that home, too.
Pulling Akaidras to a halt, Shahar slid onto the ground and drew his axe. With a quick sign to Tuka to stay in the area, the clanless hunter made his way into the cattails and began to cut.
midday
It was nearing noon, and the sun was sparkling brilliantly off of the thin layer of snow on the ground. Days before, the layer had been thick and sparkling and almost blinding in its crystalline brilliance, but days under Syna’s glare and the steady, everyday ministrations of creatures that went about their lives had rendered the snow an almost sickly shade of cream, at least in the places where it hadn’t been eradicated entirely. What was left was trodden and solid, almost to the point of being ice, and so Shahar took care to avoid them as he and his horse picked their way through the rattling grass in search of a meal.
He had left Endrykas some while ago, although his path had carved diagonally and looped about rather than forging straight away from the city. The tents had moved once again, and his camp, being less complicated than most, had been pitched quickly and efficiently, leaving him free to be one of the first to explore their new grounds. It would be another day or two before he had to range particularly far to find what he needed.
As it was, he had found leeway to be careful in his exploration of the new landscape; he had often heard outsiders lament how every place in the Sea of Grass looked the exact same as everywhere else, and it was a lament which often baffled him; in his view, every place was completely unique and new, with different herds and flocks and prey-paths carved with stories and habits of those that had made them. Here, a rutted path told the tale of the three-legged hyena that passed by every day, limping but strong with youthful vigor––how had the hyena come by three legs, being so young? Had it been born that way? Had it been mauled by a night lion, the eternal enemies of all hyenas? Nowhere else in the Sea of Grass lived that same hyena, and so Shahar could not comprehend how one might perceive all places to be the same.
There were people in this world that he simply did not try to understand.
The high daylight had left the world somewhat cool rather than outright cold, and with his cloak and sheepskin vest, Shahar was comfortable. Akaidras, too, seemed happy with the nice weather, picking up his hooves cheerfully as they made their way west. Tuka trotted happily alongside them, ears perked and nose pointed into the wind, but Shahar had previously given the hunting cat firm instruction not to look for anything; this trip was to learn the land, not to hunt.
It was when shadows were at their shortest that the three of them finally discovered a gentle dip in the rolling grass and the pale green of living plants filling it. A sure sign of water, and certainly of things to bring home. When he urged his strider over the crest of the hill, he was rewarded with the sight of a shallow, half-frozen pond. A scraggly willow bent above, fronds caught in the ice, but it was the stand of cattails that caught Shahar’s eye; cattail roots were a thick, filling food, something that would be foolish to ignore with winter hovering around him. If he could upend a few of those, perhaps he could then look for any of the animals that came to this pond for water and bring that home, too.
Pulling Akaidras to a halt, Shahar slid onto the ground and drew his axe. With a quick sign to Tuka to stay in the area, the clanless hunter made his way into the cattails and began to cut.