3rd of winter, 513 a.v
early morning
The chill bit viciously at Shahar’s skin as he slipped from his tent, though it did not yet have the power it would when winter set in properly. Fall still clung to the wind, as much as the new season tried to hide it, and it would be days yet before the deepest of colds overtook the plains.
The eastern skyline was painted with gray and purple, promising a sunrise to come but still not quite ready to shed night’s dark veil and step into morning. Every now and then a stray shard of frost would catch what little light there was and throw it to whomever might be around to receive it, but the little camp was not yet stirring, not really, and though the walk to Endrykas proper was not a long one it was still something motionless and unbroken. Nothing was awake at this hour, when the night was bedding down and the day had not yet woken. Besides, it was cold.
The hunter shivered against his cloak, sparking a superficial warmth that was just as quickly stolen away by the pre-dawn air. He grimaced at nothing in particular and pulled it tighter around himself, but the wind seemed to treat it as if it were not there and continued to pierce Shahar to the core. He took a glance around his camp, but it yielded nothing of note, and with a quiet growl, the hunter set into a walk. The animals were asleep, wild and tame alike, and there were no prizes to be taken by hunting at this hour. He was alone, more or less, alone to drown in the wind, in the cold and in his own thoughts.
How could he have been so foolish? How could he have misled Hope so? He had left her be, when he thought she wanted it, and when she had given smiles to beasts in place of men or women, he had let her at them. He had even brought a new horse to the hearth for that purpose, for her to tend to and care for and learn from. And it had been going so well! So how, how in the name of all gods could it have gone so wrong?
He was vaguely aware of his feet taking him towards the city of tents, but did not make any effort to change direction. He had no destination in mind; he just wanted to walk, to move, to stir the already churning thoughts.
He had misled her. He didn’t know how or why she had come to her conclusions; what motions had he made that he had bought her to warm his bed, a bed that was barely enough for one already? In all his time with her he had tiptoed, afraid of anything that might send that spark of life fluttering away from her eyes and leaving only the endless, bottomless apathy in its place. Never had he demanded, never had he ordered; he had told, yes, but with so great a language barrier between them, how else was he supposed to communicate? He encouraged her smiles, let her brush Dainellas to her heart’s content in the hope that they would last longer, shine brighter and come again easier. He wanted her to laugh, he wanted her to look ahead… he wanted her to hope.
And, failing that, it seemed that his hope had fled after hers, gone like a grass-bird into the shadows.
He slowed, then stopped on the outskirts of Endrykas. Exhaustion dragged at his shoulders, dragged him down, down to the ground where he sank to his knees, every motion speaking exhaustion, failure, bitterness. Despair.
Lost.
early morning
The chill bit viciously at Shahar’s skin as he slipped from his tent, though it did not yet have the power it would when winter set in properly. Fall still clung to the wind, as much as the new season tried to hide it, and it would be days yet before the deepest of colds overtook the plains.
The eastern skyline was painted with gray and purple, promising a sunrise to come but still not quite ready to shed night’s dark veil and step into morning. Every now and then a stray shard of frost would catch what little light there was and throw it to whomever might be around to receive it, but the little camp was not yet stirring, not really, and though the walk to Endrykas proper was not a long one it was still something motionless and unbroken. Nothing was awake at this hour, when the night was bedding down and the day had not yet woken. Besides, it was cold.
The hunter shivered against his cloak, sparking a superficial warmth that was just as quickly stolen away by the pre-dawn air. He grimaced at nothing in particular and pulled it tighter around himself, but the wind seemed to treat it as if it were not there and continued to pierce Shahar to the core. He took a glance around his camp, but it yielded nothing of note, and with a quiet growl, the hunter set into a walk. The animals were asleep, wild and tame alike, and there were no prizes to be taken by hunting at this hour. He was alone, more or less, alone to drown in the wind, in the cold and in his own thoughts.
How could he have been so foolish? How could he have misled Hope so? He had left her be, when he thought she wanted it, and when she had given smiles to beasts in place of men or women, he had let her at them. He had even brought a new horse to the hearth for that purpose, for her to tend to and care for and learn from. And it had been going so well! So how, how in the name of all gods could it have gone so wrong?
He was vaguely aware of his feet taking him towards the city of tents, but did not make any effort to change direction. He had no destination in mind; he just wanted to walk, to move, to stir the already churning thoughts.
He had misled her. He didn’t know how or why she had come to her conclusions; what motions had he made that he had bought her to warm his bed, a bed that was barely enough for one already? In all his time with her he had tiptoed, afraid of anything that might send that spark of life fluttering away from her eyes and leaving only the endless, bottomless apathy in its place. Never had he demanded, never had he ordered; he had told, yes, but with so great a language barrier between them, how else was he supposed to communicate? He encouraged her smiles, let her brush Dainellas to her heart’s content in the hope that they would last longer, shine brighter and come again easier. He wanted her to laugh, he wanted her to look ahead… he wanted her to hope.
And, failing that, it seemed that his hope had fled after hers, gone like a grass-bird into the shadows.
He slowed, then stopped on the outskirts of Endrykas. Exhaustion dragged at his shoulders, dragged him down, down to the ground where he sank to his knees, every motion speaking exhaustion, failure, bitterness. Despair.
Lost.
