|.1st Fall, 512
Zhol grunted as the boot kicked him unceremoniously in the leg.
"Congratulations," a gruff voice announced, spurring even more reluctance from the fatigued boy, "Season 'as changed. You lasted all the way t' the Autumn." A not entirely reassuring chuckle followed. "Let's 'ope we don't 'ave to find out if y' can survive the fall, eh?"
Zhol groaned, reluctantly prising himself from his bedroll. Every time he awoke, he expected to see the familiar sights of Endrykas surrounding him: friendly faces, loving eyes, horses galore, grass as far as the eye could see; in short, home. What he saw was anything but: the Sea of Grass had been exchanged for the foothills and mountains of Kalea; his family and friends replaced with a group of strangers who only tolerated each other because of the almost impossibly arduous journey that lay ahead. Get close, their expedition's leaders had instructed, But not too close. You'll be dependent on these people to survive; but not all of you will.
Zhol forced himself to sitting, and tried to blink as much of the tiredness from his eyes. Fingers prised the rheum from the corners; it seemed absurd that any could form, considering how little he managed to sleep. He'd been so arrogant, so self-assured when he had signed on to this expedition. He was from Endrykas after all, right? Constantly moving, carrying every belonging with you, enduring every extreme that nature had to throw at you and still crawling out of bed to help move the city the next day; it should have been easy. He hadn't realised what Kalea was back then, though; mountain had just been a word. Hiking across rough and rocky ground was far harsher on his feet than Cyphran soil; and even the grass here was different, course and patchy and brown in places, instead of the rolling fields of emerald that had been the Sea of Grass.
The first day of Fall though, the man from Alvadas had said. Zhol's tired features arranged themselves into a frown. He held his fingers aloft, counting backwards through the Summer until he arrived at the day they had left. Twenty-nine. That was how long he had survived in Kalea: twenty-nine days, eight gruelling hours of walking each; scrambling over scree, clambering up ridges; it was as far from a life in Endrykas as Zhol could possibly imagine.
But then, wasn't that the point? Endrykas had sent him away; or at least his family had. A curse from Ivak was what they'd said; the wake of the flame god's escape from captivity had hardly been a hospitable time for a reimancer burdened with fire the way that he had been. Zhol didn't believe it of course: he was far too puny and insignificant to have grasped the attention of any of the gods, let alone one who had far better things to focus his new-found freedom on.
Zhol sighed, and dragged his aching bones from the floor, taking a few moments to compose himself, step into his boots, and pull his cloak over his shoulders. There were few things that he owned, and most of them were already on his person; that was for the best, he supposed. Far harder to lose something if it was always with you. His eyes lingered on his father's sword, wrapped up in a bundle of cloth, squeezed into the side of his backpack. He'd thought about wearing that as well, but no; useful as it may have been, it was here as a reminder, nothing more. It was a representation that his ties to his old life had been severed; a reminder that no matter how much he wanted to, he could not turn back.
Turning back and looking back were two different things, though. Zhol peered up at the sky above, painted orange and crimson by the waking Syna, her magnificence still hidden by the mountainous terrain to Zhol's back. Before him, the world stretched out, the dim blue sky of a retreating night hanging above. If he squinted, he could almost pretend that he saw a distant corner of Cyphrus, a shimmering wave of green as the wind rushed across the Sea of Grass. With a sigh he lowered himself back to his bedroll, knees beneath him this time. Head slightly bowed, and hands gently resting in his lap, he closed his eyes and tried to picture the faces of the people he had been forced to leave behind.
"Dear Syna," he whispered, "Please watch over those I love who linger back in Endrykas: let your warmth shine on Dinah, on Lillah, on Yahalla, and on my mother; let them never feel that they are alone. Dear Leth, please watch over them also, and keep them safe from harm as they sleep. Dear Semele, please watch over my family, and over those who travel beside me: let the ground be kind to them, and stay firm beneath their feet. Dear Eyris, please watch over those who lead us, and grant them the wisdom to guide us through this wilderness on the safest path."
Zhol felt movement nearby, a shadow that he could almost see through his eyelids.
"Praying again, Flint?"
He almost cringed at the nickname; it was what they had decided to call him, after discovering that his only useful skill was starting fires. Zhol didn't open his eyes, perhaps hoping that if he remained still long enough, the annoying distraction would fade away.
"You know they don't give a petch about insignificant little shykes like you or I, right?
A sad smile tugged at Zhol's lips; he let his eyes open, and peered up to his travelling compatriot. "I know," he replied, with a hint of a sigh. "That's why I don't ever waste time praying for myself. My family though? The rest of you? Maybe they won't listen; but what kind of friend, what kind of brother would I be if I wasn't willing to try?"
A slow, low chuckle escaped from Zhol's distraction. "Sentimental little bastard, aren't you?" There was amusement in his voice rather than anything hostile. "Come on Flint," he muttered. "Your services are required."
"Congratulations," a gruff voice announced, spurring even more reluctance from the fatigued boy, "Season 'as changed. You lasted all the way t' the Autumn." A not entirely reassuring chuckle followed. "Let's 'ope we don't 'ave to find out if y' can survive the fall, eh?"
Zhol groaned, reluctantly prising himself from his bedroll. Every time he awoke, he expected to see the familiar sights of Endrykas surrounding him: friendly faces, loving eyes, horses galore, grass as far as the eye could see; in short, home. What he saw was anything but: the Sea of Grass had been exchanged for the foothills and mountains of Kalea; his family and friends replaced with a group of strangers who only tolerated each other because of the almost impossibly arduous journey that lay ahead. Get close, their expedition's leaders had instructed, But not too close. You'll be dependent on these people to survive; but not all of you will.
Zhol forced himself to sitting, and tried to blink as much of the tiredness from his eyes. Fingers prised the rheum from the corners; it seemed absurd that any could form, considering how little he managed to sleep. He'd been so arrogant, so self-assured when he had signed on to this expedition. He was from Endrykas after all, right? Constantly moving, carrying every belonging with you, enduring every extreme that nature had to throw at you and still crawling out of bed to help move the city the next day; it should have been easy. He hadn't realised what Kalea was back then, though; mountain had just been a word. Hiking across rough and rocky ground was far harsher on his feet than Cyphran soil; and even the grass here was different, course and patchy and brown in places, instead of the rolling fields of emerald that had been the Sea of Grass.
The first day of Fall though, the man from Alvadas had said. Zhol's tired features arranged themselves into a frown. He held his fingers aloft, counting backwards through the Summer until he arrived at the day they had left. Twenty-nine. That was how long he had survived in Kalea: twenty-nine days, eight gruelling hours of walking each; scrambling over scree, clambering up ridges; it was as far from a life in Endrykas as Zhol could possibly imagine.
But then, wasn't that the point? Endrykas had sent him away; or at least his family had. A curse from Ivak was what they'd said; the wake of the flame god's escape from captivity had hardly been a hospitable time for a reimancer burdened with fire the way that he had been. Zhol didn't believe it of course: he was far too puny and insignificant to have grasped the attention of any of the gods, let alone one who had far better things to focus his new-found freedom on.
Zhol sighed, and dragged his aching bones from the floor, taking a few moments to compose himself, step into his boots, and pull his cloak over his shoulders. There were few things that he owned, and most of them were already on his person; that was for the best, he supposed. Far harder to lose something if it was always with you. His eyes lingered on his father's sword, wrapped up in a bundle of cloth, squeezed into the side of his backpack. He'd thought about wearing that as well, but no; useful as it may have been, it was here as a reminder, nothing more. It was a representation that his ties to his old life had been severed; a reminder that no matter how much he wanted to, he could not turn back.
Turning back and looking back were two different things, though. Zhol peered up at the sky above, painted orange and crimson by the waking Syna, her magnificence still hidden by the mountainous terrain to Zhol's back. Before him, the world stretched out, the dim blue sky of a retreating night hanging above. If he squinted, he could almost pretend that he saw a distant corner of Cyphrus, a shimmering wave of green as the wind rushed across the Sea of Grass. With a sigh he lowered himself back to his bedroll, knees beneath him this time. Head slightly bowed, and hands gently resting in his lap, he closed his eyes and tried to picture the faces of the people he had been forced to leave behind.
"Dear Syna," he whispered, "Please watch over those I love who linger back in Endrykas: let your warmth shine on Dinah, on Lillah, on Yahalla, and on my mother; let them never feel that they are alone. Dear Leth, please watch over them also, and keep them safe from harm as they sleep. Dear Semele, please watch over my family, and over those who travel beside me: let the ground be kind to them, and stay firm beneath their feet. Dear Eyris, please watch over those who lead us, and grant them the wisdom to guide us through this wilderness on the safest path."
Zhol felt movement nearby, a shadow that he could almost see through his eyelids.
"Praying again, Flint?"
He almost cringed at the nickname; it was what they had decided to call him, after discovering that his only useful skill was starting fires. Zhol didn't open his eyes, perhaps hoping that if he remained still long enough, the annoying distraction would fade away.
"You know they don't give a petch about insignificant little shykes like you or I, right?
A sad smile tugged at Zhol's lips; he let his eyes open, and peered up to his travelling compatriot. "I know," he replied, with a hint of a sigh. "That's why I don't ever waste time praying for myself. My family though? The rest of you? Maybe they won't listen; but what kind of friend, what kind of brother would I be if I wasn't willing to try?"
A slow, low chuckle escaped from Zhol's distraction. "Sentimental little bastard, aren't you?" There was amusement in his voice rather than anything hostile. "Come on Flint," he muttered. "Your services are required."
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari" | "Symenos"
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
...
This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
Dad Thoughts | Dinah Thoughts | Khara Thoughts
...
This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
