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24th Spring
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__________ 515av
24th Spring
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__________ 515av
For the first time in a long time, Zhol had slept poorly last night. Usually, the feeling of Khara cuddled against him was a soothing comfort, but last night he had slept in fits and starts, compelled by old and uncomfortably familiar dreams to toss and turn, but prevented from doing so by the peaceful weight resting gently against his chest. Even when he had reached out through the darkness and used his reimancy to light the candle beside their bed, the thoughts had not faded away. Whether it was minutes or hours that he had spent staring at the pavilion fabric above their bed he did not know, but the thoughts that plagued his dreams had pursued him to that place as well, the flickering shadows of candlelight across the swathes of fabric transforming into moving memories of times he dearly wished were forgotten.
For Khara's sake, he hadn't mentioned a word of it, of course. He had greeted her with the same smile as ever when she awoke, gazed upon her with the same loving eyes, fighting so hard to conceal the tiredness behind them. She'd been too perceptive though, and when she'd asked what was wrong, he couldn't lie to her; but he'd downplayed it, diminished it. Just a bad night. Just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about. It's better now that I can see your smile. It was all true, and yet at the same time it wasn't. Not just a bad dream, but the bad dream, the self same thoughts and memories that plagued him. The burning fever after his initiation into reimancy. The way that his mother had left so abruptly. The fire in the pavilion. The exile. The goodbyes that were never uttered. Cursed by Ivak, that's what his father had said he was. Perhaps he was right; perhaps that was why Zhol was here, perhaps that was why Wind Reach was the exile he had chosen. When asked, he said that it was as far away from Endrykas as he could conceive; but perhaps there was a reason that he had fled to the place that had been Ivak's prison. Perhaps the same cage was where he belonged.
Zhol let out a sigh, scrubbing the back of his wrist across his forehead. His hairline was still damp, and his skin still clammy; night sweats that hadn't yet realised that it was now day. He heaved out a sigh, hefting the weighty horse harness onto his shoulder. Today was a busy day for the Skyhigh Stables; or a busy morning, at least. Endal patrols had declared that Thunder Bay was once again open, and that the Sanikas Road was safe for travel; and so the fishermen, the farmers, and the other migrants who had as always retreated to Wind Reach for the winter had begun to load themselves into carts and wagons, ready to begin the convoy back to Water Reach. It would take days altogether: on foot, a lone Inarta could make the journey in a day or two, following a steep stairway hewn into the cliffside by masons and reimancy; but the Sanikas Road itself could not be nearly so steep, and so weaved back and forth across gentler gradients, meandering down the valley in a paved echo of the Sanikas River. A lone horse and rider could make short work of the longer distance, but a heavily laden wagon, not to mention herds of goats and llamas, and all manner of other things that could not have been abandoned at Thunder Bay during the cold, the going was far slower.
Yet, there was something strangely familiar about it; something strangely reassuring. Many people might look on the migration as strange, but for Zhol it was the reverse. Born into a mobile city that had been constantly on the move, it was staying in one place that was the oddity to Zhol's mind. Perhaps that was what this was all about; perhaps what had kept him awake last night was envy of these Water Reachers and their less static lifestyle, and remorse for the way in which he had robbed himself of his own.
Zhol deposited the harness on the ground outside the stable doors, and quickly it was appropriated by others, various Chiet and Dek swarming about like a hive of ants, readying horses, hitching up the wagons, loading up the last of the supplies. There was not enough space here in front of the stables and the gates to ready the entire convoy at once; instead there would be a constant hive of activity for many hours, a new wagon prepared the instant a departing one made space for it. It would go on for days, too: labourers travelled to Thunder Bay first to prepare for the arrival of others; some in these first wagons, others by wind eagle, if their arrival was a matter of urgency.
Allowing himself a brief moment to pause and catch his breath, Zhol slumped against one of the stone pillars that stopped the stable ceiling from collapsing down and burying them all, closing his eyes and trying to picture the candle he always imagined as part of his meditation. While he had learned the techniques to help focus his reimantic skills, the book he had studied from spoke of how meditation could help in other aspects of life as well, to soothe raging thoughts, to calm errant emotions, to focus past pain, and much more. Right now, Zhol would settle for a little of meditation's help with the uncomfortable itching sensation behind his tired eyes. He imagined the candle flickering, tried to force the mental image to sway back and forth with the rhythm of his breathing, slowing his lungs and watching the flame follow suit, gentler and gentler breaths until the flames movements became slower and slower -
"Hell of a time for a nap."
The unexpected voice pierced through Zhol's mental focus, and snuffed out the candle in an instant. His eyes snapped open, taking a brief moment to search around and focus on where the voice had come from. Surprise turned to alarm as he recognised the man that it belonged to: Jensen, one of the few Endals with whom Zhol was acquainted; the man who'd enlisted his services in the hunt for the snowshoe leopard back in summer, and who had flown he and Khara to - and from - the Unforgiving during their recent expedition. Of all the Endals that Zhol knew, Jensen was the one he regarded most favourably, and not just for the fact that he'd returned a second time for Zhol and Khara when a storm had trapped them in the Unforgiving for an unexpected extra day. There was something about him; something reassuring and familiar, that put Zhol instantly at ease.
Except for now, of course. "Sorry," Zhol began to say, not even realising what language he was speaking as he pushed himself back onto his feet, but that was about as far through an apology or excuse as he got before a chuckle from Jensen cut him off.
Jensen held up his hands, and shot the horse boy a look that insisted he be calm. "Relax, before you strain something," he urged, far more comfortable with Common than many of the Inarta that Zhol had met. It was no surprise though, he supposed; the Endals flew trade missions to other cities, both near and far, and so it only made sense that they be better at speaking with outsiders than the average stay-at-home Inarta. "In fact, I am glad you are not in the middle of something," he added. "I need your assistance. Come."
For Khara's sake, he hadn't mentioned a word of it, of course. He had greeted her with the same smile as ever when she awoke, gazed upon her with the same loving eyes, fighting so hard to conceal the tiredness behind them. She'd been too perceptive though, and when she'd asked what was wrong, he couldn't lie to her; but he'd downplayed it, diminished it. Just a bad night. Just a bad dream. Nothing to worry about. It's better now that I can see your smile. It was all true, and yet at the same time it wasn't. Not just a bad dream, but the bad dream, the self same thoughts and memories that plagued him. The burning fever after his initiation into reimancy. The way that his mother had left so abruptly. The fire in the pavilion. The exile. The goodbyes that were never uttered. Cursed by Ivak, that's what his father had said he was. Perhaps he was right; perhaps that was why Zhol was here, perhaps that was why Wind Reach was the exile he had chosen. When asked, he said that it was as far away from Endrykas as he could conceive; but perhaps there was a reason that he had fled to the place that had been Ivak's prison. Perhaps the same cage was where he belonged.
Zhol let out a sigh, scrubbing the back of his wrist across his forehead. His hairline was still damp, and his skin still clammy; night sweats that hadn't yet realised that it was now day. He heaved out a sigh, hefting the weighty horse harness onto his shoulder. Today was a busy day for the Skyhigh Stables; or a busy morning, at least. Endal patrols had declared that Thunder Bay was once again open, and that the Sanikas Road was safe for travel; and so the fishermen, the farmers, and the other migrants who had as always retreated to Wind Reach for the winter had begun to load themselves into carts and wagons, ready to begin the convoy back to Water Reach. It would take days altogether: on foot, a lone Inarta could make the journey in a day or two, following a steep stairway hewn into the cliffside by masons and reimancy; but the Sanikas Road itself could not be nearly so steep, and so weaved back and forth across gentler gradients, meandering down the valley in a paved echo of the Sanikas River. A lone horse and rider could make short work of the longer distance, but a heavily laden wagon, not to mention herds of goats and llamas, and all manner of other things that could not have been abandoned at Thunder Bay during the cold, the going was far slower.
Yet, there was something strangely familiar about it; something strangely reassuring. Many people might look on the migration as strange, but for Zhol it was the reverse. Born into a mobile city that had been constantly on the move, it was staying in one place that was the oddity to Zhol's mind. Perhaps that was what this was all about; perhaps what had kept him awake last night was envy of these Water Reachers and their less static lifestyle, and remorse for the way in which he had robbed himself of his own.
Zhol deposited the harness on the ground outside the stable doors, and quickly it was appropriated by others, various Chiet and Dek swarming about like a hive of ants, readying horses, hitching up the wagons, loading up the last of the supplies. There was not enough space here in front of the stables and the gates to ready the entire convoy at once; instead there would be a constant hive of activity for many hours, a new wagon prepared the instant a departing one made space for it. It would go on for days, too: labourers travelled to Thunder Bay first to prepare for the arrival of others; some in these first wagons, others by wind eagle, if their arrival was a matter of urgency.
Allowing himself a brief moment to pause and catch his breath, Zhol slumped against one of the stone pillars that stopped the stable ceiling from collapsing down and burying them all, closing his eyes and trying to picture the candle he always imagined as part of his meditation. While he had learned the techniques to help focus his reimantic skills, the book he had studied from spoke of how meditation could help in other aspects of life as well, to soothe raging thoughts, to calm errant emotions, to focus past pain, and much more. Right now, Zhol would settle for a little of meditation's help with the uncomfortable itching sensation behind his tired eyes. He imagined the candle flickering, tried to force the mental image to sway back and forth with the rhythm of his breathing, slowing his lungs and watching the flame follow suit, gentler and gentler breaths until the flames movements became slower and slower -
"Hell of a time for a nap."
The unexpected voice pierced through Zhol's mental focus, and snuffed out the candle in an instant. His eyes snapped open, taking a brief moment to search around and focus on where the voice had come from. Surprise turned to alarm as he recognised the man that it belonged to: Jensen, one of the few Endals with whom Zhol was acquainted; the man who'd enlisted his services in the hunt for the snowshoe leopard back in summer, and who had flown he and Khara to - and from - the Unforgiving during their recent expedition. Of all the Endals that Zhol knew, Jensen was the one he regarded most favourably, and not just for the fact that he'd returned a second time for Zhol and Khara when a storm had trapped them in the Unforgiving for an unexpected extra day. There was something about him; something reassuring and familiar, that put Zhol instantly at ease.
Except for now, of course. "Sorry," Zhol began to say, not even realising what language he was speaking as he pushed himself back onto his feet, but that was about as far through an apology or excuse as he got before a chuckle from Jensen cut him off.
Jensen held up his hands, and shot the horse boy a look that insisted he be calm. "Relax, before you strain something," he urged, far more comfortable with Common than many of the Inarta that Zhol had met. It was no surprise though, he supposed; the Endals flew trade missions to other cities, both near and far, and so it only made sense that they be better at speaking with outsiders than the average stay-at-home Inarta. "In fact, I am glad you are not in the middle of something," he added. "I need your assistance. Come."
"Nari" | "Common" | "Pavi"
This template was made by Khara, who likes this drink and wants another. Your coffee mugs are not safe.
