His rest was interrupted by Bariaki shaking him awake for his shift of the watch, which he conducted judiciously under the light of the galactic disk, utilizing makar’osa several times to listen for predators or men as well as to see afar and in much clearer detail than anyone else in camp. One of the spare aloga was saddled for the occasion, giving their normal animals a break. It was a mild and pliant beast who gave him no trouble. Once he caught what was assuredly Enseres up to the ropes of the border confining the riding group, watching Deros ride and upset with the situation. Though he could certainly bypass the barrier if he wanted to, he maintained his discipline, whining all the while.
The watch came and went, and he needed little effort — despite the interruption — to fall right back asleep. He dreamt of his sister Ellayone as a child, running up and smacking him with a hand, then running away giggling, all to have him chase her and catch her, tickle her furiously under the din of high-pitched squeals and laughter and false pleas. She’d tried it with the aloof Bigger Brother to little avail, tried it with the rare Father, even Mother… but none meted out the proper response like Deros, did they… none were as devilish, as ruthless in the mock ‘punishment’, none understood the game like he, the fellow conspirator, the twin rascal...
He awoke with a start, to voices and laughter as opposed to anyone needing to prod him. It remained dark and cold, but he felt increasingly more like he actually got rest as he pulled himself out of bed and immediately began rolling up his blankets. It was fairly customary for everyone to let mid-shift sentries sleep a little extra if they could, but from sounds he already had. Meanwhile, bits of the dream still turned in his head.
Ellayone… haunting me, still. What would you have been like, by now? A full-grown imp, no doubt. Mother’s beloved heir. I bet you’d have been twice as ruthless. And yet you were easy to love, even in between the exasperation as we grew different. Or do I think that just because you’re gone? I’d trade taking you for granted, for being here. He tried to put it all out of his mind as he set about his camp chores. Thoughts of her always brought sadness, for what was lost. He’d cried his share of tears about it many times over.
They made good time packing up, filling waterskins, and getting the aloga ready for departure. It was efficient enough that everyone more or less waited around for light and ate a cold breakfast of smoky dried froul meat, hard cracker, and berries. Olarius offered out chunks of crumbly aloga cheese as well, which everyone aside from Palamera took him up on gratefully. That or milk did not agree with her digestion, so she could only watch everyone else enjoy it with a touch of envy. She’d loved it as a child and occasionally ate it anyway despite the suffering, but obviously doing so while traveling was a bad idea. Well. He’d save her a huge slice of the osanut cake when it was all over, and tell her it was for her ‘cheesy melancholy’. If that did not delight, what could?
It took an hour for Azrom to crest above the horizon, through less and less rocky terrain, ever peppered with networks of shrubbery, sometimes in vast fields. Trees were only here and there, generally lonesome. As they progressed over smoother, gently rolling landscapes, more and more sand was evident, with occasional lowland dunes with little or no vegetation. The glare of Azrom was well in the arc of their route, so everyone with goggles donned them. The temperature gradually rose but it was nothing compared to the canyon bottom or the summer in general. It stayed altogether moderate.
Deros did not even bother covering his skin entirely — that was until the quite parasol-protected Palamera wide-eyed him and gestured demandingly at face and hands, clearly telling him to cover up. He did so, somewhat bemused, covering his face and neck with a scarf and pulling out under-sleeves that draped over the top of the hand. She liked to chide him about ‘burning his skin too much’, that it was ‘bad for long-term health’. Hospitaller over-worry probably, but he didn’t feel strongly enough about it to be contentious. ‘Pick your battles, son,’ his father had taught him. ‘In every facet of life, there’s give and take. You negotiate every day, whether you see it or no. Keep your eyes open and you will have some chance at control.’
Deros made sure to range well north and south as much as he could, as the game would certainly not be along the path the party had trampled. He arrowed a couple of lizards in short order while the favorable terrain persisted, and then with the travel beyond the rocks, it became a more creative endeavor of looking out for likely spots, while trying to guess whether his sister had already hit them. More often than not, there was nothing, or movement would scamper away and hide in crevasses or holes he did not have enough time to dig or flush them out of. Sometimes it was after a missed shot. Nonetheless, he impaled one more with a long-distance try, as it sunbathed on a pristine spread of rock. Only his superior vision made it possible, along with a fair amount of luck. Three reptilian prizes and counting.
Other wildlife was evident here and there, though he did not hunt or bother with them. Birds and winged reptiles, the largest of which were competition for his fattened prey. As it happened, the ones worth hunting generally stayed high and steered clear of big groups such as theirs — even Ryza wasn’t very likely to find a good shot. There was also the motion of writhers, sometimes in masses as they wriggled and dug themselves into the sand to hide. Serpents, and once what he thought was the sandy fur of a gloupa, a small, big-nosed mammal that liked insects. He’d never known them as anything but nocturnal, though, so he wasn’t sure. They were rare in Miracle Springs.
Near midday, he heard a horn sound, making him jump. Immediately he spun Enseres toward it and galloped, up toward a rise. Forming makar’osa for greater vision, he looked out in the direction of the sound to see the party consolidating into a tight group, with the pack aloga wheeling behind. Ryza was ahead further to the south, facing that direction and blowing the horn a second time. Far, far south Deros could make out shapes, and when he focused in with his telescoping vision he saw them as a clutch of corsinids, paused on the horizon, feathered heads and necks up tall and staring back. Seven, he counted.
As Deros continued galloping back to the party down the rise, Ryza pulled an arrow from her quiver and aimed high, loosing it in an arc designed to go as far as possible. A barely-discernible noise came from it, but as it landed well shy of the corsinids, they still turned and bolted in the opposite direction, quickly out of sight. A ‘whistling arrow’, and in their direction they’d have heard it louder. They were well-known to dislike it.
The party as a whole began making a great racket, yipping and yelling and whistling, two with actual wooden whistles for the occasion. Deros did the same as he rode up, where all but the aloga handlers were clustered near Ryza. The aloga did not much like the noise themselves, most of them grunting displeasure, though some of the younger specimens danced around with their fur bushed out and made loosely-equivalent yelps themselves.
Deros had to pull reins on Enseres, who still took him in a little circle before he yielded, such was his excitement. He still grunted aggressively, tossing his snout around and pawing at the ground, claws out. He was in a protective mood, alright.
The noise-making tapered off gradually. When it was finally done they were all looking to the south, but the corsinids wanted nothing to do with the display, clearly.
Thalamon cursed in their direction. “I have little hope they’re dissuaded from tracking us, but I don’t have enough people to shadow and drive them away.”
Ryza turned and walked her aloga back toward the rest, the picture of proud calm. Even her mount, Selephael, seemed unmoved. “That’s uncertain. Depends on whether they catch a more promising scent.”
Deros cleared his throat as he pulled down his scarf, then said, “There’s unlikely to be a more promising scent than a herd of aloga. They’ll probably circle around and shadow us, at the least past nightfall to test for an opportunity.”
“Then we don’t give it to them,” Thalamon replied. He looked between Ryza and Deros. “You two: hang back and watch. Listen. If they’re tracking us for sure, well, at least we’ll know. As long as they don’t get ahead of us, we can set a trap. A volley from long distance should put an end to it, especially with any scoring hits.”
Deros exchanged a look with his sister. He didn’t think she liked it either — corsinids would fade out if they sussed out an unfavorable advance, and they were very good at doing so. But Deros could think of no great counter to trying, other than tolerating their stalking until they gave up. But Thalamon wouldn’t like it, nor would an attempted ambush preclude that as what they’d have to do once it failed.
“And this is the end of your little game, today,” Thalamon continued. “I don’t want any distractions, so you can resolve it now, postpone, I don’t care. But I don’t want any more lizards, even if they bloody jump in your lap. Keep your mind and senses tuned to this threat.”
Ryza’s eyes went to Deros’s quarry hanging from his aloga just as his eyes did to hers.
Damn it. Four lizards, to his three.
Ryza flashed a triumphant smile and said, “At least you’ll have time to think on what to cook, brother! Everyone, do let him know what sort of extras he has available to include. Perhaps give him some cooking advice. He’s not experienced!”
Even as some laughter and jeers began and Deros held his hands up in a gesture of ‘pour it on’, Thalamon shouted, “Later with that! We have tasks to do. Off you go, now.”
They splintered off, Deros and Ryza immediately heading back westward. Deros slowed to speak with her, and she drew in close to pat his back in mock consolation.
Shaking his head at her briefly for her teasing, he said, “I think I’ll wind a bit south, see if I can catch sight of them. Want to drop back further west for a while? We can reconvene in an hour.”
She nodded and sped off without further word, and Deros did as he said, keeping the back line of the party in sight but sticking to the southwest of them. He utilized makar’osa continuously, trying to find rises in terrain, but his angles were never favorable versus the elevations on the horizon. He also needed to keep an eye or ear out for their trickery — they could hide in wait under drop-offs, or veer west at speed to get ahead of the party. He never caught sight of them. Perhaps it was a good sign, but it was still worrisome.
Deros met back up with Ryza and worked out a plan of coverage, with him staying loosely in sight range of her and her loosely in sight of the party, to increase their total distance. But over the following hours it became apparent that much to their frustration, the corsinids were either not tracking them at all or were being exceedingly cautious and stalking them from a great distance. Aerion did not catch their scent, either, which was possibly due to the typical wind direction. They remained undetected. Deros did not believe for a moment they weren’t somewhere back there, considering they could simply track the blatant scent and signs of the dozens passing by, for even days behind, possibly.
Just before Azrom kissed the horizon, Deros was positioned as far back as he dared, his hearing amplified as much as he possibly could as he waited and waited, his sister well out of sight range already. He didn’t see that it mattered, as soon they’d be making camp anyway — there was no way for the party to outpace him.
He was shocked to finally hear the scraping sound of a large talon — alarm spiked through him as he turned his head and tried to hone in on the distance, his eyes flitting around in paranoia.
Distant. It was at the far edge of his hearing, to the southwest. When he looked in that direction he saw a ridge, and knew the terrain was jagged, with a long, low slope. The route was logical, as it was not directly on their trail, and the wind coming from the northwest would be mostly blocked by the terrain.
Thalamon would expect him to report, but as soon as the predators picked up closer scents they’d probably fade away again. Any trap would end up being sprung in twilight or the night, which was idiotic to attempt on corsinids, especially. No. He needed to take the opportunity that was presented to him. Their advantage of terrain also happened to be his.
Approaching slowly, whispering a command into the ear of his mount for silence, Deros picked out a spot for firing on the beasts where they’d come into sight and range. He dismounted on a ledge and hid himself from their angle of vision, crouched just before the lip. He held to makar’osa to hear their steps, and turned his head this way and that to assess their position and verify their numbers. One always had to with corsinid packs, as they’d split up and bait a hunter with one group while flanking with the other. Deros did not detect such a thing, so he waited. Bow-and-arrow in hand, his heartbeat audible in his own chest, he allowed them to get closer and closer to within range of his bow, at height.
They passed ahead, keeping his assumed angle of their travel instead of climbing in his direction. He dropped his makar’osa from his ears and switched to his eyes, just enough to improve detail and protect his eyes from glare without his goggles down. One of his many tricks.
He rose up smoothly, pulling his bowstring back with a soft leather thumb-ring and aiming in a slight arc at the row of great reptilian beasts stalking so carefully through the sand, feathers glinting in reds and browns and whites of great variety as their heads turned this way and that, bird-like. One of them spotted him and froze, but Deros’s arrow was already loosed at another in the middle of the pack, oblivious.
The arrow arced and fell at its neck, just grazing it, causing it to screech and jump away, almost immediately bolting away from it, south. Deros was already aiming another arrow as they all spun around wildly and squawked in confusion, some beginning to bound off after the other. Deros let loose on the original lead alpha corsinid, which had risen up tall to look around, not yet ready to run. The arrow fell right through its tail feathers, causing it to spin and snap at the air where it had been in snarling furor. But it soon ran behind the half of the pack that had retreated with its feathers well-ruffled, and those remaining followed. They fled.
Deros fired another arrow at their backs but came up short. He shot one final arrow in a high arc, almost as far as he could, kilted slightly east. It dropped ahead of them, causing them to veer west, away from it. He then dropped his bow and put his hands to cup around his mouth, and made ‘yee-yip-yee’ sounds, as loud as he could. To let them know they were being attacked and hunted by something dangerous and unusual. They did not slow.
As he picked up his bow and dropped daug’makar entirely, he was breathing heavily and sweating. A wave of exhaustion swept through him. He’d pushed himself a bit too hard yet again. At least there were likely some results from it. Corsinids did not usually persist after something getting the better of them — not unless they were starving, and the group had not looked to be. Such a juicy group of aloga were just hard to pass up, he imagined.
He congratulated Enseres for his obedience a bit before remounting and starting back east. Almost immediately he caught sight of Ryza galloping his way, to which he did a big wave of his hand to show all was well.
When she pulled up to him, Ryza was grinning. “Did you take some glory for yourself, Deros?” She asked as she fell in beside him and matched his speed. “I thought I heard some war noises.”
“I had to,” Deros replied, breathing still with a bit of a pant. “You know as well as I do, that if I retreated, they’d catch a too-near scent. Same as they’ve been doing, and avoiding us. Not this time. I took the chance that was given.”
She nodded, shrugged. “What’s done is done. I’d have done the same, I reckon. Did you blood them, then?”
“Just barely. A nick. Two, maybe. Wind kept pulling it left.”
“Mmn. I used to blame the wind, too — but then I became one with it. Practice more.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said sarcastically. “Instruct me, oh Ryza, Goddess of the Bow.”
She tried a glare at him, but it had a blatant smirk to it. He smirked right back, and so she leaned over and pushed his shoulder. He chuckled, as Enseres instinctively curled away.
When they met back with the rest of the party, Azrom was setting and they had just stopped for camp, on a favorable slope with high ground. When he reported his action to Thalamon, he seemed relieved and spoke no reproach. Ryza made a show of loudly telling the others about it, praising Deros, and there was a brief cheer and clap to congratulate him. As Deros set about things, namely to prepare for cooking, some of the Azakan interspersed their praise with teasing. This included ‘advice’ about ‘arrow-crafting’ as well, showcasing that Ryza had mentioned the other conditions of his lost bet to others, but it was mostly to do with cooking. He legitimately wasn’t knowledgeable about anything aside from the basics and he had not really had to cook for groups much at all, as a hunter.
On the plus side, as soon as he started, Palamera insisted on being the ‘helper’, trading her duties with the aloga to Olarius. Immediately it became easier, as she just told him what to do, being a skilled cook herself. In truth, her presence energized him — getting to work with her was a joy, and her habit of singing softly as they did was a surprising boon. As he skinned and chopped up lizard tail-and-leg and she prepared the curlroot, he asked her if she sang such lovely songs with her sisters. She just smiled at him. Yes indeed… in his mind’s eye, he could see them begging her to, pulling at her skirts insistently. She had a fine voice.
They used oil instead of water, mixing a handful of Ryza’s spices with some concoction of herbs and seeds that Palamera had. Olarius had contributed the rest of his cheese block to throw in, and someone had provided a cluster of dried, purple utesle leaves. In a separate pan, Palamera had Deros prepare flour, salt, and water into a dough to make flat frybread. She sprinkled it with herbs and handled it herself over the fire, while he stirred the food of the bigger pot, adding things in Palamera’s ‘proper order’. The meat was the longest.
In the end, the group was impressed with the pot-roasted meal, Deros included, with compliments muttered all around.
As Ryza finished and set her bowl down, she said, “The taste is enough to make me forgive and forget that Deros had little hand in it. See that you learn well from her, brother, so you can match her after you wed. That way you can come over and cook for me, for a change.”
Palamera interjected in a firm tone, “Now see here, Ryza Meleton! Deros had way more than a little hand in it, indeed. He did the greater bulk of the work, I’d say, with all honesty. I only instructed him to execute the fine meal you enjoyed. He did quite admirably. I think you owe him an apology.”
There was an aura of silence around the fire at her words, Ryza herself caught slightly widened-of-eye with a cup to her lips. Palamera herself looked at Ryza insistently, though her cheeks began to hold extra color.
Ryza set the cup down and held her hands palm out, low, addressing Deros solemnly, “I did not show proper gratitude for your labor, brother. Please forgive me and accept my humble apology.” She seemed genuine in her words, without a hint of irony or humor.
“It’s alright,” Deros said, shifting uncomfortably. “I accept.”
Nodding her head in appreciation, Ryza picked back up her cup and regarded Palamera, who was pointedly gazing at the fire instead of anyone in particular.
“I’d like an apology, too,” Aerion cut into the silence. “From Daexo, for stinking up the whole camp with that foul brew of his.”
Daexo was indeed sipping on the pungent herbal brew he was always heating up in a little kettle by the fire. He raised an eyebrow and made a nonchalant shrug at Aerion’s words even as he sipped in an exaggerated fashion, causing a few chuckles from others. When he brought the cup down, he said simply, “You’ll never get it.”
Scattered laughter answered this as well, and conversation picked back up. Deros was sure to catch Palamera’s eye at least once, giving her a grateful smile, which she returned with a brief flash. Overall, she seemed a bit subdued and surprised at herself.
Later, Deros was alone as he was cleaning up and retrieving his own used arrows for salvage when Ryza suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see her handing him her own sack of arrows, some within obviously broken. He took it wordlessly.
Ryza was grinning at him, lingering. “You’ve got yourself a woman who loves you fiercely, Deros,” she said while brushing a bit of something out of his hair. “Else she’d not rush to defend your honor when accosted by some surly Azakan.”
“You’re not just any Azakan, sis,” he countered, in some exasperation. “It’s just she’s not used to our ways, is all.”
Ryza shook her head. “I wouldn’t apologize unless I meant it. You deserved acknowledgement and I went a bit far to the opposite. It was a keen correction on her part. My point is, she’s a great match for you. I wasn’t always so sure — I figured you’d be better with someone harder — but she’s grown.”
“I’m delighted that you approve,” he offered diplomatically, if ever so slightly sarcastic.
She nodded slowly, then darted a hand up to his head to ruffle and muss his hair, making him lean away, balking. Grinning, she added, “Just don’t think I’ll stop bullying you entirely, little brother,” before striding off.
Sighing, he smoothed his hair out and sat down to deal with the arrows. He removed the valuable metal broadheads from the blatantly broken ones, melting the glue under a flame until it could be dislodged. Others had subtler breaks or deformities and got the same treatment. Some were undamaged and just needed a bit of cleaning and polish. A couple had damaged fletching, which he just set aside for refletching, probably after the journey was over. Actual manufacture was time-consuming at best, and nothing to rush for the sort of precision Azakan standards demanded. Sharpshooters like Ryza and himself always manufactured their own, to an absolute precision. Ideally one was the clone of another, except maybe for the color of the fletching.
Just as he finished, he looked up to catch Palamera watching him — likely staring, as she quickly looked away and seemed abashed, soon ducking into her tent nearby. Deros had to smile. Absent-mindedly staring while lost in thought? In some things, they were certainly very much alike. He felt he could hardly tease her for it, after what she’d done that night.
He took his finished work and stowed away what was for salvage or keeping whole, then stuck the rest with the firewood scraps. By this time, the hourglass near the fire had barely started its flow, thanks to the additional time they’d had in camp compared to the night before. Deros took the time to head out slightly beyond the tents and increase his hearing one last time. As expected, he heard no dangers. With that, he washed up a bit and turned in. It was his off-night for the watch, though he promised himself if he awoke, he’d at least get up and check…
Sleep came easy, and his dreams were mixed — childhood staples risen up and forgotten as a thousand times before, along with visions of hearth and home. And one was of the last storm, with all the young men racing and laughing through the invigorating cool downpour, trudging through mud and water to climb the Spillbasin walls and turn the winches to raise the floodgates. They stood atop it all and cheered as they watched the water cascade down into the lowland basin in an audible rush. But in the dream, he slipped and fell into the water, and was swept out and away to distant lands. And on the horizon was a glittering city once more, but this too he forgot before it all faded into the darkness of sleep.
His rest was interrupted by Bariaki shaking him awake for his shift of the watch, which he conducted judiciously under the light of the galactic disk, utilizing makar’osa several times to listen for predators or men as well as to see afar and in much clearer detail than anyone else in camp. One of the spare aloga was saddled for the occasion, giving their normal animals a break. It was a mild and pliant beast who gave him no trouble. Once he caught what was assuredly Enseres up to the ropes of the border confining the riding group, watching Deros ride and upset with the situation. Though he could certainly bypass the barrier if he wanted to, he maintained his discipline, whining all the while.
The watch came and went, and he needed little effort — despite the interruption — to fall right back asleep. He dreamt of his sister Ellayone as a child, running up and smacking him with a hand, then running away giggling, all to have him chase her and catch her, tickle her furiously under the din of high-pitched squeals and laughter and false pleas. She’d tried it with the aloof Bigger Brother to little avail, tried it with the rare Father, even Mother… but none meted out the proper response like Deros, did they… none were as devilish, as ruthless in the mock ‘punishment’, none understood the game like he, the fellow conspirator, the twin rascal...
He awoke with a start, to voices and laughter as opposed to anyone needing to prod him. It remained dark and cold, but he felt increasingly more like he actually got rest as he pulled himself out of bed and immediately began rolling up his blankets. It was fairly customary for everyone to let mid-shift sentries sleep a little extra if they could, but from sounds he already had. Meanwhile, bits of the dream still turned in his head.
Ellayone… haunting me, still. What would you have been like, by now? A full-grown imp, no doubt. Mother’s beloved heir. I bet you’d have been twice as ruthless. And yet you were easy to love, even in between the exasperation as we grew different. Or do I think that just because you’re gone? I’d trade taking you for granted, for being here. He tried to put it all out of his mind as he set about his camp chores. Thoughts of her always brought sadness, for what was lost. He’d cried his share of tears about it many times over.
They made good time packing up, filling waterskins, and getting the aloga ready for departure. It was efficient enough that everyone more or less waited around for light and ate a cold breakfast of smoky dried froul meat, hard cracker, and berries. Olarius offered out chunks of crumbly aloga cheese as well, which everyone aside from Palamera took him up on gratefully. That or milk did not agree with her digestion, so she could only watch everyone else enjoy it with a touch of envy. She’d loved it as a child and occasionally ate it anyway despite the suffering, but obviously doing so while traveling was a bad idea. Well. He’d save her a huge slice of the osanut cake when it was all over, and tell her it was for her ‘cheesy melancholy’. If that did not delight, what could?
It took an hour for Azrom to crest above the horizon, through less and less rocky terrain, ever peppered with networks of shrubbery, sometimes in vast fields. Trees were only here and there, generally lonesome. As they progressed over smoother, gently rolling landscapes, more and more sand was evident, with occasional lowland dunes with little or no vegetation. The glare of Azrom was well in the arc of their route, so everyone with goggles donned them. The temperature gradually rose but it was nothing compared to the canyon bottom or the summer in general. It stayed altogether moderate.
Deros did not even bother covering his skin entirely — that was until the quite parasol-protected Palamera wide-eyed him and gestured demandingly at face and hands, clearly telling him to cover up. He did so, somewhat bemused, covering his face and neck with a scarf and pulling out under-sleeves that draped over the top of the hand. She liked to chide him about ‘burning his skin too much’, that it was ‘bad for long-term health’. Hospitaller over-worry probably, but he didn’t feel strongly enough about it to be contentious. ‘Pick your battles, son,’ his father had taught him. ‘In every facet of life, there’s give and take. You negotiate every day, whether you see it or no. Keep your eyes open and you will have some chance at control.’
Deros made sure to range well north and south as much as he could, as the game would certainly not be along the path the party had trampled. He arrowed a couple of lizards in short order while the favorable terrain persisted, and then with the travel beyond the rocks, it became a more creative endeavor of looking out for likely spots, while trying to guess whether his sister had already hit them. More often than not, there was nothing, or movement would scamper away and hide in crevasses or holes he did not have enough time to dig or flush them out of. Sometimes it was after a missed shot. Nonetheless, he impaled one more with a long-distance try, as it sunbathed on a pristine spread of rock. Only his superior vision made it possible, along with a fair amount of luck. Three reptilian prizes and counting.
Other wildlife was evident here and there, though he did not hunt or bother with them. Birds and winged reptiles, the largest of which were competition for his fattened prey. As it happened, the ones worth hunting generally stayed high and steered clear of big groups such as theirs — even Ryza wasn’t very likely to find a good shot. There was also the motion of writhers, sometimes in masses as they wriggled and dug themselves into the sand to hide. Serpents, and once what he thought was the sandy fur of a gloupa, a small, big-nosed mammal that liked insects. He’d never known them as anything but nocturnal, though, so he wasn’t sure. They were rare in Miracle Springs.
Near midday, he heard a horn sound, making him jump. Immediately he spun Enseres toward it and galloped, up toward a rise. Forming makar’osa for greater vision, he looked out in the direction of the sound to see the party consolidating into a tight group, with the pack aloga wheeling behind. Ryza was ahead further to the south, facing that direction and blowing the horn a second time. Far, far south Deros could make out shapes, and when he focused in with his telescoping vision he saw them as a clutch of corsinids, paused on the horizon, feathered heads and necks up tall and staring back. Seven, he counted.
As Deros continued galloping back to the party down the rise, Ryza pulled an arrow from her quiver and aimed high, loosing it in an arc designed to go as far as possible. A barely-discernible noise came from it, but as it landed well shy of the corsinids, they still turned and bolted in the opposite direction, quickly out of sight. A ‘whistling arrow’, and in their direction they’d have heard it louder. They were well-known to dislike it.
The party as a whole began making a great racket, yipping and yelling and whistling, two with actual wooden whistles for the occasion. Deros did the same as he rode up, where all but the aloga handlers were clustered near Ryza. The aloga did not much like the noise themselves, most of them grunting displeasure, though some of the younger specimens danced around with their fur bushed out and made loosely-equivalent yelps themselves.
Deros had to pull reins on Enseres, who still took him in a little circle before he yielded, such was his excitement. He still grunted aggressively, tossing his snout around and pawing at the ground, claws out. He was in a protective mood, alright.
The noise-making tapered off gradually. When it was finally done they were all looking to the south, but the corsinids wanted nothing to do with the display, clearly.
Thalamon cursed in their direction. “I have little hope they’re dissuaded from tracking us, but I don’t have enough people to shadow and drive them away.”
Ryza turned and walked her aloga back toward the rest, the picture of proud calm. Even her mount, Selephael, seemed unmoved. “That’s uncertain. Depends on whether they catch a more promising scent.”
Deros cleared his throat as he pulled down his scarf, then said, “There’s unlikely to be a more promising scent than a herd of aloga. They’ll probably circle around and shadow us, at the least past nightfall to test for an opportunity.”
“Then we don’t give it to them,” Thalamon replied. He looked between Ryza and Deros. “You two: hang back and watch. Listen. If they’re tracking us for sure, well, at least we’ll know. As long as they don’t get ahead of us, we can set a trap. A volley from long distance should put an end to it, especially with any scoring hits.”
Deros exchanged a look with his sister. He didn’t think she liked it either — corsinids would fade out if they sussed out an unfavorable advance, and they were very good at doing so. But Deros could think of no great counter to trying, other than tolerating their stalking until they gave up. But Thalamon wouldn’t like it, nor would an attempted ambush preclude that as what they’d have to do once it failed.
“And this is the end of your little game, today,” Thalamon continued. “I don’t want any distractions, so you can resolve it now, postpone, I don’t care. But I don’t want any more lizards, even if they bloody jump in your lap. Keep your mind and senses tuned to this threat.”
Ryza’s eyes went to Deros’s quarry hanging from his aloga just as his eyes did to hers.
Damn it. Four lizards, to his three.
Ryza flashed a triumphant smile and said, “At least you’ll have time to think on what to cook, brother! Everyone, do let him know what sort of extras he has available to include. Perhaps give him some cooking advice. He’s not experienced!”
Even as some laughter and jeers began and Deros held his hands up in a gesture of ‘pour it on’, Thalamon shouted, “Later with that! We have tasks to do. Off you go, now.”
They splintered off, Deros and Ryza immediately heading back westward. Deros slowed to speak with her, and she drew in close to pat his back in mock consolation.
Shaking his head at her briefly for her teasing, he said, “I think I’ll wind a bit south, see if I can catch sight of them. Want to drop back further west for a while? We can reconvene in an hour.”
She nodded and sped off without further word, and Deros did as he said, keeping the back line of the party in sight but sticking to the southwest of them. He utilized makar’osa continuously, trying to find rises in terrain, but his angles were never favorable versus the elevations on the horizon. He also needed to keep an eye or ear out for their trickery — they could hide in wait under drop-offs, or veer west at speed to get ahead of the party. He never caught sight of them. Perhaps it was a good sign, but it was still worrisome.
Deros met back up with Ryza and worked out a plan of coverage, with him staying loosely in sight range of her and her loosely in sight of the party, to increase their total distance. But over the following hours it became apparent that much to their frustration, the corsinids were either not tracking them at all or were being exceedingly cautious and stalking them from a great distance. Aerion did not catch their scent, either, which was possibly due to the typical wind direction. They remained undetected. Deros did not believe for a moment they weren’t somewhere back there, considering they could simply track the blatant scent and signs of the dozens passing by, for even days behind, possibly.
Just before Azrom kissed the horizon, Deros was positioned as far back as he dared, his hearing amplified as much as he possibly could as he waited and waited, his sister well out of sight range already. He didn’t see that it mattered, as soon they’d be making camp anyway — there was no way for the party to outpace him.
He was shocked to finally hear the scraping sound of a large talon — alarm spiked through him as he turned his head and tried to hone in on the distance, his eyes flitting around in paranoia.
Distant. It was at the far edge of his hearing, to the southwest. When he looked in that direction he saw a ridge, and knew the terrain was jagged, with a long, low slope. The route was logical, as it was not directly on their trail, and the wind coming from the northwest would be mostly blocked by the terrain.
Thalamon would expect him to report, but as soon as the predators picked up closer scents they’d probably fade away again. Any trap would end up being sprung in twilight or the night, which was idiotic to attempt on corsinids, especially. No. He needed to take the opportunity that was presented to him. Their advantage of terrain also happened to be his.
Approaching slowly, whispering a command into the ear of his mount for silence, Deros picked out a spot for firing on the beasts where they’d come into sight and range. He dismounted on a ledge and hid himself from their angle of vision, crouched just before the lip. He held to makar’osa to hear their steps, and turned his head this way and that to assess their position and verify their numbers. One always had to with corsinid packs, as they’d split up and bait a hunter with one group while flanking with the other. Deros did not detect such a thing, so he waited. Bow-and-arrow in hand, his heartbeat audible in his own chest, he allowed them to get closer and closer to within range of his bow, at height.
They passed ahead, keeping his assumed angle of their travel instead of climbing in his direction. He dropped his makar’osa from his ears and switched to his eyes, just enough to improve detail and protect his eyes from glare without his goggles down. One of his many tricks.
He rose up smoothly, pulling his bowstring back with a soft leather thumb-ring and aiming in a slight arc at the row of great reptilian beasts stalking so carefully through the sand, feathers glinting in reds and browns and whites of great variety as their heads turned this way and that, bird-like. One of them spotted him and froze, but Deros’s arrow was already loosed at another in the middle of the pack, oblivious.
The arrow arced and fell at its neck, just grazing it, causing it to screech and jump away, almost immediately bolting away from it, south. Deros was already aiming another arrow as they all spun around wildly and squawked in confusion, some beginning to bound off after the other. Deros let loose on the original lead alpha corsinid, which had risen up tall to look around, not yet ready to run. The arrow fell right through its tail feathers, causing it to spin and snap at the air where it had been in snarling furor. But it soon ran behind the half of the pack that had retreated with its feathers well-ruffled, and those remaining followed. They fled.
Deros fired another arrow at their backs but came up short. He shot one final arrow in a high arc, almost as far as he could, kilted slightly east. It dropped ahead of them, causing them to veer west, away from it. He then dropped his bow and put his hands to cup around his mouth, and made ‘yee-yip-yee’ sounds, as loud as he could. To let them know they were being attacked and hunted by something dangerous and unusual. They did not slow.
As he picked up his bow and dropped daug’makar entirely, he was breathing heavily and sweating. A wave of exhaustion swept through him. He’d pushed himself a bit too hard yet again. At least there were likely some results from it. Corsinids did not usually persist after something getting the better of them — not unless they were starving, and the group had not looked to be. Such a juicy group of aloga were just hard to pass up, he imagined.
He congratulated Enseres for his obedience a bit before remounting and starting back east. Almost immediately he caught sight of Ryza galloping his way, to which he did a big wave of his hand to show all was well.
When she pulled up to him, Ryza was grinning. “Did you take some glory for yourself, Deros?” She asked as she fell in beside him and matched his speed. “I thought I heard some war noises.”
“I had to,” Deros replied, breathing still with a bit of a pant. “You know as well as I do, that if I retreated, they’d catch a too-near scent. Same as they’ve been doing, and avoiding us. Not this time. I took the chance that was given.”
She nodded, shrugged. “What’s done is done. I’d have done the same, I reckon. Did you blood them, then?”
“Just barely. A nick. Two, maybe. Wind kept pulling it left.”
“Mmn. I used to blame the wind, too — but then I became one with it. Practice more.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he said sarcastically. “Instruct me, oh Ryza, Goddess of the Bow.”
She tried a glare at him, but it had a blatant smirk to it. He smirked right back, and so she leaned over and pushed his shoulder. He chuckled, as Enseres instinctively curled away.
When they met back with the rest of the party, Azrom was setting and they had just stopped for camp, on a favorable slope with high ground. When he reported his action to Thalamon, he seemed relieved and spoke no reproach. Ryza made a show of loudly telling the others about it, praising Deros, and there was a brief cheer and clap to congratulate him. As Deros set about things, namely to prepare for cooking, some of the Azakan interspersed their praise with teasing. This included ‘advice’ about ‘arrow-crafting’ as well, showcasing that Ryza had mentioned the other conditions of his lost bet to others, but it was mostly to do with cooking. He legitimately wasn’t knowledgeable about anything aside from the basics and he had not really had to cook for groups much at all, as a hunter.
On the plus side, as soon as he started, Palamera insisted on being the ‘helper’, trading her duties with the aloga to Olarius. Immediately it became easier, as she just told him what to do, being a skilled cook herself. In truth, her presence energized him — getting to work with her was a joy, and her habit of singing softly as they did was a surprising boon. As he skinned and chopped up lizard tail-and-leg and she prepared the curlroot, he asked her if she sang such lovely songs with her sisters. She just smiled at him. Yes indeed… in his mind’s eye, he could see them begging her to, pulling at her skirts insistently. She had a fine voice.
They used oil instead of water, mixing a handful of Ryza’s spices with some concoction of herbs and seeds that Palamera had. Olarius had contributed the rest of his cheese block to throw in, and someone had provided a cluster of dried, purple utesle leaves. In a separate pan, Palamera had Deros prepare flour, salt, and water into a dough to make flat frybread. She sprinkled it with herbs and handled it herself over the fire, while he stirred the food of the bigger pot, adding things in Palamera’s ‘proper order’. The meat was the longest.
In the end, the group was impressed with the pot-roasted meal, Deros included, with compliments muttered all around.
As Ryza finished and set her bowl down, she said, “The taste is enough to make me forgive and forget that Deros had little hand in it. See that you learn well from her, brother, so you can match her after you wed. That way you can come over and cook for me, for a change.”
Palamera interjected in a firm tone, “Now see here, Ryza Meleton! Deros had way more than a little hand in it, indeed. He did the greater bulk of the work, I’d say, with all honesty. I only instructed him to execute the fine meal you enjoyed. He did quite admirably. I think you owe him an apology.”
There was an aura of silence around the fire at her words, Ryza herself caught slightly widened-of-eye with a cup to her lips. Palamera herself looked at Ryza insistently, though her cheeks began to hold extra color.
Ryza set the cup down and held her hands palm out, low, addressing Deros solemnly, “I did not show proper gratitude for your labor, brother. Please forgive me and accept my humble apology.” She seemed genuine in her words, without a hint of irony or humor.
“It’s alright,” Deros said, shifting uncomfortably. “I accept.”
Nodding her head in appreciation, Ryza picked back up her cup and regarded Palamera, who was pointedly gazing at the fire instead of anyone in particular.
“I’d like an apology, too,” Aerion cut into the silence. “From Daexo, for stinking up the whole camp with that foul brew of his.”
Daexo was indeed sipping on the pungent herbal brew he was always heating up in a little kettle by the fire. He raised an eyebrow and made a nonchalant shrug at Aerion’s words even as he sipped in an exaggerated fashion, causing a few chuckles from others. When he brought the cup down, he said simply, “You’ll never get it.”
Scattered laughter answered this as well, and conversation picked back up. Deros was sure to catch Palamera’s eye at least once, giving her a grateful smile, which she returned with a brief flash. Overall, she seemed a bit subdued and surprised at herself.
Later, Deros was alone as he was cleaning up and retrieving his own used arrows for salvage when Ryza suddenly clapped him on the shoulder. He turned to see her handing him her own sack of arrows, some within obviously broken. He took it wordlessly.
Ryza was grinning at him, lingering. “You’ve got yourself a woman who loves you fiercely, Deros,” she said while brushing a bit of something out of his hair. “Else she’d not rush to defend your honor when accosted by some surly Azakan.”
“You’re not just any Azakan, sis,” he countered, in some exasperation. “It’s just she’s not used to our ways, is all.”
Ryza shook her head. “I wouldn’t apologize unless I meant it. You deserved acknowledgement and I went a bit far to the opposite. It was a keen correction on her part. My point is, she’s a great match for you. I wasn’t always so sure — I figured you’d be better with someone harder — but she’s grown.”
“I’m delighted that you approve,” he offered diplomatically, if ever so slightly sarcastic.
She nodded slowly, then darted a hand up to his head to ruffle and muss his hair, making him lean away, balking. Grinning, she added, “Just don’t think I’ll stop bullying you entirely, little brother,” before striding off.
Sighing, he smoothed his hair out and sat down to deal with the arrows. He removed the valuable metal broadheads from the blatantly broken ones, melting the glue under a flame until it could be dislodged. Others had subtler breaks or deformities and got the same treatment. Some were undamaged and just needed a bit of cleaning and polish. A couple had damaged fletching, which he just set aside for refletching, probably after the journey was over. Actual manufacture was time-consuming at best, and nothing to rush for the sort of precision Azakan standards demanded. Sharpshooters like Ryza and himself always manufactured their own, to an absolute precision. Ideally one was the clone of another, except maybe for the color of the fletching.
Just as he finished, he looked up to catch Palamera watching him — likely staring, as she quickly looked away and seemed abashed, soon ducking into her tent nearby. Deros had to smile. Absent-mindedly staring while lost in thought? In some things, they were certainly very much alike. He felt he could hardly tease her for it, after what she’d done that night.
He took his finished work and stowed away what was for salvage or keeping whole, then stuck the rest with the firewood scraps. By this time, the hourglass near the fire had barely started its flow, thanks to the additional time they’d had in camp compared to the night before. Deros took the time to head out slightly beyond the tents and increase his hearing one last time. As expected, he heard no dangers. With that, he washed up a bit and turned in. It was his off-night for the watch, though he promised himself if he awoke, he’d at least get up and check…
Sleep came easy, and his dreams were mixed — childhood staples risen up and forgotten as a thousand times before, along with visions of hearth and home. And one was of the last storm, with all the young men racing and laughing through the invigorating cool downpour, trudging through mud and water to climb the Spillbasin walls and turn the winches to raise the floodgates. They stood atop it all and cheered as they watched the water cascade down into the lowland basin in an audible rush. But in the dream, he slipped and fell into the water, and was swept out and away to distant lands. And on the horizon was a glittering city once more, but this too he forgot before it all faded into the darkness of sleep.
