PART 2
The night descends upon the land of Tepr, a veil of darkness gently wrapping around the sprawling encampment. A bonfire crackles and dances, its flames casting a warm, flickering light that battles the cold shadows of the evening. Beside this fire, in front of their yurt, sits Naci, her gaze lost in the mesmerizing dance of flames. The air is filled with the scent of burning wood.
Horohan emerges from the shadows, her steps silent on the soft earth. She pauses, observing Naci, who appears so engrossed in the fire that the world around her has faded away. With a gentle concern, Horohan approaches, the cool night air brushing against her skin. "Aren’t you cold?" she asks, her voice soft, barely rising above the crackling of the flames.
There's no response from Naci. Her silence hangs in the air, as if she hasn't heard the question at all. Horohan moves closer, kneeling beside her. She reaches out, running a cold hand through Naci's hair. To her surprise, Naci's warmth is palpable, radiating like the fire before them.
"You should sleep," Horohan suggests gently, "before we leave."
Naci's gaze remains unbroken, her eyes reflecting the dance of the flames as she speaks without turning, her voice carrying a weight that belies the calmness of the fire. "You're not going with me." The words hang in the air, a decree laid bare in the night's embrace.
Horohan's hand retracts, a swift, almost reflexive motion, as if the distance between them suddenly expanded. "Why not?".
"Who knows what they're really planning," Naci muses aloud, her words a window into the tumultuous thoughts storming within her. The flicker of the fire casts shadows across her face.
"All the more reason why I should come with you," Horohan counters, her voice firmer now.
Naci finally turns, her gaze meeting Horohan's for the first time since the conversation began. In her eyes, there's a storm, a fierce determination mingled with a sorrowful resolve. "No, that's the reason why you shouldn't come. Get ready for the blizzard, and you will welcome winter's snow." Her voice softens, the fierceness giving way to a tender, almost heartbreaking clarity. "I want you to stay here and live a long and happy life in case I don't come back."
Without a hint of warning, the night's tense silence shatters as Horohan's hand darts to her side, drawing her dagger—the legacy from her mother, the very blade that carved her path to freedom from her father's tyranny. With a swift, fluid motion, she points its sharp edge directly at Naci's heart. The firelight glints off the metal, casting a dangerous gleam. "Don't fuck with me, I'll kill you!" The words explode into the night.
But as quickly as the storm of her emotions had surged, it ebbs, leaving a trace of absurdity in its wake. Horohan's fierce expression softens, confusion and realization dawning simultaneously. "I mean... Do you not get it? I'd rather die than live without you!" Her voice cracks, the depth of her feelings laid bare under the starlit sky.
The tension morphs into something unexpected as Naci bursts into laughter. "Aren't you overreacting? We have been married for less than half a year and you're already acting like an old woman!" Her amusement fills the space between them.
But Horohan's laughter doesn't join Naci's. Instead, she brings the knife to her own throat, her expression grave, eyes alight with a desperate intensity. "I'm not joking! If you think you're going to die then..." Her words trail off, a silent ultimatum hanging in the balance.
Naci's reaction is swift, closing the distance between them in an instant. Her face is mere inches from Horohan's as she seizes the dagger with a steady hand, her gaze piercing. "That's the difference between you and I, my beautiful wife. If you died, I would go into a rampage like no god of war or wrathful ghost has ever seen, and I would kill every living being on earth so that I shall be the only one that can mourn you." Her voice, fierce and unwavering, carries a promise of an unimaginable storm.
Horohan's eyebrows rise. With a heavy sigh, she lowers the blade, the tension dissipating into the night air. "And you're the one talking about overreaction."
Naci's smile breaks through the tension, a softening in the harshness of the night, as her amber eyes catch the firelight, glowing with a mix of warmth and resolve. "I'm going deep into enemy territory. The deepest I’ve ever been, in fact, and so early on top of that. Who knows what they’re preparing for me. Maybe they’re planning to kill me and destroy our spirits of rebellion before it can bloom. So what? Should we just accept it? I can’t be prepared for the blizzard so quickly! I guess that was a mistake from me…" Her voice shivers. "But that's also my best opportunity to grab all the information I can, and if everything goes well, I won't need to rely on spies or anybody that can do a bad job or betray us in the future."
She continues, her gaze unwavering, piercing into Horohan's. "So I don't need you to come with me and risk your life when there is no good reason for it. Like in shatr, you wouldn’t move your most important piece to a risky position just to defend another one, it's just not worth it."
A pause, as she lets her words sink in, the comparison to chess laying bare the cold, hard logic underpinning her decision. "Don't hate me for thinking like this, but I think your frustration is wrong. Wouldn’t it be better to stay behind and take care of everything in my stead?" The question hangs in the air, an invitation to see the bigger picture, to recognize the crucial role Horohan plays even in her absence. "I can't trust that idiot of Pomogr with diplomacy between the clans, and I also need the person I trust the most to keep an eye on Konir, so you know what to do when I'm away."
Horohan's response comes with a shake of her head. "I see, I understand. But you're not planning on going alone, I hope.”
Naci's laughter breaks free. "Temej is coming with me. I bet he'll weep and cry when I tell him tomorrow. You need to be there when I announce it. His face will be priceless!"
Horohan's laughter joins Naci's. "He's too smart for his own good. You're going to work him to the bone.”
Naci nods, acknowledging the truth in Horohan's words. "I'll also take three more warriors. Maybe that boy... what was his name again?".
"Fol? He's a bit too young," Horohan suggests cautiously.
Naci turns her gaze back to the flames, her eyes reflecting the fire's relentless dance. "Wrong, he's a bit too old, actually. The younger they are prepared, the more loyal they get." Her words carry a grim certainty, a smirk playing on her lips as she contemplates the future.
As the first light of dawn pierces the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink, Naci moves with a purposeful grace. She gathers her belongings with quiet efficiency. Her white horse, Liara, stands ready, a majestic creature that seems to glow in the soft morning light. Naci takes the reins gently, her touch light but firm, and with a practiced hand, she offers a piece of dried meat to Uamopak, her eagle, who perches with regal poise atop Liara. The bird's sharp eyes flicker with intelligence, accepting the offering with a dignified tilt of its head.
Horohan emerges from the Jabliu shaman's yurt, the shaman himself following close behind, his presence marked by a serene, almost otherworldly calm. He approaches Naci with reverence. With a solemn nod to the spirits that linger unseen, he presents Naci with amulets, each imbued with blessings for safe travels. His hands move with a ritualistic precision, weaving protection and goodwill into the very air around them.
The shaman's final act is one of profound respect; he places his hand before Naci's eyes, a gesture meant to honor Honnupr, the patron god of home and hearth. This god, shy by nature, demands modesty, and the shaman ensures Naci's compliance.
With the rituals complete, the shaman steps back, his duty fulfilled. He offers Naci a final, lingering look before retreating to his yurt. There, he will continue his work, consulting the bones to divine the challenges and fortunes that lie on her path.
Naci extends her hand to Horohan, an unspoken invitation to join her as they make their way to the outskirts of the camp. Their steps are unhurried, the solemnity of departure mingling with the anticipation of the journey ahead. They arrive under the shadow of the hill, where the Moukopl diplomat and his unit have established their camp, an expectant pause in the air as they await Naci's preparations.
It is there that Temej approaches, flanked by three warriors: Kalez and Lanau, two young women whose presence commands attention. Kalez moves with a lithe, predatory grace, her eyes sharp and assessing, while Lanau carries herself with a serene confidence, her gaze calm and unwavering. Fol, young yet determined, completes the quartet, his youth belied by the steadiness in his eyes. Their horses, equally imposing, stand ready.
Temej, with a resigned sigh, announces, "Well, I woke them up, so now I'm going back to my eagles."
His attempt to retreat is cut short by Naci's response, a mixture of command and amusement evident in her tone. "What do you mean, Temej? You're coming too!" she declares, her smug pride unmistakable.
The annoyance that flickers across Temej's face is a spectacle in itself, a series of grimaces that speak volumes of his resigned frustration. Yet, his silence is a tacit admission of his expectation. "You are the worst tyrant in the world," he mutters, the closest thing to a protest he can muster.
Naci's laughter fills the air, light and untroubled, as she replies, "It's the price to pay for being so good looking."
As the group finalizes their preparations, a figure of authority detaches himself from the encampment under the hill. The middle-aged Moukopl diplomat, who announced the imperial decree the day before, approaches with a dignified poise, two soldiers flanking him like silent sentinels. His presence is marked by an air of seasoned diplomacy; his attire, though practical for travel, bears subtle hints of his status, with intricate patterns woven into the fabric. A well-groomed beard frames his face, adding to his distinguished appearance.
"Good day to you," He greets them, his voice carrying the weight of his official capacity. "I don't think I've properly presented myself to you. My name is Ma Xin, and I am an official diplomat of the empire." He addresses Naci directly, acknowledging her leadership with a nod. "Naci of Jabliu, are you ready to go?"
Before Naci can respond, Horohan interjects with a question that has weighed heavily on her mind. "How long is the journey from Tepr to Pezijil?" she asks in bad Moukopl, her voice tinged with underlying anxiety.
Ma Xin pauses, casting a glance towards the sky as if consulting the heavens for an answer. "It depends on the weather, but twenty days at most," he finally responds.
Horohan's fist clenches at the response. The prospect of Naci's absence for such an extended period sends a ripple of unease through her, the duration of the journey stretching out before her like an insurmountable expanse.
As tension coils in the air, Naci's gesture towards Horohan is both comforting and grounding, her hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. "Don't worry, everything will be fine. I trust you."
Before Horohan can muster a response, the moment is interrupted by an unexpected figure hastening from the direction of the cliff.
It's Tseren, Naci's father, his arrival unexpected and urgent. "Father, what are you doing here?" Naci's voice carries concern as she moves to meet him, creating a private space for their conversation away from prying ears.
Tseren's words come as a quiet bombshell. "My daughter, you're going to Pezijil, and I've been thinking all night. This might not come as a surprise for you, as you are so clever, but I am not originally from Tepr. I come from Moukopl, but we can talk about this later."
Naci, caught off-guard, begins to question him, but Tseren cuts her off, underscoring the gravity of his next instructions. "I tell you because we can't predict what's going to happen there, so if you get into great trouble, find a man named San Lian and tell him you know Tun Zol Guiel. You won't have to explain anything. I trust him with my life."
Naci's mind races with questions, the pieces of her father's past and the implications of his instructions swirling chaotically, yet, she understands the urgency and the need for brevity.
With a paternal pat on her shoulders, Tseren finishes. "Have a safe trip." His farewell is laden with emotion as he rushes away.
Naci returns to her companions, her stride betraying none of the turmoil that churns within her. The revelations from her father loom large in her mind, casting long shadows over her thoughts. Yet, she anchors herself to the immediate task, repeating the names "San Lian and Tun Zol Guiel" like a mantra, etching them into her memory with determined focus.
Standing before Ma Xin and her four chosen warriors, Naci's voice carries a newfound resolve. "I am ready, let's go." Her eyes find Horohan's, offering a smile that bridges the gap between them. Climbing onto her horse, Naci calls out, "Get ready for the blizzard!"
Horohan stands silent as the party departs, escorted by the small Moukopl army. Her gaze lingers on the diminishing figures as they ride toward the horizon. The departure leaves a void, a cold space where warmth once resided, mirrored by the chill that begins to seep into the air around her. Her meditation is broken by white flakes dancing in the wind.
"How can I welcome winter's snow without you...?" The words escape her in a whisper, a mix of longing and apprehension. Her thoughts drift, unbidden, to her father, a looming specter of unresolved conflict and potential retribution. The complexity of her emotions mirrors the swirling snowflakes, each thought a delicate, unique pattern of fears, hopes, and unresolved desires, settling over her heart like the first dusting of winter's embrace.
PART 2
The night descends upon the land of Tepr, a veil of darkness gently wrapping around the sprawling encampment. A bonfire crackles and dances, its flames casting a warm, flickering light that battles the cold shadows of the evening. Beside this fire, in front of their yurt, sits Naci, her gaze lost in the mesmerizing dance of flames. The air is filled with the scent of burning wood.
Horohan emerges from the shadows, her steps silent on the soft earth. She pauses, observing Naci, who appears so engrossed in the fire that the world around her has faded away. With a gentle concern, Horohan approaches, the cool night air brushing against her skin. "Aren’t you cold?" she asks, her voice soft, barely rising above the crackling of the flames.
There's no response from Naci. Her silence hangs in the air, as if she hasn't heard the question at all. Horohan moves closer, kneeling beside her. She reaches out, running a cold hand through Naci's hair. To her surprise, Naci's warmth is palpable, radiating like the fire before them.
"You should sleep," Horohan suggests gently, "before we leave."
Naci's gaze remains unbroken, her eyes reflecting the dance of the flames as she speaks without turning, her voice carrying a weight that belies the calmness of the fire. "You're not going with me." The words hang in the air, a decree laid bare in the night's embrace.
Horohan's hand retracts, a swift, almost reflexive motion, as if the distance between them suddenly expanded. "Why not?".
"Who knows what they're really planning," Naci muses aloud, her words a window into the tumultuous thoughts storming within her. The flicker of the fire casts shadows across her face.
"All the more reason why I should come with you," Horohan counters, her voice firmer now.
Naci finally turns, her gaze meeting Horohan's for the first time since the conversation began. In her eyes, there's a storm, a fierce determination mingled with a sorrowful resolve. "No, that's the reason why you shouldn't come. Get ready for the blizzard, and you will welcome winter's snow." Her voice softens, the fierceness giving way to a tender, almost heartbreaking clarity. "I want you to stay here and live a long and happy life in case I don't come back."
Without a hint of warning, the night's tense silence shatters as Horohan's hand darts to her side, drawing her dagger—the legacy from her mother, the very blade that carved her path to freedom from her father's tyranny. With a swift, fluid motion, she points its sharp edge directly at Naci's heart. The firelight glints off the metal, casting a dangerous gleam. "Don't fuck with me, I'll kill you!" The words explode into the night.
But as quickly as the storm of her emotions had surged, it ebbs, leaving a trace of absurdity in its wake. Horohan's fierce expression softens, confusion and realization dawning simultaneously. "I mean... Do you not get it? I'd rather die than live without you!" Her voice cracks, the depth of her feelings laid bare under the starlit sky.
The tension morphs into something unexpected as Naci bursts into laughter. "Aren't you overreacting? We have been married for less than half a year and you're already acting like an old woman!" Her amusement fills the space between them.
But Horohan's laughter doesn't join Naci's. Instead, she brings the knife to her own throat, her expression grave, eyes alight with a desperate intensity. "I'm not joking! If you think you're going to die then..." Her words trail off, a silent ultimatum hanging in the balance.
Naci's reaction is swift, closing the distance between them in an instant. Her face is mere inches from Horohan's as she seizes the dagger with a steady hand, her gaze piercing. "That's the difference between you and I, my beautiful wife. If you died, I would go into a rampage like no god of war or wrathful ghost has ever seen, and I would kill every living being on earth so that I shall be the only one that can mourn you." Her voice, fierce and unwavering, carries a promise of an unimaginable storm.
Horohan's eyebrows rise. With a heavy sigh, she lowers the blade, the tension dissipating into the night air. "And you're the one talking about overreaction."
Naci's smile breaks through the tension, a softening in the harshness of the night, as her amber eyes catch the firelight, glowing with a mix of warmth and resolve. "I'm going deep into enemy territory. The deepest I’ve ever been, in fact, and so early on top of that. Who knows what they’re preparing for me. Maybe they’re planning to kill me and destroy our spirits of rebellion before it can bloom. So what? Should we just accept it? I can’t be prepared for the blizzard so quickly! I guess that was a mistake from me…" Her voice shivers. "But that's also my best opportunity to grab all the information I can, and if everything goes well, I won't need to rely on spies or anybody that can do a bad job or betray us in the future."
She continues, her gaze unwavering, piercing into Horohan's. "So I don't need you to come with me and risk your life when there is no good reason for it. Like in shatr, you wouldn’t move your most important piece to a risky position just to defend another one, it's just not worth it."
A pause, as she lets her words sink in, the comparison to chess laying bare the cold, hard logic underpinning her decision. "Don't hate me for thinking like this, but I think your frustration is wrong. Wouldn’t it be better to stay behind and take care of everything in my stead?" The question hangs in the air, an invitation to see the bigger picture, to recognize the crucial role Horohan plays even in her absence. "I can't trust that idiot of Pomogr with diplomacy between the clans, and I also need the person I trust the most to keep an eye on Konir, so you know what to do when I'm away."
Horohan's response comes with a shake of her head. "I see, I understand. But you're not planning on going alone, I hope.”
Naci's laughter breaks free. "Temej is coming with me. I bet he'll weep and cry when I tell him tomorrow. You need to be there when I announce it. His face will be priceless!"
Horohan's laughter joins Naci's. "He's too smart for his own good. You're going to work him to the bone.”
Naci nods, acknowledging the truth in Horohan's words. "I'll also take three more warriors. Maybe that boy... what was his name again?".
"Fol? He's a bit too young," Horohan suggests cautiously.
Naci turns her gaze back to the flames, her eyes reflecting the fire's relentless dance. "Wrong, he's a bit too old, actually. The younger they are prepared, the more loyal they get." Her words carry a grim certainty, a smirk playing on her lips as she contemplates the future.
As the first light of dawn pierces the horizon, painting the sky in hues of gold and pink, Naci moves with a purposeful grace. She gathers her belongings with quiet efficiency. Her white horse, Liara, stands ready, a majestic creature that seems to glow in the soft morning light. Naci takes the reins gently, her touch light but firm, and with a practiced hand, she offers a piece of dried meat to Uamopak, her eagle, who perches with regal poise atop Liara. The bird's sharp eyes flicker with intelligence, accepting the offering with a dignified tilt of its head.
Horohan emerges from the Jabliu shaman's yurt, the shaman himself following close behind, his presence marked by a serene, almost otherworldly calm. He approaches Naci with reverence. With a solemn nod to the spirits that linger unseen, he presents Naci with amulets, each imbued with blessings for safe travels. His hands move with a ritualistic precision, weaving protection and goodwill into the very air around them.
The shaman's final act is one of profound respect; he places his hand before Naci's eyes, a gesture meant to honor Honnupr, the patron god of home and hearth. This god, shy by nature, demands modesty, and the shaman ensures Naci's compliance.
With the rituals complete, the shaman steps back, his duty fulfilled. He offers Naci a final, lingering look before retreating to his yurt. There, he will continue his work, consulting the bones to divine the challenges and fortunes that lie on her path.
Naci extends her hand to Horohan, an unspoken invitation to join her as they make their way to the outskirts of the camp. Their steps are unhurried, the solemnity of departure mingling with the anticipation of the journey ahead. They arrive under the shadow of the hill, where the Moukopl diplomat and his unit have established their camp, an expectant pause in the air as they await Naci's preparations.
It is there that Temej approaches, flanked by three warriors: Kalez and Lanau, two young women whose presence commands attention. Kalez moves with a lithe, predatory grace, her eyes sharp and assessing, while Lanau carries herself with a serene confidence, her gaze calm and unwavering. Fol, young yet determined, completes the quartet, his youth belied by the steadiness in his eyes. Their horses, equally imposing, stand ready.
Temej, with a resigned sigh, announces, "Well, I woke them up, so now I'm going back to my eagles."
His attempt to retreat is cut short by Naci's response, a mixture of command and amusement evident in her tone. "What do you mean, Temej? You're coming too!" she declares, her smug pride unmistakable.
The annoyance that flickers across Temej's face is a spectacle in itself, a series of grimaces that speak volumes of his resigned frustration. Yet, his silence is a tacit admission of his expectation. "You are the worst tyrant in the world," he mutters, the closest thing to a protest he can muster.
Naci's laughter fills the air, light and untroubled, as she replies, "It's the price to pay for being so good looking."
As the group finalizes their preparations, a figure of authority detaches himself from the encampment under the hill. The middle-aged Moukopl diplomat, who announced the imperial decree the day before, approaches with a dignified poise, two soldiers flanking him like silent sentinels. His presence is marked by an air of seasoned diplomacy; his attire, though practical for travel, bears subtle hints of his status, with intricate patterns woven into the fabric. A well-groomed beard frames his face, adding to his distinguished appearance.
"Good day to you," He greets them, his voice carrying the weight of his official capacity. "I don't think I've properly presented myself to you. My name is Ma Xin, and I am an official diplomat of the empire." He addresses Naci directly, acknowledging her leadership with a nod. "Naci of Jabliu, are you ready to go?"
Before Naci can respond, Horohan interjects with a question that has weighed heavily on her mind. "How long is the journey from Tepr to Pezijil?" she asks in bad Moukopl, her voice tinged with underlying anxiety.
Ma Xin pauses, casting a glance towards the sky as if consulting the heavens for an answer. "It depends on the weather, but twenty days at most," he finally responds.
Horohan's fist clenches at the response. The prospect of Naci's absence for such an extended period sends a ripple of unease through her, the duration of the journey stretching out before her like an insurmountable expanse.
As tension coils in the air, Naci's gesture towards Horohan is both comforting and grounding, her hand resting reassuringly on her shoulder. "Don't worry, everything will be fine. I trust you."
Before Horohan can muster a response, the moment is interrupted by an unexpected figure hastening from the direction of the cliff.
It's Tseren, Naci's father, his arrival unexpected and urgent. "Father, what are you doing here?" Naci's voice carries concern as she moves to meet him, creating a private space for their conversation away from prying ears.
Tseren's words come as a quiet bombshell. "My daughter, you're going to Pezijil, and I've been thinking all night. This might not come as a surprise for you, as you are so clever, but I am not originally from Tepr. I come from Moukopl, but we can talk about this later."
Naci, caught off-guard, begins to question him, but Tseren cuts her off, underscoring the gravity of his next instructions. "I tell you because we can't predict what's going to happen there, so if you get into great trouble, find a man named San Lian and tell him you know Tun Zol Guiel. You won't have to explain anything. I trust him with my life."
Naci's mind races with questions, the pieces of her father's past and the implications of his instructions swirling chaotically, yet, she understands the urgency and the need for brevity.
With a paternal pat on her shoulders, Tseren finishes. "Have a safe trip." His farewell is laden with emotion as he rushes away.
Naci returns to her companions, her stride betraying none of the turmoil that churns within her. The revelations from her father loom large in her mind, casting long shadows over her thoughts. Yet, she anchors herself to the immediate task, repeating the names "San Lian and Tun Zol Guiel" like a mantra, etching them into her memory with determined focus.
Standing before Ma Xin and her four chosen warriors, Naci's voice carries a newfound resolve. "I am ready, let's go." Her eyes find Horohan's, offering a smile that bridges the gap between them. Climbing onto her horse, Naci calls out, "Get ready for the blizzard!"
Horohan stands silent as the party departs, escorted by the small Moukopl army. Her gaze lingers on the diminishing figures as they ride toward the horizon. The departure leaves a void, a cold space where warmth once resided, mirrored by the chill that begins to seep into the air around her. Her meditation is broken by white flakes dancing in the wind.
"How can I welcome winter's snow without you...?" The words escape her in a whisper, a mix of longing and apprehension. Her thoughts drift, unbidden, to her father, a looming specter of unresolved conflict and potential retribution. The complexity of her emotions mirrors the swirling snowflakes, each thought a delicate, unique pattern of fears, hopes, and unresolved desires, settling over her heart like the first dusting of winter's embrace.
