Life Isn't That Simple (Sam)

[Anchoa]

“Indeed, horses tend to be better listeners,” Anchoa agreed, shooting a fond smile at his strider. He listened with a dull curiosity, nodding at appropriate times to cue on that he was listening to what Sam was saying. “Well, don’t let me stop you. You certainly know what you’re doing by the sounds of it.” What a mature young man. The Drykas was fairly certain that Sam was younger than him, but he sounded older than he let on. Perhaps he was just one of those people that aged well?

He laughed. “Oh yes, I’ve seen a few of them trying to ride in the foetal position. If I hadn’t felt bad for them, I’m sure I would have laughed, against my better judgement.” A few of the younger knights seemed almost frightened of their horses. “However, I don’t think I’d have the patience to teach. I’d either mock them or become frustrated.” A hand came up, fingers rubbing the back of his neck. It was cold there.

“I’ve been thinking of becoming a tattoo artist, actually. I’m not particularly good at it yet, but I can do basic shapes and I can be cheap. I’m sure someone has a book somewhere that’ll help. I just hope there’s a copy in Pavi.” Definitely getting someone to teach him how to read Common one day.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam was seventeen and hadn't been a Drykas warrior since he was seven, but he remembered many things. From the whites and silvers on Anchoa's person, he figured him a warrior of the Diamond Clan, whose warriors tended to outshine all but the best of the other horseclans. Unless he was mistaken, this one would be able to teach the knights a thing or two about fighting as well as about riding their warhorses and courier horses and the like.

He chuckled at the thought of knights riding horses in full armor with white knuckles and fearful eyes, but he felt badly for the horses more than the people who didn't know how to work with them properly.

"Tattoos, huh? Well, I'd think if you were practicing you drawing, you'd get better at the tattooing, but I wouldn't know for sure." He could've kicked himself. He had always been taught not to offer his thoughts on something if he hadn't the first idea what he was talking about.

[Anchoa]

Anchoa shrugged. “Drawing helps, but it’s not as easy as sticking a quill to their skin and drawing with ink. You have to use a needle to embed the ink in their skin.” If only it were as easy as drawing on paper. That would make his life so much easier. But maybe Sam had a point. Who better to teach the knights how to ride than one of the Drykas? Maybe he could just take up tattooing as a hobby... again.

By now, he had grown used to whatever god-awful smell had infiltrated his nostrils before. He wondered what it was. “You seem to know a lot of the Drykas people,” Anchoa said offhandedly. “Have you been among one of the clans before?” He personally had never seen an outsider stay with one of the clans for long, but his was only one of seven. Sam could have stayed with any of the other six, or even hung around Endrykas for a while.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam smiled and shrugged. His own windmark was hidden under the leather cuff on his left wrist. His hair was cropped too close for the braids they so adored.

"I just know horses," he assured Anchoa. "And you all have your tattoos so it makes sense you'd want to do that... right?"

[Anchoa]

Secret :

I couldn't help myself. It was so tempting!

Again, Anchoa shrugged. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. “It’s not that I particularly want to do it. It’s just something that I could do.” He was not going to start learning something new for a job. How would he support himself and Skylight? Yes, he could ride. He could fight too, but he couldn’t hunt. He couldn’t even mend his own clothing! An idea struck him. He could be a mercenary.

“Did you grow up around horses?” he asked. “You are very comfortable around them, I thought you might have had a lot to do with them when you were younger.” The latter of his words had slipped into Pavi, little to Anchoa’s knowledge. It was almost like Sam was a Drykas himself. But that couldn’t be. He had cropped hair and no sign of a windmark for as much as Anchoa could see.

“But then I’m just assuming things,” he said slowly in Common, frowning to himself.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

The brown-eyed gaze that turned on Anchoa was full of an infinite sadness before he managed to tuck all that emotion away. He didn't want to be dishonest, but there were levels and levels of shame. Sometimes when people questioned, he gave them a level, hoping they would accept that as the totality. He tried that now.

"I was a slave in Sunberth," he said. "I worked in the stables. Tending and training."

Of course, he was only seventeen and didn't look a day older. It was anyone's guess at the rest of his history and how long he had been free.

[Anchoa]

It was a familiar gaze, the one Sam had given him. It was an expression he himself had worn at one point and for a moment, it was almost like looking into a mirror of what he could have been. It almost broke his heart to see that. That’s what it must have been like for his family. To see that on his face.

“Oh Sam, I’m sorry,” Anchoa said, the insides of his eyebrows rising. “That’s terrible! I didn’t mean to open old wounds.” He reached out, resting a hand on the boy’s lower arm for a moment. It was an odd thing for him to do, really. Willingly reaching out and touching somebody he barely knew. But they were related in deep grief and somehow, that made Sam familiar; safe. And then his hand came away, the expression still on his face. Poor kid.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam dredged up a smile to banish bad memories and any discomfort he might have caused. He rubbed absently at the leather cuff on his wrist, but shrugged and eventually even laughed.

"It's all right. I'm free now. Stole Horse here and made good my escape. Was aided and abetted by an ethaefal of all things, helped me kill some mercenary guards that followed me... I've been free as a bird ever since."

Of course, there were the bonds of tragedy he couldn't quite slip, but most of the time he was able to keep those under wraps. Nobody wanted to see them, after all.

[Anchoa]

He was glad that Sam wasn’t pointing that expression at him. He could have got lost in that look with his own grief. But something about the way he said he had help killing had him frown ever so slightly. He was sure the boy meant nothing of it, after all, mercenaries were killed every day. Heck, he was contemplating becoming one just minutes ago! Anchoa mentally brushed it off, deciding it wasn’t important.

“I bet Horse’s owner wasn’t too happy with you,” he grinned, imagining what a pompous fat man would look like, fuming over the fact his horse was gone. “How did you manage that? I imagine it wasn’t easy. Did they brand you?” Trouble might be had if someone looking for Sam caught up with him and the kid had a brand on him. He almost felt protective.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"No," he said thoughtfully. Of course, they had other ways to tether a slave in place: break their spirits until flight or rebellion seem impossible; offer them just enough kindness that they feel grateful; make them believe they are too useless to live on their own. "No branding, but there was a party. Everyone was drunk. The master's daughter helped me escape."

The last was said smugly to give the impression that he was some sort of fantastical lover that made women throw caution to the wind in order to help him when in reality she had used him for her own purposes. Of course, he had offered to take her with him and she had hesitated before declining; part of him would always wonder what might have happened if she had come.

His grin, though, was infectious.

"Everyone was so far gone, I had my pick of the stables. Horse was a guest's, dunno whose, but he was poorly trained and none to happy with his lot in life. Plus, a windrunner's faster than anything else... even a strider unless the strider's on the Sea of Grass from what I understand."