Closed Just like cattle. (Khasr)

[Slither]

Timestamp: 53, Winter of 512 A.V. Chained to the wagon, Slither watched the grassy hills pass with apathy. A normal person seeing these views for the first time would've been amazed by the natural, awe-inspiring beauty of the Sea of Grass, but to the enslaved Dhani they held nothing of interest. The world on those hills was for the free people, not for him. You could tell how long the people he shared misfortune with had been slaves simply by watching their reaction. The ones who had been captured recently looked longingly at the hills, their faces painted with a hope they didn't know if they should have. A few months later, people just looked to the floor, not wanting to see what they couldn't get. Of course, there were always the fools. The hopeful that never lost hope, the ones that thought that it would get better. There were the fighters, that thought that by their own will and fight they could get out of this. The former, Slither envied, because for him there was nothing to return to. The latter, he feared. Those were the people that would try to run, make plans, rebel and anger the masters. Those were the people that got killed, and more often than not they dragged others with them. The memory that he'd once been like them slipped shamefully into his mind. He fought to keep it out of his thoughts - he was younger, he was foolish, and he had paid the price. Outside, he heard the traders' angry voices. Whatever language they were speaking, he couldn't tell, but they were obviously not happy. Unconsciously Slither tried to figure out why, a habit that had helped him more than once. If he had to guess, which he fortunately didn't, it was either because something had broken in the wagons or, most likely, because they were lost. It wasn't hard to guess why they were lost. They hadn't been following any marked path for some reason, and everything looked the same in this green grass that extended to the horizon on all sides. A native might've known the path, but it was pretty clear that their guide was no native, and as lost as the rest of the caravan. Slither licked his fangs. Limited food, limited time, and the first to go would be the least valuable slaves. He would probably stay until the end, the traders would try to sell him for a high price to make up for the other slaves even if he didn't warrant it. He wasn't worried about himself, but he wouldn't have liked to be one of those humans.

[Colt]

The grass rattled as the hyenas vanished, dragging the antelope’s corpse with them.

He snarled violently in frustration. Winter was not his favorite season. Prey was much more difficult to come by and even more difficult to keep. If he pursued the hyenas, by the time he caught up there would be nothing left of his kill. He kicked a rock angrily. He would have to start the hunt all over again.

He took a deep breath and counted to ten, and his anger slowly ebbed away. He was alright. They could do it again.

A bitter wind ruffled his hair and he tightened his cloak. Gone were dog days of summer when clothing was more a liability than anything else. Morwen’s breath had long overtaken the land, and though Cyphrus did not experience the harshest of winters he still disliked cold.

He turned suddenly and sent a neutral chirp towards the sky, irritated at himself and apologetic to his partner above. Akaidras bumped him supportively, or perhaps just looking for a treat, and the man scratched his forehead affectionately before leaping onto the stallion’s back. He signed moving to the she-falcon, and with little encouragement the strider entered a lope. There was still plenty of daylight left, and they were in no hurry.

While summer and fall had been spent hunting nothing but groundbirds, with winter well settled and such birds reluctant to leave their bushes he and she had adapted. They were learning to hunt other animals as well; hoofed animals now had just as much reason to be cautious. Just like when they had first learned to work together so many seasons ago, the new techniques were clumsy and untried. But they were learning, and with more practice there would be few problems at all.

[Khida]

The air was cooler than that of winters the falcon recalled from her time in Ahnatep, but the effort of flying generated enough warmth to offset it -- that, and her ire at the hyenas making off with their kill. She watched them from above, silently circling, but the beasts who couldn't be intimidated by a human wouldn't bat an eyelash at a falcon's attempt to drive them from something they felt rightly theirs. So she didn't try. The hunter chirped to her, and Khida pivoted, coming about to coast over the man and his horse. He made a gesture, the sign for them both to move on -- giving up this as a loss, which it certainly was. She chirped back at him and resumed flapping, abandoning her glide in favor of forward acceleration. While the horse trotted off into the grasses, the falcon opted for an angle to his travel, the better for the team to survey a larger portion of their surroundings -- and to have greater chance of finding prey. New prey, now that the hyenas had appropriated their first. In their near vicinity, of course, there was nothing to be seen -- just the hyenas, settling in to feast, and the endless swathes of grass stretching away in all directions. The herd from which they had cut out the antelope was long since vanished into the grass, probably disappeared over one of the low rolling hills. Khida didn't know which one, and the direction she chose to fly in apparently wasn't the one they had taken: they didn't reappear. Instead, as her field of view cleared a rise, she found something which wasn't prey at all. A wagon, a series of wagons, accompanied by horses and -- she thought -- armed men. The falcon flared out her wings and tilted up, nearly hovering for a moment as she took in the unexpected view. Caravans came in and out of Endrykas, but as a rule they were not something the pair happened across when hunting. She turned back to soar overhead of the hunter, voicing a worried series of calls at the strangeness of the sight -- and the possible threat those humans might pose.

[Slither]

A deep, powerful voice rose above all the others, in one commanding word. Slither knew that voice, even if he didn't understand him right now - it was the caravan master, a middle-aged man who seemed to be intimately familiar with the sword he carried around. Despite his age, he still kept in shape, and between his age, grey hair, and sunken eyes it was easy to underestimate him. One slave had been brave, or foolish, enough to do that shortly after the caravan's journey had started. Using the oldest trick in the book, feigning illness, he'd managed to get the veteran to enter his wagon, alone, to check on him. When the younger man had tried to use him as a hostage for his own escape, however, he'd quickly found his makeshift shiv flung across the wagon and his own body following shortly afterwards. The punishment was harsh. Being on a wagon as he was, the rebel had to be considered valuable in some way, so his punishment consisted in a complete lack of food and water for several days, while being held in complete isolation. Afterwards they started giving him water, but just enough to keep him alive. He was still there, living testament to the caravan master's harshness. All in all, Slither thought, he was bound to find out sooner or later. Probably better in a caravan, where they want you alive to be sold, than with a buyer that could simply decide you were too much trouble and off you. The progress of the caravan slowed to a crawl before they finally stopped, the master's order finally clear to Slither. The man's voice kept rising over that of their guide, a thin man with a disproportionately large beard, shaggy clothes and a remarkable lack of hygene; their raging argument registering faintly to the Dhani as his eyes wandered beyond the grassy hills and over to the sky, spotting a flying figure. Other slaves took birds to be a symbol of the freedom they'd never have, and he'd heard more than once wishful thinking of trading positions with them. Slither looked at the bird for a while, wondering whether he would himself before pushing such stupid thoughts out of his mind. There was no point in pondering the impossible.

[Colt]

Akaidras was nervous. He could feel it. The strider’s steps were reluctant, and the hunter had to continually remind him of the trail they were following. The stallion’s ears flicked back and forth and his head swiveled, regarding the land around them cautiously. Something was off.

Akaidras shied in surprise when the falcon cut overhead, trilling with concern. The hunter’s gaze immediately snapped to her, taking in her direction and orienting himself towards the area from which she hailed.

Akaidras’s anxiety turned to fear, then shifted to anger. Whatever he had sensed, he didn’t like it, and the horse was fully prepared to confront whatever they were moving to find. He kept a tight grip on the horse’s side with his knees, restraining the stallion from the urge to charge.

He kept to the tallest grass, unwilling to expose himself to whatever had so worried the falcon. He narrowed his eyes, waiting to catch glimpse of whatever lurked beyong the rattling curtain of gold.

No. It couldn’t be.

His hand flashed to the quiver at his back and closed around a javelin. Slavers? Here? He remembered all too well the assault on Endrykas that had taken place mere days before, and he had no intention of letting this escape notice.

He slipped from the horse’s back and hit the ground in a low lope, keeping to the shadows as he moved to flank the caravan. The more he neared, the more his blazing righteousness ebbed. The disrepair of the caravan was evident; though they bore the trappings of wealth, grime clung to every surface and everything was either splintering or fraying. They were strangers to the Sea of Grass, these slavers, and the plains had taken their toll. He came to a halt as the realization hit him.

This caravan would never leave this land alive.

He tucked the javelin back into his quiver and signaled wait to his partner before slipping back into the grass. Akaidras met him with a warm nicker, and within a heartbeat the hunter had returned to the stallion’s back.

What could he do about this? The Watch had not yet reared its head, and so he assumed that they had marked the caravan and thought it too weak to care. They did not need to attack; Cyphrus would kill them on its own. They were slavers. They deserved it.

But what of the slaves?

He returned his gaze to the caged stock. They would die with their captors.

When he thought on it, he couldn’t find himself with a moral conundrum over slavery. Slavery was just another form that survival took, for better of for worse. He had even entertained the thought of purchasing a slave before. Why not? He was wealthy enough, and certainly wielded enough skill to provide for one.

The caravan came to a halt.

What about… what about one of them? He shook his head of the thought. Of course not, not one of these lost souls.

But why not? a small voice argued. The slavers were weak, and the slaves were weaker. If he made himself known, surely he would be able to buy one at a cheaper price? Surely the slavers would not dare to challenge one born of the Cyphrus horseclans, not when they were at its mercy already?

And what would the risk be? If he made himself known and was attacked, he would have no trouble outrunning them. He and his horse were both strong, and though they had been leaned by winter they were by no means weak. And even the weakest of striders could outrun the strongest of foreign horses, so the danger was lessened. Could he? He could, but… would he?

Yes, he would.

The man urged Akaidras forward, who obliged with relish. They forsook the grassy veil that hid them from the slavers, taking to the crest of one of the gentle rises that the caravan had halted between. He kept enough distance between them that he would be able to flee at the first sign of attack, but remained close enough that his presence was felt by those by the caravan.

He narrowed his eyes at the weathered fighter that led them. He knew enough of the Common tongue make himself understood, and for the first time in what seemed an eternity, the wild man spoke. His voice was more animal that man; words were as natural to him as a wolf’s bark was to a human. The sounds rolled from the back of his throat in a rippling snarl.

“You trespass.”

[Khida]

The man and the horse inched forward below her, as the falcon banked around in a broad arc. They stayed in the tall grass, clearly cautious, mindful of her warning. Khida knew when he saw the caravan, because he reached for a weapon, his attitude tense and, she thought, angry. She didn't understand the anger -- it didn't seem like the anger of a hunter towards something which chased off prey. A territorial anger, maybe, though they didn't have any claim she knew of, beyond the tent... He slipped off the stallion and crept forward, the falcon watching as she continued to circle. But then he stopped, and put the weapon away, something even stranger still -- or did he know something about the strangers she didn't? Khida presumed there must be something, when he gestured for her to wait. Something she couldn't see. Very well. She would wait. The falcon climbed upwards, rising into the sky. She would wait, but with the advantage of altitude on her side. As she flew higher, the man got back on the horse and rode out of the concealing grass, moving to approach the caravan. She watched his progress, but moreso watched the men he approached, wary against sudden moves or indications they might try to surround her partner.

[Slither]

The yelling rose and fell until, with a sound thud, the caravan master's fist met the guide's head and the thin man fell to the ground like a puppet with cut strings. The silence that followed was tense, almost more tense than the previous argument. Before, there might've still been some hope that the caravan was just slightly off course. That hope vanished when the caravan master knocked their guide out. Perhaps the older man thought that they were already too lost to make use of his dubious skill, or maybe his temper got the worst of him, but whatever the case it still left them stranded in the Sea of Grass with no idea of where they were. A less than enviable situation. And as the silence started to die to the murmuring of the crew that had witnessed the fight, a coarse, almost feral voice stated: "You are trespassing." Slither could see the guards' hands moving over to their hilts. Only a couple of exceptions were hot-headed enough to unsheathe, and they were immediately reprimanded by the caravan master in whatever language he spoke. As the weapons returned reluctantly to their resting positions, the experienced trader's voice turned to common, and replied: "We did not want that. We got lost on the way to Riverfall." The man's accent was thick, his wording perhaps awkward, but he usually managed to get the message through. "We will pay to walk here, if you tell us the way to Riverfall." The man's voice rang loud, but wavered slightly at some points. To Slither's untrained ears that meant nothing, but an experienced trader would've easily been able to tell he was nervous. He had reasons to. The man in front of him was in all likelyhood a Drykas outrider, sent to question their presence. As far as the master knew, there were few survivors from these encounters - you couldn't run from the Drykas in their own territory, you couldn't fight them either, and it wasn't simple to persuade them to leave you alone. He had hopes, though. That was only one lone rider, so with any luck that meant that they could get out of this alive - you wouldn't send a lonely man to a caravan if you wanted to kill them. Maybe, just maybe, they'd be able to talk - or most likely, pay - their way out of this. The Drykas had to know that the well-traveled paths that once existed through the Sea were now gone, so maybe they'd let them through to make a new one. Slither, on the other hand, did not share the man's hopeful thoughts. He knew nothing of the Drykas and less about the Sea of Grass, so he wasn't worried about one of them stopping him. He was worried because of how the warriors had reacted and, above all, how the master had. There were two options that he could see here - either the man was an esteemed guest of some sort, or he was a major threat to their safety. It was at times like these that he wished he was out of his cage, if only to find a bit more about the situation. If he could've got the smell of a guard, then at least he'd be able to tell if they were scared of not, the acrid smell of human fear very familiar to him, but there was no way he'd be able to tell when he was surrounded by that very same smell coming from the humans around him, as he had been for the whole trip. If he had looked at the slaves themselves he would've quickly realized that they were in fact more scared than usual, almost close to terrified, but he didn't, his attention focused on the newcomer, intrigued to see what was going to happen next.

[Colt]

When his voice grated at the air, the members of the caravan had their hackles up almost instantly. Some whirled with drawn blades, but a sharp word from their leader held them in place and they reluctantly returned steel to sheathe.

The trader’s voice was much smoother than his own, and though he remained tensed and wary he absorbed what was being said. His knowledge of the common tongue was limited, but he was able to pick out enough words to understand what he was being told.

He blinked in acknowledgement when the man finished, mulling over his words. The caravan was weak and the provisions he could see were few and of poor quality. Even if he told them the way to Riverfall he doubted that they would make it.

Nevertheless, the offer hanging in the air was an intriguing one. The hunter had no real need of money, but he also knew full well that money was not the only thing that the caravan was capable of offering.

He straightened, looking the slaver in the eye.

“One slave, my choice, and I point to Riverfall.”

[Slither]

The caravan master's frown described clearly what he thought of the man's offer. Slaves were valuable, and some in this caravan were really valuable. With his luck, the man would take one of those, and all for just pointing to the city. It was a horrible deal. But, on the other hand, there wasn't much of a choice. If he didn't take the man's offer chances were they'd die before getting anywhere, and that was a far worse trade. With some luck, the Drykas actually knew where their destination was and would point them well. With more luck, they wouldn't go off track in this sea of green. With a sigh, the man nodded. "Okay. We have beautiful females, for Akalaks, but you get one now, yes?. Come, come." He waved the man forward as he walked to the wagon behind Slither's. The master was resigned to losing one of the slaves that would probably fetch a good price in Riverfall, but at least that would keep the valuable merchandise out of the man's sight. His mind quickly wandered over their options when the man wandered into the caravan - surrounded he would have a much harder time to escape. Maybe they'd be able to force him to lead them to Riverfall... but then what? He wasn't sure of how diplomatic relations were between Drykas and Akalaks, so maybe they could stay in the city for a while, but sooner or later they'd have to cross the Sea of Grass again and... well, that was being optimistic. Worst case scenario, the man got away and brought more warriors to fight back, or someone noticed he was missing and sent someone else to check on them. No, there was no way around it. They'd trade with this guy and hope for the best. He looked at the jailed slaves, feeling slightly jealous of them for once - whoever the guy decided to take was sure to survive. Of course, he wouldn't trade his freedom for that, but it was still a better chance of living than the rest of the caravan had. Slither, while all this went on, simply leaned on the bars of his cage and watched, curious to see what happened next. It was, after all, more entertaining than sulking on a corner of his cage, and he had passed that stage of his slave-life a long time ago.

[Khida]

The falcon watched as the men conversed, unable to quite catch their words but inferring somewhat from posture and stance. The men of the caravan were wary and tense, maybe more so after the leader made them sheathe their weapons; and he stood still before the wagons, she thought not quite calmly, but steadily. He clearly had more confidence than the men with the wagons; Khida let that confidence inform her own. She curved through a broad circle above the caravan, alternating three wingbeats and a glide in lieu of anything resembling a rising thermal to aid her flight. The falcon maintained her circling as the men continued talking, working through some sort of bargain; for her part, she made neither sound nor any signaling motion, as the caravaners maintained their positions, taking their cues from their leader's treatment of the hunter. Just as well, from her perspective; she had spotted a few with bows ready to be strung, and it wasn't Khida's preference to have anything to do with those. Not, at least, when they might be pointed at her.