The Wanderer's Kinship (Ari'Yahal, Dhanya)

by **Hirem** on July 10th, 2010, 12:05 am

41st of Summer, 510 A.V.
Hirem woke up on the first day of traveling with Dhanya's caravan feeling very wrong. Last night, the first night in a long time that he had been with a large group of people, wasn't very successful. People had stared at him, avoided him, and looked at him with disgust. To them, he was some hermit that rescued Dhanya and now demanded to be taken with them, They didn't think much of him.

Dhanya was of some help, being of a positive opinion of him since he helped her out of a serious situation, but it wasn't enough to shake off his feeling of wrongness. After a long time alone in the desert, he just wasn't cut out to be a man that travelled with companions. He wasn't about to go running into the sands with his tail tucked between his legs, but he felt like he needed some time alone for himself. Thus, desertsick.

He got his excuse for the fact that he sorely needed a bath. He had bathed at regular intervals during his time alone, but those had been few and far between, and most people in the caravan thought he stunk something awful. So, he alerted somebody in the group that he was going off to the nearby oasis to wash, and walked off into the morn to the oasis.

The walk was definitely relaxing for Hirem, a chance to get his thoughts straight once again. He wasn't very successful, but he felt that he could return to the caravan and face Dhanya and her friends again with a bolstered confidence... once he washed himself, though. He thought that he smelt bad too, and taking a nice relaxing bath would do his dry skin some good.

The oasis was beautiful, a clear orb of water with a palm tree lazily stretching out over the surface of the pool. Hirem sidled up right to the side of it, dipping his waterskin in the water and setting it off to the side. With that done, he quickly stripped off his clothes and stepped into the water, shivering at the cold sensation. He washed himself in a haste, and stepped out of the oasis just as quickly as he had come, pulling his warm clothes on in relief. That done, he just sat at the edge of the water, admiring the serene nature of the oasis as the morning progressed around him.

by **Ari'Yahal** on July 10th, 2010, 3:16 pm

We, reflected Ari'Yahal as she crested the top of another sand dune, are running out of water.

She could feel it deep within her body. Had been able to for hours, in fact, although she had hesitated to admit it to herself. In the desert, water was more important than life itself, because water was life.

Zefirah, too, was thirsting for water. The horse was shivering slightly under her body; she could feel the vibrations thrumming through her legs as they gripped the mare's flanks, which gleamed with sweat. Although she was a sturdy Eyktolian Desertbred, sure-footed in the sand and able to go without water for long periods, she had not drunk since Ari'al and Raziel had packed their tent and left the oasis which they had been staying at a day ago. Without a horse they would be nothing; although Ari'al was hardened against the rigors of the desert, she must have been mistaken in the direction which she thought they were going in. Lost and without a capable mount, she and Raziel wouldn't last long; three days, at the most, before they fell and...

But better not to think of it. Either they would find the oasis which the band of Kalanue Chaktawe had told her of and live, or they would not find it and die. Yahal would decide, as he always did.

“I'm thirsty, Momma,” piped up Raziel, interrupting her thoughts. His body was curved into her own; he sat in front of her, in the front portion of the saddle, gripping the pommel with both hands. His short black hair, smooth and shiny unlike her own unruly curls, brushed the bottom of her chin. “And tired. And hungry.”

“I know,” she said, the knowledge of it weighing heavy on her heart.

“Can we stop soon?”

“We'll stop when we find water.”

“But when will we find water, Momma?” His high child's voice was nearly lost in the noise of the fierce desert wind whipping sand from the tops of the dunes, constantly rearranging the formation of the desert as though it were an artist unsatisfied with her work.

“It won't be long now, I don't think,” she told him. After that they lapsed into silence. Raziel, although curious like most five-year-olds, was able to hold his tongue for far longer than she had been able to at that age; a quality, perhaps, that he had inherited from his father, an intelligent and contemplative son of Rapa. While she had kept up a constant stream of chatter as a girl, asking questions of anyone who stuck around long enough to be bombarded by them, Raziel learned by watching. His wide blue eyes followed her constantly, taking in everything that she did and internalizing it.

They were his father's eyes, a fact she still found unsettling even four years after Malachi's death.

But her thoughts were interrupted when, at the top of the next dune, she saw a shimmer off in the distance. Most likely a mirage; but there to her left was the twisted, skeletal tree that the Chaktawe had told her to look for as a final marker before the oasis. She had missed all the markers for the past four hours, but perhaps she had stumbled back onto the path? Urging Zefirah forward into a canter, she leaned forward in the saddle to see better. Yes, it was indeed an oasis, and there was the single palm tree that the Kalanue man had told her would mark it rising out of the desert landscape. Oh, Yahal, she thought, you have been kind. A man was there, rising from the water and pulling his clothes around him. A Benshiran, like herself, she saw at once. It had been a long time since she had met one of her own.

They neared the edge of the water, and Ari'al slid off Zefirah's back, helping Raziel to do the same once her feet touched the ground. Zefirah immediately bent her head and drank noisily. She was about to do the same when she heard Raziel's voice, clear as a bell, ring out in the still oasis air:

“Who're you?”

He was talking to the Benshiran man, obviously. Ari'al stiffened; she had not intended to talk to the man unless he spoke to them first. The oasis was rather small, so she supposed it would have happened at some point, but she wasn't one to begin a conversation anyway. “Raziel,” she hissed. She straightened up and locked eyes with the man, waiting for him to respond to her child before she offered any information about herself.

by **Hirem** on July 10th, 2010, 7:27 pm

(Here's a page with some Benshiran terms that we can use: Local Terms and Figures)

The sight of one's kin was a curious thing. With a single glance, powerful feelings of love, hate, guilt, regret could be summoned, and a person could be easily bewildered at such an encounter. However, Hirem was just overjoyed to hear Shiber again, to see the proud Benshiran people again. It was a community that he had spent far too long from, a people that he would always be a part of, a home that he would never lose no matter how far he ventured from them. In short, he was happy to see these two Benshirans approach the oasis.

He took a moment to observe these two before answering the young boy's question. He looked very young indeed, with soft skin and bright, inquisitive eyes. Yet, there was sharp intelligence that shone in his eyes, an intelligence that belied his age. Benshiran boys were often more serious than their age implied, grown used to the daily rigors of shepherding and surviving in the desert. Some might think they were too serious for their own good, but the young Benshiran men could find plenty of ways to be non-sensical.

The wind whistled through the air, the only sound that sung it's way through the oasis as he shifted his gaze to the woman, probably the boy's mother. Green eyes met his, challenging and daring him to do his worst, proud and bright eyes that were the trademark of a Benshiran matron. She spoke of practicality, a no-nonsense approach that made sense with her son around. She was a bit older than him, and appeared to have more maturity in her face than he did. Most men would lose their head talking to a noble and proud Benshiran woman, but Hirem was just happy to see them.

"Falim, my young friend." He said this happily to the boy, his brown eyes shining with excitement. He pushed himself off the ground, and made a mock bow to the young boy. "I am Hirem, from the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Rapa. I hope that's sufficient to you." He drew himself up, and nodded at the woman, a more serious greeting than the one he offered her son. "And you?"

by **Ari'Yahal** on July 11th, 2010, 2:04 am

Raziel's face blossomed into a wide smile as the man bent at the waist to bow. “Falim,” he replied solemnly, as if determined to impress the man. “I am Raziel, of the tents of...um...” He paused and turned to Ari'al for guidance. The two rarely spoke of his father's family, so she was not surprised when he couldn't remember the correct wording.

“The tents of Keshet,” she reminded him gently.

“The tents of Keshet, of the sons of Rapa,” he finished proudly, looking to Hirem for approval. “And this is my momma.”

“I am Ari'Yahal, of the tents of Keshet, of the sons of Havid,” Ari'al said formally, not offering one of her nicknames for Hirem's use. It wasn't that he didn't meet her standards – he had met her gaze with unwavering brown eyes and had been polite to her and her son, and if a man was polite even to women and children, it spoke much of his character. But she had traveled for two years with only her son for company, away from the traditional Benshiran territory. The last of her own kind that she had seen had been a little more than half a year ago, and hearing the slurred sounds of Shiber issuing from a throat other than Raziel's or her own made her almost uncomfortable. Did this man know of the shame her husband's family had suffered in Yahebah? Pain and discomfort Ari'al could bear, but humiliation was more than she would put up with. A small voice inside her told her it would be pleasant, to converse and perhaps even travel with this man, but if he knew who she had been, she would leave at once.

Except her pride would not allow her to ask him if he recognized the name Malachi, and so she tried to push the thought to the back of her mind and continue with the conversation. “Do you travel alone, Hirem, of the tents of Alachi, of the sons of Rapa? And where is your mount?” She had repeated his surname not to be rude, but rather to acknowledge it and the common descent he and her son shared from a son of Biyram.

“You can share ours,” offered Raziel, who had been staring at Hirem with wide eyes as he clutched Ari'al's leg in a tight grip. “Her name is Zefirah. She likes sugar.”

“I am not sure that Zefirah could carry the three of us, love,” said Ari'al, the slight upturn of her mouth betraying the only hint of her amusement.

Secret :

by **Dhanya** on July 11th, 2010, 7:48 am

No sooner had Ari'al spoken of mounts than one appeared. Of sorts. Dhanya found it much easier to limp on three legs than to hop on one. She'd woken late after the events of the day before, thirsty but feeling much better. Her headache was still clammering but endurable. She could not speak Shiber, so the conversation she had walked into made no sense at all. She settled for bleating at Hirem, before gently dipping her head into the oasis to drink.

She'd forgotten that she hadn't told him what she was yet. The others in the carvan knew all about it, though they had also neglected to inform Hirem past some casual innuendo. She wondered at how the caravan had travelled for weeks with no sight of sentient beings and now she had seen three in two days and fallen off a plateau. Truly, the gods worked in mysterious ways.

Once she was finished drinking, she walked gingerly back up the incline and sat down next to Hirem. She left her sore leg sticking out to the side, awkwardly. She noticed Raziel and wondered at how a child could survive in such a desolate place. It was certainly doing Dhanya no favours, though perhaps that was just her own poor luck.

by **Hirem** on July 11th, 2010, 9:22 pm

It was quite pleasant for Hirem to discover that this Raziel had manners, pride, and was related to him via Rapa, though it was probably quite a distance that they were separated. All Benshirans were family, but for two people to have the same son of Biyram as their ancestor was a much closer bond than for two different sons. It didn't mean much, really; their ancestor wouldn't dictate their life in any way, but it was interesting to say the least.

Ari'Yahal... something about that name seemed familiar. It wasn't a vivid sort of familiarity, but more like he had heard the name in a passing conversation. It was an interesting name, one that he wouldn't forget easily as it contained the name of his god, but he couldn't place where he had heard of this woman before. He finally decided that this meant nothing, and instead tried to concentrate on the woman in the present. She wasn't offering outright hostility, but she looked like she was withholding something, keeping back her emotions. He wondered if there was a way to unlock those emotions, but it was not his business to worry about that.

He was quite surprised when the goat approached him, but he quickly adjusted himself, and offered the goat a friendly smile. It was probably a goat from the caravan that had come wandering after him, probably looking for a treat or a walk. He hadn't seen any sleeping flocks last night, but maybe they didn't have that many animals. Whatever the reason, Hirem accepted the goat's presence, and when the goat sat beside him, content with the water it had drank, he patted it's head lightly, observing the animal with a keen eye.

He loved goats, a trait that had been instilled in him since his childhood. He had lived as a young shepherd during his childhood, so this animal brought back warm memories and a sense of nostalgia that was impossible to shake off. He noticed the goat had one leg sticking out of place, a injury that seemed to be fairly recent. The goat would recover from this, but it was still unpleasant to see. He scratched the goat aimlessly on the head as he focused back on Ari'Yahal and Raziel.

"I don't have a mount no. I have never been much for horses, to be honest." He stuck out a thumb pointing towards the way he came, his prints still barely seen on the sands. "I'm traveling with a caravan over that way, one that will allow wandering Benshirans with them." He shrugged, offering another friendly smile to the pair. "I'm sure that they'd be willing to resupply you if you came with me back to the caravan."

by **Ari'Yahal** on July 12th, 2010, 1:13 am

Ari'al hardly noticed the limping goat's arrival, but Raziel paid more attention. He had spent his second and third years of life at his great-grandfather's tents near the spring of Jamilah, playing with the goat kids. Five-year-olds, it was well known, were just as curious as goats, if not more. He detached himself from his mother's leg and crossed the space between them and Hirem, plunking down next to the goat and waiting for the Benshiran man to pet the goat before he dared to do the same. Raziel had been bitten more than once by a feisty goat kid and was not eager to repeat the experience.

That left Ari'al standing alone, facing Hirem, her son, and the goat.

It was true, they were running out of food, not to mention that Zefirah's tack was wearing thin in some places and probably needing touching up. Since becoming a mother, one of the biggest struggles she had had to deal with was that between her pride and her son's needs. If Raziel hadn't been with her, she knew what she would have done: after refilling her waterskins, she would have bid Hirem a polite goodbye and left him so she could find food elsewhere. But he was, and five-year-olds weren't meant to spend all of their time wandering aimlessly through the desert.

“Well,” she said, glancing from Hirem to her son and the goat and back again. “I think it's time we resupplied anyway.” She paused. “If you could take me to this caravan, Hirem, Raziel and I would appreciate it. It's...very kind of you.”

“Is this your goat?” Raziel piped up. “What happened to its leg, Hirem?”

by **Dhanya** on July 12th, 2010, 1:52 pm

If they had never heard a goat laugh before, they were hearing it now. Dhanya produced a bleating vibrato, closing her eyes as Hirem patted her head. She though him a silly man for having not figured it out yet. She watched the little boy creep up carefully, wary of having her ears grabbed. She bleated at him when his hands proved gentle.

She appreciated people with an interest and respect for animals. She also appreciated people who gave good head pats. She rolled her golden eyes at Raziel's curiousity. Normally she would have just changed and been done with it but she imagined that Ari'al would have some choice words about a display of nudity in front of her son.

She'd wait until they got back to camp, unless someone left a cloak lying around. Dhanya was secretive, just not about being a Kelvic.

by **Hirem** on July 12th, 2010, 11:53 pm

Hirem could tell from Ari'Yahal's reaction that following him to the caravan wasn't her first choice. Benshirans were very proud and stubborn to a fault, and only when their loved ones were concerned would they show the slightest hint of relenting. Apparently, Raziel was the only reason that Ari'Yahal would even dare depending on others for aid.

Hirem wrapped his arm around the goat's legs and pulled it up with him as he stood himself up, inclining his head back the way he came. "Follow me then, if you please." He smiled at Raziel as he turned about from the oasis and walked into the sands, carrying the injured goat securely in his arms. Funny, this was almost identical to the incident with Dhanya yesterday.

"This isn't my goat, Raziel. I think it belongs to the people at the caravan." He shrugged at the young boy, making sure his pace was slow enough for the boy to stay even with him. He was leaving Ari'Yahal in the rear, but he was sure she wanted to keep a careful eye on him. In her position, Hirem wouldn't entirely trust himself either, so he wanted to let the woman take whatever precautions she wanted.

Hirem inspected the goat more thoroughly this time, trying to determine what happened to it. This really is like when I carried Dhanya back to her friends. And then, as he caught sight of the goat's big golden eyes and really, really examined them, it hit him like a punch to the gut. He found himself stopping in his tracks, staring in shock at the big golden eyes of Dhanya that were on this goat.

He knew he should have realized this the moment the goat walked beside him, but he didn't. Either he couldn't fit the pieces together, but perhaps he sub-conciously left them apart. Now, though, he had to face the truth that this animal, tucked tightly in his arms, was Dhanya. He slowly resumed his pace, returning his gaze to the path as he mind raced on the subject. Shape-shifter indeed...

by **Ari'Yahal** on July 13th, 2010, 3:32 pm

Well, the decision’s been made, and no going back on it now, Ari’al thought as Hirem invited her back to the caravan. She grabbed Zefirah’s reins, and the mare followed her obediently – she was fairly docile, as Eyktolian Desertbreds went, and Ari’ al herself had helped train the six-year-old horse when she was a filly.

Raziel turned back to his mother before following Hirem, glancing at her with a questioning look. She nodded slightly, giving him permission to follow, and the boy fell back in line with Hirem, leaving tiny sandal-footed imprints in the sand that were dwarfed by Hirem’s far larger footprints. She herself stayed behind them, leading Zefirah as she scanning her surroundings. Benshirans rarely lied to their own kind, but there was always the possibility that this was a set-up of some sort. However, she prided herself on her intuition, which was usually correct, and she didn’t sense anything off about Hirem. Well, not very off, anyway.

Suddenly the Benshiran man stopped in his tracks, staring at the injured goat he was carrying in his arms. He was silent for several seconds, and his eyes grew wide. Raziel looked up at him questioningly and Ari’al surveyed him once again with suspicion. “Is something wrong, Hirem?” she asked, her fists tightening around Zefirah’s reins as Hirem resumed his former pace.