16th of spring, 514 a.v
sunset
Shahar was on edge. He couldn’t help it; even those deep in the city were put off by the signs in the dirt and grass, never mind those on the outskirts and to say nothing of Shahar himself.
He had gone out of his way to set their camp up as close to the larger pavilions as they could, and it was causing him no small amount of discomfort, but the securing the city promised was well worth it––if it meant that Hope and Khida and Slither were safe from the glassbeaks, he’d set up camp in the middle of Endrykas if he had to.
He’d been one of the first to notice the prints larger than his own hands and the grass bent by creatures taller than any horse or zibri. He was no stranger to glassbeak tracks, and seeing them so close to the city was alarming, to say the least. They’d been circling the tents for days now, leaving everyone––man and animal alike––tense, waiting for something to happen. He could only hope that it wasn’t his family that that something happened to.
The sun was well below the horizon, and the last streaks of red were fading to purple. Shahar would usually be getting ready for bed at this hour, but tonight he didn’t dare; the glassbeaks had been far too close the night before, close enough to be spotted. They had been getting steadily closer since the beginning, and he feared that tonight would see their first move made.
In place of sleep, Shahar had chosen to take a position on the northern edge of the camp, where he could see off into eternity by what little light remained. The grass weaved and danced, as it always did, uncaring of men or their woes and lit red so that it almost looked like the blades were bathed in blood. Shahar hoped it wasn’t an omen.
He was crouched in his silent vigil, low enough to preserve his energy but in such a stance that he could rise quickly if he needed to. Akaidras, too, had sensed the tense atmosphere, and was standing resiliently at his rider’s shoulder. Drelah and Dainellas, however, had no desire to partake in whatever had overcome the Drykas and his strider and were remaining safely between their camp and the pavilion behind it.
There were two javelins stuck upright in the ground before Shahar, where he could reach them easily without worrying about the time it would take to draw from the quiver that rested on his back. Still, he wasn’t handling the javelins anxiously, not like he was handling his axe; the weapon had never proven useful in his day-to-day life, but it had served him well the year before, when the Zith had descended upon them. If something happened tonight he would trust it to do so again.
And so he waited, silent and still, as the last traces of the day were laid to rest.
sunset
Shahar was on edge. He couldn’t help it; even those deep in the city were put off by the signs in the dirt and grass, never mind those on the outskirts and to say nothing of Shahar himself.
He had gone out of his way to set their camp up as close to the larger pavilions as they could, and it was causing him no small amount of discomfort, but the securing the city promised was well worth it––if it meant that Hope and Khida and Slither were safe from the glassbeaks, he’d set up camp in the middle of Endrykas if he had to.
He’d been one of the first to notice the prints larger than his own hands and the grass bent by creatures taller than any horse or zibri. He was no stranger to glassbeak tracks, and seeing them so close to the city was alarming, to say the least. They’d been circling the tents for days now, leaving everyone––man and animal alike––tense, waiting for something to happen. He could only hope that it wasn’t his family that that something happened to.
The sun was well below the horizon, and the last streaks of red were fading to purple. Shahar would usually be getting ready for bed at this hour, but tonight he didn’t dare; the glassbeaks had been far too close the night before, close enough to be spotted. They had been getting steadily closer since the beginning, and he feared that tonight would see their first move made.
In place of sleep, Shahar had chosen to take a position on the northern edge of the camp, where he could see off into eternity by what little light remained. The grass weaved and danced, as it always did, uncaring of men or their woes and lit red so that it almost looked like the blades were bathed in blood. Shahar hoped it wasn’t an omen.
He was crouched in his silent vigil, low enough to preserve his energy but in such a stance that he could rise quickly if he needed to. Akaidras, too, had sensed the tense atmosphere, and was standing resiliently at his rider’s shoulder. Drelah and Dainellas, however, had no desire to partake in whatever had overcome the Drykas and his strider and were remaining safely between their camp and the pavilion behind it.
There were two javelins stuck upright in the ground before Shahar, where he could reach them easily without worrying about the time it would take to draw from the quiver that rested on his back. Still, he wasn’t handling the javelins anxiously, not like he was handling his axe; the weapon had never proven useful in his day-to-day life, but it had served him well the year before, when the Zith had descended upon them. If something happened tonight he would trust it to do so again.
And so he waited, silent and still, as the last traces of the day were laid to rest.