Closed A Horse Is A Horse, Of Course, Of Course [Dravite]

[Kaitanu]

The 10th Day of Fall, 515 AV

Three bells after sunrise and it was already hot, though this was a different heat than in Kenash. In the swamp the heat drowned you, damp and cloying and sickeningly-sweet. Here in the grassy waste the sun beat down unfiltered by trees, oppressive as the overwhelming sky above. The wan blue arched down on every side, colored slightly yellowish near the featureless horizon. Even the keen eyes of a horse could not detect a rise or a change in that wavering, flat distance, except very far off. Kaitanu certainly couldn’t, and he had tried every day for the past three. Kenash was gone, lost in the impenetrable grasses. The whispered tent city of Endrykas remained elusive. Perhaps it didn’t really exist, or was a mirage; Kaitanu didn’t know that it mattered. For the first time in his life, so far as he could remember, he was utterly alone and without purpose. No master, no duties to fulfill, no clothing, no food or water but what his horse form could find for him. Nothing but the harsh sun beating down on his pale flanks, the recent scars from the Wind Eagle’s talons joining his lifelong collection and aching in the heat. Even the air was still; no wind, no voices, nothing of civilization. Except for the buzzing of life among the grasses he might as well have been the last creature on earth.

By the unknown logic of a freeman, Kaitanu should have been happy to be here. He should have been thanking the gods for bringing him so far away from masters and a life of bondage. Kaitanu could hardly have been more difficult to find in these wild lands, and the thought of slave catchers sent chills through his tired limbs. Yet, strangely, he was more terrified of this masterless existence than of whips and shackles. Freedom was an oppressive idea he didn't really understand. It weighed down on him like the open sky above and the brutal sun, this feeling of being unchained. Never before had the kelvic known anything but to serve the desires of a master, to go where he was told, to sleep and eat and dress and whatever else, all on another’s command. Had he not been a horse he likely would have died out in this treeless wilderness, having no knowledge of survival beyond a few edible or medicinal plants. Instinct made him eat and drink, but every day he felt his mind slip a little further as Kenash and his master remained out of sight. The misery of being a slave was all he knew, and like an addict he clung to what had long ago made him a shell. Without it his life had no meaning or purpose. Only the clockwork of survival; eat, drink, sleep, eat, drink, sleep. That, he supposed vaguely, was his master now.

Plodding through the grass, not in any particular direction, Kaitanu heard the sounds of a wild herd he had met yesterday. Obeying his equine side he had followed in their tracks and grazed nearby, but had not truly joined them. Their clustered formation offered no comfort, no sense of belonging. The dappled stallion at their head looked on him with a cold eye, but Kaitanu wasn’t interested in the fertile mares. Without tasks set forth by a master he wasn’t really interested in anything. Only when the wild horses sensed a threat and ran did his senses rise to something beyond dullness; a shared panic punctuated by thundering hooves. That burst of energy was raw and real, but momentary. Kaitanu had not yet learned that there was any joy to be had in the simple act of galloping. Joy as a concept was as foreign to his mind as what lay beyond the stars.

There was only one thing he had to stave off the blackness of mind that threatened to swallow him whole. In the open freedom others craved he had to comfort himself the only way he knew how, by singing softly. Or, rather, by thinking of songs in his head. Strange to turn to his one bright spot when there were no whips or lustful touches to chase away, yet turn he did as he clipped a mouthful of dry grass. Inside his mind ran the tune, wordless, clear-toned, rambling like water. The song would have made little sense to outsiders, but it was all his own; a slave’s one possession. That, and his driving instinct for survival had pushed Kaitanu for three days. How long either would last even he didn't know.

[Dravite]

The earth was hot beneath the leathery soles of his bare feet. Summer had transformed the Cyphrus plains from its once lush green to a wash of gold. The grass sighed as the horse lord lowered his body into a crouch with his right knee planted against the hot sand which radiated through the leather of his black paints. The lean, grey rabbit he had been stalking for the last quarter bell was wary, lifting his head to smell the air and creep forward with the stealth of a barn mouse trying to outsmart an owl.

Rough, burly fingers reached blindly for an arrow, drawing it from the quiver on his hip to latch carefully to the string of his short-bow. Dravite waited for something that might disguise his movement, a light breeze, a passing hawk, anything that might aid him on his hunt and better his chances. As he drew back the taut string, Dravite made sure the arrow was fixed against the nocking point and looked down the length of the arrow at the rabbit, making no sudden movements with his eyes that might cause the animal to notice him.

The release of the arrow brought the rabbit's death and the man with the wheat coloured hair rose from his hiding position amongst the tall grass not ten metres away. With his arrow reclaimed, Dravite twisted and broke the neck of the still twitching buck, sending him to Dira where he would then pass on to Lhex and find life again, "blood for blood, life for death," he thanked the goddess of his heart, the first witch who let him take of her wealth time and time again; knowing one day he too would meet his end having served his purpose in this life, even if it was just to help sustain another.

With the rabbit latched to his belt, Dravite turned to head for home, the arched limb of his bow crossed over his chest while he traversed the golden sea, following the path that would take him back to his horse. None read the land out here quite as well as the Drykas, and every track had a different story to tell, of man and beast, rodent and bird; for those that knew where to look, there was valuable information to be found.

The horse lord retraced his footprints until he moved into the clearing where he had left his horse, a young colour splash mare that he had spent the best part of the summer training. A fresh pile of dung sat where she should be, an assault on his senses, but a clue nonetheless. Dravite knew he had followed the rabbit west, he was now facing east, and it seemed Bones had decided to wander north, away from the city of tents. If he hurried, he might catch up to her, but running across the plains was an invitation for danger, leaving the man no choice but to head north on foot before the trail was lost to the breeze; should Zulrav decide to stir.

Complaining about good weather never bode well with Dravite, but after half a bell of searching for the mare, his shoulders were starting to burn. The Watchman used the hatchet on his belt to cut up the earth and dig down to where the soil was rich and dark. He spat into his hands and rubbed them together, causing the dirt to thicken into a paste he then rubbed over his shoulders in an attempt to protect them from Syna's warm glow.

Dravite was just about to give up on his search when he heard the familiar drumming of hooves which saw him to scan the horizon swiftly where he noticed the red and white mare approaching another horse. His first instinct was to run ahead and reclaim the animal, but Bones was more likely to gallop away with her new friend than she was to wait for him to catch up; never to be seen again. He had to be smart and think this one through; it was never a good idea to approach a skittish mare at speed.

When the man realised, however, that it was a stallion his mare was trying to flirt with, he whistled to her, hoping to draw her attention and remind her of the training he had poured into her all season. "Bones!" Dravite called, friend, food, home, return, he signed; worried for the foal already growing inside of her. Dravite had heard stories about mare's aborting their foals when new stallion's came onto the scene, "come!" The man demanded in a deep, authoritative tone of voice.

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[Kaitanu]

Kaitanu bent down for another mouthful, eyes and ears alert to the approach of an enemy. Yet he had instinct only to teach him what to do. This land was strange, and his senses were still so attuned to the facets of a city life. Sharp as they were he didn’t have the grassland rhythms down to a science. Other horses grazed close by- the herd he had been tailing- their slow movements breaking the stillness, confusing him somewhat. The shimmering air brought with it no breath of wind, and so Kaitanu’s ears picked up the sound of approaching hooves before he smelled the new arrival. He ought to have noted her sooner. Kaitanu's wide nostrils flared. Once she got close enough he knew she hadn't been there before. In this form he could smell her past the dead sweetness of the grass and the pungency of the herd in the distance.

Standing still as marble, Kaitanu slowly raised his head and watched the mare approach, recognizing the shy sidestep of interest. The females in the nearby herd had been kept back by adherence to the group, but this one didn’t belong to them. She was well-groomed, beautifully built, obviously owned by someone. Kaitanu pawed the ground once; the only sign he gave of nervousness. Was she lost? Had she run away? Surely no owner in their right mind would let a valuable commodity like her slip away, especially with her belly swelling. Kaitanu felt his heart falter as that thought occurred to him. An owner….a master…

The mare whinnied. His return greeting was cautious and as calm as he could make it, not wanting to discourage her entirely. He knew the routines well enough, and the mare could tell him some of what he wanted to know. As she sidled up to him, her answers to his simple questions expressed what he feared.

Rider… two-legs…

That could mean anything, but from what little he knew of Endrykas her owner was most likely human.

Close?

Yes. Hunting. Close.

Her tail swished. The mare didn’t seem keen on talking about her rider. She shook her head, a bit put off that Kaitanu wasn’t showing enough interest in her. However, she continued to scent him as he tried to get what he could from their ‘discussion’. Unfortunately, what he really wanted to know she couldn’t tell him. Horses were intelligent enough, some more than others, but there was no use asking this one if her master was a slaver. Even the brightest had little understanding of that concept.

Anyway, what would he have done with such knowledge? Kaitanu didn’t know. Unlike a freeman considering his options the kelvic’s mind couldn't hold on to strategy when he was so unmoored. Even his calculated questioning of the mare didn't go farther than it already had. For reasons even a slave didn't understand the very state of 'freedom' to someone like Kaitanu was anathema to concentrated thought. A master, that gravity of a slave's life, was necessary to their ability to function on a higher level. Not having a center from which to attach his thoughts they floated away again for awhile, as they had done since he was dropped here in the terrifying openness. He just let the mare sniff him and say her little horsey pleasantries, being polite in return out of habit. Otherwise he was only half there.

Suddenly- or maybe it was expected?- a low whistle broke through the heavy air. The nearby herd of wild horses shifted and moved further away from the sound, neighing a bit in consternation. Only Kaitanu and the new mare remained where they were. One of the mare’s ears turned back, as though she was sort of listening, but Kaitanu’s attention had snapped into place again as his keen eyes caught sight of the man in the grass. The lone figure was yards away, but close enough that his strange hand movements could be seen. Having never experienced the sign-language of the Drykas, Kaitanu had no idea what this meant.

There were larger concerns looming before him than waving hands. As ever when in his horse form the fight-or-flight instinct washed over him, but he didn’t act upon it. Every natural compulsion had ceased, not even leaving room for what would have been a reasonable debate; 'stay and see what's up' or 'run from danger'. Instead, the submissive human slave inside him made Kaitanu go almost limp, as though preparing for orders. Hearing the man’s voice in that commanding tone he almost couldn’t help it. He had been spotted, and the thought of being taken again was both terrifying and comforting, in a very twisted way.

“Come!”

Kaitanu understood that the man was not speaking to him, but his body obeyed anyway, starting forward a few steps before he went still again, now afraid of angering the man for acting out of turn. There wasn’t a question of him running, either, though he could easily have done so. Just the sight of that lone figure inspired the familiar numbness of resignation, which drowned out anything else but the will to survive. Survival meant submitting to whoever came his way and took him for their own.

Kaitanu lowered his head a little so his eyes were averted, waiting in silence for the man to approach and do as he would. Any thoughts that he might pass himself off as a regular horse, thereby getting better treatment, were hardly entertained. Kaitanu knew better than to try and fool a master. The Morealis brand on his right cheek, and the Ravok sun above his left hoof, would plainly tell what he was in moments. All he could do was try to look as humble and inoffensive as possible.

(Not sure if it was alright to write Bones’ interactions with Kai. If not I’ll change it- I’m still trying to figure out how to work his talking to other peoples’ horses.)

[Dravite]

It was not his mare but the smaller stallion that made the first move towards him, one that caused Dravite to flinch, especially seeing the horse lower his head; the Drykas man had been charged enough times in his life to know when a stallion meant business, yet there was something about this one that seemed off. The herd in the background had moved on, corralled into motion by their war battered stallion that knew better than to let one of the two legged get too close to his mares. He snaked back and forth with his head low and his ears back, just as the horse lord expected of his kind.

This young, grey horse was different though and did not go after the herd causing Dravite to believe that he had been another challenger who had tried and failed to take the old boy’s herd from him. Bones, suddenly realising her riders approach, danced closer to the man only to bolt away again and circle the placid grey, throwing her head up and kicking the air as if she expected him to join her in the little game, "Bones!" Dravite called again, his common was very basic and the few commands he knew all went unheard by the mare, "come!"

Still the grey did not follow and stood stark against the sea of gold. Dravite couldn't decide if he was mad or completely insane, edging closer to the strange horse he struggled to read; one who had the shape and movements of any well-built stallion and yet, perhaps it was his ears that betrayed him, pointed forwards rather than back. Curious, the man thought, keeping his gaze averted as not to spook the animal while he approached.

Calm, listen, quiet, still, he signed slowly having caught his mare's attention once more who seemed to have grown tired of the horse that did not want to play, but instead stand with his feet glued to the earth as if he were trapped in sinking sand. The markings that became all too apparent as the horse lord drew near were not recognisable to a man that knew little to nothing of Ravok and the dealings of slaves. Of course, Dravite had grown up with slaves that his old pavilion had taken in, but none of them had ever been marked. Who would be so cruel as to brand a horse? He wondered.

Just was close enough now to smell the animal, only a few short metres away; if the stallion attacked he wouldn't have time to dart aside, yet nothing about the grey's body language would suggest those were his intentions. "Friend," he held up one hand slowly, making the Pavi sign for the common word his thick Drykas accent butchered, "stay."

Bones snorted and lowered her head to rip up a mouthful of grass as if to tell her new friend that her rider could be a right joy-kill sometimes. Still, she stood her ground alongside the stallion, reaching over to nip at his hip half-heartedly. When Dravite felt he was close enough, he stopped, keeping his eyes cast with his right hand raised, palm down while he slowly balled his fingers into a fist so that they might not be pinched from his person; allowing the grey to catch his scent, all leather, horse hair, sunshine, and ash.

When he finally caught sight of the stallion's eyes, Dravite looked to see the knowing look he had sensed earlier; this animal had known man before, was he a runaway? An escape artist? He didn't look too malnourished if a little underfed, not wild like the Cyphrus herd that had abandoned him to his fate. "Quiet one," the Watchman spoke up, "lost?" He was tempted to reach out just that inch or two further to touch the dark velvet of the stallion's noise, but thought better of it, "come, follow," Dravite encouraged, snatching a fistful of his mare's mane while she was in reach. They would ride back to Endrykas, get the horse some water and maybe even a carrot or two.

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[Kaitanu]

Kaitanu had been so thoroughly beaten down and trained that even his behavior as a horse became, at times, unnatural. The lowered head was a sign of submission from his human form, which translated to the equine without conscious thought. Instinct was twisted into something almost alien, but he could not do otherwise. Lower the head, avert the gaze, remain still and passive. It worked better as a human, but meant the same thing for the horse. Kaitanu would no more have charged Dravite than sprout wings and fly away.

The mare, on the other hand, was acting just as any playful and spirited young animal of her kind would have. The contrast between her natural behavior and Kaitanu’s stock-still, almost terrified stance, would have been a dead giveaway to anyone who knew about horses that something wasn’t right. A normal horse would react to Bones’ nipping and prancing, whether to accept or reject the invitation. Kaitanu did neither. In this case, he wasn’t just showing his submissiveness; Kaitanu genuinely didn’t know how to play. Part of his brain recognized the signals, but there was a dysfunction between mind and body that stopped somewhere near his limbs. He could only stand and watch the man come closer, afraid to be caught, more afraid of being left alone in the golden ocean around him. But what would the man do to him?

As the strange man began to sign and speak at the same time, Kaitanu realized he still thought he was speaking to a horse. Perhaps he hadn’t met any kelvics in his lifetime? He would soon find out what they were from this one, who felt with a cold certainty that he was looking at his new master. There was some relief in finally knowing, but he couldn’t stop the tiny tremors that ran down his body as the man’s scent hit him full-force. Something about it made Kaitanu’s mind go almost blank, or rather black, as though there was a memory struggling for dominance. The thought didn’t quite form in his shattered mind, and whatever that scent brought forth faded into a general sense of terror. Still, he didn’t run.

Kaitanu looked up slightly as the newcomer addressed him. He had been spoken to, so it was now proper to raise his eyes to a certain level, to show he was listening. It was enough to get a good view of his new master, and enough to tell him what sort this one was likely to be. The man was tall, well-built but not heavy, and beautiful in a wild way. That last made Kaitanu shudder inwardly. Masters were naturally harsh, but the beautiful ones tended to have a sadistic streak that would put any demon to shame.

Suddenly, he felt a longing for his old life in Kenash and the rhythm to which he had become accustomed. More than that was the desire to return to Master Morealis. Since the kelvic had no frame of reference for kindness, the closest he could come to a comparison was his last one. Master Edmund didn’t regularly beat him; that was all the reason to wish for a return in his mind. This was quite an achievement when considering every other master who had owned him. Where Master Edmund had been bewilderingly lacking in cruelty, the rest had taken it to an art form. To the kelvic, Dravite looked like every other rough master who had broken his bones because he was bored.

For all this, the fear of being masterless overrode everything. There was no way he could find a path through the barren plains and back to Kenash alive. The kelvic didn’t even know where in the Sea of Grass he was, or where the swamp city would be from his tiny point in the cosmos. There was no going back, not from here, and no love to inspire him against the odds. When Dravite told him to follow the kelvic did so without hesitation. If nothing else he would live to see another day.

As the thundering of the wild herd grew more distant, Kaitanu followed the mare and her master- his new master- the opposite way toward the tent city. His sun-tender eyes could detect only a hint of it in the haze, like distant hills of lightly-colored stone. The blanket of heat that hung over them made it seem like it moved farther away the more they walked, or perhaps there was a slight rise ahead. Kaitanu couldn’t be sure. He had to trust that the man knew where they were going. Little wonder, the kelvic thought, that few travelers ever came out of this place alive. If he had no equine instincts, and if he had not found the wild herd to follow, who knew but that he would be a pile of bleached bones in a week? Shuddering, he put that thought away and thought of the fresh water which would definitely be near the tents. If he knew nothing else he knew that much.

[Dravite]

The mare had calmed down and slowly weaved through the tall grass now with her rider seated comfortably on her back. Dravite hadn’t used any tack, leaving the yvas at home and opting instead to go bareback, a single fist closed in the mare's mane to keep him on. Bones was a lot harder to steer than Cree, who was used to the horse lord's different signals and what they all meant, and as such, Dravite found himself relying on his voice more often than not while working with the mare. "Up," he encouraged, asking the mare to pick up the pace, surprised to find the grey stallion keeping up with them.

Something strange indeed, the man thought; the white wanderer was perplexing to say the least. He hadn't done anything wrong, but it seemed odd for him to follow so closely; the only thing Dravite could assume was that this was a horse that had an owner somewhere and had become lost. Suddenly, he brought Bones to a stop and jumped down from her back, wait, he signed, be still, "move not," he held his hand up to stop the stallion and sat down in the tall grass, legs crossed and eyes closed; his shoulders went limp after a chime as his trance took him and Dravite was transported into the web.

If the lost horse belonged to another Drykas, this was the fastest way to tell. Every weaver of the web had his own signature he could use when tying objects, people, and animals to the web; even Bones had been connected the day Dravite had brought her home so that in the unlikely event that she went missing, it would be easier to find her. When the Watchman reached out and circled the stallion's aura, however, he discovered nothing; the horse had not been tied into the web and therefore belonged to no one. Dravite put down his signature knot before linking the new horse to the web in case he got lost in Endrykas; people would know who to return him to. Dravite then left the too-welcoming strands of the web in favour of his physical form and opened his eyes to look up at the quiet of one, "where did you come from?" He mumbled in Pavi, a quick spoken, rhythmic language that took outsiders a long time to learn.

On his feet once more, the Drykas man approached the stallion, reaching out slowly to touch his shoulder. He pushed the horse back gently, watching the way he moved; the horse didn't seem lame at all, but slow and somewhat hopeless, as if someone had beaten the energetic spirit out if him that all horses had, at least, all of the horses that Dravite had ever come into contact with.

He continued on foot, happy for both animals to trail him. It was good for Bones to learn good habits and stay close. After half a bell of walking in the hot sun, Dravite could smell the fires of Endrykas; home was not too far away. "Moving city," he pointed, reverting back to common, "meet family, eat, drink," he went on; any outsider would have thought him mad, talking to a horse, but in Endrykas, everyone spoke to their horses, for the Drykas believed that they were the reincarnated souls of their people. Horses were to be treated with honour and respect, mistreating a horse in the city of tents was punishable by exile, as outlined in the few laws the people lived by to keep the place running smoothly.

The Blackwater pavilion was set up closer to the outskirts this season and it did not take long for the three of them to navigate the wide city streets that twisted and turned like the roots of a tree around the scattered campsites, "my pavilion," Dravite stopped in the grassy street and watched the white horse, who seemed to understand more than he let on.

Six small tents strategically placed in a half circle, three on either side of a large black tent made up the expanse of the Blackwater campsite. A handful of goats stood under the wagon for shade, chickens scratched around in the cold ash of the fireplace, but the place looked otherwise deserted. In Endrykas, everyone had a job to do and the camp would be left like this most of the time, while his wives and family were out working or foraging. Dravite fetched a bucket of water for the horses and was greeted excitedly by his Strider Cree, and Bloodbane, Vicious. Drink, he signed.

NoteKai would feel nothing in being tied into the web

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[Kaitanu]

Perched on the mare’s back, Dravite seemed to thread through the grass as though there were paths only he could see. Kaitanu was glad to finally have some direction. Even with his keen senses navigating the Sea of Grass had been a nightmare. Tired and fearful as he was, the kelvic kept pace with the mare and their master, knowing well what could happen if he got lost again. He would have kept following even in the knowledge that shackles and a rough beating lay at the end of the road. Such was the fear of the unknown in a lifelong slave. In this case, Kaitanu couldn’t be certain what was ahead. It was abundantly clear that the Drykas still thought of him as a horse, which would be to the kelvic’s advantage at least for awhile. Animals tended to be better treated than slaves.

Unfortunately Kaitanu would have to disabuse his new master, but it was a bit tricky. Since Dravite didn’t know what the horse really was he couldn’t give permission for the change, but if Kaitanu continued to “deceive” his new master that would earn him some sort of punishment. What that would be he couldn’t tell since he had not yet figured out the Drykas’ tics. That very important task was always the first to be pursued to completion because it was so important to his survival. It had the added effect of gathering the shattered pieces of his mind into some semblance of order.

At first blush, Kaitanu didn’t quite know what to make of the strange Drykas. He could see right off that communication would be a problem. Apart from the few words of Common he spoke out loud, Dravite seemed to be trying to communicate with his hands. The movements were too measured to be the wild gesticulating some people naturally employed while speaking. What his hand formations meant were completely lost on Kaitanu, of course, but he would have to figure them out as soon as he could. Masters punished without reserve when they were not understood the first time, as though mind-reading was expected.

For this reason, among others, Kaitanu had learned to gather what he could from body-language as well as the spoken word. Dravite’s body-language was both easy to read and utterly baffling to the kelvic. Quite apart from the hand-speak there were some other, unexpected actions. Kaitanu was completely non-plussed when the Drykas stopped seemingly at random for some sort of sitting-up nap, then came over and pushed him around a bit. Not that Kaitanu made any move to stop his new master, who could do whatever he wished with impunity. The kelvic did find it out of the norm, though. He had no idea what Draviyte was trying to do, and his touches were surprisingly light; maybe this was a strange game men and horses played?

If this idea had occurred to Kaitanu in the moment he could not have shuddered any more than he did. Dravite was likely to feel slight ripples twitch the scarred gray hide whenever he was touched. Even standing still Kaitanu could never quite stop his fear from manifesting in this way, and it was more prominent in his horse form, though not exactly visible. These tremors increased as Dravite nudged and prodded him, partly out of fear of what he would do next, and also partly because Kaitanu didn’t understand what he wanted.

Instinctively he braced himself for a blow or two, but when that never came he returned to the idea of a game. Since every master he ever had knew beforehand what he was, Kaitanu reasoned that this must be something horses and humans did, game or not. He tried to remember what little experience he’d had around other non-kelvic horses and how they were treated, but those memories were blurred. They would be of no help to him now.

Giving up the painful process of recalling memories Kaitanu focused back on Dravite, who now walked ahead of himself and the mare. At least the man didn’t seem angry, so that was good. While they plodded through rustling grasses, Kaitanu let his scope of thought broaden to where he would be living. In the distance he could see some shapes jutting out of the grass, and before long he could tell what they were, and their size. The stories he’d heard back in Kenash were true, then; a tent city, floating like strange ships on a sea of golden waves. Curls of smoke from many fires reached toward the pale sky, and the noise of animals and humans could be heard, growing steadily louder to the kelvic horse’s ears. Then, louder and closer still, were Dravite’s broken words in Common.

Kaitanu understood suddenly that his new master was speaking to him, and that threw the slave into a renewed state of panic. Why would the man be talking to him unless he knew what he really was? Was Dravite calling him out? Did that mean Kaitanu should revert to human form now? His fear was such that the horse’s steady gait faltered for a moment, but that could easily have been read as exhaustion by the Drykas. Indeed, Kaitanu was very tired, but he could have gone on for many, many more miles beyond normal endurance before collapsing.

Not that he wasn’t grateful for the chance to rest, which soon presented itself in the form of the Blackwater pavilion. When it became fairly clear that Dravite still thought of Kaitanu as a horse, the slave’s fear went back to bubbling quietly under the surface. He was then more free to gather in his surroundings. His strangely-colored eyes scanned every inch, committing it to memory as a matter of habit. Chickens and goats were no point of terror for him since he’d seen more than a few, and they, in turn, seemed to be completely at ease around horses. He barely rated a raised head in the heat, though a few of the goat kids came up and sniffed him excitedly. Was this some new playmate? Their parents were too busy napping to gambol about with them, and it soon appeared that the newcomer wasn’t going to be good for a game, so off they trotted again.

Kaitanu didn’t accept or reject any advances, nor did he bend to drink with the other horses, waiting in spite of his parched mouth. He stood by like a humble and ragged beggar, knowing not to get in the way of his betters. The Bloodbane especially was to be respected at all costs. Coming from Ravok, there was no other sort of horse that Kaitanu knew so well. More than a few of his scars were from a Bloodbane. This one, even being a mare, was probably the highest in the pecking-order here, since none of the others were of her ilk. Kaitanu would have stepped back for her even if he hadn’t been trained to go last.

What confused him was seeing Dravite sign very clearly- even to his untutored mind- that he should join the other horses. Kaitanu shifted a bit, uncertainly. Where would the worst punishment lie? Not following a direct command? Or when he inevitably learned that Kaitanu was not a real horse and yet had drunk out of turn? Valuable animals like horses always went first. As a slave, Kaitanu should have been drinking with the goats. An outsider might baffle at his dithering over every little thing, but such was a slave’s existence. It was nuanced in ways that would drive a freeman mad, and had done more often than not. To the kelvic this was normal, and once he figured out the routine it would become less necessary to agonize over every decision.

In this case, he decided to follow Dravite’s command, but was careful not to get in the other horses’ way. Kaitanu had to admit that the cool water was worth it, even if he earned a few more marks. He’d learned from the wild horses to scrape with his hooves in the right places for a little muddy water, but it had never been quite enough to slake his thirst. Before him was sufficient to realize just how thirsty he had been and not known it. Revived, he was able to think and sense more clearly, which would help him survive this place.

In a rather un-horselike manner, Kaitanu pulled back from the nearly empty bucket and plodded to Dravite, bowing meekly in wordless thanks for the water. It was almost rote now to praise masters for being allowed to live every day, but he truly was grateful for that long drink. Kaitanu then straightened, head still turned slightly downward, as though awaiting further instructions. He still wasn’t sure if Dravite knew what he truly was or not, and whether or not he was expected to change forms. being a horse had helped him survive, and it was better to have a body protected by hair in the baking sun. However, that was not Kaitanu’s choice to make.

[Dravite]

At the graceful bow, Dravite was now convinced that this animal was some kind of show pony, which might explain the marks and how quiet he was around the other horses. Cree was a big, sixteen hand stallion that hadn't even flinched at the presence of this white, wandering challenger. At fourteen hands the animal wasn't exactly tiny, but he was a lot smaller than every other horse in camp. The Watchman topped up the water and set the bucket aside for the horses to go to whenever they got thirsty. After that he sat down on the log in the middle of camp near the open fire pit and picked up his yarn to continue weaving Satalu, something that was going to take him most of the season to get right. Black, blue, and white the man chanted in his head as he twisted the coloured string in a simple pattern.

There was a rattling behind him that drew the horse lord’s attention and soon his uncle Raven appeared from one of the side tents with a pot and a large wooden spoon.
"Uncle," Dravite smiled, "you've just reminded me that I have a rabbit to prepare."
Raven grinned; he was a big man who looked as if he had seen a battle or two, "good so you managed to catch something after all?"
Dravite plucked the half stiff rabbit from his belt and started cutting the pelt away carefully with his hunting knife, "a horse too," he pointed, "I think it understands the common tongue."
"Common?" Raven looked up from where he had crouched alongside his nephew and slowly got to his feet.

The tall male circled the horse slowly, reaching a hand out to touch his flank and the line of his back before stopping to pat him gently on his rump. When he returned to stand in front of the animal he noticed the markings and smiled knowingly; Raven was a lot more travelled than his nephew, "a fine little horse," he agreed, "yet, more than that."
Dravite peeled the skin from the rabbit and started butchering the meat to put into the cold cooking pot, "I know," he admitted, "I think he is some kind of run-away show horse."
His uncle laughed, "Something like that," he then grinned.
"Do you think I am wrong, uncle?"

Raven said nothing, only disappeared into his tent wordlessly. Dravite stabbed his hunting knife into the log and rubbed some salt into the rabbit pelt in order to tan it before he got to his feet to take another look over the grey for something he might have missed; again he was drawn to the marks, what did they mean and where had they come from? His burly fingers went through the horse’s fringe to curl there, holding the animal, "different," he spoke in common this time.
His uncle reappeared with some rope and wrapped it around the stallion's neck, "look," he pointed to the Ravok mark.
"Hmm?" Dravite hummed, stepping back from the horse.
"He is a slave, why would they mark a horse as a slave?"
"Unless…"
"Exactly," Raven smiled.
Dravite drew his dagger and touched the cold steel to the animal's chin with the flat edge, "change," was his one, simple command.

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[Kaitanu]

Any hope that Kaitanu could pass as a horse vanished in the glint of the blade against his chin. The slave had experienced such unspoken threats too often to be startled by this treatment. Not that he wasn’t very careful about the blade, which still managed to nick his skin as he changed. At least he was growing smaller, rather than larger, but when the bright flash of his transformation faded there was a trickle of fresh blood on his chin. It dripped onto his chest as he stood before both men in human form; small and thin, with pale hair hanging in his downturned eyes. He was also completely naked.

Kaitanu displayed as much indifference to this fact as to the rope still hanging loosely around his long neck. If Raven had expected him to bolt or struggle in some way he would be sorely disappointed. Kaitanu’s manner was exactly as it had been when he was a horse- spiritless and defeated and utterly submissive. He didn’t even speak so much as a syllable in his own defense. The slave merely kept his head lowered and remained utterly still as he felt their eyes roam over his exposed skin. That level of scrutiny he was used to, but to what it would lead he did not know. The slave guessed well enough that their decent treatment of horses would not extend to him, but he was resigned to that fact.

Neither Drykas needed to know much of slavery to see that this one had been roughly used. The many scars which had marred Kaitanu’s horse form stood out livid against his pale flesh in the same cruel patterns. There was no horse hair on him now to make them look like a strange sort of dappling. Long and thin, wide and irregular and raised, some very old and others more recent; every scar bore mute testimony of a slave’s suffering. These marks were the badges of his servitude, an eloquent explanation for the defeated slump of his shoulders and the empty look in his eyes. Yet such things were too common in the world for most people to take notice.

Kaitanu ignored his scars as all others did unless the recent ones ached beyond endurance, but then he’d just put a poultice on them and forget all over again. At the moment his mind was walking down other roads. This new man…his master’s uncle…gave the kelvic a leaden feeling to his stomach. He didn’t dare look up to scrutinize this second Drykas and find out why this was, but something about him made the slave tremble ever so slightly. Maybe the uncle reminded him of a former master. That seemed to be right, but Kaitanu couldn’t quite recall. Even Master Edmund, the last man to own him, was starting to fade from memory. It never took very long. His mind had to be cleared for new information and a new way of life. It was too fractured to keep much in the long-term. Aside from a growing mental map of the campsite’s layout was this first warning- avoid the uncle. Kaitanu didn’t have to know why right this minute.

As for the younger man, the one who had found him, Kaitanu’s mind was not so clear. Neither of them seemed to speak much Common, or to prefer their own language, whatever it was. Other than his earlier strange behavior, Kaitanu had little idea what to make of him. Ironically, it was Dravite’s behavior on learning what the pale horse truly was that made the most sense to the slave. There was even a bit of relief to have it out in the open so early. He had feared to carry on the charade too long. Kaitanu only wondered in a vague sort of way what they would do with him now. Under the beating heat of the sun and his own exhaustion he really didn’t have the energy to care. In the end, one master was the same as another. The slave merely waited for his next command.

[Dravite]

With raised arm he squinted, drawing the dagger back as he took a conscious step away from the bright light; who knew what kind to of man might come of the transformation. Raven too dropped the rope and let it hang over the young man's shoulder like a lifeless snake. The two of them stood staring, the moon bleached hair was not of their ilk, nor the scars, not battle born but of chain, whip, and fist; of these they knew little, it was teeth, claw, and blade that marked Dravite's flesh. Unlike this man, he merely sported a few snake bites, that too of a wolf and Zith. The eyes also threw them, so light in colour, a bizarre mix of green and blue that were somewhat mesmerising in their own beautiful way. Perhaps only one thing made them akin, the fearlessness in standing naked in the presence of others; something the majority of the Drykas people had little problem with, as they ate, slept, and even bathed together.

Fingers painted with blood from the rabbit reached out to touch the young Kelvic with a curiosity that was unlike the man. He had come across one Kelvic in his time that wasn’t set behind bars or wearing a collar to keep them from transforming; a young snow leopard out on the Sea of Grass who had helped him take down a sizeable buck that day. Dravite took the man's jaw and turned it this way and that slowly, noticing the blood he had spilled with his dagger. He disappeared into his tent and re-emerged with a jar of honey and a long white tunic that he had worn on his wedding day. Dravite signalled for the young man to dress and when he was down, a honey smothered thumb touched the man's chin to stop the bleeding and see to it that the wound would heal right before he set the jar aside.

"What are you doing?" Raven asked him, making the Pavi sign for curious with his hands.
"Making our guest feel at home," he admitted, he saw no point in being hostile.
"At... Home; nephew do you know what this animal is worth?"
"Animal? Surely your eyes deceive you, uncle, for as clear as I see you or the trees, and my own tent, I see a man; does Syna play tricks on me?"
"No, my boy, but they are different to us; wild."
Dravite smiled and asked the boy in common, "wild?"
"Dravite, you should take him to market."
"I will have to," the horse lord nodded in agreement, "I will need to buy him some clothes, a bed roll, and perhaps even a weapon to protect himself."
Raven stared, "No! What do you mean? If you sell this creature you will have enough money to buy your Zibri herd twice again. You will be a wealthy man."
"Rich of hand and poor of heart," Dravite told his uncle.
"You are making a mistake."
"I am the Ankal of the Blackwater Pavilion, I cannot afford to make mistakes, nor can I afford to lose sleep because I sold off a wandering stranger for a few cattle."
"A few? "Forty six Zibri and two calves is nothing to scoff at."
"You really think he is worth that much?"
"Seven hundred gold, easy."
"Then I will keep him till the spring, if he does not learn our ways and contribute to this pavilion, if he cannot earn his freedom; he will come with me to Riverfall and find his fate there."
"The gods have blessed you, nephew, and you spit at their feet."
Dravite glanced at his uncle, looking him in the eye, "you're wrong, they have blessed him, for he was not swallowed by the dangers of the sea this day, but instead given a home, some water for his gut, and a shirt for his back; you see good where you wish it, uncle, I see something else, that doesn't make either or us wrong or right but as it is my decision to keep him, I ask that you respect it."
Raven agreed with a nod before returning to his work, "As you wish, my boy."

The horse lord spoke a strange Pavi word before speaking its meaning in the common tongue, "favoured by the gods," Dravite smiled, "come, clothes, food, weapon, market," he explained and led the young man out of camp towards the marketplace.

As they walked Dravite couldn't help but watch the way his guest moved; was he indeed more horse than man, or did the man in him rule? His feet looked as hardened to the earth as Dravite's though his body seemed to have tasted a far different lifestyle to that of the Drykas. "Kenash?" The Watchman asked, he wanted to know if this boy could speak the common he seemed to understand, but he did not know the common word for slave, "Kenash keep Kelvic?" It was only then it occurred to him that this young man must have a name, "Dravite Blackwater, Diamond Clan," he divulged, hoping his guest might catch on and offer up his own name in turn.

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