“Get ready aaaand…Go!”
Azmere took off at a dead sprint. He must’ve looked painfully awkward between the limp in his left leg and the whole aspect of being blindfolded but it was all in the spirit of competition so he pushed the thoughts of whether or not his gait was appealing aside and ran towards the sound of the cheering masses. Several patrols of watchmen had all returned around the same time and a friendly obstacle course race was prepared. Azmere was selected from his group and the ankal, older than almost all of his peers, couldn’t refuse.
The archer knew he was not in first but a startled cry cut short behind him let the Drykas know that he wasn’t in last place either. He strained his will to fight the pain shooting from his left thigh and making the entire leg feel numb to maintain his quick hobble. After a few ticks –though it felt like bells, Azmere was caught by firm hands and stood upright. He was handed something that felt oblong and smooth. The watchman used both hands to cup the object to gauge what he had received but it didn’t take long.
It was a chicken egg!
“What do I do with it?” The ankal shouted. He felt the right side of his face rise in a grin as his chest heaved up and down from the short burst of running.
“You have to hold it while doing ten push-ups!” A younger voice spoke loudly against Azmere’s left side. Sometimes people took it to believe that the man was hard of hearing on the scarred side even though his ear was barely touched by the accident.
Azmere tilted his head. “How am I- nevermind.” Without removing his blindfold, Azmere sank to his knees with the egg still cradled in his hands. After several ticks of running through scenarios in his mind, he opened his mouth and delicately slipped the egg inside. His jaw protested the task but the scarred man was just getting started. He leaned forward and allowed his palms to land on the soil slightly further out from his shoulders which created a wide base. Next, he extended his legs out behind him one at a time while focusing on breathing through his nose. Saliva dripped around the shell of the egg but it did not break. Azmere flexed his abdomen and lifted his hips to form a straight line with his shoulders that was parallel to the ground. With the sound of cheers and air being sucked up through his nostrils to guide him, the watchman slowly lowered his body down to the ground.
Azmere touched his chest to Semele’s skin then drove his arms down instantly bringing his body back up. He focused on keeping his jaw pried open so as not to crush the fragile egg and repeated the process of the push-up. After the third one, his jaw was beginning to ache but the archer refused to yield. He had plenty of strength left in his arms and ripped off several more push-ups until he had reached eight in total. He had to pause with his arms locked out straight in order to catch his breath. Snot hung from the tip of his nose and he felt his jaw pulsating in a most uncomfortable way at the places where it hinged from his skull.
Slowly, allowing the muscles in arms to maintain the full burn of steady exertion, Azmere lowered his planked form down to the ground then pushed it back up two more times. All ten reps had been completed and Azmere pulled his knees up under his waist then sank back onto his haunches. Very carefully, he spit out the egg into his hand then set about massaging his jaw.
The noise around him once again took over and he could hear the cheers and grumbles. There was something about a final test so Azmere slowly got to his feet. The blindfold was taken off and he found himself standing next to two other men. The archer recognized them both but their names escaped him. All three men gingerly held a chicken egg though there five others who were wiping off their hands or taking off a shirt. The crowd parted to reveal a young girl, perhaps ten, holding an egg. She had her brown hair in one long braid over her shoulder and she was smiling from ear to ear. Azmere furrowed his right brow, the left one had been replaced by scar tissue.
The girl turned away from the contestants and did a cartwheel using only one hand while keeping the egg close to her chest. When she nailed the landing, the little lass turned and bowed to which everyone cheered. The crowd slowly rotated its focus back on the men and made motions that they had just been shown the final task.
One young man with black hair and marks from the Amethyst clan said ‘petch it’ and crushed the egg on his chest then went to change. The next one looked to Azmere and waved him on with an outstretched hand.
“Age before beauty.” The cocky Emerald clansman declared. This brought a whole host of cheers and ‘oooos’ from the assembled men and women who had become very eager to see another egg break.
Azmere was not a graceful man and though he wasn’t necessarily clumsy, he had very little acrobatic skills. Azmere had watch the girl closely and found that the back leg in the key so he positioned himself with his legs in an open scissor stance then transferred the egg into his left hand. He held it near his body but not against it as the girl had done. With a deep inhale and long exhale, the ankal made several quick strides forward then pitched his upper half towards the ground. His palm planted against the earth but when he kicked his legs up into the air, he did not make the gently arc with his body like he imagined. Instead, his weight tipped him over and he fell on his back with a thud.
The impact caused him to squeeze his fist and crush the egg which leaked on it shirt. Azmere quickly lifted his fist to his mouth and sucked in the rest of the raw yoke. He climbed to his feet and saw the cocky watchman triumphantly holding the lone remaining chicken egg. The archer walked up and extended his hand for a friendly embrace of congratulations. The stranger hesitated for a tick them returned the gesture. Azmere flashed into action. The ruse played out perfectly which gave the scarred man an opening to slap down on the inside of the elbow belonging to the arm that supported the egg. At the same time, Azmere’s other hand pushed up on the bottom of the man’s hand.
Splat!
The egg broke against the young watchman’s cheek which infuriated him. Azmere felt good today and hopped back into a stance for the bout to begin but the nearby tent flap opened and Helena walked out. The revelry was over because everyone knew what was coming next. She looked around with her dark eyes and freckled face then pointed at Azmere. “Stormblood. Sandrunner. Shadowsmile. Head to the Opal clan and sort out a dispute. Webbers say it’s near the Healing Hooof.” The woman gazed at the messy group of men and the red faces of the spectators and shook her head. In many ways, she will always be Myrian but her heart is in the Sea of Grass. Helena retreated back into her tent and the crowd began to disperse.
Azmere wiped himself off with some strands of grass then walked over to where Skylla stood. He flexed his arms and pulled his body up onto the yvas with the ease of a seasoned rider. The young mare wanted to run but her Drykas had other plans. He leaned down and whispered in her ear about how they belonged together and needed to find the place where they could both be comfortable. He stroked out her mane a bit allowing his fingers to slice through the silky strands then lifted his blue and gold stare to the girl with dark hair as she approached on her pure brown stallion. Aiyena is young but talented and so Azmere gave her a nod of respect.
“Let’s get going!” Brutus Sandrunner called from several lengths away. He didn’t even wait for a response but rode off at a quick gallop. Azmere shook his head. He had worked with that angry young man before as well and vastly preferred Aiyena. With a gentle nudge of his boots, the archer released the coiled energy of his mount. Skylla leapt forth but Azmere squeezed his thighs tight to let the mare know not to go too fast. They were in Endrykas and people were everywhere so caution was more important than speed.
Aiyena and Azmere trotted with purpose but they did not race through the spokes of the Tent City. There was simply too much movement to predict and the older Ra’athi had learned to exercise patience in dealing with his own people. After they crossed through the heart of town, they passed an upset wagon and spilled goods. Lo and behold, Brutus was trying to talk his way out of running through the merchant’s wares. Azmere turned to Aiyena who grinned slyly and they both pressed onward.
The River Flower and Healing Hoof were some of the biggest structures in Endrykas so finding them was easy. Shortly after weaving around what appeared to be a shift change, the ankal noticed several groups of men and horses posturing near a set of rickety pavilions. Azmere coaxed Skylla closer with a gentle nudge from his boots and a distinct click of his teeth. This sound was nothing like the one he made for Grey for that one was made by using the back of his front teeth. The one Azmere developed for Skylla used the top of his incisors. The young strider responded well and cantered up to the cluster of folk.
Azmere realized in a few ticks what was happening and it sickened him. He nodded to Aiyena and tilted his head to indicate a direction. The young girl understood and steered her stallion around everyone in a wide arc until she was across from Azmere. This took about half a chime but once she was in place, the archer cleared his throat then shouted over the ruckus. “ENOUGH!” His tone was crisp and even. The baritone stared down the men who were laying hands on distraught women. Azmere didn’t recognize anyone but he was too hot to worry about that right now. He found the elder woman with his gaze and leaned down to address her as the crowd went quiet for a brief moment.
“Matrin, what is the trouble here?” Azmere allowed his fingers to form the signs for disturbance and nuisance then pointed at some of the men. He leaned back in his yvas and eyed the gathered Drykas. His mind rushed to a million different scenarios of how his approach would fail or what might happen if some of these fools wanted to start a fight. Despite his misgivings, the surface of Lake Azmere was as sheer as glass. His mother would say that he’s a duck on a pond with legs that are constantly churning beneath the water but everything that could be seen would always be still.
