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[Karyk]

Spring 43-44 Karyk was already tired of sitting on this damned carriage. His ass was sore from the hard wood, his muscles yearning to be stretched. And it was only the third day of the trip. He held the reins loosely in his hands, following the scout horse up ahead. He was glad many joined up. They had plenty of guards and scouts, to help keep them safe, and find their next camp. They had to stop twice a day on this journey. Once at midday, and once in the evening, so they animals could rest, eat, and drink. Karyk was alone in the driver's seat, looking backwards at the long line of carriages, carts, horses, and other pack animals in the caravan. It was an impressive endeavor, how many people were brave enough to venture out for a better life. Karyk wasn't sure who all was riding in his carriage at the current moment. People kept hot swapping based on who they talked to, knew, befriended, or out of sheer boredom. It didn't matter to them. They were all heading to the same place, Syliras, land of the free, with farms bigger than all of Zeltiva, with knights protecting everyone from the dangers, with a castle the size of a mountain. It all sounded too good to be true, but even if only some of it was true, it would be a lot better life for pretty much everyone that was coming as a refugee. He cast his eyes forward onto Bobertha and Susannick, with their insane little hats on. He kept his deal with Lorfolt, begrudgingly. The lead horse was taking them back into the forest. A scout came by on horseback, matching Karyk's pace, "We'll be stopping for camp a bit earlier today Karyk, those clouds to the east look awful, and we want to be bunkered down for when that storm hits." Karyk nodded at the young man, who then went all the way through the line, informing every cart or group of riders. It took a bell of traveling through the woods, until they reached a break in the tree line, right at the base of rocky hillock. The hillock would guard one side of their camp, with rolling grass on the other side. The forest line was a bit close for comfort, but it would have to do. Karyk tugged at the reins, leaning them back and forth, back and forth, trying to steer the oxen true. Eventually he got the carriage to where the scouts indicated, keeping them on the edge of the camp line. Tents and camp fires would be kept within the boundaries of carts and hillock. Karyk hopped down, smacking the side of the carriage, indicating it was good to come out, though it was probably obvious to the occupants. He moved around to his oxen, unlocking the yolk and separating it. He rubbed them both on the necks, then smacked them on the hindquarters. They lowed happily, and went out to graze. They had a few shepherds and guards that would watch over all of the animals, as well as the camp at night. Plus the oxen didn't really seem concerned with leaving their carriage. It wasn't long until Karyk had both of his tents unpacked and set up. He grabbed his pack and axe roll, as he did every evening, to go find firewood. The clouds to the east were dark, but didn't quite seem to be moving toward them just yet. One of the other scouts came up to him, "Forest seems calm Karyk, not much around here. An abandoned farm house way on the other side of that field, maybe a half bell away. It's all sealed up though, looks like its been out of use for a long time. Not much use. Make sure to be back in camp before nightfall, we have about two bells til then." Karyk nodded, stretching, looking around at the hustle and bustle of everyone setting up for the evening, smiling. Nothing bad had happened yet, and he hoped they could keep it that way.

[Oleander Soleran]

Oleander

The mule Oleander was riding was a stubborn beast, or maybe it was his lack in riding skill that was giving him such a hard time. He had never sat own a horse before, much less a donkey or mule. At first, the prospect had seemed comfortable. He would not have to walk, and the animal was not as tall as a full-grown horse was, and much cheaper, as well. It seemed, however, that what they said about mules was true: They were stubborn, and you could only make them work for you with trickery and more stubbornness.
He always needed a few attempts to get onto the back of this animal, along with a push from his sister, who could not hide a giggle whenever he failed to mount it or toppled down when the animal decided to come to a sudden halt.

The vendor had sold it to them as “Eloise”, his “most gentle lady”. Well, at least she did not buck or deliberately try to throw him off, but Oleander could have sworn she laughed whenever she made one of these strange mule sounds – half a whinny, half a bray, and usually ear-splitting. Eloise also preferred not to follow the caravan from time to time, and get a snack near the roadside occasionally, stampering her hooves into the ground and not budging, like the wayward girl she was. Oleander could plead, shout and slap her hindquarters as much as he liked, she would angle back her ears and graze to her heart’s content until the caravan was almost out of side, then shoot after them at the speed of lightning. The first hew times she had done that, Oleander landed in the roadside ditch, but now that he could see it coming, he was starting to get the hang. At least he did not fall off as often as he had three days ago. In consequence, they usually were at the back of the caravan.

From time to time, when his rear hurt so much he could hardly sit anymore, he would change places with Hortense, who seemed to get along with the mule just fine. Ladies among themselves, Oleander thought. He did not need to understand everything that happened on the face of Mizahar. They shared a place in Karyk’s carriage, and now that he thought about it, he wondered why he was the one who spent the majority of time riding.

Even when most of the people on the caravan had already dismounted and started to unload their tents and equipment, it took Oleander a few chimes to find Karyk and the rest of the smaller group he and Hortense had found themselves immersed into. Most of these people were friends of Karyk’s, a strange assortment, but they were friendly and the constellation worked well enough. By the end of this journey, they would probably know each other well enough to stay in touch, which was a nice thought.

Hortense had already climbed from the carriage and dug her pan out from the mess of things they had brought. Her cooking abilities had improved over the years and she was doing good enough to turn their sparse provisions into something edible. Oleander provided some seasoning from his limited stock of dried herbs, giving the dried goods some flavour. Karyk was nowhere to be seen.

“He’s off to find wood”, Hortense informed him before he could even ask. “Now get off Eloise, and try to do it a bit more elegantly than yesterday. You kicked her, and she didn’t like it.”

As if to agree with his sister, the mule turned one ear forward towards his sister, and one backwards, sceptically awaiting Oleander’s descent. The young man placed one leg over to the other side, so that he was facing towards the side. The saddle they had bought was used and nothing spectacular, but the steps were helping him keep his balance as he grabbed the mane and turned around. Eloise snorted and shifted, then took a step forward just as Oleander was letting himself glide onto the ground. The sudden movement made him stumble backwards, away from the mule’s hooves, and he swore silently as the pain shot up his legs. His body was not used to extended times on a mule’s back, and he could never walk quite straight after a day like this. Perhaps it would get better over time, but Oleander was not sure he wanted to endure enough practise to get to that point. A little stiff, he teeter over to the carriage and grabbed a bucket.
“Have you seen water on the way here? I was too busy convincing Eloise to get a move on to check…”

His sister flashed him a broad smile. “I’m not sure, but maybe Karyk’s come across a brook. We could do with a source to refill the waterskins. Why don’t you go looking while I free Eloise of this saddle?”

[Tollivant Brennson]

Tollivant could hardly believe his luck when he heard the scout tell Karyk they'd be stopping early that evening. Not that he was particularly looking forward to a potential storm - those clouds did look ominous - but the thought of a rest and some food was like a blessing from the gods. Although he had managed to bag a ride on various carriages over the last couple of days - probably because their owners couldn't help feeling sorry for the gasping young man bent under the weight of his relatively small backpack - the walking he had done was enough to give him blisters, and even sitting on the carriage wasn't all that comfortable, what with the splintery wood that seemed to hammer against his backside every time the carriage went over a small pebble, and the constant lurching from side to side that meant he had to keep all his muscles tense just to stay on. Even then it had been a close thing a couple of times, and he was sure he would end up face down in a pile of ox dung before too long.

Still, Tollivant was never one to be disheartened for too long, and his spirits were high as they pulled up in the lee of an outcrop of rocks. After half-jumping, half-falling off the cart, he made sure to find Bob and Susan and give them a rub. He ruffled Bob's hat affectionately and stood chatting away to the oxen, who soon got bored and wandered off to feed. Tollivant's sisters had always joked that he could and would talk to anything, even a doorknob, so the oxen were more that worthy conversation partners. As they wandered off and buried their muzzles in the grass, Tollivant stretched his tired legs and surveyed the camp scene. He enjoyed the sight of the long line of horses, mules, oxen, carriages, pedestrians, and miscellaneous dogs transforming itself into a lively campsite. There were tents popping up all over the place, scurrying activity as people rushed off to find firewood and water, and contented sighs from weary travellers sinking to the soft grassy ground. Tollivant bustled around trying to be helpful, but other than tripping over a tent rope and sending its peg soaring through the air to be lost in the long grass, he accomplished little. He had attached himself to Karyk's party - how Karyk felt about the matter he hadn't yet worked out - and their area of the camp always seemed relatively well organised despite his best efforts.

He was just settling down beside the tents to write his impressions of the day's journey in his notebook, his overstuffed rucksack providing a perfectly pleasant pillow to lean against, when he overheard a scout approaching Karyk, who was just about to head off to find firewood. The scout mentioned something about an abandoned farmhouse not far from the road. Tollivant pricked up his ears. By his calculations they should be about 50 or 60 miles outside Zeltiva, and if he remembered rightly - as he should, he had pored over the maps long enough - there was a pyve somewhere off to the west around here. If this abandoned farmhouse was indeed a pyve, he would definitely want to go and have a look. He had never met a pycon before, and he was intrigued at the thought of a first meeting. This was not the sort of chance he, a budding chronicler of Mizahar, could pass up. He hurriedly jumped to his feet, grabbed his staff, and ran after Karyk's rapidly disappearing back, calling out, 'hey, Karyk, wait for me!' like an excited little boy. It did not occur to him that Karyk might find it more convenient and faster to explore the area without an unarmed, clumsy and over-excitable companion, so he kept jogging to try and catch up with Karyk's long strides. As he approached he immediately started firing out an unbroken stream of questions, practically hopping up and down with anticipation. 'Are you going to the farmhouse? What do you think we'll find? Do you think it's a pyve? Did you know pycons lived in pyves? Will there be a storm tonight? Do you think it will be bad? Will Bob and Susan be OK? Do you think...'

[Kesh Baldur]

Kesh wandered along the caravan keeping an eye out for anything suspicious, as an oddity of the group the kids would often ask to climb on him and get rides. He was more than happy to oblige them, when asked enough he would even stand up on his two feet and hold the kids up as high as he could so they could see the caravan and where they were going from a different point of view. Often early on their journey the mothers of the group would tell the kids to get down off of him and give him scornful looks. But over time they would allow the kids to be around him more as he showed that he was careful with them and the bonuses of allowing them to have some free time to talk to their friends and do their part of the chores for the caravan.

When he heard that they were camping near a forest he felt relieved and knew that Karyk, a companion of his would be as well, they both are creatures that weren't familiar with flat plains. He made it clear to all that he would be by the edge inside the woods before the others even started getting off their rides. He scoffed at the horses as they were everywhere, oh the love for these damn beasts these humans have, I'll never understand it. He made sure to stay away from them and made his way towards the woods.

When he entered the forest he took a deep breath and took in the sounds and smells of the forest. How wonderful it was. Kesh then began looking around for a tree large enough to hold him. He felt the trunks of some trees and looked up to see how thick the branches were. They felt old which meant that they were sturdy and should have no problem finding a place to set up. After a short time he found a suitable tree that has a large network of branches and had a canopy of fresh greenery covering his head and climbed it, after reaching a suitable height that allowed him to be able to see the developing encampment and some distance into the forest itself he rubbed his fur over it. After marking his place and putting his pack in the tree he climbed back down and looked for plants and vegetables to eat. After gathering some mushrooms that he recognized as edible and grass he climbed back up to his new living space and had some food. He then put what he couldn't eat back into his pack and was attempting to fill his pipe and was about to strike it when he heard someone talking near him.

He looked down and saw Karyk followed by a little man, Tollivant he recalled the name was, his appearence was a dead giveaway. It seemed that he was asking Karyk and plethora of questions, one right after the other. He caught word that it was about a farm that was near the woods.

"Karyk! Haha is this little one they call Tollivant bothering you?" He asked with a laugh as he looked down on them, he then jumped to the tree beside the one he was sitting in and slid down with ease. He immediately went down on all fours and looked at the two. "So there's an abandoned building nearby? If you would like I can check it out for you with this little one, unless you want to go too in which then I would offer my services in accompanying you both."

He the looked more directly at Tollivant, "I don't think we have officially met, the name is Kesh Baldur I would attempt to shake your hand but I feel I would crush it so I hope a wave will suffice." He introduced himself and waved with his right hand. "Now you mentioned something about this building being a pyve and containing pycons, if you don't mind me asking could you explain what you are talking about?" He asked with curiosity, scratching the top of his head thinking of what they could be.

[Salara Kel'Halavath]

The past three days had lasted dreadfully long. Salara’s position as guard kept her up and about before Syna’s first light and often passing well into Leth’s silvery shadows. After a few fits and starts she’d managed to find a distance the caravan beasts found acceptable for her feline self. In fact, she was beginning to get an inkling of how she might help drive the carts and carriages by adjusting her distance from them. When she drew too close, she noticed that tails would clamp to hindquarters and steps pick up only to see them relax when she faded farther back. She spent part of an entertaining afternoon experimenting by approaching from one direction or the other to see if their direction would shy from true. It didn’t seem to matter what the unknowing disgruntled drivers would command the results were the same – speed and direction would subtly shift in accord. This would have been extremely helpful when they’d started out as each wagon and rider fought the proverbial pecking order to find their place in the newly established wagon train. She had to hand it to Karyk though; although sometimes it looked like he was herding cats eventually everyone settled in. The caravan may have traveled about 55 miles by now but she surely covered at least half that more in scouting the perimeter of the wagons, families and merchants. She’d been on the move so much she hadn’t even had time to use her new tent. Trying to set it up the first night she’d lost patience with the tangle of sheet canvas, ropes, and poles – contrary complicated contraption – and instead slept in middling comfort curled under the roots of a fallen tree out past the edge of camp. Perhaps she should have asked for help, but Karyk and Oleander were pre-occupied with their families. The last thing she wanted was to be needy or dependent when there were others that needed their care and attention more. She’d seen Kesh’s dark form drifting around the edges of the camp when he wasn’t deeper in the woods. His large hands and thick fingers were likely not adept as the tent poles would be twigs in his grasp. And well there was Tollivant, she chuckled at the thought of the odd little man. He would have been in the same predicament as her in setting up a tent - the blind leading the blind so to speak. Fortunately most of the traveling livestock were eventually able to settle down in her continued presence, at least while in human form, so she had been able to catch naps when she could in the back of Karyk’s carriage. Day or night, by the time she’d crawled up into its creaky frame she would be out cold in a matter of chimes. Hurrah, at long last the assignment roster had finally offered her a well-deserved day off. As soon as the camp location had been found, Salara picked up her fishing tackle and headed to a quaint little brook nearby that she’d come across earlier in the day. Camp rations were well and good but wouldn’t last long without supplemental efforts of those who could forage and provide for themselves. So far she hadn’t been successful. The game was still too scarce this close to Zeltiva and she really hadn’t had time to properly stalk or ambush anything anyway. But it was unlikely that fishermen would have come this far out, so she’d lifted rocks to collect a handful of wriggling white grubs. Finding a small river stone with a hole eroded through she threaded it onto her line about a foot up from the hook for weight. Sliding the hook through the pale flesh was simple and with a bit of dry wood twisted into the line above the stone sinker for a bobber she gave her rig a swing and toss into the rippling waters where darker hues promised a deeper hole. Watching the bait and stone roll in the current until reaching the end of their tether she leans back into the thick grasses with half-slit eyes to wait. The only thing missing, a little bit of company.

[Oleander Soleran]

Oleander

Oleander had to turn a number of corners and passed various other members of the caravan, all of which were still in some stage of settling down. One family was arguing with their children about getting an ox for a pet once they had bought a home in Syliras. The parents argued against it, naturally, but as the conversation progressed, the mother seemed to melt; slowly, but steadily.

Oleander had to remind himself not to listen in on other people’s conversations too much. Instead, he asked the next couple he came across for a good water spot. They already had their stew bubbling and pointed him in the direction of a petite creek that ran just fast enough to be clean. Knowing where he needed to go, he arrived quickly, and took a small walk along the shore until the buzz of camp faded into birdsong and the rustle of leaves. A nightingale was relieving the local cuckoo, both were singing their dusk duet, and a woodpecker tapped the beat. The young herbalist paused for a moment to admire the sound, closing his eyes as he breathed in the calmness of the forest and filtered his thoughts into a calm stream, trickling slowly as the creek that he had followed.

When he opened his eyes, he spotted Salara’s blonde hair between the trees. She sat with her back towards him, a fishing rod in hand, enwrapping in the comfort of her own thoughts. He was torn between calling out in time not to startle her and approaching quietly, so he would not alarm her potential catch. He settled for approaching from the side, staying close to the brook and waving in an attempt to catch her attention.

This time, he did not have Karyk’s carving axe or guidance to make his own fishing rod, and he regretted not having brought the one he had made before in the first place. Taking a few steps back from Salara’s fishing spot, he silently filled his bucket with water, gestured for the woman to wait for a moment and hurried back into the camp as quickly as the water, sloshing in circles inside the bucket as he walked, would allow.

He left the bucket for Hortense, who had finished tending to Eloise and was now rummaging through the provisions to find something she could turn into a meal. “Salara is out fishing,” he informed her, “and I’ll see if I can get us a fish, too.” He did not wait for Hortense’s eyebrow to shoot up before snatching the wooden tool from his pile of belongings: a simple, handmade tool. He had only used it once, and it was truly no master’s handiwork, but it did its job.

Fishing rod in his hands, he hurried back towards the stream, nearly tripping over a number of tent pegs when he was not paying attention. When he reached the edge of the forest, he was breathing a little faster, but not quite sweating. He kneeled at the edge of the brook for a moment and splashed some water in his face before he continued, using his shirt’s arm to dry the water off. An unruly strand of hair was plastered over his forehead, but he did not care enough to do something about it. From the wet ground close to the water source, he dug a handful of earthworms to use as bait.

He returned to Salara, more slowly now, and settled down next to her. “I hope you don’t mind the company – oh, and please don’t laugh at me. I’ve not fished very often.” Only once, to be precise, but he did not have to be that honest.

Half expecting to fail miserably, Oleander cast out his line, and to his own surprise, it did not land far off. It was not quite in the deep waters at which Salara had aimed hers, but at least it was not extremely close to the shore, or worse yet, in Salara’s hair. He let out a sigh of relief.

[Karyk]

Just as Karyk was about to cross the threshold into the forest, he heard that voice that grated on his soul just a bit. Tollivant. The man had his uses, with his maps, and a good sense of direction, but it was hard for Karyk to truly embrace a book hugger. The shipwright turned, and saw the awkward man, weird looking glasses and all, rushing to him like an excited little boy. He might be older than Oleander, but the herbalist was definitely more of a man, in Karyk's eyes. Then came the barrage of rapid questions, none of which were given with time for a response. Karyk's rarely emerging temper, the one that his sister and mother had in spades, quickly came out. "Hey!" Hands held up for emphasis, "Slow the petch down." He then muttered to himself, "For Laviku's sake, shut up for a tick!" His eyes fiery, fuming, as the silence took hold. Each moment of silence that passed, Karyk's anger lessened, until he was able to speak without poison. "First, I'm goin' to gather wood so we can all eat and stay warm tonight. That's in the forest. That farmhouse is in the opposite direction. I have no idea what you'll find, but you should probably find someone else. I have no idea what a pyve or a pycon is. I don't know about the storm either. What I know is that you need to slow down or you're going to get yourself hurt out here. Exploring for the sake of fun is dangerous. Especially for someone like you. You've not seen what can happen out here. Hell, I've only had a taste, and it nearly killed me. Now go back to camp and leave me be." Karyk was still fuming as Kesh arrived, thankful for the Jamoura's arrival. Even more so when he offered to go with Tollivant. He trusted Kesh, knew the book hugger would be safe with him. If not for him, Karyk would've been eaten by wolves, there was no doubt of that. He moved close to the large, hairy man, "Take good care of him please. I don't want to lose anyone on this trip if I can help it." The frustration within Karyk was overwhelming, and he needed to take it out on some logs. To him, Kesh seemed more appropriate of a partner. He had a more innate sense of curiosity and conversation that Karyk simply lacked. Karyk slapped the Jamoura on his muscle bound back, still amazed that it was like striking a furry brick wall, and slipped past him and into the foliage. It didn't take long for him to find a good fallen tree, one that was felled long enough to dry up a bit, but not so long as to be rotted. He set his pack down, unrolled his axe bundle, and grabbed his trusty hatchet. He loved the familiar feel of the worn handle in his grip, the dull shine of his favorite tool. He looked it over, as he did with all of his tools, ensuring that it was still in good condition prior to any use. Satisfied, he moved to the upturned roots of the tree, starting a couple of arm lengths from it. He set his axe against the wood, and set a small notch in it. He held it in his right hand, gripped firmly, thumb along the top of the handle, pointing at the head. He swung it out wide and upward behind him, a ritual for his first swing, where his other hand clasped it above the first. Then with a grunt, he swung it down hard toward the notch, the axe biting deep, albeit a few finger widths to the left. He tugged it free, raised it up, and repeated the swing, filling the air with the sent of wood and the sound of thuds. Karyk had first cut a large circular piece from the log, and set his axe against the tree. He gripped it with his hands and strained as he rolled it free, then pushed it over, so the flat side was facing upward. This was would be his splitting post for now. He moved back to the tree, hacking away until he had three large logs from the trunk, and several smaller ones from the branches. Pushing and huffing, he rolled the first log onto the splitting post. He quickly quartered it, roughly, his arms and shoulders beginning to tire and get sore. His left arm and chest still ached a bit from the wounds from the wolves earlier in the season but were nothing compared to the pain in his left leg. The doctor had set and splinted his two broken toes, which especially hurt during times of exertion like this. The bite wound was also burning under the strain, taking longer to heal. He knew he'd be limping a bit on the return trip. Once the wood was all cut, he moved to his pack for the rope to bundle it all up with, a bell and a half having passed, and night beginning to fall. But his pack looked... different. As if someone had messed with it. Different resting folds, the flap a bit more open than he'd left it. He opened it and began looking through it, knowing just where he had everything. At first, everything seemed present, until he opened his shipwright kit. His knife from his cooking kit was missing. It wasn't anything special, just a small thing, but he knew it was supposed to be there. It was very... odd. He grabbed the rope and bundled up the hefty pile of firewood. He wrapped up his axes, set his pack back to order, and hung them on his back. He bent at the knees, crouching down to the wood bundle, and heaved as he picked it up, ignoring the pain in his leg as he did. Heavy bundle against his chest, he began making his back to camp, hoping that maybe he'd just set his knife down in the other driver's seat when they'd stopped earlier at midday for rest and food. Crossing back into camp, sweating as he carried the heavy bundle, he arrived at his carriage and his group's tent and set the wood down. A quick search to ease his mind did not recover his knife. Annoyed by this, he set about to building a fire, piling up the wood, small to large, and after a few more strikes of flint to steel than he'd like, got the blaze going. As people began to gather round, Karyk began hearing talk. Others, those who'd left camp as well as those who'd stayed behind, found small trinkets missing. It was never anything large, nothing more than hand's size. It was perplexing.

[Salara Kel'Halavath]

Watching the driftwood bob about naturally on her line, she relaxes to the sounds of water, the birds, insects and wild lands creatures. Oddly this area seemed full of rodents, always a good sign in her mind, that scurried in the tall grasses along the creek bank. She’d been listening to one such rustling nearby off and on for a quarter bell or so – probably a squirrel by the sound of it. The natural melodies soon include larger footsteps approaching so she anticipated someone’s arrival when Oleander finally walked into her peripheral waving greeting and motioning his imminent return. He would likely see her pleasure at having someone to talk to as she waves understanding. Just as she takes her eyes from it to respond, the driftwood bobber – bobs - dipping under the water like the prow of a sinking ship. Growling, “Petch,” she jumps for her pole grabbing it up and jerking so hard to set the hook that she actually pulls the bobber, sinker, and now empty line whizzing right past her head. “Lost my hook,” she grumbles irritated, as there was nothing more unproductive than re-rigging. Carrying her pole to her neatly organized tackle kit lifts her mood. It always made her proud looking through her gear - brightly painted corks, reds larger than the yellows, but both equally easy to see on top of the water. There were a few drill-crafted stone sinkers of different weight, a wood-carved lure somewhat resembling a frog, and a skein of cord, all costing more than they should have in Zeltiva’s repression. She told herself she was saving them for when there were no natural substitutes, but actually she just liked having them and was loath to loose any. The multi-hued little fluffs of feathers to make flies didn’t cost her a thing as she’d collected them from tasty morsels in the field. She’d even ‘found’ a little clapper-bell to add to her kit that she could tie upon her pole for nighttime alarm. But most prized of all, because of the difficulty to replace in the field, a set of bone hooks. It really didn’t take long before she was watching the driftwood bobber again with fresh bait ready to tease another attempt. Just as she settles back down Oleander returns with his gear. “You are most welcome, Oleander. I was hoping some company would come by. It’s been days since I’ve had a normal conversation with anyone but myself.” She eyes his pole from the corner of her eye, noticing it appeared handmade, which was an accomplishment in her mind, as she didn’t have the patience to make her own. Successfully dodging his baited hook as he whips his pole back without looking to cast she mimics clapping applause, “Good distance!” Hoping to make him more comfortable with wide eyed teasing, “I would never laugh at you for making an effort to learn to fish; but it’s ok if I laugh with you if it comes to that right?” Leaning forward she nudges her pole to give the bait a little action, “Are you and Hortense enjoying the trip well enough? I’ve got today and this night off and was thinking about stopping by to visit her this evening.” As he speaks, Salara sees her little bit of driftwood begin meandering slowly upstream. Her body freezes a tick before leaping forward into sudden action grabbing the pole to give a deliberate sharp jerk. “Fish on!” Standing straight with elbows bent holding the pole to give and take tension she pulls the fish closer to the bank as it moves up then down stream. Remembering she has a partner, “Give a girl a hand? Pull it out when I get it to the bank?”

[Tollivant Brennson]

At last managing to catch up with Karyk, Tollivant must have asked too many questions all at once, because the man turned around in obvious anger and told him to slow down and shut up. Tollivant was a bit hurt - he'd only been trying to be friendly. Not for the first time, he had the uncomfortable feeling that Karyk found him somehow annoying, saw him perhaps less as a useful member of the group than as a weakling who had to be protected. For his part, he knew that many of the scholars at the university looked down openly on those who had to work for a living - and especially those who had to work with their hands, the thought of which sent a shudder down the spine of some of the more eminent professors. But Tollivant harboured none of their ill will towards labourers. He understood that the world needs lots of different types of people to keep everything working, and from his point of view that was precisely what made it so interesting. It was rare that he couldn't find anything to respect about a person. And so Karyk's curt response and annoyance inevitably made him feel a bit crestfallen, and also confused. As a naturally sociable person, he couldn't understand why someone would not want to talk. For Tollivant, everything was always better with company. Except when he was making maps, of course, then he needed to concentrate. He loved the calm focus that took over his mind when he was measuring angles and distances and plotting out lines on the parchment. Somehow when he was working he didn't feel clumsy anymore; it was when he felt most like himself. Someone else would simply have been a distraction. Then realisation dawned. For Karyk, strange as it seemed to Tollivant, chopping wood was work. He must get the same sense of focussed satisfaction that Tollivant did from grappling with the technicalities of geometry. He couldn't quite see what could be so interesting about heaving an axe and chopping a bit of wood, surely it didn't take much skill, but if Karyk enjoyed it then who was Tollivant to question it? No wonder Karyk had seemed annoyed - just as he himself would be if someone was offering to accompany him while he worked. 'Sorry if I got in your way, Karyk,' he said. 'I won't bother you anymore.'

Luckily at that moment a figure emerged from the trees and walked over to them, dissipating the awkwardness between the two men. Tollivant stared. This must be the hairy friend Karyk and Salara had been talking about. Tollivant knew immediately that he must be a Jamoura, and inwardly jumped for joy. What a chance to find out about the Jamoura people! Books were all well and good, but Tollivant couldn't help noticing that he was learning just as much about the world on this journey as he ever had in the library. The thought gave him pause, but he did not dwell on it for now. The Jamoura was introducing himself as Kesh, and offering to accompany him to explore the farmhouse. He wanted to know more about pycons. Tollivant allowed himself to hope he might have found a kindred spirit - someone with curiosity about the world. The other members of their travelling party were all talented in their own ways, but the scholar within him was excited at the thought of having a conversation about something other than the practicalities of the journey. 'Thank you Kesh,' he said, 'I'd be happy to tell you about the pycon as we walk to the farmhouse. In return I would be very grateful if you could tell me a bit about your home and your people. If you don't mind, of course,' he added hastily, aware that people didn't always like talking about their past. 'It's just that I've never met a Jamoura before and I love hearing stories about faraway places.'

As Karyk headed off into the woods with his axe, Tollivant set off towards the farmhouse, chattering away about pycons as he went. 'Well, you see a pycon is a type of living statue created a long time ago through alchemical processes that are beyond my understanding, I'm afraid. All I know is that although they are made of clay, they are somehow living. Their minds are as sharp and their hearts are as soft of those of any other people. They are very small, and so they tend to live together in large communities separate from the rest of the world, where they could easily be hurt. A pyve is the name of just such a community. Pyves are often founded in abandoned buildings, as the pycon are not strong enough to build large structures themselves, or at least not without a huge amount of effort. The reason I'm so excited is because I have read that there is a pyve in an old farmhouse in precisely this area, and I have never had the chance to meet a pycon before. What a day that would be, to meet a Jamoura and a pycon on the same day!'

Tollivant was getting carried away on his own enthusiasm, waving his staff around like a flag. 'Sorry,' he said when one particularly wild gesture almost bopped Kesh on the nose. 'Anyway, I don't think we will be in much danger if it is a pyve, despite Karyk's concern. Of course pycon can fight, and I've heard that they can be surprisingly effective considering their size, but as long as we make sure they don't perceive us as a threat we'll be fine,' he said airily. They had been walking for about 15 chimes now, and could see a building that looked like it might be the farmhouse in the distance, nestled at the other end of a long valley. 'We've still got some way to go, would you like to tell me a bit about your people to pass the time as we walk? he asked, hoping the big fellow was in the mood for talking.

[Oleander Soleran]

Oleander

Settling down next to Salara was comfortable. He had first met her when the caravan had started, back in Zeltiva, and she seemed friendly enough before Hortense dragged him away. Then he had seen her on the carriage, once or twice, but each time they had sat in it together, she had seemed too tired to carry a conversation, and Oleander was too shy to initiate one. Occasionally, he saw her trailing behind the caravan, but not as far back as him on his petching donkey.

In the forest, he felt a little less insecure, a little more at peace with himself, and he found himself enjoying the prospect of not fishing alone. He had not had a chance to practise the craft since Karyk had “initiated” him. Only three days had passed between their encounter in the Zastoska and the arrival of Estrella’s letter, and he had been busy with gardening for a merchant and his wife in the meantime, both very busy and nescient to realize that all they needed to do was to cut back their roses and water them from time to time.

He smiled when Salara made a show of congratulating him on whatever little fishing skill he was displaying. “Of course, I would not mind that. Hortense is enjoying this less than she lets on, but she wanted to make this journey and can’t wait to see what she’ll find when we arrive. I’m sure she’d enjoy talking to another woman for a change.” Hortense dreamt of finding their mother. Oleander had grown accustomed to living without a mother, and he was not sure he would embrace this change in his life. “I enjoy the journey, but not the destination.” More often than not, the twins were opposites. “Have you been to Syliras before? We could show you around, I think. We’re originally from Mithryn, but we’ve both been to the fortress a couple of times.” Hortense had spent more time in Syliras than he had, but he still found his way to the Bazaar and back.

When Salara announced the fish tearing at her line, Oleander dropped his own equipment into the grass and jumped to her aid. The woman pulled, visibly putting strength in her stance and fighting for the upper hand. Slowly, but steadily, the line emerged from the water, inch by inch. There was thrashing in the water as the fish wriggled and through its body left and right, struggling for its life. It was a good catch, large enough to fill a belly. He threw himself at the slimy animal as soon as it had fully left the water, but his hands slipped off its streamlined body, and the line snapped. The fish inched a bit closer to the saving waterline, and Oleander desperately grasped at it and threw it back, further away from the stream. If he couldn’t pick it up properly, he had to make sure they did not lose it to the water. The fish’s tail fin thrashed a few more times before it weakened, the lack of water slowly draining its life energy.

It was a little dusty when Oleander finally managed to pick it up, but a fish was a fish. He carried it back to Salara, a little embarrassed for his inability to make it a clean catch, but before he could give it back to her, the fish’s muscles spasmed posthumously, and he dropped it to her feet. He opened his mouth to apologize, but stopped and put his finger to his lips, listening closely. From the direction of the caravan's camp, he cold hear voices, clearly excited. "Something is wrong. We need to go back."