Solo Songs of the Return pt I

[Wymez]

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9 Fall 517 AV

The sky was little more than streaks of red, pink and purple as the group crested a low ridge that afforded one particular rider a high enough vantage point to see the silhouettes of the tents of Endrykas below. The sight of those small, near insignificant specks that dotted the landscape before him made his breath catch and he found himself unintentionally tugging on the mane of the poor mixbreed pony he had been stuck riding. It had been a strange thing to see the very thing he had wanted only a short ride away, breaking up the monotony of the horizon that he had been chasing for seasons.

So close.

His heart hammered in his chest as the pony shied under him, tossing its head and giving enough of a shriek in protest to snap his attention away from what he had long feared to be nothing more than a dream and plant him firmly back into reality. The group of Watchmen serving as his escort had paused, their mighty striders flicking their tails in protest, and Wymez floundered, hand leaving the pony's mane to offer apologies and to once more convey his gratitude.

"Didn't expect to see it again?" One offered, obviously versed enough in the energy Wymez was giving off and the tension that held tight to his lean, starved frame.

Wymez only shook his head weakly.

A couple of the Watchmen exchanged some knowing looks and yips and hoots of accomplishment yet Wymez couldn't shake the strange feeling that sat deep in the pit of his stomach.

While his chest felt the tightness of all the emotions that came with seeing home again, the dread that sat like a stone in his stomach grew heavier and heavier. The Watchman that had spoke nudged his horse closer and reached out, giving Wymez' shoulder a light yet reassuring squeeze.

One of the younger Watchmen heeled his horse forward and then sent it into a single spin, hollering out to one of the others once he rode his horse out of it, "I thought we agreed to get him home before dark. C'mon!" His horse was equally eager to be moving, hooves dancing along the edge of the ridge, ready to dig in and carry its rider onward.

The more seasoned Watchman at Wymez' side regarded his younger compatriot yet did not move until Wymez offered him a slow, hesitant nod. Only then did the hand leave and the men advance, riding down the slope that would lead them towards the tent city.

Wymez waited, watching the effortless movements of rider and strider before looking out to the tent-peppered horizon with a sigh. He had come too far to turn back - the only way from here was forward.

And forward he went whether he wished to or not, his pony habitually falling in to line behind the other horses, head bowed and hooves plodding dutifully along. Wymez offered the pony no resistance this time, allowing it free reign as he swayed gently with its even, steady movements, attention shifting fully to the sight ahead.

Beyond the silhouettes of the riders, the sky was growing darker, the colours shifting to cooler shades of indigo and violet, which caused the many fires of the tent city to glow that much more vibrantly. The flickering lights beckoned, calling him.

Home, he thought as he soaked all this up. I'm finally home.

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[Wymez]

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The snaking line made by the horses before him was short-lived, the Watchmen wisely slowing their eager mounts to allow the pony to catch up. Wymez found himself feeling a tad disconcerted as a few members dropped back to flank him and, although he knew it was likely done as a protective manoeuvre, he couldn't help but feel like some sort of delicate thing that they had been burdened with, like a lost lamb that they were slowly herding back to the flock.

It was a silly thing to feel - these sudden insecurities - but it was likely due to the sudden, sharp emotions that the sight of the tent city stirred in him. He knew these men were doing their job, that they had ridden to where the web reaches Riverfall, come when he had sent out the message for assistance, and that they were doing the very thing he had requested of them. They were ensuring he returned to his people in one piece. They were keeping him safe. He knew he shouldn't feel anything else other than immense gratitude and yet he couldn't help feeling... helpless.

Shame.

It was shame that caused his ears to burn hotly as they grew ever-closer to the tent city. Shame that caused the tightness of his chest and his eyes to skitter away from the Watchmen's heavy gazes. He was ashamed of what had lead him to be in this position and he realised, now, that the anxiety and dread that he was feeling was all due to this shame. He feared facing the people he left behind, he feared being seen for what he was. For being weak. For still somehow being alive when greater, stronger, better people were not.

"It was Ruby Clan, no?"

It was the seasoned Watchmen again, his gentle words tugging Wymez from his hellish reverie.

Wymez answered once more with nothing more than a feeble nod yet added a small waver of a hand, correct.

Part of him wanted to praise the man for his good memory. Despite over a month together, Wymez knew he'd said little more than a couple of handfuls of sentences to these men and yet they had been patient and respectful of his obvious need for silence and privacy. He wished he could give this man more, especially, but he couldn't bring himself to offer anything beyond what little he had, shutting off and turning in once more. That Watchman, thankfully, did not press - nor did he seem outwardly bothered by Wymez' lack of words. The leathersmith was grateful for that.

He listened as the man called out to one of the others riding ahead and the group shifted as if one, veering and steering the pony at its centre in an easterly direction. Wymez found himself marvelling at the way these men worked together and their command of their mounts. It was one thing to hear of the Watch and the skills these men possessed but it was another thing, entirely, to see it with one's own eyes.

Wymez had to do little, himself, to keep the pony moving forwards, the men in his company and the pony, itself, doing much of the work as the group rode onward, chewing up the grassland that separated them and the tent city. Wymez watched as it grew ever closer, the smaller, outer pavillions slowly growing clearer despite the approaching night, the moonlight somehow enriching the sight, making everything pop in Leth's glow.

They edged around the fringes of the Topaz Clan as the sounds of the tent city grew in volume and presence: dogs, people, Zibri, goats, sheep, chickens, ducks and horses all adding their voice as the group of riders grew close. This seemed to increase as they skirted the Emerald clan, especially as they passed the Pride, the braying of animals only serving to add to Wymez's feeling of home. It was soothing in a way, that familiar din of beasts and bustle, and Wymez felt some of the tensions slowly ebb from him tired frame.

Opal Clan would be next. Wymez sensed the men's urgency now, the pace at which they moved quickening, the eagerness to get their charge home evident. And, soon, the familiar sight of deep reds and rusts filled Wymez' view.

Home.

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