Grass is Always Greener (Solo)

[Eshatoh]

8th of Spring, 511

How could a place just a few hundred miles from where he had spent his entire life be so different? In Eyktol there had been nothing but sand; here waves of grass rolled across the horizons. In Eyktol the sun mercilessly beat down on one’s head with its never-ending glare; it had rained here intermittently since he had gotten to the grasslands proper. In the desert food was scarce and firewood nonexistent, but last night Eshatoh had set his traps and within an hour had meat roasting over the fire.

Eywaat had told him that life was hard everywhere. He had even gone so far as to claim that living with the Chaktawe in deathtrap called a desert was a better life than most people had. The evidence suggested very strongly that he was wrong.

He had never enjoyed life this much. The vapor-laden air was invigorating, making each breeze pleasant rather than a trial. The solitude of the grasslands echoed and even exceeded the innate solitude of the desert.

The sound of hooves pounding the path behind him faintly reached Eshatoh’s ears. Eshatoh hid. It was the natural reaction. He had experienced horses before: They were a costly pastime for the richest of Eypharians. The first time he had seen one, it had seemed a thing of Rhysol’s. He had never seen a living creature so large other than the Benshira’s camels, and those camels couldn’t run the way this horse could.

A small amount of fear for the creature had clung to him ever since that first encounter. Besides, Eshatoh had no reason to assume that the rider would be friendly towards him. He had hid in a shallow imprint in the ground about five feet away from the trampled dirt of the path he had been following. Tufts of grass concealed him from any passerby very well, but they also concealed any passerby from his view.

He stilled his breathing, waiting. The biggest danger was that they he had been seen before he had an opportunity to hide, but that didn’t seem very likely. The horse and rider had been barely visible to him, and he was smaller—plus the reddish tone of his skin blended with the dirt here quite well.

Minutes later, the hoof beats passed him by and slowly faded into the distance. Waiting an extra couple of minutes for safety, Eshatoh slowly rose from his hiding place. A few hundred feet behind him on the path was a small caravan.

You wouldn’t think thousands of square miles of emptiness would be this crowded.

[Eshatoh]

It appeared to be a Benshira caravan. There were at least a score and ten camels and eight or nine wagons. Each wagon was pulled by a pair of camels and covered with bright fabric. The remaining camels either carried a man wielding spear and slingshot or were loaded with covered supplies.

One of the camel-mounted men approached Eshatoh as the rest of the pulled to a halt. The rest of the camel-mounted bunched in front of the caravan, shooting suspicious glances his way.

The man approaching looked suspicious, too, until he got close. Then his face broke into a wide-open smile. “Hello, brother from the desert,” he said, gesturing an expansive welcome. “We don’t usually see your people in our travels.”

It was a middle-aged man with speckles of gray in his curly dark brown hair. He had a face filled with the wrinkles that come from a lifetime of joy and warm hazel eyes that shouted his pleasure to all whom his glance fell upon. It was a face that even managed to wring a reciprocal smile from Eshatoh.

The man swung down from the camel’s back, patting the creature’s side. He stepped forward, extending his hand to shake Eshatoh’s. “I am Shavid, from the tents of Eliech, of the sons of Rapa.” He gestured to the caravan. “This is my family. Will you eat with us tonight?”

[Eshatoh]

The camel dung fire glowed as it slowly burned, casting its amber glow on the many faces surrounding it. Behind them the night loomed darkly, held back only by so faint a shield. It seemed a solemn setting, but those gathered were anything but. Instead, a cheerful hum of conversation permeated everything. Even Eshatoh was chatting amiably with those at his sides, a girl of ten years and young man his own age. They asked questions about the everyday life of the Chaktawe and about stories they had heard. Questions about why he was here were withheld. If he wanted to tell things more personal, he could choose to do so without pressure.

“I heard a story once,” the girl said, her eyes sparkling with pleasure. “It was about a crow transforming another creature.” She grabbed Eshatoh's arm. “Could you tell that one tonight? Please?”

Eshatoh smiled, about to accede. He was more comfortable here, talking to these two than he had been talking to anybody in a long time. The little girl's enthusiasm about life was irresistible, and the young man had treated him as a close friend. Why wouldn't he tell a story for them?

As he opened his mouth, he noticed that the entire circle had stopped talking. They were all looking towards him, expressions of eagerness on their face. The oldest man there, a wizened fellow with a pronounced bend to his back, nodded and stood. He creaked over to stand in front of Eshatoh and said, “It would be good to hear a new story tonight. Will you tell one for us?” He smiled. There was no pressure to the request. Eshatoh knew that nobody would really care if he denied the request, but something about the atmosphere made him want to give them something back. So he stood, nodding his head.

As he stood in the circles center, every eye upon him, a wave vertigo gripped him, and his jaw hung open. He wasn't used to being the center of this much attention, and his heart was racing. He closed his eyes, wresting back control. Opening them again, he began, “I'll tell the story young Sarah requested. It's called 'The Baral's Burden'.”

Looking at his feet and scuffing them in the dirt, Eshatoh began, “The crow has always flown above the desert of Eyktol. Since Semele took her first breath and Zulrav first danced over her skin, the crow has flown over our land.” The story began in a monotone. It was a formula recited by Eshatoh from the many tellings he had heard.

“Always the crow has flown, but it hasn't always flown alone. At one time it had a companion, a creature of the earth. This companion was called the Baral. Together they roamed the desert causing mischief. Their pattern was fairly predictable: the Baral would distract and the Crow would put burs in somebody's boots. The Baral would put on a show, juggling pomegranates and the Crow would place nonvenomous scorpions in the watchers' purses.” Here, the story never was supposed to go the same. The storyteller was supposed to invent outrageous feats that the pair pulled off. It was game that Eshatoh had never been very good at.

“Now the Baral envied the Crow.”

He was starting to loosen up now. The words were flowing better, and his eyes met those of his listeners. His hands remained woodenly at his side.

“The Chaktawe soon caught onto the trick, but they let it continue, for it was a joy to watch the Crow and Baral together, and sometimes their tricks weren't so bad. Once beautiful bouquets of flowers were left in each wife's tent. Sometimes the men awoke to find that their spears had been sharpened in the night.

“Such a state couldn't last, though, for the Crow is capricious above all things. It was inevitable that the Crow would someday attempt to pull a trick on the Baral. It was a little thing, really, when it happened. It was something that the Baral really should have seen as funny; but he didn't.

“The crow had used his magic to transform the Baral into a monstrosity. The gentle curve of his back was now a harsh line. His formerly lithe gangly limbs were now covered by sheets of intimidating muscle. Worst of all, his neck was gone entirely, and his eyes had been made to glow red.

Here, Eshatoh smiled. He had had recent experience with the capriciousness of the crow and could appreciate this part of the story much better, now. “The Crow, of course, thought it was the most marvelous joke. He cackled in glee for hours; the Baral stood, looking from his reflection in the mirror the Crow had bought him to the Crow and back again. His fury slowly rose, for he had been a creature of beauty.

“Without warning, the Baral pounced onto the Crow, ending his laughing and pinning him to the ground. 'Why?' The Baral demanded. 'Why would you do this to me?'

“The Crow was utterly perplexed. This new shape he had fashioned for his friend was both more efficient and more suited to the desert's environs. Besides, he could change it back anytime he wished. It needn't be permanent. 'Calm down, my brother,' said the Crow, trying to free his wings. 'I will change you back.'

“The Baral looked down at the Crow, a deep sadness in his eyes. 'Leave me this way, for I now I see your true nature. Perhaps like this you can see mine.' He removed his paws from the Crow's wings and ambled away into the desert.

“'Wait!' the Crow cried after him. 'Stay with me; I'll do anything.' For the Crow knew that once his friend had left he would be alone. The Crow fears loneliness.

“The Baral turned and gave the Crow a long look. The sadness in his eyes had been replaced by a wicked gleam. 'Perhaps you really don't know what you've done.' He strode back towards the Crow, and with every step the fevered intensity of his eyes increased. By the end of the short walk he was a frenzied gallop.

“The Crow stood resolute. Despite all, this was his friend, and he fully believed that matters could be mended. But the Baral didn't stop. Instead, it's head crashed into the Crow and knocked him unconscious.

“When the Crow awoke, blackness spread across the sky. The only thing visible were the Baral's red eyes. Anger burned in the Baral's voice as it accused, 'Always it has been about you. Always I have been nothing more than an afterthought. Never did you ask if perhaps you could serve as the distraction for once. No. The people think of me as nothing more than your cute furry sidekick, but this will happen no more.' By the end, his voice was a gasping roar.

“And then the Baral tried to eat his friend. But of course the Crow couldn't allow it to go that far. He used his magic and froze the Baral in space.

“The Crow's voice was firm. 'We each have our own place in life. For some it is given to hunt, and for others it is given to gather. Some of my children are to form jars and pottery with their hands, and some are to lead the tribe with their heads. Let nobody envy the other for his place lest it be given to him. For look what happened to the Baral. He wanted what was not his and now has what nobody wants. For evermore he must prowl beneath the ground at night, afraid of the light that shows his true nature.”

[Eshatoh]

It was a disjointed tale, and Eshatoh knew it. The Abayla always made it look so easy. He stared at his feet, and his face reddened with embarrassment. Cautiously he stepped back to his seat.

The sound of clapping startled him. He looked up and found that every face in the circle was smiling at him. The gentle applause slowly died, and Shavid stood. Gesturing to Eshatoh he said, “It's good that one so young should have the bravery to stand and speak anything before a group of which he knows so little.” His kind gaze swept across Eshatoh's face. “It is a fitting ending to our night. Bedtime, everyone. Eliam and Elson, you have first watch.”

The young man Eshatoh had been sitting with and another slightly younger than Shavid nodded their heads and moved together to have a quiet discussion.

“Wake Ahmed and Yelab when it is time to be relieved.”

The people around the fire started to disburse. There were four simple canvas tents that had been erected when the caravan first stopped, and the family divided between the two of them, girls in one and guys in the others. One middle-aged woman that Eshatoh was fairly certain was Shavid's wife went into the empty one while Shavid approached Eshatoh.

He smiled warmly. “You haven't yet mentioned where you're headed, boy.”

Eshatoh stared right back into his eyes. “That's because I don't really know myself.”

“That's an odd position to be in...”

Eshatoh didn't comment.

“Well what flavor does this lack of direction come from? Are you being guided by a god, perhaps, or maybe just wandering... Pardon me, but you do seem a bit young to be out on your own. Actually, at any age it is bad to be traveling these lands alone.”

Eshatoh smirked. He hadn't thought of how his actions would appear to anybody that saw him. Really this was a crazy event for him. He had been longing to leave the desert for all his life, but it had always been something he would do “someday.” It had never seemed as if the time would actually come. His own impulsiveness had scared even him a little. How many people would wake up one morning completely expecting that their life would continue its boring course but then recklessly walk off of the path laid out for them by dinner?

The life of a Chaktawe was dull above all else. They woke up in the morning, packed up and spent the day walking across endless monotony. In the night, they camped at a spot scarcely different from the place they had left that morning. The only thing that made such a life bearable was the music and the time he could spend alone.

Eshatoh answered, “It is strange, isn't it. I'm not guided by a god or at least I hope I'm not. I suppose you could describe me as a wanderer now, but aren't we all? Where are you and your family going?”

Shavid flashed his deep warm smile. “We're going to Riverfall, of course. We take this journey every year. No wandering for us.” He paused and frowned just slightly but the smile soon displaced it again. “You wouldn't want to come with us would you? If you're wandering, one direction is as good as another, and this way has the advantage of good food and good company.” He paused. “And I like you, boy.”

Eshatoh didn't have to consider that offer for long. “Yes,” he decided. “I thank you for your generous offer. I'm afraid I won't be much help to you, though, until I've learned your ways.”

“We'll start teaching you tomorrow.”

[Eshatoh]

Eshatoh pulled his pack off his back and began unpacking his tent. A Benshira stopped him. “I'm Ahmed. My father told me you'll be traveling with us.” He gestured towards a tent. “Feel free to sleep in our tent; there's room for another. You'll be working for your keep, so you might as well enjoy the benefits of not having to erect another tent.” His smile was entirely genuine.

Eshatoh considered the offer. The privacy of his own tent would be nice, but he really didn't have all that many possessions that were his own. The advantages definitely wouldn't outweigh the costs of setting it up every night. He smiled timidly and held out his hand to the Benshira for the gesture of greeting Malia had taught him. He had already been introduced to the caravan at large, but he still introduced himself again. “I'm Eshatoh, and I think that would be perfect.”

He carried his pack back to the tent with Ahmed. Silence loomed between them like a shroud. Eshatoh had nothing in common with this man. To begin with, the cultures of their people had deep-rooted differences. They were both very spiritual cultures, but the gods they worshiped were completely different. Whereas the Benshira mostly grew or cultivated their own food, the Chaktawe were largely hunters and gatherers. Ahmed had a family, a huge family, surrounding him, but Eshatoh was almost completely alone.

There was no small talk as Eshatoh entered the tent. It wasn't a mercy towards somebody feeling awkward but a necessity due to the three already snoring on the ground. Ahmed laughed silently, seemingly completely at ease. He gestured Eshatoh towards an empty spot and immediately flopped down onto his already-laid-out bedding.

As Eshatoh rolled out his sleeping pallet, working quietly to avoid disturbing the four snoring brothers, his thoughts drifted over the events of the day. It had started out in complete solitude and ended being wrapped up in one of the busiest families he had ever known. All in all, it was a surprisingly good change.

[Mycroft]

- Eshatoh -
"Let nobody envy the other for his place lest it be given to him."

Experience:
Wilderness Survival: +2
Stealth: +1
Storytelling: +3

Lores:
Basic Ecology of the Sea of Grass
Accosted by Friendly Benshira
Telling Children a Story
Joining a Benshira Caravan
Riverfall...? Sure. Why not.

Notes: I really liked the feeling to this story. There's an air of deep observation and a haunted wanderer's spirit. It was very easy for me to imagine the scene of the Benshira family sat around the fire with the onyx-eyed Eshatoh as he told his story. Bear in mind that wood is also scarce in the Sea of Grass. It's a major import for the city of Endrykas that roams Cyphrus. However, firewood can be more easily obtained from bramble and the dry, occasional bushes.

The story about the Crow and the Baral was also fun to read. I love fables, especially invented ones for a separate universe. As a side note: very strangely impressed at the correct usage of quotes. I don't usually see it used with such care!