Late morning 21st Fall, 509 AV I had a horse then. (And a better hand at writing than I do now.) It wasn’t for riding, Gods no - but my body was fragile and due to be replaced soon, and the beast was glad to carry my things in exchange for a few handfuls of barley. I can’t recall if I named it, but I must have called it something. For the ease of storytelling, I’ll refer to it as Harriet. I do remember it was female - as was I, at the time. “It is unseasonably hot,” Torias muttered, noticeably annoyed, to a horse that would be later called Harriet. The drab brown cowl wrapped around the Nuit’s face and neck was doing little to keep out the heat of the Cyphrus sun. The sky was clear and sapphire blue; Lady Syna was putting in a fearsome effort to speed the decay of Torias’s most recent host body. She felt as though her ichor might start boiling inside her skin. Torias sent a curious glance over her shoulder at Harriet, following reluctantly at the behest of a lead made of rope. It was a smaller breed than most, a mongrel of some unsavory traits, making it useful only for children or carrying supplies. Its burnt golden hide shimmered almost like silk in the savage sun, its mane and tail a slightly lighter hue. It was still a young creature, strong and able, and it bore the burden of Torias’s rucksacks without any visible comlaint. The pungent smell of death, made worse by the beating sun and the mare’s acute senses, made the animal uneasy, so it followed at a generous distance. Horses seemed able to adapt to the odd niceties of their masters. They did not seemed the mind the tame dogs in Endrykas, despite being a descendant of its natural enemy, the wolf. However, the odor of decay must have been too steep of a compromise, as Harriet never seemed to let down her guard when her Nuit owner was present. Such was life - for the horse. Perhaps Torias would feel merciful and sell the animal off at the first opportunity. Truth be told, the mare was Nuit’s first defense should she come under attack by beasts or men. Both valued the flesh of a live horse more than that of a year-old corpse, giving the Nuit time to escape. Ideally, however, Torias would prefer that they both lived to see their next destination. Vultures, that’s what Torias had to worry about, but they were easier to negotiate with than wolves or glassbeaks. “Then, the sun and I have never been the closest of allies,” Torias continued on, rather wanting to break the monotony of gravel crunching under heel and hoof. No one was around to think Torias mad for talking to herself. Secure in this fact, she repeated the meaning of her words in another, half-forgotten tongue. The sound pleased her. “But she does keep the scoundrels away, I’ll give her that.” Torias smirked at no one. “Most of them.” |