PM to join Tack and girdles are for turtles (Irea Rasar).

[Timshel]

40th, Fall 513 The morning was a tease. The sun shone bright, but the air was chill and crisp. Frost grew on the tip of Timshel's nose, while snores whistled far past his tent. He had kept the fly down in order to welcome the fresh air, but now a small beam of light also made its way through the hole on top of his tent. It landed on his chin, and as the day wore on, it slowly creeped up to his eyes. Timshel woke. He yawned, watching his breath dissipate through the hole at the top of his tent. He threw off his blankets and immediately regretted it. “Yahal! No wonder we went to the desert.” He wrapped his blankets around him, shoved his feet into his boots and stepped out of the tent. The Drykas were already bumbling and bustling about, taking down their pavillions for the daily move. Timshel groaned at their energy. Alright. One quick motion now... ready? Go! Timshel tore off his blankets and scrambled to pull on his tunic and cloak. He rubbed his hands beneath the colorful cloth. Much better. He rummaged through his pack to find a pan, his water bladder and some flint & steel within. He also pulled out some dry grass and wood he had gathered earlier that week. Pulling out his cooking knife, he began shaving the grass into small slivers, then set up a stack of twigs around them. Starting fires in this crisp, damp environment was trickier than the desert. While he struck stone against steel, Timshel had to keep breathing on his hands to maintain dexterity. Click, click, click. Each strike sent out a small shower of sparks, but none caught. Finally, when the sunbeam that woke him had moved full past Timshel's bed onto the back wall, one of the sparks caught and sunk into his grass. Timshel quickly bent low, blowing and willing the blade to burn. He got a little smoke, but the coal simply snaked up the blade. He held another peice of grass above it, turning his head to breath in and turning back to blow. Finally, a flame erupted. Timshel added on his little sticks until he had a small fire going. Then he propped four wet logs around it and set his pan of water on top to boil. ... Timshel walked down to the public stable where he kept Jas, enjoying the afterglow of breakfast. The hot meal sat inside him like a warm coal as he reached for his horse's reigns. “Come on, girl, time for a ride,” he said, bringing the horse around. She neighed and gave him a sloppy lick on the neck, but Timshel was busy looking in the direction of camp. He had heard the rough, deep sound of hooves hitting hard on ground. He turned to see a small group of The Watch gallop past in some haste. They bent low, holding the sides of their yvas's, even gripping on with their feet as well. Timshel saw them off, only half paying attention as he strapped on his own tack and girdle. He looked back at Jas and shrugged.

[Irea Rasar]

Irea was on her way out of the stable, leading Eran out for his run when she saw a man preparing his horse for riding. The man was clearly not of the Drykas; the thing he was attaching to his horse was far too cumbersome. No Drykas who cared at all for his horse would use all that; how could the horse get out of it without help from the rider? Foolishness. Ordinarily, Irea would have allowed the man to go on his way, but she was feeling contrary this morning. She had woken up far colder than usual, and accidentally burned her meal besides. Besides, showing the man the error of his ways might be fun. "Yvas is better," Irea chided the man from behind, speaking in thickly-accented Common. Her hands moved almost of their own accord, as they did when she was speaking Pavi. She forcibly folded her arms in front of her to keep them still. Common was such a flat, ugly language. No one used their hands to talk in Common. It felt like only half a language to Irea. "Faster, better." She repeated with a slightly challenging smirk on her lips. The healer wore the white of the Opal clan, and her hair was done up in the typical Drykas fashion, her blond hair done up in several braids. She nodded at the contraption that Timshel was fastening to his horse. "Is no good. Horse better without." Irea reached up to rest a hand on her horse's neck, smiling self-assuredly at the man.

[Timshel]

Timshel blinked at the girl next to him. A dark blue wrap was weaved within her blond, braided hair, complementing the creamy white shirt and pants she wore. They were both stitched with grey and blue embroidery, which then stood in contrast to an intricate tattoo swirling in black ink up, past her arm and around her shoulder. Her hands began to flutter as she spoke, but she ended up crossing them and smirking, tilting her head to the side as she claimed, "Yvas is better". Timshel laughed. “Everyone thinks their way is better,” he said, fitting his foot into the stirrup and mounting his horse. "What do you think, Jas?" he asked, patting her neck. The horse bent down to munch on an especially green patch of grass. Timshel snorted and looked back at the woman. She was petting her own horse and grinning. She had a strong chin and cheekbones, but they were softly set beneath her blond hair. He pointed towards the edge of camp. “There's a path down there that winds down to a small brook and back,” he said, “Race you."

[Irea Rasar]

“Everyone thinks their way is better,” the foreigner said as he mounted the clumsy contraption he forced his horse to wear. "What do you think, Jas?" the man asked as he patted his horse's neck. The creature placidly bent her neck to begin grazing. With a snort, the man continued on, "There's a path down there that winds down to a small brook and back." "Race you." That did it. There were few things Irea responded so vigorously to; one of them was a race. The healer promptly mounted Eran and leveled a challenging look at the man. "We see who fast." Irea said, following his gestures to see their goal. She gestured for him to start first, "I give you chance. Go." Of course, Irea was no master rider. She was sub-par for a Drykas, though that surely equated to a master among these backwards foreigners. Even if the man were better than she, the healer knew she would win. There was something special about striders; there was much conjecture about the subject. Not that Irea ever paid that nonsense any mind. Regardless, the man would simply have to see for himself.

[Akilah Windsong]

Akilah sat on a stool near the stables, her strider standing in front of her. Gesturing to her strider, she waited patiently as Adámas raised a hoof for inspection. Though her own knowledge in the realms of health were not as much as the healers, it was enough to notice the major issues. The hoof felt level enough for now, though the left side seemed slightly higher than the right. Not enough for a problem yet, but in a few weeks she would have to deal with it. Aside from that, there were no cracks or unnatural colouring and she let Adámas put her foot down. Repeating the process with the next three, Akilah examined each hoof carefully and with no problems.

"It seems you'll be walking for another day." Adámas snorted and Akilah corrected herself. "Yeah, yeah, you have many years ahead of you. But I'm not the one afraid of the--"

This time her partner flared her nose, with an impatient stomp on the ground. "Alright, alright, I won't mention it."

Akilah chuckled as she placed the yvas on Adámas' back, ready for their daily ride. Some things never changed, and from foal to adult Adámas hated the almost monthly inspection. "Chicken," she declared, still laughing, before suddenly stopping.

Was this okay? She covered her mouth with a hand, afraid another sound might come out. Was she relaxing too much? Maybe she should be doing something more serious, find some work that will better the clan more than her goat-herding ever had. Maybe she--

She hated this feeling of confusion and guilt that swirled in her. The dead could never stay dead, their beings haunting her every move. Pushing her thoughts aside, she turned to look at the two riders nearby, their conversation and smiles providing an easy distraction from her own worries. One of them was talking about a race.

A race. That promised to be mind-numbing. Little thought would be needed, just action, re-action.

She could do that much.

"Mind if I join you?" She signaled in Pavi as she approached the two.

[Timshel]

“I give you chance. Go.” Timshel shrugged. “Your loss, little lady.” He slapped Jas on the neck, kicked off and-- And another Drykas trotted out in front of him. Timshel pulled back on the reigns-- hard. Jas reeled and Timshel had to brace both hands on the saddle's horn. “Woah, Jas! Easy, girl,” he said, finally grabbing her reigns with one hand and pulling her 'round. This Drykas was younger than the other. Long dark hair and skin contrasted against a blue-white shirt and shorts, like sky against soil. She was circling and poking the air with her hands. “It's alright, girl, just a false-start. Sorry I had to do that,” he said, rubbing Jas's neck. He looked over at the blond Drykas. Then the brunette. “What's this now?” he asked in common.

[Mythic]

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XP Award!

Name: Timshel

XP Award:

• Wilderness Survival (Plains) +1
• Observation +1
• Socialization +3

Lore:

• Wilderness Survival: Building a fire in a crisp, damp environment

Name: Irea Rasar

XP Award: Withheld
Lore: Withheld
Notes: Irea, you have not updated your ledger to the current season. When you have done so, please PM me and I will give you your grade for this thread.

Name: Akilah Windsong

XP Award: Withheld
Lore: Withheld
Notes: Akilah, you have not updated your ledger to the current season. When you have done so, please PM me and I will give you your grade for this thread.

Final Notes: Sorry this thread did not finish. I gave what I could, though the fact that the actual race did not actually occur meant that I did not feel I could give riding XP for this one. As always, PM me if you have any comments or questions about your grade.
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