|.15th Autumn, 514
Act natural.
Zhol stared into the soulless black eyes of his enemy, his muscles poised, ready to strike. He watched it's every move, watching for every fleeting sign of intent. His breaths were shallow, carefully timed, trying to slow the rapid pace of his anxious heart.
Don't let it see your fear.
His fingers clenched and unclenched; other parts of him did the same. He swallowed; licked a dab of moisture onto his drying lips. The monster's jaw fell open, a terrifying expression gracing the creature's features. Zhol took his opportunity. He pounced.
The llama unleashed a bleat of surprise as the man from Endrykas threw himself at it, arms wrapping around the beast's terrifyingly long neck, a leg trying to hook over it's shoulders and, with his weight, topple the creature to the ground. It succeeded, with the complete absence of grace and style that one would expect; but at least the llama was down. Zhol shifted his weight, as the farmer had instructed, firm pressure to convince the animal that the ground was where it wanted to stay; and after a few squirms of protest, it seemed content to agree with that insistence. Zhol shifted his knees, one coming to rest just above the llama's shoulder, and was able to liberate his hands. He looked up at the farmer, and caught him chuckling.
"That be worth the Mizas, that were!" the farmer chuckled in an odd, twisted accent that made Common sound strange, dropping a few coins into the waiting hand of the man beside him: an Endal, though if Zhol hadn't already seen him flying a wind eagle he might have guessed he was one of the Avora hunters, what with the bow, the rugged features, and the clothes that looked like they were well used to being worn out in the wilderness. "Bet ya can't do that with them 'orses a' yours, eh?"
Zhol mustered a tight smile. "It wouldn't be wise," he agreed.
His attention fell, back to the creature that had ceased to be his opponent, and was now his patient. It had been strange when Kami had asked that he go to Thunder Bay instead of her: she was by far the better healer, and that was certainly something the settlement's livestock were in dire need of, but she'd asked him to go in her place. He'd agreed in an instant: not just as a favour to a friend, but also at the prospect of actually seeing the ocean - or at least part of it - up close instead of as a dull blue blur in the distance; and more than that, it had provided him with his first ever opportunity to take to the skies on the back of a wind eagle.
It had been terrifying and elating in equal measure, and while there had been something a little undignified about clinging so tightly to the back of the eagle's rider - who, Zhol was convinced, had conspired with his eagle to make the flight as fear-inducing as possible - he suddenly understood the Inarta's obsession with the creatures. While horses had always given Zhol all the sense and rush of freedom he'd ever needed, there was something about looking down and seeing the world spread out below you, watching your shadow dance across the tops of clouds, and hearing the rush of wind past your ears and the thud of eagle wings as they pounded the air that was incomparable.
That was the how of his presence here, but the why was more complex. In preparation to migrate back up the Sanikas Road for the winter, back to the shelter of Wind Reach before the snows came and the ice set in, the farmers and herders from the surrounding hills had begun to congregate in Thunder Bay, the robust animal pens they employed during the summer abandoned in favour of temporary enclosures that would contain the livestock whenever the precession of migrants stopped.
That concept in itself wasn't unusual for Zhol: the herders of Endrykas operated much the same way, keeping their flocks and herds in enclosed spaces that were easy to dismantle and move as the tent city cycled it's way around the Sea of Grass. In fact, the entirety of Thunder Bay had a familiar feel to it at the moment; not nearly the same as his old home, but the atmosphere of tension and preparation tasted the same.
What did seem unusual was the state that these llamas, and some of the other livestock penned up in Water Reach. Zhol examined the ugly wound on the llama's leg, bearing the unmistakable jagged edges of a bite mark from a not insubstantial creature. Zhol didn't have the faintest idea what type of beast might have been responsible, but the farmer was all too eager to offer his theory.
"One of them leopards did that," he said with a sage nod, his arms folding across his chest as if that somehow gave him an air of added authority on the subject. "Snowshoe must a' followed us down from them there 'ills. Them buggers can 'op these fences like they ain't even there."
Zhol wasn't particularly sure what ills had to do with anything, but he'd given up trying to decipher the farmer's slurred speech and his missing letters. With no small amount of willpower, he also avoided the urge to ask why, if these snowshoe leopards where such a problem, they didn't simply make their fences taller. It seemed like the obvious solution; but he supposed that the people who knew what they were doing probably had more wisdom on the subject than he.
Unslinging the satchel of veterinary supplies from his shoulder, he dug through the vials and bottles and myriad other things in search of the items he required. A little splash of alcohol sent the llama into a flurry of flinches, but also flushed out the worst of anything that might cause an infection. Zhol dabbed the excess away with an absorbent pad of linen, and set about smearing an analgesic poultice across the wound. It had the consistency of long overdue milk, and smelt about as bad, but the leaves and other ingredients ground into the paste oozed a sap that soothed the pain and protected the wound at the same time. Over this, Zhol added a simple bandage, blessedly easy to wrap around the llama's thigh, especially when compared to the challenge and awkwardness of doing so on an ungelded horse.
He only half paid attention to the conversation that continued; the Endal didn't seem particularly convinced by the farmer's conclusions, but he pandered to them anyway. "If it is a snowshoe," he assured, "Or anything else for that matter, I'm sure the hunters that Wind Reach just sent will take care of it in no time."
The mention of hunters had Zhol's eyes up and searching, scrutinising the cluster of new arrivals in search of a familiar face. His heart sank at the absence of one game scout in particular, and then further when he finally did spy someone he recognised: not Khara at all; someone far, far worse.
Zhol stared into the soulless black eyes of his enemy, his muscles poised, ready to strike. He watched it's every move, watching for every fleeting sign of intent. His breaths were shallow, carefully timed, trying to slow the rapid pace of his anxious heart.
Don't let it see your fear.
His fingers clenched and unclenched; other parts of him did the same. He swallowed; licked a dab of moisture onto his drying lips. The monster's jaw fell open, a terrifying expression gracing the creature's features. Zhol took his opportunity. He pounced.
The llama unleashed a bleat of surprise as the man from Endrykas threw himself at it, arms wrapping around the beast's terrifyingly long neck, a leg trying to hook over it's shoulders and, with his weight, topple the creature to the ground. It succeeded, with the complete absence of grace and style that one would expect; but at least the llama was down. Zhol shifted his weight, as the farmer had instructed, firm pressure to convince the animal that the ground was where it wanted to stay; and after a few squirms of protest, it seemed content to agree with that insistence. Zhol shifted his knees, one coming to rest just above the llama's shoulder, and was able to liberate his hands. He looked up at the farmer, and caught him chuckling.
"That be worth the Mizas, that were!" the farmer chuckled in an odd, twisted accent that made Common sound strange, dropping a few coins into the waiting hand of the man beside him: an Endal, though if Zhol hadn't already seen him flying a wind eagle he might have guessed he was one of the Avora hunters, what with the bow, the rugged features, and the clothes that looked like they were well used to being worn out in the wilderness. "Bet ya can't do that with them 'orses a' yours, eh?"
Zhol mustered a tight smile. "It wouldn't be wise," he agreed.
His attention fell, back to the creature that had ceased to be his opponent, and was now his patient. It had been strange when Kami had asked that he go to Thunder Bay instead of her: she was by far the better healer, and that was certainly something the settlement's livestock were in dire need of, but she'd asked him to go in her place. He'd agreed in an instant: not just as a favour to a friend, but also at the prospect of actually seeing the ocean - or at least part of it - up close instead of as a dull blue blur in the distance; and more than that, it had provided him with his first ever opportunity to take to the skies on the back of a wind eagle.
It had been terrifying and elating in equal measure, and while there had been something a little undignified about clinging so tightly to the back of the eagle's rider - who, Zhol was convinced, had conspired with his eagle to make the flight as fear-inducing as possible - he suddenly understood the Inarta's obsession with the creatures. While horses had always given Zhol all the sense and rush of freedom he'd ever needed, there was something about looking down and seeing the world spread out below you, watching your shadow dance across the tops of clouds, and hearing the rush of wind past your ears and the thud of eagle wings as they pounded the air that was incomparable.
That was the how of his presence here, but the why was more complex. In preparation to migrate back up the Sanikas Road for the winter, back to the shelter of Wind Reach before the snows came and the ice set in, the farmers and herders from the surrounding hills had begun to congregate in Thunder Bay, the robust animal pens they employed during the summer abandoned in favour of temporary enclosures that would contain the livestock whenever the precession of migrants stopped.
That concept in itself wasn't unusual for Zhol: the herders of Endrykas operated much the same way, keeping their flocks and herds in enclosed spaces that were easy to dismantle and move as the tent city cycled it's way around the Sea of Grass. In fact, the entirety of Thunder Bay had a familiar feel to it at the moment; not nearly the same as his old home, but the atmosphere of tension and preparation tasted the same.
What did seem unusual was the state that these llamas, and some of the other livestock penned up in Water Reach. Zhol examined the ugly wound on the llama's leg, bearing the unmistakable jagged edges of a bite mark from a not insubstantial creature. Zhol didn't have the faintest idea what type of beast might have been responsible, but the farmer was all too eager to offer his theory.
"One of them leopards did that," he said with a sage nod, his arms folding across his chest as if that somehow gave him an air of added authority on the subject. "Snowshoe must a' followed us down from them there 'ills. Them buggers can 'op these fences like they ain't even there."
Zhol wasn't particularly sure what ills had to do with anything, but he'd given up trying to decipher the farmer's slurred speech and his missing letters. With no small amount of willpower, he also avoided the urge to ask why, if these snowshoe leopards where such a problem, they didn't simply make their fences taller. It seemed like the obvious solution; but he supposed that the people who knew what they were doing probably had more wisdom on the subject than he.
Unslinging the satchel of veterinary supplies from his shoulder, he dug through the vials and bottles and myriad other things in search of the items he required. A little splash of alcohol sent the llama into a flurry of flinches, but also flushed out the worst of anything that might cause an infection. Zhol dabbed the excess away with an absorbent pad of linen, and set about smearing an analgesic poultice across the wound. It had the consistency of long overdue milk, and smelt about as bad, but the leaves and other ingredients ground into the paste oozed a sap that soothed the pain and protected the wound at the same time. Over this, Zhol added a simple bandage, blessedly easy to wrap around the llama's thigh, especially when compared to the challenge and awkwardness of doing so on an ungelded horse.
He only half paid attention to the conversation that continued; the Endal didn't seem particularly convinced by the farmer's conclusions, but he pandered to them anyway. "If it is a snowshoe," he assured, "Or anything else for that matter, I'm sure the hunters that Wind Reach just sent will take care of it in no time."
The mention of hunters had Zhol's eyes up and searching, scrutinising the cluster of new arrivals in search of a familiar face. His heart sank at the absence of one game scout in particular, and then further when he finally did spy someone he recognised: not Khara at all; someone far, far worse.
"Pavi" | "Common" | "Nari" | "Symenos"
This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
This template was made by Khara. She was bribed with coffee and jammy dodgers.
