Flashback A Lame Horse

[Mahaleth]

Fall, Day 31, 507 AV
Evening

He was born in the summer, the only son of an Ankal, and all of his sisters adored him. He was a quiet child, and obedient, and sweet-natured. One of the women of the pavilion said it was because he was born in the summer that Belhatir was so temperate. But then he was thirteen and there were shadows that were beginning to swirl around Belhatir's head that not even a story from Lazuli would quiet.

It was a good night. The stars were out and the air had a not unpleasant bite to it, and it made the dancers of the pavilion stamp harder, and the storytellers chatter more, and the laughing from the men boomed louder and louder as if they meant to chase the cold and the winter away with their talk. Even still, although he loved music and storytelling and dancing more than anything, Belhatir was sullen and ripping out grass by clumps with his fist. His back was bent so far into his body that his chest was touching his knees while his legs, long and foal like, were drawn up in front of him. When somebody called his name, one of his sisters, he looked up and smiled, but he didn't say anything when she asked him to come listen to a story with her.

"Belhatir!" she said. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing," he lied. "Nothing is wrong. Go, I'll catch up."
"He's just becoming a man," another girl teased. "He'll be just like his father. So serious!" She laughed, stuck her tongue out at him, and then ran away with her fingers laced with Bel's sister.

Bel frowned. He ripped up the blades of grass in his hands. His stomach felt sour as he watched them run away. She was beautiful, that girl, he remembered her name was Sula, and he knew that because when they met up with other pavilions in Endrykas the other pavilion boys always said so, but Bel couldn't care. And Sula was right, Bel was becoming a man. He'd have to really be a man soon and take a woman for a wife. Still, Bel couldn't care. When the other boys were looking at the Windborne women---their long necks, their soft eyes, their strong arms---Bel saw another boy's back. A boy's well-shaped forehead. A strong leg and a distracting collarbone.

Bel's stomach contracted. He felt sick. He would have been sick all over his hands if he tried to eat that night. A season or two ago he remembered hearing in Endrykas about a man banished from his pavilion. He had done something wrong, had no sons or daughters, had been useless to his clan and then cursed them with whatever he had done. No one would explain it. But there was something in Belhatir's gut that told him that he was like that man, that he would end up like that, that one day he might end up having to leave because he was as useless as a lame horse. He didn't even have a strider yet. He was starting to think he'd never have one.

Bel burped into his fist. His whole body felt too warm and too cold. His head was too light. He wished a glassbeak would just pluck him out of his bed and eat him and then he could be done with all the worrying. With every thought that passed through his mind his brow became dark and darker and his frown became deeper, until he thought his mouth might fall off and be lost in the grass forever.

[Dravite]

Dravite had always been such an in your face kind of child, the squeaky gate, that too-curious cat everyone thought would get himself killed before he made it to his teen years; irresponsible and reckless, self-assured and so defiant. Now he was almost a man, or very quickly becoming one. This spring would mark his fourteenth year and soon enough he would be of an age where it was acceptable to hunt alone, or even take a wife. He was tall for his age and probably had a little more growing to do. His arms and legs were filling out nicely, no longer just a set of stick thin limbs and a pair of knobbly knees.

For all his faults, there seemed to be so much good in him and more recently he had started to settle down, no longer loud and wayward, just growing more and more accustomed to his own skin and deepening voice. He was thoughtful, kind, and happy-go-lucky. His hair was long, wavy, and smelled of sunshine. His skin was olive, eyes warm, and his smile reminded his mother so much of the husband she had lost almost nine winters ago.

Dravite had been lounging about the fire-pit with some of the boys his age, watching the young girls dance and sing in circles, long pleated hair dressed with leather straps and coloured, glass beads. All tapered fingers and strong legs which were losing their baby-fat in favour of lean muscle. The boys babbled and laughed amongst themselves, eyeing half-ripe breasts and arguing about which girl had the nicest hair or prettiest eyes.

"She can ride my strider any time," one of the older boys piped up and was seconds later clipped about the ears by his mother, who he didn't realise had been listening in at the time.

The rest of the boys were in stitches at their friends misfortune and all pointed and sniggered as he was dragged off and forced to go to bed early; all of the boys except one. "Where is Belhatir?" Dravite asked.
A few of the other boys looked at each other and shrugged. "He's probably chasing the horses again," one of them said.
"Pick me, pick me," another laughed.

Dravite didn't look impressed as he too had failed to create a bond with any of the unclaimed striders in the pavilion's herd. He swallowed down the funny taste in his mouth and got up, brushing the dirt from his knees before he left the group to seek out his friend Bel.

It didn't take long to find him; in fact it took longer for Dravite to choose to approach than it did to spot Bel ripping up grass like an angry boar. Dravite watched his friend for a minute and waited until the girls had long left his side before he snuck up on him. He got low, crawled forward on his knuckles quietly from behind Belhatir to pounce!

His actions were swift, if a little clumsy, one boy on top of the other, Belhatir's upper body pinned under Dravite's hips. He moved quickly to wrap his legs around Bel's middle, trapping the young man's arms at his sides as if to work on his wrestling moves or trick Belhatir into fighting with him so that he might roughhouse and play before they were both told to wash up and get to bed. Bel, however, didn't seem to be in the mood.

Dravite let his friend go and sat in the grass beside him. "Why were you sitting alone?" he asked Bel, surely his friend would be much more comfortable sitting by the fire pit where it was warm, the view was fine and there was plenty to laugh about.

"Come join us," he knocked Bel’s shoulder with his own, still hopeful the young man might fight back; he usually gave as good as he got.

[Mahaleth]

Sometimes, in the Sea of Grass, even the grass is dangerous. To keep their children in check the mothers of the Windborne pavilion always say that even the grass could one day decide to come to life and snatch you up, and then you'll be making the Zibri fat. Belhatir, on his back, thought he was dead. He put his arms over his face and waited for the bite of teeth until he saw that it was only Dravite.

Dravite was the son and the child of the Ankal before Belhaur. Belhaur only became the Ankal after Dravite's father, Cyprine Blackwater, died in a hunt when Dravite was only a baby. Not old enough to take over the pavilion. So Belhaur, Cyprine's right hand and best friend, became the Ankal and so the pavilion was renamed Windborne.

Belhaur often told stories about Cyprine Blackwater. Belhaur and Cyprine were much like Dravite and Belhatir growing up; always up to no good. Always quarreling about something silly. Always whispering about a secret or showing each other sacred stashes of nothings they found in the grass when they thought no one was looking. And Cyprine Blackwater, Belhaur would often say, his eyes far away and glassy with some nameless emotion, was the bravest, strongest, loudest, and smelliest man he had ever met. Then Belhaur would laugh and cuff Dravite around the ear, and then say, 'You're exactly like him.' And Belhatir would flinch because to him Belhaur would say nothing, not even smile, and Belhaur would sigh. He always sighed. Belhatir wished he could be like Belhaur, or better yet like Cyprine Blackwater. Like Dravite.

Belhatir let out a sigh that shook his narrow chest. Dravite sat down in the grass. "Why were you sitting alone?" Dravite asked. Belhatir shook his head at his brother and then shrugged twice.
"Come join us," Dravite said.
Belhatir shook his head. "They don't like me," he said, trying not to look at his cousins in the pavilion. "I'm not like them."
His mouth twisted to the side as he sat up, brushing grass off his still-roiling stomach. "You go ahead."

[Dravite]

Dravite looked back at the group of boys from the pavilion, still laughing and sniggering about some joke he had missed in joining Bel. Belhatir didn’t know it, but he often wore that same glassy eyed, faraway look his father did. Bel wasn’t always far away, but he was often looking at something near or far; tonight he looked as far away as Endrykas seemed after three days of travel by strider. “No, they are no fun,” Dravite lied, trying to console his friend, who was obviously upset about something.

A lot of the children in the pavilion were related to Bel as Dravite’s mother had joined only with her brother when she married his father Cyprine who had never taken a second wife. He had two cousins, both girls, who had left with their family after Cyprine died; not everyone had accepted the change from Blackwater to Windborne so readily.

Dravite plucked at the grass as Belhatir had, only he pelted his friend with the bits he ripped away from the earth. Soon they would be sitting in the dirt which wasn’t new to either of them. Dravite’s nails were always stuffed with muck, his knees marred, and the soles of his feet black. The pavilion didn’t like to waste water, so bath time usually only happened once in a while when they came across a river or small body of water. Every now and then Lazuli would attack his face with a wet rag, but Dravite was getting better and better at avoiding such clashes.

“You smell like a strider!” Dravite laughed all of the sudden and nudged Bel’s shoulder with the pad of his dirty, black foot.

He knew a few ways in which he had cheered Belhatir up in the past, but doubted even those would work tonight. Dravite didn’t say much more, lunging at his pavilion brother once again to try and start up a little brawl between the two of them; that always cheered Bel up, right?

[Mahaleth]

Dravite jumped around like an impatient foal and attacked Belhatir again, and Belhatir tried to roll out from under him, legs kicking and flailing impotently until he had worn himself out. Bel let his body go limp, and then he sighed again. Dravite was the stronger of the two, even then.

"You smell like a strider's ass," he said, smearing a handful of dirt into Dravite's hair.

One of the women in the pavilion called a boy's name. It was a long, drawn out "Lukaaaa", like a bird call. It made Belhatir cold, like he'd swallowed a pebble.

"I'm going away," he said suddenly. His hands were cold, his stomach was cold, but he suddenly realized he was determined and he was doing it, and he was afraid. "I'm going away," he said again, "and you can't tell your mother or my father or anyone about it, okay?"

[Dravite]

Dravite grinned, his plan seemed to be working, the two of them were scrapping just as they always did, testing their strength against one another and trying not to get a mouthful of dirt in the process. It was fun, even more so than sitting around the fire watching the girls and saying things they shouldn’t; then Belhatir went limp and Dravite knew his friend’s heart still wasn’t in it. He shuffled aside and sat in the dirt patch they had created while tearing out the grass which was when Bel smeared dirt into Dravite’s hair and Dravite smiled, a little confused.

He didn’t smell that bad, surely; only Tal’o Ker smelt that bad. Dravite was still, turning his head only to acknowledge the call some mother made to her son; they would all be told to get to bed soon. “I’m going away,” Belhatir said then and it sounded a lot like “I’m leaving for good this time.”

Dravite was quiet, he watched his feet as he let Bel speak, pulling a blade of grass from between his toes. He thought about life without Belhatir and said, “You can’t run away. They’ll find you using the web, just like they always do when we go too far.”

He didn’t know if he was trying to convince his friend to stay or if he was helping him figure out a way to leave. Had Belhatir really thought this through? Dravite had thought about it a thousand times, not because there was something he wanted to run away from, but because he longed for adventure; right up until it bit him on the backside. “Besides, you’ll go hungry in the winter and you don’t have a strider yet.”

[Mahaleth]

"Anything's better than being here." Bel's face was red with emotion. He was trying not to blink, because if he blinked he knew the tears would start to come. He didn't want Dravite to see him cry. Belhatir didn't even know why he would be crying; all he knew was that he felt somehow cursed, and that that meant he had cursed the entire pavilion along with him.

A young Zibri brayed. Two hunting dogs, both belonging to Belhaur, sniffed around the edge of the fireplace for scraps of meat or bones. Under the scent of leather, food, and fabrics was the smell of earth and cold air. Firewood, burning leaves. Wet earth. Wet beast. It wasn't unpleasant, and when years later Belhatir would catch the scent of rain and open field it would conjure up memories of The Run and the simple pleasures of the pavilion.

Later he would remember, even if he would always deny it, how he burst into tears into the back of his hand. Miserable because he was running away and he was sure that no one in the pavilion would care.

Belhatir scurried to the tall grass to hide the shame of his tears behind bushes, or a low tree. His cousins couldn't see - they would laugh. And they already laughed enough.

[Dravite]

He watched his friend drift off into the darkness, stunned into silence by the words 'anything’s better than being here'. He thought about that for a time and then slowly got to his feet, not to follow his friend but to return to camp.

Dravite enjoyed life living as a member of the Windborne pavilion where he was surrounded by friends and family. Every week brought something new, foreign travellers from all walks of life, seasonal lessons, and chances to hone his skills. Living hard like this day in and day out made Dravite appreciate when things were good, not just his home but the people he shared it with. He couldn't quite comprehend what had caused his friend to snap, but if he thought even for a second that he could leave without taking his best-friend along for the adventure, he was wrong; dead wrong.

Slowly, he drifted through the maze of people, animals and belongings to get to the family tent. Dravite looked down at his bedroll parked alongside Belhatir's as it often was. The two of them were always getting into trouble and staying up too late or whispering too long into the night; the trouble was that they never seemed to run out of things to talk about. Dravite got down on his knees and rolled up his bedding before fetching Belhatir's. He took up the bone-spear that had belonged to his father and turned to leave when he was confronted by his mother, Lazuli. "Going somewhere, my son?"

Dravite raked his lower teeth gently against the inside of his upper lip and smiled. He was an inch taller than his mother now and felt like a man for it. "Bel and I are going and you can't stop us."
"Leaving?" Lazuli asked, using her best puzzled look.
"Yes, right now."
"Right before bedtime, aren't you tired?"

Dravite had to think about that, they had been traveling all day by horseback, so while his muscles were a little stiff from riding, he felt fine to go across country and set up somewhere in the tall grass. When he gave no answer, however, his mother inquired again, "On foot?"
"Yes, right now, on foot," Dravite stated; clearly he hadn't thought this through and knew his mother was trying to point it out subtly.
"Okay then," Lazuli smiled as she stepped aside and made room for her son to pass.

Odd, Dravite thought, very odd, she hadn't even put up a fight. He went by her and looked over his shoulder to give her a sidelong glance, but she was already getting into bed, rummaging through her bag for the comb she used to brush the knots from her wind-blown hair. Dravite didn't know what to make of it all, why wasn't she trying to stop him? "Goodnight," he said softly and without as much as a peek in his direction, Lazuli echoed his words.

When he found Belhatir he paused a few feet from the boy who still sounded very upset, more-so than Dravite would like anyone to see, were he in Bel's shoes. He soon dropped their bedding beside Belhatir and sat on top of the rolled up hide and blankets. Dravite set the bone spear across his lap and pointed the blunt end at Belhatir to nudge the man's shoulder. "So... where are we going?"

[Mahaleth]

Bel didn't get too far from the circle of light around the camp. The night ahead was dark, and all around them the grass sounded like rushing water, as if it could pick Bel up and swallow him at any minute. A thrill of fear and trepidation ran up his right leg. He stood with his back against a tree, tears drying on his cheeks, and stared out at the plains. He couldn't distinguish the earth from the sky anymore. The sun had fully set.

Dravite found Bel and nudged his shoulder. Bel jumped, rubbed his bicep, and looked out into the Sea of Grass again. "Out there," Bel said. "Maybe we can go to... to..." Bel forgot the names of the cities Endrykas sometimes traded with. The foreigners with the bronze skin and the beautiful clothing, the slanted eyes and the cruel lips. Looking at foreigners always made Bel feel strange. His pulse sped up when he saw them, or when he knew that The Watch were leading a caravan of travelers through the Sea of Grass. He wanted to go with them, The Watch, and see the foreigners and listen to them speak and act.

His mother had been one of them.

"I don't want to curse you," Bel said. "You should stay here. You're going to get a Strider soon, and you're going to get married and have sons. I'm never going to get married or have sons." He turned his head away, to hide his trembling lower lip. Forcefully, he wiped his mouth and his forehead, as if to wipe away the emotion on his face. He pinched the inside of his arm, took a deep breath, and put on a brave face as he fixed his satchel over his arm. "We should go north," he told Dravite. "To a city. To any city."

[Dravite]

Dravite screwed up his face at the mention of marriage and sons, he wanted adventure and freedom, great big piles of gold mizas and bards to sing his name wherever they went; glory was all a boy ever dreamed about, not knowing the road that led to such. "I don't want sons, or marriage, I want to go with you," Dravite admitted loyally, though part of him still longed to make a connection with one of the wild striders he so far had had no luck with.

"If we can find the Bluevien River we'll be able to follow it all the way to Riverfall and the Suvan Sea. We could go fishing and join a gang of bandits!" Dravite had clearly thought about all of this before, setting sail and terrorizing the trade-routes by sea with a gang of smelly men all armed to the teeth. "Piles of gold," he whispered to his friend as if trying to sell the idea of adventure to him; boys will be boys.

They were a week’s ride from Somiri and the Endrykas Fall Grounds, north would take them up into Sylira if they didn't veer off course too much and end up at the Serenity Three, or get stuck in the swamps of Kenash. With all the excitement Dravite hadn't taken a moment to stop and think about Belhatir's words, so when he did, the first thing that came out of his mouth was, "Curse me? How would you do that?"

All Drykas were wary of such things; people had been turned away from the pavilion under the title of that word, a word Dravite didn’t whole-heartedly understand, but knew he should be suspicious of. How could Belhatir do anything that might curse him? They had grown up together; Belhatir was almost never out of Dravite’s sight, the two of them were always up to mischief, so what had Belhatir done without him?