Spring 65, 515 AV
midday
They plodded towards Endrykas at a slow pace, two men of the Watch on their Striders, a woman in borrowed shirt riding double, a third Strider and her foal trailing behind. At first glance, it might seem the foal was cause for the party's unhurried travel; a yearling filly, she moved with halting steps and lowered head, the look of bone-deep weariness. Combined with the liberal layer of mud which dulled her coat to uniform brown, some explanation of that weariness might be inferred.
Mud also splattered the coat of her mother, though not so completely -- and it coated nearly every part of the woman who rode as passenger with the Watchman, save for her quickly-scrubbed face and a few patches of grass-green cloth. The woman rode with bowed head, one hand clinging determinedly to the yvas and the other tucked away from view. Khida, too, was tired.
The Watchmen and their Striders, by contrast, were only lightly marked by their own travails, though one bore an injury of his own. They rode alert and attentive, as Watchmen should. Together, the group traveled on, progress slow and steady and constant. They passed from the vast open grasses into the sparsely populated outskirts of Endrykas, curious onlookers pausing their tasks to watch the group amble inwards, speculation passing in a quiet buzz from one to the next.
Sounds intruded into Khida's awareness -- sounds of animals in proximity, unafraid and casual in their communication; syllables of Pavi cast out broadly upon the air; even the rustle and snap of oiled canvas being toyed with by the midday breeze. She had not been paying attention to the passages of either distance or time around them, trusting the Drykas men to take them all home -- but by these sounds filtering into her weary thoughts, she knew they had arrived, and it was not time to rest anymore. Recognition brought her head sharply up, the woman blinking her eyes into focus. "Wait," she bid her escort, looking about for landmarks by which to take her bearings. Most clearly of all, they had come further in than where the hunter preferred to camp.
The Strider she rode slowed its pace even further, one ear angling back towards her as if in query. By contrast, the man behind her shook his head and bid the horse continue on. "We go to the River Flower first," he countered, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Then we can see you to your Pavilion."
Khida supposed it was too much effort to argue against that resolute statement. Not when, one way or another, she would get where she wanted to go in the end.
midday
They plodded towards Endrykas at a slow pace, two men of the Watch on their Striders, a woman in borrowed shirt riding double, a third Strider and her foal trailing behind. At first glance, it might seem the foal was cause for the party's unhurried travel; a yearling filly, she moved with halting steps and lowered head, the look of bone-deep weariness. Combined with the liberal layer of mud which dulled her coat to uniform brown, some explanation of that weariness might be inferred.
Mud also splattered the coat of her mother, though not so completely -- and it coated nearly every part of the woman who rode as passenger with the Watchman, save for her quickly-scrubbed face and a few patches of grass-green cloth. The woman rode with bowed head, one hand clinging determinedly to the yvas and the other tucked away from view. Khida, too, was tired.
The Watchmen and their Striders, by contrast, were only lightly marked by their own travails, though one bore an injury of his own. They rode alert and attentive, as Watchmen should. Together, the group traveled on, progress slow and steady and constant. They passed from the vast open grasses into the sparsely populated outskirts of Endrykas, curious onlookers pausing their tasks to watch the group amble inwards, speculation passing in a quiet buzz from one to the next.
Sounds intruded into Khida's awareness -- sounds of animals in proximity, unafraid and casual in their communication; syllables of Pavi cast out broadly upon the air; even the rustle and snap of oiled canvas being toyed with by the midday breeze. She had not been paying attention to the passages of either distance or time around them, trusting the Drykas men to take them all home -- but by these sounds filtering into her weary thoughts, she knew they had arrived, and it was not time to rest anymore. Recognition brought her head sharply up, the woman blinking her eyes into focus. "Wait," she bid her escort, looking about for landmarks by which to take her bearings. Most clearly of all, they had come further in than where the hunter preferred to camp.
The Strider she rode slowed its pace even further, one ear angling back towards her as if in query. By contrast, the man behind her shook his head and bid the horse continue on. "We go to the River Flower first," he countered, in a tone that brooked no argument. "Then we can see you to your Pavilion."
Khida supposed it was too much effort to argue against that resolute statement. Not when, one way or another, she would get where she wanted to go in the end.
Khida space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi
other space Common | Pavi