The 69th of Fall, 515 AV
Snow. What a strange thing to meet his eyes that morning outside his tent, where the ground had gone from gold to white as he slept. Kaitanu huddled into his cloak and scarf and looked out over the frozen land with a sort of awe at the change. He had seen snow before, but never so much at once. It looked like the whole world had been covered in a blanket, broken only by odd, dark tufts of grass here and there, or a lone tree with a few of its dead leaves still bravely hanging on. Everything about him was still and silent, as though the life of autumn was just under that downy quilt making all its usual noise, only he could not hear it from this side.
Inexplicably, that silent world crept past the strange, unseen barrier around the Blackwater pavilion which kept most of the snow out. The goats remained huddled under their cart for warmth. The zibri stood closer together as they scratched around for breakfast in the white earth. Even the morning sounds of the horses around him were subdued. They were reluctant to move outside the strange protection of the camp, but at the same time hungry as ever. Only Vicious, the Bloodbane mare, had ventured forth for her morning hunt, yet she kept nearer the circle of tents than usual. Kaitanu could not blame any of them; he felt a strange sort of fear that the white world beyond would swallow him whole if he went too far. If he had not been of such a well-trained mind and disposition, he might have given into temptation and stayed in his warm bedroll until the snow melted, or the temperature rose several degrees.
Kaitanu didn’t even consider such a thing, though he was definitely glad of the scarf and cloak Dravite had bought for him. Also the boots, which he used to break the film of ice that had formed over the water trough. He had been about to use his fist but thought better of it. His poor fingers were already starting to go a bit numb. Thankfully, standing among the horses while they drank was like being in a little bubble of warmth, and he was glad to have the excuse of checking them over. This involved asking them, in their own language, how they were, if any were not feeling well, and so forth. He also looked them over, but the Blackwater pavilion was no less careful of its horses than any other Drykas family. They were all hardy animals used to rough weather, and a little snow wasn’t going to upset them with their winter coats starting to come in. Kaitanu’s was as well, but he could not take advantage of it at present. For now he needed his human hands and fingers to go out and gather more water for the camp.
Leaving the horses and the tents behind, Kaitanu moved into the blue and white world of a partly-cloudy day, both hands tucked into his jacket sleeves to keep them warm. On his way out he had grabbed one of the large earthen pots used to cart water back and forth in order to refill troughs, pots and skins. This was a job usually relegated to the kelvic. In spite of his rather thin and waifish appearance, Kaitanu possessed the enhanced strength of his kind, so a full pot was no burden for him as it would have been for the others. The only caveat was that there was no way of keeping himself completely dry while filling it up. In such cold weather that was an uncomfortable price to pay.
About 100 feet or so from the outermost tent was a decent-sized stream, deep enough to still be freely running along its course. As winter grew about its banks, the top would freeze over, but the world was not yet cold enough. Kaitanu felt considerably lighter to hear the familiar stream singing its autumn tune amidst all the quiet of the first snowfall. Every other noise seemed so muffled in comparison. As he knelt on the half-frozen, muddy bank and dipped the water pot into the dark current, Kaitanu let the sound wash over him. He hadn’t really appreciated it before, nor had he been quite so aware of bird-song, or the little scurrying of small animals through dry grass. The snow seemed to muffle everything but the water, as though winter loomed too near and mustn’t be encouraged to pounce. Kaitanu found himself humming quietly with the stream, in spite of the still air. Maybe the world seemed too silent, even for a quiet soul like himself. Or, perhaps, he felt the need for a little strengthening before the weather’s fury let loose for good. This would be Kaitanu’s first winter outside of a city. He neither knew what to expect, nor that he need not spend the cold nights alone if he had a friend. The kelvic found solace where he could, turning to music as he had so often in the past. Anyway, there was no one to hear him sing a wordless tune, as his breath smoked out before his pale lips. There was no one by to listen to the kelvic pluck notes from the air that mimicked the water and distracted him from the unknown. He preferred it that way.
Snow. What a strange thing to meet his eyes that morning outside his tent, where the ground had gone from gold to white as he slept. Kaitanu huddled into his cloak and scarf and looked out over the frozen land with a sort of awe at the change. He had seen snow before, but never so much at once. It looked like the whole world had been covered in a blanket, broken only by odd, dark tufts of grass here and there, or a lone tree with a few of its dead leaves still bravely hanging on. Everything about him was still and silent, as though the life of autumn was just under that downy quilt making all its usual noise, only he could not hear it from this side.
Inexplicably, that silent world crept past the strange, unseen barrier around the Blackwater pavilion which kept most of the snow out. The goats remained huddled under their cart for warmth. The zibri stood closer together as they scratched around for breakfast in the white earth. Even the morning sounds of the horses around him were subdued. They were reluctant to move outside the strange protection of the camp, but at the same time hungry as ever. Only Vicious, the Bloodbane mare, had ventured forth for her morning hunt, yet she kept nearer the circle of tents than usual. Kaitanu could not blame any of them; he felt a strange sort of fear that the white world beyond would swallow him whole if he went too far. If he had not been of such a well-trained mind and disposition, he might have given into temptation and stayed in his warm bedroll until the snow melted, or the temperature rose several degrees.
Kaitanu didn’t even consider such a thing, though he was definitely glad of the scarf and cloak Dravite had bought for him. Also the boots, which he used to break the film of ice that had formed over the water trough. He had been about to use his fist but thought better of it. His poor fingers were already starting to go a bit numb. Thankfully, standing among the horses while they drank was like being in a little bubble of warmth, and he was glad to have the excuse of checking them over. This involved asking them, in their own language, how they were, if any were not feeling well, and so forth. He also looked them over, but the Blackwater pavilion was no less careful of its horses than any other Drykas family. They were all hardy animals used to rough weather, and a little snow wasn’t going to upset them with their winter coats starting to come in. Kaitanu’s was as well, but he could not take advantage of it at present. For now he needed his human hands and fingers to go out and gather more water for the camp.
Leaving the horses and the tents behind, Kaitanu moved into the blue and white world of a partly-cloudy day, both hands tucked into his jacket sleeves to keep them warm. On his way out he had grabbed one of the large earthen pots used to cart water back and forth in order to refill troughs, pots and skins. This was a job usually relegated to the kelvic. In spite of his rather thin and waifish appearance, Kaitanu possessed the enhanced strength of his kind, so a full pot was no burden for him as it would have been for the others. The only caveat was that there was no way of keeping himself completely dry while filling it up. In such cold weather that was an uncomfortable price to pay.
About 100 feet or so from the outermost tent was a decent-sized stream, deep enough to still be freely running along its course. As winter grew about its banks, the top would freeze over, but the world was not yet cold enough. Kaitanu felt considerably lighter to hear the familiar stream singing its autumn tune amidst all the quiet of the first snowfall. Every other noise seemed so muffled in comparison. As he knelt on the half-frozen, muddy bank and dipped the water pot into the dark current, Kaitanu let the sound wash over him. He hadn’t really appreciated it before, nor had he been quite so aware of bird-song, or the little scurrying of small animals through dry grass. The snow seemed to muffle everything but the water, as though winter loomed too near and mustn’t be encouraged to pounce. Kaitanu found himself humming quietly with the stream, in spite of the still air. Maybe the world seemed too silent, even for a quiet soul like himself. Or, perhaps, he felt the need for a little strengthening before the weather’s fury let loose for good. This would be Kaitanu’s first winter outside of a city. He neither knew what to expect, nor that he need not spend the cold nights alone if he had a friend. The kelvic found solace where he could, turning to music as he had so often in the past. Anyway, there was no one to hear him sing a wordless tune, as his breath smoked out before his pale lips. There was no one by to listen to the kelvic pluck notes from the air that mimicked the water and distracted him from the unknown. He preferred it that way.
