The air was chilly but not too cold. The weather had gotten a bit milder in the last few days which was nice for several reasons. The extra energy required to keep one’s self warm often lead to a higher consumption of food and the mini-thaw caused the smaller game to scamper out and look for more food; either way, this was going to be a good day to bulk up the winter stores. Azmere had been up early thanks in large part to the shuffling of Hephiestian outside his tent. The horse was often restless in the mud. The Drykas just assumed the beast was more of a summer stallion than anything else. Azmere didn’t mind one way or the other so long as there was something to do and food to eat once he was finished. Still inside his pavilion, he was just slipping into all of his warmer clothes. Before he went to bed last night, the hunter had laid out his traps in some key areas that he believed would yield a rabbit or two. There was a melting stream about a mile away with a few choke points that still had lush grasses and clover which the man figured would be highly attractive to a hungry little bunny.
Once he was dressed, Azmere moved towards the front of his tent pausing only to grab his weapons and cloak then out he stepped into the morning. Syna was out with enough presence to indicate that this morning would be nice. The ominous sky in the distance said otherwise for the afternoon. The archer began to strap up setting cloak about his shoulder and securing it then dropping the quiver onto his back. He attached the club to his belt, tucked in his dagger and simply held his bow for now. He was going to use the web to check on his snares but figured his strider could use some exercise. Not only that, Azmere loved to ride. If he webbed and found the snares empty, he would have to find something else to do that may not involve taking a nice winter ride. He took several strides around his horse stopping to check each hoof. There was nothing wrong with the ones on the front. The back right hoof had a wedge of fungus caked in the left third. This would not do. Azmere set his bow atop the yvas which was on the ground next to the tent. The man squatted down and lifted the big horse hoof using his knee to prop up Hephiestian’s leg. Azmere would never do this to another man’s horse lest he receive a kick square in the teeth but he and his strider didn’t mind having one’s will imposed on the other. It wasn’t always easy but it worked.
Azmere took out his dagger from his belt and used the duller side of the blade to dig at the growth. Winter always had a way of mucking up the animals. Azmere had heard several trainers tell him so over the years. This mundane task of removing the fungus, using the dagger as both file and pick, was absolutely necessary. A Drykas was not whole without his strider and a horse can’t run on three legs. This process was not fast and Azmere soon found himself getting anxious. Being sidetracked was a fact of life but it didn’t mean that one had to lend himself to be happy with the diversion. After almost half of a bell, Azmere was satisfied with the service he had performed. It should last through the rest of winter without any further attention barring something crazy happening. He moved to the last hoof and inspected it as well. It was well enough but was showing signs that in another week or so, he would have to spend some time eliminating the build-up.
Azmere replaced his dagger after wiping both sides of it across his pant leg. He got into the yvas and tossed the finely woven black and white blanket across his mount. The symbol of a hurricane with a rune indicating an eye and three arrows decorated the piece. No one ever say it but it had been a gift from Azmere’s pavilion when he had come back from his rebellious wondering. He bent at the knees and hoisted the yvas up above his center of gravity using his arms then he stood feeling the medium but expected strain. He took a few steps while turning and hefted the load above his shoulders then dropped the yvas squarely onto the horse’s back. Repetition creates muscle memory which leads to easy tasks. Azmere gave a few tugs at the corners to make sure the yvas was seated how he wanted it and then stopped to grab his bow. He paused within grasp of the horn as the approach of a man caught his eye.
The dirty dog and her master walked up as calm as a fog and paused amidst the site. Azmere straightened his back, leaving the bow on the ground, and moved to square with this man. Drykas had a way of socializing that was equal parts open, suspicious, intimidating and loving. The multi-colored eyes pointed their starburst gaze to the newcomer. After a moment to inspect one another, the man spoke. Azmere listened carefully and took note of the torque and windmark. He had seen this man before and recognized him as a messenger of the clan. His news was not terrible but it was inconvenient. Azmere nodded and signed a thank you to the man who simply turned and left. With a quick glance around, he shook his head. Laituk, their old bull, had wandered off again and this time he wasn’t alone. Stormblood was small as far as pavilions go and not overly wealthy but they made due. The young man soon realized that Laituk was followed by a young heifer named Ruulah. She had taken a liking to the bull since the other cows preferred to push her around.
Azmere looked to Hephiestian and nodded. He would forgo the web just the same as if his plans hadn't been altered. It was still going to be a good day for a ride and Azmere’s tracking could use a bit of work. He moved with quick but smooth actions that found him next to his bow which was perfectly slid over his head and shoulder as he mounted his steed. The archer turned his mount and gently coaxed him forward with a double click of his tongue against the back of his teeth. The strider responded and walked in the direction that his rider led. Once they were clear of the city’s trampled streets, Azmere caught sight of the heavy prints of the bull and the softer, smaller marks left behind by Ruulah. Not in any particular hurry, Azmere took his time and followed the trail. Three times in the first fifteen chimes he had to dismount and sort out a slick patch or sift through some trampled grass to regain the path.
The duo had been moving at a steady trot for a few chimes when the trail went dead over some rocky terrain. Azmere dismounted once more and stooped near the last set of prints. As his eyes paced forward trying to match the gait and find the next set, he found there was simply nothing to do but guess. He closed his eyes while resting his elbows on his knees. The soft wind whispering through the grass calmed him and the regular breathing of his strider reminded him of the present. Mixed with the beating of his own heart, Azmere found the tune to be both motivating and relaxing. After a handful of ticks, he opened his eyes. In his surprise, he almost fell back but used his left hand to prevent himself from doing so. There, across the rocks, was a tandem mark of color floating in the air. It suddenly clicked in Azmere’s brain. He took a deep breath and stood while exhaling slowly to regain his tranquil state. He watched the suspended ribbons as if he expected the apparitions to move or disappear for several ticks then mounted Hephiestian.
Azmere nudged the horse with his knees and guided them over the rocks to the trails of color. As they drew nearer, Azmere saw a few more fragments of the same hues further ahead. He felt a slight elation from the experience of using this skill. He also wrestled with the guilt and questions that came with its possession. There was a definite advantage to having it as he was finding out but he had never found justice for the elder’s family. Pushing such things from his mind, the hunter moved the horse around a strange looking spot of grass, perhaps a sinkhole. When his eyes lifted back up, there were several more traces of this interesting magic. It was showing him the way his Zibri had gone.
Azmere quickened the pace of his ride with a gentle squeezing of his knees. He guided the big stallion from one track of color to the next while still checking the ground. He used the hoof prints to verify that the waves of color that hung from the wind were, in fact, leading him to his lost cattle. After another twenty chimes, Azmere came over a rise and looking into the shallow valley below. There, amidst a confusing swirl of color, were the two animals simply eating some grass. Now that he had found them, Azmere closed his eyes. When he reopened them, the color was still present. He did a dance with his eyelids; open, closed, open closed, in an attempt to ‘turn off’ the vision afforded him by the assassin. This took several more chimes to accomplish. With things back to normal, Azmere clicked to his horse and they walked forward slowly not wanting to spook the beef.
Scars are just stories that we wear. - Asmodeus
Textbox by Firenze
