Part 2, the Impending Storm

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Original: https://www.rpnation.com/threads/the-fall-of-the-riders.230967/

Hardeep Passi

Hardeep stepped forward, his eyes hard and mouth in a thin line. He presented the spool of thread, clenched tightly in his hand and the needle.





"I have been told things about it," he said flatly, "things that are not appealing to hear by anyone's standards. Should you be lying to me as to what that Mark truly means, what it can do and what it will do..." The flames crackled by the fireplace, the wind cold and sharp through the cracks of the measly cabin they had been thrown in. It was a pity, really, that this was where they were. The cold made Hardeep on edge, never quite comfortable and with the feeling that anything could be reaching for him at any moment.





"If I have any notion that what I have been told is true opposed to what you have said, there will be consequences." He did not state what they were, letting the woman instead come up with her own threats. He had enough on his mind.





"Make my burden easier," he continued, "and any consequences that may come with that Mark, I will aid you. Make it more difficult and you will shoulder everything that comes towards you, even the wrath of a god."

 

[Lenaara]

[SIZE=11.5pt]A chill had entered the little cabin, turning the air heavy and tense. Fire flickered in the hearth and the kindling crackled from the heat, the flames eating away at the dry wood. No more could Irene hear the howling winds outside and the softly crackling fire. Even the rhythmic beating of her heart pumping blood in her ears was not enough to soften Hardeep’s cold as ice words.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]The rider’s voice cut crisply through the air and when he stepped forward and looked at Irene, she felt herself pinned to the spot, unable to move. Even breathing was hard. The familiar panic crept its way into her mind, reminding of the repercussions for having said a lie in front of the one who owned you.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Her back ached unpleasantly. Some part of her – the one she relied on most of her life, the part trained by Leon and the governesses and experience in general – refused to let the fear show and she stared back at Hardeep, jaw set and eyes locked on his. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]“My Lord,” Irene managed to say, surprising herself with how calm her voice was. “The Mark is in my skin. I know of what it does. What others claim is supposition.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]There was a tint of sadness to her words. It was apparent that discussing the cursed ink on her skin brought her no joy, though she refused to look away in shame. Many years have passed since she got the Mark. Many years full of events that prevented her from thinking too much on that decision to leave, the decision that was not entirely in her hands at the time, though had she chosen to stay she could have. The mark was accepted and Irene knew well that she’d be with it until her last breath. She knew what it meant and what it prevented her from having.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Time healed, they said.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]She long realized that time only made matters worse. As years passed by, Irene began to think more on thoughts that were not acceptable as the mark itself prevented her from even considering the possibility.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Leon’s death made it worse.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]“The Mark is a stamp of shame,” she said, tired. “It sterilizes me and forbids me from returning to Izmar. That is all. There is no divine power behind its creation. Only a mad king’s edict.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]There were many tales surrounding the Mark. Mountain’s landslide, Irene had heard many. One story was wilder than the other. It was strange to think that anyone of sound mind was going to believe them. Fuelled by the propaganda that was whispered into the ears of each Izmarian, the rumours spun out of control and spread all over the continent in tales full of superstition.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Not one to believe superstitious rumours that the milkmaids whispered to one another, Irene paid little attention to the tales. Though even if she did not believe – or refused to believe – the supposed consequences of having left her homeland, others did and they were afraid. Afraid of a woman whom they did not know and pointed their fingers at anyway, spitting and hissing at her as if she was some vile creature.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Irene left before the accusations turned from only verbal insults to more physical measures.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Now, she could not leave. She could only stand in front of Hardeep, fighting the urge to step back from the man who held out his hand. She looked at him and felt her chest tighten at seeing the anger in the dark eyes that she once thought were similar to Rael’s. She’d seen such eyes before. Those who resented the Cursed Ones shared the same look about them.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Feeling her throat tighten, Irene reached out towards him instead, her hand below his to receive the needle and thread.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]“A shaman put it onto my chest,” she continued. “No God or other holy force. It was an old woman who was following orders.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Was there a point in explaining this to him? Would he even believe her?[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]He did not believe her when she claimed she did not kill Balin. He did not believe her when she offered she could hunt. It would not be surprising he was not going to believe her words now, after she had truly lied to him for the first time.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]“I left my homeland for my own reasons. The consequences – real or not – are mine to bear.” At these words, Irene seemed to straighten and let the tension ease from her shoulders. There was no doubt in her words, no hint of slight shame and sadness that seemed to tint her voice when she spoke of the Mark.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]The threat still hung in the air, as dense as the rain that was patting onto the rooftop above them. Hardeep’s words were cold, unpleasant, angry; probably influenced by the superstitious idiot who spread the rumours of the supposedly cursed mark.[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]A part of her craved to see the man by whose side she was sleeping the other night. He did not look at her with such accusatory eyes and his words were comforting then, and not at all threatening like they were now. Maybe the Mark was a curse; a curse that brought forth hatred and disgust. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Irene took a deep breath, as if coming to terms with what she was about to say. “I am your servant. Making your burden easier, whatever it may be, is why I was bought. Believe me, as long as no one else knows of my Mark, it will not trouble you.”[/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Standing still before Hardeep, her eyes were locked on his and unwavering, a hand held palm up an inch beneath Hardeep’s to take the spool and needle that she did not know if she wanted anymore. [/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]“Does anyone else know of it?” [/SIZE]


[SIZE=11.5pt]Someone must have told him. Someone in this village, even. Though Irene took great care in hiding her chest, the skin, in the unlikely event of someone staring hard enough to notice some peeking ink. It was too cold on the mountain to expose her chest even on accident, so Irene pushed that possibility away quickly. Either her assumption was wrong, and Hardeep did recognize the Mark, or someone told him within the short period of time that she didn’t see him. [/SIZE]

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


Hardeep turned his hand slowly above Irene's his gaze never leaving her face as he pressed the spool into her palm, the cool metal of the needle settling between them. His fingers curled around her hand, smooth from lack of physical labor and not at all taunt or harsh. It was a gentle grasp, one he had used to reassure many a slave that feared retribution for errors and while his face was still somewhat harsh, he was tired and unwilling to dole out punishment at the hour it was. He had stared at her as she spoke, unmoving and unflinching. The servant that he had met had acted as if a great curse had come to the mountain, as if great tragedy was about to strike. To Hardeep, it was almost laughable. Had his mother not burned in the midst of the sands of Crubia? Had his father not been shot down in the sky? If the white-robed men were to be trusted, Irene was the cause of neither of these things. She was simply a woman caught in the wrong time, the wrong place with the wrong markings and intentions. Had his mother not been like that?


"A servant," Hardeep said, his hand sliding away from hers, "in the cabin of Lady Azar. Half-crazed, spouting on about gods and kings and blessed Mountains. Lady Azar knows by proxy. No one else, as far as I know lest the walls have ears and the wind carries whispers."


Before he could continue on, the front door swung open and Orien and Galene came in, shaking slightly from the cold and dusting the already melting flakes from their heads. Hardeep stared at Irene for a moment longer before saying, "My father bought you. I did not."


He rounded past the woman as Orien set the bowls down and Galene pulled the pelt closer. Kydoimos stepped out from their room and Hardeep moved outside to call Warren in. Ming Xia, by the grace of the damned, appeared as she always did, silent and blank. She stared at Hardeep for a moment with eyes that reflected nothing before moving past him and ordering them to spread out pelts on the floor, combining the ones both Kydoimos and Hardeep had brought. Galene's bear pelt was shrugged off of her shoulders and laid on the floor before a large one made of the skin of some exotic animal was laid on top of it. Galene mentioned its name to Orien, who only nodded along, in agreement or to simply appease the girl, Hardeep did not know.


Two more thick pelts, one made of the fur of a great wolf and another, much thinner, made from some sort of great cat, or at least that was what Kydoimos said, as it was their pelt.


"You four will lay next to each other," Ming Xia commanded the servants and Warren, as if Kydoimos and Hardeep's words meant nothing. "You two must organize your own beds."


Kydoimos opened their mouth to say something before Ming Xia said, "Simply pile on furs and wrap yourselves in them as you did the night before."


And as if her task was so simple, she left.


"I hate her," Hardeep said openly.


"She's not... she's not bad," Galene offered, earning a glare from Hardeep. "She's not great," the girl confessed.


She was irritating, with her head stuck up her ass, and a perpetual sense of some sort of self-entitlement to have everything and not be demanded anything. Perhaps that was the nature of children, of children that lived in harshness.


Both Galene and Ming Xia proved it.

 

[Lenaara]

After receiving the needle and thread, Irene retreated to the far side of the main room where the pile of clothing given to her lay. Nothing else was said to Hardeep, only a nod was given to him. It may have been a respectful gesture in place of a bow, or maybe a sign of understanding his words. Maybe both. Irene wished not to dwell on the knowledge that more than one person knew of her Mark, or on Hardeep’s subsequent words that could have meant anything from his unwillingness to accept her as his slave or not to be associated with what his father had done.


And still, she couldn’t stop herself from wondering whether her Mark was going to be more trouble than it was worth. Even Hardeep’s words she had to erase and push out of her mind, as it felt odd to be…useless, unwanted. Not having a spot to fill, some place in their little group of people that were pulled here by fate not of their own making.


Positioned by the hearth, Irene had chosen to sit on the floor cross-legged with her shoulder close to the warm from fire stone. A purple jacket was spread over her lap, its back to her, and she held her hands over the fabric. One held the needle, the other lifted the fabric. And she stared at it for a moment, her mind blank of images and symbols that she could broider onto the cloth. Instead, her mind was thinking on the words told to her, on the events of the past few days.


Embroidery was a part of her tradition. It was taught to her as a child by her mother, and her mother was taught by Irene’s grandmother and aunts. It was a skill passed through generations. It was a skill that showed how much a girl was worth, if she was a good housewife that’d be able to make her own trousseau and take care of her husband’s and children’s clothing. It was also a skill that allowed Irene to empty her mind of all thoughts save for the image that she’d be trying to sew into the cloth.


How long has it been since she’s held a needle to broider and not to patch up some piece of clothing, hers or her master’s? Ever since she was sold into slavery, surely.


The symbols sewn into her clothing were always simple and meaningful, ranging from protective charms – in the effect of which she didn’t believe – to depictions of events that happened lately.


Maybe that was why it took her a while to think of an idea. She couldn’t well sew a pair of chains and a collar onto the jacket.


By the time that the needle plunged into the cloth and Irene began to weave it through the back part of the jacket, Ming Xia appeared in the cabin. Irene lifted her eyes only for a moment to look at the girl and then focused on her work though still paid attention to the words said by the young woman and then the group’s reaction to her orders after she left.


“She is mediocre,” Irene offered quietly though seriously.


Warren, who had entered the cabin after being called in by Hardeep, was leaning against a wall, arms folded over his chest and his legs crossed at the ankles. She did not see him turn his head to her and frown, though he did offer a grunt of approval to her words.


“She should show some respect,” Warren grumbled, quietly as if unsure if he was allowed to talk about their guide. “It is not some peasants she is talking to. The girl should know her place.”


Irene did not say anything else about the matter. It appeared that everyone shared one opinion about their guide – no one liked her presence. Her personality – or the lack of it – and the way she did her job was what put everyone on edge. While Irene thought the girl to be an empty shell of a person, who cared for nothing and wanted even less, she could understand why Ming Xia turned out to be the way she is. The mountain was not a place for a peaceful life. Still, it did not excuse the way the young woman did her job. It was odd she had taken the task of a guide while having no wish to actually do it.


The rest of the evening the cabin was full of people. It had gotten cold outside and the snow and rain turned the village’s atmosphere grey and unpleasant. Irene had gone outside only once to change the water from the basins. With everyone crammed into the cabin, the decently sized living space suddenly seemed small.


Furs were spread close to the hearth and Irene waited until the others were settled in before she eased into the furs as well, choosing a spot closer to the door and away from the fire. She remembered well how she reacted to Hardeep’s touch the other night. Not too enthusiastic about the arrangement, Irene had to set her jaw and mask her unwillingness to wrap an arm around Warren.


It was not too cold and the sound of crackling fire lulled her to sleep quickly. That night she did not sleep well, however. Some hours after, Irene woke up in cold sweat and a frown creasing her features. Quietly and quickly she shrugged off the furs and climbed out of their makeshift bed that was nothing more but some furs piled atop a rug. She felt sick and thought she’d empty her stomach right there and then, and went to the cabin’s doors. She opened it and rested a hand on the doorframe as she bent over and forced herself to take deep breaths to keep her dinner from the other evening in. The cold fresh air helped.


The rest of the night Irene spent by the hearth, broidering the jacket under the firelight. Her eyes strained to see and she felt tired but sleeping meant seeing the nightmares which she wished to forget, so Irene focused on the cloth in her hands. There was no other alternative that could ease her mind and she doubted that climbing into Hardeep’s bed for another night of sharing memories was what he wished for. This thought made her snort quietly to herself.


It was still dark when Warren stirred and sat up, rubbing his eyes with the palms of his hands as he shook off the remaining sleepiness. It did not take him long to wake up, as the moment his eyes fell onto the spot where Irene was supposed to be sleeping and found it empty, Warren looked around in alert.


Irene gave Warren a slight wave with her hand, the needle gleaming. Warren only frowned deeply at Irene, opened his mouth to speak but stopped himself when Irene nodded at the still sleeping Orien and Galene. The riders have retreated to their rooms to rest.


Instead, Warren gave Irene a quizzical look and whispered, “Go to sleep.”


“You should too,” Irene whispered back. It was the middle of the night, still a while before dawn.


There was a crinkle to the guard’s brow as he frowned and he shook his head. He pushed the furs away as gently as possible and slipped out of their ‘bed’. Given his usual tendency to be loud, Warren was surprisingly quiet. He got to his feet and pulled on his boots.


“Where are you going?” Irene asked quietly.


“For a run,” Warren said, halfway to the door already as he gave the doors to Hardeep’s and Kydoimos’ room a quick glance. Both were closed and there were no sounds coming from within.


“Can I join?”


It was either the question or the speed and eagerness with which it was asked that made Warren stop mid-step and turn to look at Irene in surprise. Another look was given to the riders’ rooms as if in contemplation.


Seeing his reluctance to agree, Irene added, “As long as I’m with you, it should be fine.”


Warren was quiet for the longest time and Irene thought he was about to refuse her, but he looked at her and pursed his lips before beckoning her to follow. Irene let the needle rest in the fold of the jacket, already decorated with several symbols at the hem that were woven into a motif of geometrical designs, and got up. Carefully she circled still sleeping Orien and Galene, and went out of the cabin after Warren.


Early morning chill bit at her exposed skin – she left the furs and the jacket of thick fabric inside the cabin – and face, and after sitting for several hours by the hearth the cold did not seem so bad. The streets, however few, were empty and Irene and Warren did not run into anyone as they jogged in silence down the road, following the path to reach the village’s outskirts.


When they were running by the forest Warren spoke up, his nose and ears tinted with red and his breath fogging under his nose in the mockery of the fog that hovered above the ground in a thick carpet.


“Why did you want to join me?” He did not struggle for breath as he spoke.


“I’m out of shape,” Irene replied, as if the answer was not apparent already.


Fatigue prickled at her chest and her lungs burnt for air. With tired legs Irene followed Warren, matching his pace though struggling to maintain it. Maybe the guard had noticed it, as he soon slowed his jog to have Irene run beside him.


“You shouldn’t be in shape, anyway,” Warren grumbled. “There’s no reason for you to be fit. All you do is clean.”


“This isn’t the Passi estate. The cabin is too small to need more than one servant. Besides,” Irene slowed down to a walk, her chest rising and falling quickly, “those who are weak do not survive these winters.”


Warren slowed down as well and walked by her side, eyeing her suspiciously. “You don’t have faith in Sir Hardeep?”


No, Irene was about to say.


Hardeep was her master, though he reminded her more than once that the one who bought her was his father. He brought her to this mountain with him and it seemed that he trusted her as much as she trusted Warren not to kill her the moment he sensed something amiss. It was still questionable which location was safer – the Passi estate, where slaves would be easy enough to manage, or this mountain that housed more than one kind of vile creature.


“Lord Hardeep has enough to worry about,” Irene said.


The thought that this Lady Azar and her servant knew of Irene’s Mark made her feel uneasy. A secret was not a secret anymore once it was shared between two people.


Warren and Irene continued to run around the village for a while longer until the dawn’s light lit the muddy road. They were walking slowly back to the cabin, both breathing heavily and their faces glistening with sweat despite the cold. Several other people had gone outside to do their daily tasks and Irene spotted a handful of servants by the well, waiting to use it as they held empty wooden basins in their arms, shivering from cold as their cheeks were tinted with pink.


They rounded a house and turned on the road where their cabin was located and both of them froze, gaping at their little home.


Birds were perched on the roof of their cabin. All dark, they flocked on the roof and around the cabin and stared at the passersby villagers who stared right back. Irene had noticed a few birds on the roof as they left the cabin, but this was different. There was at least a dozen of them now. One of the villagers aimed an arrow at one of the birds.


Warren cursed under his breath and went into the cabin quickly. Irene followed, eyeing the birds with a confused frown.


“Sir Hardeep,” Warren called out as he stopped on the other side of the door leading to Hardeep’s room. “There is ah…a situation outside. Birds, sir. There are birds all over the roof.”


It sounded so idiotic Irene would not have believed the guard had she not seen a few more crows circle above the roof of their cabin as she closed the door behind her. She crossed the room to take a jacket and put it on as she headed outside again to look at the birds. They were intent on flocking to their cabin, as no other house had a single crow perched on its roof.


Was she superstitious, Irene would have thought this to be a bad omen. As it was, the sight was near frightening and unnerving.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


Galene had the sensation that something was seizing her, wrapped around her and pulling her in, underneath the surface. She felt like her breaths were far too shallow and her movements restricted. She felt trapped, chained, and like the time she was forced into a cramped wagon. The air did not reek however, and there was not the sound of groans and moans of pain.She blinked awake and noted that someone seemed to have seized her. She glared at the back of Orien's head, suddenly realizing why the other man had laid down first and had pulled her after him; clearly, his experience with sleeping with Warren had been just as unpleasant. Galene spent a few moments wriggling against the man, pulling at his arms and shoving his limbs off of her before shifting closer to Orien, only to wake up hours later with the man once again wrapped around her. Groaning, she shoved at him forcefully but still found herself trapped.


"Gods damnit," she muttered, rolling as best as she could to breathe easier. The rest of the night passed harshly, with the guard's actions increasingly annoying as Galene woke up more and more often. He finally did manage to oosen his grip and allow her some rest, something she was thankful for.


She woke, however, what felt like mere moments later. Groggily looking over, she noted that Warren and Irene were awake and something was being shouted about birds.


"Birds?" Hardeep asked, swinging open the door to his own room, looking equally weary. He most likely had not slept well either; he had no fire there to keep him quiet as worn, nor someone like Warren who was a clingy motherfucker.


Galene stood up and stretched as Hardeep pulled on a fur and stepped outside, staring up at the cabin.


"Birds," the rider repeated and only then did Galene move about, pulling the bear pelt out from under Orien, the only person left, which woke him. She pulled it around her shoulders, glaring at the man who only stared up at her with a furrowed brow. The makeshift bed was jostled beyond quick repair and the slave seemed to deem it pointless to go back to sleep.


Galene dragged herself outside and examined the roof.


"Birds," she said blankly.


----


Ming Xia moved towards the village silently, eyes as blank as they ever were. A few glanced at her, perhaps prepared to tut at her and her failure to find a partner, to settle down and plan to carry a child. A nomad so many years after she should have been, unwilling to submit and find a suitable and strong partner. She ignored them, instead moving towards one of the only buildings made of stone, of bricks of some kind of rock hauled over and slathered together with mud and clay and fired upon to make it solid. It was where food was stored, one of the most precious commodities and Ming Xia knew so.


Which was why it was concerning to hear the discussion coming from the stone building, only one of three.


<<The oats are rotten,>> one man told Ming Xia as she approached, his face in a frown and concern etched onto his face.


<<Someone left the door open,>> another said, already hauling out soaked through oats with a large dust pan, the edges already discolored.


<<You will have to go to the other one to get your designated ones,>> the first man said, <<though it will be less.>>


<<Who the hell left the door open?>> another shouted. <<Which absent-minded fool left it?>>


Ming Xia had already wandered away from the men, fussing over each other and the oats that were no longer edible. It would be a hard winter then, with more people than they were used to as well as a now empty stone building, unable to be used. She silently waited in line as the portions were being doled out, smaller than yesterday. A few were trying to bargain to get more, juggling squalling infants and screaming children and getting tuts from people in line, demanding they speed it up.


Eventually, with her bowl filled, she made her way to the cabin with her charges, blinking slowly as she approached.


There were birds.


Black, dark birds, of legend and death and with blank eyes that she had been mocked for perhaps now having. Their wings were inky black and their beaks and claws sharp enough to tear through flesh.


"Have you killed something?" she heard someone demand from the group. "Have you destroyed something?"

 

[Lenaara]

@FloatingAroundSpace


Irene was staring up at the cabin, soon joined by Galene and Hardeep who were doing the very same thing. They stared at the birds who only stared right back with their dark eyes, completely not disturbed by the commotion around the cabin.


More and more villagers stopped behind them, gaping at the little house. Slaves going about their early morning tasks looked up at the roof of the group’s cabin, whispered something to one another and then ran off to their masters. The usual hubbub of the village was replaced by hushed whispers or bold comments in a variety of languages that Irene couldn’t grasp with all the noise surrounding their little street.


<<…oats supply destroyed…>>


<<Mould, all of it…>>


<<…the door not closed?>>


Several villagers arrived, joining the rest of the group that stood gaping at the cabin. They talked to one another in voices that grew quiet at the sight of the birds. It was hard to hear them and Irene would have ignored that conversation entirely was it not for how they looked when she glanced at them over her shoulder to survey just how many people gathered around. Those who just joined were ashen faced, their lips pursed and jaws set. With hunched shoulders and crinkled brows in a frown they looked at the cabin and then at each other. Soon they too began asking questions that made little to no sense.


“What you kill?” Someone demanded from the group.


<<…supply destroyed and now birds?>>


<<Coincidence?>>


Irene half turned to look at the ones speaking of the supply and its supposed destruction. For a moment she frowned, looking down at the ground in thought and then glanced at Hardeep to get a better feel of his reaction to this odd occurrence. He looked as confused and dumbfounded as any of them.


Somehow, she expected him to blame her for this. Just the other day he claimed that he was told that her Mark was capable of earning the wrath of a god. It was silly to think that he’d blame her for the birds’ sudden interest in their little cabin, but she was blamed for other events not of her making. Like the death of his father.


From the little bits of conversation that drifted to her over the confused chatter behind her and the birds’ cawing, Irene understood that someone had spoilt the oats supply.


“The supply of oats was left open for the night,” Irene said as she looked at away from Hardeep and observed the birds. The stupid things were not at all put off by the presence of so many villagers. “Some of it was destroyed.”


They were given their share of oats, after all. It was Ming Xia’s role to tell of the supply’s destruction. It was also Ming Xia’s opinion that mattered when it came to Irene being allowed to hunt. Maybe the chance of food shortages happening earlier than anticipated, Hardeep would be more inclined to allow her to hunt before he spoke to Ming Xia, if he ever did. The man disliked their guide.


An arrow whistled through the air and one of the birds fell off the roof and rolled to the ground. The rest were spooked and flew up a few feet before landing onto the roof once more, intent on staying there. Another arrow landed into a bird, then another. The villagers were taking advantage of the situation, it seemed. Even the few children who left their homes in the early morning threw some pebbles at the cabin.


Warren, seemingly perturbed by the birds and how they were used as target practice and future meals, marched to the cabin quickly and looked around the cabin walls. After finding a niche between two wooden boards, he began climbing up. His height allowed him to reach the rooftop quickly, though with the grace of a particularly large and lazy bear. Once the roof was to his waist, Warren began to wave his arm around, trying to scare off the birds. They flew up, flapping their wings and cawed at the one disturbing their rest, and did not land. Someone from the villagers yelled something at Warren and judging by the way the words were directed at the guard, they were nothing but all sorts of profanities.


The birds flew over the crowd, cawing loudly, and some flew off into the forest. Only a few more were left on the roof, though they too got shot quickly enough and taken by the villagers as they neared the cabin to pick up their catch.


One of the villagers crouched by a bird that he had shot, yanked the arrow out, picked the bird up by its wing, and carried it over to Hardeep.


“Who did you kill?” The man demanded. He was at least a foot taller than Hardeep and a stubble covered his strong jaw. Dressed in sturdy leathers and thick furs that made his shoulders broader, he did not need to try to look intimidating. His dark eyes bore into Hardeep like daggers. “This is a curse.” He raised the bird to wave in front of Hardeep. The man’s lip curled into a scowl. “What creature did you kill with, you ignorant fool?”


It appeared that this man was not at all intimidated by the riders’ presence. With a bow and quiver slung over his shoulder and a belt similar to Ming Xia’s, where a hatchet and a hunting knife hung gleaming in the dawn’s light.


Warren had just climbed off the cabin’s wall when the villager came over to Hardeep, waving the bird in front of the rider’s face as if to make some sort of point. Frowning deeply, Warren placed a hand on his hip where he expected to find his sword. The weapon was not there. He had left it in the cabin and did not pick it up for the run or when he came back to tell Hardeep of the birds’ presence. It did not stop the guard from marching over to help Hardeep.


“We didn’t kill anything,” Irene said as calmly as she could as she stepped towards the villager, who only regarded her with a scowl and shifted his attention back to the rider still expecting an answer.  

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

Ming Xia watched dully as the birds were shot down from the roof, her own eyes blank and her hand not moving to the knives on her belt. A few cast her glances as she stared, clearly wondering why she was not bothering to take advantage of a potential source of food, a potential only source of food. She spotted her mother among the crowd firing a few shots at the birds and her brother tossing a few stones alongside a few of the friends he no doubt had mustered during his stay in the village. Once the birds began to fall, children rushed forward, capturing the ones they had managed to fell as well as the ones their parents had struck down, taking them back to no doubt be plucked and eaten. Ming Xia watched silently as the birds fell, a thought drifting across her mind briefly.


The birds are harbingers.


They flew away when disaster struck, always the first to fly away when the great monsters crawled out. Their calls could fill the forest as they warned one another, finding somewhere far safer than the branches they had once perched themselves upon. Ming Xia had never seen a bird flock to a place of great peril; after all, they wished to live as well. To her, they were not drawn towards the cabin. They were fleeing something else, something no doubt much worse given by the fact that they did not leave after a good portion of their number were cut down.


Something was following them. Something so heinous that they would risk this sort of death as opposed to whatever torture lay behind.


The destroyed supply and the birds no doubt made people draw conclusions where there were none. People were like that; picking up patterns that weren't there because their entire life, they had relied upon some sort of pattern; which way the birds flocked when winter came, where the rabbits darted when the snow fell, which way to run when the dark came upon them with hands of ice and no face to stare back into. They believed in gods and connections that Ming Xia had long abandoned, using knowledge she had tested to figure out problems, allowing her limbs to move as they had for years and years and years. Those patterns were what she relied on; a steady drumming like the breaths she drew in and the heart that for some damned reason, forced her to keep going.


The others were becoming agitated, drawing closer to the riders she was supposed to be a charge of.


<<You, you're the guide,>> someone called, pointing a finger to her. It was a boy, no older than she, and one that had a scar across his left cheek. <<I saw you go into the forest with that one,>> he added, pointing to the dark skinned slave, the one that had shot a bird.


She supposed there was a link there. A bird dead the day previous, and now the flock had come.


<<Landing on a roof is not a symbol of malevolence,>> Ming Xia offered to the boy. <<Birds flee death. They don't go towards it.>>


The man that had been standing before Hardeep turned towards them before his gaze shot back at him. "Is it true? Did you go hunting?"


"I did not," Hardeep said, his jaw set. "The others might have, but I did not kill anything."


Galene shifted uncomfortably. Hardeep's eyes glanced at the young girl, diverting the man's attention to her.


"You," he said, turning and storming over to the slave. "What did you do?"


"I hunted for food," Galene said calmly, though the man towered over her, a clear attempt at intimidating and cowing her. "I shot down a simple creature."


<<A curse,>> the boy challenged, pushing towards Ming Xia. <<They are black birds, birds of death.>>


<<Birds of prey cause death,>> Ming Xia said plainly as the boy stopped before her, a few inches from the bowl and leaned forward, trying to intimidate her with hard eyes that she only gazed blankly back at. <<The black ones eat seeds.>>


The man growled reaching for the knife at his belt. Hardeep narrowed his eyes and said steadily, "I would suggest not harming her."


<<There is no need to make up an imagined excuse,>> the boy said, <<You let the girl shoot a bird, didn't you?>>


<<Are you jealous?>> Ming Xia asked plainly. <<Bitter that you cannot?>>


There were a few chuckles at her remark.


The boy fumed silently, his face reddening and his hand reaching for the knife by his belt. Ming Xia saw the slow movement, (no doubt the speed was to prevent that) and her hand darted to her own, the slim knife used to skin beasts in hand darting across the small expanse between them, giving him a mirrored mark across the other side of his face.


There was dead silence as blood began to swell by the new wound, the boy's hand barely touching the hilt of the knife he had. He stared at her blankly as she shifted the bowl of oats to her side and walked past him.


<<There is no need to be in discourse now,>> Ming Xia said plainly, a statement she had heard throughout her life by her mother whenever she fussed or her siblings argued. <<The birds are gone. You have food when we were supposed to have none. Leave.>>


There was more silence before the man turned and spat at Ming Xia, muttering about women and bitches and a few more insults and profanities that she heard but had no reaction to. She had done worse, after all.


"Get inside," she commanded to her charges.


----


Hardeep turned to Irene slightly. "The oats are gone?" he asked, frowning. He watched the villagers shoot down the birds, the action making more sense now. He had no weapons and frowned sharply as he watched them gather up the fallen birds, taking them in to eat and clean.


"Do we have weapons?" he asked Irene. "We ought to seize a few as well."


Before he could go any further, a man approached him with one in hand, large and intimidating and Hardeep had to stretch his neck up to gaze at him.


"Who did you kill?"


Who? Not what, but who, as if they expected him to have slayed some thing with an identity deeper than a rabbit or a bird, as if they expected the thing they killed to have a name that it was called to lovingly.


"Nothing," Hardeep began, before a boy spoke in the language that grated his ears. Turning, he spotted Ming Xia staring calmly at the scene, face unflinching and unmoving as the altercation continued.


"Is it true? Did you go hunting?" the man demanded out of Hardeep, who only glared back at him, frustrated. He was being talked down to, he knew, viewed as a child and subordinate, as someone who had messed up and erred and needed to be punished.


"I did not," Hardeep said, his jaw set. "The others might have, but I did not kill anything."


The conversation drew away from him then, returning to Ming Xia and her impassable expression. Whatever happened, however, turned violent quickly and she had soon drawn a blade and blood. Hardeep stared at the girl for a moment more, wondering what her intent was, not protecting them in any sort of way. The boy was not a threat.


"What is happening?" he hissed to Irene.

 

[Lenaara]

@FloatingAroundSpace


Hardeep’s voice made Irene turn to look at him and she quirked a brow at his first question. “All the weapons are in the cabin,” she answered.


The only one with a weapon was now Warren, who had entered the cabin briefly to retrieve his belt with a scabbard and the sword. He was strapping the belt to his hip as he walked over to Hardeep, eyeing the tall villager who still held the bird, with a cold stare. Warren kept his hand on the hilt of his sword after the belt was securely fastened around his hip.


Warren stood at Hardeep’s side, his back to the cabin, and eyed the villagers gingerly. He and the tall man stared at one another for the longest time before the tall man chose to hoist the crow over his shoulder, shot Hardeep and Galene a cold stare, and disappeared into the crowd.  


Irene stared at the scene unfold and cringed inwardly at the way how Ming Xia handled the situation. There was no need to draw blood. There was no need to even entertain the idea of talking to the man who approached her, accusing her of something that was idiotic in every shape and form. Though Irene supposed that to make a valid point, it had to be backed up by violence on this mountain, a show of strength and honed reflexes.


That display of skill also attracted more attention. Slaves, who had rushed off when the birds were just discovered, came back, their masters in tow. None of their faces Irene could recognize, though they stood out against the background of the villagers and the slaves. All dressed in fine quality clothing, with pristine unblemished skin and smooth hair, and not even the dark marks under their eyes that showed an apparent lack of sleep could affect the way how the riders regarded the scene with an authoritative stare. Their backs straight and faces hard, they stared at the group and the cabin, from where the villagers were still taking away the shot down birds.


“The man thinks Galene cursed us,” Irene told Hardeep. Over the commotion and the combined voices of the villagers around them it was hard to hear Ming Xia’s and the man’s conversation. It was not hard to fill in the blanks, however. “Yesterday we went into the forest to display skill with bow and arrow. Galene shot down a bird. This,” Irene waved a hand at the rooftop from where the remaining birds had just flown off, spooked by the arrows and the commotion, “is a sign that we got cursed, that birds are a symbol of malevolence, death. Ming Xia challenged him, he wanted to attack her but she was faster.”


Irene eyed the dead birds now in the hands of children or their parents, walking away from the cabin, eyeing the little creatures that were not yet scrawny from winter.


The birds’ presence made her feel uneasy. Why were they around this cabin? It was not to prey on Galene, who shot down their brethren though Irene supposed uneducated fools would cling to anything to justify such strange events.


Ming Xia commanded them to get inside the cabin and Warren nodded in approval. “It’s best to go inside, Sir,” he said quietly to Hardeep as he eyed the crowd.


Staying behind Hardeep, Warren began retreating to the cabin though kept a vigilant watch on the crowd. Irene eyed it as well, seeing the curiosity of several villagers turn into suspicion. Those dark eyes worried her. Thankfully, the ones attracted to the commotion were the riders and the villagers who lived or passed by the area. Ammon was nowhere to be seen, his golden hair and blue eyes made him stand out vividly in any crowd.


To their side, someone cursed and this time the profanities were not directed at Hardeep or anyone else from the group. It was the boy whose face got injured by Ming Xia’s blade. He pushed someone aside, making his way through the crowd towards Galene. Quickly he closed off the distance between them and his hand shot up to the girl’s arm. He grabbed her by the wrist and pulled her towards him.


“You brought curse with you,” he said. His words were heavily accented with the harshness of the mountain folk language.


This was bad. They had to leave as quickly as possible into the cabin to avoid causing another scene.


Glancing at the crowd quickly to spot any golden haired riders, Irene pulled her blouse closer to her neck and circled around Hardeep to reach Galene.


<<Let her go,>> Irene said coolly as she tried to put herself between Galene and the young man.


He glared at her, his lip curling up into a snarl that seemed all the more menacing with the blood that slid down in thin rivers down his cheek.


<<She shot a bird. The others came as a warning. Only death will await us now,>> he nearly hissed at Irene thought his eyes shot back to Galene.


Seeing that the boy was not going to let go on his own, and intended to cause another scene maybe to get his pride patched up, Irene reached towards his hand. She took his little finger and pulled. It was a little known fact that whenever that finger went, the arm had to follow, otherwise something broke along the way. The man did not resist, or at least stopped after his features twisted in a wince of pain and he grabbed his biceps after Irene let go and pushed Galene gently towards the cabin, a silent command to get inside.


Just in case, Irene stayed by Galene’s side until they got inside the cabin and Warren shut the door behind him, leaning his back against it as if exhausted.


“What the hell?” He whispered under his breath and ran a hand through his hair. It was damp with sweat and spiked up in myriad directions.


Irene eyed the door gingerly, as if expecting for the man or some other villager to come knocking. It was quiet and after a moment she let out a sigh and looked at Hardeep.


“With the oats destroyed,” she began, carefully choosing her words, “am I allowed to help Galene with hunting?”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

The other riders were beginning to feel unsettling, surrounding them not unlike the birds did, coming down to peck at them, to examine them. Hardeep glanced around as Ming Xia prepared to go inside, her eyes as vacant as they always had been. Perhaps she had never known fear or perhaps something had vacated her abilities to understand it, but the girl didn't seem capable of expressing much emotion aside from plain apathy. Her mind seemed far away at all times, her limbs working of their own accord and her steps that of a practiced kind, as if she was constantly retracing steps from a time long before.


His eyes slanted towards the boy who seized Galene, the girl's face turning and her mouth opening to snap at him. He supposed that with Kydoimos' absence, she had lost one of her best protectors.


An interesting thought and one he did not dwell on for long.


Irene's willingness to defend her was no reassurance for him either and he said nothing when the boy left as quickly as he came, the movement of Irene's hand replayed in his mind. There was something about her own stance and action that seemed practiced as well, as Ming Xia's movements were.


"You went hunting," Hardeep stated plainly to them all once they were inside. "I would expect there to be more food as a result, but so far I've only heard of a bird."


Galene was rubbing her arm but said nothing.


"Your slave nearly lost me two arrows," Ming Xia said dully, moving about to place the oats by the fire which Orien was stoking. "The first is chipped and will require whittling. The other landed in a creature which sprinted away. The hunt was only successful for the bird, nothing else."


"Orien?" Hardeep asked, confused. Orien did not know how to hunt at all; why would he wish to go out? Or perhaps he did know how, a relic of the past that he sometimes used to speak to Hardeep about and had kept that piece hidden, as Galene kept her own pieces hidden.


"No," Ming Xia said, her tone unchanging. "The female."


"Irene?" Hardeep asked, seemingly more surprised. "She got us the rabbit."


"She didn't use a bow and arrow then," Galene offered.


"She still almost lost me two arrows."


"And managed to get a rabbit at one point," Hardeep spat back, beginning to grow increasingly annoyed with the younger girl's antics. "Look, just because things aren't going perfectly doesn't mean you get to act as if we're all inconveniencing you when you signed up for this."


Ming Xia turned to stare at Hardeep and he thought that she might react.


"I do not command you," she said. "I just simply state what happened."


Hardeep stared at the girl.


"You're supposed to help us with what happened," Hardeep challenged.


"I am required to keep you alive," Ming Xia said, her face blank. "Nothing more, nothing less. I do not command you or your slaves. If she wishes to hunt and you say yes, you get none of my weapons. If she wishes to hunt and you say no, you will get none of my weapons. That one," she pointed at Warren, "would scare half of the forest away and this one," she pointed at Orien, "is too weak and unskilled. He acts more the housewife than a hunter. More a slave than a man."


Hardeep stared as Galene practically choked on the air, a noise of disgust and shock and anger emitting from her throat. Even Orien stilled for a moment.


"You are sick," Hardeep spat.


"And yet I've survived," Ming Xia said, the double meaning seemingly passing by her head, taking the literal one instead. "I have lived on this mountain and faced its inhabitants and lived. What say you?"

 

[Lenaara]

@FloatingAroundSpace


Warren stirred at Ming Xia’s words of him and Orien. His eyes narrowed at the guide, promising punishment if he was allowed to execute it. Pushing away from the door, he stepped towards Hardeep and his hand rested on the pommel of his sword.


“Still your tongue,” the guard hissed.


Hardeep offered his own insult towards the young woman, though it appeared that she did not care for it. Her response pulled forward a new wave of disgust from Warren, as he rounded Hardeep and stared down the woman as his other hand reached towards the hilt of his sword, his body bent and turned in a defensive stance that he was ready to change at a moment’s notice to attack their guide.


“You are speaking to a dragon rider,” Warren snarled. “Learn some respect lest you wish to lose your tongue.”


It appeared that the guard wished nothing else but to silence the woman in any way possible. Words had no effect on her. No matter what was said, Ming Xia remained still and silent, looking around herself with those dead eyes that did not seem to focus on anything in particular. The only reaction Irene had seen the young woman express was that momentary encounter with the boy, when she gave him a matching scar on the other side of his face. Only action was the answer.


So it was not surprising that Ming Xia did not hesitate in reaching for her own weapon the moment that Warren’s hand curled around the worn leather hilt of his sword. With a hiss the blade slid out an inch from the scabbard though the guard did not free the weapon yet.


The main room of their cabin was too small to allow a sword fight. Maybe that was why Warren did not leap at Ming Xia. Or maybe he waited for Hardeep to give an appropriate order for their guide to be cut down for her rudeness.


Before either of them could draw their weapons and attack, Irene stepped towards Warren and Ming Xia, raising her hands steadily to stand between the young woman and the guard.


“Calm down,” she said calmly as she looked at Warren, who did not so much as look at Irene. His grip on the hilt did not loosen either and his knuckles turned white. He moved away his shoulder from Irene’s hand as she pushed against it to make him step away from Ming Xia.


Warren did not seem to have noticed Irene standing between him and Ming Xia, but Irene did not step away. Indeed, she remained still, with her back straight and eyes cold. She looked at Ming Xia and did not put her hand against the young woman’s shoulder as she did with Warren. That would have probably resulted in her losing her hand.


“You survived here, yes.” Irene stared at their guide coolly, her eyes narrowed ever so slightly in disgust. “Though you are still dead on the inside. That is nothing to be proud of.”


Taking a deep breath, Irene exhaled slowly and closed her eyes momentarily before she could allow herself to say something she’d regret later on. She gave Warren another push, gentler this time.


“Sir Hardeep will be the one who decides if you get paid,” Warren growled at Ming Xia, though he did lean back and loosen his hold on the hilt of his sword. “Know your place.”


“This is not the time to compare hardships and achievements,” Irene began before Ming Xia or anyone else could add any more insults or threats.


The air was tense and cold enough as it was. Not even the warm crackling of the hearth could ward off the cold that ran on spidery legs down Irene’s spine as she continued to stand as a barrier between the two people who were intent on attacking each other with little provocation.


“Winter is nearing. There will be food shortages and earlier today a part of the oat supply was ruined,” Irene continued as she looked from Warren to Ming Xia and back. “I require no weapons to hunt. Only permission to leave in the morning with Galene to put up traps or snares in the forest. Ming Xia is right, Warren is too loud; he is going to scare off the game and attract predators. Orien is better fit to take care of the cabin.” She stared at Ming Xia from the corner of her eye. “Keep your weapons if you wish. Your mediocrity at your task will get you nothing in the end. Weapons can be traded for, and I speak the languages that the traders here know.” Irene shifted to look at Hardeep from over Warren’s shoulder. “Galene is the one who proved she is capable with bow and arrow. I can help her hunt.”


Irene spoke calmly, her voice laced with practiced authority. Without realizing it, she fell into the spot of a guide that Ming Xia seemed reluctant and unwilling to fill. It had been years since Irene last led a group of people from one town and towards another, helping and guiding them through the journey in any way she could. It was something she enjoyed and could do easily, as her childhood and teenage years were spent traveling alongside guides and caravan leaders.


Warren lowered his gaze from Ming Xia and eyed Irene from beneath heavy brows. Either he noticed the apparent change in her demeanour – for she usually kept to herself and was quiet – or he simply did not like the way she spoke to him and Hardeep, not like an obedient slave should have. The guard said nothing, however, and looked back up at Ming Xia.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


Ming Xia's life had dissolved into instinct over survival, known paths and movements over exploration, and traits tempered through trial over ones that were not quite honed. In the land she lived in, adaption was key and as such, she relied mostly on what she knew already, simply building off of it or picking them apart to put back together in different ways. She knew the sound of metal against metal, the movement of hands going to knives and swords and hilts, the caw of the ravens when they flew away from movement too large for them to be safe around, the low snarl of beasts that ate what she did and feared what the people feared. She had long since emptied herself of the desire to chase things that might fill her with emotion, long tossed away dreams of a cabin by the side of the wood, of laughter with friends, of standing by her family tall and proud. Her mind was unusually calm most of the time, a dark and flat pool of nothing but apathy, where the tension kept the water from rippling and flowing and dipping. Occasionally, a rock of a memory would drop or skim across it, triggered by something in the darkness that hovered over her constantly and the apathy would dip downwards, allowing the darkness to drip in as grief and guilt and shame and agony. The instinct to survive would abate and the desire to lie and perish would find itself a home in the gap that had been made in the usually calm apathy and would stew for a moment or two before it was overwhelmed and thrust back into the air.


Words slid off of her like water, spat at her as if they would be knives and claws but never managing to take hold. The water did not ripple.


Hui Hua was gradually becoming irritated with this. A strong woman would defend herself against all attacks, even potential slights against her strength. Pride was what the mountain lived on, feasted upon. Pride in strength, in excellence, in being able to be strong against odds that were towering and imposing. Her mother mocked those that mocked her and her siblings all wrestled and roared and allowed their minds to dip and ripple and flow with anger and joy and sadness.


Hers was always blank. Unmoving. Stagnant.


Water that was stagnant would reek, life unable to take root in something that was not cleansed or part of the bigger world. It would be isolated and laid to gather dust and dirt and even the darkness would ignore it, too boring and useless to offer any energy towards.


For some damned reason, it seemed to be the exact opposite with Ming Xia's own stagnant mind.


People didn't seem to get enough of trying to poke at its surface, sniffing at the rotting liquid and poking at it, trying to make it flow and ripple outwards and react. the water they tried to pour in would hover on the surface, like oil, never dipping below the tension that kept it steady, never breaking through to the depths. They would get annoyed and try again but no pressure made the surface break and the apathy stayed.


It was annoying, almost. It would be annoying, if the stagnation flowed slightly, but it did not and thus it was simply another faucet of life, one that she developed the instinct to stand and stare for, the one that focused simply on bodily threats over words. She might exchange words every now and then, when the wind seemed to blow the smell of jasmine flowers that did not grow on the mountain and the air seemed to taste of her father's basked berries. As time went on, Ming Xia found that giving words helped speed the process, as if her own simulated stimulation and interest in the conversation made things move quicker, made the other finish faster and leave her alone.


Warren, at the moment, was being almost annoying. He was a man that had a mind that didn't seem to rest, that would ripple with emotion and never gather enough tension to stay still. A man that served another, kept his mind flowing so that it might catch the thoughts and emotions and desires of the man known as Hardeep, the one in charge without so much as a care for the idea of the damage it might eventually do to the thoughts that swam in the waters of his mind.


It did not take much, Ming Xia had learned, to make people dislike her. Apathy and calm waters held only by tension were not normal, were not something that could be easily used by others. They seemed obsessed with dipping their own droplets in others, their own mind, pouring it into the depths instead of watching it sit on top like oil and slide off, as it did when they tried to reach for her and disrupt her own mind.


The youngest slave, the darkest one, had poked it when she made the comment about her master, the conversation that had been confusing enough to make her mind dip and let the darkness slip in for a moment, to let a thought of the past, of perhaps this is what I could have if they survived. An exasperated girl speaking next to her about subjects she had not yet learned. The darkness had muttered about the possible life she had left behind, the way the eyes rolled to the sky and the words that would never be spoken again.


The apathy had come back slower, filling in the crevice the darkness had taken hold of at a pace slower than usual, as if the darkness wished to root itself there with reminders of a time when a similar girl had spoken to Ming Xia, her hair paler but her accent just as foreign, with a pelt that might have been a bears and words that Ming Xia could not yet grasp of subjects that had not breached the mountains. It had rooted itself there to remind her of the fact that this was not the first time the subject had been brought up to her, the subject of "being different" and of explanations to do with men and women and what they preferred out of life.


This time around, the darkness dipped in as the slave known as Irene spoke, telling her of the conversation she had at first, telling her, she knows you from before, from so long before, from when you were a child so innocent and happy. Do you remember then, when your family looked at you not with disgust, when your mother did not hide her face when the others approached you from the villages, when you were still youngest and sweetest and they had no true need of your brother, unlike now when he is your redemption?


It was chased away, unable to dip and stay as the woman was also a slave. A brief poke at the surface, a ripple that settled.


"Those paying me are not here," Ming Xia said plainly, correcting the guard's statement. "The only influence he exerts over whether or not I get coin is whether or not he lives."


Her head tilted slightly to look at Irene, blank eyes staring at her face. "It is your master's job to decide what you can or cannot do, as it is hers as well," she added, pointing at the youngest slave.


"Hunting is important," she offered, staring at Ming Xia. "Both instantly and in the long run. Weapons are best for instant results; traps and such are better for later ones."


"It is all fine by me to hunt," Hardeep said, his eyes in slits and staring at Irene, voice with an iron edge.


"Then solve your own problems," Ming Xia said, ignoring the glare she got from the rider, the insults that were no doubt intended to unsettle the water. They were already rolling away.


"Can I have your bow and arrow?" Galene asked, looking at Ming Xia.


"Does your master command you to have it?" Ming Xia asked.


"Yes," Galene replied, curt, her chin jutted out.


Ming Xia supposed she should have not trusted the words of the slave, taking a moment to assess the truth in the words but the sun had already risen and time was short for her as well. The bow which had been strapped to her was unhooked from the belt that kept the wood to her back and handed over, alongside five arrows from the quiver that bounced at her side.


The slave stared at her for a second, head tilting and strange eyes meeting her own blank ones, unsettling in their foreignness and intensity.


"I expect them by midday," she said plainly. "I will return for them."


She turned as the transaction ended, and made her way for the door.


-----


Hardeep did not like Ming Xia.


He also did not like Irene, but to an extent that rose and fell, ebbed like the dunes of the desert.


The talk by the crackling, damned fire had been the height of his potential affection for the slave, soft words and gentle movements revealing to him that she had been bought from a man that was anything but. They had made him upset, as a dragon rider ought to be when such things were revealed, but the brightness of day reminded him of her actions the days prior and he had felt it simmer down and pool as it had with most of his slaves that he had once bedded into awkward confusion.


(Orien was simply awkward and angry; confusion was not part of his level of affection for the other man but a statement about their relationship.)


He hadn't bedded her, not in any fashion but it had been the closest he was to a slave in a while, soft words digging deeper into his soul than rough action. It had made him confused, reminded him almost of the talks he had with Orien afterwards, soaking in each other and speaking of the damned past.


The awkward confusion gave way to the standard almost-apathy. She was a slave. He was a master. He trusted her as much as a knife and had no reason to believe in anything she had stated to him.


The conversation about the Mark had been the thing that made him glare at the woman, dipping his toes down into brief anger and hatred that he had only felt for her when he still thought she had killed Balin with utmost rage (certainty was never there). It had made him furious that Irene had lied, but it was confusing as to why so he had decided not to dwell on it and let it fade briefly as he watched her react to his own words. He had glanced at her movements afterwards, almost wanting to see what she would embroider.


A wife's duty. A rich wife's duty. A duty his mother might have known and taken up, had she wished to or wanted to or lived.


He chased the thought away at night, the cold occupying him and in the morning, his emotions towards Irene were once again static and as that of any other slave. He was impressed, however, when she translated for him, a quirk of intrigue and potential want to speak more that was quickly removed by the commotion. Now, standing in the room, he had felt strange watching her command the others, taking on a role that was not given to her. His level of affection and positive emotions towards the slave rose slightly, impressed with her and most definitely pushed by his dislike of the guide. It was different than that of the fireside chat but it was affection nonetheless, affection quickly displaced by biting anger and a scorned ego that she was taking on a role designed for him.


His answer to her request was hard, motivated by a desire to reaffirm that she was a slave but Galene quickly usurped any point he may have made.


Ridiculous.


The young slave did not know her place and was acting of her own volition though he knew that Kydoimos would validate it once the bastard was awake.


Hardeep watched Ming Xia prepare to leave, still feeling conflicted. He was nothing to the guide, not even coin in her eyes.


He turned and narrowed his gaze at Irene once more, lips flat and thin. He could tell her off for taking on a role that was not hers (but did suit her in a way, did make him feel as though it belonged to her once).


Instead, he said, "Go wake Kydoimos. They have slept long enough."

 

[Lenaara]

@FloatingAroundSpace


There it was. The approval. The curt and short hint of a yes, albeit said coolly and not at all straight to the point. It made Irene stare at Hardeep for a moment, thinking on his words as if she had misheard them or misinterpreted their meaning. And then it hit her, and with that hit she felt that wall around herself crumble slightly.


The last two years were horrible. Slavery was suffocating in its restraining hold. It surrounded her, trapped her and reminded her of its presence every damn day with the leather collar locked around her neck. Each time the leather scraped against her skin, absorbing the sweat and dirt and dust, the new life reminded Irene of what it meant to be trapped. A slave. That was her new role.


The collar became her prison. A circle of impenetrable walls that left a permanent scar on both her body and mind. It was dark. It was lonely. No matter how much she screamed at these walls that made her panic and scared, no one came to the rescue. No matter the hope that shone brightly in her heart once, not once did an escape opportunity arise. And still, she pushed against the walls, punching and kicking at them until she could no longer move.


That day arrived, too. It left yet another scar.


Wishing to move, to be free, Irene tried to seep through the cracks in these walls. Wide at first, these little openings allowed a view of the world outside; memories without the burden of regret and sadness came flooding in, feeding the dying hope in her heart. That, too, passed. The openings grew narrow, small, some closed completely.


Tired, exhausted, she stopped struggling against these walls. No more light shone through these cracks. Hope only lived so long in one’s heart before it was beaten out of you.


Raw from the fight against these restraints, Irene accepted their presence but never quite accepted what they meant. Each passing day fixed the little openings in the walls, trapping her completely and blocking any light. If at first these walls were weak and dotted with holes and crevices, by the end of her two-year mark of being a slave, the walls became thicker, stronger, and allowed only some rays of light.


Then, Balin arrived. And that day she first flew on a dragon. With a hiss and scrape, a part of those walls broke off and fell to the ground. It felt like getting a breath of fresh air after being trapped underground for weeks, months, years.


Regardless from how cold Hardeep’s words were, how dangerously he narrowed his eyes at her and how he looked not at all approving of Irene’s actions, her words, she still felt her spirits lift and her mood brighten.


It felt like another part of the walls crumbled.


She almost did not stop herself from smiling in time and a corner of her lips twitched in an almost smile. Without realising it himself, Hardeep had given Irene hope. Hunting was the first step to escape and damn it felt close. So close, just an arm’s reach away; she only had to reach out and take the opportunity.


Galene also played a role in this, the younger girl’s words carrying logic. Whether or not they had any influence on Hardeep, Irene did not know. Did it matter? She was allowed to hunt. To go out, be free, even if for a short while. Galene would still be there, restraining Irene in her own way as Irene trusted the girl as much as she trusted a bear not to attack her.


Feeling a buzzing feeling in her chest, the need to go out and begin preparations as soon as possible, Irene turned to look at Hardeep and not even his cold stare could snap her out of the mild euphoria.


When he allowed her to hunt, Irene could grasp at the slight hint in his words, an undertone that spoke of her position and what it meant. There was no need to remind her, however. Regardless from the uncomfortable presence of her collar that spoke for itself, she was never one to take leadership from someone. It was always more like…suggestions, opinions, pointers. The end decision was always with her charges, as it was now with Hardeep.


So his words did not hurt and neither did his stare. She already got what she wanted.


Irene was about to follow Warren towards the door, thinking she and Galene would leave immediately for the forest to hunt. There was a pack by the door where they’ve put the fabrics and twine that held together their packs before, and she intended to take some of that twine to use it for the snares. A knife would be needed, too. Maybe she could ask Warren.


Hardeep’s voice stopped Irene mid-step and even Warren slowed his pace for a moment, looking at Hardeep warily. He probably noticed his master’s displeasure with the slave, the opinion that Warren shared as he and Hardeep wore matching expressions.


Instead of snapping or reprimanding her, Hardeep merely gave her a task to wake up the other rider. It surprised both her and Warren, who surely thought that she deserved some sort of punishment (even if only verbal) for her behaviour. Still, the guard said nothing and continued across the room to where his armour lay.


A glance was thrown at the door leading to Kydoimos’ room before Irene bowed her head and said, “Very well.”


She stepped towards Galene, looking at the bow and arrows in her hands and feeling a pang of triumph at what they managed to accomplish.


“Wait for me,” Irene said quietly. “We can go together.”


Then she turned around and headed towards Kydoimos’ room, thinking it would be a trivial task and take no more than a minute.


That was a mistake.


Knocking on the door proved to be futile, as no response came from within. Not even calling out Kydoimos helped, as Irene repeated the phrase, “Lord Kydoimos?” at least a couple of times before she eyed the door gingerly and pushed it inwards after receiving no reply. No sound came from within, not even a rustle of clothing and furs that usually signalled the other waking up.


The small room greeted her with a cold atmosphere and a man laying bundled up in furs on the bed. He did not stir when she entered carefully, stepping lightly as she always did. The door creaked and Irene winced at it, thinking that sound alone could wake Kydoimos up. It didn’t.


Nearing the bed, Irene said Kydoimos’ name again, thinking it’d wake the man up as she was closer and no barrier in the form of a door could muffle her words. He did not so much as stir.


Quirking a brow and glancing over her shoulder at the half closed door, Irene bent down and placed a hand on the rider’s shoulder.


“Wake up,” she said as she gave the man a slight push.


She braced herself for his reaction but he did not give her any. He remained sleeping, breathing evenly and deeply. It was as if her presence did not matter to him in the least.


She pushed harder, shaking the man ever so slightly. Nothing happened. Frowning, for a moment Irene thought that the man was pretending to be asleep. So she bent down lower, keeping her face inches above his to see if he would flinch uncomfortably while she scanned his features for any sign that he was aware of her presence.


Even breathing, relaxed features and body language. The man was asleep. Or maybe he entered some deep sleep from which one couldn’t wake up. That thought send a chill down her spine. With the birds’ sudden interest in their cabin and the moulding oats…well, a dying rider suddenly did not seem that out of the ordinary.


Before the thought of Kydoimos being in a state of endless slumber took root in her mind, Irene pulled against the furs that were wrapped around the man’s body like a cocoon.


Tugging and pulling, she pushed them aside. Her hands were calloused and rough, her fingers tense though her movements continued to be fluid and careful, almost caring as she unwrapped Kydoimos from the furs. Maybe he’d get cold and wake up. It was a silly thought but it was better than the alternative, which was outright pulling the man onto the floor.


As the man’s shoulders became visible Irene almost hoped that he did not wake up. How’d she explain this situation? To him, to Hardeep? She just got the chance to go out hunting. Being punished for insolence would probably involve being denied the chance to hunt.


Another glance was thrown at the door. She couldn’t see anyone from the other side but guessed that both Galene and Hardeep were getting impatient. How hard was it to wake up a single man, after all?


Then, a thought made Irene pause and she let go of the fur, letting it slide to the floor.


Did Hardeep know this?


She glared at the door, her eyes wide with confusion and then narrowed with realization. Was this some sort of punishment? Wouldn’t it make more sense to task Galene with this, taking her involvement with the rider in mind?


Suddenly, Irene felt disgusted. She felt played. The task appeared trivial, easy. Wake up Kydoimos. Easy enough. That was what she thought and entered the room after calling for the man like a fool from the other side of the door.


Kneeling down, Irene regarded Kydoimos for a moment. With a wounded pride she considered a possibility of payback. Conventional ways could not wake up Kydoimos; pushing and pulling against the man earned her nothing but a soft wheezing sound that may have been the wind whistling outside. Maybe she could say something to him, something that’d make him wake up. Something like Hardeep assaulting Galene.


Oh, that would have been rewarding. She’d have enjoyed herself immensely, probably as much as Hardeep was enjoying himself now.


Instead, Irene placed her hands on her knees and got to her feet.


As much as revenge seemed sweet and well deserved, it was stupid. She finally got the chance to go out and hunt, and thus, run away from this mountain and its riders in the end. She’d be a fool to mess this up.


Hardeep wished Kydoimos to wake up? She’d wake him up one way or another.


Reaching out, Irene curled her hand around Kydoimos’ wrist and stepped back, pulling. The man’s weight doubled her own, so pulling his limp body to the edge of the bed proved to be a feat in itself. Then his weight worked against him as he slid down, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud that Irene softened by putting a foot under his head just before the impact. It was better that those outside did not know that she just pulled a dragon rider off his own bed.


Still no reaction. This would have been amusing had Irene not been preoccupied with thoughts that she was digging her own grave.


Unceremoniously Irene let go of his arm, that fell onto his chest, and crouched down by the man and sighed through her nose as she pressed her lips into a thin line.


Mountain take you, how can you sleep so soundly?









It did not make sense to her, who woke up from the faintest of sounds. Maybe it was the upbringing. A dragon rider had nothing to fear in their own house. At least not till now, with the riders falling out of the skies and getting shot in their own homes.


Another shake was given to Kydoimos’ shoulders and Irene said, “Wake up,” again, sternly this time as if it would make a difference. It did not. Not even the fall to the floor woke him up.


The mind numbing thought of Kydoimos being possibly in a state of near death returned and Irene could no longer ignore it. Before she stood up, she placed her ear to the man’s chest and listened to his heartbeat for a long moment, counting the beats and his breaths. She even pressed the back of her hand against his forehead to check for fever. Everything appeared normal. But this was not normal, was it?


Standing up, Irene let Kydoimos lie on the floor – she could barely drag him off the bed, lifting him up would be impossible – and went across the room towards the door. There was no other choice. She had to call for help. But whom? Orien? No. Galene. She was close to Kydoimos. Maybe she’d know if the rider’s state was normal.


<<Can you come over here?>> Irene said as she opened the door a bit wider and leaned against the opening, blocking the view of a rider sleeping soundly on the floor with her body, and braced her hands against the door and the frame. << He won’t wake up.>>


Thank the Mountain for Vanguardian. If this was truly a form of punishment, Hardeep would have enjoyed the situation if she spoke in Crubian. As it was, she wished not to give the man the satisfaction of seeing his trap work as intended. Her wounded pride prevented her from so much as glancing at Hardeep.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


As soon as Hardeep declared the task of waking up Kydoimos be designated to Irene, Galene's face turned to glare at him, lips turning into a frown. Orien had returned back to the fire, poking it with a stick, face blank as possible considering the incident that had transpired between the members of the cabin and their lackluster guide.


Galene continued to stare at Hardeep as the rider folded his arms over his chest, his lips in a thin line with no outward emotion. Orien has either ignored the order or has not heard it though if he had heard it, his reaction would have been to ignore it. Kydoimos was notorious for sleeping like a rock, unable to wake. At first, it had been a rather entertaining thing, something that reminded Galene of home and being forced to wake up her youngest-older brother, the one only two years her senior by shouting at him, bouncing on his bed, yanking the covers off. Kydoimos slept ever harder, requiring to be dragged out, practically wrestled out into the open, and cold water dumped on their face. The amusement that the others saw was not like that of Galene's, however. The quips about their mother never seemed to fade, even with her death. It was as if they could not even honor her then.


As such, it had fallen on Galene to play the peacemaker afterwards, to stroke their arm in an attempt to calm them, to watch them board their dragon and burn the sand into almost glass in the distance and then clean off said dragon, who always seemed as agitated as her owner when Kydoimos was worked up. The thing had tried to dismantle her quite a few times, drawing blood once or twice on purpose. It was only after Kydoimos had brought her to ride the great beast once that she was not attacked when cleaning off the red hide after a ride in the morning, when the sands billowed more easily.


She watched Irene knock on the door and call out; they would not rouse by that. She watched the slave enter, watched Hardeep edge closer and lean casually by the door, smirking almost, the corner of his mouth lifting slightly.


"They will not awaken," Galene said coldly, staring at the rider.


"No," Hardeep agreed.


They waited outside, Galene staring as the rider seemed to be getting more and more amused, leaning to listen in on the happenings, though she was sure it was the long stretch of silence that was most amusing to him, rather than anything he could hear (which was little, given that the walls were made of wood and no doubt difficult to hear anything through at all.


When the door creaked open and the woman asked for Galene's assistance, she knew that the gaze of the rider had sharpened.


"What is the matter?" he asked to the slave, frowning.


"They're not awake, clearly," Galene said, her teeth clicking on the pronoun before turning to the wooden bowl by the fireplace instead of walking straight into the room, knowing it would not work. Orien raised a questioning eyebrow as Galene tossed back a, "I will be there," before ducking outside, pumping the well once or twice to get a splash of cold water.


Re-entering the cabin, Hardeep looked mildly amused as Galene bustled into the room and stared down at the rider, asleep on the floor.


"Wake up," Galene snapped, nudging them with her foot.


No response.


"Gods damnit, wake up," Galene said in a louder voice.


Nothing.


"They're a heavy sleeper," Galene said, turning to look at Irene. "Will take a lot for them to be woken up."


She turned back to the bundled up rider and raised the wooden bowl over their head.


"WAKE THE FUCK UP," she screamed and emptied its contents on their head. Kydoimos reaction was to sit up, sputtering and swatting at Galene while howling, "FUCKING SHIT THAT'S COLD."


Hardeep's laughter could be heard from outside, bent over double and clutching the door frame at the scene as Kydoimos scrambled out of the layers of furs and pelt, spitting and angry and dragging a hand down their face.


"Good gods," they muttered, sitting on the edge of the bed, and pulling at the now-soaked tunic they wore. "What was so bad that you needed to wake me?"


"The day begun," Galene dead-panned, staring at Kydoimos who continued to look like a cat that had been dunked in water against its will, not too far off from what had truly happened.


"Get me a clean shirt."


"Yes sir," Galene said with exaggerated patience and willingness, ducking to the corner of the room where their pack lay and pawing out a shirt in softer colors, one that was a white color with red and black roses embroidered on the front, a shirt created or commissioned by their mother, if Galene could remember correctly. Their mother was always the one that wanted nice things, sweet things, things that didn't necessarily have a place among a hardy dragon rider's life.


She handed the shirt over and was met with the tunic the rider had been wearing. Sighing heavily, she yanked it off of her face and folded it neatly before placing it by the pillow on the bed.


"We're on a mountain," she said in an exasperated tone. "You can't sleep like a log. What if something happens?"


"Scream," Kydoimos said plainly. "Besides that being your first instinct, it is also what you usually do to wake me up."


Galene glowered at the rider for a moment before announcing that she was going hunting, showing them the bow and arrows that they had managed to wrestle from Ming Xia.


"Impressive," they said, standing and stretching. "Now get out so I can change."


Galene responded by smacking them upside the head and ducking out of the room, where Hardeep had managed to calm down and was sitting by the fire, still snorting slightly.

 

[Lenaara]

@FloatingAroundSpace


When Irene asked for help, she expected Galene to come over and push Kydoimos some more, maybe say something to wake the man up gradually. The girl knew this dragon rider the most, she was his slave and from what Irene had gathered, the two of them were sharing a bond of friendship. So when she stepped back from the doorway, purposely ignoring Hardeep’s question, she waited by Kydoimos with her arms folded over her chest and face twisted in a contemplative frown.


Well, she was not far from wrong in assuming that Galene would try to push Kydoimos or verbally try to wake him up. It was not as graceful as Irene had imagined, but the girl did order the rider to get up and nudged him unceremoniously with her foot.


“I’ve noticed,” Irene breathed, agreeing with Galene’s statement that Kydoimos was hard to wake up. “Do you think we should—“


Before Irene could finish the thought, she looked up from Kydoimos just in time to see Galene lifting up the wooden bowl. Water rippled within it. In terror and shock Irene watched the contents of the bowl fall over Kydoimos as Galene screamed at the sleeping man.


Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to call Galene over.


Taken aback by the scene, shocked to the point of not being able to so do anything else but quickly step back not to be splashed with water herself, Irene stared at the scene. Kydoimos bellowed and Hardeep laughed. For a moment she glared at Hardeep, knowing fully well what he had done. And snickered, barely able to mask her laugh by a hand that she lifted to her mouth to hide the grin. A bright and genuine sound of her quiet laugh was swallowed up by Hardeep’s own loud and infectious guffaw.


No, it was a good idea to call Galene over.


“I will be waiting outside,” Irene said quietly to Galene, her lips still curved in a ghost of a grin.


Leaving Galene to deal with Kydoimos (who took the situation much calmer than she expected him to), Irene headed out of the room. Hardeep had retreated from the door as well and sat by the fire, snorting to himself and looking like a cat that had a bowl of crème. She gave the man an I-know-what-you-did look, though it was not accusatory. The way how Galene dealt with the situation had brightened Irene’s otherwise soured mood, and in no way did she approve of how Hardeep played her right into his little trap, but a smile still ghosted on her lips as she glared at him.


It did not take long for Galene to leave Kydoimos’ room and by the time the girl was out, Irene was standing by the main entrance, a bundle of rolled up twine in her hand. Some rope would have been ideal for bigger snares, but she did not plan on spending much time in forest building traps that day.


Early morning frost bit at Irene’s skin and not even the thick jacket on her shoulders could ward off the howling gusts of wind that passed through the village. Pulling the collar up to her jaw, Irene kept her hand hidden in the folds of her jacket to keep the fabric up and hide the collar. It was cold. Though she and Galene fared better than most of the other slaves who passed by them once they entered the main village roads.


Thin and shivering, they clutched the thin linens wrapped around their bodies. Jumping from foot to foot and rubbing their arms, they waited in line by the well. Ducking their heads low and pulling their clothing tightly around themselves, they shuffled by Irene and Galene and eyed the girl’s bear pelt greedily. Those dark eyes did not only look at Galene’s pelt; they also eyed several riders on the streets who wore the thicker leathers dyed in a deep red colour. Those leathers looked devastatingly similar to the jackets given to Hardeep by Lady Azar.


Just in case, Irene kept Galene close to herself up until they veered to the side and headed for the village’s outskirts, towards the forest. Irene led them south-west from the village.


“There is a stream there,” Irene explained as they left the road and neared the forest edge. “Running water should ward off most creatures. While I scout the area, nothing should bother your hunting.”


They entered the forest, stepping silently over the shrubbery and protruding roots. Damp ground kept their steps soft and light, though the patches of crunchy snow became hard to avoid with time. Dotted with small animal and bird tracks, the snow spread in a thin blanket over the ground beneath the low branches of pine trees. Irene ignored those tracks and headed further into the forest.


Rustling of the canopy and the bird’s occasional chirping interrupted the otherwise silent forest. Weighted down by the melting snow from the night before, the branches hung low and droplets of water slid down and fell onto the top of Irene’s head and slid beneath the collar of her jacket, making a chill run down her spine. Movement helped her blood stay warm, thankfully.


It did not take long for the sound of a nearby stream to reach their ears. The running water splashed somewhere in the distance and Irene followed that sound until she could see the rippling and bright surface of the stream. Branches of willows and birches framed the stream and cast shadows over the dampened stones.


Irene lowered herself on one knee by the stream and cupped some the water in her hands. She drank some of it and splashed the rest over her face and hair. Still kneeling down, she scanned the area.


Moss covered the ground in a thick damp blanket dotted with white snow. Around the stream the forest retained some of its green colour and the area was packed densely with shrubbery and thinned trees, the branches of which hung so low that Irene had to swat and push at them when she neared the water.


“Thank you,” Irene said, her eyes still focused on the forest around them. “For helping me with Kydoimos. It was impossible to wake him up on my own. I must also thank you for convincing Hardeep to allow me to go with you. Really,” for a moment she looked up at Galene and added, “I appreciate it,” before she turned her attention back to the trees. “You’ve done a lot for me, though I have nothing to offer to repay you.”


Some paces ahead from their position, by the stream, the trees formed a semi-circle around an open area in the middle of which stood a sole oak. Its branches were long stripped bare of leaves and the trunk was darkened with moisture.


“I will be there,” Irene pointed at the oak. Around it the area was open enough to allow one free movement without tripping over some protruding root or shrubbery, and the surrounding trees provided enough cover from the prying eyes of both hunters and other creatures that lurked in these parts of the forest.


“I will build some snares and traps around the area with this,” she lifted the bundle of twine to show Galene. “You can go hunt and meet me here when you’ve caught something.” Getting up to her feet, she straightened the jacket and brushed her damp with water hands over its hem. “Do you need some of this to build more snares?” She presented the twine. It wasn’t a lot, but enough to build small traps around the area for small game. “And do you have a knife that I could borrow?”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


Galene glared at Irene briefly and then Hardeep, disliking their amusement at the scene. It was one that would no doubt repeat itself quite a few times, a cycle that spun around and around and around. It was humorous on one hand and on the other a reminder of the gap between them, a gap that they breached almost every day in every one of their interactions. They were a rider; sitting on top of the world but with a mother that drenched them in the past, in the dirt. She was a slave, on the bottom, chained in literal and metaphorical ways, her former title of prestige scuffed and hidden, one that would put her above them in some ways, give her power where they did not. It was strange, that they knew next to nothing about her past but much about the present. Kydoimos was a dear friend, yes, one that irked her on occasion and made her laugh sometimes and roll her eyes and had a temper that rivaled the great dragons. But they were also a master, someone who commanded those like her, with a chain around their neck and a symbol scratched onto it.


Her job to serve them was always there, whether or not they acknowledged it. And her actions, no matter how willing, were required and expected of her. To wake them wasn't a command; it was an expectation. To be by their side wasn't an honor, it was a role.


Galene followed Irene out, walking next to the woman with the bear pelt pulled tightly to her. She watched the mountain move beyond them, the snowy peaks and the white peering down at her.


"A stream," Galene said half-wistfully. "I could use a wash."


She had not seen a bathhouse in the village, and somehow doubted that this would be like the mountains by Vanguard that had bathhouses to a lesser degree. It seemed that the people here were quicker on their feet, more nomadic. The pack that Ming Xia carried around seemed to drive that point home.


"My lie is now yours, and yours is mine," Galene said. "It will go better if we are cooperating." After a pause she said, "And I may indeed have to come to you with your offer of lessons of strength. It seems the locals are not as friendly as one might assume."


Galene turned her head to see the oak tree, her mouth twisting into a frown briefly. It looked dead to her. "Noted," she said nonetheless to the woman, turning back to her and bending down to sip at the stream slightly as well, washing her hands silently before standing up and viewing the woman with a neutral expression.


"I have a knife," she said, the dagger Kydoimos passed to her resting heavy against her waist. "But you must return it in one piece."


Pulling it out, she passed it to the woman, eyes blazing. "Do not loose it or attempt to steal if from me," she said firmly, noting that the crest of the Makhai house was carved into its handle.


"One last thing before you leave," Galene said, taking an arrow and stringing it through the bow, preparing it, "Kydoimos is not a he. Do not reference them that way lest you want an earful and possibly a sharp object pointed at your throat. I've already explained to Ming Xia but in case you also need it, they are agender. Neither male or female and yes, humans can be neither male or female. You seem to reference them simply as Lord, which is fine but when speaking of them, it is in your best interest that you address them as they or them."


Staring at the woman for another moment to see if she had absorbed the information, she turned on her heel and gazed at the forest.


"Before midday, we should regroup," she said glancing back down at the stream. "I will follow the stream to see if there is any larger game to be found."


With that, she made her way into the forest, one ear always alert for the sounds that she might find foreign.


----


Hardeep had straightened out, sitting before the fire and trying to warm himself. Kydoimos was there as well and Orien had begun sorting out the oats, cooking them over the fire and shredding some mint leaves that he had found on the edges of the village. The villagers seemed agitated from the morning and the lack of oats and it unsettled Hardeep as well, now that the effects of the laugh from earlier had worn off.


Before he could dwell longer, wondering if perhaps there were such things as curses, there was a knock on the door. He stood and walked over to open it.

 

[Lenaara]

@FloatingAroundSpace


Irene looked down at the stream in a new light. Huh. She had not considered a wash, even though she needed it. It was cold and out in the open, not that far from the village itself, but the water’s temperature and half public state of the area did not bother her as it probably should have. Dirt covered her clothing and hands, and grime had embedded itself under her fingernails. The journey through the desert, then a cold night on the forest floor beside the fire, followed by a trek through the forest and a run earlier that day, all this had contributed to the dirt and sweat on her body.


Had this been any other day, she would have taken the opportunity to wash herself the moment it was presented to her. As it was, her mind did not even consider the possibility of a bath. She was allowed hunting, and that in itself meant so many things, it allowed for so many things. Focusing too much on the finally granted freedom Irene had not even thought of such a basic necessity as being clean.


Well. Slavery had turned her barbaric, she supposed and snorted faintly at the thought.


“Indeed,” Irene agreed to Galene’s statement. Maybe they could wash before leaving for the village. That way prolonging their stay in the forest, away from the commotion of the village and the problems that waited solutions back in the cabin.


Irene took the knife and slid it within the sash on her waist, nodding a thank you to Galene. A momentary glance was thrown at the girl, however, Irene’s eyebrow twitching in response to the request not to lose or steal the knife. Did this girl think Irene to be daft? That she’d lose a knife engraved with a dragon rider’s crest, or even dare steal it? No matter how desperate she was for a weapon or any sort of personal belongings, stealing a possession such as this would earn her no favours.


Another nod was given in response to the subsequent explanation of Kydoimos being agender. “Very well,” she said, “I will keep this in mind.”


It was not all that strange to hear of Kydoimos being someone who considered themselves neither a female or male. People like that existed and it was not out of the ordinary, though Irene had met no more than handful of such individuals. Having travelled far and met a great many people has made her mind open to many things. The revelation of Kydoimos’ preference of being referred to as they or them changed nothing in her perspective of them. [SIZE=11pt]They were still a rider, still a person around whom she should act respectful and obedient, as they owned both Galene and a dragon. [/SIZE] Still a dragon rider.


Before Galene could leave, Irene stepped forward and took the girl by her wrist, though only momentarily to stop her in her tracks. Despite her hand being thin, hardened and calloused from years of tending to the field and prior to that wielding weapons, Irene’s hold was almost gentle.


Their eyes locked, both silver and full of pride that somehow did not crumble under the shackles of slavery.


“Galene,” Irene began, wishing to grab the girl’s attention. “My lie is yours, and yours is mine. There are enough creatures on this mountain that we should watch out for. Let’s not add each other to the list.”


It was no threat. Only a request, a plea. Not one for games of manipulation and lies, Irene kept her intentions clear, though hidden behind a curtain of privacy. Galene was different; her conversation with Ammon spoke for itself. That was why Irene did not like Galene, did not approve of how she found the game of manipulation fascinating. Disgusted by such people, Irene steered clear of them, hating them silently. But she and Galene were tied together by a lie. There was no way out but sticking to their cover to the very end, when pretending to be a bodyguard and a woman by the name of Naomi was either no longer needed, or the truth was revealed.


“Be careful,” Irene wished Galene and turned around, heading for the oak. There was work to be done.


***


Warren slowly straightened from a bow, his eyes skirting over the blues and light browns of the other man’s attire. That man stood tall and proud, though with some ease that Warren could not quite understand. It was cold, very cold. The frosty air had long turned the guard’s nose pink, his ears, thankfully, protected by a shawl that he had taken from his pack just before he left to stand guard at the cabin’s entrance. Even within his gloves his fingers had turned tense and refused to move as quickly as he wished them to.


The dragon rider in front of him did not so much as shiver in the cold. The leathers hugged him tightly, the blue tunic peeking out from the sturdy vest flapped with each gust of wind. Only when Warren stood up straight once more did he notice the fur lining of the rider’s armour and how closely it was pulled around his neck, keeping the other man warm.


With a creak the door opened and Warren inwardly winced. He should have opened the door instead. Or maybe Orien should have? With Irene and Galene gone, the only slave remaining was Orien, and Warren did not know what he was up to. Maybe cooking dinner.


The thought of food had made Warren’s stomach turn and grumble uncomfortably. Thankfully the sound was masked by the door’s creak.


“Greetings, Hardeep,” the rider said, his voice calm and strangely pleasant. It did not even occur to Warren that the other rider did not refer to his master as ‘Sir’. “I am Ammon Darnell. Please accept my sincere condolences at the loss of your father.”


Leather squeaked as the rider’s – Ammon’s – arm moved and he unhooked a string from his belt. Two hares dangled from it, tied by their hind paws. It was a fresh kill, no doubt.


“Given the rustic nature of our current residency, I thought it best to honour your father with a gift. Though I suppose it is unnecessary. There is talk that you have brought a great many slaves with you to tend to your every need.”


The hares were handed to Warren, who took the little animals warily and with hesitation.


“May I come in?” Ammon added calmly and pulled against the glove on his hand, tucking its hem under the sleeve of his tunic.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


Hardeep stared at the man on the other side of the door, blinking slowly, the amusement of earlier finally slipping away as his father's death came once more to the forefront of his attention. "Thank you," he said, speaking past a dry throat. "Your gifts are much appreciated." He hesitated at the request to be let in, glancing behind to see Orien tending to the flames while Kydoimos leaned against a wall, polishing something in their hand. A weapon, perhaps. "I have brought a few slaves," Hardeep said, "though they are quite capable in their own right."


He stepped away from the door and opened it wider, allowing space for the other man to step in. "Come in," he said, his grip turning white on the doorknob. "Do you wish for something to eat? I'm afraid that we haven't got much right now."

 

[Lenaara]

@FloatingAroundSpace


Ammon hummed, cocking his head to peer past Hardeep’s shoulder. “Without the guidance of our elders, I suppose the best alternative are the servants and their support.”


No slave or guard was following Ammon. The bright blues of the dragon rider’s attire would have been easy to spot in the crowd, but Warren had not seen any slave in the streets wearing fabrics of the seafoam and pastel blue hues. Warren had scanned the surroundings once more, just in case he missed someone accompanying Ammon, but no one hurried to his side as the rider stepped over the threshold and entered the cabin. Warren hesitated for another moment before following Ammon.


“I must admit,” Ammon began as he followed Hardeep into the main room, “this residence appears luxurious in comparison to mine. The boy guide assigned to me had lent me a shed. A helpful child, one aspiring to be a great warrior, though his family has proven to be troublesome. One of his sisters climbed my dragon.”


As Ammon stopped by Hardeep, Warren continued across the room towards Orien. The rabbits were put onto the floor by the flames and the guard whispered to the slave, “Another gift. Do you know how to skin them?”


It was shameful to admit, but Warren had little clue how to skin such little animals. He had seen his mother tend to such tasks most of the time, and when she could not his father did it instead. As a child he was taught how to do it, but the sight of the skin being pulled from an animal had made him sick and since then he never quite got comfortable with the thought of bleeding and skinning a fresh kill. Out of curiosity and stubbornness to overcome the nausea, Warren watched Irene tend to the hare that she had caught. In no longer than ten seconds he looked away, feeling his cheeks lose all colour and his stomach churn.


Warren glanced over his shoulder in time to spot Ammon halt by Kydoimos. “Greetings,” he said, a faint smile playing on his lips as he looked at the other rider. Then he turned back to Hardeep. “It would be impolite to decline your offer, though I must say that I already ate. My guide helps plenty with acquiring food. Has yours proven to be skilled?”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


Hardeep eyed the man briefly at the lack of guards or soldiers he had around him. Perhaps he had left them in his cabin? It seemed strange to not bring someone along to aid in life, given that he was sure many riders did not have the skills to live a life devoid of slaves or servants, without extra hands to do the most meager of tasks.


The man's comment about his poor living quarters made Hardeep narrow his eyes at Ammon. Did he perhaps leave his servants there to spruce up their residence? And did he arrive after them? They had been, from Hardeep's assumptions, one of the last groups to arrive given how unequipped Ming Xia was to handle their large group (and anything to do with other people in general). It would make sense that the last houses would be the worst and their cabin was already dingy and chilly enough.


He spotted Orien look up and glance down at the rabbits, nodding slightly. "I've seen some of the cooks do it," he said, standing and making his way over to where he had placed the stone bowls and cooking utensils, picking up a knife and nodding to Hardeep before jerking his head outside with the rabbits in hand, a silent statement that Hardeep approved of and allowed the slave to exit the cabin and skin the gift.


Kydoimos glanced up at the man, their green eyes roving over his face before a curt, "Hello," was announced. Their lips did not curl into a smile and in fact, seemed to turn downwards, almost angrily.


"Our guide?" Hardeep asked rhetorically before snorting. "She is tragically unequipped to deal with any form of human interaction, I'm afraid. She may be skilled in surviving, but the only proof she has of that is that she has not died yet."


He tilted his head at the man before saying, "Your dragons are here? Are they not cold? I'm afraid mine had darted back to the desert as soon as the winds began setting in."

 

[Lenaara]

@FloatingAroundSpace


Ammon had positioned himself beside the hearth, much to Warren’s dismay. Leaning against the wall, the rider folded his arms over his chest and crossed his legs at the ankles, greedily drinking in the warmth of the flames. Orange firelight danced on the rider’s fair skin and golden hair, and it occurred to Warren that he had not met anyone like Ammon. Exposed to only the hired help and the slaves of the Passi homestead, and the citizens of Nuru in the part where Warren and his family lived, he had never seen people of lighter colours.


Only when the rider glanced down at Warren in amusement as well as accusation for being stared at, did the guard cast his eyes down, got to his feet and backed away from the hearth.


Glancing back at Hardeep, Ammon listened to him and let out a deep laugh at the comment about Ming Xia. “Truly?” Ammon asked, grinning. “In the very least, your stay here is not going to be dull. Dealing with such a woman is going to be a challenge. Perchance the company of educated dragon riders is going to do her some good. Or is she beyond hope?”


The floorboards let out an uncomfortable creak as Ammon shifted his weight and freed a hand to wave dismissively at Hardeep. “Ah, no.” He shook his head. “My dragon has retreated back to the desert sands soon after our arrival. Apart from the guide assigned to me, his family was also there waiting. One of the girls ran towards my dragon and demanded it to fly as she scaled its leg. It was an amusing sight.” He snorted at the memory. “Thankfully, my dragon is a calm creature. He would have flown off with the child had her brother not helped her down.”


A knock sounded through the cabin, loud enough to be heard over the soft crackling of the hearth and the howling winds that whistled through the narrow slits in the cabin’s walls. Ammon did not stir and instead looked expectedly at Warren, who stared back. Like that they stood for a silent moment until Ammon jerked his chin at the door and raised a brow in a silent question.


Warren opened his mouth and closed it again, not sure if he should apologize or dart to the door to open it. Instead, he merely inclined his head down in apology and quickly crossed the room to open the door.

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


Kydoimos did not move from their position on the floor by the hearth, their fingers moving a piece of cotton cloth over a dagger with their family sigil carved onto the handle. They did not seem to acknowledge the presence of Ammon or anyone else for that matter, their eyes trained on the glittering blade.


"I'd say she is beyond reason and hope," Hardeep said, rolling his eyes. "The only thing that moves her is the threat of physical violence, more like a beast than a human."


Kydoimos' head tilted slightly in his direction but they did not shift anymore than that.


The knock on the door interrupted whatever thin conversation was being had and Hardeep watched as Warren went to open it. A heavy-set woman peered in, some bright colored powder rubbed onto her eyelids while red painted her lips. Her clothes were almost insultingly bright. The cream colored undershirt she wore was overpowered by the loud yellow cloak over it, covered in glittering embroidery in colors of the rainbow. A pelt that looked reddish in color was thrown over it, the tail of some small woodland creature still attached to it in a duller brown color. Her hair was shaved close to her scalp and she walked in with a swagger past Warren, a servant that wore considerably less clothing in the same creme tone following, his arms laden down with a package covered in teal cloth and stamped with a bird of some sort, its wings spread open and to the sky.


"Sir Hardeep," the woman boomed, opening her arms to him, a smile half-dangling on her lips. "My name is Uneek Griffin and I humbly apologize for not finding you yesterday or the days before to personally express my condolences for what has transpired in your homestead. It must be very difficult, to be given a role and trouble all in one fell swoop."


"I thank you for your condolences," Hardeep said awkwardly, allowing the woman to sweep him in some sort of hug, the leather bindings that held the cloak and pelt to her digging into his own chest.


"Ah, hello there," she said, waving slightly at Ammon, her wrist turning more than her arm. "Here as well to express sorrows?"


The slave silently approached Hardeep, presenting the package to him and bowing lowly. Hardeep took it gingerly and gave a strained smile of thanks to the slave, who only walked away with his back still bent before straightening behind the woman.


The package felt heavy in his hands. Unwrapping it, Hardeep found a bottle of datewine as well as a few packages of spices and incense, alongside a few pelts bound up tightly with their tails still in tact as well."


Hardeep felt dizzy as the woman turned to Kydoimos and glanced down at them.


"Ah, hello there," she said cheerfully. "Are you Kydoimos? Of course you are, you have the eyes," she added before they could say anything, looking up at the woman with an almost bewildered expression. "I was preparing to look for you as well; you know, we are similar in some ways. Ought to stick together, you and I."


She gave an exaggerated wink.


"I'm... sorry?" Kydoimos asked slowly. "I'm afraid I do not know you."


The woman gave a short snort. "Well, don't worry you'll know soon enough. I am Uneek, as you've probably already heard. The mountain people here do not know of people like us; they're very archaic, in a way. Worse than Izmar," she added grimly. "They marry man to woman and have never heard of people like us. I don't even think they have a neutral word for us. Or maybe they do." Uneek shrugged. "Either way, I've had to explain to three of them already why I don't get called 'she' or 'her' by the slaves of my household."


Something clicked into place for Hardeep.


"Ah," Kydoimos said awkwardly still, polishing the dagger at a quicker speed as if trying to distract themselves, somehow.

 

[Lenaara]

@FloatingAroundSpace


“Greetings.” Ammon raised his hand in a greeting, offering the newcomer an empty smile that did not quite reach his eyes. The bright mood that drew in Warren’s attention had faded with Uneek’s arrival. “Ammon Darnell,” he added.


Warren chose to stand by the door, pinned there by Ammon’s blue gaze that commanded him silently to stay where a guard should be. So Warren did. His hands clasped behind his straight back, he cast his eyes down as he always did when the dragon riders were present. It also helped him mask the feeling of anxiety. Four dragon riders were in the room. Appearing as a boor who did not know his place would disrespect Hardeep.


The riders’ conversation was muted out, or at least Warren tried to not make it apparent that he was keeping an eye on both Ammon and Uneek. It was only expected of him to keep a vigilant watch at all times. Though he did look away quickly when Uneek embraced Hardeep, and even Ammon let out a quiet cough at the scene.


Uneek’s bright attire caught Warren’s attention and he had to square his shoulders and tighten his grip on his hand to stop himself from staring rudely at the brightly coloured clothing and cosmetics. Their appearance attracted attention, more so than Ammon’s features and blue garb. Maybe that was why Ammon kept to himself, leaning against the wall at the other side of the hearth, watching the conversation between Uneek and Hardeep in silence. Not a hint left of the man who laughed out loud and spoke casually to Hardeep just moments before.


“Forgive the villagers’ close mindedness,” Ammon said quietly, as if not expecting to be heard. “Many of them have never seen a dragon, least of all someone outside their societal norm.”


BANG. Someone kicked at the door from the outside.


The sound nearly made Warren jump up an inch. Unsheathing his sword was a matter of instinct; his hand shot towards the hilt and the blade slid out an inch when the door swung inwards. Had Warren been standing on the other side of the door, he would have been hit by it. As it was, the door slammed against the wall and the hinges creaked loudly in protest.


“Sir, perhaps you should—“ Warren heard a soft feminine voice that made him stop in his tracks, sword raised mid-air and ready to strike at the intruder.


“Silence,” someone rasped.


That someone reeked. A figure stumbled into the hut, nearly falling over as its foot caught on the threshold. Dressed in a leathers of mustard yellow tinted with dirt and some sort of stains that Warren could not quite pinpoint, the intruder was a man of about the same height as Kydoimos. At his side, a woman in a slave’s attire of the same colour as the man, helped him upright by wrapping her frail arm around his waist and hoisting him up. He leaned against her heavily, wrapping his own arm around her thin shoulders, and lifted his hand to his face. Sniffing, her wiped at his nose and grunted.


“Look, Lisa.” He pointed at Uneek. “A dandelion,” he snorted at his own joke. It was a guttural sound that made Warren’s stomach churn. Though maybe it was the strong scent of alcohol that made bile rise in the guard’s throat.


The intruder looked at Warren and regarded the raised sword with an expression of disgust. “Lower your stick, boy,” the man commanded. “Before I use it on your prick.”


Warren did no such thing and held the sword steadily. It appeared to have annoyed the newcomer as he glared at Warren, and the guard with the same determination stared back. The intruder’s eyes were black and foggy; his skin was sleek with sweat and oils and hidden behind bangs of long hair that fell over his face in greasy and wavy strands. An irregular stubble coated his pointy jaw and a hooked nose was marred with a small scar over the bridge. Only when the man turned (or tried to, as he could not stand on his own two feet) did the firelight illuminated the old scar of a burn over the man’s jaw; that explained the stubble. It also illuminated a dragon rider’s crest broidered onto the leather vest – a camel’s silhouette on a background of sandy desert dunes.


The sword slid back into its scabbard quickly and with a hiss. Then Warren bowed down low, muttering apologies under his breath for having overreacted. It was not an overreaction, considering the rider’s entrance, but that mattered little.


“Hmph,” the man spat at the guard’s feet. Warren fought the urge to cringe at the sight and the stench. “Be grateful I am of a fine mood today.” Grunting, the man tried to strengthen as he pushed against the woman at his side. “Lisa, the jug.”


The slave girl glanced at her master in what Warren thought to be both fear and confusion. Noticing her hesitation, the man pushed her harder and nodded impatiently at Hardeep. Lisa bowed her head and, clutching a large clay jug in both hands, quickly walked over to Hardeep.


“Offering my condolences from the Kardal family,” the man said, waving at the girl to come closer to Hardeep. She appeared no older than twenty and had caramel skin and long brown hair that fell in messy waves over her shoulders. Bundled up in thin clothing that did more good in the desert than on this mountain, the girl shivered ever so slightly and her fingers trembled (either from fear or cold, or maybe both). “Times like these, you need a strong drink.”


Lisa pushed open the lid and a strong herb scent reached even Warren, who stood far from the slave girl.


“A drink from these mountains,” the rider explained. “Strong, let me tell you that. Not like that weak datewine brew.”


Ammon narrowed his eyes at the newcomer, his lips thinning as he spoke. “Are you Mus’ad?”


The rider’s glassy eyes shifted from Hardeep and glared at Ammon, scanning his appearance and then winced, as if in pain. “Bright colours everywhere…” Warren heard the man mutter to himself. “Yes, I am. What gave me away?” He gave Ammon a lopsided grin that could have been a snarl instead. Reaching up, he brushed a hand through his dirty hair. He did not wobble as much, and managed to stand up straight.


“The crest,” Ammon said matter-of-factly.


Mus’ad snorted. “Really,” he said and his lowered his eyes to peer at Kydoimos. His lip curled upwards slightly. “What’s this slave doing here, Hardeep? His mum forgot to put a collar ‘around his neck. Don’t let its lack fool you.” Turning his head, Mus’ad spat again and hooked his hands into the sash on his waist. “Dressed in a dragon rider’s armour. What a disgrace.”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


Uneek turned to the other man, as if prepared to make some remark back towards him when there was a sharp bang by the door. Hardeep jumped, turning to stare as Kydoimos glanced up as well, his hand jumping to the hilt of his sword as Uneek also whirled around, the cape swirling against them, fanning out as if it were a dress. The man who stumbled in made Uneek scrunch up their nose, upper li curling in distaste. At first, Hardeep suspected it was from the smell when he noticed the crest on the chest of the man, as well as the fragility of slave by him. The comment the man gave to Uneek's appearance helped pinpoint a name, a rumor, and almost a legend to the disheveled individual stumbling through.


Ah.


Hardeep had never interacted with Mus'ad, not personally at least. There was always a degree of separation between them at all times; Zyrell had spoken at one point about a man who was almost like Yulink in ways of drunkenness, rudeness, and level of distaste and dislike towards Kydoimos; his father had muttered about a man who wanted to buy a slave from them as if she was a piece of meat rather than a whole person; and a few older men who wore the same symbols had come to them once to apologize for the behavior of a Mus'ad.


He figured that this was the Mus'ad in question he had heard to little about, given the crest and the behavior. He took the jar from the slave and smiled gently at her before gesturing for her to put it on the ground next to the other supplies he had received from Azar the previous day. His suspicions were confirmed when Ammon stated the name, a lilt of something that was decidedly not positive in the other man's voice.


"I tha--" Hardeep began before the other man spoke again.


Gods help my poor mother's soul, he thought miserably at the man's next words. Estzar, he distantly remembered, had enjoyed  Kydoimos more than their father had, more than Balin and Hardeep had at that point combined. She used to play with the small child, the woman who had carried and birthed them small and pale but seemingly overjoyed at the idea that a rider could appreciate Kydoimos. Hardeep had resented the infant for a bit for sapping away attention from himself but found that so long as he also paid attention to Kydoimos, he would get the attention he wanted. At times, Hardeep had wondered if this was what having a younger sibling would be like.


Kydoimos was, however, not quite like a sibling to Hardeep, too much like their father in his explosive temper to be similar to Estzar and too silent and cold to be Balin. Hardeep did know, however, that a slight towards the woman that had been with Kydoimos for the majority of their life was never taken kindly.


Hardeep placed the package he had gotten from the Griffins on the floor but even before he had made his way over to the other rider, there was a sharp crack as their fist met Mus'ad's face. Uneek looked mildly impressed before Kydoimos managed to regain control over their tongue and started spitting profanities, mostly to do with his cock and where to shove it.


Hardeep seized Kydoimos' shoulders and yanked them back forcefully to avoid any further physical confrontation.


"Calm down," Hardeep snapped at the steaming younger individual. "He is drunk."


"You know being drunk doesn't make them mean it any less," Kydoimos spat back and Hardeep wasn't quite sure how to respond to that.

 

[Lenaara]

@FloatingAroundSpace


Shattering the awkward silence like a shooting star, the crack sent chills down Warren’s spine. In horror and shock, he watched Mus’ad crumble to the floor, having lost his balance the moment Kydoimos’ fist met his jaw. At the other end of the room Lisa yelped, gasping in horror as she brought her frail hands up to her mouth and stared wide eyed at her master on the floor. Her large eyes drifted towards Kydoimos and Hardeep, looking back and forth between them and Mus’ad, who was cradling his jaw with his hand. She looked to be just as afraid of them as she was of her master.


Warren felt a pang of pity towards the young girl and raised a hand in a silent command to stop her from nearing Mus’ad. She obeyed, albeit with hesitation and still stared at the rider on the floor with immense fear in her dark eyes.


A deep laughter filled the cabin. Raspy and wet, the sound was as disgusting as the man who was making it.


“I’m drunk,” he choked through laughter. “So what?”


Mus’ad propped himself up and then sat up, a forearm on his knee as he wiped at his nose that was bleeding profusely. He spat at Kydoimos’ feet with bloody saliva and glared at the blood that stained the back of his gloved hand with a snarl.


“Swine can only throw punches at drunk men,” Mus’ad grunted and got to his feet, wiping at his nose still. Blood slid down his face in thin rivers and stained his clothes. Warren supposed he should have went to help the rider up, but for once his duty was overpowered with a strong sense of disgust towards the one he should be serving. So he stood still, even when Mus’ad’s glassy eyes glared at him from beneath furrowed brows.


“No honour, that one.” He pointed at Kydoimos and drew a small circle with his finger as he gestured at the man. “No prick either, yes? I hear ye to be some unnatural. Referred as they or them or whatnot. That to make you feel better? More than you are?”


Mus’ad spat again and Warren’s hand tightened around the hilt of his sword. Lisa had gone pale and looked to be on the brink of falling unconscious from fear.


“You are no rider,” Mus’ad hissed and spat again, at Kydoimos this time. “A slave. No more no less. A fucker whose mum got screwed over and over again. Yulink said she squealed like a pig and then moaned for some more. That true, half-breed? Did she beg for some more, like a slave should?”


Warren shook. Not from fear like Lisa was. From anger. It flooded his senses, made his body tremble as some sane part of his mind restrained him from cutting down the rider just a few feet from him. Leather creaked as his hold on the sword’s hilt became so hard he couldn’t feel his hand anymore. He did not even realize that his lips curled upwards in a snarl and his brows furrowed in such anger that if glares could kill, Mus’ad would be long rotting in Hell.


Unable to contain himself any longer, Warren took a step forward and steel hissed as the sword slid out an inch out of the scabbard. He was so furious that he had not noticed Ammon near Mus’ad and push against the man, keeping himself between Kydoimos and Mus’ad.


“Enough,” Ammon commanded. His voice rang like steel and it snapped Warren out of his fury. “Don’t bother with him. He is beneath you,” Ammon said to Kydoimos, keeping his arms raised to prevent either of the riders from attacking each other. “He is only trying to taunt you. The angrier you get, the better he feels. Don’t give him the satisfaction.” Turning his attention to Mus’ad, Ammon regarded the drunk rider through narrowed eyes and thinned lips, his jaw clenched so hard Warren could see a vein popping at the temple. “Leave, Mus’ad.”


Mus’ad did no such thing. Instead, he whistled and rocked backwards on his heels. “Aren’t we angry on this fine day.” He sniffed. The bleeding had stopped and his nose was slightly crooked. “Don’t be so smug. There is no Metz assassin here with you, Ammon. No one to protect you.”


“Want to find out?” Ammon hissed and tilted his head to the side slightly, inclining it towards the doors leading to Kydoimos’ and Hardeep’s rooms.


Mus’ad eyed the doors gingerly, chewing on his bottom lip in contemplation. Then, he raised his hands, palms forward, and said, “Alright, then. Everyone’s on edge. It’s mourning time! Have a drink. Fuck some women. Or men. I’m not judging.”


He waved at Lisa, who hesitated before she hurried over to Mus’ad’s side and opened the door for the rider. It slammed to a close behind him and Warren caught a glimpse of the man grabbing Lisa by the back of her neck to pull her towards him to help him walk. Bile rose in Warren’s throat and he continued to stare at the door with disgust.


At his side, Ammon let go of Kydoimos whom he held in a steel grip. Warren had not even noticed when Ammon grabbed the other rider’s shoulders to prevent them from outright murdering Mus’ad.


“He is an imbecile,” Ammon said, his voice calm though still tinted with cold anger that coated his words when he spoke to the drunk rider. “Do not let his words get to you.”

 

[FloatingAroundSpace]

@Lenaara


Yulink's antics were not hidden. At least, it was difficult to hide them and the only son of an influential family after his older brother died (under circumstances that some wanted to call into question but could never muster the energy to) didn't seem to care enough to bother to keep them hidden. He was a drunk, one that shouted and raved and threw things across the room. As such, his daughter took on the role of house head long before she should have, struggling to keep up an image that was tarnished once more when it came to light what he was doing with his slaves. Of course, if someone asked Hardeep, he would have believed it.


The idea of sleeping with slaves when the wife locked her doors, unable to stand his touch, was not too foreign for Hardeep to understand. His interactions with Yulink were always done through a cloud of alcohol on the man's side, with slurred speech and a stagger in his feet. Any woman would have wanted to avoid him and his wife had power to, much less power than the slaves who were forced to bend to his will, no matter how much they wished not to. There were rumors of what happened to Kydoimos' mother, that she was either held down by force or given alcohol to make it easier. Some of the more heinous and hate filled slaves muttered that he had another slave spike her drink before he took her away.


Either way, the joining between the two was not a happy one, nor one that was anywhere near the realm of reasonable consent. Kydoimos was born a product of hatred and force and it seemed like their whole life was a result of that.


"Men like him don't live long," Uneek said lightly, watching as Mus'ad disappeared, Kydoimos practically vibrating in rage in front of Hardeep, who had been prepared to let the younger one go and tear the rider to shreds. "Too many hate him."


Kydoimos seemed too angry for words, mouth twisted into a snarl and eyebrows pinched.


"Warren," Hardeep said lightly to his guard, "do make sure that he isn't allowed in from now on."


Straightening himself and letting go of Kydoimos fully, he came around to look at Ammon. "You recognized him quite suddenly," he said, the statement directed at both Uneek and the other man. "Has he bothered you?"


Kydoimos' eyes had slid towards the other closed doors, no doubt due to the statement about some guard or another hiding somewhere, their fists still clenched tightly, the dagger poking out one end and reminding Hardeep that Mus'ad could have possibly bled to death on the cabin floor.


"He has bothered everyone," Uneek said lightly, examining their nails. "For slaves, for money, for drink. I do not doubt his uncles forced him here."