Beasts
A dozen or so tents were sprawled down in a valley. A single cook fire lay among them with men assorted around it eating bowl-fulls of stew and giving some to their horses. There was a horse for every man and they looked underfed and drawn under saddles adorned with diverse cutlery. The bronze tassels in their manes were frayed and loosened, jutting from them uneven quills of hair. And all of them, man and animal, wore some manner of red cloth on them, be it a scarf around their neck or a sash tied around their waist or foreleg. There were no women or children.
"Can they hear us?" The boy asked.
"Not if we're quiet." Cale said.
They spied on their stomachs on a high hillside overlooking the camp. Far enough for them to feel a modicum of calm even in appropriate wariness and suspicion.
"Who are they?"
"Can they hear us?" The boy asked.
"Not if we're quiet." Cale said.
They spied on their stomachs on a high hillside overlooking the camp. Far enough for them to feel a modicum of calm even in appropriate wariness and suspicion.
"Who are they?"
"I'm not too sure. Nomads probably."
"Maybe they could help us."
"No. Not them."
"How can you tell?"
"They could be bandits. They could take the sword. We couldn't risk it."
"There are a lot of them."
"Yeah. It's strange to see so many this side of the mountain."
"Where do you think they're going?"
"Who can say... Come on, before they see."
It had been raining but began to subside with the coming of the morning light running parallel to the mountaintop. Lightning tumbled amid violent plumes in the range beside the great forest but it was silent and always distant even as the two companions moved away from the camp and northward. Gavin plodded in the mud and his coat was uncomfortably wet as it often seemed to be. More walking. The promise of violence in the air.
Cale kept looking back to scout if any of the caravan were tracking them. "A good habit to have and a better one to pass on", he said. The child followed suit and with him panned left and right across the muscular dunes for any sign of the men and their steeds. Somehow they were never there. With such ease and haste could they have spotted and set upon them and Gavin had to stifle the desire deep within him for them to.
As the forest grew nearer and its visage larger they came to the stench of a dead body flayed out in the middle of the field. It was a horse, no doubt belonging to the herd of men, and a fresh death but not fresh enough for the flies to not have begun to have their way with it. Most of its meat and hide had been cut and taken, not leaving much except for the dripping bones. A leg was visibly broken and the head was sawed off from the corpse and around the neck was a red cloth indistinguishable from the blood. The eyes bulged and tongue stuck out prostrate in a permanent look of betrayal.
The boy tried to look away and covered his face and nose with his sleeve but Cale didn't. Instead he knelt and looked at it with that pensive gaze of his. A kind of compassion on him. If there was anything to be said about it they left it there and kept on their cautious scurry. But when Gavin looked back he looked only at the horse, knowing in full that there was nothing left to see.
"No. Not them."
"How can you tell?"
"They could be bandits. They could take the sword. We couldn't risk it."
"There are a lot of them."
"Yeah. It's strange to see so many this side of the mountain."
"Where do you think they're going?"
"Who can say... Come on, before they see."
It had been raining but began to subside with the coming of the morning light running parallel to the mountaintop. Lightning tumbled amid violent plumes in the range beside the great forest but it was silent and always distant even as the two companions moved away from the camp and northward. Gavin plodded in the mud and his coat was uncomfortably wet as it often seemed to be. More walking. The promise of violence in the air.
Cale kept looking back to scout if any of the caravan were tracking them. "A good habit to have and a better one to pass on", he said. The child followed suit and with him panned left and right across the muscular dunes for any sign of the men and their steeds. Somehow they were never there. With such ease and haste could they have spotted and set upon them and Gavin had to stifle the desire deep within him for them to.
As the forest grew nearer and its visage larger they came to the stench of a dead body flayed out in the middle of the field. It was a horse, no doubt belonging to the herd of men, and a fresh death but not fresh enough for the flies to not have begun to have their way with it. Most of its meat and hide had been cut and taken, not leaving much except for the dripping bones. A leg was visibly broken and the head was sawed off from the corpse and around the neck was a red cloth indistinguishable from the blood. The eyes bulged and tongue stuck out prostrate in a permanent look of betrayal.
The boy tried to look away and covered his face and nose with his sleeve but Cale didn't. Instead he knelt and looked at it with that pensive gaze of his. A kind of compassion on him. If there was anything to be said about it they left it there and kept on their cautious scurry. But when Gavin looked back he looked only at the horse, knowing in full that there was nothing left to see.
Comments
Post a Comment