• Peigra's Blog:

Calton's Shadow, Pt 5

By: Peigra

The fish was even better in the morning, lightly moistened with a bit of tea, and scraped with her belt knife off the plate.

Baltik had tried a nibble, and had smacked his lips at it and smacked his head against Peigra’s shoulder for trying to poison him, in his opinion, as she grinned. Despite her want to go bareback, as it would be a bit more comfortable, she set the saddle back on Baltik’s wide back and hung the saddlebags, with a bit of difficulty. How had she gotten onto him in the Before; she had not remembered him this high, and he was still a gangly two year old, not even old enough to be going through what she was making him endure.

He did not object, and butted his great head against her back when she faltered putting the saddle back on, and she shrugged. He knew better than she did her tolerances, and she led him to the stone step beneath the overhang, and with a leap, crawled up onto him. She ignored the laughter as she lay, in the saddle, arms and legs dangling, and shimmied herself up onto him, swinging her legs and then finally twisting, upright, and settling herself as she needed to be.

Soir stood, staring at her, and tugged at the girth. “Is this as tight as it can be?”

“She needs to arrive alive,” Genda said, poking Soir in the kidney, but he also gave the girth a tug, and grinned up at her. “We must find you a wider girth for his safety.”

“His? Not mine?”

“If you fall off, you will want something wide to shade yourself with, until he returns,” Soir smirked at her, and she toed at him with her boot as he caught it, laughing. “We ride, little bug,” he teased her, giving Baltik’s hindquarters a pat as he moved on.

Xanik had them up well before dawn, saddled and fed and on the road by torchlight, heading towards the waterfall, the headwaters of the lake and the river, and Peigra tried not to yawn, despite probably having been the first one asleep. Beneath her Baltik tossed his head, having slept and now ready to prance again, and it took a bit of tugging on the reins to make him behave. “No honey balls if you don’t stay with the others,” she warned him with the last tug, and he did slow his pace, briefly, sort of.

The road slowly dissipated, becoming less a road as a footpath, and then little more than a trail towards the water. It was pleasant, and the air had a distinctive smell that Peigra did not find appealing.

Wet, and mushy.

High water.

Peigra said nothing, but the ground grew more and more muddy, saturated from below, as they made their way. By the time the sun was high above the spines of the mountains before them, they were plodding, leaving prints in the trail as they moved. Not deep ones, but visible ones, and were getting deeper as they pressed forward. Never a good sign, and no doubt a prelude of greater things ahead.

Xanik was in the lead, again, and Soir was on one side of Peigra, Genda the other, taking up the flank of Baltik, not that he needed the escort, but kept his amused snorts to himself. Between the two, they kept up an endless story of their adventures that Peigra grinned at, as they truly were one being in two bodies, one continuing a sentence the other had barely finished. The only difference in them, if one truly looked, was that Soir had tattooed himself on the left, and Genda on the right, and it had been on purpose, as both were mirror images, save for their hair. Soir’s head was bald, shaved beyond stubble, and perhaps he had taken the herb packs that retarded hair growth to prevent it. Genda’s hair was a beautiful, wheat-tan that had flecks of darker honey in it when the sun lit it, and he had it tied back in the odd fashion of Meridian, where many of the men went with long braids tailing down their backs.

Temur did not enjoy the current trend, and often commented that all it would take was quick grab and tug and a neck would be snapped easily, and Xanik apparently felt the same, his hair not quite stubble, but close to it. The others were a motley of the same style, or bald as Soir was, with only Genda with the long braid that rivaled Peigra’s, though she had pinned hers up, wincing when she hit her scalp a bit too hard and not fully awake. She had offered a few to Genda, who had kindly taken one and bent it, giving a beaming smile, and thanked her for his new fishhook.

The muck beneath Baltik’s hooves was growing deeper, and he was not struggling to move his legs, but he was making a slower pace and choosing where he set each hoof, as were the other mounts. Peigra gave him his head, and Soir moved a bit further ahead of her, Genda behind, both still off to the side to make their own way. They were all trying to find good footing and not muck the road up for those behind with the spare mounts.

The river met them on the path, and Xanik was the one who stopped, bringing them all to a halt to stare at the water. Peigra looked at it intently, curious that it was very different from the river downstream, filled with great spots of bubbles and very clear, not the murky thing that was near the farm. Rocks, coated with great green, hairy tufts that followed the currents, were everywhere, and the ridges of covered ones could be seen where the water rose in dimples. She wanted to leave Baltik and go splash her fingers into it, to see if the rumors were true, that you really could see the bottom near a waterfall.

Soir rode up beside Xanik, and the pair frowned. “The path is flooded.”

Xanik nodded, and turned his mount, looking to the others. “We will need the oilcloth bags to secure the goods, and we will swim across with the mounts in pairs.”

Peigra winced at that, knowing the water would be very cold, but in pairs assured that there was always someone warm, on either side, who could do a quick rescue, though with eleven, someone would be going solo, and the spare mounts needed to be taken also. She had one dry change of clothing and that was all; in Meridian, where she was based, she could wash her clothing daily, and two sets were ideal, even though Temur had told her several would make it easier on her reddened hands.

She slid down Baltik’s side, and gave his neck a pat as she took the reins Genda passed her to his own mount. The vaiyuu stood as patiently as it could, dwarfed by Baltik’s great bulk, and sneezed several times as it tossed its head. They were beautiful creatures, and Peigra had ridden several, when the heat had been too great to risk Baltik, in Before, though there had been many amends to be made upon her return, and he had ignored her for nearly a day after she had returned. The vaiyuu had an odd gait that, for a small human, took some getting used to, as the ridge where the saddle went was made for a larger framed being to be comfortable. She remembered it had been the first time she had discovered what saddle sores were on her thighs.

Baltik gave a snort, and rested his head on her shoulder, and she bent her head to the side and gave him a rub with her coronet of braids. She was holding back on the honey balls until they crossed the water, as he would want the treat and she would want him occupied with something other than nibbling her hair as a reminder of his service, and her duty to him.

Xanik stared at the water for some time, watching it, and shook his head as he turned, sliding off his mount and coming back to the growing commotion of dragging out the oiled packs that could be tied to a horse or looped beneath someone’s arms. They would float along the water’s surface as one swam, and helped with buoyancy. Lined with leather as a second layer of protection, they were invaluable to anyone traveling with a threat of water crossings or heavy rainfall. Peigra had treasured the one she had had in the Before, a small one, but large enough for one change of clothing and her personal items such as charcoal, brush, herbs and a small blanket for rubbing down Baltik. They were expensive simply due to the long process of oiling them without them dripping oil on everything contained within, but not so thinly oiled that a spot was missed and water penetrated anywhere but the vulnerable wraps on the opening.

She was also keenly aware of the men with her, and the fact that very few Bahmi learned to swim, because there was little need of it to them. The sand could swallow one up in a storm as easily as a flooded river, but one could find a rock, a cave, a depression and cover themselves against a sandstorm. There was no other way but through a flooded river, whose current and depth were always subject to the land beneath.

Behind her, the men were taking packs off the spare mounts and distributing gear among the many oiled bags that had been brought with them. It might be the only time they were used, but they were invaluable for such times as this. Waiting a day for one’s gear to dry was not always a good choice, and bandits often found such crossing places ideal for ambushes.

Even in the Now, so lush and smelling of promise and innocent happenings, there was danger, always someone looking to benefit from another’s moment of hesitation or looking the wrong direction.

Baltik tossed his head, looking to the left, as did Genda’s mount, and Peigra looked also, turning slightly to look behind them as Soir began to laugh at something. “It will never fit,” Soir was saying, and came up to Peigra, and held up the short tie rope that was used to keep two mounts together while in harness to a wagon. They were often used attached to a harness when crossing wide waters, and he held it up against Baltik’s head, and then to Genda’s mount and laughed again. With a great flourish, he held it up against his own cheek, for he and Baltik were nearly the same height, and Peigra chuckled. “Do we match?”

“He’ll drag you all through the sands if you do,” she said, and Baltik snorted to the very idea. “You’d be picking sand from your ears for months.”

Soir was grinning widely at her. “Rira always did say I had sand in my ears.”

“She said it was in your head,” Genda corrected him, coming up to take his mount’s reins. “You and I are going first, little bug,” he said. “As we have no harness for that monster you ride, and he will be able to take some of the larger bags. You,” he said, pointing to Soir and flicking his finger against the rope Soir had hanging from his hand. “Are in constant need of a harness to keep you in check.”

“Now, Genda, few have complained about...”
A hand mashed itself in Soir’s face, and the pair chuckled to one another. Peigra was not certain she wanted to know any more, and smirked at them. “No scaring her,” Genda said, but there was mirth there in his voice, his face, and he winked down at Peigra, who wrinkled her nose at them both. “May we prepare this great beast for what lies ahead?”

Peigra tugged at Baltik’s halter, and one eye tilted, looking down at her. “Will you be able to take some extra packs, Baltik?” He gave a whuff, which she assumed was a yes, and Genda gave a snort of his own.

“You speak to it as if it knows your thoughts.”

She gave a warm, gracious smile and stroked Baltik’s nose. “I trust him, and I know he won’t let anything happen to me.” Not a lie, but not the truth, and she was afraid of revealing the whole truth that she had her horse, from Before, back, who through some miracle only Baltik knew. He had saved her life so many times, and she still felt the wrenching pain in those last few days, before the world had ended, when Baltik had finally fallen and she had been left with...

She closed her eyes, and sighed. Better not to think of that matter, as it was gone, as was Before. This was the Now that had to be preserved, kept and cherished, and everyone aware that it could be lost in so little time.

A Bahmi’s mount was an extention of themselves, a part of their lives that needed to be treated with care as one would a child. Children were taught young how to ride, to cling to the neck and keep themselves up, and most, by four, were also avid archers. She had been amazed, seeing them in long strings, rising up to the one side in special saddles that were weighted on the one side, at first, to give children the ability to make the shots and balance themselves. Later, the weights were taken off, and they had to learn themselves how to compensate, and there were several tests of youth of certain ages, boy and girl alike, to prove their mettle. Bahmi saw nothing wrong with a woman who used a sword or a man who picked herbs, as everyone contributed to the clan in their small way.

Peigra was not certain what she could contribute to this particular group, as they had come with all the goods that would be necessary, and all she had come with was herself, two packs that were half-full if that, and Baltik whom they regarded as some mutation. He was impressive, and she gave his neck a pat as Soir took his leads and led him off. In the Now, he would be pampered as he had not been in the Before, and she would need to find someone with hives to keep him supplied in honey balls.

“He is your ran`tk,” Genda said quietly, and she looked up, nodding.

“He’s more than that, he’s my guardian,” was her quiet reply. “He’s kept me from harm many times, and I owe him my life on two hands.”

Genda nodded to her. A life was worth one hand, and how many times it was saved was the worth of fingers upon it, for without all the fingers, one could still function, but take all the fingers away and all one was left with what life, and little more to do in it. He stroked the head of his own mount, who rubbed his hand affectionately. “I think Matra, here, was with me in the life that was mine before this one, through the terrors and the fires, and found me again here. How, I do not know, but I think it is her, and for that, I am also grateful.”

Peigra stared at the man, and reached out slowly to the vaiyuu, who sniffed her hand cautiously with its round nostrils. So, there were others who thought their mounts were returned; there was no end to the mysteries of what had happened, and how it had been done, but she, as Genda, was grateful to have such loyalty and friendship rewarded once again. “Every one of us was brought back for some purpose, some need,” he said to her as he stroked his mount’s ears, his great scarred and tattooed hands gentle against the beast’s head that seemed too small for such affection.

Peigra stared up at Genda, and gave a reluctant nod, and before she could stop herself, she said, “Some of us were accidents that came back.”

The chuckle was deep, and Genda touched her shoulder. “No one Ascends and is an accident, little bug.”

She shook her head at him. “No, I mean that they were expecting someone else to come through, but it was me. They were expecting someone named Calton, and...and I came back instead,” she said with a shrug.

Genda raised an eyebrow, and stared at her a long moment with his odd, dark-flecked eyes. Bahmi eyes seemed to be made for the sand and the hot reflective sun off of their dunes, as they were all different, but all of them different shades of the same three or four browns. The hand on Peigra’s shoulder squeezed, and he began to smile. “So, you are the one the machine belched out.”

“What?”

He chuckled, and gave her a gentle shake. “There was a rumor, some months ago, that the machine had a malfunction, and who they were expecting to return did not. They were expecting a leader from the other time to come back and help with some of the aspects of leading the stand against the Dark One.” Genda’s voice was gentle, but as with many of the Bahmi, he was honest to a fault. “There was much speculation to what happened, and then the matter was gone, and we wondered what had happened, as there were no more Ascended who came through for some time. There was something stuck in the machine, and someone was the last through before it could be repaired.”

Peigra sighed, and closed her eyes. So, it had been a machine malfunction? No one had told her exactly the why she had been brought back. She remembered sleeping in the Before, and the odd sensation of dying, for she had been, given what had been happening then, and it had been a blessing for it to end. She had welcomed the darkness, the end of the battles, the fighting, the loss of Baltik and...others, and the deep betrayal that had seared her to her bones in those last few days.

To wake, and be both alive, and not where one had fallen into the restorative, or death, slumber, it had been enough to startle her, but to stumble from the odd platform and be caught beneath her arms and hauled to the side, with lights flashing in her eyes, endless voices she could not recognize in her ears, so many hands touching her, probing that she was whole. She could breathe, for her lungs had no longer been damaged, and the wound to her shoulder, gone, enabled her to lift her hand to her eyes and try to shield the lights. She had been mumbling for them to turn the lamps down, that her eyes hurt, her ears were aching, and she had vomited what little had been in her stomach, herbal broth, on someone’s shoes.

The voices, as they coalesed into some form of semblance, had all been directed at her, and demandant that she answer where Calton was, was he behind her, had he fallen, how long were they to wait for him, it was endless, and she was too exhausted from the transformation to know what they were asking her, let alone who they were asking for. She had fallen to the stones, her body tingling from the machine’s machinations, from skipping from one timeline to another, and into a body that had once been hers, now returned, and back into a life that she had abandoned years earlier by the acts of others.

She was, once again, an accident of birthing, once from her mother, and a second time from a machine that had deemed she was needed elsewhere, but for what, and why, to live it all again...the thought was nearly too unbearable to think of. She looked away, turning to the river, away from Genda, and did not want him to see her tears. She had long learned how to weep in silence, to hold the pain within, not that it did her gut any good tidings.

The arms that folded her back against the great leathered chest, giving nothing of escape, frightened her, and she tensed a moment, starting to struggle, but Genda rested his head on the top of her braids, his cheek against them, as he held her. “The world is never wrong, little bug. Your purpose may not reveal itself until we are all old and nearly dust, but there is never a wrong to the world.”

She clutched at his arms, and let him hold her. It felt good to be held, just once more, to forget the others who had held her for comfort, for companionship, to hide the terrors of all that was happening beyond them.

“Oi! Who said you could steal my favorite little bug?”

Soir, and Baltik, who reached out, pushing Genda’s head away and nibbled one of the tails of Peigra’s braids as she chuckled, rubbing his nose. He was laden with the odd packs, ropes all around his middle and the bunch of them all dotting his sides. They would float once they hit the water, but for now, Soir and three others were holding them so they did not foul in Baltik’s legs. “Hi, wretch,” she said, kissing Baltik’s nose as he gave a light snort. “Ready to go swimming again?”

Typical Baltik, he gave a snort.

Genda gave Peigra’s head another pat, and pushed Baltik’s nose with a finger, waggling it there as horse and Bahmi eyed one another over Peigra’s head. Soir was tugging at one of the ropes, and frowned. “Used a lot of the rope we had to get this beast tied up.”

“But will the knots you tied hold,” Genda asked over Baltik’s back, and Soir frowned.

“I tied them all with care and caution!”

“Maybe I should re-tie them to ensure the bags do not float away?”

Soir shrugged to that. “They are all your belongings, so if they float away, I still have my ale keg to tap.”

“We tapped mine because you said you left yours behind,” Genda reminded his friend, and Soir waved him away.

“Yours was the older one, it needed to be consumed first. Mine was months younger.”

Peigra nuzzled Baltik’s nose, trying not to smirk as the two men argued over the horse’s back. Listening to them was as if Purda and Diel were in her life again, mumbling constantly to one another about things that needed to be done.

Xanik came up, and tugged at the ropes wrapped around Baltik’s body. “If he bolts, we risk the loss of her mount,” he warned them, and Peigra looked up at the horse’s eyes, his ears flicking back and forth, listening to each voice.

“He’ll be alright,” Peigra said, running her finger down the horse’s nose and looked down at herself. She had on her one pair of boots, her thick sweater over a tunic against the cold and her cloak, and frowned. Getting down to the bare layers was not what she wanted to do, but necessary, as on the other side, a fire might take some time to heat up the clothing. The fog from the waterfall was obscuring the other side, the temperature of the water and air so differential that it thickened the air.

She leaned on Baltik as she unlaced her boot, handing it to Genda, and then the other one, socks as well, cautious of the mud, and let her feet squish in the mud with a wide smile. It was cold, but it was squishy, and it had been years since she had sloshed through mud. Genda passed her boots over Baltik’s shoulder, to Soir, who put them in one of the bags not yet closed on his side, and Genda, already barefoot, stripped off his cloak and his thick tunic as well, bare save his leggings. Peigra passed her cloak to him, and it went to Soir, as well as her sweater, and shook herself. The loss of heat was sudden, and she hoped the swim would be quick.

“We must cross quickly, or we risk the cold to ourselves, not just our mounts,” Genda warned her, and she nodded. Fishermen had fallen into the river in spring often, trying to navigate the ice chunks and not cautious when they broke off and floated downstream, and often there was no coming back for them. “Are you ready, little bug?” She nodded, and Xanik took Matra’s leads and led her to the water, Baltik on the other side.

She dipped a toe into the water, and winced at the frigid water as Xanik pointed. “There is a rock, there, see that dip, there that branch dips with the current? Avoid it, as the water, this high, can drag you under and there are none of us to get you back up. Take your horse wide, and hurry.”

“We have forgotten one matter.”

“What is that, Soir?”

“Can she swim?”

Eleven faces, one horse and one vaiyuu looked at her, and she gave a slow, growing smile in return. “I grew up on the farms that way,” she said, pointing down the road they had come. “Everyone had to know how to swim there, no choice.”

“Then in you go.” She took the reins from Soir and a deep breath, and walked into the water.

Baltik did not falter at the river’s temperature, but she felt the moment’s wince as it went over his hooves and up towards his knees. It was shallow for quite a ways, and they waded in, Peigra soaked from behind by Baltik’s sloshing gait. There was nothing to be done of it, and she frowned, watching the slow current, and stopped just before the drop off, Genda behind her with his mount.

“Here we go,” she said, touching Baltik’s nose, and let the reins go, stepping into the unknown, the cold water covering her as she went under, and came up, looking to the horse. Baltik tossed his head and she swam over, taking the lead that dangled down, and he stepped down as well, snapped back by the twelve bags tied around him in pairs, and floating, his legs kicking out. Peigra got to his side, waited for Genda and his mount to come in, with a greater splash, and started swimming. Baltik would be easier to float, but he was also subject to greater forces of the water’s currents with the bags floating him, and she tried to steer him as best she could.

They floated, and she kept her eyes on the dimple in the water, that was normally a rock in dry times that people used to rest while swimming across. She gave it a wide swim, and tugged at Baltik’s lead, swimming closer and grabbing hold of his halter, pushing him as she could towards the other side. He was too buoyant, and they fought the current as they could.

The halter smashed her fingers against Baltik’s head, and she looked to Genda, on the other side, helping to steer the horse, and dragging his own mount through the water. They fought the current, realizing they would be going downstream further than they wanted to, and would need to backtrack due to Baltik’s load.

They swam, they tugged, Baltik assisted as best he could by swimming himself, Matra giving loud cries of distress at being in the cold water. Peigra let the magick flow, using Baltik as her medium, and let her hand glow, feeding helpful magick into the horse, into Genda by their attachment, and through him to Matra, whose harness was in Genda’s other hand now. They would need the strength she could lend them with her magick, and she felt Baltik’s great sigh at her help. She was ignoring her own self to get them across, and knew she would pay for that later, but they had to get out of the water, and soon. She was cold, and her feet were growing numb.

The shore came up beneath them suddenly, Baltik heaving himself up before Peigra and Genda knew it was coming, and she was dragged a moment with her hand stuck in his wet halter. On the other side, Genda released the halter, clutching at Matra’s and pulled the beast up, the water only to their knees now, and Peigra extracted her hand from Baltik’s halter. The skin was red from where it had been caught beneath the leather, but they were on land, and she looked back, unable to see where the other side was from the haze. Genda was moving towards the shore, and she took the rope hanging from Baltik’s halter, leading him out of the water.

The bags were now dangerous, coming down around his sides, and she reached for the ones she could, using her back to support them, and Genda took the ones he could on the other side. They slowly moved out, onto drier mud, and began to walk along the water’s edge, back up towards wherever their destination had been. Genda knew where they were going, and led them up until he stopped, staring at a ring of stones, knee-deep water surrounding them, and nodded. The trees were barely budded out, and Genda took Matra’s leads, tying them off to a tree.

Baltik stopped, and Genda took the knots with his hands, opening them easily as Peigra held the ones on the other side with her back. One by one, they dropped beneath the horse, and she felt them slide off, hoping there was nothing fragile within them, and gave a great sigh when they were off the horse.

He sidestepped the bags, and gave a great shake, spraying water everywhere, and a sigh as he bent his head, trying the grass that was newly sprouted. She left him to graze, knowing he was not going anywhere, and Genda began feeling the packs, one by one. “Ahh,” he said, opening one after shaking the water off it.

Within was flint, tinder and some charcoal, and these he set down, coaxing a fire out of them and taking some of the wood in the bag to help it. “Change, and out of those,” he said while getting the fire started, and Peigra gave a nod.

She was shivering, and Genda pointed to one particular bag. “That is yours.” How he knew, she did not want to ask, and shook the bag before opening it. Her cloak and sweater were there, and she moved around Baltik, turning her back to he and Genda, and stripped her tunic off, replacing it with the sweater. Her spare leggings she got out of the bag, trading them for the wet ones and dug her socks and boots out, trying not to let her teeth chatter and her fingers fumble. She knew she was cold, but not so cold it was dangerous yet.

The dry blanket she took out, and began wiping down Baltik’s sides, paying extra caution to his feet, and what water she could get off him she did before she was wringing the blanket out. Her wet clothing she left in a pile, and took Baltik’s lead and began walking him around to warm him, as well as herself. Walking got her blood flowing, and she stamped her feet in her boots, keeping herself in loose circles as Baltik snorted above her.

He let her know when he was warm, and Peigra stopped, and gave his nose a scratch. Genda had the fire going, and had stripped down himself to little more than his loincloth and a dry tunic, and there was one of the desert wraps beside him that would go on after. Peigra had no fear of Genda harming her physically, and had seen enough nudity in her years in Before to not care.

Wood was crackling, and she crouched down near the fire. “Want me to watch it while you get dressed?”

He looked up, and gave her a smile over the fire. “I shall.” He motioned to the wood from the pack, in a pile beside the small fire, and she shooed him off as he took the wrap and went near Matra to dry himself.

The fire was not large, and struggling to catch in the wet muck beneath it, but it had flames, and Peigra blew on it gently to encourage it to grow.

From the water came splashing, and two others were coming with their mounts, and she called out to them, seeing them in the haze but not solid, and they saw the fire with gratitude. She took the four mounts, motioning them to the oiled packs, and they began searching for dry clothing. Peigra moved the mounts as best she could, getting them warming again, tied as they were in pairs and rotating one in circles, then the other until Genda came to relieve her of one of the pairs. She walked them until they determined they were done, and Genda took them all to the trees, tying them off near Matra, and waiting on the others.

Her clothing pile had come to the fire, and was piled in a growing, sodden pile of clothing set aside. It was too wet and cool for them to let the clothing dry here, and she wondered how rank it would smell if they stuffed them into one of the oiled bags.

From one of the bags, Genda took some of the live coals and charcoal, and pushed it into a small, iron brazier that one of the men took. “Go get it started,” he said, and the man took one of the mounts and went off into the haze. Peigra watched him go, curious now, and had no other time to spare him as another pair of men were floundering in the water.

Everyone across, and changed into dry clothing, they got onto their mounts and Xanik led the way through the haze. Baltik was in the rear, finding the pace a bit too slow, and constantly snorting to encourage others to quicken the pace, but tied to him, in a long chain of rope, were the spare mounts, as Peigra had offered to take them with their load of packs. Baltik was not pleased with the arrangement, and ensured Peigra was aware of his irritation, and she poked his neck to remind him they were guests on this venture and not on their own yet.

The path they took was flat-packed with sand and pebbles, and they went up along it, away from the river, and Peigra felt the humidity growing. They were traveling along the waterfall now, and then away from it, and one moment the haze was everything and the next the world erupted into a brilliance that blinded her. Beneath her, Baltik gave an odd, protesting noise, and she took a moment to let her eyes adjust to it all.

Before them, spreading out from the oasis of the waterfall and the river, was the desert, shimmering in waves of dunes.

Xanik took them along the spine of mountains, up towards the area now well-warmed by the sun’s light and the sand itself, and what chill any of them had had was now gone to sweat. Peigra regretted her sweater now, and knew it would need to dry, but they were out of the river, and ahead of them was a series of caves, natural or hewn by the Bahmi, that they were heading to.

Stretched out beneath a low overhang, the mounts were tied off in the shade and dried fodder taken from one of the oilcloth bags that had come on another pair’s river crossing. Baltik was at the end, and Peigra put him there purposely, as he was the youngest of them, and she did not want him chasing the other mounts away because he was hungry.

She took off his saddle, saw he was no longer chilled, his hooves and legs were free of pebbles, and set three honey balls to the far side of the hay to distract him from eating more than his share. A bribe, but one he could endure without shame. She gave his neck a pat and left him with the others mounts.

The cave was dry within, not deep but shade, and she needed it now, her scalp burning from their brief time in the sun. She would need her turban soon, but firstly, she needed to find her wet clothing. The man who had gone ahead with the iron bowl had started a fire in the great pit, and around the great cave, their clothing was being hung to dry. From the main cave, there were several offshoot caves, as well as three separate ones outside. “We will rest here until the sun is low,” Xanik announced, and Peigra would have enjoyed traveling in the sun, but knew their mounts were tired still from the swim, and still chilled, and would need their energy to cross the sands.

“Would you be more comfortable in one of the outer caves, or in here?”

“I’d like to be near Baltik, if I can,” she told Xanik, who nodded, and gave her the middle cave on the outside, and Baltik was moved there, tied and with his own pile of the hay. Peigra got her packs, saddlebags, and everything else, and set them around the cave, meant for a couple or larger group, and felt tiny as she unrolled her bedding.

She only meant to close her eyes for a minute, and did not feel Genda putting the blankets on her to keep her warm, or the extra honey ball he passed to Baltik, having found Peigra’s stash.

She slept, Baltik at the cave’s mouth, keeping watch, and safe.