(no subject)
Author: ashgray_kitsune
Genre: Steampunk Fantasy
Title: Caravan (working)
Synopsis: Still very much in the works, largely due in part because I lost the entire plot thread. For now, this is the first chapter (first story?), and I will be coming back for an edit. But, alas, I has work.
"Ashelir." One brown eye cracked open, blearily surveying the slender gap between the tent flaps. The tall figure that stood there, barely visible in the dawn's half-light, gave an irritated sigh and rapped her knuckles smartly on the tent post. "Child, it is time to wake. Most of the camp is already mobile." That forced her up out of the sling-bed, and she groaned a little as she groped around for her boots, hopping in annoyance at the chill seeping in from the ground.
"Sa...Yes, Father's sister. I'll be down in a bit." The woman snorted, clearly disgruntled, but strode away, her own family's meager belongings half-packed into their wagon. Ashelir finally found her laces, and quickly, haphazardly tied them up, pulling on her vest and doing the same. Peeking out at the sky, she bit back a curse and dove for her pack, stuffing her blanket-roll through the leather straps and collapsing the sling-bed, tying it up. She threw both out onto the earth before her tent, and swiftly tore down the small structure, unlocking the poles and yanking up all of the stakes. As she cleaned the sticky clumps of turf off the steel points, she glanced around, feeling a definite sense of shame that she hadn't gotten up sooner. That her father's sister had had to come and remind her...she winced. That would not go over well with her mother, once they set camp again.
"A trader must be ever ready..." She murmured, stashing the spikes deep inside her pack and coiling the long ropes that held them. "A trader must be always prompt. Damn..." She hissed a little as one of the wired ends of the rope sliced into her thumb. "And a trader must be ever vigilant. Oh, yes, that fits me perfectly..." Those last words came out in a growl, and she huffed a little as she forced the tarpaulin into the rucksack. Raising her head, she brought her two index fingers to her lips and blew, a sharp, high whistle cutting the air. A high whinny met her query, and she smiled as the stallion she'd caught and tamed came up the path, his head high and alert, warm brown eyes softening further as he lipped her flyaway hair and nuzzled into her chest. She laughed a little, and pulling him around, ground-tied him while she set about saddling and packing.
She'd used his saddle the night before as a pillow, and after brushing off a little grass and dust, swung it over his blanket. As she tightened the belly and chest straps, she put her head close to his abdomen, listening. His lungs sounded much better than they had the day before, and she stroked his golden hide as she measured out the beats of his heart. He was a rare beast, to be sure, and losing him to an ailment easily treated would only hurt her heart and enrage the horsemaster. So everyday, as she'd been taught, she checked each of his vital signs, looking for any questionable sounds, or unusual behaviors. Ashelir stood back up and gently pressed her palms, then her finger tips, up against his stomach, sighing in relief when she felt no bloating.
"You're an annoying beast..." She said softly, smiling as he turned to look at her. "And I've no idea why I still put up with you. Now, hold still, my love, your least favorite part is at hand." She pushed his head back gently and leaned down to pick up the bed's bulky frame. It took a bit of balancing, but soon enough, it was tied to the back of his saddle, her rucksack neatly strapped down on top. She mounted, wincing a little at the sharp pain in her thigh. She had hoped that the pain might have subsided a little in the night, when she'd gone to the herb-women to get a poultice. But as she well knew, the gash was still there, and healing too slowly for her comfort. "Eh, well...serves me right for getting between that mare and her foal..." She muttered, scooping up the reins and chirruping him down the hill. As Ashelir made her way to the small gathering of mounted traders already packed, she bowed her head to her mother and winced as the older woman pursed her lips. At the gesture, she followed her out a little ways away from the main group.
"I heard from B'nnui that you did not wake with the first bell."
"I...honestly did not hear it, Mother."
"I had thought not. However, I am not so worried with that as I am with your injury. Does it still pain you?"
"Yes...not as badly, but still enough to make mounting and dismounting painful. The herb-women did say that it would take a few days to sooth it, though, and I have faith in their abilities." Her mother nodded, and Ashelir was a little worried to see the exhaustion on Myrha's face. The lines that were so graceful seemed to deepen with each month on this journey, and dark shadows haunted her green eyes. Her long hair had been shorn at the beginning of the caravan, as had her child's and Ashelir was disturbed to see just how much gray had been hidden among the dark red. She smiled, though, when her mother chuckled wryly.
"Rethinking your involvement?"
"No...Just worried about you, Mother." Myrha smiled again, and reached out to touch her daughter's face, her fingers lingering on the small scar crossing her cheek.
"It is I who worry for you. The traders have never appreciated our clan's position in the Steamworks, and now, in the twilight of my years, I cannot help but fear for my only surviving heir." Ashelir looked a little confused at that.
"But, Father's sister and her husband..."
"Are not in the lineage. Our blood has always been capable of the long treks across this country, observant, strong, wise in the ways of the land and beast. They...they travel for money. We seek only the western wind, the rising sun, the running steed. That we are traders, well...that is merely a bonus. But at the end of the day, when the camp is quiet, I know full well who watches the stars pass and sleeps a little late the next morn." Ashelir blushed crimson at that, and pulled away, ashamed. Myrha leaned forward and caught her chin, laughing a little. "Now, now...there is no need to avert your eyes. I did the same, when I was your age. And my father before me, and his mother before him. We are the Kitsun, my child; we are the wanderers. There is no shame in what we do." She smiled at the girl...no, woman before her, and pulled away, shaking the shaggy remnants of her red hair out of her eyes. "Now...I think that today, Ashelir, you should announce the next destination. It is time for you to take your learning, and use it."
Ashelir swallowed nervously, and as they made their way back to the camp, she felt that fear grow immensely. All of the wagons, horses, and camels were packed, the fires put out, holes repacked...five hundred faces stared at her as she cleared her throat, very few of them friendly in any way. She opened her mouth, and the words she had meant to say, the ones that would have stuttered and fallen on deaf ears, were replaced.
"Traders, this is the last leg of our journey. By tonight, provided we make good time, we shall be in Shiraz. Now, camels first, wagons next, and horses behind. Guards, circle the wagons, and station four by the camels. Everyone else...keep your eyes sharp. I will have no trader harmed this day." The surprise, and swell of agreement, shocked her, but it was turning to look at her mother, whose smile warmed even as the sun finally broke the horizon, that made Ashelir realize something deeply profound. She was a trader.
Genre: Steampunk Fantasy
Title: Caravan (working)
Synopsis: Still very much in the works, largely due in part because I lost the entire plot thread. For now, this is the first chapter (first story?), and I will be coming back for an edit. But, alas, I has work.
"Ashelir." One brown eye cracked open, blearily surveying the slender gap between the tent flaps. The tall figure that stood there, barely visible in the dawn's half-light, gave an irritated sigh and rapped her knuckles smartly on the tent post. "Child, it is time to wake. Most of the camp is already mobile." That forced her up out of the sling-bed, and she groaned a little as she groped around for her boots, hopping in annoyance at the chill seeping in from the ground.
"Sa...Yes, Father's sister. I'll be down in a bit." The woman snorted, clearly disgruntled, but strode away, her own family's meager belongings half-packed into their wagon. Ashelir finally found her laces, and quickly, haphazardly tied them up, pulling on her vest and doing the same. Peeking out at the sky, she bit back a curse and dove for her pack, stuffing her blanket-roll through the leather straps and collapsing the sling-bed, tying it up. She threw both out onto the earth before her tent, and swiftly tore down the small structure, unlocking the poles and yanking up all of the stakes. As she cleaned the sticky clumps of turf off the steel points, she glanced around, feeling a definite sense of shame that she hadn't gotten up sooner. That her father's sister had had to come and remind her...she winced. That would not go over well with her mother, once they set camp again.
"A trader must be ever ready..." She murmured, stashing the spikes deep inside her pack and coiling the long ropes that held them. "A trader must be always prompt. Damn..." She hissed a little as one of the wired ends of the rope sliced into her thumb. "And a trader must be ever vigilant. Oh, yes, that fits me perfectly..." Those last words came out in a growl, and she huffed a little as she forced the tarpaulin into the rucksack. Raising her head, she brought her two index fingers to her lips and blew, a sharp, high whistle cutting the air. A high whinny met her query, and she smiled as the stallion she'd caught and tamed came up the path, his head high and alert, warm brown eyes softening further as he lipped her flyaway hair and nuzzled into her chest. She laughed a little, and pulling him around, ground-tied him while she set about saddling and packing.
She'd used his saddle the night before as a pillow, and after brushing off a little grass and dust, swung it over his blanket. As she tightened the belly and chest straps, she put her head close to his abdomen, listening. His lungs sounded much better than they had the day before, and she stroked his golden hide as she measured out the beats of his heart. He was a rare beast, to be sure, and losing him to an ailment easily treated would only hurt her heart and enrage the horsemaster. So everyday, as she'd been taught, she checked each of his vital signs, looking for any questionable sounds, or unusual behaviors. Ashelir stood back up and gently pressed her palms, then her finger tips, up against his stomach, sighing in relief when she felt no bloating.
"You're an annoying beast..." She said softly, smiling as he turned to look at her. "And I've no idea why I still put up with you. Now, hold still, my love, your least favorite part is at hand." She pushed his head back gently and leaned down to pick up the bed's bulky frame. It took a bit of balancing, but soon enough, it was tied to the back of his saddle, her rucksack neatly strapped down on top. She mounted, wincing a little at the sharp pain in her thigh. She had hoped that the pain might have subsided a little in the night, when she'd gone to the herb-women to get a poultice. But as she well knew, the gash was still there, and healing too slowly for her comfort. "Eh, well...serves me right for getting between that mare and her foal..." She muttered, scooping up the reins and chirruping him down the hill. As Ashelir made her way to the small gathering of mounted traders already packed, she bowed her head to her mother and winced as the older woman pursed her lips. At the gesture, she followed her out a little ways away from the main group.
"I heard from B'nnui that you did not wake with the first bell."
"I...honestly did not hear it, Mother."
"I had thought not. However, I am not so worried with that as I am with your injury. Does it still pain you?"
"Yes...not as badly, but still enough to make mounting and dismounting painful. The herb-women did say that it would take a few days to sooth it, though, and I have faith in their abilities." Her mother nodded, and Ashelir was a little worried to see the exhaustion on Myrha's face. The lines that were so graceful seemed to deepen with each month on this journey, and dark shadows haunted her green eyes. Her long hair had been shorn at the beginning of the caravan, as had her child's and Ashelir was disturbed to see just how much gray had been hidden among the dark red. She smiled, though, when her mother chuckled wryly.
"Rethinking your involvement?"
"No...Just worried about you, Mother." Myrha smiled again, and reached out to touch her daughter's face, her fingers lingering on the small scar crossing her cheek.
"It is I who worry for you. The traders have never appreciated our clan's position in the Steamworks, and now, in the twilight of my years, I cannot help but fear for my only surviving heir." Ashelir looked a little confused at that.
"But, Father's sister and her husband..."
"Are not in the lineage. Our blood has always been capable of the long treks across this country, observant, strong, wise in the ways of the land and beast. They...they travel for money. We seek only the western wind, the rising sun, the running steed. That we are traders, well...that is merely a bonus. But at the end of the day, when the camp is quiet, I know full well who watches the stars pass and sleeps a little late the next morn." Ashelir blushed crimson at that, and pulled away, ashamed. Myrha leaned forward and caught her chin, laughing a little. "Now, now...there is no need to avert your eyes. I did the same, when I was your age. And my father before me, and his mother before him. We are the Kitsun, my child; we are the wanderers. There is no shame in what we do." She smiled at the girl...no, woman before her, and pulled away, shaking the shaggy remnants of her red hair out of her eyes. "Now...I think that today, Ashelir, you should announce the next destination. It is time for you to take your learning, and use it."
Ashelir swallowed nervously, and as they made their way back to the camp, she felt that fear grow immensely. All of the wagons, horses, and camels were packed, the fires put out, holes repacked...five hundred faces stared at her as she cleared her throat, very few of them friendly in any way. She opened her mouth, and the words she had meant to say, the ones that would have stuttered and fallen on deaf ears, were replaced.
"Traders, this is the last leg of our journey. By tonight, provided we make good time, we shall be in Shiraz. Now, camels first, wagons next, and horses behind. Guards, circle the wagons, and station four by the camels. Everyone else...keep your eyes sharp. I will have no trader harmed this day." The surprise, and swell of agreement, shocked her, but it was turning to look at her mother, whose smile warmed even as the sun finally broke the horizon, that made Ashelir realize something deeply profound. She was a trader.