Rules of Hospitality
Karra
They were huddled around a sunstone in the main room.
The kind lady told her she had laid it out to sun when the other tree-thing was asleep, and the stone had drunken in that heat. Now, it was parting ways with it. Its warmth radiated right through her, and if that wasn’t enough, the lady had also saddled her in blankets and handed her a cup of warm water. So now she was equal parts warm, and equal parts nervous.
After all, her mother told her never to trust strangers.
But these two had just saved her life, so she would trust them, just a little bit. It was either them or the forest, after all. And now that the brane had faded, her eyes began darting around the room and its occupants, noting down the little things the elders had taught her to. Bovine habits, she supposed.
A few minutes of silence ticked past.
Still, she had yet to say a word. She hoped they didn’t take it the wrong way, for it was a terribly large monster, and she had been running for a while.
And finally, her voice wormed its way out.
“I-I am, uh, Karra. Karra ‘Grass’ Meadow. T-thank you, thank you for saving me. I-I didn’t… I don’t think I deserve such kindness.”
“That’s a lovely name,” and the lady frowned, “for a lovely woman who deserves it. Every bit of kindness I have. But anyways, it’s good to see you all warmed up, Karra. I am Rosemary, and this is Lepius.”
She gestured to him, the other tree-thing who was placing a branch of thyme onto the sunstone. It wilted upon contact. The heat shriveled up the little buds, and soon the smell floated over to her, and what a scent it was. It smelled like… her herd’s cooking, and sunlight from the stone. It must’ve been some foreign magic, for she didn’t understand how she could feel warmer than she did a moment before.
“H-hello, Rosemary and Lepius. It’s good to, uh, meet you.”
They smiled at her and nodded, but didn’t say anything. Maybe they wanted her to speak first?
“W-well, um, I’m not completely unscathed.”
Rosemary beamed at Lepius, “That sounds like a job for you, my sapling.”
He perked up, and then shrunk back down. What… an odd person.
She was a little scared of him, if she was to have it wrung out of her. His face seemed to always be in some flux of changing feelings, twisting his lips or knotting his eyebrows, then smiling and crinkling his eyes at the corners. And he looked halfway to death, too.
Maybe he was thinking about getting rid of the annoying girl who had stumbled in at such a late hour, and was formulating some polite way of kicking her out.
“Lepius. Lepius.” Rosemary said, “Oh, Eldertrees, I’m sorry. Could you excuse us?”
She nodded, barely hearing them. How was she to make her way back if they tossed her out? Maybe she would beg on her knees, make the biggest eyes she could, and heighten her voice – after all, it always worked with mother.
That made her think to far away.
Mother. She clenched her heart. What are you doing now?
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The Mother
“My daughter is missing, my sweet Karra, and you just want me to sit here and wait like… like some placid cow?”
Many of the clansfolk had already gathered. Gatherings were common enough in their Clan, but what set this one apart was that it was night, and that there was no prior notice. She was the prior notice. In fact, those who had gathered did come for that novelty, and they remained for another – Junni ‘Sunflower’ Meadow, raising her voice up to this height, this declaration at the stars. Had it ever happened before?
And this was a declaration, but not a peaceful one. It was a call to arms.
Clanspeaker Hathun was the sacrificial lamb for tonight. One onlooker patted him on the back. Hathun approached with his shaking hands held up, and pried away the sling from her.
Right, she was ripping apart a sling in her hands. She had forgotten.
“Junni… it is night. You know there are Stalkerwolves and Rockbears and things much worse roaming the plains and forests. Going out there would be suicide.”
She brought her hoof down like thunder.
“Alone, it might be. But together we can do something! So why is no one gearing up? Karra is out there, cowards!” and that last bit she projected at the audience, as they shifted and avoided her eyes, “…why aren’t any of you looking at me?”
A voice rose up after a silence, “Because we don’t want to die, lady! And if it be between her or me, I’m picking Klutzy Karra.”
The herd muttered at that, and shared their huffs. ‘Mm, he is right, but he could’ve phrased that better.’ and ‘Poor girl, it’s a shame.’ And it was callous, but what were they to do?
“Who… who the fuck said that?”
But still no one could look her in the eye, so the statement floated above the herd and remained there, stinking up the air.
“Come on! One person just look me in the eye, damn it!”
No one could.
Why?
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Bovines
They were bovines.
It was no secret that even if they could fight, bovines would choose not to. When someone asked them why, most would shrug and say there was no point to, but it wasn’t really from choice. It was just the story of their ancestors. Placid herbivores. They were people who descended from prey, from animals farmed and bred in barns without choice. Cows. A slow, easy target that understood little of anything other than munching on grass and running when they needed to.
Humans even made a word to fit them – ‘cowed’.
Coward.
The only real reason they weren’t extinct was because no one wanted their Noshad Plains, and found them at best tradesfolk, and at worst a nuisance to march armies through. After all, it was a land… of grass. Just grass. And when any kingdom did try and lay a claim on this grassy emptiness, the ten others bordering the Plains would declare war on them.
It was too much of a problem, and there were often bigger ones to bother with.
And those were the bovines.
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“Are you all cowards or something? Do you want to just sweep this under the rug, like this isn’t my daughter?”
Another voice pitched in after the first, “Yeah. We should just keep moving forward.”
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“Wha- who said that? Who said that?”
Hathun had to restrain her, and even that was something beyond him, so he nodded at the two herdsmen behind her. They locked her arms, rooting her to her feet. There was something like froth coming out of her mouth, and her huffs came short and laborious.
He tried the calm voice again.
“Junni, Karra’s a beloved girl-”
“Now you’re just going to lie to me?”
“- I’m… I’m not – listen, okay, it’s either one person, or many at risk. It is not a wise action for the clan. You know it too. The clan comes first. Always.”
“Let me ask you something. If Ganne went missing, would you send out a search party?”
All eyes shifted to the bovine of interest. He was taking a big bite out of a corn, one leg crossed over the other, leaning against a pole. When everyone turned to look, he took another bite. Any other bovine would’ve panicked at so many eyes on them, and would either flee or drop like a stone, but not him. He was enjoying his corn.
Of course he was.
He had no reason to be scared - he was the clan’s top forager, and held an important voice. Every morning, he left their camp and returned with satchels bursting with wild tubers, carrots, and berries, even if they were leagues away from the nearest bush. Other gatherers said he could sniff out an onion at the bottom of a valley from the top of a hill. Half the food they ate came from him.
“Let’s not get into ifs, Junni. Let’s stick to the facts-”
“Okay, let’s do that. Karra is still alive, and she needs help.”
Hathun couldn’t resist a snort. Her eyes bulged, and the two herdsmen swore and strained themselves as the unstoppable force tested the immovable object. There was swearing, cursing, and tears from her, but a lone voice finally silenced all of it.
“I’ll do it. I’ll go out and find Karra.”
Every head turned to look at the speaker, and the incredulity remained even after they blinked and looked again. It was a youngster, slender where most were stocky. Slung across his shoulder was his signature bow, and arrows in a quiver hanging from his belt. Those horns barely peeked over his curly hair.
Hathun said, “Tonho, sit down. What are you doing?”
“No, Tonho, hush. This is between me and the-”
“No, Miss Junni. I’ve done it before, I’ve got the right mana for it, and I can use a bow. I can protect her until dawn.”
The herd devolved into shuffling feet and chatter with a snort here and there. ‘Poor boy. We should stop him, such needless waste of life.’ Others shook their heads, ‘Youth and heroism. Someone restrain him too.’
“I will not have another young bovine’s life on my soul, Tonho,” and she set her jaw, “return to your tent, now.”
“Great Healer Laird saved my parents, and you’re asking me not to save his daughter? No. This is a debt I must repay.”
“There is no debt to repay. And even if there was, this isn’t the way to do it.”
“It is. There is no better time than now.”
“Are you crazy? The time now is night. Night.”
She threw her arms around, as if to enunciate the time of day.
“I am well aware.”
“This… I’m not stopping you, aren’t I?”
He nodded, “I’m going. With or without your blessing. The camp can’t stop me, anyway.”
His voice stood tall amongst the murmurs, and suddenly Junni was reminded of the day when they had once visited a human city. Within the city was a museum. And inside that museum hung a painting of their ancestors, well before the other species had turned them fat, demure, and hairless. An auroch, they called it. The male in the frame had great horns, and stood alone and above his herd.
A creature of battle, ready to fight and protect.
And right at that moment she found Hathun’s voice was far smaller than the boy’s, even if he was a Clanspeaker.
Hathun asked, “Are you sure you can do this?”
Tonho smirked and announced it against the night, “Karra will be back here by dawn, or I shall not return. Hathun, I’ll be taking two quivers, and some rations.”
The Clanspeaker could do nothing but massage his forehead.
“I’ll advise against this… but I know you’re too wily for us to stop. So be it, Tonho. Laarsh be with you.”
She fell on her knees in front of the young bovine, and he blushed. He tried pulling her up, but she clutched onto him and said, “Thank you, oh Laarsh bless you. Thank you, Tonho ‘Rose’ Creek.”
Then she stopped to wipe her tears and tame her voice, “If you are to save my daughter, I shall have you prepared. Follow me.”
There were no words after that. They made their way to the Meadows’ tent, and before he departed, she pressed a kiss on his forehead as a blessing and watched him until he vanished from sight.
The audience dispersed after some more muttering. Beyond the perimeter of the camp, the beasts prowled.
Hungry, hungry for prey and flesh.
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Lepius
Rosemary cut straight to the point.
“What is wrong with you? Karra needs healing, why are you being quiet?.”
His eyes shifted around and about, but never on her face. Then they hardened.
“Yes, yes. I’m sorry, I should’ve done that. I wasn’t paying attention.”
The second he stepped towards the door, Rosemary grabbed his arm. He had never noticed before, but it was like someone had tied iron cables around him. Had she always been so strong?
“That’s not it. You’ve been looking strange ever since you awoke. Is it the Voice?”
Eldertrees, Rosemary, You’re almost as good as Mother. His eyes finally settled on her, on those round, warm eyes that he had seen since he was a babe, and now it came to him: Andura, how I wish you were here. So we could stand united against this monster. And just by thinking about Andura again it all flooded out of him, from the leaks he had tried to patch up.
“Maybe – maybe I’ll hurt her, because I don’t have control of the Voice, and maybe I’ll kill another person, and it’ll be worse, because she’s so bright and young and innocent and – and-”
Rosemary pulled his rambling face into her stomach, and he breathed in the smell of her, familiar thyme and grass. But never rosemary. It was funny, he always thought, that she never actually liked rosemary, despite it being her name. Why did it came to him now he didn't know, but it slowed the torrent enough for him to breathe.
She held him by the shoulders.
“You are Lepius, son of Manon and Pellen, brother to Andura. My brave sapling. Our kind healer. You are no stranger to me.”
She was talking about the Voice, wasn’t she?
So he said, “That was me too. I wanted to kill that man. I have his blood on my hands.”
“Then it is so. You have blood on your hands. There’s still a girl needs help, and she’s writhing in pain right now.”
Karra…
Lepius chanced a glance through the door, through to that bovine girl, who certainly didn’t look in pain as she lounged on the floor. She was smiling bright enough. And then, out of nowhere, she reached out and took a bite out of the wilted thyme.
She chewed, seemed to think about it, and took a larger one.
And suddenly the urge to laugh overwhelmed him, and he wanted to giggle himself silly at incredulity of it all, at the crazy girl who stumbled in covered with blood and chewed on the grass blankets. He was not the only one. Rosemary was holding in fits as she watched.
“Okay. Let’s head back-” then he couldn’t hold it anymore, and so he started chuckling, and Rosemary did too, and soon the room was bursting with it all. She smacked him on the shoulder. But she was covering up her giggles herself, and so he smacked her back, and only after a few more minutes passed did they compose themselves.
He opened the door.
The smile Karra gave him banished the Voice far away.
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Tonho
Tonho was a scout.
In the clans, that meant he was responsible to survey the land ahead of the main herd to identify the best spots to relocate, and those fell under roughly three points: minimal beasts at night, thick grass, and clear skies with no obstacles.
Bovines did not like tall, intimidating things.
Most of the time, being a scout wasn’t so bad. He was valuable to the Clan, and the work itself wasn’t too demanding – map out the valley over there, check the grass a hill over, things like that. But on some weeks the clan had to move, and move quick. Sometimes armies from the bordering kingdoms marched through, and then it was not some leisurely stroll with a piece of paper and a list of good and bad.
The scouting was constant, dusk through dawn.
It was not only exhausting, but dangerous, because at night the plains were abundant with monsters of every sort. Most common were those that feasted on each other and appeared from the dungeons surrounding the plains, and the dungeons always armed every one of them for a proper feasting. They crawled out with sharpened claws and teeth, front-facing eyes, and an insatiable hunger for any meat.
But the meat they prized the most was bovine.
He honestly would’ve felt flattered, if they weren’t all out to eat him. Oh, and speak of the Stalkerwolf. There was one right there, lumbering in the distance, and his eyes glowed with mana as he focused. His instincts kicked in.
Then he vanished into thin air.
Anyways, where was he? Yes, well, few could really become scouts.
Firstly, it was helpful that he was brave, for most bovines didn't fall into that category.
Secondly, there wasn’t really any regulation. He had the right mana for it, even if clansfolk frowned upon it on the regular: the mana of thievery. After all, scouting and stealing were somewhat like siblings. A scout had to be nimble, quick, and in most occasions, hidden from sight, invisible to predators or enemy scouts. Was a thief any different?
The only difference was that you got paid as a scout, and you paid yourself as a thief.
And indeed, ever since he was young, he was always getting into trouble with things he wanted but couldn't have. Maybe it was because he was slender and could fit into tight places. Maybe he found out he enjoyed the thrill of it, enjoyed how his heart felt too big for his ribs after he had pilfered a toy he always wanted, or a bottle of wine from far away.
Many times, it got him put in stocks.
But he mastered it despite everyone telling him not to, steadily improving that wellspring inside him until he could go invisible for a minute, then an hour, and at his very best, two. Invisibility was the best. You weren’t a ghost that people could pass through, of course, but… come on, invisibility!
Stealing was such a breeze when invisible.
And that was not the only thing he could do. From hardly a glimpse he had to decide whether the victim was worth pickpocketing or not: the shoes, the grooming of hair, the way they carried themselves. Bovines from Trader Clans were abundant with those types, and he was always right with them. Most were treasure chests waiting to be pried open.
And so it became that he had quite the eye for detail, and the mana for taking it.
Years passed of this.
Then something great happened, and by great he meant the terrible kind, but that was really a story for another day. What was important to him, at least, was a healer. Great Healer Laird. That great thing had descended upon his family, and Great Healer Laird had withstood it all to save them, almost killing himself with mana dilation in the process.
And it was for nothing too, just a weak smile and a ‘get better soon.’
He worked for Laird's Clan after that. They taught him how to use the bow soon after. And he would still bow at Junni’s feet, even after he found Karra alive and raised a mountain of beastly corpses to protect her.
He passed under the shadow of the monster, hidden from all but the shifting grass.
Karra, where are you?