Pio's post: The Forgoils reach Fornost
Fréa rode away with reckless abandon. Archim watched as his brother’s sad excuse for a horse galloped off toward the northwest, disappearing at last over a small rise with only a small cloud of dust lit in spirals against the late evening sun.
Archim deliberately slowed his horse. He wanted nothing to do with his older brother. The man had snapped - fallen over the edge of sanity in his opinion. Had it not been for the intervention of Hama, Archim was sure he would be lying in the dust even now, mortally wounded if his brother had had his way.
Kicking Kokoroch lightly in the flanks with his heels, Archim drew up along side the Guard. He matched his horse’s stride to that of Hama’s and passed a few miles in companionable silence. There were a few desultory remarks about the countryside, and the inevitable hordes of tiny stinging bugs that seemed to swarm in the cool of the evening, and did Hama remember passing any streams as their water skins were getting low. Archim, in a moment of rare civility, managed to stumble over a ‘thanks’ to the man who rode next to him. It was not a mode of communication he was used to, there were not many in his life that had done things for him; rather, most had done things to him and suffered his acid tongue for it or the cold steel of his knives.
Hama was taken aback at this offer of thanks from a Forgoil, and mumbled something fairly incomprehensible but positive sounding. To which Archim grunted in the affirmative. And so it was settled – one had given thanks the other received it. Now they felt free to let the matter drop as finished between them.
Daring to enlarge upon this moment of what might pass as the beginnings of a mutual respect, and possibly friendship, Archim drew out the flat silver flask from the inside of his vest and offered a drink of the fiery spirits he had discovered in Bree. ‘Grow hair on your chest, Hama!’ said Archim, watching the man’s eyes water and him gasp for breath at the end of the swig. Hama rasped out a laugh, saying that if that were so he’d best be careful he was not shot as a bear. And with that declaration, tipped back another shot of the drink.
Graitwa, hearing their laughter, pulled his mount to a stop and glared back at them. ‘Hurry up, you two! We’ll never hear the end of it if Fréa makes it to Fornost before us.’ He dug his heels hard into the sides of his mount and took off at a gallop. Archim and Hama looked at each other and shrugged their shoulders. Then, kicking their horses they galloped off after him.
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Two days of hard riding, brought the four riders to the little settlement of Fornost. Archim viewed the ramshackle assortment of huts and tents that passed for civilization here in the north, and started to sigh . . . then thinking better of it, bit off his breathy comment. Fréa’s shoulders had tightened another notch at the perception of a negative comment from Archim. And Archim, not wanting to have another scene play out with his edgy sibling busied himself in dismounting from his horse and fiddling with the adjustments on the bridle.
Hama looked at him curiously, a half-smile on his face, hidden from Fréa. Looking up toward Fréa, his face now devoid of all emotion, Hama asked innocently enough what Fréa would like them to do . . .
[ September 08, 2003: Message edited by: piosenniel ]
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