“Chogah’s honour left long ago! Yeka only did what he should’ve done long ago, since she wouldn’t step down on her own—”
“Maybe, maybe not, but you’ve no business, ahlóssa, prattling elders’ talk when you don’t understand any of it.”
“I understand more than you think.” Kuli’s chin quivered—rebellion and hurt.
Both got to Anahli; she understood them all too well. “Come here, my little Fox,” she relented. “Let’s not argue when I’ve missed you so.”
He sprang up and sailed into her, hugging her fierce. “I’ve missed you too! Come on, then—The Mound is bursting at the seams, all these people. And there’s food!”
AS FIRST daughter, riding ahead was a breach of manners. Anahli should have remained, entered the arched and ancient entwined conifers of Naišwyrh’uq’s redoubt at her dam’s side. Should have, at the very least, rejoined her tribe to formally greet the hosts of First Running, and witness the honour done to the new-Broken Alekšu.
Who just happened to be her sire.
Instead Anahli took some time replaiting her mussed quartet of braids into shining, gaily-wrapped ropes that waved about her hips. She let Kuli, chattering all the while, help brush the dirt from her leathers, then followed him—not to find their parents, but to the cooking hearths.
She was noticed, no question. Instead of a decorative headscarf, her uncovered, carmine-daubed hair part ended in long ebon braids. Instead of woven split kirtles swishing, or a rich, full tunic, her lanky thighs were clad in pale leathers with her best fringed bag adorning one hip, and her muscular arms garbed only with a spiral tattoo on her drawing bicep, with copper rings stacking up the other.
One handsome male a’Naišwyrh—another oških, from his lack of headwear—was eyeing her from several places down in line. He looked mature enough to court opposites. Anahli wasn’t. ‘Like to like’ was traditional across the allied tribes, but horseClans customs weren’t so strict. And males had the illicit fascination of difference.
With a dip of head and a small smile, Anahli turned away.
Kuli was already diving into a helping of fish stew.
“Your people follow?” One of the hearth tenders smiled, offering Anahli a steaming bowl that smelled just as glorious as Kuli’s. The next poured bark-and-honey tea.
“They are.” With a grateful gesture Anahli took both. The steam from the tea warmed her nostrils, the bark bowl her palms. As if in response, her arms puckered with chill.
“You’re shivering, oških.” A blanket was draped over her shoulders; Anahli turned to see a smiling elder, two grey twistlocks peeping from the nape of his bright scarf. “Take my blanket. I don’t mean to conceal your beautiful finery, but just for little while? Your people are used to dry heat… N’da, no matter, I am Chukfitohya, bred for winter and wet; I will be well.”
Rude to refuse such kindness, though Chukfitohya—despite his calling of winter hareKin—seemed so scrawny he likely needed his blanket. Maybe he also meant to discourage that handsome oških. Anahli paid belated heed to her sire’s warning—several times over, at that—about the stricter expectations of the Great Mound-Upon-River.
Of course, most of what he had to say to her of late was “do” and “don’t”.
Nevertheless, courtesy demanded same. “You do me honour, old uncle. It’s not the temperature so much, but—”
“The damp.” Another elder nodded understanding over her own bowl of stew. She and her two companions also stood out, a trio dressed in the layered lammoi-spun thickweave of hillClans. “It’s chill even for our People, used to Wind’s breath upon highLands. Drink our hosts’ good tea; it’ll warm you.”
Anahli tucked in. Altogether pleasant, how their hosts cooed and spoiled Kuli. One in particular—and one her own Clan would honour as holding lizardKin’s Changing Spirit—wore women’s garb, yet had muscular arms and a thick moustache that few outside River favoured. She’d thought Mound law made such People outlier. Their place amongst the cookFires crept a warm and relieved smile across her face, particularly when ša tugged at Kuli’s ahlóssa braidlock and refilled the burl bowl with stew as fast as her little Fox could shovel it in.
It was also more than pleasing to notice several fems eyeing her. Ai, maybe she’d have her pick of partners for Dance and play after all, and maybe also… She let a smirk tilt her lip. The oških male kept throwing a covert glance her way.
“Your People are third to arrive. Only the midLands folk, and those outliers.” Chukfitohya's voice dipped at that last but his smile stayed with Anahli. “Not to mention the upriver cousins—they’re always late, don’t you know? Must be because they’re so close they always think they’ve plenty of time.”
Anahli laughed.
The old male grinned, showing a few gaps. “So, Council starts tomorrow, as well as stickball and the races, and tomorrow you will Dance, oških? A lovemate found at First Running’s festival will often become oathmate over the coming turns of our Hoop.”
“Aška!” Kuli sang out. His bowl and cup clanked to the ground as he shot off towards the massive wooden entry.
With a rueful smile at Chukfitohya, Anahli picked them up. As she rose, she saw, sure enough, that their People were dismounting just inside the entrance.
“I’ve heard Horsetalkers ride to the body-soil trenches,” Chukfitohya mused, taking the discarded utensils and depositing them in a large open sack half-filled with same. “Tell me, is it true?”
“It depends on how far the trenches are.”
The elder barked out a laugh and gave her shoulder a fond smack.
He might be old, but his arm was stout. Anahli gave due with a rub, grinning as he laughed again, satisfied.
Kuli had reached their dam; Aylaniś was swinging him around. Her mare—always besotted with her rider’s youngest—was nudging in, and almost negligently, Aylaniś swung Kuli up on the broad, spotted back. Anahli’s grin turned admiring. Her sire and dam seemed slight amidst the taller, broader dawnLanders, but it was a litheness conditioned by Grandmother’s sterner gifts, glowing dark with the
