For several hours Azazor has been contemplating the ceiling of the tent where he is lying. Several hours observing the skin canvas slightly cracked by years of wear and tear. Watching the shadows dance to the rhythm of the crackling of the brazier. Listening to vague whispers coming from outside. Sounds, laughter, where the voice of Eeri and other homins are mixed.
"… used to hunt them with their ships. But even they are careful when they have to fight them. The Flamboyants are smart. They know how to take cover when they know they are being hunted."
"Individual intelligence? I thought kitins had only group intelligence?"
"Not all of them."
"It has indeed proven himself to be particularly cunning in battle."
"Yes, and when they can't run away, they also have their terrible fire attack."
"I was probably already down… Azazor must have found his weak point to attack like that."
The pain of his burns made him stop following the talk. At first, there was only pain, like a continuous tearing radiating throughout his whole body. Darkness, silence, the feeling of floating in… a wide puddle of pain —the Wide Puddle— Eeri being swallowed by the prakker. Eeri… Then came the sensation of his own body, the impression of being bedridden, of having an up and a down. Then the sounds, whispers, Eeri telling him to fight. And now the sight. Those dancing shadows.
He didn't go down into the depths to fight the Dragon. He survived. And he owes it to the Karavan. He can't take it anymore and falls back into his anguished dreams.
…
Many days passed before Azazor could speak. His lips, which had melted together in the heat, were finally separated thanks to the care provided by the Rangers. He can now mumble a few words, articulating with difficulty. It will take him days to learn to speak again, and probably just as long to walk again. But at least he hasn't lost his mind. However, images come to him, as if from a dream. He still sees himself floating above the desert. The Rangers who take care of him were able to explain to him what happened.
They tell him about the tracking and killing of the Flamboyant by a Karavan ship when it used its flame attack and blew up part of the cliff —besides he remembers that talking with the Marauders during his last evening with them, they had told him that the Karavan was tracking this kind of kitin as a priority. They also explain to him the clearing of the rubble during several hours to find the bodies of the two homins having fought it, the body of Azazor, always gripping and protecting that of Eeri, their transport in a kind of pod and the choice made to bring them back in this Ranger camp on the other side of the ridge, in spite of their condition, in spite of the little chance of survival they had then. Yes, the Karavan, or at least these agents, made a choice that was not favorable to them: to save two unimportant homins. Thus, the defense of hominkind is indeed part of the values of the Karavan.
Eeri has just entered the tent. She has a smile on her lips and a tear flows from her only eye, the second one being hidden by a blindfold. A tear of guilt? Maybe, but he doesn't blame her.
"oren pyr my fatty! I hear you can finally talk?"
"n… ney."
"Well, don't push yourself too hard, I'm not in a hurry to hear you bellow again!"
"de… tal."
The Fyrossa bursts out laughing then, against all expectations, embraces with one arm the lying Fyros who grimaces with pain.
"ramèch, I forgot that you were sensitive. Wait, I'll see if I can get you some of that miracle cream they've been applying to you since we got here. It fixes and calms the pain.
a… ke… p."
Eeri lifts a piece of canvas to get out of the tent and then turns his head to his friend.
"I'm the one who thanks you. The Rangers told me that you probably stood in front of me, to take the flame attack. Without you, I would have died."
"MM… mm."
"Save your strength, I'll be right back."
He wanted to say "me too" but couldn't. He closed his eyes and fell back into his reverie.
…
Several weeks thus pass in the Ranger camp. This is one of many Ranger outposts in the area. There are others, more discreet, and sometimes even closer to the kitin threat, including high on the ridge. The current camp is also a place of passage for Marauders and surrounding tribes. This is a kind of peace place, preserving its neutrality in the conflicts between homin tribes and Maraudeurs clans. The Karavan has understood this and sometimes drops off injured homins found here and there.
During her weeks of rest, Eeri learns to replace the use of her right arm with her left. It is clear that she will not be able to fight as before, especially with one eye missing. As for Azazor, he is learning to walk and talk again, but progress is slow and difficult. Moreover, a piece of wood had gone through his skull, probably damaging his seed of life. The Karavan, on returning them to the camp, called it a "miracle". His chances of survival were nil. And yet, he was well and truly alive. He was alive, but badly injured. The Karavan did not know what the consequences of such an injury would be, but disorders were to be expected. For the moment, apart from a large area in front of his skull where his hair gives way to an ugly scar, nothing seems to indicate that his life seed has been touched. The worst fear was that Azazor would lose his mind. But for the moment he seems to have his all wits about him. While the hair has begun to grow back on the back of his head, despite the burns, the front will be forever devoid of hair, making his face even more hideous with its burned patches and scars.
The Rangers tell them that they should wait before going back on the road, that they could accompany them, as ranger expeditions towards Fort Beacon and passing by Oflovak's Halt are regularly organized. This is mainly a rotation of Rangers, so as not to leave always the same ones at the front. The way back would only be safer and faster for them. Azazor and Eeri hurry to agree. Their condition would not allow them to make the journey on their own anyway.
Thus, the days continue to pass slowly in the camp, waiting for a future expedition…
"… used to hunt them with their ships. But even they are careful when they have to fight them. The Flamboyants are smart. They know how to take cover when they know they are being hunted."
"Individual intelligence? I thought kitins had only group intelligence?"
"Not all of them."
"It has indeed proven himself to be particularly cunning in battle."
"Yes, and when they can't run away, they also have their terrible fire attack."
"I was probably already down… Azazor must have found his weak point to attack like that."
The pain of his burns made him stop following the talk. At first, there was only pain, like a continuous tearing radiating throughout his whole body. Darkness, silence, the feeling of floating in… a wide puddle of pain —the Wide Puddle— Eeri being swallowed by the prakker. Eeri… Then came the sensation of his own body, the impression of being bedridden, of having an up and a down. Then the sounds, whispers, Eeri telling him to fight. And now the sight. Those dancing shadows.
He didn't go down into the depths to fight the Dragon. He survived. And he owes it to the Karavan. He can't take it anymore and falls back into his anguished dreams.
…
Many days passed before Azazor could speak. His lips, which had melted together in the heat, were finally separated thanks to the care provided by the Rangers. He can now mumble a few words, articulating with difficulty. It will take him days to learn to speak again, and probably just as long to walk again. But at least he hasn't lost his mind. However, images come to him, as if from a dream. He still sees himself floating above the desert. The Rangers who take care of him were able to explain to him what happened.
They tell him about the tracking and killing of the Flamboyant by a Karavan ship when it used its flame attack and blew up part of the cliff —besides he remembers that talking with the Marauders during his last evening with them, they had told him that the Karavan was tracking this kind of kitin as a priority. They also explain to him the clearing of the rubble during several hours to find the bodies of the two homins having fought it, the body of Azazor, always gripping and protecting that of Eeri, their transport in a kind of pod and the choice made to bring them back in this Ranger camp on the other side of the ridge, in spite of their condition, in spite of the little chance of survival they had then. Yes, the Karavan, or at least these agents, made a choice that was not favorable to them: to save two unimportant homins. Thus, the defense of hominkind is indeed part of the values of the Karavan.
Eeri has just entered the tent. She has a smile on her lips and a tear flows from her only eye, the second one being hidden by a blindfold. A tear of guilt? Maybe, but he doesn't blame her.
"oren pyr my fatty! I hear you can finally talk?"
"n… ney."
"Well, don't push yourself too hard, I'm not in a hurry to hear you bellow again!"
"de… tal."
The Fyrossa bursts out laughing then, against all expectations, embraces with one arm the lying Fyros who grimaces with pain.
"ramèch, I forgot that you were sensitive. Wait, I'll see if I can get you some of that miracle cream they've been applying to you since we got here. It fixes and calms the pain.
a… ke… p."
Eeri lifts a piece of canvas to get out of the tent and then turns his head to his friend.
"I'm the one who thanks you. The Rangers told me that you probably stood in front of me, to take the flame attack. Without you, I would have died."
"MM… mm."
"Save your strength, I'll be right back."
He wanted to say "me too" but couldn't. He closed his eyes and fell back into his reverie.
…
Several weeks thus pass in the Ranger camp. This is one of many Ranger outposts in the area. There are others, more discreet, and sometimes even closer to the kitin threat, including high on the ridge. The current camp is also a place of passage for Marauders and surrounding tribes. This is a kind of peace place, preserving its neutrality in the conflicts between homin tribes and Maraudeurs clans. The Karavan has understood this and sometimes drops off injured homins found here and there.
During her weeks of rest, Eeri learns to replace the use of her right arm with her left. It is clear that she will not be able to fight as before, especially with one eye missing. As for Azazor, he is learning to walk and talk again, but progress is slow and difficult. Moreover, a piece of wood had gone through his skull, probably damaging his seed of life. The Karavan, on returning them to the camp, called it a "miracle". His chances of survival were nil. And yet, he was well and truly alive. He was alive, but badly injured. The Karavan did not know what the consequences of such an injury would be, but disorders were to be expected. For the moment, apart from a large area in front of his skull where his hair gives way to an ugly scar, nothing seems to indicate that his life seed has been touched. The worst fear was that Azazor would lose his mind. But for the moment he seems to have his all wits about him. While the hair has begun to grow back on the back of his head, despite the burns, the front will be forever devoid of hair, making his face even more hideous with its burned patches and scars.
The Rangers tell them that they should wait before going back on the road, that they could accompany them, as ranger expeditions towards Fort Beacon and passing by Oflovak's Halt are regularly organized. This is mainly a rotation of Rangers, so as not to leave always the same ones at the front. The way back would only be safer and faster for them. Azazor and Eeri hurry to agree. Their condition would not allow them to make the journey on their own anyway.
Thus, the days continue to pass slowly in the camp, waiting for a future expedition…