Cinabre buried himself under the cool sheets of his bed. A fire in the corner of the room was struggling to warm her. Another day passed and withered away like a elyewae ephemeral.
Another day that brings with it joys and leaves for tomorrow its burden of worries. A day far too short.
Cinabre was lonely. Synoeca was in the best of health.
The Lochi would soon welcome him as their ambassador.
But ... "But what, by the way?" wondered the young Matis. "Nothing... after all... I Silam also has its ups and downs."
Just before closing his eyes, Cinabre thought about what lay ahead in the next few days. A new convoy to organize. The Heretic's hovel.
The night passed like a gust of wind. Dreams had not furnished it.
---------------------------------------------- Ω ----------------------------------------------
The mektoubs kicked their hooves impatiently on the mossy ground. They had spent a restful night on a comfortable bed. Around them, loading their packs, a small group of homins and homines were hurrying along, despite the early hour.
Then, with the sound of a horn, the caravan set off, bumpily between the white bollards.
Cinabre, erect in his stirrups, gave an encouraging pat to Gypsum, his white gubani.
He had strapped on his black kostomyx, a gift from a Fyrosse he'd met on his previous trip. Slung over his shoulder, he carried his Klout axe, which was beginning to brown and dull.
Despite all this warlike paraphernalia, the young Matis was not so serene. This was his first caravan...
He sucked in a great deal of air, despite the filter in his helmet, then moved ahead of the long line of mektoubs.
La Masure, then the Lochis. The embassy.
Another day that brings with it joys and leaves for tomorrow its burden of worries. A day far too short.
Cinabre was lonely. Synoeca was in the best of health.
The Lochi would soon welcome him as their ambassador.
But ... "But what, by the way?" wondered the young Matis. "Nothing... after all... I Silam also has its ups and downs."
Just before closing his eyes, Cinabre thought about what lay ahead in the next few days. A new convoy to organize. The Heretic's hovel.
The night passed like a gust of wind. Dreams had not furnished it.
---------------------------------------------- Ω ----------------------------------------------
The mektoubs kicked their hooves impatiently on the mossy ground. They had spent a restful night on a comfortable bed. Around them, loading their packs, a small group of homins and homines were hurrying along, despite the early hour.
Then, with the sound of a horn, the caravan set off, bumpily between the white bollards.
Cinabre, erect in his stirrups, gave an encouraging pat to Gypsum, his white gubani.
He had strapped on his black kostomyx, a gift from a Fyrosse he'd met on his previous trip. Slung over his shoulder, he carried his Klout axe, which was beginning to brown and dull.
Despite all this warlike paraphernalia, the young Matis was not so serene. This was his first caravan...
He sucked in a great deal of air, despite the filter in his helmet, then moved ahead of the long line of mektoubs.
La Masure, then the Lochis. The embassy.
---
Cinabre Andertini,