Omens In Ashes

Kyanite looked out over the large expanse of grasslands. It was during the season of frost that he had first learned the meaning of family and realised how much he missed the kinship of his tribe. A few seasons alone on the grasslands had certainly hardened him to life as a nomad, but nothing had prepared him for the deep ache of loneliness that had finally caught up to him. Kyanite had no idea where the Blackwater Tribe resided, and though he knew his half brother Lowe to be a creature of habit, there had been no signs of the camp in its usual winter grounds. What if, he thought, and swiftly pushed such ideas to the back of his mind.

It was four days before Kyanite caught up with the camp, tucked away in a small valley that missed most of the frosty wind, thanks to the trees they had erected their gers against. Kyanite had sensed the magic of their joint wall and stepped beyond it to be met with a force of riders far smaller than the one he had known during his time as part of the tribe. “Ky?” One of the riders near the front said. He smiled and was quickly reminded of his station, and that even though Kyanite had once been counted among their ranks, seasons had passed between then and now.

“I’m looking for my brother,” Kyanite said.

“Lowe is out on a hunt,” the lead rider told him.

“My younger brother, Jaeger,” Kyanite corrected himself.

“Jaeger left soon after you did, Ky,” the young rider, Aspen, who had first recognised him said.

“We haven’t seen him or your wife since the summer.”

Kyanite steered his horse away from the group, choosing not to take up anymore of their time or invoke guest rights. He went without so much as a farewell, pointed in the direction of the moving city, where he was sure the Water Clan would know more. Surprised to hear the approaching sound of hooves thundering across the plains behind him to catch up, Kyanite turned to see the young rider, Aspen, closing the gap. “Take me with you!” He called.

Kyanite stopped his horse and looked back to the group of riders who were retreating back to their camp. He studied Aspen for a time, taking in the boy’s black hair and long, lean limbs, dark and strong. “The tribe?” Kyanite asked.

Aspen scoffed. “Lowe killed my father and took my mother as a servant when I was only young. I owe him nothing.”

“He raised you,” Kyanite reminded him.

“On scraps and insults,” Aspen said.

“Your mother?”

“I’m the oldest of four. My mother will not miss me.”

Kyanite lifted a brow in acknowledgment. “Very well. If you can keep up, you can follow me to the city.”

“I intend to do more than that,” Aspen told him.

“Keep up,” Kyanite countered, “and we will speak more on arrangements later.” He turned then and carried on towards the city.