Something had happened. The girl watched as a group of guards trotted past, one of them holding what looked to be a young man in his arms. She watched, wide eyed and then glanced back toward the smoke. Later, it was the caravan master and he, she did not call. His face looked tense and he was focused on reaching a wagon behind them.

Concerned, she continued with the rest, obedient and with palms sweating. Something was happening. But it shouldn’t have. Beside her, her servant had gone even more still, his pale eyes glinting in the sunlight.

But moments after, the great trumpet sounded and she jumped, then subsided. She’d heard that before. Not often enough but had heard it and at the sound, the wagons slowed imperceptibly as the animals all showed recognition and some confusion at having heard that sound so early in the day. Still, they would receive orders on what to do, no doubt. She peered over the side, hanging to the framing of her small cart, and stared in awe at the destruction ahead. Smoke filled the air and the village ahead.. or rather the encampment? It was deserted.

Shandon and his guardsman thundered past and the girl began to understand that this was not as simple as they’d thought it to be. What if they had caused this? They’re meddling. She bit her lip in agitation.

"Mahda, I.." she turned to her servant and paused as she found him gone. Beside her, the reigns to their one cart horse lay tied to the seat. She reached for them just as the caravan was called to a halt. A guard made his way around, shouting orders on how he wished for the wagons to be placed. His voice sounded calm, reasonable over the jostling chains, the creaking of wood and axle, the high pitched whinnies of the caravan.

She gripped her reigns and did her best, not being so accustomed to using them, but passable at least. Then, as wagon after wagon was placed and braked where they were needed, she took stock and accepted. She was alone, for the moment. But he’d find her again. For now, she had to do her part. That was, to sit and wait on the orders of the men and the caravan master.

~~~

The slender servant trotted down the caravan line. He was small enough to have been taken for an eleven year old boy, though his mind was a great deal older and he was quickly taking stock of what surrounded him. Some short ways from his cart was a guard upon one of the larger wagons. He paused, his delicate nose scenting the air as he tucked up alongside the wagon wheel, out of sight.

A moment later, unconcerned, he slid fishlike back into motion once more. As the caravan fanned out, he took to the far edge and allowed the faint dust cloud of their maneuverings to cover his slender, pale form. With a wink in the sunlight, attention upon the village and the immediate forest, the servant was able to dance into the forest edge. There, using scent and the slightly mobile ears set on the sides of his head, the boy silently mapped out where the villagers were and with a shiver of anticipation, began to creep around them.

What he wanted was inside of the village. They had been searching for what felt like years and he had been so very, very patient. He’d waited far too long to be patient one minute more and action felt better than waiting on the humans to make a mess of whatever was going on at the foremost edge of the village.

__________________

‘What will my death be like?’ he thought- and knew at once
with abrupt certainty, that it would be just like his life:
... the same balance of bearables.
~Amis