(Posting in this IC in the vain hopes of reviving some interest and to vent out some of the stories I actually wanted to do.)

[h1]Lhasa[/h1]
[h2]Eastern Suburbs[/h2]

The hooves of Gyaltsen's horse splashed across the shallow river as it forded the sand and water washed pebbles that filled its bed, riding out of the water again onto the dry sand and gravel of the far banks as it followed a dirt trails passed centuries-old ruins into the grassy foothills of the mountains. The thin Tibetan air hung thin and still, and it was a clear day. The open skies letting in the warm rays of the sun.

It was not a day he enjoyed alone as bugs flew about the head of his horse and he. Along the low slopping hillside yaks grazed among the stripped down remains of gas or fuel oil tanks, abandoned vehicles, and the ever-present collapsed hut. Adjusting himself in his seat he looked up to the concrete hut at the top of the hill. If his questioning was correct, this was Yeshe Gyaincain's home. All was thus far silent.

But it wasn't until he was fifty meters from the home, and ready to dismount that a great black beast crested over a hill behind the house. A hound of immeasurable weight, dragging a chain at its neck the weight of Gyaltsen's wrists. Standing as a king on the hill the beast looked down at him, and he at it. And boasting a war-cry of thunder it barked and snarled at Gyaltsen.

It charged bounding down the grassy hill, dragging loose chain across the grass behind it as a thick coat of fur rippled and bounced at each heavy bounding step. Teeth gnarled from behind a face so obscured by its own fur it was if it was a practitioner of Bon, caught in an angry aggressive prayer so that he turned into a beast.

As it continued its mad advance, the unabated charge of the black mastiff came to bode an ill omen. Looking up at the chain it seemed to grow no less taunt with its step. Gyaltsen was ready to have to kill the beast as with a sudden whip the heavy chain snapped tight the weight of the dogs itself thrown it onto the ground as the long leash tripped it, pulling it to the ground with a whipping snap and clatter against the grassy clay. With a dissatisfied yelp it crashed against the grass, growling.

“Yama! Show restraint!” an old voice echoed from over the hill. With the snarling angry dog-beast no more than four paces away, Gyaltsen was unsure its barbaric nature could be restrained. He looked up to where it had come running, and to where an elderly man hobbled down the slope to him.

“Your guard certainly is a bringer of death, if I had ever saw one.” Gyaltsen shouted up at the figure approaching him.

“And who might you be? Another to feed to the God of Death?” the old man replied, with all the undue spit and disdain as the dog showed, “Many a fool robber has tried to put me and my wife down now that my sons are gone. Yama is my only true defense. So who are you before I unchain him?” he demanded as he came low to Gyaltsen, stopping just behind the still enraged beast.

He was not much taller than the hunter's horse to its shoulders. He wore a ragged complexion that was as faded as his torn clothes. His face was sinewy as the rest of his body, and head balding.

“Gyaltsen, hunter to prince Samten.” bowed the hunter, “I'm here to follow up on someone.”

“What do you mean?” the old man questioned, “No one here as committed a crime, it is only me and my wife.”

“It's about one of your sons.” Gyaltsen elaborated. That seemed to freeze the old man for a moment as he hovered over Yama the dog. His hand hovered over the collar, as if poised to let the beast take Gyaltsen between its jaws.

“Which one?” the old man asked. His voice was tense and ready. There was an oozing readiness to take blood if he had to. It was no rarity among the realm's elders. Many had to fight and kill, even in the early eras of the princes. Law and order was carried out only meekly by the monasteries before.

“Gaincain.” Gyaltsen answered, “I take it you are the elder Yeshe?”

“I am.” old man Yeshe said, “Yeshe Tenzin.”

Gyaltsen played at another polite bow, “An honor, may we speak?”

“We may.” Tenzin nodded, “We'll speak inside, the wife is in town picking up groceries. We will be alone.” he turned, hobbling on his stick legs. The dogs at his side still growled distrustfully at Gyaltsen. With an agitated blow, Tenzin slapped the guard dog across the head, “Back to your bed!” he ordered the hound. It left without contesting it with his owner, and sulked off like some monster wolf.

“I used to own a dog like Yama, but it was more of a half-bred wolf than a dog like Yama.” Gyaltsen said as he followed Tenzin, “It would find and bring my squirrels when I was in the low valleys.”

“So why do you not have it with you?” Tenzin asked as he hobbled slowly to his hovel. He turned aside to look at Gyaltsen, his face twisted in a mistrustful scowl.

“Winter came and I had no food or water. I was forced to cut its throat to drink its blood and consume its flesh. It was a disastrous manhunt that season.”

“I will never get you hunters.” Tenzin said, shaking his head, “What degenerate bandit den did the princes find you in?”

“Anywhere and everywhere.” the hunter answered with a wry smile. He stepped aside when he reached the wind-battered plywood door of the old man's hut.

“Right, and I'm straight from a virgin's naval.” Tenzin sneered as he opened the door for his guest.

Yeshe Tenzin's hut was spare and dry. A small space built from old cinder-blocks it bore a dirt floor haphazardly covered with straw. Wind-worn petrified stumps of wood sat at the middle about a slowly collapsing tea table. Behind which a clay brick over sat under a chimney of rusting stove-pipe and the corner a mat of dried grass for a bed.

Poorly lit save for narrow sliver-like windows along the hut's ceiling the men took their seats at the central table. There was a stale bitterness in the smell of the hut. The pickled smell of fermented, moldy grass.

“So, what did my son do?” Tenzin asked, leaning on the table.

“Nothing.” lied Gyaltsen, “I'm simply trying to pain a picture of him. He might be a lead to something but I need to make sure he isn't a unfaithful to his word first.”

“Gaincain may be many things but he isn't a liar.” Tenzin promised, “A craven lazy moron, but he's been a boy who I've believed had his word where his heart was.”

Gyaltsen nodded, “That's the sort of thing I need.” he grinned, “It's something he would never admit as a man.

“Now his brothers though, what were they like?” he asked.

“Rangdol, my eldest was a pious man. He went to the monasteries to receive an education. Last I heard from him he wandered down the roads seeking enlightenment and to become a gter ston or something. He left to the land of the Ma in the north.

“Dawa, my second eldest was a fighter. Perhaps you arrested him once before for fighting. But he left to join some mercenaries. Nyima, my bastard from my youth was killed by a lion.

“Gaincain was the only one left here in Lhasa. But he left to live in the city. I haven't seen him in a while though, I was beginning to think he was finally afraid of his father. But here you are: talking about him.” Tenzin stopped, leaning in closer to Gyaltsen from over the table. With a prying glare he looked up at the hunter with searching eyes.

He gave no shift in his purpose or poise as he asked, “He did something, didn't he?” Gaincain's father asked.

“Perhaps.” the hunter answered.

There was a deep glint of suspicion in the old man's eye. Leaning back he tapped his long dry fingers on the table. Finally, with a low rasping voice he spoke, “He killed prince Samten's father, didn't he?”

Gyaltsen held his silence, acknowledging it with only a rising of his chin. Tenzin let out a long sigh of desperate breath, “I've always known the boy to be stupid, but not so much as to become a regicide.” he said depressed.

“With any luck Samten may not need kill him.” Gyaltsen affirmed, “I just need some information.”

“At this point, what sons do I have left?” Tenzin asked. All agitation was gone, all anger or suspicion towards Gyaltsen had evaporated. What was left was a weary defeatism, “My one has sought a holy life, he is aloof to me. The other may someday die in the cold mountains, I may never receive his body again to see fed to the sky, the third is dead, and the fourth I disown for his treachery and naivety.”

“You say he was naive.” said Gyaltsen, “Do you know anyone who may have been particularly impressionable on him?”

“Does it matter anymore?” Tenzin hissed. He snickered and bit his lip. Placing his hands on the table he fought himself up to his feet.

“I asked if you know anyone who might have impressed upon him.” an agitated Gyaltsen demanded as the old withering man went to the door.

“And I was never in track of his life in the city!” Tenzin blurted. The solemn defeatism of his tone was replaced by a depressed rage, “There is only so much an old man can do trying to keep this ranch afloat. Do you understand!?”

“Then do you know where he lived, I'll look there.”

Tenzin grunted, “Fine.” he grumbled, “Barkhor, he lived close to Jokhang temple. His house was red. A deep beat red. You'll never miss it among all the brown.”

Gyaltsen stood up, and bowed. “Thank you.” he said in respect, “Perhaps maybe with any luck you will not have to totally disown your son.”

“Yes, but I know in the eyes of Samten he's already guilty and a dead man. The most you can do for him is to make sure he dies quick.”