It's been a long time since I was among my people. True, that since the day I left I've had ten men with me. An Or, part of the Hundred, which in turn are part of the Thousand I command. These ten, this Or, were those warriors I've known for many years and trust my life to them. So yes, I've been among my people. But it has been many years since I rode among the endless herds of bosk and vast spread of colorful wagons. That has changed.
I will not write of why I left those many years ago. Those words are for Kamchak. When I left, he was still Ubar of the Tuchuks. I confess a surprise that upon my return the grey bosk hide passed on to another. It has passed through many hands, from what I gather. So, now, the story of my absence is also for the new Ubar.
What I will write of is my return. There are no words, in any language, that would do justice to the peace that settled in my breast when I rode through the herds of bosk again. When I walked along the wagon lanes. While some things change, many things do not. Children still raced through the lanes, darting beneath wagons and tagging along behind the men escorting me back among my people. Women were gathered about their cooking fires, tending meals. The brash, wild slaves of the wagons tending to their chores or otherwise stirring up some sort of dust. It was very much as when I left.
At the fires of the first wagons I spoke with a man who named himself Ayguili. This man, who is Ubar of the Tuchuks. And there were women gathered about the fire, who I was introduced to as well. Some of them I remembered, such as the woman Tarra. Others, likely, were infants or otherwise young when I left the harigga. I spoke with them all for a time, before standing and announcing that I would seek out my family to spend my night in their wagons. Ayguili had been kind to offer his own wagon to me, but I declined. It had been 15 years since I rode beyond the herds of bosk, for the cities of other men. And tonight, I would sleep in the wagons of my family.
I will not write of why I left those many years ago. Those words are for Kamchak. When I left, he was still Ubar of the Tuchuks. I confess a surprise that upon my return the grey bosk hide passed on to another. It has passed through many hands, from what I gather. So, now, the story of my absence is also for the new Ubar.
What I will write of is my return. There are no words, in any language, that would do justice to the peace that settled in my breast when I rode through the herds of bosk again. When I walked along the wagon lanes. While some things change, many things do not. Children still raced through the lanes, darting beneath wagons and tagging along behind the men escorting me back among my people. Women were gathered about their cooking fires, tending meals. The brash, wild slaves of the wagons tending to their chores or otherwise stirring up some sort of dust. It was very much as when I left.
At the fires of the first wagons I spoke with a man who named himself Ayguili. This man, who is Ubar of the Tuchuks. And there were women gathered about the fire, who I was introduced to as well. Some of them I remembered, such as the woman Tarra. Others, likely, were infants or otherwise young when I left the harigga. I spoke with them all for a time, before standing and announcing that I would seek out my family to spend my night in their wagons. Ayguili had been kind to offer his own wagon to me, but I declined. It had been 15 years since I rode beyond the herds of bosk, for the cities of other men. And tonight, I would sleep in the wagons of my family.
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