Private Tales 500 Days of Summer

[Bernard]

He looked on at the dust cloud with an 'ah' expression.

"I thought that was a storm."

It made sense at the time.

He shook his head, then panted a little as he strained to keep up. "How do you know I'm from Alliria, anyway? How do you even know of Alliria. It's like. So far away."

 

[Scabhair]

“Because you sound like it. And it’s only a week of riding. I’ve been to Amol-Kalit, half the world away. On the top of the Spine, and across it too.”

She glanced at the boy huffing and panting behind her, expression caught somewhere between pity and amusement.

“Compared to that, Alliria is hardly far.”

 

[Bernard]

"Well I don't have a horse," he grumped. "I have my feet, and to me, that's far."

His steps grew more languid, his previous struggle to push forward returning to him full force. "Can we just- please- a moment." He tugged at the top of his chest plate, the skin red and raw from burns he barely felt as the metal absorbed the sun's heat.

He bent over, hands on his knees, and just wheezed melodramatically.

"How do you- know what- Alliria's sound like?" Surely she hadn't been there .... right? Look at her.

 

[Scabhair]

“Because you travel in armour and run slower than my grandmother.” Scabhair let out a good-natured snort, but she didn’t stop. She’d already lost precious hunting time to this little human detour. Any more, and she’d not return to the camp before dusk.

“Why wouldn’t I? I pass through a few times a year. Spring usually, when I head out west to Aberresai.” She shrugged, then continued. “Everyone who speaks Common speaks it in their own way. Anirians sound like they have a spear up their arse. Mantesste sing. Elbians drag out the vowels and swallow their ns.”

 

[Bernard]

Bernard reached out a hand as if to stop her before begrudgingly realizing he had to get a move on.

"A spear up my ass?" He echoed, his expression twisting in distaste. "Is that a metaphor for something or..." He shook his head, deciding he'd rather not know.

He spent a solid minute trying to catch up, the damn ... whatever it was unrelenting in its pace. "Ok. Don't spear my ass but-- how the hell to you walk through there without issue. You are aware you look like-" He bit his words.

"I just mean to say- A few people would-" He flailed helplessly. "Aw, come on! You know!"

 

[Scabhair]

“Anirians,” she repeated, emphasised more than usual. “Not Allirians. The greatest cartographer’s guild is in your city and you don’t know anything about the world!”

Typical lazy human – grow up with everything in arm’s reach and still refuse to learn it. Scabhair had travelled across untold leagues and suffered untold insults just for the sake of knowledge.

“Orc. I’m an orc, boy. It’s not that difficult a word to remember. Three letters, single syllable. And most people in Alliria aren’t nearly so…” slow, “self-centered. Plenty of people there that aren’t humans. There’s even a half-orc sitting on the Merchant Council. Do you even live there?”

 

[Bernard]

Bernard frowned, his brows pulling in.

"Well clearly not anymore," he near snap, his ....pleasant nature, if you'd call it that, crumbling under her words. He never meant to be stupid, though he certainly was more often than not. It wasn't the first time he had felt spoken down to and it certainly wouldn't be the last. But as all other times before it, it drove the same agitated response from him, the boy not realizing how little he was able to handle what he himself dished out.

He stormed on forward, pushing past her with a wave of self-righteous energy.

 

[Scabhair]

It took all of three long strides to catch up with his shorter legs. She said nothing as they came abreast, and stayed just as mum as her brisk pace brought her ahead again. The long grass parted with nary a whisper as she passed, the blades bending where the gathamhr followed at her side.

The warmth was slowly receding along with the setting sun, the glare of its rays dimming from gold to orange. Soon the plains would seem aflame in its light – a sight so prodigious it had given rise to the same name in three different tongues.

 

[Bernard]

He had long since fallen behind, each step a little slower and a little heavier as he followed in her wake. The setting sun did not reinvigorate him, he felt beyond such means as he followed ever steadily behind her. A glance back would reveal him to just be a shimmering form in the distance, the setting colors reflecting brilliantly off his shiny armor. A little sun in his own right.

She would reach the watering hole well before him, but he pressed on towards it, a spark of life entering his steps as it showed up between the parting grass. He stumbled towards it, falling to his hands and knees and slurping from it fiercely.

 

[Scabhair]

By the time the boy stumbled to the small spring, Scabhair had been whittling at an arrow shaft for a good, long while. There was nothing civilised about him as he fell to his knees and practically plunged his face into the fresh water.

She couldn’t fault him for that – knew damn well how it felt to ache but for the smallest sip. Whereas the steppes were only so merciless in the summer, Amol-Kalit burned all year long. There wasn’t a drop of moisture it wouldn’t suck out.

What she could fault him for – and did, with a downcurl to her mouth – was how easily he judged her own kin as crude beasts when he behaved the same himself.

“Good. You’ve had your water. Fill your flask and leave.”

 

[Bernard]

Bernard panted into the ground, straining to catch his breathes through the water he kept desperately guzzling.

He ignored her for a spell, working through his lack of breath and pained thirst until ... finally... he laid limp on the ground, content.

"...No," he rasped, making no motions to move. Hell, he would let himself fall asleep right here, he didn't care. And there wasn't a single thing she could do to it.

 

[Scabhair]

“No,” she echoed, voice as flat as the plains around them. “The rest of the party will return soon, and when they do, they will think you dinner.”

There was no amusement left. This youngling had gone from hapless to thankless in the span of a short walk.

That took talent.

 

[Bernard]

He tensed, that reveal enough to stir him.

"The... rest of the party?" He asked warily, slowly shoving himself up.

 

[Scabhair]

“Three of us, yes,” she said. There were five in total, but two of them had ranged out so far they wouldn’t return with nightfall. At best with the dawn of morrow, but it was hard to say anything for sure in this weather. Even the air lied.

“I didn’t catch anything today because of you.” She leaned forward, braced her arms on her thighs. Her silver eyes were as placid as a mountain lake, and just as deceptive about their depth. “That is a loss for me – worse still, it is a loss for my tribe. This is a hard season, city boy. We have to hunt for food, often and far. Children will be hungry tonight because you dragged your ignorant arse into these lands without a single thought to preparation. The least you could’ve done is asked one of the rangers what to expect. You could’ve—”

She cut herself off, standing sharply with a shake of her head.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard flinched back as she stood, not unused to beatings in life. He swallowed back the sudden lump in his throat, left without words.

He hadn't realized his actions would ripple out so far. He hadn't had the capacity to conceptualize that a hike forward towards adventure could take twists so desperate and hard.

This was nothing like the stories told to him by warrior at his masters shop. He had no clue how to fix it.

"I'm... sorry," he offered but the words felt weak.

Visible hesitation crossed his features as he looked down at himself. But then he lifted up his helm and offered it's shiny, pretty form up in penance.

"Do metals do your tribe good?" He asked, for once not making an assumption.

 

[Scabhair]

“Can’t eat metal, can you?” Scabhair shook her head. “We use it to forge weapons, like everyone else.”

She moved to sit back down, then stopped in her tracks, eyes whipping to the horizon. She stood still as a statue for a few moments, and the lion at her feet just the same. They both relaxed after a few moments, and soon after the high grass parted to let through another orc.

He was half a head taller than Scabhair, and twice as broad at the shoulders. A long string of hares hung off the saddle of his gathamhr, and the lion was dragging something even larger with its teeth.

“Oibrinn,” she said and stepped forward to greet him. He clasped her arm before turning his black eyes to the boy at the edge of the spring.

“An re de ghabhall?

Scabhair scowled. “Nire.”

It looked like the hunter might say more, but then he just snapped his jaw shut and moved past her to begin dressing the kills.

She sighed and eyed the boy herself. It’d save her a lot of trouble, putting a spear through his neck. But then he seemed so thin, he’d hardly feed more than two orcs.

Lose-lose.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard slowly stood, eyeing the new orc with tired mistrust.

Perhaps this orc wouldn't bash his head in and eat him, but after her words to him he had every reason to expect the new one might. And just like that, his stubborn position changed.

"Keep the helm. Make a better spear with it, I'll go," he tried to reason, hoping that long look he was receiving wasn't a hungry one.

He pulled out his canteen and took a careful step back, as if the new orc was a wild creature he could frighten, and knelt to refill the object.

Knowing how many days walk he had ahead of him, it felt feeble and small.

 

[Scabhair]

“Human die in steppe,” croaked the other orc, his brown eyes sharp as they turned on the boy. “Human be usful if die here insted.”

Scabhair sighed, muttering something to Oibrinn that only earned her another annoyed retort.

“What he meant to say was it’s no use. You’ll not find your way anywhere now that it’s getting dark. And even we don’t wander the steppes on summer nights.”

Predators crawled out that could fell an orc as easily as an orc felled a tree.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard slowly stood, capping off his water cap as he looked between them. No trust was in his gaze.

"...You just wanna eat me, don't you."

 

[Scabhair]

"If we'd wanted to eat you, you'd be roasting on a spit over the fire."

Even alone, Scabhair judged each of them capable of overpowering the boy with ease. But two against one? He stood a snowball's chance in Amol-Kalit.

 

[Bernard]

Bernard casted a glance at the the fire pit with a grimace.

"..."

Well this was a strange turn of events, he admitted to himself. He wasn't sure what to trust here, but one thing was certain-- he was in way over his head.

...Again.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, then slowly began shucking off his armor bit by bit. If they were going to kill him, the armor would do nothing. He bore no false illusions here. He was thoroughly overpowered. He might as well tend to himself and it would pan out as does.

"Well then ... thank you."

The burns against his skin were red and viscous along the places his tunic had not stopped the metal from resting on. He shivered against the pain as the air stung across the raw skin, wondering once again how he was going to manage the trek home.

Maybe he would leave some pieces behind. Maybe. Maybe.

"Can I soak in it?" He asked, pointing towards the water. Didn't want to insult them or something. Did they worship water? If he lives out here, he would....