Homesick
It had been already two months since Pafe arrived in the village. He was slowly getting used to the new life. He had even managed to pick up the basics of the local language.
The tribe called themselves, if translated from their tongue, the People of the High Flying Birds. Birds had a special place in their traditions. They symbolized quickness, intelligence, and freedom. These were the three qualities highly prized among the inhabitants of the Forever Grass.
They were nomads, moving their livelihoods from one place to another. They could pack up their things quickly, load them up on horses, and displace themselves far and wide. The current village was there since many months ago.
The people of the camp gave out the image of a joyful, even careless attitude towards life. They always had a smile on their faces, finding time to sing and play whenever they could.
However, Pafe noticed life wasn't as peaceful there as it originally appeared. Day in and day out, he saw small parties of warriors gallop away. They would come back later, often bloodied, once in a while missing one or two warriors.
He learned the tribe was in a state of conflict with some of the neighboring tribes. While the inhabitants seemed carefree on the outside, deep down the anxiety was eating them up.
While on one of his wanderings around camp, Pafe came across one of the village elders. He struck up a conversation with the man, who was only glad to share his knowledge.
"At any time, a raiding party could appear. Three years ago, warriors of the Shawa tribe attacked. At the time, the tent village was standing a distance of three days walk away from its present location," explained the elder.
"What happened?" Pafe was curious to know more.
"On that day, a third of the High Flying Bird warriors had departed on a patrol. The Shawa took advantage of this to attack in full force. A fierce battle ensued. Many people died that time, but the enemy was beaten back and suffered enormous loses," added the old man.
After this short exchange, the elder said his goodbye and continued onto his tent. Pafe was left standing in place.
"Here. I noticed your cloth wrap around your eye is dirty. Here's a new one," Singing with Birds came from behind and handed him a cloth. Her six year old son was scrambling behind her.
"Thank you. I am grateful for your help," remarked Pafe. Then he smiled at the little kid, who shyly ran away.
After watching her son disappear behind some of the tents, Singing with Birds turned to face Pafe: "My husband is heading out with the war party onto the plains today. He wanted me to ask you whether you needed anything?"
"No, thank you again. I am all right," replied Pafe. "Where are they heading?"
"It's a random patrol. Scouts came back warning of increased activity from some of the neighboring tribes. A raiding party apparently attacked a camp about a four days walk from here. They made off with a lot of loot and killed a few people," said Singing with Birds as she was turning around to head back to her tasks.
"Will this place be safe if so many warriors head out on patrol?" Pafe was wondering about the strategy.
"Well, it's always a risk. However, there are warriors left in the camp to protect us. Anyways, it would be really hard for the raiding party to slip through our network of scouts," assured him Singing with Birds.
Pafe reflected on this. This time the patrol heading out was composed of a sizeable chunk of the warriors of the camp. While a number of warriors would be left to protect the village, it still left open a window where the defenders would be undermanned.
The warriors would be gone for several days. This meant the danger would be high in the coming week. The shamans had enacted their rituals in order to protect the village, but what if the appeals of the enemy to the gods had been stronger?
For the next two days the young Tanamuse man was left wandering around camp on his own. The people seemed to have accepted the foreigner, and largely left him alone. From time to time, he would get a strange look from one of them when he attempted to do something out of the ordinary from their point of view, but the blood thirst they had for him previously was gone.
In the afternoon, he decided to retire to his own tent and take a short nap. This is what the life of a once prospective warrior had been reduced to. A bum wandering around aimlessly and sleeping the rest of the time.
He didn't think this would last for long. He was already a burden on the tribe's meager resources. Luckily, the winter wasn't so harsh on the plains this year as in previous years. Otherwise, he was sure they would not have been as welcoming.
According to the tribesmen, winter can get quite cold on the Forever Grass. People shiver from the icy weather, and need to cover up with layers of clothing in order to feel warmer. So far, there has been no need for that.
Pafe had escaped his home castle in the middle of autumn. Now winter was descending on his former home. He reminisced of the times he had played in the snow, or slipped around on the icy ponds in the vicinity of the castle.
One time, the ice underneath his feet cracked, and he fell through it into the freezing water. Only the fact that he managed to grab a protruding branch at the last moment, and pull himself out, was he able to save his own life.
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At the time, he wondered whether anyone would miss him if he never came back. He was reflecting on that question now. Does anyone back at the castle actually know he is gone? Do they miss him?
It was a hard thing to ponder. Every human being needs to feel wanted, wants to be loved. In his life, he often lacked these feelings from others around him.
In his thoughts, he started walking through the halls of his castle. As a child, he had explored every hallway, every room, every nook and cranny of the building. He could walk through them in his sleep. His mind stopped over at the altar with the tooth of the dragon, the last place where he had met his sister.
He became fixated on the image of the dragon. It was the symbol of his clan. Apparently back in the past, some of his ancestors had the ability to shift between being dragons and human form. This gave them enormous strength.
Secretly, Pafe had always wanted to have this power. Unfortunately, as can be seen from his predicament, he had no dragon blood in him. He didn't think this should be an impossible stumbling block. There must be a way to overcome this limitation.
For now, he was very far from becoming a dragon. Rather, he was a nobody.
--
The Warband
A loud shout awoke him from his slumber. Pafe was a bit confused. What is going on? Why is everyone screaming?
He peeked his head out of the tent. People were running around, trying to find cover. Some of the warriors, weapons in hand, were staking out positions.
There must be danger nearby. Pafe grabbed his sword and ran outside. That's when he saw what the commotion was about. In the distance, a large group of horsemen was riding towards the camp.
On a closer look, they looked strange. The clothes they were wearing were unfamiliar, and the feathers in their headdresses were of different colors.
"Shawa!" A young teenage boy shouted, pointing at the riders.
Pafe understood. The camp was under attack. A large band of Shawa raiders was heading towards them.
He had never been in a full-scale battle before, but somehow his warrior instincts kicked in. The young man had practiced this thousands of times before. Just like he had taken care of the robbers, he was sure he could handle his own against these attackers.
Running in the direction of where the camp's warriors set up a blockade, he grabbed a spear he found on the way. The defenders were shooting arrows at the raiders, but that didn't manage to slow them down. The onslaught was incoming.
The raiders were equipped with the traditional weapons of the prairie warriors, bows and arrows for long distance, and clubs and axes for short-distance combat.
With his prowess in sword fighting, Pafe was going to be at an advantage in hand to hand to combat. He just had to manage not to get hit by an arrow until then.
The attackers closed the distance incredibly fast. Within a flash, they were already at the camp. The defenders were throwing everything at them, trying to stop them from entering the camp.
Pafe realized he needed to get them off their horses. On the ground, they were an easier target. With his spear, he began poking at the mounted warriors. The first one fell off his horse, then the second, then the third.
The young Dragon man charged them all. Seeing blood, he became as if possessed. Thrusting his sword in all directions, a head came flying off, then another body fell to the ground dead. Soon, another attacker joined them in the afterlife.
Seeing this, the High Flying Bird warriors defending the camp, got into the fight hard. The example of the foreigner battling head and neck with them gave them a sense of strength. It energized them.
Pafe grabbed an axe he found on the ground, and threw it at one of the raiders still on his horse. It hit him straight in the head, killing him instantly.
Axes were chopping, spears were thrusting, arrows were flying. It was chaos. Men were dropping left and right. Some of the enemy managed to enter the camp, but were beaten back quickly. They set a few tents on fire, but these were put out quickly by the women who were hiding out behind makeshift barricades.
At a deciding point in the battle, the defenders charged the raiders. Most of them were already on the ground, off their horses. Pafe positioned himself at the head of the group of warriors. His sword pierced man after man on the way.
Soon, a horn sounded. It was the signal for retreat. The raiders knew they had lost. Now, they needed to run away to save their lives. Whoever could quickly mounted his horse, and galloped away at full speed, leaving only dust in his wake.
The defenders decided not to pursue. Victory was theirs, but they still needed to remain prudent. After all, their main mission was to protect the camp.
Pafe let out a sight of relief. Sweat was running down his forehead, and his arms felt heavy, but otherwise he was all right. Barely a scratch could be found on him.
As he was about to turn around to head back to his tent to rest, all the defending warriors turned towards him and shouted words of victory. Then they all walked towards him and tapped him on the shoulder. They knew it was his bravery that made the difference at the crucial time.
Pafe was a bum no more. The foreigner had risked his life to defend the camp. He was now one of them.
--
Trusting the omens
The patrolling party came back an hour after the fight. They became aware that a Shawa group was in the area, and rushed back immediately. Somehow, the raiders had managed to evade them.
Guardian of the Eagles was relieved when he returned and found the camp intact. Hugging his wife, and patting his little son on the head, he shouted words of joy. Soon, he found out what happened, and the crucial role Pafe played in the defense.
Yet, after this initial sense of relief, the magnitude of what had transpired hit him. His warriors had made a mistake. They were fooled by the raiders. A heavy price was paid in the ultimate currency. Blood. Around ten of the defenders lay dead.
The tribesman looked at the bodies of comrades he once knew. Their mission had ended, their souls have passed. No one will ever see them around camp, smiling, sharing stories, or cracking jokes.
"Rest in peace. You have lived well," recited Guardian of the Eagles. It's a standard formula every tribesman says when saying their farewell to the departed, but one ingrained with deeper meaning. He felt the loss in his heart. Many families lost their fathers, brothers, uncles, and husbands.
However, this did not end in complete disaster. Triple the number of attackers joined them in the afterlife as well. This meant the Shawa warrior count was severely depleted, and they would not have the strength to mount a challenge any time soon.
For Guardian of the Eagles this was proof he was right in trusting the omens. By saving the life of the ragged foreigner, he actually saved his camp from destruction.
He walked towards Pafe. Stripping a feather off his head, he handed it over to the young man.
"You are a warrior of our tribe now. You have earned this. Forever you will have our respect," said Guardian of the Eagles as he handed Pafe the feather.
"Oh, I cannot accept this. It is yours," replied Pafe humbly.
"No, it is yours now," said Guardian.
"Thank you. I will cherish this," came back Pafe as he grabbed the feather and put it behind his ear.
The young man had earned an honored place among the tribe. Just a few months before, he had been almost killed by them. Now, he was one of them.
As the months passed, he was no longer treated as a foreigner. Rather, everyone came to think of him as a brother. Pafe learned the language, the traditions, and began to adjust to life on the plains.
However, something was still missing. He knew he couldn't stay there forever. Guardian of the Eagles knew that as well. He had foreseen it in his visions.
After a year, it was time for Pafe to continue his journey. He left the camp, and set out on the Forever Grass, in the direction of the Eastern Cities.
