Timestamp: Vhalar 45, 720
Hankley awoke with a start. She sat up in her straw bed, naked in the darkness of her home. She had heard something. She slipped out from her thin sheet she used, more as a comfort than a protection from the cold, straining her ears to focus. The wind was howling outside, but she knew she'd heard something. Pulling ether from within her, she fed it into her ears so she could hear what they might be saying, through Calling. The winds were playing, much like children in the streets of Nashaki when someone foreign came to town. The winds were plucking at robes that made noise as the wind passed through them. They enjoyed whisking away the moisture from people who were moving in haste. But mostly they loved the shrill shrieking made as the winds were sliced by exposed weapons. Hankley's eyes went wide.
Bandits.
Hankley quickly moved, grabbing her nearest pile of clothing as well as her necklaces, one a gift from her father, the other her self totem. She dressed in the darkness and stood upon her bed. She stepped up and out the open window, dropping to the tufted grass below. A moment later, she heard her door kicked open, bouncing off the wall, smacking the lead bandit back in the face. After all, her door wasn't locked. Why would it be, this far out from Nashaki. The man was cursing as his companions were laughing uproariously behind him. They entered, three in all.
"I know that wench is here. Fehiro was in the caravan that came by here just a few trials ago."
"Maybe she heard us comin'. You know how loud Gorghur is."
"I'm sorry! I had to fart. Your wife is the camp cook, she should know better than making beans before a raid."
"Oh fuck off. Does this bitch got anything here anyways?"
She heard them rummaging through her belongings, loudly. And under the cover of their sound she crept away, heading for the sorghum fields. For she knew her sweet boy, Brach, was there, hiding in terror from the visitors. He would wait for her to come and comfort him. She stayed as low to the ground as she could, moving quickly but trying to be quiet. She was twenty feet from the grains when a voice rang out, "There's the bitch! Get her! She'll fetch a good price!"
Hankley realized her mistake immediately. The moon was full tonight. She was as visible as anything else. Stealth blown, she began running across the sandy, spiky tufts of grass, disappearing into the sorghum. She let loose a shrill whistle, searching for Brach. He responded, ahead of her and to the left, "Braaaaaaaaaach!" She could hear the terror in his voice. He was so scared. He was just a juvenile after all, his parents killed by hunters. She heard the bandits shouting, not having reached the grains yet, as she sprinted through the grains that whipped her body. Soon, she found a gap, and she quickly grasped Brach around his head. In a hurried, hushed whisper, "I'm here my love. It's okay, mama's here. But we need to go, okay? I need you to be brave."
She knew he didn't know exactly what she was saying, having only learned a few basic commands. But she hoped her tone conveyed the message. And so she pulled on one of his horns, and the pair ran southward toward the swamps, away from their home. Hankley was quickly becoming winded. And just as they broke through the other side of her field of grain, she was taking deep, heaving breaths. The swamp wilderness was a hundred yards away. "Let's go Brach! If we can make it to there, we will lose them!"
She was running as best she could, but the ground was wet and sopping, sticking to her bare feet with sucking sounds. Brach moved easily and was out ahead of her. That was fine by her, he needed to get to safety too. But halfway across the span, her tired limbs caused her to stumble and she fell with a shout. She took a moment to look back and saw two of the bandits were already out of the sorghum field and navigating the same muck as she. She picked herself up and continued running, her chest on fire, her vision blurry from lack of air.
Then she heard what sounded like thunder. She looked back and saw that the third bandit had made his appearance, on the back of a horse. The horse was sprinting across the marshy land with ease, right at her. Brach had just reached the mangrove tree line and was looking back toward her. It was too far. She'd never make it. So she let loose the sharp triple whistle she'd been trying to teach him. The one that meant to go away. She stumbled again, falling hard on her chest. She started to scramble, seeing that look of comprehension in Brach's eyes. He knew that signal and what it meant. Then she saw something else in his eyes, something she'd never seen before.
Determination.
Brach roared loudly. He burst out from the safety of the trees, bellowing the entire time. Hankley picked herself up, continuing to half jog, half shlog through the muck. The horseman broke course from her, heading toward the apparent enemy of Brach. She saw the man pull out a long spear and angle it at her companion. She shouted, "Noooo!" But Brach was faster than the man anticipated, and the spear glanced harmlessly off of Brach's armor. The Nashaki Oxen on the other hand bowled right into the horse, head lowered. The horse's legs snapped on the impact and both horse and rider went bowling over top the creature. The man landed hard on his head and he never moved again. The horse landed heavily, whinnying loudly, but finding itself unable to move.
And Brach kept running toward the other two bandits. "Brach! No!"
Hankley turned, running toward the impending conflict. Brach charged one of the men, who deftly leapt to the side while slashing one of Brach's legs. The other man pulled knives, and began throwing them at Brach. The two men were so focused on the creature, neither of them paid Hankley any mind. Brach turned, his exposed limbs pelted with knives, limping on one leg, as he ran toward the man with the scimitar again. The pair collided this time, and Brach's beak tore through the man's intestines. Brach tossed him aside turning to face the knife thrower. But as he moved, he wobbled, and Hankley could see the crimson flow from his neck under the moonlight. The scimitar man had swung true.
But both Hankley and Brach pressed forward toward the final bandit. Hankley reached the man first, and she reached out, grabbing his throwing arm. The man yelped in surprise, and the momentary distraction allowed Brach to get close enough to bite the man at the crook of his neck and shoulder with his powerful beak. The man died before being able to howl in pain. Hankley stepped over his body, her arms reaching out to Brach. The young Nashaki oxen nuzzled against his mother's chest, as she slipped her fingers over the wound on his neck. It was pumping out blood so fast.
And she knew there was nothing she could do.
She knelt down, so that Brach would too. He laid down on his stomach. "My sweet boy. You did so well." She rubbed her hand over his beak and head, "I'm so proud of you, my love." She felt him press his head against her stomach, and he let loose a soft coo, just as he did that first trial she'd found him. And then she felt his life slip away, and she screamed, crying into the winds. And she heard them, excited by the noise, and they screamed too.
