A week and a half of raining had watered the mountains welleven though it was approaching winter, and the snows were again on the advance, the streams still rushed by, waters almost up to overflowing. The spring minnows were not faring so well this autumn, having to struggle upstream against the waters at every step of the way.
Kal tripped over his own moccasins, and cursed himself for looking so foolish, but he could not help it. His mind seemed ignorant of his body, and both of those were strangers to his soulhe felt out of place everywhere, and awkward besides, tripping over his ungainly long limbs. He was soon to become a man, he knew, but the journey was not nearly as enjoyable as he hoped the destination would be.
He shook his head at himself, and continued onwards, slipping in the ankle deep snows that they were traveling through, though thankfully he never lost his moccasins.
The ramids his clan was herding were completely oblivious to his struggles, though for a moment he imagined that one turned his head, looked him over, and shook his head with a snort. He also caught a glimpse of his father up ahead, stern and solemn, but the sight was blocked by the massive bulk of a ramid as quickly as it had appeared.
The terrain was becoming more hilly the further they went, a rolling blanket of forest covering the hills as they went onward toward the horizon, and out of sight. A few of the ramids paused momentarily to snap a branch off of a tree with surprising tenderness, then chewing it voraciously; several more occasionally stooped to drink from the stream with such ferocity it was surprising that there was still water in it when they finished.
Then there was sudden shouting from the head of the column; men were in panic for some reason, and calls rang out. One of the men, Sahar, ran back, white faced and looking as though he had seen death itself come.
Get the children to safety, he babbled to no one in particular. His eyes latched on Kal.
Kal! Are you old enough to hold a spear yet?
Of course I am. He felt affronted.
Then get to the front of the column. The Fairhelt clan sent a few raiders; theyre square in our path.
Kal felt a sudden constriction in his heart. It was not supposed to be this way. No clans were supposed to attack each other in autumn, not with winter oncoming
Go!
He nodded brusquely, and ran lightly to the front, the snow crunching slightly under his moccasins. Once or twice he almost slipped and fell, but he managed to regain his balance by catching the fur of a ramid to steady himself.
Kal grabbed a spear from the back of one of the ramids, and went up to the very front, where a minor skirmish was already ensuing. It became clear to him at once that, though his clan were not outnumbered by these men, that if someone did not do something, the raiders would do far too much damage.
Hefting his spear, he leapt into the fray.
The sights and sounds of battle filled his sense, as the men of the forests danced and whirled, while several wooly ramids lumbered past, plowing great holes in the lines, mangling bodies of the Fairhelt raiders. He dashed at one of the raiders immediately, and suddenly was locked in combat. The spears danced at each other, lashing out. He parried the others blows as best he could, but his opponent had a shield where Kal had none.
A great stab opened up the side of his shoulder, blood pouring out through the furs, and he felt slightly dizzy as the raider grinned and raised himself for the killing blow.
The spear was useless now, too long to pivot to strike this man, so Kal grabbed his dagger from his belt, dived low, and drove the bronze deep into the mans belly, twisting it. When he pulled it out, a warm gout of foul smelling blood greeted him; the vandal toppled over, his eyes glazed, his knees folding in a forever silent prayer.
Kal fumbled at the mans shield, wanting to claim it for his own, but it was strapped to the raiders arm, as suddenly another one of the enemies was bearing down on him. Desperate, he slashed at the straps, opening up the dead mans arm, and blood slowly poured out onto his shield, even as Kal wrenched it out from under the dead flesh and brought it overhead to take the blow from this new foes sword.
The metal met wood in a dull
thunk, and the man cursed, but Kal knew he was doomed unless he did something. He rose and shoved the shield in his foess face, driving him back temporarily, but his bronze dagger only just caught the return blow from the raiders sword, and he felt the shock go through his arm heavily. Somehow he retained his grip on the knife, and pressed onward, trying to stab, but meeting only hard wood, which smashed against his closed fist. This time, he really did drop the dagger.
* * * * * * * * *
Merhai
Cities: None
Leader: Kahir the Fox/North King
Religion: Animism
Government: Tribal Council
Economy: 2- 2/0
Population: To be determined by me
Army: To be determined by me
Navy: None
Education: None
Technology: Copper Age
Confidence: Tolerating
Culture: None
Wonders:
Description: The Merhai, or rather, this branch of the Merhai, were a peaceful people, herding their wooly ramids for sustenance, and catching the creatures of the forest to take their furs south to trade. But in recent years, the Fairhelt clan of the Merhai grew to become ambitious, and drove the other Merhai out of their valley to the south. Thus, a union of clans, under the leadership of Kahir the Fox, made the journey out of the valley, over the high mountains, and on a migration southward. Herding their wooly ramids, these clans now look for a better future elsewhere, and their dream of settling a new nation has begun to pick up more support from the tribes that they pass along the way.
but the culture and aims will be different
- also there are other reasons.
