He had followed the river north beyond what his people knew, until it took him over the horizon. Unable now to see his home, the path, or anything familiar, save the stars in the deepening night, Hurakan willed a prayer to the constellations.
After crossing the last bend in the river and finding the shallows more mud than anything, he sought the refuge of a sparse patch of forest. It was thicker than anything he had seen before; more green and gold due to the season, but alive, vibrant. It would satisfy him for the night. Within the forest he would seek somewhere hidden for sleep, and before that, a clearing, so that he may visit with the moon and beg for good fortune.
He warred with himself over whether or not he could visit his old home. He had even come as far as the valley, the meadow. But he had stopped there and changed his path to lead him more east. He was a coward. He was too weak to force himself to face the ghosts of his past.
In a particularly sour mood and weighed down with the grief he had pushed away for so long, he entered the forest in search for a place to rest for a while. But his search was halted when he saw the stranger in a small clearing where the trees allowed a view of the night sky. He found himself searching the stars often, wishing his mom had been alive long enough to teach him the names of some of them. Instead, he was left with sparse knowledge and a deep yearning to know more.
Kallik chuffed to announce his presence before trotting over to the man. He glanced up at the sky. Do you know a lot about the stars?
he asked. Maybe this stranger could enlighten him.
Further afield, someone called.
His eyes traveled from the moon to the spectre among the trees as they approached, squinting, then frowning. The thick coat of the traveler rippled as he felt unease brimming within; this was some ghost, he thought. This was the moon's power, summoning to life a figment, a mirage.
Hurakan was apprehensive. He paced backwards to keep a safe distance from the thing and pivoted his small ears to cup at the words spilling forth. He did not know this language.
When he opened his mouth he said something quickly, low and rough, almost like a curse - more likely, a prayer - while eyeing the ghost up and down and prickling.
The stranger seemed almost feral. He was startled and Kallik could see the distrust in his eyes. He looked ready to flee, so Kallik took a step back. The last thing he wanted was to scare the man; he was only curious about the stars, and lonely after traveling for so long. He thought of his night spent at the mesa often, about Jawahir and her offer. He could still remember her scent and the way it had felt to wake up next to someone instead of alone and cold. Every day he was tempted to turn around and march into Akashingo's ranks, but he knew he couldn't.
The man said something that Kallik could not understand. I'm sorry,
he offered, careful to keep his posture non-threatening. I'm Kallik. I mean you no harm.