Noctisardor Bypass through caverns measureless to man

@Tulimaq pls?

she follows the river west and ends up at the mouth of a valley, vibrant with the colors of fall. it is an amazing paradise, filled with woods and fields, and cool, running water that spills into a lake. she spends much time exploring, finding much joy in the place. tasha is amazed at the treasures this land has to offer, and the best is surely yet to come--for the mountains in the distance are taller than anything she has seen before, and she wishes to summit them before the snow comes.

but first, this valley. she ends up by the lake, cradled in the far end, lapping at its crystalline bounty. when her thirst is slaked, she prowls the shore, looking for fish. after a few tries--some successful, some far from it--she ends up in the shade of a willow tree, its golden-green curtains casting dappled shadows over her pelt.

tashkent wonders whether a life on her own could be better than the one she had been born into. an existence in a horde is nice enough--safety and conquest in numbers, after all. but there is no peace, no individuality. the khanate moves as one; their only goal is brutal takeover, total war. all higher-order pleasures are forgotten.

but here, alone, thoughts emerge in her mind that have never been there before. philosophy, existentialism; these ruminations are foreign and vaguely frightening, but tasha welcomes them regardless. for this brief, blissful time, she is not a barbarian but a wisewoman, and she revels in her newfound nirvana.

He debates whether or not it would be worth it to follow the slave boy back to his people, just to make sure he makes it back to them safely or maybe to study them a little longer — but in the end Tulimaq doesn't want to tempt fate, or bring the force of the horde down upon himself. He doesn't have Tartok here with him, nobody to defend his interests, so he only trails the boy partway before leaving him to his own devices. At this point the wolf is all turned around. He thinks he's heading back towards the fox-scented woodland, this place he had found beyond a valley with standing stones, but he's actually going another direction entirely.

It doesn't bother him that much; he likes exploring, and it shows him another side of the wilds. He is surprised to find the scent of the horde — but again, it doesn't bother him. Not much does. He trails after the scent and soon finds a waterway, and here he pauses to investigate the soil for more clues, and to get a small drink, before going on his way. He doesn't get far before the scent becomes quite strong; the wind is blowing back in his face, so the stranger must be somewhere ahead — but most importantly, it is one concentrated scent. It isn't the entire group, which surprises him.

she is downwind, so it is up to her ears to keep her sharp. unfortunately, the wind is also fairly strong today, with a sharp, autumn whistle. tashkent is not aware of the man until he is almost upon her, and she turns at the muffled sound of pawsteps. her surprised look bleeds slowly into a guileless smile, eyes glittering.

"hello," she croons, not bothering to hide her admiration. he is long and lean, tall, his eyes a pale gold against the silvers of his pelt. fairly young and carries himself like it, too, although there is a strength there that belies any negative qualities. how had this soldier come to find her here?

"have i stumbled upon your home?" tasha asks, affecting slight concern. she looks around her, nostrils flaring as she draws in the scents. no, of course not. but she can play the ditzy damsel, at least for a short while.

They notice one another around the same time. He hasn't managed to get a good look at any of the wolves from the horde despite his trailing, none except the young slave, but he did take notice of a heavy scent upon that boy that appeared to be the source of his current path. It would make sense for these creatures to carry a mix of scents, but it is this one that is always present through Tulimaq's tracking. When he comes upon her, she looks surprised but then swiftly, deviously, amused. As if this has been a trap laid out for him, and he has unwittingly sprung it.

Her greeting is met with a silent stare. He's studying her features, determining her age and her fitness, while listening to that accented voice. Tulimaq is right to assume this is not their native land; he has tracked the horde across quite a distance out of curiosity and now, faced with this woman who he percieves as their potential ruler, he is wary. But so is she — hiding behind a little game, a feigned dullness, which he accepts for the time being. Her scent is the dominant one; her mind appears to be quite sharp in contrast to the slave boy, too. Tulimaq does not trust the air she breathes.

No, he finally responds, his own voice deep and lightly accented in a different way. Different, but oddly alike. Perhaps his people's language diverged from her's, millenia ago. He does not dwell on such things right now. Tulimaq drifts closer, immitating her innocent act with his own play at ignorance — Are you a slave as well? I met a boy like you, but he had no one minding him. I do not recall his name.

she is charmed for only a moment by his accented tongue--

and then the insult comes.

her face turns to stone, the warmth in her eyes abruptly dying out. she stares at him silently for a long moment, gaze set very still upon his. she is motionless, the only movement her pelt rippling in the slight breeze.

i am no slave, şirik, tasha responds, her voice like ice upon a lake long frozen. i am khanum and you will address me as such.

one beat, two, three, and nothing changes. then the ice melts quickly, her face blossoming into a smile, like nothing at all of consequence has happened between the two of them. what is your name? she asks sweetly, in a very different tone from before.

the insult is not forgotten; she has tucked it away.

Her voice is sharp, changing from the saccharine tone of a girl playing games and — in to something he recognizes. The tone of an issumatar. There was something dangerous and possessive in her gaze for a moment, a spasm of contained violence, an electric current. Then, she was sweet again. He would be careful.

Tulimaq. He answers bluntly. He considers apologizing, but there is no reason to — it was a simple mistake and has been corrected.

No, not a slave then. Clearly there is a disparity between the bloodlines of her people; those that serve, and those that rule, are not equal. He does not care for such a lifestyle himself — and Tulimaq won't mention this to her, not wanting to earn her wrath and subsequently, the wrath of her horde. If he could rescue the boy-slave, he could fashion himself a loyal warrior. But it is unlikely.

Khanum—is that a title, or a name? He does not ask her outright for a name because he wants details, he wants to know how the horde functions and hear more of her strange tongue.

tulimaq, she echoes, the name utterly, savagely beautiful on her tongue. it tastes like battle-blood, and she wants, suddenly, to test his mettle. he looks like a man who can handle a stout fight. the insult is not forgotten, but it is abandoned, for now, in her zeal to know more about the wolf in front of her.

it is a title, tasha explains, lifting her head proudly. i am tashkent-luk, recently come to these lands. did you say you met a boy like me? mengu. straying away from the main group would have merited a beating for the slave back home. tashkent, however, is not as harsh a mistress as her father was master. she is merely intrigued.

he did not cause you trouble, did he? she asks. if so, i apologize. he is my slave, my responsibility.

A title, then. He is pleased to know both the title and her name, although both sound equally foreign. To someone outside of her culture, the two phrases are interchangeable; she could claim her name is anything and she is the dominatrix of the sky for all he could tell, and it would be the truth. Not that Tulimaq trusted this woman — she spoke confidently and with such ease, it was a wonder he lingered long in her company. She could've been some sort of snake, placed here to lie and lure men to their dooms. It would've been easy to fall prey to it, had he been at all interested in her. She was intriguing. They shared a mutual interest but it was a thin connection that would be easily severed.

She spoke next of the slave, and her apology is met with a shake of his head. No trouble. I did not know he was your slave at the time, and I wanted to know more about your people. I invited him to hunt with me, and he refused. But he was not offended by that. It gave him some more information; the boy had been resistant to him, likely trained to obey his people and shun the outside world. It was something he could, in some way, relate to. I let him be, and found other ways to entertain myself.

very well, although mengu could have provided you with the entertainment you sought, tasha responds slowly, lids half-closed in delicate suggestion. she knows that slaves in khorasan were used for such purposes; she had only heard of it second-hand. she preferred to take her pleasure in the embrace of. . .better-pedigreed individuals. soldiers, diplomats.

it would be like feeding a dog a hamburger after raising it on caviar. well past distasteful, bordering on abusive.

where do you live, tulimaq? she asks, canting her head to the side. who are your family? the name suggests that his bloodline is good, too; she is eager to learn more about the mysterious muscled man, even if he is not interested in her by the same degree.

Her comments make him raise his brows. He isn't sure how to take it, and truthfully had not considered the innuendo of the moment until she'd made mention of it. Afterwards Tulimaq was at a little loss for words; but she moved on quickly, and he was attentive to that, happy to remove Mengu from the conversation.

The sharing of information wasn't taboo within Tartok, but there were limits to what he could tell her. Tulimaq was also quite happy to boast about his people, their might, and the strength that he inherited through the shared blood as well as the shared experience of their culture; had he been more aware, he would've realized that Tashkent and her people were not that different when it came to mentality.

We are northerners. Mighty warriors of Tartok. There are many of us — although not so common in this temperate place. He admitted, but was not ashamed of this. There had been many attempts to tame these wilds and they had resulted in strong children being born, or allies being made, and at times that was better than an all-out conversion and conquering. He turned the question back upon her: Your people, they remind me of my own. You move as one unit, and clearly there is a shared strength among you. What sort of world did you leave behind?

her eyes widen as he speaks of his people, finding them--as he says--curiously similar to her own. a violent one, she answers simply, her smile at odds with her words. no room for kindness, nor any kind of nuance. bloody, brutal, relentless. sometimes i miss it, she admits, glancing ruefully away. other times, i am glad i left. killing gets boring after some time.

they speak for a while longer, and then tashkent departs. she is loath to stay too far away from her family. however pleasant tulimaq's company is, she still smarts from the insult. a slave! he knew nothing of slaves, if that is what conclusion he'd come to.

oh, well. world as big as this, she'd likely never see him again.