Overture Downs a haunt of roulette dares

It has been some time since Kuyuk has let himself sleep for more than a handful of hours; he is eager to take his turn watching the family, and is always eager for his post as a night watchman. When he isn't guarding their sleeping bodies, the man is roaming just like his brother Enx — studying the landscape for clues of where to go next.

He does not choose to linger long at the riverside and while the rest of the group drinks or rests, he moves on. The water unsettles him and he is happy to leave it behind. What comes next is the gradual undulation of the earth, and a reaching swath of pale grass that appears to go on for miles.

The wind gusts through the meadow and blusters at his dense coat, and he feels much more at-home here than any place they've travelled through so far. A grin plants itself across his haggard face, and Kuyuk decides to race against the current. The sky is overcast and greying with the early onset of night, but there is enough light to make out his sharp figure against the haze, and he is having a rare bit of fun.

as leader of this little band, she is concerned--though not overly so--with the welfare of her to-be underlings, once of which is racing across the field. tasha bursts into a sprint, taking after him. it is a while before she catches up, and she throws him a sly grin when she does so, taking deep and measured breaths as she runs, strides devouring the earth.

she is fond of kuyuk, more so than she will ever admit. truthfully, she is attracted to him beyond convention, a deep burning within her that glows when their eyes meet. he is less brutal than enx, a moderating force within the barbarians. tashkent supposes that is what made him such a good tarkhan for her father, and what will serve him well in that role for her, too.

tasha continues on, though she is tiring; hopefully, he will slow soon, or else she will have to admit defeat and come to a halt herself.

Sleep had been hard for Isleña to come by; and not just for the last night, but for several of the past nights and the result was a girl who was as grouchy and snappish as she was tired. Inside her own heart, Isleña knew her cohorts and family did not deserve this side of her, especially not those who had taken on the added responsibility of following Tashkent in her departure. Isleña knew that she was better than this, but all moments when someone uttered an inane comment, or suggested something particularly dumb, well, she couldn’t help but lash out.

The woman knew sleep would not visit her that night either, so she did not deal with the frustrations of even trying. She moved about, perhaps to round up breakfast for the troops, or to patrol the limits of their sleeping quarters to ensure their safety. Whatever her purpose might be, she feels infinitely more useful here than she did laying listlessly with the others, so she perused her surroundings in the dying sunlight. 

The noise of paws thudding against the ground raised her alert — there’s not one set of paws, but two — and she moved quickly to see what the fuss was about. Her hackles smoothed somewhat when she saw it was simply Kuyuk and Tashkent, having a race of some kind. Immediately, her tongue became slick with saliva at the thought of the thrill of a competition, but there was no way for her to win at this point. Instead, the shedevil stood off to the side and waited for the game to end, so that she may either partake in their subsequent conversation or go back to resume her vaguely-defined duties.

He felt the wind whipping at the fur of his chest, at his face, coursing across his shoulders if he turned his body. The sound of someone on approach wasn't missed but he didn't appear to register it, and instead kept his pace until his limbs burned from activity and he was gasping for air. Kuyuk began to slow after that, and rounded upon the figure that pursued him. His thunderous run became a jog, then ambling, until he was all but stopped with his body squared off in opposition of the running girl. For a moment all Kuyuk could do was breathe and feel the pulse of his blood beneath his skin; his mouth was ajar and he was panting in an ugly manner, huffing and puffing despite his fitness.

When he realized it was Tashkent that had been running with him, very little changed. His heart rate had begun to ease, and he licked at his lips and snout in order to initiate saliva flow, but otherwise he was too winded to speak. After a bit he could at least advance towards her, nosing around near her shoulder and neck fur, and chuffed against the dark growth there. She smelled good — like the wind, but with a familiar sharpness.

ooops i didn't know it was my turn sorry

he begins to slow, and so does she, the two marauders doing a kind of delicate ballet until he rounds on her with ferocity. tasha's mouth splits in a grin; she is also panting, chest heaving, but she is happy and feels free. in the distance, she sees isleña, and barks at her cousin to join them. pretty isleña. she has always been fond of the girl, even if they were de facto rivals as young, gorgeous women vying for the attention of all.

did you not recognize my stride? tashkent asks kuyuk teasingly, sweeping her tail across her hocks. surely one luk knows another by sound. or have we lost that, coming to this new land? it is a harrowing thought, a reality she does not want to consider. the most important thing to her is her name, and the identity she has built around it.

once a luk, always a luk. and those who do not know her for the name do not know her at all.

The young bedouin watches as her two cousins begin to weave a delicate duet with their patterns. Though the Luks were not particularly known for their grace [rather it was their brawn and tenacity and strength, which Isleña considered to be much more important], Isleña found the entire thing quite beautiful and sat her haunches upon the earth in order to watch the two race and dance upon the wind in complete contentment

— but when Tashkent gave her an invitational bark, Isleña was quick to kick up her heels and skitter into motion, channeling none of the artistic grace that her cousins ran with, but retaining all of their speed and endurance. She had a lot of distance to catch up on, after all.

Arriving to the place where the two other Luks had converged, Isleña quieted her sprint into a long and languid lope, then slowing to a stop just a few feet away. Her chest too heaved with the effort, but in a way that burned bright and made the small, dark woman smile. “It’s a pity that you should neglect your skills, cousin,” she clearly teased. “Some might now consider you more worthless than a slave.” Lower than Mengu is what she might have said, but rather enjoyed loyal Mengu and did not deign to ridicule the thrall more than was truly necessary.

“What must we do with you, now that you are useless?” Isleña continued the farce, lips tingling with dark humor.