“Wretched, no-good, stubborn–”

The horse reared, startling the words from her rider’s throat. In truth, the forehooves of the brackish brown mare lifted barely half a foot from the ground, but Gaius did not have as much experience with animals as his heritage might suggest. He preferred his feet planted firmly on the ground—but he had already walked so far. Knuckles white on the reins, he leaned forward against her rebellion.

“Hey, hey,” he said weakly, attempting to rub the beast’s neck as she shook her head away from his touch. “Look, here.” As if the horse could be appeased, he pulled off their path to walk in a gentle circle. But even a brief tour of the endless prairie could not distract her from the man in her saddle. Gaius should have known that a beast of Bohari breeding would not care to serve the like of him, but ultimately he had no choice. The journey to the south country was a longer one than he could have expected; at the time, it had seemed like a blessing to stumble upon the wandering tribe, when his feet were aching and his throat was dry. He had traded what was left of his wealth for the horse, who was promised to return to its herd as soon as it had served its purpose. As it muttered impatiently beneath him, he licked his lips and scanned the plain.

There did not seem to be any form of shelter for miles, but at least the up-growth he had been pursuing for hours did prove to be a river for drinking. In the few minutes it took to reach the bank, Gaius found himself leading the horse on foot. Perhaps he should have just let her go back. But for now she was happy to drink alongside him, a temporary truce enacted at the stony edge of the water. He rose again quickly, while she was still distracted, to inspect the saddle and bridle for some other reason for their trouble.

It was then that he noticed a figure across the way, a human-shaped something that was also partaking of their little oasis. He did not much like talking to people in any mood, much less in the heavy heat of this particular afternoon, but truly he had no other choice. “Hello!” He called carefully, patting the mare in an attempt against spooking her. Her head rose toward the stranger as he waved a hand up, with only a passing regard as to the danger it might put him in. “Hello!” He said again.

“Do you know how far it is to the city?”

"Well this is a right bugger," Galin groused to his companions as they worked their way through the high grass of the plains, aiming for a small grove of trees and a stream alongside them.  After he left the North with a chieftain looking for his head on a spike outside his great hall, Galin had been able to hitch along with a trade caravan heading to Adeluna.  With the unpredictable nature of the tribesmen on the plains, it was a good precaution to have a proper warrior in among the traders and Galin easily fell in with the other guards.  His wide, smiling face exuded confidence he did not feel as he gestured for the merchants to come to the head of the column.  "We've got too many men and too little food to be moving this slow," he grumbled as the men spurred their horses forward, leaving their lumbering carts and carriages to meet with the Northman.  The solider next to him grunted in agreement and shook his head and Galin sighed.  "Not that we will convince them of it, but I may as well try," he concluded with a chuckle.

"Sirs, it looks like we'll be able to make camp by the oasis there, bed down for the night, and continue south in the morning.  We are still a long ways off and our food's starting to get low.  If we keep up this pace, we'll stave before we make it to the city.  I'm not suggesting anything but a faster speed, sirs.  Get your goods turned into good silver faster too, eh?"

It worked just about as well as he expected.  The men demurred, saying that they had to keep this pace so their animals did not tired and their women were not disturbed.  After some vague promises about securing more food from one of the tribal camps or cities, they returned to their wagons to drink and complain to their women about the frustrating Northman who acted like he knew better than they.  Galin turned to the other guard and shrugged.  "Keep them moving.  I'll go on ahead, check the water and set a site for us to bed down.  Alright?"  All he got was another grunt and a nod.

When he got to the far bank of the river, he looked across and saw a man with a Bohari mount.  Immediately his hand went to the heavy knife that hung on his belt as he looked around for others.  It would be a lovely place for an ambush and the caravan was still a good distance off.  "Hello there," he called back, still looking around at the grass, waiting for tribesmen to leap out and pepper him with arrows.  "You're about three days off from there, two if you ride hard, or so they told me.  Mind if I come across?"

Instead of waiting for an answer, Galin stepped into a shallow ford and crossed to the far bank, keeping his shield slung over his back to show he came peacefully.  When he reached the far bank, he sized up the man across from him.  He seemed about twice Galin's age, and those years showed hard on his face.  Clearly he was capable, but Galin smiled with the confidence of youth, trusting his own abilities if it came to a fight.  He brushed his brown hair off his forehead and extended a hand to the man.  "My name is Galin and I mean no harm.  A caravan is following me and will bed down here for the night.  If you would like, you can share our fire for the night?"

"Gaius," he replied, accepting the proffered hand against his better instinct. The stranger's name was a familiar one, though his face was not; Gaius was reminded of the home he had left behind, of secondhand stories about a chieftain and his murderer–or was it the chief's son? The chatter of shepherds and tradesmen had turned to talk of succession and conquest, though no one he knew had gone to investigate and returned to tell the tale.

Perhaps a moment of hesitation was betrayed in his retreating hand or his wandering eye, but ultimately there was nothing to be said on the subject. Even if this was the same man whose name had risen and faded from the tongues of village gossips, it was not Anseriph's place to pass judgement. He was the one who was in need, and, until proven otherwise, this Galin lad was as dangerous as he wasn't. "Thank you," Gaius added with a stiff nod, more concerned with his own fatigue than presenting a friendly façade. "I would like that."

Without letting the other man entirely out of his sight, he turned toward the mare. She was where he had left her, though she sniffed and stomped at the approach. "She isn't mine," he admitted, almost apologetically, and just in time for the lousy beast to prove it.

She tugged from his grip on the rein and danced against his clumsy attempt to reach for the saddle. It occurred to Gaius that he could leave her then and there, that she would find her way back to her herd and the alleged caravan might have room for one more. But even if the caravan could accommodate him, even if it existed at all, that did not mean they were headed in the same direction. When all else failed, he opted to guide her toward the water and hope that Galin's fire was close.

"I don't suppose you know anyone in the market for a horse," he muttered, the humor in his words swallowed up by exasperation.