The Stallion in the Shadows

13

Drogo rushed to me his great frame heaving as he panted. He gently rested his bloodied hands on either side of my face, his wild eyes roaming my small frame his great size always dwarfed me, "Hash yeri alright?" (Are you alright?) I nodded quickly.

"Anha zin davra," (I am fine,) I replied, gently pulling his hands away from my face. We walked the battlefield together, it was sad. We had lost so many men most very young, Drogo squeezed my hand as we walked we were lucky to have each other still but we were both skilled in combat.

"Kisha tikh tikh ready sille kashi," (We will be ready next time,) Drogo said, his voice filled with venom and aggravation, I knew it pained him too to see so many of his men dead. We dragged our dead back to our camp and lit the pyres, the wailing and songs began as we stood. We watched as each collapsed as the fires ate away at the flesh and wooden platforms. Drogo kept his protective arm around my waist and close to his sweat covered torso. Even the great Khal shed a tear or two, but with a gentle squeeze of my hand it reassured him everything was okay. It would be a day of mourning.

At midday the heat settled in and we were all clustered under the shade of the great in the middle of the camp. While most dozed there was a few of us who kept watch, I rode my steed around the edges of the camp i had fought Drogos constant disapproval but with knowing he had been defeated he allowed me to patrol, as long as I promised I would spend the evening with him. A small but rewarding price to pay in order to keep the clan I loved safe, they were at their lowest and most vulnerable right now. Mago rode at my side, his strong bay Andalusian mare keeping stride with my Friesian ebony stallion.

The heat never bothered us we often rode till we grew dizzy and our bodies forced us into the cool shade, or the cooling waters. We stopped and allowed the horses to drink, Mago dismounted and filled his flask with fresh water, he looked back up to me. "Anha zin surprised Drogo allowed yer tat patrol," (I am surprised Drogo allowed you to patrol,) he said.

"Me ki jin tough vilajero vosma anha won," (It was a tough battle, but I won,) I replied. He chuckled, mounted his horse and slapped me on the back.

"Yer're ven stubborn ven jin lame," (You're as stubborn as a mare,) he laughed. With a gentle nudge we went back to our patrol track. The rest of the day was peaceful, no more battles and no more wailing. By the evening a great feast was prepared for the soldiers we had lost and a story was told about each and everyone. It was something we also did, we always reminisced about the dead and their good deeds, it always made the grieving process easier.