Nebolly slid from Sibolt Kelatkoren’s back. The horse was a navy-pelted equine, Anaran called it a Menthium. Nebolly had heard of Menthium, of course, but never seen one in real life. They were primarily used for important officials, like Wardens and Highthrones.
The Menthium were not the only animals experimented upon, though they were the most common. Trislip were altered ravens, crafted to have a magnificent sense of direction, endurance, and obedience. They were quickly made into delivery birds for written messages that had to arrive as soon as possible.
Nebolly stayed close to the horse, as she could easily get lost in the endless fields of sap reed that made up both Grunuil and her homeland of Anum. A river separated the territories, making the border easily identified.
Sap reeds were multipurpose vegetation, used for packaging, sketching, writing, preserving, and flavoring, but she was sick of them. Her entire life she’d lived within the walls of Anum, and when she’d left, she was surprised to know she wasn’t leaving anything behind. Whenever she had entertained the thought of moving to a different country, she knew that because of her father, she would never be able to. And then he was gone.
A single arrow was all it took to destroy Nebolly’s life. She hadn’t even had the chance to give her father a proper burial, for Anaran departed with her so quickly. She almost wished Anaran had hostile intentions so she’d have a reason for running away. As was, he was nothing more than a quiet and tedious recluse.
Despite the circumstances, Nebolly tried to make the best of her new life. If this was how she would live, she was going to get comfortable.
The ghost sun levitated in the heavens, dimly lighting the forest with its blue-white hues. A breeze whizzed by to remind Nebolly of how cold of a night it was. She tugged her cloak tighter around her arms, enveloping her entire torso. The cloak was a sign Anaran wasn’t as heartless as he, and others, let on. He’d purchased it specifically for her so she wouldn’t freeze in the wind of horseback riding.
Without a word, Anaran headed off into the sea of reeds, as he did whenever they stopped for the night. He would make a clearing for them to bed down and light a fire. Perfectly circular every time. How did he forge the plain so quickly? Uprooting all the plants would take too long, and cutting them down would leave the roots, though there was never a sign of any life.
She didn’t attempt to follow the Warden, as the Menthium would block her path to prevent her from watching. It didn’t really matter, anyway. Just a matter of curiosity.
“Kelatkoren!” Anaran’s deep voice shouted. The only word Nebolly ever heard Anaran speak was the Menthium’s name. Must be a special stallion. The horse followed its name to signify the granting of passage.
Nebolly followed the animal a few strides to where the predicted perfect circle was cut from the tan plants. Anaran stroked his horse’s neck, before collected small bundle of sap reeds from the ring around the clearing.
Taking the initiative, Nebolly tore a couple handfuls of the sappy strands from the ground near the root. She stood and walked to where she saw Anaran already attempting to light a fire with some flint and steel, and a large pile of reeds.
Yulon, I need your gift right now. Nebolly prayed. Yulon was the God of Courage, one of the Survivors of Gretherin. He was renowned as the bravest of the Survivors during war, even more than his commander, Allherion, God of Duty.
Unfortunately, prayer was not a common occurrence for Nebolly. Sometimes it seemed she only prayed when she wanted something, a bad habit she tried to break often. Give me courage to speak to Anaran.
