Figurehead

ten

Fik seems more placid than before, perhaps because he doesn't have to compete for attention. Particularly if he wants something to eat. My belongings are more weighted now than they were when I left Anshakim; Eler refused to let me return anything she had prepared for me. An abundance of food, really. For that special somebody, if you can't finish it, she'd said. She hadn't said anything more. Thankfully.

I suppose I feel slightly guilty, having given Fik only a very brief rest before setting off again. But it won't be much longer before day shifts to night and I will be back in Anshakim, and Fik will be stabled and fed to his heart's content. He runs without much complaint, perhaps because it is beginning to sprinkle with rain and he doesn't seem to like it.

The road is long, cultivating weeds in parts and grass in others, but familiar. Comforting. I know where it leads, I know the streets that diverge from it, I know it, I have walked it, rode horseback over it, many times before. Already I can see the distant outline of the fences just beyond the outskirts. There are some farms in Anshakim. Beyond them, I see the farmhouses, and then the houses, packed tightly with other houses as well as trees, interrupted occasionally by winding or sprawling streets.

Home. More or less. It has been for around four Dre.

Maybe Fik recognises it too- or the rain growing heavier bothers him- because his gait quickens until he is almost galloping, and I laugh into the wind and rain as my hair streams behind me, his mane flails and whips my hands holding the reins and it feels kind of like we're flying, his hooves like quiet thunder.

It feels like... Freedom. Maybe that's weird, but in a way, it does. It's, well, beautiful.

His pace slows significantly as we pass some of the outermost fields, and I see one or two farmers or farmhands bent over, picking out weeds or checking on the shoots of green beginning to spring up. There are more houses visible now, more people moving around, creating a hubbub of familiar noise as they begin parting ways, returning to their homes.

It won't be so long before the rain grows heavier still. I glance up at the darkened sky as Fik noses his slow way through the diminishing crowd. There'll probably be a storm, too. I look back over my shoulder at the farms hidden by silhouettes of houses and of trees swaying in the winds; will it be a good storm, or a bad one?

I let Fik make his own way. This is his home too, and it's become increasingly clear to me that he wants to get back to the stables.

I dismount and barely feel the aches in my muscles as the stable-hands catch sight of one of their own. Almost immediately, they encircle him and bestow all their attentions upon him. When he tosses his mane, flicks his tail and scuffs the sandy ground with his hooves he almost looks pleased. I stifle a laugh.

One of the stable-hands passes me my bundled belongings with a polite smile and I nod. "Thank you." She nods once and turns back to the horse, and I leave.

With a fire in the hearth and a pelt draped over my shoulders, I sit cross-legged on the ground, facing the flames. Lantern flies flit around in the air over my head, their cage open on the table behind me. I turn and let my gaze travel over the contents of my dwelling; the table, with chairs arranged around it. A shelf and small chest of drawers. Behind these and out of sight, a flat bed on the ground and beside it a small table. I eye the flames once more before rising to my feet, glancing over everything again before leaving the house, securing the door behind me.

It isn't raining, for now, but there are almost no other Anshakim walking the streets. It is very dark now, like a shadow has been cast over the city, but not unusual. Mif is in two days.

As I climb the steps to the palace, it begins to rain, and I laugh a little at myself as I break into a run, making it in before it begins pouring, loudly, behind me.