Spontanéité

Daughter of Wanderers 🔹 snapshot

The air is warmer at the foot of the mountain than anywhere above. The air is richer, too, the forest thicker, the wilds greater in number. At least, that's what the Children of the Airs have been saying. But it is beautiful here, and the Children of Wanderers have been making the most of their stay here, playing and running around in the forest, chasing each other and any of the wilds that stray across their many and meandering paths while some of the Pack members keep watch so parents can have some time to themselves.

Yes, the Children of the Airs have isolated themselves in their Citadel for eras, but they have been kind to this Wandering Realm in their vulnerability, and they have enabled the Realm to stay longer without exhausting their resources. There are lambs, kids and calves still unsteady on their hooves this season, and two foals, both yet to be broken. The livestock are not great in number, not strong, and neither are the Children of Wanderers. Especially now, a moon after the General's daughter... The mourning period ended a week afterwards, but her loss is still- understandably- felt by the General and her helpmate. To make matters worse, the Fortress of the Earth sent a herald yesterday, warning them to leave in a few days so as not to break their laws. He was sent back without a response.

"What is it like to roam the face of the earths?" It doesn't seem like she meant to speak aloud, because she looks surprised at having asked the question when I glance at her. She offers a small smile, emerging from the shadows to stand next to me. I'm not accustomed to their accent yet. I'm sure they're not used to hearing ours, either.

"I should ask you what it is like to wander the skies," I reply. I smile a little. "It's beautiful. Everywhere is different. Hot, cold, warm, cool, high, low, smooth, hard, stable, shaky." I shrug. "Everywhere is different, but everywhere is beautiful."

She nods, looking reflective. "Flight becomes just as easy as walking once you get used to it and you develop your wings, learning all the time about the materials to use to suit yourself, and how to change shapes and sizes." She smiles. "And the Airs do the rest. I like flying at night the best."

"Close to the stars," I offer, and she nods.

A group of children run past, crashing through the forest undergrowth, laughing and squealing with excitement as they wholeheartedly pursue a large, round bird struggling to stay ahead of the loud and enthusiastic group. Sometime later, one of the Pack follows in their steps, only his movements are completely silent. He grins at us as he passes before he disappears into the shadows, still following the children's trail.

"Why are you a Daughter of Wanderers?" she asks tentatively, eyeing the spear in my hand. "I'm just curious. Why are you General of the Wandering Lions' Realm?"

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Why are you a Woman of the Airs? Why are you the leader of a Pack?" I look up at the overlapping leaves of the canopy, feel the shafts of light warming my skin, feel the cool Airs drifting lazily past, smell the juices of the leaves broken off their stems and trodden underfoot by innocent children. "I was born a Wanderer in this Realm, raised a Wanderer, a Guard, and rose to defend this People." I spread one of my arms out. "Here I am now."

"But... Will you ever stop being General?" There is reluctant curiosity in her voice.

I give her an incredulous look. "I won't live forever." Nobody does. Nobody has before. Nobody ever will. At least... Not as we are now.

She coughs. "Th- that's not what I, uh, that's not what I meant."

I stifle a smile at her nervousness. I will never cease to wonder what others see when they look at me, outsider or Wanderer of my own Realm alike. "I know." I pause. "I won't be General for as long as I live, either. I won't always be capable of leading the Realm." Guiding the Children of Wanderers, defending and protecting them.

She doesn't seem to know what to say, so I dip my head to her and turn, heading back to the camp.

Our encampments vary in length. Mostly, when we roam through the lands of other Peoples, we stop only during the nights. Every few days, we stop once, our tents standing for the whole next day and night before we continue on. Once or twice a moon, perhaps, we encamp for a few days and nights before resuming our roams.

"Wait." I turn, surprised to see her a short distance away behind me. "General... Why do your People wander?" She hesitates. "What's the point?"

I think for a moment. "We wander so we can see and appreciate the simplicity of our People, our way of life. So we can see our Creator's beautiful work. And we don't need much. Family, shelter, clothing, food and drink. All else are gifts from our Keeper." I smile a little. "What's the point of staying in one place? We have all we need and more."

"But don't you get bored of it? Doesn't it get tiring and annoying and difficult?"

"Of course. But don't you get tired of the Citadel? Of your everyday? Still, I couldn't live any other way." She doesn't answer, not verbally, but the smile on her face tells of her agreement.

This time I look back as I leave, but she doesn't follow now.

I blow out a breath, using the spear as a staff as I walk past the flocks and herds being gathered by their shepherds, past the children taking turns, learning to ride the more docile of the three horses, past some of the mothers grouped together, sharpening their razors and knives, past two men discussing the local names of the animals with one of the Pack members, past the Guards encircling the camp in security as they talk, laugh and smile with friends and Family.

A man is sprawled across the pallet when I pull the opening flap of my tent back, and I let it drop loudly behind me. His arms, brought up over his face, drop to his sides. "You've only seen some over twenty cycles. Not even thirty yet," I point out, leaning the spear against the side of the tent.

He sighs softly. "Is that really so, General?" I give him a look. "I feel older than that. Dealing with the issues of the Children of Wanderers each day is bad enough without..." He stops. "You know." Unfortunately, I know too well. I drop to my knees next to him, taking his hand with a soft squeeze. "I'm tired," he murmurs.

"That explains why you look almost ready to sleep," I say, but there isn't enough humour in my words to make it funny. I sigh. "Move over." He does, and I lie down next to him, staring up at the frame of the tent and its overlay of thick cloths.

"Remember the days when we used to do this because we just wanted some rest?" he asks quietly after a pause. "And she used to run into the tent, not understanding what it meant to be tired?" There is sadness, there is love, there is regret, there is peace.

The smile I wear trembles, but it stays. "'Amu, Abu, why are you sleeping? The sun is still awake!'"

"'We're not sleeping, little chick.' 'Yes, you are, you're lying down on your pallet!' 'But our eyes are open.' 'Then you're sleeping with your eyes open!'" He pauses. "'I guess we are, little chick.'" His breath is unsteady at the end, and I clutch his hand, pressing it against my cheek and closing my eyes.

"Sometimes I feel so, so old," I murmur. "Listening to people's problems all the time and having to sort all these little things out every day..." I sigh. "I'm glad for you." I open my eyes, still looking up at the ceiling of the tent, although I can see him watching me. "But sometimes I want to be selfish and resign, just for a day or so, and just sleep."

He releases my hand, rolling over to face me. "I wish we could just count the stars together every night for the rest of our lives, not having to worry about anything else." I remember gazing up at the night through puffy, swollen eyelids, my nose blocked and probably reddened from crying, clutching his hand until we fell asleep.

I offer him a faint smile. "I wish that too."

He props himself up on his elbow, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "I love you."

I smile. "I love you too."

He smiles back, leaning down and giving me a soft kiss. "Sleep," he whispers. "I'll deal with the Children of Wanderers for you."

So I sleep. 🔹