Maygest's Tale

Mudore-Arsehole

(Note: There is some mild profanity in this chapter)

The sky over him was gray, and at the edges of his vision were just the slightest touches of pink. Crickets were chirping. The first star was out and guiding that young star was the pure white crescent moon. He took in a deep cool breath of air and felt the cold had permeated into his clothes. It was a strange feeling. Back when he was young, he didn't remember getting chilled so easily nor, for that matter, ever feeling fully rested with just a couple hours' sleep. Too bad Mayger didn't live long enough to feel like dust, else he would've had someone to complain to. Maygest blinked his dry eyes. His back felt especially stiff now, but nothing he hadn't pushed through a thousand times. Though, something felt different about now as if it weren't the same day, but he knew it was. It was something about the smell of the air . . . There was the sage, but then there was . . . smoke?

Quickly, he sat up and peered out in the surrounding darkness. There were no fires to be seen, but his rapid motion made Horsey perk up his ears.

"Don't worry," he motioned. "I'm just an old fool."

Horsey's black beady eyes stared back at him unaffected. Horsey didn't believe him.

Maygest chuckled and hobbled up.

"Oh, you are wiser than the ages, old horse. Smoke ain't ever good unless there's something good smellin' in it. Come on. Up we go. Better get to Hidden Arse Hole before they close up shop."

Maygest saddled up Horsey, and by the time the sky was scattered with stars, he was riding down the steep switchbacks to Mudore. The cool air kept him awake as the gentle cantor bobbed him about. Down and down they went, clomping through the dry dirt and listening to the crickets whose song became more and more distant as they went along.

The cubic silhouettes of Mudore's many houses began to cut along the starry horizon, and if not for the occasional torch fire that he could see bobbing about, Maygest might've mistaken the town for an old Molul ruin. Though, he had heard Mudore was built off of one, so he wouldn't be too far in guessing that, but that still didn't tell him anything. Aside from the mud huts, the Molul didn't really leave anything else behind: no language, no people, no tools, no swords—nothing. They might've well not existed save for the huts. But there was something nice about the huts, something calming and homey.

Whenever he was lost, he'd stay in one and look out across the scrubland very differently. No longer were they desolate mud shacks, but more like a forgotten home. Though with their cracks and noiseless air, Maygest was always reminded that one day soon, not even that would be left of him. Much like his brother, one of these days he'd drop dead on the road, having done nothing good for the world, and some passing wagon train would shove him off and get on their way. The saberfoxes would get him then or worse, the Nightbird.

Maygest shivered just thinking about the Nightbird as Mudore came closer into view. It was bad luck to even think of it, so he quickly scrubbed those thoughts from his mind. There would be time to reminisce on the road, time to take his mind off the doldrums, when he passed this godforsaken town.

Horsey's clomping sounded oddly quiet over the dry dirt. The rising dryness and his occasional muffled cough were the only noises. The stars above seemed to twinkle and give their secret signals to the sky diviners. Maygest could only smile at that celestial heaven, before dropping his eyes back down to the crumbling brick gate of Mudore. The old door had been kicked down long ago, so as he passed under the arches, Horsey simply had to raise his hooves a little higher, and then they were in. Dark cubic silhouettes surrounded as snaking alleyways that could be imagined as he continuously passed by the rows and rows of short brick houses. As Maygest let his gaze shift from shadow to shadow, his hairs began to stand on end. It seemed a little too quiet. Typically, there were straggling miners drunk to their boot up, but no one was out. Not even a goat. He could have sworn he'd seen torches earlier?