FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Alrighty, so I have had a lot of random inspiration of late, so I will be posting chapters of many of my stories coming up here. But, you aren't here to read me yakking on about unrelated stuff. You are here for the story, so without any more yakking by me, here is the next installment. I hope you enjoy it.

As always, comments are appreciated and requested.

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continued from A Happy Meeting...

Toran pushed the stopper back into the water skin he carried, giving the container a shake before letting it hang against his back once again. It was about half full, and despite the heat of the day, it should be enough to last the scout long enough to reach the next well. Gently urging his horse onward, the young red haired man sucked in a slow breath through his nose, sorting the scents carefully as his wolfish blood brother had taught him. Setting aside the familiar scents of his horse and gear, the air smelled only like dust, just plain, hot dust, which was good and bad. Good because it meant there wasn't likely a hazard like a quicksand pit hidden nearby or a brushfire concealed by the shimmering mirages. But, it could also be very bad, because any wind at all could turn the plain into a dust storm, which would not only obliterate any sign of the trail he was following, but also could be dangerous, the swirling dust clouds blinding and choking anyone caught out in it. Shaking his head, he returned his attention to the trail he rode beside, contemplating the divots in the soil once more. The people he was tracking didn't seem to think that they would, or even could, be pursued, their trail not having turned or strayed from its line for miles, which was starting to make Toran suspicious. It wasn't like there were many places to hide out here on the plains, so they had to be making for the foothills and the shelter that could be found among the outlying rocks, which might be why the trail was so straight. After all, the shortest path to the sheltering hills was a straight line. But that was just it.

Most bandits and outlaws that ran in the territories had grown up there, or else spent long enough in the unclaimed lands to have learned a thing or two. Namely, every territorial resident knew down to within a few feet where the territories ended, and the hybrid territory started, and the foothills were very, very close to the hybrid territory. And bandits that crossed into hybrid lands were always found later, always on the unclaimed side of the border, and always dead. Which, of course, meant that either these ones truly had no fear whatsoever, which was not in keeping with this group's skill and caution in raiding. Or they wanted to be followed, and were lying in wait for pursuers somewhere up ahead. But that was a worry he would have to deal with when he found them, if, he found them.

Wiping his brow with the back of his hand as his horse plodded onward, Toran looked up once more at the murderously hot sun that blazed above him. It had to be a hundred and twenty in the shade, if you could call the shadows offered by clumps of sage brush shade, that is. Only the truly idiotic would keep going at the height of mid day out here on such a dry year. Looking around once more, Toran finally tapped the left flank of his mount, riding away from the path, towards the low rise of a large red boulder a little ways off the track. When he got over to it, he found that, as he had expected, the half-buried boulder marked the edge of a small gully, little more than a dip in the ground that, in a better year, might have held a small stream that would have flowed off toward the dried up river bed off to the south. The dip in the ground beside the boulder was lined with smaller stones, meaning that the gully had been there for a good long while, and probably wasn't going to collapse in on itself. Swinging down out of the saddle and onto his feet, the red haired youth unbuckled his saddle's girth and set it against the boulder, patting his stallion gently on the flank.

Looking up to judge the angle of the sun, he unstrapped the bundle from its place behind the cantle, untying the leather belts that held it in a tight roll. Unrolling the wide skin, Toran strung it across the gap between the stones, shading the depression in the ground. A moment later, the stallion lay down in the shade, apparently grateful to be out of the heat and the scout grinned, reaching for the water skin again. Pouring a double handful of water into his cupped palms, the scout let his horse drink before settling down in the shade with his back to the smooth red sandstone, the feel of the hot, smooth stone against his back quite pleasant after being in the saddle for so long. He would give it an hour or two, then set out again. This time of year, even in the dry years, the sky usually clouded up some in the afternoon, even if it didn't rain, except in the high mountains.

Tilting his hat forward so that it further shaded his eyes, Toran let his mind drift back, as it often did, to his younger days. Smiling to himself, he found his thoughts again returning to his friend, the one that had taught him this trick of journeying out in the flat plains. After that first chance meeting outside Fort McKinnon, when their friendship had begun, the pair had met up more and more often throughout the summer and autumn, until finally, they were meeting three or four times a week. As it turned out, the odd pair shared many things, common interests, opinions, even likes and dislikes. Oddest of all, they even shared the same birthday. Even though they came from very different peoples, it seemed almost that they were the same person, somehow split between two bodies. Which had made it all the harder when his parents had found out where he went those days, and tried to forbid him from seeing his friend anymore. Of course, it wasn't like that had stopped them...

***

Toran pushed the roast potato slowly around his plate with his fork, watching it as it absorbed the glistening juices that had leaked from his steak. Dinner was as good as always, and truthfully, he enjoyed it as much as he always had. His mother, after all, was an excellent cook. The steak was perfect, the potatoes were crispy on the outside and soft in the middle, and the onions tasted like heaven. But, he had to put on a show of being morose, or else they might figure out the secret that he was keeping. When his mother caught him pushing the potato around his plate, she sighed at him.

"Toran dear, if you aren't going to eat it, just say so and stop playing with it." His mother said from across the table and he looked up, finding her watching him carefully. His father was sawing another hunk off his own steak at the other end of the table, and at his wife's words, he glanced up as well and rolled his eyes at his son.

"He is just pouting." He growled, popping the red meat into his mouth. "He will come around eventually."

"Dear, I know its hard, but it really isn't very healthy to spend all your time with your hybrid friend." She said, trying to be comforting, but Toran fought the urge to bristle.

"Senyr. His name is Senyr." He replied, finally taking a bite of the potato, perhaps a little aggressively. "And I don't understand what is so unhealthy about it. Friends are friends. What difference does it make if he is a wolf and I am a human?"

"There is such a thing as being too different. Hybrids and humans aren't meant to get along." His father replied, washing down his bite of steak with a sip of rye bourbon. "I am trying to get you to see that before you get hurt."

Toran bit back his reply, swallowing the spud instead and going back to his meal. This was an old argument, one that had been fought time and again, and all to the same result. There was no way having a friend as good as Senyr could be a bad thing, much less hurt him, not when they were becoming so close; as close as friends could possibly be; unless, of course, he actually stopped seeing him. Toran couldn't imagine having someone better than Senyr as his friend, and his parents just didn't seem to get that.

At first, Toran thought that if he could just explain what Senyr was like, get them to see it, they would understand. But his attempt at explaining had swiftly devolved into a shouting match, his father's face going bright red as he yelled loud enough to disturb the horses all the way over in the stable. After that, Toran had decided to leave it be for a little while, or else risk his father having a heart attack. Then, when his father had found him coming back from yet another day spent in his friend's company, he had tried again. This time, he had suggested that they try get to know Senyr before they judged their friendship. His mother had seemed at least open to that idea, maybe because she saw how sincere he was in his insistence, but his father... Well, suggesting that his father allow a hybrid into his home seemed on par with suggesting that he might prefer to eat his own excrement. And that time, rather than just shouting at him like he had before, that time he had gone cold, absolutely forbidding Toran from seeing him again, his voice so quiet, it almost a murmur. It seemed like there was just no getting through to the man.

Which, of course, was why he had to put on his sullen act, because he wasn't about to lose his friend, not like this. He would rather have cut out his own heart than that. The rest of the meal, thankfully only a short while, passed in silence and after helping his mother wash the plates and silverware, Toran moved outside, settling in a lone chair on the porch, looking out at the western horizon. The sky was reddening with the sunset, though the sun itself was already beneath the mountains in the distance. A few of the hands were sitting nearby, talking amongst themselves, but Toran paid them no mind. Pretending to merely admire the sunset, the youth scanned the scrub brush that lined the low hill off in that direction.

Then, even as he heard his father join the ranch hands, Toran smiled. Near the crest of the hill, between two sage bushes, he had seen it, a very particular sort of movement. To any of the hands looking in that direction, it might have been nothing more than a jackrabbit hopping around. But to Toran, it meant something entirely different. Moving deliberately, Toran reached into his shirt pocket and drew out the red bandanna he had been wearing earlier that day, using it to wipe away the sweat that had beaded up on his forehead even though the day was beginning to cool. But, instead of stuffing it back into his pocket, he shook it out with a flick, then tucked it back into its place. Then, the red haired teenager got up and walked back into the house, ignored by his father and the hands. Almost everyone in the household went to bed early this time of year, since making sure that the ranch was prepared for the winter was of greatest importance, so it no doubt didn't look strange that he went to his bedroom as early as he did. But, though Toran curled up with his eyes closed, his back to the door as if he were asleep, he didn't even feel tired. Rather, he felt electrified, as if he were ready to run a race. And, in a way, that was exactly what he was getting ready to do.

The red-haired youth remained still, despite his hammering heart, listening as the ranch quieted, the hands going to their rooms in the outer houses. Not long after, he heard his mother come up to bed, but, though the ranch was almost silent and still under the moonless night sky, still he did not move. Then, just as he knew he would, he heard the familiar footsteps climbing the staircase and he froze, perfectly still except for his breath, counting the steps. Most of the time, they stopped at twelve steps as his father went to the bedroom where Toran's mother was waiting. But once in a while they kept on going, as his father went on to his study or... Fourteen steps, fifteen, sixteen, and then finally, he heard them pause at his door, the hinges creaking softly as it was pushed open. For a few moments, Toran waited, then he heard the steps walk away, back down the hall. It was uncanny, but on every night like this one, his father seemed to know what he was about to do, checking that he was still in bed. The first couple of times, Toran had been sitting at his window when his father walked in, and he had had to play it off as just being restless. His father had then treated him to an hour long lecture on how important it was to get enough sleep and so on. And so, he had learned to wait, listening as if he were asleep, in order to skip the whole experience.

When Toran heard his parent's door shut, his eyes flicked open, blue staring into the night, pupils widening as they adjusted to the darkness. Still, he didn't move, didn't so much as allow his breath to speed up. Instead he lay still, listening, waiting, counting the moments. Now the house was truly silent and the boy finally grinned. At last, Toran slowly pushed the blanket of his bed down, sliding his legs out from under it. Another few moments of silence went by, and carefully, Toran sat up, looking down the hall. There was no light coming from under his parent's door and he knew both were asleep, or at least, close enough for what he needed.

As all children eventually did, Toran had memorized the details of his room long ago; even in darkness he knew every inch of it. Settling his feet carefully on the floorboards, he felt the smooth circles of nails under his toes from where the floorboards were anchored to the joists. Gradually pushing himself to his feet, he grinned, the floorboards silent where he stepped. Walking gingerly, the teenager snuck over to the dresser where he had laid out his clothes for the next day, dressing in the dark, carefully stepping only where the floor boards wouldn't creak. Then, with his boots in hand, the youth moved to the window sill and swung his legs out, settling them onto the roof over the porch, listening all the time for the telltale sound of his father coming to catch him sneaking out.

This next task took a bit more care, since the angle of the shingles made it treacherous on the best of days. But Toran had learned where it was safe to tred, which shingles were loose, which boards would creak under his feet. Moving with the confidence of dozens of late night wanderings, he slipped over to the corner of the house, then shimmied down the pillar that supported the roof and settled carefully onto the ground. For a moment, Toran froze, listening, looking around at the buildings of the ranch, lying dark and silent beneath the pale half-moon. Then, with a wide grin on his face, Toran slipped his boots onto his feet and jogged off into the dark plain, heading for the other side of the ridge.

It took him about fifteen minutes to get to the top of the low ridge, and he turned, giving a last look at the house, especially the window he knew belonged to his parent's bedroom. But all remained dark and still behind him. With a last look back, Toran turned and walked down the far slope of the hill. Between this first, low slung ridge and the far off mountains, there was a sprawling field of boulders that filled the plain and the slopes of the foothills. The boulder field was a true oddity, both because they were huge, and because the boulder field was surrounded in every direction by nothing but sage for miles, as if a mountain had been shattered into pieces there. As Toran reached the nearest edge, he reflected on the other off thing about the field; the boulders were not even all of the same stone. At the nearside edge of the pile, the stones were all red sandstone, looking almost grey in the moonlight, but, as the human boy climbed up to the next level of stones, pulling himself up the handholds he knew would be there, he could feel the difference in the cooling rock. As he climbed higher, he could feel the granite and basalt under his hands, cooler, rougher than the sandstone. Pulling himself up the last few feet to the flat top, Toran peered around, but there was nothing moving in the boulder field, as far as he could see anyway. Of course, that was the same as it had been all summer and autumn. But, as he stood there, waiting and listening, he heard a sound that made him look suddenly to his left, further into the boulder field, and a grin came across his face. It had been a quiet sound, but a very distinct one, of stones rattling together, but not quite in the way that falling rocks sounded. Heading in that direction, Toran took care where and how he stepped, making as little noise as possible, his foot falls almost silent on the stone.

After a few minutes of picking his way across the tops of boulders, hopping and crawling at intervals over the piles of stone, the human paused once more, wondering which way to go next. To his right, the boulders were more level, almost forming a miniature mesa, while to his left, three great piles of stones lay like hands, piles of multicolored rock splaying out like fingers, their tips meeting, interlocking, forming gullies and troughs that on good years collected the rains and melted snow coming down from the mountains in pools and little creeks that filled the boulder field with the gentle music of running water. But, this year had been too dry for that, so all was silent and still. Just as he had almost decided to head over to the right, to the flat ground, he heard the sound again, echoing softly from the left and he shrugged, walking over that way instead.

Hopping down off the boulder he had been standing on, Toran landed in a crouch in the soft dirt, rising back to his feet and walking towards the nearest outstretched finger of stone. As he approached, Toran noticed that two of the boulders in the nearest pile seemed to have settled at some point in the last few thousand years, their heads resting against one another, like two drunks in a saloon, which left a space underneath them like a passage and Toran slipped between the two boulders, crouching so he would fit. Beyond the leaning boulders, between them and the next finger, was a shallow bowl of soft earth and sand, surrounded by boulders on all sides, like the tips of a thumb and pointer finger touching.

"I wondered how long it would take you to get here." A familiar voice said from behind him and Toran barely managed to refrain from jumping. Turning around, he found Senyr seated on a shelf formed by a sandstone boulder almost the same color as his tawny fur, his buckskin sheathed legs hanging down from the edge.

"I had to make sure that my father was asleep before I could sneak out." Toran replied, grinning broadly as the young wolf hopped down from the ledge, his teeth flashing in the moonlight. "I swear he knows I am doing this somehow."

"Well, he still hasn't called you on it." Senyr said, clasping his friend's forearm with his paw as he came out of the crouch he had landed in. "So either he really doesn't know, or he doesn't really care." When the pair had let go of each other's arm, Senyr led the way up the boulders on the other side of the bowl of soft dirt, his human friend beside him.

"I tried again to convince him to just let us alone, but he still won't listen." Toran said when they reached the top of the nearest boulders. "I just wish I understood why he dislikes your people so much."

"We have been trying to understand that for generations," The tawny wolf said as he jumped a gap between two high rocks. "Near as I can figure it, the humans don't like us because we don't fight amongst ourselves like they do. They seem to think that because our tribes get along, we aren't trustworthy somehow, as opposite as that sounds."

"You say that like I am not one." Toran said, flashing a smile at his friend, knowing he didn't mean it.

"Well, you know what I mean." Senyr replied, shaking his head and grinning in reply. "And really, you don't act like any other human I have seen. Actually, I would say you act more like one of my people, than a human."

"Thank you." Toran said, feeling oddly pleased by the comment. "Maybe you are right though. When I asked him why I couldn't be friends with you, my dad just said that we are too different, and it could only end badly."

"Clearly, he doesn't know you very well." Senyr said, his tone joking, the wolf stopping beside a boulder with a gentle slope that almost formed a natural chair and sitting down with his back against it, his legs stretched out before him.

"You know, I think you are right; he doesn't know me very well." Toran said, sitting down beside his friend, mirroring his posture, the pair staring up at the stars. For a few minutes, they were silent, simply enjoying the cool night, and the cool stars above them. After a moment or two longer, Toran pointed up at a single red star, low on the eastern horizon. "I always wondered why that star is red, and not white, like the rest."

"My people call it Kinak, the herald of Winter." Senyr replied, putting his hands behind his head. "The shaman say that if it is late in coming, the winter will be short, but harsher in fury, and if it comes early, then the winter will be long but mild."

"Is it late this year, or early?" Toran asked, curious. He always found himself fascinated with Senyr's culture, and, so far, he had yet to find anything like this that had proven to be wrong.

"More early than not." Senyr replied, an easy grin coming to his lips. "But even so, the peaks of the high mountains are already white with snow, and soon the lower slopes will be white as well. My tribe is going to go to our winter lodges any time now, before the passes are snowed under." Though the statement was made lightly, the announcement made Toran's heart plummet toward his toes, like it had been tied to a heavy stone.

"You mean I'm not going to see you all winter?" Toran asked, his tone sad and Senyr looked at him, his expression becoming warm. "That is the one time of year I have the least to do around the ranch." Then, to the human boy's surprise, the wolf dropped an arm around his shoulders and tugged him closer, pulling him into a hug.

"Its going to be ok." Senyr stated quietly, "I'll be back soon my friend, as soon as the passes open in spring. I promise."

"You still could have told me sooner." Toran said, returning his friend's embrace. Among humans, it wasn't really considered appropriate for friends to hug one another like this, but Toran felt no reluctance whatsoever to return the wolf's embrace, he was just surprised to have the tawny wolf's arms around him all of a sudden. After a few more moments, the wolf loosened his grasp and the pair settled back into their original positions, Senyr speaking again.

"You are right, I probably should have." The wolf said, looking apologetic. "But if I had, every time we met up, it would be hanging over us the whole time. I didn't want to spoil the time we had left."

"I guess you are right, that would have been pretty bad." Toran replied, his smile returning slightly, knowing that what had said was true. They had had a lot of fun over the last couple weeks, fun that would have been marred by the knowledge that they would have been forced to be apart. Still, the prospect of his friend being gone for so long made him feel like he had been punched in the gut. "But how am I going to know when you are back?"

"I hadn't thought about that." Senyr replied, frowning. "I am not sure." Then, the wolf shook his head, smiling again. "But we still have a little while to decide on something."

'True." Toran confirmed, smiling in turn. After a minute or two of silence, in which the odd pair watched the stars contemplatively, Toran spoke again, giving voice to something he had found himself wondering about for a while, but hadn't asked for fear it was impolite. "Senyr, can I ask you something?"

"Of course you can." The wolf replied, looking back at him in surprise.

"Sometimes you talk about your tribe and your clan as if they are two different things." Toran began, looking back at his friend and the wolf nodded, seeming to sense what question he was going to ask. "But isn't your clan part of your tribe?"

"Yes and no." The young wolf answered, nodding slightly. "You see, each tribe is made of a single people, for instance, my tribemates are all wolves, and in our language, we are the Wolves of the Southern Sands. But, the seven clans are a part of all tribes, no matter the people, each representing a different aspect of our souls. My clan are the Sherok, the people of the Hawk, and we know one another by the pyre hawk feathers we wear. We value our freedom, and are the most nomadic of the clans. Sherok range far from our homes, and we visit other tribes more often than the other clans do."

"But, how does that work?" Toran asked, confused by the explanation. "If each tribe are a different people, how can so many peoples belong to a single clan? Aren't clans supposed to be related in some way to one another?"

"Yes, and in a way we are." Senyr replied, drumming his fingers together, biting his lip in thought. "Let's see, how can I explain this... Think of it like this. My tribe are like my brothers and sisters, relations of mine through blood, and regardless of clan, we stand and work together as a family. But my clanmates are like...cousins almost, and regardless of what tribe they belong to, they are still my kin. So you see, all of us share a sort of kinship in one way or another, and so all of our peoples are united. To fight another tribe, as many humans seem to expect us to do, would mean fighting our own kin. Its unthinkable to us. I'm not saying that conflicts don't come up, because they do, between tribes, or even between entire clans. But it has never turned to bloodshed, and even the most bitter of rivals can find common ground with those of another tribe."

"I wish humans were more like that." Toran commented wistfully. Not having had any siblings, Toran would have loved to have so much family. "But I guess we really are different. We seem to fight one another over nothing at all sometimes."

"Yes, humans do. And I think the very fact that you wish it was otherwise sets you apart." Senyr commented and Toran grinned again at the compliment, looking back at his friend. And then, as he glanced at the bright feather braided into his friend's hair, a sudden idea came to him and he smiled. Noticing his friend's look, the wolf cocked his head. "What?"

"I think I know how you can tell me you are back." Toran said, pushing himself to his feet and offering his hand to the wolf, pulling him up when he took it. "Come on." Leading the way back the way they had come, Toran led Senyr to the highest of the boulders nearby, the one that let them see over into the network of gullies and cuttings where they had first met up. Then, pausing for a moment to find what he was looking for, Toran pointed. "You see that tree over there, the one in the nearest gully?"

"Yeah..." Senyr replied, looking at the branches that stuck up over the rim of the eroded earth.

"When you come back," The human began, untying the red bandanna he wore and offering it to his friend, "Tie this to one of the branches. I'll check it every day. Then we can use the same system as we have been."

"I like that plan." Senyr said, grinning and tying the red cloth around his own neck. Then, he looked up at the moon and sighed, offering his friend his hand one more time. "We should both be heading for home. Its getting late, and I think we both have a lot to do tomorrow."

"I know." Toran said, clasping his friend's arm. Then, after a moment, both moved into a hug, settling their arms around one another at the same moment.

"The winter can't last that long." Senyr said quietly, the hug making only whispers necessary. "I'll miss you Toran."

"I'll miss you too Senyr." Toran replied and the pair parted. "Hurry back, ok?"

"The moment the passes can be crossed, I'll be back." The wolf said, grinning broadly. "Whether my tribe is ready or not..."