[WIP] Barbarians, part 2 (SPG)


                                            Previous part: https://ponepaste.org/5389


                                            > Mayor Mare looked over her domain and nodded to herself in satisfaction. She hardly ever had to correct or advise the nomad women in their bread baking.

                                            > If she was being honest with herself, some of the girls had already surpassed what meagre skill Mayor had in that area. Gol, in particular, and one of the older women whose name eluded the mare at the moment had things well in hoof. Or rather, in 'hand' as they would call it.

                                            > It was not very practical for every nomad family to drag their own grinding and baking stone into the camp, so Darga had quickly organized a few communal stones, near the large firepit at the center of the camp. Whoever wanted to bake some bread and had grain could simply come and do it.

                                            > Gol and her friend oversaw things and helped when nomads weren't too clear on the exact process, but even those problems were becoming quite rare as the knowledge spread.

                                            > Mayor had stopped there, ostensibly to check on things and make sure everything was going smoothly, but in reality she was hoping to snag a quick crust or two.

                                            > It was widely known that the new invention had been her idea and such little tokens of gratitude had kept Mayor quite well fed over the past few weeks.

                                            > There was nothing ready for immediate consumption, so the mare simply told Gol to keep up the good work and continued on her way. She had been far afield, looking for a particular type of wooden stick.

                                            > It all had to do with her next project, one she had somewhat mixed feelings about. On the one hoof, she had come to enjoy those quiet afternoons while she worked on the new invention with Bakar and his granddaughter. On the other, she didn't really like what she was making.

                                            > A bow. A tool to improve the nomads' success while hunting. In fact, that was part of why Bakar was helping her. He was there because he was a hunter and, as Darga had said, a damned good one.

                                            > Spring was rolling in and the snow was vanishing. The camp was hungry, its winter stores of dried meat and rice exhausted. The men left on increasingly longer hunts while the women began searching for tubers and roots as soon as the ground was soft enough to dig.

                                            > They would move soon, so Darga had told Mayor. There was no real choice if they wanted to give their hunting grounds time to recover.

                                            > Then there was the other reason the old man had been assigned to her project. They didn't talk about it, but he had confided in her one late night, after they had both had a couple of sips of beer. Bakar was too old, and he couldn't run as well as the other hunters ever since his injury, the one where Mayor had saved his life. The fact frustrated the man, since it was an ever-present reminder of his age and frailty.

                                            > He would not be much use on the hunt, so this was a good use of his time and expertise. That made it a little easier for Mayor to help design a tool of killing. It gave one of the few friends she had in the camp renewed meaning, even if the result of their work would ultimately be used to inflict death.

                                            > She liked to pretend that it would only be used against wolves and other vicious, dangerous wildlife, but Mayor had seen cervid skin and horns. Some unfortunate deer would very likely feel the sting of her arrows.

                                            > Well, it would if things went well. Even if her newest idea didn't pan out, Mayor was still happy to give the old nomad some purpose and to distract him from his daily troubles.

                                            > Bows and arrows. It was a form of sport in Equestria, but there was some unpleasant history to it, too. Before the Royal Sisters, bows had been used as weapons by pegasi. Even after, they remained popular with both the griffins and minotaurs.

                                            > While there were no current wars in Equestria, the weapons and the skills to use them were still treasured by cultures which relied on meat.

                                            > It wasn't her finest moment, but after trying to explain writing to Darga and failing to convince her that it would be incredibly useful, Mayor had tried to come up with inventions which would be immediately graspable by the nomads and would help them in their daily lives.

                                            > The big topic of the day was the hunt, so she had one day mentioned that Equestria had technology which could drive an arrow - a small spear - deep into a target from hundreds of paces away.

                                            > Both Darga and Salki had looked at her strangely and the chieftain had immediately asked Mayor if she could create such a thing.

                                            > She didn't know exactly how to go about making a bow, but some supple wood, properly carved, with some tough string should at least demonstrate the principle.

                                            > Bakar had been the perfect partner. He had some small experience with wood, and he was quite capable of making flint knives, which should easily translate into arrowheads. Most importantly, he was unable to join the hunting and it was unthinkable to send him out with the women for gathering, so he had all the time in the world.

                                            > It had taken Mayor a long time to explain, in her rough and patchy nomad, what she wanted. They walked quite far out of the camp in search of perfect branches which would bend, but not break.

                                            > His granddaughter, fascinated by the pony, had been co-opted into making string. She wasn't very good at it, but Bakar was patient with the girl and her technique soon began to improve.

                                            > When the time had come for Mayor to move back in with Darga and Salki, the change was almost an afterthought, so consumed was she with their work. Her incident with the young nomad was completely forgotten.

                                            >...

                                            > She entered the tent and let the bundle of sticks slide from her back. Arrows had to be perfectly straight, without knots or defects, she knew that much.

                                            > It was very possible that the land near the camp didn't have the correct type of bush or tree for it, but she had to do her best. She only needed one or two, for a demonstration. After that others would go out and search for better materials.

                                            > It took her some time, but Mayor worked methodically and pulled shaft after shaft from the bundle, and looked down its length to gauge whether it was good. Most of them were bent, or had defects or knobs, and she tossed those beside the fire to be used as fuel.

                                            > Other branches were more promising, and she set them back down to inspect again later.

                                            > Neither she nor Bakar spoke as they worked, and sometimes Mayor felt like they were hardly aware of the other's presence.

                                            > Her bundle was nearing its end when a small hand patted her side.

                                            > "[Meyermer, here. Stop and eat while it is hot,]" a young nomad spoke to her.

                                            > Her sight was blurry, especially after focusing on the sticks for a while, but Mayor recognized both the voice and the smell of who it was.

                                            "[Saule? Oh. Put it down. I eat later.]"

                                            > The hand vanished from her coat and she was about to focus on the branch again, but the fingers gripped her ear and tugged. "[Mother said now!]" came the chiding reply. "[You must eat!]"

                                            > Mayor Mare couldn't be mad at the young girl and she relaxed. Her shoulders had tensed up while she had been concentrating, and there was a beginning of a headache from all the squinting. A break sounded delightful, and the smell wafting from the wooden bowl the youth was holding was doubly so.

                                            "[Maybe you are right.]"

                                            > She sat on her haunches and held out her forehooves to take the food, but Saule had a little ritual and wouldn't oblige. Mayor rolled her eyes in mock annoyance, but lowered her forelegs so the girl could step closer.

                                            > It had started out almost by accident, a little more than a week ago. Mayor had been so busy with plucking leaves from a likely branch that she had almost completely ignored the bowl of broth Saule had delivered.

                                            > In her determination to get the mare to eat, the nomad had simply held the food under the mare's nose, upon which Mayor had reflexively begun eating.

                                            > Something about the act was so amusing to the girl that she insisted on feeding Mayor the same way each time now. It didn't hurt to oblige her, so Mayor did. Besides, it freed her forehooves so she could put them down and didn't have to maintain her balance on her haunches.

                                            > Her ears flicked toward a sound she thought she heard from the other side of the tent, where Bakar was whittling something. The first few times he had laughed at the sight, but now he took it in stride. Mayor decided she had imagined a quiet, raspy chuckle.

                                            > "[There, good pony,]" Saule said and reached her free hand to brush a lock of pink mane out of Mayor's eyes. The ears flicked forward again to focus on her.

                                            "Mmmphm!" Mayor mumbled in mock protest, and her tail flicked to underscore her mumbled words, but she didn't bother to stop eating.

                                            > They both knew it wasn't a serious complaint.

                                            > Saule went on, her smile fading a little as she began to discuss business. "[I made the rope like you said, Meyermer. Really thin, but many strands. It is strong]"

                                            > "[Good!]" came the voice of Bakar from across the tent. The old man was sitting on an animal skin by the entrance flap, where daylight would allow him to see his work but the tent would provide a bit of lingering warmth.

                                            > "[We will see if it holds this time, or the stick breaks first.]"

                                            > At that Mayor briefly removed her muzzle from the potato and rice broth. Her tongue darted out before she could stop it and licked her muzzle clean before precious gruel could drip to the ground.

                                            "[It will work! You do not believe, but I have seen this. It will work, but we need the right wood.]"

                                            > The man gave a noncommittal grunt. He complained and criticized a lot, Mayor knew, but he was fully immersed in the project. Her description of the - she no longer shuddered to think the word, but it still gave her a slight pause - the *weapon*, had him hooked and he was determined to make it a reality.

                                            > It wasn't that difficult a concept, the nomads had spears and the more observant among them had noticed that some wood could be bent and it would spring back into shape.

                                            > The idea of the bowstring had caused Bakar the most issue so far, but after her repeated attempts to explain he mostly understood.

                                            > "[Throwing spears with wood. It is a strange world we are making, Meyermer.]"

                                            "[No, not with wood! You no listen to me! Wood bent, tied with string, yes? Pull string, wood bend more. Let go, wood goes back, pulls string. String pulls spear.]"

                                            > He held up a hand. "[I understand. Do not worry, I understand how it works.]"

                                            > Mayor relaxed again and dunked her muzzle in the rapidly cooling stew once more. There wasn't a whole lot left and then she could go inspect Bakar's carving.

                                            > She knew it wasn't just a matter of tying a stick into a bow shape with some string. It had to be strong enough not to break, but supple enough to be drawn. A branch wouldn't work, they'd learned that soon after they started experimenting. At least it wouldn't work right with the type of bush they could find around the camp.

                                            > Lately she had become convinced that the bow had to be carved from the middle of a larger piece of wood, so that was what Bakar was trying to do.

                                            > So far there have been only failures. A few of the bows had simply snapped when he tried to draw them, and others lacked any kind of power, even if they did spring back into shape.

                                            > Crucially, the latter worked at least enough to demonstrate the principle to Bakar, and he began to vary his carving. This latest one, he said, would work. He'd carved it out of a bent piece of wood, following the grain and the imperfections.

                                            > It made a natural arc, and Mayor thought that it really did look like a bow she could recognize. In the meantime, Saule had produced tough string long enough to tie on the bow.

                                            > A few more days, she thought, and they would be ready to try it out. Her job, since she couldn't easily wield a flint knife, nor spin rope, was to find good shafts for the arrows.

                                            > Unbeknownst to the other two, she was also trying her hoof at knapping flint. Her first attempts simply split the rock in twain, but recently she had managed to produce sharp flakes.

                                            > It would take more practice, but if she got lucky she might end up with one or two serviceable arrowheads.

                                            > For some reason she had to do this. Bakar had learned woodworking mostly on his own, and Saule had gone around the camp to ask nomads for advice about rope spinning. So far all the mare had contributed had been the idea.

                                            > She had to do a small bit, even if it was something that most nomads could almost do in their sleep.

                                            "[Okay. Show me how it looks. How it bends.]"

                                            > She licked her muzzle clean again, as far as her tongue would reach, while she made her way over to Bakar. A small burp escaped her when she sat down, but none of them commented upon it. Nomads, Mayor had learned, weren't quite so fussy about table manners. Saule had followed her, the empty bowl still in her hands.

                                            > They watched with admiration as the old nomad held his handiwork aloft. It was a slightly curved stick, though it was still lumpy and misshapen in places. Mayor had had to explain that the bow shouldn't be carved already bent. It had to be kept under some tension all the time.

                                            > Bakar gripped either end of the stick with each hand and tried to bend it. Mayor could see his knuckles whiten and the tendons in his arms stand out.

                                            > It barely moved, which she thought was a good sign. Her earlier efforts had snapped all too easily, this bow looked a little stronger.

                                            > Besides, it wasn't fully carved yet. Once he had shaved a few more fractions of its girth, the rod would bend a little more easily.

                                            "[It is good. It looks right,]" she praised.

                                            > The nomad let it go, his breathing a touch faster after the exertion. "[Now if only the string will hold.]"

                                            "[If string break, we will try again.]"

                                            > Mayor saw that Saule gave her a slightly disapproving, almost betrayed look, but the young girl didn't speak up, not to contradict her grandfather. Instead, she changed the subject: "[Grandfather, Mother says you should come and eat. The meat is almost cooked and the 'bred' is fresh.]"

                                            > They both glanced at Mayor at that and it took her a split second to remember that she had introduced bread to them not that long ago.

                                            > "[Your land- you say it is full of wonders?]" Bakar asked quietly.

                                            "[Yes.]"

                                            > "[Will you tell me of them tonight? Will you sit at our fire and share our food and speak?]"

                                            > It sounded pleasant, and Mayor wasn't about to turn down a free meal. Her diet had markedly improved since her 'invention', and the nomads were more willing to give her tidbits from their stores, but she still wasn't exactly swimming in plenty.

                                            "[I will. I must tell Darga, then I will come back, yes?]"

                                            > Bakar simply inclined his head, then addressed his words to Saule. "[Very well, show me this 'bred'.]"

                                            > They both left to join the rest of the family around the fire for their meal. Mayor didn't go with them. She had gotten used to the smell of burnt meat, but that didn't mean she relished it and sought out every opportunity to smell it.

                                            > Instead she glanced back at her potential arrow shafts, but changed her mind and stepped out of the tent.

                                            > The food had reminded her that she was thirsty, and she could swing by Darga's tent to let the chieftain know she would have dinner with Bakar and his.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was their big day. The culmination of their efforts and ingenuity. Mayor Mare couldn't help but feel that familiar sense of trepidation she had before every public speech or unveiling.

                                            > It hadn't been this acute in years, but that was probably because this wasn't just some public address. It was a demonstration of an entirely new tool. She still refused to think of it as a weapon, even though that was precisely what she and Bakar and Saule had created.

                                            > The old hunter's idea to place a couple of logs and cover them with an animal skin didn't help, but it was a bit of a relief that they had chosen an old wolf skin. That didn't make her weapon any nicer, but it was easier to stomach, especially when she thought back to that night.

                                            > In either case, the *tool* she and Bakar had made was far from perfect. The wood simply wasn't supple enough and Mayor was starting to suspect they were missing some critical piece in preparation. They had gone through several different types of wood and finally honed in on something which almost worked.

                                            > The bow could launch an arrow, although there wasn't enough force behind it, at least when Mayor compared it to what she remembered from the Equestrian Games. Still, the arrow flew, after a fashion, and more often than not it would penetrate into soft wood at least deep enough to stay there.

                                            > Maybe they needed to put the bow in water, or something else, to change the properties of the wood? The mare vaguely remembered a curiosity piece in the newspapers during the Equestrian games week, when sports fever had been at a pitch and all the journalists were trying to feed the frenzy.

                                            > It sounded like the type of article which might have been published. Something like "How Bows Are Made". Unfortunately, despite many days racking her brain for answers, Mayor didn't remember more than the fact that she had once, at some point in her life, read something like that.

                                            > She and Bakar could try and put one of their bows in water and see if anything happened. It certainly wouldn't hurt

                                            > The important thing, however, was that their latest model was good enough to show Darga and the other nomads. It was barely good enough, but that was close enough and Mayor sensed that the nomads were getting a bit impatient with her.

                                            > Spring was almost on them and the entire camp was tightening its belt, or so it felt like. Vegetables had all but run out and if it weren't for Mayor's invention of bread, there would have been hunger.

                                            > Not quite starvation - things weren't that bad and the nomads could always thin their herd of donkeys a little if they had to, but the time would have been a lot less comfortable.

                                            > There were stories circulating in the camp, most of which Mayor had heard through Xuan, of lean years. Springs when the snow simply refused to melt and the animals had been hunted to near extinction.

                                            > By all accounts, this year was not like that, but the camp was still on edge. Perhaps her talent for diplomacy allowed Mayor to sense that mood, even among these strange people.

                                            > Critically, Mayor would have had to eat the last bits of brown, half-rotten straw the younger nomads dug from under the melting snow.

                                            > She became aware of another presence by her side and glanced over at Saule, who had approached almost soundlessly. The girl put her hand on Mayor's head and the touch was reassuring. It probably helped both of them, Mayor gauged by how tightly the nomad was gripping her mane.

                                            > At least, she thought, there wasn't a big crowd. She and Bakar had decided to keep the group small for this first demonstration, so Darga, Salki, Intor and Willow were the only nomads in attendance, other than the ones who had helped with her project.

                                            > Bakar was shooting, of course, since he had gotten some practice during the making of the thing, and Saule was of course there thanks to her incredible contributions.

                                            > The idea to use animal sinew as bowstring would never have occurred to Mayor Mare, but it was proving to be incredibly effective, even while it was utterly disgusting and macabre.

                                            > The string was no longer a problem, at least. All they had to perfect was the bow itself.

                                            > Mayor hadn't asked, but she suspected the sinew came from a cervid species - a deer. Those were the only creatures she knew who had limbs long enough for the size of the bow Bakar had ended up making.

                                            > Another fact Mayor chose not to think about.

                                            > "[Do you think it will work?]" Saule asked in a quiet murmur. They were standing far enough away from the group of observers that they couldn't hear them, but Mayor still preemptively lowered her voice a little.

                                            "[Yes. Believe in uncle. He is good with his hands.]"

                                            > There was no reply, but when Mayor glanced at the girl Saule gave a slight nod and her grip on her mane relaxed.

                                            > Before Mayor could offer any more reassurance, Bakar called for her: "[Meyermer! Come here!]"

                                            > He had been talking with the chieftain and Intor, while their two sons stood beside and stole glances at the target. It was hard to miss; a black mass of wolf fur stretched across some wood.

                                            > Mayor quickly trotted to them and opened her mouth to ask what was wrong, but Bakar spoke first: "[How far did you say your people could shoot this weapon? How strong was the- the wound? How deep?]"

                                            > She had to think for a moment to translate it into nomad experience, since they didn't have the concept of hooves and yards and miles. Mayor looked around for landmarks.

                                            "[See that way? The camp? A pony bow would - um - throw small spear in the camp. Not middle, but inside from here.]"

                                            > She didn't know for sure, but it felt like a good estimate. The image was blurry, but the camp was some five hundred yards away and she thought that sounded about reasonable. The other part of the question was harder.

                                            "[Um, how strong? Here, give me one spear!]"

                                            > Bakar obediently handed her one of the obsidian-flake-tipped arrows. The head was a crudely misshapen lump of stone, but it was incredibly sharp and Mayor didn't think it affected flight too badly.

                                            > The more important bit had been the fletching. She decided to use feathers not so much because Mayor knew it would work particularly well, but because she remembered some of those silly stories she had read as a foal.

                                            > Getting bird feathers hadn't been easy, but as luck would have it Darga had some as part of her chieftain's apparel. She grudgingly allowed them to have a few of the straight ones, only to demonstrate the principle of the bow and arrow.

                                            > They could get more in the summer, when the birds came back, Bakar had assured Mayor. They usually didn't bother hunting birds, because it was incredibly difficult with spears, and the eating wasn't particularly good.

                                            > The easiest to get would be some of the ground-dwelling, flightless birds and they would have a hunt for those in a few weeks, he assured the mare. They would have all the feathers they needed then.

                                            > Mayor inspected their inexpert fletching one last time, to make sure none of the feathers had slipped or gotten damaged. It was all fine, so she turned the arrow around in her hooves and held the point up so the others could see.

                                            "[A good pony bow would put this- the top bit. It would go, um, half into wood.]"

                                            > Once again she was guessing wildly, but Mayor hoped she was at least in the right ballpark.

                                            "[We can't do that. Bow not good enough, but possible someday. We keep trying.]"

                                            > At that bit of information Willow started up, suddenly much interested. "[Drive half of the tip into wood at this distance?]" he asked and snorted in disbelief. "[No man could throw a spear that far!]"

                                            > Mayor smiled because she had anticipated the objection and had an answer already prepared and rehearsed.

                                            "[No spear, but this not spear. It is 'arrow'. Lighter, smaller. It will fly better.]"

                                            > Willow's expression didn't change from one of skepticism, but he didn't say anything else, so Mayor took it as a good sign. On the other hoof, Salki looked mightily impressed. He came closer and tried to examine the bow in detail. Bakar obliged and held the weapon out for the young man.

                                            > Mayor saw that Willow was also surreptitiously craning his neck, even while he feigned nonchalance.

                                            > The women didn't seem too impressed, but they were both politicians and keeping a smooth expression in the face of surprising news was practically the job description.

                                            "[Let's try it,]" she told Bakar. "[Shoot.]"

                                            > That last word wasn't one from the nomad vocabulary, so she had simply taught them the Equestrian one. It did the job and the nomads, or at least Bakar and Saule, had taken it into their language.

                                            > The old hunter took the arrow from her and inspected the back end one last time. One of the biggest problems they had had was the wood splitting and the string jamming itself into the arrow.

                                            > They had tried to carve it differently, so that wouldn't happen, but it still wasn't perfect. Bakar had said he would try tying a bit of bone to the back, and Mayor thought it might work if they could get a tiny piece of the right shape.

                                            > The mere thought sent a shudder down her spine. She was thinking about the shape of bones in an animal for the purpose of using one of them in a weapon. How far she had come...

                                            > Fortunately there was no time for reflection as Bakar lifted the bow in smooth, practiced motion and notched the arrow. He laid it against his thumb where he was holding the bow, which was a technique Mayor had never seen before even among the Equestrian races who had thumbs.

                                            > It saved them having to carve or improvise the shelf for the arrow, which made the whole thing simpler, so she didn't dissuade what Bakar had naturally began to do. He drew the string back, gently at first, but then with more confidence.

                                            > Mayor bit her lip and folded down her ears in preparation of the telling crack as the bow failed. He was bending it further than she had seen him do when they were testing. She hoped it would hold.

                                            > The nomad held the bow drawn for a long moment as he sighted along the arrow. The moment dragged on and Mayor, out of sheer nerves, nearly told him to release. Her lips had already parted when there was a twang and a slap of flesh.

                                            > The string hit Bakar's foreleg, in the same place where there was already a bruise. They would have to figure out some way to protect that bit, since human anatomy was different from a pony's and this was a problem entirely novel to the species.

                                            > Despite that, the weapon worked. Mayor, who knew what to expect saw the flash of the arrow as it flew, and she heard the distant *thwack* as it met the target. The wolf skin had been stretched out so it acted a bit like a strange drum and amplified the sound of the hit.

                                            > The others had little experience with this new type of weapon and remained staring at Bakar, who was holding the empty bow. It took them a moment before Willow shouted and pointed: "[There! In the wolf!]"

                                            > They all looked and Salki, in his excitement, began running. The older nomads walked, trying to retain as much dignity as they could even while they longed to hurry over so they could see.

                                            > Saule was not under any such compunctions and she raced after Salki to go inspect her grandfather's shot.

                                            > Mayor fell in step with Bakar, who was leading both the women over to the target. It pleased the mare a little when she saw that Willow didn't have a clear idea where he should stand, and resolved his uncertainty by simply following his mother.

                                            > "[Impressive,]" Intor said, but kept her voice noncommittal. "[How quickly can you shoot? How do you get the spear back?]"

                                            > It had been Bakar's question as well and Mayor had half-explained, half-guessed at how it might be done. He replied with the assurance of an old warrior who had been fighting with bows his entire life: "[We will make many arrows. Dozens and dozens for each warrior. They are not hard to make and we can teach the youth and the women. Then we can shoot as quickly as you take breath.]"

                                            > This caused Willow's step to falter, doubtless as he imagined the arrows raining down on a group of nomads. He didn't reply before his mother continued, though: "[That is indeed impressive.]"

                                            > "[We can take the arrows back after the battle is over, or we can make more. It will be worth it for this weapon. We can wound and kill the enemy before they can do the same to us. They will not know what is hitting them, or how.]"

                                            > At this point Darga interjected: "[What if they run away with these... 'arrows'?]"

                                            > Bakar opened his mouth, then closed it. He looked over to Mayor and raised an eyebrow.

                                            "[It will not help. The secret is in the bow. Arrow without bow is worthless. We must keep bows safe, that is all.]"

                                            > The answer pleased the chieftain and she nodded to herself in approval, so the mare continued:

                                            "[They will not understand how to make this weapon if they have arrows. They will not be able to use arrows alone. They do not work as spears. Too light.]"

                                            > They had made it to the wolf skin and Willow whistled between his teeth when he saw. Salki and Saule, who had beaten them there, were still staring at the result.

                                            > Bakar's dangerously deep draw on the bow had apparently paid off. The arrow had pierced the animal skin and embedded itself in a thick branch on the opposite side, so that it looked as if it had completely pierced the would-be wolf.

                                            > "[There is nothing but air in this wolf of yours,]" Intor finally remarked. The youngsters hadn't quite realized it - perhaps to Salki and Saule the wolf had been almost real, but Darga nodded in agreement with the other woman.

                                            > Bakar glanced over at Mayor and gave her a sly grin, before he extended his arm in invitation: "[Pull it out then,]" he told the woman.

                                            > She gripped the shaft, mindful not to disturb the feathers, and tugged. Mayor was watching and saw how the woman's eyes widened a little in surprised, before she adjusted her grip and pulled.

                                            > The arrow came out, but it had obviously been stuck in there pretty good. Intor held it up so she could examine the point from up close.

                                            > "[Such power, at this distance?]"

                                            > It was a far shot from the five hundred yards Mayor had promised, but it was still impressive. Darga summarized it well: "[Our fighters will be untouchable. This could be big.]"

                                            > For a moment the women shared a nod and it looked as if they weren't rivals. Mayor could almost believe Intor's profession that she only cared about the well-being of the camp.

                                            "[It is not yet strong like pony bow. We will keep trying. I have ideas. We will make it better. Maybe different wood, or maybe different carving. We will see. Already it works, but I can make it better.]"

                                            > There was some sense in the air, a lightening and a touch of joy. This would help not only their survival, but their struggles against the Rolans and the other tribes. Willow was the first to laugh. "[This changes everything. This will change how we fight. You have done well, Meyermer.]"

                                            > Only then did Mayor realized that she had been talking about the bow as a weapon. That she had been trying hard to sell it to them as such. Worse: she had been talking about it as a weapon to use against other nomads.

                                            > Maybe it was the fact of life for this world, but suddenly Mayor didn't feel well anymore. It was an in-equine thing she had done.

                                            > She had told herself it would be a tool, only used to hunt dangerous beasts. She couldn't hide from the truth.

                                            > It wouldn't be Mayor Mare who used the bow against the gentler creatures of the steppe, nor would it be her who drew the bowstring against other nomads, but it was her invention, at least as far as these people were concerned. The blood would be on her hooves, even if they weren't physically doing it.

                                            > Then again, what choice did she have? She had to give them something and this was a thing she could make with limited resources. It was survival.

                                            > Theirs was a brutal world, she was simply trying to live.

                                            > Darga was speaking: "[Shoot again. Hit that tree there, I want to see how deep it goes.]"

                                            > Intor gave the arrow to Bakar, who smoothly fit it to the string.

                                            "[I- I must go,]" Mayor excused herself as she backed away. "[I have- I have to piss. I will be in the camp.]"

                                            > She hardly made it two dozen hoofsteps when she heard the rustle of grass behind her and guessed, from the quick, light steps that it was Saule who had followed her.

                                            > Mayor glanced back, but none of the other adults seemed to care where the mare or the girl were going. They were intent on exploring just what their new toy could do.

                                            > Mayor was trotting quite fast, but Saule easily caught up to her. The girl was barefoot and Mayor wondered for a moment how her feet were not cold. Nomads had much more sensitive feet, compared to sturdy pony hooves.

                                            > She didn't have time to reflect upon it for too long before the nomad spoke up: "[Are you okay? What is wrong?]"

                                            > Mayor didn't want to lay her trouble on Saule's back. For that matter, she wasn't sure the girl would even understand. She wanted to find Gol.

                                            > She could have a heart to heart with Gol. Gol would understand.

                                            > Despite her silence, Saule kept pace with her and perhaps that helped a little.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Mayor Mare was sitting uncomfortably on a bit of wood and staring into the fire. She had been at it for a while, long enough that the day had turned to evening.

                                            > Her ears were as low as they would go, an expression which hadn't been lost on her friends. Every now and then Xuan patted her side or tried to engage her in conversation, but Mayor didn't particularly feel like talking.

                                            > She had, at first, and she had tried to explain her misgivings about giving nomads new weapons, but as she had predicted Xuan hadn't understood. To her, anything which made the camp more powerful, or made it easier to hunt for food, was a good thing.

                                            > At least she hadn't immediately laughed at the mare's concerns, but had listened to them closely and tried really hard to see her point of view. Unfortunately, stories about a land of different creatures who never fought among each other probably sounded like an absurd fairy tale.

                                            > Perhaps it was her youthful naivete, or perhaps her outlook had been brought on by her condition, but Xuan was far more optimistic than Mayor and assured the mare that the nomads would only use these frightening new weapons in defense against their more aggressive neighbors.

                                            > That would make it slightly easier to swallow and more than once Mayor though about simply taking Xuan's word for it. Unfortunately she couldn't quite forget Willow's eager expression when he had seen how deeply the arrow had penetrated the fake wolf.

                                            > Mayor couldn't lie to herself: the nomads would use bows in anger against their neighbors, if only to drive them out of their lands. On the other hoof, it wasn't her world, nor her people. They had different ways and culture, and maybe it wasn't a pony's place to try and change them. So what if one group gained advantage over others?

                                            > Especially since it was *her* group, which would lead to a better life for the entire camp and that included her. Besides, the nomads were apparently prone to war and violence, a trait which Mayor suspected came from their carnivore nature. She might only have hastened the inevitable a little.

                                            > Who knew if they would have invented something like a bow eventually anyway, or perhaps even something worse?

                                            > Once more she felt Xuan's hand on her withers and was grateful for the presence it implied. Even if the nomad couldn't understand the philosophical quandary Mayor was struggling with, she did understand that her friend was sad and perhaps that was enough.

                                            > Mayor was about ready to turn her head and ask Xuan about her baby, all in an effort to take her mind off the dark thoughts which had been plaguing her ever since the demonstration. She didn't get a chance to do that before something soft and warm poked the side of her muzzle.

                                            > The scent hit her at almost the same time and she involuntarily opened her mouth.

                                            > She hadn't even noticed Xuan baking a yam, but there it was. Hot, lightly salted and sprinkled with a few other spices Mayor didn't immediately recognize. It was good and the loud grumble from her belly reminded her that she hadn't eaten since that morning.

                                            > The sound caused Xuan to giggle. "[I thought that would wake you up!]" she said.

                                            "[No fair! Food is no fair! You know I always hungry!]"

                                            > It just made the young nomad chuckle some more and her hand dug into Mayor's side in a luxurious, welcome scratch. She hadn't intended to lean against it, but just like the nibble when she scented the yam, this reaction was quite involuntary.

                                            > This time she was slightly too heavy for Xuan to support with one hand Mayor flopped into the nomad's lap. She tensed to get up and apologize, but Xuan shifted her grip and held the mare down. "[Stay. You're nice and warm from the fire, it feels good on my belly,]" she told her.

                                            > Mayor noticed that her head was leaning against Xuan's exposed belly. She'd explained some weeks ago that the normal way nomads cut their animal skins for clothes was too narrow this late in her pregnancy and it wasn't worth making new clothes just for a month or two until spring came.

                                            > While that memory flashed through Mayor's mind, Xuan began idly brushing her fingers through her mane.

                                            > "[Your hair is coming in long again. Will you cut to sell?]"

                                            "[Yes. Um, will you do it? I will ask Gol, but...]"

                                            > She didn't have to say more. Xuan understood, at least judging from the slight tightening of her mouth. "[I will, if you give me a few hairs to make a bracelet for my daughter.]"

                                            > It was an easy gift to promise and Mayor quickly nodded. Her muzzle scrunched up in confusion as she grasped the nuance of what Xuan had said.

                                            "[Daughter? You know? How?]"

                                            > It made the nomad laugh and she winked at the mare. It looked a bit unusual from Mayor's angle, but she recognized a secretive wink when she saw one. "[Mother's secret. I will never tell.]"

                                            > Mayor gave her an exaggerated pout and averted her eyes, as if cross with the woman. It just made her giggle harder, but she gave in: "[Fine, I will tell you. I went to see Shaman and he did a ritual. The spirits told him it would be a daughter. Buygra was most disappointed.]"

                                            > It didn't sound very conclusive, but Mayor had noticed that many nomads took the shaman's word as truth, even when he was wrong almost as often as he was right. She decided not to argue with Xuan on this point. Instead, Mayor lifted her head slightly to free her ear so she could open it, then pressed it against the nomad's belly.

                                            > The gesture would be quite inappropriate among ponies, even among close friends, but her values had shifted somewhat since she had come to these people. In particular, she was lying in Xuan's lap, exactly where a pony would have... those, and neither of them minded.

                                            > At least not until Mayor had had the thought. Her eyes strayed up to where Xuan's teats *actually* were, and she saw a faint curve of flesh where her animal skin tunic parted.

                                            > Luckily before she could blush too fiercely she heard a sound she'd been hunting for. Mayor froze, but unfortunately Xuan moved away with a barely suppressed chortle. "[Stop, that tickles! Your ear! Stop!]"

                                            > The nomad had gripped her muzzle and was holding her away from her bare skin.

                                            "[Stay... stop. I heard the baby. Stop. Hush!]"

                                            > This was unusual and shocking enough that Xuan ceased squirming and Mayor could press her ear back. There was some gurgling, but if she concentrated, underneath, she caught the faint, rapid pulsing.

                                            "[Yes. I hear.]"

                                            > Xuan's face was both elated and incredulous at the same time and she stared at the mare with wide, disbelieving eyes. "[What is it? What do you hear?]"

                                            > Mayor realized that she didn't have the word for it, so she placed her hoof on her own barrel.

                                            "[This. It goes 'thump' 'thump'. Very fast because baby small. It is quiet, but I hear.]"

                                            > It didn't seem possible, but Xuan's eyes went wider. "[You hear her heart beating?]"

                                            > That was a new word for Mayor, but she was confident she understood it. She whispered it to herself to make sure, then affirmed:

                                            "[Yes. Baby heart, I heard it. Stay still.]"

                                            > Xuan did as commanded. She still had her hands around Mayor's head, but instead of holding her away, now she was pulling her closer. The mare closed her eyes so she could concentrate better, and after a short while she caught that steady rhythm again.

                                            > She didn't know how long she sat there, listening, but eventually she became aware of a hand brushing the fur on her muzzle and opened her eyes. Xuan was grinning at her.

                                            > "[You should see your face,]" the nomad commented. "[You were smiling. I don't think I have ever seen you smile like this.]"

                                            > For some reason those words made Mayor blush a little and she lifted herself up. This time Xuan didn't stop her, but one of her hands slid down to her withers and stayed there.

                                            "[I'm sorry you cannot hear. Pony ears better, but I also- very faint. Hard to hear. Sorry.]"

                                            > Xuan's fingers tugged on her mane until Mayor turned around to face the woman. She didn't seem upset at this news. "[I didn't need to hear it. The look on your face - it told me everything. Thank you.]"

                                            > Mayor blushed harder and averted her gaze once more. She managed to mumble something generic which sounded at least a bit gracious. Xuan went on: "[Will you stay for dinner? I will make some for you.]"

                                            > Even though she didn't feel as if she deserved it, Mayor Mare decided to say yes. It was hard to stay fed these days, even with her newfound influence and prestige in the camp. The supplies were running out and what little was left was dried up and mouldy more often than not.

                                            "[Thank you.]"

                                            > "[Do not tell Buygra you heard the baby. He will be jealous and will want to hear it too. I don't want to be stuck with his head on my belly for the whole night.]"

                                            > That sounded like something the young nomad might get it in his head to do and Mayor quickly agreed.

                                            "[Okay.]"

                                            > Xuan had ducked into her tent to get the things she needed for dinner, but her head poked back out and Mayor clearly saw the girl wink. "[I want his head elsewhere. Well, his tongue mostly.]"

                                            "Eep!"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The nomads certainly were inventive, Mayor Mare had to give them that. After she had introduced the first, primitive bow to them, they took the idea and ran with it. It was mostly young men who were interested, but it was not exclusive.

                                            > Pretty soon after she saw even young children with makeshift bows and mock arrows. They didn't work, but that didn't stop the young nomads from pretending that they were shooting at each other.

                                            > Meanwhile, the craftsmen began experimenting with different wood types and new ways of treating them. After her tentative suggestion to soak the wood in water prior to shaping it had proved ineffective, the nomads tried other things.

                                            > Some left the sticks in the snow and only worked on them when they were frozen. Others tried shaping bows out of dry wood. Those both proved even worse, but their failure did not dissuade the people.

                                            > They had seen the weapon working so they set out to perfecting it,

                                            > More importantly, the idea was fully attributed to the strange little pony living in their midst, and as a result Mayor Mare's standing in the tribe grew.

                                            > She was still divided on the topic, but the gifts of grain and milk and honey did much to assuage her worry. After all, she told herself time and time again, Darga had assured her that the new weapons would only be used to hunt and to defend themselves from aggressive tribes.

                                            > Life took on a semblance of normality for a while as the snows continued to melt and the first green shoots of young grass poked out of the mud. It promised times of plenty, and of warm sunshine, which helped lift Mayor's spirits.

                                            > She had Xuan cut her mane again, but saved most of the pink strands for when the merchants would come, which the nomads assured her wasn't far off. Now that her dietary needs had been met, Mayor was hoping to get her hooves on other things.

                                            > Salt and more honey would be a favourite, but she also wanted some cloth which wasn't animal hide, and some beer. That was the one thing even her newfound prestige couldn't get her, because the camp simply didn't have any.

                                            > More importantly, she would use her colorful mane to trade for news of Rainy Day. The only other pony in this world was still her top priority.

                                            > Perhaps, she mused sometimes, the bows she had so carelessly given the nomads might yet be useful in freeing her friend from her captors, if it came to that.

                                            > All she needed was word of where Rainy Day had been taken and where she was being kept. To that end, Mayor spent long stretches of time lying on a bit of dry grass just outside of camp and watched the horizon. She was looking for the first hints of a caravan.

                                            > It was there that Salki found her one day. The sky was clear and the sun was like a physical force, pressing down on her back, enough so that Mayor had discarded her coat and had stretched out on her belly. The warmth felt good on her outstretched hing legs and on her ears.

                                            > In fact, she was in serious danger of nodding off and almost didn't hear the nomad approach. He was almost on top of her when her ear flicked and caught the rustle of young grass under his feet.

                                            > She caught Salki's scent and so didn't have to look. It was a trick nomads sometimes found a little unsettling, but had come to accept it.

                                            "[Salki,]" she greeted.

                                            > "[One day you won't guess it's me.]"

                                            > She barked a short laugh at that and finally broke her gaze away from the distant horizon to glance at the young man. Despite the sun, the wind still had a nasty nip, but Salki didn't have his vest. He was less hairy than some of the other nomads, which was a sore point and a source of much teasing among his friends.

                                            > Perhaps, Mayor guessed, the boy thought that walking around bare-chested would encourage his hair to grow.

                                            "[You will must move more quiet. You also smell. You can't hide smell.]"

                                            > Her sentence wasn't entirely correct, but it was good enough for him to understand and that was what ultimately mattered. Salki sat down on the grass beside her and gave her ears a quick scratch. It had become something of a customary greeting between Mayor and her closest friends.

                                            > "[Bah, scent is easy. If I wanted to sneak up on you, I would just come from down-wind.]"

                                            > She angled her muzzle so she faced the direction the wind was coming from. It was almost the same way she had been looking.

                                            "[I will see you from that way.]"

                                            > "[Now yes, but maybe in an hour the wind will change.]"

                                            "[You are still loud. I hear better than you. Pony ears are better.]"

                                            > Salki gave a shrug as if he didn't consider that to be a particularly big advantage. "[Deer also hear better, but a hunter can sneak up on them. Wait until the fresh grass covers the dry. Besides, I wasn't trying to be sneaky, of course you heard me.]"

                                            > Rather than argue some more, Mayor just snorted in amusement and returned her gaze to the horizon.

                                            > Salki followed her stare and laid his hand on her back. Her fur had soaked up quite a lot of warmth from the sun and it felt amazing when he pressed it down against her hide. The mare couldn't quite prevent her soft, luxurious sigh.

                                            > He noticed it and began stroking her back in long, wonderful slides. Despite her best efforts, Mayor's eyes closed and her head lolled a little before she caught herself.

                                            > "[You do know the caravan will not come sooner if you watch for it?]"

                                            "[I know,]" she murmured back, "[I have not other things to do. I am resting and looking.]"

                                            > That admission made the young nomad chortle with laughter. "[Don't let Mother hear you say that. She will find you something to do.]"

                                            > The memory of that made Mayor grunt in displeasure.

                                            "[I have! I already finished work! Bring water, Darga say! Bring wood. Grind flour. I did all, now I am resting!]"

                                            > Salki didn't answer her and his hand kept gliding down her back, even though the warmth had mostly dissipated by then. Instead, his voice became quieter, more thoughtful: "[We will hunt tomorrow. We will use the bows for the first time in a real hunt. Willow is sure they will work well.]"

                                            > That wasn't a cheerful topic for Mayor, but she forced from her mind the image of deer with arrows sticking from their ribs and imposed one with wolves instead.

                                            > "[Darkhan says you were right. About the arrows and feathers. His didn't fly well.]"

                                            > It took the mare a moment to remember that particular discussion. With bird feathers in short supply, the nomads had been looking for different ways to stabilize the arrows during flight.

                                            > They tried shooting them without any fletching, but it hadn't worked, just like Mayor had predicted. Darkhan had the idea to fletch them with something else, and flat bits of wood were just the latest experiment.

                                            "[I said it would not work the same as feathers.]"

                                            > Salki chuckled at a sudden thought. "[Too bad Intor sold your friend, we could have used the feathers from her wings!]"

                                            > The image of Rainy Day, plucked to make arrows, was a painful one and made Mayor Mare grimace in distaste. Salki noticed that and his hand froze on her back.

                                            > "[Sorry,]" he said, his tone subdued.

                                            "[It is fine.]"

                                            > They sat in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds, then Mayor decided to break it.

                                            "[Will you go hunt?]"

                                            > "[Yes! All the men want to go so they can see how the bows work. We do not have enough for all, so only Willow, Buygra and Hisein will have them, but everyone wants to see.]" Salki spoke quickly and his voice rose up, as if in an effort to cover up his earlier blunder: "[We will go to the hills east. Willow thinks maybe the bears have woken up already and have come down from the forest to find food. Or maybe...]"

                                            > He fell silent, but Mayor winced because she knew what he was going to say before he stopped himself. Maybe there would be deer or elk.

                                            > After a few more seconds of uncomfortable silence, Salki finished a little lamely: "[Or maybe there will be wolves.]"

                                            > It took an effort of will not to think about it, but Mayor succeeded and focused instead on his first idea.

                                            "[Bears are dangerous, even with bows.]"

                                            > "[Yes, but a determined hunter will prevail. We hunt bears with spears every year. It will be easier with bows.]"

                                            > If the bows worked as expected, she thought to herself, but didn't say out loud. Instead, she turned her head and pressed her nose against his forearm.

                                            "[Make sure you are safe, okay?]"

                                            > Salki flashed her a grateful smile and patted the side of her muzzle with his palm. "[I will, don't worry.]"

                                            > They sat without speaking for a while, then Mayor returned her gaze to the distant horizon. She squinted a little in an effort to reduce the blur, but it didn't really help. She was quite sure that there wasn't a caravan yet, anyway.

                                            > It was the young nomad who broke the silence this time: "[We will soon have a circle hunt. You can help with that. Mother said you will join the children and the old.]"

                                            > A hunt didn't sound pleasant, and Mayor didn't know what a 'circle hunt' was, but she didn't want to be a part of it. It would be useless to argue with Salki, especially since it was apparently Darga's idea. She would have to go and discuss it with the chieftain.

                                            > "[You will like it. It's not hard and it makes for good eating. Oh-]"

                                            > Mayor didn't need to look at his guilty expression to know that he had just realized - again - that she couldn't eat meat. Her hunch was confirmed when the young nomad continued: "[There's more things than meat from the circle hunt. We will find berries and nuts, and usually there is honey.]"

                                            > That sounded a bit more promising, thought the word 'hunt' still didn't sit well with the mare.

                                            "[Why is it called a circle hunt?]"

                                            > Salki drew an imaginary ring in the grass before him with his finger as he explained. "[The people stand in a big circle, like this. They face inside and walk forward, so the circle gets smaller. You see?]"

                                            > Mayor didn't understand how that would allow the nomads to capture any animals at all.

                                            "[Does that work?]"

                                            > Salki shrugged a little. "[It is few animals, but good for children and the elderly. I think it is more a tradition than a necessary hunt anymore. Maybe if our hunters were not as good.]"

                                            > He shrugged, unconvinced even though it were his own words. "[We've always done it in the spring.]"

                                            > Mayor had a picture of a spring ritual, perhaps even slightly religious in role. The noise and humdrum of nomads stomping about would drive away any animals in the area. She wondered where the tradition originated and what its original purpose had been.

                                            > It probably wasn't a very effective tactic, which calmed her a little, but she would still prefer to have nothing to do with any type of hunt. She would tell Darga that she wouldn't participate.

                                            > While she was trying to imagine the correct words for that discussion Salki stood up with one final pat on her back. "[I will go practice the bow. Will you come watch?]"

                                            > She was about to shake her head and return to her vigil for the traders' caravan, but Mayor changed her mind. Salki wasn't a bad sort and watching him fumble with a bow and arrows would be distracting.

                                            > More importantly, if Darga found her she could easily claim that she was helping her son practice. That would probably get her out of any additional work the woman might want to assign her for the afternoon.

                                            "[I will come. I want to see how good you are.]"

                                            > That was welcome news and Salki smiled a little to himself as she gathered her cloak in a bundle and balanced it on her back. The day was still warm and she considered swinging by their tent to drop it off, but she knew the temperature would drop rapidly as the sun went down.

                                            > In a few hours she would be shivering and grateful for the cloak. It wasn't heavy so it was worth bringing along.

                                            "[Let's go.]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The traders came while the hunting party was away. Mayor spotted it first and ran to tell Darga, but the chieftain's reaction was underwhelming. The camp had been expecting the caravan ever since the snow had begun to melt, after all, so it was no big surprise that they finally showed up.

                                            > It was still welcome news and the nomads began preparing a feast to celebrate. Mayor Mare deftly avoided being sent out on various chores so she could go and speak with the newcomers as soon as they came into the camp.

                                            > The traders were specifically asking about a talking pony with pink hair. Mayor was on the way to the large firepit in the center of the tents when Saule found her and delivered that bit of news.

                                            > She froze for a moment as her heart sped out of control and her legs began to tremble uncontrollably. It could mean that the travellers had met Rainy Day and she was asking about her friend!

                                            > Upon hearing that, Mayor couldn't hold herself back anymore. She darted forward and ignored Saule's plaintive cries as she left the girl behind. If these people had word of another pony Mayor wanted to hear it right away.

                                            > It took her no time at all to burst into the clearing amidst the tents, where the traders were still milling around and fighting over good spots to display their wares.

                                            "[I am here!]" she shouted, "[Talking pony. Me! Here!]"

                                            > There was a lull in the general hubbub and all heads turned her way. The camp nomads quickly lost interest, but the traders stared with open mouths. Mayor didn't wait for them to get over their shock and simply approached the nearest man, who had dropped one of his bags in surprise.

                                            "[You see pony? Where talking pony? Who you see? Tell me! Other pony with feathers, wings? Tell!]"

                                            > Her barrage of questions went unanswered as the nomad instead reached out his hand to touch her pink mane. "[It's true,]" he said to himself, "[a talking pony. I thought it was just a crazy story!]"

                                            "[Yes, it true! Where you hear about talking pony?!]"

                                            > The man shook his head and, still completely ignoring his wares on the ground, crouched so he could get a closer look at her face. The other travellers were already gathering around her and Mayor felt more than one hand touch her side and tail as they assured themselves she was real.

                                            > "[It's not like any pony I ever saw, but it ... one,]" someone behind her said. Mayor's ear flicked in that direction, but she was still hoping the first trader would answer her.

                                            "[Did you see another like me? Did you hear? Where is she?]"

                                            > At last the question registered and the nomad glanced at his fellows, then addressed her in a halting, hesitant voice: "[You can un- understand me? You speak our language? Oh, I heard from another caravan, they showed me pink hair.]"

                                            > Again he reached out his hand and gave a lock of her mane a slight tug. "[It was just like yours. They said you trade it for beer.]"

                                            > The reminder made Mayor both blush in embarrassment and at the same time lick her lips in eager anticipation. The alcohol would take the edge off. She deserved to feel good every now and then.

                                            > Her thoughts had come unbidden and Mayor sternly told herself she wouldn't get drunk again, but it was a hard battle to fight and it momentarily distracted her from her questions about Rainy Day.

                                            > "[I heard the same, but I did not see any pink hair. I would like to trade for it, though.]" The words had come from somewhere to her side, but Mayor wasn't paying them any mind.

                                            > She finally managed to push the thought of delicious, grainy beer from her mind.

                                            "[My friend! Another pony! Talking pony. Blue like sky. Her hair blue also. She has wings! Have you heard?]"

                                            > Finally the traders gave this question some thought. A few of them murmured with each other and they all looked around the circle, as if searching for answers. At last, the one Mayor had been addressing spoke up: "[Sorry, we have not heard of a talking pony with wings. Only a talking pony with pink hair.]"

                                            > Another added: "[I did not believe it, but now I see it is true. How can you speak our language? How is that possible?!]"

                                            > Her heart sank. The rumours these traders had heard originated from Mayor herself, not from Rainy Day. Her throat constricted and her breath caught, and Mayor felt as if the pegasus had just slipped further beyond her grasp. It felt as if she had just lost her friend once again.

                                            > It felt like a new betrayal, especially after the long winter of quiet hope that some news of her friend might yet reach her. Mayor sagged a little and her head fell, eyes already filling with fresh tears. She shouldn't have been stupid enough to get her hopes up!

                                            > If the traders noticed her mood, they didn't seem to care. More hands felt along her ribs and one of them even lifted her tail. Another nomad's fingers felt around her foreleg, and the man who had answered her cupped his palm under her chin.

                                            > For a moment Mayor thought he was trying to comfort her, but when he used his other hand to pry her lips apart she realized he was just trying to look at her teeth. She suddenly realized they were inspecting her like they would an animal they were thinking of buying.

                                            > Revulsion suddenly rose up in Mayor and she barely prevented herself from bucking the nomad behind her right in his face. She shook herself free and wiggled away between two of them. She was in the relative safety of the camp nomads and she smelled, more than saw, Saule at her side.

                                            > The traders were asking if she was for sale, but Mayor wasn't particularly worried about that. Once again she was grateful that she had given them breadmaking and bows, because now Darga and Intor both considered her a lot more valuable than they had before. Mayor doubted the traders would be able to offer payment enough to make the women sell her.

                                            > They still might though, and the knowledge stung, but Mayor didn't feel like caring, not at the moment. What she wanted was a sink of beer and some quiet so she could get through the night.

                                            > She was trying hard not to think it, but the fear kept coming back. What if Rainy Day was dead? What if some nomad got her and wanted to see what she tasted like? What if the headstrong pegasus had tried to escape and they killed her?

                                            > Worse, what if she did escape and the wolves got her?

                                            > It did not bear thinking about and Mayor felt the beginning of a nasty headache. She needed to stop her mind and she knew only one way to do it.

                                            > "[Come on, let's go and get something to eat. Then we will go to your tent and take your hair so you can trade it, yes?]"

                                            > She could do that, Mayor realized. She could get a lot of beer with the mane clippings she had saved. The camp nomads were getting used to the color and the bright, pink strands were losing their novelty.

                                            > Their value had been rapidly dropping lately, which made it all the more important to trade with outsiders.

                                            "[Trade,]" she said quietly. "[Trade for beer. I want a drink.]"

                                            > For a moment Saule looked unsure, but this particular nomad either hadn't heard, or didn't remember about her faux pas with Salki. The girl shrugged to hersself. "[Okay, but let's eat first. The traders will need time to unpack and Mother made stew.]"

                                            "[Thank you.]"

                                            > "[We are lonely because both Father and Grandfather are on the hunt,]" Saule explained. Mayor remembered that Bakar had gone along despite his age and his injury because he was the best person in the camp to repair bows and arrows if they broke on the hunt. It had been a matter of quite some pride for the old hunter.

                                            > "[We will get your beer after, okay?]"

                                            > Mayor managed a nod and let Saule lead her away. Behind her the commotion of traders setting up and arguing mingled with the voices of the camp nomads asking about the news from the outside world.

                                            > She heaved a sigh and tried not to think about Rainy Day. She needed to make it through dinner and then she would get a drink. That would make it better, at least for a while.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The sounds of celebration were all around her, but Mayor Mare didn't feel very happy. She had retreated to the chieftain's tent while the rest of the camp prepared for the celebration.

                                            > It was getting dark and chilly inside, but she still didn't light the fire. Right at that moment darkness suited her.

                                            > She shouldn't have allowed herself hope, not in this brutal land of harsh winter and harsher people. It was obvious in hindsight that traders would spread rumors of her - a talking pony.

                                            > Rainy Day hadn't even started learning the language by the time she was sold, and there was no guarantee she would have found a nice nomad like Salki to teach her. More than that, it was very possible that Mayor Mare's cutie mark allowed her to master the nomad tongue quicker.

                                            > Other ponies might not have that advantage. Unfortunately there was no way to prove or disprove that idea. Mayor had never considered learning a different language while back home so she had no point of comparison.

                                            > She still hoped her friend was alright, that her wing had healed and she wasn't being mistreated, but sitting there in that dark tent wasn't making it easy for Mayor to stay positive.

                                            > Her thoughts were interrupted when the flap opened and Salki came in. "[There you are. No one knew how to find you! Why aren't you at the fire?]"

                                            > She opened her mouth to try and explain, about the disappointment, and Rainy Day, and the way those traders had inspected her like a piece of furniture to be bought on a whim.

                                            > Mayor looked at the young nomad and closed her mouth.

                                            "[Doesn't matter.]"

                                            > It wasn't as if Salki would understand anyway. Saule hadn't, not fully, and the boy - even if she liked him and he was nice to her - could sometimes be thicker than stone, especially when it came to the elusive worlds of emotions.

                                            > Salki proved her right when he shrugged and took her word for it. "[Okay. Want to come now? They have beer.]"

                                            > That got her attention. Mayor had been planning to get a few drinks. They might take the edge of her frustration and anger and sadness, and allow the mare to forget for a short while.

                                            > She licked her lips as she imagined the bitter, tangy taste of the nearly-flat beverage, and found her mouth incredibly dry. She really did need a drink.

                                            "[O-Okay, but only small drink. I don't want- drunk again.]"

                                            > That particular memory made her fold her ears down and Salki also shifted uncomfortably on his feet. Mayor suspected he was blushing, though it was hard to tell in the gloomy interior.

                                            > She pushed past him into the chilly, night air of early spring and lifted her muzzle up. Scents almost assaulted her nose. Frying meat, and ash, and woodsmoke, but also more pleasant ones. The nomads were roasting at least a few yams, and she could also smell the fresh bread.

                                            > There was no hint of beer, though, but she wouldn't expect that to carry.

                                            > Salki joined her and gave her head the briefest of pats before striding off. "[Come on then,]" he called back.

                                            > Mayor had to hurry or lose the young nomad in the thick crowd. It didn't matter too much, since she knew where they were headed, but she wanted to stay near the chieftain's son in the hopes of snagging some free food and drink. There would be plenty to go around with this celebration, but why take chances?

                                            > They reached the central file and Salki headed over to where some of his hunting friends were sitting. The log was packed and many nomads simply crouched or sat on the muddy ground. Mayor briefly considered going back to the tent to fetch an animal skin, but Salki had his own ideas.

                                            > He simply pushed one of his friends a little and the line somehow compressed just enough to let him sit. That didn't leave any room for Mayor and she half-turned to go away when Salki reached out and patted her side.

                                            > "[Here! Sit here!,]" he told her and shrugged off his vest to lay on the ground before him. She looked at the makeshift rug a little doubtfully, but didn't question it. She sat on it and looked around the bonfire while Salki put both hands on her withers and began to idly stroke.

                                            > The noise became nearly overwhelming and Mayor instinctively folded her ears down to shut some of it out. The reason was soon apparent: Some of the nomad men had started a song, a deep, throaty, rhythmical hum, accompanied with them hitting sticks together, or simply slapping their chests and thighs, but most other people were still trying to have conversation.

                                            > As a result, both groups tried to become louder than the other, most likely without even realizing it. Mayor squinted around, but none of the nomads seemed annoyed at having to shout. They simply ignored the rest of the noise and spoke as loudly as they had to for their friends to hear them.

                                            > Off to one side a group of younger children were dancing, while some of their number tried to imitate the singers. Even Salki and his friends were talking loudly over the din.

                                            > Mayor flicked an ear toward them and listened for a few moments. They were asking Salki how the hunt with bows went, and he was in the middle of an explanation. It was too fast and technical for Mayor to be able to follow it, especially with all the commotion around her, but she didn't much mind.

                                            > She would get the details from both Salki and Bakar tomorrow. She might even get something from Willow and Hisein, since the bow was more or less her invention, at least in the eyes of the nomads.

                                            > There really wasn't much point in trying to follow the discussion and Mayor considered getting up to go look for some food, when a familiar figure approached them. Saule had a clay bowl in her hands, which she held out to the mare.

                                            > It was stew, with all the meat bits carefully picked out. Mayor could see that the girl was still chewing, and she didn't begrudge her, not when it meant the rest of the gruel could be hers.

                                            > There was still an aftertaste of that meat, but unless they cooked it specifically for her, the nomads never made stew out of vegetables only. She had gotten used to it, even if the smell sometimes made her gag a little. Nourishing food was too scarce a resource.

                                            > Unfortunately there wasn't a piece of bread to go along with it, but she could always go and grab some of that later. Mayor thought she saw where the older women were baking it.

                                            > That caused her to pause for a moment and prod Saule with a hoof.

                                            "[Why they making bread here? Traders see, they learn bread. Darga say it will be camp secret. No showing traders.]"

                                            > The girl patted her mane and flashed her a smile. "[It's okay. The women are bringing water-flour. They will not show traders how it is made. They don't know what it is.]"

                                            > Mayor wasn't convinced that would stop any nomad from figuring out just what that dough was, but she didn't want to argue, not particularly.

                                            "[Huh. Okay.]"

                                            > Seeing that there wasn't anything else, Saule went back to staring at Salki. She leaned closer and began running her hand through Mayor's mane as she listened to the young hunter's story about how the bows worked.

                                            > Mayor was hardly paying them any attention, but their hands crept closer and closer until they suddenly touched and froze. She looked around just in time to see the two youngsters staring at each other, before they both flushed and drew apart again.

                                            > Maybe she could do something nice for them?

                                            "[Come! Saule. Here, sit. I will take this back and get beer. Sit!]"

                                            > She graciously offered Salki's vest to the girl, but before she could really get up Salki had jumped to his feet and was waving Saule in. "[No, that's okay. I'll go get some. Sit here, keep Meyermer company!]"

                                            > Before either could object he had hurried off, and Mayor caught Saule's gaze. The girl rolled her eyes and they shared a brief grin, but it quickly faded as the nomad girl nervously looked around for where the boy might have gone.

                                            > She took the spot on the log and Mayor gratefully pressed herself against her chest. The bonfire was keeping one side of her very warm, but it was nice to be able to lean against Saule with her other. The girl put her hands around the mare and drew her closer, too.

                                            > "[Want to come up? It's cold and you're nice and warm. Here, sit on my knee!]"

                                            > Mayor gratefully accepted the invitation and lifted herself up. Only a few months ago she would have been worried about hurting such a spindly creature, but she'd come to respect the nomads' quiet strength while she lived with them.

                                            > In some ways they were much like earth ponies, Mayor supposed.

                                            > She was careful not to muddy Saule's clothes with her hooves, but she easily settled herself on the girl's knee and allowed her to pull her into a hug. It really was nice and warm, and Saule's animal skin coat quickly warmed up against Mayor's fur.

                                            > The other young nomads to either side didn't seem to mind, and went on with their own conversations. Mayor didn't have much to say to them, or to Saule, so she simply went back to staring at the nomads dancing around the fire.

                                            > Salki came back and found them in that position. Mayor tensed for a moment, expecting at least a small jab or joke at how they were cuddling in the chill, but he said nothing like that. If anything, she thought his look was a tiny bit wistful.

                                            > He still didn't have a vest and his was wet and muddy by now, so he was probably quite chilly.

                                            "[Go get new coat,]" she told him as sternly and motherly as she could manage. "[Or you will be sick. Go! Night is cold!]"

                                            > He shook his head and pointed. "[The fire is warm enough. I will be fine!]"

                                            > Mayor shook her head in dismay, but didn't argue. If the young idiot ended up with a cold it would be his own fault. Maybe it needed to happen and it would teach him to listen to her in the future.

                                            > She was wondering where he was going to sit when Salki did his own trick once again and simply shoved into the line. Luckily by that time some of the nomads on that side had gotten up to dance and the rest easily shuffled along to make room.

                                            > He draped one hand around her, very careful not to accidentally touch Saule again, and Mayor felt how icy his skin was against her fur. She was about to shuffle over into his lap, to at least warm him up a bit, but the boy lifted a skin in his other hand.

                                            > "[I got some beer!]" he explained and offered it to her.

                                            > That proved to be the more important bit and Mayor gratefully took it. It was already untied and she could smell the delicious liquid inside. She found the spout with practiced lips and lifted the skin up so the life-giving beer splashed into her mouth.

                                            > At least, she thought, this time she had eaten some stew, so it wasn't going to hit her on an empty stomach.

                                            > Despite that, remembering her earlier blunders, Mayor kept herself in check and only took a couple of small sips before lowering the skin and offering it to Saule.

                                            > The girl followed her example and then passed the drink back to Salki.

                                            > "[Well-]" he began to say.

                                            > "[So-]" Saule interrupted at the same time.

                                            > They both chuckled and then fell silent, unsure of how to continue. At long last it was the boy who spoke next, but he addressed his question to Mayor: "[Did the traders have news of your friend?]"

                                            > The reminder made Mayor's ears droop and Salki, well-versed in pony expressions by now, immediately understood. His hand cupped her muzzle. "[Sorry.]"

                                            > Once again the anger and sadness threatened to swell and Mayor reached for the beer skin. It would make her feel better and help her forget. She swallowed a few mouthfuls of it, then let Saule take it once more.

                                            > This time the girl barely sipped at it before handing it back. "[Here, shift over,]" she told both her and Salki as she nudged the mare off her knee. "[I'll get some bread. Do you want more stew?]"

                                            > The bowl was on the ground, where Mayor had dropped it after she had licked up every bit of the nourishing gruel and it took Saule a few moments to find it while the mare slid over to Salki's knee.

                                            > She felt him shudder as her fur, still warm from where it had been pressed against Saule, met his chilled, naked skin. He didn't even hesitate when she wrapped her hooves round his midriff and quickly reciprocated with his arms.

                                            "[Yes, stew for me please, and bread.]"

                                            > It would be a good idea to keep eating, especially if she wanted more beer. It would soften the blow from the alcohol.

                                            > Saule glanced at Salki who gave a nod too. "[Yes, me too. Uh, thank you.]"

                                            > The girl quickly averted her eyes and murmured something not even Mayor caught, before rushing off in search of the promised food. Once she was gone, the mare took the beer skin from Salki and allowed herself another small sip.

                                            > It was starting to have an effect and she could feel the pleasant buzz in her head, but she had been taking it easy enough that it hadn't yet impaired her thinking, nor was it making her nauseated.

                                            > The group of younglings next to them burst out laughing and Mayor suddenly felt self-conscious. She remembered what others had told her, about the time she had gotten drunk and kissed Salki. When she looked up and caught his gaze, and saw his flushed face, she knew he was thinking the same thing.

                                            > Suddenly even the comfort of sharing warmth didn't seem as nice and she wiggled free from his grasp.

                                            "[Too hot! Fire too hot,]" she explained, even though they both knew it was a lie.

                                            > Salki just nodded.

                                            "[Go get vest!]"

                                            > Again, he agreed. He gave her the skin and hurried off in the direction of Darga's tent. He barely made it a few steps before coming back to pick up his muddy vest from the ground. It had been a noble gesture, Mayor thought, but also a silly one and she would probably end up washing it the next day.

                                            > She put it out of her mind, took the smallest possible taste of beer, then went back to staring at the fire.

                                            > The percussive, rhythmic music was starting to make her sway to the beat. Once you got used to it, she thought, a nomad festival wasn't a bad thing.

                                            > Saule came back with two bowls, both of them full of that same meaty stew. Again, it seemed, the order of the day would be for the nomads to pick out lumps of meat and the mare to finish off the vegetables and rice.

                                            > At least she also had a loaf of fresh bread held under her armpit, out of which Mayor quickly took a substantial bite. It blended very nice with the beer, now that she had a chance to try both at the same time.

                                            > If Saule was wondering where Salki was, she didn't ask it. Instead, she settled herself on the log and nodded meaningfully at the mare. She had a bowl in each hand and she was holding them apart, which allowed Mayor to slip back into the girl's warm lap. Then her arms came back around her.

                                            > They waited until the boy came back and took one of the bowls, which freed up Saule's hands so she could start eating. Mayor alternated between nibbling the bread and sipping the bear while she waited.

                                            > "[Here, let's swap,]" Saule said when she had gotten all the meat out. She took the bread and carefully balanced the beer skin against her leg, which freed up Mayor's hooves so she could hold the bowl and dunk her muzzle in.

                                            > Her coordination was starting to suffer and she smeared a lot of the goop on her muzzle, but it was nothing her long tongue couldn't handle.

                                            > By the time she was done, Salki was already offering her the other bowl and Mayor simply let the first one slide to the ground. It was thick enough so it wouldn't break and someone would find it in the morning.

                                            > The two nomads with her shared what was left of the bread and took a bit of beer. Mayor saw to her dismay that the skin was now empty.

                                            "[Another? Go another bee- beer?]" she asked.

                                            > Her ears wouldn't obey her right and one kept folding down when she tried to perk both of them up, so she gave up and lifted a hoof instead. She paused for a moment as she tried to remember why she had intended to use her ears to point the way, but gave it up as unproductive.

                                            "[Go, go- um, tent. Yes, tent, go, my bed. Hair there, pink. Like this,]" she explained and lifted a lock of her mane. "[Go get and trade. Traders want, get more beer.]"

                                            > She looked at the deflated bag and tried to make an estimation.

                                            "[On- One more. One more bag, yes? One enough. Don't wanna... wanna... you know. Don't wanna- again.]"

                                            > The word didn't occur to her so she simply mimed something coming out of her mouth with a hoof. That nearly caused her to drop the bowl, but luckily Salki saw in time and steadied it.

                                            > "[Are you sure? You know how you get drunk-]"

                                            > Mayor nodded enthusiastically and dipped her tongue into the stew again, as if to demonstrate.

                                            "[Yes. Umm...]"

                                            > She decided to switch to Equestrian to make her point more easily.

                                            "Ya! Ya ya ya! I ate, see? Ate, so beer- it won't as strong. 'm fine!"

                                            > Saule looked over Mayor's shoulder at Salki. "[What did she say?]"

                                            > He thought for a moment, then tried his best: "[Something about food. I think she said she was fine.]"

                                            > Mayor was bobbing her head up and down.

                                            "[Yes! Yes! Fine! Food. Small drink- you will some drink, and you will some drink. I will a little drink, no- no bad, yes?]"

                                            > She pointed a hoof first at one, then at the other. Salki looked a bit uncertain, but she prodded him with a hoof and he stood up.

                                            "[Go!]"

                                            > At last he got the message and walked away. Mayor went back to her bowl of stew and began licking it clean. It was important she finish it, even though if she couldn't quite put her hoof on why. Luckily there wasn't much left and soon Saule took the empty dish from her hooves and dropped it somewhere under them.

                                            > Mayor shifted her weight a little and burped, then settled back down against the wonderfully warm human. She let out a luxurious sight when Saule encircled her in her arms and thus came close enough to share a quick nuzzle.

                                            > They sat in silence and Mayor focused once more on the music. It felt like a physical presence in the air and the mare felt her entire body begin to sway in the rhythm. She closed her eyes and tried to match the singers' throaty hum.

                                            > It wasn't too much longer before Salki returned, or maybe Mayor had fallen asleep a tiny bit. She found herself with a fresh skin of beer in her hooves and she gratefully lifted it up to her muzzle.

                                            > The alcohol tasted even better this time around, and it blended nicely with the aftertaste of her stew.

                                            > Mayor still had enough presence of mind not to gulp down all of it, so she only took one or two swallows, then returned the drink to Salki.

                                            "[That good. Good. I- uh, I like. Good beer.]"

                                            > Her two friends didn't have a comment to that, which made sense. Her logic couldn't be argued, after all. It was watertight.

                                            > More importantly, the world looked a lot nicer and more hopeful. They would find Rainy Day soon enough, and until that happened nopony could blame Mayor for snatching a few moments of happiness where she could find them.

                                            > From her vantage point where she was pressed against Saule's chest, she could see the girl sneaking glances at Salki when she thought he wasn't looking.

                                            > Mayor decided she wasn't the only one who deserved a bit of happiness every now and then.

                                            "[Go. Y-You- and you. Two. Both-you. Go an', an'... uh...]"

                                            > Again words failed her, so Mayor just swept her unsteady hoof around. She had to try again until she could point at least approximately in the direction where some nomads were gyrating near the bonfire.

                                            > The throat-singers had stopped and now another group of nomads - both men and women this time - were shouting some kind of a melody. It hadn't connected with Mayor as deeply as the percussive beat from before, but apparently it was quite popular and a number of people were dancing to it.

                                            > She tried to explain again:

                                            "[Sau- Sal- uh, two-you. Saulki an' and Saulki, go- go do 'dat!]"

                                            > Something was off with their names, but Mayor couldn't quite put her hoof on it. Luckily it didn't matter and they understood. The youngsters both chuckled to show they got it and Saule gave the young hunter a hopeful gaze.

                                            > "[It looks like fun,]" she said. "[Do you want to...?]"

                                            > The reply was a bit more hesitant and Salki took a quick swig of beer to shore up his courage, but he nodded and said: "[Uh, yeah. Let's try.]"

                                            > They both looked at Mayor, who was still clinging to the girl. "[Will you be okay alone?]" Salki asked while Saule freed herself.

                                            > Mayor was a bit sad to let go of her source of warmth, but she didn't want to stand in the way of young people having their fun, especially when it had been her own idea. She slid to the log and took the beer skin from Salki with one hoof even while she waved her other.

                                            > She had intended to use her forelegs, and had succeeded with the skin, but she noticed she was waving her hind instead. It didn't matter, they understood.

                                            "[Go. Fun! Saulki fun!]"

                                            > They didn't argue and went to join the dancers. Mayor had been hoping they would join hands, but instead they just stood next to each other awkwardly for a while. She was about to shout at them when Saule took matters into her own hoof-fingers and began moving.

                                            > It was a simple dance and it mainly consisted of just jumping up and down to the beat while wildly flinging their forelegs around, but it looked like they were enjoying it. A few moments later Salki crouched a little and began copying the girl.

                                            > Mayor took another swallow of beer and found herself mesmerised by the sight.

                                            > The dancing nomads, the reflected firelight on their limbs, the way their hair floated each time they jumped. Their clothes billowed and their hands slapped against their bare thighs in beat with the music.

                                            > She stared at Salki and Saule as they twirled around each other. When he threw himself to the left, she jumped to the right. When he jumped up, Saule was on her way down.

                                            > They were both lit by the fire behind and Mayor could barely recognize them in the mass of limbs and bodies.

                                            > Her eyes weren't the greatest, but she thought she saw Saule's teats jiggle with each jump. Before she could stop herself she squinted at Salki to see if he also jiggled elsewhere, but she couldn't see through his clothes.

                                            > It was a mating ritual, that much was clear. They were courting. If things went well, if they impressed each other, they would probably go to Salki's tent, or maybe Saule's, and... do it.

                                            > The dance, this jumping and almost touching each other was just a prelude, and they would soon be pressing their bodies together for real, in a different kind of rhythm.

                                            > It was making Mayor hot and she felt her muzzle heating up, but she couldn't look away. She couldn't help but imagine their faces pressed together.

                                            > The shapes were different than pony muzzles. She tried to imagine how nomads might kiss. Had she seen it before?

                                            "[Buygra and Xuan,]" she murmured to herself.

                                            > She had seen those two. It was interesting. They had to angle their faces so their noses didn't smoosh together and get in the way.

                                            > As Mayor watched she thought the two dancers were getting closer and closer, almost touching. It was working. The courtship would be successful!

                                            > She had helped make that happen. As a small reward, she lifted the skin again and took another mouthful of beer.

                                            > Its heat coursed down into her stomach and radiated out from there. It was concentrating deep in her belly and the mare shifted uncomfortably on the log. She was sitting on her tail, which was just as well or else it would have been hiking up and away from her, for all to see.

                                            > She wasn't quite drunk enough to stop caring what people thought or saw. She blushed a little in embarrassment and was glad that the log under her was hiding her own wetness.

                                            > Maybe while Saule and Salki were off doing it, Mayor could hide herself somewhere and play a bit with her hoof.

                                            > Celestia knew it had been ages since she'd had either time, or privacy, or the inclination.

                                            > She deserved to feel good for a while.

                                            > Mayor wasn't aware that her hoof had already crept down her belly and was starting to fondle her teats.

                                            > A small moan escaped her, but she covered it up by taking another swig of the beer.

                                            > After a lousy start it was turning into a good night after all.


                                            > PART THREE: Identity


                                            > At least this time, Mayor Mare thought, she didn't feel quite as bad. Maybe she hadn't drunk enough, or maybe she was getting used to the rigmarole. Her head hurt, but not very badly, and the taste in her mouth was only disgusting, not completely foul.

                                            > More importantly, she remembered the previous evening. For the most part she did.

                                            > It had been pure luck that no one seemed to have seen her, or known what she was doing. To the outside world it must have looked like she was just sitting strangely with one forehoof braced between her hind legs on the log.

                                            > Mayor Mare whispered a quiet prayer to Celestia that it had seemed like that, and not what it actually was. Clopping herself off in drunken lust.

                                            > She blinked against the piercing white light of the spring sun, which was trying to force its way into her eyes. She wasn't in a tent. She also hadn't frozen to death, which was significant.

                                            > Perhaps 'spring sun' was correct.

                                            > Not that Mayor wasn't cold. She felt as if her very bones were made of ice, and she wasn't sure she could feel her own hide. One of her hind legs was surely frozen solid, through and through, the way it was poking out from under the fur blanket.

                                            > She was still alive, though, and the day was already getting warmer. Mayor fumbled at the tattered pieces that formed her recollection of the previous night's festivities. She had finished the second beer skin and asked for another, but Salki and Saule had banded together and refused her.

                                            > They made her eat some more bread and she had kept it down, which was, in itself, an achievement, then they sat with her on that log to make sure she wouldn't find more drink somewhere.

                                            > The two had kept talking and Mayor had a nagging suspicion that it was mostly about her. She also thought she remembered them sharing a kiss.

                                            > No, not an actual kiss, that felt incorrect. She had *wanted* them to kiss and had said so, loudly.

                                            > Mayor's muzzle turned approximately the same shade of red she thought Salki's face had been at that incredibly loud proclamation.

                                            > Her ears fell when she recalled how she'd insisted and even pushed the young couple closer with her forehooves. Saule gave Salki the briefest peck on his cheek, just to shut her up.

                                            > They dragged her back to the tent after that, probably afraid of additional mortification at her hooves, and Mayor couldn't really blame them.

                                            > Why was she sleeping outside, then?

                                            > Her first thought was that maybe the two youngsters *had*, after all, decided to fool around a little and needed the privacy. Again, that didn't feel right.

                                            > No, the truth was that Mayor had very nearly vomited after all the jostling and walking through the camp and Darga had proclaimed that the mare would sleep outside, lest she make a mess of her tent.

                                            > Luckily Salki had had enough presence of mind to start a fire and bring her a couple of fur skins to wrap up. He opted to remain with her for a while longer and Saule decided to keep him company.

                                            > Mayor didn't know how long they had remained, nor could she guess how long they had stayed up, talking about the first hunt with the bow.

                                            > She remembered feeling disappointed, which could mean that the weapon hadn't performed quite as well as the hunters had hoped, but that could just as well had been a remnant of how Mayor had felt when the travellers didn't have any news of Rainy Day.

                                            > Doubtless either Salki or Bakar would tell her before long.

                                            > That covered the entirety of the night and Mayor relaxed her shoulders which she didn't even remember tensing up. Nothing bad had happened, she hadn't done anything too embarrassing, and she hadn't drunk enough to feel particularly bad.

                                            > Maybe it really was spring.

                                            > She sat up and pulled her icy hind leg under the warm cover of her fur blanket. She shivered a little now that she had woken up and could feel just how cold she was.

                                            > The fire was long gone, of course, and Mayor briefly considered trying to light it again. She glanced around for some kindling, or at least some firewood, but there was none in plain sight. No doubt Darga would soon send her out to fetch some.

                                            > At least moving would warm her up, Mayor thought. She could relieve herself and get a drink of fresh water at the spring.

                                            > The ground was very nearly dry, too, which meant that the days of slogging through mud were over.

                                            > Her ear caught a faint rustle and she glanced behind her. Salki was standing in front of the tent and watching her. She tried for a quick smile and a wave, but the movement opened up the makeshift fur tent around her body and let in a stab of icy air, so she quickly settled back.

                                            "[Bring- bring my coat please?]"

                                            > For the longest moment the nomad simply stared at her and Mayor felt her ears wilting all by themselves in apprehension.

                                            "[What?!]"

                                            > Salki didn't say anything, but he vanished into the tent and reappeared a few moments later with the bundle of fur which was her coat. He tossed it to her and went to poke at the fire with his foot.

                                            > His behaviour was worrying the mare and she forgot about the momentary chill as she shrugged into the garment. She tried to knot the bits of string at the neck, but her hooves were shaking and uncoordinated.

                                            "[Please? Tie,]" she prompted.

                                            > It looked like Salki would ignore her and she was about to ask why, when the young nomad exhaled and crouched down in front of her. He grabbed the straps and tugged, rather more roughly than usually. He made a simple knot, one she could undo with her hooves, but his movements were stiff and jerky.

                                            > He didn't meet her gaze.

                                            > Mayor made an educated guess why he seemed angry and tried to smile.

                                            "[It is fine! I did not drink many tonight! Just a little! Little drunk, not big drunk!]"

                                            > The language wasn't quite where it should have been, she thought, but it worked well enough to make herself understood. Walking a little would get her blood moving and she would quickly shed the last remnants of the alcoholic haze.

                                            > Salki didn't seem mollified, though. He grunted at her, then stood up. "[You just can't fucking help yourself, can you?!]" he snarled.

                                            > Mayor's ears instantly flattened and she flinched from his tone.

                                            "[What? Why?! I did not get drunk! I had a little fun, that all!]"

                                            > He glared at her again and his fists bunched up, but then Salki relaxed and turned back to the tent. "[Of course you don't remember. You never do. Fucking beast. Just- go. Mother said to fetch water and firewood. Go.]"

                                            > Surely she hadn't drunk enough to blank out! Mayor clearly remembered every moment of the night. Was he angry about her trying to get him to kiss Saule?

                                            "[I'm sorry for saying Saule kiss you. I did not mean it that way. Okay? I'm sorry!]"

                                            > Salki paused as he was holding the tent flap up so he could look back at her. He didn't say anything for a few seconds, then his mother's sleepy voice yelled to close the flap because it was cold.

                                            > He let it drop and came back. "[That?! You remember that, but not what you did after? Why am I not surprised?]"

                                            > Mayor thought forward from that embarrassing moment.

                                            "[After? What after? I say stupid thing, Saule give you small kiss, we come here. Darga said I sleep outside so I not throw up in the tent, you make fire and give me blanket. That is all.]"

                                            > The nomad let his head hang and shook it in sad dismay. "[Just get the fucking water,]" he said quietly. "[I don't want to talk about it.]"

                                            > Mayor opened her mouth to argue some more, or to beg forgiveness, or to ask him again what had happened, but Salki was already stomping away in the direction of the central bonfire. She didn't think he wanted her company at the moment, so she didn't follow.

                                            > Instead she shook herself a little to settle her coat more closely around her midriff and rear, then went in search of Saule. The water and the firewood could wait a bit.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It didn't take long to find the girl outside the tent she shared with her mother and Bakar. The young nomad was on her knees, blowing gently into a smoking pile of tinder.

                                            > Very few other nomads were to be seen. Most of the women had probably already left for the stream, and the men were either out hunting, or sleeping off whatever fun they'd had the previous night.

                                            "[Hey,]" Mayor greeted Saule.

                                            > The nomad glanced up, grimaced, then bent back to the small flame she was carefully feeding with wooden chips.

                                            > Mayor picked up a few of the smaller branches from a nearby pile with her mouth and brought them closer, so Salki wouldn't have to get up to fetch them.

                                            > She didn't get any thanks, but the youth did grab the bits of wood and place them in a rough cone around the fledgling fire. She went back to blowing softly into the middle of the orange glow and was rewarded by new flames licking at the wood.

                                            > There was a lot of smoke and Mayor turned her head away when it billowed right in her muzzle. It stung her eyes, but she simply blinked to get rid of the tears, then went to bring Saule more sticks.

                                            > She was being unusually quiet and reclusive and Mayor's ears splayed as she guessed the reason. She decided to preemptively apologize, even if she didn't know what she had done. The way Salki had spoken, something happened after they had all sat down at the fire to talk.

                                            > Maybe Mayor had said something in her drowsy, half-asleep, half-drunk state.

                                            "[I'm sorry. You know, for last night. I- remember night, but not remember at the tent- at the fire. Did I say something?]"

                                            > At last Saule looked at her, but the expression on her face was unreadable to Mayor. She didn't remember ever seeing it on the young nomad. It looked like a mixture of anger, exasperation, and pity.

                                            "[Please, Saule. I'm sorry. I did not mean it, whatever I said!]"

                                            > The girl blinked in surprise. "[Said?! You didn't say anything.]"

                                            > Mayor sat on her haunches and spread her hooves in a shrug.

                                            "[Then what? I don't remember the fire. I think I went to sleep, we did not talk long. What did I do?]"

                                            > They stared at on another for a while and Mayor felt her ears creeping lower with each heartbeat. She was about to let her head hang and simply slink away in defeat. She could try to talk with her friends again later, when they were no longer this angry.

                                            > Before she could put that thought into action, however, Saule exhaled and threw her head back. "[You dumb pony and your dumb pony ears. It's not fair, you know?! I didn't have ears when I messed up and Mother was spanking me!]"

                                            > Mayor was aware that many nomads found the way she looked cute, but so far she hadn't thought it had ever worked in her favor. Maybe it had, though, and she simply wasn't aware?

                                            > It looked like she was breaking through to her friend, at least, so Mayor made sure to keep her expression downcast.

                                            "[I am really sorry, Saule. I did not mean it. Please believe! I am sorry!]"

                                            > She kept her eyes firmly on the bit of ground just before Saule's wrapped feet. "[You sure looked like you meant it last night.]"

                                            "[Please- what did I do?]"

                                            > The silence stretched for long heartbeats, then Saule grunted and sat heavily on the ground. Mayor considered going to hug the girl, but decided not to. She focused on maintaining that splayed-eared, downcast-eyed, hunched-shouldered look.

                                            > "[I thought I could trust you, you know?]" Saule said, but it sounded as if she was talking to herself. It still made Mayor flinch. Whatever had happened must have been really bad.

                                            "[I'm sorry!]" she cried again, "[what did I do?]"

                                            > Salki sighed again, but at last she spoke: "[You were a little drunk. Well, a lot, but you weren't completely out of it like before. Like Salki said that time.]"

                                            > So far that matched what Mayor herself had thought. She released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding.

                                            > "[You remember how you started shouting we should kiss? I did it just to shut you up.]" Saule spotted how Mayor's ears flattened and shook her head. "[That wasn't it. We decided to take you home, but Salki's mother didn't want you in the tent so you wouldn't puke all over it. We made you a bed outside and Salki built a fire. Then we sat with you while you got warm. You were holding my hand to your belly.]"

                                            > Dark suspicion rose up in Mayor's mind and her ears flattened even lower. She began to shake her head, as if to deny what was coming.

                                            > Saule looked around in the sudden silence, then sighed. "[Look, I'm not mad, okay? You're just an animal and you were drunk. It was still disgusting.]"

                                            > Mayor had to swallow several times before she could make her voice work.

                                            "[Did- did I? Push it- your... did I- did I ask you to...]"

                                            > Luckily she didn't have to actually say it, because Saule understood. "[You didn't ask. You just put my hand there. I couldn't pull free, you're too strong. Salki helped me free and then you just fell asleep.]"

                                            > She didn't know what to say to that. Mayor slumped and stared fixedly at her hooves for a while as she tried to come up with some good nomad words. In the end all she had to say sounded lame, and it didn't help that her voice shook and refused to work.

                                            "[I'm sorry. Saule I didn't mean to-]"

                                            > That guilty little memory popped up, of Mayor trying to imagine what human fingers might feel like, and she couldn't finish the sentence.

                                            "[No, fuck, that not true. I wanted to, but it was wrong. I'm, sorry.]"

                                            > She doubted the nomad would want to keep looking at her, so Mayor simply dragged herself to her hooves and left with her head held low. A part of her hoped that Saule would come running after her and tell her it would be alright, but it didn't happen.

                                            > Was there any apology she could make for-

                                            > Mayor swallowed painfully and pushed the thought through. For forcing herself upon the nomad girl? That was basically what it was and she didn't want to hide from the ugly truth.

                                            > It sounded like nothing much had happened, but it was no thanks to Mayor or her self-control.

                                            "What in the bucking Tartarus is ... is... [fucking] wrong with me?!"

                                            > She was drinking whenever she could get her hooves on booze and she tried to force herself on her friends when she was drunk. Mayor wasn't sure she recognized herself as a pony.

                                            > Had this place changed her that much? Maybe these ugly things had always been inside of her and simply hadn't had time or opportunity to come out?

                                            > Maybe the stark brutality of the nomads' world was finally rubbing off on her? Maybe that was what happened to ponies if they were exposed to this life. They became monsters.

                                            > She needed to think and try to find in herself that essential thread of kindness and goodwill. She had to go back to her Equestrian roots. She simply *had* to keep her identity.

                                            > Most importantly:

                                            "I'm...[fucking] never drinking again!"

                                            > She would have to make it up to Saule somehow. Maybe Salki would agree to whip her like an animal. The nomad girl had been right, Mayor had behaved like a beast of the field. She should be treated as one until she learned to do better.

                                            > She recalled something Bakar had said, once.

                                            "[What a fucking mess...]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Mayor Mare wandered aimlessly for a while, until she found herself at the stream. She didn't feel particularly thirsty, but drank anyway out of sheer habit. There was no one to accost her, so she headed back to the camp.

                                            > She still needed to fetch her clay pots and take water for Darga and Salki, but she didn't think she could face the nomad boy, not yet.

                                            > First she had to process the incident in her own mind. She felt numb, as if it hadn't happened to her, personally, but that was because the full implications hadn't yet worked their way through her shock.

                                            > It didn't *sound* like her.

                                            > Surely she would never, even if she were drunk, do something like that? It was not what a pony - any pony - would do. It was inequine!

                                            > For a while Mayor tried blaming it on the beer, but she kept remembering the eager thrill of anticipation when she'd realized she could get drunk the previous day. Then, she had told herself it was to dull the disappointment after the traders hadn't had any news of Rainy Day, but that was just another excuse.

                                            > She'd wanted to drink because she liked how it made her feel. For a few hours the world wasn't completely bucked-up.

                                            "Only because I'm just as... as [fucked up] as the world," she murmured to herself.

                                            > It still wasn't her fault, not completely. She'd been taken from her home, again her will, and made a prisoner of these people. Sure, she liked some of them more than the others, but they had still foal-napped her.

                                            > Ever since she had been brought to this unfriendly world she had had to see things that no pony should have to see.

                                            > Blood, and violence, and cruelty, and a cold disregard for life and justice, even for the most basic decency. The nomads had rudiments of civilisation, but they were little more than animals.

                                            > Was it really that strange that they'd dragged her down? Could any pony stand up to them and retain her ideals, remain a true Equestrian, in this dark, dismal, brutal place?

                                            > Drinking was a coping mechanism. She did it to keep from going insane.

                                            > It didn't excuse... *using* Saule, but maybe it helped explain it?

                                            > Mayor imagined saying those words to Darga, or to Intor, or even to Mitra, Saule's daughter. Would they understand, or would they punish her?

                                            > What were nomad punishments like? Mayor had seen beatings, but those mostly applied to children. She hadn't seen any of the adults being punished. What would happen to her?

                                            > She wasn't even one of them, maybe the nomads would decide that she was just too dangerous and unpredictable. If they could no longer trust her, maybe it would be easier to just kill her for the meat, or send her out into the wilderness alone.

                                            > Mayor's legs began to tremble and her breathing quickened as she remembered that fateful night she and Rainy Day had tried to run from wolves. She wouldn't survive long on her own, and the end would be gruesome.

                                            > If that were her choice, she would prefer they just ended it quickly. An image of a knife, slowly sliding across her throat made the mare shudder and groan in fright.

                                            > There was no way she could face either of those fates!

                                            > She remembered the thought she'd had when she was running out of the camp, some hours prior. Maybe she could avoid the worse punishment if she acted quickly!

                                            > Mayor suddenly had an important goal and she hastened her hoofsteps back to Saule's tent. After a few moments she broke into a gallop, suddenly afraid that she was already too late.

                                            "Please, don't tell your Mom yet, plase!" she whined under her breath.

                                            > If she could reach the girl soon enough, maybe she could strike a deal. Her and Salki. Mayor would atone, as best she could, as long as it didn't include her having to die.

                                            > She dashed around campfires and missed nomads by inches. Sometimes she didn't quite make it and her side smacked against a thigh, or a rump, so her progress was marked by an occasional angry shout or yell of pain.

                                            > Mayor knew she was knocking some of the nomads to the ground, but they would live and she didn't have any time to spare.

                                            > She shouted apologies, but didn't spare any more breath to say where she was going or why. The only piece of luck was that none of the nomads came after her, either through curiosity or through anger. For that, Mayor was grateful.

                                            > Saule was still tending the fire outside of her mother's tent, but now she had a leather pot of soup stretched on a tripod. It smelled of meaty broth, but Mayor simply ignored it as she stopped in front of the girl.

                                            > She was panting and her entire body was trembling, but luckily she could still speak.

                                            "[Quick! Saule, did you say to Mother? Did you say- about me? Last night?]" Mayor demanded.

                                            > Her sudden appearance and the question were strange enough that Saule replied before she could remember her grievance. "[N-No? Why? What is this?!]"

                                            > Mayor threw herself on her knees, partly out of exhaustion, and partly as a sign of humility.

                                            "[Please! Please no tell anyone! I am saying please! I pay, I promise. You, Salki- you take me and beat me, okay? Punishment, yes. Beating. I will pay, but please no tell anyone! They will kill me!]"

                                            > The mare wasn't entirely certain about that last part, but she wasn't taking any chances and would play on any heartstrings she could to save herself.

                                            > The nomad girl looked stunned and didn't seem to know how to answer her. "[Wha- What? What are you talking about? Beating?]"

                                            > Mayor crawled closer to the girl and lifted her forelegs out of the mud in supplication. Some other nomads had gathered around, so she would have to watch her words, but other than that Mayor didn't care what they saw or thought.

                                            "[Yes! Please, I did wrong and you can beat me. How much you think, I will not fight it. I am really sorry, I will prove it! Just no tell anyone!]"

                                            > That last she said in a lower voice, otherwise the brighter of the onlookers might start guessing at more than Mayor would have liked them to. There were some murmurs, but they were too faint even for her pony ears.

                                            > Meanwhile Saule had stood up, but she wasn't backing away, which Mayor took as a good sign. "[I don't understand. Why would I beat you?]"

                                            "[Punishment. I deserve punishment, no? I want your punishment, not your mother, or Darga. I did it to you, it should be you. Maybe also Salki, but you first!]"

                                            > They were near enough so that there was little chance now of anyone overhearing. The nomads kept their respectful distance and some left, now that the commotion of her crazy arrival seemed to be over, but a few still hung around, curious.

                                            > Saule looked around and seemed to notice their audience for the first time. Her face went beet red and she glared at the mare. "[What are you doing?! I don't want a scene, not after- not today! Get away from me!]"

                                            > She was losing her and Mayor had to force her forelegs into stillness, before they wrapped around the girls legs in a desperate hug. Talking became harder as new fear flowed through her.

                                            > If Saule insisted on telling the adults and left the punishment to them, all the horrible things Mayor had imagined would come to pass.

                                            "[Please, please, Saule! I am your friend, we can fix this! I'm sorry! I'll go away, just promise: no tell anyone and you punish me, no one else. Promise! I will go, okay? I will wait, we will talk later.]"

                                            > Maybe she got through to the girl, or maybe she just wanted the public scene to end, because Saule threw her arms up in defeat and growled: "[Bah, fine! I'll beat you if you insist. I won't tell anyone, just go!]"

                                            > The relief was too much and Mayor reached out a hoof to snag the edge of Saule's coat. She kissed the animal fur and smiled at the nomad girl.

                                            "[Thank you! I'm sorry, thank you! I will wait. We will make it right, I promise. Thank you!]"

                                            > Before the young woman could change her mind Mayor crawled a few steps away and got to her hooves. She was filthy with mud and her coat was caked in it, but all of it was less dirty than she felt inside.

                                            > She did what she had to do to survive, but she didn't feel particularly good about it. Mayor Mare kept her smile in place and her ears firmly down until she was out of sight of Saule, then she went to search for Salki. With luck he hadn't told anyone either, and he might be easier to convince now that Saule was on board.

                                            > Mayor had meant every word: she would pay with every lash. She would let them them beat her until she was blue, just so long as she didn't have to die for her mistake. Maybe she'd never regain Saule's friendship, but she would at least try to get her forgiveness.

                                            > It wouldn't be pleasant, but, the mare thought to herself, the nomads may underestimate how tough her earth pony hide was. Maybe the beating would be quite as as she imagined.

                                            > Even if it was, it would be a thousand times better than feeling one of those jagged stone knives slice into her flesh. A million times better than wolf fangs tearing her belly open.

                                            > She hobbled on three legs for a few steps so she could place a hoof over her midriff. The mere thought made her queasy.

                                            > One of the nomads she had run over in her earlier rush approached and asked something, but Mayor wasn't paying them any mind.

                                            > She blurted out something which hopefully sounded noncommittal and hurried off in search of Salki.


                                            > ~~~


                                            > The two young nomads actually did it. Salki had found a long, thin, supple branch somewhere and they'd beaten her. Not too harshly, but the whip had left lines of fire across Mayor's rump.

                                            > She'd tried to bear it stoically, but before long she was whimpering and squeaking at each blow. Yet when Saule asked if they should stop, Mayor had shaken her head. She wanted to make things right, so she'd told the girl to continue.

                                            > If anything, Saule's lashes were stronger than Salki's, but that made sense. After all, Mayor had involved her directly, while the young man had only watched the scene.

                                            > She wanted it to be a punishment. It had to hurt, so she would remember, so she could square it away with herself. It was how the nomad world worked; on punishment and pain and misery. Mayor was a part of it now, and the sooner she adapted to their ways, the easier it would be for her.

                                            > Despite her stubborn, earth-pony insistence, she was still glad when her friend proclaimed the beating over. Her legs were weak and trembling, and her muzzle was wet with tears. She was covered with fresh mud from the time her limbs had buckled after a particularly strong lash and she'd flopped down into the dirty slush.

                                            > Perhaps the only saving grace of the whole affair was that they'd done it out of sight of the camp. Mayor had taken her two friends far enough so no one would conceivably come across their unusual activity and ask problematic questions.

                                            > It was done and she was left trembling and breathing heavily. An occasional moan drew itself from her muzzle as her back panged with remembered pain. She raised her eyes to Saule, who seemed worried of all things.

                                            > "[Are you okay?]" the nomad girl asked quietly.

                                            "[Yes. Thank you. I am sorry, you believe now? I prove I am sorry?]"

                                            > Upon mention of her beating Saule looked away, unwilling to meet her eyes. "[You didn't have to do this.]"

                                            "[No, no. What I did yesterday- that was wrong. You had- I had to be punished. Okay? Now it is done and we do not need to tell others.]"

                                            > This last came as a bit of a surprise and Saule looked at Salki in confusion. "[Why would we need to tell anyone else?]"

                                            "[You will not tell Mother? Salki not tell Darga? I am afraid- if Mitra and Darga know, maybe they punish worse. Maybe they say 'Meyermer, you leave and not come back!' Maybe they kill me for meat.]"

                                            > Mere mention of it was enough to make Mayor Mare shudder anew. She had seen a few times how such slaughter was done and the panicky, fear-filled, gargling braying of the donkeys was the stuff of nightmares for her.

                                            > Again both young nomads with her seemed completely bewildered. "[They wouldn't do that,] Salki said, at the same time as Saule blurted out: "[Why would they kill you?]"

                                            > Mayor looked from one to the other and tried to come up with an explanation. It was distasteful, especially with her limited language, but she had to explain it.

                                            "[I did a bad thing! Very bad thing! You are young, Saule, and I- I tried to make you... what I did was very bad. It is a big no in Equestria. They put me- they punish me very bad.]"

                                            > The girl was still lost and she shrugged her shoulders. "[You just took my hand and made me touch you. I was angry because you didn't ask and you made me, but no one else would care. This happens.]"

                                            > She thought about it some more, but Salki seemed to understand a bit better. "[I guess...]" he started and spread his arms in uncertainty. "[Sometimes, some man fucks a woman- a young woman who doesn't want it. If the woman's family, if her brother or father find out, they will get the man and beat him. Is it like that?]"

                                            > It sounded pretty close and Mayor nodded urgently.

                                            "[Yes! It's bad like that!]"

                                            > This just made the two more confused and they exchanged a rapid series of sentences out of which Mayor could hardly distinguish an occasional word.

                                            > "[But- you didn't fuck me,]" Saule said and came closer so she could crouch in front of the mare and inspect her face from up close. "[You're a girl. A girl can't fuck another girl.]"

                                            "[Y-You were angry about it...]"

                                            > To this, the nomad shrugged a little. "[Because you used my hand and didn't ask me. I would also be angry if you grabbed me and dragged me around and not let me go. What did you think?]"

                                            > It was another painful reminder of just how backward the nomad society was, Mayor realized. She vaguely remembered learning about similar sentiment in Equestria's dark, history, far before the three tribes were united. She shook her head firmly, determined to explain, and reached out to place a hoof on Salki's arm.

                                            "[It the same, you see? Even if I am girl and you are too, it is the same bad! It is wrong to do that when you say no! I am the same bad as those men you said!]"

                                            > At this both Salki and Saule laughed uproariously. "[Is that why you wanted us to beat you?!]" Salki suddenly understood. "[Meyermer, it's not the same! A man forcing himself on a woman, or a girl, that is bad. If a girl does it- even if it's with a boy and they actually fuck, that's nothing! No one would care! Even when it's a man, they only care if it's a young girl, and usually only her family!]"

                                            > Mayor's ears lowered and she drew a deep sigh. Part of it was relief. Even if the two had promised not to tell, something could slip out and she'd been afraid that, eventually, someone would learn her secret and punish her brutally for it. She no longer thought that would happen.

                                            > That sliver of relief, however, was almost lost in a sea of self-loathing, precisely because she felt relieved. She'd been so worried about any punishment that she'd completely lost the Equestrian way.

                                            > She had begged and pleaded with these youngsters not to tell others about her abuse. Yes, that was exactly what it was, and she couldn't hide from it any longer. She was an abuser, and a drunk. The kiss with Salki had shown it, and this thing with Saule proved it.

                                            > Even worse, she had gone to such great lengths to twist herself out of the responsibility!

                                            > What even was she, now? She surely couldn't call herself 'pony' any longer.

                                            > Mayor sat heavily down and began to weep openly. The beating, the residual pain from it, and the worse hurt right down in her heart were too much to bear.

                                            > So easily had she lost herself. A mere few months living harshly and she was just as low, conniving, back-stabbing and hypocritical as the worst of the nomads.

                                            > She felt fresh admiration for people like Xuan and Buygra, even for Saule and Salki, who became as good as they were despite living like this their entire lives. Mayor no longer thought she could do it.

                                            > It was easy being an Equestrian in Equestria. It was less easy being one here.

                                            > Maybe a stronger pony would have endured. Rainy Day probably would.

                                            > Mayor keenly felt the pain of loss again, and she wept harder. She was hardly aware of the two sets of warm hands patting the fur on her muzzle, brushing away her tears, and of the two gentle voices saying soothing words.

                                            > She just wept.

                                            > She knew they prodded her upright and pushed her in some direction. She heart one of the hurry away and guessed it was Salki, his heavier footsteps receding on the wet grass. She looked at where he was going, but everything was a watery blur.

                                            > Finally, she just wept from sheer relief. The two wouldn't stop being her friends, even if they had every right and justification to do so. They would forgive her, and perhaps she had atoned a little through her beating.

                                            > If she got a few dozen more like that, she might even believe it herself.

                                            > She wept for her pony soul, slowly withering away in this brutal land.

                                            > Mayor didn't know how much time had passed. Even after her tears had dried, she had kept blindly following Saule until they came to the stream. The girl had taken her leather foot wraps off and had prodded the mare into the cold water.

                                            > At that point she wouldn't mind if Saule was going to drown her.

                                            > Except the girl wanted nothing of the sort. She lifted Mayor's filthy animal skin cloak from the mare and ran her hands through her mane. She lifted handfuls of water and splashed it against the mare.

                                            > It was exceedingly cold, but the day itself wasn't quite as freezing as winter. Mayor shivered, but she felt she could endure.

                                            > The girl was washing her. The icy water felt good on her lashes, even if was making her shudder violently.

                                            > "[There, there,]" Saule kept saying. "[Let's clean you up and get you back to warm up. It's going to be okay, Meyermer. I forgive you.]"

                                            > That last bit made the mare burst out in fresh tears, but this time they didn't last as long.

                                            > Saule splashed around her and Mayor saw her blurry face looking directly into her own. She ran her fingers through the matted fur around her head, then cupped more water with her hand.

                                            > She held it for a while, then brought it up and trickled it down Mayor's muzzle.

                                            > The mare quickly understood. By holding the water, Saule let it warm up from her body heat so it would be more comfortable for Mayor.

                                            > She attempted a smile.

                                            "[Thank you. I do not deserve a friend like you. I'm sorry.]"

                                            > Mayor thought the nomad returned her grin, but it was hard to tell because the next trickle of water made her close her eyes. She remained still and let Saule methodically wash her face clean.

                                            > It felt nice and after a while Mayor forgot the chill and even stopped shivering.

                                            > Her ear was turned back and she heard someone approach. She thought it was Salki and the young hunter confirmed it when the shifting wind brought his scent to her nose. He spoke to Saule: ["I got the cloak, come out before you both freeze to death.]"

                                            > To which the girl replied: "[It's not that cold when the sun is up! Want to come in? You stink too, you could use a wash!]"

                                            > The couple laughed at each other, but Salki didn't take the offer and waited on the bank. Luckily he didn't have long to wait, for Saule wiped the majority of the water from Mayor's face and proclaimed: "[There, that's better. Now let's wrap you up and get you in a warm tent.]"

                                            > She raised her voice to speak to Salki: "[Did you make a fire in Bakar's tent?]"

                                            > "[I told him what we were doing and he made the fire himself. He said we should hurry back before we catch the cough.]"

                                            > Saule just gave an affirmative-sounding grunt as she tugged on Mayor's mane to get the mare out of the stream. Soon they were back on dry land and the two nomads wrapped Mayor in dry, clean animal skin clothes. Soon, she knew, they would warm up with her body heat.

                                            "[I do not know what to say. I'm sorry. You are both kind.]"

                                            > In lieu of a reply, Salki just gave her head a few pats and after a moment Saule did the same. They began their walk back, and then the girl said: "[If you make me touch you again, I *will* break your leg, okay?]"

                                            "[If I make you touch again, I will let you,]" Mayor replied earnestly.

                                            > No more drinking, she promised herself, not for the first time. This time she meant it, however.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Things gradually settled back into routine. Mayor Mare felt as if things between her, Salki, and Saule were a little uneasy, but she didn't bring it up and focused instead on the business of survival.

                                            > Her duties didn't significantly change and she still mostly carried things, or fetched firewood and water, but it was getting easier as the ground dried and her hooves no longer sank into soft mud with each step.

                                            > Aside from those boring, monotonous duties, Mayor spent a lot of time with Hisein's child slaves, whom she was teaching the nomad language. Her own grasp wasn't yet perfect, but it was steadily improving.

                                            > It also allowed her to see that the two weren't being mistreated. The girl, Ning, was the younger of the two and seemed to be adapting to her new life. There were moments when the brother and sister suddenly grew silent and distant, and on more than one occasion Mayor had seen their faces wet, but there were also times when they laughed.

                                            > What had happened to them was definitely wrong, but at least they weren't suffering. At least physically.

                                            > Talking with the two, as they began to grasp the nomad language, also brought a rather surprising revelation. Mayor learned that their people, at least the rich and well-educated, could read and write.

                                            > For the first time since her capture Mayor began to realize that way she had seen these nomads live might not be the only one. There were other peoples in the world, different cultures with perhaps different values. Perhaps there were some who were more civilized, closer to Equestria.

                                            > She'd called their entire race 'nomads', from the little she had seen so far, but perhaps that wasn't a good description. She decided to keep the moniker for the ones she knew, the people who camped and moved, and had few belongings beyond what they could carry. Ning and Fen Ko's people she tentatively dubbed the 'city-builders' in her head, at least until she could find out more about them and come up with a better name.

                                            > Unfortunately there wasn't a lot of detail to learn, because children were too young to have picked up very much of their parents' culture and lore, and their memories were quickly fading into a dim past before their life in the camp.

                                            > Still, they knew about reading and writing, even if they had never actually seen it. When Mayor asked how their parents had kept track of their trades and stock, neither Ning nor Fen Ko knew.

                                            > Trying to get them to remember was unproductive, as memories of what had happened were more likely to drive the two into sad, sullen silence than get any kind of useful response. Remembering was causing them distress and Mayor soon stopped trying.

                                            > Despite that particular setback, Mayor had gone back to Darga and insisted again that reading and writing would be beneficial to the tribe.

                                            > This time she was able to explain it better, or perhaps her inventions had given the mare some credibility, because the chieftain allowed her to try and teach this strange skill, but only to nomads who wanted to learn it.

                                            > Salki was one of them, but he was becoming a critical member of the hunting party so he didn't have a whole lot of time. On the other hoof, Saule seemed willing, but things between her and Mayor were still tense and uncomfortable, and the girl had her hands full with the work her mother assigned her.

                                            > Mayor had tried with Xuan and had gotten the young woman to remember some of the letters, even if she didn't quite understand what they were for, until Xuan's mother had stepped in and forbade this dangerous magic, as she called it, this close to the birth.

                                            > Few other nomads were friendly enough with Mayor to invest hours and hours into a skill with dubious usefulness, despite her assurances that it would be worthwhile.

                                            > Lately Mayor was trying to come up with a way to prove it when she didn't have other duties.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            "[No, round, like fist, but flat so I can hold it,]" she told Darkhan.

                                            > He was using his fingers to expertly shape a lump of clay into an oblong shape. The bowl part had been easy, although the craftsman didn't quite understand why the vessel had to be so thick.

                                            > Now she was trying to explain the concept of a pestle. She'd started with 'small spear', now she was trying for something a bit more rounded.

                                            "[Like river stone! Round and smooth, yes? One side round and smooth, other side like spear so I hold like this.]"

                                            > She mimed gripping the pestle between her hooves and moved it up and down.

                                            "[I hit- I grind in bowl, like flour! Put plants, then hit them so they- um, so they are like water. Like mud! Understand?]"

                                            > Unfortunately the nomad didn't, and just stared at her strangely. Mayor sighed and pointed a hoof at the lump he was holding.

                                            "[That is almost right. Keep it that, but make this,]" she began and pointed, "[round like river stone. Okay? Only that part round, rest is good.]"

                                            > It wouldn't be too comfortable to hold for her, since the shaft was too round, but it would be good enough to demonstrate the principle. After that Darkhan would probably understand better.

                                            > He shrugged to himself and began smoothing the clay on the side she had indicated.

                                            "[Yes, good. That is good. When will it be done?]"

                                            > The man grunted and looked at the cloud-covered sky to gauge the position of the sun. "[I will put it to bake tonight with some other things. You can come and help build the fire.]"

                                            "[I will!]"

                                            > She had seen the preparation and the effort which went into making sure the fire would burn at the correct speed and temperature, so the clay would be baked evenly. Despite a lifetime of practice, only about every third of fourth batch of pottery came out usable.

                                            > It was likely that Mayor would have to wait longer and fetch more soil and water before her mortar and pestle were done, but it would be worth it.

                                            > Luckily this had been one of her interest in college and it was a topic she remembered well. Not exactly history, but her class on ancient languages had included a very unusual lecture on how ink was made in the pre-Equestrian society.

                                            > Mayor would have to experiment a little with different plants, but she didn't care much if the ink she came up with ended up green, so long as it was usable. She also had some ideas on how to carve basic quill-like pens from bamboo shoots, and she'd gotten Bakar to carve out some smooth, flat bits of wood she could use in lieu of paper.

                                            > What she would write and how she would prove its usefulness still eluded her, but at least having the means would go a long way, Mayor thought.

                                            > She said her goodbye to Darkhan and left him to finish up the rest of the pottery he was making while she went to look for Salki.

                                            > He would probably be with Bakar and Willow out in the fields beyond the camp where they usually set up their archery targets.

                                            > It was a source of quiet amusement to Mayor that Willow had proven to be completely inept at shooting bows. That was why their first hunt with the new tool had been such a disappointment. The 'mighty hunter' had drawn their one bow too hard on his first try and had broken it.

                                            > After that it had been Salki who was shaping to be the tribe's best marksman, something which Darga approved and Intor hated. That was perfectly fine with Mayor.

                                            > Willow had taken to watching Salki practice, perhaps in the vain hope that he might learn some of the talent. The way things were going, Mayor was starting to think that Willow's spot as top hunter was slowly slipping away from him.

                                            > It would serve him right, although a scorned and disappointed Willow could be a dangerous thing. Another reason for Mayor to look in on the practice as often as she could. If the dummy tried to get belligerent she was sure she could subdue him together with Salki.

                                            > After the practice she would bring the pots of water Darga had asked for and wash the animal skins the woman had commanded washed. It was best not to disappoint the chieftain, even with Mayor's recent contributions to the tribe's technological progress.

                                            > There was still plenty of day left, though, and Mayor paused here and there if she spotted a particularly tender young grass. Now that spring was in full swing, her diet was becoming a lot easier to organize, even if plain grass was a bit bland.

                                            > She stopped once to admire a beautiful, five-petaled pink flower of a type she didn't recognize. She gave it a tentative sniff, then took a cautious nibble. Mayor couldn't be sure that it was edible, but most flowers in Equestria were good and she felt curious and optimistic.

                                            > It was slightly bitter, more than she was used to, but nothing about the taste seemed off, so she swallowed. One single petal wouldn't kill her, even if it wasn't exactly edible. At worst she would have indigestion or stomach pains.

                                            > If, on the other hoof, she didn't, she would return the next day to taste more of them. It had been ages since she had a nice, crisp flower salad.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Mayor Mare was on her way to the stream with her large clay pots when Salki caught up with her. She looked at him and pointedly turned an ear in his direction, but didn't otherwise greet the young nomad.

                                            > It didn't seem necessary, not after having just said goodbye to him less than five minutes ago.

                                            > Salki didn't waste time and spoke as he fell in step with her: "[There will be a circle hunt in two days and then we will leave this camp.]"

                                            > The first part wasn't a big surprise, since Mayor had heard others talking about it, but the second thing came as a bit of a shock. On reflection she should have been expecting it, since the tribe had camped in the same spot throughout winter and their hunters had to travel further and further afield to find their prey.

                                            "[Um. Okay? What should I do?]"

                                            > Her friend asked: "[For the circle hunt or for moving?]"

                                            > She had asked about the migration, but now that he'd brought it up Mayor wondered if she should make any special preparations.

                                            "[Both?]"

                                            > "[Nothing for the hunt. Women and children will have clubs, but you don't have hands. You can kick or bite.]"

                                            > Mayor vowed to herself she would do no such thing, even in the unlikely chance that the nomads' clumsy stomping around actually managed to dislodge any of the animals. She had seen a few creatures of this world and they were quick, furtive little critters, who ran away at the first sight of a nomad.

                                            > They had learned, Mayor supposed, that the people were just another predator. Some creatures in Equestria were like that. Animals around the Everfree Forest, and those in the Badlands and the undiscovered West.

                                            > In fact, the mare would be mightily surprised of there were any small critters *left* anywhere near the nomads' camp. That was, she guessed, the reason why they had to move so often.

                                            > It was true: herbivores had it a lot easier. Their food didn't run away and grew practically everywhere.

                                            "[Okay,]" she nodded, "[what about moving?]"

                                            > Salki shrugged, then leaned down slightly to run a finger along the pole she used to balance her pots of water. "[Probably the same as last time. We will tie things in a pack with ropes. Like we did when we went to hunt, that time we fought the Ruslans.]"

                                            > No big surprises, then.

                                            "[Okay. I will carry things for you and Darga?]"

                                            > "[Who else?]"

                                            > Mayor still felt a remnant of guilt over what had happened with Saule the night of the bonfire and her ears lowered despite her effort not to show it on her face.

                                            "[If- If there is not much, I want to help Bakar and Saule. I can carry, I am strong.]"

                                            > There was no reply for a few steps and Mayor glanced at her companion. She thought he had an approving smile, but she couldn't be sure, not with her eyesight. When he spoke his words came out slowly and deliberately, as if he had to think about each one: "[I think maybe me and Mother do not have very many things for you to carry. Maybe you cannot be trusted with beer, or with food. I will speak with Mother.]"

                                            > Mayor returned the smile.

                                            "[Thank you.]"

                                            > After that exchange Salki said he would go practice the bow and left, which allowed Mayor Mare to sink back into her own thoughts. She wondered which campsite the nomads would pick next.

                                            > Perhaps it would be the first one she had seen, the one near the way home. The nomads' shaman had said the way would not open for many decades, but Mayor couldn't quite shed the sliver of hope that he was wrong.

                                            > She determined to ask Salki - to plead, to beg, to promise anything he wanted - if he would take her there. It would mean leaving Rainy Day behind, but Mayor quickly told herself that it wouldn't be.

                                            > All she would do was get help. She would fetch Twilight Sparkle and any of the other Princesses she could get, and as many of the Royal Guard they could spare, and come back to this world in force.

                                            > Mayor imagined her triumphant return, with a force so overwhelming that the nomads would have no choice but to worship and obey them. With a couple of unicorns and an alicorn or two they would have no real trouble finding her missing citizen.

                                            > After that...

                                            > She put the daydream on hold while she filled the pots. The riverbank was full of smooth, round stones and slippery with moss, and Mayor needed all her concentration on her hoofsteps lest she slip and fall into the water.

                                            > It wouldn't be the worst thing, not with how warm the days had gotten, but the stream was still icy cold and she didn't enjoy the idea of slogging back with a wet fur cloak on her back.

                                            > She waded only up to her knees, then carefully lowered the wooden pole with the pots. There were two holes in the river bottom, specially made to fit her clay vessels so she could submerge them deeper and thus draw more water. That bit had been Xuan's idea.

                                            > In any case, the delicate part was over, until she had to lift the full pots out, so Mayor returned to her imagination. Would she insist the Princesses left some guards with her in this world, so she could bring proper, Equestrian culture to the nomads?

                                            > With the right encouragement and some force she could perhaps teach them to leave their violent, carnivorous ways. She could teach them writing and philosophy and law. They could make their lives, and the lives of other creatures in this world so much better.

                                            > Perhaps she would, some day, be hailed as the savior of the nomad race?


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It began as any other day for Mayor Mare, except for a vague, unidentifiable sense of unease. Maybe it was because the tent was completely empty, or maybe it was some kind of atmosphere in the camp that she subconsciously recognized.

                                            > Whatever had caused it, Mayor couldn't quite put her hoof on why she should feel that way, so she tried to shove it out of her mind as she dug around her meagre possessions for something to eat.

                                            > Most of her vegetables were shriveled up and on the verge of going mouldy. She could smell that they were definitely past their prime. She'd been saving them for difficult times, but perhaps it was time to rethink that strategy.

                                            > They would be useless to her if they went bad - more than they already had, she mentally corrected herself - so she gathered everything up in one sack with a generous portion of dried rice. With luck it, and some salt, would cover up the flavor.

                                            > Mayor would need to ask Xuan or Darga when the women would start foraging again so she could join them and replenish her supplies with fresh vegetables. Until then it would just have to be young grass and what was left of her rice and grain.

                                            > She wasn't too worried, since she could always count on a bite or two when she saw nomads baking bread. They recognized that the original recipe had come from her and that was still worth a slice every now and then.

                                            > That settled breakfast and quite possibly lunch as well, Mayor decided. If she felt hungry she could always go graze a little on one of her many trips to the stream for fresh water.

                                            > It should tide her over to evening, when the whole camp would have some kind of a spring festival. That was what Mayor could understand of what was going to happen.

                                            > Her friends had tried to explain and she gathered that the nomads would organize some kind of hunting ritual. They called it the 'circle hunt', most likely because it was meant to represent the cyclical nature of the seasons.

                                            > It was a once-a-year event when women and older children joined in on hunting. Mayor didn't expect them to catch much, especially the way Salki had described it. The nomads would stand in a big circle and then walk together. Any animals caught in the middle would be captured.

                                            > Mayor strongly suspected that it was more a ritual than an actual hunting method, so she didn't argue too hard against participating. Salki had brought it up during dinner one day and Darga had agreed. She'd said it would help fix her place in the camp with the other nomads.

                                            > They hadn't talked about it recently, but Mayor wasn't completely sure about her own status. The way Darga and Salki and, sometimes, Intor gave her orders, it seemed like she was still considered a slave, even if it wasn't entirely clear to whom she belonged.

                                            > On the other hoof, she had a large degree of autonomy and freedom about how she performed her tasks, and she was also allowed to indulge in her side projects. Her efforts to create writing materials would soon bear fruit and then maybe she could get Darga to agree to some form of a school, at least for the children.

                                            > Maybe it was time to raise the topic again? Perhaps she had earned her place and, more importantly, her status as a free mare.

                                            > Not that it made much of a difference.

                                            > The thought had come out of nowhere and Mayor's ears sank. Free or not, she was still a prisoner of the camp. She couldn't hope to go anywhere alone, except maybe if she joined the trade caravans.

                                            > The nomads outside of the ones she knew would likely consider her little more than an animal, the same these had when she first arrived. She was just as likely to be butchered out of fear as she was to be enslaved again as a curiosity, if she left.

                                            > Going alone was also out of the question. Mayor couldn't hope to evade or fight of some of the more vicious wildlife.

                                            > As much as the idea bothered her, the safest place for her was in the camp, at least until she had sufficient pull to get a retinue back to the portal. That was another long shot. The shaman had sounded confident when he said it would only open once every eight or so decades.

                                            > Back in Equestria, with modern medicine and a healthy lifestyle she might live that long, out here it was looking more and more unlikely.

                                            > Mayor Mare sighed and slung the sack with her food across her back. Sitting in the tent and moping wouldn't accomplish anything.

                                            > She pushed her way outside and headed to Xuan so they could cook together. It had turned out that fingers were incredibly useful for setting up the strange leather pot and for cutting the vegetables and stirring the stew.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > At the very least, Xuan was good company, even if she complained about her feet and her head a lot. In that respect, pregnant nomads were pretty much like any mare in Equestria. It had gotten so bad that Buygra took any opportunity to leave camp lately.

                                            > Mayor was doing her best to knead the woman's shoulders, even though she didn't have any particular skill with massage. Xuan had said it helped and that was good enough.

                                            > "[Yes. Oooh, yeah. Right there. Press harder!]" the woman was saying even as she preemptively pushed back against Mayor's hooves.

                                            > Obliging, she exerted a touch more force and angled her hoof to bring more of the edge to bear. It drew out a low groan from Xuan.

                                            "[I do not know if I do it right. Maybe I hurt you? I don't want to push harder.]"

                                            > Her friend waved a hand dismissively. "[It's okay. You won't hurt me. Just push.]"

                                            > Mayor's ears splayed a little in concern, but she obeyed and leaned into her task. That earned her another luxuriating groan from the woman.

                                            > "[This is so good,]" Xuan murmured, "[don't stop.]"

                                            > It sounded like an entirely different conversation for a much more inappropriate activity and Mayor's tail tucked up in sudden embarrassment. She sought to change the topic as quickly as possible.

                                            "[You will stay in the camp? Are you not worried? Nearly everyone will be gone.]"

                                            > This time Xuan shrugged, which incidentally helped Mayor feel just how tense her neck was. She moved her hooves a little higher and pressed together.

                                            > "[I don't worry. No one will dare attack us. Besides, there is no honor in killing a few old men, and some women, and you won't be that far. Everyone will be back soon after dark.]"

                                            "[It will take that long? I thought we would just get in a circle and shout or something. That is fast, no?]"

                                            > This made Xuan laugh. "[You will shout, but not until later. Just- do what everyone else is doing, you'll be fine. Circle hunt is fun.]"

                                            > Mayor shook a strand of pink mane out of her eye and glanced around. The camp was waking up and people were streaming past them toward the central bonfire. She guessed it would soon be time to go.

                                            "[What if the baby comes?]"

                                            > Xuan turned partially to look at the mare, then smiled. "[Then it would be about time. I've had enough of- of *this*!]" she said, gesturing expansively at her swollen belly. "[I can hardly walk, and I have to get up fifteen times every night to piss. My head hurts all the time and even when I manage to fall asleep the baby kicks.]"

                                            > Mayor rolled her eyes at the familiar complaints, but she shared the woman's smile.

                                            "[You knew what you were getting into.]"

                                            > "[Actually, I didn't. I never talked with Mother or any of the others what it is like. I knew it would be uncomfortable, and the birthing would hurt, but I never knew it would be like this.]"

                                            "[So you won't have another?]" Mayor asked quietly.

                                            > This made Xuan freeze under her hooves, but only for a moment. She quickly replied: "[I didn't say that,]" in a firm tone of voice. "[First we will see how this one turns out.]"

                                            > They both chuckled at that response, then Xuan sighed and went on: "[Don't worry, Kantuta and Mitra are staying with me. They took some convincing, but I wanted someone experienced. I think the baby really will come tonight.]"

                                            > When she said that the nomad placed her hands on her belly and rubbed in gentle circles. She stared off into the distance, thoughtful.

                                            "[They wanted to go to the hunt? How did you convince them to stay?]"

                                            > Xuan twisted again so she could give Mayor a very deliberate wink. "[Easy. I promised them some of your hair when you cut it next!]"

                                            "[What?!]" blurted out and stepped away in shock.

                                            > Mayor only had a moment to look indignant before Xuan's face fell and she lowered her gaze. "[I should not have done that. I am sorry Meyermer, but I couldn't think of anything else and I am really scared about this baby. Please-]"

                                            > As she spoke, the nomad reached out a hand to Mayor in supplication. It was a most pitiful sight and Mayor couldn't resist. Her ears lowered and she came back to give Xuan a nuzzle.

                                            "[It's okay, it's okay. I will help. I was just surprised.]"

                                            > When the woman lifted her face again she was grinning. "[I am good, no? I learned it from you.]"

                                            "[What?!]" Mayor drew back for the second time in less than a minute.

                                            > "[This is what you do to Salki sometimes, no? Sad eyes and a quiet plea. It's good to see it works on you just as well.]"

                                            > It had all been a ruse to garner her sympathy! Mayor flattened her ears all the way and her tail flicked in annoyance, but she couldn't stay mad, not really. What Xuan had said was true; she had often used the fact that most nomads found her cute. Especially when it meant the difference between hunger and a fully belly.

                                            > So it worked best on Salki, that was only to be expected. He knew her better than anyone else and could read her body language pretty well by now.

                                            > Besides, a guilty little thought sprang up, she had done it to Xuan more than once when she'd joined her and Buygra for a meal. The least she could do was repay some of that kindness.

                                            "[Okay, okay, I'm not mad. I will give you hair, but next time ask me like a woman, okay?]"

                                            > In lieu of an answer Xuan just poked her tongue out at her, and they both began laughing.

                                            > "[As much as I like your hooves, I think you should go,]" Xuan said when they'd quietened down. She gestured around and Mayor saw that they were the only two left in that part of the camp.

                                            > Most of the nomads had gathered for the circle hunt, which meant she had to go and join them. She could perhaps hide from it and stay with Xuan, but that would likely mean trouble later. Darga wouldn't appreciate having her command circumvented, and Willow was itching for any excuse to punish her.

                                            > Mayor Mare got up on her hooves and inclined her head to Xuan.

                                            "[Good luck with the baby. I will come find you in the morning to meet your daughter.]"

                                            > The nomad returned the nod, then went to rummage in a bag next to her as Mayor left.

                                            > The air of jubilant excitement was nearly palpable and Mayor couldn't help but pick up on electric buzz in the air. Obviously this circle hunt would be an important festival for the people.

                                            > It would be followed by a bonfire, she knew, and a celebration long into the night. She was both looking forward to it and dreading it a little. She'd promised herself no more beer, but her resolve hadn't proven too strong in the past.

                                            > Maybe she should ask Salki to keep an eye on her, just in case.

                                            > As she made her way through the camp, Mayor saw that there was some commotion near the central firepit, which was already stacked with wood for the bonfire. A lot of nomad children were milling about and some carried crude clubs, made from sticks of wood. Here and there someone had a wooden spear.

                                            > Nothing like the hunters used, Mayor saw, just a bit of sharpened wood, hardened in the fire. She joined the crowd at the rear, but her ears were flattened, both from the overwhelming noise and from uncertainty. She didn't know where to go and what to do.

                                            > Luckily she spotted a familiar face and, despite the fact that she didn't like him, walked over to Willow.

                                            "[What do we do?]" she asked curtly, without any kind of greeting.

                                            > The young hunter looked animated and could hardly keep still from excitement. He tried crossing his arms, but couldn't stay like that for more than a few seconds. His grin worried Mayor a little, though she couldn't put her hoof on why exactly.

                                            > "[Just follow everyone. We have to walk some distance and we need to find weapons.]"

                                            "[Weapons?]"

                                            > He pointed a finger off to one side, where Mayor saw a few of the older hunters passing out spears and axes to the youngsters who didn't have any yet.

                                            > There were a lot of women in the group, too, representing all ages. This circle hunt would practically empty out the camp, Mayor estimated.

                                            > The women, for the most part, had knives or cudgels of their own.

                                            "[I'm not taking a weapon,]" she said firmly.

                                            > She didn't believe the hunt would rustle up many animals, but it might get some, and she would have absolutely no part in killing anything.

                                            > This made Willow bark a rough chuckle and Mayor looked up at his amused grin. "[You don't need weapons, you can kick. You already have weapons.]"

                                            > She glanced down at her own hooves, but all it did was make her tighten her lips in determination. She even flicked her tail in emphasis when she looked back up.

                                            "[I won't hunt.]"

                                            > Willow's smile slipped and his face darkened with his typical quick anger. "[You will, or I will beat you myself after. Everyone has to help. This will be our food for walking through summer, and for fall!]"

                                            "[What? You won't catch that much!]"

                                            > For a moment he didn't seem to understand what she had said, then he waved a dismissive hand at her. "[You don't know what you're talking about. Everyone has to help, you too, or you will be beaten. I will tell Mother and the Chieftain. They will agree with me.]"

                                            > Mayor was about to stomp her hoof and insist, but she instead just turned her head away, released the breath she had been holding, and let it go. With the amount of noise the nomads would make, they would catch nothing. Willow was probably delusional about their catch.

                                            > "[Let's go. You'll stay with me so I can make sure. Let's go,]" Willow said and set off.

                                            > Mayor snorted, but she followed the young man nonetheless. She couldn't tell what Darga might do, but Intor would doubtlessly side with her son and decree that Mayor really is to be punished if she doesn't cooperate.

                                            > Going along was just easier.

                                            > Besides, it wouldn't be his first time to overestimate his hunting ability. She still wouldn't help the hunt, she knew. She would go with them and stand around and whatever they wanted, but they couldn't make her actually chase down and kill other creatures.

                                            > Maybe wolves, Mayor thought, but only in a group of experienced hunters and only if she had no choice. She might fight wolves, and she might even kill them. The knowledge chilled her a little, but she knew she would do it if it meant her life.

                                            > The young nomad was indeed headed straight for his mother. Mayor Mare plodded along, but she kept her eye out for other familiar faces. She recognized some of the other nomads, but all seemed occupied with getting their weapons.

                                            > The ones who already had cudgels, or spears, were busy practice-swinging them, especially among the younger ones. Here and there one of the hunters would correct a youngling's grip, or explain something which Mayor couldn't catch with the din.

                                            > "[Mother, tell Meyermer she is to be beaten if she refuses to help. I said she will join circle hunt, or I will whip her.]"

                                            > This drew Mayor's attention from her surroundings and she looked at what the woman might say. Her ears lowered even before Intor opened her mouth.

                                            > It was pretty much what Mayor had expected. Intor gave a curt nod and said: "[Everyone has to help. We barely have enough people as it is. If she doesn't work, you can whip her.]"

                                            > This verdict quickly brought Willow's grin back and Mayor decided to do the maximum possible to avoid that fate. Not so much because she feared a whipping, but rather so he wouldn't have the satisfaction of winning.

                                            "[Fine,]" she said, but it was nearly a growl.

                                            > "[Find a club for her, or maybe a small spear,]" Intor instructed.

                                            > "[She does not need one,]" Willow quickly replied and pointed at Mayor's hooves, "[she can kick and stomp. It is better than a club. She has four of them.]"

                                            > When Intor looked at the mare again it felt as if she had never really seen her before. She stared and Mayor couldn't help shuffling her hooves a little bit out of sheer discomfort. Finally, the woman nodded to herself. "[You are right. Good thinking. Do what he says!]"

                                            > That last bit was directed at Mayor, who swallowed a lump and gave a slightly shaky yes. She looked down as well, thinking for the first time in her life what it would be like to kick someone with the intent to injure them.

                                            > Not in self-defense, or by accident, but in a hunt. Could she make herself do it? Her ears were already flattened and Mayor forcibly lifted her gaze again. She wouldn't, whatever Willow said. She would join their hunt, but they couldn't make her kill.

                                            > With luck it wouldn't even come up. Mayor forced the ugly images from her head and focused instead on the festival after the hunt. There would be food and drink. She could have one beer, as long as it really stayed at one.

                                            > She would ask Salki to restrict her to one beer only.

                                            > "[Come,]" said Willow, "[we will go up ahead. We will leave soon. It's about two hours walk to the hunting ground.]"

                                            > Walking wasn't a problem. Mayor didn't have an issue with walking, and she wouldn't have minded carrying stuff either, but no one had asked her. She was glad of that and resolved to enjoy a pleasant stroll in the warm afternoon, if nothing else.

                                            > Perhaps the nomads wouldn't move very quickly and she could grab quick bites of young grass on the way.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The hunting ritual began innocuously. Mayor Mare had to stand next to two other nomads, while Willow rushed around from group to group to make sure everything was to his liking.

                                            > She and the others near her were admonished, quite strictly, to be quiet while the rest of the group got in place. Some of the older, more experienced hunters took a line of people in either direction and when Mayor whispered a question to the woman beside her, she was told that the nomads would sneak around in a large circle until they met on the other side.

                                            > The ground was quite flat, and her line of sight was only broken by a few bushes and the occasional spindly tree, so Mayor could keep her eye on the hunters for a long while until they were lost in the blur.

                                            > She still didn't quite understand how this was intended to work, but the sheer discipline of the people fascinated her. Even the children were almost completely quiet. Some held the arm of the adult next to them, while others were gripping their cudgels and sticks with both hands. They all watched the line of people which snaked away through the tall grass.

                                            "[What will happen?]" Mayor whispered to the woman at her side.

                                            > She didn't remember the name, but the nomad seemed familiar. She thought she'd seen her around when they went to dig for tubers in the autumn.

                                            > "[We wait until everyone is in place. Until the circle is complete. Someone will come tell us.]"

                                            > Mayor had gathered that much on her own, and the nomad hadn't really answered her question, so she had to break the silence once more.

                                            "[Then what?]"

                                            > There was no answer right away and the mare thought that maybe she'd pushed her luck too far. She cast a quick glance at the woman, but luckily she didn't seem angry, just slightly baffled.

                                            > "[Don't you know? Didn't anyone tell you what to do?]"

                                            > Mayor just mutely shook her head.

                                            > That admission made the nomad sigh a little, but she lifted her hand where she held a club. "[When the circle is complete, the animals can't escape anymore. They'll come tell us and we'll move forward, so we tighten the circle, right?]"

                                            > The hunt sounded a lot more thought out than just a silly ritual and Mayor's ears wilted. She swallowed a lump through her suddenly dry throat. The woman kept talking: "[We'll move closer together, and then someone will drop out of the line so we can keep going. More and more people will get out as the circle gets smaller, understand?]"

                                            "[Y-Y-Yes...]

                                            > Her companion didn't seem to notice her stutter. "[Good. The animals are hiding, but they will try to bolt when we're too close. Be ready to-]" the woman began, but then noticed that Mayor didn't have a weapon and was, in fact, walking on all four hooves. She gave it some thought, then reached the same conclusion as Willow: "[I guess just kick. That'll work. Try not to let any past you, okay?]"

                                            > "[Of course she wont,]" came Willow's voice from behind her and Mayor nearly jumped in sudden fright. She hadn't heard the man approach at all! She flinched again when he patted her back with his hand. "[Meyermer will hunt with us, or I will beat her after. Mother said she is to stay in the circle until the last!]"

                                            > That dashed the last bit of hope Mayor had been entertaining. The woman had said people would fall out of the line as the circle got smaller, which would have been her salvation.

                                            "[I-, m- I'm not going to kill...]"

                                            > That made Willow chuckle in amusement and he lightly smacked her rump with a spear, which sent Mayor a step forward. "[Get back in line,]" Willow said and Mayor could swear there was a sadistic gleam in his eye. "[You'll do what you're told. The camp is hungry and we need meat.]"

                                            > His insistence was coming from nothing more than a desire to make her uncomfortable or hurt her. He'd guessed that she didn't like hunting and killing, and was making her do it simply because he could. What was worse, he had both Intor and Darga on his side!

                                            > The young nomad's attitude was even making the others uncomfortable, and the woman next to Mayor spoke up: "[Willow, if she doesn't want to, just let her drop out of the line before the animals start running, why does it matter-]"

                                            > "[Shut up!]" the hunter barked, though he kept his gaze fixed on Mayor until she couldn't help but look away. "[Mother said and the chieftain agrees! She'll hunt with us if she wants to be one of us! We don't have a use for weaklings!]"

                                            > "[But-]" someone else began, this time on Mayor's other side. It was a male nomad, slightly older, but not one of the hunters. Mayor thought he might have been one of the craftsmen of the camp, she thought she remembered seeing him with Darkhan a lot.

                                            > Unfortunately even he couldn't dissuade Willow and fell immediately silent when Willow jerked his arm as if to strike the man.

                                            > "[I'm leading this circle hunt. Do what I say or you won't get any meat today, understand!? Meyermer will hunt with us!]"

                                            > The two weren't ready to argue. Hunters were held in high esteem, even though Mayor knew for a fact that more than half of the nomads' food came from what the women gathered and the meat they smoked in autumn, and the grain they traded.

                                            > Hunting was just... revered among these people! The more dangerous the animal, the more exalted the hunter who brought it down. As their chief hunter, Willow commanded significant respect, which he easily augmented with a healthy dose of fear.

                                            > Mayor licked her dry lips and tried her best splay-eared, vulnerable pony look on Willow. She didn't like him, but distaste and pride were easy to ignore by now.

                                            "[Please- it is not the pony way. I c-can't.]"

                                            > "[Get back in line! I'll go with you to make sure you do it right!]" Willow snapped. "[We're about to start.]"

                                            > He tapped her flank with his stick again to further strengthen his point and Mayor reluctantly stepped back in the line. She kept swiveling her ears from forward to back, and then forward again.

                                            > The animals would come from up ahead, but Willow was standing uncomfortably close behind her. Her ears just mirrored her inner conflict. She couldn't decide which scared her more: the impending brutality, or the savage glee Willow showed when he could make her participate in it.

                                            > No one said anything else, despite Mayor's hopes that one of the other nomads might come to her rescue. They didn't like it either and were nervous about what was going to happen. She could hear the woman shifting from foot to foot, and the man on the other side kept switching his cudgel from one hand to the other.

                                            > No one spoke up and eventually one of the children came running from one side. "[Go! Go! We started!]" he kept saying in a strange kind of whispering shout. Where he passed, the line of nomads began to slowly move forward.

                                            > The messenger ran past them and Mayor took a small step even before Willow tapped her rump with his spear. She didn't complain about it, because her heart was hammering like crazy and it felt as if her stomach had sunk to her hooves, and she wasn't sure she could trust her voice.

                                            > All she could do was whisper a silent prayer to Celestia that there weren't very many animals in the circle. There would be no escape, she saw. Already the line of nomads was unbroken and the way they were hefting their weapons said they wouldn't let anything pass them alive.

                                            > The youngest children, the ones who didn't have any weapons, were pushed out of the line first. Some complained, but others simply walked a short distance behind the main group. A few of the more industrious ones picked up stones.

                                            > Nothing else happened as the large circle of bodies closed. Mayor looked up ahead, but she couldn't recognize the other side, maybe because of her poor vision, or maybe because of the tall grass between them. It was a pretty large circle, though. She glanced to the left and right and tried to estimate the curvature.

                                            > "[Eyes front!]" Willow snapped and the stick smacked her side. Mayor growled and considered bucking him, but she knew it would create many problems, especially after the last time Willow had accused her of attacking him. He'd have a field day with her punishment.

                                            > She could almost *feel* his insolent smirk when all she did was snort and faced the direction they were walking.

                                            > It went on for a while longer, and Mayor was beginning to hope that the whole thing was bust after all, when there came a cheer from one side. She risked a quick glance, but couldn't see anything out of the ordinary.

                                            "[What was that?]" she asked the woman beside her.

                                            > "[I didn't see. Someone caught something,]" she wagered her educated guess. It meant her hope probably wouldn't pan out, and Mayor flattened her ears some more.

                                            > Soon there was more shouting, from a different direction. A few children squealed in excitement.

                                            > It was beginning. She thought the circle was getting really small by then, but she still couldn't see the other side. There was still plenty of bushes and grass between them, where a lot of small, furry critters might be hiding.

                                            > The nomads were beginning to yell almost constantly. Cheering, laugher, wordless shouting. Some smacked their weapons together and a few others were singing.

                                            > Mayor couldn't understand why, but she soon figured out. The noise, most of it directed into the circle, frightened any animals which were trying to lay low in the grass.

                                            > Creatures began to bolt in random directions, trying to escape from the nearest source of noise and commotion. Except there was no escape, the circle of bodies was too tight.

                                            > The nomads stood so close together that they barely had room to swing their weapons.

                                            > A gray rabbit bolted straight toward Mayor and she flinched away and closed her eyes. There was a dull thud, followed quickly by a smack of Willow's spear on her flank. It stung and she opened her eyes in shock.

                                            > The rabbit was gone, but the woman to Mayor's side hefted her club and she could see a splash of vivid red at the end. Mayor glanced behind and saw a motionless scrap of gray fur.

                                            > "[Focus!]" Willow was yelling. "[Don't look away or I'll beat you harder! Hunt, you stupid beast!]"

                                            > He obviously didn't understand just how idiotic his words were, and Mayor didn't feel like explaining it to him. She had spotted more movement ahead, flashes of brown and yellow fur in the grass.

                                            > A few ran away from her, but several of the creatures headed toward them. Mayor let out a squeak of fear, followed by a pained whinny as Willow hit her again. This time she hadn't looked away, but he obviously wanted to make sure.

                                            > The critters had noticed the line and had stopped in fright. They milled around in confusion for a while, then bolted in the other direction. Mayor breathed a sigh of relief, but it didn't last very long. Something else was coming.

                                            > She didn't know what these animals were called and to her eyes they looked like large rats, or maybe small beavers. They were brown and gray, some with yellow patches and a few with darker fur. There were several different species.

                                            > She recognized rabbits and marmots just as one of each sprinted toward her. Maybe because she wasn't as tall as a nomad they thought the line was broken in this place? There was not time to guess and Mayor shied away from the desperate critters.

                                            > Willow was yelling something and she felt the thud of his stick on her rump again, but she hardly noticed it. She couldn't tear her eyes away as the world seemed to slow.

                                            > The craftsman to her side had leaned forward and was swinging his club down. It inched its way as if the air was made of treacle. The rabbit was in mid-jump and was trying to twist away, but it was too late.

                                            > She thought she heard a distinct crunch as the weapon crushed the little animal's skull. A few droplets struck her muzzle and Mayor jerked her head away, too late.

                                            > On her other side, there was another sickening thud and a squeak of such pain and terror that it pierced right into her heart. She couldn't prevent her eyes from seeking it out.

                                            > The marmot was crawling around in a circle, its hind legs broken and useless. Mayor's stomach heaved and she tried to keep it down, but the woman simply brought her cudgel around again. This time she didn't miss and the squeal was cut short with a definitive crunch.

                                            > Mayor couldn't help it any longer and her lunch came back up. The bile in it felt like acid on her tongue, but she didn't care. She hardly even felt Willow's thwacks with the stick as he urged her to keep going.

                                            > In the end he kicked her savagely in the rear and Mayor's legs moved almost without her conscious volition. She walked forward, stepped in her vomit, and was quickly past the corpses of the two animals. The two nomads to each side had slowed a little to keep the line intact.

                                            > The centre of the circle was mayhem and bedlam. Animals ran here and there, looking for a way to escape only to turn back when they faced the line of cheering, celebrating nomads.

                                            > It was a slaughter.

                                            > So much blood.

                                            > Mayor had never seen so much blood in her life.

                                            > In every direction nomads held clubs, and spears, and knives, dripping with red gore. Some of them were splatted by it, others had wiped their bloody hands on their tunics, leaving gruesome handprints.

                                            > There was no time to look as more animals came their way. Mayor wanted to stop, to fall back, but Willow was there, prodding and kicking and hitting her to keep her moving. He was yelling commands and obscenities at her, but Mayor had long since stopped listening.

                                            > To her side, the woman was silent, aside from an occasional grunt of effort as she swung her weapon. The man on her other side sometimes hummed to himself in rhythm to the larger song some of the nomads were now shouting from all around.

                                            > Their clubs swung and hit again and again. Not every strike was true, but most of them inflicted injuries. Sometimes a creature, wounded, would slip past them, through Mayor's legs, but she heard the children behind her laugh as they caught it. There was a crowd of them behind her now, happy to kill whatever she let past.

                                            > A quick glance behind showed just how red in the face Willow was. He was brandishing his spear, but Mayor still couldn't understand what he was saying.

                                            > She was in shock.

                                            > Her fetlock was red, and something wet and warm was sliding down the side of her neck. her muzzle was splatted from all the times when the nomads to her either side reached over and hit animals heading for the perceived safety of the smaller pony.

                                            > She kept walking in a daze, eyes darting this way and that. She watched the orgy of death and tragedy and it was all too much. She couldn't really understand what was happening anymore.

                                            > The woman clubbed a rat-like thing in front of Mayor, but she missed. The thing squeaked and tried to crawl away, but it was stunned and couldn't make its legs work. It flopped this way and that.

                                            > Willow's stick hit the side of her head then, and Mayor finally understood his words. "[Kill it! Meyermer, kill it before it gets away! KILL IT NOW!]"

                                            > Still in a kind of trance she lifted up her hoof and hesitated. She was about to put it down beside the creature, but Willow jumped over her and pushed her down with all his weight. Mayor lost her balance and had to put her hoof down quickly, or she would fall.

                                            > There was something hard under her foot, but it crunched and became soft. The squeal ended.

                                            > She stopped and raised her leg to inspect. There was almost no gore, but her frog was covered in blood.

                                            > Then Mayor looked at the rat-thing. It was no longer moving and its head wasn't the right shape. Blood trickled freely from its mouth.

                                            > Again the young hunter kicked her rump and Mayor took a step forward. She lost sight of the little animal.

                                            > There were more. The ground was alive with small creatures, rushing this way and that, panicking. The nomads' clubs and spears never stopped moving. A second circle was starting to form behind the first, because there were just too many escaping critters.

                                            > Mayor watched a bunny hopping past her. When it was right in front of her, Willow's spear stabbed down from somewhere above and pinned it to the ground through its midriff. It began to squeal in pain.

                                            > That cry dragged across her nerves like a rusty saw, and Mayor realized she was screaming too. Tears flowed unimpeded down her muzzle.

                                            > She did the most merciful thing she could, but she didn't look as she stomped. The smaller scream ended, but her own wail rose in pitch.

                                            > Willow slapped her rump with his hand as he reached over to retrieve his spear. "[That one! Get that one!]"

                                            > Something snapped inside her. Everything was covered in blood, including herself. None of it meant anything, it was just there.

                                            > Mayor lashed out with her foreleg and belt bone snap. She didn't look where the thing landed and sought out another.

                                            > Willow was still yelling, but now he sounded jubilant. He wasn't beating her anymore.

                                            > She looked for another scrap of brown fur.

                                            > Swinging clubs and panicking animals all around her.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Mayor Mare was sitting on the ground near the large bonfire. Nomads kept walking around her, and some even stepped right over her, but she didn't much care. Her eyes were locked on the fire, but she didn't really see it.

                                            > She felt hollow. Like someone had cracked her open and scooped out everything which should have been inside her.

                                            > How had she gotten from the hunt back home? She must have walked, but Mayor didn't remember taking a single step. In fact, most of the day after that initial push in the circle was vague.

                                            > Maybe she should have been horrified, or disgusted, but there was just... nothing. Shock, she suspected, but it was a detached thought, as if her mind was floating a short distance away from her and had nothing to do with the quiet, still pony.

                                            > Some of the nomads had come at her, grinning and happy, and had complimented her. A few even slapped her back or her shoulders. Each such strike made the mare sway a little, but she neither acknowledged nor rejected the praise. Invariably the nomads were weirded out and left.

                                            > Mayor blinked her eyes, which were getting dry, and wondered why there were no tears. Had she cried? She thought she should have done, but it was hard to be sure. Her memory simply wouldn't cooperate.

                                            > She recalled specific moments, instants, frozen in time and without any context to them. A crack of small bones. A splash of hot blood. A wooden spear shaft, striking her flank. Throughout it all, an awful, demonic, inequine roar.

                                            > Mayor Mare believed the roar had been her. Maybe something dark and evil had possessed her and she wasn't herself? What other explanation was there? It was utterly impossible that a pony - *any* pony - could have committed such atrocities.

                                            > "[Meyermer?]" a soft voice spoke.

                                            > She thought she recognized this nomad. It was a young female and made her think of... guilt?

                                            "[Saule.]"

                                            > The sound of the name was familiar, but it was hard to associate the creature standing in front of her with anyone Mayor might have known.

                                            > Saule dropped down to her knees and peered at Mayor's face in the faint, orange light. It flickered and moved, as the nomads around the central bonfire danced and sang. The air was filled with the sound of sizzling and the smell of burning flesh.

                                            > The nomad girl lifted a hand and reached out, but Mayor flinched away at first. She didn't know why she was frightened. Fingers found her muzzle and carefully turned her back.

                                            > "[Your face...]"

                                            > Mayor didn't respond, but she pressed her cheek into the soft, warm palm and closed her eyes. She smelled blood and sweat and grime, but underneath it all was something familiar.

                                            > When there was no response, the nomad girl continued in a hushed tone: "[You're covered in blood,]" she whispered. Her other hand came near and she traced a line from the corner of Mayor's eye down her muzzle. "[Except here, and here,]" the touch was mirrored on her other side.

                                            > 'Good,' Mayor thought to herself, still in that detached, unfeeling state, 'I've cried. Maybe there's something still there.'

                                            > She didn't respond out loud, but her ears jerked as they wanted to flatten.

                                            > "[What's wrong?]" Saule asked, her voice full of worry. "[Are you hurt? Did someone hit you by accident? Cut you? Did something bite you?]"

                                            > Mayor almost opened her mouth to try and explain, but thought better of it. It wouldn't do any good. The nomads could not understand that what they had done was wrong.

                                            > Monstrous.

                                            > They hunted to survive and they ate the flesh. It was the way their world worked. It was their custom.

                                            > In the end Mayor just gave her head a single shake, which dislodged Saule's hand from her muzzle. It was just as well. Murderers, such as herself, probably didn't deserve comfort.

                                            > "[That is good. You're probably tired, but you have to come. She asked for you!]"

                                            > Mayor let her head hang down and she closed her eyes. She could shut out the sight of all those nomads, cramming bits of small creatures into their mouths, teeth tearing at the flesh, tongues licking up the fat.

                                            > She couldn't stop the sounds, but if she concentrated on the singing she didn't have to hear the sizzling and the eating.

                                            > There was a tug on her mane, but she paid it no mind. Others had tried to get her to move, but she was perfectly comfortable exactly where she was. They could walk around or over her.

                                            > Saule was talking again: "[Come on! You have to come! Get up! You can sleep after!]"

                                            > The words were punctuated by a slap against her side. It wasn't hard, but her back and flanks were bruised and Mayor jerked aside.

                                            > However numb and hollow she felt, her body still worked and the reaction to pain, however minor, was automatic. She slipped to her side and allowed her legs to fold, so she was lying down.

                                            > The ground was muddy, but it wouldn't make her any dirtier she already was. Mayor let her head down and closed her eyes. Maybe the world would make more sense in the morning. Maybe she would remember more.

                                            > Had she cried? There was nothing left, but maybe by then she would have fresh tears to shed. It was only proper, after all.

                                            > She heard receding footsteps and relaxed. Saule had gone away, no one would bother her any more. They were too busy eating.

                                            > Mayor let the rhythm of the singing, the stamping feet, the crackling fire, and the buzz of conversation lull her to sleep.

                                            >...

                                            > She woke up when strong arms squirmed under her and lifted her up. Mayor blinked her eyes open, but she recognized Salki and relaxed again.

                                            > They'd had enough of dealing with her motionless form and now he was taking her to the tent. That was just as well, all she wanted to do was sleep anyway.

                                            > "[Fuck, you've gotten heavy. How did you get this heavy?]" Salki swore.

                                            > She didn't answer and simply let her head hang limp. It sounded like his problem, not hers.

                                            > The poor nomad was breathing heavily by the time they reached their destination. He tried to lower her gently, but his muscles gave out and Mayor landed on a bit of animal skin with a thump which knocked her breath out of her.

                                            > She growled in frustration and flattened her ears, but then thought better of it. It didn't really matter, they were there. Wherever Salki had wanted to take her.

                                            > Saule was there too, and some others. Women, for the most part.

                                            > "[Finally. Here, here. Come and see Meyermer. Meyermer? What's wrong with her?]"

                                            > That was Xuan's voice and it caused one of Mayor's ears to rise and focus. She hadn't expected that voice.

                                            > Salki replied: "[The fuck if I know. She's just like this. Limp. Ever since the hunt. I don't know what happened, but Saule says she isn't hurt.]"

                                            > "[She isn't,]" the girl confirmed. "[Willow said she did well, but when it was over she just stood there. He had to kick her and push her to get her home, and then she just sat down by the fire and wouldn't move. That's how I found her.]"

                                            > There was silence and then Mayor felt a presence by her side. Xuan had sat down on the same animal skin rug and ran a hand through Mayor's mane. "[Ugh, she's covered in blood.]"

                                            > Saule answered that too: "[I know, but it's too dark. We can't go to the stream now and wash her, and she doesn't want to walk anyway. I really don't know what's wrong, but the blood can wait.]"

                                            > Xuan's hand felt around Mayor's back and withers. She moved further down her ribs and when she came to her flanks the mare hissed in pain. The pressure vanished, but a moment later it was back, albeit a lot gentler.

                                            > "[What's this? She's cut! You said she wasn't hurt!]"

                                            > Mayor felt something else bump her side and realized it was Saule, who had knelt down beside Xuan to get a closer look. "[I didn't see! She has blood all over, I didn't know some of it was hers! I asked and she said she wasn't hurt!]"

                                            > Xuan sighed and called to Salki: "[Bring the torch. I don't think it's bad, but here- feel here. You see how tender it is? She was beaten. Willow.]" There was anger in that last word and it had come out muffled, as if Xuan had gritted her teeth. Her hand moved aside and a smaller palm joined hers on Mayor's rump.

                                            > "[I- I don't know. Are you sure?]" Saule asked in a hesitant, uncertain voice.

                                            > Xuan heaved another sigh. "[I know what bruises feel like, even on an animal. Willow must have beat her. Salki, tell your mother, she should know.]"

                                            > There was an affirmative noise from the young hunter, then Xuan continued: "[The cut isn't deep and it's already clotted. We'll leave it for now, but we will have to wash it tomorrow so she doesn't get the fever.]"

                                            > The nomad woman moved her hands away from Mayor's flank and gripped instead her hind leg. Mayor didn't resist as Xuan pulled it away to extend it. "[Not broken. Hmm...]"

                                            > She pushed the limb this way and that, then repeated the procedure with the other three. At the end of it Mayor was lying on her side and her eyes were closed once more. They could do what they wanted with her.

                                            > The nomads left her in peace for a few minutes and she was, once again, starting to drift off to sleep when she was rolled again on her belly. She sensed, more than saw, Xuan sit down, cross-legged right in front of her muzzle.

                                            > "[Meyermer?]" she asked quietly again. "[Please look.]"

                                            > There was an odd tone in her voice and despite her misery the mare opened her eyes.

                                            > Xuan's belly was gone. In its place, held firmly in the woman's lap, was a bundle of animal furs.

                                            > She scented a new smell, something Mayor couldn't identify, but it made something stir deep inside. Despite herself she lifted her head to see better.

                                            > This movement made Xuan chuckle and she lifted a bit of fur to show the mare what she held.

                                            > Mayor saw a bit of pink and blinked her eyes to clear them. It was a face, incredibly small, but unmistakable. There was a faint wisp of black hair above it and a tiny hand curled just below.

                                            > The newborn was watching her, or at least looking in her general direction.

                                            > It was Xuan's daughter. Mayor got her hind legs under her and shuffled forward so she could get a closer look.

                                            > The infant opened her mouth in a small yawn, but then went back to staring.

                                            > "[I think she likes you,]" Xuan said with a laugh. "[Meyermer, I want you to meet Guuni.]"

                                            "[Guuni.]" The word had slipped out almost without conscious control.

                                            > Xuan smiled at this and leaned closer with the bundle in her arms. The infant's arm reached out toward the vivid pink of Mayor's mane, even if it was streaked with brown, dried blood. She grasped, but only caught hold of the mare's ear.

                                            > Mayor remained perfectly still, almost too afraid to breathe, lest she hurt this tiny, fragile creature.

                                            > She allowed the child to hold her ear, until the small fingers let go and patted her muzzle before drawing back.

                                            > "[Go on, go on! Tell her why she's named 'Guuni'!]" Saule burst out impatiently.

                                            > Mayor transferred her gaze to Xuan, who rolled her eyes a little. "[Fine, fine. Patience!]" she chided gently as she wrapped her daughter in the furs again. "[I wanted to name her after you, but we do not have this word you tell us - Meyer. The closest is 'chieftain', but I couldn't call my daughter that. So I named her after the other part. -mer.]"

                                            > It didn't make much sense and Mayor had to replay those words to herself in her memory before she grasped them.

                                            "[M-Me? After me?]"

                                            > "[Yes. We have a word for -mer - female horse. So I called my daughter 'Guuni', which is short for 'guuni-naiz'. Mare friend.]"

                                            > Xuan fell silent and gave Mayor an imploring look. "[I hope you will be a friend to my daughter, like you are to me?]"

                                            > She didn't get an answer. At least, she did not get a verbal answer, because Mayor had laid her head down in Xuan's lap and was weeping again.

                                            > The strange dichotomy of these people was too much to bear. She could not hold both the cruelty of the past few hours, and the tenderness of this moment, together in her heart.

                                            > It was tearing her into two pieces and Mayor felt as if her soul was being simultaneously blessed and cursed.

                                            > She wept because of what she had done. She wept for what she was becoming. She had killed - murdered - with her own hooves, and that deserved her tears too.

                                            > Then she wept for the beauty. Xuan did not know the words, but she wanted Mayor Mare to be a godmother to her child.

                                            > Lastly, Mayor wept for what was to come. The guilt and the horror were still being kept at bay by shock, but that would wane. She had done awful things and it wasn't entirely Willow's fault. She couldn't say: "I was forced."

                                            > She was an Equestrian. Any pony would die before they inflicted such pain and misery upon others, especially upon the true innocents.

                                            > She hadn't. She had given in to the beating and the jeering and the pain and madness around her. In the end she had caved, and she had killed.

                                            > Even if the nomads didn't see it as a crime, that didn't absolve her. Mayor was answerable to a higher power.

                                            > No, not Celestia. She was answerable to herself. To the *pony* Mayor Mare.

                                            > She doubted that pony would ever forgive her.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Mayor Mare knew she was a sorry sight as she dragged herself into Darga and Salki's tent. Her fur was still crusty with dried blood, which was beginning to stink awfully, and most of her belly was covered in mud.

                                            > Her mane wasn't falling in her eyes only because it was matted beyond rescue, and her tail was best not spoken of. She'd considered going to the stream to wash, but decided against it. She needed to sleep first.

                                            > Meeting Xuan's newborn daughter had been a tiny bit of light in an otherwise impenetrable ocean of darkness and evil that had been her night. Perhaps she slept for a few moments after she'd cried herself out, but eventually her friend went inside the tent with her baby and Mayor was left on her own.

                                            > She stayed by the slowly cooling fire and listened to the distant sounds of jubilation until even that had faded away. The night was still cold, but Mayor barely felt it, having descended back into some dark, dismal place within herself.

                                            > Maybe she slept for a few minutes here and there, but the dreams brought her out almost instantly each time. She could never quite remember them, though. Something vague, and awful, and evil. It wasn't a huge surprise, not after the day she'd had.

                                            > At least, she reflected as she stood on the threshold and the morning sun warmed her back, it was over. The day was bright and cheerful, a true spring once more. Maybe she could sleep now that it was light.

                                            > "[What's this?]" came Darga's surprised voice from inside. "[Meyermer? You look like crap! Where have you been?]"

                                            > Mayor didn't deign to answer the challenge and let the tent flap slide off her shoulders. She didn't look at the woman and simply headed to her own cot. At least she tried to, except that Darga's hand shot out and grabbed a fistful of mane.

                                            > The sudden moment and the painful grip made Mayor squeal in surprise and she twisted around to get her body as far away from the woman as she could.

                                            > "[You fucking stink! Ugh, go and clean up before you come back!]"

                                            > Something inside Mayor dug in and she flattened her ears in a clear warning sign.

                                            "[No.]"

                                            > The word was quiet, but it carried inside the tent like a curse in a cathedral. Mayor looked up and steeled herself as she stared in Darga's suddenly narrowed eyes.

                                            > "[What do you mean no? Go and wash up, you filthy beast!]"

                                            > Mayor didn't know what it was about that particular insult, but it made a low growl rise up from her chest.

                                            "[No! Fuck you! I'm going to sleep.]"

                                            > She needn't have explained herself, but it had just burst out - a statement of what she was going to do which broached no argument.

                                            > Mayor had expected the slap and tried to move her head away, but Darga still had a fistful of mane which kept her pretty much immobilized. The woman hit her across the muzzle with an open hand.

                                            > "[You do not speak to me like that!]" the woman said in a deceptively calm voice. Her eyes flashed with sudden anger, but her face and tone were icy cold for now. "[Apologize and go wash.]"

                                            "[No!]"

                                            > Even Mayor herself didn't know why she was fighting this point, but something deep down in her soul had had enough. She'd been pushed around, ordered this way and that, and all the while they treated her like a servant. Worse! They saw her as even less than a slave, because she was a different shape than they.

                                            > She'd given them things! She'd shown them how to make food in their lean, winter times! She'd shown them how to hunt more effectively! She helped with the chores, and she'd even learned their language! What more could this- this *woman* want from her?!

                                            > Right at that moment Mayor wanted some peace and quiet. She yanked back, trying to free herself from Darga's grip, even if it pulled some of her mane out, but the woman's grip was like iron and she kept hold of the thin, but strong hair.

                                            "[Let me go.]"

                                            > "[Ungrateful little pony bitch,]" Darga half-growled as she pulled Mayor closer. "[We give you food and shelter, and this is how you act? You say you're an adult, but you're behaving like a child. Children are beaten until they learn. Do you want me to beat some manners into you?!]"

                                            "[Like that fucking Willow did yesterday?!]" Mayor snapped back and twisted to one side.

                                            > Her wound was still plainly visible and she noted with some kind of twisted satisfaction the slight widening of Darga's eyes.

                                            "[Yeah. I wouldn't hunt, so he beat me until I did! I don't owe you nothing, you- you-]"

                                            > Mayor couldn't think up a harsh enough insult, but she tried to remember what she'd heard Xuan say about some of the others in the camp.

                                            "[-you fat cunt!]"

                                            > She wasn't completely sure about that last word, but she knew it was a bad one and Darga's small little gasp proved it. She exploded up from where she had been sitting, cross-legged, and yanked on Mayor's mane.

                                            > The sudden pull made the mare lose her balance and she flopped down on her belly. She tried to get up, but Darga was already pressing her neck down with her knee, even as she twisted her hand around to grasp more of her mane in an unbreakable grip.

                                            > Mayor still tried to get her hind legs under her, but before she could manage Darga's palm came down on her rump.

                                            > "[You don't say that to me!]" the woman said far too calmly for what she was doing. She slapped Mayor's back and flanks several times in quick succession.

                                            > The hits hurt, especially when they landed on day-old bruises, but Mayor clenched her teeth and remained stubbornly silent. She was still trying to wiggle her legs under her. If only she could get a bit of leverage she would throw this nomad off and show her what earth ponies could do!

                                            > There was no opportunity. When she failed to draw a reaction, Dargo bunched her hand into a fist and landed a few very solid blows on Mayor's back, completely disregarding the fact that she was punching the poor mare right on her spear wound.

                                            > That finally proved too much and Mayor began to whinny in pain. She tossed her weight from side to side, but Darga was wiry and incredibly strong. Her knee pressed down harder on Mayor's neck and it was becoming difficult to breathe.

                                            > The blows kept landing. "[Will you apologize?!]" the woman growled between breathing hard. It was an effort to keep the mare down, but she wasn't about to let go. She went back to her palm for a few more slaps and yanked again on her fistful of mane.

                                            > Mayor's wail rose from somewhere around her stomach. She closed her eyes, went completely limp and let it bubble up in a harrowing cry of despair and misery.

                                            > She thought she saw a flash of light and a breath of air, then she heard Salki's voice: "[Mom!? What the fuck are you doing?!]"

                                            > The weight disappeared from Mayor's neck and her mane was released. She managed to get a hind hoof under her belly and pushed herself urgently away.

                                            > She saw the blurry scene through a film of tears: Salki had grabbed his mother's wrist and had pulled her away. her free hand was raised as if she would strike him next.

                                            > Mayor held her breath as she waited to see what would happen.

                                            > Darga blew air out through her nose and let her hand fall. "[Take this fucking thing of yours away. She's not going to disrespect me in my own tent!]"

                                            > Salki looked incredulously at Mayor, taking in her dismal appearance, the dried blood on her muzzle and the fresh crimson droplets on her flank where Darga's blows had torn open her injury.

                                            > He slumped a little and called to Mayor in a shaking voice: "[Come on.]"

                                            > Mayor Mare didn't need to be told twice and scurried toward him as quickly as she could make her trembling legs move. She gave Darga a wide berth, even though Salki still held his mother's wrist. Just as Mayor was passing within the woman's reach, Darga yanked her arm free and straightened her clothes. The sudden motion made Mayor flinch and hasten her steps.

                                            > She was outside, but Salki was still in the tent with his mother. She heard muffled conversation, but couldn't catch any of the words through the hammering in her ears. There were some nomads looking at her with fascinated curiosity, but Mayor put them out of her mind.

                                            > They would have heard the argument, and the insults. Doubtless they had also heard the beating and could guess what might have happened. She would deal with the aftermath later, once she'd had some time to think and get to grips with what had happened.

                                            > She lowered her head and tried to make her legs stop shivering. Luckily Salki stepped out of the tent again and when Mayor risked a glance upward she saw his face was dark an angry.

                                            > "[Mother said you insulted her, and you wouldn't listen to her instructions. She said you're like a spoiled child.]"

                                            > Despite having expected something very much like he said, it still made Mayor sputter and she almost turned back to go and give Darga a piece of her mind. She would have, too, but Salki leaned down and put a hand on her back.

                                            > "[No, don't. Come on, let's get you cleaned up and you can tell me your side of it.]"

                                            > At least he hadn't automatically believed his mother, Mayor thought to herself. Maybe that was a kind of progress.

                                            > Darga was obviously a complete... [cunt], but maybe the son could be salvaged.

                                            > In that moment Mayor decided to help him become chieftain. The sooner he could do so, the sooner she could stop dealing with Darga.

                                            > She hurried to fall instep with the young man and gratefully pressed her flank against his thigh.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The pair were sitting some distance from the camp in a patch of young, green grass, bathed in the warm afternoon sun.

                                            > Mayor felt clean, and despite the residual pains around her back and flanks, better than she had since yesterday.

                                            > That whole mess - the hunt and how she'd acted, and what she'd done - that would stay with her for a long while and she would pay for it many times over with sleepless nights and moments of horror when a memory forced itself into her consciousness. She shook her head to dislodge the latest image and went on with her story.

                                            "[That is what happened. I only wanted sleep. I didn't sleep in the night, but she called me a beast.]"

                                            > Mayor turned tear-filled eyes on Salki, who hadn't said a word for the last while and was staring thoughtfully at the distant horizon.

                                            "[It was not fair!]"

                                            > Her shoulders shook as she repeated it again to herself, in a whisper.

                                            "[Ponies don't kill! Salki, *ponies don't kill*! It is not what we do! It is wrong! I'm wrong!]"

                                            > She felt the wail coming back and tried very hard to keep it suppressed, but the pressure released in a series of snorts and sniffles despite her best efforts.

                                            "[I did those things! I did what pony should never do, Salki! He hit me and he beat me and he yelled! There was death and blood! And I did it...]"

                                            > Mayor lowered her head and swallowed a lump in her throat.

                                            "[I'm a bad pony. I'm a- a-]"

                                            > She couldn't remember the nomad word, so she grasped for another.

                                            "[-evil. I'm a evil!]"

                                            > The admission seemed to sap what little strength was left in her and Mayor folded down to her belly. She put her muzzle in the warm grass and sobbed miserably.

                                            > She was dimly aware of Salki's hand in her mane as he sought for her ears to scratch behind them. He knew it always comforted her, but it wasn't working this time. This time she did not deserve such kindness.

                                            > "[You're not evil,]" he finally pointed out. "[It was just a hunt. We have to hunt, Meyermer, or we starve! Nomads can't live only on vegetables, we need meat. It was just a hunt!]"

                                            > Mayor Mare shook her head, which dislodged his hand for a moment, but it came right back, more insistent than a biting insect, but at least far more pleasant than that.

                                            "[Not for me!]" she wailed, "[I am not- I am not that! Ponies don't kill! I never killed something! I never- until yesterday.]"

                                            > She knew he had a hard time understanding. For him, and for his entire species it seemed, this was simply the way of life. They hunted, they killed and they ate. It was how their world worked.

                                            > They couldn't see anything wrong.

                                            > Perhaps, ironically, Mayor thought, Willow had come the closest to understanding just how revolted she felt about physical violence. How else could she explain his perverse delight in making her hunt?

                                            > His shouting and the beating the previous day, the confusion of the hunt and his insistence to stay with her, had all been aimed at making her kill. He'd known, or guessed, just how much it would hurt her inside.

                                            > Mayor wished she could make Salki understand too.

                                            "[You don't understand!]"

                                            > "[Then explain it to me!]"

                                            > She thought about it for a while in silence, while he rubbed her ears. The noise of fingers sliding through fur allowed her to ignore the world for a little while and Mayor closed her eyes.

                                            "[Saule! Would you kill Saule?]"

                                            > The scratching stopped and Salki drew a sharp breath in sudden surprise. "[What!? What kind of question is that? You know I wouldn't!]"

                                            > Mayor lifted her head and treated the young nomad to a piercing glare.

                                            "[What if Willow beat you? What if he yelled, and beat you, and screamed, and all that? What if he kept doing it, on and on. What if he put a knife in your hand and beat you until you cut Saule? What would you do?]

                                            > She felt the nomad tense beside her as he imagined this unlikely, yet still horrifying scenario. "[He wouldn't! I wouldn't let him, I'd kill him first!]"

                                            > Mayor shook her head and laid a hoof on his knee.

                                            "[No! No! Imagine! Imagine you can't! I couldn't yesterday, I couldn't do anything! He had a spear and I had nothing! What if he beat you and you couldn't fight him, and he beat you and beat you? Imagine!]"

                                            > Salki was silent for a while and his lips tightened. He went back to staring at the horizon. After a few moments of stillness his fingers began massaging her ear once more.

                                            > "[I suppose I would be angry,]" he admitted eventually, but it sounded like a guess.

                                            "[No,]" Mayor insisted. "[Really imagine! You are there now! Men are holding you. Saule is there, tied with ropes! Willow is beating you and beating you. You're tired and it hurts, and you will die if you'd do it. So you strike with the knife! You strike Saule!]"

                                            > She knew she'd gotten some progress when the fingers fell still once more. His other hand bunch up in a fist.

                                            > "[Fuck, Meyermer, what the fuck is wrong with you!? That's horrible!]"

                                            "[Yes! Yes! Think! Imagine! How would you feel?! What would you think about yourself?]"

                                            > More silence, but she waited until the young hunter exhaled and shrugged: "[Bad. I think I would hate myself, but I would hate Willow more.]"

                                            "[Exactly! That is how I feel! He made me hurt animals! I hate him, but I hate myself more!]"

                                            > It seemed as if Salki didn't have a response to that. Mayor watched him in silence for a while, then heaved a sign and lowered her muzzle back down. She was grateful when he slid his hand down to her withers and began rubbing in small, comforting circles.

                                            > "[Maybe,]" he said at last. "[Maybe I understand. Ponies are not killers. You don't like it. I remember when you were talking about the bow, how your face got sad and your ears got floppy.]"

                                            "[Yes.]"

                                            > There was more silence and then Salki shifted uncomfortably. He switched the topic: "[You shouldn't have called Mother what you did. You shouldn't have fought her. She will make it hard for you. Harder.]"

                                            > She was reminded of that horrible, miserable exchange and Mayor's lip curled back in a sneer.

                                            "[I don't fucking care!]"

                                            > This got another sigh out of the young nomad. "[Meyermer, don't. She doesn't understand. Just- apologize when we get back, okay? I'm sure she will let you stay in the tent.]"

                                            "[I don't care,]" Mayor repeated.

                                            > "[Please! Where will you go otherwise?]"

                                            > She hadn't thought about that so she blurted out the first thing she could think of.

                                            "[I'll live with Xuan! Her daughter likes me, I will help watch the child! I will sleep outside before I apologize! Darga had no right to-]"

                                            > This statement made Salki draw back with a growl and he interrupted: "[She had every right! She's chieftain and what the chieftain says, goes! You still aren't really one of us, Meyermer, you're a slave! You do what you're told, immediately, understand?]"

                                            > Mayor Mare opened her mouth to curse him out as well, to spit at him and walk away, but she thought better of it. She couldn't alienate her closest ally in the camp, not when she might need him the most to intercede with his mother.

                                            > As much as she hated that sneaky little political thought, it was true. She abhorred both Darga and Willow, but she still had to live with them. There wasn't any choice.

                                            > She closed her eyes and mentally let it go.

                                            "[I won't apologize. You can apologize if you want, I will not. I know what I am and I know what I bring. If Darga wants more Equestrian miracles she will treat me better! Otherwise I will go to Intor instead.]"

                                            > Mayor could hardly believe the words her own muzzle was spouting, but she knew they were true. Things had changed so much that she would rather ally herself with Intor than crawl on her belly before Darga.

                                            > That would mean dealing with Willow, but maybe that could be tolerated. She'd noticed how Intor had been getting annoyed and fed up with Willow's antics, now that the position of top hunter was gradually slipping away from him.

                                            > The nomad just wasn't any good with a bow, and that counted for a lot when so many others were demonstrating just how useful this new weapon could be.

                                            > With luck, Salki might soon be eligible for that prestigious title. Maybe Mayor could work with Intor if they both disliked Willow.

                                            > Neither of them had spoken in a while, so the mare broke the silence.

                                            "[Fuck,]" she swore quietly. "[Talk to your mother. She doesn't have to apologize, but neither will I. Tell her we can forget it happened.]"

                                            > It was the most Mayor was willing to do. She knew what an apology to a slave would do for Darga's reputation in the camp. Her grasp on the chieftain's position was tenuous and many nomads were clamoring for a man to lead them.

                                            > She was, in fact, slightly stronger now that Salki was proving to be an excellent hunter, which was all thanks to the bow and thus came back full circle to Mayor Mare. The woman really should have shown a bit more gratitude.

                                            > Still, their little spat had been entirely stupid, mostly because Mayor hadn't been in her right mind, so she was willing to forget, this time.

                                            > "[I'll tell her, but she won't like it.]"

                                            "[Tough! I don't care. I know more Equestrian secrets. She will accept it if she wants them!]"

                                            > Salki opened his mouth again, but Mayor groaned in exasperation and headed him off:

                                            "[I not want to talk about it more! Something else, please!]"

                                            > He fell silent, then obliged and changed the topic again: "[What did you think of Xuan's daughter?]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Nights would be difficult for a while for Mayor Mare. Luckily the camp was celebrating again, their second evening around the large bonfire, and it proved to be a nice distraction from her horrible thoughts.

                                            > Mayor sat on one of the logs this time, rather than in the mud, even if that meant some of the younger nomads were quite close to her and talking loudly. She did her best to ignore them and focused instead on the merriment around the fire.

                                            > There was more dancing. First the young men sang their throaty songs while the girls twirled around the center with each other. After a while, most of the singers were snagged away to join the melee in the middle, but the few who remained had good lungs so the song continued.

                                            > Older men and women took up the melody until it seemed the entire camp was chanting the same words.

                                            > It wasn't a very good production and the choreography was nonexistent, but the music had a deep, primal rhythm to it and Mayor found herself swaying her entire upper body as she listened.

                                            > It drove away all thought and she found herself calmed and heartened by the repetitive song.

                                            > Some of her friends had come to say hi, but had left her when they saw how unhappy the mare was. She couldn't blame them, not while the entire camp was celebrating.

                                            > She caught sight of Salki twirling one of the girls around. She couldn't remember her name, but they both seemed happy, even if they were red in the face from the effort and sweat glistened on their exposed skin.

                                            > No one wanted a downer at a party like this. The fact that Mayor still couldn't reconcile all the death and horror she'd seen - committed! - wasn't their fault. This was their world, their society, and their rules. She was the outcast.

                                            > It still didn't make it any easier to swallow. Letting go of her entire life as a pony wasn't a simple thing, nor was it quick. It was what she had decided to do. She obviously couldn't be a pony in a nomad world, so the only choice was to become a nomad. She couldn't save her soul, but maybe she could retain some of her sanity.

                                            > The line of thought brought her back to the previous afternoon and Mayor's memory began throwing up those unwelcome images yet again. She shook her head to dislodge the picture, but of course that didn't work. The memory was inside her head. The smell of blood, and the scream of small creatures, and the crunch of bones underhoof.

                                            "No!"

                                            > Chatter immediately around Mayor Mare fell silent and the nomads looked at her, some suspiciously, others with a semblance of concern. One - a very young girl - opened her mouth to ask if 'Meyermer' was okay, but the mare pre-empted her and slid from her seat.

                                            > She didn't explain herself as she simply walked away. She would look for Xuan, who hadn't come to participate in the festivities. She had her hands full with her daughter and was getting very little sleep in these first few days, but the older nomad woman assured Mayor that this was normal.

                                            > Maybe she could help there, if only to prove that she could do more than take life away. Caring for their young was the same, no matter what species you were, and it was something Mayor could do without feeling dirty.

                                            > She kept her ears focused backward, to the song around the bonfire, even as she walked into the darkness. She knew the way by memory, but still slowed down to give her eyes time to adapt to the darkness.

                                            > None of the children had followed her. That was what Mayor had wanted, but it didn't make her feel any less lonely. It drove the point further that she wasn't really one of them. To most, she was still little more than a clever animal.

                                            > It didn't matter. Mayor drew a deep breath and blinked moisture from her eyes at that revelation. The important people - the nomads she trusted most - knew she was a person and that was enough for now.

                                            > She tried not to think and focused on her hoofsteps so she wouldn't bring excessive mud, or worse, into Xuan's tent. It worked and she was soon in the right place.

                                            > There was no way to knock, so Mayor simply pushed her face inside past the tent flap and spoke.

                                            "[Xuan? M-May I enter?]"

                                            > Of course the woman wasn't alone and it was Xuan's mother who answered. Mayor sought her memory for a name. It was one of those that twisted not only her tongue, but her brain as well. "[What do you want?]" Ayaulym asked.

                                            "[Only to visit. Please, I do not want to be alone. Maybe I help with baby?]"

                                            > There was silence and Mayor feared she'd said the wrong thing. She knew that Ayaulym didn't quite trust the mare and couldn't believe that the pony could be gentle enough with her hooves, but Xuan trusted her which sometimes lead to an argument.

                                            > No, not quite an argument, Mayor corrected herself. A heated discussion was a more appropriate expression, but it felt like it could devolve into a shouting match at any point.

                                            > Unfortunately Ayaulym was now a grandmother and no one could keep her from her granddaughter, but at least she tolerated Mayor's presence, for now.

                                            > "[Come in. Let her come in, Mother!]" Xuan invited, and the mare slipped fully inside the tent. It was nice and warm, which felt good on her fur after the chill in the air outside. It had been okay near the large bonfire, but the walk across the abandoned camp reminded her that winter still had a few of its teeth left, even this late into spring.

                                            > She made her way to the glowing embers of the fire and sat down on a sleeping bag which was unoccupied. The scent told her it was Buygra's.

                                            "[Where is Buygra?]"

                                            > "[At the dance,]" Xuan said and Mayor focused her ears on the woman. There hadn't been a tone of bitterness and envy there, had it?

                                            "[Are you angry?]"

                                            > This caused both women to look at each other in confusion and then Xuan laughed. "[What makes you say that? Don't be silly, I sent him away. Poor man isn't sleeping well with the little one crying at all times of the night.]"

                                            "[Oh. I thought-]" Mayor began, but then shook her head, "[-forget it.]"

                                            > She let her ears wilt and looked down into the remnants of the fire. It would need more wood soon if Xuan wanted to keep her daughter warm, but it was okay for another half hour or so. Mayor poked it with a desultory hoof, but pulled back before it could singe her frog.

                                            > "[What is wrong, Meyermer?]" Xuan asked in a quiet voice. She was sitting opposite the fire, but now she got to her knees and, holding her daughter carefully to her chest, shambled around until she sat down with a small 'oomph' beside the mare. Her free hand immediately rested against Mayor's withers.

                                            "[Nothing.]"

                                            > "[Liar! Try again.]"

                                            > The accusation had been made in a playful tone and Xuan's fingers tightened on Mayor's mane for an instant, both of which brought out a smile to the mare's lips, however faint.

                                            "[Fine. I no can stop thinking about... about yesterday. The animals.]"

                                            > She could see Ayaulym roll her eyes in exasperation, but at least Xuan took her more seriously and her hand slid further around Mayor's neck. "[I think I understand,]" the woman said. "[You are not used to killing for your food.]"

                                            > It was perhaps the closest any nomad had come, and Mayor nodded in gratitude. She let out a shuddering breath and tried very hard not to burst out weeping again. It took a lot of will to get a grip on herself and her voice was hoarse and choked up when she tried to answer.

                                            "[It- It isn't- it's not what ponies d- do.]"

                                            > Mayor concentrated on her breathing for a while as Xuan's fingers made their way up to her head. Her ears were splayed and twitched at the gentle tickle until Xuan remembered to be more forceful and gave her a harder scratch.

                                            > There was a faint whine from the bundle in Xuan's arms and the woman quickly retrieved her hand to check on her daughter. "[It is getting chilly, I have to get more wood.]"

                                            > Mayor stood up to go instead, but a hand pushed her croup down.

                                            > "[Stay. I will go. Watch Guuni for me.]"

                                            > The mare barely had enough time to plant her rear firmly on the cot, with her hind legs splayed wide for balance, before the bundle of skins was pushed gently, but firmly into her lap. She quickly wrapped her forelegs around it and made sure she was supporting the infant's head.

                                            > Human babies were rather more frail than pony ones and Mayor had paid close attention when the older women were teaching Xuan how to properly hold her daughter. She was able to translate most of the advice to her pony anatomy and did her best to make little Guuni comfortable.

                                            > The baby whined again and it sounded like she was about to cry, so Mayor brought her face closer. Her hooves were full, but she brushed her muzzle against the tiny creature's hand and carefully nuzzled her cheek.

                                            > Apparently the feel of soft fur was enough to quieten the daughter and she seemed to fall back asleep. Mayor looked up and saw Xuan smiling, even as Ayaulym glared.

                                            > "[You can't leave your child with this animal,]" the older woman chided, albeit quietly so she wouldn't wake the baby.

                                            > Xuan glared right back and put a hand on Mayor's head. "[Mother, I trust this *animal* more than I trust half the men in this camp. See how gently she holds her? See how she quietens her? It's as if Guuni was her own child!]"

                                            > The praise was making Mayor blush and she looked down at the fire even as her ears folded in embarrassment. She heard Ayaulym sigh, but there was nothing more the woman said and Xuan went to the tent flap. "[I won't be long,]" she assured them, and left.

                                            > Mayor really didn't have much to say to the older nomad, so she focused her gaze on the child instead. Guuni was sleeping, quite comfortable in hooves instead of arms. Mayor leaned closer once more and touched the small cheek with her muzzle. It was nice and warm, but she believed Xuan that the fire needed more wood.

                                            > By the time the child's face would be noticeably cold it would be too late. When she looked up she saw that Ayaulym was watching her closely. At least she wasn't tensed up to snatch the baby away at the first sign of trouble, but the woman still looked uneasy.

                                            > Mayor decided to try and break the ice, at least a little bit.

                                            "[She is beautiful. I think I see Xuan in her face.]"

                                            > All that earned her was an affirmative-sounding grunt, but perhaps Ayaulym's glare softened a bit. Mayor plunged on.

                                            "[You are proud of your daughter? She is a good mother.]"

                                            > This time the old woman went as far as to nod.

                                            > Mayor left her in silence for a while and went back to examining the tiny creature in her hooves. It was perhaps the closest she could come to being a mother herself. It brought back those bitter thoughts, full of regret and recrimination for not having done it while she'd had the chance, but at least this was something.

                                            > After some time the older woman cleared her throat. "[You really are good with her. I think- maybe...]"

                                            > She fell silent and Mayor looked up with an eyebrow raised inquisitively.

                                            > "[Maybe you can help Xuan. This isn't easy for her and I can't be here all the time.]"

                                            > It was encouraging and Mayor made sure to smile, even if she didn't quite feel like it yet.

                                            "[Thank you. I am happy I help.]"

                                            > That earned her another nod, and then they each went back into their own thoughts. Mayor was focusing on holding the child still and had to fight against drowsiness which was beginning to claim her. She did not want to fall asleep, especially not with the baby in her hooves and such a high likelihood that she would have those awful dreams.

                                            > The mere thought of what she might do in her delirium brought her more fully awake than a cold shower. She also realized that the tent was getting quite chilly.

                                            > Something was wrong!

                                            > Xuan should have been back by now! The pile of wood the nomad youngsters had gathered during the afternoon was less than five minutes' walk away!

                                            > Mayor straightened up and Ayaulym shot up at the same time. "[Where is Xuan?]" the woman demanded. "[I will go look. Something may have happened to her! I always told that idiot child she shouldn't strain herself so soon after birth!]"

                                            > Mayor shook her head.

                                            "[No. You take little Guuni. I go look. Here, make her warm.]"

                                            > The old nomad studied her, but only for a second before she nodded and even flashed a tiny smile. "[Yes. Good. Go and look. Shout if there is trouble!]"

                                            "[Yes. I will be back soon!]"

                                            > She stood on slightly unsteady legs after being still for so long. Mayor had to stretch her limbs before she could trust them, then she pushed out of the tent. She would have a far better chance of finding Xuan in the dark anyway, thanks to her sense of smell. Maybe.

                                            > Mayor lifted her muzzle and sniffed the chilly spring air. There was a light breeze, so Xuan scent hadn't lingered. Shame, Mayor thought to herself and headed over to the communal wood pile. It was near the edge of the camp because there simply wasn't enough room among the tents.

                                            > With luck this would have an innocent explanation. Maybe Xuan had run into a friend and was simply chatting away.

                                            > Something told Mayor that she was wrong though, and the fur on her withers tried to stand on end as she walked into the darkness.

                                            >...

                                            > She soon found the pile of wood, but there was no sign of Xuan. Mayor walked closer, nostrils flaring as she sought for any clue the scent might bring her. Her hoof crunched on something she she automatically froze with a small whimper.

                                            > Luckily it was just a dry branch. She lowered her head and saw that a whole bundle of sticks had been strewn haphazardly on the ground. Her gut wrenched, even though she couldn't quite imagine what had happened. It felt wrong.

                                            > She could smell very faint traces of nomad on the wood and quickly identified the person.

                                            "[Xuan!]"

                                            > It felt as if her insides were turning to ice. Xuan had gathered an armful of firewood, then had thrown it down. Why? What had happened to her?

                                            > Mayor's ears were as flat as they would go and she debated with herself whether to go and look for someone, or whether she should try searching around.

                                            "[Xuan!]" she called, louder.

                                            > There was a rustle behind her and a nomad seemed to rise up from the ground. She didn't see his face, but it was definitely a man. He had a spear in an upraised arm.

                                            > "[It talks!?]" he gasped. His accent was strange, not one Mayor had heard in the camp and she took an involuntary step back.

                                            > A second shadow appeared beside the first. "[Forget it! Get it before it brays and people hear!]"

                                            > The two jumped forward and Mayor whinnied in sudden fear. These weren't men from the camp. They were outsiders! They wanted to kill her!

                                            > She twirled and kicked off, her speed surprising both her and the pursuers. A spear thudded into the ground by her foreleg and slapped her side. A hoof-width over and it would have skewered her!

                                            > Mayor dodged to one side and the other spear sliced against her hind leg. It was a searing line of pain and she screamed at the top of her voice.

                                            > There were no words in it, but as she sped away she began to bellow.

                                            "[HELP! ATTACKERS! HELP! KILLERS! COME! COME! STRANGERS!]"

                                            > She thought she heard some answering shouts from nearby tents and the men running after her cursed. They slowed, but she kept on running to the bonfire. Most of the men would be there, she knew.

                                            > Mayor had to save her breath for running, but she repeated her cry of alarm every few dozen steps. The camp was waking up around her and she heard a few fights break out. Spear clattered against spear. There were yells of pain and anger.

                                            > She redoubled her effort and finally burst into the clearing, where the song had abruptly ended and the nomads were milling around in confusion.

                                            > Mayor spotted Willow and ran over. This was not a time for hatred.

                                            "[Come quick! Attackers! Strangers! They come from the south! Get the men and the bows! Hurry!]"

                                            > She wanted to tell him that they'd probably gotten Xuan, but the hunter reacted quickly and sped away, already shouting for his men. They hurried off to fetch their weapons.

                                            > Mayor spotted a more welcome face and ran over. She put herself in Buygra's path, panting.

                                            "[You have to come!]" she gasped. "[They have Xuan! Xuan is gone! We have to go find her!]"

                                            > This made the hunter hesitate. He looked after Willow and the others and jerked his body as if to follow them. Mayor butted his thigh with her head and he took a step back.

                                            "[Come! Xuan! There is no time!]"

                                            > She pranced in place until the man cursed and began to ran toward his tent. She breathed a sigh of relief and followed.

                                            > It occurred to her that Buygra would be outnumbered, but he was a good shot with the bow and that would surely even the odds. Besides, her plan was to sneak around the groups of attacking men and try to follow Xuan. They would have taken her out of the camp as directly as possible, she guessed. Maybe they could head them off.

                                            > She had to be in time! She simply had to! She wouldn't let Guuni lose her mother!

                                            >...

                                            > It wasn't long after that she stood, trembling, by Buygra's side as he held his bow, drawn. Four men had tried to rush him and the first one fell with an arrow through his eye. It had been a lucky shot, but the others didn't know that.

                                            > They'd stopped and were milling around in confusion. Mayor wondered whether they would charge again, when one of they, barely older than Salki she gauged, turned and ran.

                                            > One of the others twisted to yell curses after his escaping comrade and Buygra released his arrow.

                                            > It wasn't as accurate as the previous one, but it hit the man in the belly and he went down with a bloodcurdling scream. He kept yelling and thrashed around on the ground, but he wouldn't fight anymore, so Buygra aimed his next shot at the last man.

                                            > His opponent, suddenly alone, dropped his spear and ran. The arrow missed him, but Mayor didn't think he would be back. The fear in his eyes had been all too real. She remembered that this was an entirely new, frighteningly effective weapon.

                                            > Buygra went forward, giving a wide berth to the fallen warrior who was still screaming as he clutched the arrow protruding from his belly. Mayor tried not to look and pressed her ears as flat as she could to tune out the pained cries as she followed.

                                            > More of the camp's nomads were now awake and fighting the intruders. Most of them had spears, since bows were quite rare and the skill to shoot them rarer still. There was shouting of several melees nearby and Mayor nudged Buygra's thigh with her muzzle to guide him away from the worst fighting.

                                            > A few times they came across a scrap and the young hunter dropped arrows into the strangers. The men thus freed from fighting hurried off to find their friends and families, despite Mayor and Buygra's shouts for help.

                                            > They were almost at the edge and Mayor couldn't wrap her mind around how many attackers had come. It felt as if the entire camp was involved in the little war. She couldn't see any direction that was safe.

                                            > The only piece of luck was that most of the women and children had been at the bonfire, well away from the outskirts. Otherwise the slaughter would have been much worse.

                                            > Oh, and Guuni and Ayaulym were fine. The fighting hadn't spread that far by the time she and Buygra had made it to their tent, and the young man told his mother in law in no uncertain terms that she was to take the child directly to the bonfire.

                                            > Mayor had acquired a torch and lit the scene she'd found earlier. The spear which had missed her was gone, as was the one which had scraped her flank, but the sticks were still where she'd found them.

                                            > "[Here! Bring the light here!]" Buygra said, studying the ground intently. Mayor obliged with the torch and the young hunter furrowed his brow.

                                            > She tried to see what he was seeing, but the ground didn't look any different to her. Same well-trodden mud as everywhere in the camp.

                                            > Eventually Buygra pointed. "[Here, I think. There was a struggle. They must have grabbed her and dragged her away. See the furrows where she kicked and dragged?]"

                                            > Mayor tried again to see, but she might as well been trying to read tracks in water for all that she could identify.

                                            "[No. Sorry.]"

                                            > She tried to bend down and sniff the ground, careful not to smother the torch in her mouth, and thought she caught a faint whiff of Xuan. Unfortunately it was hard to be sure whether it was real or just wistful thinking.

                                            "[Sorry,]" she said again.

                                            > Buygra crept closer, still intently watching the ground and she followed close after him. They were both so engrossed in the trail that neither of them noticed the stranger.

                                            > Mayor heard him first as the warrior ran for them, his spear arm already pulling back to strike.

                                            > All she had time for was yelp, which caused her to drop the torch. Buygra began to turn and fumbled for his bow, but it would be too late.

                                            > The warrior glanced at her and their eyes met. He dismissed her and turned his attention fully to Buygra.

                                            > That gave Mayor a chance. She didn't think and, fueled by fear and adrenaline, twisted her body around. She dug her forehooves into the soft mud and lashed out blindly with her hind hooves.

                                            > Their attacker hadn't been expecting that and couldn't change his direction in time. Her hooves connected and there was a sickening crunch.

                                            > The spear clattered harmlessly against Buygra's half-raised bow and the stranger went flying back.

                                            > Mayor was an earth pony and she hadn't held back. Her muscles had been toned with months and months of gruelling physical labor. Even as he fell, the man sprayed blood from his mouth and nose.

                                            > When he landed with a dull thud he didn't move again.

                                            > Mayor stared with wide eyes and panted. Then she began to shake. She saw a bubble of red blood grow from the fallen man's nose, then pop. All was still. His chest didn't move.

                                            > He was dead.

                                            > She'd killed him.

                                            > "[Fuck, well done,]" Buygra said with a noticeable tone of admiration in his voice. His hand gave Mayor a quick pat on her head, but she didn't move. She was staring at the trail of red blood down the fallen man's face.

                                            > She'd killed him with her own hooves.

                                            > Her life had been in danger! Hers and Buygra's! The man had attacked them. He was coming at them with a spear.

                                            > She'd killed him and now he was no longer a threat.

                                            > Was she really any different from the nomads? Maybe it had only taken a bit of time for her essential barbaric nature to shine through. Maybe she'd always been a monster - a murderer - and it had simply been buried under all that paperwork and bureaucracy?

                                            > Some ponies were born evil. Sombra had proven that.

                                            > Was she one of them and simply hadn't known?

                                            > A tug on her ear brought her back to the present and she turned to Buygra, who had picked up the torch. "[Here! Take this, I need both hands for the bow. Come on, we have to go!]"

                                            > She followed in a kind of trance, the moment replaying in her mind. Her hooves connecting. A split second of firm flesh under her frogs, then the crunch as the man's chest caved in.

                                            > The spray of blood.

                                            > That last bubble of air escaping his ruined lungs.

                                            > She felt nauseated and bile rose up, but Mayor fought it down. She concentrated on the feel of the wood between her teeth and hurried her steps to keep up with her friend.

                                            > He suddenly stopped and she nearly ran into him. Only when she looked past his legs did she see why.

                                            > Xuan was there, lying on the ground with blood on her head. A stranger was lying partly on top of her, a flint knife sticking from the back of his neck.

                                            > This time she couldn't stop it and Mayor dropped the torch again as she vomited onto the mud. She was dimly aware that Buygra had pulled the attacker off his wife and was bent down to listen to her chest.

                                            > Mayor was already weeping, even as she dry-heaved.

                                            > "[She's alive! Help me! We have to get her to the shaman!]"

                                            > The words instantly snapped Mayor from her wallowing misery. Her friends needed her. The conflict and the disgust and the shock had to wait.

                                            > She could follow orders.

                                            > Once again she picked up the torch, which luckily hadn't gone out. The wooden stick tasted of her foul vomit, but she ignored it. Instead, Mayor went to stand beside the fallen woman and waited as Buygra lifted her onto her back.

                                            > He slapped her flank and exclaimed in surprise when he felt sticky, drying blood. "[You're hurt!]"

                                            "[I'm fine,]" she reassured him, her voice utterly emotionless.

                                            > To prove it, she began to walk back into the camp, while Buygra took up his bow again.

                                            > Xuan was alive. That was all that mattered. She had to take her to get help and make sure she stayed that way.

                                            > Guuni needed a mother.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > They got the unconscious Xuan to the shaman's tent, but Mayor couldn't get inside. A woman whose name she didn't know came out to help Buygra move his wife and the mare was told to wait.

                                            > She pushed her way forward despite that, but they simply shoved her back by her muzzle. When she tried again, Mayor got a glimpse of the controlled chaos inside. Several of the camp's women and both of the shaman's apprentices were busy with the injured. Mayor saw at least four people lying on the floor and a further two sitting upright by the central fire.

                                            > Everyone was talking loudly and one of the injured was keening in pain.

                                            > "[Get the fucking pony out of here, there's no room!]" someone complained and Mayor didn't see who it was.

                                            > She cringed back as Buygra herded her away. He crouched, put both hands on her face, and stroked her fur with his thumbs. "[Please, Meyermer, wait here. There's no room in there. They're even giving me the stink eye!]"

                                            "[B-But- Xuan?]"

                                            > The grip around her muzzle tightened momentarily, then Buygra stood up. "[I'll ask and come right back to tell you, okay?]"

                                            > His tone and the expression in his face brokered no argument and Mayor simply nodded in silent obedience. Buygra gave her one last pat and hurried back into the tent.

                                            > She listened to the moans, and cries and the arguments inside. It felt like hours, but couldn't have been more than a couple of minutes before the hunter came back. Mayor thought he looked relieved and she relaxed a little.

                                            > "[She's fine,]" Buygra told her, "[they just hit her on the head. No other wounds. She's sleeping now and the shaman says she's breathing normally. She'll wake up and she'll be fine.]"

                                            > It wasn't the absolute best news in Mayor's opinion. Blows to the head could be more dangerous, or have longer lasting effects, but there wasn't much she could do. Even if they let her inside the tent to examine Xuan herself, she wasn't a doctor and Xuan wasn't even a pony.

                                            > There was absolutely nothing she could do for the woman and Mayor would simply have to trust the nomads' own medicine, as primitive as it was. She simply had to believe.

                                            > Buygra watched her for a moment longer, then went back in the tent. He paused with the tent flap in his hand. "[I will send someone to find you when she wakes up, okay? The shaman says I will be able to take her home in a while.]"

                                            "[Should I- do you need me to wait?]"

                                            > The young man shook his head. "[Someone will help me. Go and get some rest, you look like you need it.]"

                                            > Mayor wanted to argue, but his words reminded her just how exhausted she was. She hadn't slept the previous night and it was probably past midnight. With the lack of sleep and the sheer physical exertion during the hunt, and during the attack, she suddenly felt ready to simply fall over.

                                            > Maybe, as tired as she was, she would sleep and not dream. Mayor gave a slow nod and turned to go back to Salki and Darga's tent. Even the chieftain and her jabs and insults wouldn't bother her tonight.

                                            > She saw a familiar, lone figure standing right in front of her and Mayor froze in place. She must have walked right past Saule on their way in. The girl was so still that she hadn't noticed her until now.

                                            > Saule was pale, and she stared at the shaman's tent with wide, fearful eyes. Her face was dirty with grime, except where tears had scoured two pink trails down her cheeks. Her expression told Mayor that something terrible has happened.

                                            "[W-What's wro- wrong?]"

                                            > Even as she asked, Mayor Mare's heart sank and her hind legs buckled under her. She had to grit her teeth to prevent herself from screaming in frustration. Just when she thought the worst might be over, just when Buygra had come out of the shaman's tent and told her that Xuan would be alright...

                                            > This nomad world kept kicking her, again and again.

                                            > Saule didn't answer. Mayor wasn't even sure the girl had seen her, so she forced her tired limbs to work and stood up on unsteady legs. She walked over and brushed her muzzle against Saule's clenched fist.

                                            > Her hand relaxed and Mayor nuzzled the fingers apart in a silent show of comfort, or at least in an attempt to get some kind of a reaction.

                                            > Saule looked down. Her unseeing, haunted expression shrivelled Mayor's insides some more. The girl kept jerking her head from side to side, as if trying to deny whatever she was thinking.

                                            > Her palm slipped away, but came back to close around Mayor's ear. The grip was tight, almost painful, but Mayor didn't try to pull free of push the hand away. She let Saule take what comfort she could.

                                            > Instead Mayor leaned in and closed her eyes. For a while she could focus on being nothing more than Saule's friend. It was as if her own troubles paled in comparison to whatever was wrong with the girl.

                                            > Mayor opened her mouth to ask again, but Saule released her ear and sat down on the muddy ground. She put her arms around her knees and hid her face.

                                            > It looked really bad. Was she hurt? Mayor moved aside to let some torchlight shine on Saule. Her forearms were covered in blood.

                                            "[Are you hurt? We need to get you some help!]"

                                            > Mayor pried Saule's arms apart so she could check her for injuries. Her face and head were fine, and despite all the blood there didn't seem to be any wounds on her arms.

                                            "[Where does it hurt? Where did they hit you?]"

                                            > Saule shook her head and pushed the inquisitive mare away. She came right back, trying to undo her tunic to make sure she wasn't bleeding from her chest or belly, but Saule shoved at her muzzle again. "[I'm not hurt!]" she yelled.

                                            "[Then what? You are covered in blood!]"

                                            > There was no reply and Saule buried her face in her hands. Her shoulders shook as she began to sob.

                                            > Mayor Mare tried to make her voice as gentle as she could.

                                            "[Why are you walking around alone? It's not safe! Where is your mother? Where is Bakar?]"

                                            > That last question got a reaction and Saule began to weep in earnest. It began as a soft, almost melodious wail, and quickly turned into loud, hiccuping sobs.

                                            > Mayor's belly went cold and she realized that the blood on Saule's arms was sticky, almost dry. It wasn't her blood.

                                            "[Saule? Where is Bakar?]"

                                            > All the girl could do was shake her head and she began to cry louder.

                                            > It could only mean...

                                            "[Is he hurt? D-Dead?]"

                                            > All Mayor could think to do was sit beside the nomad girl and press her side against hers. At least it would tell her that she wasn't alone.

                                            > Saule suddenly unwrapped and threw both arms around the surprised mare. She buried her face in her mane and wept.

                                            > "[Bakar-]" the girl sobbed, but couldn't say anything more.

                                            > She didn't have to. Mayor's felt her own tears well up in her eyes. Almost without conscious thought she wrapped her forelegs around Saule. At that moment she couldn't tell which of them was clinging to whom, not that it mattered.

                                            "[Is he d-dead?]" she asked again, quietly.

                                            > The answer came in the form of a nod against her neck, followed by a fresh wail. Mayor closed her eyes and tried very hard not to begin sobbing herself. If she started, it would all come out.

                                            > There would be time for that later, once she'd seen to Saule and made sure the girl was okay. She had to find Mitra, Saule's mother, but even that could wait for a bit. The first thing she could do for her friend was simply be there.

                                            "[I'm sorry. I'm-]" she tried, but didn't know nearly enough words.

                                            "Oh, sweet Celestia..."

                                            > The foreign words didn't seem to register with Saule, or at least she didn't comment on them.

                                            "[He- he was my friend. It's not fair! I'm sorry...]"

                                            > Another nod and a fresh bout of tears. Once again Mayor had to concentrate on her breathing lest she begin weeping too. She held her breath for a moment and then let it out. A shudder passed through her, but she thought she could keep it under control, at least for a while longer.

                                            "[Come on. Come, we need to find someone. Your mother? Where your mother?]"

                                            > Saule gave a slight shrug. When Mayor tried to pull away to look around for help, the girl squeezed her as if she never intended to let go. The message was clear: it was not yet time.

                                            > Mayor settled back and did her best to pat Saule's back with a hoof.

                                            "[It's okay, it's okay. I'm not going. I will stay with you, okay?]"

                                            > There was another nod and the death grip relaxed a little. Mayor looked around to see if any of the nomads could help, but she couldn't see anyone. Buygra had gone back into the shaman's tent, and Mayor still heard multiple voices arguing in there. Even if Buygra came out, he would have his hands full with his wife.

                                            > The shaman was the closest the nomads had to medicine, so it would why Saule was there. Maybe, Mayor thought and her ears folded down at the horrible idea, maybe Bakar had been alive only a little while ago. Maybe Saule had helped him get to the shaman's tent.

                                            > Mayor Mare bit her tongue and silently called herself a foal. It wasn't doing her any good to speculate! She would get the whole story eventually, for now she had to focus on the girl, rather than work herself up into uncontrollable weeping.

                                            > Maybe that helped her put her own trouble aside, or maybe what Mayor had gone through simply paled in comparison. After all, neither Buygra nor Xuan were dead.

                                            > Salki!

                                            > Mayor tensed up for a moment when she remembered that all the hunters had gone with Willow to drive the intruders away. She'd heard someone say that they were giving chase.

                                            > Salki could get hurt!

                                            > She realized she was gripping Saule too tightly and forced her legs to unclench a little. The girl didn't remark on it, but the last thing Mayor wanted was to inadvertently hurt her.

                                            > Her jaw set and Mayor forced those thoughts away, too. They were just speculation and fear, and she really didn't need them while she was trying to help Saule.

                                            > She pulled back a little so she could inspect the young nomad's face. It was a little cleaner, where she'd rubbed the dirt off into Mayor's mane, but it still glistened with tears.

                                            "[It's going to be okay,]" she said.

                                            > For a moment it looked as if Saule was angry at the lie, but then she let her breath out and looked down.

                                            "[Come on, we have to get you someplace warm. Come on.]"

                                            > It took some prodding to get Saule to stand up. Even when she finally looked around, the mere sight of the shaman's tent made her tense up again. Mayor put herself in the way and gave Saule a stronger push to turn her around. Only then did she take the girl's side.

                                            > Her hand landed gently on Mayor's withers.

                                            "[Here, hold on to my mane, okay? I'm not going anywhere without you. Come on, let's go home.]"

                                            > Saule obediently gathered a fistful of Mayor's pink mane. That made it a lot easier to lead her, even if the grip meant the occasional sharp tug. Mayor ignored the discomfort and simply made sure she walked at Saule's side.

                                            > The night wasn't as chilly as some, but it still wasn't pleasant and there was a distinct cold patch where Saule's tears had made Mayor's fur wet.

                                            > A few nomads passed them, but they hurried on their own errands and didn't stop. Mayor called to the first few she could recognize, hoping for a helping hand with Saule, but they just excused themselves and ran off.

                                            > The attack had left the camp in a disarray and women were looking for their husbands and sons. The hunters weren't back yet, it seemed.

                                            > Luckily it wasn't far and the pair soon came to Bakar's-

                                            > Mayor shook her head sadly. It wasn't his tent anymore. She guessed it would go to Mitra, or maybe even to Saule.

                                            > She saw a flat stone and a flint knife beside the firepit. She saw wood chippings and stripped bark and a few straight sticks which Bakar had been making into arrows. A few were in the firepit, burned through.

                                            > They had caught them all by surprise, it seemed. An attack in the night.

                                            > Saule was looking at the scene again, and she was making a strange sound in her throat, as if she wanted to both growl and sob at the same time. Mayor remembered herself and pushed her side against the girl's thigh.

                                            "[Come on. Your mother's tent, let's go inside.]"

                                            > It was right beside Bakar's and Mayor thought she heard the crackle of fire inside. If so it meant there were people and they could help.

                                            > She took a step and pulled. Saule was still gripping her mane in a fist. It resulted in a painful tug, but it was enough to get the girl moving again. In a few more steps they were at the entrance and Mayor simply pushed the flap aside.

                                            > Nomads didn't knock.

                                            > The interior of the tent was warm and lit by a bright, orange fire in the middle. Several dark shapes were sitting around and conversation stopped when Mayor stepped inside.

                                            > "[Saule!]" Mitra gasped in relief when she saw the girl. She jumped forward and physically yanked her daughter inside, and wrapped her in an embrace. "[We were so worried! Where were you?! We thought- the attack...]"

                                            > Saule didn't say anything and Mitra went on: "[Tashi was taken! We thought you-]"

                                            > She didn't finish the sentence.

                                            > They didn't know yet, Mayor realized. Saule had taken Bakar to get help and he had died. None of the others knew. Saule would have to tell them this painful bit of news.

                                            > Mayor didn't think she could watch. The kind thing to do would be to tell them herself, since Saule was in no shape to talk, but Mayor simply couldn't bring herself to do it, not after everything that had happened.

                                            > She backed away and slipped out of the tent while no one was looking. Her conscience twinged and she paused for a moment, utterly undecided. She should go back and tell them. Maybe she could bring Saule some comfort. It would be the pony thing to do.

                                            > Mayor folded her ears down and let her head lower in shame as she began to walk away from the tent. All she could hear was her own heart, hammering in her chest as she made her escape.

                                            > She couldn't watch another little tragedy, not this night. She couldn't cause Mitra and her family this pain.

                                            > A hand on her back stopped her and she nearly jumped in fright. She twirled around, her mind already painting a last, lone, desperate attacker out to get revenge for his friend she'd killed.

                                            > It was only Zaur. He'd seen her leave and followed.

                                            > "[Thank you for bringing my sister back,]" he said. "[You should come back so Mother can thank you.]"

                                            > Mayor mutely shook her head. Unfortunately Zaur saw her expression and his smile faded.

                                            > "[Something's wrong. What happened? Did they- did-]" he began, but had to swallow before he could continue: "[did they *hurt* Saule?]"

                                            > The thought was absolutely horrible and Mayor hissed in unpleasant surprise. She shook her head, as much to dislodge the sudden mental image as to say no.

                                            "[No! No! Nothing like that...]"

                                            > "[Then what?]"

                                            > She let her breath out and lowered her gaze to the ground.

                                            "[Bakar is dead. Killed, I think. Saule took him to the shaman, but he died.]"

                                            > There was a few seconds of silence, then Zaur gave a grunt. "[Fuck!]" he swore quietly. "[Fuck those Ruslan bastards! Sons of whores!]"

                                            > He stood up and it looked like he would simply run after the attackers to try and make them pay. Mayor could see how tightly he'd bunched his fists and his the veins on his neck stood out.

                                            > She placed a hoof on his leg and he looked down in surprise.

                                            "[No. No, go back. Saule- your sister. Your mother. They need you. Go back.]"

                                            > It was a struggle, but in the end rationality won through. Mayor Mare was right and the young nomad knew it. He slowly let his breath go and his shoulders slumped.

                                            > "[Fuck!]" he swore again. Then, without another word, he turned and went back to the tent.

                                            > Mayor was grateful he hadn't insisted she join them. She'd done her duty. She'd brought Saule home, safe with her family, and now she could go somewhere and...

                                            > What?

                                            > Have a good, solitary cry?

                                            > Stomp about in impotent rage?

                                            > She wanted to do both, but she was also worried for Salki.

                                            > Should she try and follow the hunters? They could be hurt, maybe they needed her. She could help carry back the wounded.

                                            > Which direction had they gone? She would never find them in he dark, out in the wild, even with her sense of smell.

                                            > She wanted to be alone for a while.

                                            > She wanted a drink. At least it would take the edge off for a little bit, and she could deal with the mess of emotion and fear and anger in the morning.

                                            > Maybe they had beer at the celebration. Maybe they dropped it when the panic started.

                                            > She headed to the bonfire.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Mayor Mare held the half-full, grubby skin of beer and stared into the fading embers of the central bonfire. She'd gotten her treasure from the ground, where a lot of it had spilled out after someone had dropped it, but the smell coming from the thing was stale and unappetizing.

                                            > It had probably gone bad a while ago, but someone had held on to it because beer was precious and expensive, and the alcohol would soon mask the bad taste. They weren't wrong, but the odor was giving Mayor second thoughts.

                                            > She'd sat herself down on one of the logs near the pit, where the dying fire still radiated some heat. A few of the people had walked past, but none of them paid her any mind. She heard shouts in the distance as families sought each other.

                                            > Again Mayor lifted the skin up to her mouth, and once more the old, spoiled beer smell nearly turned her stomach. Maybe it was a sign of some kind? She knew she shouldn't drink, not after the last time, yet...

                                            > It *would* give her some respite from the awful, horrible, brutal night. Maybe she would forget for a while and sleep. Celestia knew she needed it, badly. Her sides till throbbed where the spear had grazed it and her legs ached from the effort and excitement.

                                            > The fading adrenaline had left in its wake that dull, leaden feeling, and Mayor wanted nothing so much as to sleep it off. The only problem was that every time she closed her eyes unwelcome images forced their way to the front.

                                            > Mayor let out an agonized whine and brought the beer skin back up with renewed determination. This time she didn't inhale but simply put the neck in her mouth and lifted the thing up before she could change her mind.

                                            > The liquid gushed onto her tongue and for the first few seconds it was almost okay. She gulped down several urgent mouthfuls before she truly became aware of the taste. The beer skin nearly fell from her hooves and she had to scramble to steady her hooves so she wouldn't spill any of the precious drink.

                                            > That only left the problem in her mouth. Every instinct told her to spit it out and already her stomach was trying to turn and bring up what she had managed to get down. Mayor shut her eyes, folded her ears down, and forced herself to swallow.

                                            "Eugh! Urk-"

                                            > Again her insides felt like they had just done a somersault and Mayor urgently held the skin at arm's length. If she had gotten one more whiff of the beer it would have been too much. As it was, she concentrated on her breathing until the nausea subsided.

                                            > Once it was done and she no longer felt like vomiting, she blinked her eyes open and looked at the embers once more.

                                            > She hadn't eaten much the entire day and it wouldn't take long for the alcohol to override her senses. Despite that, she took a gasp of air and tipped another mouthful of the foul liquid down her throat. The taste made her gag and once again Mayor had to calm herself and concentrate on holding it down.

                                            "Why!?" she half-cried to one in particular. "Why the- the [fuck]!? I p-promised..."

                                            > She could stop. A few sips of the beer would make her dizzy, but not leave her senseless. She really didn't need to put herself through this ordeal.

                                            > Except she had already started, and the alcohol was starting to spread its seductive, warm feeling outward from her belly. It would help her sleep, Mayor focused on that important part. She would finish the skin, then hurry back to Salki and Darga's tent and get in her bedroll.

                                            > With how tired she was there would be no real time for her to do anything stupid when she was drunk.

                                            "Just this once. Just this-" she blubbered to herself. "I have to. I can't- No more. Never again, okay?"

                                            > She wasn't sure to whom she was making these promises. Maybe to herself, or maybe to Celestia, or at least the image of Celestia in her mind. She really meant it. Today was an exception. It had been horrible and her friend had died.

                                            > She'd killed a nomad with her bare hooves.

                                            > Mayor Mare needed a respite, even if only for a single night. Doubtless the images would haunt her for a long time to come, but first she had to make it until morning.

                                            > Her muzzle set into a determined grimace and she lifted the skin up again. She held her breath as she guzzled as quickly as she could. The spout was long and let her miss most of her tongue, so all she really felt was the bitterness deep in her mouth.

                                            > It allowed her to get a substantial amount of the foul beer down her throat until she made the mistake of exhaling through her nose. Her throat constricted and she quickly pulled the beer away, but not before she automatically spat out a mouthful.

                                            > Her insides churned and gurgled and bile rose up until she could almost taste it. Mayor swallowed again and again, trying to work up some saliva.

                                            > After some minutes of this she won and the contents of her stomach settled once more. The beer skin was nearly empty and most of it was inside her. Mayor slumped down on the log once more and stared into the fire as she waited for the alcohol to work.

                                            > Her thoughts were starting to go a little fuzzy and the warmth had spread throughout her body. Some nomads walked past and said things to her, but Mayor wasn't paying any attention and only gave them the most half-hearted of replies.

                                            > It seemed to suffice and no one came to bother her. More importantly, it was working and the pain gradually lessened.

                                            > She wasn't as drunk as she remembered in the past. Mayor forced herself to drink the remaining few dregs in the skin and then tossed it down when it was empty. It was easier going, but still unpleasant.

                                            > Maybe the beer had lost some of its potency because it was old, or maybe she'd built up a tolerance. It would help her sleep in any case, and it was probably a good idea she didn't get completely smashed.

                                            > Those thoughts made her feel a bit better. The horrors of the day were slipping away and thoughts of Bakar being dead no longer hurt as much. It was better than nothing.

                                            > No nomad could blame her, not when they drank themselves stupid at every opportunity too!

                                            "Jus' wanna feel good," Mayor mumbled to herself.

                                            > Besides, nomads had each other and she had no one. All her friends were pairing off, but there were no ponies in the world besides Mayor. Buygra and Xuan, Saule and Salki, even Celestia-damned Willow had a special some-nomad!

                                            > It just wasn't fair!

                                            > Maybe it was the beer, but Mayor suddenly felt cold and lonely. The chill penetrated right through her bones and she began to shiver in earnest. Maybe the fire was dying out?

                                            > She got to her unsteady hooves and walked closer to the pile of embers.

                                            > It helped a little, but her legs were still shivering like twigs in a breeze. Luckily Mayor retained enough presence of mind that she knew going further would be a bad idea. She could lose her balance and fall into the fire. It was nearly dead, but still hot enough to burn her badly.

                                            > Instead it would be a smarter idea to get her cloak. Her head swung around until she found the direction she wanted and Mayor stumbled off. It wasn't far to Darga's tent. Of course the chieftain would be close to the center.

                                            > The entire world was swinging around gently as Mayor walked and the motion lulled her into a kind of stupor. It was pleasant, in a way, not to think about anything in particular and just keep moving.

                                            > The workout, even a light one, was warming her up and the movement emphasized the dizziness she felt as the beer took hold.

                                            > She passed the tent she wanted and just kept going. It wouldn't hurt to make a tour of the camp and the exercise would tire her out a bit more.

                                            "Mak- Makit easy to sleep."

                                            > She increased her pace into a very light canter and lowered her head so that her mane streamed a little. At least that's how Mayor imagined it. She lifted up her tail to mimic that classical galloping pony pose.

                                            > Pretty soon she was breathing more heavily, but Mayor kept running. A few nomads looked at her strangely, but she was hardly aware of her odd glances. Maybe she was smiling.

                                            > It felt as if she'd left all her troubles behind, at least for a while.

                                            > Soon she was hot throughout and her muscles were burning with effort, so Mayor slowed down. She thought she'd circled the entire camp and wasn't sure where she was. She looked around, but that made the landscape tilt and swirl dangerously, so she stopped before she fell on her muzzle.

                                            > She was pleasantly drunk, but still sober enough to know it. Somehow she'd gotten the dosage perfect. Maybe she didn't have to deny herself beer if she drank responsibly, like tonight, Mayor thought.

                                            > Unfortunately she wasn't sure exactly where she was, but she had a vague sense of direction and knew which way would take her back to the bonfire. She was ready to fall asleep, so Mayor headed that way.

                                            > A few drops of sweat fell from her sides, but she paid them no heed. She was nicely warmed by her exercise and by the beer, and the cool breeze felt nice against her overheated flanks.

                                            > She hiked up her tail to allow the air to circulate better. The chill was unfamiliar on her exposed parts, but not unpleasant.

                                            > Her thoughts went back to Saule and Salki. They hadn't acknowledged their relationship yet, not even to each other, but it was plain to see it budding. The two youths had the hots for each other, even Mayor, unfamiliar with nomad body language and courtship could see that.

                                            > In a way that stung a little. Sometimes she thought she and Salki would-

                                            > Her hoof faltered and Mayor nearly fell flat on her muzzle as she suddenly stopped.

                                            > She'd never thought about it directly, had she? About Salki like twigs in a breeze?

                                            > He was a male, and a few accidental, surreptitious glances had confirmed they would likely... 'fit', but he was a nomad and she was a pony.

                                            > Then again, there had been that time when she was drunk and kissed him. Was her isolation making her go native? Was she attracted to nomads?

                                            > Her bits began to feel decidedly hot and Mayor flicked her tail a few times to cool herself off. How much of it was just pent-up need? She'd never been the most promiscuous of mares, but that didn't mean she was frigid.

                                            > It really wasn't fair that she couldn't get *that* kind of fulfillment in this world.

                                            > Her muzzle scrunched up into a sneer when she thought about Salki and Saule again, and her ears splayed out.

                                            "Wha- Why bucking everybody ex- eggscept me?! How- how izzit fair?"

                                            > She stomped the hard mud and snorted her annoyance. Why could she never feel a lover's touch again in her life?! It was all a big pile of crap!

                                            > To further compound her misery, these thoughts were making her all hot and bothered. She felt herself wink, *down there*, and the feeling sent a shudder through her body.

                                            > Maybe if she got Salki drunk? Really drunk?

                                            > No, even in her inebriated state Mayor knew that was a monumentally bad idea. If Darga didn't kill her when she found out, she would surely throw her out of the camp.

                                            > Was there anyone else? Mayor began walking again as she thought about all the nomads she knew. She swayed a little with each step, partly because she was dizzy, but mostly because she was subconsciously trying for a more seductive and suggestive gait.

                                            > She placed her hind legs a little closer to her center, which made her hips swing from side to side in a way no stallion would be able to ignore. A tiny part of her was glad no one saw her, but the beer had pushed Mayor beyond caring.

                                            "[Dammit]" she swore in nomad, "Ima- I- I'za mare! Dezzerve t- Deserve t- to [fucking] love! [Fuck!]"

                                            > The foul language helped make her feel a bit better. It was a useful nomad invention, profanity. It didn't do much to quell the fire between her hind legs, though.

                                            > A weird new scent registered in her nose and Mayor stopped again. Manure, urine, and the unmistakable stink of the donkey herd.

                                            > She knew where she was, and it explained the lack of nomads. The herd was kept inside the camp at night, but there was a bit of a gap between the stump where the animals were tied and the nearest tents.

                                            > It gave her an idea.

                                            > She was drunk enough to consider it, even if it made her ears flatten in shame.

                                            > It wouldn't be *love*, but maybe that wasn't what she needed *right now*.

                                            > Her tail hitched up higher and another wink made her shudder. The alcohol in her mind took care of chagrin and inhibition.

                                            > It wasn't as if she would be *hurting* them. The donkeys were milked and slaughtered to provide food for the nomads, that was infinitely worse.

                                            > Her heart was hammering and her head lowered with the magnitude of what she was contemplated, but her bits were on fire and she needed to put it out before she went crazy and did something unforgivable with Salki or Saule.

                                            > She slunk forward.

                                            "S'not... It's not- I'ma- I'm not gunna hurt 'em. It'll feel good, okay?"

                                            > The herd was still and quiet, most of the animals lying on the ground asleep after the recent commotion. A few of the jennies were standing upright and trying to crop what little grass they could find.

                                            > A jack was standing a short distance away from the others, dully looking at some distant point on the horizon. It looked young, which suited Mayor just fine. The donkeys were only slightly larger than her, but they were quite strong and she didn't want to risk injury, either to herself or to the beast if she had to fend it off.

                                            "Hey- uh- you," she murmured to it.

                                            > The donkey lifted up its ears at the words and watched her uneasily. The herd didn't really know what to make of Mayor, who was shaped almost like a donkey, but could talk like the nomads. For the most part they seemed to ignore her, but they obeyed when she gave any of the commands the nomads had taught the beasts.

                                            > This time there was no command for what Mayor wanted, but she hoped the jack's natural instincts would do the trick.

                                            > She came close to it, but the donkey shuffled away, uneasy.

                                            "Izz- Izz okay, 'kay? Not gonna- gonna hurt you, 'kay? Promi- promishe."

                                            > The world was spinning harder now and her thoughts ran in sluggish circles. The beer was taking full effect, but that was okay. Mayor didn't need to think for the next bit. She turned around and waved her tail around to send the scent in the right direction.

                                            > When she glanced back over her croup the beast was standing still, watching her warily, but hadn't made any move.

                                            "Stupid don- donkee! C'mon. C'mon, y'know y'wannit! C'mere..."

                                            > She backed herself closer to it, then a flash of inspiration struck her. They were incredibly smell-oriented, she knew, but maybe a mare was too different for the jack to make the connection. Maybe she needed something else, something she'd seen the jennies do.

                                            > It only took her a moment of relaxation. Hot urine dribbled down her hind leg and Mayor wasn't sure she'd gotten her tail out of the way in time. It didn't matter, she would wash later.

                                            > She heard a rustle as her efforts finally got a reaction from the donkey. It had lowered its ears and taken a step closer. It was sniffing the air. She backed up a little more.

                                            > The donkey showed her his teeth, but it wasn't a threatening gesture. It was just what these beasts did sometimes. More importantly, there was an... 'elongation' happening under his belly. She was having the desired effect and Mayor smiled to herself at this small victory.

                                            > If nothing else, it proved she was still a mare!

                                            > She tensed her hind legs in anticipation and her button winked out again, yearning for contact. Luckily she didn't have to wait long. The donkey came closer and grunted as it rose to its hind legs.

                                            > She took his weight, but his scrabbling forelegs grazed her spear wound and made Mayor whimper. The pain brought a momentary sobriety and she realized just what she was doing.

                                            "B-Buck- maybe this wasn't- GAH!"

                                            > Before she could have reacted the jack's member pushed against her. It missed, but the pressure, and what it meant, was enough to cloud her mind with sudden desire. Wrong or not, she needed a release.

                                            > The tip slid a little as the donkey readjusted, then it entered her in one long, swift lunge. There was no gentle easing, nothing loving or sensual about it.

                                            > It was a violation and it made Mayor gasp in sudden pain. It felt as if the beast was splitting her apart with its long and girthy cock.

                                            "No! No! Ow! [Fuck!] Stop!"

                                            > She tried to wiggle free, but the jack was incredibly strong and it had good leverage around her midriff with its forelegs. It scrabbled to get a better grip and its teeth clamped down on her neck.

                                            "OW! Let me go! OW!"

                                            > It didn't help, not when the jack was embedded so deeply in her warmth. It thrust, urgently, desperately. The cock pushed further in and her body responded by itself, despite the sudden fear and revulsion Mayor felt.

                                            > She came, almost instantly and her wetness became a flood. It squirted out around the jack's thick shaft and stained its balls and hind legs.

                                            "Aaaah!" Mayor yelled in a mixture of ecstasy and pain.

                                            > Her hind legs nearly buckled but something in her made her lock her knees and bear the weight.

                                            > The donkey pulled back, then rammed himself in her once more. That was all it took and she felt his tip flare out. The thought of what was about to happen filled Mayor with fresh revulsion and she tried to buck the insistent jack off. She pushed up with her hind legs, but the donkey was heavy and the little hop did not dislodge him.

                                            > It was too late anyway, the beast gave a grunt and his teeth on her neck clamped tighter, like a vise. His forelegs scrabbled against her sides with renewed strength as the jack fought to stay inside her.

                                            > Mayor held her breath and tried to make her mind work again. It was reeling from the shock of the sudden, brutal union and her thoughts ran in a tight little circle.

                                            > 'This isn't happening! This isn't happening! This can't be happening!'

                                            > The fact that she was still climaxing burned with shame each time her insides clenched.

                                            > She felt the pulse travel up the jack's cock just before his heat poured into her. It filled her up, pump after pump, and the feeling of his seed that deep inside her made her moan involuntarily.

                                            > The jack went still, but it was breathing heavily and it still had her neck in his teeth. Mayor couldn't do much more except wait for it to be over.

                                            > Luckily it didn't take long. A few more spurts and the jack had spent himself. He let her go and slid back.

                                            > Mayor's treacherous opening tried its best to clench and keep the cock inside her, but despite the bulge of his flare the jack pulled free.

                                            > The mixture of their fluids gushed out from her suddenly gaping hole, a warm flood down her hind legs. It splattered on the ground.

                                            > For a few seconds Mayor simply stood there, unsure whether her legs would work if she tried to walk. She was trembling wildly, both from the remnants of her orgasm, as from the sheer horror.

                                            > At long last she was able to turn her head and look back. The jack was watching her, but it didn't seem too interested. His cock, flaccid but still dangling outside, dribbled the remnants of his seed and her fluids.

                                            > She made herself take a step. She didn't want to wait for it, or any of the others, to try again. As it was she felt dirty, both inside and outside. She wanted to blame the beast, she wanted to hit it and yell for the way it had taken her, but that would be a lie.

                                            > She'd wanted it. She had known how quickly and violently these beasts mated. If she'd imagined a slow and gentle lovemaking, that had just been her idiot fancy overriding her better sense.

                                            > It was her fault.

                                            > Mayor wanted to be away. She had to get clean.

                                            > She was still dizzy, but she no longer felt drunk. She took another stumbling step, then another. More warm fluid leaked from her aching and abused opening, and the sensation made her wink again.

                                            "[Fuck!]"

                                            > Fresh tears were only now starting to leak from her eyes.

                                            > How could she had been this stupid!? What did she *think* was going to happen?

                                            > She deserved it. She wanted to take advantage of a poor, stupid animal, and she deserved what had happened. She'd gone asking for it!

                                            > It took a lot of effort to hold her sobs in, at least while she was still in the camp. Luckily the herd was near the edge and it wasn't far to the stream. She broke into a full gallop, hoping the sound of her hooves would mask her weeping.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Mayor Mare waited just outside Salki and Darga's tent and focused her ears on the heavy leather fabric. It was quiet, which meant that they were either still gone, or asleep.

                                            > It was probably the former, since there were many nomads still up and about, despite the early hour. Mayor had seen that they had gotten the large fire in the middle going again. The atmosphere looked much more subdued, but she heard the occasional loud, angry exclamation.

                                            > It would make sense for the chieftain and her son to be there. Salki was becoming a prominent hunter and warrior so he was sure to be included in something that important. Mayor didn't have a lot of say in the matter, so she simply slunk into the empty tent and flopped down on her cot.

                                            > The inside fire was nearly dead, but the air still had a bit of warmth. It felt positively scalding on her aching, cold legs. Her teeth began to chatter as she flopped around to wrap the animal skins around herself.

                                            > She tried to relax, but her limbs spasmed and her hooves twitched as her body began to warm up. The familiar ache was already making her wince, but Mayor gritted her teeth and curled up into a ball.

                                            > It would pass, she would dry and warm up, and maybe she would even sleep. She was weary enough after everything that had happened.

                                            > Her breath hitched and Mayor fought back fresh tears. What a stupid mare she'd been. She'd acted worse than an idiot filly in her first rut who went around the more unsavoury bars in Canterlot and looked for trouble.

                                            > Mayor squeezed her eyes shut and folded her ears down, although neither helped in shutting out her memories. Those were on the inside.

                                            > A particularly strong convulsion made her gasp, but she just gathered the skins more tightly around her body and laid her head down once more. She was already beginning to warm and she thought she was getting some feeling back in her legs.

                                            > Splashing around in the stream was chilly at the best of times, and it was positively dumb during a cold spring night. She should have gotten out ages ago, but Mayor had felt dirty. She still did, for that matter, but at some point her better sense had overruled her disgust. She had to get out and warm up, or she would have passed out from hypothermia.

                                            > Mayor Mare closed her eyes and tried to take a deep, calm breath. The muscles in her belly - her diaphragm, she thought it was called - hurt from all the choked-off sobbing and panting. Her nose and sinuses felt like a snot-filled lump of ice, and her throat was raw as if she'd swallowed a pineapple larger than her head.

                                            "It's g-g-going to p-p-pas."

                                            > She had to believe it. At least, Mayor hoped, the world could throw no more low kicks in her direction. Surely this was the rock bottom of her life.

                                            > Surely?

                                            > She was wet and shivering from cold, her side hurt from the spear wound. She'd killed both animals and nomads, and she'd gotten herself... used.

                                            > Her tail tucked more tightly against her and she unclenched her legs for a moment so she could gather it up against her belly. She still felt the gaping ache where the jack had... gone in.

                                            > The mare sniffed as she tried to hold back a new bout of sobs and she clutched her tail as tightly against her chest as she could. Luckily it was just barely long enough.

                                            > She was still shaking with cold, but it was less bad than a few minutes ago. It would pass, all she had to do was bear it for a while longer.

                                            >...

                                            > A breath of chilly air tickled her nose and a glimmer of bright light pierced right through her closed eyelids. Mayor batted an annoyed ear and moved her head out of the way.

                                            > "[Oh, look who's awake,]" came a familiar voice.

                                            > Mayor blinked a few times and tried to see, but smell told her a lot more than her eyes ever could.

                                            "[Oh-]"

                                            > She had tried to greet Salki, but her throat was full of phlegm and she began to cough. It felt and sounded as if her lungs were full of liquid and the young nomad leaned closer and put his hand against the side of her face.

                                            > "[Shit, are you okay Meyermer?]"

                                            "[Ye- gack!]"

                                            > Mayor hacked a few more times, then took a breath and tried again.

                                            "[I'm fine,]" she finally managed to say, even if it sounded hoarse and unconvincing.

                                            > "[We couldn't find you last night. We thought you were taken too, but then Mother found you in the tent. You were sleeping so we didn't wake you up.]"

                                            > The concern in Salki's voice was touching, but something he'd said alarmed Mayor.

                                            "[Wait. Too? Taken too? Who was taken?]"

                                            > There was some silence as the young man looked at the tent's entrance flap. Mayor followed his gaze, but the fabric was shut. She wondered how the sun had managed to shine on her face. The faintest sliver was visible at the bottom, where the cloth had gotten caught on the ground and hadn't closed very tightly.

                                            > She was about to ask, but Salki spoke up first: "[Bakar and Temir were killed in the attack. A few of the hunters got hurt when we went after them, but they escaped. Hisein said he saw them sitting on horses.]"

                                            > It wasn't the whole story, but Mayor didn't interrupt. She tried to remember who exactly Temir was, but she couldn't recall the face. Not one of the hunters, maybe one of the older craftsmen?

                                            > Eventually Salki continued: "[They took Tashi and they almost got Xuan too, but Buygra tells me you helped save her.]"

                                            > Salki was smiling as he said it, but Mayor didn't feel any particular pride. She couldn't believe that had only happened last night. It felt like ages ago.

                                            > Her head was throbbing a little, but it wasn't too horrible. She remembered drinking from the stream after she'd bathed, which must have helped with her hangover.

                                            > She'd gotten drunk. She'd done something stupid.

                                            > Unfortunately she remembered all of it this time. No alcohol-induced amnesia, which she'd been hoping for when she fell asleep.

                                            > "[What's wrong?]" Salki asked.

                                            "[N-Nothing!]"

                                            > It was an obvious lie and the nomad reached out with his hand again to pry her ear away from her head. "[I can tell something's bothering you. This gives you away, you know?]" he asked as he tugged gently for emphasis. "[Come on, tell me. Is it about last night? We'll get Tashi back.]"

                                            > That name was more familiar than Temir and Mayor hazarded a guess, partly to make sure she was thinking of the right person, and partly to avoid answering Salki's questions. "[She is related to Intor, right? Her... niece?]"

                                            > The nomad was shaking his head. "[No, not Intor. She's Kantuta's niece.]"

                                            "[Oh. Intor's friend. I remember.]"

                                            > Mayor had met the woman often enough while she'd been in Intor's service, but she hadn't interacted much with her family. They'd all been in awe of the talking pony and the younger ones ran away every time Mayor had tried to talk to them.

                                            "[What will you do?]"

                                            > Salki shrugged and his eyes went to the cold ashes of the fire. His hand had moved from tugging at her ear to scratching behind it and Mayor silently pressed her head closer. "[I don't know,]" he finally said. "[If Hisein is right and they are sitting on horses, they could be very far by now. They will be hard to track. Willow says we should give chase, but Mother doesn't want to leave the camp undefended. She says we will move tomorrow.]"

                                            > It wasn't too surprising and Mayor had been expected a migration for some time now. The nomad had settled this land because that was what they always did in the winter. Someone had explained to Mayor that it was because the stream of water didn't freeze completely, even in the worst snow.

                                            "[Okay,]" she said, unsure what else would be appropriate.

                                            > "[We will see what happens. Maybe we'll send some men to try and save Tashi. No one likes the thought of what those Ruslan beasts will do to her.]"

                                            > It made Mayor shudder because it hit slightly too close to home. Except that in her case, Mayor had done it to herself.

                                            > She had to get out of the tend and find something to do, otherwise she would start thinking about it, and about the circle hunt, and about the fight among the tents, and it would just drag her down.

                                            > With a weary sigh she kicked the animal skins off and lifted herself up on her forelegs.

                                            > "[Did you sweat in the night?]" Salki asked suddenly and put a hand on her flank. "[No, you're dry. Why is your fur like that?]"

                                            > Mayor followed his gaze and saw that her coat was indeed dishevelled and matted from her nighttime bath. She thought about a reasonable excuse, but Salki hummed and reached lower.

                                            > "[What is this?]" he asked and touched a darker stain in her tail. His finger grazed a spot which was still bruised and sensitive and Mayor's breath caught. "[Why are you wet like this? It's not blood. Ponies don't have blood like nomads. Are you sick?]"

                                            > She opened her mouth to say something, *anything*, but the young nomad put his fingers to his nose and sniffed. He looked at her in wide-eyed shock. "[What is this, Meyermer? It smells like- Did you *fuck* last night?!]"

                                            > Even before he'd finished talking she was already shaking her head.

                                            "[No! No! I s-s-swear! No! It's...]"

                                            > Unfortunately she didn't have any idea how to excuse what Salki had so clearly identified. Mayor wondered how he knew to recognize the scent, but she didn't have time to consider it for long.

                                            > "[Don't lie! I know what this is. Someone fucked you last night and now you're leaking his... his *seed*. What happened?]"

                                            > She'd been so sure she'd washed it out of herself. She should have known that there was too much of it, that the jack's dick had been long and had put it deep inside her. She should have remembered that the stuff had a tendency to *leak* in the morning!

                                            > It was probably still inside her. For an ice-cold, bone-chilling moment Mayor thought it might lead to pregnancy, but she quickly remembered that she wasn't yet in the season. They were different species, too. She'd never heard of an Equestrian donkey successfully mating with a pony and these were creatures from an entirely different world.

                                            > She let out a breath, glad that at least one of the problems wouldn't rear its ugly head, even if the foul, stinking, donkey semen was still inside her.

                                            > Salki watched the series of expression which passed her face and his initial shock softened into concern. He wiped his hand on his tunic and cupped her muzzle with both hands.

                                            > "[It's okay, it's okay. I'm not mad, I promise. I was just surprise. I thought you-]"

                                            > His touch slipped and the young man looked away for a moment. He stayed still for a second, then let his breath out. When he continued, his voice was somehow more flat: "[Tell me what happened?]"

                                            > She couldn't tell him the truth. Even thinking about it made her face flush with dark red embarrassment and Mayor lowered her head and focused her gaze on her forehooves.

                                            "[I- I had some beer-]"

                                            > The slap as Salki hit his own leg with the palm of his hand made her jump a little in fright. "[I fucking knew it. You got drunk again and then you went out and fucked someone. Who was it?! Tell me! When mother finds out...]"

                                            > He didn't even know how to finish that sentence and had to concentrate on his breathing for a moment. Mayor cleared her throat and opened her mouth to tell him the truth. Maybe he would be less upset if he knew it wasn't one of his fellow nomads?

                                            > Except she couldn't. She couldn't tell Salki that she'd waved her tail in some donkey beast's face until it mounted her, like an animal. She pawed at her animal fur cot, scraping away an imagined bit of dirt.

                                            "[I was drunk. I got lost and I- I ended up where- I- at the donkey herd.]"

                                            > Salki looked back, incredulous, and his eyebrows rose in shock. "[What? What are you saying, Meyermer?]"

                                            > She took a deep breath and turned her face again. She didn't have to fake the tears because they were real. She tried to keep her voice level, but it came out shrill and pained.

                                            "[I didn't want to! I was drunk and dizzy and- and the world was spinning. I stopped for a moment and it-]"

                                            > She glanced up to see whether Salki understood, which might mean she wouldn't have to actually say it. He looked more confused than before, so she swallowed a lump and finished in a small, quiet voice:

                                            "[It jumped on me! I didn't- I didn't know. It was too quick and then it bit me and I couldn't get away! I didn't mean to do it!]"

                                            > At these words Salki's face had darkened into black, furious anger. Mayor shrank away from the sudden fire in his eyes. "[One of the fucking beasts *raped* you?! Come here!]"

                                            > He gripped her mane in a white-knuckled fist and pulled her up to her hooves. Mayor yelped in pain, but she didn't resist as Salki dragged her out of the tent. She didn't ask where they were going.

                                            "[What are you- ow! What are you doing?! Ow! Let me go! OW!]"

                                            > He didn't listen and simply strode off in the direction of the donkey herd. Mayor had little choice but to follow, unless she wanted her mane pulled out. She saw glimpses of the camp, of staring nomads, but she paid them no mind as she concentrated on keeping pace with the furious Salki.

                                            > What was he going to do? She was frightened. She'd never seen him that angry.

                                            > He refused to answer her questions or her pleas as he dragged her.

                                            > They came to the donkey herd, where a few nomads were moving around, but they all stopped and looked in surprise when the two appeared.

                                            > Only then did Salki let her go. "[Which one was it?!]"

                                            > Mayor managed to stand on her own hooves, but she was trembling in fear and shock. When Salki saw that he shifted on his feet and clasped his hands together. "[Fuck. No, It's not- I'm not gonna hurt you. Just tell me.]"

                                            > She still wasn't certain, not after that raw, primal anger she'd sensed in him. The young man crouched down and put his arm around her withers. "[It's okay, shh,]" her murmured. "[I shouldn't have reacted like that. I'm sorry.]"

                                            > His free hand went under her chin and tipped her head up and around until she was looking at his face. The fire had died down a little, but his eyes still flashed in fury despite the strained smile on his face. "[It's okay. Point which one did it.]"

                                            > One of the other men had come close and asked: "[Who did what, Salki?]"

                                            > The young hunter stood up and let out a small growl. "[One of the beasts attacked Meyermer last night. It bit and- it bit and kicked her. We won't have that.]"

                                            > The other nomad agreed and quickly stepped to one side so Mayor could see the herd.

                                            > "[Which one?]" Salki asked again.

                                            > There was little she could do, so Mayor looked at the beasts before her and quickly picked out the young jack she'd 'met' last night. She raised a shaking hoof.

                                            "[Tha- That smaller one. Y-Young.]"

                                            > "[Right,]" Salki said with a note of grim satisfaction in his voice. He plucked his flint knife from his belt and strode forward.

                                            > Only then did the full realization of what he was intending strike Mayor. Shock, and fear, and self-loathing had taken too much for her to understand until now. Her body went rigid with horror and she couldn't tear her eyes from that wickedly sharp blade.

                                            > It was going to die. Salki was walking over to the poor animal to cut its throat. Mayor already saw the gush of vivid red blood in her imagination, especially after she'd preemptively closed her eyes.

                                            > 'It's only an animal,' a part of her thought. It couldn't think. It wasn't a person. The nomads would have killed it sooner or later anyway. She didn't have to care what happened and it would give Salki the satisfaction of revenge. It would allow them to put the incident behind them.

                                            > Mayor Mare nearly kept quiet.

                                            > Nearly.

                                            "[No! Stop!]"

                                            > Salki did and turned back in surprise. "[What? Why?]"

                                            "[It- it was my fault,]" Mayor said weakly.

                                            > It really was all her fault. She'd abused the poor animal, even if she'd gotten the worse end of the deal for it. If Salki killed the jack, its blood would be on Mayor Mare's hooves. Another life cut short because of her.

                                            > Her voice shook with the effort and her eyes slid away from the young nomad's face. She glanced at the others and tried to find a way to say it, but not betray the truth. She would die of shame if more people knew.

                                            "[I provoked it. I- I was drunk and I came to- to b-bother it. I-]"

                                            > She took a quick glance and the look of disgust and betrayal on Salki's face went straight to her heart. She couldn't hold it back any longer and began to weep.

                                            "[I'm sorry! I'm- I'm s-s-sorry!]".

                                            > Mayor saw through her tears that Salki still held his knife out. His glare flicked from her to the animal, and his mouth tightened as once more jealousy flashed across his face.

                                            "[Please!]"

                                            > After that word she devolved into low, wailing keening. Her rump hit the ground and then she folded up on herself. She buried her muzzle between her forelegs and let the tears come. She'd told him, and it wouldn't be enough. The donkey would die because of her.

                                            > Even worse, Salki would surely hate her now. Maybe there could have been something, she realized too late. He had liked her. He was clearly jealous about the whole thing. Jealous enough to slaughter the creature. Mayor didn't even have to look.

                                            > An unexpected hand on her back nearly made her jump.

                                            > "[Fuck, Meyermer,]" Salki said quietly beside her. "[Why do you do these things? What the fuck is wrong with you?]"

                                            "[I d-don't knoo- kno- knooooooow!]"

                                            > Salki wiggled his hands under her chest. "[Come on, I'll take you home. We'll talk, okay?]"

                                            > She managed a small nod, but it was lost as she was gently picked up.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > "[I really don't understand you sometimes, Meyermer. What were you thinking?]" Salki asked.

                                            > The remark caused Mayor Mare to glance away and fold her ears down, or at least try to. It worked on her left ear, but her right was being scratched by Saule, who had remained quiet throughout the exchange.

                                            > She didn't respond, but she shuffled her folded legs a little, which made the young grass under her body rustle. Mayor had made herself as small as possible and tucked all four hooves under her when the nomad had put her down.

                                            > "[Well?]"

                                            "[I- I wasn't. I was drunk-]"

                                            > She knew it was a mistake as soon as the words left her mouth. Salki grunted and flicked his wrist. The pebble he'd been holding flew far into the grass. Despite herself, Mayor flinched at the sudden gesture, unable to stop herself even if it made her feel silly afterwards.

                                            > Salki hadn't struck her yet, even though she would probably deserve it sometimes.

                                            > She let her head fall forward and exhaled, which rippled the grass around her muzzle and tickled her fur.

                                            > Saule spoke next, after it became obvious that Salki didn't have a good reply "[You have to stop doing this, Meyermer,]" she said. "[You're stupid when you are drunk.]

                                            > The statement hit close to home and Mayor jerked upright to stare at the girl.

                                            "[I know! Don't you think I know?! I-]"

                                            > She squeezed her eyes shut and let her head drop once more.

                                            "[I know,]" she repeated more quietly. "[I'm broken. I-Inside. I'm-]"

                                            > There was a hoarse rattle as Mayor released her breath. The other two just watched her silently. Salki's face was dark and distrustful, but Saule raised her eyebrows and gave a slight nod of encouragement.

                                            "[Who am I? What- What am I? I don't think I am pony anymore. I- sometimes I do not remember what is pony.]"

                                            > Saule's hand found Mayor's ear again and she didn't pull away as the girl pried it up so she could get her fingers to that special spot. Despite her attempt to remain stoic, Mayor pushed a little against the gentle pressure.

                                            "[I think- I think I am drinking because- because-]"

                                            > She looked from one nomad to the other, seeking encouragement, but they both looked blank to her. Whatever sympathy had been in Saule's eyes was gone, and her scratching had stopped, even though she hadn't removed her hand.

                                            > Mayor swallowed and averted her gaze. She'd been about to make up some kind of an excuse.

                                            "[I don't know. It hurts. Everything hurts! What I do, what I see... It doesn't hurt so much when I am drunk.]"

                                            > She became aware of how sore she was... *back there*. It had been a constant reminder through the day. She bared her teeth and let out a low growl.

                                            "[So what?! Everyone drinks here! All nomads drink when they can get beer! You drink too, Salki!]"

                                            > Her accusing glare wasn't lost on the nomad and he had the decency to look down at his hands. Once again Saule answered instead of him: "[He doesn't touch me when he's drunk! He doesn't make people kiss him! Fuck, Meyermer, he doesn't go and *fuck* a donkey when Salki's right!]"

                                            > It was true and the flame of anger died almost as quickly as it had appeared. Mayor shuffled her hooves once more, trying to get them that tiny bit further under her body.

                                            "[I hate this,]" she whined. "[I hate what I become. I- I thought I was- I thought ponies were better than nomads, but- but I killed.]"

                                            > Memories tried to force their way back, but she shook her head and pressed forward.

                                            "[I killed them because Willow beat me, and because I was scared and confused. I killed him because he was attacking me. I thought I was better, but- but I'm not different. I just didn't want to know...]"

                                            > If the other two could follow any of her explanation they didn't show it on their faces. The young nomads glanced at each other and then Saule cleared her throat. "[Meyermer, everyone has to hunt, if they can. Everyone hunts in the circle hunt, or they don't eat. Everyone defends the camp, or we all die. Don't you understand that?]"

                                            > She did, now. Tears filled her eyes and Mayor nodded. She didn't know if she was crying in resignation, or in gratitude that they didn't think of her as some kind of monster.

                                            "[I am still thinking like a pony! Saule- my whole life... They said killing was wrong. They said I must not hurt anyone. Not pony, not other creature. It was- *is* the pony way. It is how we are.]"

                                            > "[I know,]" Salki said and his voice sounded rusty and choked, "[you explained to me. Meyermer, it is a beautiful dream, but that is not how life works here. We can't survive like you do in Equestria. We either fight, or we die. We kill or we don't eat. Do you understand?]"

                                            > Mayor kept herself from nodding, but her ears turned back and her muzzle scrunched up as if what he'd said was utterly unpalatable. It was a bitter truth, but one she had to swallow.

                                            "[I can't- I can't be pony anymore]" she whispered to herself.

                                            > There was a quiet snap and Mayor looked to see that Saule had plucked a pink flower bud from the young grass. The girl noticed her stare and brought her fingers closer, right to Mayor's nose.

                                            > The scent was weak, but very recognizable. This flower was the same in Equestria, a delicacy if properly prepared and quite painful to eat if not. The stems had thorns.

                                            > Saule had plucked a bud without them, however, and Mayor opened her mouth to accept the morsel.

                                            > It kissed her tongue with a delicious mixture of tart and sweet. She held it there for a few seconds before swallowing the flower whole.

                                            > "[It is pink like your hair,]" Saule commented and ran her fingers through Mayor's mane.

                                            "[What do you call it?]"

                                            > Mayor knew the Equestrian name for it. It bloomed in spring and colored the fields with a lovely pink flower. She'd always enjoyed seeing that in Equestria, back when she had still been dyeing her mane. It reminded her of what was underneath.

                                            > "[Thistle,]" Saule replied softly. Her fingers went back to Mayor Mare's ear and she began to scratch again.

                                            > They sat in silence for a short while, then both Salki and Mayor spoke at the same time: "[Look, I don't-]"

                                            "[I can't keep-]"

                                            > They fell silent and the nomad gave a slight chuckle.

                                            > "[You first.]"

                                            "[You say fi-]"

                                            > This time it was Saule who laughed. Her fingers clamped around Mayor's muzzle and she patted the young man's thigh with her other hand. "[Go.]" Mayor lifted up her ears and focused them on the young man so she wouldn't miss anything.

                                            > Salki's eyes flickered down to where she was touching him, then he looked away and picked through the grass between his legs. His fingers closed around another small pebble. "[I was going to say, Meyermer, I don't blame you for- for...]

                                            > He couldn't finish the sentence, so Saule took an educated guess: "[For fucking a donkey?]"

                                            > Mayor winced and saw Salki's lips tighten in distaste at the same time. Maybe he wasn't entirely convinced of what he was saying?

                                            > "[Yes,]" he said and threw the stone. It flew in an arc and hit the ground with a low, distant thud. "[You were drunk- and- and- I guess I can understand lonely. If you want to do it again, it's fine. I won't tell anyone.]"

                                            > Even before he'd finished talking Mayor tried to shake her head, but Saule still held her muzzle in a firm grip. The nomad girl kept her hold for a little longer, until she was convinced there was nothing more Salki wanted to say. Only then did she let go. "[Okay, now you.]"

                                            > Mayor took a deep breath and voiced her thought.

                                            "[I can't keep going forward like this. I can't be a pony. It hurts too much.]"

                                            > "[Meyermer, maybe we can-]" Salki began to reply, but Saule shot forward and placed her palm on his mouth to make him shut up.

                                            > "[Shush!]" the girl commanded. "[You talked, now let her talk.]"

                                            > Mayor hadn't really had anything more, but now that they were both looking at her expectantly she had to continue with something. Her ears splayed.

                                            "[I think- Maybe I must... become like you. Like nomads. Maybe I can't be pony anymore, not pony inside. I have to be stronger.]"

                                            > Now that she was voicing this uncomfortable truth her words were speeding up, as if she couldn't contain them any longer.

                                            "[I have to l-leave Equestria behind. It is not right for this world. It does not belong. I must be nomad. I must change, or I will die.]"

                                            > Her vision was entirely blurry and Mayor closed her eyes to shut out the sting of tears.

                                            "Oh, merciful Celestia, why does it feel like I'm saying an eulogy for myself?"

                                            > The other two blinked in confusion, but they didn't interrupt or ask for a translation. They both knew her well enough to realize that this was difficult and important for her.

                                            "[I have to leave myself behind. I can't be Meyermer. Meyermer will not survive.]"

                                            > She put her muzzle back down in the young grass and mourned for that innocent, naive pony she had been.

                                            > "[Who will you be, then?]" Saule asked. She slid her hand into Mayor's mane, but didn't begin to scratch. It was a gesture of comfort and it gave the mare the connection she needed.

                                            "[I will be- I will be...]" she began and opened her eyes.

                                            > For a moment she thought her mane had slipped into her eyes, but then she realized it was another flower bud.

                                            "[My name will be Thistle.]"

                                            > None of them spoke. Mayor - Thistle - looked up to see their faces. They were both solemn, but there was a hint of a smile on Saule's lips, while Salki gave the tiniest of nods in approval.

                                            > "[It's a beautiful name,]" Saule finally said.

                                            > Mayor looked back down at the flower that was to be her namesake. It was pink and, perhaps, beautiful, but it also had thorns. Did that describe her? Did it matter? She hadn't been trying for any symbolism, she'd picked it purely based on its color.

                                            > "[We should go back. Mother will be angry if we do nothing, and I have to go with the men. We will try to get Tashi back.]" When there was no reply, he cleared his throat and went on: "[Meyer- sorry, Thistle, did you have something like that back home? In- in Equestria?]"

                                            "[Something like what?]"

                                            > "[Some of the men said they saw the Ruslans sitting on horses. They could move very fast like that. We've only seen horses used to pull carts. They are too dangerous to sit on.]"

                                            > Thistle thought back to the two unfortunate beasts who had come with that traders' wagon. They had been slaughtered for meat, luckily away from her eyes, and the wagon itself had been broken apart and burned.

                                            > Something about that bothered her, but she'd been preoccupied with the two orphaned children, and then with her forced servitude to Intor.

                                            "[No. Ponies would give rides to- to their children, or to others. Ponies pulled carts. You should not have burned that one, remember? The traders with the horses and cart? The children came with it: Fen Ko and Ning?]"

                                            > Salki shrugged and flicked another stone across the field. "[the camp people are uneasy with new things, so they burned it. Mother said it would make our people weak. Maybe if you explain. They know you bring new things.]"

                                            "[It wouldn't make you weak. It would let you bring more things and more food when we move. It could carry children and the old, and the sick.]"

                                            > "[True. You should explain to Mother. Maybe she will accept it if you say it.]"

                                            > He pushed himself upright and looked around, unconsciously scanning the horizon for threats.

                                            > Saule repeated his question: "[Can we sit on horses? How are Ruslans doing that without being kicked and trampled?]"

                                            "[You will have to train them. I-]"

                                            > Her conscience flared up and Thistle closed her eyes in a vain effort to ward off images of ponies being subjugated. They wouldn't be. There were no real ponies in this world, and the equine creatures here were only dumb beasts.

                                            "[I will show you with donkeys. You can train animals to do what you say. I think that is what Ruslans did with horses. You already make donkeys carry things when you move, all we need to do is make them carry nomads too, and to obey and go which way the nomad wants to go.]"

                                            > "[That would be useful. Why did Ruslans do it with horses? Horses are hard to get and they eat too much. Donkeys are easier.]"

                                            > Thistle set her face in a grim, determined scowl. They were just beasts, and she had to become harder.

                                            "[Horses are faster and can carry more. Your strongest warriors will be too heavy for donkeys to go fast. We will need to find some horses.]"

                                            > "[We can steal the ones from Ruslans when we get our people back. We can shoot with bows well enough so we don't hit the animals,]" Salki said.

                                            "[Perfect.]"

                                            > Thistle rose up to her hooves and stretched until her back popped. This would be her next important invention she would give the nomads. Mayor Mare would not have been able to do it, but that pony was dead.

                                            > She had to be a different person to survive among nomads. She couldn't keep drinking herself into a stupor. She couldn't keep feeling sorry for herself. She had to become harder.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > They buried Bakar at sunset. Saule had said only his close family would be there, but she asked Thistle and Salki to come as well. It was at the same time flattering and heartbreaking.

                                            > He had been one of her first real friends, other than Salki, Thistle remembered. He'd been nice to her and she'd learned a lot about nomad tool making from him. More than that, she'd been able to talk with Bakar about Equestria and her past life and he'd never called her a liar.

                                            > She told herself that she had to be strong and stoic, to embrace her new self and the place she would carve out for herself in nomad society, but Thistle couldn't keep all the tears from her eyes. A few escaped and ran in cold twin streaks down her muzzle.

                                            > The ceremony was simple, which made it easier. Some of the men dug a hole and Bakar was lowered into it. His body wasn't wrapped in any cloth, so the ugly red wound on his chest was plainly visible. It made Thistle shudder and she averted her eyes before she could be sick.

                                            > There weren't any prescribed words, nor any kind of prayer. The men laid Bakar's spear and his axe at his side, and then the women placed a sack at his feet. Thistle couldn't make out their faces, but she saw how slumped Saule was where she stood, and she noticed how her hands were hanging limply by her side.

                                            > She'd been crying, probably even while Thistle was presenting herself to that beast. She hadn't stayed with her friend. Instead, she'd wanted to get drunk and then get herself well and truly... [fucked].

                                            > Was she selfish? These weren't her people and they'd foalnapped her from Ponyville, but some of them were still her friends.

                                            > Thistle sought for something else to think about and saw how Saule darted forward and pushed her hand into the sack at Bakar's feet. She didn't see what she put in there, or maybe took out. She bumped Salki's thigh and whispered, hoping they were far enough away so it wouldn't carry.

                                            "[What is in the bag?]"

                                            > His hand found its way to her head and he briefly pressed her side against himself. "[Food. Some dry meat, probably. Honey, if Mitra had any. Oh, bread, I guess. Maybe some milk and fat. Saule just put in a small bag of salt.]"

                                            "[Why?]"

                                            > This time she looked up at the young nomad, who met her gaze. "[It's to see him on his way. The same reason men gave him new weapons.]"

                                            "[On his way?]"

                                            > It sounded like some kind of mythology and Thistle concentrated on listening. It was better than dwelling on the fact that her friend was gone, and much better than thinking about that donkey beast.

                                            > Salki took a few moments to search for the beginning of his story, then shrugged a little to himself.

                                            > "[Where he is going after death,]" he finally explained. "[Don't you know? Where do ponies go after they die?]"

                                            > Thistle opened her mouth to explain, then shut it. The question didn't have an easy answer and she was vaguely aware that there had been a lot of debate on the topic in Equestria. Not even the Princesses had been able to definitively answer it.

                                            > Unfortunately she'd been busy with her life and her job, and hadn't really thought about it that much. Both of her parents were still alive, and her grandparents had died when she was still too young to really understand.

                                            > All Thistle could do was try and guess.

                                            "[We- we don't really know. It's complicated. Bad ponies- bad creatures go to a bad place, but good people... I guess they are resting. Gone.]"

                                            > "[Just gone?]"

                                            "[Well, not really gone. They are dead, but not dead - not completely - while other ponies remember them. They are in peace.]"

                                            > It was strange to Salki and he remained quiet for a while as he considered her words. Thistle looked back at the small group and had to squint against the sun which was rapidly sinking into a brilliant sunset. She could make up dark shapes standing around the grave, two of them pushing the dirt back in with what she knew were pieces of large bones.

                                            > She would have to 'invent' shovels, she thought to herself, but then shook her head and flicked her ears in annoyance. For that, she would first have to teach the people about metalworking. It would be hard, since she knew next to nothing about it herself.

                                            > She looked back when her friend patted her head to get her attention and asked: "[Who decides if a pony was good or bad?]"

                                            > Thistle had already forgotten what they'd talked about and her muzzle was left hanging open. She shut it when she realized.

                                            "[What do you mean? I- I don't- I don't know.]"

                                            > Salki smiled in triumph and held a finger up. "[Or- Or- What if a pony is bad in secret? Like- like he steals things but no one else knows? What if he is killing his own tribe and no one knows when he dies? Who decides?]"

                                            > Thistle was already shaking her head to say that such things didn't happen, but she couldn't deny it, not even to herself. It was rare, especially in Ponyville, but she'd sat in judgement too often to believe crime was unknown in Equestria.

                                            "[I- I don't know. Maybe the Princess does that? Some creatures who were bad, even ponies, the Princess sent them away, to- to-]"

                                            > She didn't know how to translate 'Tartarus', so she shrugged and finished lamely:

                                            "[To a bad place. Somewhere they can not escape.]"

                                            > "[So your Princess, uh, Celista, judges people when they die?]"

                                            "[Celestia,]" Thistle repeated automatically. "[I don't think these creatures are dead when she sends them there.]"

                                            > This only served to further confuse both Salki and herself. He spread his arms and raised his eyebrows at her. "[Then what? What happens to you when you die?]"

                                            "[I- We really don't know. I didn't think about it. Ponies just die. They are gone, but we remember them. I didn't think there was anything more!]"

                                            > Her frustration was starting to show in the way she flicked her tail and flattened her ears. Thistle stopped herself from actually pawing the ground, but it was a close run thing indeed. She forced herself to take a deep breath and closed her eyes.

                                            > "[Okay, it's fine. Well, for us- we go to the dark hunting ground where it is always night. We give our people weapons and some food, so they are prepared when they arrive.]"

                                            > It sounded like superstition, Thistle thought, but at least the nomads had *something*. She thought back to those campfire stories about ponies coming back from the dead, or about ghosts. There was some magic, forbidden perhaps, which would allow someone to speak with the dead, wasn't there?

                                            > In a way she was grateful when Bakar's family turned and came toward her and Salki. It was a distraction and she could put thoughts of death and what came after aside. She would talk about it with her friends once she'd gotten her own thoughts in order.

                                            > Most of the mourners passed them by, but Saule stopped in front of them. Her face glistened with shed tears and she was ineffectually trying to wipe them away with the back of her hand.

                                            > Thistle sat on her haunches and spread her forelegs wide in a universal gesture. The girl didn't object and fell to her knees so she could accept the offered hug. Her nose pressed against Thistle's neck and she sniffed.

                                            "[It is okay.]"

                                            > Perhaps it was a lie, but it was a comforting one and the youth nodded against Thistle's fur. "[We gave him plenty of food. Father made him new a new spear and axe. He will be okay.]"

                                            > Thistle caught Salki's expression. He looked worried and put his finger on her lips, a gesture she knew meant he wanted her to keep silent. She understood and extricated herself partly from the hug.

                                            "[That's right, sweetheart. Bakar is strong, he will be fine. We will miss him, but-]"

                                            > She didn't know how to continue that sentence and glanced imploringly at Salki who no longer seemed concerned and was nodding appreciatively. He laid a hand on Saule's shoulder and smoothly continued: "[We'll see him again when it's our turn to go to the hunting grounds.]"

                                            "[Yes. Maybe it won't be soon,]" Thistle said, wishing fervently she was right, "[but someday.]"

                                            > Saule gave her a tiny nod and even flashed her the briefest of smiles. "[Thank you. It is just- I was close with him. He minded me ever since I was little, and- since he stopped hunting I saw him more than Mother and Father.]"

                                            > Thistle knew that for a fact. She'd gotten to know the girl mainly while she was working with Bakar on the bow.

                                            > "[I have to go,]" Salki said suddenly. "[Mother and Willow are having a council of war. We need to strike back and avenge ourselves.]"

                                            > The words made Saule glare and she climbed to her feet. Her hand went to the flint dagger tucked in her belt. "[I want to come!]" she growled.

                                            > Before Thistle could object Salki held up his palm and shook his head. "[Sorry, only hunters. We will move fast and strike at them at night, like they did. It is not a place for women.]"

                                            > "[But they took Tashi! She is my friend!]" Saule insisted.

                                            > Salki sighed and closed his eyes for a moment. "[Yes, we will bring her back if she still lives.]"

                                            > With that he turned and began to walk back to the camp. Saule watched him go, then turned her despairing eyes on Thistle. "[Can't you talk to him?! He will listen to you! I want to go with. I can fight! I'll gut that spineless Ruslan bastard who killed Bakar!]"

                                            > Thistle didn't like the idea, but she understood her anger. Those others had sneaked into the camp at night, while most of the tribe was at the festivities. They tried to grab people, especially young women, and killed the old and the confused in their way. It had been a cowardly attack and it made even her pony blood boil with anger.

                                            > She was glad her people had bows, which had already proven a huge advantage in the struggle and would doubtless do so again.

                                            > Saule hadn't waited for an answer and was hurrying after Salki. Thistle had to canter to catch up to both of them.

                                            "[Saule, no. It will not be safe. Let the men go, they- they are hunters, they know how to fight.]"

                                            > The young woman looked at her with something approaching betrayal in her expression. She parted her lips as if to speak, but then pressed them together into a thin, determined line. She increased her speed and slipped ahead of the mare.

                                            > Once again Thistle had to hurry. She ran forward and placed herself in Saule's path.

                                            "[Listen to me! Listen to me, Saule! Stop!]"

                                            > The nomad would have simply walked past her, but Thistle hopped to one side and blocked her again. Saule had no choice except to stop, or trip over her pony friend and fall.

                                            > "[What?!]" she demanded. "[I want to take revenge! I'm better with the bow than anyone except Salki! I can run as long as he can! I'm going!]"

                                            "[But- you're a girl!]"

                                            > Saule leaned down and pushed a clenched fist right under Thistle's muzzle. Her cheeks were already red and her eyes flashed in anger. "[So what?! You are, too, and you went with them to fight once! Now it's my turn!]

                                            > Thistle didn't have a reply for that. She had technically gone on a hunt, but only as a pack animal, not as a hunter. She ended up carrying Bakar home and saving his life, but she hadn't actually participated in the fighting. Somehow she didn't think Saule would believe her, or care even if she accepted the explanation.

                                            > Her head fell and she let her ears splay.

                                            "[Okay, go and ask. They're going to say no, you'll see.]"

                                            > She didn't look at Saule as the nomad huffed and walked around her. She broke into a run to catch up with Salki and after a while Thistle turned and followed. Doubtless her friend would need some consoling when her demand was rejected.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > There was an argument going on in front of Salki and Darga's tent. Thistle nearly bumped into Saule's legs when the girl in front slowed and abruptly stopped.

                                            "[What is happening?]"

                                            > She settled on her haunches beside Saule and squinted at the scene in front of them. A moment later the girl put her hand on Thistle's head, but didn't respond.

                                            > It looked as if all the hunters were there, along with a lot of the women, but Willow himself was absent. Thistle could hardly understand their rapid speech, but she knew they were angry. They talked over each other and some of the hunters punctuated their quick, sharp words with raised spears or fists. Most of the women looked frightened but determined, and some were trying to tug their husbands or sons away.

                                            > Darga herself looked extremely red in the face and her eyes bulged out in obvious fury. If she had any kind of weapon, Thistle gauged, she would be waving it in the air, if not outright using it on unruly mob. As it was, it looked like she was about ready to jump on the nearest nomad, fists swinging.

                                            > Salki had also stopped a few steps ahead of them and Thistle nudged Saule with her head to get her to move. They joined the young man.

                                            "[What is happening?]" Thistle hissed to him from the corner of her mouth.

                                            > He looked down, then at Saule, before giving a weak shrug. "[I think- Um, I think they want Mother to step down, uh, and name someone else to be Chieftain.]"

                                            "[What?! Why?]"

                                            > He spared her another glance, then turned his attention back to the rapid argument. Most of it went over her head, but Thistle got the gist that they were unhappy with the Ruslan attack and the fact that their sworn enemies were drawing nearer.

                                            > Her guess was confirmed when Salki murmured: "[They want to move the camp. They're saying we're too close to the enemy. We should have driven them away the last time.]"

                                            > Darga shouted over everyone else, which at least made them shut up for a few moments. Thistle understood some of what the woman was saying, but she was rushing through her speech and a lot of it came out garbled because she was grimacing so much.

                                            > There was something about the old chieftain, Darga's dead husband, and Salki. She also mentioned fighting and Thistle was sure she heard her talking about bows.

                                            > She seemed to be winding down when another of the hunters yelled right over her. His voice was clearer, but a few others agreed loudly even while he was speaking so Thistle only got the basic idea. He was unhappy that they had a woman for a chieftain and blamed the recent Ruslan incursions and attacks on that fact.

                                            > Thistle suddenly felt cold and a shiver ran down her back. It sounded like the camp was ready to revolt against Darga, which could mean a fight between the two factions. It would further destroy morale and potentially split the people into two smaller, independent groups.

                                            > Splintered like that, they could not survive for long.

                                            > Thistle invented rapidly. She had a lifetime of politics to draw on, even though most of her experience was with diplomats who weren't calling for blood. She knew what the nomads wanted: revenge. Most of the men in the camp, and some of the women wanted to take bows and arrows and go rain death down on the enemy. Saule herself was proof of this.

                                            > It wasn't something ponies would do, but then again this wasn't Equestria. Thistle bit her lower lip and her ears flattened, but then she came to a compromise. Saving a hostage would be universal. She could get behind that.

                                            "[Crap, we have to stop this,]" she said urgently to Salki. "[Get up there!]"

                                            > He wasn't as quick on the uptake and looked at Thistle in bewilderment. "[Me!? What am I supposed to do?]"

                                            > The mare placed her hoof on Salki's thigh and gave him a strong push forward.

                                            "[Get up there and stand beside your mother! She will know what to say. You'll know when the time is right. Say you will lead the hunters! Say you will bring back the girl who was taken.]"

                                            > "[What?! But I'm not- Willow should lead-]"

                                            "[Willow is not here!]" Thistle growled. "[You'll be the next chieftain, don't you understand?! Your mother can't hold position forever, you will have to take it. Soon!]"

                                            > By now the youth was shaking his head and he held up his palms to ward off this sudden responsibility. "[No, no Meyermer, I don't want to!]" he leaned against her push, unwilling to move.

                                            "[Then your mother has to step down and you know Willow will take it. Do you want him with that kind of power?]"

                                            > "[N-No.]"

                                            > Thistle increased the pressure against his leg.

                                            "[Me neither! Your mother won't step down and there will be a fight! Do you want people in camp to fight each other?!]"

                                            > He blinked in shock and a grimace of fear passed across his face. "[What? Who would fight? No one would fight! Why would they?]"

                                            > He really couldn't read the room and Thistle growled a little in exasperation. She also didn't have time to explain. At least, she thought smugly, he had her experience to guide him, if only he would obey!

                                            "[Look, you don't have to become chieftain tomorrow, but you have to show people you're going to, yes? Do you understand? The will let your mother do it for now, if they know you will take over soon.]"

                                            > Thistle had to glance away as the guilty thought flashed through her mind. If Salki took over as chieftain of the group he might be able to change the camp for the better. She could give them more of Equestrian values. She would advise him - she would *have to*, if the boy was to have any hope at doing a good job of it - and maybe she could at least reduce the constant bloodshed and brutality, if not quite remove it.

                                            > She poked him with her hoof again.

                                            "[Go there and give your mother support!]"

                                            > He looked uncertain, but he moved. As soon as Darga saw him, she beckoned urgently and raised her arm. She began to shout again, pointing urgently to her son. It was quick, but Thistle understood it, partly because she had expected it.

                                            > Salki would take over after his father and Darga was only keeping order until that happened. He was a strong fighter and their finest bowman, the chieftain said. She told the group that they would make a stand against the enemy, and that her son would lead it.

                                            > At that everyone looked at the young man, who looked especially uneasy. He sought out Thistle and she gave him a smile and an encouraging nod.

                                            > Salki swallowed and spoke. His words were steady, but Thistle couldn't help thinking how young he sounded. She half expected his voice to break, like that of an adolescent. "[Yes. Yes, I will lead the rescue. We will get Tashi back and, uh, revenge Bakar, and Temir, and- and the rest!]"

                                            > There were a few moments of pregnant silence, then some of the hunters began to walk away. They grumbled, but by the relief on their wives' faces Thistle guessed they would accede, for now. She sagged a little in relief and brushed her fetlock over her face.

                                            > A few remained and demanded that they get going as soon as possible, and Darga loudly promised that the part would depart before it was fully dark. They would travel through the night and strike at Ruslans at dawn.

                                            > One or two of the men cheered at that, and the dissenters seemed satisfied, even if they looked reluctant to Thistle. She breathed out and allowed her shoulders to un-hunch.

                                            > "[Good. I'm going with them,]" Saule said, reminding the mare that she was still beside her. "[Good call sending Salki there. Most of the camp doesn't want a woman chieftain, but they'll accept it if Salki takes over soon. Do you think he will do it?]"

                                            "[I hope so.]"

                                            > The young nomad gave Thistle's neck a pat, then walked forward.

                                            "[Wait! You can't go with!]"

                                            > Unfortunately Saule wasn't listening. She had a determined look in her eyes and was striding directly to Salki and Darga. As she walked her hand went to the flint knife she had tucked in her belt.

                                            > Thistle didn't have much choice but to run after her.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was late at night and the column of warriors moved silently across the landscape. Thistle was with them, not so much by her own choice as by request. Once it had become clear that Saule would be allowed to go, Mitra, had asked Thistle to go along and keep her daughter safe.

                                            > The only reason Saule was allowed, Salki had told them, was because she was a good shot with the bow and the group needed every advantage they could get. It was easier for Thistle, both because of her past experience with a hunting expedition and because she could carry things.

                                            > Aside from them, there was Willow as the leader of the attack, but also Salki, who was supposed to be second in command. Out of the rest, Buygra was the only one Thistle knew well, and a few she didn't know even by name.

                                            > She and Saule walked near the end of the line, trusting the people in front to guide them safely in the dark. There were no torches and the only light came from a crescent moon. It was barely enough for the mare to distinguish the faint outline of the figure in front of her.

                                            > They hadn't taken any of the donkeys, so she was carrying their tents and provisions. None of the hunters wanted to give her his weapons.

                                            > Thistle glanced behind her and saw the first hint of pink in the eastern sky. Nearly dawn, which meant they were nearly upon the enemy camp. A few of the fastest runners had gone ahead to look for the Ruslans, but Thistle didn't know if they had returned yet.

                                            > She hoped they would find the camp soon, otherwise they would lose the cover of darkness. Darga had given them instructions to hide and wait for the next night if that happened.

                                            >...

                                            > "[Wait, stop,]" Saule said suddenly and laid a hand on Thistle's side through the thick fur of her cloak. At almost the exact time the nomad in front of them also stopped.

                                            "[What is happening?]"

                                            > "[Hush!]" Saule warned and lowered her voice to a whisper. "[One of the runners is back. Can you hear what he's saying?]"

                                            > Thistle swiveled her ears around and even walked to one side so she could get a clear line of sight, but other than a faint murmuring she couldn't guess at what was being said. She thought she recognized Willow and Salki, but she didn't know the out-of-breath nomad who was talking between taking huge gulps of air.

                                            > She was about to return to where Saule had stopped, but the girl was suddenly beside her. Thistle hadn't heard her move. "[Well?]"

                                            "[Sorry. Too far.]"

                                            > The young woman strode purposefully forward, no doubt to ask what was going on, but the large hunter in front of them stepped in Saule's way. "[Wait here. Don't break the line!]" he commanded.

                                            > Thistle heard the faint sniff of annoyance and she could imagine Saule's grimace at the command, but the girl didn't argue and returned to where Thistle was standing.

                                            > The wait dragged on and she glanced back again, to where the pink was more pronounced and the sky was turning gray.

                                            "[We don't have much time, maybe we should hide and camp,]" she told Saule.

                                            > "[No. We're near, I can feel it!]"

                                            > It was neither of their decisions, and Saule fussed with her bow and the bundle of arrows on her back, checking that they were lose and ready to hand. After making sure that her weapon was in order, she reached out and grabbed Thistle's ear for a quick scratch.

                                            > The pleasant tingle dispelled some of the tension and the mare pressed her head against Saule's palm.

                                            > There was a stir ahead of them and the nomads began to move, faster this time. Thistle jerked into motion, but a shadow seemed to rise up out of the grass in front of her. She recognized Salki by smell, rather than by sight, and stumbled to a halt again.

                                            > "[It's near there, just over the ridge. Thistle, stay here with our things. Put them down, so you can kick if you have to. You, Saule, stay with her and guard.]"

                                            > "[What?!]" blurted the girl. "[No way I'm waiting behind! You need my bow!]"

                                            > Thistle felt her legs suddenly trembling, but she made her voice as steady as she could and spoke up too.

                                            "[I'm going with. M-Mirta said I have to stay close to Saule!]"

                                            > The three of them were silent for a long, tense moment, then Salki let his breath go and grunted. "[Fine. Leave the stuff here, we'll hide it under branches and leaves. You can help carry Tashi if she can't walk. You-]" he pointed at Saule, "[Stay near me. We let Willow and Hisein go ahead and look for her. We'll stay near the edge and wait, understand?]"

                                            > "[But-]" Saule began, undoubtedly to demand a chance at revenge, but Salki headed her off: "[Shut up. There'll be plenty of fighting when they realize we're there. You'll stay with me, or you'll wait here, even if I have to tie you up!]"

                                            > The girl slumped a little, then nodded. "[Fine.]"

                                            > "[One more thing,]" Salki said. "[Make sure who are our people and who the enemy, so you don't shoot the wrong one. If you're not sure, you don't loose, understand?]"

                                            > Thistle heard the girl swallow before she nodded wordlessly.

                                            > Salki stepped closer to Thistle and began untying the gear strapped to her back. Bags and bundles slid noiselessly into the grass until the mare was free. She had kept her animal skin cloak, because the night was still chilly, even this far into the spring, and because it would be at least minor protection against weapons. She decided not to remove it for that exact purpose.

                                            > A few other men came over and after a quick whispered conversation with Salki they helped him pile leaves and grass on their stuff. Thistle couldn't judge how well it was hidden, because the ground was still largely shrouded in shadow. She could see the outlines of people against the sky, and she thought there were no more stars visible, but it was still quite dark. She hoped it would last long enough.

                                            > "[This way,]" Salki said and began walking. Thistle and Saule followed. "[Quietly!]"

                                            > It wasn't easy with hooves, but the thick grass muffled her steps at least enough so that Salki was satisfied. Thistle couldn't be as quiet as the two nomads and she felt a newfound admiration for their delicate, two-legged mode of walking. She decided she would try and learn to be at least as stealthy as some of the worst hunters.

                                            > Unfortunately she didn't have much time to practice and she soon began to smell smoke, and meat, and filth. It was a nomad camp, almost indistinguishable from their own.

                                            > She heard a quiet exclamation ahead, followed by a thump. When they moved closer she saw the shape of someone lying on the ground. She stepped into something wet and a shudder ran through her.

                                            > Up ahead she could see the looming shapes of the first few tents. The camp looked silent and everyone was asleep.

                                            > Foolish of them, Thistle thought. They'd attacked Darga's nomads, so they should have been expecting a counterattack. She would have to ask Willow and Salki why there hadn't been more of a guard.

                                            > "[Here,]" Salki said. "[We'll wait here.]" He held Saule's forearm, perhaps worried that she might try to slip away and alert the enemy to their presence. He hunkered down and patted the ground while looking at Thistle.

                                            > She understood and plopped down on the patch he'd indicated. A few other men crouched or sat around them, while most of their group slid quietly into the tents. They were the best trackers and hunters their tribe had, and before they were more than a few steps away Thistle had already lost track of them. They stayed low to the ground and moved from shadow to shadow, until they blended away into the scenery.

                                            > The rest of them waited in silence, although Saule kept shifting from leg to leg, which made her animal furs rustle faintly. Thistle could understand her nerves. She herself was trying to keep her own legs from trembling in anticipation, and her ears swiveled this way and that as she waited for some outcry, or an alarm.

                                            > Once again she looked to the east, where the patch of brightening sky promised a sunrise very soon. She swallowed a lump and prayed quietly that the hunters would find Tashi soon.

                                            > Maybe they could get her and go with minimum fuss and bloodshed. It would be the best outcome, she thought. She caught a noise and tensed up, but soon recognized it as snoring. The Ruslan camp was still fast asleep.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The waiting was excruciating. Thistle had closed her eyes and was concentrating on absorbing any and all sound. She kept her ears up, hoping she would sense the approach of anyone who might discover them.

                                            > She batted Saule's hand away with a hoof when the young nomad had started to nervously slide her fingers down Thistle's mane.

                                            "[No,]" she murmured without opening her eyes, "[I'm listening. Quiet.]"

                                            > It took a bit of concentration to filter out the sounds of her immediate group: the raspy breathing of the hunters, the occasional clearing of a throat, even the rustle of animal leather against skin.

                                            > The wider camp around them was waking up, but Thistle still heard the Ruslan men snoring. There was a baby crying in the distance, and one or two nomads walking around. She thought both of those were women, because they were usually the first awake in her own camp.

                                            > She could no longer hear hunters from her own group, not once they'd moved any distance at all. The men were good at tracking keen-eared prey and could move almost silently. The Ruslans were in their own camp, so they did not particularly try to mask their own noise.

                                            > Thistle listened to the crackle of a new fire, and the sizzle of damp twigs it was being fed. Somewhere else, there was the splashing of water as one of the nomads relieved herself behind a tent.

                                            > They didn't have a lot of time and Thistle opened her mouth several times to tell Salki that, before changing her mind and snapping it shut. Her muscles were painfully tense and she found herself gritting her teeth in anticipation.

                                            > Saule said it first. The girl whispered and the string of her bow twanged softly as she played with it. "[Maybe we should go and come back tomorrow. It will be bright soon!]"

                                            > Salki held up a hand to quieten her. When he looked back, Thistle could see his face was slick with sweat. "[We can't go without the others! We have to wait!]" he hissed back.

                                            > He was right, of course. He and Saule were the best they had with bows and their skill may prove invaluable if the group had to beat a hasty retreat. If they left, they'd be abandoning their friends in a very dangerous situation.

                                            > Thistle caught a sound which caused her heart to skip a beat: hurried footsteps, coming their way. There was an occasional scraping sound, as if something was being dragged in the dirt.

                                            > Enemy? She jumped to Salki's side and took a breath to raise the alarm, but another noise caught her attention. There was a low moan. A girl in pain, and it had come from the same direction as the hurrying footsteps. There were several people, she thought.

                                            > A Ruslan hunters would have no reason to rush and would be shouting for an alarm, and a woman wouldn't be hurrying toward them, Thistle reasoned. She still placed a careful hoof on Salki's side and he turned to her.

                                            "[People coming, from that way. I think- a woman.]"

                                            > His face lit up with sudden hope. "[Tashi?]" he asked, loudly enough for the rest of their little party to take notice.

                                            > Saule jumped forward and laid a hand on Thistle's back. "[You heard Tashi? What's happening?]" she asked, her eyes glinting with sudden hope.

                                            "[I don't know. Maybe. They will be here very soon!]"

                                            > Luckily they weren't all given to outbursts of optimism and Zaur placed a finger on his lips in a nomad sign for quiet. "[Hush! Bows at the ready!]" he said, and a moment later Salki gave an affirmative nod.

                                            > They gripped their weapons and both Salki and Zaur notched their arrows. After seeing that, Saule did the same.

                                            > Thistle crouched down beside the girl and tried to imagine what she would do if it turned out to be the enemy. She'd plant her forehooves in the dirt, like *so*. Then she'd flip her body around, like-

                                            > The mare turned herself slightly to the left, half-practicing the movement. She'd look over her right shoulder to aim, then- As she imagined kicking out her hind legs twitched in anticipation. She made herself still and quiet, and tried her best to control her erratic breathing.

                                            > Almost. The footsteps were almost upon them. She stared into the darkness, ears perked up and focused on the patch of sound. She thought she saw some shapes.

                                            > Just as she was about to warn Salki, one of the newcomers spoke and she recognized Willow: "[Where are you!?]" It was barely above a whisper, but with how hard Thistle had been concentrated it felt like a shout.

                                            > "[Here!]" Salki replied and stood up.

                                            > The group joined them and hunched down in the sparse grass. Thistle tried to listen for pursuit, but her heart hammered too much and she couldn't be sure. There was no outcry, at least, no alarm being raised, which was a good sign.

                                            > Saule had hurried forward when she realized the new people were friend. She gave a slight exclamation: "[Tashi!]"

                                            > This name made Thistle hurry forward. The girl was indeed kneeling in the grass and she looked up at the rescue party with wide, disbelieving eyes. "[Is- is it really you?]" she asked, as if she couldn't believe the evidence before her. She fended off Saule's attempt to hug her and reached out to touch first Zaur, then Salki. "[You came.]"

                                            > A deep, shuddering breath tore itself out of her throat and the girl slumped. She sniffed and it looked like she was about to break down and cry any moment. That would surely give away their position.

                                            "[We have to go!]" Thistle said urgently.

                                            > "[No,]" Willow objected, "[we must wait. Usman and Bulat are still missing. We wait for them.]"

                                            > It was one of those rare moments when Thistle agreed with the man, even if she cursed under her breath in Nomad over the missing men. She had no intention of leaving any more people in danger, but Tashi was a ticking bomb who would cause them a lot of problems if she really started weeping.

                                            > The mare hurried over to where the girl had collapsed to her knees. That was a bit of luck because it meant she could put her hooves around the poor creature and press her cheek against hers in a desperate attempt to comfort her.

                                            "[Hey, it's okay. You're safe now! Stay quiet, okay? We'll go very soon. You're safe.]"

                                            > At first Tashi stiffened and her breath caught, but Thistle's clipped and rushed words helped. Maybe it was the effect of her furry body, but Tashi wrapped her arms tightly around Thistle and held on as if she never intended to let go.

                                            > Her shoulders began to shake, but she was controlling her sobs and only letting out small whimpers against Thistle's neck. They were safe, so the mare relaxed and patted the girl on her back a few times.

                                            "[It's okay. I'm here. You're safe,]" she kept repeating in as gentle a tone as she could muster.

                                            > In front of her, behind Tashi, Willow spat on the ground and took his flint knife out of his belt. It was covered in blood and Thistle could see some of it had dripped down his thigh. "[Fucking beasts,]" he swore quietly. "[I stuck the pig on her, but who knows how many-]"

                                            > At first Thistle didn't fully understand his words, but then realization struck and her ears folded down in horror. She stared at the man imploringly, wishing he would say something else and prove her guess wrong, but he caught her look and his lips tightened.

                                            > He gave a solemn nod and crouched down to wipe his knife on the grass.

                                            > Thistle squeezed the poor girl even more tightly.

                                            "[It's going to be okay. We'll get you home to your mother. You're safe now.]"

                                            > She hoped none of her words were lies.

                                            > The day was starting to get really bright and the hunters were getting restless. They kept glancing to the east and Thistle saw how tightly some of them were gripping their weapons. Even Saule was shuffling from foot to foot as she tried to look in every direction at once.

                                            > There was the rustling of grass and hurrying feet and Thistle identified two people running toward them, but from the side. She tensed up and sought out Willow's gaze again.

                                            "[That way! Two people!]" she hissed and jerked her head in the direction.

                                            > The nomad gave her a single nod and seemed to relax. "[That will be Bulat and Usman I told them to go around when they lose the cover of darkness. The enemy would be screaming, they wouldn't be running quietly, and there would be more than two of them.]"

                                            > It made sense, but the nomads kept their weapons ready as the footsteps drew nearer. She could heard ragged breathing from exertion and the occasional slap of a stone knife against thigh, or a thud of a spear butt on the soft ground.

                                            > Willow turned out to be right and the two missing hunters nearly trampled over their friends in their haste. One of them, Thistle thought it was Usman, began to say: "[Sorry, we didn't find her. We had to move quickly and we couldn't search-]" He spotted the girl hugging Thistle and fell silent. "[You got her? Good. We should go!]"

                                            > Everyone agreed with that and Thistle began the laborious process of extricating herself from that urgent hug.

                                            "[We're going, Tashi. Come on, you have to let me go and then we'll get you home, okay?]"

                                            > She had to fight to keep her tone calm and patient, especially when the others around them shuffled uneasily, or checked their weapons. Willow walked a few paces, but then came back, breathing heavily through his nose as if he was trying to keep himself from shouting.

                                            > Eventually it worked and the girl loosed her death-grip on the mare. She looked bewildered, but at least it didn't seem as if she was about to burst into tears any second.

                                            "[Here. Put your hand here. Grip my hair, I'll guide you, okay?]"

                                            > She waited for Tashi to get to her feet. The girl tried to stand, but collapsed back down to her knees, whimpering and clutching her hands to her crotch. "[I can't! It hurts!]"

                                            > Thistle was confused and opened her mouth to point out she'd gotten thus far, out of the camp, but Willow spoke up in an uncharacteristically quiet voice: "[I believe her. We had to practically carry her between us.]"

                                            > Upright, and with the gray down bleeding back into the world, Thistle could finally see the damage. Thistle had a ragged leather cloth wrapped around her torso, but she was naked otherwise. The inside of her thighs were coated with blood and her legs had large, purple bruises.

                                            > There were more dark patches on her belly, partially hidden by her makeshift garment, and on her arms. Her face was swollen on one side and her hair was matted and sticky. It looked like her nose had been broken, but it wasn't bleeding for the moment.

                                            > "[I- I'm sorry,]" Tashi whimpered.

                                            > Thistle had to close her eyes so she wouldn't have to look at the evidence, but her breath caught and her blood boiled. She understood why the nomads called these Ruslans 'monsters'.

                                            > What had been done to the girl was horrific. She felt a flash of satisfaction that Willow had gotten one of the beasts, and she fully agreed with his choice of words. Anyone capable of such bestial cruelty didn't deserve the name 'nomad'.

                                            > She stepped closer to Tashi and turned sideways.

                                            "[Come, I will carry you. Get on. Come. Saule, walk with me. You'll keep her steady.]"

                                            > Tashi was shaking her head in dismay. "[I c-can't! I can't sit! They- they-]" her words were choked off in a sob and Thistle nearly hoofed herself in the face. Obviously the girl couldn't sit, not with what had been done to her.

                                            "[Okay, lie over me. On your stomach. Come on. Saule- wrap her feet in leather so they don't get scraped!]"

                                            > She remembered dragging Bakar like that and knew that even if Tashi was much smaller, her feet would still drag on the ground.

                                            > "[Yes, good idea! We may need to fight, we can't spare men to carry her. Let's go!]" Salki said. "[Here, use this,]" he said and handed Saule his vest. It left his chest bare, but he didn't seem to feel the night's chill.

                                            > Following his example, Zaur also took off his cloak and draped it around Tashi's shoulders to keep her warm.

                                            > It didn't take long for the nomads to load the stricken girl on Thistle's back. She hardly even felt the weight, but still walked carefully so as not to jostle the poor creature too much.

                                            > That finally allowed the group to leave and they hurried away from the Ruslan camp under the cover of darkness.

                                            > With luck, they would escape undetected. They could think about revenge later on and Thistle would make sure they don't forget. She wasn't a vindictive pony, but each jolt made Tashi moan a little, right by her ear, and she felt the beginnings of a deep and dark rage building up in her belly.

                                            > They'd came in the night and took the girl from her home. They'd dragged her off to their tent and then... had their way with her. Celestia knew how many times they-

                                            > Her own group wasn't perfect, Thistle knew that very well, but despite having taken slaves - the boy and the girl - they weren't subjected to *that*!

                                            > She wasn't aware that she let out a tiny, faint growl each time Tashi moaned or sobbed. She also didn't feel just how flat her ears had gotten. All she knew was that mental image of the girl, slouched over, hand covering her privates and blood oozing down her thighs, coloring her bruises.

                                            >...

                                            > They were too near when the shouting began. There was commotion and anger and the Ruslan camp stirred like a disturbed anthill. At least, that was how it felt to Thistle. She couldn't see very well and a hasty glance back only showed her a blurry mass of torches.

                                            > The ground sloped up, which made it harder to run and carry Tashi, but at the same time it would allow her group to see what was happening.

                                            "[Salki! Salki! Look back! What is happening? How many?]"

                                            > He stopped for a few heartbeats to watch behind them, then sprinted to catch up to the group. "[It's good! I don't think they know which way we are going. Everyone is just milling around and shouting.]"

                                            > Usman heard their exchange and added: "[You shouldn't have killed one of them. They must have found the body!]"

                                            > "[It wasn't me!]" Salki hissed back. "[Willow killed the one who was-]" He didn't finish the sentence, but Thistle saw him jerk his head in her direction. The others understood and Usman didn't have a reply, other than an approving grunt.

                                            > The group had hastened their step when the commotion behind them began and Thistle concentrated on her breathing. She was stronger than she had been before she'd come to this world, and she could run farther. Tashi wasn't heavy, but she still had to control her breathing, lest she work herself into a lather.

                                            > Willow stopped suddenly just ahead of them and Thistle nearly ran into the legs of the nomad in front, so focused had she been on running. She stopped in time and let out a small, angry growl.

                                            > "[Here. Pick up the things. Go! Hurry!]" Willow barked and Thistle realized they'd come to the place where they'd stashed their gear. She had almost forgotten about that and for an instant she considered telling them to leave it.

                                            > The Ruslans would undoubtedly find it, though. She did not like the idea of giving those monsters even the few provisions and tents.

                                            > The only problem was- there was no way she could carry it, not with Tashi draped across her back. It was a flaw in their plan which none had considered. They had all just assumed that the girl would be able to walk.

                                            > Those same thoughts must have gone through Willow's head too, because he looked at her and his lips pressed together in annoyance. For a moment it looked like he would demand she carry the stuff despite, but luckily Salki spoke first: "[No use. Meyermer has Tashi, each get your own food. Zaur and me will take the tent, someone take our packs!]"

                                            > His voice carried some of his mother's authority and the certainty of his tone helped organize the men without protest. Willow flashed him an evil stare, but no one paid him any mind as they distributed the burden among themselves.

                                            > In the end, even Willow had to carry a bag slung across one shoulder. "[We can't run all the way home like this!]" he said.

                                            > "[No,]" Salki agreed and glanced around in thought. "[There! There is a thicket, about an hour's walk. The Ruslans don't know which way we are going. Thistle will hide with Tashi and we will make a-]" he finished with a word Thistle hadn't heard before.

                                            "[What is that?]" she asked and tried to repeat it. "Dam-nyurga?"

                                            > "[Let's move! We can talk while we walk!]" Willow commanded, no doubt trying to keep a semblance of control over the group. They all began moving again and Salki fell in step beside Thistle, while Saule walked on the other side and helped hold Tashi in place.

                                            > He sought for words for a moment, then tried to explain: "[We will cut two young, tall saplings. Two long sticks, with shorter sticks tied to them so, and so.]" He mimed something with his hands, but Thistle couldn't quite grasp what he was getting at.

                                            > "[Then we stretch leather across it. Two men can hold it and still walk quickly and one man can lie on it.]"

                                            > That finally clicked and the mare gasped. "[A- A-] stretcher!" she said, using the Equestrian word. "[Dam-nyurga. Carry an injured or ill person- two nomads, one in front' one in back?]"

                                            > The device would be even simpler than the ones she knew, Thistle realized. The nomads had two hands, they could hold the long poles directly, they didn't need to rig up straps or ropes to rest them on a pony's back!

                                            > "[Yes!]" Salki confirmed. "[We can build it quickly and use the skin from the tent. Two of us will carry Tashi and you will carry our things!]"

                                            "[Yes. That could work!]"

                                            > As an added bonus, stopping for a few minutes while the nomads crafted a stretcher would give Thistle a much-needed rest. After that she was confident she could trot all the way back home, even after the previous day's forced marching and the night's tense rescue.

                                            > She could sleep when they were safe.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The hunters helped Tashi to the ground and piled their packs nearby. Willow gave a few orders and sent Usman back the way they came to watch for the enemy. The rest of them would spread out and look for sufficiently long and sturdy trees.

                                            > They were in a small thicket, but it was mostly filled with bushes which wouldn't work for a stretcher.

                                            > While they discussed Thistle lifted the unfortunate girl up and slid a couple of bedrolls against her back, which allowed Tashi to rest more comfortably. Saule sat on the soft grass on her other side, breathing heavily. She had gotten winded during their rush to escape.

                                            > For that matter, Thistle herself was panting and droplets of sweat ran down her coat. She began to shrug out of her animal skin coat, but Salki's hand grabbed her hoof. "[Leave it,]" he told her, "[or you will get ill. You are hot and sweaty, but the air is still cold.]"

                                            > She stared pointedly at his own exposed skin and quirked her mouth up into a wry smile. Unfortunately he didn't notice, so Thistle rolled her eyes and spoke up.

                                            "[What about you? You are naked too. It is cold.]"

                                            > He waved a dismissive hand. "[I'll be fine. Tashi needs it more.]"

                                            > The mare grunted in annoyance and pointed with a hoof.

                                            "[We have coats! Take one from the pack!]"

                                            > Her tone could not be disobeyed and Salki went to do exactly that, even if some of his friends tittered at how she had berated him. Thistle glared at them and the hunters fell silent.

                                            > At last they were organized and ran off in different directions. Saule would stay with the mare and Tashi to guard them with their bow, which left the nomad girl in a foul temper. They all knew it was a meaningless task, especially after Willow had assigned lookouts to watch for any sign of pursuit.

                                            > None of the enemy could get to their rescued girl without detection, which suited Thistle just fine. She had fully agreed with the decision to leave Saule guarding them. In a few more moments the three of them were alone.

                                            > Thistle glanced at the injured girl and saw how she was holding her arms around her belly.

                                            "[Are you cold? Tashi? Tashi. Are you cold?]"

                                            > The girl hadn't seemed to notice her until Thistle raised her voice, and then she simply shook her head. Despite that denial, Mayor went to the pile of hunters' things and dug out an animal skin coat. She dragged it back and covered Tashi as best she could.

                                            > After a moment, the young nomad relaxed a little, but she kept staring off into the distance. For a while Thistle thought about engaging her in conversation, but couldn't think of any good topics. All that kept racing through her mind were the memories of how Tashi had been beaten and abused.

                                            > She couldn't forget the blood on her legs. It was making her bare her teeth and flatten her ears in impotent rage.

                                            > The crimes against the poor nomad were absolutely heinous and the man Willow had killed fully deserved it.

                                            > After all, the bastards had come in the night, killing and capturing. It was pure luck that they hadn't taken anyone else, but even one was too many. Tashi had been out to relieve herself, when she was grabbed and dragged off.

                                            > A shadow of what was done to her was in the girl's face and Thistle couldn't help but see it every time she looked at her. A haunted, frightened look. A distrust of everyone and everything.

                                            > Something important had been stolen from Tashi and she could never get it back. The beatings and the pain were the least part of it, Thistle suspected. She sat on the ground and her own hooves went to her belly.

                                            > Her mind turned back to that awful night she'd gotten drunk. It wasn't nearly as bad as Tashi, but maybe, in a small way, Thistle could imagine what the nomad must have felt. What she still felt.

                                            > She slid closer to Tashi, who didn't seem to notice, and pressed her muzzle against her forearm through the thick coat. There was no reaction, so the mare reached out and wrapped a foreleg around Tashi's shoulders. She gave her face a careful nuzzle.

                                            "[It is okay now. You are going home. Your mother and your father are waiting for you, okay? They will be happy to see you again.]"

                                            > All the reply she got was a slight whimper from the girl, but Thistle persisted, even if her position was awkward to maintain and placed additional strain on her burning muscles.

                                            > She let out a sigh and closed her eyes as she did her best to cuddle the stricken girl. A moment later she felt movement and looked to see that Saule also had a hand on Tashi's shoulder, touching Thistle's hoof there.

                                            > "[We'll get you through this, Tashi, okay? You have friends. It's going to be fine.]"

                                            > That voice finally got through to her and Tashi glanced over at the other nomad. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a strangled croak. She cleared her throat and tried again: "[You have a bow now? Are you a man?]"

                                            > Saule jerked her arm away and gripped her weapon with both hands. She looked confused, as if she couldn't decide whether it was a joke, or she should be offended.

                                            "[Saule wanted to come find you too, Tashi,]" Thistle explained quickly. "[She is one of the best with a bow in the whole camp.]"

                                            > There was a moment of further tension, but then Tashi's head sagged and she murmured: "[Thank you. I appreciate it.]"

                                            > Her breath caught as if she was about to say more, but the girl just let it out and closed her eyes. "[I'm tired. They- They didn't let me sleep a lot.]"

                                            > Thistle nodded against Tashi's neck, but it seemed that Saule thought a step further and offered: "[Are you hungry? We have food. We have water. You need to get your strength back.]"

                                            > To that the resting nomad shook her head, but didn't reply. The three descended into silence again and Saule began scanning the thicket around them. She settled down on her haunches and gripped her bow more tightly, as if expecting an imminent attack.

                                            > Thistle also had to let go. She was half-sitting, half-crouching over Tashi and her hind legs were killing her. She could have leaned against her, but she didn't want to put any weight on what could be painful injuries. Luckily there wasn't any kind of a reaction when she moved and Tashi simply kept her eyes closed and her breathing regular. She was probably worn out, Thistle thought.

                                            > Tired from all the men grunting over her, hitting her, and worse. Once more a growl threatened to burst forth from Thistle's throat and she turned away to hide her grimace from the other two.

                                            "[I have to go piss. I will be right back!]"

                                            > They didn't question her and she walked deeper into the undergrowth, where a couple of large bushes were between her and the girls. There wasn't any danger, to any of them, not with Willow and his men circling around. Thistle idly wondered how long they would need to find appropriate branches, and if it wouldn't have been a smarter idea to keep going as they had.

                                            > She could have carried Tashi all the way home, but it seemed the other hunters weren't used to the amount of gear they had brought. Thistle scrunched her muzzle up in disgust. They knew they'd have a pony with them, so they overpacked. She would have to have a talk with Darga. Good old 'Meyermer', there to save the day and pick up the slack!

                                            > The men should only ever bring what they could carry themselves.

                                            > The mare humphed under her breath and stomped a hoof in annoyance. She twirled around and backed against a thick brush. She didn't really have to go and her words to the other two had been more an excuse than anything else, but since she had gone she might as well do it. The way home would be long and arduous and the nomads may not appreciate if they had to stop soon after for a break.

                                            > Of course, being a pony, she could probably go as she walked, but Thistle really didn't like the idea of them watching her do it. True, she walked around naked sometimes and she would probably do that more as the weather warmed, but there was still something about bodily functions. It put her too close to what the donkey beasts did.

                                            > She almost felt their eyes on her rump as she lifted her tail away and the icky feeling made her back further into the bush. The leaves and sparse branches easily bent out of her way and she flicked her tail a little to make sure the stream wouldn't splash right back on her.

                                            > Not that she would mind, much. She would need a good, long scrub in the stream when they were back anyway, if only to wash off Tashi's blood.

                                            > She was being too dramatic, the mare knew. There probably wasn't any blood on her fur, but she *felt* as if they ought to be. She felt dirty because of what was done to the girl.

                                            > As she relaxed her bladder there was a sudden noise behind her, something she couldn't recognize.

                                            > Were there dangerous beasts in the small forest?! The sudden thought first made her limbs go leaden and the mare froze in panic. Only the trickle of her urine kept going, something she suddenly couldn't stop.

                                            > It only lasted a moment before she got herself under control and leapt away with a yell. Maybe loud noise would scare away whatever creature had sneaked up on her.

                                            > To her shock Thistle saw not a beast of the forest bolt from under the bush, but a nomad. He was young, wearing simple animal furs. His belt sported a flint axe and knife, and he held a spear in his hand.

                                            > Most importantly, she didn't recognize him.

                                            "[Help!]" she yelled for her friends.

                                            > The fact that she could speak seemed to shock the hunter and he let his spear drop in surprise. He fell backward on his rump in his haste to get away from the mare, then flipped and picked himself up.

                                            > An enemy spy! Thistle reacted without thinking and leapt after the young man. She was already standing and he had to sort out his legs, which gave her the split second she needed. Thistle landed on the nomad and scrabbled to get her hooves around his legs, to pin him down.

                                            > He screamed and began to bash at her muzzle with his fists, but Thistle didn't let him go and snapped at his hands with her teeth. She didn't hit him, but he stopped trying to slap her and began wiggling desperately to free himself from her grasp. His hands sought for something to grab to pull himself away.

                                            > It was pure luck that he was inexperienced and panicked enough so that his first thought was to escape. Had he been thinking clearly, the youth could easily have grabbed his knife and cut her.

                                            > Thistle realized that first and threw her weight around so she pinned the nomad on his side and he ended up lying on his own weapons. That would make it impossible for him to grab them, even if he thought to.

                                            > By then he was whimpering and wailing as he struggled to get free. Unfortunately he was succeeding, as his smooth, sweat-slicked skin slid through her forelegs. Thistle thought about relaxing her grip for just a moment so she could shift and cover him more completely, but she heard running footsteps behind her and Saule's welcome voice.

                                            > "[Stop! Stop moving or I will kill you!]"

                                            > Both the mare and the struggling hunter looked back at the girl with the bow. She had it drawn and even though the arrow tip weaved a little, there was no mistaking the threat. The young man went completely still, his eyes so wide at the sight of the weapon that they bulged.

                                            > "[No! No, please! Not the spear-thrower! Please!]"

                                            > He didn't know what the weapon was called, but he obviously knew what it was. This further proved that he wasn't one of their camp and was most likely a Ruslan, since they were the only other tribe in the area who had had occasion to see a bow used in anger.

                                            > Saule kept the weapon drawn and aimed at the boy as she approached, while Thistle kept her hooves tightly around his legs and her weight on him. She didn't want him to get any heroic ideas about his axe or his knife.

                                            > The three looked at one another in silence for a bit, then Saule jerked the bow. "[You! Thistle! Tie his hands together!]"

                                            > There was a tone of command and the mare found herself gingerly releasing the hunter. She watched his legs closely, ready to pounce on him again if he tensed up to flee. It seemed Saule had a similar thought.

                                            > "[You! Ruslan! If you try to run I will shoot you in the back. You know what this is?]" she asked and hefted the bow again.

                                            > The boy gave a fearful nod. "[Yes. Spear-thrower. The- The men spoke about it! A new kind of weapon! We tried-]" He fell silent and snapped his mouth shut.

                                            "[You tried what?]" Thistle asked.

                                            > He just shook his head and looked down at the ground. He remained prone on his side and it didn't look as if he would try to escape. Thistle relaxed a little.

                                            "[I don't have rope,]" she told Saule.

                                            > The nomad girl gave a slight nod and crouched down without letting the bow go slack. She kept it pointed at the young man. "[Here, in my bag. There is rope. Take it out and tie his hands and feet together.]"

                                            > Thistle did as commanded and tried not to jostle Saule as she rummaged in the bag the girl kept slung across her shoulder. It was a small pack and only held a bit of food, a water skin, and the rope. Perhaps later she would ask Saule why she always carried some rope with her, but now was not the time.

                                            > The mare went over to the Ruslan boy and pushed him fully to his stomach.

                                            "[Hands!]"

                                            > He obeyed, though his arms shook as he presented them to her. "[You are a horse, how can you talk?!]" he asked, his voice a mixture of awe and fear.

                                            > "[Never mind that!]" Saule snapped. "[What were you doing around here?! How did you get past the hunters?!]"

                                            > There was no reply and Thistle didn't wait for one. She tied a simple knot around his wrists, then pulled the rest of the rope down and tied it around his ankles. He didn't struggle against her, even if his limbs jerked away whenever she touched him with a hoof.

                                            > At last it was done and Saule relaxed a little. She lowered her bow and gradually released the tension, then jerked her head at the lad. "[Turn him around. I want to see him!]"

                                            > There was a definitive note of triumph in her voice and a grim, satisfied smile on her lips. Thistle pondered that as she rolled the Ruslan hunter around.

                                            > She saw why he had given himself away. His face was wet and stank of her pee. He must have been hiding in the exact bush and she'd backed away right to him when she went to relieve herself. He'd gagged at the stench and that was what she'd heard. She could place the sound now that she had some idea what caused it.

                                            > "[Well?! What are you doing here? How did you get past the hunters?]" Saule repeated.

                                            > The boy looked at her face, then returned his gaze to his own feet. "[I don't- I don't know.]"

                                            > Saule spat on the ground in disgust. "[Have you been following us?! Tell me, or I will cut you a little!]"

                                            > Thistle automatically opened her mouth to protest, but then she remembered Tashi and clamped it shut. His camp, *his people* had done that to a young girl. Maybe he deserved whatever he got.

                                            > The boy believed Saule and his eyes grew wide. He shook his head urgently. "[No! No! I swear I wasn't following you! I was just-]" He gave a slow, self-deprecating sigh before continuing: "[It was a bet. I lost a bet and I had to sleep out of camp for one night. I hid in the bush there,]" he jerked his head in the direction of the shrubbery where Thistle had found him. "[I heard your hunters and I was scared, so I stayed hidden. I hoped you would leave and then I could sneak home.]"

                                            > Saule gave Thistle a questioning look and the mare shrugged her shoulders.

                                            "[I think I believe him. I found him when- when I-]"

                                            > That got a different reaction out of the young man and he glared at the two females. "[Your stupid talking donkey pissed on me!]"

                                            > His indignant anger, and the sudden flush on Thistle's cheeks proved too much and Saule began to laugh. She slapped her thighs and chortled in amusement. "[You hide from some of our best hunters and then Thistle finds you by pissing on your head?]"

                                            > When put like that it did sound utterly ridiculous and the mare couldn't help but make a few snorts of amusement herself. The boy just glowered darkly at them, but he didn't dare say anything else.

                                            > "[So he's just an idiot who happened to be here by chance. What should we do with him? I can, uh, cut his throat]" Saule offered, but the hesitation in her voice put a lie to her words.

                                            "[No.]"

                                            > "[Do we let him go?]"

                                            > Thistle considered it. The Ruslan boy was there by happenstance and obviously didn't know that they'd sneaked to his camp and rescued their captive. If they let him go, he was liable to run straight back home and tell his people exactly where Thistle and her group were.

                                            > They'd be long gone by then, but there was always the possibility that the boy could run into their pursuers, which could prove problematic.

                                            > Besides, the Ruslans had taken Tashi, maybe it was only just that they take one of theirs in return. Thistle didn't think the nomads in her camp would kill the boy, nor was he likely to get the same treatment as Tashi, but it would be a little bit of justice, maybe.

                                            > She made her decision.

                                            "[We'll take him back and wait for the others. Salki can decide what to do with him.]"

                                            > Her voice was dark and ominous and the young nomad whimpered in fear again. Thistle turned and glared at him.

                                            "[Shut up! It won't be nearly as bad as what you did to Tashi, so just shut up!]"

                                            > He obeyed and lowered his head.

                                            > "[Good idea. Come on.]"

                                            "[He can't walk with his feet tied together,]" Thistle pointed out.

                                            > "[Let him crawl, or you carry him. I don't care. We'll tie him to a tree and I'll watch him until the others are back. They shouldn't be long.]"

                                            > Thistle sighed prodded her prisoner with a hoof.

                                            "[You heard her. Hop or something. It's not far.]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > By the time the rest of the hunters came back with branches for their stretcher Thistle and Saule had their prisoner tied to a spindly tree. He had complained about this treatment until the nomad girl threatened him with her stone knife, after which the captive had subsided into sullen silence.

                                            > His demeanor changed when the men came back and he began to realize just how bad his situation was. The way they watched him, some with calculation, others with outright disgust made the boy go pale and draw in on himself. Even Thistle felt uneasy when she saw some of the dark glances thrown his way.

                                            > Unsurprisingly, Willow looked absolutely murderous and might have killed their captive right there and then, had Salki not placed himself in the way. Thistle was proud of her friend for that, since it couldn't have been easy to face down a furious Willow.

                                            > The Ruslan boy, Salki had argued, had to be taken home and presented to his mother. They would question him and find out how their enemy was able to ride around on the backs of horses. He would also tell them why they had attacked the other night.

                                            > Those secrets would help them, especially information about their enemies' strength and numbers. After that, Salki had said in a flat, disinterested voice which sent chills down Thistle's spine, Willow could have him.

                                            > The pronouncement made the captive whimper in fear.

                                            > His argument worked, if not on Willow, at least on the other hunters. They seemed to agree that the prisoner should be questioned. When his support dwindled, Willow reluctantly accepted the verdict and backed down, though he kept glaring at the captive and fingering his belt knife.

                                            > Thistle relaxed after the crisis had been averted and the others began to prepare their stretcher. It wasn't complex and all it took was the branches, some thick animal skins, and a lot of rope. Soon two of the hunters were able to easily carry Tashi between them at their normal walking speed.

                                            > The others strapped their packs to the mare, who stoically bore this, even if she wasn't too happy about the arrangement. She stomped her hooves a few times to settle the burden more evenly on her back, then went to check on Saule, who was trying to get Tashi to lay down on the stretcher. It took some comforting murmurs, but the injured girl was soon bundled up and two of the men lifted her up. A small whimper escaped her at the sudden movement, but she soon got used to it and relaxed.

                                            > They were about to set off, but Thistle noticed a commotion with their captive. She went to look and watched as Salki untied his legs so he could walk. His hands remained bound together behind his back. Salki made a loop of rope and fastened it securely around his neck.

                                            > The sight of that made Thistle feel better about her own situation. She told herself sternly that the boy probably hadn't had anything to do with Tashi's abuse or foal-napping, but it was hard not to see an enemy in his unfamiliar face.

                                            > Then Salki turned around to look for the mare and brightened up when he saw she was already there. "[Come here,]" he told her and beckoned with his hand.

                                            > Thistle wasn't sure what he wanted, but she obeyed and approached, keeping a wary eye on the prisoner.

                                            > She let out a surprised squeak and jumped back when Salki bent down and passed the rope under her barrel.

                                            "[What are you doing?!]"

                                            > He looked at her strangely, then lifted up the rope he was holding as if to show her it. "[I'll tie him to you.]"

                                            "[Why?]"

                                            > "[You're the strongest. He won't be able to pull you, Thistle. That way I can walk right behind him in case he tries something stupid.]"

                                            > He glanced at the Ruslan boy as he said the last few words and the prisoner hurriedly shook his head, silently promising that he would behave.

                                            > Thistle still didn't like it and she held her foreleg in the air, ready to fend Salki off if he tried anything with the rope.

                                            "[No! I don't think I can. It's- It's too much responsibility!]"

                                            > The hunter came closer, but he let his hand holding the rope relax so Thistle didn't immediately back away. Salki used his free hand to cup her muzzle. "[You're the one who caught him, no? You'll be fine. Me and Saule will be right beside you, okay?]"

                                            > The mare opened her mouth to suggest someone else, but then fell silent. Usman and Bulat would carry the stretcher, and Willow hated what their captive represented and she didn't trust he wouldn't try and do something to him on the way. That left Saule, Tashi, or Salki himself. Of those, Thistle would have preferred that both Saule and Salki kept their bows in hand, since they were the best shots in the group.

                                            > She was forced to admit that Salki had a good point. Her ears flattened and the nomad, familiar with her facial expressions as he was, grinned in triumph. He held up the rope again and Thistle approached and allowed him to tie it around her barrel.

                                            > It was a bit uncomfortable, but she told him to tighten it until there was no risk of it slipping. Then she gave their captive the stink eye and growled as menacingly as her pony voice would allow:

                                            "[You try something stupid, I kick you, understand?!]"

                                            > She walked closer to the boy, who took a step back and tried to put the spindly tree to which he had been tied between them. Thistle turned around and lashed expertly out with her hind hoof.

                                            > The resulting crack was most satisfying and it tore a sizeable chunk of wood from the tree.

                                            > It had the intended effect and the Ruslan boy paled. He had to try several times until he could swallow and he couldn't quite take his eyes off her hind hooves. "[I p-p-promise!]" he finally gasped out.

                                            > He probably wouldn't try anything, Thistle decided, but she was still uneasy about him walking behind her. When they started she kept her ears trained back, listening for any small sound which would warn her that their prisoner was about to attack. She also felt better about the packs strapped to her back.

                                            > The boy didn't have a weapon, but the thick bundles of cloth and meat would stop a knife, or maybe even a spear. As illogical as her fear was, the comforting bulk on her did ease her anxious feeling.

                                            > It would still be a long trek back home, but Thistle was surrounded by several nomads she trusted, and a few others who probably had no particular intention to hurt her. They'd achieved their goal and freed Tashi, even her experiences would haunt the mare for a long time to come.

                                            > Thinking of the girl, Thistle hastened her steps until she was walking beside Usman and could look into the stretcher he carried. Tashi was lying on her back and staring at the sky with large, unmoving eyes. She seemed calm, but the worst was probably yet to come. Thistle only hoped they would get her home and to her family before her dam broke fully.

                                            > Surrounded by her mother and sisters and brother, Tashi could begin to heal, both physically and otherwise.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > By the time their group reached home, Thistle was thoroughly exhausted. The sleepless night, the adrenaline, and the heavy slog back had taken their toll. She was dimly aware of the excitement and jubilation at their triumphant return, but her top priority was to hand over her prisoner, get rid of the packs she was carrying, then sleep, in that order.

                                            > The first was easy, since a captured enemy was of great interest to Darga and the senior hunters of the tribe, and the boy was led away almost as soon as they had entered the camp.

                                            > He looked pale and uneasy, and cast a pleading look in Thistle's direction, but she ignored it and went to dump her other burdens near the central firepit. Their owners could sort out what belonged to whom when they were done being congratulated.

                                            > Unfortunately her hooves were too clumsy to untie some of the more finicky knots, so Thistle sought out Saule and enlisted the help of her nimble fingers.

                                            > That done, she slipped away in all the commotion to go hide in Darga's tent, where she flopped heavily on her welcome cot and closed her eyes. Some time later Salki showed up, but he only brought her a water skin, which she emptied gratefully, then he left her to sleep.

                                            > The sounds of excitement were still going when Thistle woke up and she wondered if she had slept any time at all. She crawled closer to the entrance and lifted the tent flap. The sky outside was dark, but she could see a faint glow from the bonfire. It looked like the camp would celebrate their little victory.

                                            > A busy hour later found the mare sitting at one of the smaller fires, well-fed on bread and rice, and with a nearly empty skin of beer in her hoof. She wasn't sure about that last part, but there wasn't a whole lot of it left and Thistle figured she deserved a little reward after the previous night's work.

                                            > She hesitated a little and hefted the skin, trying to decide just how drunk she might get from it. Then her hoof went to her belly, full of warm bread and a few licks of honey she'd been given by Tashi's grateful mother. It would probably be okay. The mare shrugged to herself and emptied the skin in a single, long swallow.

                                            > It was quite fresh and left a pleasant aftertaste on her tongue. She let the skin drop by the log she was sitting on and waited for the pleasant effect of the alcohol, while around her nomads talked excitedly.

                                            > She'd tried to find Salki and Saule, but the two were surrounded by admiring and congratulating crowds and Thistle didn't like the idea of pushing her way to the middle of all that commotion. The girl in particular was having a rough time of it, caught between a group of younger tribe members who praised her capture of the cunning enemy, and the older, more conservative group who were saying a girl should never have gone to fight.

                                            > Thistle didn't feel particularly inclined to get involved in that mess and she was grateful they hadn't turned on her instead. After all, it had been *Thistle* who had really captured the boy. Her ears flicked down at this blatant thought-lie and Thistle hastily corrected herself: It had been about fifty-fifty, probably.

                                            > Her head was starting to feel pleasantly light, making her hooves itch to walk around a little and socialize. Thistle jumped from her log, pleased to note that the world wasn't spinning around her, and that she didn't have any particularly warm feeling in her nethers.

                                            > She was tipsy, but not drunk, which was perfect. The mare went in search of company. She didn't know whom she wanted to talk to, but her steps took her to the cluster of tents which included Intor and Kantuta. The latter was Tashi's mother and Thistle told herself she wanted to check in on the girl.

                                            > That part of the camp was a little quieter and the mare breathed more easily, away from the crowd of merrymakers. She stopped in front of the tent and listened for any movement inside. She wouldn't want to barge in on people trying to sleep.

                                            > There was a soft murmur of conversation, occasionally interspersed by a faint sniffle, and Thistle walked forward. The tents didn't have a way to knock, so she simply pushed her head in through the tent flap.

                                            > Tashi was alone with her mother. They were sitting on the opposite sides of the fire and the girl was staring into the glowing embers. Both looked up when they heard the flap move.

                                            "[Uh, hi. I wanted- I came to see if Tashi is well. Can I come in?]"

                                            > While Kantuta didn't particularly trust Thistle, she had obviously heard the story of her daughter's daring rescue, so she slid to one side and made room in wordless invitation.

                                            > Thistle sat herself on her haunches and looked at the girl, who was staring back blankly.

                                            "[Hey.]"

                                            > After a moment Tashi blinked and shrugged a little to herself. "[What do you want?]" Her voice was guarded and the question was sharper than it could have been. It made Thistle's ears splay.

                                            "[N-Nothing. I came to see if you are well.]"

                                            > "[I'm not-]" Tashi began, her hands going to her midriff, but Kantuta straightened up and her daughter cringed in sudden fear.

                                            > Their eyes met for a moment, then Tashi went back to staring at the fire and her mother answered in her name: "[She is fine.]"

                                            > "[Mother-]" Tashi said pleadingly, but Kantuta raised a hand and the girl flinched and fell silent.

                                            > "[She is fine! She is slightly bruised, but nothing is broken,]" she insisted. Her eyes went back to her daughter and she addressed her: "[You may rest tomorrow, but after that you will work again. We will go and look for roots, that is not too hard.]"

                                            > Thistle was gobsmacked at this attitude and closed her gaping muzzle with a click.

                                            "[But- But she was- she's been-]" she couldn't bring herself to say it. "[You can't just dismiss it like that! She needs time! She needs to talk to someone!]

                                            > The girl cast her a dark glare with a strange mixture of hope and loathing, which effectively shut up the mare. On her other side, Kantuta seemed unperturbed.

                                            > "[Nothing was broken!]" she announced again in a tone that would broke no argument. "[Where they beat you, you will heal. You will forget. We don't have room for another Neha!]"

                                            "[Who is Neha?]"

                                            > Neither of the nomads seemed obliged to answer them, Tashi lost in her own little world of misery and Kantuta stern and foreboding, not even considering any compromise.

                                            > Thistle didn't have the necessary words, but she tried to explain anyway:

                                            "[You can't be serious, Kantuta! You can't just tell Tashi to forget about- about what's happened! She is- she will be hurt, in here!]"

                                            > She pressed her hoof to her barrel at those words, trying to convey a sense of emotional trauma.

                                            > The woman gave her a thoughtful look, then pressed her lips together into a thin, displeased line, and faced the girl once more. "[Is this true? Are you hurt- inside?]"

                                            > Tashi gave her a look which reminded Thistle of nothing so much as a bunny, frozen in terror as a nomad was coming to club it to death. Tashi opened her mouth, but could barely stammer out a reply: "[I d-d-dunno, Mother. They- The Ruslans, they used me. I don't know how- how many men...]"

                                            > "[Bah. That is nothing!]" Kantuta dismissed the plea with a wave of her hand. "[You're not special, girl. Do you think you are the first who was fucked against her will? It happens. You bear it and go on. Life goes on. You won't be any less hungry for it and the work will not do itself.]"

                                            > Her attitude sounded completely impossible to Thistle and she couldn't even formulate a reply to that. Tashi beat her to it and placed both hands on her belly: "[What if- what if I'm with child?]"

                                            > "[Were you bleeding before they took you?]"

                                            > Tashi mutely shook her head.

                                            > "[Then you most likely aren't. If you are, your father will beat it out of you and that will be that. You will heal. We will not be raising a bastard Ruslan in this tent.]"

                                            > It was too much. Thistle couldn't prevent a small squeak from escaping her at the brutal command and she hastily excused herself and left.

                                            > Once outside, she stood stock still for a few minutes while she tried to get her legs to stop trembling. She heard Kantuta's voice raised behind her, but Thistle purposefully folded her ears down so she couldn't understand the words. She also heard Tashi sniffling again, and replying in a low, pleading voice.

                                            > The nomads were crazy, or maybe it was just Kantuta.

                                            > Thistle didn't know where to go or what to do. A part of her wanted to seek out Darga and tell her about the encounter. Maybe the chieftain would be on her side. More worryingly, she might be firmly on Kantuta's side. Her drivel about forgetting and moving past such a traumatic experience sounded very much like something Darga herself would embrace.

                                            > Maybe she could get some sympathy and help from Salki and Saule, but the two youngsters wouldn't have any significant influence over how Kantuta treated her own family.

                                            > Thistle would still try. She couldn't do nothing and let the poor girl suffer. She should go back in the tent right now, if for no other reason than to give her support against her overbearing mother.

                                            > Except the mare couldn't make herself go back in there. Thinking of what Tashi had suffered was bad enough, but seeing how it was being casually dismissed by her own mother was too much.

                                            > The mare felt filthy for having seen that and she decided to go wash. She still stank of stale sweat, besides, so she needed a bath anyway. It was dark outside, though, and things may lurk beyond the ring of fire light.

                                            > Thistle decided to find Saule and get her to come. She would explain what had happened and enlist the nomad's help. Surely her newfound fame at her daring capture of a dangerous enemy hunter would help, no?

                                            > If nothing else, Saule would bring her bow, which would make Thistle feel safer.

                                            > She really needed to wash. It gave her something to focus upon, a definitive, achievable goal.

                                            > She would help poor little Tashi after she was clean.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle woke up late in the morning the following day. The tent was empty, but she thought she remembered snatches of incoherent lucidity as Darga and Salki moved around. They hadn't woken her up and she was grateful.

                                            > She lay on her cot, wrapped up in the warmth of her animal fur blanket, for a while, thinking about what to do. She wanted to help Tashi and Saule had agreed with her the previous night. If they could get Salki on their side that might be enough to convince Kantuta and get the girl some help.

                                            > There was also their captive and Thistle, with a pang of guilt, remembered that she hadn't even asked what they were going to do with him. Presumably they would question him and if the boy was smart, he would tell what he knew. Once that was over, maybe they could let him go.

                                            > After all, they had gotten Tashi back, even if she had been beaten and mistreated.

                                            > Her mind was starting to race and Thistle disentangled herself from the blanket. Her joints were a bit stiff and she felt her muscles ache after the exertion of the past few days, but a quick shake got her circulation going and she felt able to leave the tent and face the world.

                                            > She thought about breakfast for a moment, but decided to check in on Tashi first. She took the longer way, which took her past Xuan's tent, but the woman was nowhere to be seen. That was a disappointment, since Thistle had been hoping to at least see her friend and her daughter.

                                            > She swished her tail in annoyance as she tried to decide whether to wait a little for them. The fire was burning and the tent flap was wide open, so Xuan likely wasn't too far. Thistle approached the tent and peered inside, but it was empty.

                                            > Perhaps, she guessed, Xuan had taken Guuni for a walk?

                                            "[Later,]" Thistle murmured to herself.

                                            > She turned and continued on her way, but her tail flicked a few more times as she walked. It had been too long since she had checked on her friends. She'd been too wrapped up with the aftermath of the Ruslan attack and the rescue.

                                            > No matter, Thistle angled herself toward the edge of the camp and weaved her way between mostly deserted tents. A quick glance showed that the sun was nearly halfway up the sky. She really had slept too long, Thistle silently chastised herself. Her ears wilted and her head lowered in self-deprecation.

                                            > Who knows what could have happened while she was sleeping, unaware!

                                            > A few nomads were about, but they looked busy and hurried to their work, so Thistle didn't bother them. Here and there she saw one of the older men sitting in the sun and knapping stone, or a woman tending the fire, or stirring something with a piece of wood.

                                            > Life, it seemed, was proceeding quite normally. In a way that was a relief. It gave the world at least an illusion of stability.

                                            > Thistle exchanged the occasional friendly nod, or a word of greeting, but she hurried to her destination in as short a path as she could. Hopefully, Tashi would be in the tent, and with a bit of luck, Kantuta would be out, doing chores.

                                            > From a distance, the place looked deserted. Thistle decided it was a good sign. She approached the tent and gently placed an ear against the leather tarp. Nothing.

                                            > She walked around to the flap, conscious of how loud her hooves rang on the packed mud. There was no way they hadn't heard her, if anyone was inside. It was as good as a knock, she decided and simply pushed her head inside.

                                            > Luck! Tashi was alone!

                                            > The poor girl was sitting on her cot, with her arms hugging her legs and her face pressed against her knees. She didn't seem to be crying, but it wasn't a happy pose.

                                            "[Um. Hey.]"

                                            > Tashi jerked in surprise and looked up with wide, fearful eyes. She recognized the mare and her shoulders slumped. She didn't reply.

                                            > Thistle briefly considered asking permission, but then decided the situation warranted a bit of presumption. She slipped completely inside and came to sit in front of the nomad girl. Tashi watched her in silence, not greeting her, but also not cringing away.

                                            "[How are you?]"

                                            > For an instant it seemed as if Tashi would just clam up. Her eyes went back to her knees and she began to lower her head, but then she changed her mind and drew in a deep breath.

                                            > "[They said I will have to work today,]" she answered in a quiet whisper that even Thistle's pony ears could barely pick up. "[Grandmother came to see me. She-]"

                                            > Her eyes unfocused and Tashi sook her head. "[She said I am fine. Nothing is broken, or- or-]"

                                            > She fell silent and Thistle waited patiently for her to speak again. It looked like Tashi was getting lost in her own thoughts again, so the mare reached out and laid a careful hoof on her shin.

                                            "[Or?]"

                                            > "[Nothing is torn,]" Tashi finished. Her hand went to her belly and she swallowed. "[She- Grandmother- She checked.]"

                                            > Tashi's haunted look was making Thistle fold her ears down in sympathy.

                                            "[Checked?]"

                                            > The girl shook her head and grunted. "[She felt. With her hand. It hurt, but she said I'm fine. She said I can work today.]"

                                            "Sweet Celestia, some of these people," Thistle grumbled under he breath.

                                            > It was too loud and Tashi looked at her with curiosity. "[What is that language?]"

                                            > At least it was a distraction, so Thistle didn't feel too bad about her outburst.

                                            "[It is the pony language. From Equestria.]"

                                            > "[Will you teach me? It-]" her words failed her and Tashi drew a shuddering breath. She was fighting sobs as she finished: "[It sounds g-gentle...]"

                                            "[Of course I will teach you.]"

                                            > Tashi flashed her a momentary smile through her tears and asked: "[What did you say just now?]"

                                            > A language lesson hadn't been how Thistle had thought the chat would go, but it was focusing Tashi's attention away from her situation and her awful parents, so Thistle slid down to her side, into a more comfortable position. The girl hadn't really moved, but her grip on her legs was perhaps a tad less tight.

                                            "[I said- hmm, it was like a...]" she began, but couldn't quite explain. "[Look, do nomads sometimes, maybe when they are said, whisper to people who- who are not there?]"

                                            > All she got was a quizzical look, so Thistle tried another angle.

                                            "[Like- maybe someone you love is dead, but you talk to them. They do not answer, but you feel a little better. Like a- a-]"

                                            > Tashi interrutpted her: "Khues-shivneh?"

                                            > It was a new word, but Thistle thought she recognized the root of it.

                                            "[Whisper? Whispering?]"

                                            > Tashi nodded with more animation that the mare had seen that entire morning. "[Yes, a kind of whisper. It is when you whisper for something and maybe someone is listening. Someone dead. A friend.]"

                                            > It sounded close enough and Thistle repeated the word to herself. It was probably the nearest she would get to 'prayer' in the nomad language, since they didn't really have religious beliefs.

                                            "[Yes, I said something almost like a prayer. I called for our- um, pony chieftain and asked her to watch over us.]"

                                            > It was a lie, but Thistle didn't want to tell the truth of what she'd murmured. Tashi didn't need more negativity right at the moment. A language lesson could be a useful diversion, especially with how interested the girl looked.

                                            "[Do you want to learn more words?]"

                                            > Tashi gave a nod, but then froze and lowered her head to her knees. "[I can't. Mother said I have to go gather wood for the fire. She said I am not hurt enough for that.]"

                                            > The mare didn't even have to think and she placed a hoof right back over Tashi's bare foot.

                                            "[How if I go with you? We can go get wood together and I will help you carry. I will tell you words from pony language, okay?]"

                                            > Tashi looked almost happy at the suggestion, but frowned when she thought of a potential problem: "[Won't Darga be angry? You have your own chores. You are still her slave, no?]"

                                            > Smiling, Thistle was suddenly glad that she'd overslept. They hadn't given her any instructions that morning, so she technically didn't have any jobs to do.

                                            "[No, it will be okay. I will help you. Salki and Darga will understand. Can you walk?]"

                                            > It had been only a day ago, Thistle remembered, when Tashi was so weak she had to be carried home.

                                            > As if to answer her, the girl climbed carefully to her feet. "[I can walk. It- Things hurt, but I can walk. Mother said I will work, or she will beat me so hard I won't have to worry about being with child.]"

                                            > Another threat instead of concern and care from her very parent, Thistle thought. It made her want to growl, but she carefully controlled both her voice and her expression. She would really have to get Salki and possibly also Darga on her side in this matter!

                                            "[Are you- um, sorry, I shouldn't ask-]"

                                            > Tashi stared fiercely at her feet and her hands went automatically to her belly. "[I don- don't know,]" she said haltingly. "[I h-hope not. I will not know until some weeks, when I will bleed. If I do not bleed, then-]"

                                            > A sob wrenched itself from her throat and Thistle pressed her flank against Tashi's calf. She'd chosen the wrong side and the nearly forgotten cut on her side flared up with fresh pain, but the mare grit her teeth and bore it.

                                            "[It's okay. Maybe it didn't- maybe you aren't, no? You weren't in rut?]"

                                            > Tashi's hissed intake made the mare look up and saw the girl's eyes flash dangerously. "[What did you just say?!]"

                                            > Thistle didn't understand her sudden anger. She'd heard the word from some of the nomads while tending to the donkeys, but she may had misunderstood it.

                                            "[I'm sorry! I maybe used wrong word. Rut, like the donkeys, when they, when they make more donkeys!]"

                                            > Luckily Tashi seemed to be calming down. She reached her hand to Thistle's mane and scratched. "[You didn't know. It's okay. People don't go into rut, Thistle. We have blood every four weeks. Only animals have rut one time every year.]"

                                            > That accidentally lumped the mare together with what nomads considered beasts, but Thistle ignored the jab, since it was almost certainly unintentional, and gave Tashi a nod.

                                            "[I apologize, I did not know. I did not know about bleeding. It happens every four weeks? You can get with baby every time this happens?]"

                                            > Again Tashi put her hands on her belly as she nodded. "[It is what Grandmother says. When a woman bleeds from down there- that week before she will get with baby if she is with a man.]"

                                            "[I- see.]"

                                            > The concept horrified Thistle. It sounded like nomad women basically went into heat every single month, and the mere thought made her shudder. Her own time was approaching, now that she thought about it, and the mare *was not* looking forward to that.

                                            "[When did you, um, last time?]"

                                            > Tashi let her breath out. "[I think- two weeks. I- I forgot.]"

                                            "[Then that means...]"

                                            > "[I am probably not with child.]"

                                            "[I hope so too. I will teach you how a pony would pray. We can say it together, okay?]"

                                            > Tashi's smile was back, even if it was faint. "[I would like that.]"

                                            > She didn't wait for the mare to move and left the tent. For a few moments she stood still, while her eyes adjusted to the brightness, then Tashi stood aside and let Thistle exit the tent too.

                                            > The camp was still quite deserted as the two headed off together.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle heard the hushed conversation in the tent, but walked in anyway. The two occupants looked at her, Salki with curiosity, his mother with an annoyed pout to her lips.

                                            > Before she could even ask what was happening, the chieftain blurted out her question: "[Did you know about this? Did the Ruslan boy say anything on the way back?]"

                                            "[Say what? Know what?]"

                                            > Rather than explain herself, Darga simply motioned to her son, who turned to Thistle with wide, fascinated eyes. "[Remember the night the Ruslans attacked us? Some hunters went after them, but they said the Ruslans rode on large beasts. On horses.]"

                                            "[Oh. No, he didn't say anything on the way back. He was quiet.]"

                                            > "[We know how they did this,]" Darga suddenly exclaimed and her lips parted with her sudden eagerness. "[This is useful. We have to do it, too. They don't have the bow, this is good. They don't know how it works.]"

                                            > Some thought occurred to the woman and her face suddenly darkened and she pointed a trembling finger at Salki. "[They must not find out! Thistle is not to go out of the camp by herself any more.]"

                                            > Salki shook his head. "[No, Mother. They don't know Thistle gave us the bow. The boy was surprised to hear she can even talk.]"

                                            > "[Then they can't be allowed to find out,]" Darga concluded, slapping a fist against her palm. "[We will not send the boy back. He has seen Thistle speak.]"

                                            > At this idea Salki seemed dubious and his fingers intertwined while he sought for a respectful way to raise the issue. "[Mother, they will come for him, like we did for Tashi. M-Maybe we should send him back. We don't want a full war.]"

                                            > Darga just spat on the ground at this unbecoming display of cowardice. "[Bah! Let them come. We have bows and soon we will have horses. They can't fight us and they know it. That is why they attacked at night, like cowards!]"

                                            > Even before she had finished talking Thistle was already shaking her head and she was heartened to see that Salki mirrored her gesture. War was never to be embraced, even with heinous people like the Ruslans. Too many would die in needless fighting.

                                            "[Darga, what if we leave? You said we will leave soon, to the summer camp. We will be away from them and we don't have to fight.]"

                                            > Once again the chieftain didn't give any indication that she'd taken Thistle's words seriously. Her gaze was on the leather side of the tent, but she was looking far into the distance.

                                            > "[We can hold our own. We'll have more guards at night so they can't attack us again. We'll find out from the boy how they are able to ride horses,]"

                                            > Salki heaved a sigh. "[I wish we hadn't slaughtered those two from the foreigners.]"

                                            > His statements made Darga look up sharply and focus on her son. "[What? What two? What foreigners?]"

                                            > "[Hisein's slaves, the girl and the boy. Their parents had a strange wooden thing, pulled by horses. The animals bit and kicked, so they were slaughtered for meat. Maybe we should have tried harder.]"

                                            > Even without having witnessed that particular cruelty the words were enough to send a nasty shiver down Thistle's back and she had to look away from the nomads. She was reminded how close she herself and Rainy Day had come to such a gruesome fate when they were first captured. Her stomach twisted and Thistle tried to swallow a few times in an effort to keep it steady.

                                            > Salki noticed her discomfort and put a hand on her withers. It worked and Thistle leaned into his touch and gave the boy a quick, grateful smile.

                                            > "[We will find more,]" Darga decided. "[The boy will tell us where Ruslans got their horses and we will do the same. He will tell us how they have tamed them.]"

                                            "[Maybe we can ask Fen Ko and Ning? Maybe their parents taught them about horses.]"

                                            > The chieftain snapped her fingers and pointed at the mare. "[Good thinking,]" she said, finally acknowledging that Thistle had spoken. "[Go and talk to Hisein, and then see what his slaves know.]"

                                            > Thistle gave one nod and began to rise, but Darga leaned over the central fire pit and simply nudged the mare's muzzle to unbalance her and push her back down to her haunches. "[Wait, I am not done yet,]" the woman said sternly.

                                            > Her voice had a disapproving tone and such authority that Thistle's ears automatically folded down, as if she had been scolded.

                                            > Darga continued: "[Salki, you will go and find Willow. Tell him he is not to repeat anything the boy has said, and that no one is to talk with him unless I say so. Most importantly, he should not learn about bread, or about bows, understand?]"

                                            > "[Yes, mother,]"

                                            > Darga gave an approving nod. "[When you've done that, find Buygra and, hmm, yes, Bulat. They will go East, as far as their supplies will let them. They are to look for traders and ask them about horses. The Ruslans could not have bred the animals themselves, they had to get them from somewhere. All traders come from East.]"

                                            > Salki's hand, which was still resting on Thistle's withers, tightened around her mane as he cleared his throat. He looked at his mother's face, but then returned his gaze to the dead fire pit in the middle. "[A-Are you sure, Mother? Just two of them?]"

                                            > The chieftain took a breath, no doubt to order him to obey, but she held it for long moments before replying. "[Maybe you are right. They are both young. Thistle, tell Hisein to go with them. You will be in charge of his slaves while he is gone. Make sure you learn everything they know about horses, understand?]"

                                            > Her decision was so unexpected that all Thistle could do for long moments was stare in shock.

                                            "[M-Muh- Me?!]" she finally managed in a breathless whisper.

                                            > She stood up, this time without interference, if only to take a few steps back. Salki's hand slid off her, but the mare hardly noticed.

                                            "[I c-can't! I can't have slaves!]"

                                            > Darga was already shrugging in dismissal. "[They are not your slaves, you will just mind them while Hisein is gone. Unless you would rather I give them to Willow instead?]"

                                            > The threat made Thistle flinch, as if she'd been struck a physical slap. She remembered Willow, his rage-filled face as he shouted at her during the circle hunt. She remembered how viciously he'd beaten her with his spear.

                                            > He was no longer the top hunter and his temper was starting to fray. Thistle didn't want to imagine what he would do with the two children without the firm and reasonable presence of Hisein.

                                            "[N-No...]"

                                            > "[Then it's settled. You will mind them. They will be your responsibility. If they run away, or if something happens to them, you will pay their value to Hisein, understand?]"

                                            > The mare swallowed a sudden lump. She couldn't trust her voice, so she just nodded and luckily it was sufficient for Darga.

                                            > Owning actual slaves, even if only temporarily. What would it make her? Was she really destined to become nothing more than a brutish nomad pony?

                                            "[Maybe, uh, maybe Salki, instead-]"

                                            > She was interrupted and Darga's sharp, impatient tone brokered no argument: "[I said it's settled! Now off, both of you. I must speak with the shaman.]"

                                            > Woman or not, Thistle saw how Darga had been able to gain chieftainship, and how she was keeping it. The woman would not take no for an answer and simply bullied everyone into doing what she wanted.

                                            > There were grumbles, but so far her leadership had been successful enough so the complaints were quiet and rare.

                                            > Thistle caught Salki's pitying eye, but neither of them dared speak as they filed out of the tent to go about their errands. He still had heart, she thought. He could still change, become wiser and kinder than his mother.

                                            > Her Equestrian influence could help him build a better society, one that wasn't mired in cruelty and barbarism. If only he would step up and wrest the power from his old-fashioned mother, soon.

                                            "[Salki?]"

                                            > Her voice was quiet, so that Darga wouldn't hear it inside the tent. Despite the thick fabric between them, Thistle still hurried away, pausing only to make sure the young man was following.

                                            > "[What?]" he asked when he'd caught up to her.

                                            "[I should teach you the pony language again. We stopped when you began training, but I think we should continue.]"

                                            > The nomad just shrugged a little, not convinced.

                                            "[You have to learn the- the-]"

                                            > She hadn't come up with good nomad words for writing and reading, so she used what Salki had once called them.

                                            "[The speak-signs. They are really useful, you must believe me!]"

                                            > Salki held both hands up, palms toward her in a gesture of submission. "[I believe you. It's just that I didn't have any time. Mother says I have to be a better hunter than Willow, so I have been practicing the bow.]"

                                            > Thistle inclined her head in deference to this bit of wisdom, even if it came from the unlikable Darga. Above all things, Willow should not become chieftain. The mare was sure his mother would be the actual power, ruling from behind her son, but the idiot was stupid enough to start a major war with the Ruslans, or send the hunters into reckless danger on a whim.

                                            > Not to mention that he would make life infinitely worse for Thistle herself, and possibly for Hisein's slaves, too. Right now Willow was almost tolerable on a good day, but power and ego would undoubtedly go to his head.

                                            "[I will teach you,]" she repeated.

                                            > The boy just sighed. He didn't agree, but he also didn't outright say no, which Thistle took as a good sign. She was about to walk off, but remembered why she had sought him out in the first place.

                                            "[Oh- we must do something about Tashi. Her mother is sending her to work and threatening to beat her if she is with child.]"

                                            > Salki looked uncomfortable at the topic and wouldn't meet her gaze. "[I don't know.]"

                                            "[We should do something. It isn't right. It's hurting her.]"

                                            > "[Kantuta said she was fine. Nothing was broken.]"

                                            > The stubborn insistence she kept hearing all around her made Thistle growl in exasperation.

                                            "[Idiot!]" she swore. "[Not hurt her body! Stupid! She is hurt here- in here!]"

                                            > The mare sat on the ground and thumped her barrel with her hoof.

                                            "[She hurts because what they did to her! It is a different wound, a different pain! It is like being sad, but a dozen times worse! A dozen-dozen times worse! She needs help. She needs people who are kind to her!]"

                                            > The boy still looked unsure. "[I don't know,]" he repeated. "[Mother says we shouldn't interfere. It is Kantuta's family, she will deal with it.]"

                                            > It was nothing more than a cop-out. Salki wasn't good at dealing with emotion of any sort and he just wanted to avoid the whole problem by hiding behind his mother's idiot policies.

                                            "[Fuck your mother, and fuck Kantuta!]"

                                            > As soon as it was out Thistle felt bad about saying it. Despite it all, despite their disagreements and the way Darga sometimes treated her son, she was still his mother. Salki grew pale at the swear and took a step away.

                                            "[I'm sorry.]"

                                            > He didn't acknowledge her apology. "[I- I'll go find Buygra and Bulat, like Mother said.]"

                                            > Thistle closed her eyes and took a deep, calming breath. The mention of Buygra gave her an idea.

                                            > She would do what Darga had commanded and seek out Hisein. It was one thing to avoid the woman so she couldn't give her chores, but another to blatantly disobey her. Thistle had a lot of autonomy in the camp, but at the end of the day she was still Darga's property.

                                            > She would find Hisein and deliver the message, but then she would go and look for Xuan. A new mother would understand that a child who has been hurt needs support and understanding, not beatings.

                                            > Xuan would side with her and help Tashi. With her, and with Saule by her side, Kantuta would have to take them seriously, even if Salki wouldn't.

                                            > Thistle got to her hooves and went to search for Hisein and his two slaves.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle sat on a dry patch of ground next to Hisein's tent and watched the two children before her. She didn't know what to say and her ears were splayed out uncertainly as a result.

                                            > Fen Ko and Ning sat opposite her and stared with undisguised curiosity. They were aware of her, and knew that she could speak, of course, but they hadn't interacted all that much in the past.

                                            > That last made her ears twitch a bit lower as Thistle remembered her promise to herself that she would keep a closer eye on the child slaves, especially on the girl. Luckily, Hisein seemed reasonable and hadn't done anything to her, or at least she hoped so.

                                            > He was saving her so he could sell her for a better price when she came of age, which was a different kind of messed up, but at least nothing had happened to Ning *yet*.

                                            > Fen Ko shifted slightly and Thistle flicked her eyes to him. She would have to say something. After all, she was in charge of them while Hisein was gone.

                                            "[Uh, y-you are both okay?]"

                                            > They didn't know how to answer, but they knew they had to say something. Fen Ko looked around as if searching for clues, and Ning lowered her gaze to her hands in her lap. Her knuckles whitened as she gripped them together.

                                            "[It's okay, I didn't-]"

                                            > "[We're fine!]" Ning said quickly, but she kept looking down and her voice was quiet. "[Master Hisein, him no beat me. Him only beat Fen Ko a little when Fen Ko lazy.]"

                                            > At these words the boy grunted and grumbled something which Thistle didn't catch.

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > "[Fen Ko say he not lazy,]" Ning explained. Her brother added some kind of emphasis in their own language, and unsurprisingly it sounded a lot more fluent. His sister replied in the same tongue and the two had a whispered argument.

                                            > Thistle's eyes flicked from one to the other as she tried to follow what was being said purely by their facial expressions, but she quickly lost track. Her ears had crept up and focused on their quiet voices, even though she couldn't understand a single word.

                                            > Ning finally looked back and Thistle immediately flattened her ears, ashamed to have been caught eavesdropping, however silly she felt after a moment's thought.

                                            > "[What you want us to do?]" Ning asked. "[Master Hisein, him say: Go bring wood. Go bring water. Go wash skin. Him no say today.]"

                                            > Finally Ning's brother felt encouraged to add something: "[Master Hisen say Thistle give orders when he gone.]"

                                            "[Uh, I don't really have anything.]"

                                            > The children seemed distraught and Ning raised her voice as she almost pleaded. "[You must say something! You must! Ning and Fen Ko no work, do nothing - Master Hisein hear and he beat us. He say we lazy! Do nothing!]"

                                            > That was a real conundrum. Thistle had no doubt that the girl was right. When Hisein learned she left the children without any job to do he would likely beat them for being lazy.

                                            > He was still a nomad, and although the man was generally a better person than Willow, that was still such a low bar. What was more, he would likely complain to Darga, who would certainly punish Thistle for what she would clearly see as dereliction of duty.

                                            > The mare sighed. Her life had already been complicated enough, what with trying to nudge Salki into being a good ruler, making sure Xuan and her baby were okay, and now helping Tashi fend off her crazy parents. Let alone the everyday business of feeding herself and all other little chores Darga usually set her.

                                            > Maybe she could combine the two?

                                            "[Okay, we will go fetch the water, and then we will go milk the donkeys. Can you do that? You will help me.]"

                                            > It was relatively easy work and the children brightened up. "[Yes, Master Thistle.]"

                                            "[What? No, no 'Master Thistle', okay? Just Thistle.]"

                                            > Ning inclined her head. "[Okay, Thistle. We will go bring water,]" she said in pretty much the same tone she'd used to refer to Hisein, then turned to her brother and gave him some instruction in their strange, flowery language. He hurried into their master's tent.

                                            "[You are not going to run away, are you?]"

                                            > This accusation made the girl gasp in shock and she lifted her hands, palms out, to reassure the mare. "[No, no! Not me, no, Master Thistle! No run away! We die if we run away.]"

                                            > Thistle scrunched up her muzzle in distaste. The subdued tone and her rapid assurances made the mare feel dirty. She also remembered Darga's promise that she would repay Hisein if she lost his slaves. She had no idea *how*, nor how much the two were worth, but it probably wouldn't be enough to just give him some of her mane.

                                            > The market for that had dried up, at least in the camp. She would be able to use it again when another trading group came to visit.

                                            > Fen Ko emerged from the tent with several water skins hung about his shoulders and the three set off.

                                            > They walked in silence though the camp and Thistle felt more and more uncomfortable with each step. Everyone knew her station, and by now all the nomads in the camp would have heard about Equestria and Thistle's views on slavery. She didn't make public speeches, but she'd told a few friends and the news spread in such a small community.

                                            > Now here she was, parading around two slaves to do her bidding, do her chores for her. The fact that she was helping didn't help at all. Every nomad looked at her with a satisfied smirk, or open derision, at least in her own mind. Thistle didn't actually know because she couldn't meet anyone's gaze.

                                            > It got a little better once they were out of the camp, but by that time the silence had become unbearable and she spoke up:

                                            "[Your language, it sounds nice. Can you say something?]"

                                            > This appeared to completely stump the foreign girl and her mouth opened and closed several times. At last, she came up with something and spoke. It was complex and quick, and Thistle wasn't even sure she could distinguish individual words. Ning sounded happier when she spoke it and Thistle couldn't help but smile a little.

                                            "[It's nice. What did you say?]"

                                            > Again the girl was flustered and um-ed and ah-ed for a while until she gave up and shrugged. "[I dunno,]" she admitted, "[I not can say in nomad.]"

                                            "[Try? It doesn't have to be perfect.]"

                                            > This time Ning gave it a serious attempt. "[I say- I say Thistle is -]" she indicated the mare with a circular wave of her hand. "[Um, I dunno this word. You see and you happy?]"

                                            > Happy when seeing something only led Thistle to 'joy', but she didn't think Ning had said 'Thistle is joy', unless her native tongue was a lot more artistic than previously considered.

                                            "[Happy?]" she ventured at last.

                                            > Ning shook her head. "[No happy. I see you, I happy. I see shit, I no happy. Understand?]"

                                            > Her vivid comparison made the mare chuckle.

                                            "[Pretty? Beautiful?]"

                                            > She wasn't herself sure about the pronunciation, since nomads didn't use those words a whole lot. Ning thought for a bit and shrugged. "[Dunno,]" she said. "[Sorry.]"

                                            "[Flowers are beautiful. Sunrise is beautiful. Mud is not beautiful.]"

                                            > The child still wasn't sure, but she shrugged and went with it. "[Okay. I say- Thistle is bee- you- full. I say Thistle is-]" Again she had to stop, and growled with frustration. "[I no know this word too!]" she wailed.

                                            "[Well, try to explain.]"

                                            > Ning thought for a bit, then looked at her brother. She murmured some of her language to him and he shrugged and answered back. After a short exchange he volunteered, in nomad: "[Ning say this word is you.]"

                                            "[Me?]"

                                            > He rotated his hand in a circle as he sought for a way to explain. "[Me and Ning, we nomad. That,]" he waved at a distance, "[donkey. You, ...]" he spoke some new word Thistle didn't recognize.

                                            "[Pony?]"

                                            > "[Yes!]" Ning jumped in. "[Master Hisein say Thistle pony! I forgot,]" she explained. "[I say Thistle bee- you- tull. I say Thistle pony. I say...]"

                                            > She said the last bit, but too quickly, too quickly, and too much of a mumble for Thistle to catch it. She flicked an ear toward the girl.

                                            "[What was that last?]"

                                            > This time the words were a tad clearer: "[I say Thistle no beat us.]"

                                            > Ning looked uncomfortable and wouldn't meet the mare's gaze.

                                            "[Well, it's true. I will not.]"

                                            > This earned her two very doubtful, suspicious looks. "[What if we lazy? What if you say: do this, and we no do? You beat us then. Master Hisein beat us, you beat us too. We are slaves.]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head emphatically and twirled around so she was walking backward and could look the children directly in the eye.

                                            "[I still won't. It's not right! That's not what we do in Equestria.]"

                                            > She nearly bit her tongue as it came out. Too late she'd remembered that she wasn't in Equestria anymore. That she'd left it behind. Maybe she could bring some of its values about, if Salki became chieftain, if she kept his ear, but for the moment there wasn't much of Equestria in this dismal land.

                                            > Thistle heaved a sigh, flattened her ears, and stopped. The children also came to a halt, not questioning her leadership.

                                            > They were in a field and no one else was around, but the mare still lowered her voice.

                                            "[Here's a deal: Don't try to run away. I have to give you jobs, but they will be easy and we will do them together. I am a slave too, you know. We will do them together, and no one will get beaten.]"

                                            > Fen Ko still looked uncertain, but Ning looked up in surprise. "[No beating?]"

                                            "[No beating. Easy work, and you promise you won't run away, and no beating.]"

                                            > The children exchanged a few words in their own language, secure in the knowledge that she wouldn't know what they said. Ning insisted while Fen Ko shook his head. It seemed he wasn't quite ready to trust the mare, but in the end he relented and threw his hands up in defeat.

                                            > Ning turned back and spat in her hand. It was how the nomads in the camp sealed important promises, Thistle knew. A bit gross, but she wasn't squeamish anymore.

                                            > She spat on her hoof and held it out for the girl to grab. Ning spoke: "[I promise no run away. I promise do work. You promise no beating.]"

                                            > Thistle wondered a little at the girl knowing the word 'promise', while there were such odd gaps in her vocabulary, but shrugged it off.

                                            "[I promise.]"

                                            > That earned her a smile, and the two shook. Then Ning circled the mare and called back: "[Come. We bring water.]" She seemed almost eager to work. The beatings must have really been frequent and bad, Thistle thought with a pang in her heart. She would have to keep her promise and look more closely at the two and how Hisein treated them.

                                            > She turned and followed the girl, and a moment later heard Fen Ko trudge through the grass after them. When she caught up, she changed the topic.

                                            "[You don't know some words, Ning. Do you want me to teach you? I had to learn the language, too.]"

                                            > The girl shrugged a little. "[Okay.]"

                                            > Then Thistle had a better idea.

                                            > She was starting to miss the quiet lessons in her native tongue with Salki. He didn't have as much time with his hunter training and his rising responsibilities. She missed speaking Equestrian, and Tashi had reminded her that she'd enjoyed teaching it, too.

                                            "[No, Hisein is already teaching you nomad. You'll pick it up. Would you like to learn Equestrian instead?]"

                                            > "[Learn what?]"

                                            > To both their surprise, it was Fen Ko who had spoken. He looked genuinely curious. "[What you want teach?]" he repeated.

                                            "[Equestrian. Pony language. Want to learn it?]"

                                            > "[Yes!]" the boy said with a hint of a smile, which immediately faded. "[Master Hisein say no. He say we lazy.]"

                                            "[I will talk to Hisein. If he says yes, I will teach you.]"

                                            > Both children were smiling now and Ning reached her hand out to give the mare a pat on her neck. "[Thank you.]"

                                            "[Now let's get that water, and then we'll go milk the donkeys, and *then* we'll see about some breakfast!]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle and her two wards arrived from the stream to the donkey pack. She crouched down with practiced ease to lower the two earthenware pots to the ground. They were only about half full of water in either case, and she needed them for balance, more than drinking.

                                            > She tipped one of them out and rolled it into place near the herd, who watched them with dull, uninterested eyes.

                                            > Half full would be about right, Thistle judged from past experience. She could handle the two pots even if they weren't exactly the same weight, but too far either way would make for awkward walking when she was taking the milk back to Kantuta to portion out.

                                            "[Remember what I told you? It's easy. Here, stand by the pot.]"

                                            > Ning got herself ready and cast a worried, sickly grin at her brother while Thistle went to fetch the first beast and positioned it above the jug.

                                            > Despite her earlier agreement, Ning looked exceedingly uncomfortable when faced with the rear end of the jenny, and Thistle eventually had to demonstrate the technique herself.

                                            > That part had gone about as well as she'd expected; cold hooves on sensitive teats were never a nice feeling and the donkey had shifted and loudly complained at the treatment.

                                            > It went a little better when Ning tried it. Out of the corner of her eye Thistle spotted Fen Ko making a disgusted face when his sister put her hands on the jenny's teats. She was about to make a remark, but the donkey's plaintive bleat made the mare look back in alarm.

                                            "[No. Not so hard. Gently. Be gentle!]"

                                            > The girl gave Thistle a look of confusion at that last word.

                                            "[Gentle? You don't know what it means?]"

                                            > Ning shook her head and let her hands fall, the milking attempt interrupted for a moment.

                                            "[Here, hand. Give me your hand.]"

                                            > The girl glanced at her brother in confusion, but didn't comment and extended her arm. Thistle caught her wrist between her forehooves. She applied a bit of pressure, conscious of how frail the girl looked and of her own earth pony strength.

                                            "[This is too hard, understand? Hard- Gentle.]"

                                            > She eased the pressure at the word.

                                            "[Hard. Gentle.]"

                                            > Ning brightened up and spoke a word in her own tongue. She then repeated it in nomad: "[Gentle. I understand.]"

                                            "[Good. Try again. Squeeze from top to the bottom.]"

                                            > This didn't exactly come from experience, but was something Thistle had picked up while watching Gol do it. After her face had stopped burning in embarrassment, of course.

                                            > Odd how some things became completely normal.

                                            > Ning didn't quite understand her instructions, but she tried again. This time she didn't grab the teats in a vice-like grip. When she pulled, a splash of milk dribbled into the clay pot on the ground.

                                            "[Good. Like that, yes. Keep going.]"

                                            > She didn't have to give that last instruction because Ning seemed to understand what was expected. She bent down, concentrating on her task and Thistle had a moment to look at her brother, who was making a face.

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > He pointed. "[That is-]" he began and concluded with a word Mayor didn't understand. She figured it meant 'gross', at least based on his expression.

                                            "[It's food.]"

                                            > Thistle looked back at Ning to make sure the girl was doing okay, then twisted around so she was facing Fen Ko.

                                            "[You should learn it too. It's a useful skill.]"

                                            > The boy showed her his tongue and shook his head in lieu of an answer and Thistle decided not to press the issue. Instead, she asked:

                                            "[Do your people not drink milk? Do they not make cheese?]"

                                            > He gave a shrug. "[I don't know. Mother and Father never did. We didn't have donkeys.]"

                                            "[Well, the nomads do, so you might as well get used to it.]"

                                            > Ning answered for her brother: "[He likes milk. He does not like how it is made.]"

                                            > "[I didn't know how it is made!]" Fen Ko argued back. "[Until now!]"

                                            "[So you will not like milky any more?]"

                                            > Fen Ko had to think for a while on that question, then he shrugged and blurted out: "[No. I like it, but I will not make it!]"

                                            "[Even if Hisein tells you to do it?]" Thistle asked.

                                            > This comment reminded him of his treatment and Fen Ko's face darkened, and his eyes went down to his feet.

                                            > Thistle very nearly hoofed herself in the face for her lack of tact.

                                            "[I'm sorry. I didn't mean it say that.]"

                                            > Rather than replying, the boy just shrugged his shoulders.

                                            > Thistle was trying to think of something better to say, when Ning spoke up: "[Um, Thistle? No milk. What is wrong?]"

                                            > This proved a good distraction and the mare gratefully turned back to the task at hoof. Ning was still making the milking motions, but the jenny was done and had started shifting around.

                                            "[That's enough. This one doesn't have any more milk. You can stop.]"

                                            > Ning did so, and the donkey, obedient to its training, immediately went back to the herd.

                                            "[No! Watch the pot-]"

                                            > Thistle's warning came too late and the jenny bumped the jug with her hind leg, which caused it to topple and spill most of its contents.

                                            > Luckily there wasn't a whole lot to spill and Thistle caught the vessel before it was completely empty. It wasn't a big loss.

                                            > She turned back to the girl after she made sure the pot was steady again.

                                            "[You have to watch their feet, or-]"

                                            > Thistle fell silent when she saw Ning. The girl had cringed away and was hugging her knees with her arms. She'd curled up in the mud and was hiding her face. "[I'm sorry! Sorry, Master Thistle, I didn't mean to! I'm sorry!]" she wailed.

                                            > The mare was taken aback at this sudden and unexpected show of abject terror. Even before she could formulate a reply, she felt Fen Ko's hand on her withers.

                                            > "[Please no beat Ning,]" he begged. "[Me instead! Ning no mean to do bad!]"

                                            "[What?! I'm not going to beat you. I'm not going to beat either of you!]"

                                            > Ning was still curled up and Fen Ko watched Thistle anxiously, to see what she would do. She realized they probably hadn't understood her.

                                            "[I will not beat Ning,]" she said carefully, "[and I will not beat Fen Ko. Okay? Understand?]"

                                            > "[B-But we broke milk!]" Fen Ko said, incredulity making his eyes open wider. "[Master Hisein would beat Ning!]"

                                            "[I'm not Mast- I mean, I'm not Hisein!]"

                                            > The words had come out a tad too forcefully, so Thistle took a deep breath to try and calm herself.

                                            "[It wasn't your fault. I should have told you to watch the donkey's feet. How were you supposed to know?]"

                                            > It gradually became obvious that the expected beating was not to come. Fen Ko uncurled and sat up, looking strangely at the mare. "[You will not beat us?]"

                                            "[Enough with the beatings,]" Thistle said, fighting to keep the exaspearation out of her voice. "[I'll get the next donkey and we'll go on. We still have to milk them all!]"

                                            > Ning gulped, but she gave a nod and went back to the clay pot. This time she held on to it while Thistle went and fetched the next jenny. She made sure to guide it in a wide circle, so it wouldn't accidentally bump the vessel.

                                            > Pretty soon the girl was working again and Fen Ko had relaxed enough to squat on his heels. He watched his sister carefully, perhaps to jump and go help her if there was another problem.

                                            > It was going well, and Thistle cleared her throat.

                                            "[Good. You're doing good. Just like that, yes.]"

                                            > The new jenny was soon done, and this time Ning understood what to do. She let the donkey go and put a hand on the pot to hold it upright in case the beast bumped it again. Thistle went to fetch the next and the three settled down into some kind of a routine.

                                            "[Ning,]" Thistle said after a while, "[can you tell me about the place you come from?]"

                                            > The girl's hands froze for a second, then she resumed her smooth motion. "[Why?]

                                            "[I'm just curious. What is it like? Did you live in a- uh-]"

                                            > Thistle didn't know the nomad word for 'city', if they even had one. She tried to describe it using other words, as best she could.

                                            "[Like- many tents, big, big. Tents made out of wood and stone, maybe? Lot of people?]"

                                            > The children exchanged glances and then looked at the mare in curiosity. "[I don't know,]" Ning finally answered. "[Maybe when I little. Mother and Father- we always go with the wagon. I don't remember- uh- big tents, stone.]"

                                            "[Shame. Maybe you were too young to remember. You told me once your people can- uh, speak-sign. I think Hisein helped, I don't know the word you used.]"

                                            > She waved her hooves vaguely.

                                            "[You said people make marks on- on leaves? White leaves? Traders, make marks to know how much they have sold.]"

                                            > It seemed to ring some kind of a bell and Ning gave her a nod. "[Speak-sign?]" she repeated. "[I don't know what it name. I saw Mother and Father. They-]"

                                            > The language barrier was starting to frustrate the girl and she mimed with her hands instead. "[This white leaf, yes?]" she showed Thistle a flat hand. "[This stick,]" she showed her a single finger.

                                            > Then she dragged the finger in an elaborate pattern across her palm and explained: "[Now white leaf have black. Mother and Father make this, and they say it is for trading. I didn't understand.]"

                                            > Thistle had nearly forgot to breathe as she watched the girl with rapt attention. Her ears were perked up and her lips slightly parted in excitement.

                                            "[Yes! This is it! Speak-sign! Do you know it?]"

                                            > Ning looked at her brother for help, but he just shrugged. "[No,]" the girl admitted. "[Sorry. I saw Mother and Father do it. I do not know how.]"

                                            "[That's okay. I know how to read and write Equestrian. I will teach the people here.]"

                                            > If nothing else, Thistle thought, this proved that the nomad people were capable of learning to write and read. Maybe the two children could explain what they've seen to Darga and help the mare convince them to resume her teaching.

                                            > She realized that they were just staring at each other and her ears flattened in sudden embarrassment.

                                            "[Oh. Only a few more. I will get the next one.]"

                                            > That gave her an excuse to look away and a moment to get a hold of her excitement. It was perhaps the one thing she was best qualified to give the nomad people, even if it seemed less useful than the bow, and the making of bread. Literature would prove the most valuable over the long them.

                                            > The biggest problem, Thistle reflected, was that anything else she could teach them required a bunch of prior art to be even feasible. Iron knives and weapons would require her to figure out smithing.

                                            > She didn't even know how one went about finding iron ore, for that matter.

                                            > More sophisticated types of cooking would require utensils she didn't have, and didn't know how to make, let alone the ingredients.

                                            > Farming would require iron, again. Plows, hoes, pitchforks, even something as simple as a hoof-trowel was beyond her current ability. Besides, even if she could figure out how to till the land with wood and stone, they didn't have any seeds.

                                            > Thistle was faintly aware that it was possible to breed the correct types of crops from a crude, wild plant, but she didn't have the slightest idea how to start.

                                            > She wouldn't have had the slighted idea where to start in *Equestria*, where at least she knew some of the plants.

                                            > The mare pondered her options and rejected idea after idea as she went through the motions of fetching the donkeys for Ning to milk. Only when there were no more jennies did she return to the present.

                                            > She'd gone through the same list in her mind more than once before, and found herself following the same rut every time. She heaved a sad sigh and went to inspect the pot.

                                            > It was nearly than half full, which was less than the usual yield. This was likely due to Ning's inexperience, but Thistle carefully didn't bring it up and smiled at the girl.

                                            "[Good job, Ning. See, it was easy! Easy for a nomad's hands, anyway. Not so easy for these.]"

                                            > She held up her forehooves to demonstrate.

                                            > "[I understand,]" Ning replied simply. She bent down to try and pick up the pot, but Thistle nudged her away with a polite, yet firm prod of her muzzle.

                                            "[It's heavy. I will take it,]" she said.

                                            > This earned her an odd look from both Ning and her brother, but neither of them commented. She shuffled the jug of milk next to the half-full pot of water from the stream and looped her stick through the bits of rope hanging from both.

                                            > Then it was just a matter of slipping under the pole and lifting both smoothly. Thistle shifted the burden to one side until it was well balanced, then began walking to Kantuta's tent. After a moment the children followed, each to one side and slightly behind her.

                                            > They spoke with each other for a while, but it was in their own language so she couldn't understand. Probably just surprise that she wasn't making them do all the work, Thistle thought to herself.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > After Thistle and the two children she was minding delivered the milk, she went in search of Tashi to make sure the girl was okay. At first it was just something to do, so she didn't have to go back to Darga and be given new chores, but her little quest became a lot more urgent when Kantuta explained that her daughter was with the shaman.

                                            > The woman didn't say why, and Thistle didn't have to ask. Unfortunately there could only be one reason which wasn't too hard to guess. The shaman served as the closest thing the camp had to a man of medicine. Undoubtedly Tashi had found out she was pregnant.

                                            > What would happen next didn't bear thinking about. Thistle hurried there, afraid of being too late, and the two foreign children followed without asking any questions.

                                            > She was a little winded by the time they reached the tent near the center of the camp, but Thistle didn't wait to catch her breath and simply burst inside.

                                            > Tashi was indeed sitting on an animal skin rug by the fireplace inside, while the shaman himself was busying himself with a clay pot in his hands. They both looked up in startlement when the tent flap was flung aside and Thistle jumped in.

                                            "[Tashi! Are you okay? Has he- did you-]" she began, but fell silent.

                                            > She had been envisioning a completely different scene, rather than what looked like an amicable tea party between two friends. Thistle wasn't sure what she had expected, but her imaginings contained at best a beating, and at worst a lot of blood and screaming.

                                            > The shaman's mouth thinned in annoyance at the intrusion, but rather than replying he just motioned with the clay cup to the girl, since Thistle had addressed her directly.

                                            > Tashi started again and she looked at the man in front of her in fresh surprise. She had obviously been waiting for him to either explain, or curtly order the mare out of his tent.

                                            > Now that she was forced to speak up, Tashi had to clear her throat before her voice would work. "[I'm fine,]" she said. "[What are you doing here?]"

                                            > It was the mare's turn to be speechless. She hadn't had much of a plan, except to stop whatever gruesome butchery which passed for nomad medicine was happening. She opened her mouth and her ears flattened with the beginnings of embarrassment.

                                            "[I- I don't know. I thought you- your father-]"

                                            > Thistle closed her eyes, drew a breath, and tried again from the top.

                                            "[They said they would beat it out of you. Are you- you know?]"

                                            > "[Pregnant?]" the shaman interjected, then shook his head. "[No. Yes. Maybe. It is too early to tell.]"

                                            > Tashi lowered her gaze to the fire pit and didn't comment. Thistle remembered their conversation. They wouldn't know for at least a few more weeks if her cycle didn't come when it should.

                                            "[Then what are you doing?]"

                                            > The edge of her anger was gone, but now Thistle was genuinely curious why the nomad girl had been sent to the shaman, and what he was brewing up for her.

                                            > She looked from Tashi, who kept her eyes firmly on the fire, to the nomad, who had put his clay pot down and was rummaging in a sack next to him. When the silence extended he glanced up and realized that Thistle was waiting for him to speak.

                                            > "[This will prevent it. We don't have to wait to find out, and it will be easier if we do it sooner.]"

                                            "[What?!]"

                                            > He lifted up a bit of dried and twisted twig. "[This will prevent the baby from nestling in Tashi's belly,]" he explained. "[It is a magical bush and quite hard to find, but luckily I have some dried vines always in my medicine bag.]"

                                            "[You're going to- going to *stop* the baby?]" Thistle asked, not knowing a better word to use there.

                                            > At her words the girl finally looked up. It was obvious she'd been crying, but that wasn't really surprising given her circumstance. Thistle walked into the tent and put herself between the shaman and the hapless girl.

                                            > He waved a dismissive hand toward the pair. "[Don't worry, she will still be able to have children later. It will not injure her permanently.]"

                                            "[But you're talking about getting rid of it! That's not right!]"

                                            > "[Why not?]" This time the man looked utterly confused. "[It is a child of the enemy. No one in this camp would love it, and this is better than stepping on its neck after it's born. It's better for her, too.]" he said and waved the vine at Tashi, who flinched at the vivid description.

                                            > Thistle pressed herself closer against the girl and felt her fingers twirl into her mane. She spared a moment to brush her muzzle against Tashi's cheek, before she turned her furious gaze back at the shaman.

                                            "[You can't be thinking that! It's a baby! A nomad. One of you! Who cares who the father is!]"

                                            > "[Everyone in the camp would know where it came from. It wouldn't be allowed to live, except as a slave. There isn't food to raise children of the enemy.]"

                                            > The shaman's tone was calm and matter-of-fact, as if what he was saying was the simple, self-evident truth. He looked a bit confused at why Thistle was arguing so hard.

                                            "[Fuck this. I'm taking Tashi away from here. Come on,]" she said with a stomp of her hoof.

                                            > Thistle nudged the girl again with her nose until she got her to move. The grip on her mane tightened and Tashi allowed herself to be led away.

                                            > Luckily the shaman didn't try to stop them, but his eyebrows lowered and met in a disapproving glare. "[You'll have to answer to Kantuta and Rinat. They sent her here.]"

                                            > By that time Thistle had bundled the girl out of the tent and was nearly gone herself. She turned back to scrunch her muzzle at the man.

                                            "[I don't care.]"

                                            > Outside the two slave children were watching the proceedings with interest. Thistle felt a momentary flash of gratitude that they hadn't tried to run away, but her attention quickly returned to Tashi.

                                            "[Are you okay? Did you drink anything? Has he done anything to you?]"

                                            > Before replying the girl put a hand on her belly, then shook her head. "[No,]" she said. "[Mother will be angry. They will beat me...]"

                                            > The mare snorted in derision, even if a small part of her knew it was false bravado.

                                            "[Bah, they will have to come through me first.]"

                                            > Undeterred, Tashi pointed out: "[Father will beat you too. He will go to the Chieftain and complain. She will let him whip you. You're just a slave.]"

                                            > There was an uncomfortable amount of truth in Tashi's words, but Thistle simply pushed the thought away and decided to go see someone she could actually call friend.

                                            "[Come, follow me,]" she ordered curtly.

                                            > Xuan would know what to do. Since Buygra was Salki's close friend, and one of the best bowmen in the camp, she was getting a fair bit of respect herself. The fact that she'd delivered a healthy child had also apparently increased the woman's standing.

                                            > Together with Thistle and, possibly Salki, they stood a chance of convincing Darga to do the right thing.

                                            "[This way.]"

                                            >...

                                            > They were in luck and Xuan was sitting in front of her tent. She had a sling made out of animal fur around her shoulders with her daughter bundled up in it and pressed to her chest. This freed her hands and she was using them to cut strips of flesh from a bone and toss them into the leather pot before her.

                                            > Thistle purposefully didn't look at the chunk of meat Xuan was holding, fearful that she might recognize what part of what animal it had come from. If she didn't look closely, she could convince herself that it was a mean, vicious wolf which deserved to get killed.

                                            > When she noticed Thistle's little troupe approaching, Xuan stopped and carefully lowered the slab down. She kept the flint knife in her hand and used it to stir the pot a little, before inspecting the newcomers.

                                            > Her gaze lingered on the two children, then she gave Thistle a smile. "[I see you now have slaves of your own. Moving up in the world?]"

                                            > Thistle's ears splayed in distaste and she emphatically shook her head.

                                            "[No. No. I am watching them for when Hisein comes back.]"

                                            > The woman just shrugged a little, as if to say that it didn't make much difference. She went on: "[It is still responsibility. I wonder that Darga trusts you so much already.]"

                                            "[What do you mean?]"

                                            > The knife came out of the broth and pointed at the mare, but there was no threat in the gesture, or in Xuan's eyes. She merely wanted to emphasize her words. "[It is not that long ago when you were brought in. Then you tried to escape, remember? You kicked Willow that time. Then there is this evil new weapon you devised.]"

                                            "[What?! It's not evil. It is just a bow! It was only meant for hunting dangerous beasts!]"

                                            > Xuan looked doubtful and she scratched at her chin with her free hand, while she put the knife down beside the meat. "[It still means respect. What will you come up with next, I wonder. Maybe we can win this feud with the Ruslans.]"

                                            > At the mention of the name Tashi visibly sagged and averted her face. Her hand was still in Thistle's mane and her fingers jerked, tugging almost painfully at the pink strands.

                                            > Xuan noticed Tashi's discomfort and nodded her head toward her. "[Who is your friend? Isn't she Kantuta's girl, the one who was taken? I'm glad they brought you back. Buygra told me.]"

                                            > Thistle walked closer and the nomad girl followed her, apparently unwilling to let go of the lifeline that was her mane even if she was intimidated by the outspoken woman. They came near the fire and Xuan braced a hand on the ground to stand up. "[Let me get you-]" she began, but Thistle interrupted her.

                                            "[No, don't. The ground is dry. It is okay.]"

                                            > The dirt around the fire had been thoroughly hardened by heat, and it hadn't rained in more than a week, so there was no mud. She sat on her rump and then pressed her head against Tashi's thigh.

                                            "[Sit. Xuan is a friend. You can trust her,]" she murmured.

                                            > At her gentle encouragement Tashi indeed sat down, but on Thistle's other side, away from the mother and her baby. She refused to look in their direction and instead concentrated on the fire once more.

                                            > After a moment's silence Xuan motioned to the other two. "[What about your slave-children?]"

                                            > Thistle's ears jerked down as she realized she'd nearly forgotten their presence yet again. She twisted her neck around to give them as confident a smile as she could muster.

                                            "[Uh, Fen Ko? Ning? Can you go to Hisein's tent and wait for me there? We will go and you can help me wash Darga's skins later.]"

                                            > Fen Ko replied: "[Yes, Master Thistle.]"

                                            > Her ears splayed further at the word, but Thistle didn't correct it again because the two were already going. She watched them leave until the children were out of sight behind the nearest tents, then looked back to Xuan.

                                            > "[Are you sure you can trust them not to get into mischief?]" she asked the mare.

                                            "[Yes,]" she answered immediately, not even having to think about it. "[They will go home. They are very well behaved. Hisein beats them, you know?]"

                                            > That last didn't have the effect Thistle had been hoping for. Instead of concern, Xuan grew thoughtful and tapped her chin with a finger. "[Have you ever asked why he beats them? Maybe it is because they deserve it?]"

                                            "[What? No, that's horrible! Children shouldn't be slaves anyway.]"

                                            > At this, Xuan shrugged and spread her hands, palms out in a gesture of inquiry. "[Then what should we have done with them? Would you rather they had been killed along with their parents?]"

                                            "[No! That's worse!]"

                                            > "[There aren't many other options, Thistle. Either they are dead, or they are slaves. Hisein has not taken the girl to his cot yet. He will sell them when the traders come and the problem will be solved.]"

                                            > Thistle opened her mouth in outrage, but then closed her eyes and forced her muzzle shut. She wasn't there to argue with Xuan about the two children, that could wait. She had a more pressing matter and held a hoof up in reconciliation.

                                            "[Not now. I'm not here to talk about them.]"

                                            > Before Xuan answered, she picked up the knife again and pushed the broth she was cooking around a little, presumably so it would heat up evenly. She dropped the knife back down and inspected the bundle pressed against her belly. Thistle craned closer to see, but little Guuni was asleep and her mother soon wrapped her back up.

                                            > "[What are you here to talk about then?]"

                                            > The mare glanced at Tashi, who hadn't moved or spoken in that time. She was still staring, but now at the food, rather than the fire. Thistle made a mental note to offer her something to eat before they left. Surely Xuan wouldn't begrudge her a few morsels.

                                            "[It's her. They sent her- they wanted the shaman to make her lose the baby! He has some vine.]"

                                            > She was watching Xuan's face for signs of outrage and anger, but all that happened was that the woman lifted an eyebrow. "[Well, that is better than beating it out of her. It's also easier than carrying it until it is born.]"

                                            > The response, or rather, the lack of one, felt like a slap in Thistle's muzzle. She gaped for a short while, then shook her head and tried again. Xuan probably hadn't heard her right.

                                            "[No, Xuan. They want to *stop* the baby! Get rid of it! Remove it from her belly!]"

                                            > The older woman just inclined her head. "[Yes, I understand,]" she replied simply. She leaned a little to look at Tashi and raised her voice. "[You- girl- are you pregnant?]"

                                            > Tashi didn't answer, but shook her head slightly, then paused and shrugged.

                                            "[She won't know yet until-]"

                                            > "[Quiet,]" Xuan said. She hadn't shouted, but the word was unexpected and full of authority, and it shocked Thistle into silence. "[I asked her. What is your name... hmm, Tashi, right, I remember. Tashi, are you pregnant? Answer me.]"

                                            > This finally seemed to break through and Tashi turned her head to look at Xuan. "[N- I don't know.]"

                                            > "[Well, what do you think? Was it your time of the moon? Is there a chance?]"

                                            > This time Tashi put a bit more thought into it, but once again she shrugged, except that she also nodded. She let go of Thistle's mane and both her hands went to her belly. "[I t-think so. I might be. I don't know, but- I think I feel something.]"

                                            > This last made Xuan bark a short, dismissive laugh. "[You can't feel it, not yet. So, what's the harm in taking the Shaman's potion? Why won't you do it? Surely you don't want a Ruslan mongrel growing inside you?]"

                                            > Tashi shook her head firmly and pointed at the mare. "[I- She told me not to do it. I went to Shaman like Mother said. She said I have to, or Father will beat me, so I went.]"

                                            > Again Thistle reeled from the shock, so much that she swayed when she twirled around to stare, open-mouthed, at Tashi.

                                            "[What?!]" she gasped.

                                            > There were red spots in the girl's cheeks and her finger jabbed at the mare again. "[You keep saying this! You keep saying I shouldn't get rid of it! Like it's a bad thing to do! It's not mine! It's a Ruslan baby! I don't want it!]"

                                            > By the end of that tirade Tashi was shouting and tears were streaming freely down her cheeks. She was glaring at the mare, except for a few moments when she had to wipe her nose with the back of her hand.

                                            "[Tashi... It *is* wrong! We can't kill babies!]"

                                            > "[No! You didn't ask me what I wanted! You just said we should do this and we shouldn't do that, and things should be like so and so! You're just as bad as my Mother, except you would have me carry this child!]"

                                            > Thistle didn't know how to reply to any of that and her ears went completely flat in a mix of shock and horror. Had she really tried to force her own will on the girl? Surely not. Getting rid of the child was the wrong thing, no matter how you looked at it.

                                            > Surely even nomads would understand that. Xuan, at least.

                                            > Thistle looked at the woman, who was still staring at her with a disapproving look in her eye. She shook her head slightly at the mare and beckoned to Tashi. "[Come here.]"

                                            > There was a tone of quiet command in her voice and, still sobbing, Tashi crawled to Xuan on her knees. The older woman took her hand, inspected her face closely, and asked: "[What do you want to do with the baby?]"

                                            > Tashi turned briefly to look at Thistle, but quickly lowered her gaze, as if ashamed of what she was saying. Her voice went quiet and Xuan had to lean closer to hear it. "[I want it gone. If I am pregnant I want it out of me. I don't want a child, especially one that was raped into me!]"

                                            > The soft-spoken words were like blows and Thistle wilted under them. What Tashi was saying was inequine, surely nothing more than the result of her mother and her father yelling it at her day in and day out. If she could get the girl somewhere alone, have a heart to heart...

                                            > Xuan's words interrupted her thoughts: "[Then go. Go to the shaman, take his drink, and this will be over. I'll deal with Thistle.]"

                                            > Tashi didn't look at the mare as she scrambled to her feet and ran away, perhaps afraid that the mare would try and tackle her to the ground.

                                            > The remaining two looked at one another, Thistle in bewilderment and Xuan in anger.

                                            "[What did you do?!]" the mare whispered in shock.

                                            > "[I told Tashi to do what she wants to do.]"

                                            "[But that's just because her parents told her! Maybe they beat her. She shouldn't just- get rid of a child because-]"

                                            > "[Shut up,]" Xuan admonished and Thistle once again fell silent. The woman held up a digit right in front of the mare's nose. "[Tell me how you're any different. They want what's best for Tashi, but what do you want?]"

                                            "[It's- It's wrong! No one should just kill a baby like that!]"

                                            > At this, Xuan sighed and reached closer to rap her knuckles against the side of Thistle's head, as if trying to knock some sense into the mare. "[This is not your precious Equestria you keep talking about. This is the real world and things are hard. Tashi would never be allowed to keep a Ruslan rape child, you do know that, don't you?]"

                                            "[Why not?]" Thistle said, lowering her gaze sullenly.

                                            > "[Because they are an enemy! If she carried it, her Mother or her Father would take it from her after it was born and kill it. The only difference would be the hard pregnancy and the dangerous birth. Maybe Tashi would die in birth. Maybe they both would have. These things are hard.]"

                                            > Thistle felt herself sagging down and hot tears began to drip down her muzzle and on her forehooves. Again and again she was reminded of just how horrible and brutal this world was. Again and again she wished she could go home.

                                            > "[It's a kindness that Shaman has his special drink. It is a lot easier than the alternatives.]"

                                            > Thistle didn't answer. She tried to control her breathing, but it was becoming ragged as desperate sobs began to rack her body. She was hardly aware of Xuan taking her into her arms and pressing her against her breast. Her muzzle brushed against Guuni's forehead and the child gurgled in protest as her tears dripped her small face.

                                            > "[There, don't worry. Tashi will be alright. She will forget. She will have other children, *proper* children. Besides, maybe she is not even pregnant and all of this is for nothing.]"

                                            > All Thistle could do was cling to that last, desperate hope. She sniffled and nodded, barely keeping enough presence of mind so she didn't press too hard against Xuan's daughter.

                                            > The hug was helping.

                                            > By Celestia, it was an ugly world, but Xuan's hug was nice.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Eventually Buygra returned and Xuan went to tend to her husband and to her child. Thistle was sorry to lose that moment of closeness, but she had to peel herself away from the nomad and wander off to do something else.

                                            > She walked as if in a daze and eventually ended up at Salki and Darga's tent. The sky was nearly black anyway, so she decided to simply go to sleep and hope that the next day would be better.

                                            > The mare was still partially in shock over what Tashi had done, but she kept telling herself that the girl probably hadn't been pregnant in the first place. That was what Xuan had assured her, and of all the people in the camp Thistle was inclined to believe her friend.

                                            > She heaved a long-suffering sigh and pushed her head into the tent. Salki and his mother were already there, each busy with their own tasks. By the looks of it, Salki was re-stringing his bow, and Darga was industriously chewing on a thick slice of plain bread. They both stopped and looked at the newcomer.

                                            > "[Why are you here? Where are the children?]" Darga asked first.

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > The woman waved her hand in annoyance at having to repeat herself. "[You're supposed to watch Hisein's slaves, or did you already forget? Where are they?!]"

                                            > Thistle backed away from the tent flap, ears already flat in a mixture of annoyance and concern. Part of her was worried that Darga was right, and the two children under her care had tried to escape, while her rational mind insisted that she could trust Fen Ko and Ning. Eveyone in the camp knew the dangers lurking in the wilderness and the two would not dare risk them.

                                            > Right?

                                            > Just in case Thistle decided to go check, but even as she turned the tent flap was flung aside and Darga stepped out. "[Please tell me you're not that stupid and left them lone.]"

                                            "[They will not go anywhere!]"

                                            > Even her voice was uncertain and Thistle couldn't quite meet the Chieftain's gaze. The doubt grew and she began to edge away.

                                            "[I'm going to them right now. I will bring them.]"

                                            > "[If they are gone, you will go after them,]" Darga threatened.

                                            "[They are not gone! Ning promised they would not run away! She knows about the beasts in the night!]"

                                            > Her blind trust in the word of a slave made the woman chortle in a nasty, petulant little laugh. "[If you say so!]" she snorted. "[Just remember you will have to pay Hisein back if they escape.]"

                                            > Rather than argue more with the woman, Thistle turned tail and walked away. She wanted to get out of Darga's presence and her knowing, judgemental tone and, more importantly, she was growing very concerned that the Chieftain might be right.

                                            > She controlled her hooves until she was safely out of sight, then broke into a canter, beelining for Hisein's tent. She hoped the two would be there, like she had told them.

                                            > It didn't take long, although the mare had to dodge and weave around groups of nomads going about their evening routines. She skillfully avoided running into anyone, even if her blurry vision changed it into a game of reflex. She was breathing heavily when she came to the right tent and nosed her way inside.

                                            > The fire in the middle was lit, but near to burning out. To her immense relief, the two children sat side by side opposite the entrance. Thistle breathed a sigh of relief and her ears splayed as she smiled at the two.

                                            "[There you are. That is good. You did as you were told. That's good.]"

                                            > She stopped herself from babbling and backed out of the tent, with the flap draped across her head.

                                            "[Come. We will sleep in my tent tonight. Come.]"

                                            > The pair looked at one another, but they didn't argue and began to move at her command. Thistle stepped aside to make way, then smoothly turned on her hooves and headed back to Darga's tent. She flicked her ears back to make sure the two were following and soon heard the light trod of their soft feet.

                                            > The tension she had hardly felt drained away and Thistle felt herself relax muscles she hadn't even realized she'd tensed. Darga's little prediction and blame game had nearly gotten the mare into a panic, and now that it was over it was being replaced by a mixture of relief and annoyance.

                                            > Of course the children weren't stupid enough to run away! They knew this world better than Thistle did, and even Ning was old enough to understand that actions had consequences. They knew about the wild beasts, the wolves, and whatever else was out there. Darga had gotten her riled up for nothing!

                                            > Even at walking pace it didn't take them too long to get back. The light was bleeding out of the sky at an accelerating pace, but Thistle could still see well enough to navigate.

                                            > She paused for a moment to fix her muzzle into an impassive expression before pulling the flap aside. It would not do to look smug or triumphant at Darga, not with how good the woman was getting at reading pony faces.

                                            "[Here they are!]" Thistle spoke up and couldn't prevent just a tiny smile of satisfaction from scrunching her muzzle.

                                            > Darga, infuriatingly, simply inclined her head as if she had expected nothing less. "[Good, you didn't fuck up this time.]"

                                            > Thistle wanted to scoff, but kept herself in check as she stepped further into the tent and held the flap up for the other two to enter.

                                            > "[What are you doing?]" Darga asked.

                                            "[We're going to sleep?]"

                                            > The Chieftain shook her head. "[Not here you are not. At least not them,]" she said and pointed at the younglings, "[and you'll stay near them if you're smart.]"

                                            "[What?! Why not? There's plenty of room!]"

                                            > Darga pointed a finger out the tent. "[No. One slave in my tent is enough, I won't have Intor saying how I am stealing Hisein's slaves now. There was enough trouble over you!]"

                                            "[Wha- But you're not- What?]"

                                            > The logic didn't make sense to Thistle.

                                            > "[Go and sleep with them in Hisein's tent. He's not here, I'm sure he wouldn't mind. There's no room for you all here.]"

                                            > It was a good thing that her hindquarters were outside, otherwise Darga would easily see how her tail flicked angrily. She had to clench her muscles to keep from stomping a hoof, and keeping her face from an angry sneer took an effort of will.

                                            "[Why did you tell me to bring them here, then?!]"

                                            > "[I did no such thing.]"

                                            > This time Thistle couldn't stop herself and she slammed an angry hoof on the dried mud in the tent.

                                            "[You told me to bring them here so you would see they haven't run away!]"

                                            > Darga didn't react at the gesture and simply looked at Salki, impossibly calm. Only the slight smug tone in her voice betrayed that she was enjoying the exchange immensely. "[I am sure I said nothing like that. Salki, did I say for Thistle to bring the children here?]"

                                            > The boy looked decidedly uncomfortable, caught between two females, even if one was technically his slave. He pretended to be fully engrossed in his bow, but he did answer his mother: "[No, Mother. You said Thistle should make sure where the children are.]"

                                            > "[See?]" Darga said and flashed the mare a victory smile. "[Now take them away.]"

                                            > The mare opened and closed her mouth a few times, but couldn't find anything sufficiently poignant to say. In the end, she scrunched her muzzle in distaste, snorted her displeasure, and twirled around. Her hoof pawed the ground in annoyance.

                                            > It didn't help that she heard the Chieftain burst out laughing in the tent. She wasn't even trying to be subtle about it!

                                            > Thistle let out a small growl from the depths of her throat. She'd gotten so worried about the two children, only for Darga to have a nice laugh at her expense! Maybe she should go back in and show the woman why it wasn't wise to mess around with an earth pony!

                                            > She lowered her ears and let her head droop. Nothing good would come of it. At best they would whip her, at worst...

                                            > They might turn her away, or they may sell her to the first group of traders. Worse, if she hurt Darga the nomads in the camp may simply decide to put down the dangerous animal.

                                            > Thistle forced herself to take a calming breath, then she flicked her tail at Darga's tent one last time and walked off. If her hooves stomped the ground a little harder than necessary- well, no one except a pony would notice that.

                                            > She didn't check for the two slave children, confident that they would follow her. Luckily they didn't ask what the exchange had been about, either. Thistle hoped they didn't understand enough of the nomad language to piece it together.

                                            > The mare was still fuming by the time they returned to Hisein's tent. She slipped inside and plopped herself down at a random cot. It smelled strongly of Hisein, but she paid it no mind.

                                            > Ning and Fen Ko came in right after her and returned to where they had been sitting when she found them. The two sat side by side and when the mare glanced up she saw they were holding hands. Both of them were looking into the embers.

                                            > A quick glance showed that there were plenty of animal fur blankets around, so Thistle decided not to stoke the fire any more. The nights no longer had the winter's biting edge and it would save them from having to gather even more firewood the next day.

                                            > The immediate area around the camp had been picked clean of dried twigs and dead bushes, and the nomads had to go further and further to keep their fires alight. Thistle assumed they would soon move, before it became a worse problem.

                                            "[I'm going to sleep. Wake me if you need anything,]" she said curtly.

                                            > She was trying to put Darga out of her mind, but the woman's mocking laughter kept coming back. Thistle couldn't quite understand her motivation. Surely it had just been a big joke? Darga had seen an opportunity to have a chuckle at her slave's expense, and just went for it?

                                            > Try as she might, Thistle couldn't see any other side to it. If there was supposed to be some kind of a lesson in her humiliation, she couldn't find it. She resolved to ask Salki the next day. He should know his mother's mind best.

                                            > The mare settled down on top of Hisein's cot, not even bothering to cover herself up. Her winter coat was warm enough and the remnants of the fire had warmed the tent's interior nicely. She would grab a blanket if she needed it, but for the moment it would just make her hot and sweaty.

                                            > She closed her eyes and tried to ignore Ning and Fen Ko's soft breathing. She'd gotten used to Salki's thin, rasping snore, and to his mother's slow and measured breaths. Her new companions were different, so it would take her a bit before she could ignore them.

                                            > The two rustled around with some cloth, but eventually settled down and quietened. Thistle heard their whispered conversation for a while, but they soon went silent.

                                            > She closed her eyes and concentrated on sleeping.

                                            >...

                                            > Thistle was drifting in that fuzzy, undefined place halfway between asleep and awake when a new noise intruded on her consciousness. At first she couldn't quite place it and her ears flicked this way and that in an effort to get a clearer picture.

                                            > It was a low snuffling, with an occasional grunt. She imagined moles, digging up from the tent's muddy ground, or maybe some kind of a stoat snuffling around the firepit for bits of forgotten food.

                                            > No, that wasn't quite right. It wasn't an animal sound.

                                            > Thistle drifted closer to wakefulness and lifted her head to hear better. The noise was faint, but it was coming from the bundle of cloth where her two wards were sleeping.

                                            > She woke up fully and carefully sat up. The inside of the tent was completely dark and there was a slight chill in the air. The mare shivered a little as she exposed warm parts of her fur to the night air. She still wasn't covered with a blanket, so the motion was completely silent.

                                            > Finally she could identify the sound. Faint sobbing. One of the children was crying, extremely quietly. It was muffled by the thick fur, which was why she'd had so much trouble to identify it, but it was undoubtedly the sound which had woken her up.

                                            > She wondered what to do. There was a private quality to the sound, like the child had covered their head with the fur blanket to keep the world out. They obviously didn't want anyone else to hear. Maybe the children would be embarrassed? Perhaps it would be best to simply lay back down and pretend she hadn't heard anything?

                                            > It went against her pony nature, however much she had been trying to suppress that lately. Someone was weeping, miserable, and Thistle couldn't sit by and do nothing. Mayor Mare wouldn't have, and neither could Thistle.

                                            > She cleared her throat and the noise instantly stopped. Whoever had been crying had obviously tried to keep it quiet.

                                            "[Ning? Fen Ko?]" Thistle whispered into the darkness.

                                            > There was a slight shuffle as the other two slid their blanket aside. There was no reply at first, and Thistle was about to ask again, when Ning spoke up: "[We sorry, Master Thistle! We be quiet now. We sorry. Didn't mean to wake.]"

                                            > The mare would have none of it and she scooched over to the pair. She quested out with her muzzle until she found the edge of their fur blanket, then nosed it aside. She touched something warm, but it jerked away as soon as she felt it.

                                            "[I'm not mad. Here- where are you?]"

                                            > She slid closer and slipped her hoof under the cover. After that it was a simple enough matter to flick it over herself and join the two in their warm little nest. Fen Ko gasped and pulled away when she pressed her cold fur against him, but his sister didn't have any such qualms and came closer.

                                            > Thistle gingerly put her hooves around the girl. A small sniffle told her it had been Ning who was crying.

                                            "[It's okay, child,]" she murmured into her ear. "[Don't be afraid.]"

                                            > She didn't know fully why she'd said it, but she'd sensed the note of fear in Ning's voice when she'd apologized for waking her up. A connection formed.

                                            "[Did Hisein tell you to be quiet when he sleeps?]"

                                            > It took Ning a moment to parse the language, then she nodded, brushing her cheek against Thistle's.

                                            "[You don't have to do that with me. I don't mind.]"

                                            > No response this time, so the mare tried a different tactic.

                                            "[Why are you sad? You can tell me.]"

                                            > Still the girl remained quiet, so Thistle did the only thing she could think of. She turned her head until her nose found Ning's cheek, then she began to lick it in slow, measured strokes. She'd seen nomad mothers gently pat their children's face to comfort them, but a hoof would be entirely unsuitable for such a gesture. This was the next best thing.

                                            > After a few moments the girl in her hooves relaxed and went limp. Thistle carefully lowered her back to the mat. She could taste the salt in her tears.

                                            > Suddenly Ning spoke, in her hesitant, broken language: "[Mother. No more Mother! They kill. Hisein and Willow and, and they. Kill Mother, Father. Only me and Fen Ko left.]"

                                            > It was a heartbreaking story, despite its lack of eloquence. Ning didn't have the words to do her grief justice, but the emotion in her voice was undeniable. Her fingers found Thistle's mane and gripped it tightly.

                                            "[I'm sorry, sweetheart. I'm sorry that happened to you.]"

                                            > After a few moments she became aware of another body pressed against her, from the back. Fen Ko's thin arms came around her neck and she felt his nose press against her neck. She'd warmed up under the fur blanket and probably felt like a cozy little heat source for the two. It was pleasant.

                                            > It had been too long since she cuddled - properly cuddled - with anypony. Perhaps she hadn't ever since Rainy Day had been taken away.

                                            > There was something undeniably Equestrian in a good, long hug. It was helping sooth her pony soul, even as she brought mutual comfort to Ning.

                                            > The girl had gone back to her native language and Thistle didn't understand her words, but she knew with absolute certainty that she was mourning her lost parents. Thistle nestled her muzzle against Ning's cheek and heaved a long, sad sigh.

                                            "[I'll be right here, okay?]" she murmured. "[You can cry as much as you want. I understand.]"

                                            > There was no reply and Ning's words stopped. She was silent for a little while, then her hand sought out Thistle's hoof and gripped it around the fetlock. Behind her, Fen Ko squirmed a little closer, to capture more of her body heat.

                                            > She didn't mind being sandwiched between the two. It would keep all three of them warm, and it fulfilled some long-forgotten pony instinct.

                                            > They were very physical creatures. Maybe this lack was what drove her to all that angst and stress and misery? Thistle promised herself she wouldn't forget it again.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle woke up feeling rather stiff and lying in exactly the same position as she had fallen asleep. Part of it, she figured, was because of the two nomad children were arrayed around her. She had kept herself still so as not to disturb them once they'd finally nodded off.

                                            > She remembered Ning's tears from the previous night, but when she opened her eyes the girl seemed peacefully asleep. The other one - Fen Ko - was still behind the mare and the only indication of his presence were his arms wrapped around Thistle's barrel.

                                            > Sometime during the night she had partially kicked off the thick, animal skin blanket, but despite the fact that the fire had long since gone out, she wasn't cold. In fact, Thistle was beginning to sweat. She carefully shuffled her legs to extricate them from the blanket without uncovering Ning.

                                            > It would have been nice to stay in that pocket of warm, comfortable silence, but even her slight movement was enough for Thistle to realize that she needed to get up. Her biology would not wait.

                                            > The first step was easy: Ning was only holding her foreleg and it only took a gentle prod with her muzzle to get the nomad girl to release her. She didn't even wake up and simply grasped the bundled animal skin in lieu of pony limb.

                                            > Her brother was a different matter. During the night he'd snaked one hand under Thistle's neck, and twirled the fingers of the other into her chest fluff. The mare tapped it with a hoof, but other than murmuring something unintelligible Fen Ko didn't react.

                                            > Lacking any other ideas, Thistle tried to shuffle around so she could whisper to the boy without waking Ning. Unfortunately Fen Ko had different ideas and simply tightened his grip around her barrel. He also pressed forward against her back, as if trying to touch as much of the mare as physically possible.

                                            > Thistle paused to think about her predicament and how best to disentangle herself. She put a hoof back on Fen Ko's hand to try and pry his fingers from her fur, but then he suddenly released her, mumbled something, and moved the hand up to her muzzle.

                                            > His palm found her nose and the boy clumsily patted it. At the same time, he ground his hips against her back again.

                                            "[Fen Ko?]" Thistle whispered.

                                            > There was no reply, but he kept pushing against her. The arm around her withers tightened to hold the mare in place, while his other hand kept stroking her muzzle.

                                            > Only then did Thistle become conscious of the bump. Something stiff was poking into her croup each time Fen Ko pressed forward. It didn't take a huge leap of imagination to understand.

                                            > Thistle flushed a dark red when she realized and, almost against her will, her tail flagged. She briefly entertained the idea of twisting just a little bit, of letting the boy find his mark.

                                            > The thought instantly horrified her and the mare jerked upright. Fen Ko tried to hold on, but slipped and hit the ground with a small grunt, followed by a gasp as he woke up. His cover had slipped off and his clothes had come undone, so Thistle had a good glimpse of what had been poking her, before she hurriedly closed her eyes and turned her head.

                                            > "[What? What happening?]" Ning asked as she sat up in the sudden commotion. She looked at her brother, hissed through her teeth and jabbered something at him in their own language.

                                            > Fen Ko recovered quickly and covered himself with the blanket. His face went red and he looked away from the two females.

                                            "[It's okay,]" Thistle tried to salvage the situation. "[We were sleeping. It happens. There's nothing to be ashamed of, understand?]"

                                            > The boy kept his face averted, but Ning shrugged and giggled a little. "[It is happening to him many day,]" she vouchsafed. "[Just forget. I think it is normal. Master Hisein laugh, too.]"

                                            > It would make sense, especially if the boy was at an age when he was entering puberty. Thistle should have thought about it sooner, but the children had been distraught and cuddling with them had seemed harmless.

                                            > She would have to think about what to do for the next night, though. Her own reaction, her own momentary lapse of judgement was especially worrying.

                                            > The mare focused her attention inward, examining how she felt. Was it about time? Her heart began to beat faster and her breath caught. Was there a sudden, unexplained heat in her nethers?

                                            > Surely she had a few more weeks?

                                            > She still felt warm, despite the brisk air inside the tent. The children had wrapped themselves back up in blankets and Fen Ko was shivering a little in the chill.

                                            > More importantly, Thistle felt decidedly damp. Her ears folded down and she groaned.

                                            > "[What wrong?]" Ning asked with a detectable note of concern in her voice. She reached out a hand to lay a palm against Thistle's cheek in comfort.

                                            "[Nothing. It is- It's complicated.]"

                                            > The nomad children looked at one another and exchanged a few words, but then Ning just shrugged in defeat. "[Okay,]" she conceded. "[Sick?]"

                                            > It would be the best explanation she could offer the two children, so Thistle gave a half nod.

                                            "[I guess you could say that. It's not bad - uh - it's just a small sick.]"

                                            > She idly wondered if the camp shaman would have something to make her symptoms easier. It was a long shot, especially since the nomad women didn't experience anything as intense. From her discussion with Xuan and some of the others, Thistle knew they went into season about once each month. It stood to reason that it would be... diluted.

                                            "[Fuck...]"

                                            > Her exclamation made the children giggle in amusement. Of course they would understand swearing. Thistle got to her hooves and made a conscious effort to press her tail firmly down. Nomads didn't have the same sense of smell as a pony, but her scent would be quite potent and Thistle wanted to avoid further embarrassment.

                                            "[Look, I have to- I have to do some things. Can you two make breakfast for yourselves? I will be back later and we will work, okay?]"

                                            > Ning misunderstood and her brow furrowed in question. "[What you want? What make for breakfast?]"

                                            "[No, not for me. Make it for yourselves, understand? Ning make breakfast for Ning and Fen Ko, got it?]"

                                            > She looked around the tent until she found a pile of bags and skins which represented Hisein's possessions. Surely he wouldn't begrudge his slaves basic sustenance. The mare went to rummage a little and found a leather bag with dried strips of meat. She also found a burlap sack of grain and a few pots she didn't want to open. They looked expensive.

                                            "[Here. You know how to make stew? Cook this,]" Thistle said and pushed the meat and the grain toward Ning.

                                            > Luckily the girl nodded to herself and flashed the mare a smile. "[I will. This is good. I will make food.]"

                                            > Even Fen Ko had come out of his embarrassment a little and was licking his lips as he watched the bounty.

                                            "[Don't go anywhere, okay? Stay near tent. There should be enough wood left outside.]"

                                            > "[Okay, Master Thistle,]" Ning agreed readily.

                                            > Thistle didn't wait any longer and hurried out before she began to drip inside the tent. However hard she tried to concentrate, that glimpse of Fen Ko's bare skin kept intruding into her thoughts.

                                            > It was all kinds of twisted, least of all because of his age, but Thistle's body was waking up and the flood of hormones starting to slosh around her brain didn't know right from wrong.

                                            > She needed to find an outlet and there was only one thing she could think of right off the bat. The stream would cool her off. More importantly, it would wash her after she'd done what she could with a hoof.

                                            > It was a stopgap measure, but maybe it would hold long enough for her to seek out Xuan and Saule and figure out something more permanent. Maybe they did have some herbs or something, after all.

                                            > As she ran through the camp, Thistle passed the donkey herd and her tail flew up of its own volition. Her hoofsteps faltered and she briefly considered going to them.

                                            > It wouldn't be the first time, and it would douse the fire inside her.

                                            > There was just one worry. What if she conceived?

                                            > Pony and donkey mixes were exceedingly rare in Equestria, but they were known to happen. Were donkeys in this world sufficiently different to make that impossible? Did she dare risk it?

                                            > The consequences would be bad. If she bore a foal from this union, would it be more pony, or would it be more beast? Would it even be able to talk? Could she love it? What if it was more like a donkey than her, and the nomads simply put it in the herd?

                                            > What if they slaughtered it for meat?

                                            > The fear firmly turned her away from the herd and Thistle continued on her way to the stream.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            "[Xuan! Xuan! Wait!]"

                                            > Thistle ran after the nomad woman. It had been pure luck that she'd spotted her on the way out of the camp. She didn't have her daughter with her, which meant that she was probably going about some chore.

                                            > Xuan kindly waited for the mare to catch up, then continued on her way. If she noticed that Thistle was walking rather stiffly, she didn't mention it.

                                            > "[Shouldn't you be watching Hisein's slaves?]" Xuan asked.

                                            "[They will keep. Listen, I have to ask you...]"

                                            > Now that it was time to actually bring it up, Thistle found her tongue tying itself up and her ears folding down in embarrassment.

                                            > "[Hmm?]" Xuan glanced down, but didn't slow her walk.

                                            "[Where are you going?]" Thistle asked in desperation to break the awkward silence.

                                            > The nomad woman waved a hand into the distance. "[I have to get wood. It's pretty far.]"

                                            > Thistle knew this first-hoof. The camp would move soon and this was a large part of the reason why. The nomads had exhausted the land around them of small game, edible roots and tubers, and usable firewood. They would pack up their tents and go to a new area where such things were more plentiful.

                                            "[I will help you.]"

                                            > Xuan didn't give any particular sign to show whether she appreciated the offer, but neither did she turn it down outright. Instead, she said: "[What were you going to ask?]"

                                            > Once again Thistle's ears went entirely flat and her tail swished from sheer nerves. They were out of the camp and there was no one else around, which helped a little. Despite that, the mare lowered her voice.

                                            "[It's my time.]"

                                            > "[Your time for what?]"

                                            "[You know- you have it every moon. Us ponies- it happens once every year.]"

                                            > The woman stumbled a little before she caught herself and turned wide, surprised eyes on the mare. "[Once every- you mean it's your time? You're bleeding?]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head.

                                            "[No, we don't bleed. Not like you, but it is similar. I'm-]"

                                            > She had no idea how to put it, which made Thistle growl a little in frustration. She took a deep breath and said it bluntly, just to get it over with.

                                            "[I want to be fucked, okay?! It only happens once every year and it is stronger than what happens to you! I want it.]"

                                            > The two walked in silence for a while, then Xuan murmured: "[I... see.]"

                                            "[What am I going to do?! There are no ponies, Xuan! I'm alone! I'll want it. It's going to be bad!]"

                                            > "[How long-]"

                                            "[About one- one-. Five days. Maybe longer. Seven.]" Too late Thistle remembered that nomads didn't have the concept of a week.

                                            > There was no reply for a while. Just as Thistle was about to give up and tell Xuan to forget it, the woman cleared her throat and spoke: "[I see the problem. No man in the camp will want to lie with an animal.]"

                                            "[I'm not an animal!]"

                                            > Xuan waved her hand in dismissal. "[I know, I know, but that is what you look like. This is what everyone would think.]"

                                            > It was no help and Thistle's head began to lower in self-pity when Xuan added: "[I heard- someone told me that you- once- with a donkey?]"

                                            > The memory of that unfortunate event still burned and Thistle's face went hot enough to singe the grass.

                                            "[Yes,]" she muttered darkly.

                                            > "[Could you- again?]"

                                            "[No. I am afraid of getting with child. Home, in Equestria, ponies and donkeys can have children.]"

                                            > The woman leaned over and patted Thistle's mane with her hand. "[I see. What about the Ruslan prisoner? Nomads and ponies can't have children.]"

                                            "[What?!]"

                                            > Xuan gave a slight shrug and stopped so she could crouch in front of the mare. That brought her closer to Thistle's eye level. "[He's a prisoner. If he were a girl, she'd be- used. Like Tashi was. No one would mind if he is humiliated like that. Just go there at night. Tell the guard you will question him.]"

                                            > Celestia help her, Thistle was considering it! Her stomach churned in disgust, but she was thinking about it.

                                            > Could she go ahead with something as foul as that? If the Ruslan boy was anything like the nomads in her camp, he would find the idea of lying with her just as revolting. The difference was that he was a prisoner, so she could do with him whatever she wanted.

                                            > The mare cringed away from her own imagination and her rump hit the grass as her legs refused to hold her.

                                            "[N-No. No, not that,]" she whispered, aghast.

                                            > Enemy or not, burning need or not, she couldn't do something that monstrous. She kept shaking her head, partly to reinforce her denial, and partly in a vain attempt to shake the awful thought loose.

                                            > Xuan stopped her wild flailing with a palm against her muzzle. "[Okay, okay. What about Hisein's boy? If he's too young, maybe he could do it with his fingers to help you? Hisein won't mind, as long as you don't touch the girl.]"

                                            > The suggestion hit too close to home and Thistle vehemently shook her head.

                                            "[No!]"

                                            > Xuan spread her arms in a sign of defeat. "[Then I don't know what to tell you. Maybe you can find a smooth stone, or maybe one of the camp women has a dick carved out of wood and leather. I know such things exist.]"

                                            > The mare grimaced at the thought, but then her shoulders sagged and she looked down at her hooves. Borrowing a toy from someone in the camp would be awful, but better than the alternatives.

                                            > Xuan put her hand in her mane again and sought out her ears. The scratches felt nice and Thistle closed her eyes and leaned into the touch.

                                            "[Who?]" she finally asked.

                                            > "[Who what?]"

                                            "[Who do I ask. For wooden cock.]"

                                            > Xuan stood up and tapped her lips with a finger as she considered. "[I'm not sure. Maybe some of the younger women? Some who aren't married yet.]"

                                            > One name floated to the top and Thistle swallowed a lump.

                                            "[Saule.]"

                                            > "[Maybe, yes. If not, she may know whom to ask.]"

                                            > The mare let her breath out and stood up. She hadn't even been aware of holding it. Her tail flicked and she became hyper-aware of the breeze on her nethers. It wasn't too bad just yet, and her session with her hoof at the stream had helped, but it would get a whole lot worse.

                                            > Such crude, manual efforts had never really worked before, not past the first day.

                                            > She didn't need this.

                                            > Thistle fell in step behind Xuan and her muzzle scrunched up in anger. She was in a difficult enough situation already, she didn't need her body to do this to her as well!

                                            > It was completely unfair, especially with how mild nomad women had it! Of course they wouldn't understand!

                                            > As they walked aimlessly across the grassy plain, Thistle began to daydream about Salki. He was the closest to a special somepony she had in the entire camp. Maybe when he heard about her discomfort, he would agree to... help.

                                            > It could remain their secret. No one else needed to know. They could go somewhere away, secluded and private.

                                            > She would show him what a mare could do, and he would help her douse that horrible fire inside her.

                                            > No one had to know. It needn't mean anything. It could just be physical.

                                            > Maybe she could talk him into it.

                                            > It was either that, or a grotesque, human-shaped sex toy made out of wood and leather, which she would have to borrow from someone in the camp. If not that, it was either the Ruslan prisoner, or Fen Ko, both of which were all kinds of wrong.

                                            > Thistle just hoped she remembered how wrong it was when her need became urgent. She knew how it could cloud her judgement.

                                            "[Fuck me...]"

                                            > Xuan, not understanding her thoughts, just chuckled and leaned over to give her neck a pat. "[Sorry, sweetheart, you're not my type. Besides, I'm married.]"

                                            > She caught Thistle's expression and began to laugh, which just made the blush worse and worse.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was getting worse as the day progressed. For a while Thistle thought she would be fine, but the burning heat in her hindquarters became more and more unbearable. She had somehow managed to help Xuan bring in the firewood, but by the time they were walking back to the camp, her tail was nearly vertical and it took serious effort to bring it down.

                                            > Back home, in Ponyville, she would have gone to the apothecary and gotten a potion to ease the effects. For that matter, she could go into one of the town's seedier bars and solved her problem the old-fashioned way. That had always been the option of last resort.

                                            > This time it was the only solution the mare could think of, yet it was not available to her. Sure, there was always the donkey herd, but with a little chemical helper to keep her from conceiving, Thistle dared not try it. At least not yet. She dreaded the moment when need would override her sense.

                                            > As soon as she had dropped her stack of firewood at Xuan's tent, Thistle hurried to look for Saule. Her legs were trembling with the effort of keeping herself modestly covered and she considered fetching her cloak. It would be unbearably warm, but at least she would not be exposing her problem for all to see.

                                            > Last resort, Thistle decided. She did not look forward to sweating under all that thick leather and fur.

                                            > She found Saule sitting cross-legged with Tashi on a bit of old leather in front of her tent. Thistle had hoped the girl would be alone, but she really couldn't wait.

                                            "[Saule! I need your help!]"

                                            > Both nomads stared at her, but it was Saule who answered: "[Thistle, are you okay? You look ill.]"

                                            > Her ears folded and the mare lowered her head. She hadn't realized it was that obvious already. She pawed the dirt with a hoof, then gathered her courage and tried again.

                                            "[Please? Come with me? I need to talk to you. Alone.]"

                                            > She cast a meaningful glance at Tashi, who frowned a bit at what must have felt like being snubbed. Saule, meanwhile, scooched closer and laid her palm on Thistle's face.

                                            > "[Wow, you're warm. Do you have a fever? We should go see the shaman, maybe he will know how to help.]"

                                            > It was a temptation and for a few seconds Thistle was undecided. What were the chances of a primitive nomad soothsayer would have anything to ease the effects of heat on mares?

                                            > Then again, he had herbs which would have caused Tashi to lose her baby, perhaps that would be a useful precaution if Thistle couldn't keep it together and went to the donkey herd?

                                            > She barely felt the pang of conscience at her own hypocrisy. She had given mighty fine and noble speeches to Tashi, yet when she herself was in the slightest bit of difficulty, those lofty ideals went right out the tent flap.

                                            "[M-Maybe. First I want to talk to you, please?]" Thistle begged.

                                            > "[O-kay,]" Saule finally agreed and turned to the other girl. "[Tashi, will you sit here? I will be back soon.]"

                                            > Tashi shrugged a little to herself, then glanced at one of the tents nearby. "[For a short time, yes. Mother wants me to go and fetch water, and then I have to begin packing our things.]"

                                            "[Packing?!]"

                                            > Saule answered instead: "[Yes. Salki told me. We're moving as soon as Hisein and the hunters are back, any day now. You should probably pack too.]"

                                            "[I will. Can we go now? Please hurry.]"

                                            > At long last the nomad girl got to her feet and Thistle scurried away. She had to stop a few steps later to wait for Saule, or risk losing her among the tents.

                                            > "[Where are we going?]" the nomad asked.

                                            "[Stream. I- I need to drink some water. I will explain.]"

                                            > She experimentally hastened her pace and Saule unconsciously widened her stride to keep up. This suited Thistle just fine as it shortened the time before she could cool herself off in the stream again. In fact, it was all she could do to keep herself from breaking into a trot.

                                            > They weaved their way through the tents in silence, but as soon as they were out in the open Saule spoke up: "[What is wrong? You look- you look sweaty. You're shivering. What is this illness. Shouldn't you be in a tent, keeping warm?]"

                                            "[It's not that kind of illness,]" Thistle replied.

                                            > She slowed down a little so they could talk without going out of breath. Her ears were already flat and the mare was grateful that they were walking side by side, so she didn't have to look Saule in the face as she explained.

                                            > Maybe having told Xuan earlier made it a bit easier, though.

                                            "[Look- I am going in, uh. It is my time. I'm bleeding, you know? Except no blood, ponies don't have blood when that happens.]"

                                            > "[Bleeding?]" Saule repeated in confusion. "[Are you hurt?]"

                                            "[No, no. My time! Same thing nomad women, every moon. Bleeding, you understand?]"

                                            > Saule stopped walking in surprise and Thistle had to return a few paces to stay with the young woman. "[Oh!]" she said. "[You mean it's your time?!]"

                                            "[Yes!]"

                                            > "[But why do you look ill? Why do you have a fever?]"

                                            > Thistle sat on her haunches and let her head lower in misery.

                                            "[We ponies only- only bleed once every year. It is a lot stronger.]"

                                            > She glanced up to see if Saule understood, then tried to explain the next bit, even thought it was making her flush an even darker shade of red.

                                            "[You know how when it is your time, you want it more?]"

                                            > "[Want what?]"

                                            > Thistle sighed in exasperation and answered, but her voice was too quiet and Saule bent down. "[What did you say? I didn't hear.]"

                                            "[You want to fuck...]" this time it was at least audible.

                                            > This gave Saule pause and she took a tentative step back, as if afraid that the mare would try to jump her right there and then. Her fear went right to Thistle's heart and the mare slumped down to her belly, let her muzzle press into the grass between her forelegs, and spoke in a muffled voice.

                                            "[It's not so strong for nomads. Some women want it more. Xuan told me. For some it is like nothing, and some want it, but it is not strong.]"

                                            > Seeing her misery overruled Saule's concern and she came to kneel in front of Thistle. She reached out and ran her fingers through the mare's mane, pulling it away from her eyes.

                                            > "[Okay, I think I understand. So what do you want from me?]"

                                            > That was the million-bit question and for a moment Thistle didn't have a good answer. She thought about what Xuan had told her and the blush intensified. She couldn't keep her gaze on Saule's face and hurriedly looked down at the grass.

                                            "[Xuan sa- said some, uh, some women in camp have something. L-Like a dick, made from leather and wood.]"

                                            > She dared a short glance and saw that Saule was also becoming quite red in her face. Thistle forced her ears up and listened for anyone else approaching them. Luckily they were still alone, and far enough from the camp so no nomad was likely to overhear their conversation.

                                            > "[Uh, I don't- I don't know]" Saule mumbled. "[Dick made from leather? I never heard of something like that. Xuan said someone in the camp has it?]"

                                            "[Yes!]"

                                            > Already Thistle's ears were wilting. It sounded as if Saule knew nothing about it. Despite that, the mare couldn't help clutching at straws.

                                            "[You don't know about it? Do you know who knows? Who can we ask? Please, I need it. Maybe it won't be enough, but I need it!]"

                                            > The girl looked thoughtful for a bit, then she shrugged. "[I dunno. I will ask Mother, maybe she will know.]"

                                            > Thistle squeezed her eyes shut and cringed a little at the thought, but if Saule was doing the asking for her it may be less awkward. She didn't say no.

                                            > "[What about-]" Saule began, but then fell silent and plucked a blade of grass from the ground. She busied herself with tearing it to small strips.

                                            "[Yes?]" Thistle asked hopefully.

                                            > Saule examined the bits of plant in her palm, then scattered them around Thistle's forelegs before replying. "[What about- doing it for real?]

                                            > The mare shook her head sadly. Some of the grass flakes were on her leg and she absentmindedly licked them up. The tart taste felt almost soothing on her tongue.

                                            "[That would help, but do you think any man in the camp would? With me?]"

                                            > "[I guess not. Most people still think you are an animal.]"

                                            "[Xuan said- she said I can use the Ruslan boy. She said he is a prisoner, so it's okay.]"

                                            > This revelation caused Saule to brighten up and she patted Thistle's head in excitement. "[That would work! After what they did to Tashi they deserve some of the same! Yeah, just use him.]

                                            > The mare heaved a sigh and shook her head. She looked into Saule's eyes to make sure the nomad would grasp the gravity of her words.

                                            "[No. It is not right, Saule. Not that. We can't- do that to prisoners, it's wrong!]"

                                            > This seemed to confuse the girl. "[They did it to Tashi. It's fair to do it back to the prisoner.]"

                                            "[No, it's not.]"

                                            > The two sat in silence for long seconds, then Saule shrugged a little to herself. "[Well, if not that, and no one in camp would lie with you, what are you going to do?]"

                                            "[I don't know. It's bad and it will get worse. I will bathe in the stream to cool, but it won't help for long. I can- do it myself, but it is not good. It doesn't help much.]"

                                            > "[Oh, so that's why we're going to the stream!]" Saule exclaimed.

                                            "[Yes.]"

                                            > "[Are you going to... you know? Right now?]"

                                            > Thistle didn't know how to answer that. Despite her best effort, her tail hiked up on its own just from the thought of Saule watching. It made the mare groan in despair and bury her muzzle back between her forelegs.

                                            "[I'll stay. You don't have to go with me, I just wanted to ask about that- about the leather dick.]"

                                            > There was silence for a long while and for a moment Thistle thought the girl had left. She hadn't heard her walk away, but then again her heart was pounding so hard in her ears that she might have missed it. After a while she looked up and saw that Saule was staring at her, intently, biting her lip.

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > At the question the nomad looked away and clutched her hands together. Her knuckles went white and she blurted out something so rapidly that it was just a jumbled mess and Thistle couldn't understand a word of it.

                                            "[What did you say?]"

                                            > Saule repeated, but this time it was on the verge of what Thistle could parse: "[Idon'tmindwatching.]"

                                            > A simple statement, but in her current state it made a shudder run through Thistle's body. A spasm made her jerk as she winked, hard. She felt a hot dribble of fluid flow from her.

                                            > Her face was hot enough to singe grass, but suddenly she didn't mind that Saule could see. She got to her hooves, shakily, and tried without success to lower her tail. It wouldn't budge.

                                            > "[Let's go. I will ask about the leather dick. If you want, I can ask my friends. Listen, you don't mind if the man is really ugly, right?]"

                                            > It was an incredulous question and Thistle's brain threw a cog as she tried to process it. She couldn't help laughing out of sheer befuddlement.

                                            "[Heh. No. Why?]"

                                            > Saule shrugged her shoulders and fell in step beside the mare. She had a yellow flower in her hands and was plucking the tiny, delicate petals one by one. "[What I'm thinking- what if there is some very ugly man in the camp and no woman wants to lie with him, right? Maybe he wouldn't mind you're a pony, just as long as he got to fuck something. Some of the men - well, the younger ones - they get really needy sometimes, you know?]"

                                            > It was something Thistle hadn't considered. Now that she thought about it, Saule was right. She didn't care what a nomad looked like. Tartarus, she didn't care that it was a nomad and a completely different species, just so long as he had the tool to douse that unbearable fire inside her. She would only need it a few times before her heat was over.

                                            "[M-Maybe,]" she conceded. "[Do you know someone like that?]"

                                            > "[I'll ask.]"

                                            "[Thank you. You're a good friend, Saule.]"

                                            > The young woman didn't reply, but she lowered her hand and stuck the yellow flower in Thistle's mane. Then she patted her back, which sent pleasant tingles down the mare's back.

                                            > "[Let's see if doing it at the stream will help. How do you do it without hands?]"

                                            > It was funny, Thistle thought to herself, how the topic had become normalized. She hardly felt her flush intensify as she answered Saule's question.

                                            "[With a hoof, but I have to be very careful. The hard edge hurts.]"

                                            > "[Oh. Yeah, that makes sense. I guess fingers are better for this?]"

                                            > Thistle's breath caught in sudden hope and she shuddered as she winked again. She tried to tell herself that it was wrong, that she was taking advantage of Saule. She shouldn't even let the young nomad watch.

                                            > She went as far as to open her mouth to say it, but her mare parts winked again and sent a rivulet of fluids oozing down her leg, and Thistle couldn't make her voice work.

                                            > Saule had offered, she told herself. She had asked. She had offered. Thistle would let her watch, and if the nomad wanted something more, it would be entirely her decision.

                                            > Her ears lowered and Thistle knew she would be sorry later, but the momentary need overruled her better sense.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle stood in water just deep enough so her belly dipped into it each time it heaved. She was breathing heavily and the freezing water felt good on her aching muscles.

                                            > She was glad that Saule had stayed with her, because she might not have been able to wash herself, not after the wild abandon with which she had attacked... well, herself.

                                            > Even now her face colored at the memory. At the time it had felt good, but now the mare was filled with shame.

                                            > Her croup and dock were scraped raw from where she had rolled around on the rocky bank as she tried to get a better angle for her hoof. Her hind legs were stiff from the unnatural angles she had forced them into. Even her tongue hurt from where she had bitten it to keep from crying out.

                                            > Her stance was wide and her limbs trembled, but not from the water's chill. The parts of her which were not underwater dripped with sweat. Her wet mane hung limply across her face.

                                            > A small groan escaped her as Saule cupped some water in her hands and splashed it over her back. Thistle couldn't decide which felt better: the refreshing cool of the stream on her overheated body, or the nomad girl's hands kneading her misused muscles. Luckily both were happening and it was pure bliss.

                                            > The fire in her nethers had been doused, at least for a little while, but Thistle still felt herself shudder and wink every now and then after her exertion. Her tail was still held aloft, though it hung straight down, water-logged as it was.

                                            > "[Your back,]" Saule broke the silence, "[did you piss yourself? It's yellow. Here, let me wash you.]"

                                            > The next cup of water splashed against Thistle's inner thigh. She barely had time to gasp in surprise before the young nomad followed with her hands, running them through her fur to scrape away most of the goop.

                                            "[Aaah! Not- It's not- I did not piss.]"

                                            > "[What is it, then?]"

                                            > Thistle glanced back to see Saule play with a strand of the thick, sticky goop between her fingers. She examined a strand of the fluid, then submerged her hand to wash it off.

                                            > The sight almost started the fire again, but Thistle dunked her head into the water and the cold shock helped.

                                            > When she came back up, snorting and spluttering, she tried to find the words to answer. After how much Saule had helped - *was helping* - she deserved answers, at the very least.

                                            "[It is- well, don't you get, um, wet? Down there?]"

                                            > They both blushed and avoided eye contact. Saule moved away from Thistle's rear and began to scrub the side of her barrel, instead. Finally she answered: "[Well, yes, but it's clear, not yellow. There is not so much of it. Are you sure? It looked like you pissed yourself when you...]"

                                            "[It was not piss,]" Thistle repeated flatly. "[It is how pony women are.]"

                                            > "[Huh. Interesting.]"

                                            > They stood in uncomfortable silence for a few seconds, then Saule bent down and splashed another handful of water on Thistle's back. The mare let out a sigh and closed her eyes.

                                            "[Thank you.]"

                                            > The nomad girl poured more water, then began massaging Thistle's coat with her fingers to get rid of the mud and grime. She really had flopped around on the ground rather a lot during her passion.

                                            > After some intense scrubbing Saule paused to catch her breath, then said: "[It is okay. It was interesting. Ponies are different. Well, pony women are different from nomad women.]"

                                            "[Mm? How so?]"

                                            > "[You have hair everywhere, except- well, *there*. We don't have hair, but we have it there.]"

                                            "[Huh. Interesting.]"

                                            > This talk about private bits was threatening to rekindle Thistle's fire too early, and the first little twinges made her flick her ears, swish her tail and paw at the mud under her hooves. She quickly sought for a different topic.

                                            "[How is Tashi? Is she- Is she healing?]"

                                            > "[Mhm!]" Saule confirmed. "[She is well, now that she is no longer with child. She smiles sometimes. Other times she cries. It will pass.]"

                                            > Thistle didn't have an answer for Saule's stoic, nomad wisdom, so she just grunted her acknowledgement. They certainly were a hardy people, but perhaps that made sense. The land was unforgiving and their lives were hard. They couldn't afford to mope, as Kantuta had called it.

                                            > Perhaps Tashi really would be alright.

                                            > Saule patted Thistle on her withers and said: "[There, I think you are okay. Let's get out, I can't feel my feet anymore.]"

                                            > The mare realized they had been standing in the freezing water for a long while as Saule had washed her. It was okay with hooves and her thick pony coat, but the girl was suffering. Now that she looked, Thistle saw that Saule's calves were decidedly paler than the rest of her skin.

                                            "[You should have said! Let's go back and get you to a nice, warm fire!]"

                                            > They came out of the water and Saule suddenly stopped and hissed through her teeth. She lifted one foot and held it with both hands. "[Ow!]" she cried. "[Ow! Fuck! Ow!]"

                                            "[What's wrong?!]"

                                            > "[I hit a rock! Fuck that hurts!]"

                                            > Her language was a bit more ripe than the mare was used to from the usually placid and timid nomad girl, but on this occasion it could be excused. She came closer and slid her head under Saule's arm to help her balance.

                                            > After some more cursing and hissing, she put her foot down, but immediately winced. "[Fuck,]", she swore again, "[go on without me. I will cut a stick and follow more slowly.]"

                                            "[Like hell you will!]" Thistle retorted. She poked the girl with her snout. "[Come on, climb.]"

                                            > She remembered that she was soaking wet.

                                            "[Put your coat on my back and sit. I'll carry you!]"

                                            > Saule began to decline, but Thistle would hear none of it and simply headed her off:

                                            "[No arguing! It is the smallest I can do in thanks!]"

                                            > The nomad watched her dubiously for a while, then looked at her injured foot and shrugged a little to herself. "[Are you sure? I'm not too heavy?]"

                                            "[I carried Bakar, didn't I? And that was in the snow!]"

                                            > That seemed to clinch it and Saule shrugged out of her fur coat. She folded it twice and draped it over Thistle's back. Then she looked at it apprehensively. "[What now?]

                                            > The mare didn't exactly know, but she didn't want to show her ignorance. She widened her stance, just in case and nodded at the patch of leather laid across her.

                                            "[Sit up there. One leg on each side.]"

                                            > Luckily Saule was tall enough to step over the mare. Unfortunately that meant her feet would drag on the ground if she sat. "[Okay, what now?]"

                                            > Thistle gave it some thought and eventually shrugged.

                                            "[Can you lift your legs? Hold them up?]"

                                            > "[Wait, let me try...]" Saule said and began to shuffle around. Thistle had to dance a few steps to one side as the nomad girl nearly tipped over, but her earth pony instinct kicked in and she managed to catch her balance. Once she was stable again, she turned her head to look.

                                            > Saule was sitting on her back *cross-legged*. She had the palms of her hands on her knees, and her ankles tucked nearly to her buttocks. "[How is this?]"

                                            "[Good. Good! That is clever. I will go slow so we get used to it, okay?]"

                                            > The young woman gave her a slightly nervous smile and a nod, so Thistle took a tentative step. At first she nearly dislodged her rider and had to scramble to one side to catch her balance again. Saule gripped her mane, tugging at it almost painfully, to stay upright.

                                            "[Sorry. I will try again.]"

                                            > This time she didn't attempt to take a single step, but rather simply broke into a leisurely walk. That worked much better and following smoothly from one hoof to another made it a lot easier to keep Saule centered. After a few moments of that, Thistle increased it to a gentle trot.

                                            > She kept a very close eye on the ground before her, and despite her bad eyes she saw it clearly enough to pick her steps so her gait remained relatively level.

                                            > Soon Saule's grip on her mane relaxed and she spoke: "[This is good! Can you go faster?]"

                                            "[I will try!]"

                                            > Despite her words, Thistle remained at slow trot for a while longer, to get a better feel of how her rider moved. Only when she was sure she had it, did she speed up. It wasn't quite a canter, but it was slightly more than a trot.

                                            > She heard Saule laughing in delight and couldn't help smiling to herself. Despite her biological problem, it was turning out to be a very nice day.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was early afternoon by the time Thistle returned to Hisein's tent, heaving and dripping with perspiration. To her relief, the two slave children were sitting outside, next to the ashes of the fire they'd used to cook their lunch. The evidence for that was on the ground by Ning's side.

                                            > The two brightened up when they saw the mare and Fen Ko jumped to his feet to come greet her. His hand was cold on Thistle's sweaty neck, and she welcomed the pleasant feeling as he ran it down and across her back.

                                            > "[Why you water?]" he asked and examined his fingers. "[You sick? I water when I sick!]"

                                            "[No, no, nothing like that,]" she reassured him and went to sit in front of Ning. "[I have been running and I got sweaty.]"

                                            > Some of it was coming from a different type of warmth, but the release at the stream kept that urge at bay, for now. Thistle hoped it would last through the evening, maybe even let her fall asleep. If she could delay the truly miserable heat until morning, she would be one day closer to the ordeal being over.

                                            > Fen Ko kept sliding his hand down her back and side, and flicking away the moisture, while Ning looked at the bundle of sticks and leather beside her and seemed to shrink in on herself.

                                            > "[We sorry,]" she mumbled, drawling the words so hard that Thistle had to strain to understand them. "[We ate all. Nothing for you. Sorry, Master Thistle.]"

                                            > Despite not having really eaten that day, the mare didn't feel hungry and just waved a dismissive hoof.

                                            "[That's okay. It is important you ate well.]"

                                            > Even Fen Ko's stroking had stopped at his sister's admission, but now he resumed, moving around to get at her other side. He found her sweat-soaked body endlessly fascinating and Thistle was beginning to feel a little uncomfortable.

                                            > The patches he smoothed over felt pleasantly cool, so she didn't stop him, but the mare shuffled around so she could put her tail under her rump when she sat back down.

                                            > Ning didn't seem to notice anything, since she was still focusing on the leather cooking vessel and its holding sticks. "[What you want us to do, Master Thistle?]", she asked at last.

                                            > It didn't sound too enthusiastic, but Thistle remembered Hisein's instructions that the children should work, that they should be kept busy. She hadn't done a stellar job of it on that particular day, but there was still time. She wondered what she could have the pair do when her gaze landed on the empty grain sack on the ground. She went to pick it up, which settled her on the one thing she knew they would always need, and which wasn't very strenuous.

                                            "[We will go and look for roots, and yams. We can bring back some fire wood, too.]"

                                            > That decided, the children let out small, secret sighs, but Thistle couldn't judge whether they were disappointed or relieved it wasn't something worse. To their credit, the two didn't hesitate and immediately got the their feet.

                                            > Ning picked up the leather and sticks, and went to put them in Hisein's tent, while Fen Ko stayed with the mare, with his hand on her back. She shuffled to one side as she got to her hooves to dislodge it.

                                            "[That's enough.]"

                                            > She didn't give him any explanation and the child didn't ask for one. He twiddled his fingers together for a bit, unsure where to put them, then he turned away and let his hands fall by his sides.

                                            > Luckily Ning came from the tent and interrupted the beginnings of an uncomfortable moment. "[Okay,]" she said, "[where? Which way?]"

                                            > Thistle remembered the usual digging spots for roots and other edible vegetables, and started in that direction.

                                            "[Now, you stay near me, okay? If you get lost, remember it is dangerous at night. There are beasts. Don't try to run away.]"

                                            > Both of them chorused, almost in unison: "[No, Master Thistle.]"

                                            > They hadn't tried to escape yet, so the mare was inclined to trust them. Even if Fen Ko might be willing to try, Thistle was sure that his sister knew the full danger of the wilderness at night.

                                            > She led the pair on their twisting path around the tents and camp fires. She had to pause one or twice to say hello to someone she knew well, but overall the people paid them very little mind and the trio were soon out in the open.

                                            > Given that the two were small, the mare set a relatively leisurely pace, but one which would still get them to their destination with enough time to dig around, and return before it was fully dark.

                                            > She belatedly remembered and froze in her tracks. Fen Ko nearly ran into her and had to brace his hands on her rump to stop himself.

                                            > "[What? What wrong?]" Ning asked, looking around with alarm.

                                            > The mare turned around to the boy, ears already splaying in shame.

                                            "[Fen Ko, can you run back to the tent and bring some torches, and the flint?]"

                                            > He considered for a bit, then gave a hesitant nod. "[Tor-khes? Um, like this-]" he held his arm straight up. "[For fire?]"

                                            "[Yes, that is it. Torches. If we are out late and it gets dark so we will have light to come home. Torches and flint. You know flint?]"

                                            > She herself was still pretty clumsy with the way these nomads made fire, but if she found some dry grass she could usually strike a few sparks with a couple of flint pieces between her hooves. It usually worked after about a dozen or two tries.

                                            > Fen Ko looked helplessly at his sister, who furrowed her brow in though. "[Master Thistle, what am flint?]"

                                            > The mare sat on her haunches and rummaged in the grass until she found a rock.

                                            "[Like this. Stone. You hit it and there are sparks. It makes fire.]"

                                            > Luckily Ning quickly understood and told Fen Ko what they needed in their own language. Again Thistle tried to distinguish between words, but she wasn't sure. She thought she caught Fen Ko's name in there a few times, but nothing more.

                                            > When he rushed off, Thistle remained seated on her haunches and smiled encouragingly at the girl.

                                            "[You call him 'Feng'? Not Fen Ko?]"

                                            > This earned her a blank look. "[What?]"

                                            "[You said 'Feng'. Is that your brother's name?]"

                                            > Ning shook her head and rolled her shoulders. "[No, brother name is Fen Ko.]"

                                            > It was the mare's turn to scrunch up in confusion.

                                            "[Then why did you say 'Feng'? I am sure I heard: 'Fen-G']"

                                            > Realization dawned and Ning burst out laughing. "[Oh! No, no, 'feng' no 'Fen Ko'. 'Feng' is what you say 'fire'.]"

                                            "[Oh! That's interesting.]"

                                            > Thistle didn't know when or how this tidbit might be useful, but she still repeated it to herself silently to try and commit it to memory.

                                            "[Thank you, Ning.]"

                                            > The young girl put her palms together and bowed her head and shoulders to the mare. It put Thistle in mind of 'you are welcome'.

                                            > After that the two were silent and Thistle went to looking at the distant horizon. She couldn't distinguish much detail, but she kept her gaze steady on a point until she was certain there was no movement.

                                            > Some minutes later Ning cleared her throat and asked: "[Master Thistle? Why you- um, back hair, why it up?]"

                                            "[Hmm? Back hair?]"

                                            > Ning gave her an apologetic grin and a shrug, as she pointed at the mare's rump. "[Back hair?]" she repeated.

                                            > Thistle examined her coat around her croup and sides, but couldn't see anything unusual.

                                            "[You mean my cutie mark?]" she asked and patted it with a hoof.

                                            > "[No, no, back hair. Back hair,]" Ning repeated.

                                            "[Okay, show me.]"

                                            > At that the nomad bent down and tugged on her tail, which made the mare jerk upright in alarm. She twirled her rear away from Ning and flattened her ears.

                                            "[Don't touch there!]" she hissed.

                                            > The girl cringed away and hid her face with her arms. "[Sorry! Me sorry, Master Thistle! Me sorry! You say show!]"

                                            > Thistle forced herself to breathe out and relax.

                                            "[I did yes. Sorry, it's a sensitive area right now.]"

                                            > Ning didn't understand that, but she accepted the apology and lowered her hands. "[Okay. I no touch. Me sorry.]" Her previous question still didn't make too much sense, though.

                                            "[You asked why it is up? How do you mean?]"

                                            > For a moment it seemed the girl would be too frightened to reply, but Thistle gave her a gentle smile and slowly Ning's own lips quirked up as well. "[Um, when walking, first Master Thistle, um then Fen Ko. Fen Ko look at Master Thistle. Back hair up. Fen Ko look- um-]" she tried to explain, resorting to circling her palm toward the mare when she didn't have the words.

                                            > An uncomfortable feeling stole over the mare and she allowed her tail to lift up, as it wanted to.

                                            "[Like this?]"

                                            > "[Yes! Back hair up! Fen Ko look. He walk near, he look.]" Ning confirmed Thistle's fear as she circled around.

                                            > Thistle turned with the nomad so she wouldn't get and undue glimpses behind, while she also fought with her tail to get it back modestly down.

                                            > "[Why it water? I see- you back water. Did you piss?]" Ning asked, and to clarify ran her hands down the inside of her thighs. "[All this water!]"

                                            > The mare felt her face begin to burn and she shook her head in a vain effort to clean it of these horrible thoughts.

                                            "[It's nothing!]" she said, beginning to breathe more heavily. "[I am, uh, small sick. It is because of small sick. It will be better in a few days, understand?]"

                                            > Ning looked doubtful, but she shrugged to herself and inclined her head in a nod. "[Okay, small sick. I tell Fen Ko no look. He want to- um-]" she had to concentrate to remember the right words, but the phrase came easily to her. Almost too easily, Thistle thought in her moment of shock. "[He want to stick his dick in you.]"

                                            "[What!? Where did you hear that?! How do you know that?]"

                                            > Thistle was absolutely certain that such language should be nowhere near Ning's vocabulary, especially for her age!

                                            > The nomad child giggled and spread her arms. "[Hisein say! Hisein say when Ning older, men want to stick dick in her. He say it good. He will trade.]"

                                            > It was horrifying and Thistle barely remembered to close her mouth as she stared, incredulous, at the slave.

                                            "[You know?! Do you know what that means? What it means for you?]"

                                            > Only now did Ning look uncomfortable and lowered her gaze. Her breath caught, and she said in a monotone, as if repeating a mantra: "[Master Hisein say he find good man. He say man gentle with Ning. He say it nice.]"

                                            > It was still one of the more sickening things Thistle had heard and she made up her mind to have a few choice words with the old bastard. It was one thing to sell a slave, but what he was planning for Ning was barbaric!

                                            > True, she had known it for a while, but only now did Thistle fully connect the reality of what would happen with the person it would happen to. Yes, she had understood it before on some level, but now that she knew Ning better the knowledge became visceral. She opened her mouth, lungs burning to reassure this child and tell her it wouldn't come to pass, not to her.

                                            > She tried to make her voice work, but Thistle knew it would be a lie and she couldn't say it.

                                            "[I'm sorry,]" was all she managed.

                                            > To her surprise, Ning put a hand in her mane and teased open a flattened ear. "[It not bad, Master Thistle. Master Hisein say I older. He say many springs. Too young for dick put in Ning.]"

                                            > That was a very small consolation, at least and Thistle closed her eyes. Maybe she would have enough time. Salki could become chieftain in that time and put a stop to these monstrous practices. That was a goal worth working toward.

                                            > While she looked for comforting an encouraging words which wouldn't ring hollow, Thistle heard running footsteps approaching and saw the small shape of Fen Ko running to them.

                                            > It was a relief to be able to change the topic and she made herself smile as she inspected what the young nomad carried.

                                            > He had a torch from Hisein's tent, or so Thistle assumed. In his other hand, he held a small leather bag, which Ning immediately took from him and inspected.

                                            > "[It is right,]" she confirmed. "[It is for making fire.]"

                                            "[Good. Good. Let's go.]"

                                            > The two jabbered at length in their own language and Ning pointed at the mare several times. It wasn't too hard to guess what they were talking about, especially when Fen Ko's face turned a bright red, and he surreptitiously shuffled the cloth around his midriff.

                                            > Thistle firmly squashed the desire to let him have his way, and looked back to make sure her tail was as modest as she could make it. In either case, the two had finished their discussion and despite occasional longing glances her way, Fen Ko stayed on the other side of his sister as they walked.

                                            > There was no helping it and the mare would have to do something about her problem when they were back. She only hoped she could last through their little expedition before she started rubbing herself.

                                            > Her ears automatically lowered and she heaved a sigh. Already her dock was a mass of flame from clenching it down so hard. Already her hind legs were coated with slime all the way down to her hooves.

                                            > It felt as if every heat she'd softened with Equestrian medicine had come back with a vengeance. Even her gentle gait threatened to stimulate her, as her thighs brushed together and the hairs of her tail swept across her sensitive bits.

                                            > The journey would be excruciating, and Thistle hoped her illness excuse would hold with the two children.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was getting really bad by the time the trio returned to camp. It was twilight and still quite bright, but Thistle had wanted to go home so she could find some solitude.

                                            > Their haul was not all bad, with the nearly half full sack slung across the mare's back. She had decided against gathering wood in the end.

                                            > Her goal was in sight and Thistle hastened her step once they were among the nomads. She would leave the children at Hisein's tent, then hurry to the stream to relieve her need.

                                            > She was doubtful if it would help, but Thistle couldn't think of anything else to do. Even as she walked she placed her hind hooves further in, almost in a straight line. This made her thighs grind together and the stimulation was maddening, but not so bad as no stimulation at all.

                                            > It was pure luck that Ning and Fen Ko walked in front of her, so they didn't see her rear. Even better, the camp people were mostly focusing on their tents and few paid the mare and her wards much attention.

                                            > Thistle still felt as if everyone was watching her with disgust and she bumped Fen Ko's back in her sudden haste.

                                            "[Home,]" she said, out of breath. "[We are almost there. Go.]"

                                            > It was true and less than a minute later the three came to where Saule was sitting with another nomad at Hisein's cold fire pit. At first the mare didn't even notice the company, but the two youth in front of her stopped and she nearly ran into Ning before she could react.

                                            "[What is- Oh, hi Saule. Um, I have to go, uh, go drink.]"

                                            > She stepped around Ning and brushed her head against the back of her hand.

                                            "[Ning. Take the sack inside. I will come in soon!]"

                                            > However, Saule jumped to her feet and grabbed the sack of vegetables before Ning could do the same. "[No,]" Saule said. "[Let's take this to Bakar- to my tent and cook some dinner, okay?]"

                                            > At the mention of food the children's faces lit up and they looked hopefully at Thistle for permission.

                                            "[What? Why?]"

                                            > Saule jerked her head at the other nomad behind her. She lowered her face near Thistle's ear and murmured: "[He is interested. I told you I know someone ugly. He will fuck you just to get his dick wet.]"

                                            > Her ears instantly flattened and Thistle's face began to burn. She opened her mouth to firmly decline, but at that exact moment a wink made her entire body shudder and it was all she could do to prevent a small moan from slipping out.

                                            > She looked at the young man Saule had indicated and saw that, indeed, his face was disfigured by a large, red mark on his cheek. Thistle had seen him around the camp, but had never really interacted. She thought he was one of Buygra's friends, though they hadn't spent much time together since Buygra had become a father. She kept looking at his face, trying to remember his name.

                                            > The nomad saw her stare and lowered his head in shame. His hand shot up to cover his mark. It was obviously a source of great distress for the poor man.

                                            "[What's his name?]" Thistle asked Saule.

                                            > "[Yasin. Don't stare, he can't help it. It has been there since he was born.]"

                                            "[Oh. Sorry.]"

                                            > Thistle wondered what it was. A strangely-colored mole, or a very vivid birthmark? She understood why Yasin would have trouble attracting girls. The angry red of his mark made him look as if he had an infection.

                                            > Could she go through with this? Let this man, whom she hardly even knew, *do it* with her? Did she even have a choice?

                                            > Her private bits winked again, and more of her searing hot fluids ran down the back of her hind legs.

                                            > Thistle swallowed a lump and closed her eyes for a moment. It would just be physical. Meaningless sex, with no promises or obligations afterward. She needed it, and he would enjoy it, and then they would go their separate ways.

                                            > The mare cast a pleading look at Saule, hoping for some encouragement, but the young woman was already moving. She had slung her sack over her shoulder and beckoned to the two children. "[Come. Let's go! Thistle will come for dinner when she is done.]"

                                            "[Y-Yes. I will. Um, go with Saule and do what she says, okay?]"

                                            > Ning promised they would, and then translated for her brother, who didn't seem to care where they had to go, as long as there would be a meal at the end of it.

                                            > That left Thistle alone with Yasin, and she had absolutely no idea what to do. She froze to the spot in a mixture of terror and embarrassment, while the young man kept his hand over his spot and his eyes firmly on the ground before him.

                                            > The mare walked to the tent and pulled aside the flap.

                                            "[Do- Do you want to come in?]"

                                            > This got Yasin's attention and he shot up to his feet almost before she had finished talking. She approached her, not fully meeting her gaze, then slipped inside the tent while keeping as much distance between them as possible.

                                            > Thistle's ears folded down at this bad start. She considered calling the whole thing off, but the fire in her body was becoming unbearable. A hoof wouldn't do it. She needed  the real thing, or something as close to it as possible.

                                            > Head bowed down, she walked into the tent and let the flap close. She looked at Yasin and made herself smile. She was older and more experienced, the mare reminded herself. She had had the occasional one night stand in her college years. She could do this. It was only physical.

                                            "[Why don't we sit down?]" she invited.

                                            > To show willing, she did so first, making sure her tail was tucked under her to soak up any inadvertent mess. Then she patted the animal skin in front of her. Yasin looked at the entrance and she thought he would bolt, but the nomad glanced at her, then at her hoof, and sat down.

                                            > "[What do you want me to d-do?]"

                                            > She would have to lead, but that was gradually becoming less and less of a problem. The anticipation of the act was spreading from her hindquarters through her body, not unlike the warmth of alcohol. It was making her bolder and her smile widened a little. She held out her hoof, frog up.

                                            "[Here, give me your hand!]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Things were getting quite heated. Thistle was winking almost painfully, her entire body tense in anticipation of the release she needed. The fact that it was with a nomad, and one she didn't know, barely registered in her mind.

                                            > She was lying on her side and Yasin's hand was exploring the softer fur on her lower belly. He was finally getting into it, after a lot of coaxing and patience on her part. His cheeks were flushed and he kept pressing a hand to his crotch.

                                            "[Show me,]" Thistle said breathlessly.

                                            > Her hoof pointed at the noticeable tent in the leather and the nomad looked at it as if surprised to find it there.

                                            "[Open. Come on. Show me.]"

                                            > This time it had nearly been a moan, and it worked. Yasin began untying the strap around his waist which was keeping his clothes securely fastened. Unfortunately that meant he had taken his hand away, so Thistle immediately replaced it with her own hoof down between her hind legs.

                                            > She stroked herself, careful not to press too much with the hard keratin directly on her sensitive button. It flicked in and out, each spasm sending a fresh wave of pleasure tingling up her spine.

                                            > Her eyes eagerly sought out the secret Yasin was hiding. As soon as the folds of his tunic slid apart, she sought out what she wanted.

                                            > It was different than a pony, but she had been expecting that. She had caught the occasional glimpse of Salki, so Thistle knew approximately what to expect. It wasn't as long, but the tip was already engorged.

                                            > She didn't see a lot of detail in the tent's darkness, and for a moment Thistle regretted not taking the time to start at least a minimal fire. It would have made the interior warm, but on the other hoof it might have prompted the nomad to disrobe sooner, and it would have let her see better.

                                            > Eager to learn more, to get closer to the object of her immediate biological desire, Thistle pulled her hoof away from herself and flipped to her belly. She crawled nearer, nostrils flaring wide to catch that delectable scent. It was different from a pony, but no less potent, and close enough to drive her wild.

                                            > She was winking rhythmically now, in and out, with the regularity of clockwork. It was like a soft, prolonged orgasm, and Thistle's short, panting breaths synchronized with the beat of her soaked clit.

                                            > In moments her muzzle was a mere hoof's breadth away from Yasin. She still couldn't make out more than a slight bulb at the end, but she could see how the organ twitched with his heartbeat, rising and stiffening very much like a stallion's would.

                                            > Her rational thoughts were relegated to a distant, unimportant part of her mind, and raw need took over. She reached out with her muzzle and brushed her nose against flesh.

                                            > The sudden contact made the nomad inhale with a hiss of air between his teeth. One hand went to his member, covering it from her touch, the other wrapped her muzzle, as if to hold her at bay.

                                            > "[Meyermer, I'm not sure-]" he began, using the wrong name in his excitement, or his panic, the mare wasn't sure which. She hardly heard it anyway, and tried to nose his hand away.

                                            > "[Um, Thistle! Wait,]" he corrected, not yielding to her desire. He let her muzzle go and braced his fist against the floor so he could lift himself and shuffle backward, away from the crazed mare.

                                            > Thistle would have none of it. She was too close, her lust burned too brightly, and her nethers were in physical pain around the hole where his dick would fit so perfectly.

                                            "[Hush. Let me- come here. I'll be gentle,]" she assured him.

                                            > She reached out and wrapped a foreleg around Yasin's thigh. Her hoof left a trail of her own liquid on his skin, but neither of them noticed as Thistle pulled herself on the nomad's crossed legs.

                                            > The mare wasn't very heavy, but it was enough to effectively pin Yasin to the ground while her muzzle sought out that delightful smell once more. This time she didn't hesitate and took it in her mouth.

                                            > She had to taste it. More than that, when Yasin felt how good it was, he would no longer object to putting it in her.

                                            > The hot, velvety feel of her mouth on his member gave the nomad pause, and he froze as his brain tried to process the sudden sensations. It gave Thistle precious moments to taste, to explore with her tongue.

                                            > His dick was wrapped in skin, and the mare felt that flap - the sleeve - slide down as she probed around it. The head underneath was incredibly smooth, and when she gave it a tentative lick it made Yasin moan in pleasure, and the organ spasmed in her mouth.

                                            > For a moment Thistle was worried he would already come, so she froze and waited for the splash of seed on her tongue. Nothing like that happened, and she went back to exploring.

                                            > His whole length was smooth, but she detected the outline of veins. She felt that the flap of skin only slid a little way down the shaft. She even found the tiny hole of the urethra, hardly even noticeable compared with the thick ring a stallion would have.

                                            > It was not enough, and the pain between her own legs was now unbearable.

                                            > Thistle let Yasin go with a wet plop and gasped for air. She had nearly forgotten to breathe as she had tasted him.

                                            "[That are good, okay?]" she asked, losing her grip on the nomad language in the mess that had become her conscious mind. "I'll take good care of you."

                                            > She had switched to Equestrian, certain in the knowledge that the nomad would understand her husky, urgent tone.

                                            "Come on, I need you inside me, *now*. Here, lie down."

                                            > Yasin resisted her hoof as she tried to push him to his back. He was saying something, but Thistle was past the point where she would be able to understand it. She heaved herself higher up, trying to simply topple the nomad with her weight.

                                            > The blow to her muzzle came suddenly, unexpected. Yasin was shouting at her and he had struck with his fist. The shock of it made the mare back away, and served to clear her mind a little.

                                            > "[-fuck away from me!]" the nomad was saying. "[Get off! I don't want to do it with an animal.]"

                                            > He was already pulling his clothes back together and hastily tying the leather strip to keep them in place.

                                            > She was about to lose this chance and Thistle reached out with her hooves, ears already flattening.

                                            "[No! No, please! I'm sorry! I didn't mean it, I'm sorry! Don't go!]"

                                            > He wasn't listening and shrank away from her grasping hooves. "[This was a mistake!]" he barked. "[Everyone will laugh at me. 'Pony fucker!']" That last sounded like a derisive insult.

                                            "[No! No one has to know! Please.]"

                                            > Thistle was on her knees and held her forelegs up, imploringly.

                                            "[Don't leave me like this! Just a quick one, please!]"

                                            > A part of her was disgusted with what she was saying, what she was begging for, but the need would not let her be any other way. Her biology, long suppressed by Equestrian drugs and magic, and by her all-consuming career, had returned with a vengeance and Thistle was little more than its plaything.

                                            > She felt like a child's doll, being pulled this way and that until she was afraid she would be torn in half, but utterly unable to stop it. Her marehood was still winking in anticipation, each contraction outright painful. Droplets of her fluid squirted on the ground, which was already turning muddy beneath her.

                                            > Yasin looked at her and she could see his face twist into an expression of disgust and revulsion, even in the dim interior of the tent. He got to his feet, made sure his clothes were tied, and went to the opening.

                                            "[Wait! Please!]"

                                            > It was her last ditch attempt. She needed this. Not getting it was pure torture. Thistle didn't have to fake the tears and snot running freely down her face. The nomad hesitated for a moment with his hand on the tent flap, and her heart leapt with new hope.

                                            > Then he was gone and she could hear his footsteps hurrying away.

                                            > There was no choice. She had come too close, gotten too excited, and nothing else would work. She had to go after him, beg, explain, plead, whatever it took to get his cock inside her.

                                            > Thistle hated herself for it, but she got to her hooves and hurried after the escaping nomad. She didn't have a choice.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > She soon lost the trail in the rapidly darkening camp, full of noises and smells. Thistle didn't know Yasin well enough and couldn't remember where his tent was. She wanted around for a few agonizing moments, then collapsed to the ground in dismay.

                                            > Her tail was still pointing sky-high, but she didn't care who saw her wet, winking marehood. Her coat alternated between sweating profusely and shivering in cold. The ache inside her was getting worse, each involuntary wink driving her closer to the precipice where rational thought would no longer be possible.

                                            "[Fuck!]" she swore in nomad, at the same time an expression of frustration and desire.

                                            > "[Thistle?]" came a familiar voice. She looked up and saw Buygra crouched by a tent. He was wearing his full hunting gear, and he held his bow in his hand. She saw two spears attached to straps on his back, as well as his flint knife in his belt.

                                            > He looked ready to fight, which didn't make sense in the middle of the camp. Thistle couldn't understand it, but she grasped the mystery in a vain effort to forget her other troubles.

                                            "[What are you doing here?]"

                                            > Buygra chuckled and put a hand in her mane, but it only served to inflame her unwelcome passion, so she pulled away. It was one of the hardest things she had to do.

                                            > "[I could ask the same thing. Have you come to see the prisoner?]"

                                            > That was when it clicked. She was near the tent put aside for the Ruslan prisoner, and Buygra, in full fighting gear, was there to guard him. Thistle knew that the hunters took turns in front of that tent, and it was pure chance that she happened upon someone she knew well.

                                            > Saule's and Xuan's words came to her mind. It would be no less than they had done to Tashi. He was the enemy, no one in the camp cared what happened to him.

                                            > The mare shrank back from what she was thinking, but the possibility made fresh fire flow through her veins and her next wink sent fresh, red-hot liquid flowing down her hind leg.

                                            > Her pain was unbearable. She couldn't fight it any longer. She swallowed a lump and examined Buygra's face.

                                            "[I- I need to- Buygra, can I go in?]"

                                            > His eyebrows came up in surprise, but he didn't outright deny it. He merely asked: "[Why? Do you want to interrogate the prisoner? He won't talk, Darga said we'll have to hurt him a little.]"

                                            "[I- no. Um, I-]"

                                            > She didn't know how to put it, and a fresh shudder running through her body finally made the mare give up.

                                            "[I need to get fucked. It's my time in the moon and I need it. Xuan told you?]"

                                            > For a moment Buygra was silent and Thistle sought for any trace of disgust on his face as he realized what she was proposing. She valued his opinion and his loathing might be enough to make her turn from this horrendous path.

                                            > A chuckle burst from the nomad and he grinned. "[Oh, crap, yes! Xuan said you were- well, she said 'like a mating jenny', but I didn't realize it was this bad.]"

                                            > He stepped aside to give her a clear path to the tent. "[Go ahead, the Ruslans deserve it after what they did to Tashi. Fuck, maybe it will even make him more talkative!]"

                                            > It was an opportunity. No one in the camp would blame her. It was normal for this place, for these people.

                                            > She wouldn't hurt him, not really. She would be gentle with him, a benefit doubtlessly denied poor Tashi.

                                            > A piece of the mare, a bit of her that was still a pony, still an Equestrian citizen, screamed inside her head for her to turn away.

                                            > She placed one hoof in front of another. It felt like only a few steps already brought her to the tent. Another one and she had pushed her way inside, simply shouldering the tent flap aside.

                                            > The interior was dark, but she saw the shape of the Ruslan man in the shadows of the far end. He looked up at her.

                                            > "[You!]" he said, recognizing the most distinctive member of the camp. "[What do you want?!]"

                                            > Thistle walked closer on nerveless hooves, until she was standing over the prisoner. He had been lying on his back, but her approach had made him sit up.

                                            > She was beyond salvation, beyond reason. The void in her nethers was a painful lump and Thistle knew only one way to fill it. Sweat poured off her, and her breathing came in ragged, shallow pants.

                                            > "[What's wrong with you?]" the Ruslan asked.

                                            "[Shut up. You're going to fuck me.]"

                                            > He recoiled, as if physically struck. "[No I'm not. You're an animal, go away.]"

                                            > She didn't give him a chance to crawl away. The young man was small, and his limbs were weak. They hadn't been feeding him very well, and he was powerless to fend off an earth pony.

                                            > Thistle easily pushed him down and pinned his legs under her body. His animal skin tunic brushed her winking clit and she shuddered with the sensation of it.

                                            > A low growl was emanating from her throat, the implied thread enough to make the prisoner go completely still. Thistle didn't think he even dared to breathe.

                                            "[Listen. Do what I say and I won't hurt you. Understand?]"

                                            > She felt, more than saw, him nod. The young man suddenly began breathing again, the air coming and going in uneven gasps as he tried to control himself.

                                            "[Get this off,]" Thistle ordered, pawing at his vest with a hoof.

                                            > The Ruslan obeyed, although it took him a few tries to untie the bit of leather. He shrugged it off his shoulders and the mare looked down at his chest. Some hair was sprouting there, but was still sparse, unlike some of the older nomads she had seen in the camp.

                                            "[Good, now the bottom part.]"

                                            > He tried, but she was still pinning him down. When his hands touched her hind legs, Thistle lifted herself up just enough to allow the nomad to drag the leather away from himself.

                                            > He was naked, just like her. The mare moved lower and examined her, but in the gloom she couldn't see much. She felt with a hoof and found him flaccid.

                                            > This made her growl.

                                            > "[I'm s-s-sorry,]" the prisoner begged urgently. "[I'm scared! I don't want to- not with you. I'm sorry.]"

                                            "[Get it up,]" she growled.

                                            > He shook his head. "[I can't!]"

                                            > With another small grunt of annoyance the mare lowered herself and put her mouth on the Ruslan's member. She played her tongue around it, probing here and there, looking for sensitive spots.

                                            > Her spittle dribbled from her mouth and down the young man's crotch as she ruthlessly attacked him with her lips and tongue. It was working and she felt him begin to stir. She felt it twitch with his heartbeat and begin to fill out.

                                            > She found a spot that made the man gasp, just under the head, where the flap of skin was connected to the tip. She lapped at it, and he hardened faster.

                                            > It didn't take long before he was fully erect.

                                            "[There. Lie down!]"

                                            > The Ruslan prisoner had lifted himself on his elbows, maybe hoping for a chance to push her away, or perhaps to see what she was doing. Maybe, Thistle told herself, he was starting to enjoy it. He was a male, after all. Unlike Equestria, this world had more males than females, and from her discussion with Xuan and Saule, they always wanted sex.

                                            > She was doing him a favor!

                                            > Her captive had obeyed and was lying flat on his back, so Thistle crawled higher, until her sensitive teats rubbed against the bush of hair around his crotch. She felt his length press against her skin, and she shuddered with renewed need.

                                            > A little higher and she pressed down, but his slick cock simply slid up between their bellies.

                                            > Thistle tried again, but couldn't quite line herself up. A frustrated growl began in her throat and the man under her whispered in fear: "[I- I'll do it. Here,]"

                                            > He snaked a hand down between them and held his member pointed.

                                            > This time when she pushed down it went inside.

                                            > It filled her entire world.

                                            > He wasn't as thick as a pony, nor as long, but it was a warm, living dick deep in her folds and that was all that mattered. Thistle let out a moan which seemed to come all the way from her belly. For a few seconds, all she could do was sit there and grip the length inside her with every muscle she had.

                                            > Her entire body tensed, then released. That one thrust had been enough, after a day of tension, after the endless hours of painful arousal, to make her come. Her first orgasm of many. Her moan rose in pitch, and when she ran out of breath it turned into a gasp of bliss.

                                            > She squirted, around the Ruslan's cock and all over his crotch.

                                            > "[Fuck, are you pissing on me *again*!?]" he asked.

                                            "[No- N-No- not piss. Not-]"

                                            > Even if she knew the words Thistle wouldn't have been able to finish the thought. Her mind was blanked with wave after wave of her pleasure.

                                            > It subsided soon, and the ache in her belly was a little less, but she needed more. A lot more.

                                            > She began to move up and down, jerkily at first, but more and more smoothly as she got into the grove.

                                            > After a few seconds of holding his breath, the young man beneath her let it out. Then he tried, and failed, to suppress a small moan.

                                            > Thistle smiled to herself. He would come to enjoy it in the end. She slammed herself down with reckless abandon, already chasing another orgasm. It was building up inside her and she felt her passage clench involuntarily, gripping the cock inside it like a vice.

                                            > It wasn't going as deep as she would have liked, but it would be enough. Still, Thistle ground down hard, trying to get every inch inside her.

                                            > In the spur of the moment she leaned down and brought her mouth to the nomad's, but he turned his face away, denying her kiss. She didn't much care, but licked his cheek simply for something to do with her tongue. She found his little nomad ear and nibbled it, which earned her a squeak of pain and surprise from the young man.

                                            > Thistle smiled to herself and shifted to lick the sweat from his neck. It was her own sweat, but she didn't much care. Soon it would be mingled with his.

                                            "[See? It's- It isn't so bad. No one has to know,]" she promised the captive. "[You'll enjoy it.]"

                                            > He didn't answer and she bent down again to keep licking whatever part of his face she could reach. She tasted salt, but that only drove her more wild and she hastened her pace as her second climax rapidly approached.

                                            "[Yes, give it to me. Fuck me! I need it!]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It didn't take very long. Thistle felt the young Ruslan tense up and she saw his head turn away in the tent's dim interior. His hands grasped at her legs, likely without him even realizing he was doing it.

                                            > She grinned to herself and slammed down with renewed enthusiasm. She would finally get relief, *real* relief.

                                            > A small grunt escaped the man and his hips jerked without his conscious control. Thistle stopped moving up and down, but she still ground her rapidly flicking clit against the Ruslan's bushy crotch. She thought she could feel each individual hair sending tendrils of fire up into her body.

                                            "Mmmmph!" she moaned into her foreleg, her teeth nearly drawing blood from her own flesh.

                                            > After a moment of stillness it came, the hot gush of his seed inside her. It immediately drove her over, into orgasmic bliss that completely emptied her mind. She clutched at the nomad with her hind legs to keep him from trying to buck her off, even as her insides spasmed and clenched.

                                            > She was milking him, contractions timed with the rapid pulsing of his dick, to get the maximum of the searing fluid up her tract and into the place where it could meet her egg coming the other way.

                                            > It wouldn't work, not with a nomad, but her body didn't know that, and her primal instinct impelled her muscles clench and release. Each pulse made her stiffen and a low, guttural growl escape her lips.

                                            > Thistle had her eyes closed, lost in the moment as she balanced herself with her forehooves against the nomad's chest. It wasn't as hairy as the ones she was used to, and his cock wasn't as large, but the waves of pleasure were no lesser, thanks to her heat.

                                            > The wild spurting inside her slowed, then stopped. Thistle's inner passage tightened protectively so as not to spill any, and she slumped forward, gasping for air. She fell against the nomad's chest, her muzzle right against his collar bone. He was sweating, too, and she began to lick his salty skin.

                                            > For a long, blissful moment, she didn't think. She was lost in the afterglow and the relief of that horrible burning pressure in her nethers. Thistle embraced the feeling, hoping to never let it go, even as reality began to intrude at the edges.

                                            > It couldn't last, of course. Fists beat at her sides and the body beneath her jerked aside. She didn't fight it and let the Ruslan throw her off.

                                            > The mare landed on her side, barrel still heaving after the effort, tail tucked protectively against her as if to help hold the precious fluid inside her. One or two belated spasms made her shudder and her breath catch, but the orgasm was over and the clarity was returning.

                                            > On some level she knew what she had done, and how wrong it was, but for the time being the 'Thistle' part of her said it was okay. He was a prisoner and this was what happened to prisoners in this world and in this society. She hadn't hurt him.

                                            > Thistle was desperate to cling to the euphoria at least until she fell asleep that night. She could go back to horror and recrimination in the morning. It wouldn't go anywhere. The disgust with herself would wait for her, she could sense it lurking there in the shadowy parts of her mind, where what was left of 'Mayor Mare' still held out.

                                            > Her ear caught a quiet sound, barely more than an exhalation of breath. It was slow, carefully controlled, but the Ruslan could not keep a slight shudder out of it. He was trying very hard not to weep in front of her. His nomad upbringing told him it would be unmanly.

                                            > Thistle pushed herself upright and saw that the prisoner had wrapped himself in his clothes again. She could smell her own musk on him, pleasantly mixed with his smell, and something else. A male smell, not like a stallion's, but one she could clearly recognize nonetheless.

                                            > His body had done what she wanted, even if the man himself hadn't wanted to. That was good enough for her needs.

                                            > She stood up on shaking legs and watched the shape in the gloom before her.

                                            "[You did good,]" she said quietly. "[I needed that. It was good.]"

                                            > He didn't respond and Thistle didn't know what else to add, so she simply turned and left. She nuzzled the tent flap aside and cast a final glance back. The Ruslan prisoner was glaring balefully at her, his dark eyes full of anger. He didn't say anything, fully aware that she only had to raise her voice and armed men would rush into the tent. He would die if she screamed.

                                            > He had had no choice but to give in to her demands, even if she hadn't been able to physically overpower him. The knowledge ranked, but all he could do was glare his hatred.

                                            > Thistle shook it off and slipped outside. With luck, the heat wouldn't return, or by the time it did, the feeling would be mild enough so she could take care of it with her hoof again. If there was no other choice - well, she had done it once. The most important barrier was broken. What would be another round with the prisoner?

                                            > She stopped outside and blinked in the sudden light. The sky was nearly black, but Buygra had built himself a fire and the flames were pure brilliance after the dim interior of the tent. The hunter himself sat beside it, grinning widely at her.

                                            > "[Shit, you really gave it to him good!]" he said and laughed. "[I heard you going at it.]"

                                            > Thistle automatically blushed and averted her gaze. Her ears splayed and she didn't know how to answer. For the moment her blissful, unthinking euphoria still held, at least to a degree, but if Buygra went on like that she would find her conscience and probably break down.

                                            > She cleared her throat and pushed a bit of dirt around with a hoof.

                                            "[Please- you will not tell anyone, okay? No one has to know.]"

                                            > The nomad bit his lip as he considered this, clearly unhappy. She knew he was looking forward to telling the others and making fun of the prisoner for being an 'animal fucker', as they would probably call it. She gave Buygra her best, pleading look.

                                            > At last he sighed and his shoulders slumped. "[Okay, fine. I won't tell anyone. He won't either, unless he's stupid. Any man would just want to forget something like this.]"

                                            > Thistle inclined her head in thanks, then turned and walked silently back to Hisein's tent. All she needed was a good night's sleep, free from the incessant burning of her heat, and for this whole ordeal to be over. She would square it away with her conscience somehow.

                                            > It wasn't as if she'd hurt him.

                                            > Her inner thoughts added: 'Physically, at least,' and Thistle bit down on her tongue. She suppressed that tiny, nagging voice, knowing full well it would return. She just wanted an evening off.

                                            > Maybe she could drink and forget. Hangover the next morning would be at least a start of a punishment. The only problem was that Thistle didn't have any beer left, nor did she know any nomad who might.

                                            > They would get some more soon. Darga had said the spring traders were overdue, and part of Hisein's mission was to look for them. It didn't do Thistle a damn lick of good, but the guilt and horror and misery would be worse over the next few days and alcohol could be a solace, at least until she was past the worst of it.

                                            > She walked up to her temporary home and froze at the entrance when she saw that the in the tent burning. Thistle wondered why Ning or Fen Ko would have lit it, especially on a warm night like this.

                                            > The mare shrugged to herself and pushed her way into the tent.

                                            > She saw the children, huddled together at the far end. Their faces were streaked with tears, glimmering in the firelight. Their eyes were wide and fearful, and Thistle wondered how crazy she must look for them to be this afraid of her.

                                            > Then a strong hand landed on her neck and gripped her mane in an iron fist. She realized they weren't alone in the tent.

                                            > "[There you are, you little piece of shit!]" Hisein's voice boomed out.

                                            "[What? Let me go!]"

                                            > He dragged her around to face him, his fierce strength sufficient to make her forehooves drag in the dirt as she tried to stand her ground. His other hand delivered a powerful slap on her face and for a moment everything went dark.

                                            > "[I told you to watch them and keep them busy, and you're not even here! Fucking useless!]"

                                            > She opened her mouth to try and explain, but the man just roared on: "[All my food- eaten! People tell me my slaves have been running wild and doing what they pleased. And my tent smells like piss! What the fuck have you been doing?!]"

                                            > The cocktail of hormones, wild emotions, fear, and revulsion was too much in the face of his yelling accusations, and Thistle couldn't stand it anymore. She wanted to be away. She twisted savagely, barely feeling the pain as some of her mane ripped out. It loosened Hisein's hold on her enough so that she could clamp her teeth in his wrist. She bit down as hard as she could and the nomad roared in pain.

                                            > He hit her, this time with his fist, and Thistle was knocked away, but at least he wasn't holding her anymore. Her legs refused to hold her and she collapsed in a heap. Somewhere in the distance the two children were screaming, but whatever it was they were saying seemed remote, unimportant. Thistle had to get up and leave, she knew that with a certainty, lent her by a cold ball of pure fear in her belly.

                                            > Hisein had already been pissed, now she had bitten him and he would be livid. Her life was in danger.

                                            > She managed to get her hooves under her, but her legs wouldn't quite support her. The inside of the tent was spinning around and the mare had difficulty focusing her eyes on any individual spot. It was a bit like being flat-out drunk, except that her head hurt and she felt blood drip from her nose.

                                            > The nomad himself was yelling something, but she couldn't translate his words right away. He loomed over her and Thistle tried, desperately, to crawl away.

                                            > A lash of a leather strip left a line of pure, white-hot fire across her flank and barrel. She whinnied in pain and rolled to her back. Another slap fell across her unprotected belly and sudden terror, combined with pain, brought bile up her throat so that her yell ended up in a gurgle.

                                            > Thistle managed to complete her flop and spat out the burning, acidic mouthful. She tried to yell at Hisein to stop, but he landed two more lashes on her other side as she scrambled uselessly with her hooves in the dirt.

                                            > There was nowhere to go that the whip wouldn't find her. The mare tucked her head under her forelegs and tried to curl into as small a ball as she could manage. She whimpered as she panted in fear, but no further punishment came.

                                            > After a long minute she dared peek through her legs at Hisein. He stood over her, muscles gleaming in firelight and a long strip of leather clutched in his fist, but his arms hung limply.

                                            > "[Are you going to explain, or do I have to beat you some more?]" he demanded.

                                            > The threat in his voice made Thistle whinny in renewed fright and she hid her face once more, but he didn't strike her again.

                                            > "[Well?!]" His voice was impatient.

                                            "[I did what you said!]" she wailed helplessly. "[I took care of them! They worked!]"

                                            > "[Then why,]" Hisein said and slapped the strip of leather against his own hand, making Thistle jump and whinny in fright, "[do people tell me they were left to themselves most of the time?! Where is my food? Why does it stink like donkey piss in here?]"

                                            > The hunter had moved and Thistle saw that he was pointing. She extended her neck so she could see. Hisein's sacks of food were strewn around the inside of the tent, and they were empty. One of his clay pots was broken, the other stood open, also empty.

                                            > "[There was dried meat,]" he said when he saw her gaze. "[Honey. Rice. Grain! All gone!]"

                                            > The mare looked at the children, caught Ning's gaze. The girl swallowed, pale and frightened, but gave her a slight nod. They had eaten it all, Thistle knew it with a certainty.

                                            > Once again Hisein realized where she was looking and spat in the children's direction. "[Oh, I'll give them theirs, don't you worry. When I'm done, they'll never steal from me again!]" he assured her. Despite the language barrier, Ning understood well enough what he'd said and she squeaked in fear. Her brother quickly picked up on it too, mostly by looking at Ning's face, and began to weep.

                                            > Hisein slapped the leather sharply against his own thigh. "[QUIET!]" he bellowed. It worked and the two children confined their weeping to muffled sobs.

                                            "[No,]" Thistle said, horrified. "[Don't beat them! They're children!]"

                                            > The nomad pointed the leather strap at her and said slowly: "[They're my slaves. I'll beat them as much as I like, understand? If you watched them better they wouldn't be in this mess now, so it's your fault too.]"

                                            "[They're children...]"

                                            > It was barely a whisper, but Hisein heard it anyway. "[So what? That's how children learn, you idiot! You coddled them when I was gone and now I have to fix it.]"

                                            "[Please.]"

                                            > "[Should I beat you instead? Someone has to pay for my food! The traders will be here tomorrow. You pick, which one I sell.]"

                                            > All Thistle could do was shake her head in horror. She had to swallow several times before she could get her mouth to work.

                                            "[No. I'll pay. I'll pay you back. Don't...]"

                                            > He seemed to consider it, and looked back at the two younglings with a calculating stare. Thistle could all too easily read it. He would get more profit out of them if they were older, and knew their language better, and were more obedient. The girl, especially, would be worth a lot more if she was of child-bearing age.

                                            > When he looked at the mare again, his gaze was calculating. "[How will you pay me back? You're a slave too, or have you forgotten?]"

                                            > Thistle brought a hoof up to her face and lifted a lock of her pink mane. It had become normal in the camp and had all but lost its value, but the traders wouldn't be familiar with that.

                                            "[Sell,]" she said rapidly, "[I will sell hair. I will give you all. Traders will want it.]"

                                            > It would be a blow and it would mean she could get no food and no beer for herself,but if it kept Ning and her brother safe, then it was a sacrifice Thistle was willing to make. After all, there was some truth to what Hisein had said. She'd left the children alone for long periods of time, and she had let them dig through Hisein's belongings. They were too young, so of course they couldn't have resisted the lure of sweet honey and dried meat, not with how hungry they were.

                                            > Thistle lowered her head and folded her ears.

                                            "[I'll give you all.]"

                                            > It would probably be worth more than the few supplies Hisein had lost, but with how angry he was Thistle didn't think she could get away with any bartering whatsoever. She would simply have to live on grass, roots, tubers, and the kindness of others in the camp. Summer was starting, so she would be fine.

                                            > "[Okay, and the beating? Someone still needs to be punished.]"

                                            > On the other side of the firepit the two youths were still weeping softly, so Thistle swallowed a lump. This would also be punishment for the crime she had committed against the Ruslan prisoner. Hisein didn't have to know he was doing it. Maybe this way she could square it with herself.

                                            "[Me. It's my fault,]" she said in a defeated tone.

                                            > Hisein grunted and finally tossed the strip of leather back on the pile of his things. "[I'm never leaving you in charge again. Oh, and you haven't told me why my tent smells like piss!]"

                                            > The mare absolutely didn't want to explain her heat to this nomad. She stared back at him, face as blank as she could make it, and didn't say anything.

                                            > "[Fuck,]" Hisein swore. "[I'll sleep outside and tomorrow you and those little rats will move my tent somewhere else! Fucking filthy animal...]"

                                            > Thistle flinched at the insult, but she couldn't come up with a counter, or even a single argument against. After all, she had leaked all over the ground when she had that nomad in the tent. She had chased him out, like an animal in heat, and then she'd-

                                            > She pushed the thought away. Despite the dull fire of her lashing, she was calm. There was no burning deep in her belly. Nomad spunk was good enough to full her body into quieting the desperate need to mate, and that was that. After the past few days, it was blissful. She still felt the pleasant, lingering soreness of her mare bits, and the post-orgasmic sleepiness was taking hold.

                                            > Sleep, and worry about her trouble in the morning. Hisein was gone, to sleep outside, and Thistle didn't think he would come back. She wanted to leave, find a different place to rest, but she didn't dare leave the two children alone with him, at least not for this night.

                                            > She got to shaky, unsteady hooves, and walked over to where Ning and Fen Ko were huddling, still weeping quietly. She pressed herself against Ning's side and heaved a sigh. A small hand wrapped around her withers.

                                            "[I'm sorry. It's my fault. I should have watched you better.]"

                                            > The child didn't understand, but she didn't have to, not with Thistle's soothing, calm tone. She reached for the animal skin around Ning's shoulders and the girl allowed Thistle to wrap it around all three of them.

                                            "[Let's sleep. I'll stay with you, make sure you are safe,]" she promised.

                                            > It looked as if they were no longer weeping and were drawing strength and comfort from the mare's presence and apparent calm. The three settled down, both children clutching at the pony.

                                            > After a while Ning whispered: "[Hisein right, you stink like piss.]"

                                            "[I know. I'm sorry. We will go wash in the morning.]"

                                            > Ning didn't argue.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The night was mostly sleepless, but Thistle managed to get a few moments of sleep despite the turmoil of fear and revulsion at the back of her mind. The pleasurable afterglow of her release gradually faded and she was left with sore muscles, sticky fur, and regret.

                                            > She kept telling herself that there hadn't been a choice. The heat, worse than any she remembered, even from her teenage years, had flooded her brain with chemicals and overrode her better sense. It didn't help much, but perhaps the biological imperative of her body took away a tiny portion of the blame.

                                            > As she floated somewhere between dreams and reality, Thistle began to think up apologies she would make to the Ruslan prisoner. It was the least she could do and it may help him feel better too.

                                            > Nomad was a difficult language for saying sorry, but she thought she had a pretty good little speech prepared by morning. The mare heaved a sigh and wiggled a little closer to Ning's warm body under the fur blanket. Her brother, Fen Ko, was sleeping on the girl's other side, which should keep them all from embarrassment when they woke up.

                                            > It wouldn't be much longer. Even if she hadn't been able to judge by the pressure in her bladder, Thistle gradually became aware of a glowing frame around the tent's entrance. The flap covered it, but it couldn't stop a miniscule amount of light bleeding through.

                                            > Even if that weren't enough, the mare could clearly hear the everyday noises of the camp outside. People walking about, women lighting fires, hunters talking in hushed tones as they passed, even the occasional laughter of children.

                                            > It was time, Thistle decided. She couldn't delay it any longer, and the air inside the tent was becoming increasingly more foul. A lot of that was thanks to her exploits, but it didn't change the fact.

                                            > She remembered she would have to move Hisein's tent. He would probably also insist that she wash the furs and the leather for good measure. Thistle still felt the dull lines of warmth down her back and her belly, where he had struck her with his leather belt.

                                            > It stung, but she couldn't truly fault him. He had been right that the tent was disgusting. Maybe he had also been right that she'd coddled his two slaves, although on that point Thistle would vehemently disagree. However hard the two younglings' lives were going to be, they didn't deserve to be worked and driven like animals.

                                            > The other part she reluctantly agreed with was Hisein's missing food. That one rested squarely on her own shoulders. She had, after all, given the sack to Ning and told her to make food. She should have expected they would go exploring and eat what they could find.

                                            > It was still Hisein's fault for not feeding them properly, but it was also Thistle's mistake. As much as she didn't want to, she had to admit it to herself.

                                            > The mare took a deep breath and pushed herself upright. Her legs screamed in protest and a few of her tail hairs were pulled out. Her backside was an absolute mess and a lot of it had dried and hardened in the night. Her tail was practically glued to her hind legs in places.

                                            > It was a wonder it didn't crunch and crinkle as she straightened up, Thistle thought.

                                            > A bath was not only a luxury, it was a necessity!

                                            > Ning had woken up at the movement, but she stayed on her back and watched the mare with an unblinking, worried stare.

                                            "[Hey. Good morning.]"

                                            > It wasn't horribly original, but it broke the ice and Ning asked: "[Will Master Hisein hit us?]" she asked quietly.

                                            "[I- I don't think so. I will give him hair to buy things we ate,]"

                                            > Thistle made sure to say 'we' as she reassured the girl, so it wouldn't feel as if she was blaming the children.

                                            > "[Okay. Thank.]"

                                            > The mare flashed her a small smile, then looked at the tent's entrance and her ears folded down. It was time to face the music. Her only hope was that a night's sleep had cooled Hisein's temper, at least a little.

                                            > She walked over and, taking a deep breath, pushed outside in one fluid, determined motion.

                                            > The nomad was sitting by a faint, flickering fire outside. As Thistle approached, he leaned down and blew on it, which earned him a faceful of smoke, but made the flame stronger.

                                            > She came a little closer, then noisily cleared her throat to ensure that he'd heard her approach.

                                            > The hunter ignored her for a while longer as he piled some of the larger branches on his little fire. Only when he was sure it wouldn't go out did he turn his head.

                                            > Thistle's ears splayed at his expression. Not as bad as the previous night, but he was still quite pissed.

                                            > "[What do you want?]" he demanded.

                                            "[I have to go wash. I will take the children to help and we will bring wood for the fire on our way back,]" she explained. "[I will move your tent when I am back.]"

                                            > For an instant she thought he would forbid her to take the youths, but Hisein shrugged to himself and bent over his firepit once more. "[Fine. They are to carry all the wood back.]"

                                            "[What? Why?! I can easily-]"

                                            > His hand shot upright, bunched in a fist, and the mare fell instantly silent. "[It is not about who can or can't do a thing. It is about teaching my two *slaves* to work. You've let them run loose and that is why they ate all my food. They forgot their place.]"

                                            > Thistle swallowed a lump, unwilling to anger the big nomad further, but unable to stay silent.

                                            "[But, they're children.]"

                                            > "[Best time to learn!]" Hisein pointed out. "[I heard what you said about your place- the land of little ponies. It's not like that here. Here you either work, hard, or you die. If you're a slave, you work harder. I think you also forgot that lesson a little. I will speak with Darga, she has let you run loose too much.]"

                                            > At his words the mare sagged a little more. She didn't know how to answer, other than with flat-out denial, which would be laughable, or some petty jab at the man himself, which would be childish.

                                            > What irked the most was that there was a grain of truth in his words. Life on this world was harsh, and Thistle had experienced that first-hoof.

                                            > Hisein wasn't done yet, though. He twisted around until he was facing the mare and pointed a charred bit of wood at her. "[You've been let off easy because you came up with the bow, and the bread. Fine, those are good, but now what?]"

                                            "[Now what?]" she repeated the question.

                                            > "[Do you have anything more, or was that it? You keep telling us about the wonders. Boxes that can fly. A monster made of special rock that belches steam and pulls weight. Boxes with round things that are tied to a pony and go. Where are those things!?]"

                                            > Thistle stared in amazement.

                                            "[I thought no one believed me.]"

                                            > This, to her everlasting surprise, made Hisein laugh and reach out. She flinched, but all he did was pat the side of her face. "[We know 'terag'. Some merchants from the East use them. We remember the animals those had,]" he pointed at the tent where Ning was peeking out worriedly. "[Their parents had horses to pull their 'terag'.]"

                                            > He used a word Thistle didn't know and she leaned her head to one side in thought. The way he said 'pulled by horses' gave her the clue she needed.

                                            "Terag?"

                                            > Hisein assumed she hadn't understood and traced a circle in the air with a finger. "[Box with round things on the bottom. It goes.]"

                                            > That confirmed it. She filed the word away to use later. She hadn't realized the camp nomads understood what a cart was, especially after how quickly they had broken up and burned Ning and Fen Ko's home. They'd also slaughtered the horses before she could convince Darga to keep them. The chieftain had said the animals were dangerous and could not be controlled.

                                            > The mare had tried talking to them, but they were beasts, much like all other animals in this land. They didn't understand and were noticeably upset by a talking pony. She'd gone away after one barely missed her with a lashing hoof. Beasts or no, earth pony or no, nomad horses were stronger than her, not to mention a lot bigger.

                                            "[Why are you telling me this?]"

                                            > Hisein gave a small shrug. "[We found what we went to find. Merchants are following us and they have interesting news.]"

                                            > For a short moment Thistle forgot about the heat, and the beating, even Hisein's casual talk about selling the children, as he mind latched on to his message.

                                            "Rainy Day?" she exclaimed. "[They have news of my friend? The other pony?!]"

                                            > Again this was funny to Hisein and he laughed some more while Thistle's ears fell in dismay. "[No. They talk of new traders, from the West. From Two Lands.]"

                                            "[Two Lands?]"

                                            > Hisein shrugged and turned back to check on his fire. He poked the smoldering branches around a little and added a larger piece of wood before continuing: "[That is what the traders call it. The new kingdom of Two Lands. They use horses to pull carts. They can be traded. I think that is what the Ruslans did.]"

                                            > He pierced the mare with a gaze once more. "[Can you do that? If we trade for these horses, can you train them? It seems everyone will have horses and we must do the same, or we will fall.]"

                                            > The mare was not even slightly sure of her ability to do anything with wild nomad horses, but she swallowed a lump of fear and gave a small nod.

                                            "[I will try. We have to get them young, or we have to breed them.]"

                                            > She thought if she could raise a foal from a young age she could get it to obey her. A child would not find her so scary as the older beasts.

                                            > This promise, even if wasn't an actual confirmation, improved Hisein's mood and he even began to smile a little. "[Good, that is good. We will travel soon and slip past the lazy Ruslans. We will go West, in search of these new traders and cut them off before they find the enemy. We will have horses, and we will have bows, and no one will stand against us!]"

                                            > Thistle didn't like the implication of fighting to come, but she didn't have a lot of choice, not when her well-being was tied so closely to the clan's. She took a step back so she could leave for the stream, but the hunter wasn't done yet. Once again he pointed at her with a stick, but this time a thin wisp of smoke curled from its tip.

                                            > "[You will train *my* horse first. Promise this and we will skip your punishment- your beating. Deal?]"

                                            > She had all but forgotten about his demand for retribution and her agreeing to take it in place of the children. Reminded of it, Thistle nearly whimpered and her tail would have pressed between her hind legs, if weren't already stuck there. She gave a hurried nod.

                                            "[I p-promise.]"

                                            > Darga might be upset, but Thistle was fairly certain she could talk her way out of that problem, if it ever came up, especially if she asked Salki for help.

                                            > "[Good. You will trade your hair for grain, and salt, and honey when the traders come and you will give me what those two gnats have eaten, and then we will speak no more of this. It is not my concern if Darga lets you run loose.]"

                                            > All Thistle could do was squeak her agreement, bewildered at Hisein's mercurial change of mood, and leave with the two children in tow before he could change his mind again. She herded them to the camp's edge and only then was she able to relax a little.

                                            > Her mind was racing through what Hisein had said. Some kind of kingdom, out West, where they used carts and horses. They sounded a lot more advanced than Darga's nomadic people.

                                            > Judging from the wagon Fen Ko's parents had owned, and from what the girl herself had been able to tell, the lands to the East were also significantly more civilized than here. Thistle entertained the idea, for a moment, of trying to escape again and head that way. If she got Fen Ko to teach her the language, the shock of a talking pony might give her some kind of a welcome in a more enlightened society.

                                            > Then again, she had no idea how far it might be, or what beasts lurked between her and hypothetical salvation. She would not survive a trip on her own, and even if she took Fen Ko and Ning with her, they would probably die to wild beasts.

                                            > More importantly, the only way back to Equestria was somewhere in the hills above one of the nomad camp sites. Thistle wasn't sure she could find the way without Rainy Day, but the hunters knew it, at least the ones who had gone with Willow to capture her.

                                            > The mare was still hoping to one day have enough influence in the camp to get herself escorted there. The camp's shaman had said the hole between worlds would not open until she was an old mare, but there was always a chance he was wrong, or Thistle could do it sooner.

                                            > She would lose this last, tenuous hope of ever seeing her home again if she left this camp of nomads. Civilization was tempting, but too uncertain, so Thistle shook her head and heaved a forlorn sigh.

                                            > The two nomad children were still walking ahead of her, talking gently with each other, and the pressure in her belly was not getting any smaller. Quite absentmindedly, out of sheer habit, she twitched her tail aside and let go. Unfortunately she'd forgotten that her tail was stuck to her hind legs, so all she achieved was to thoroughly soak it and splash most of it back onto her buttocks and back legs.

                                            > A small, annoyed growl escaped her and her face colored in acute embarrassment. It was pure luck that they were nearly at the stream. The new mess added to the overall stink, but at least they were outside.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Sore and conflicted. That pretty much summed up how Thistle felt and not even the vague, second-hand excitement of newcomers could bring her out of it. She told herself that these new traders might have news of Rainy Day, but the thought didn't lift her spirits at all.

                                            > It wasn't completely bad, not with the promise of bountiful food as the camp set up the large, central firepit and began preparing bread. Perhaps, Thistle consoled herself, there would also be some free beer she could lay her hooves onto.

                                            > Beside her, on the smooth log, sat Saule. The girl had sensed Thistle's mood and had her hand in the mare's mane, playing with her ears. That helped, too.

                                            > "[So he's going to cut all of it?]" Saule asked yet again.

                                            "[Mhm. I don't really care. It's going to be summer, so it will be hot anyway.]"

                                            > A small giggle escaped the young woman. "[You're going to look funny without your tail.]"

                                            > That hadn't previously occurred to Thistle and she stiffened, but after a moment she sagged once more. What did it matter? After how she had behaved with the Ruslan prisoner it would be a kind of justice for everyone to be able to see her clearly.

                                            > At least, it made a kind of twisted sense in her own head, even if she couldn't really follow the logic.

                                            > Saule heaved a sigh and her hand briefly gripped Thistle's neck. "[I told Yasin he is an ass.]"

                                            "[Who?]"

                                            > The girl looked at her with her eyebrows raised in surprise. "[Yasin,]" she repeated, "[you were going to fuck him, remember? He ran away?]"

                                            "[Oh. It doesn't matter. I- I understand.]"

                                            > "[He said you attacked him. He said he was scared. I'm gonna tell this to his friends, see how he likes being a laughing stock.]"

                                            > In the space of that one breath, Thistle's mind had drifted away to thoughts of her only Equestrian friend in all the world. Was Rainy Day even still alive? Had she been forced to change, too?

                                            "[Huh, what?]"

                                            > "[I said-]"

                                            "[Oh. Yeah. You don't have to do that.]"

                                            > The two lapsed into uncomfortable silence, until the mare pushed her nose into Saule's palm and reminded her of what she should be doing with those fingers. They immediately went back to her ear, and Thistle closed her eyes in comfort.

                                            > Saule brought her out of another daydream: "[Here they come, look!]"

                                            > When Thistle opened her eyes, she saw the caravan of the traders winding their way into the clearing. They, and their beasts, were loaded down with bags and bags of goods. All around them, the camp's nomads were already rushing forward to see and try to get that first deal, before the goods ran out. In particular, Thistle noted, all the hunters rushed the trader with beer.

                                            > He wasn't hard to identify, not will all the skins hanging around him and his little herd of donkeys. For a moment Thistle felt an itch in her hooves to try and get some for herself, before Hisein found her and chopped off what little mane and tail she had managed to grow since the last time, but she thought better of it.

                                            > Her heat had been sated, mostly, but it wasn't quite over yet and she found herself squirming against the smooth wood occasionally. Alcohol would just bring it all back and she would do something either very stupid, or very horrific, or both. Again.

                                            > She shook her head quietly to herself, which dislodged Saule's fingers, but the nomad quickly put them back on her withers, where she began massaging in long, slow strokes.

                                            > "[By the way,]" the girl said, hesitantly and slowly. She fell silent and her hand stopped moving.

                                            "[Mmm?]"

                                            > There was no reply and Thistle glanced at her friend. The sun had gone down and the light was dimming, but her cheeks had unmistakable spots of deep red.

                                            "[Yes?]"

                                            > Once again Saule gripped Thistle's mane, as if for support. She asked her question in a quiet voice, almost a whisper: "[Is it true what Yasin said? Did you bite him on the- well, *down there*?!]"

                                            > The mare gasped, but accidentally inhaled a bit of spittle which sent her into a coughing fit. She tried to deny what Saule was saying, but she could barely catch her breath and talking was completely out of the realm of possibility for the next few moments.

                                            > When Saule saw that Thistle wasn't faking her fit, she slapped her on her back a few times, the way the mare had seen nomads do to each other when they had something in their throat. Unfortunately it didn't help a choking pony, but on the other hoof at least it didn't make things worse. The thought was there, and that was what counted.

                                            > Finally the mare was able to croak out a few words, even if they were interrupted by more coughing.

                                            "[I didn't- No! No! Why would- Why would- would I bite?! There?]"

                                            > Saule shrugged her shoulders and bit her lower lip before answering: "[I don't know. Yasin said you put his dick in your mouth and you were going to bite it off, so hit you and ran away. He is probably making it up.]"

                                            > Suddenly the mare was stock still and her ears folded. She didn't meet Saule's gaze, but the nomad girl understood and gasped, using her hands to cover her mouth. "[You *DID*?! You really tried to bite him on the dick? Why?!]"

                                            > For a few moments all Thistle could do was shake her head. She opened her mouth to respond several times, but thought better of it and shut it again.

                                            > At long last she took a deep, calming breath and closed her eyes to concentrate on her words.

                                            "[I wasn't trying to bite him, Saule. I- did that to- um, get him in the mood. He was soft and it wasn't going to work like that, you know?]"

                                            > Saule didn't seem to understand and her eyebrows just rose higher and higher. "[Why would biting his dick get it hard?]"

                                            "[No, no,]" Thistle shook her head and waved a hoof for emphasis. "[Not bite. I said I wasn't going to bite him!]"

                                            > "[Then what?]"

                                            "[Look- have you ever... you know? Been with a man?]"

                                            > Saule mutely shook her head.

                                            "[Sometimes, when a mare- a- a- *woman* wants to make the man happy, she will take- well *him* in her mouth. It feels very good for the man. It- It is like sex, but different.]"

                                            > They stared at one another and then Saule shrugged. "[Huh. If you say so. I don't think we do that. Maybe it's a pony thing?]"

                                            > It was possible, but on the other hoof Saule was extremely inexperienced and maybe she simply didn't know.

                                            "[I don't know,]" she admitted, "[I just thought it would help get him in the mood.]"

                                            > Suddenly the young woman burst out laughing. "[He thought you were going to bite it off. That was why he got scared!]"

                                            "[I don't think it was that. Maybe a part of it.]"

                                            > The impression Thistle had gotten from Yasin was that he didn't want to be branded with the stigma of being with an animal, but perhaps he was also weirded out by the unexpected fellatio, especially if it wasn't something nomads commonly did.

                                            > Thinking about it a little more, Thistle could understand why nomad women wouldn't want to do it, especially after days and days of sweat with very little in the way of washing. She shuddered when she remembered the taste and it was only through the red filter of desperate need that she had found it enjoyable last night.

                                            > Celestia, had it only been last night? It felt like a lifetime ago already.

                                            > Some distance away, the first traders had already set up their makeshift, rickety tables and were beginning to arrange their wares. Even with her bad eyesight, Thistle recognized various strips of meat, or clay jars of spices. She lifted her nose and sniffed, and thought she could catch the first hints of beer, too.

                                            > Almost involuntarily her tongue darted out to lick her suddenly dry lips.

                                            > Saule, too, went back to watching the commotion. It seemed as if most of the camp was milling about and the crowd was starting to encompass their log, too. The nomads had been without these things for a long winter and everyone was determined to replenish the essential ingredients of nomad life as soon as possible.

                                            > Thistle heard someone stomp up behind her and her nose wrinkled when she caught the scent. She couldn't distinguish each individual nomad by their smell, but she knew this one because she had been sleeping in his tent for several days. She barely flinched when Hisein's hand landed on her back and patted it.

                                            > "[Good, you're here. I was afraid you would try and wiggle out of paying.]"

                                            > The mare closed her eyes and heaved a tired sigh.

                                            "[No. Just do it, Hisein.]"

                                            > His hand gathered up the thickest, longest part of her mane, but Saule was having none of it. She jumped up and tried to push the man away. She slapped at his fist, but couldn't really make it budge. "[Don't do this Hisein,]" Saule said in a voice that was half demanding, half pleading. "[Let her go, right now, or I'll go find Darga!]"

                                            > This threat just made the man chuckle in amusement. "[Yeah, you go and do that. Thistle and me have a little something to even off.]"

                                            "[It's fine, Saule,]" the mare confirmed. "[It's okay.]"

                                            > The mare had, after all, explained why Hisein wanted her hair, and at the time Saule had seemed okay with the idea. It was only now, when it was actually happening, that the young woman was upset.

                                            "[It's fine! I promised him some of my mane to trade! Really, Saule, it's fine.]"

                                            > The girl didn't know what to do with herself and she stared in in sullen anger from the hunter to the mare, and back. Her own fists clenched and unclenched, but then her shoulders sagged. "[I still think this is stupid. I don't understand why you would agree to this, Thistle.]"

                                            > "[This little bitch,]" Hisein growled and pointed with a flint knife he held in his other hand, "[let my slaves roam free, and she let them eat everything in my tent. I said she will pay for those things, or I will whip her until I'm satisfied. This was a smart choice.]"

                                            > Saule wordlessly stared at Thistle, who just shrugged and nodded. This was enough so that the girl didn't try and stop Hisein while he cut away a fistful of pink mane. His knife was extremely sharp, but Thistle thought she could hear the silken rip as it slicked through the fine hairs. She closed her eyes and waited patiently as he tugged her head this way and that. It didn't take very long.

                                            > "[Good, good. I will go and trade this. If it is not enough I will be back for your tail!]"

                                            > At the remark Thistle's eyes flew open and she gaped at the hunter.

                                            "[You're not going to cut my tail?]"

                                            > He patted her flank and gave another of his little chuckles. "[Nah, there's barely any of it there, and I wouldn't want you to walk around exposed like that. Some men might be tempted to fuck a pony.]"

                                            > He laughed and Thistle's ears automatically fell. Of course she couldn't expect Buygra to keep quiet. With luck the whole mess would blow off soon and then things could get back to normal.

                                            > Meanwhile Hisein kept talking: "[I heard about your lover boy Yasin,]" he said. "[I heard he chickened out before he even came, but who knows- if you showed your pussy around, he might change his mind, or someone else might want to give it a go.]"

                                            > His hand gave her side one final slap. "[Keep the tail, sweetheart. For now.]"

                                            > He laughed at what he thought were some fine jokes and walked off in the direction of the commotion. His fist was clenched tightly around a mass of pink strands.

                                            > The mare didn't have a mirror, but she didn't think the hunter would have been especially careful with how he cut her mane. She looked pleadingly at Saule.

                                            "[How bad is it? If you get a knife and make it look okay you can keep my hair to trade.]"

                                            > The girl watched her with a calculating look, then reached out and put her hand around Thistle's muzzle so she could push her head gently this way and that. She examined her head from all sides, then smiled.

                                            > "[Actually, it's not that bad. It suits you. It's a little uneven at the back, but I like it.]"

                                            "[Really? Are you saying that to make me feel better?]"

                                            > "[No, it's really not bad. You can ask Salki and Xuan if you like. Leave it like this.]"

                                            > At that, Thistle relaxed and settled back down on the wooden log. After a few more moments Saule joined her, once again. This time she wrapped an arm around the mare and drew her closer so she could lay her head against Thistle's withers.

                                            > "[Is your sex thing better, at least? I told you that you should have gone to the prisoner right away. Serves him right for what they did to Tashi.]"

                                            > Thistle closed her eyes in shame and let her head hang low.

                                            "[It's not okay. It was wrong, what I did. I'm sorry- I couldn't control myself.]"

                                            > "[But it's over now?]" Saule asked again.

                                            "[Yes. Uh, mostly. I think it will be fine. Listen- even though it didn't work out, that thing you did, with Yasin... thank you for trying.]"

                                            > Saule patted the side of her muzzle with her free hand. "[It's okay. Us girls have to stick together,]" she said. "[Did it feel good?]"

                                            > Thistle bit her lip as she thought about the question. Unbidden, images of the previous night, of how she had straddled the poor Ruslan, and how she had ground herself against him, rose up in her mind. Before she could stop herself, she rubbed her rump against the smooth wood.

                                            > She tried to think of something else, but instead of the previous night's escapades, her mind jumped to the time she'd jumped in Salki's lap and stolen that drunk, sloppy kiss. It had been on the same log, she remembered. Well, or one very much like it.

                                            > Did the nomads drag these logs with them, or were they a feature at each camp site? Thistle resolved to pay attention when they moved. There were still parts of their culture she didn't fully understand.

                                            > "[Well?!]" Saule demanded.

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > The young woman poked her fingers into the mare's side for emphasis. "[Did it feel good?]"

                                            "[Oh. Yeah, I guess.]"

                                            > "[You *guess*?!]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head and tried to bring her thoughts into some semblance of order.

                                            "[I mean: yes, it was good, but I don't like what I did. It was not okay to force someone, even a prisoner! It was wrong when it happened to Tashi, and it was wrong when it happened to the Ruslan!]"

                                            > Saule didn't answer, apparently unwilling to argue about morality at that point. Her free hand went down to her own belly. "[They say it feels really good, but it hurts really bad the first time. I think I both want it and I'm scared. Is it possible to do both? Want it and be scared?]"

                                            "[Yeah, I think that is normal.]"

                                            > Thistle thought back to her other life, to those bright, magical years in Canterlot, fresh out of high school. She remembered that breathless rush of anticipation, when she knew it was going to happen, but she had no real idea what to expect.

                                            > She placed a gentle hoof on Saule's thigh.

                                            "[It's going to be fine. Make sure you find a boy who really loves you and it's going to be okay.]"

                                            > There was silence and, when Thistle looked at her friend, she saw that Saule was staring off into the distance, biting her lip. Her fingers crept further down her belly and began to slip under her belt of animal skin.

                                            "[Saule?]"

                                            > The nomad jerked, as if waking up, and took her arm away. Its absence made Thistle feel cold for a moment. "[Oh. Sorry, I was thinking.]"

                                            "[About what?]"

                                            > Rather than answering, Saule glanced at the mare, then lowered her eyes. "[Um, that think you said ponies do- with their mouth...]"

                                            "[Yes?]" suddenly Thistle was blushing again.

                                            > "[Uh, women can do it too, right? I mean, it's just licking. It'd be a bit like with your hand...]"

                                            > Thistle debated internally for a moment whether she should tell Saule anything. How old even was the young woman? By her best estimation of what she'd seen in the nomad society, Saule should have been looking for a husband already. After all, Xuan wasn't that much older and she had already given birth.

                                            > Then there was the remnant of her heat. It had been almost a full day since her release, and since she hadn't gotten pregnant, her body was waking up again and demanding she try again, before it was too late.

                                            > Unfortunately her face gave it away before Thistle could reach any kind of a decision, and Saule went on, her voice hushed and eager: "[If I buy some beer and give it to you, will you try it? On- on me, I mean...]"

                                            > Perhaps it was her imagination, but at that exact moment Thistle thought she could smell the drink, wafting through the air. Doubtless some nomads were already imbibing, so it wasn't out of the question.

                                            > It could also have been a mixture of her imagination and the freshly-rising heat from her lower belly. She tried to resist it all.

                                            "[I don't think we should...]"

                                            > "[Please?]"

                                            > Her resolve was melting, fast. After all, Saule was willing. She could get drunk and forget her troubles for a little while.

                                            > Inside, she still felt numb, overwhelmed by the previous night. It was probably a lack of sleep and that crazy mixture of hormones, but that storm was still to come. The horror was building up, she could feel it somewhere, working its way up.

                                            > She had done an unspeakable thing to another person. Back in Equestria a crime like that would have her imprisoned in Tartarus, and Celestia would have been absolutely justified to do it.

                                            > A stain like that would remain with her for the rest of her life. Maybe it was a good thing the nomads didn't have mirrors, because Thistle knew she would never again be able to look into one.

                                            > Already her breath was speeding up and the mare fought urgently to push that darkness back down lest it overwhelm her immediately.

                                            > Perhaps she should have insisted Hisen whip her, and good. She really did deserve to be punished, even if it was for a different crime than the hunter had in mind.

                                            > Out of sheer desperation, the mare focused on Saule's face. There was red in her cheeks and she was chewing on her lip. Her eyes were wide and anxious, worried about the mare's reply. She seemed both afraid and hopeful about the answer.

                                            > She had promised beer. If Thistle could delay it a little more, perhaps the guilt would be easier to endure.

                                            "[Yes,]" she said, breathlessly.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The night had advanced and Thistle gradually let herself relax. Hisein hadn't come back for more of her mane or tail, which she assumed meant he'd taken enough to repay whatever losses he imagined he'd suffered.

                                            > She was tempted to go and make a few trades herself, but that would leave her completely bald and her tail shaved down to a nub. Luckily, thanks to Saule's offer, she didn't have to.

                                            > The young nomad had left a while ago to go make her purchase and Thistle idly wondered what Saule would trade for beer. She kept looking around, hoping to spot the girl, but the thickening crowd around the central fire made that all but impossible.

                                            > She did catch sight of Salki and some of his friends, however. Thistle watched them from a distance, all the while playing nervously with her hooves, until she couldn't stand it any longer and slipped from her seat.

                                            > Almost immediately someone else occupied the bit of smooth log she'd vacated, but Thistle didn't really mind. If Saule had really meant her proposal, they would likely go somewhere else to make their ill-advised trade.

                                            > The mare knew it was a bad idea, both her drinking and the lascivious activities Saule had asked for. She should have insisted on her 'no', but the lure of strong alcohol had proved irresistible.

                                            > Thistle made her way closer to the bonfire, where its radiant warmth felt like a physical pressure against her side, and stopped beside Salki. He seemed to be explaining something about using the bow, or perhaps he was regaling his friends with a story from one of his hunts. She decided not to interrupt and sat on her haunches to listen.

                                            > He waved his arms around and mimed nocking an arrow. "[Breathing, that's important,]" he said. His pointing finger extended to mimic the direction of the arrow and he pretended to look down the shaft. "[When you pull the string all the way to your face, breathing makes it wobble too much.]"

                                            > One of the other young nomads snorted and half turned away. "[That is stupid. You need to breathe. You can't hold your breath for long, not if you were-]" he finished with a rapid string of words.

                                            > Thistle wasn't too sure about her mental translation and cocked her head to one side. The gist of what the man had said was that it was impossible to hold his breath when panting, like after strenuous activity.

                                            "[Sorry, can you say again?]"

                                            > Everyone in the group turned to look at the mare and even Salki let his arms drop as his attention was diverted away from his little demonstration. "[What? Say what again?]" Salki asked.

                                            > Thistle pointed a hoof at the other nomad who had challenged his statement.

                                            "[Him. He said you can not hold breath after- after what?]"

                                            > "[After making yourself into a sweat,]" Salki said, more slowly so the words clicked in place. "[Running, and fighting, and things like that. You know?]"

                                            > Thistle understood the concept, and she thought she recognized all the words they were using, but she hadn't yet heard them put into that exact sequence. It reminded her that, while she was quite fluent for most everyday chatting, there were still nuances of the language she didn't yet grasp.

                                            "[I understand. Making yourself into a sweat. Like work?]"

                                            > Salki looked doubtful. "[A little similar,]" he finally acquiesced. "[It is different. Working is for something useful that you do. You do not have to get sweaty to do work. Making yourself into a sweat doesn't have to be useful work.]"

                                            > One of the others burst out laughing. "[Yeah, like fucking! That will work you into a sweat!]"

                                            > The others chuckled at that too, but Thistle just looked away and tried to conceal her sudden, unexpected blush. These people talked too openly about some things and she was still not quite used to that.

                                            > After the round of jeers and the obligatory innuendo had died down, Salki lifted his hands up again. "[Okay, you do not stop breathing, not if you are worked in a sweat. Not for long, anyway.]" He held up one admonitory finger. "[But you must stop breathing if you want to aim, right?]"

                                            > The dissenter shrugged a little, uncertain about the finer points of archery, but unwilling to admit it and show ignorance.

                                            > Salki took it as confirmation and continued: "[You hold the bow like so. See? Half pulled back, so it is not hard to hold. When you see the target, you pull it all the way, like so-]"

                                            > He mimed with his hands, encircling his left palm around an imaginary bow, and pointing a finger on his right to indicate an arrow. He pulled the pretend bowstring to his cheek again.

                                            > "[When you have it drawn all the way, you push all air out of your lungs, okay? Breathe out, like this.]"

                                            > He exhaled rather more theatrically than he would otherwise so as to demonstrate better. He opened his hand which would have been holding the bowstring, then drew another breath.

                                            > "[Understand? You aim when you do not have air in your lungs. That will make your body still and the arrow will go where you want it to go. It is only for a few heartbeats, see-]"

                                            > He demonstrated the whole process again, from a half-drawn bow, to his cheek, the exhalation, a moment of focus, and the release. "[See? Like this!]"

                                            > Thistle watched as he went through the whole rigmarole a few more times. She noticed that everyone else was paying very close attention, even the young man who had argued at first.

                                            > Once it was done, another of the group cleared his throat. "[Does that really work? It's just breathing out and in, how can that make you do bow more accurate?]"

                                            > "[Shoot,]" Salki corrected. "[You shoot a bow.]"

                                            > Thistle smiled a little to herself in memory. There hadn't been a nomad word for 'shooting', so she and Bakar had simply taken the equestrian term and mangled it until it was easily pronounceable in the nomad language.

                                            > "[Shoot. Okay, but does that work? The breathing?]" the other nomad asked again.

                                            > Salki grinned widely and nodded. "[Sure! Want to go and see?]"

                                            > The others looked at one another, and then at the bonfire. It was not yet completely dark, but it wasn't far off. Soon someone would start singing, and there was already a smell of charred meat in the air.

                                            > "[Now?!]" someone asked.

                                            > "[Sure,]" Salki replied, "[We will go and shoot a few arrows so you can see how it works, then we will come back for the food and the beer. We're not going to miss anything.]"

                                            > They hesitated for a bit, but someone voiced their assent and pretty soon there was a general murmur of agreement. Salki looked down to the mare by his side. "[You come too, Thistle.]"

                                            "[What? N-No, I'm- uh, I'm waiting for Saule...]" she protested feebly.

                                            > "[Come on, we will be back soon. Come and watch!]"

                                            > Thistle looked around in a vain attempt to spot Saule, but the crowds had thickened and it was difficult to find any individual nomad in the mass of bodies moving purposefully to and fro. She tried to come up with another excuse, but then thought better of it.

                                            > It would be something to do, and it would take her mind of her immediate problems, and herself away from alcohol. If the practice took long enough for Thistle to completely miss Saule it would also keep her from doing something deeply inappropriate with the girl when they were both drunk.

                                            > Thistle's mouth quirked up in a small smile and she flicked her tail as she stood up.

                                            "[Yes, okay. I will come and watch.]"

                                            > "[That's great!]" Salki said and set off toward his and Darga's tent. He was going to get his bow, Thistle realized, and hurried after him. The others in the group had peeled away and were heading quickly to the edge of the camp. They probably knew where Willow and his hunters had set up the wooden logs they used for target practice.

                                            > Salki glanced back when he heard her hoofsteps behind him and slowed his pace so she could catch up. "[So, how was it to watch Hisein's slaves?]"

                                            > Thistle's ears folded immediately and for a few seconds she considered lying. The only problem was that word of what Hisein thought of as her failure would come to Darga sooner or later. Intor wouldn't miss the opportunity.

                                            > Salki was bound to find out and Thistle didn't want him to think her a liar.

                                            "[Not so good,]" she admitted in a low tone.

                                            > "[Oh?]"

                                            "[Yes. I think- maybe I don't know how to give work to slaves. Hisein says we didn't do anything. He says that we didn't do enough work and we ate all his food. He- uh, he cut some of my hair to pay for it.]"

                                            > Rather than pity, which Thistle had been dreading, or outrage, which a small part of her had secretly hoped for, Salki just chuckled. "[Oh, I thought you looked different. It's not bad, you know. I think you look good with short hair.]"

                                            > She didn't have a response to that, so she just plodded along quietly. After a few seconds of waiting for her reply, Salki just shrugged to himself and went on: "[Don't worry about his children. They will learn to work.]"

                                            > There was still the whole thing about her heat, and about Yasin. Not to mention the whole ordeal with the Ruslan prisoner. Even if Hisein didn't say anything, Salki was bound to learn of that, either from Saule, or directly from Buygra. There simply was no chance for it to remain a secret, Thistle feared.

                                            > If she told him herself, at least she wouldn't be trying to conceal it. She took a breath to start her story, but they reached the tent and the young man ducked inside to find his bow.

                                            > Thistle was left standing, with her mouth open and her heart thumping in sheer terror. Her lips felt dry and cracked, and she poked at them with a tongue which suddenly felt like a foreign, nerveless lump of flesh.

                                            > Out of all the people in the camp, Thistle only really liked and trusted Salki and Saule. The latter already knew. The former was a wild card and she couldn't even begin to predict how he would react to the news that she had... used the prisoner as she had. On top of that, there were her own emotions toward Salki to sort out, and the thought flashed up so quickly that Thistle didn't know where it had come from. She blinked in shock and hurriedly pushed it down to deal with at a later date.

                                            > Her mouth closed and the mare shook her head. She couldn't do it, not right now. She would have a few sips of Saule's beer, to loosen her tongue and blunt the fear, then she would tell Salki everything. When they were alone and had talked for a while. Then, or maybe the next day.

                                            > He probably wouldn't hear about it that very night. Everyone would be too busy having fun, and drinking, and eating, and trading. She had time yet, to get her own thoughts in order and perhaps to start working through her own guilt before she brought Salki into the whole thing.

                                            > The relief from that decision made her knees weak and the mare sagged a little.

                                            > "[You okay?]" came Salki's voice as he pushed through the tent flap.

                                            "[F-Fine.]"

                                            > "[Okay, let's go. The others are waiting.]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle sat on a patch of thick grass, her coat lightly brushing Salki's arm as they watched the others take turns with his bow. For a while the mare hadn't been sure the weapon would stay in one piece after she'd seen how jerkily some of the young men drew the string, but it was holding up well.

                                            > When asked, Salki had shrugged and explained that some of the older nomads had taken to the craft of making bows and arrows and soon surpassed her and Bakar's early work. Thistle was impressed, but on the other hoof she had barely given them a basic idea and it had been extremely lucky that her first prototype had worked as well as it had.

                                            > Several times Salki had had to get up and demonstrate the technique again for the others, but it seemed to be working. It was getting really hard to see, but by the nomads' exclamations as they went to retrieve the arrows it sounded as if they were improving.

                                            > About one arrow in five found the wooden log, announced by a loud thunk and followed by some cheering.

                                            > A part of Thistle wondered at their tenacity and persistence at their monotonous task, especially while there was food and drink to be had in the camp.

                                            "[Why do you keep shooting?]" she asked Salki after the moon had begun to rise above the horizon. "[It is late, why not go back and have drink and food?]"

                                            > The hunter shrugged and put his arm around her withers to pat her other side. "[We'll go back. There's a lot of night left and everyone will sleep late tomorrow. We will begin packing in the afternoon, Mother had said.]"

                                            > Even though Thistle had been expecting it, his announcement still sent her heart beating a little faster. They would move and things would change, even if only the scenery. She thought about her vague ideas to teach the nomads about farming vegetables, and wondered if their new camp would have any useful, tillable soil nearby.

                                            > The ground around their present location was too uneven, and the grass was too far entrenched for her to do anything useful, even if she could remember the actual techniques earth ponies used in Equestria. She would need metal plows and several more of her kind.

                                            > Doing it by herself, with a simple stone spade was entirely impractical, but perhaps she could use it as a small demonstration. Maybe the women would prefer gardening their roots and yams, rather than foraging. Not to mention that they could perhaps sow wheat.

                                            > She nodded to herself and leaned her head on Salki's shoulder. At least the excursion and the bow practice had kept her mind off her other problems. Of course, as she remembered that the thoughts started to creep back, but Thistle closed her eyes and pushed them aside once more.

                                            > Salki's arm around her and his side were warm in the cool night air, and his scent, even with the smell of his unwashed sweat, strangely reassuring. A part of that was perhaps thanks to the hormones still rushing through her, but that was no reason not to enjoy these moments of calm and belonging.

                                            > "[There you are!]" came Saule's voice from a distance.

                                            > Thistle straightened up and twisted her neck until she saw the too-bright torch the girl was carrying. She strode purposefully toward the mare and clicked her tongue in disappointment.

                                            > "[I was looking for you but no one knew where you went!]" Saule chided. "[Someone told me some of the men went to shoot bows at night, and that Salki was with them, so I thought I'd check.]"

                                            > The nomad girl observed how the pair were sitting and when he saw her stare Salki hurriedly took his arm back and slid away from the mare.

                                            > Thistle's skin prickled from the unaccustomed cold and she let out an involuntary sigh. For an instant she felt disappointed, but quickly remembered just how much importance nomad men put on appearing tough in front of others. Perhaps Salki wasn't quite as familiar with Saule as Thistle had thought.

                                            > The young woman closed the last bit of the distance and plopped down heavily on Thistle's other side. "[Here!]" she said and proffered a skin she had been holding.

                                            > Out of sheer confusion the mare grabbed it, which freed Saule so she could grip the torch with both hands. She turned away and stabbed it mightily into the grass. The flame flickered and sputtered, raining a few embers around as the torch was driven into the soft ground. It remained upright when Saule let it go.

                                            > "[There, it should stay up,]" she murmured to herself. She turned back to Thistle and made a lifting motion with her hand. "[Go on! Drink! I got it for you!]"

                                            > This was a complete surprise to Salki, who sputtered a little. "[What?! You got Thistle beer? You shouldn't have done that! Why?]"

                                            > His question made Saule pause for a moment, then she just shrugged. "[That's between me and Thistle.]"

                                            > Even with its neck tied, the skin in Thistle's hooves seemed to waft the heady scent of clean beer. None of that stale, half-rotten stuff, either. This was as fresh as they were likely to get, and the mare licked her suddenly dry lips.

                                            > Her ears went automatically down as she contemplated what she was about to do, and they folded even further when she thought about what might happen later. She was no longer certain about any of it.

                                            "[Here, we will share,]" she said.

                                            > With trembling limbs she offered the skin to Salki, who didn't hesitate in taking it. "[Hey!]" Saule complained as the young hunter lifted the precious container.

                                            "[It's okay. We will share.]"

                                            > It didn't help as much as Thistle had hoped and her friend still glared at Salki, who was taking the maximal advantage of the opportunity and swallowing large mouthfuls. Obviously she had intended for the mare to drink most of that, probably to get her good and drunk, and make sure she didn't have any leftover inhibitions.

                                            > Thistle grew thoughtful as she realized just how badly the girl wanted it to happen between them. Surely she wasn't experiencing some kind of a nomad version of heat, was she? Perhaps Saule had 'a contact estrus'? Was that even possible?

                                            > "[That's enough!]" Saule suddenly burst out and plucked the skin from his hands. She scrambled to pinch the spout closed and dribble of beer splashed against Salki's bare chest. He jerked away and yelped in surprise, but Saule wasn't paying him any attention. She held the skin out to Thistle again, her gaze resolute.

                                            > "[The rest is for you!]"

                                            > Shrugging a little to herself, Thistle grabbed the sack and hefted it. There was more than a half left and her mouth began to water as she imagined the taste. The combination of Salki's greedy gulping, and the spill, had liberated more of the sublime aroma and Thistle's nose twitched as she sniffed the air.

                                            > She couldn't resist any longer and lifted it up, but she managed just enough self control to blurt out some last second instructions.

                                            "[Not all, understand? I can't have all, it is bad for me! Stop me and then you have some, okay?]"

                                            > Saule made a noncommittal sound in her throat, but Salki gave her a much more enthusiastic agreement. Thistle closed her eyes and shut out the world as she stuck the soft spout in her mouth and lifted the bag up.

                                            > It was just as good as she remembered, and the alcohol fumes seemed to shoot straight up her nose and into her brain. Even as she gulped the first couple of mouthfuls she could feel herself growing calmer, her thoughts slowing down and mellowing out.

                                            > This was a night to be merry, Thistle reminded herself. The summer had come, there was the first trade caravan of the year, and the camp would move further away from their enemies the next day.

                                            > Perhaps they would go to that first place she had been taken to, near the hills and near the magical hole which led to Equestria.

                                            > The camp shaman had told her it wouldn't open for many decades, but maybe he was wrong. Maybe it could be opened by a pony.

                                            > If she could talk some of the nomads into taking her there, maybe she could get herself home.

                                            > That would be a goal to work toward, Thistle told herself. It was something to strive for, tomorrow. Right at that moment, she wanted to get pleasantly drunk and then perhaps do something inappropriate with Saule. However much she had told herself 'no', her body had very clear ideas of what it craved.

                                            > She wasn't quite out of her heat just yet, and the mere thought of that was enough to start that warm, tingly feeling deep in her belly.

                                            > A hand on her hoof forced the beer skin down and the mare opened her eyes. Saule had obeyed her instruction and was guiding her hooves lower. She pulled the drink from Thistle's grip and brought it to her own mouth.

                                            > That was good. It would help if she, too, could get a little tipsy. It would lower her inhibitions.

                                            > "[Leave some of that for me,]" Salki said on Thistle's other side and she twisted to look at him.

                                            > He wasn't drunk, of course. It would take more beer and more time, but the amount he'd had was a good start.

                                            "[Did you eat? Before we came to shoot the bow, I mean?]"

                                            > Salki shook his head and Thistle felt her muzzle split into an expectant grin.

                                            "[Good, me neither.]"

                                            > She was distracted for a moment as one of the other young men approached to drop the bow and arrows next to Salki. The others stood in a loose group, a few watching Saule and the beer enviously, and some murmuring to each other. One of them snickered a little before his friend hushed him up.

                                            > Salki told them they'd done a good job and that they would practice more the next evening, and then they left, hurrying to get back to the camp and the party. In fact, Thistle focused her ears in the distance and could hear that peculiar, throaty singing of the nomads. It sounded like the festivities were well advanced.

                                            > That was good. It would keep everyone's attention and three wayward people would never be missed.

                                            > Saule had had her fill and held the skin out again. She burped hugely, which reminded Thistle about the pressure in her own belly. She opened her mouth and matched the girl for volume and duration.

                                            > They both ended up giggling, but Thistle retained enough presence of mind to grab the beer before Salki could steal it out of their grasp. She lifted it up again and only remembered the spout at the last possible second. She caught it with her tongue, but a few droplets spilled down her fur before she could get it completely in her mouth.

                                            > The liquid felt cold against her hide and the mare was acutely aware of the beer's tickling progress down her neck and belly, even as she hungrily gulped mouthful after mouthful from the skin.

                                            > "[Leave some for me!]" Salki said again, but he needn't have worried. Saule had barely drunk any of the bear, despite how long she had taken to do it. There would be plenty left for another pass around all three of them, if Thistle was any judge.

                                            > Having not eaten anything since and early lunch would help, too.

                                            > The mare found that her worries were melting away in the rising inner glow of the potent brew.

                                            > Perhaps it would turn out to be a fine night after all.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The night was getting more and more interesting. The pleasant euphoria of alcohol had taken a hold and Thistle had gradually felt herself relax. Her problems seemed distant and insignificant, especially next to the searing flame in her nether bits.

                                            > She knew Saule and Salki felt the same. The pair of young nomads hadn't let each other go for at least an hour. It hadn't taken very much persuasion on Thistle's part to get them to kiss.

                                            > They were still at it, sloppy and inexperienced but oh so enthusiastic! The mare herself was sitting comfortably in Salki's lap, slowly grinding herself against his soft, warm flesh. She had her forelegs loosely wrapped around his arm, while on his other side Saule embraced him around the chest.

                                            > Thistle was slightly jealous of the nomads' longer limbs, but on the other hoof, she had the feel of soft, pony fur on skin. Still, it was a little unfair how much attention Saule was getting, but the mare was willing to forgive this blatant favoritism, as long as either of them remembered to favor her with a head pat or an ear scratch every now and then.

                                            > A soft sound came from Saule's throat as she moaned, and when Thistle glanced down she saw that Salki's fingers were roaming down the nomad girl's belly. He'd found a seam and pried aside her animal skin tunic, and now he was carefully exploring the pale skin beneath.

                                            > Another pang of jealousy flashed and Thistle looked for his other hand, but the young man was using it to support himself against the grass. Lacking any other options, the mare pushed her own hoof down between her legs. She had to shuffle a little to spread them enough and her squirming interrupted the two nomads.

                                            > They both looked at her and Thistle saw how Salki's face was wet from Saule's enthusiastic slobber. She still had to practice before she could kiss smoothly and not make a mess.

                                            > Thistle could show her, by example!

                                            > She abandoned her quest between her own legs and threw her forelegs around Salki's neck. He stiffened for a moment, but then allowed her to pull him closer. His cheek pressed against her nose, slightly damp and chilly in the cool night air.

                                            "[Here. I'll show,]" she breathed.

                                            > There was no more time for talking as she pushed her lips against the nomad's. She felt him respond and immediately assaulted him with her tongue. It was much wider and longer than the poor thing Saule could muster and Thistle encountered almost no resistance as she pried his lips apart.

                                            > He tasted slightly of meat, a little of sour milk, and strongly of fresh beer. Thistle went further and found his own tongue, nervous and trembling, unsure what to do.

                                            > She closed her eyes and played with him for a little while.

                                            > Tapping on her forearm brought her back into the world and Thistle looked at what was causing it. Saule was staring at her with a slightly nervous smile and a blush that was very visible even in the fading torch light.

                                            > "[Me,]" the young woman spoke, patting Thistle on her leg again. "[Show me. Show me how to do it!]"

                                            > Thistle didn't need to be told twice and she quickly released the stunned boy. Even as she leaned over, toward Saule, her exhaled breath turned into a lustful moan.

                                            > She didn't have to catch Saule and pull her closer, rather the opposite. The girl cupped Thistle's muzzle with both hands and led their faces into contact. She was also covered with spittle and more dribbled down as she eagerly parted her lips for Thistle.

                                            > A bead of their mixed saliva ran down the mare's neck, making her shiver slightly as it tickled every single hair on its way. She pushed herself away, for just a moment.

                                            "[No, you don't need to- not so much spit. Swallow. Not so wet kisses!]"

                                            > Her grammar wasn't the greatest and the words she needed eluded Thistle in the alcohol fog, but she got her point across and Saule hurriedly wiped her face with the back of her hand. Then she darted in once more, eager to try again.

                                            > It was much better this time and the pair smoothly locked lips. This time the mare simply opened her mouth and waited. After a few tense heartbeats she felt Saule prod at her teeth. The new sensation made the young woman moan in a wordless hum.

                                            > Even better: Saule's hand came to rest on Thistle's barrel. The fingers played with the soft fur there, then slid south. Thistle's breath caught as the nomad felt her way ever closer to the exposed flesh of her teats.

                                            > She began to wink, her button briefly touching Salki's leg, which only served to fan the flames of her urgent need. It was the last remnants of her heat, but they were liberally fueled by the beer and within moments Thistle felt herself tensing up.

                                            > These simple things would soon prove enough. Saule's caress on her belly, the way her nomad fingers grazed her nipples, and Salki's warm leg touching her exposed, pulsing clit. The pressure built up and Thistle moaned through her nose.

                                            > The kiss had to end, because she needed to breathe, but at least Saule had kept her free palm pressed against the mare's cheek.

                                            "[Yes! Yes! Lower! Go lower!]"

                                            > She had to arch her back and lift herself up from that delightful contact with Salki's thigh, but the reward was worth it. Saule obeyed and slid her questing hand further. It grazed the outside of her wetness and froze.

                                            "[Please,]" Thistle moaned, closing her eyes.

                                            > She was almost bouncing up and down on the poor, hapless nomad boy. She dared a peek at him through her eyelashes.

                                            > Salki was staring at her with wide, uncomprehending eyes. There was no fear there, just slight confusion.

                                            > Confusion and lust, she knew that. She could feel it against the outside of her hind leg, a stiffness that even his waist wrap couldn't quite hide. The hidden feel of it spurred her on.

                                            > Saule pushed a little lower and her fingers grazed that most precious of prizes. Thistle flicked against soft, human skin.

                                            > It was enough to push her over, making the mare arch her back further and gasp a huge lungful of fresh air. She threw her head back and opened her mouth wide, just barely managing to keep herself from loudly crying out.

                                            > She turned it into a low moan even as her entire body shuddered. Saule had withdrawn her hand in surprise, but Thistle was past the point of no return. There was a splash of liquid as her pent up tension released all at once.

                                            > Salki tried to push her off his lap, but she desperately clung to his arm and he couldn't budge her. "[Fuck, you're pissing all over me!]" he said, words only barely registering in Thistle's consciousness.

                                            > She heard Saule giggle. "[No, it's not piss. She's-]"

                                            > The next word was new, but the mare knew what it meant. "[-cumming.]"

                                            > There was a further exchange, but Thistle was no longer paying any attention. She was focusing inward, eager to wring every last jolt and tremor, every droplet of her mare juices, each pang of orgasmic bliss, from the experience.

                                            > She became perfectly still as the waves waned, slowed, and stopped. Only then did she take her next breath.

                                            "[Fuck, that was good,]" was the first thing she thought to say.

                                            > This, together with her expression, made Saule laugh again. "[See?]" she asked Salki and prodded his chest with a finger. "[You made her finish only with your leg. Now it's my turn!]"

                                            > Thistle didn't even mind that the two nomads eased her off Salki's thigh. She was content to sit unsteadily on the grass and lean against the young hunter's shoulder as she rode out the warm afterglow.

                                            > She saw Saule lift herself up and straddle the lap she herself had so recently vacated. The girl wrapped both arms around his neck and brought her face close to his once more.

                                            > They kissed and after a few moments Salki lifted his hands and put them on Saule's hips. This earned him a grateful moan and an increasingly passionate tongue-play.

                                            > Saule still slobbered a little too much, and Thistle couldn't help but notice a little rivulet of saliva escape down Salki's cheek. The girl tried to cover it by licking up the excess from her lover's face. Luckily he wasn't too experienced himself and didn't know what to expect, so this was fine. A low grunt escaped him as Saule pushed her hips down in a sudden fit of fresh lust.

                                            > Thistle was okay just watching for a little while, before her need came back and she wanted something more substantial. She nuzzled Salki's shoulder and inhaled deeply through her nose. Her own aroused scent was unmistakable, and she detected the hints of his body, familiar after so much time in the same tent. She also smelled Saule, and underneath that something new.

                                            > It didn't take much deduction to realize that Saule was getting wet, that she had shuffled her clothes aside and was exposed to the night air. There was nothing else between her and the experience she craved, other than Salki's clothes, which she tore at with a desperate, urgent need.

                                            > She would have her first time differently than she had planned only a few hours earlier, and it looked like Thistle and Salki would share the responsibility to make it a good one. She briefly wondered if it was his first time, too.

                                            > Judging by his inexperienced kissing, the answer was probably yes. This thought made Thistle smile, happy to be able to introduce two people she liked to these new wonders.

                                            > She leaned down to try and find a sensitive spot to lick on either of their bodies when she heard a voice and heavy footsteps.

                                            > Nomads, headed their way!

                                            > Her ears instantly folded down and she prodded a hoof at Saule.

                                            "[Stop! Someone is coming!]"

                                            > The girl didn't seem to hear, but Salki understood and shifted his grip from Saule's waist to her shoulders so he could pry her away from himself.

                                            > The young woman blinked in confusion and then frowned at Thistle, imagining that the mare was jealous and wanted more time with *her* man, at the expense of Saule's own pleasure.

                                            "[People are coming this way!]" Thistle repeated.

                                            > Saule's jealousy instantly fled, replaced by sheer panic. She scrambled off Salki's lap so quickly she flopped on her back. Her wraps had come undone and Saule rushed to bring them together again, while Salki did the same.

                                            > Only now did Thistle the extent to which those two had undone each other's clothes.

                                            > Luckily, her warning had come soon enough so that whoever was coming wouldn't see anything untoward. There would be the smell, but Thistle knew nomad noses weren't as sensitive, especially outside.

                                            > She shifted herself a hoofstep away from the hunter while, on his other side, Saule climbed up into a cross-legged, crouched sitting position which allowed her to hide her bare belly.

                                            > The two nomads soon heard the footsteps too, and watched the darkness until it resolved into Buygra.

                                            > "[There you are, it's a good thing you had the torch or I would never have found you!]" he complained. "[What are you doing out here anyway?]"

                                            > With her dark-adapted eyes Thistle saw how much Saule was blushing, but to her pleasant surprise it seemed as if Salki had a good grip on his own embarrassment. His voice was rock-steady and perhaps even a touch bored.

                                            > "[Not that it's your business,]" he chided, "[but Saule got us some beer and I didn't want to share it with everyone.]"

                                            > It was a lie, but a believable one and it made Buygra chuckle and point a warning finger at Thistle. "[Make sure you don't give her too much, or she will try to fuck you again.]"

                                            > Thistle couldn't meet Buygra's gaze after that little reminder. Luckily Salki knew what to say. "[Why are you here?]"

                                            > "[I'm here for her,]" Buygra replied and pointed at the mare again. "[Chieftain says she wants to speak with her, now. Come on.]"

                                            "[What?!]" Thistle blurted out. "[Why?!]"

                                            > "[Why now? It's the middle of the night!]" Saule pointed out. The sheer shock of the proclamation had instantly wiped away any leftover embarrassment.

                                            > Buygra sighed and shrugged his wide shoulders. "[I don't know, I am just doing what the Chieftain told me to do.]"

                                            > "[Does she want me, too?]" Salki asked.

                                            > "[No, just the pony. She said you have to come now, so let's go. I want to get back to Xuan and Guuni-naiz.]"

                                            > There was no arguing his tone, not with the Chieftain's command behind it. Thistle got uncertainly to her hooves, even her own, heat-fueled need momentarily suppressed under sheer surprise.

                                            > "[This is stupid, you don't have to go,]" Salki told her, grabbing a fetlock with his hand. "[I'll talk with Mother. Whatever it is, it can wait until morning.]"

                                            > Unfortunately Buygra had a different opinion. He clicked his tongue and patted his thigh. "[Chieftain said now. She was very certain. I'm not going to tell her no. If you want to go and tell her no, you can. I'll stay here and help Saule finish her beer.]"

                                            > That last was a joke and Buygra chuckled when he said it, but it also reminded Salki at what they had been about to do. He didn't correct his friend in that there was no beer left.

                                            > He gave Thistle an imploring look. "[Go and see what she wants, please?]" he said quietly. "[You can come right back after, it probably won't take very long.]"

                                            > Thistle, bewildered, just nodded and took a few steps toward Buygra. At least, she thought to herself, the hunter hadn't noticed that anything had been happening between the trio.

                                            > He turned smoothly and began walking back to the camp, and she followed in a kind of daze. She was still drunk, and the world was lurching and spinning around her, but sheer bewilderment and curiosity were enough to make her resolutely put one hoof in front of another, and having four legs kept her upright.

                                            > Maybe when Darga saw that the mare was drunk she'd send her away and tell her to come back the next day. Then she could go back to Saule and Salki and seamlessly slip right back into whatever fun they were having.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Despite having four legs, Thistle was visibly unsteady when she stumbled her way into Darga's tent. She had pre-opened her mouth to ask what the woman wanted, but when she saw the Chieftain had company, Thistle froze and stared, gaping.

                                            > It was not any nomad from the camp, even with her vision swimming Thistle could easily tell that. This was a stranger, and given the fact of the traders' visit, it could only mean he was one of them. Even stranger, on the opposite side of the central fire pit, there was Hisein.

                                            > Their stares pierced the mare and she took a reflexive step. She would have backed right out of the tent, but Buygra was standing in her way and her rump smacked against his shins.

                                            > "[Hey!]" he said and prodded a finger against her croup. "[Move it, let me in!]"

                                            > There was no choice and Thistle entered the tent fully. She looked around for an inconspicuous place, but there wasn't really anywhere to hide, so she just heaved a sigh and flopped down by the fire.

                                            > Her backside hit the hard-packed ground a little harder than she had intended, but at least sitting was easier than standing, and she thought the world wasn't twirling around quite as much as before.

                                            > "[Fuck,]" Darga commented in a low, dark voice. "[She's drunk. Who gave her beer?!]"

                                            > No one spoke, not even Buygra who must have figured out where the mare had gotten drunk. He failed to meet the Chieftain's gaze as he plopped down beside Thistle. The flap slid shut as he let it go and the interior of the tent became an isolated little world of their own.

                                            > There was no real fire, but the embers in the pit glowed brightly enough to give the circle of faces a red tint. To Thistle's blurry, beer-tinted vision the assembly looked like something from the Abyss and her stomach shrivelled inside of her in sudden, unreasonable fear.

                                            > Since she didn't get an answer to her question, Darga stood and stepped over the fire to crouch beside the mare. She gripped her head in both hands and made Thistle face her directly.

                                            > "[Are you drunk completely out of your idiot head? Is there anything left to think with?!]"

                                            > Thistle tried to pull her head free, but her muscles were jelly and the grip proved too strong. She took refuge in bravado and folded down her ears. Her muzzle scrunched up as she showed her teeth, the way she had seen nomads do when they fought.

                                            "['m fine!]" she growled back. "[Lemme go! 'm fine for wha- whatever this is!]"

                                            > The Chieftain held her for a moment longer, then she released her grip. "[We'll see,]" Darga muttered and her lips split in a mirthless grin. "[If you're too drunk, I'll take you to the river and hold your head under until it clears up.]"

                                            > It was hard to tell whether she was being serious and Thistle swallowed a sudden lump in her throat. The scrunch in her muzzle smoothed out, but her ears remained firmly lowered, and her gaze slid away from the Darga's hard stare.

                                            > "[Good. Now pay attention.]" Darga said, familiar enough with pony facial expression to see Thistle's fear. She went back to where she had been sitting and held her palm out to the new nomad, as if inviting him to take her hand. "[Tell us again,]" she ordered.

                                            > The man returned his gaze to the mare, but didn't immediately obey. "[So it's true, it really can talk,]" he asked.

                                            > "[Yes,]" Darga answered impatiently. "[You can have a heart to heart after, first tell us what you told Hisein before!]"

                                            > It didn't seem as if the trader was taking the Chieftain seriously and an insidious thought sneaked itself into Thistle's mind that he wouldn't act so nonplussed if was faced with a strong, male leader. She tried to gauge Darga's expression, but her eyes kept sliding off and the ground felt as if it was swaying gently, so Thistle gave up.

                                            > She would ask Salki later, if she remembered to.

                                            > The trader returned his stare to the embers in the fire pit and took a breath. "[There is not much to tell, only what I heard. We met Aybek maybe two, three moons ago.]"

                                            > Thistle leaned her head to one side and perked up her ears. She didn't recognize the name, but she had seen how Hisein and Darga had leaned closer to hear better. This was very important.

                                            > "[They went west. Far west, until the land changes and the sun is hot, even in winter,]" the nomad was saying, his voice lowering and picking up an intonation Thistle could only call 'theatrical'.

                                            > He was obviously telling a well-rehearsed story. "[There are different peoples, Aybek said. Strange people who wear clothes not made from skins, but from woven plants. Maybe they don't need them because it is so hot.]"

                                            > The news he was imparting sent a shiver down Thistle's spine and she found herself holding her breath. She recognized the same name Hisein had mentioned before and for the first time she was sorry about the bear and hoped she wouldn't forget anything.

                                            > She took as deep a breath as she could and tried to force herself to focus. After a fashion she thought it was working. She almost felt like the man's story was cutting through the fog of her inebriation.

                                            > "[So there are different lands out west,]" Hisein said and straightened up, but Darga waved an irritable hand at him and hushed him.

                                            > The stranger waited to see if there would be anything else, then plunged on. "[There is a land where it never rains at the end of the world, Aybek said. They call it the 'Two Lands'.]"

                                            > This announcement made even Darga snort in amusement. She grinned and relaxed. "[Aybek is an old fool. One land, but they call it Two Lands? That's stupid.]"

                                            > The storyteller would not be deterred and he simply shrugged. "[Maybe it was translated wrong, or maybe the name means something different to the people who live there. Aybek was sure this was the name, and he said they are selling horses.]"

                                            > At that word Darga drew a hiss of breath through her teeth and Hisein let out a small growl deep in his throat. "[Is that where the Ruslans got horses? Are these beasts tame so men can sit on them? Talk, damn you! If Aybek has been selling horses to Ruslans we'll-]"

                                            > "[You will nothing,]" the trader interrupted and his grin was insolent. It made Hisein's hands bunch up in fists and he might have hit the newcomer if Darga hadn't laid a restraining hand on the hunter.

                                            > The three watched each other in silence and the tension in the air was almost palpable. Thistle swallowed again and changed her mind about being sober. Now she wished she still had that pleasant, warm glow of alcohol in her belly. It felt as if it had turned into a lump of lead.

                                            > "[What were you going to say, Nurlan?]" Darga asked after she'd had a moment to compose herself.

                                            > The stranger, Nurlan, gave a slight shake and his posture changed. It almost seemed as if he was backing down under the woman's intense stare. "[Nothing. You know as well as I that you can't touch the traders, and you can't tell us where we go or who we do business with. Try it, and no caravan will visit you again.]"

                                            > "[Yes, yes,]" the Chieftain replied, almost impatiently, "[we know all that. Now how do we keep Ruslans from getting any more of these tame horses? I want the traders to bring them to us, instead!]"

                                            > Nurlan shook his head and returned his gaze to the fire pit. "[I told you, Aybek sold them to Ruslans. No one else has them. There are no more. Even if someone gets more, you can't control all the traders.]"

                                            > Hisein and Darga exchanged glances and both their faces were dark at the news. "[Then,]" the Chieftain said, "[we will go any buy them from these 'Two Lands'.]"

                                            > "[What?!]" Buygra said. "[We can't! We don't even know where it is!]"

                                            > Thistle found her own head nodding in agreement, but Darga would hear none of it. "[Easy. You said it's west, right? All the way to the end of the world?]"

                                            > Even Nurlan looked taken aback, but he recovered. "[Uh, yes. That's what Aybek said. West until the land changes. People live in tents made of stone and the sun is stronger.]"

                                            > "[How do they move these stone tents?]" Darga shot out, interrupting the trader once again. "[Do they use these tame horses?]"

                                            > Nurlan shook his head. "[No, no. They do not move their tents. They stay in the same place.]"

                                            > "[Then what do they do when the land around them is picked clean? When there is no more wood to burn, or food to dig up? What do they do when the game is gone?]"

                                            > The other man was silent for a few moments and Thistle had a feeling he wasn't sure about what he was saying, but didn't want to admit to it. He picked his words with some care: "[Aybek did not say. Perhaps they grow grain, or perhaps they trade for everything, or perhaps they have some other magic. These people, who live in stone, are very rich. Even the least among them has gold rings and knives made of iron.]"

                                            > "[Iron!]" both Darga and Hisein whispered simultaneously.

                                            > Thistle had heard the word before, in hushed, reverent whispers. No one in the entire camp had a knife made of iron, and many nomads dismissed claims that this magical metal even existed. The mare had mentioned to some that Equestria had iron tools, but when she admitted that she didn't know how they were made she was called a liar and interest had quickly faded.

                                            > Perhaps she should revisit that project again and see if she could remember something more. A gift of iron tools would surely cement her place in the camp. She would be able to ask for anything then, and no nomad would deny her!

                                            > "[-all the more reason to go see,]" Darga was saying when the mare forcibly dragged herself back to the present moment. "[If we can get the secret of iron then we will not even need horses. Maybe we can get both!]"

                                            > Hisein still looked doubtful and he shook his head again. "[Darga, you're talking about going to the end of the world!]"

                                            > "[Bah!]" she retorted, "[Aybek did it, didn't he? If that scrawny piece of shit could find these Two Lands, so can we!]"

                                            > At these words Nurlan cleared his throat and the others fell silent and looked at him. "[Actually, I don't think Aybek has been there. He got the horses from a different caravan and then just lied about it so he could sell them for a higher price to the Ruslans.]"

                                            > "[How do you know that!?]" Darga snapped.

                                            > Nurlan just shrugged and shook his head. "[My wife told me. She talked to Aybek's wife and said he was full of shit.]"

                                            > "[See?]" Hisein said triumphantly, "[you don't know if this Two Lands even exists, nor where it is! Who is to say this other caravan hadn't just made it up to protect where they got the horses from?]"

                                            > The nomads subsided into silence which gave Thistle an opening to finally speak.

                                            "[Why am I here?]"

                                            > Darga gave her another calculating look, rethinking her accusations of the mare being drunk out of her skull, then her lips pressed together. The expression was one Thistle knew well and it meant the woman had made up her mind and would be stubborn beyond any reason. Her hears automatically lowered.

                                            > "[You will go with Salki. You're the only one of us who has seen rich lands and other people. You learned our language, you can do it again if these Two Lands talk differently. Besides, if there are horses, you will know how to control them.]"

                                            > Thistle's mouth fell open in shock.

                                            "[Wha-?]"

                                            > "[Salki will go, and some of our best hunters,]" Darga proclaimed. She stared hard at Hisein. "[Will you go with them? You can take your slaves and trade them for horses.]"

                                            > The man looked thoughtful for a few tense moments, then shrugged. "[Sure, why not. Someone has to keep these young fools from getting themselves killed. Who else?]"

                                            > Darga gave it some thought and her gaze lingered on Buygra. "[Not you,]" she finally concluded. "[We will need good hunters to build up meat for winter, and you have a young child. We will send Zaur and Bulat, and- mmm, yes Temir.]"

                                            > Buygra answered when that last name was spoken: "[If you send Temir, Saule will want to come too.]"

                                            > This made Darga grunt in annoyance. "[She's a girl. She can't. I'll tell her mother and she will tie her to their donkey if she has to. Oh, that reminds me: you will take some donkeys to trade, and all the worked skins. You will hunt on the way and bring more fresh pelts.]"

                                            > At that point, she looked at Nurlan again. "[What do these people in Two Lands trade for?]"

                                            > He gave it a moment's thought, then shrugged. "[Gold,]" he said matter-of-factly, "[silver. Iron, probably.]"

                                            > "[Food?]" Darga prompted.

                                            > "[Meat, maybe. They have grain, Aybek said grain was very cheap from Two Lands.]"

                                            > Darga was considering, but Hisein broke in and reminded her: "[We will never be able to bring meat before it rots.]"

                                            > It was no use and the Chieftain just waved him away. "[You will take what we have smoked and salted, whatever is left from the winter. Everyone will give.]"

                                            > "[What will we eat?]" Hisein asked.

                                            > "[Hmm, we will send hunters out when we move, they will bring fresh meat. You will take what does not spoil. It will have to be enough for a pair of horses, so we can breed more. The clan will give whatever it takes. If Ruslans have horses, we must have them too, or we will die!]"

                                            > Buygra gave a grin and patted Thistle on her back. "[So what if Ruslans have horses, we have- gurk!]"

                                            > He had been about to mention their archery, but Hisein had swiftly reached over and punched the young nomad right in the ribs, which took his breath away. "[Hush!]" the older nomad said.

                                            > Nurlan didn't comment on this, but Thistle saw how closely he was watching the exchange, and the slight, puzzled smile on his lips. Would he have gone and spread the news of their new invention around? He probably would, if he thought it would benefit his trading, the mare decided. It was just how nomads worked.

                                            > "[No,]" Darga said in answer to Buygra's interrupted words. "[Horses will be too useful. They allow warriors to move quickly over long distances. We must have them.]"

                                            "[What about carts? You can use donkeys to pull carts!]"

                                            > Both older men shook their heads. "[It does not work, not here. Maybe in the hot Two Lands, but the ground is too wet in spring and summer, and the snow makes it impossible in winter. A cart that only works in summer is not much use.]"

                                            > The mare looked at the trader and raised her eyebrows.

                                            "[How do you move around then? With all your stuff?]"

                                            > He gave a hearty chuckle, then fell silent when he saw she was serious. "[Uh, same way you do,]" he finally said, uncertainly, "[we tie our bags and goods to donkeys. They can move when the ground is wet, and they can go through all but the thickest snow.]"

                                            > She should have realized that, Thistle thought, should have remembered. She had seen the caravans come to the camp. Some carried their wares in crude saddlebags on their backs, and others used donkeys the same way the camp nomads did.

                                            > Her face blushed and she felt stupid for asking. Maybe it was still the alcohol.

                                            > "[Enough discussion,]" Darga said with finality. "[You-]" she pointed at Nurlan, "[you will tell Salki and Hisein everything you can remember about how to get to Two Lands. You will tell us where you met Aybek and where he was going, and the group will try to find him and ask more questions.]"

                                            > Her gaze moved to Hisein. "[You figure out what you will need and who else you need to take. I want Willow in the camp for hunting, but you can pick anyone else.]"

                                            > Buygra was next and the Chieftain's finger moved to point in his direction. "[Buygra, find Kantuta and Intor, we will discuss what the camp can spare for trading.]" The Chieftain considered this for a moment, then shook her head. "[Actually, wait until tomorrow morning. Find them when the sun is back up and tell them to come here.]"

                                            > The young hunter gave a quick nod, relieved that he wouldn't have to leave his wife and daughter. "[Yes, Chieftain!]"

                                            > Finally, there was the mare. "[And you,]" Darga said, with a slight sneering twist to her mouth, "[You will find that useless son of mine and bring him here. I don't care if he's drunk, fetch him so we can begin making plans.]"

                                            > Thistle remembered what they had been about to do and her cheeks burned when she realized that Salki was probably doing it right at the moment. On the other hoof, maybe he was already done. In either case she didn't relish the thought of delivering this command.

                                            "[How about- What if Salki and me come in the morning? We will not be drunk anymore, we can help and plan.]"

                                            > The Chieftain gave her a speculative look and Nurlan looked surprised at the refusal.

                                            > At long last Darga threw her hands in the air and grunted. "[Bah, you're probably right. You're both useless to me when you are drunk. Fine, we'll talk first thing tomorrow and I do not care how much your heads hurt, understand?]"

                                            "[Yes, Chieftain.]"

                                            > "[Now get the fuck out of my sight,]" Darga said.

                                            > Thistle was only too happy to flee the tent. She headed back in the direction she had left Salki and Saule. She tried to imagine herself joining whatever they were doing, but the thought did nothing to fan her passion.

                                            > The feeling was gone and all the mare could think about was the prospect of packing up and going on a journey far away.

                                            > At least Salki would be with her, she consoled herself.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Walking with a burden on her back was more gruelling than Thistle remembered. On the other hoof, it's wasn't quite as bad as she'd feared. The last time she had done that, with a full pack of nomad gear, was during the hunters' expedition in the winter.

                                            > At least this time there was no squishy knee-deep snow and the surface was relatively firm under her hooves. The ground was still treacherous and its thick cover of grass hid stones and holes which would have made it incredibly easy to twist an ankle.

                                            > She was used to the terrain and the pace the nomads had set for themselves was not too onerous, but if she fell, or injured herself, the others wouldn't carry her. For that matter, Thistle didn't know what they would do. How important was she to the hunters? Would they help her, or just leave her behind? Worse, would they slaughter her for meat?

                                            > It had happened before. Donkeys had gone lame and the camp people had no compunctions about killing them for meat.

                                            > She was different, but the mare didn't know if she was different *enough*. She made sure to pick her way carefully and kept her mind on where she placed her hooves.

                                            > That excessive care, combined with long hours of monotonous walking left Thistle dripping with sweat by the time Salki announced that they would camp for the night. There was no comment among the hunters, even though there was some day left. Not that she didn't welcome the rest, though.

                                            > Around her nomads dropped packs and went to their water skins. Bulat was the first to remember her and came over to share his water skin while the mare divested herself of the goods. She had insisted that they should not tie her burden to her back, like they did with the donkeys, but that she would carry it of her own volition.

                                            > It was less demeaning that way, and it would allow her to drop everything and run if there was sudden danger.

                                            "[Thank you,]" she murmured to the nomad when he was close enough.

                                            > Bulat crouched down into the relaxed posture nomads assumed when they didn't want to sit on the ground, and watched Thistle expertly untie the water skin's nozzle with her hooves and lips. She looked at him in question, but he gestured with his hand for her to drink first.

                                            > She didn't hesitate, and even though the lukewarm water smelled of leather, it was delicious after the day's slog.

                                            > Behind her, the small herd of donkeys the group had taken with them were starting to graze on the thick grass around them.

                                            "[We should unload them and find them some water.]"

                                            > The young man gave her a swift nod. "[That is why Salki ordered a stop. There are some trees on the horizon. It probably means there is water.]"

                                            "[Why didn't we go there?]"

                                            > Bulat raised his hand and tapped the side of his nose, a gesture Thistle understood meant he was about to impart a secret. Her ears pricked up. "[The water is a precious thing out here. There could be others. Temir and Salki went ahead to scout.]"

                                            > Thistle shrugged, but then nodded to herself. What Bulat was saying made sense, and she had learned the hard way that other groups of nomads were rarely friendly. It was best to be careful.

                                            > She raised the skin up again, then proffered it to the man. He didn't seem in the slightest bit bothered that she'd drank from the same spout.

                                            "[What will we do with the donkeys then?]"

                                            > Bulat held up a hand and she had to wait for him to swallow his mouthful before he could answer. "[Once Salki and Tamir come back we will take them, if there is water. If not- they will keep for the night and we will look for some as we go tomorrow. Most likely either I or Temir will scout ahead.]"

                                            > Thistle looked around while Bulat drank some more. Hisein was walking among their small herd, inspecting the beasts and their cargo, and off to the side she saw Zaur unpacking pieces of leather. They would build tents, even though it was summer. The nights were still quite fresh and if the wind picked up it would be miserable to sleep outside.

                                            > Bulat held the water skin out again, but Thistle shook her head so he slipped it back on his shoulder. "[I will go and help with the tents,]" he said. "[You better go see if Hisein needs something.]"

                                            > Thistle's ears automatically lowered, but she knew the old hunter wouldn't shirk his sharp tongue if he thought she was slacking off. It was true that she had carried a heavy burden, but so had they all. On this expedition, each nomad had their own tent, food, and water, because the donkeys and Thistle bore a much more important cargo.

                                            > Her own part, thankfully, was stacks and stacks of worked leather and dried skins. She did not envy some of the donkeys, who had to carry salted and smoked meat. Even at a distance she could smell it. The most valuable items - bits of carved bone and the meager stash of gold jewelry the camp had been able to scrape together under Darga's commanding gaze - were packed safely in Salki's personal bag.

                                            > She got to her hooves, heaved a sigh, and headed over to help Hisein with the animals.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle was to sleep in Salki's tent. It was the most convenient arrangement since she certainly couldn't put one up for herself, not the way the nomads did it, and not with hooves. This also meant they didn't have to lug another tent with them.

                                            > Soon after dinner the group all turned in, except for Hisein who would stay on watch. There had been some debate during the walk whether to have Thistle also take a turn guarding them, but aside from Salki, the hunters were loath to let the mare do such an important job.

                                            > This was fine with her, since it meant she could sleep nearly uninterrupted the whole night. If Salki didn't wake her when he took his turn, she would have a peaceful and restful slumber.

                                            > Being back together with him was oddly comforting. It had been a while since Thistle had slept in Salki and Darga's tent, and longer since she had had an opportunity to really talk with the nomad.

                                            > Unfortunately there was only one topic her brain could come up with.

                                            "[So- last night. Did you and Saule...]"

                                            > There was a prolonged silence, but Salki wasn't asleep. Thistle clearly heard how his breath hitched at the question, and she waited patiently for an answer.

                                            > "[Yes,]" he said finally.

                                            "[Good. That's good. Saule is good.]"

                                            > He did not reply, so Thistle swallowed and pushed on.

                                            "[Uh, I had some beer. When we- when I... I don't know if you-]"

                                            > Her coward mouth simply couldn't spit out the words, and Thistle lowered her ears and rolled to her belly. The tent was small and the maneuver brought her muzzle close enough to press against Salki's bare arm.

                                            "[Um, I liked it,]" she finished lamely.

                                            > The silence stretched again, filled only by her erratic, hammering heartbeat. She brushed her nose up Salki's arm until she could rest her chin on his shoulder. The fact that he hadn't pushed her off yet was promising.

                                            > She was past her heat, but some residual need had stayed with her. Her lust the previous night had been interrupted prematurely and Thistle still felt vaguely unsatisfied. That, and the shameful nugget of jealousy for Saule, one Thistle refused to fully acknowledge even in the privacy of her own mind.

                                            > There was no one of her own kind in the whole world. Not a stallion, in any case, even if Rainy Day was still alive. There never would be.

                                            > Going away from the hubbub of the camp and trudging through the vast emptiness of the steppe had made Thistle acutely aware of how lonely she was.

                                            > She longed for a meaningful connection. Other than her tentative friendship with Xuan, and the probably misplaced romantic attraction between her and Saule, Salki was one of the few nomads she could call friend. In his case, she thought she could very nearly call him something more.

                                            > The previous night had proved it. Drunk or not, they had all responded to each other. If that damned Darga hadn't called for her, they would have shared that wonderful moment together.

                                            > Mere memory was enough to send a fresh fire coursing through Thistle's nethers, and she placed a kiss on Salki's bare shoulder. The next one went to his neck, and then his cheek.

                                            > It was fuzzy and the young nomad kept it neatly trimmed so it felt almost like a pony's face. Thistle closed her eyes and nuzzled against his warmth.

                                            > Salki shifted his head to face her and his nose brushed against hers. Thistle's breath caught and her ears flattened automatically, even as the rest of her body stiffened.

                                            > "[I d-don't know,]" he whispered. "[You're a pony and I'm a man. It's wrong. Everyone would talk. Mother couldn't be Chieftain anymore.]"

                                            > He was thinking about it! He was trying to argue himself into it!

                                            > She had a chance!

                                            > The mere thought was enough to make her tail flag. Perhaps it was the residual hormones running through her body, or how lonely she had felt in the middle of that vast emptiness, or even some leftover frustration from her denied passion the previous night, but Thistle wanted to be close to this nomad.

                                            > She tentatively pushed forward, until the fuzz on her face tickled Salki's lips. She let her warm breath play across his cheek. At the same time, she shuffled a little closer and laid a hoof on his arm.

                                            "[They don't have to know,]" she breathed urgently. "[It will be our secret. It's not wrong. Love is not wrong.]"

                                            > "[Everyone laughed when they heard about the Ruslan,]" Salki said suddenly, and for a moment Thistle didn't understand what he meant. "[They call him an animal fucker. They spit at him and beat him.]"

                                            > The fire of passion was momentarily consumed by one of regret, and Thistle turned her face away in shame. She should have known word would get out. It was only because the Ruslan was a prisoner, and an enemy, that the camp had taken her crime in stride. Salki would be shunned if their relationship came out.

                                            > She had made blunders in the past, but the nomad had been young enough, and she had made enough of a fool of herself, that the camp nomads had simply laughed it off. They wouldn't be so lucky the second time.

                                            > It was a risky secret. If anyone found out...

                                            > The thought of the danger was making her tail flag higher.

                                            > No doubt they would slaughter her if they found out.

                                            > She only wanted it more. The realization sent a shock through her body and her skin prickled, each hair suddenly electric.

                                            "[It will be secret,]" she whispered again and clambered higher.

                                            > Her forelegs straddled Salki's chest and her nose pressed firmly against his. Neither of them was drunk which meant all the inhibitions and embarrassment and fear were in their full effect.

                                            "[Come on. Didn't you like Saule? Didn't you enjoy how she felt?]"

                                            > Thistle made her voice low and husky, and gave Salki's lips a careful prod with her tongue between the sentences. One of his hands found her ankle, but he didn't try to push her off.

                                            > He also didn't answer, so Thistle closed the last bit of the distance and pressed her face to his. It was a clumsy kiss, eager on her side, but half-hearted on his. She didn't try to push it, knowing in her gut that Salki needed slow and careful handling.

                                            "[You remember how it felt with Saule?]"

                                            > Her best chance was to remind him of the pleasure. Need would take over if she could stoke his passion high enough.

                                            > She tried another kiss, a bit more urgent and pushy this time. Salki didn't give her entrance to his mouth and she prodded ineffectually against his closed lips. His grip on her foreleg tightened and his other hand pushed against her barrel.

                                            > "[No,]" he said, turning his head away from her lustful ministrations. "[No, it's wrong. Get off me!]"

                                            > For a moment Thistle considered pinning him down and kissing him until he relented. She thought about turning around and getting her mouth on another part of him, until Salki acknowledged her advances.

                                            > The thought horrified her and the mare drew back in fresh shock. Unlike the previous revelation, this one was not nice. It felt as if she had jumped into an icy-cold river.

                                            > She wasn't like that. She wasn't that kind of a pony! She shouldn't force herself on him, not if he didn't want it. Not on her friend.

                                            > The mare scurried back to her own fur cot and curled into a ball. Her ears were completely flat and her eyes, already filling with tears, straining to see Salki's face in the dark.

                                            "[I- I'm sorry. I didn't mean to. I wouldn't. I'm sorry.]"

                                            > She clamped her mouth shut before she could start babbling uncontrollably.

                                            > In the sudden stillness Salki's movement felt loud and thunderous. His hand slid across the trodden grass inside the tent and patted her side. "[It's fine. Just go to sleep.]"

                                            > He forgave her! He wasn't mad!

                                            > It was a miracle!

                                            > Gratitude filled Thistle's entire body with its welcome warmth and she let out a long, soft sigh.

                                            "[I'm sorry,]" she said again, but with less urgency and more heartfelt meaning in her voice.

                                            > "[It's okay. Look, I like you, but you're a pony. Do you understand?]"

                                            > Thistle nodded in the dark before she realized he couldn't hear her.

                                            "[I understand. You know I would never tell anyone, okay? You can trust me.]"

                                            > "[I know.]"

                                            > His hand gave her side a few more pats, then withdrew. "[Get some sleep,]" Salki said. "[We have a long way to go tomorrow.]"

                                            > She agreed, and despite how strong she had become in the last year, Thistle felt a slight ache deep in her muscles. She needed to toughen up some more, and until that happened, she needed all the rest she could get.

                                            "[How do you know which way to go?]"

                                            > For a few seconds Salki was quiet, thinking about his answer. Then his furs rustled and Thistle guessed he had shrugged. "[It's easy to find east, just look at the sun. Mother said it is West, until the world ends in an endless sea.]"

                                            "[Okay, fine, but how do we get back?!]"

                                            > "[Temir and Hissein are good trackers. They will remember the land so we can find the way back. Once we are near, we will all know.]"

                                            "[How can you know that?]"

                                            > There was more rustling and his voice came from higher up as the young nomad lifted himself on his elbow. "[Thistle, these are our lands. Our home. We carry it in our bones. We will find our way back.]"

                                            > She gave a silent nod in the dark. She understood what he was saying. It sounded something like the close bond all earth ponies felt with their home soil, or maybe the ineffable instinct that drove pegasi across a thousand miles of empty sky back to their heart and kin.

                                            "[I t- I think I understand.]"

                                            > Perhaps in time, she herself would get attuned to this land. For some reason that thought gave her comfort. She had been cut from her home, from her kin and family and friends, but perhaps there was a new home, new family. It would take effort, but then again, all good things did.

                                            "[Good night, Salki. Thanks.]"

                                            > He remained upright for a while longer, no doubt confused by her sudden thanks, but he didn't ask and soon he laid back down on his cot. Thistle listened until his breathing became regular once more, then she closed her eyes.

                                            > At the very least he had stopped her from doing something awful again. She could always rely on Salki's friendship.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The monotonous days began to blend into one another. If the landscape was changing in any way, Thistle couldn't spot it. It remained a featureless, flat expanse of grass, dotted here and there with a few bushes. Sometimes she thought she saw a difference up ahead, but the horizon was so blurry in her eyes that she could not make out any distinct features.

                                            > A copse of trees was a rare treat, to be treasured and watched carefully until it was past them, simply because it was not the land or the sky.

                                            > There was just so much *room*! More than once the mare found herself wondering how the nomads could possibly fight over living space. Any camp could simply pack up, pick a direction at random, and wander away.

                                            > She had said as much, but the hunters had merely laughed and told her she wouldn't understand. Even Salki couldn't give her an actual reason, and simply shrugged his shoulders apologetically when she pressed him.

                                            > Maybe the land wasn't equally valuable everywhere? Water had been a constant worry during their travel, and the small group would detour significantly if one of the forward scouts found a stream, or a spring. Those were usually accompanied by slightly thicker woods than the spindly groupings Thistle usually saw.

                                            > After a fashion she thought she would be able to find them herself, especially if she didn't have to carry as much stuff and could move more quickly. For that matter, she found her going easier and she had to think less and less about placing her hooves.

                                            > Maybe it was her earth pony talent, or maybe it was just practice, but she could tell the shape of the land under the grass and deftly avoided the holes and the clumps of thick grass which would have made it so easy to twist an ankle.

                                            > With a few weeks of that, Thisle thought she might be able to run across the land with no concern of injury. She also realized how lucky she and Rainy Day had been during their night-time escape. One unlucky hoofstep and one of them could have been crippled. The wolves would have gotten them.

                                            >...

                                            > The mare shook her head at the memory and tried to focus on something else. Anything. The problem with the unchanging scenery was that it left her too much time to think. All kinds of unwelcome and uncomfortable thoughts came up.

                                            > She glanced around for some company and saw Hisein walking a few steps behind her. He was not the ideal conversational partner, but Thistle was going crazy from boredom. She slowed her pace until he caught up to her.

                                            "[Um, you didn't bring your slaves to sell,]" she noted.

                                            > "[So what?]"

                                            "[I'm glad. They're too young for this walk. Ning-]"

                                            > "[They will keep,]" Hisein interrupted her. "[I left them with Kantuta, she will teach them better than you did.]"

                                            > Thistle's ears fell for a few seconds as she was forced to admit that, yes, Kantuta would indeed be a lot more strict, which matched up better with Hisein's ideas of raising children.

                                            > She shook her head and changed the topic.

                                            "[Do you think we will find Two Lands?]"

                                            > The man gave a slight grunt and didn't answer. When Thistle glanced over she saw he was staring fixedly at the horizon, his brow furrowed in thought.

                                            > At long last he spoke up: "[It is easy to say 'go west'. Not so easy to find a land we have never seen before. Nurlan's wife spoke about hills and rivers, but there are many hills and rivers. How will we know we found the right ones?]"

                                            "[I know. Do you think we will get lost?]"

                                            > Hisein shrugged again, but this time he didn't need as long to answer. "[No, we will find our way back.]"

                                            "[Do you know how? Salki said you can feel your home.]"

                                            > "[Maybe, but that is not how.]"

                                            "[How then?]"

                                            > The hunter extended an arm to point at the sky. "[It is a skill nomad children learn as soon as they are able to walk. We watch the sun, and which way we are going. We walk with a measured pace, so we know how far. We remember.]"

                                            > His explanation made sense, at least more than Salki's weird allusions to strange, mystical senses. Thistle nodded to herself, then peered at Hisein with expectation.

                                            "[Can you teach me this?]"

                                            > His laughter was harsh and mocking, and despite herself Thistle blushed in a mixture of embarrassment and anger. "[You're not nomad. It wouldn't work for you.]"

                                            "[How do you know?! How do you know this? I can think! I can talk! I can learn whatever you can learn!]"

                                            > "[No, you can't.]"

                                            "[I can! I know more things than you will ever dream! I can learn anything you can!]"

                                            > Hisein pointed a finger in her direction. "[Can you shoot a bow?]"

                                            "[Yes!]"

                                            > She had blurted it out without really thinking, the words bursting out from sheer bravado and annoyance. These people were incredibly backward and Equestria was thousands of years ahead of them, *at least*. He would not tell her what she could or couldn't do!

                                            > "[I have never seen you.]"

                                            "[Well, not this kind of bow! These are made for nomads. I don't have fingers. Ponies use different bows. The idea is similar, but we need to use it with hooves!]"

                                            > Hisein seemed interested and let his steady gait bring him closer to the mare. "[So, if you describe this pony bow to Darkhan, he will be able to make it. Will you come on a hunt with us? Will you show us how it is done?]"

                                            > The thought made Thistle grimace.

                                            "[I will not shoot animals. I will not kill. It's not the pony way!]"

                                            > "[Then what use is a bow to you?]"

                                            "[It is a sport! It is a competition between ponies! Only- only] 'Griffins' [use it for fighting!]"

                                            > The new, Equestrian word rang out and Hisein didn't answer for a long while. Thistle tried to calm her breathing. She had let the nomad goad her into anger, something he was good at and Thistle suspected he secretly liked doing.

                                            > At long last he repeated, mangling the name but making it just barely recognizable: "[Criffin? Who is Criffin?]"

                                            > She thought about how to explain it to him, but unfortunately she didn't know the names of the right creatures in nomad. It was possible they didn't even have these words, so the mare improvised.

                                            "[It is half bird and half big- big wolf! Or- maybe bear. It has big claws on hind feet and bird claws on front, and a sharp beak. They can fly like pegasi, like-]" she heaved a sigh, "[-like Rainy Day.]"

                                            > Hisein gave her a wide-eyed, disbelieving look, then he chortled with laughter. "[Seriously? A big bird bear? You will have to imagine something better.]"

                                            "[Fine. You do not have to believe me. There are fearsome beasts in my world and they would eat you for breakfast.]"

                                            > "[Yeah, sure they would! I would like to see these big beasts of yours. Judging by how soft you are, they would fall to a steppe rabbit!]"

                                            > His own joke was making the big warrior laugh uproariously, which drew the attention of the other members of their group. Thistle saw Zaur and Bulat drawing closer and she was glad Salki was ahead, scouting.

                                            > They would probably tell him when he came back, but at least he wouldn't be laughing at her at the same time as the rest of them, and the initial sting would be softened.

                                            > Already Zaur and Bulat were asking what was so funny and Hisein was trying to explain amidst bouts of laughter.

                                            > Thistle stuck her tongue out at him when he wasn't looking and kept her ears folded down in a vain attempt to shut out the sound. She hastened her pace to get to the front of the donkey herd, as far away from the group of hunters as she could. Temir was leading and with luck he wouldn't ask what all the commotion was about.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Slowly even Thistle could see that the land was changing. The horizon ahead was no longer flat, but began to show hills. It was hard to tell with her poor eyes, but Thistle thought she saw flecks of white on the tallest bumps. Perhaps she could even call them mountains.

                                            > Their way began to slope up, which made going slightly more difficult. Luckily, Thistle had gotten tougher over the long days of walking and she found she could cope without falling behind the gruelling pace the hunters had set for themselves.

                                            > On the plus side, the weather had turned colder so she wasn't losing as much fluid through sweat. She had also noticed that springs had become more common, so water was less of a problem. They had even come across a small river, which required a bit of coaxing to get the donkeys to cross.

                                            > The deepest part had the mare's belly submerged, but her cargo had remained dry. The water was freezing cold and left her shivering and miserable through the rest of the day, despite the hard workout of their travel.

                                            > Each stirring of air, however slight, seemed to cut right through her coat and dig its chilly fingers into her flesh.

                                            > That night everyone clustered around the fire and Thistle didn't even mind the smells of cooking meat. She had fetched her own animal fur blanket from the tent and wrapped herself as tightly as she could.

                                            > The other hunters had also put on some more clothes, and a few of them held their hands out to the flames to warm them.

                                            > Tamir was going through the directions he'd gleaned from the trader, Nurlan. Gaining altitude was exactly what they had expected and it proved they were on the right track. The young hunter boasted about his navigational prowess, until Hisein snorted and flicked a bit of dirt at him.

                                            > "[It's easy to find the mountains,]" Hisein pointed out. "[They say the mountains stretch all the way from the north edge of the world to the south. Any fool can find them.]"

                                            > This comment silenced Tamir and the group subsided again, until Hisein continued. "[Anyway, these are not those mountains.]"

                                            > "[How do you know?]" Salki asked.

                                            > He had to wait for his answer while Hisein chewed a morsel of charred flesh, before the older nomad spoke again: "[It is too soon. We have not walked far enough. These are some other mountains.]"

                                            > "[Do these also go all the way to the north and south?]" Tamir asked, any enmity from Hisein's earlier snub apparently subsumed by eager curiosity.

                                            > Hisein snorted in amusement. "[No, there is only one mountain range which divides the world between the east and the west. The shaman's stories say the mountains came up to fill the crack where the world was joined together when it was made.]"

                                            > Zaur and Bulat nodded knowingly, but Salki and Tamir looked more eager. Tamir continued with his questions: "[Hisein, do you know who made the world, and why? I asked Mother, but she didn't know. When was it made? How?]"

                                            > Hisein held up his hand as if to ward off the barrage of questions. "[I don't know who made it or why, and I don't know when. You'll have to ask the shaman, but I don't think he knows either. Maybe it was the 'avargud'.]"

                                            "[The what?]" Thistle burst out.

                                            > She had paid close attention to this particular story, because she hadn't heard it before in the camp. Then again, she hadn't asked anything about the history of the nomads' world.

                                            > "['Avargud',]" Salki said, gesturing with his hands. "[You know? Very big people?]"

                                            > Tamir gave an excited nod and jumped into Salki's word: "[Yeah, yeah! People bigger than the mountains! I bet 'avargud' could have made the world!]"

                                            > She couldn't be absolutely sure of the word, but Thistle tentatively pegged it down as either 'giants' or 'gods'. Making worlds was usually the domain of gods in most Equestrian mythologies too.

                                            > "[So,]" Salki said slowly, as if trying to figure something out, "[how will we know when we are at the right mountains?]"

                                            > Hisein gave him a wicked-looking grin. "[Oh, you will know. Those mountains are steep and tall. These are barely hills.]"

                                            > Those ominous words made Thistle's ears splay immediately. It was already a tiring journey and she spent inordinate amounts of time grazing each morning to keep up her strength.

                                            > They had brought a lot of grain for her and the donkeys, but if the effort continued to increase it may not be enough. She couldn't burn more calories than she ate indefinitely. Sooner or later she would run out.

                                            > Some of the others shared her concern and the younger hunters, especially, looked uneasy. Salki cleared his throat and poked at the fire with a wooden stick as he gathered his thoughts. "[We will find a pass or something. We are not here to climb mountains. If Aybek can find a way, so can we. You know how fat he is!]"

                                            > That got them laughing, even if it was a little forced. "[Besides,]" Salki went on, "[maybe we will meet people who live in these lands and we can ask the way.]"

                                            > "[If they do not attack us,]" Hisein muttered darkly. "[They are strangers.]"

                                            "[They don't attack the traders. We can pretend like we are a trading group. It's true, anyway!]"

                                            > Salki visibly relaxed. "[Good thinking. No one attacks traders.]"

                                            > Even as Thistle opened her mouth to call his lie, Hisein beat her to it: "[We attack traders from the east.]"

                                            > This got their young leader flustered for a moment until he rallied and proclaimed: "[Yes, but they are a different kind of people. No one will attack nomad traders.]"

                                            > Hisein chose not to reply, but Thistle watched his face as he stared at the flames. He looked grim and worried, and she hoped they wouldn't have to fight their way through people in addition to the terrain.

                                            > She returned her attention to the last few bites of the rough bread she'd made and crunched her way through the thick crust and bits of grain embedded in it. She finished the meal with a drink from Salki's water skin.

                                            > This reminded everyone else and they hurriedly swallowed the last of their bits of meat. Zaur had shot a couple of birds as he was scouting ahead and this had provided an agreeable dinner to the nomads. It meant there was more bread for Thistle, even though she winced a little at the slaughter of those hapless creatures.

                                            > She stood and slipped into Salki's tent without further comment. She plopped herself down on her cot and tried to wrap the animal skin blanket even more tightly around herself. It was tricky with hooves, but after long practice Thistle could make quite a cozy little nest.

                                            > Mere minutes later Salki crawled in on his hands and knees and fumbled around with his own cot. She waited for him to settle down, but the man kept kneeling and didn't seem to want to lie down.

                                            > She lifted her head to try and see, but the interior was quite dark.

                                            > Eventually Salki spoke: "[Thistle?]"

                                            "[Mm?]"

                                            > "[It is getting cold. I don't want to make a firepit in the tent each night. How about- hmm...]"

                                            > She perked up her ears and waited for the rest of the question, but it didn't seem to be forthcoming.

                                            "[Yes?]" she prompted.

                                            > "[Come, let's share the blankets. We will be warmer that way.]"

                                            > Her breath hitched for a moment and she couldn't immediately decide how she felt about this proposal. On the one hoof, it would be warm and comfortable. On the other, he had rejected her advances. Was Salki beginning to regret it? Maybe he missed Saule and wanted to recapture at least a similar experience with Thistle instead?

                                            > He had said no to her offer, and she didn't want to press herself on him anymore, not if he didn't want it. Thistle tried to keep her resolve. A bit of chill would help her focus her thoughts away from indecent ideas.

                                            > Her ears splayed as her will faltered. It *was* getting quite chilly at night and the wind always somehow found its way into the tent and under her skins no matter how tightly she wrapped them.

                                            > It was only for warmth.

                                            "[Okay.]"

                                            > There was a shuffling sound as Salki dragged his cot closer to hers and she lifted up her blanket in an invitation. She felt a weight slide across her as Salki added his own animal skin on top of hers, then he leaned against her.

                                            > She was facing away, so his chest pressed against the fur on her back. His hand slid around her barrel.

                                            > Already she felt warmer.

                                            > Salki's legs tucked up against her tail and Thistle had to concentrate to keep it still. Instead she lightly rested her forehoof on Salki's hand and drew a deep, luxurious breath.

                                            > It was only for warmth, but *Celestia* did it feel nice.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > They came across the strangers late one morning. Thistle was walking in the back, keeping an eye on the pack of donkeys, but she heard the commotion up ahead and saw that the nomads were stopping.

                                            > She clicked her tongue at the beasts and they obediently slowed to a halt. She should have stayed with them and made sure none wandered off, but the creatures all bent their heads to crop the thin grass and Thistle slunk forward, even as her ears splayed with the guilt.

                                            > Luckily none of the nomads chastised her, although Hisein caught her glance and pressed a finger to his lips in a gesture to keep her silent. Thistle gave him a slight nod and went to stand beside Salki.

                                            > There was a group of men ahead of them, dressed in thick leather and holding spears with evil-looking bone tips. Thistle's group drew closer together and she saw Salki and Temir put their hands on their bows. The mare tensed, ready to fight or flee if the strangers proved hostile.

                                            > Luckily Hisein took matters into his own hands and strode purposefully forward. His own bow and spear were strapped safely to his back and he spread his arms to show the others he was unharmed. He even managed a half-credible grin.

                                            > "[Well met,]" he said with slow, measured words.

                                            > The other group looked at one another and they whispered a few sentences in a quick discussion. One of the men took a step forward, still firmly gripping the shaft of his spear. He spoke quickly, in a language which almost sounded like nomad, but was different enough so Thistle couldn't make out more than one word in ten.

                                            > It seemed Hisein was doing better than her and the nomad leaned his head to one side and nodded to himself as he listened. Every now and then he spoke, but his accent was strange. Thistle grasped the essentials - that they were traders, from far in the east, and were looking for a wealthy group to buy their wares.

                                            > It was working and a few of the strangers eyed the mare with unabashed curiosity. Part of it might have been the cargo she was carrying, but no doubt her pink mane and Equestrian features earned her a fair number of those stares. The nomads had told her there were legends of strange and fanciful creatures living in the far east, which could explain away her appearance.

                                            > She quickly lowered her gaze down to the ground and tried to look nonchalant. She and Salki had discussed it, and decided it would be best if other people thought her nothing more than a curious animal. That way she could watch and listen to what was happening, and offer the group advice when they were alone.

                                            > In either case, this particular group didn't seem to want to trade, and the strangers' tone was growing more hostile. Hisein tried to placate them and had spread his arms wider apart to emphasize that he was unarmed, but the other nomads were starting to shake their spears at him.

                                            > Hisein promised they would leave and despite the strange dialect he was using, Thistle understood that part. He backed away from the other men and raised his hand in some kind of farewell.

                                            > The group turned to leave the way they had come. Thistle was dumbfounded and forgot that she was supposed to be handling the donkeys, but luckily Zaur noticed and hurried to the task.

                                            > "[Hya!]" the young hunter urged. "[Hya! Let's go!]" He supplemented the words with a kissing noise and a few swishes of his makeshift whip.

                                            > A few of the beasts furthest from him were reluctant to give up their grazing, but by that time Thistle remembered herself and hurried to help. She grabbed a bit of rope draped loosely around her neck with her teeth and uncurled it with an expert flick of her head.

                                            > Another long-practiced jerk made the made the impromptu whip swish through the air, which got even the slowest donkey moving. They'd learned to obey her during their long trip, even if she looked a little like a donkey herself.

                                            > The herd was soon under control and Thistle looked around for Salki. She angled her gait to get near him, then tossed a glance back. The group which had accosted them was hidden behind trees, so the mare felt safe enough to talk. She still kept it to a whisper, though.

                                            "[What was that?]"

                                            > "[I didn't understand a whole lot. They don't want us to go this way, I think.]"

                                            "[Why?]"

                                            > Another nomad suddenly appeared beside them and Thistle jumped a little. She still couldn't understand how Hisein was able to move that silently when he wanted.

                                            > The older hunter answered her instead of Salki: "[They live there. Their camp is this way. They do not want strangers coming close.]"

                                            > "[Yeah, that's what I thought,]" Salki said knowingly, but his nod was a bit too enthusiastic to Thistle's eyes. Salki had been as unsure as herself, despite his better grasp of the language.

                                            "[But we said we were traders. I heard you. Everyone welcomes traders.]"

                                            > Hisein gave a shrug. "[They don't know us. They don't trust us.]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head in dismay and looked behind once more. She angled her ears, but couldn't catch anything except their group. Perhaps if they all stopped and remained perfectly still, she would be able to tell if someone was following them.

                                            > She shook her head and decided they probably weren't in danger. When it came to other people and fighting, Thistle had learned she could always trust Hisein's instincts. Instead, she asked a different question.

                                            "[What was that language?]"

                                            > "[It's how people this way talk. I learned it from talking with the traders. It's not too hard, you just have to pretend like you have a stone stuck in your throat.]"

                                            > His little joke made Hisein laugh and after a moment Salki joined in. He tried a few rasping words of barely recognizable nomad and Hisein slapped his back.

                                            > "[Good, good,]" he said, "[you almost got it!]"

                                            > The group was now driving the herd of donkeys before them, and they were going downhill, which meant they'd increased their pace. Thistle felt herself breathing more quickly.

                                            "[Where are we going now? Are we going back because of this?]"

                                            > Again the nomads laughed and this time Hisein patted her mane in encouragement. "[No, don't worry. We will go back and take the other valley. It is only about two hours out of our way.]" He pointed a finger ahead. "[Now go back and take over with the animals. Tell Zaur to come back, I will need him to scout ahead while I make sure they aren't following us.]"

                                            > Thistle remembered her assignment for the day and her ears momentarily folded. She didn't comment and simply hurried her steps to reach the young man and tell him Hisein wanted him.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > That evening Thistle sat on her haunches in the tent while Salki lay beside her. His hand kept running up and down her back, playing with her fur. It was nice, but despite the pleasant tingles his caresses were sending up her spine, Thistle stared at the tent flap in hard concentration.

                                            > She kept thinking back at the strange encounter that morning. Even more, she thought about what Hisein had told them at the camp fire. Some of those men had tracked them silently through the woods for a good distance, until they were far enough away.

                                            > The group had talked before about what to do if they encountered unfriendly people, but Thistle hadn't expected it would be like that. For that matter, she hadn't known what she had expected.

                                            > They were masquerading as traders, and in her experience those always had a warm reception with nomad tribes. Turning traders away was unthinkable.

                                            > Worse, the strangers had been armed with spears just as strong and sharp as the ones her group was carrying, and they had looked ready to use them. Their faces had been twisted into distrustful glares.

                                            > Somewhere in her rational mind Thistle had known that fighting was a possibility, but she hadn't really believed it, not until now.

                                            > True, none of the others had bows. She had been fairly sure about that, and Salki had confirmed when she asked. That would have given her friends a big advantage, but some of them could still be hurt, or worse!

                                            "[I think we should stay away from others,]" she whispered.

                                            > The fingers on her croup paused for a moment. "[We didn't even know this was their land. Don't worry, most people won't fight us. They'll just try to scare us away, like these today.]"

                                            > She opened her mouth to argue, but couldn't think of anything to say. She thought back to her first experience with nomad conflict, that time in the winter when Bakar had gotten hurt. Her eyes closed against the memory, but that didn't help.

                                            > "[Besides,]" Salki went on, ["we have to talk to people eventually. We have to know which way to go."]

                                            > That reminded her.

                                            "[I could hardly understand them. The people will speak a different language, one not even Hisein knows. How will we understand them?]"

                                            > This drew a soft chuckle from Salki. "[We'll figure it out. After all, you figured out out speech, remember? You didn't know a word of nomad when I first saw you...]"

                                            > He fell silent and Thistle turned her head to look at his face. The tent was dark, but there was a faint glow from the dying embers in the central fire pit.

                                            > Salki was staring into the distance, a faint little smile playing across his face. "[I remember you were teaching me your language too.]"

                                            > In some ways, those were better times. Yes, she had been resentful about being foal-napped, and she had been afraid for her life, and hungry, but at least there had been Rainy Day, and there hadn't been all that craziness with her heat and the Ruslan captive.

                                            "[Why did we stop?]"

                                            > "[Busy, I guess? Mother wanted me to take charge of the hunters, and then there was all that with the Ruslans. There wasn't time.]"

                                            > She recognized the same kind of things she had once told herself every day in her office in Ponyville, a year and a lifetime ago. There was never enough time.

                                            "[We have time now.]"

                                            > "[What do you mean?]"

                                            "[We walk. It's boring. We sit at the camp fire and eat. Then we sleep, and then we walk. I can teach you Equestrian while we walk, and in the tent.]"

                                            > Salki's fingers dug into her side and he traced them around her cutie mark. "[Okay,]" he said, finally. "[Why not?]"

                                            > She couldn't help but smile.

                                            "[Okay, what do you remember? Say something.]"

                                            > The young nomad thought for a while and his palm drummed out a gentle rhythm on her back. He took a breath and spoke in a thick accent: "Hello, my name Salki. You name?"

                                            > His grammar was off, and his pronunciation left much to be desired, but it was recognizable Equestrian. She hadn't heard it spoken, not from another mouth, in so long...

                                            > An unbidden tear flowed down her cheek and Thistle turned around so she could give Salki a quick nuzzle.

                                            "[Very good,]" she said when she could trust her voice not to break. "My name is Thistle. How do you do?"

                                            > His brow furrowed and he mouthed the words to himself a few times. Eventually he shook his head. "[Sorry. What-] 'how'?"

                                            > Knowing both languages made his question silly and Thistle had to put a hoof on her mouth to stifle a giggle. Salki's smile grew a bit uncertain.

                                            "[It's okay. Just your question. You asked 'what how'. I asked how you are feeling,]" she explained, and repeated: "How do you do?"

                                            > "How to you to?"

                                            > The mare settled down on her belly and pressed her side to Salki's for warmth. They'd made a fire in the tent to take the chill off, but it had gone out and the air was growing noticeably cooler.

                                            > Hisein had said it was because they were higher up and Thistle believed him. She poked Salki's arm with her nose and he obediently put it around her. His other hand drew the cover around them both.

                                            "[That was good. Try again.]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle's equestrian lesson had to be suspended in the morning so she could help Zaur drive the donkeys to a nearby river to water them. She hadn't really been trying, but the mare had gotten quite adept with handling the creatures, and even more so with ropes. It was easy to see where the Apples in Ponyville got their renowned skill.

                                            > More and more the group of hunters put her in charge of their beasts of burden, mainly because it freed them to scout around and hunt for food. Partly, Thistle thought to herself, it was because the job was boring.

                                            > At least this time Zaur had gone with her, since the river was quite far from where they'd camped.

                                            > As they made their way back, she tossed the loop into the air and caught it deftly in her mouth. A few jerks of her head coiled the strand neatly around her neck and she let the ends hang loosely down her chest, like a strange scarf.

                                            > She had to think for a second to remember what she had been telling Zaur.

                                            "[You still don't believe me?]" she chided with a slight smile to take the sting out.

                                            > "[I'm trying,]" the hunter replied, then shook his head in denial. "[You were telling the truth?]"

                                            "[Mhm!]"

                                            > "[Really?!]"

                                            > This time she just shrugged noncommittally. Zaur stared at her for several seconds, until a sudden bray jerked his attention away. Two of the jacks were facing off, teeth bared and ears splayed completely back.

                                            > Thistle didn't even have to think about her response. She dashed back into the line of donkeys even as she bent her neck to catch the rope in her mouth. A quick side-step and a duck of her head dislodged the loosely coiled rope and she brought it back up with an audible whip.

                                            "[Whoaf! Whoa!]"

                                            > She couldn't quite make the clicking sound with her tongue, not while holding the rope, but some of the command words came out clearly enough for the beasts to understand. Besides, she didn't need that one right at the moment. The rest of their little herd stopped obediently and moved out of her way, one or two immediately bending down to crop at the grass when they had the chance.

                                            > Between her forceful presence and Zaur's quick work with his whip, the two rowdy jacks were driven apart. The one nearest to Thistle began to complain loudly in that grating, honking voice, but she slapped the rope lightly against its rump, which made the beast jump away.

                                            > She spat it out for a moment to free her mouth.

                                            "[Over! Whoa!]"

                                            > There was no need to strike the animal again. The jack danced away from her and lowered his head, although Thistle stayed clear of those vicious forehooves. It was best to let the beast relax for a while before provoking it further. She went to retrieve the rope and saw that Zaur was taking the other donkey up to the front of the line.

                                            > They were trained well enough to stay in whatever order the nomads arranged them.

                                            "[Good. Keep that one away. I guess one of the jennies is in heat or something.]"

                                            > Those words made Thistle lower her own ears, and a blush forced its way to her cheeks. Her own heat was far enough in the past that there were no residual hormones, but she still couldn't even think about it without acute embarrassment.

                                            > She had acted horribly and just because everyone else told her it was fine, it wasn't. Captive or not, prisoner or not, she had done a bad thing and some day she would have to pay for it, one way or another.

                                            > It was getting easier to ignore as the days passed, and all it took was a shake of her head, a deep breath, and the mare was able to focus on her task. She twirled the rope around her neck again, then stopped in place as a certain pressure made itself known in her belly.

                                            > She burped out the air she'd inadvertently swallowed along with the water. It felt good to release that bit of tension and she broke into a smooth canter to catch up with Zaur.

                                            > The herd was moving again, beasts falling back in line. One seemed too intent on the grass and Thistle made a kissing noise, which got the donkey moving. She barely glanced back as she passed by the female.

                                            > In a few more moments she was back with Zaur and trying yet again to resume their conversation.

                                            "[Maybe someday we can go back home and I'll show you. You'll believe me then!]"

                                            > That earned her a laugh, but it died and the youth gave her an earnest look. "[You think you can get back? The others told me where they brought you here. A hole in air. I would like to see that!]"

                                            "[If we can find it again, and if I can open it, you'll see more than that!]"

                                            > "[I still don't believe your ponies have flying carts! That just doesn't work. They're too heavy!]"

                                            > She simply giggled in response and shook her head, unsure how else she could explain pegasi magic, or their famous carriages.

                                            > Teaching Salki Equestrian had focused her mind on home. Speaking with someone in her native tongue, however bad the young hunter was at it, had burst open a door in her heart Thistle had thought forever closed. It reminded her of where she came from.

                                            > It was a sad memory, but if she focused on the good times, it became bittersweet. She couldn't help but smile as she remembered the constant antics of that trio of blank flank fillies. Wasn't one of them Applejack's little sister?

                                            "[Hey, Zaur? I'm teaching Salki my own language. Would you like to learn it too?]"

                                            > He seemed undecided for a short while, but then the nomad shrugged to himself. "[I can try. It could be fun.]"

                                            "[That's great! Say what I say:]" she began and took a breath. "Hi! My name is Thistle!"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was a pleasant day for walking, or as near to that as Thistle could have wished for. Zaur and Temir had been tasked with the donkey herd, and Salki had gone to scout ahead. That meant she herself had very little to do except to walk and keep up with the nomads' pace.

                                            > The trees were getting quite sparse and the terrain was gradually descending. There were no roads, but the ground was firm and covered with grass which was most comfortable to walk upon. Only the occasional rock marred the land and made Thistle adjust her direction to avoid it. If not for the bundles of animal skin balanced on her back, she could have mistaken their expedition for a nice summer stroll.

                                            > The sun was pleasantly warm on her ears and mane, but she barely noticed it. Her gaze was locked on the jagged horizon, but she didn't see that either. By now she hardly had to think about the uneven terrain and the placement of her hooves, so Thistle's mind had gone back to a different time.

                                            > She was lost in memories of a hike far away, under different skies, which almost felt like a past life. A sharp sound of someone clearing their throat disturbed her idyllic daydream and Thistle flicked her ear as she surfaced from her reverie.

                                            "[Oh. Hisein.]"

                                            > He was walking just behind her and gave the mare a quick nod before his eyes went back to the horizon. Unlike her, the hunter was constantly scanning for danger.

                                            > "[This is why you get lost, you know? This is why you don't know distance and direction.]"

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > Hisein gestured with his hand at Thistle. "[You're not here.]"

                                            > She shook her head and blinked a few times as she considered his words again. Had she misunderstood what he had said?

                                            "[What do you mean? I am here.]"

                                            > "[This is here,]" Hisein replied and leaned down to slap his palm against the side of her barrel. Thistle twisted her head to look, but she didn't see anything unusual about the patch of fur. Before she could ask him to explain, though, Hisein took a longer step and put his hand on her mane. "[This is somewhere far away.]"

                                            > Light dawned and Thistle gave a relieved grin. It was an idiom, not too dissimilar to an Equestrian phrase. He meant that she had been a thousand miles away.

                                            "[So what? I was thinking. What does it have to do with getting lost?]"

                                            > Hisein's hand lingered for a moment to give her ear a friendly scratch, then he pulled away from her. "[You asked how we can find our way. It's simple. We watch and remember. All nomad children know how to do this. But you-]"

                                            > There he paused and pointed a finger at the mare. "[You think about the past, and the future. You talk to yourself and to invisible people who are not here. You do not know where you are, nor how far you've come. You get lost where the youngest hunter would find his way back.]"

                                            > What he was saying made some sense and Thistle was intrigued. Her daydream of that friendly, late autumn hike fled as she concentrated on the here and now.

                                            "[Can you teach me?]" she asked.

                                            > The hunter laughed as if she'd made a joke, but that only earned him a disapproving frown. Unfortunately that just made Hisein laugh harder. "[I don't know if it can be done,]" he finally answered. "[You are a pony, and a woman pony at that. Most women cannot do this. In that, you are similar. Their brains work differently from men's.]"

                                            > Thistle made a face at that outmoded conviction. It had been a part of Equestria's shameful past, except in their case it had been reversed. She gave a little snort and brought her hoof down rather more sharply with her next step than she needed.

                                            "[That's stupid,]" she said, miffed, but unwilling to alienate the experienced hunter. "[Try and teach me. Whatever you can do, I can do better!]"

                                            > That earned her another chuckle and it was clear that Hisein didn't believe her, not even a little. Thistle blew an angry breath out of her nose and glanced quickly around. They were still in the mountains and she soon came up with an idea.

                                            "[Here, I'll show you!]"

                                            > Her voice perhaps betrayed a touch of smugness, but Hisein didn't pick up on it. He gave the mare a curious stare as she turned aside and walked to one of the boulders lying half-buried in the grass.

                                            > She would never tell him now, but Thistle had examined one such rock the previous night, while she had waited for Salki to set up their tent. Her hobby of amateur geology was ages in the past, but she had been good at it at the time.

                                            > Not that Pie mare good, but good enough to show off in front of the nomads. These loose rocks were pieces of limestone which had broken off the peaks above them and rolled down into the valleys. They were perfect for a little demonstration.

                                            > It was not an easy thing to do, but Thistle was confident in her mixture of knowledge and earth pony strength. She slipped her burden down on a patch of grass and turned her back to the stone she had chosen so she could give Hisein a smirk.

                                            > By then their antics had attracted attention and both Temir and Bulat were walking over to see what was happening. Zaur was up ahead and the donkey herd was dutifully following him into the distance. That was good, Thistle thought. Less chance that they would be spooked.

                                            "[Are you watching?]"

                                            > Hisein matched her smirk and gave her a slight nod.

                                            > Her hind hooves shot out with lightning speed and with such force that it pressed Thistle's forelegs into the soft, yielding ground. There was a crack and the two younger nomads flinched at the sudden noise.

                                            > She had been staring straight at Hisein and despite herself, Thistle was a little impressed by his self-control. He hadn't even twitched an eye at her sudden movement.

                                            > In either case, she stepped aside to let the three nomads inspect the result. There was a shout from up ahead and the mare saw Zaur looking their way.

                                            "[It's fine!]" she yelled back. "[I broke a rock. It's fine!]"

                                            > Unfortunately her explanation just raised more questions and the donkeys milled around in confusion as Zaur brought them to a halt so he could run back. Thistle flicked her ears in annoyance, but didn't say anything. She looked back where the two younger hunters were crouched by the rock she had struck.

                                            > It had been a rough hemisphere, but now the top part was sheared off in a surprisingly smooth break. The edge where her hooves had struck was fractured and Bulat was tracing his finger around a clear oval rim.

                                            > "[Shit, look at this!]" Temir said in excitement, pointing.

                                            > Two perfect imprints of her forehooves were pressed into the dirt where Thistle had braced her forelegs.

                                            > She smiled a little to herself and came to stand beside Hisein.

                                            "[Let's see you do that!]"

                                            > The hunter gave a slight shrug, but he inclined his head and said: "[Impressive. You certainly are strong.]"

                                            > His praise made Thistle beam with pride, especially when she caught snatches of conversation between Temir and Bulat, and Zaur. The first two were explaining what she had done in hushed, awed voices.

                                            "[Will you teach me?]"

                                            > Hisein looked at the broken rock again, then back at Thistle. His mouth worked as he thought, then he shrugged again. "[Your feet are hard, but you're still soft. I'm not sure you can become as hard as we.]"

                                            > The refusal irked and made Thistle's muzzle scrunch up in annoyance.

                                            "[I'm not soft!]" she said and stomped a hoof for emphasis.

                                            > "[Prove it.]"

                                            > Thistle gaped in surprise and pointed a hoof at the broken bit of limestone. It was true that the piece had been brittle to begin with, and had been further weakened by alternating sun and ice over the long years, but it had still taken a solid earth pony kick to split it like that!

                                            > Hisein shook his head and waved a dismissive hand. "[Not that. We know you're strong, but prove you can also be hard.]"

                                            "[How?!]"

                                            > The nomad looked around the horizon and slowly set off toward the donkeys, forcing Thistle to hurriedly pile her load back so she could catch up. When she did, Hisein answered: "[Do something hard. Do things you don't want to do.]"

                                            "[L-Like what?]"

                                            > Suddenly she didn't like the way the conversation was going. Thistle swallowed a lump and tried to steel her resolve. The skills of navigation and survival she could learn from Hisein would be worth some discomfort. She may need them, especially if the others refused to take her to the hole to Equestria.

                                            > She would go alone, if she had to.

                                            > "[Okay, let's try this: I will catch us a couple of fat rabbits for dinner. You will clean and cook them for us.]"

                                            > The mere thought was enough for the mare to feel nauseated. Violent, gruesome memories tried to rise up from the back of her mind where she'd shoved them and Thistle had to fight to push them away once more.

                                            "[Why?]"

                                            > Hisein gave a little shrug. "[Being hard- being *strong* means sometimes doing things you don't want to do.]"

                                            "[Like what?! What will butchering some meat teach me?]"

                                            > The hunter gave her a long look before answering and Thistle was about to call him out on his bullshit when Hisein spoke softly: "[Imagine you are out on the plain, alone. You say you can't use these bows. Okay, imagine you have a spear. Would you be able to fight off a wolf? If it meant stabbing it with the spear until it was dead?]"

                                            > It hit close to home and Thistle had to swallow a sudden lump, but then she firmly nodded her head. She would do anything to survive!

                                            "[Yes!]"

                                            > "[Okay, I think I almost half-believe you!]" Hisein said and there was a tiny, approving smile on his lips. "[Now, imagine the wolf got you before you got it. It tore most of your leg off. You can see the bone.]"

                                            > His casual words and the sheer, brutal horror of what he was describing made Thistle shudder and her ears flattened all the way back, but she managed a weak nod.

                                            "[O-Okay...]"

                                            > "[So, there you are. You have a spear, a knife, and some rope. If you do nothing you will die a slow and painful death while your useless leg rots away and you can't move. You have to hack it off and tie the limb to stop the bleeding. Could you do that?]"

                                            > Thistle closed her eyes for a few moments and took deep breaths to calm her suddenly queasy stomach.

                                            "[Butchering a rabbit will help me do that?]"

                                            > "[Probably not,]" Hisein admitted, "[you don't know if you can do that until you have to. Many just fall and die. Few would live through something like that. It takes a real warrior. But maybe, handling a knife and meat would make it easier.]"

                                            > There was a kind of awful, twisted sense to his words. Thistle fervently hoped she would never have to put it to the test, or at least that someone else would be there with her. There was a reason those surgeon unicorns at the Canterlot Medical never operated on themselves, even with the pain-numbing spells they had!

                                            > They walked in silence until they were at the donkey herd, and then Thistle helped Hisein get the beasts moving again. Not long after, Zaur caught up to them and took over, even if he did cast occasional awed glances at the mare.

                                            > Only then did Hisein speak to her again: "[Prepare and cook our meat and I'll consider teaching you.]"

                                            > Thistle swallowed again, and her ears splayed with discomfort. She had to force the words out, but she scrunched up her muzzle and said them:

                                            "[Okay, I'll do it.]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle was sitting on a patch of grass near where the nomads had built their fire. She kept glancing around with some trepidation. Even Salki had picked up on her nervousness.

                                            > "[What is wrong?]" he asked. After a moment's thought he added in a less certain: "What no you good?"

                                            > It was an attempt at Equestrian which brought a smile to Thistle's lips, even though he had only made it because Hisein was not there. The older hunter would have laughed at Salki trying to learn a useless language.

                                            > Zaur, sitting at the other side of the fire perked up. The other two, Bulat and Temir, didn't react.

                                            "[That was good,]" Thistle praised, even as her ears stubbornly remained flat. "[Try like so:] - What is wrong?"

                                            > Salki repeated after her and she smiled to acknowledge his effort, even if it was extremely thick with accent. She opened her mouth to add a few more words, but she heard the rustle of nearby bushes and her head snapped around to stare in that direction.

                                            > There was no one else it could have been, not this far in the wilderness. Hisein had told them there weren't any other people nearby, which was why he had gone to hunt alone. Thistle hoped he hadn't caught anything.

                                            > Her wish was in vain and she soon saw something gray dangling from the big hunter's fist. The mare swallowed a lump and turned away, opting to stare at the fire instead. Maybe, she thought fervently to herself, Hisein would have forgotten.

                                            > The sad little carcass thudded on the ground before her, which made Thistle jump a little in surprise.

                                            > "[There. All yours,]" Hisein said.

                                            > The other nomads stared in shock. "[What's going on?]" Salki asked. He reached for the dead rabbit to take it away, but the older hunter caught his wrist.

                                            > "[Thistle said she would cook for us tonight.]"

                                            > All the dumbstruck glances shifted from Hisein to Thistle. Salki jerked his arm free and put his hand on her back. "[Is this true? Why? I know what you think about meat.]"

                                            "[It's true. I want to learn nomad ways. Hisein will teach me. It's fine. It is only cooking.]"

                                            > Salki frowned, not fully believing her. He looked from the mare to Hisein, who was expectantly standing nearby. "[What are you teaching her?]"

                                            > At that the other nomad smoothly sat down beside the rabbit he'd caught and pushed it toward the mare. "[I'm going to teach Thistle how to watch, and listen, and pay attention.]"

                                            > It still made no sense to him and Salki opened his mouth to demand a better answer, but Thistle turned her head and gave him a pleading look with her ears splayed as far apart as they would go.

                                            "[It's fine, Salki,]" she said quietly. "[I want to learn. It's fine.]"

                                            > When she looked back, she saw the nasty wound on the rabbit's carcass where Hisein's arrow had struck. The fur around was drenched with blood. The sight made her mouth dry, even as her stomach lurched alarmingly. Thistle had to close her eyes for a moment and take a deep breath to regain at least a modicum of composure.

                                            > Nothing had really changed since her decision earlier that day. She had to learn what Hisein would teach. He was the best in the group at tracking and navigation, and very likely he was one of the finest in the entire camp. She had to learn from the best.

                                            "[What do I do?]"

                                            > Hisein gave her an approving smile, but it was gone before Thistle could be sure. He dug around his belt and pulled out his flint knife. He held it toward her, then flicked his hand and caught the thing by the blade, so the handle was pointing at her.

                                            > Thistle wasn't sure how to grip it and tentatively reached out a hoof, before changing her mind and grabbing the knife with her mouth.

                                            > It was a piece of an antler, but she was used to that.

                                            > Dagger in mouth, she looked at the dead rabbit, then back up at Hisein.

                                            > "[Here,]" he said and turned the carcass sideways for her.

                                            > Thistle looked into the poor thing's unseeing eyes. There was a touch of blood on its muzzle, a vivid drop of red on its gray fur. The sight of it sent a fresh shudder through the mare.

                                            > It was only meat. Dead. Empty. She repeated it to herself. The death had been sad, but now it was just... material. She would prepare it. She wouldn't have to eat it.

                                            > "[You start by cutting off the head and the tail,]" Hisein told her.

                                            > Thistle clamped her teeth more tightly on the knife, in an effort to keep her stomach from turning completely. Her nostrils flared as she breathed.

                                            > She realized that she would have to press her face pretty much into the rabbit if she was going to use her mouth. She spat out the dagger and caught it between her forehooves. It was less precise that way, but at least it would give her some distance.

                                            > Thistle aimed the blade as carefully as she could, closed her eyes, and plunged it down. The knife caught on something and there was a fresh smell of blood. When she looked, the flint dagger was embedded in the neck.

                                            > "[Good, keep going,]" Hisein said. He was watching her hooves, undoubtedly seeing just how much they were shaking.

                                            > She took another breath and tried to wiggle the knife down, but her grip slipped. In desperation, she wedged one hoof under the handle and pressed the other from above. There was a tiny bit of resistance and then something snapped and the blade bit into the ground below.

                                            > The spine, she realized, which almost made her squeak. She had to swallow a few more times before she felt able to look at Hisein for further instructions.

                                            > "[Good,]" he said. "[Throw the head away, we don't eat that. Not much meat anyway.]"

                                            > Thistle gave him a nod and pushed the rabbit's head away with a hoof. It felt surreal, and the pink insides of its neck were a stark contrast against the gray of its fur. Her leg jerked and the head rolled away.

                                            > It wasn't alive. It was a piece of meat. This was easier to believe now that it no longer had a head.

                                            "[N-Now what?]"

                                            > "[The tail,]" Salki prompted from behind her. Thistle glanced around the fire and realized that all the nomads were watching her in stunned silence. Bulat flashed her a smile and a nod in encouragement.

                                            > She looked down at her task again. The tail would be easier, she thought and pulled the knife from where she'd driven it into the dirt. She tried the same leverage trick with the handle.

                                            > It didn't work. The tail was too small and simply slid out of the way. At best she shaved some of the white fluff from it. Thistle thought about asking Salki to hold it for her, but somehow she knew Hisein would call that cheating.

                                            > There was only one thing to do. She took the handle in her mouth, pinned the stub of the tail down with a hoof, and sliced.

                                            > The movement brought her close and she smelled the stink of the wild rabbit. She smelled the blood. It wasn't as bad as she had feared and something she had scented before.

                                            > This time it went better and she managed to cut away most of the tail.

                                            "[There,]" she told Hisein with finality.

                                            > The nomad shrugged a little to himself before continuing his instruction: "[Now you need to cut from the throat to the ass.]"

                                            > The mere thought of it made Thistle's stomach clench in a cold ball of fear. This was it. She had expected something like that, but it was still a shock when he heard it spoken out loud, and it made her lick her suddenly dry lips.

                                            > Once again she would have to hold the carcass in her hooves and cut with her mouth. Not even her poor vision would save her from seeing all the gory details.

                                            > She considered stopping. The nomads couldn't blame her if she couldn't handle their butchery. She came from a vastly different world, after all. She didn't even eat meat!

                                            > Thistle glanced around at their faces. Temir and Bulat looked like they were in awe. Salki was smiling proudly, and even Hisen's lips had quirked up.

                                            > They believed she could do it, Thistle realized.

                                            > It was the price Hisein had asked, she reminded herself.

                                            > She could do this. All she had to do was stop thinking about the rabbit, and about meat. It was simply the material she had to work with. She had gotten used to handling animal skin blankets and clothing, hadn't she?

                                            "[Okay.]"

                                            > Her voice was steady, even if her forelegs still trembled a little. All she had to do was follow Hisein's instructions.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle had been cooking the nomads' meals for days, and each time the job was an ordeal. She had seen the insides of rabbits, badgers, birds, even a fox one time, and she wasn't becoming numb to it.

                                            > The feeling of pulling their skin from their flesh was every bit as disgusting as that first time, and the messy goop she dug out with the knife turned her stomach however much she braced herself.

                                            > Salki had taught her a useful trick after that first day. If she clamped the poor creature's paws in her teeth and flicked her head, the viscera was flung out of the belly gash she had made.

                                            > That was a little better than sticking the knife in and scraping it all out, but not by much!

                                            > She'd tried saying no, especially after that first night, but Hisein had only laughed and told her she'd done a good job. After that evening, he brought her whatever he'd caught, dumped it in front of her and sat beside the fire with an expectant look on his face.

                                            > It was some kind of a rite of passage in his eyes. He wasn't doing it to be mean and the man seriously believed he was teaching her some kind of an important lesson. Thistle couldn't quite guess at what it was.

                                            > He had promised again to tell her all she wanted to know about finding her way through the wilderness, about surviving, and warding off predators. He'd agreed to personally take her to where the hole to Equestria was, once they were back. The younger nomads added their encouragement to his.

                                            > Each time she had relented and picked up the knife. She butchered, and cleaned, and spitted. She watched the scraps of thankfully unrecognizable meat sizzle above the fire. She didn't know when they were done, and she wasn't about to taste them, but the nomads seemed to have an unerring instinct for these things.

                                            > After it was done, they salted the roasted flesh and praised her skill.

                                            > Perhaps the most worrying was the tiny flicker of pride she felt each time one of them exclaimed about the taste.

                                            > There were other rewards, too. Each night the nomads dug out small things from their packs - a bit of salt, a small clay jar of honey, a fistful of rice. After she'd cleared her head from the gruesome butchery, Thistle ate better than even back in the camp.

                                            > She also thought they were more liberal with pats and ear scratches, too, but she'd noticed that trend before, so she wasn't sure if it was helped by her preparing their food, or just a side effect of their isolation from the larger tribe and, crucially, their women.

                                            > Salki was certainly a lot more affectionate, and she couldn't help but be aware of how his fingers dug into her belly at night, and how he pressed his face against her neck.

                                            > He had also taken to performing a very necessary service for her. She'd asked after her first butchery and Salki had agreed. Since then it had become a little ritual.

                                            >...

                                            > She sat at the fire inside the tent, looking at the hole in the center which let the smoke out. The flames were dying down without fresh fuel, but they were still pleasantly warm on her face.

                                            > "[Turn your head,]" Salki said and guided her chin with his fingers. "[Close your eyes.]"

                                            > The mare obeyed, her ear turning to follow the sound of splashing water. A moment later Salki's wet palm brushed the fur on her nose. It was cold, but with the fire it would dry soon.

                                            > "[You splattered it all over your face again.]" Salki chided gently.

                                            "[It wouldn't come out. The guts wouldn't come out. You saw how much I had to shake it!]"

                                            > "[Hmm,]" was all the comment Salki made as he splashed more water on his hand and wiped her face. Again and again his fingers came back, until Thistle's fur was thoroughly soaked. "[You need to cut where the guts connect to the ass. It also helps if you crack the ribs and open them.]"

                                            > Thistle shuddered and for a moment she felt her own dinner rise up in protest. She swallowed hard to keep it down.

                                            "[Don't talk about it, please. Besides, I can't! I need to hold the knife in my mouth if I want to be that precise. You don't know how bad that is!]"

                                            > More splashing and then Salki's hand began to wipe her chin. Thistle obediently shut up to make it easier for him. "[Lift,]" he commanded softly and she pointed her head upward.

                                            > "[Good. Some of it is on your neck, hold still.]"

                                            > The mare simply grunted an acknowledgement and tensed up as he splashed a bit of chilly water on her sensitive throat. He slid his hand through the fur to wipe it clean, all the way down and around to her withers. She hadn't even realized how messy the butchery had gotten.

                                            > After the first few minutes, she had just wanted it over with. She might have become impatient when the fat rabbit's internal organs wouldn't budge.

                                            > Salki resumed their conversation when he was done: "[I still don't understand why you're doing it, but you do a good job. Hisein hardly had to say anything tonight.]"

                                            "[He promised he would take me there when we're back.]"

                                            > "[Where?]"

                                            "[The place where we came through. Where my world meets with yours.]"

                                            > Salki was silent for a while and she opened her eyes to look at him. His forehead was furrowed in a slight frown. "[Didn't you say the shaman told you it wouldn't open for many years?]"

                                            "[I still want to try. Maybe he was wrong, or maybe I can open it somehow.]"

                                            > "[So you would leave us? You'd leave me?]"

                                            > That was a hard question, and not one Thistle had considered. What *would* happen if she found her way back? Would she simply up and leave this new life? Give up on all the work she had put into building it up?

                                            > Would Salki ever rise from under his mother's shadow if she wasn't there to guide him? He was a good nomad at heart, but he didn't have a head for politics or people. Changing this little tribe into something better was her second choice if she couldn't get home.

                                            > "[You're not saying anything.]"

                                            "[I don't know. I haven't thought about it.]"

                                            > Salki tied up the spout of his water skin he had been using and dropped it beside the fire. "[There, you can dry up. Do you want me to get more wood?]"

                                            > It would have been nice to warm up, but Thistle didn't want to be left alone. Thinking of Equestria had made her wonder what her friends and neighbors would have said if they'd seen her cooking these few nights.

                                            > They would probably consider her dangerous. At best they would stick her in a mental institution.

                                            > The scariest part was that Thistle herself didn't see it as completely bad. She would never feel comfortable about killing, and butchering the poor creatures wasn't pleasant, but she understood that the nomads needed to eat. They could not live on plants alone.

                                            > Besides, this life was not without small rewards.

                                            "[No, just brush with your fingers. It will dry faster that way.]"

                                            > Salki didn't mind and patted the fur blanket between his legs. He didn't have to ask twice and Thistle gratefully plopped on her rump and pressed her back against his warm chest. That gave him a good angle to run his fingers up and down her neck and face.

                                            > The mare closed her eyes and sighed in luxury. It was like a free massage after her impromptu bath. She darted out her tongue to give his hand a lick when it passed her mouth.

                                            > "[That's not helping!]" Salki complained, but his little chuckle betrayed his true feelings.

                                            > Thistle simply smiled to herself. She couldn't help noticing that his brushes were going lower and lower down her belly with each stroke. She straightened up and spread her forelegs to give him easier access. After a short while, she leaned her head back and laid it on his shoulder.

                                            > This position gave her ample opportunity to nuzzle his cheek. Her long, luxurious sighs, and the tiny groans of pleasure would be impossible to miss, with her mouth right by his ear. Salki didn't seem to mind.

                                            > After a while he'd stopped pretending he was helping her fur dry and was simply playing with her soft belly.

                                            > Thistle wasn't complaining.

                                            "[You miss Saule, don't you?]"

                                            > The young nomad froze for a moment. He didn't say anything, but she felt him nod before his hands went back to her belly.

                                            "[No one has to know,]" she murmured. "[It's not wrong. It's just us.]"

                                            > Again the man stiffened, but he didn't push her away. He didn't outright refuse.

                                            > Thistle's heart began to beat faster and she felt the familiar tingle of that special warmth, deep in her belly.

                                            "[Go a little lower, please.]"


                                            > ~~~


                                            > Thistle woke up in a warm, comfortable fugue. It took a moment for the previous night's memories to come flooding back, but when they did, she couldn't help smiling to herself.

                                            > They hadn't done much, at least not by Thistle's standards, but she had gotten Salki to play with her to a degree. It had only been his fingers, but no less enjoyable for that. She felt the pleasant ache after spending herself rather rudely all over Salki's hand. He'd been timid, slow to explore her fully, but even his inexpert groping had been enough in her starved state.

                                            > He had enjoyed it too, even if the taboo was still there. He could not hide his own excitement, and he left the tent shortly after Thistle had wrapped herself in their sleeping blankets. He hadn't said anything, but a scent of sweat and his poignant *maleness* gave Thistle a very clear picture of what he'd gone to do outside. It hadn't taken very long, either!

                                            > Perhaps next time he would be comfortable enough to do it in front of her. Perhaps she would get to watch!

                                            > This trek to distant lands meant she had Salki pretty much to herself for the duration, at least during the nights, and any lingering doubt or regret for having gone, quickly evaporated in the soft afterglow that morning.

                                            > The mare couldn't help smiling as she twisted around to look at the nomad. It hadn't been sex, not the way they understood it, but it was plenty for her. Without the heat addling her mind, she had been free to enjoy and experience every caress, every intrusion of a finger, even Salki's hot breath on her face. She hadn't even noticed the smell of meat he'd eaten earlier.

                                            > He was still asleep, but his hands clutched at her sides and his legs held on to one of her hind hooves.

                                            > She could work with that.

                                            > Unfortunately it was no longer early and Thistle could see a hint of coming daylight in the hole above them. It was letting in the chilly morning air, but that just meant Salki held her more tightly.

                                            > His deep breath turned into a light snore, which woke the nomad up. Thistle kept her smile in place, but her body tensed in apprehension. How would he feel about their night's activities? Would dawn bring regret?

                                            > His eyes opened and, after a few blinks, focused on her. Salki took another deep breath and murmured: "[You look happy.]"

                                            "[Mhm!]" she affirmed and her smile widened.

                                            > The knot in her stomach loosened a little bit, but she was still worried about what he would say next. Maybe he hadn't remembered yet.

                                            > Salki's hand slipped from her barrel and came up to her face, and Thistle froze completely. He traced a finger through her fur, up her muzzle and to the side of her head. He gently pinched her ear and pulled it open.

                                            > "[Why this? Are you sad?]"

                                            > Thistle realized she'd folded them down in fear and let out a short, self-deprecating chuckle.

                                            "[No. Are you? About- About last night?]"

                                            > There was a flicker of a frown as Salki thought about it, then his eyes refocused on the tent wall behind the mare. "[What do you mean?]"

                                            "[W-With your hand...]"

                                            > His cheeks turned an impressive red and he jerked up to lean on his elbow. "[You followed me?!]"

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > For a few seconds Thistle tried to remember if Salki had gotten up again during the night, but if he had, she'd slept right through it.

                                            > He was slipping away from her, eyes turning hard and mouth pressing into a thin line. "[You shouldn't follow me when I go to piss! That's bad!]"

                                            "[What?!]"

                                            > Light dawned and Thistle began to chuckle in a mixture of relief and amusement. Her reaction wasn't what Salki had been expecting and his angry glare softened into acute befuddlement. "[I don't understand, what's so funny?]" he asked.

                                            > The mare waved a hoof around to stall for some time as she wound down. Salki had straightened up and looked at the tent flap. When his gaze came back there was a definitive glint of anger in his eyes. She moved her hoof to cover the back of his hand he'd braced on the ground to stand up.

                                            "[I didn't follow you,]" she reassured him. "[I smelled when you came back.]"

                                            > "[O-Oh.]"

                                            "[Don't worry, it's okay. It's normal.]"

                                            > Salki was at a complete loss, so Thistle took over the conversation. She pried his palm up and carefully picked up his hand. The way it gripped her hoof was immensely comforting.

                                            "[Yeah, I was worried you would be upset about what we did. You know, before that?]"

                                            > Her eyes darted down to her belly and a mirror image of Salki's blush forced its way onto her face as well.

                                            > Salki followed her gaze, seemingly unable to tear his eyes away from the pink nubs of her teats. He gathered the blanket more closely around himself. That left Thistle's flank exposed to the morning chill, but she didn't much mind. Memory was keeping her plenty warm.

                                            "[I liked that. Did you like- touching me?]"

                                            > He looked at her face and their eyes met, if only for a moment. Then he gave a very short nod.

                                            "[No one has to know. It's going to be our secret, okay?]"

                                            > This reassurance, above others, seemed to work better. Salki finally mustered some words: "[Yes. Secret, that's goo- good. Okay.]"

                                            > Her slight movement made him stiffen, but Salki quickly relaxed when he saw Thistle had simply slid herself a little closer. Her hoof lowered to the ground for balance, but the hand gripping it simply shifted to her fetlock. It was an encouraging sign.

                                            "[We can do it again. You don't have to go outside after it. I don't mind if you do it in here.]"

                                            > "[Y-You don't?]" It wasn't really a question, nor did his tone express surprise. Salki had simply repeated her words for something to fill the silence.

                                            "[Yeah. I'd like to watch. You can touch me and- how do you call it? With your hand?]"

                                            > She indicated the general region of where she gauged his crotch to be with her free hoof. Salki looked down, then murmured: "[Pleasure myself,]" he admitted.

                                            > The words were familiar to the mare, and in hindsight she should have been able to guess the phrase.

                                            "[You don't have to be ashamed of it. I really don't mind. In fact, I think I like it.]"

                                            > There was no answer to that and the air in the tent felt still and oppressive. It had been the wrong thing to say, even to Salki, even coming from her. Thistle's ears immediately splayed and she turned her eyes to the hole in the top. The sky outside was a bright, round circle, making her realize how late the morning had gotten.

                                            > Thistle decided they needed to be up and doing, and she needed to take Salki's mind off the acute embarrassment. He would have time to process it through the day, and they could have a more meaningful conversation that night.

                                            > After all, Hisein would probably bring her some animal to butcher again, and Salki would have to wash the gore off her face and forelegs. Who knew where it would lead this time!

                                            "[We'll talk later. Let's get up and pack up. We shouldn't be lazy.]"

                                            > This was a lot easier to digest and Salki's face split into a smile, however tentative. He pushed himself upright and adjusted his animal fur clothes. He wasn't fast enough and Thistle saw the bulge, but she didn't mention it. Instead, she stood off the cot and began to roll it up.

                                            > She couldn't help swishing her tail as she worked, excited for what might come. She was looking forward to the evening.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            "[I don't understand what this has to do with-]"

                                            > "[Hush,]" Hisein hissed and Thistle fell silent mid-sentence. He'd told her to look at the horizon and listen to her steps, but that had been half an hour ago, if not more. It was hard to keep track of time.

                                            > It had been the beginning of their lesson in nomad navigation, but all the man had done was give her those instructions, then walked beside her in silence which had nearly made Thistle's skin crawl.

                                            > She felt as if there was an aura of quiet around Hisein which sucked in all sound. That was silly, of course, and she could clearly hear the snorts and soft braying of the donkey herd, the rustling of grass in the gentle wind, even the occasional cricket nearby.

                                            > At some point she thought she'd heard a goose honking, but it might have been just her imagination, because Thistle couldn't see any birds in the sky. Unless they were too far, and too small for her blurry vision to pick out.

                                            > She'd tried to stare at the distant point on the horizon like Hisein had told her, but the mare's gaze kept slipping down to the more immediate, and interesting, objects.

                                            > A large boulder off to one side. A dead and rotting tree trunk. Occasional flowers which dotted the grass.

                                            > Their way had been sloping down for the past day or two, and all the mountains seemed to be behind them. Their snow-covered peaks were high and Thistle couldn't help herself but to admire them.

                                            > "[You're not listening. You're not looking. Focus,]" the nomad said, his first actual words after he'd given her the earlier instructions.

                                            > It nearly made Thistle groan in exasperation, but she ground her teeth and forced her tone into politeness.

                                            "[I'm listening and watching, just like you said!]"

                                            > The hunter inspected her, his gaze travelling from the tip of her nose to the silken remnants of her tail, then back. "[You are not focused.]"

                                            "[What does that even mean?]"

                                            > He wasn't trying to be mean, Thistle knew that. He wasn't as open as the others when it came to touching her, but Hisein had contributed his share of pats and ear scratches over the days. She just didn't like his smug superiority and apparently unshakeable conviction that women were less able than men.

                                            > She guessed it was something which happened in every society, early on. It may have been true that most nomad women could not hit as strongly as a man, nor carry as much weight, but then again, most men could not think as clearly as the women, especially when it came to planning and preparation.

                                            > Besides, Thistle had a sneaking suspicion Darga would have been able to knock even Hisein down on his rump if she wanted. Not to mention that Saule could shoot a bow far more precisely than nearly all the hunters, even if she could not yet fully draw it.

                                            > Her ear flicked as Hisein took a deep breath and spoke: "[Tell me, how many steps have you taken since I told you to focus?]"

                                            "[What?! How am I supposed to know that? Don't tell me I should be counting all the time!]"

                                            > The hunter gave her a grin and shook his head. "[No, you don't count all the time. No one can count that much. Even the traders do not have that many numbers!]"

                                            > Thistle rolled her eyes, but decided now was not the time to introduce basic mathematics to these people.

                                            > "[You know how fast you walk, and how long you have been walking, so I ask you: How many steps have you taken?]"

                                            > It sounded like something she should be able to work out, if only if she had a watch to time her pace and see exactly how long she had been walking.

                                            "[Well, do you know how many steps you have taken?]

                                            > Hisein gave a curt nod, then held out his hand to the falling sun. "[It has gone down half a handsbreadth. I am walking slower to keep pace with the donkeys. I have made two thousand steps.]"

                                            > The number piqued Thistle's curiosity again. She'd tried once before to see how high the nomads could count. They had the concept of thousands, but, the mare suspected, not much more above that. Larger numbers simply did not have any use on the steppe.

                                            > She filed the question away for later, to discuss with Salki, because Hisein was speaking again. He'd reverted to what she'd labeled his 'lecturing tone'.

                                            > "[Two thousands steps in a half handsbreadth is slow, but it can be kept up for many days, and it does not wear out the donkeys. Hunters, searching for prey will make four thousand, but not the whole day.]"

                                            "[Okay, how do you know that? You said you didn't count. Are you just guessing?]"

                                            > Hisein's hand came down to scratch her ear and he gave a small chuckle. "[Yes, I counted. I counted when I was young and learning how to find my way. I looked at the sun, and I counted until I did not need to count any more. You will have to do the same.]"

                                            "[You're telling me you know how many steps we need to take to go back home?]"

                                            > "[No,]" he shook his head. "[I told you such numbers do not make sense. I know how many days we have been walking, and how fast. I remember the direction and landmarks.]"

                                            "[Is that why you told me to look straight ahead?]"

                                            > His hand went back to her ear, but this time only to brush past as he tousled her mane. "[It is part of it. Learn to see everything, even things not directly in front of your eyes.]"

                                            > It didn't sound like any teaching method Thistle remembered, but the nomads' continued survival, and the hunters' ability to scout far and still find their way back said they maybe knew about this sort of thing. She returned her eyes to the horizon, determined to give it another try.

                                            "[Okay, I will count. Tell me when a half-handsbreadth has passed.]"

                                            > "[Good, but you should measure for yourself. You will have to learn when we are back in the camp.]"

                                            "[How?]"

                                            > "[It is easiest in the morning and in the evening. Extend your palm out and place your wrist on the horizon. It's harder when the sun is higher up. You will need to sit in a single place for the whole afternoon, beside a tree, or with a stick.]"

                                            > Thistle was eating his words up. It felt as if he was finally giving her some real secrets. Deep nomad magic.

                                            > Hisein looked around, but didn't see what he was searching for. "[Find a stick taller than you are, and straight. Carve notches every handsbreadth. Then stick it in the ground so it's upright. Stand far enough so you can barely reach the stick, and watch how the sun moves. You will learn to tell how quickly the day passes.]"

                                            > A clock would have been easier, but Thistle could see how such an ability would come in handy in their world. Being able to estimate how far she could walk in the remaining daylight could be a valuable asset.

                                            "[Okay, I will do that when we are back.]"

                                            > "[I will show you,]" Hisein promised. "[For now, focus on learning how quickly you walk. Watch each day. Focus. Pay attention. In the evening, tell me when we have walked as far as the previous day.]"

                                            > Thistle blinked in confusion.

                                            "[Each previous day- what?]"

                                            > Hisein heaved a slightly exaggerated sigh. "[The first day you will only watch and remember how far we have walked. The next day we will not be going the same speed and the land will be different. You will tell me: 'Aha! Now we have walked as far as yesterday.']"

                                            "[What if we have gone slower?]"

                                            > The smile returned to Hisein's lips. "[Good. In that case, you will tell me that when we camp, and we will use the new distance next day. In addition, each evening you will tell me five landmarks which you would use to find your way back.]"

                                            "[Deal.]"

                                            > "[Also, you will continue to prepare our dinner.]"

                                            > This latest statement wrenched a small groan from Thistle's throat, until she remembered her morning's thoughts. Butchery would mean a mess, which would need Salki's warm, firm hands to wash away.

                                            "[Fine.]"

                                            > She still couldn't sound enthusiastic about it, but at least there was a silver lining.


                                            > ~~~


                                            > Something was wrong. That much was obvious from Bulat's expression when he ran back to the group from his scouting. He wouldn't have returned until the night unless he'd found something concerning.

                                            > Thistle's hoofsteps faltered for a moment as the young hunter hurried toward Salki. Hisein was already sprinting to the same spot.

                                            > The three conferred quickly, but their voices were too quiet even for Thistle to catch above her own rushed hoofsteps. She came to a halt where the three were standing and perked up her ears.

                                            > "[-ran away when they saw me. I think it was only women and children, and there wasn't many of them.]"

                                            > Salki gave Thistle a quick look and he frowned in sudden consternation. He pointed at her and opened his mouth, but Hisein guessed what he was going to say and broke in: "[Let her stay.]"

                                            > Her ears automatically flattened, but the mare stood her ground.

                                            > "[How far?]" Hisein asked.

                                            > Bulat looked at the sky and back the way he'd come. "[If we run, we can be there before it is dark, but there will be no light left to come back.]"

                                            "[What has happened? What did you see?]"

                                            > "[People,]" Bulat replied, simply, his expression dark.

                                            > Thistle remembered their earlier encountered and swallowed a lump. Surely there wouldn't be any trouble. She wished they wouldn't have to fight.

                                            > "[What did the children look like? What about the women?]"

                                            > Bulat grimaced and spat on the ground. "[Bad. I could see their ribs. I don't think they will survive the winter. Fuck, I don't think they will make it to the winter.]"

                                            > Hisein ignored the comment and pressed on: "[Did you see their camp?]"

                                            > "[No.]"

                                            > "[Maybe they were driven away,]" Hisein said. "[Maybe they lost to their enemies. Why women, though? They would have been kept. For the men.]"

                                            > The implication, and the casual way he'd said it made Thistle take a step back. She should have been used to the brutality of this world by now, but she wasn't quite impervious just yet.

                                            > None of the hunters had noticed, both Salki and Bulat staring expectantly at Hisein, as if he would know how to interpret this new strangeness. Zaur and Temir joined the circle, the latter somewhat out of breath. "[What's happening?]" he asked.

                                            > Bulat repeated his story: "[I saw people. They did not look good. Half-starved, and only women and children. They ran away from me.]"

                                            > All the nomads looked grim and it was Hisein who spoke: "[We don't know what happened. It could be disease. We should stay away from them. We will camp over there,]" he pointed at the edge of a forest in the distance, "[and we will post more guards.]"

                                            > The others nodded their agreement. "[Salki and me will take first. Then Temir and Bulat. Then Zaur and me. Understood?]"

                                            > Their relieved smiles spoke volumes about how grateful the younger hunters were that Hisein was taking charge.

                                            > "[Yes, Hisein,]" Temir and Zaur chorused.

                                            "[I can help too,]" Thistle piped up. "[I can watch.]"

                                            > Hisein gave her a piercing look, as if judging the truth of her words. Then he shrugged. "[Okay, then you will stay with me and Salki on the first watch. That is the most dangerous one.]"

                                            > The mare gave a firm nod. They didn't want her to watch by herself, or with another nomad, but it was still some responsibility and to her mild surprise she found it gratifying that Hisein would trust her even this much.

                                            > "[We will not hunt tonight,]" Hisein said. "[We will eat from our packs. No fires. Smoke carries a long way. Tomorrow we will go and see what we can see.]"

                                            > "[Okay, let's go,]" Salki said, nodding in agreement.

                                            > Zaur began unwinding the rope around his waist. "[I'll get the donkeys moving.]"

                                            "[I'll come help.]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle's legs were sore and her eyes leaked with tears from squinting in the dark. The only thing missing was for her ears to start hurting from straining to hear the faintest sound in the still forest.

                                            > It was almost over, or at least Salki had said so. She was curled up on cold, hard forest floor with a foreleg thrown across his leg. It would have been better to climb entirely into the young nomad's lap, but Salki had pushed her off.

                                            > He'd paused their relentless patrol to sit for a minute and lean against a tree, and Thistle had taken the opportunity to flop down beside him. She was looking forward to their tent and the cot inside it.

                                            "[Well, nothing happened,]" she murmured.

                                            > "[Were you expecting something?]"

                                            > Thistle glanced around the dark and still forest. Here and there was a bright patch, where a hole in the canopy let through more moonlight, but without their cheerful little campfire, the group of tents were a sad and forlorn sight. She could just barely make out their shapes in the distance.

                                            > A rustle caught her attention and she froze with her mouth open. At that moment Salki's hand slid through her mane and his fingers sought out her ear. She shook her head to dislodge it.

                                            "[No, wait!]"

                                            > He realized something was wrong and became still. Even his breathing stopped, allowing the mare to concentrate hard.

                                            > She let her breath out in a long exhalation.

                                            "[It's Hissein. He's coming here.]"

                                            > Salki's leg tensed under her, briefly, before he relaxed once more. Thistle could understand the reaction. She considered getting to her hooves herself in front of the older hunter. In the end she followed Salki's example and stayed put.

                                            > Now that the other nomad was closer, she heard him more clearly. It was easier in the stillness of the night and when she, herself, was not moving. As he neared, she could distinguish each footstep.

                                            > Not long after, the hunter came into view. He was just a larger shadow in the gloomy forest, but movement was easier to spot. He walked up and stood above the pair. "[Tired already?]" he asked.

                                            > "[Catching my breath. Did you find anything?]" Salki replied.

                                            "[I heard you coming!]"

                                            > Perhaps there was only a touch of smugness in her voice, but it was rare Thistle could one-up the skilled hunter in anything physical. What was more, she knew he wouldn't be upset or jealous about it, and Hisein proved it when he leaned down to pat her head.

                                            > "[That's good. You're learning how to pay attention,]" he told her, then straightened up and answered Salki's question: "[Nothing. The way Bulat described these people, I didn't think they would come near us.]"

                                            "[Why did you say the first watch was the most dangerous?!]"

                                            > Hisein crouched down with his elbows on his knees so he could speak more directly with Thistle. "[It is. This is the most dangerous time for guards to fall asleep. Your body is used to falling asleep now, it's hard to stay awake. The second watch have had some sleep, so it will be easier, even if they will be tired tomorrow. The third watch just means getting up a little earlier.]"

                                            > What he was saying made a lot of sense and Thistle's ears splayed.

                                            "[Oh. I see.]"

                                            > "[You did good, anyway. You're still awake and you can move quietly if you want. Keep working on watching and listening.]"

                                            "[I would, if I still had my- my...] glasses," she muttered darkly.

                                            > The two men were silent for a few moments, then Hisein asked: "[What is 'glas-ez'?]"

                                            > His pronunciation wasn't that far off and the word would have been perfectly legible to any Equestrian.

                                            "[It is things I wear on my eyes to help me see. One of the men broke them when they-]"

                                            > The memory was still forceful and it made the mare shudder as she took a calming breath before she could continue.

                                            "[When they took me.]"

                                            > "[What? You never told me about a glas-ess!]" Salki complained. "[You said you don't see good, but I thought that was just the way ponies were! Donkeys can't see all that well either!]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head and tightened her grip around Salki's leg.

                                            "[It is some- some iron, with - huh...]

                                            > She couldn't think up any nomad word to explain.

                                            "[You know when there is ice on the water in winter? You can break it off and it is clear like the sky. You can see through it?]"

                                            > Growing ever more confused, the two nomads looked at one another, then Hisein shrugged and answered: "[Yes?]"

                                            "[It is a thing like that, but it is not water, and it does not melt. It is not cold.]"

                                            > "[That sounds like magic,]" the older hunter murmured.

                                            "[Not magic, just- just a kind of rock. Flint is dark, silver is shiny, my glasses were clear.]"

                                            > "[You put this in your eyes?]" Hisein asked incredulously. "[A piece of rock and iron. That would hurt! No wonder you can't see!]"

                                            > Thistle was shaking her head forcefully.

                                            "[No, you don't understand. The iron holds the clear rock in place. It goes around my ears and over my nose, so I can look through the clear rock. It helps me see better!]"

                                            > They didn't have a reply to that and Salki lifted his hands and gently teased her head around so he could examine her face. "[The iron goes here,]" he murmured and traced a line with his finger down the side of her face.

                                            "[No, higher,]" she said and pushed his hand up with a careful hoof.

                                            > He touched her temple, then the bridge of her nose. "[And it holds this clear rock here?]"

                                            "[Two. Here, touch your thumb and first finger.]"

                                            > Salki did as she commanded, but it was hard to see in the dark. Thistle peered closely at his hand as she deftly manipulated it with her hooves to turn the makeshift circle the right way around.

                                            "[Here, hold it here!]"

                                            > She she was peering through the pretend lens at Salki's face.

                                            "[Imagine your fingers are the iron. The clear rock is in the middle. One for each eye, and the middle bit rests on my nose. Those were my 'glasses'.]"

                                            > Without her prompting him, Salki made another circle with his other hand and held it in front of her other eye. "[Like this?]"

                                            "[Yes.]"

                                            > Even Hisein had leaned in closer to see better. He examined the shape Salki had made, then touched his fingers together to make his own circle, and held it in front of his own eye. "[Why would this help you see better?]" he asked.

                                            "[It is special clear rock. It does something to the light and it helps my eyes. With those, I could see as well as you. There are different things with clear rock which let you see far away things as if they were right in front of you.]"

                                            > The two were staring at her in rapt attention by now, but the spell broke when Hisein grunted and stood up. "[Enough chatting. Enemies could have sneaked up on us and cut our throats. Let's wake the second watch and go to sleep.]"

                                            > "[Is it time yet?]" Salki asked.

                                            > Rather than replying, Hisein was striding purposefully back toward the tents. Salki and Thistle stayed put for a few more moments, then Salki took a deep breath and pushed himself to his feet.

                                            > It dislodged Thistle's hoof and she mourned the loss of Salki's delicious warmth against her side, but only for a moment. They would go in their tent and cuddle up for the rest of the night.

                                            > The thought was enticing enough to push her tired muscles into motion.

                                            "[I'm going to sleep like a baby.]"

                                            > "[You will wake up and cry every two hours?]"

                                            "[What? No! I'm just tired and I can't wait to sleep!]"

                                            > The nomad chuckled at his little joke. They reached the tents and Thistle heard Hisein murmuring something, and Bulat sleepily responding. She guessed the older hunter would wake up their replacements, so she simply followed Salki to the tent and gratefully slipped inside.

                                            > It wasn't any warmer, though the night wasn't as cold as some, but even just being inside and near their cot and blankets was making the mare feel warmer. She looked longingly at the soft animal furs and reached for them to slip inside, but Salki swore under his breath and pushed the tent flap out once more.

                                            "[What is it?]"

                                            > "[I have to go piss. I'll be right back.]"

                                            > Unfortunately his words made her aware of an unwelcome pressure in her own midriff and she let the furs drop with a forlorn sigh. Bed was to be denied her for a little while longer, it seemed.

                                            "[Wait, I'll go with you.]"

                                            > She ducked outside through the flap Salki was kindly holding open for her, casting a longing glance at the warm, inviting cot. Only a few more minutes, though.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > "[Quiet now,]" Hisein warned. He was holding out his palm to Thistle in a sign to stay put while he peeked around a tree. The mare did her best to get her breathing under control.

                                            > It had been a bit of a surprise when the old hunter had popped out of the forest and told her and Bulat to join him, before ordering the rest of the troop to stay behind with their animals. He'd explained it would be good experience, and there wasn't much danger.

                                            > To Thistle, this was a welcome change. After their wakeful night, the group had proceeded under the cover of the forest canopy at a snail's pace, while Hisein had run ahead alone to scout.

                                            "[What do you see? You've already been here, no?]" she asked in a barely audible whisper.

                                            > "[Yes, but try and pretend. You wanted to learn, now learn. Hush.]"

                                            > Thistle's ears splayed at the warning note in his voice and she clamped her mouth shut. She watched the tall hunter carefully lean to one side and scrutinize the clearing ahead.

                                            > At least she thought of it as a clearing. The land ahead of them was wreathed in sunlight and she couldn't make out anything after the gloom they'd walked through. Perhaps it was where the canopy ended and grasslands, or steppe, began anew.

                                            > She almost began to fiddle with her hooves, but Thistle got a grip on herself and looked instead to Bulat. The young nomad was perfectly still, pressed against the same large tree which hid all three of them from sight, and he was watching Hisein very closely.

                                            > "[Good, it's safe. Come on,]" Hisein said suddenly, in a normal tone of voice. Just like that he walked around their cover and headed out into the open.

                                            > Thistle and Bulat exchanged bewildered glances, then followed.

                                            > The mid-afternoon sun made her eyes water and the mare had to blink rapidly to shield her eyes, until they got accustomed to the glare once more.

                                            > She found herself out beyond the edge of the forest. The trees almost formed a straight line and the darkness beneath their branches was impenetrable. She wondered why there was such a straight, well-defined boundary, and glanced around.

                                            > The reason soon became obvious. There were houses! Barely huts, and made mostly of mud, but they were recognizably buildings!

                                            > Her heartbeat picked up as she stared in wonder. She'd only seen tents, made of animal skins, wood, and bone, but here were honest-to-Celestia buildings, which someone had planned and constructed. The walls were brown, compacted, dry mud, and the roofs were large bundles of straw, tied together with some kind of plant-based string. There were no windows, of course, and the doors were simple holes covered by animal skins, but these squat, ugly buildings were the closest to architecture Thistle had been in nearly a year!

                                            > One thing bothered her, but she couldn't quite put her hoof on it. She glanced to Hisein for help, but the nomad was standing quietly nearby and watching the haphazard village. The other hunter, Bulat, had stopped to stare beside her, and had put his hand on her mane. Thistle didn't know if it was to comfort her, or to reassure himself.

                                            > Bulat was gawking at the buildings too. He coughed, once, then asked: "[What kind of tents are these?]"

                                            > It made Hisein chuckle and he walked over to the nearest hut. His hand slapped against the wall. "[Not tents. I heard traders talk about these. People in this land make them out of mud.]"

                                            > "[Wow, that must be hard to move!]" Bulat commented. "[Do you think they use horses to drag these? What are they called?]"

                                            > Thistle perked up her ears at the question. She didn't know the nomad word Hisein said, but she filed it mentally as 'hut'.

                                            > "[They don't move,]" Hisein explained. "[These people stay here all the time.]"

                                            > Bulat shook his head in disbelief. "[Really?]" he asked skeptically. "[What do they eat? The roots must be picked clean and all the animals driven away! Are they all traders?]"

                                            > Thistle waited expectantly for the answer, but Hisein seemed at a loss. He lifted his shoulders in a shrug. "[I don't know. They survive, somehow.]"

                                            "[Maybe they are- um, maybe they work on the land?]"

                                            > She realized mid-sentence that the nomads didn't have a word for "farming", or if they did, she hadn't heard it so far.

                                            > "[What do you mean?]" Hisein asked.

                                            "[Have you seen different ground near here? Earth that was, um turned around? Like someone has been digging long lines? Or maybe there is a part of the ground that has all the same plant on it?]"

                                            > The two nomads looked at one another in confusion, clearly out of their depth. Hisein came closer and crouched before the mare. "[We will go around this camp and see if we find something like that. What does it mean?]"

                                            > She shook her head impatiently, unsure where to even begin.

                                            "[This is what ponies do. Some ponies, at least. You dig lines in the ground, and you put plants in them. You care for them and they grow, and then you eat them. Do you have a word for this?]"

                                            > Bulat was shaking his head, but Hisein looked thoughtful, as if this was familiar. "[Some traders say strangers in far lands work the land. That is where grain and rice come from.]"

                                            "[Exactly! Grain, and um- yams. Other roots. They can be grown in large numbers, so that everyone has enough to eat.]"

                                            > "[Wouldn't work,]" Bulat said quickly. "[People would die if they ate nothing but roots and yams and grain. They need meat.]"

                                            > Thistle didn't have a counter to that, but Hisein looked thoughtful. "[They wouldn't need to hunt as much as we do,]" he finally concluded. "[If they are careful, they would not drive away the animals. Maybe it could work. We will look for your lines of plants.]"

                                            > Thistle smiled proudly and looked at the collection of huts again. That was when it hit her.

                                            "[No smoke! No people!]"

                                            > "[Good,]" Hisein said with a brief smile. "[This is where the people Bulat saw came from. I saw a few myself, skulking around.]"

                                            "[Why have they gone?]"

                                            > The hunter stood up and held out an arm toward the nearest hut. "[Go and look inside,]" he told her.

                                            > His flat tone and guarded expression made Thistle swallow and her ears instantly lowered. It was going to be bad, she could feel it.

                                            > Now that she was aware of it, the quiet village was too still, unnaturally so. Was it disease? Did their fields go barren, forcing the people to leave? Have their hunters failed to return from a hunt?

                                            > She walked on shaky legs to the doorway, and fumbled with the fur sheet hanging over it. It was a large piece, perhaps a bear, or a big wolf, somehow attached on the inner side above the door. When she pushed it aside, the interior of the house was pitch black.

                                            > It took long moments, during which she was almost afraid to breathe, for her sun-adapted eyes to relax enough so she could see into the dim interior. There was a hole in the roof above a blackened fire pit in one corner, which let in some daylight.

                                            > She saw bits of smashed wood. Broken pottery. A spear, snapped in two, with the point covered in something dark. She saw a big stain in the middle of the floor. Even if her eyes could not clearly identify it, her nose made it obvious as soon as she inhaled. Blood. Old and dry, but still potent enough to make her muzzle scrunch up in disgust.

                                            > The mare withdrew from the doorway and let the fur slide shut, which stopped most of the stink. Except now that she was aware of it, she smelled it everywhere. Blood, mingled with stale, un-aired rooms. Perhaps something worse under it, a stink she had barely registered, because she had not wanted to acknowledge it.

                                            > Death.

                                            "[What happened here?]"

                                            > "[A raid, probably,]" Hisein said. "[The men were out hunting when the enemy came. They killed the old and the boys, and took the women. They were waiting for the men when they came back.]"

                                            "[Oh no,]" Thistle breathed in a faint whisper.

                                            > Her heart was hammering in her chest and her ears had folded protectively down, but there was no escape from Hisein's soft voice. "[Some of the women and children were out. Maybe foraging, or maybe working those plants you said. They came back and buried the dead. I found the hole. They are afraid of strangers, they ran away when they saw Bulat yesterday. No doubt they are hiding in the forest until we leave.]"

                                            > Thistle tried to blink her tears away, but more and more kept flowing.

                                            "[C-Can we help them?]"

                                            > "[What would you do? They are afraid, they will run from us.]"

                                            "[What if- if we leave some food?]"

                                            > Hisein shook his head. "[We don't have that much ourselves. We will have to buy more grain for you and the donkeys, and hunt more game for ourselves. The smoked and salted meat we have is for trading.]"

                                            "[We have to do something!]"

                                            > "[I'm open to ideas.]"

                                            > Thistle looked around the forlorn village. She thought back to the precious, dwindling supplies in her pack, back with the others. If she parted with her grain and rice it would perhaps feed one or two people through a month, if they stretched it, but she would be back to eating grass.

                                            > That wasn't enough, not with how much energy she was expanding on this trek. Even with the grain, she was worried about losing too much weight before they came back.

                                            > The logic of the steppe was unforgiving. If she gave her own things, she would starve. It was the same for the hunters, but at least they had the preserved meats they carried. At least they could hunt.

                                            "[Fuck...]"

                                            > "[Exactly,]" Hisein said and put a comforting hand on her mane. "[We can't help strangers. We have a mission. Without horses, our clan will die. Even with bows, Ruslans will run over us. If not them, someone else.]"

                                            "[I know. I just wish-]" she began, but ended with a heartfelt sigh.

                                            > "[Come on, let's walk around and see if they had these plants they worked on. We can take and fill our bags.]"

                                            "[No.]"

                                            > Hisein straightened up and gave the mare a sharp glance.

                                            "[No. We can't help them, but we will not steal from them! We're not thieves!]"

                                            > The hunter thought about it for a while, then shrugged. "[Fine. We will not take from these wretches. Let us go and see if this story of yours is true, then back to the others. These people are no danger, we can pass through their land.]"

                                            > It wasn't a big victory, but if the survivors of this sad, little village were to have any hope, they had to keep what little harvest their fields might have yielded.

                                            > Thistle cast one last glance around the empty village, then followed Hisein with her head bowed.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            "[That was where they kept animals. Goats and cows, I think.]"

                                            > Thistle was in her element, explaining what they'd found to Salki, Zaur, and Temir. She had hardly even noticed when Bulat quietly left to tend to their herd, and when Hisein had slipped away to scout. She'd seen both go, and heard their explanation, but she was so busy telling the story to the other three that she paid them practically no mind.

                                            > Her hunter friends listened with rapt attention. Salki looked particularly thoughtful. "[This wooden hut- will we need one like that to keep horses?]"

                                            > She'd found the only building in the village which wasn't made of mud, and it had apparently been used to house the village's  meager herd of livestock. Thistle couldn't tell why the rudimentary stall had been different from the other dwellings, but perhaps the animals were unnerved by the dark and enclosed mud huts, or perhaps they didn't need as good insulation in the cold.

                                            > The animals were gone, and when she had mentioned that to Hisein, he figured whoever had attacked the village must have taken the beasts. For a moment he'd looked excited and asked if there were horses, but Thistle had to tell him no. She could smell goats and some sort of bovine, both of which were vaguely familiar to the nomads from her descriptions. She'd learned the names for them from Hisein.

                                            > "[I'm not sure we know how to do something like that. Should we go back and see how it was made? Maybe we can learn.]"

                                            > Salki's musing to himself brought Thistle back to the present and she flicked her ears excitedly.

                                            "[No, I don't think we need a wood hut for horses. They will be fine the way we keep donkeys.]"

                                            > It would have been impossible to move a large enough stall, let alone build one from the rare, spindly trees and bushes on the steppe. It was just as impractical to try and lug any serious amount of wood on their way back, even if they got a herd of horses.

                                            > Thistle thought back on the biting cold during the winter. The donkeys had stood it, but more than one had died during the worst nights.

                                            "[We can make a bigger tent if it is really cold,]" she conceded.

                                            > Her words visibly relaxed Salki and he nodded eagerly. "[Yeah, sure. We can do that!]" Zaur and Temir murmured their assent, but fell silent when Salki asked another question: "[You said they buried plants to eat? How does that work?]"

                                            > She'd had some time to think about, and had a basic explanation ready for him.

                                            "[It is what my people do. You turn over the earth so it is nice and dark, and you put grain in it, or yams, or roots.]"

                                            > This part didn't make sense and the others' expressions darkened in confusion. Thistle had been expecting that and raised a hoof to forestall the inevitable questions. It meant she had to hobble on three legs for a bit, but they weren't walking particularly fast so that was okay.

                                            "[Yes, but if you do it right, more plants will grow! Like grass and bushes! Enough to feed everyone for the whole winter!]"

                                            > "[Yes,]" Zaur pointed out patiently, "[but then you have to stay where you have done it, don't you?]"

                                            "[Yes! Very good!]"

                                            > Salki was already shaking his head. "[It wouldn't work. We can't stay that long in one place, all the animals would leave and we wouldn't catch anything on hunts. We can't live only with yams and grain and roots! We need meat!]"

                                            > Thistle couldn't argue that point, and it was something which had bothered her about the village. Pony societies could easily survive on farming alone, but nomads needed to hunt. They were half-carnivores, after all.

                                            > Hisein had said they could stay in the same spot of they hunted carefully, but the balance they would need sounded very delicate, and typical nomad restrain didn't seem up to the task.

                                            > Perhaps this village had been full of a very different type of nomad. That probably wasn't even the right word for them, now that she came to think about it!

                                            > Either that, or something less pleasant was going on.

                                            > She'd smelled blood around the animal stall in the little village. Old blood, certainly from before the attack which drove the people away.

                                            > Thistle had also seen how the nomads culled their herd of donkeys, so it wasn't entirely out of the question. If they supplemented their farming and their hunting with a bit of slaughter, they would have plenty to eat.

                                            "[I think that is why they had the animals,]" she finally said. "[In Equestria, us ponies can pull the- thing.]"

                                            > "[What thing?]" Salki asked.

                                            "[It is like a metal blade. Thick and heavy, it cuts into the earth and turns it around. It makes it easier to turn the earth around so grain can be put in.]"

                                            > There was silence and when Thistle looked around, Zaur and Temir were staring at her with wide eyes. Even Salki looked uneasy, even though he knew more than any other nomad about Equestria's advanced industry and technology.

                                            > "[You had that much metal where you come from? Wow,]" Temir finally said, earning himself emphatic nodding from Zaur.

                                            "[Yes, we have a lot of metal things. Anyway, in Equestria we can pull these through the ground ourselves. Some ponies could, the strongest. Here- people are not strong enough, so maybe they used cows to do it.]"

                                            > After all, even the nomads she knew used donkeys to move burdens across the land. With some clever rope work and bits of wood, it was conceivable the village could till large enough area to feed themselves.

                                            > The fields she had seen with Hisein were certainly big enough. It was too late in the year to see how they'd been tilled, but unless everyone in the settlement toiled day and night through the whole spring with hand tools, Thistle didn't see how else they could have done it. Perhaps she should have told Hisein her suspicions, the hunter would undoubtedly want to look for a plow on the off chance it was made of metal.

                                            > She'd ultimately decided against it, on the one hoof it would have been incredibly heavy to lug along, and on the other whoever had attacked would have taken anything of value. Her thoughts went back to the domesticated animals.

                                            > A source of physical labor, and food through the winter. She didn't like how these animals were treated, and perhaps it was a blessing the beasts of this world were too dumb to know their own fate.

                                            > "[Well, that sounds good for some peoples, but we nomads don't like staying in the same place. We like to move,]" Salki finally said.

                                            "[I know.]"

                                            > She heaved a sigh and allowed herself a momentary daydream of what it would be like to organize the camp into farm workers, to tend to vast fields of wheat and yam, and to reap a rich harvest in the fall. There would be more than they could eat. They would trade, which meant cooperating with other tribes in the area.

                                            > 'Trade is the seed of peace,' she'd heard Celestia say once, on a guest lecture in the Canterlot University.

                                            > It was true, too! Their very group was going off to a distant land, to trade peacefully with some unknown nation. If only Thistle could make the same thing happen between their neighboring tribes!

                                            "[By the way, where is Hisein?]"

                                            > The other three nomads walking with her straightened up and glanced around. They shrugged to each other and Salki answered her: "[Out scouting. He said. He's not back yet, so maybe he also went to hunt.]"

                                            "[Oh.]"

                                            > "[Are you going to cook again today?]" Zaur asked.

                                            "[I guess.]"

                                            > "[If it's fox,]" the young hunter went on, "[leave it on the fire a little longer than the last time. It was still slightly raw in the middle.]"

                                            "[Sorry about that. I'll try.]"

                                            > The nomad reached over to pat her neck. "[You are a good cook. You learned how to clean the meat well.]"

                                            "[Thanks,]" she responded dryly.

                                            > At least it would mean another hand-bath from Salki, which may lead to something infinitely more fun.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > To her surprise, Thistle found Hisein already cleaning and cutting pieces of meat when she came back to the fire after a visit to the nearby bushes. He hadn't waited for her to do it, and when she'd asked, he said he would take care of it himself.

                                            > A quick glance at what he was butchering gave her the reason: it was a cervid, probably some kind of a deer. She could clearly see the little cloven hoof, even if the rest of it wasn't very recognizable anymore.

                                            > She didn't want to see more than that, so Thistle carefully averted her eyes and sat by the fire with her back to Hisein.

                                            > It was an unusual kindness from the normally unyielding man, but Thistle was grateful for it. Cutting little creatures apart was never fun, but something that close to her own kind would have been worse.

                                            > She was happy they hadn't had to butcher any of their donkey herd. Salki had told her they would do it, if any of the beasts became lame, or hurt itself so it could no longer walk.

                                            > The mere thought was depressing, and made the mare question how they'd react if *she* got hurt in the same way. She didn't *think* they'd butcher her, but carrying her, and her part of the cargo would be hard.

                                            "[Salki?]" she asked.

                                            > The young nomad had been in intense conversation with Bulat, which was curtailed as they both looked at her. "[What?]" he asked.

                                            "[Would you eat me?]"

                                            > "[What!?]" both Salki and Bulat stared in shock, and the other nomads turned to look at the three at the outburst. Thistle blushed when she realized how clumsy she'd asked it, and hurried to correct it:

                                            "[I mean if I break my leg, or if I get ill. You said you would butcher and eat a donkey if that happened. What about me?]"

                                            > Her ears splayed as she spoke and her eyes grew large and frightened at the thought. Salki reached out his hand and cupped her cheek. "[Don't be stupid! You can talk, the donkeys can't!]"

                                            > Temir and Zaur piped up to add their agreement, almost echoing each other: "[We wouldn't!]"

                                            > Even Hisein gave wry chuckle and leaned over to slap the side of her barrel. "[Don't worry, you're practically a nomad. None of us here think of you as an animal.]"

                                            > Thistle turned her head to give him a grateful smile, but it faded when she saw the bloody hand print on her fur. It looked like Salki would need to wash her after all.

                                            "[Thanks,]" she managed.

                                            > "[Maybe a year ago,]" Bulat said, then laughed at her expression. "[Don't worry, I agree. We wouldn't now.]"

                                            > It was just the nomads' strange sense of humor, and Thistle dutifully shared a chuckle. The movement reminded her of the chill in the air and she shuffled a little closer to Salki and the fire. A blanket would be nice to drape around them both, but the others would surely make fun of Salki if she did, or even proposed, that. In lieu of cuddling together, she pressed her side against his thigh and held out her hooves to the fire.

                                            > Every now and then she heard Hisein's blade scrape against bone, and she had to resist the urge to look. After a while he speared some chunks on sticks and hung them over the fire. Their sizzle merged with the crackling and popping of the flames.

                                            > The smell, once the meat began to cook, wasn't too bad. The raw stuff was the worst, but Thistle could stand it when it was cooked or burnt. After a fashion she turned back around to see all the nomads at the fire. By this time, the deer had been reduced to anonymous lumps and piles of bones an viscera.

                                            > It was a depressingly small pile, which made the mare hang her head in sorrow. A young deer.

                                            > "[How far do you think we have to go?]" Salki suddenly asked, looking straight at Hisein.

                                            > The older, more experienced nomad gave it some thought. "[This last place had huts made of mud which can't be moved. Nurlan said they have horses and the people live in huts made of stone. We must be near.]"

                                            "[Do you think we are already in the Two Lands?]" Thistle asked.

                                            > To this, Hisein first shook his head, but then thought better of it and shrugged. "[Maybe, but I do not think so. The Two lands should have a lot more people. It bounded by water, further than the eye can see. They say there is nothing beyond, only water until the world ends.]"

                                            > Thistle opened her mouth to tell them that the world was a globe, but thought better of it and shut it. It wasn't really important, not at the speeds they were travelling. Perhaps another day, if she needed something incredible to blow their minds.

                                            > "[They also said the land is hot,]" Hisein said, "[that the sun is closer in those lands. It would make sense if they are near the edge, where the sun goes down from the sky.]"

                                            > Again the mare's mouth quirked up in a small smile.

                                            > "[What's funny?]" Salki asked in a whisper.

                                            "[I'll tell you later.]"

                                            > Hisein poked at one of the lumps with his knife to inspect the other side, but then he left it in place. "[We won't go all the way there. We only need to find horses, buy them, and come back.]"

                                            > At this Zaur cleared his throat. He looked troubled. "[Do you think we have enough things to trade? If these people have huts made of stone, and things made of iron, and can trade for all their food, maybe we will not have enough.]"

                                            > He waved his hand in the direction where the donkeys were tired up in a loose circle, with their goods piled up in the middle. It was an unusual arrangement and Thistle had asked the first night. She'd been told that the animals would make a lot of noise if someone tried to get in their group.

                                            > It was true, each time the nomads went into the herd to load them up there was an awful lot of braying. They still kept some watch, but usually just one of their number, not pairs like the previous night.

                                            > She snapped back to reality as Hisein began to answer: "[If it is not enough, we will take them. We will steal them.]"

                                            > Her tiny gasp made her the center of attention and her ears flattened at all the scrutiny.

                                            "[We can't steal!]"

                                            > "[Why not? We need horses. We have to get them, or we will be overrun. Maybe not in a year, or five, but we will. If they will not trade with us, we will take them.]"

                                            > Thistle watched Hisein and saw his iron resolve. Darga had been right to send him along, since none of the others might be determined enough to think like that.

                                            > "[That's why you're with us,]" Hisein continued, pointing a finger at her directly. "[You know how these stone huts work. You keep talking about what your people have built and done. You will help us trade, and if that doesn't work, you will help us steal them.]"

                                            > The mare swallowed a lump and lowered her eyes. She thought back to her career as mayor. She'd upheld the law and sat in more than one judgement. Usually just petty crimes, but theft had been a pretty common one.

                                            > Then again, would it be that much worse than the things she'd already done?

                                            > Hisein was probably right. The nomads needed this, or they could be in great danger. That meant she would be in the same danger as the rest of the camp.

                                            > In the end she gave a small, hesitant nod.

                                            "[We will try and trade honestly, first.]"

                                            > All the men around the fire grunted their agreement.

                                            "[You have silver? Jewelry? I heard Darga say it.]"

                                            > Her words caused the three younger nomads to look at Hisein with newfound curiosity. The hunter sighed and reached around for his bag. "[I guess it's no point keeping it secret now,]" he grumbled and dug out a smaller leather sack.

                                            > It landed at her hooves and Thistle carefully picked it up. The knot gave her some trouble, but she managed to untie it and tip out the contents.

                                            > There were several bronze bangles, a few smaller, silver loops which she thought would fit around the nomads' fingers, and even a few lumpy, misshapen gems. She couldn't tell what kind they were, but they looked sparkly enough.

                                            > The others watched this bounty with gaping mouths.

                                            > "[Wow, that's a lot. Shit,]" Temir murmured, to emphatic agreement from the others.

                                            > Thistle gave it all a critical examination. She couldn't help but feel that it would never be enough. Equestria was swimming in gold and jewels, and she couldn't judge how common they might be on the nomads' world.

                                            > Maybe Temir was right, and this was a lot of wealth. She hadn't seen gold, nor any of these gems until now. It was all Darga could scrape together, even with the clan's survival on the line. Perhaps it would be enough, together with animal skins and smoked meat they were carrying.

                                            "[Where did this come from? Nomads don't trade in silver and gems,]" she pointed out.

                                            > Hisein gave her a long stare, then shrugged. "[It was in the wagon of those people. My two slaves' parents.]"

                                            "[Oh...]"

                                            > Salki heaved a sigh. "[We should have listened to you. Killing their horses had been a mistake.]"

                                            > Bulat shook his head. "[Maybe, but they were out of control. Dangerous. Those hooves, flashing. They nearly broke Willow's leg.]"

                                            > They all looked at the mare when she let out an involuntary little whimper. They took in her folded-down ears, and tightly shut eyes.

                                            > "[Sorry,]" Salki said.

                                            "[Let's talk about something else?]"

                                            > Hisein was busying himself with turning the scraps of meat around to cook evenly on both sides. The other four exchanged glances. "[Tell us how these camps of stone work. What should we watch out for?]" Salki finally asked. The question earned him an approving grunt from Hisein.

                                            "[Okay. Okay. Um, people in these places, the- um, let's call them 'hut-camps'. They don't do the same things. They do just one thing, and they are good at it. Kind of like Darkhan. One man will make, for example, knives. Very good knives. So good, that everyone else will trade for his knives, and the man will not have to hunt.]"

                                            > Teaching them was calming, and Thistle began to enjoy herself as she unfolded her careful narrative. It took a lot of imagination to put into terms they could understand, but cities were the one thing she understood very well.

                                            > She relaxed more and more against Salki's side, and she hardly even noticed when his arm encircled her around the withers. She saw their rapt, glowing faces, and the way all nomads, even Hisein, were leaning closer to hear her better.

                                            > It felt a bit like her visit to Ponyville Elementary, where she'd had to explain how the Town Hall worked. Her public then had been younger, but it had needed explanations just as simple as these nomads.

                                            > The cooking deer meat sizzled quietly over the fire, unnoticed during her story.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Their campfire that evening had been abuzz with excitement.

                                            > They had found a road!

                                            > Well, to Thistle's eyes it was barely a dirt track, but it was also the first sign of civilization she'd seen in the nomads' world.

                                            > The others didn't immediately understand the significance, although they were intrigued by the new sight. After she'd explained what it meant, Hisein had suggested for the group to retreat back into the forest and discuss their next move. Salki had backed him up, and so the five nomads and the mare spent the rest of the day resting and talking.

                                            > A road promised that there would be a village nearby, which meant they could get directions. There would probably be a language barrier, but Thistle knew Salki could find a way to make himself understood.

                                            > If these strangers travelled enough to need roads, it would almost certainly mean that they would be open to trading. Again and again Thistle had stressed that the people they would meet, both on the road and in any town they chanced upon, would not be enemies to fight.

                                            > It had taken Hisein telling her to stop treating them as children before she stopped repeating herself. After that she withdrew a little from the conversation and let the nomads discuss it between themselves.

                                            > Bulat and Hisein had left in the mid-afternoon to hunt, and came back with a couple of rabbits, which Thistle had cleaned and cooked.

                                            >...

                                            > Now she was enjoying the fruits of her labor as Salki washed her face and forelegs.

                                            > She let him push her muzzle to the side so he could run his wet fingers along her jaw and down her neck. The breeze from the open tent flap chilled her a little, but the nights were no longer biting cold, ever since they'd come down from the mountain pass.

                                            > Thistle let out a breath and leaned a little harder against Salki's delightful scratching.

                                            > He tapped a finger on her nose and chided: "[Stay still! I'm not done yet.]"

                                            > In response she just licked the offending digit.

                                            > "[Tell me again about people walking on that track,]" he went on, focusing on her face again and completely ignoring her antics.

                                            "[I just said they are not enemy. Do not attack or threaten them. They will probably just ignore- mmpmfh!]"

                                            > He'd grabbed her muzzle with both hands and held it shut. When Thistle opened her eyes she saw him grinning. "[Hmm, I'm not sure I understand, can you repeat that a few more times?]"

                                            > Salki laughed at her glare and she grumbled incoherently into his palms.

                                            > She fell silent and her ears splayed warningly. A few moments later the nomad released her.

                                            "[Okay. I get the point! I only wanted to make sure you understood. You know how you nomads can be with strangers!]"

                                            > "[How?]"

                                            "[Well, the Ruslans! And the traders- Fen Ko and Ning's parents!]"

                                            > Salki leaned his head to the side and gave this some thought. "[Ruslans always raid our hunting grounds, and the traders came into our lands and could not speak our language.]"

                                            > She'd heard the reasoning before and didn't bring it up again, lest it devolve into another argument with Salki. Instead, Thistle just lowered her head.

                                            "[I know, but these people won't speak your language either. Do what we did when we first met. Point at things and say your words, and listen to their words. You will not need very much to trade.]"

                                            > "[How do I ask if they have horses?]"

                                            > Thistle gave this some thought.

                                            "[Point at donkey, then show it is bigger. You can make the noises horses make, too.]"

                                            > This statement earned her a blank stare and Salki asked: "[What noises do horses make? I have never heard. I did not see the horses of those traders, or the ones Ruslans have.]"

                                            > It was a good question, and Thistle had to admit that she wasn't entirely sure herself. Her ears lowered and she gave Salki a slightly uncertain smile.

                                            "[I am not sure, but I think ponies make similar noises sometimes. You can try that.]"

                                            > He was watching her with interest and leaned back on his elbows. "[Okay,]" he said, "[make some noises for me.]"

                                            > Unfortunately Thistle did not know the nomad names for some quintessential pony sounds, so she decided to simply demonstrate. She knew that she must have done so many times before, when stressed, or curious, or amused, but trying to do it on purpose was making her blush.

                                            > Perhaps it was the way Salki looked at her with such undisguised curiosity that was putting her off. She closed her eyes and took a calming breath.

                                            "[There is this one...]"

                                            > She gave a contented snort.

                                            "[It's usually when I'm comfortable. Try it,]" she told him and repeated the noise.

                                            > Salki pursed his lips and blew a raspberry in a very poor imitation.

                                            "[No, through your nose!]"

                                            > It took her a few more demonstrations before the nomad could do a reasonable approximation. Once he had it down, he asked: "[Okay, any more?]"

                                            > She thought for a moment, then shrugged and tried to whinny as quietly as possible. It was hard, because that sound was meant to call for attention, so her mind refused to do it surreptitiously.

                                            > After a first attempt, she hurried to the tent flap and pulled it down, so the other nomads wouldn't come to see what was happening.

                                            "[Sorry,]" she told Salki, "[I can't make it quiet.]"

                                            > "[Do it again?]"

                                            > She concentrated and neighed a few more times. Each time Salki would try to imitate, but he wasn't doing all that well and it was hard to keep her focus. By his fifth attempt Thistle was urgently suppressing laughter.

                                            > Salki was blushing and cleared his throat in acute embarrassment. He wouldn't meet her gaze.

                                            "[Sorry. Sorry. It's good, really. It's just unusual.]"

                                            > "[What does this one mean?]"

                                            "[It is usually a hello, but it can also be when I am surprised.]"

                                            > Salki was thoughtful for a few moments, then gave a slight nod. "[I think I remember you doing this.]"

                                            "[Maybe. I would do it with another pony, I think. Maybe if I was surprised.]"

                                            > Thinking that their exercise was over, Thistle settled down and leaned against Salki's side. His hand automatically went around her withers and she nuzzled into his animal fur vest.

                                            > After a few moments he cleared his throat and tried again. It was an almost passable whinny.

                                            "[Good, that was good.]"

                                            > "[How do you know horses would make these sounds? You said you don't know horses from our world.]"

                                            > The mare raised a hoof and waved at the tent's far wall dismissively.

                                            "[Donkeys sound similar to how they sound back home. Except, you know, they can't talk. Anyway, everyone knows there are horses living in Saddle Arabia, and they are just big ponies.]"

                                            > Salki began brushing his hand through her fur as he thought. "[Okay, I guess we will find out.]"

                                            "[If it does not work, get the people to show you the animals. Who knows, maybe there will be a lot of horses and we will see them walking around.]"

                                            > "[Yeah, maybe.]"

                                            > They were both silent for a short while, sharing a moment of excitement. If they found a suitable village or town soon, they could trade for some horses and head back.

                                            > Thistle measured the long miles in her head. Just thinking about the trek home was making her hooves ache.

                                            > She missed her friends, Xuan and Saule, the slave children, even Darga, after a fashion.

                                            > It would be good to return to the land and people she knew.

                                            > True, Salki was there and they had become a lot closer during their time cuddling for warmth, but some things Thistle could only discuss with another female.

                                            > For example, what Salki's fingers on her belly were doing to her insides.

                                            "[There- uh, there is one more noise we make.]"

                                            > "[Mm?]"

                                            > She took a deep breath and let it out in a slow nicker.

                                            > "[That is similar to the other, no?]" Salki said. He made a very quiet whinny. "[This, no? Isn't it the same?]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head and placed a hoof over his hand.

                                            "[They are booth greeting, but they mean different things.]"

                                            > She leaned her head up to see Salki's confused expression and his expectant half-smile. "[Well?]"

                                            "[The first one is hello for a friend.]"

                                            > "[Okay? And the second one?]"

                                            "[This...]"

                                            > She lifted herself up a little and caught his lips with hers. They barely brushed before Salki jerked away in surprise.

                                            "[Come on,]" she whispered and stood to follow him.

                                            > After the first, startled, moment Salki didn't try to evade her, but he didn't move any closer. At best, Thistle decided, he wasn't actively rejecting her advance. She was able to give him a better, more solid kiss.

                                            "[It's just us, Salki.]"

                                            > She glanced at the tent flap to make sure it covered the opening, then lowered her voice just in case. The night was still young and the other nomads might still be around the nearby fire.

                                            "[Here, give me your hand.]"

                                            > Salki wordlessly proffered the requested limb and she gently gripped it between her forehooves. That allowed her to guide it down her belly to cup her mounds. He drew a sharp breath when his palm made contact with her exposed flesh, but then he cupped her teat and his fingers explored her naked skin.

                                            "[Yes. It is not wrong. We will not tell anyone.]"

                                            > His reluctance was breaking and the taboo around her looking like an animal was nearly gone, Thistle was sure of it. She leaned in closer again and pressed her lips to his.

                                            > Salki closed his eyes and began to respond. His other hand went to her withers and brushed through her mane, all the while he continued to explore her teats. A small moan escaped through her nose and Thistle pushed herself harder against the hunter's face.

                                            > Her tail was already flagging high and she felt the cool breeze on her newly exposed bits.

                                            "[Love is not wrong,]" she mumbled between kisses.

                                            > Her lover's hand tried to go further, but Salki couldn't reach when she was standing on all four hooves and kissing him. He pulled away and patted her barrel. "[Sit. On your back,]" he instructed.

                                            > Thistle did as she was told without hesitation. She flopped on the animal fur cot, twisted to her back and spread her hind legs to expose everything to Salki.

                                            > He watched the little pink nubs between her thighs and came closer, flipping from a sitting to kneeling position. One hand went to her face, and the other began to explore her belly again.

                                            > The mare closed her eyes and let her tongue loll out at the ministration.

                                            > He wouldn't stop, not this time.

                                            > There was still that tinge of new excitement in the air, the realization that everything had changed.

                                            > They'd found a road. Soon they would find a town.

                                            > She would show these nomads civilization.

                                            > First, however, she would show Salki what a mare could do.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Salki lifted himself up, gasping for air. His hands left Thistle's fur feeling chilly, even in the warm interior of the tent, and she reached out her forelegs to him in dismay.

                                            > He obliged and gripped her hoof in a reassuring grip.

                                            > After he'd taken a few lungfuls, he bent over her once more, and his warm fingers slid down her belly again. Thistle barely stifled a lustful moan.

                                            "[Breathe through nose when we kiss,]" she instructed.

                                            > Salki gave her a quick nod and brought his face closer. His kissing was sloppy and inexperienced, but he more than made up for it with sheer enthusiasm.

                                            > It felt like some barrier had been broken, and the young hunter finally saw her as a female, no longer as an incompatible species.

                                            > Thistle tried to grip him around his broad chest with her forelegs, but she couldn't quite reach and her hooves scrabbled uselessly at his shoulders. Luckily he knew what she wanted and pressed his body closer to hers, even if it meant trapping his arms between them.

                                            > His fingers were just barely grazing her moist, sensitive skin in that secret place which turned Thistle's thoughts to an incomprehensible jumble, and made all her muscles shudder.

                                            "[Yes,]" she babbled in an excited whisper, "[there. Your finger. There!]"

                                            > Salki shifted to one side to make it easier for his arm to reach and she was about to follow him, chasing his lips as if they were her only lifeline, but he stopped her with a hand on her barrel. "[Stay like that,]" he said.

                                            > He gave her a quick, rudimentary peck on her mouth and slid lower. Thistle's breath caught and she froze when she realized what he was going to do. She braced herself for his tongue and closed her eyes tightly shut. As a precaution, she put her hoof in her mouth and bit down to keep herself as quiet as possible.

                                            > After nothing had happened for several long seconds, she blinked and looked for him in confusion.

                                            > Salki was not between her hind legs, as she had expected. He had risen up to his knees and was untying the strap of leather he used as a belt.

                                            > Thistle let her head fall back. She should have remembered that these people didn't know all that much about sex. At least the younger ones didn't, based on her conversation with Xuan and Saule, and on her failed experiment with Yasin. He had been surprised and revolted when she used her mouth on him.

                                            > She would have to introduce it to Salki gradually, gently, so as not to scare him off.

                                            > For the moment, her eyes went to his bare chest. She couldn't see much detail in the tent's gloom, especially without the fire and with the sun so far below the horizon, but her imagination and memory filled in his taut muscles and slick skin.

                                            > Perhaps she was becoming used to being surrounded by nothing but nomad bodies, but she found him quite attractive and Thistle licked her lips in expectation of what was coming.

                                            > His hands went down to tug off his pants, but he paused and looked at her in silent appraisal.

                                            > Thistle was aware of how she looked. Breathing heavily, her skin already prickling with sweat, and her limbs spread wide to put all her goods on display. Her ears folded down and her tail wanted to twitch and hide her mare bits, but she made herself stay still.

                                            "[Please, I need it.]"

                                            > That got Salki to move again and he slid the pants down his legs. Thistle stared eagerly, but the darkness hid everything from her, except for a vague impression of a dark bush of hair. She lifted her forelegs to him, invitingly.

                                            > After another moment of uncertainty, Salki shuffled closer and lowered himself over her. His elbows easily supported his weight and his hands sought out her face. After a moment he kissed her lightly and Thistle relaxed.

                                            > He was uncertain, but he still wanted it. When he shifted, she could clearly feel how much he wanted it, and the feeling of his stiffness against her belly made her wink and dribble more of her juice on her tail.

                                            > She patted his side with a hoof.

                                            "[Down. I'm strong, you won't hurt me. Don't hold yourself up.]"

                                            > He had been supporting his whole weight on his elbows and his knees, which was probably a very uncomfortable position for a nomad. At her instruction, Salki let his body settle against hers.

                                            > He should have known by now that she was an earth pony and fully capable of supporting him. Again he touched his lips to hers for a quick kiss, but didn't make any other move. By now her body was aching to be filled.

                                            "[Come on. It's okay,]" she urged quietly.

                                            > She moved her hind leg to try and align her opening with Salki's member, and the gentle touch of her fur made the man groan under his breath. His hips jerked and pressed his stiff cock into her teats.

                                            > Thistle didn't have to beg again, Salki lowered himself a bit and pushed again, a little closer to home this time. She felt the tip just barely graze her clit and the sudden, intense sensation made her gasp.

                                            "[Lower!]"

                                            > This time it worked and Salki finally pushed into her folds. She was more than ready for him, instantly lubricating his entire length with her pooled juices. There was a quiet, wet sound as he slid fully inside her.

                                            > It was Salki's turn to stifle moans, and for a moment all he could do was stay still, hilted as far inside her as he could reach. One or two little twitches of his whole body told Thistle just how good it felt for him.

                                            > She obliged and forced her own body to stillness, so as not to overstimulate the poor lad, but it was a struggle to keep her muscles from milking the hard member inside her. It was an automatic reaction and it took a lot of discipline to suppress.

                                            > At long last Salki pulled back, sliding most of his length out of her and leaving an almost aching emptiness. Thistle held her breath for the endless moment as he was poised with only his tip inside her, then let it out in a rush as he slammed back in.

                                            "[F-Fuck, yes!]" she managed to croak in a broken whisper.

                                            > She'd been without for too long, and this time her partner was enjoying it too. That made a huge difference and Thistle smiled up at the nomad thrusting into her.

                                            > Again and again Salki pushed, embedding his cock in her most secret of places. He seemed to hit all the crucial little bundles of nerves along the way, even if his length wasn't really comparable to most stallions.

                                            > Thistle didn't care about the size, not when Salki's inexperienced, jerky motions were driving her to the edge so quickly. She shook her head free of his slobbery kiss and stuck her hoof in her mouth.

                                            > In confusion, he slowed and she urgently moaned around the obstruction and jerked her hips to keep him going.

                                            > Luckily it didn't take more than a few more seconds for her to go past the point of no return.

                                            > The orgasm which shook her was intense, and it was all Thistle could do to keep her squeal low, and her mouth plugged as it came. It wrenched through her body and made her canal tighten like a vice around Salki's warm dick.

                                            > The sudden squeezing made him gasp in pleasant surprise and he thrust deep into her again. It was exactly what she needed and the rolling waves of pleasure crashed down upon the poor mare until they were all she knew. There was nothing else around her, just that small, endless world of her and Salki, joined in the most intimate way possible.

                                            > She might have moaned, but luckily she had bit down on her hard hoof in time, which had kept the sound to a minimum. She jerked and spasmed as the pulses went on and on.

                                            > Only dimly was she aware of Salki urgently grunting right by her ear. He was speeding up, slamming his member into her with reckless abandon as his own peak neared.

                                            > It didn't take him long and he gave a low groan and pushed mightily. In her sensitive state, Thistle felt his cock pulse and spew its hot load right into her depths.

                                            > The timing was almost perfect. The warm seed filling her caught on the ends of her own orgasm and prolonged it, as her body automatically milked the cock inside her. She felt the pulse of her muscles in a smooth wave as they travelled from her opening to her depths, squeezing every little bit of juice out of Salki.

                                            > She urgently pushed her face forward and caught his lips. He didn't resist her invading his mouth with her tongue, in a contrast of how he was invading her marehood with his member.

                                            > They locked in that kiss, and in a tight, shared embrace, until they both wound down. It seemed to go on for a while, but eventually Thistle flopped to her back, breathing heavily.

                                            > Salki, too, was panting.

                                            > They stayed pressed together for a while longer, but eventually he began to soften. To Thistle's profound regret, he had to pull back and break their union.

                                            > Chill air assaulted her wet, matted fur where they had been pressing together.

                                            > A mixture of her fluids and his, hot against her buttocks, leaked from her opening, but she paid them no mind.

                                            > Instead she smiled at Salki and shifted a little to make room for him on the cot beside her.

                                            > He didn't need much prompting and all but fell beside her. Thistle rolled to face him and Salki pulled the blanket snugly around them. Neither cared about the mess they'd made, leaving it for the morning.

                                            "[That was wonderful,]" she finally managed to say.

                                            > Salki leaned in and lightly kissed her nose. "[Yes,]" he agreed. "[You are so warm. Uh, inside I mean. I didn't know.]"

                                            "[And you're harder than I thought. It is good.]"

                                            > He flashed her a grin at the compliment and she wiggled closer so she could lay her head on his forearm. Her own hooves were folded as tightly against her body as she could, which made it easier for Salki to put his other arm around her.

                                            > It wasn't a bad way to fall asleep, or even to simply lay awake and delight in the pleasant ache.

                                            > She thought she still felt the warm goo of his seed in her belly. It wouldn't do anything, but it gave her a nice, content feeling.

                                            > Her muscles gave little shivers and jerks as she calmed, but Salki didn't seem to mind. His were doing the same.

                                            > Sleep would be some time coming, but cuddling was nice while they waited.

                                            > Thistle drew a deep, happy sigh, and began to gently lick the salty sweat on Salki's chest.

                                            > He gave a low moan when she hit his nipple and his arm around her tightened. His hips bucked a little and Thistle's ears perked up.

                                            > Perhaps her night was not quite over, just yet.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle was barely looking at the way they were going. Her eyes kept straying to Salki who was walking beside her. Every now and then she stepped wide and brushed her side against his leg, or pressed her muzzle in his hand. On his part, Salki gave her more than the usual amount of head pats and ear scratches.

                                            > None of the others had noticed anything, even when Salki volunteered to lead the donkey herd and sent Bulat to scout ahead in his place. Thistle hadn't minded helping with the animals either, not when it meant she would stay near Salki. Despite how thoroughly he had washed, she could still smell herself on him, and their mixed aroma was intoxicating. It took some effort to keep her tail modestly down.

                                            > The morning had been largely uneventful, except for a few travellers they had met. Her companions had stopped and reached for their weapons the first time, until Thistle's hissed warning, repeated by Hisein, put a stop to it. Luckily the middle-aged man with his two bovines hadn't noticed anything untoward.

                                            > He gave them a curious, if slightly suspicious glance, but hardly even stopped when Hisein tried to speak to him. It was not very fruitful, and the man didn't understand any of the two languages Hisein could speak. The one Hisein had used on the group of people they'd encountered before the mountains was perhaps the closest, because the stranger brightened up and repeated the odd word here and there.

                                            > Unfortunately his replies made no sense to any of the nomads. Eventually the man grew frustrated, pointed in the direction he had come from and jabbered something which sounded dismissive to Thistle.

                                            > Her impression was proved correct when the traveller slapped his animals on the side and got them moving again. He glanced back at the group a few more times, but then he was gone around the curve in the trail.

                                            "I believe he wanted us to go that way. Maybe someone will understand us, or maybe there is a market. He looked at our donkeys and the things they are carrying."

                                            > Hisein, still staring after the man, shrugged his shoulders. When he turned back, his eyes sought out the youngsters and he gave them their orders: "No more running around. Zaur and Temir, you guard behind the donkeys. Keep your eyes on the path behind us. Me and Salki will look at the front. You-" he turned to Thistle and seemed a little undecided.

                                            "What if I and Salki watch the front?" Thistle proposed.

                                            > "Yes, good," Hisein agreed. "You handle the animals, Salki will watch the road. Your eyes are not very good," he told her. "I will walk by the side and watch the forest. We will have Bulat stay near, when he is back."

                                            > None of them argued with the plan and they all took their places. Before Hisein fell behind, however, he walked beside the mare. "What were those beasts that man had?"

                                            "I don't know exactly, but they look a little like cows. They smelled like that house in the village."

                                            > "These are the ones who drag the iron in the ground to make furrows?"

                                            "Yes, I think. They were large enough."

                                            > In fact, the sight of the two large bulls had somewhat intimidated the mare, especially once she'd spotted their sharp horns. They were more massive than any of Equestrian species and they reminded her most of minotaurs, except without claws on their forelimbs, and walking of all four legs.

                                            > "Hm," was all the response Hisein gave before he slowed to take his place in the middle of their line of donkeys.

                                            >...

                                            > After that traveller with his cattle, they met a few more. One of them was a solitary man, holding a spear, and the other group was a family of four. The former only had a pack on his back and a spear in his hand, but the family had a small wooden cart, pulled by the father.

                                            > When they saw the first one, Thistle made a judgement call and hissed the word 'hunter' to Salki. Hisein hurried to the front in case there would be any trouble, but the lone man didn't seem particularly interested in fighting them, although he cast quite a few appreciative gazes at the bundles of skin other packages on the donkeys' backs.

                                            > He suddenly stopped and said something, his eyes wide in shock and his finger pointing straight at the mare, at her vividly pink mane.

                                            > Hisein and Salki stepped protectively in front of her, and the older nomad tried his languages on the stranger. Again it seemed as if he nearly understood a few words, but his questions were too fast to really make out.

                                            > Once he'd given up and moved on, Hisein put a hand on Thistle to get her attention and whispered: "I think he said 'large village'. We should keep going in this way."

                                            > By the time they'd met the small family, Bulat had rejoined the group and the others explained what they'd seen. He gave his report about a great many signs of hunters he had spotted in the surrounding woods, although he hadn't met anyone.

                                            > Thistle suddenly had an unpleasant vision of Bulat and some stranger surprising one another and fighting out of sheer reflex. She implored him to stay with the group, and after hearing her reasoning, Salki agreed.

                                            > Hisein only hesitated a moment, before nodding his acquiescence and had Bulat stay near the middle of the herd. Hisein himself remained at the front with Thistle and Salki.

                                            > The family with the cart had come not long after, and they were visibly scared of the fierce-looking group. The man had immediately given the cart to the woman, presumably his wife, while the two children clustered close to them both. As they drew near, the man slid his leather tunic aside and put a hand on the hilt of his knife. He scanned the nomads with distrustful eyes, but didn't say anything.

                                            > Thistle gave Hisein a light nudge with her muzzle and whispered:

                                            "Talk to them."

                                            > A little reluctantly, the big nomad flashed the family a smile and tried the language. The result was a little better than before and the woman was able to reply, at least vaguely, to his questions.

                                            > In return, Hisein had told Thistle later, he'd explained to the strangers that they were a group of traders from the far east, looking to sell their wares.

                                            > The exchange had cleared the air, and the man relaxed. After conferring with the woman, he pointed the way they had come from, then at the sun. He lowered his hand about halfway to the horizon, all the while talking in a strange language.

                                            > His wife couldn't really translate, but she kept repeating the word for 'village' and pointing down the road.

                                            > Interestingly, neither of them showed surprise at Thistle, perhaps because she had kept herself hidden behind Salki. The earlier encounter with the hunter was still at the top of her mind and she remembered how valuable her pink mane had been in the camp before everyone had gotten used to the color.

                                            > Once the family had moved on, and her own group had started walking again, she started thinking about how to hide it, just in case.

                                            > Dyeing it was not really an option, and however much dirt and grime she managed to rub into her mane it probably wouldn't completely hide the color. The best way, perhaps, was to create a makeshift hood she could wear. That would probably look weird to the strange people, especially if all the animals in the world were just dumb beasts, but it would probably be easier to explain than a bright pink mane. She discussed it with Salki, who agreed with her.

                                            > Luckily noon passed without any more encounters.

                                            >...

                                            > The nomads stopped to eat and drink a short distance from the trail around mid-afternoon. They were all excitable and kept trying to look in all directions at once.

                                            > Thistle couldn't blame them. For the past hour she had been sniffing the air, trying to put her hoof on something. It was different than the untouched nature she'd gotten used to in the weeks of travelling, and perhaps, on some level, her nomads friends could also sense that.

                                            > She thought it smelled like a small town. There was undoubtedly wood smoke, and she was sure she could pick up the slightly sour mix of unwashed nomad bodies and their waste.

                                            "We are not far," she told her friends. "That man pointed at the sun, I think he was trying to say how long it would take us."

                                            > "Yes," Hisein confirmed and shaded his eyes to look at the sky. "Soon, maybe another hand or two, and it will be as low as he pointed."

                                            "I think I can already smell the village."

                                            > At this, the other nomads lifted up their faces and sniffed, but one by one they shrugged and slumped back down. It was not surprising. Her sense of smell was far superior to the nomads', Thistle had learned, and even she could barely detect anything. At times she wasn't sure she even smelled anything. Maybe it was just her wistful imagination.

                                            > Salki was visibly excited and couldn't sit still. He jumped to his feet and began pacing up and down the little clearing. "Yes, we will hurry. We can be there before tonight. Maybe there will be someone who can understand Hisein and we can trade! Do you think they will have horses?"

                                            > Thistle wasn't quite sure. The family had had a cart, but it was too small for a horse to comfortably pull, and the shafts had looked as if they were made for human waist-height, rather than any livestock she had seen.

                                            "I don't know, but maybe they will tell us where to find them."

                                            > "Yes, yes, that's right. That's good. We will ask."

                                            > Hisein, who had been carefully inspecting his flint knives until now, stuck the last one behind his belt and spoke up: "We should not all go into the village. I think we should not take the donkeys in."

                                            > "What?" Salki said, freezing in the middle of his pacing.

                                            > "We will leave the donkeys behind with some men to guard them. Only two should go in the village, to make sure they will not attack us."

                                            "No, no," Thistle interjected, "I should come too. I know how villages work. I can help."

                                            > Salki hurried over to her and put a hand on her head. "She is right. We could use her help."

                                            > Hisein shook his head stubbornly. "No, her hair will draw eyes. You and I will go and find out what there is. Then we will decide. Thistle can help guard the donkeys. She will go later, when we are sure it is safe."

                                            > "No, that's stupid," Salki said. "Mother put me in charge. We will all go in. We shouldn't separate."

                                            > The three younger nomads looked worried at this disagreement, but none of them spoke up. Hisein was quiet for a short while, then he said: "What if they want our things, or our animals? We cannot fight everyone in the village. What if they want Thistle and her hair?"

                                            > His question made the mare swallow in sudden fear. She had been imagining this new village like one of the more rural places in Equestria, but now Hisein's words had populated it with vicious nomad brutes.

                                            > Luckily Salki didn't seem to have an answer for that, so he simply turned the question around: "What if they attack the two of us?"

                                            > "Two can run away easier than all of us, and the donkeys. I do not think they will attack us. None of the people we met on the path attacked us."

                                            > He turned to Thistle and pointed at her mane. "You can make something to hide your head. I heard you talking with Salki and it was a good idea."

                                            > She gave him a nod with her ears splayed, beginning to realize that their journey might be approaching a very dangerous part.

                                            > Salki didn't look happy at Hisein taking charge, but he couldn't refute the old, experienced hunter. "Fine," he said at last, with bad grace.

                                            > Almost as if he hadn't even spoken, Hisein proclaimed: "We will go further from the road and make a camp. Zaur, you are the best runner, follow the path and find out how far this village is. Bulat will build your tent. If what Thistle says is true, and she can already smell it, then me and Salki can walk to the village in the morning."

                                            > The younger nomads nodded, relieved to be given clear instructions. Salki, on the other hand, didn't seem as pleased. He sat down beside Thistle, eyes flashing with indignation. "Mother put me in charge," he muttered, but so quietly that no one except the mare could hear.

                                            "Don't worry," she whispered back, "you are. A good leader will listen to advice. You will go and see what the village is like with Hisein tomorrow, then you will come get the rest of us."

                                            > Salki didn't respond to her, but when Thistle nuzzled his shoulder, his hand came back to gently pat her muzzle. She smiled while her mouth was covered and gave his palm a quick lick.

                                            > She still felt a little sore back between her hind legs. It had been a remarkable night, one she hadn't known how badly she needed.

                                            > With luck, they would have another one.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle kept her head bowed as she walked into the new nomad settlement. She was supposed to be keeping a low profile, but she couldn't help herself from sneaking glances all around, curious to see how similar it was to a pony town.

                                            > The houses were about as primitive as the ones in the abandoned village, but the din of people and animals made it look very different. It was obviously a bustling, living place, even if it obviously wasn't a center of commerce.

                                            > She glimpsed the individual nomads stopping their tasks and pointing at the group. They were clearly unused to strangers, but there wasn't much fear. The newcomers were a curiosity, not a danger.

                                            > Thistle was careful in how she turned her head around, mindful to keep her mane carefully hidden underneath her makeshift hood. Instead, she focused her ears this way and that in an effort to catch some of the strangers' language. She also kept sniffing the air, trying to identify what the people ate, what kinds of animals they kept, and what crops they grew.

                                            > Meat and boiled vegetables were obvious, but anything more than that was hard to discern under the more mundane stink of unwashed nomad and the nearly overpowering stench of their waste. Thistle didn't know where the villagers did their business, but it certainly smelled like they didn't go very far. For that matter, she wasn't convinced they even bothered to dig latrines, instead of simply going in the street.

                                            > The combination of the stink and the beating sun was threatening to make her nauseated and the mare blew air out her nostrils in a vain effort to clear them of the smell. Hopefully not all parts of the small village would reek this badly.

                                            > She turned her head in a slow arc to try and recognize any of the buildings. It was hard to see through the hastily cut holes in her hood, and she jerked her head rapidly a few times to one side in an effort to align the slots better with her vision.

                                            > It had been Hisein's idea after he and Salki had returned from their reconnaissance trip. They'd seen one traveller on the road whose donkey had a leather hood fastened over its head. Neither of them could come up with a reason for that, but it had proved a solution for Thistle's pink mane.

                                            > Bulat was the best in their group with a needle, and he'd quickly sewn the neck of her cloak shut, so only her muzzle poked through, and cut a couple of holes for her eyes. It looked strange, pressed on her ears, and felt stifling hot, but it would keep her unusual mane color concealed.

                                            > The tail was easier, and Salki had simply tied it in a bun and piled the animal skins onto Thistle's back so they overhung her croup and hid her small pink bulb from sight.

                                            > Her whole getup resulted in the mare sweating profusely, but as she curiously examined the village she stopped thinking about the discomfort.

                                            > She thought she recognized bits of order in the otherwise haphazard placement of the nomad huts.

                                            > Well, perhaps 'nomad' was the wrong word. It worked for Salki and his people, but the villagers didn't look as if they travelled much. Thistle decided to adopt the word the nomads used for their own kind. Spoken in Equestrian, it sounded like 'human'.

                                            > The humans of the village didn't seem to have huts dedicated to shops or businesses, but as she observed a larger building she saw a number of people going in and out. Perhaps some kind of a meeting place, or an early variation of a town hall.

                                            > She also identified a stable, similar to the one in the previous settlement, with open walls and several large animals standing in the shade. No horses, but there was a cow and a few goats, Thistle could see.

                                            > Her examination was interrupted as a few spear-carrying villagers approached the trio. One of them spoke in a language Thistle thought she'd heard the previous day on the road. After Hisein replied, the guards, if that was what they were, waved their hands. Thistle didn't understand their gestures, but her nomad friends apparently did, because Salki lowered himself into a crouching position and began to pat around her hood.

                                            > He was pretending to adjust it and whispered to her: "[They want us to wait here.]"

                                            > His guess was confirmed when one of the villagers ran to the large building Thistle had identified earlier. The others, spears still held firmly in their hands, watched Hisein and Salki curiously. One of them pointed at the mare and jabbered something in his tongue.

                                            > After it became clear that neither Salki, nor Hisein had understood a single word, the villager shrugged and went back to looking around.

                                            > As they waited, Thistle began to wilt under the hot sun. The animal hides on her back were sweltering, and the hood felt like it was constricting her breathing. Luckily Salki noticed her distress and quickly ripped the bottom of the hood to make a larger hole for her chin. She gasped for air while he retrieved his water skin.

                                            > He poured some in the palm of his hand and Thistle gratefully lapped it up, even if the water was stale and lukewarm. Underneath her belly, droplets of water she spilled joined her dripping sweat and pooled on the dry dirt.

                                            > The drink helped and Thistle had begun to look around once more when the original villager returned, towing an older human by the arm. They didn't move particularly fast, mostly because the elder's age, but they eventually made their way to the nomads.

                                            > As Hisein and Salki inspected the new stranger, the old man spoke up: "[You say like this?]"

                                            > The hunters looked at one another in surprise, but then Hisein quickly answered. "[You know our language!]"

                                            > "[Some,]" the villager said. He exchanged some fast words with the others and they left, all except for the one who had fetched the elder. "[Why you come here?]"

                                            > Hisein extended an arm to show the skins piled on Thistle. "[Trade,]" he replied, keeping his words as simple as he could for the strange human. "[We have skins. We have meat. Maybe other things.]"

                                            > The geezer cast an appreciative glance over Thistle's burden, then examined Salki, who was still crouched beside the mare. "[You come from mountain? Sun go up, there you?]"

                                            > There was a moment's confusion as the trio tried to piece this question together. Thistle understood it first and nearly blurted it out, but luckily managed to clamp her mouth shut before she could betray herself. It still caused her to toss her head and stomp her hoof in excitement, which caught the attention of the old man.

                                            > He reached a finger to tug at her hood and she quickly drew back, so he wouldn't expose her face. Luckily he didn't seem to mind. "[Why this?]" he asked instead and pointed a finger at the cloudless sky. "[Sun. Sun hot. Donkey die. Hot.]"

                                            > She almost found herself nodding to his words. Salki was about to answer, but Hisein put a hand on his shoulder and simply spoke over the younger nomad: "[Yes, from the mountain. We come from East. The sun comes up - East.]"

                                            > He'd figured it out and Thistle stifled another small smile. She had to remember that the hood hid her face, but not her muzzle.

                                            > "[Good, good,]" the interpreter said. He relayed all of it to his companion, who responded in their own language. After a short back and forth, the elder took a step back and gestured. "[Come. Come. You speak shef. We trade. Come!]"

                                            > It was a very promising start, even if the invitation was a little sudden, and the two nomads with her hesitated at the reception. Thistle discreetly nudged Salki's side, making the younger hunter stand up and take a hesitant step after the retreating elder. He was taking them to the large building, which was exactly what she wanted. The other stranger with them stayed between the newcomers and the old man, and kept glancing back as if unsure whether they would follow.

                                            > After a few more moments both Salki and Hisein began to walk after the pair and Thistle gladly followed. It wasn't far, and the village wasn't large, but the mare was very much looking forward to the comparable cool inside. She kept glancing at the dark opening with eager eyes.

                                            > There was a fresh commotion as more people came out to meed the little group, and a lot of discussion took place, all of it in the language none of Thistle's group could understand. They stood around, uncertainly, while the old man gestured and pointed. At last, he waved a had off to one side and said: "[Donkey there. No sun. There. Bring skins. Show skins. Trade.]"

                                            > With a sinking heart Thistle realized she wouldn't be allowed inside, but at least the human had thought of her and had pointed out the shady side of the building. She would be out of direct sunlight. It wasn't great, and her ears folded down as she resigned herself to standing uncomfortably beside the building and dripping with her own sweat.

                                            > The villagers spoke some more, and the guard who had accompanied the elder walked away. Thistle and both nomads watched him go in curiosity.

                                            > When the old one saw their interest, he tried to explain: "[He bring water. Water for donkey. Hot, donkey die. Water.]"

                                            > It was music to her ears and Thistle felt a little better about her predicament. She remembered they would also take the skins from her back, and she almost smiled again in relief. With luck, they'd come to some arrangement and she wouldn't have to carry the damn things back to their camp.

                                            > She took her place in the shade and watched as Salki tied her lead rope to a wooden stump in the ground. It brought back unpleasant images of Willow and those first days in the nomad camp, but she suppressed the memories. Salki leaned down by her head and murmured: "[Wait here. Do the horse noise if you're in trouble and we'll come out.]"

                                            > All she could do was snort and give him a slight nod, both of which made the young nomad grin.

                                            > Then he was gone and Thistle went back to observing the life in the village.

                                            > She hadn't spotted any horses yet, which didn't bode well for their quest. The place was small enough that she'd be able to see the creatures if any were around.

                                            > They could be out, working the fields, but she would have expected at least a few left in the village.

                                            > There were more of those big, brutish bulls, and several cows. She saw a herd of goats and a good number of donkeys, but not a single horse.

                                            > At least there was someone who spoke their language, however badly. Perhaps they'd get directions to where horses might be found.

                                            > Of course, Thistle realized, that meant she would have to carry the animal skins back.

                                            "Oh, crap..."


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > "[Stand still!]" Salki admonished, his hand lightly slapping Thistle's rump.

                                            > Her ears folded back and her face reddened a little at having to be told off like a school filly, but she really couldn't help fidgeting a little as he tugged at her tail.

                                            "[I'm trying!]" she replied, but her voice came out slightly more whiny than she'd intended.

                                            > Luckily the nomad didn't pick up on it, so focused was he on his task. Despite how adept his fingers were, tying thin strips of leather into her tail caused him to yank with jerky, unpredictable, *irritating* little movements.

                                            > Thistle lifted her hind leg to stomp it down, a reaction so deeply ingrained in her body that she wasn't fully aware she was doing it until her hoof was in the air. She gritted her teeth and lowered it gently to the ground.

                                            > Salki didn't notice because he was looking away, picking strands of hair from the ground beside him. He selected a lock and twined it into her tail.

                                            > It didn't help that the whole thing had been Thistle's idea. After nearly cooking herself alive under her heavy cloak, she came up with a brilliant solution to hide her unusual mane and tail color. Well, she'd worked out what to do about the tail, at least.

                                            > The mane would have to stay under some kind of a hood for now, but at least she wouldn't have to wear the blasted cloak anymore.

                                            > She'd gotten Salki to cut her tail extremely short. Far shorter than she'd ever agree to otherwise, in fact. That was the first part of it. The second bit was slightly more embarrassing.

                                            > Bulat and Temir, the youngest members of their troupe, had agreed to go through the donkey herd and snip tail hairs from them. Just a few strands from each, so it wouldn't be noticeable. They'd gathered a good bundle of brownish tail strands, which Salki was now weaving and tying into her own.

                                            > That wouldn't completely hide the pink color, of course, but Thistle had thought of the solution. It wasn't one she was proud of, and it was sheer luck that nomads didn't know anything about the more secret and shameful bits of pony culture.

                                            > For that matter, Thistle herself had only had a few vague experiences with an ex coltfriend just after her college days.

                                            > Tail wraps.

                                            > The nomads wouldn't know the significance, she kept telling herself. It would be practical, to keep her cooler in the summer heat, and it wasn't like most nomads or humans were interested in looking at pony butts.

                                            > A few were, Thistle's treacherous thoughts supplied. It had taken some work, but by Celestia she'd made Salki interested in pony butts!

                                            > It was an unusual feeling, a mixture of shame and pride.

                                            > "[What was that?]" Salki suddenly asked. His jerky motions had stopped.

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > There was silence for a while and Thistle twisted her head to look at him. The young hunter was frowning in confusion at her tail.

                                            "[What is it?]" she repeated.

                                            > Strangely, Salki glanced around to see if anyone was near, and then lowered his voice despite them being some distance from the fire pit, where the others were sitting and talking loudly.

                                            > "[Your- Your *thing*, it did something!]" Salki said, his eyes furtively darting around and never quite succeeding in making eye contact with her.

                                            > Thistle realized what it must have been and suddenly her own gaze was drawn in every direction except toward the nomad.

                                            "[Just ignore it. It happens sometimes. We- uh, we call it 'winking'.]"

                                            > This was incongruous enough for Salki to stare openly at her. "[Winking? You mean like with your eyes? Why?]"

                                            > The gave a slight shrug.

                                            "[It's just what it's called. Ignore it.]"

                                            > "[Why does it happen?]"

                                            > Thistle felt her ears splay and she knew her face would be reddening, but she hoped Salki wouldn't immediately notice. She brought her voice down to just above a whisper.

                                            "[Because of what you're doing!]" she hissed. "[Your fingers. It means- ugh- it means I like it.]"

                                            > She wasn't looking at the hunter, but she felt his hands withdraw from her tail. "[Oh,]" he said, but didn't seem to know how to go on.

                                            > Thistle cleared her throat and pushed forward.

                                            "[Just ignore it, okay? Keep going, we're almost done!]"

                                            > That successfully broke the ice and Salki bent down to his task once more.

                                            > He'd helped fill in some of the detail of the plan. Thistle had wanted to tie donkey hairs directly to her tail, but Salki had said it would be easier to use bits of leather, and the tail wrap she'd suggested would hide all the little knots anyway.

                                            > They had to borrow the extremely sharp knife from Hissein, who was amused by the whole idea but didn't oppose it. Salki had also been the one to ask Bulat and Temir for their help with the donkeys, much to Thistle's eternal gratitude.

                                            > True to his word, Salki's deft, precise fingers allowed him to work with bits of leather far thinner than Thistle could have imagined. She knew the nomad women did quite good stitching with some plant-based string, or sometimes with animal tendons, but the group of hunters didn't have anything of the sort with them.

                                            > That was a bit of an oversight, Thistle realized. If any of their clothes or tents broke and needed mending, they wouldn't be able to do it. She would plan better the next time.

                                            > Then again, seeing how Salki could manipulate thin straps of leather, maybe they didn't need sewing for basic repairs.

                                            > She returned her eyes forward and stoically endured more tugging and jerking of her tail hairs. At least the discomfort meant she wasn't getting frisky again, which meant she wouldn't startle the poor nomad with more unintentional winking.

                                            > It could wait for later tonight. He obviously hadn't been paying very close attention to her body.

                                            > She'd have to teach him better.

                                            > "[You did it again,]" Salki said, but this time he didn't stop fiddling with the hairs and leather strips.

                                            "[Just ignore it!]"

                                            > To get her mind out of the gutter, Thistle glanced back at the pile of donkey hair. It was almost uniformly brown, with a few different shades, all in approximately the same color. It no one would be able to see that it was several hues once it was all woven together and mixed.

                                            > As long as her tail wasn't pink, Thistle thought, it wouldn't have to stand up to any sort of detailed scrutiny.

                                            > Beside the tail strands, on the ground was a long piece of leather Salki had used to cut his little strips. The rest of it would serve as a wrapping to hide the pink parts of her tail, and the knots which joined those to the donkey hair.

                                            > She wondered if she'd be able to use the fake tail with anything near her usual pony dexterity. It didn't matter, but in these hot lands it would have come in handy for swatting away annoying insects.

                                            > At least the hood would help to keep the flies away from her face.

                                            > Her face...

                                            "[Hey, Salki?]" she called out.

                                            > "[Yeah? What?]"

                                            "[I think, I figured out why that man's donkey had the leather hood.]"

                                            > "[Yeah? Why?]"

                                            "[It keeps away the flies from its nose and eyes!]"

                                            > There was a momentary silence and a pause in Salki's tugging on her tail, then he patted her flank. "[That's probably it. Good thinking.]"

                                            > Thistle smiled to herself. At least one mystery was now solved. A few more had been answered by the nomads during their meeting in the village.

                                            > This wasn't the 'Two Lands' the nomad traders had mentioned. The people called themselves the 'Karah-suk'. They did know about the Two Lands, though, and said it was a very powerful nation a lot farther East.

                                            > The bad news was that their selection of preserved food wouldn't be worth a whole lot, not with the Karah-suk and their domesticated cattle, which provided them with fresh meat whenever they needed.

                                            > On the plus side, the fine animal pelts they'd brought were exotic. The locals did not hunt as much, and the wildlife around their settlements had been thinned out to the point where some types were hardly ever seen.

                                            > Especially the big felines had seemed to catch the natives' eyes. The brown and yellow pelts with black spots in particular had drawn a lot of attention, Salki had told her. He'd described how the villagers kept running their hands through the soft fur, nearly devouring the luxurious skins with their eyes.

                                            > She had heard, although from Hisein this time, that the local chief, or 'shef' as they called him, had offered Salki a trade right there and then. The young idiot had nearly accepted on the spot, but luckily Hisein had caught the villagers' excitement and their shifty glances. He'd realized the skins were probably worth a lot more, and had flatly refused the first offer.

                                            > They'd haggled for nearly an hour, and in the end Hissein had gotten almost twice the amount the villagers had offered initially.

                                            > In return for the skins, the villagers had given the nomads a selection of things which was infinitely easier to carry: a few good, iron knives. One of them was nearly long enough to be called a sword.

                                            > Thistle had tried to explain the idea to the nomads, but they shrugged it off and said their spears and bows were good enough.

                                            > They'd also gotten some bronze jewelry, and a few sacks of grain.

                                            > She had to carry all of that back, but at least it wasn't hot, stifling fur pelts.

                                            > With these new items, the villagers had assured the hunters, they could buy a few fine horses in one of the neighboring towns. That was good news indeed, especially considering that they had a few more animal pelts in their camp.

                                            > Thistle was a little sorry Hisein had traded the pelts at all. Now that they knew how much these Karah-suk humans valued them, the nomads could have gotten a better price for them at a larger settlement. She'd told Hisein as much and he promised he'd try to keep her closer the next time they traded.

                                            > Hisein had wisely kept from mentioning the few bits of silver Darga had given them. He'd seen that the villagers only wore bronze ornaments, and only a few of them. It was possible they hadn't seen silver yet, and perhaps they would value it even more than the exotic pelts.

                                            > The idea felt strange to Thistle and she had to remind herself that the nomads' world appeared to have a lot less gold or silver, compared to Equestria. Such metals were exceedingly rare.

                                            > Of course, perhaps it was just a matter of finding and mining them, something the nomads obviously didn't do. She agreed with Hisein that it was worth holding on to the jewelry until they found a suitably large and rich place.

                                            > It would help them get even more horses, which would allow the camp to establish their herd a lot quicker.

                                            > The outlook was good, and with her tail extensions Thistle would be a lot more comfortable walking around this sunny, hot land.

                                            > Perhaps, she thought again, if they rubbed charcoal into her mane, it would hide the color. It might be worth a shot, especially if it got rid of the hood. That thing made her head sweat rather a lot.

                                            > "[There,]" Salki said suddenly, waking her up from her reverie. "[I'll wrap it up and we'll see how it looks.]"

                                            "[Yes, thank you.]"

                                            > At least the irritating tugging was over. Thistle let out a breath of relief.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            "[Salki, you should not be looking at it this way,]" Thistle was saying as the two walked side by side.

                                            > They'd left the village behind and were following a slightly better road to where the old man had explained they could find a larger settlement with an actual marketplace.

                                            > Unfortunately, despite not having any burdens to carry and the pleasant shade of the thick forest canopy, Thistle couldn't relax and enjoy the walk.

                                            > Salki was pouting.

                                            > There really wasn't any other way to describe it. It was at the same time funny and annoying.

                                            > "[He shouldn't have taken over like that!]" Salki repeated.

                                            "[You said he got more knives and bangles from the trade!]"

                                            > There was no way for Salki to dispute that particular point. "[It doesn't matter!]" he whined, "[Mother put me in charge! If I say we make a deal, why is Hisein haggling? What if they got angry?]"

                                            > The mare snorted and shook her head to loosen her hood a little in an effort to get some fresh air under the thick, oppressive leather.

                                            "[They didn't. Hisein knows how to deal with people. They were trying to trick you!]"

                                            > "[He keeps saying I'm in charge!]" Salki went on. "[He can't say I'm in charge and then do that! I could have gotten us a good trade too!]"

                                            "[You were about to accept their first offer.]"

                                            > "[No I wasn't!]"

                                            > Thistle rolled her eyes and considered smacking the idiot boy with a hoof. Sometimes she forgot that he was barely considered an adult in the nomad community, but times like these made it painfully obvious.

                                            "[Just-]"

                                            > He simply spoke over her: "[I am in charge! That means Hisein has to do what I say!]"

                                            "[That's not what being in charge means.]"

                                            > Unfortunately it looked as if Salki wasn't quite listening to her. "[That's what Mother says! Everyone has to obey the chieftain!]"

                                            > He went back to muttering something beneath his breath and Thistle didn't bother to decipher. She would try to explain it to him once again after he'd calmed down a bit.

                                            > Maybe once they finished their objective and were on their way back, or perhaps when they saw a new place and Salki got distracted from his silly little grievance.

                                            > He'd been in a foul mood since the previous evening. Thistle had gone in the tent early to try and sleep off her headache, and hadn't heard what the nomads had spoken about at the fire. She was nearly out when Salki had stomped in, grumping and complaining.

                                            > It meant that he wasn't in the mood for anything physical, and the nights were warm enough that they didn't share a cot, so the mare had simply pulled a blanket over her head and went to sleep.

                                            > All that sun hadn't been very good for her and she resolved to do something about her mane to get rid of the hood as soon as possible. That would keep her from cooking her head in the thick leather, at least. She probably wouldn't be able to get away with sun hat, though, even if Thistle knew how to build one.

                                            > Unfortunately, Salki's mood had persisted into the morning and seemed to be getting worse as the heat built up. Thistle just hoped the road, such as it was, wouldn't leave the forest. Open skies with that merciless sun would be a nightmare, and would make the nomad feel worse.

                                            > Maybe she should find a way to distract him?

                                            "[Salki!]" she said sharply, interrupting his half-muttered, half-grumbled monologue. "[Let's instead learn some more Equestrian!]"

                                            > She almost held her breath as Salki considered it. He'd been improving during their trip and both Bulat and Temir had picked up a lot of her language. They didn't see much use in it, but it was something to do during the boring walk.

                                            "Please? I don't want us to fight."

                                            > Salki reached out a hand and patted her back. "No worry," he said in thickly-accented Equestrian. "I not fight you." He repeated in the nomad language to make it clear and emphasize it: "[I won't beat you. Don't worry.]"

                                            > The misunderstanding actually drew out a tiny chortle from the mare.

                                            "No, fight doesn't always mean fight, like with hands or weapons. It can be a fight with words, too."

                                            > His blank expression told her she'd lost him, but Thistle just smiled and switched languages:

                                            "[We use the same word for beating and for arguing, Salki. I don't want us to argue.]"

                                            > "[Oh. Okay.]"

                                            > He didn't say anything more, so Thistle shrugged to herself and tried to come up with a lesson.

                                            "[Repeat after me.] Princess Celestia raises the sun each morning..."


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The land began to gradually change as Thistle's group continued on their way West. The forest thinned out and the mountains behind them became more and more distant. The road they were following, if it could be called that, widened almost imperceptibly, and every so often they would come to a crossroad.

                                            > Invariably the direction they were going looked more travelled, so the nomads didn't hesitate long. A larger town would mean a better chance to trade for horses.

                                            > Unfortunately, the heat did not abate, so they started each day's journey before dawn and walked until about mid-day, or perhaps a little earlier if one of their scouts found a suitable place.

                                            > Running water was the deciding choice, but if no such spot presented itself by noon, the nomads stopped in any thicket of trees which would afford them a good shadow. It was as much necessity as comfort - their cold-adapted donkey herd could not go any further, not as loaded as they were.

                                            > True, most of it was smoked and dried meat, which wouldn't be worth as much in trade, but the nomads weren't about to simply toss it aside.

                                            > Hisein and Salki set a rotation of guards each time, and the rest of the nomads sat or lay beneath trees until the heat lessened, usually by late afternoon.

                                            > Once it was possible to move again, the group continued well into the night, even if they had to light their way with crude torches after the night had truly fallen. It was sheer luck that there were a lot of coniferous trees around, oozing with sap.

                                            > Thistle herself didn't mind this kind of lifestyle, and the break through the hottest part of the day meant she could keep up the others' rapid pace, even with her shorter legs. It also helped that she didn't have to carry her bundle of animal skins. She'd also packed up her leather coat into a roll which hung loosely down her side, similar in shape and feel to a saddlebag.

                                            > After a few days she'd even eschewed the leather hood. She and Salki had tried rubbing soot into her pink mane, but at best it made it dirty and didn't really conceal the color. They'd debated it at length until, ultimately, Thistle had decided to risk it being seen.

                                            > The few encounters they'd had on the road proved it was, at worst, a curiosity. It wasn't as if she could really disguise her shape anyway, which was quite different from a nomad donkey.

                                            > With that annoyance out of the way, she even began to enjoy the walk. It reminded her of some of Equestria's less dangerous forests in full summer.

                                            > Her language lessons continued, with the added benefit that nomads not on guard duty were exceedingly bored during their mid-day rests, so her teaching got a surprisingly wide audience. To her absolute shock, even Hissein participated now and again, although he kept joking that the language they were learning would be utterly useless on their world.

                                            > Despite that, Thistle suspected him of paying extremely close attention to it, not least because he could soon speak Equestrian better than Bulat or Temir. His skill was second only to Salki.

                                            > She tried not to show it, but the mare was quite pleased with that fact. It really proved that the old, gruff hunter was taking her quite seriously.

                                            > It went both ways, in any case. Thistle smiled to herself and slowed her pace. The sun was already beneath the horizon, but stopping was still a good while away. There was plenty of light and they wouldn't need torches for at least another hour, maybe two.

                                            > She kept walking, but stepped to one side so the donkey herd could pass her by without too much commotion. Thistle knew Hisein was bringing up the rear, so it wouldn't be long until he caught up.

                                            > A few minutes later she could distinguish his heavy, powerful steps among the thudding of the donkeys' hooves. She didn't have to look, but tracked the nomad with her ears until he was along side, then she matched his pace.

                                            "[I think we should do it now, while I can still see. You know how my eyes are in the dark.]"

                                            > Hisein gave a low grunt and bent down to give her a quick scratch behind the ears. "[Fine. Tell me what you saw.]"

                                            > She had been preparing for this the whole day and smiled in anticipation of showing off a little.

                                            "[There were two broken trees, leaning on each other. Left side of the road. Morning, the sun was about, mmm, two hands above the land.]"

                                            > The hunter was silent for a few moments, then patted her flank with the palm of his hand. "[Good,]" he said, "[but how would you find them? They cannot be seen far.]"

                                            "[I don't know, but if I follow the road I will know how far it is until we have to leave it for the place we camped. It had that small stream.]"

                                            > Hisein didn't respond, which Thistle took as a sign to continue.

                                            "[The mountains. In that big clearing, I could see the white peaks.]"

                                            > "[Could you find the same ones again if you saw them?]" Hisein asked.

                                            > Thistle almost responded in the positive, but her ears flattened and she let out her breath. She'd learned to be quite honest with the nomad, who had an uncanny ability to detect her lies.

                                            "[No, they were a blur. It was just white above the trees. My eyes-]"

                                            > Rather than reprimand or berate her, Hisein simply interrupted her: "[What else?]"

                                            "[The path split just before noon. The other way didn't go in the forest. I would remember that path split.]"

                                            > "[Hmm, okay. Good. What else?]"

                                            > Thistle searched her memory for a while, then had to concede.

                                            "[I think that is it. That was three. We are on a path, we just have to follow it.]"

                                            > Of course Hisein couldn't argue with that logic. Thistle was expecting him to say as much, but the hunter instead asked: "[What about the river?]"

                                            "[River? What river?]"

                                            > "[We walked near a river, soon after we started again. The sun was a hand above the land.]"

                                            "[How do you know? I didn't see a river! I didn't *hear* a river!]"

                                            > Hisein waved a hand dismissively. "[It wasn't a rushing, fast river. Maybe it is no more than a stream, or maybe the riverbed is dry in summer. We will have to ask Salki. He scouted in that direction.]"

                                            > Thistle's mouth pressed together in annoyance.

                                            "[If there is no water and it didn't make a sound, how do you know there was a river?!]"

                                            > Hisein angled his gait to the edge of the path and crouched down. Intrigued, Thistle followed and watched with curiosity as he picked up clumps of dirt. "[See here. The ground is different near a river, even if there is no water right now. Pay attention and you will learn to see it.]"

                                            > The mare thought that made sense, and resolved to keep an eye out in the future. She'd learned by now that Hisein's claims, even when they sounded a little outlandish, were usually correct. The man wasn't into boasting, and he didn't begrudge her his knowledge. He just wanted her to learn it herself because, in his own words, 'it would stick better'.

                                            "[Okay, I will look next time.]"

                                            > Hisein gave her a nod and patted the side of her barrel a few times before leaping to his feet and hurrying to catch up to the donkey heard again. Thistle had to scramble on her hooves to keep up, but the terrain hadn't been too difficult and she wasn't particularly tired.

                                            > "[Enough about that. You're starting to learn, and look. Keep it up and in a few years you will never get lost again.]"

                                            "[Thanks!]"

                                            > He scanned the horizon for a while, then continued: "[Now, tell me again about this place you explained. Small huts with no walls and made from wood, and people stand there all day only to trade?]"

                                            > The mare gave a happy little nod, pleased to return to a topic she was much more familiar with.

                                            "[Yes, it is like when nomad traders come to the camp. They put their things on- they show the things they have and the camp nomads come to trade. A bigger village will have such a place all the time. The traders maybe do not need to travel.]"

                                            > "[How does that work? Surely they run out of things to trade, and then they cannot stay any more?]"

                                            > The mare shook her head.

                                            "[No, maybe most of them are not traders, at least not always,]" she began to explain, but fell silent when she noticed a couple of shadows coming their way.

                                            > She peered at them until they resolved into Salki and Bulat. When they were next to her, the two nomads smoothly turned on their heels and matched the pace to keep up with Thistle and Hisein.

                                            > "[What were you talking about,]" Salki asked.

                                            "[I was explaining about the place where people trade in a big village.]"

                                            > They turned eager, interested eyes on her and she started from the start to make sure they were all following.

                                            "[Some villages, if they are big enough, will have a special place. Usually in the middle. They will make little houses of wood, except that they do not have walls, so everyone can see inside.]"

                                            > Bulat was already nodding. "[Yes, you said that.]"

                                            "[Yes. Some people will bring their things to trade and put them so everyone can see, and they will wait there the whole day and trade.]"

                                            > She pointed a hoof at Hisein, skipping along on three legs for a little while.

                                            "[Hisein asked how they can do that. They will run out of things to trade. It is why nomad traders have to keep going from camp to camp, and to other lands beyond.]"

                                            > "[Yeah...]" Salki said, suddenly doubtful. "[How does that work?]"

                                            "[Well, some of them are- um- they grow their food in the field. But they make big fields, so they make a lot of food. More than they can eat, even in the whole winter. They will take some of that food- roots, and leaves, and yams. They will put it so everyone can see, and they will trade it.]"

                                            > Thistle paused for a few seconds to gather her thoughts, and Salki used the opportunity to ask: "[What will they trade for?]"

                                            "[Thank you. Good question. They will trade for anything they do not have. Maybe metal tools for working the land, or maybe for clothes, or leather. Or for beer. Anything they cannot make themselves.]"

                                            > "[Ooh, yes. Right,]" Salki immediately agreed, grinning at the thought of beer. Thistle didn't doubt it would be the only thing that stuck with him. She continued, more for Hisein's sake, if she were being honest with herself.

                                            "[There are also some people who will only trade, and will not do anything else. Maybe they go from village to village, like the nomad traders, but maybe they don't need to.]"

                                            > Hisein was paying close attention and he gestured with his hand. "[Yes, how does that work?]" he repeated the question.

                                            "[Imagine when it is the end of summer, and all people who grow food have a lot of vegetables. Many people do not need those then, so it is easy to trade. Traders will get a lot of vegetables for little else, okay?]"

                                            > The three nomads chorused a reluctant agreement.

                                            "[Okay, but then it is winter, and vegetables do not grow anymore. The trader will still have it, and now it is worth more. They can trade for other things - dried meat, and cloth, and maybe bronze and silver. They will get more than what they had to give in autumn, okay?]"

                                            > Salki and Bulat looked uncertain, but Hisein was nodding to himself. "[I think I understand,]" he said. "[A smart man will trade for what is plentiful, and keep it until it is not. It will be a better trade later.]"

                                            "[Yes! Exactly!]"

                                            > "[Are there many such traders where you come from?]" Hisein asked. "[Where do they keep all the things they are holding until it is the right time to trade with them?]"

                                            > Thistle wondered whether she should introduce currency-based economy at this stage. Her thoughts went to the small cache of silver and bronze jewelry the nomads carried. It would be something similar, even if she had not seen anything like money in these lands so far.

                                            > She wondered if they had it, further into this land, or perhaps in the fabled Two Lands. So far, the few discussions they had managed to have with the locals led her to believe that this entire region was still pretty much in barter-economy.

                                            "[Okay. In Equestria we do not trade things for other things - not the way you do here. Um, imagine if everyone traded for copper and silver bangles, right?]"

                                            > Even in the fading light she could see all three of them frowning in confusion. Thistle didn't mind. Explaining these things, which were so natural to her, was a good distraction from the chore of walking. The air had cooled down some, and would continue to do so, which meant sweat was no longer dripping liberally from her body.

                                            > It would be quite a pleasant stroll until their next campsite.

                                            > With luck, Zaur, who was out scouting, would find a place near a small brook, or a river, for them to stop. She desperately wanted to wash the dust from her hide and splash some cool, refreshing water on her overheated skin.

                                            > Thistle opened her mouth to start her story again, but Hisein held up his hand and the words died in her throat.

                                            > "[Smoke,]" he said and pointed.

                                            > All three of them looked, but to the mare's poor eyes the sky didn't look any different than before.

                                            > Salki and Bulat could see it, though, and they grew visibly excited. Salki asked: "[It is! Do you think someone is camping?]"

                                            > "[Maybe it is the big village?]" Bulat added.

                                            > Hisein watched the sky for a while, then shrugged. "[Maybe Zaur will bring news, but we have to be sure. One of you run ahead and take a closer look. We will go into the forest here and make a camp. We can look for a better place tomorrow.]"

                                            > It was a bit disappointing, but on the other hand Thistle was excited about potentially reaching their destination. She couldn't help prancing a little bit on her hooves as she waited for Salki to rush ahead and tell Temir to turn the donkey herd around. Meanwhile, Bulat sprinted off into the distance.

                                            > "[Perhaps we will soon see this trading place,]" Hisein said. "[Let's hope someone can speak our language.]"

                                            > Thistle gave a nod, but then remembered that it was getting dark.

                                            "[We'll see. We'll make do despite that.]"

                                            > "[Mhm.]"

                                            > There was some milling and confusion up ahead in the line of donkeys, but Thistle saw that some of them were turning their way and heading back. Soon, they would all fall in place. Hisein spotted the same thing and headed off, away from the path and toward the thickest part of the forest they could see.

                                            > It was already quite dark beneath the trees.

                                            > She caught up to the nomad, hoping he would light a torch. If nothing else, if she stayed near him, she wouldn't get lost in the darkness.

                                            > "[Salki did a good job on your tail,]" Hisein suddenly spoke.

                                            > In surprise, Thistle twisted her neck around to look at it. She hadn't really thought about the disguise much after they'd put it on, and now she experimentally swished the tail around. It almost felt like her own, so used had she gotten to it.

                                            "[Uh. Yes?]" she ventured, tentatively.

                                            > For a panicked moment she wondered whether the tall nomad meant anything more by it. Perhaps he was implying that Salki enjoyed looking at her rear end? Could he know?

                                            > The mare stared at the hunter for a long while, but the combination of fading daylight and her poor eyesight didn't bring her any clues as to what he was thinking.

                                            > She wasn't about to ask, though.

                                            > Perhaps it was a good thing that she and Salki had been too tired to do more than a very quick and rudimentary coupling each night. The last thing either of them needed was for the others to hear and realize what was happening.

                                            > Her ears splayed and the mare kept her head down as they continued to walk into the woods. For once, she was grateful for the dark.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle tried to keep her excitement hidden as she was made to stand still in the new human settlement. It would barely have qualified as a small village in Equestria, but it was more stonework, commerce, and overall bustle than she had yet seen in this strange world.

                                            > She couldn't quite keep her ears from flicking every which way as sounds, both foreign and oh so familiar, tickled her awareness from every direction. Even in a language she didn't understand, an open marketplace was hard to mistake for anything else.

                                            > It was up to Salki, Hisein, and Bulat to make sense of it all, and Thistle only wished her advice to them that morning would be useful. Always haggle. Never accept the first price. Ask different people and compare. Shop around.

                                            > The nomads were there specifically to buy horses, and to their joint relief and glee, there were some around the place. They had encountered a few of the foreigners driving carts out of the village, and they could even see a couple of the beasts standing placidly around various buildings.

                                            > They were all tied to wooden posts, confirming Thistle's thought that they were no more than beasts. She was a little disappointed, but on the other hand she hadn't really expected anything else. For some reason, intellect was limited exclusively to the human race in this world.

                                            > As to the why of it; perhaps if she had paid more attention in her basic Philosophy classes, she would have been able to hazard a guess, but for now it was just the way the place worked.

                                            > Thistle jerked out of her daydream as Salki bent over her and began untying the small stack of exotic animal furs on her back. His face was near her ear and he was murmuring very quietly to her.

                                            > His words were hard to understand, mumbled and unintelligible. Thistle realized he was trying to talk without moving his lips: "[Hisein and this village trader can understand each other, barely.]"

                                            > There was some amount of relief in his voice. Their search thus far had been fruitless and their advances had been met with blank stares, shaking heads, and - on a few occasions - outright hostility. Thistle's best guess was that the townspeople didn't much like the nomad tribes from the East. She wondered how Nurlan or Aybek's trading caravans did business, if they even visited this place.

                                            > She sought for a way to reply to Salki without drawing attention, then got an idea which nearly made Thistle smile.

                                            > It might have been fine, and few people would be paying them close attention, but on the other hand, they were a novelty and it was good she didn't have to risk it. She suppressed her facial expression, even if just barely.

                                            > To cover it up, she stepped aside and brought her muzzle up to Salki's face. She gave his cheek a friendly lick, something which likely wouldn't be out of place. Conveniently,that brought her mouth close to his ear.

                                            "[Good, tell Hisein to remember. Do not accept the first offer.]"

                                            > No one could have noticed her talk. Luckily Salki thought fast and completed the illusion by giving her muzzle a few friendly pats in return. She still didn't smile, but her tail swished in happy excitement.

                                            > Salki's hand in her mane lingered for a few more moments, then he grabbed one of the dotted yellow skins and went back to the trader's stall. Thistle watched the exchange between the vendor and Hisein, but couldn't really understand much of it. Both men were smiling, but they wore fake grins, almost predatory in their nature.

                                            > She glanced the other way and saw Bulat gawking at a stand with metal items. Most were knives, but there were other tools, too. Some of their uses Thistle could guess, like crude shears, sickles, or hammers, but others were unfamiliar and she couldn't imagine their function.

                                            > No plows, although those would be too large for the tightly-packed market stall.

                                            > Her attention was diverted once more when Hisein approached her and returned the skin Salki had taken. There was no trade, which was good. Exactly as she had instructed. They weren't in too much of a hurry and could take a few days to fully understand how much their goods were worth.

                                            > Unfortunately they'd already traded some away at the previous village, but the highly-prized items were still in the bundle on her back.

                                            > Less enjoyable was a sack of dried meat hanging from her side. After some discussion the previous night, Hisein had agreed with her to try and trade that away as soon as possible. They would use the animal furs mostly to entice buyers and begin the dialogue.

                                            > After that was done, they could also trade away the donkeys, since they would be travelling back quite light.

                                            > One of the strangers stopped next to her, and Thistle's ears flattened in alarm as she caught his stare. He jabbered something at Bulat, who shrugged and shook his head. A moment later Salki joined, but neither could understand the language.

                                            > They wouldn't be able to, Thistle knew. She hadn't understood a single thing and not one of the words sounded familiar to the only other language Hisein could speak. She was quickly proven right when the nomad and the villager tried to understand each other and failed.

                                            > Despite that, she understood what the newcomer wanted, especially the way he kept pointing to her and holding up his hand with some of his fingers extended. It was how griffins or minotaurs sometimes haggled, Thistle recalled, using their digits to represent amounts.

                                            > Luckily Hisein quickly grasped the same thought and stepped firmly in front of the mare, all the while shaking his head. The other man looked disgusted and spat on the ground before turning and walking away.

                                            > Thistle caught his gaze as he glanced back a few times and she was suddenly glad the three nomads were there with her. Once more her bright pink mane had attracted unwanted attention.

                                            > She put the incident out of her mind and looked around the marketplace once more. None of the vendors seemed to be selling animals, and in either case there was not enough room between the tightly-packed wooden stalls.

                                            > A lot of people were crowding through the place, all of them making a loud racket.

                                            > There had to be a different place where they would sell live animals, Thistle thought. She cast a longing glance at Hisein, willing him to finish his discussion with the merchant so they could go somewhere a little more private and confer.

                                            > She was in luck, and the older hunter said in the nomad tongue: "[Come on, let's go back!]"

                                            > Salki didn't object, but Bulat kept glancing at the other stand for a while, until Hisein jabbed a finger in his ribs and repeated his order.

                                            > The three of them freed themselves from the thick crowd and headed back the way they had come.

                                            > It took real effort for Thistle to keep her steps measured and nonchalant. It wasn't much of a civilization, but there definitely was some, and she cherished her first taste of the wider human culture, even if she couldn't really, properly, partake in it.

                                            > The nomad camps really weren't the only way people lived on this world!


                                            > ~~~~


                                            "[You did good,]" she repeated once the nomad group was settled around a burned-out fire pit.

                                            > It was still mid-afternoon, and Hisein and Salki were talking about going back to the village to see if they could find some other traders and get a better price on their goods.

                                            > "[We should not have sold the furs at the other place. At least not all of them,]" Salki said.

                                            "[Yes, but at least they showed us we have a language in common and which way to go. It wasn't a complete loss.]"

                                            > "[What the man today was offering, we could all have knives of iron, and a few sacs of grain for the furs,]" Salki went on, a little sullenly.

                                            > Thistle almost reminded him that he'd almost accepted an even lower offer, but luckily Hisein had kept him from making such a foolish mistake. She instead forced her mouth to remain shut.

                                            > Hisein didn't seem perturbed, though, and went back to inspecting his flint knife. Thistle had noticed that he still preferred to use it, even over his new metal blade. He used a small bone to tap out thin slivers of stone and hone the edge. "[Now we know,]" he finally responded. "[We will sell when they take the meat together with the skins.]"

                                            "[Yes, exactly!]"

                                            > "[Do you think we will have more luck in the evening?]"

                                            > After a few moments' thought, Hisein shrugged: "[I don't know,]" he said, "[maybe. Maybe there will be different people in the trading place. We will see.]"

                                            > "[Maybe someone will be trading for horses,]" Salki added.

                                            > Thistle shook her head and nudged the young man with a hoof.

                                            "[No, remember!]" she chided. "[You do not need to trade furs for horses. Trade for jewelry, or knives, or even sacks of grain. Those will be easier to trade for horses.]"

                                            > "[We can also trade donkeys for horses,]" Hisein said.

                                            > The mare cast a glance at the herd, which was placidly lying on the ground nearby. A few of them were standing and cropping the dry grass, all completely unaware of what the nomads were discussing.

                                            > Her muzzle scrunched up when she realized that the beasts would likely be used to till the fields, or pull heavy burdens, and that some of them might simply be killed for meat when winter came.

                                            > It wasn't a fate much worse than what the nomads did with them, and she had somehow made her peace with it all.

                                            > Briefly she wondered if the jack with whom she'd mated in her drunken haze was among this group. Somehow she had never paid close enough attention to identify him, and now she wasn't sure she even wanted to know.

                                            > A hand went to her ear and massaged it. "[Are you okay? Is the heat making your head hurt again?]" Salki asked. Even before she could respond, he had taken his water skin from somewhere and was untying the spout. "[Here, drink something!]"

                                            > Thistle had been about to decline, but realized she was thirsty after all. She gratefully accepted the trickle of water and gulped it down eagerly.

                                            > The others watched in silence, until she pushed it away with a hoof and Salki deftly caught the flap of skin with his fingers before it could spill more than a drop or two. The mare gave a sigh as he was tying it closed.

                                            "[They will not be trading horses in the place we were today. There is not enough place.]"

                                            > "[Then where?]" Hisein asked.

                                            > All Thistle could do was shrug, helplessly.

                                            "[I don't know. You will need to ask. How many could understand you?]"

                                            > "[Some, barely. That trader at the end knew some of the language of those people to the east of the steppe. I can talk with him, barely.]"

                                            "[Did you ask where we could trade for horses?]"

                                            > "[Yes, but I do not think he understood. I will try again, or maybe someone else will know more words.]"

                                            > Thistle gave him a single nod and kicked a pebble into the firepit with her hoof.

                                            "[When do we go back?]"

                                            > The nomad glanced up at the sky. "[Let us wait until the sun is two hands above the trees. Only I and Thistle will go back, and we will take one of the donkeys. It will be easier to show what we are trading.]"

                                            > Salki jerked upright and burst out: "[No! I am coming too! Mother put me in charge, I have to come!]"

                                            > His tone made Thistle roll her eyes, but then she caught Hisein's gaze and the old hunter's lips twitched up in a near smile. She quickly looked away and blushed. Luckily, Salki hadn't noticed anything, so caught up was he in his own indignation.

                                            "[Maybe it is a good idea,]" Thistle said, only partly to placate the young nomad. "[If there is trouble, we may need to leave quickly. If someone threatens, it would be good to have two fighters.]"

                                            > Salki quickly took up the argument: "[Exactly! Two is better than one!]"

                                            > "[Fine,]" Hisein said, "[but I will do the talking. We will show them the furs, but we will not trade any today.]"

                                            > For an instant it looked as if Salki would argue, but since he couldn't speak the more common language Hisein knew, he gave up. "[Fine,]" he said. "[You can talk.]"

                                            > With that settled, Hisein pointed at the other three nomads. "[Bulat, go and pick out the strongest donkey.]"

                                            > The youth he'd named dashed away without comment.

                                            > "[What if no one will sell us horses?]" Salki asked.

                                            > Thistle was about to reply that they'd go look for another village, but Hisein beat her to it: "[We will take some. You saw in the morning how people come and go. We can steal some.]"

                                            "[What? No-]"

                                            > Hisein simply interrupted her. "[We will trade if we can, but I do not want to walk to another village, and do the same thing again. There are horses here, we can take them and be gone. No one in this place had bows.]"

                                            > Thistle's ears folded down in dismay. She had been happy to help the nomads trade for what they needed, but now she was forcibly reminded just how different they were from ponies, even Salki. They would think nothing of stealing, especially from strangers.

                                            > "[Come on,]" Hisein told Salki. "[Let's go to the stream and fill our water skins. Then we will eat something it will be almost time to go.]"

                                            > He didn't include the mare in this invitation, but this time Thistle was glad of the omission. She stared at the pile of ashes in the firepit and tried to come up with some way, some argument which would convince Hisein that they didn't need to steal.

                                            > Surely all her years of diplomacy and politics could achieve that much?!


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The mood among the trio of would-be traders was downcast as they made their way back to the others. They didn't talk much and walked fast in an effort to escape the rapidly dimming sky. The sun had gone down a long time ago, and what little light had been left was rapidly bleeding out of the sky. None of them wanted to walk through the woods in the dark.

                                            > Thistle tried to keep her mood cheerful and upbeat, but the string of rejections was hard to accept, even without understanding the exact language. What she'd seen on Hisein's face had been clear enough.

                                            > She had been saving her breath for walking, since her short legs had to work twice as hard to keep up with the fleet nomads. She reconsidered when her nose picked up the unmistakable smell of the donkey herd. They weren't far.

                                            "[We will go to the other place. You said they do not want to sell their working horses.]"

                                            > Hisein just grunted at first, but after a few seconds he let his breath out and spoke: "[I do not know how far it is. I did not understand that man very well. His speech was different.]"

                                            "[Yes, but you understood enough. We have to keep going west. It will not be as far, I think.]"

                                            > Before Hisein could reply, Salki burst out angrily: "[They don't need all those horses for working their stupid plants! I say we take them like we talked about.]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head in silent dismay, but it was Hisein who answered: "[Not easy. The village has guards and all their animals are inside at night. They have metal knives and spears.]"

                                            > "[So?! We have bows and arrows!]"

                                            > "[So do they,]" Hisein pointed out.

                                            > "[What?!]" Salki stopped in pure surprise and the other two paused a few steps ahead. Thistle was perhaps as shocked as her young friend, but she'd kept walking out of long habit.

                                            > "[You were not looking,]" Hisein chided them both. "[There were not many, but I saw a few. They are different from ours, but they look similar. They work the same, except that their arrows have metal tips. We cannot fight that.]"

                                            "[You saw them?]" Thistle squeaked out in surprise. "[How many? Where?]"

                                            > Her ears went flat and she mentally berated herself for thinking that she'd introduced something radically new to the human world. Perhaps it was an invention in the eyes of the nomads, but other civilizations in their world were obviously more advanced. She should have remembered Fen Ko and Ning's parents' wagon. It was made entirely out of wood, but someone, somewhere, must have had metal tools to fashion some of the more robust components.

                                            > "[You were not watching,]" Hisein went on. "[It was when you and Thistle were looking at that trader with the grain. There were two men with bows, they wore them openly. Some people stared, but most did not look. These were not strange, new weapons for them.]"

                                            "[I see...]"

                                            > Salki recovered began walking once more. "[Okay, we wait for someone to take their horses on the road and we attack when they are alone!]" As he caught up with the other two, Thistle and Hisein fell in step with the young nomad.

                                            > Hisein said: "[Maybe that can work. We will talk about it with the others.]"

                                            "[What?! No!]"

                                            > Thistle pushed her muzzle against Salki's leg in an effort to dissuade him from such a violent path, but he almost absent-mindedly patted her cheek. "[We must! We have to go back as soon as possible. Who knows what is happening at the camp. Maybe the Ruslans are attacking again!]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head free from his hand.

                                            "[Maybe, but even if we bring horses tomorrow, they will not help in the fight. It will take years to make them into a herd and train everyone to ride!]"

                                            > "[True,]" Hisein admitted. He seemed thoughtful, seriously considering Salki's proposal. "[It will take time before we can use these horses, and I hope Ruslans do not have many. We can fight them off with bows until then. What is important is that we have five good warriors. Darga and the camp will need all of us, if there is trouble.]"

                                            > Thistle couldn't fault his logic, but she still didn't like the idea of robbing these strangers.

                                            "[Well... You don't know there is trouble! Maybe everything is fine!]"

                                            > Hisein pushed his way past Salki and laid a hand on her mane. Thistle wanted to hate it, but the touch was warm, comforting. She'd come to trust Hisein a lot during the time they'd spent together. Underneath, he was still a nomad, she was realizing, and her heart sank at the knowledge.

                                            > "[Will we find a better trade further west, do you think?]"

                                            > Thistle wanted to immediately say yes, but she didn't want to lie. Her ears folded down and her eyes lowered to her hooves.

                                            "[No. It seems their- their *bigger villages* are that way. Things will be more, uh,]" she had to come up with a way to explain 'price'. "[We may get less in trade for our things if we go further west. Maybe we will get more for the skins, but not for the jewelry, or the food, or donkeys.]"

                                            > "[We can't keep searching like this,]" Salki added his voice. "[We will find a good part of the path where we can hide and wait for traders to come. We will take their horses and go.]"

                                            > There was no talking them out of it. Thistle had a feeling they had both made their mind in that moment, and trying to convince them otherwise would only end up in arguments. She didn't say anything, but pulled her head away from Hisein's touch and resumed walking back to the camp. She could already see the glimmers of their camp fire through the trees, so she wouldn't get lost.

                                            > Despite how flat her ears were, Thistle couldn't help overhearing the two nomads behind her.

                                            > "[We will trade the skins and the meat tomorrow, and buy metal knives and spears,]" Hisein said.

                                            > Salki was immediately enthusiastic: "[Yes! Good idea! We do not have to carry it all back. We can trade the donkeys and get better weapons against the Ruslans!]"

                                            > All Thistle could do was sigh to herself in misery. Her influence over Salki hadn't amounted to a whole lot, it seemed. He was still a nomad underneath.

                                            > It would take more work, more *education* for him to change.

                                            > She would still try. It was her only choice to retain at least a semblance of who she was. She had already sacrificed and changed so much.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle walked from the tent's entrance to the far back, and then came back. It was only three or four paces, and that only if she took very small steps, but it helped to relieve some of the tension. The nomads' fire outside made faint shapes of light and shadow on the rough leather above her. Thistle inspected them, then returned to the opening.

                                            > What was taking Salki so long?

                                            > She wanted to get him in the tent to speak with him. That way she would get him in solitude, without the others' influence, and, crucially, without Salki needing to appear like a strong and ruthless leader in front of Hisein.

                                            > Maybe that way she would be able to reach him, reach the conscientious and thoughtful young man inside. She knew there was one!

                                            > Unfortunately the men spent a long time talking about how to best attack a trader or a farmer, and how to quickly escape with their illicitly-acquired horses. It wasn't a discussion Thistle had enjoyed, so she'd excused herself and went to the tent.

                                            > The only problem was that waiting had proven to be even worse, especially since she could hear the occasional snippets of conversation and bits of laughter. More than once she'd put her hoof out of the tent, intending to go back there, and each time she'd changed her mind and went back to pacing.

                                            > At last the discussion seemed to be dying down and a few of the shadows detached from the fire and walked into the forest. One of them grabbed a burning torch and came her way. They were going to relieve themselves, Thistle thought, or perhaps some of them were going to stand guard. The important part was that Salki was coming over!

                                            > Thistle couldn't keep a slightly relieved grin from her face, nor the quick swish of her tail. She backed away from the entrance and watched as Salki crouched into the tent, maneuvering the torch so it wouldn't singe the tent. He untied the bit of leather which kept the tent flap up, then let it fall and cover the entrance, then stuck the crude torch into the ground in the middle.

                                            > "[Why are you still up? I thought you said you were going to sleep,]" he asked her. Before the mare could really answer, Salki looked at the tent flap and went on: "[Oh! It was open and we were loud. You should have come and told me to untie it.]"

                                            > His concern was touching, but not the real reason she was awake. It hadn't been easy, but Thistle had learned to sleep even with the noise of conversation around her. The nomad camp was never truly quiet, so she hadn't had much of a choice.

                                            "[No, it is not that,]" she reassured him.

                                            > "[Then what?]" Salki quickly shrugged out of his thin tunic and tossed it aside. Then he began to untie the rope which held his pants in place. "[Set up the cot,]" he instructed.

                                            > Thistle did as he asked and unrolled the thick rug of animal hide. There was a softer 'blanket' to go with it, but the nights were warm enough and neither of them wanted to cover themselves up, so she left it in the pack.

                                            > She sat down on the cot and thought about how to approach the topic at the top of her mind.

                                            "[Salki, you trust my judgement, right?]"

                                            > The man paused in the process of removing his pants and stood on one leg for a few moments as he considered the question. "[Yes, why?]" he finally said switched to his other foot. The leather was tossed on top of his tunic, on the grass.

                                            > Thistle inspected his naked form. He wasn't yet as wiry or muscular as Hisein, but his body was lithe and well-toned, she had to admit. It was still unusual to see just how little fur the nomads had, especially with how cold their lands were, but she was starting to find Salki, at least, exceedingly attractive.

                                            > It helped to see that he was already at full mast in anticipation. It took a bit of willpower to wrench her eyes away from *that* and focus on his face again. The flickering light from their single flame made the shadows dance around them, but it lit well enough to see his curious expression.

                                            "[I don't think we should attack these people, Salki.]"

                                            > His face immediately darkened with disapproval, but Thistle shot forward and placed a hoof gently on his leg.

                                            "[Listen to me first, okay? You know you can trust me.]"

                                            > She rubbed her hoof up and down his smooth skin, reminding him that they were alone, and no one else could see. Salki glanced at the tent flap, to make sure it covered the opening, then his face cleared a little. He gave her a single nod and lowered himself to the cot, so he was sitting cross-legged before her. That made it easier to talk face to face.

                                            > Thistle also sat on her haunches and balanced both forehooves on his knees. She wanted to keep touching him, which would lend a bit more weight to her words.

                                            "[We don't have to steal. We have enough to trade, all we need to do is find someone who will sell us some horses.]"

                                            > "[No one in the village wants to trade horses!]" Salki pointed out.

                                            "[Well, we haven't asked everyone in the village!]" she retorted, thinking quickly. "[Who told you no one wants to trade for horses?]"

                                            > "[Hisein.]"

                                            "[Who told him?]"

                                            > "[That trader who can speak the same words.]"

                                            "[Exactly!]" she said triumphantly. "[Didn't Hisein say how interested that trader was in the skins we brought? The yellow cat, especially!]"

                                            > Salki looked blank and one of his hands slid from his lap to hold her fetlock, while the other went to her face and caressed the soft fur there. "[What does that mean?]" he asked.

                                            "[It means the trader doesn't want you to go to other people. He doesn't have horses, but he would like to trade for your cat skins! He told you no one will trade horses so you wouldn't go away and you would trade with him instead!]"

                                            > This drew a slight gasp of surprise from Salki and his eyes flashed with momentary anger. "[Do you really think so?!]"

                                            "[It's possible! We can't know, because we don't know the language. We have to find someone else who can understand Hisein! That, or... hmm.]"

                                            > "[What is it?]"

                                            "[Did the trader say anything else when you didn't want to trade with him? What did Hisein say?]"

                                            > Salki shrugged a little and moved his hand from her cheek up to her ear. "[He said we should come back tomorrow and we wouldn't get a better trade anywhere.]"

                                            "[Maybe he is trying to get more time. We should spend another few days and try to find someone else!]" Thistle insisted.

                                            > She was trying to remain resolute, but her head was inadvertently pushing against Salki's fingers. She also couldn't stop glancing at his member, still standing proudly from his lap.

                                            > It would be easy to simply turn around and sit down, and lose herself in pleasure for a few minutes, at least. The only problem was that Salki would probably fall asleep right after, and she wanted to get some kind of a commitment from him.

                                            > Perhaps she could use his need, though. It made her feel a little bit guilty, but it wasn't as if she would deny him, even if he didn't promise what she wanted. It was just a bit more incentive.

                                            > She slid her hooves to the inside of his thighs and gently kneaded the hard muscles there. Salki's breath caught for a moment, and he released her fetlock to let her do what she wanted.

                                            "[That is all I am telling you. Attacking these people could be dangerous. They have bows with metal arrows! Let's try and trade honestly, please?]"

                                            > Her voice had gone soft, and low, and husky. She leaned forward, so her big eyes entirely filled Salki's vision. Her hooves came closer, so her fur grazed his cock from both sides. It all elicited a small little groan from the man.

                                            "[It would only be a few days. A real leader will try and find the best solution, not the quickest and easiest.]"

                                            > At last, Salki gave a nod. He cleared his throat and whispered: "[Okay, maybe we can try one or two more days. We can still ambush a trader if it doesn't work.]"

                                            "[Exactly!]" she purred.

                                            > Thistle lifted her hind leg and hooked it over Salki's knee as she began climbing into his lap, but his hand on her barrel stopped her. "[No,]" Salki said. "[Turn around.]"

                                            > Her smile widened and the mare backed away. She glanced down and saw how Salki's member was twitching in time with his heartbeat. She felt pretty much the same way, especially after being so close, and feeling his warmth, and inhaling his masculine scent.

                                            > She slowly turned on her hooves until she was facing away from Salki. She twisted her neck to keep looking at him, to see what he would do.

                                            > The young nomad brushed her tail out of the way and inspected her hidden treasure. She was winking quite hard, and droplets of her fluids leaked down the inside of her thighs. Her breath caught when Salki reached out a finger and poked it at her lips. He pried away the outer folds and looked at the inside.

                                            > Even this slight touch sent pulses of pleasure up Thistle's spine and she let out a small groan. She shut her eyes tightly and concentrated on the feeling of his fingers prodding into her, prying and exploring.

                                            > There was a faint rustle as Salki stood up, and his touch vanished. When Thistle opened her eyes she could see him looming above her, a knowing leer on his face. She automatically spread her hind legs apart and locked her knees in place.

                                            > A moment later he placed both hands on her back and drove into her. She was wet enough, and he was extremely hard, so her passage opened easily for him. A small little squeak escaped from her lips before she could bite down on it, and was matched by a low, lustful groan from Salki.

                                            > He wasn't afraid of putting his weight on her, and the pressure on her croup enhanced the pleasure of their union. It was how ponies of old had mated, the most ancient and deeply-ingrained way.

                                            > Salki withdrew a little and then slammed back. The force of it nearly made Thistle lose her balance, but she dug her forelegs into the grass before her and pushed back eagerly. She quickly matched his pace and she was rewarded by the feeling of his balls slapping against her winking clit.

                                            > Each thrust sent electricity up her body and the mare was having difficulty containing her urgent moans. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep quiet and wished she could instead plug her mouth with a hoof. It took supreme concentration and force of will to stay quiet.

                                            > It seemed easier for Salki, who just grunted softly as he pushed, again and again, into her.

                                            > She could swear he was growing even harder, and that the bulb of his head was engorging. Not as much as a pony stallion would, but enough for her to feel it, especially when her insides contracted and squeezed tenaciously around his member.

                                            > Then Salki's fingers dug into her back and the weight of his hands increased. His fingernails dug into her hide, little pinpricks of pain which threatened to drive her wild with pleasure.

                                            "[Yes! Fuck, yes!]" she moaned.

                                            > "[Shh!]" Salki hissed and Thistle clamped her mouth shut once more.

                                            > She couldn't completely stifle the whimper through her nose as she neared her climax. She only wished her partner would last long enough to...

                                            > Salki's speed picked up a little and his thrusts became shallow and urgent. It wouldn't be long for him. Thistle clenched the muscles in her belly and groin, and pushed herself back into the nomad with renewed vigor, urgently chasing her orgasm before it would be too late.

                                            "[Salki! Salki,]" she gasped out. "[Bite my ear! Quick! Bite my ear!]"

                                            > It was an ancient show of dominance stallions sometimes displayed over mares, and the way Salki was taking her reminded her of that long forgotten instinct.

                                            > The nomad obliged and leaned forward over her. His belly pressed into her back and his hands slid to her shoulders. She lifted her head up and Salki's face brushed her ear. She could clearly hear his rapid, urgent breathing.

                                            > His teeth found her ear and clamped down.

                                            > She was his mare, and he would hold her still while he pumped her full.

                                            "[Nngh!]"

                                            > She came, hard. Her legs almost bucked under her, but she forced them back so her joints locked up. Her passage pulsed and contracted in waves, expelling copious amounts of her fluids down Salki's legs.

                                            > Just in time, too. He gave a few more erratic, clumsy thrusts, then shoved his cock as deep as he could and stiffened. Thistle heard him grunt through his nose, even as his teeth pressed harder into her ear.

                                            > The pain was exquisitely beautiful and made each pulse of her climax that much stronger. Her insides hugged Salki's member in a vice grip, making the poor man groan in discomfort when his seed was forced out.

                                            > His full weight settled on her back and Thistle held it easily with her earth pony strength. She bore it gladly, as she took his gift deep inside her. It was right and proper for a stallion to breed his mare.

                                            > The pressure on her ear was released and Salki pulled his face back. He gasped huge breaths of air through his mouth as he rested atop her.

                                            > She felt him pulse, again and again, but it was growing weaker. It was nearly over, but for a short while their orgasms synced up.

                                            > They waited for a long time, even after it was over. Salki remained in her, even though he was softening, and Thistle held his resting weight without complaint. Eventually, though, the man pushed himself up and slid out of her. He sat down, still breathing heavily, and Thistle turned around.

                                            > She gave him a smile, but it only lasted a second before she lunged forward to catch a kiss. Her forceful need pushed Salki to his back and she landed on his chest with a small thump.

                                            > It was his turn to hold her, as they cuddled together in the afterglow.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Once again she had to stand in the merciless summer heat of this strange land, but this time Thistle didn't mind it so much. Not when the alternative would have been to attack travellers on the road. Any amount of discomfort was worth it to avoid some needless bloodshed.

                                            > Besides, the day seemed to be going better, at least judging from Hisein's unusually eager expression as he spoke to that trader. She couldn't understand what they were saying, but the villager was very animated, waving his arms, jumping up and down, and grinning broadly as he explained.

                                            > It was obviously some good news.

                                            > Thistle was unable to contain her curiosity, so she stomped a hoof, swished her tail, and snorted to get Salki's attention. The nomad came over to pat her neck and she used the 'licking his cheek' pretense to whisper to him.

                                            "[What is happening? Why is he grinning like that?]"

                                            > Salki ran his fingers through her mane and scratched in a secret spot only he knew, which made her hind leg lift up without conscious control. "[I don't know yet. Wait a little,]" he replied.

                                            > Disappointing, so Thistle kept a close watch on the trader in an effort to figure out what he wanted. Every now and then he pointed at her, but he probably wasn't trying to buy the mare herself. Surely Hisein wouldn't be so calm if that were the case. More likely, the trader was after all the exotic animal skins stacked on her back.

                                            > After a while, Hisein held up his palm to the trader, which effectively shut him up, and turned to discuss with Salki. He kept his voice to a murmur, but Thistle's superior pony hearing caught every word of it.

                                            > "[He says he found some horses for us. He wants the skins,]" Hisein explained.

                                            > It took some mental effort for Thistle to stay calm and not betray her elation with something silly like an exclamation, or a hoof pump. She had *known* it was worth trying again!

                                            > "[How many horses? What about the meat?]" Salki asked. "[What about the donkeys?]"

                                            > Hisein glanced at the stranger, then turned back to Salki. "[I think he said two: a male and a female. Maybe we can start a heard from that, but we will need more in the future, or they will poison their blood.]"

                                            > It was news to Thistle and she blinked her eyes in surprise. She hadn't even considered the problem of inbreeding just yet, but Hisein was right. They probably knew about it from their long experience with herding donkeys.

                                            > Still, two horses would prove that it could be done, and they would go and get more later, especially now they knew what to bring in trade. The cat skins were tricky to get, but not impossible, especially if all the hunters concentrated on that throughout summer and autumn.

                                            > She lowered her head to hide a happy little smile, but kept her ears focused on the two nomads.

                                            > Hisein was saying: "[I think we should do it. We didn't get anything else and we should go back soon. He said to come back in the evening and he will bring the horses.]"

                                            > "[He has them?]" Salki asked, his voice tinged very slightly with suspicion. "[Yesterday he said he didn't have horses!]"

                                            > There was silence, and then Hisein spoke the strange language he shared with the trader. There was a brief exchange, and he switched back to whispered nomad: "[He says he found some from someone else. I don't understand who. Maybe one of the people who work the land to grow grain.]"

                                            > Thistle nodded to herself slightly, but stopped it almost immediately after. What Hisein had deduced made sense. Farmers would use horses for working their fields, and perhaps one of the farmers had too many horses, or was willing to trade.

                                            > "[Okay, let's do it,]" Salki agreed.

                                            > Hisein switched back to the other language and spoke a short sentence. It made the trader very happy, at least judging from the amount of shoulder slapping and the wide grin on his face. He jabbered at length, then rushed over to his stall and fished out a gleaming bronze knife. He held it out to Hisein, speaking rapidly in his language.

                                            > After a bit of back and forth with Hisein, the trader preferred the knife to Salki instead.

                                            > The young hunter was a little skeptical, but he eyed the tool with undisguised greed. "[What does he want?]" he asked.

                                            > Hisein gave a shrug. "[I think - nothing. He is happy we agreed to trade the furs, I think it is a gift.]"

                                            > At this news, Salki reached out, if a little tentatively, and the trader pressed the handle into his palm, then closed Salki's fingers around it. He spoke some more and nodded at the young nomad.

                                            > "[Uh, tell him thank you,]" Salki said, and Hisein dutifully translated.

                                            > Hisein and the man exchanged some more details of the trade to come, while Salki experimentally waved his knew knife around. It wasn't as long, or as fancy as the one Hisein had gotten in the last village, but it was his first metal tool, and he seemed fascinated by it.

                                            > They left soon after that, wanting to get out of the sun while they waited for the evening, and the two nomads kept discussing their good fortune. They didn't mention that it had been Thistle's idea to keep trying the market, but she thought the pair gave her more than the usual share of head pats and ear scratches.

                                            > She wasn't really after recognition, although it would have been nice. It was more important that they'd avoided needless violence.

                                            "[What if the trader doesn't take meat and donkeys?]

                                            > Hisein gave this some thought. "[That is good, no? We will trade the meat and the animals for metal tools and weapons.]"

                                            > "[Oh, good idea!]" Salki immediately agreed. "[The Ruslans won't stand a chance if we have metal weapons, horses or no!]"

                                            "[Maybe there won't be a war,]" Thistle added, inspired by her most recent success. "[Maybe we can talk and make some agreement.]"

                                            > The suggestion made Salki grimace, and he spat on the ground. "[Bah,]" he said, "[those dogs have no honor. They can't be trusted.]"

                                            "[Salki, we should try before a lot of people- mpgh!]"

                                            > Her mouth was suddenly clamped shut by Hisein's hand. "[Sssh,]" he whispered. "[Someone is following us!]" He already had his knife in the other hand, and Salki quickly drew his as well.

                                            > Thistle tensed up and swiveled her ears around to possibly catch whatever Hisein had noticed. She jerked her nose free from his hand and inhaled the air, but there was nothing except the two nomads. All three of them stayed still and she caught the noise of heavy footsteps. Whoever it was, they weren't really trying to be sneaky.

                                            > It wasn't long before a stranger stepped around a thicket of trees and stopped in plain view. Both Hisein and Salki drew nearer the mare and the men stared at the newcomer with visible distrust.

                                            > He spoke loudly enough to carry across the bit of forest: "I know! I know pony!" he shouted.

                                            > Something about his words was strange, but Thistle couldn't immediately put her hoof on it. Instead, she peered closely at the villager. He was a little bit older than Salki, but somewhat shorter and broader across the shoulders. His forearms were a lot thicker, and his skin was darker. A leather strap held his messy, brown hair away from his face and there was the beginning of a beard on his face.

                                            > Most disturbing, at least to the mare, was the fact that he was staring, almost hungrily, directly at her. He pointed a finger at Thistle and repeated: "I know pony! I see. I come speak."

                                            > "[He is speaking your pony language,]" Hisein murmured loud enough for Thistle to hear, but quiet so it wouldn't carry to the stranger.

                                            > The realization hit her like she'd stepped under an icy waterfall, and Thistle couldn't keep her mouth from falling open.

                                            "Y-You can speak Equestrian!?" she gasped.

                                            > There was a disapproving hiss from Hisein as she proved to their stalker that she could, in fact talk, but hearing someone using actual *Equestrian* words - someone she hadn't taught them explicitly - was huge. She ignored the older hunter and took a tentative step toward the stranger.

                                            "How is this possible? Where did you learn this language?!"

                                            > Almost before she had fully formed the question, her mind jumped to a joyous conclusion.

                                            "Rainy Day! Did she come this way? Do you know where she is?"

                                            > The stranger looked confused and tried to repeat the words: "Rai- nee Day? No day. Many day pony come. Many many. Father-father say, learn speak. Pony come back."

                                            > It didn't make much sense, and the poor boy's grasp of Equestrian grammar was even worse than Bulat and Hisein's, but Thistle didn't care. She took a few more steps closer, but Hisein quickly moved to stand in her way. "[Easy,]" he told her. He still held his knife in his hand.

                                            > Then he called out to the stranger in the language he'd used with the trader, but it quickly became apparent that their visitor didn't know it. Hisein also tried pure nomad, with a similar lack of results.

                                            > In the end, Hisein grunted to himself and moved aside so Thistle could see the young man again. "[Ask him what he wants,]" he told her.

                                            > She was about to argue that it was more important to learn about Rainy Day, but decided against it. Her ears splayed and she tried to dumb down her speech.

                                            "Who you? Why here? Why you follow us?"

                                            > The villager took a step closer, but stopped when Hisein lifted his knife up a little. He glanced to the blade, and the old hunter's face, and his shoulders slumped a little. "I come pony," he tried to explain. "Father-father say pony come. Pony teach."

                                            "Did Rain- ugh. Did pony teach you speak?"

                                            > He understood that part, at least, and smiled in excitement at being able to answer. He shook his head. "No, father-father teach father. Father-father teach me."

                                            "Who teach your grandfather. Um, father-father. Who teach father-father?"

                                            > "Father teach son. Teach speak, teach blacksmith. Only blacksmith know pony speak. Many day. Many year. Many father."

                                            > Thistle was getting an impression of a lot of time having passed, of traditions and rituals, perhaps even a touch of mysticism. Her heart sank when she realized this probably wasn't proof of Rainy Day, even as she began to wonder what it could all mean.

                                            > She had to learn more, and for that she needed a lot more time with this strange young man. Thistle looked at Hisein and spoke quietly:

                                            "[He doesn't have any weapons. Let's take him with us so we can find out what this is all about. I don't think it is Rainy Day, but I don't know where he learned Equestrian. It could be important.]"

                                            > Hisein looked undecided, but Salki stepped closer and laid his hand on Thistle's back. "[He doesn't look dangerous, and if he tries anything, Bulat and Temir are good with their bows. We can take him back to the village when we go to trade for horses, and we will be gone tomorrow.]"

                                            > The older hunter met his gaze, then looked at Thistle who gave him a nod and a pleading smile. "[Fine, but keep your eye on him. I don't like that he knows Thistle can talk.]"

                                            "[He can speak Equestrian. I have to find out where it came from!]"

                                            > To that, Hisein simply patted her mane and murmured: "[I agree,]" before walking off toward the camp.

                                            > The mare twirled around to look at the stranger again and waved her hoof.

                                            "Come. Follow. We go, then we speak. You will tell everything."

                                            > This was exactly what the villager had been hoping to hear, and his face split into a delighted grin. He hurried forward, although he slowed and rounded cautiously around Salki, who was still watching him with his knife in his hand.

                                            "Here. Walk with me," Thistle invited.

                                            > The newcomer gladly fell in step with the mare, while Salki took up position right behind them. A surreptitious glance showed Thistle that he'd put his knife in his belt, but kept his hand on the hilt.

                                            > Already the villager was talking excitedly: "Father say pony no real. Father say it lies. Father-father say it real. I see pony real! This is good! Pony teach new!"

                                            > Thistle had to forcibly interrupt the over-excited man, otherwise he might never have stopped.

                                            "What is your name?"

                                            > "I Janus."

                                            "Nice to meet you. My name is Thistle."

                                            > "Thiss-tel?"

                                            > He had a thick accent, but it was recognizable enough, so the mare nodded.

                                            "Yes, Thistle. Tell me your father-father. Where father-father learn speak?"

                                            > The young man shrugged his expansive shoulders. "Father-father learn from father. Father teach son. Father blacksmith, son blacksmith, teach blacksmith and pony speak. Tell pony story."

                                            "Will you tell me?"

                                            > "Yes. Father-father say many many year ago. People no know blacksmith, no know pony..."


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Soon - too soon! - it was time to go back to the village. Thistle had spent a fascinating, yet frustrating couple of hours trying to decipher Janus' horrendous Equestrian.

                                            > She could easily believe that he had never learned the language from a pony. Many of the words he used were mangled beyond recognition, and it was a slow, painstaking process to untangle their actual meanings. This was further compounded by his sparse vocabulary and non-existent grammar.

                                            > Despite that, what the young man had to say was immensely interesting, so she persevered.

                                            > Having Salki and Hisein there helped a little, because they were sometimes able to pick up Janus' awful pronunciation. Perhaps their own inexperience with her language allowed them to see things from their visitor's perspective.

                                            > The story he'd told them was nearly unbelievable. Ponies, or at least one of them, had visited this land before.

                                            > In hindsight, that shouldn't have been quite as surprising, not after Thistle and Rainy Day had travelled from Equestria to the nomads' world without even realizing it at the time. It wasn't that much of a stretch to imagine that ponies had done it before.

                                            > What was more interesting, was that whoever it had been, they had avoided all the nomad camps and travelled all this distance to meet Janus' ancestors. Something about that part of the story made Thistle feel uneasy, even if she wasn't able to quite put her hoof on what exactly. Perhaps it was simply the thought of a defenceless pony or two travelling this distance across a very dangerous land.

                                            > They must have faced such hardship...

                                            >...

                                            > Thistle got to her hooves with a small sigh and stretched each leg in turn.

                                            "Let's go back," she told Janus.

                                            > He'd gotten a bit better about understanding her, and together with her body language he knew what she meant and climbed to his feet. "I come with pony," he replied, "with Thistle."

                                            "Yes, we go back to village."

                                            > "No village," he replied. "Go with pony. Go with Salki. With Hisein. With pony. Go far."

                                            > This was news and the mare cocked her head to one side.

                                            "What?" she asked.

                                            > She didn't wait for a response from Janus, and simply switched to nomad so she could confer with the other hunters in complete privacy.

                                            "[He is saying he wants to come with us.]"

                                            > Salki's face immediately hardened and he began to shake his head in refusal. "[No, he can't. Let's take him back to the village and leave with the horses. What he is saying is interesting, but we cannot feed a runaway.]"

                                            > Thistle nodded her head in agreement and was about to tell their visitor that, when Hisein put a hand on her back. "[Hold on,]" he told her. He was looking intently at the young man from the village and there was a calculating look on his face.

                                            > "[You aren't seriously thinking about it?!]" Salki said, aghast. "[No, we're not taking him. That's final. I'm in charge here!]"

                                            > Hisein held up just one finger, and proclaimed: "[He is a blacksmith.]"

                                            > This shut Salki up and make Thistle's mouth fall open. She hadn't even really considered that fact. According to Janus, a pony, or a group of ponies had taught the humans of this land how to forge metal tools and weapons. That was why the Equestrian language was being kept as a secret between blacksmiths.

                                            > Although, she said with a sad little scrunch to her nose, they wouldn't have it for much longer, at least judging by how poorly Janus had learned it. The blacksmithing, on the other hoof, seemed as fine as any she'd seen in Equestria. The only difference was that the people here worked with copper and bronze, probably because they hadn't yet perfected the tools and techniques to handle iron.

                                            > Once they figured that out, and went on to make steel, their civilization would be formidable.

                                            "[You want him to become the blacksmith for the camp?]" she asked Hisein.

                                            > "[Think about it,]" the older hunter said. "[We can buy weapons, but not enough to arm everyone. If we have our own blacksmith, he will teach us how to work metal. Then none of the other tribes will threaten us! Not with metal-tipped arrows!]"

                                            > The mare glanced at Salki, who kept looking from Hisein to Janus. He was quickly coming around to the idea.

                                            > "[Ask him if he can make weapons and tools,]" Hisein urged her. "[Ask if he will teach us blacksmithing.]"

                                            > She gave a quick nod and cleared her throat.

                                            "Janus. You blacksmith for Salki and Hisein and people? Blacksmith for all pony friend?"

                                            > "Yes."

                                            > That word didn't need translating and a small grin was starting to form on Salki's face. No doubt he was imagining their triumphant return, not only bringing horses, but also their very own blacksmith.

                                            > Hisein was a little more practical, though: "[Ask him what he needs. We will have to bring tools. Where will we get the metals?]"

                                            "Um. Janus, you blacksmith for us, how? Need hammer? Need metal? Where metal?"

                                            > He began to explain, waving his arms around and speaking almost too quickly for her to follow. Unsurprisingly, words related to their trade had been preserved rather better than most, so Janus felt at home with this topic.

                                            > It took ferocious concentration and she still had to stop him several times to make him repeat entire phrases, before she was at least vaguely sure what he was trying to get across. Needless to say, the other nomads were soon hopelessly lost, and merely waited patiently for her to interpret.

                                            "[He said he can find metal in the ground. There is metal everywhere. We will show him our land, and he will tell us where to dig. I think he can either make his own tools when he needs them, or he will bring them from the village.]"

                                            > "[Let's go back, we can talk while we walk,]" Hisein said, glancing up at the rapidly sinking sun. He offered a nod to Janus and began walking, followed shortly by the mare herself.

                                            > Thistle didn't need to translate those words and their new acquaintance smoothly fell in step with her. Salki joined her from the other side, and laid a protective hand around her withers.

                                            > Meanwhile, Hisein gave her some more instructions: "[Tell him there is no way back. If he leaves with us, he will not return.]"

                                            "[If he changes his mind, will you let him go?]"

                                            > The old hunter looked thoughtful. "[I don't know,]" he said. "[A blacksmith could mean the difference between victory over Ruslans, or the clan dying. What would you pick?]"

                                            > Thistle didn't have an answer for that. Her conscious mind said that she surely wouldn't kidnap the poor boy, but if her very survival was at stake? She would try and argue him into coming, but if that failed, what would she do?

                                            > It was slightly disturbing to realize that she had no idea.

                                            "Janus, you come with pony, then you no come back. Understand? You go, for many many year. Until die."

                                            > She was watching his face as she said that, and there was fear in his expression. His step faltered for a moment and the youth looked uncertain. She was about to argue with Hisein to at least promise the poor lad a 'someday', but Janus beat her to it.

                                            > "Yes," he said. His face hardened and he waved a dismissive hand toward the distant village. "No come back," he said fervently. "Nothing here for me. Father give smithy to brother. Father-father give smithy to father-brother. They say: Janus go away. Find smithy away."

                                            > He spat on the ground and his fists clenched. "No smithy here. I work, I sleep, I work. Master have son. I only work, then I leave. Nothing here."

                                            "I'm sorry to hear that, but do you really want to leave everything behind?"

                                            > Thistle's heart went out to him and she couldn't bring herself to dumb down her words and rob them of their essential sympathy. Luckily, the tone was enough for the young man to understand. His hand went to pat her mane, the same way he'd seen others doing.

                                            > "I understand. I go forever. Pony teach me new skill! New magic! I go, I learn, I am best blacksmith!"

                                            > Thistle nearly told him that she didn't have the faintest clue about blacksmithing, but she bit her lip lest she dissuade him and make things difficult. It was enough that he wanted to go, whatever his motivations. Perhaps once he'd taught his trade to some of the camp nomads, they would let him return, if he really wanted to.

                                            > Hisein had said it himself: they would need to come back for more horses to prevent inbreeding, perhaps Janus could travel back with them.

                                            > For the moment, however, it looked like his future lay with the nomad tribe. She only hoped that his confidence about his craft, and the claims that he would be able to find metals in the ground, weren't too badly exaggerated.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > "[What do you think?]" Salki murmured to Thistle as he bent over her, pretending to untie the pile of animal skins on her back.

                                            > She was glad he'd remembered to do that before agreeing to the trade.

                                            "[No. Not these. They are old!]"

                                            > She guessed it would not be obvious to someone unfamiliar with equines, but the two horses the merchant had got for them were certainly past their prime. Thistle had surreptitiously examined the beasts by acting like she'd seen the donkeys do when they were faced with something new.

                                            > The horses had seemed pretty calm around her, so she had been able to go right up to them and pretended to sniff at the large creatures. Other than a lazy flick of an ear, the mare and the stallion paid her no mind. She was able to get a very close look.

                                            > She wondered if the trader had rubbed some kind of oil or grease into the horses' coats to make them shine. It was enough to fool a casual glance, but not her, even with her poor eyesight. Horses were similar enough to ponies and she just knew.

                                            > All she needed was a way to prove it, and something their blacksmith friend had told her sounded useful.

                                            "[Look in their mouth. Janus said we should do that. Tell Hisein to do it, he is older!]"

                                            > Thistle wasn't quite sure what they were supposed to learn that way, but she was more inclined to trust Janus than she was this merchant.

                                            > She tossed her head and snorted, to keep up the pretense of being nothing more than a dumb pony, while Salki went to briefly confer with Hisein. After a short while, the older hunter went to the horse and tentatively reached out his hand.

                                            > He hesitated for a short while, worried that the beast might snap at his fingers, but when he patted the horse's nose, nothing happened.

                                            > This encouraged Hisein and he gripped with his other hand to pry the mouth open.

                                            > Thistle glanced at the merchant just in time to see his face darken, and nearly smiled in response. He was visibly disappointed that his scam was going to fail and the country bumpkins inexplicably knew their horses. It proved that the conniving old fool was indeed trying to trick the foreigners!

                                            > Even before Hisein could really inspect the animal, the trader was jabbering in his quick, slurred speech. He pushed his way between the horse and Hisein, and waved his arms expansively.

                                            > Without understanding the words, Thistle had no way what he was saying, but he sounded both angry and worried. In the end, Hisein had to hold his hand up to shut the man up. After that they spoke at some length.

                                            > Hisein crossed his arms and glared, while the villager backed away and wrung his hands together in obvious agitation. The debate grew heated, but it was obvious that Hisein was not backing down. In the end, the merchant spat on the ground, snatched the horses' lead ropes, and dragged them away.

                                            > Thistle glanced around to make sure they were reasonably alone. The marketplace was nearly deserted after sunset, but she still kept her voice low and avoided looking at the nomads.

                                            "[What now? What did he say?]"

                                            > Hisein came to her, followed closely by Salki. "[He claims he was tricked. I think he lied when he said he did not know. You were right, the horses were old. Their teeth were worn down and nearly gone.]"

                                            > That explained what they were looking for, and Thistle was about to ask how Hisein knew that, when she remembered the donkeys. They were similar to horses in a lot of ways, after all.

                                            > The thought that nomads might be able to tell an animal's age by the state of their teeth made her uncomfortably conscious of her own, and she probed gingerly around her own mouth with her tongue.

                                            > She hadn't needed a dentist so far, but eventually she might. It could be quite a sneaky danger for her, in the long run.

                                            > It was a problem for another day and the mare pushed it forcibly from her mind.

                                            "[So what do we do now? Do we go back?]"

                                            > Her heart sank as she realized the nomads would probably revert to their idea of robbing someone on the road, but after how the merchant had tried to trick them she was slightly warming to the thought herself.

                                            > "[He said he will bring us better horses,]" Hisein said.

                                            > Thistle's ears shot up at that news and her mouth gaped open in surprise.

                                            "[He *said* that?!]"

                                            > Hisein patted her nose and crouched down beside her to wait. "[Let's see what he brings us. Now he knows we are not fools, he will not trick us again.]"

                                            > It sounded reasonable, but Thistle wasn't sure, not in the slightest. The only problem was that the alternative was even worse. She let her ears fold down and heaved a sigh.

                                            "[Fine, let's wait.]"

                                            > She resigned herself to a boring and uncomfortable hour or so and let her head hang down. Despite the sun having set, the animal furs draped across her back were insufferably warm. She had been looking forward to getting rid of them for the way back.

                                            > Perhaps the only consolation was that Salki put both hands on her neck and began to massage. The mare closed her eyes and let him do his finger magic.

                                            >...

                                            > It wasn't long after that Janus found them in the market. He'd gone to gather the tools and supplies he would need to begin a new blacksmithing career. Thistle had wondered how he was going to bring a heavy anvil, but now she saw his clever solution.

                                            > Janus was dragging a small, two-wheeled cart behind him!

                                            "Oh, clever," she whispered.

                                            > He met up with the two nomads, who went to inspect the contraption with some curiosity, while the blacksmith bent down over the mare.

                                            > "No horse? Where man? You say buy horse, no horse?"

                                            "You were right. Man want trick us. Look mouth, bad horse."

                                            > "Ah."

                                            > Hisein and Salki returned, and all three of them stood around the mare as they waited. "Who man horse? Who? What name?" Janus asked.

                                            "I don't know," Thistle admitted. "No name. Man trade."

                                            > That exhausted the blacksmith's meager language skills and he went back to re-check his little wagon of stuff. Thistle followed him for a few steps to see what he had. She knew the nomads didn't use such things, partly because they hadn't mastered the yoke, and partly because the ground they travelled was wild and uneven, and didn't lend itself to wheels easily.

                                            > At some point, in the wilderness, they would have to abandon the blacksmith's little cart, which meant they would somehow need to carry the anvil and his tools. Thistle made a mental note for Hisein to keep a few of the donkeys with them, for such an occasion.


                                            > Luckily, it wasn't much longer before the sound of heavy hoofsteps sounded across the market. It had become quite deserted in the darkness, so any noise carried easily. The nomads straightened up and even Janus stepped in front of the mare.

                                            > The trader was back, but he froze and pointed when he recognized the blacksmith. He said something which sounded angry in the language none of them spoke.

                                            > Janus responded in kind, and the two men glared at one another.

                                            > Fortunately Hisein had the presence of mind to push forward and break the line of sight between the two villagers. It was obvious they didn't much like one another.

                                            > The lure of exotic animal pelts was strong enough, and the merchant led the horses closer. The light from his torch flickered across their glossy hides, and Thistle wondered if he'd taken the time to oil these, as well.

                                            > She peered closely at the animals, and had to admit that these two were a lot better. A surreptitious glance confirmed that they were indeed a mare and a stallion, as agreed.

                                            > Hisein went to inspect them too, as did Janus. The seller didn't seem too pleased about that fact, but he didn't argue. He looked like the strangers were too much trouble, after all, and he just wanted to be done with the whole thing.

                                            > As the nomads examined the horses, Thistle approached and lifted her face to the stallion. He was alert and curious, and for a moment their noses touched, before the horse pulled away with a soft nicker.

                                            > It was good that he wasn't too skittish of her, and he seemed lively enough so she knew the man wasn't trying to sell them a lame beast. She moved over to the mare, who was a little more wary of the strange pony. Her ears were laid back, and her tail flicked a few times, so Thistle decided not to push it.

                                            > Both horses looked healthy and strong, and she estimated them at just over adolescence. Perfect to begin a herd for the nomads.

                                            > She caught Salki's gaze and gave a tiny, almost imperceptible nod. The young hunter went to whisper with Hisein.

                                            > Eventually the merchant shook hands with both nomads, and the bundle of stifling hot furs was lifted from Thistle. She immediately breathed a little easier. The leading ropes of the horses were thrust into Hisein's hand, and the merchant took his leave.

                                            > Despite his trick having failed, the man looked reasonably happy with the deal, and Thistle thought it was probably because he was finally done with the whole ordeal, and had his precious furs.

                                            > "[Alright, let's go,]" Hisein said. Janus hurried over to grab his little cart, and the group headed out of the empty marketplace.

                                            > "[Tomorrow we will come and trade the donkeys and the meat for metal weapons,]" Salki said.

                                            > Hisein simply replied: "[Yes.]"

                                            > "[Then we will go back home. Mother will be happy with these,]" Salki said and pointed at the two horses.

                                            > There was no response to that, but it didn't dampen the nomad's spirits.

                                            >...

                                            > The other nomads clustered curiously around the two new horses, and Janus was happy to explain how the various bits of rope worked, and what commands the beasts would obey in very broken Equestrian. The fact that no one was paying him any attention, and wouldn't understand much even if they had, didn't seem to bother the enthusiastic blacksmith.

                                            > Before she'd excused herself, Thistle gathered that Hisein and Salki had made a good trade, and the horses were indeed young and healthy. To demonstrate that, Janus showed the nomads how to inspect the teeth and the hooves, to which the horses submitted placidly.

                                            > They seemed well trained, and after a lot of hand-waving and gesturing, Janus succeeded in introducing the basic horse commands to Hisein. By the time Thistle had set up a leather pot and fetched some water, Salki was already sitting on the mare, grinning from ear to ear, and excitedly kicking her flanks with his heels.

                                            > Out of all things, Thistle felt a pang of jealousy, which made her blush in mortification. There was nothing sensual about the young nomad riding a horse, and he was too big to ride Thistle comfortably. She had him in the ways that counted and she shouldn't be envious of a dumb beast who simply carried the nomad on its back.

                                            > Despite her resolve, the sight still made Thistle swish her tail in a mixture of annoyance and anticipation. She staunchly refused to look at the group's antics after that, and focused on making their stew.

                                            > After a while, Bulat sat beside her. "[You are making grain and tubers only?]"

                                            "[There are some roots I found, it will give the stew some flavor.]"

                                            > "[No meat? Temir went to hunt, he brought a bird.]"

                                            > Thistle cast her gaze around the fire and spotted a bundle of dark grey feathers. She sighed and her ears folded down as she resigned herself to plucking and cleaning the thing. She automatically looked around for a water skin. Feathers always left a foul taste in her mouth.

                                            "Fowl taste," she murmured.

                                            > She couldn't help and began chuckling at the silly pun.

                                            > "[What is it?]" Bulat asked.

                                            "I said: fowl taste."

                                            > He didn't understand and his uncertain smile was accompanied by a quizzically raised eyebrow.

                                            "[It is a similar word. In equestrian the words are similar for bad and bird.]"

                                            > "[Oh. Yes, that's funny. Um, I will pluck the feathers for you, if you want?]" There was an unmistakable question mark at the end of his sentence, because Bulat was offering help out of politeness and didn't really want to do it.

                                            > Unfortunately, Thistle had no compunctions and gave the nomad a grateful smile.

                                            "[Thank you. That will make it easier.]"

                                            > There was some shouting and laughter from the other group, and despite her intentions Thistle glanced over. Hisein was sitting on the stallion and, by what she could see, had a death grip on the poor colt's mane. He wasn't falling off, though, and the horse was walking in a large circle, led by the rope in Janus' hand.

                                            > It looked like they would take to riding like fish to water, Thistle thought to herself. Even better, it looked like Janus was fitting in well, despite the language barrier.

                                            > Once they got back to the camp, they were all in for some interesting times.

                                            "[Bulat- we go back tomorrow, no?]"

                                            > "[Yeah, I guess. Salki said we will trade the donkeys and the food for weapons, and then we will go home.]"

                                            "[Good. I wonder how everyone is doing. Xuan's girl must be walking already!]"

                                            > "[Yeah. I hope my mother is well.]"

                                            > Strangely, Thistle felt homesick for the familiar camp, and she let out a forlorn sigh as she imagined the haphazard clusters of tents.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The morning hadn't been as successful as the nomads had hoped, and their stock of smoked and dried meat hadn't fetched a very high price. It seemed few people wanted food, or the donkeys for that matter.

                                            > Perhaps it was also the fact that no one spoke the same language, and the trader they'd dealt with originally was nowhere to be found.

                                            > In the end, Janus had to help, which was further compounded by both him and the nomads having only a vague grasp on Equestrian.

                                            > For some reason, though, the situation was funny to Thistle and she had to work hard to keep her expression neutral. The villagers probably wouldn't have noticed a smirk, but they would definitely have recognized laughter. It was best not to risk it at all.

                                            > They left the market place when the sun was at its highest, and began their walk back to their temporary camp. They would pack up and leave, Hisein had declared, and hopefully put some distance between them and the village, which he'd called 'unpleasantly crowded'.

                                            > After all, they had what they'd come from, and the remaining donkeys would be useful when Janus' little cart could go no further. The anvil, even if it was not a solid lump of metal as Thistle had expected, was too heavy for any nomad to carry by themselves.

                                            > Thistle could have borne it, but it would be a miserable slog. She was glad they'd kept some of the beasts to do that work. Of course, no one had even suggested to use their two new horses for this. They were too valuable.

                                            > The mare concentrated on putting one hoof in front of the other, and wished to be away from the village and under the relatively cool shade of the forest. She couldn't even drink, not while there was a risk of someone seeing.

                                            > Still, she was unable to get the thought of that water skin, hanging from Salki's shoulder, out of her mind. Her mouth was dry, which was a stark opposite to the rest of her, which was absolutely drenched with sweat. When she glanced down, she saw how it was dripping from her.

                                            > She was positively looking forward to the mountains with their cooler air.

                                            > The slow plod through the heat was insufferable, and Thistle glanced back to gauge if they were far enough. To her relief, the village was becoming lost in the distant haze, and there were no other travellers on the road.

                                            "[Water, Salki, please,]" she asked.

                                            > Thankfully, the nomad immediately grabbed the water skin and walked closer to her. The others glanced over, but did not stop. The lure of the forest's shade close ahead was too strong.

                                            > Thistle sat on her haunches and accepted the little spout into her mouth. She drank greedily, closing her eyes in rapturous delight. She didn't care that the water was stale and warm, it was perhaps the most delicious thing she'd ever had.

                                            > Only when the bag was completely empty did the mare stop, and took her next breath. She gasped for a while until even Salki looked at her with concern.

                                            > "[Are you okay?]" he asked.

                                            > All she could do was lift a dismissive hoof and shake her head as Thistle focused on her breathing again. She'd gone through the entire water skin without inhaling once.

                                            "[Fine. Thank you.]"

                                            > As she got back to her hooves Salki examined the flaccid leather sack in his hands and gave her a wry grin. "[I might have wanted some of that, you know?]"

                                            > She realized the same thing at about the same time, and Thistle's ears folded down in shame.

                                            "[Sorry.]"

                                            > "[Let's hurry up. There's a stream near the camp.]"

                                            > The others were already some distance ahead, but with her thirst so thoroughly slaked, Thistle sprang to her hooves and easily matched her stride to Salki's long, swift pace. Soon, they were back with the group.

                                            > "We go today?" Janus asked? "Go far. Go pony land?"

                                            "Yes. Not pony land. Nomad land. Land of Salki and Hisein and Bulat and Temir. Not pony."

                                            > Janus looked a little confused as he parsed that. "No pony land? Where pony land?"

                                            > It wasn't a question she could answer, even without the language barrier, and Thistle gave the young man an apologetic smile.

                                            "Sorry. Pony land far. Too far. Cannot walk to pony land. I live in nomad land."

                                            > The blacksmith's apprentice thought this through for a while, then shrugged to himself. "Okay, I go nomad land. See nomad land. Go pony land later."

                                            > Just for a moment Thistle's heart constricted with that old loss. She wished it could have been as easy as the naive Janus had said. She shook her head a little before answering.

                                            "We.. will try," she promised him.

                                            > If the others had understood their exchange, they didn't show it. Instead, Hisein asked: "[What was so funny back there?]"

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > "[You were almost laughing. I saw your face, when we were trading. Why?]" he explained.

                                            "[Oh. It was funny that you traded with others of your kind, but you had to use Equestrian to do it. My language is not even from your world!]"

                                            > "[Hmm,]" was all Hisein said in response, but Thistle saw Salki grin in amusement. It wasn't as funny to them, but she still thought it humorous.

                                            > They fell silent for the last bit of road before they turned aside and headed for the thick forest. By now even Janus knew the way well, so he no longer had to rely on her guidance. Despite that, she made her way over and walked beside the blacksmith.

                                            > She peered at his face and wondered if he felt apprehension at leaving his home and everything he'd ever known.

                                            > He knew this was perhaps the last chance he had of seeing his village, but the young man walked resolutely forward and didn't look back. Thistle considered pressing her side against him in a sign of silent comfort, but decided against it. It would just leave a big, wet patch on his linen pants.

                                            > Despite the uncomfortable heat, new excitement sparkled in her blood and quickened her steps. They would go home!

                                            > A few months of travelling and they would see all their friends again.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The tents were already packed by the time Thistle's group came to the old camp site. She looked around in wonder, almost not recognizing the place. She saw where the grass was flattened in large circles, and there was an unmistakable fire pit in the middle. On the other side of the small clearing, all the greenery had been destroyed by their donkeys.

                                            > They still had a few, but at least these would be a lot easier to manage than a whole herd.

                                            > As the group approached, Hisein saw Bulat and Zaur fussing with the horses and raised his voice to get their attention. "[What are you doing?]" he asked them. There were bits of rope strewn about and several large leader bundles.

                                            > Zaur straightened up to answer: "[I was going to tie the tents to the horses,]" he said, but then spotted the group had donkeys with them. "[I didn't know you'll bring some of the donkeys back!]"

                                            > "[They didn't trade as much as we wanted,]" Salki explained, even though it had been Hisein's suggestion originally, "[so we kept some for the way back.]"

                                            > "[Good idea!]" Bulat said and began untying one of the knots. Soon he slipped the makeshift harness from the horse's neck. Zaur began to do the same with the other one.

                                            > Salki went over to inspect the pack which contained his and Thistle's tent, and Hisein left to go fill his water skins at the stream. That left the mare essentially alone with Janus.

                                            "Get water," she told him and pointed a hoof after Hisein. "Walk is long. Need water."

                                            > He gave a slight shrug and patted the leather strap across his shoulder. "Have water and food," he replied simply.

                                            "Oh. Good. We walk long. There-"

                                            > She pointed a hoof at the break in the forest where a smudge of white was just barely visible above the green tree tops.

                                            "Walk to mountains. Walk up, then down. Long way."

                                            > The blacksmith shaded his eyes to stare in the distance, then looked back at the mare. "Okay. I walk," he confirmed. "I see new place. I see new people. Blacksmith work good. People like. Better than home."

                                            > She offered him a genuine smile.

                                            "Yes. Nomad people no blacksmith. They will be grateful."

                                            > The man gestured to the horses and his brow furrowed as he tried to put his question together from the fragments of the language he knew. "Thistle. Why them? Why horse? You walk long way, you trade, take two horse? Why? You have donkey. Donkey food. Donkey work. Why horse?"

                                            > She wondered if she should tell the man what Hisein and Salki might consider 'military secrets'. She was undecided for a while, but Janus was looking at her in honest puzzlement, and it wasn't as if this would remain a big secret for very long.

                                            "Nomad people no have horses," she explained. "Nomad people fight. Stranger nomads fight my nomads. Strangers have horses, my people do not."

                                            > She'd lost him by the end and the poor man was looking at her in absolute bewilderment. Thistle sighed and sat on her haunches. She beckoned Janus closer.

                                            "Come. I explain. I tell. Come."

                                            >...

                                            > By the time Thistle had gotten through the rudimentary political situation among the nomad tribes, the other members of the group had finished packing up. She only noticed Salki when he laid his hand on her withers and said: "[Come, I will help you pack our things.]"

                                            > She glanced around in surprise and saw the two bundles by Salki's feet. It looked like their cots and blankets. She looked around for the tent, and saw that it was already securely fastened on one of their few donkey's backs.

                                            > There was no room for anything else, and her mouth twisted in displeasure. Surely the nomads thought better of her by now than to simply consider her a pack beast? She opened her mouth to tell Salki to use the horses for this, but then she spotted the pack slung across his own shoulder.

                                            "[What is that?]"

                                            > He hefted the strap, which made the bag's contents clang. "[Weapons. I will carry those, you will carry our sleeping things.]"

                                            > When Thistle glanced around, she saw that everyone else had their own packs. Without the donkey herd, no one would be travelling light, it seemed.

                                            > She even saw Hisein tying a few bags on the horses' backs, which answered her next question.

                                            "[Fine.]"

                                            > When she stood up Salki bent over her and placed the bags across her back. He'd already tied them together with leather straps so they hung to either side. At least it would be less hot than carrying the animal furs, for which Thistle was grateful.

                                            > More importantly, it wasn't really any heavier.

                                            > Beside her, Janus had gotten to his feet and was hefting his own bag onto his shoulder. His cart was still waiting a short distance away, where he'd put it the previous night, and now the man hurried over.

                                            > He took the wooden poles in his hands and experimentally pulled them this way and that, to test that the wheels were working right. Everything seemed to his satisfaction, and the blacksmith looked at Hisein expectantly.

                                            > The old hunter gave a wry grin and pointed at Salki. "[You say we go. You're in charge, after all.]"

                                            > This kind of attention made Salki blush, but he straightened his shoulders and proclaimed: "[Let's go.]"

                                            > The party set off. Zaur, who had proven to be the quickest study on how to handle their horses was leading said beasts with a couple of long ropes attached to their leather halters. Bulat and Temir got their few remaining donkeys moving, even though it probably didn't need both of them.

                                            > The rest simply fell in step behind them.

                                            > Thistle found herself walking between Salki and Janus, with Hisein bringing up the rear of their little procession.

                                            > She tried to remember where she'd been in her story when Salki had interrupted her.

                                            "Oh yes. Ruslan people have horses. They fight better with horse. Salki people have bow. Dangerous. Hard fight. Salki people need horses to win."

                                            > "I understand," Janus said slowly and carefully. "But two horse not enough."

                                            "Two horses now, yes," Thistle clarified. "Two horses make more horses. Soon more horses!"

                                            > This revelation made the blacksmith stop for a moment. "What?!" he exclaimed as the others looked at him strangely. "You want more horses, but have those horses?"

                                            > Something was wrong, and Thistle felt her stomach clench in worry.

                                            "Why not? Man horse and woman horse make small horse, no?"

                                            > "Those horse no."

                                            > Hisein had caught up to them and asked Thistle: "[What's he saying?]"

                                            "[He says our horses can't make more horses. I don't understand.]"

                                            > The hunter shrugged to himself. "[Maybe he doesn't understand how it works? Does he know the pony word for 'fuck'?]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head at Hisein and stared at Janus instead.

                                            "Why you say that?" she asked. "Why no small horse?"

                                            > The poor man tried several times to explain, but he couldn't find the right words. In the end, he shrugged helplessly and pointed ahead, at the two animals. "Go look. Look at this," he said and grabbed his own crotch. "Look at horse, this," he repeated and slapped his hand against his pants.

                                            "[Zaur. Zaur! Stop!]"

                                            > Thistle hurried forward, heedless of how the bags banged against her sides, until she caught up to the nomad and the horses. He brought them to a halt, and the two beasts snorted, perhaps in annoyance at the unpredictable, changing instructions.

                                            > The mare ignored them and darted her head down. The one nearest to her was the mare, and there was nothing unusual there. She hurried around to the other one and peered down under its belly.

                                            > Everything looked pretty much like any stallion she'd seen, so Thistle straightened up and called to Janus.

                                            "What? I don't see anything! It's fine!"

                                            > He shook his head and abandoned his cart to come closer. "No, look," he told her and grabbed the stallion's tail. He lifted it out of the way and Thistle came around to see what he wanted to show her.

                                            > That was when she noticed.

                                            > The stallion had no balls.

                                            "They... He's- How-" she stammered in dismay and confusion.

                                            > He had been gelded!

                                            > Hisein and Salki caught up to her, and quickly spotted the same thing she'd seen, now that Janus was holding the tail clear.

                                            > "[Fuck,]" Hisein swore.

                                            > Salki turned on the hapless blacksmith, glaring and bunching his fists. "[Why didn't you tell us? You were there when we bought them!]"

                                            > Of course he didn't understand the question, although he easily perceived how angry Salki was. He let the tail drop and stepped away. "What? Why me?" he asked Thistle.

                                            "He say why you no say? When we buy horse, why you no say?"

                                            > "I no see then! Dark! I no see horses when you trade!"

                                            "Later? You see later?"

                                            > "Yes."

                                            "Why no say!?"

                                            > Thistle realized she was raising her voice, and made herself take a deep breath.

                                            > Janus shrugged. "I think you want this horse. I think you know! I not know you want small horse. I say when you say want small horse!"

                                            > She heaved a sigh and stepped between the poor villager and Salki.

                                            "[He didn't know when we traded for them. When he saw, he thought we wanted horses that way. Salki, he didn't know.]"

                                            > It worked and the young hunter backed down, but he was still fuming. "[What do we do now?]" he asked Hisein. "[That bastard tricked us! You told him we wanted the horses for breeding?]"

                                            > Hisein gave a nod. "[He knew. That's why he ran away so quickly last night. That's why he was not there today.]"

                                            "[Bastard!]"

                                            > Thistle didn't realize it had come out of her own mouth at first. Once she did, she swore again and pawed at the ground with her hoof in useless frustration.

                                            > Now they didn't have anything left to trade, and the two horses would be useless!

                                            "[What do we do now?]"

                                            > Her glance went to the stallion. When he swished his tail, she clearly saw the lack. Unfortunately she hadn't noticed before, but now it was obvious. She saw the shrivelled little bit of flesh where his balls used to be, but nothing more.

                                            > It made her wince in sympathy. She knew the people of this world had nothing to help the pain, and even if they did, they certainly wouldn't use it for an animal. By the looks of it, someone had simply cut this poor creature's balls away.

                                            > Utterly inequine! Even worse - it was un-human!

                                            > She felt herself going cold as her anger turned to ice. She spoke in a calm voice:

                                            "Janus, you know man? Man who trade horse? You know who?"

                                            > "Yes," the blacksmith said a little uncertainly.

                                            "He has more horses?"

                                            > This time the young man shook his head. "No, he got horse from Sofron. I think this Sofron horse."

                                            "Sofron has more horses?"

                                            > "Yes."

                                            > The mare turned her icy blue eyes on Hisein.

                                            "[We will go steal some,]" she said with quiet finality.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The night was brightened by a half-full moon, and for once Thistle found that her impaired vision wasn't as much of a problem. In the semi-gloom, the nomads didn't see much better than her.

                                            > Thistle was lying on her belly under some bushes while she waited for Hisein and Bulat to come back. She should have been more nervous, but Salki's hand, warm on her back, gave her some much-needed confidence.

                                            > They'd left Janus with Temir and Zaur a safe distance away with all their packs and animals, while the smaller group had crept around the sleeping village.

                                            > Janus had given them good instructions, after she'd taught the man how to draw a map in the sand, and the group of nomads had easily been able to find their target.

                                            > She lifted her head slightly to peer through the brown, drying leaves, and inspected the huddle of dark buildings in the distance. Before seeing the rest of the place, she would have called them extremely primitive, but in light of her more recent experiences, Thistle saw that they were quite wealthy and extravagant.

                                            > That was good. While she'd kept her anger on a low burn throughout the evening, she might not have been able to steal from someone if they were poor and struggling. This farmer, Sofron, was obviously doing quite well for himself, undoubtedly at the expense of unsuspecting traders!

                                            > More importantly, what he was doing to his animals was simply wrong. She could hardly even think the word!

                                            > Gelding!

                                            > Her muzzle scrunched up and Thistle swished her tail, eager to go and bring a little bit of justice back into the world.

                                            > She still couldn't believe she hadn't spotted it earlier! The stallion had been too placid, too disinterested. A single glance should have told Thistle that something was badly wrong!

                                            > This Sofron and the trader in the market had taken advantage of their honesty! It really irked, especially after Thistle herself had urged the nomads to be patient and play fair.

                                            > They'd made her look foolish and proven to Hisein and Salki that foreigners can't be trusted. It would make any further peaceful trading nearly impossible with all the distrust that deception had sown, not to mention the heist they were attempting at the very minute.

                                            > Not for the first time, the mare considered calling it off. That said, Salki and Hisein probably wouldn't agree to it, but it was still something she should do, as a pony.

                                            > She shook her head and thought back to the outrage she had felt when Janus had shown to them the damaged horse they'd bought.

                                            > They deserved to get what they traded for!

                                            > She stiffened as she heard footsteps, but it was easy to recognize the nomads' soft, leather-bound feet, so she quickly relaxed again.

                                            "[They are coming back,]" she warned Salki quietly.

                                            > Not long after that, the two nomads stopped just outside of the shrubbery. "[Come. It is clear,]" Hisein said. "[Everyone is asleep.]"

                                            > That was a relief and Thistle felt a little better about the whole enterprise. There was little chance of anyone getting hurt. It was something she had told Hisein, and he'd agreed. No killing.

                                            > Salki slipped out of the bush just behind her, his hand still on her withers. He looked around a little uncertainly, and asked the older, more experienced hunter: "[What do we do?]"

                                            > There was no way to tell Hisein's expression in the darkness, but Thistle knew the man well enough to imagine he probably gave a wry grin. He pointed to Bulat. "[Go around that way and watch the huts. Whistle like a bird if you see anyone coming.]"

                                            > Thistle followed Hisein's pointing finger and decided those were probably the houses where the villagers slept. They were a short distance away from the animal house. She could identify it exactly, thanks to the smell.

                                            > "[Salki and me will go forward, and make sure the path will not make any noise,]" Hisein said. "[Your hooves are loud. We will look for stones and sticks,]" he told Thistle.

                                            > She couldn't help her ears lowering a little in embarrassment, but the mare gave a firm nod.

                                            > Hisein went on: "[Follow close behind us and watch the ground. When we reach the hut, you will go in. The animals will not fear you, like they would us.]"

                                            > Thistle herself wasn't too sure about that, but it was the best chance they had.

                                            "[Yes.]"

                                            > "[You will look for healthy horses. Bring out a male. If you can get more than one, then bring females.]"

                                            > That made sense, and despite herself Thistle felt her face flush a little. The limiting factor on their herd would be the number of mares who could give birth. She'd tried asking Janus about it, but she believed these people had not yet figured out how to safely make a mare infertile. That was something to be thankful about, at least.

                                            > They controlled their stock by gelding the stallions, which was a lot easier, even if not particularly equine.

                                            > "[Let's go,]" Hisein said, and the nomads began to creep away. Bulat hurried off to position himself near the villagers' houses, while the three of them began to make their slow, painstaking way across the grass.

                                            > It would get easier once they were in the pasture, where the animals had cropped the growth down to the ground. Thistle could see the faint outline of a wooden fence in front of them.

                                            > Just as Hisein had told her, the mare stared down, making sure that her hooves wouldn't hit a single stone or tried twig. She couldn't avoid the occasional rustle of dry grass, but even so she was quite pleased with the results of her efforts.

                                            > Pretty soon they were inside the fence and creeping up to the wooden building. Thistle kept her ears on it, and caught the occasional grunt or snore of animals. Her heart began to beat faster as the fateful moment came closer.

                                            > She hardly even noticed the three of them approaching an open section of the wall. There was no door, and the stables were open to the night air. Hisein and Salki crouched down to either side of the opening and the older nomad looked expectantly at her.

                                            > Thistle gave him a silent nod and pushed her head around the frame to peer inside. It was dark, but her eyes had adapted and she thought she recognized several dark shapes huddled in the middle. Unfortunately, they were all bovine, at least judging by the smell.

                                            > The mare lifted up her head and sniffed for a long while. She was certain there were no horses in the hut and drew back.

                                            "[No horses, only cows.]"

                                            > She didn't see their expressions, but she heard Salki sigh. Hisein, on the other hand, simply leaned around to take a look for himself. "[Wait here,]" he told the other two and crept along the outside wall. He paused at the corner, then came back.

                                            > "[What is it?]" Salki asked.

                                            > "[There is a wall,]" the hunter told them. "[The hut is bigger that way.]"

                                            > Surprised, Thistle looked into the stable once again. Now that she focused properly, the far wall did seem too close. Hisein was right, and the hut was split into separate parts.

                                            > "[This way,]" Hisein said and led the way he had gone the first time. Once again he and Salki inspected the ground and pushed away any dangerous stones or twigs, and Thistle followed close behind them.

                                            > They made their way around the building until they came to a very similar opening. Hisein motioned to her, and the mare poked her head around the side.

                                            > She saw the horses! A few of them were standing, and some were lying on their sides on the floor. Her eyes met that of a stallion in the corner, and his ears flicked forward in curiosity.

                                            > Luckily, he didn't seem to be afraid, only puzzled at this unusual guest. No doubt he had heard them approach.

                                            "[I will go in,]" she told the nomads.

                                            > Two hands patted her back and flank, and then she was inside the dark, warm room. She picked her way carefully, stepping around piles of fresh manure. She saw that the horses were tied to metal hoops in the walls, which explained why they weren't cuddled together like the cows on the other side.

                                            > She wondered for a moment how to untie them with hooves, and considered going back to Salki, but then shook her head and decided she would simply bite through the ropes, if she couldn't find a way to undo the knots.

                                            > The stallion who was already awake seemed like a good first target, if only he wasn't also gelded. Thistle approached him, but froze when he snorted at her. She was wondering what would be an appropriate and comforting sound to make, when he let out a quiet nicker.

                                            > He wasn't afraid of her, so Thistle came forward. She briefly touched her nose to the stallion's and responded with a snort of her own.

                                            > That seemed to do the trick and the horse began to sniff her curiously. It was a good opportunity to slip to one side and steal a glance down its belly. Even now, this illicit look made her blush a little.

                                            > The good news was that this stallion was intact, so Thistle turned her attention to his rope. It was looped around the metal ring, and then tied in a strange knot. A smaller loop hung down, along with the free end of the rope. It looked complicated and Thistle's ears fell as she, once again, considered getting one of the nomads.

                                            > Fingers would be invaluable for a task like this! She let out a sigh and tugged experimentally at the loop, on the off chance she could loosen it. It didn't move, but the free end felt like it would slip out easily. She switched her grip to that and pulled.

                                            > To her surprise, the knot came undone with hardly any effort and she was left with a length of rope hanging from the metal ring.

                                            > Feeling inordinately proud of herself, the mare took the other part of the rope and slipped it free, and was left with a simple line to the horse's halter. She made an experimental step backward to put a bit of tension in the rope, and the horse obediently stepped forward.

                                            > It was obviously well trained. Thistle let a bit more slack into the rope and began to make her careful way back out. She had to pay special attention to where the stallion was stepping, so he wouldn't tread on any of the sleeping horses.

                                            > She couldn't help how his hooves rang on the hard, packed-dirt floor.

                                            > Outside, Salki and Hisein were already waiting for her, and both smiled when they saw her leading the animal. It paused at the sight, or perhaps the smell, of unfamiliar humans, but Thistle pulled on the rope again and the horse came outside. She passed the lead to Salki and looked back in.

                                            "[I will get a mare, too. Maybe two.]"

                                            > She saw a couple which were upright and, thus, probably awake. If they hadn't made any noise so far, that was a good sign that she might be able to take them out without any fuss.

                                            > It would be fair payment for trying to trick them! Besides, the farmer had other horses and he would be able to replenish his herd easily. Perhaps it would make him think twice about gelding his stallions!

                                            > With their meager experience in handling horses, Salki and Hisein nevertheless managed to get the animal moving quietly back the way they had come. Salki remained behind and Hisein returned to the opening to watch over Thistle.

                                            > She made her way inside more confidently now, familiar with the room's layout and the animals' reaction. She walked over to the first mare, but found that she had her eyes closed.

                                            > It was napping while standing up, and for some reason that brought an amused smile to Thistle's lips. She gave a soft, low snort, and that did the trick. The mare blinked and jerked a little in surprise at the sight, but other than an answering, inquisitive snort, she didn't make a fuss.

                                            > A quick inspection proved that she was tied with the same type of loose knot as the stallion, and it was the work of moments for Thistle to untie it. In seconds she was leading the slightly apprehensive mare out to Hisein.

                                            > This time, the horse stopped well before the entrance and refused to move. Thistle came back, nickering as comfortingly as she knew how, and raised her nose to the mare. She didn't seem interested in meeting her, but having relaxed the pressure on the rope seemed to make the animal calm down, too.

                                            > After a few moments of silence, Thistle tugged again, and this time the horse came with her. She passed it to Hisein and went back inside.

                                            > The other mare was further along the back, and the faint moonlight light from the entrance barely reached her. It was still unmistakably a mare, and tied with the same type of non-knot as the others.

                                            > Thistle wondered what good it would even do, if the rope was this easy to untie. Surely the horses could just pull it free and walk out? Perhaps it was more of a mental trick, and the animals, believing they were tied securely, never even tried to unbind themselves?

                                            > She was carefully pulling on the knot to untie it, when the mare started awake and gave a questioning nicker. It was too loud!

                                            "[Shh! Quiet!]" Thistle hissed.

                                            > Words, coming from the mouth of a pony were sufficiently unnerving that she followed it with a frightened squeal. It felt as if pierced the stillness of the night air.

                                            > "[What's happening?!]" Hisein hissed from the entrance.

                                            > Before Thistle could answer, the mare tried to pull away from her and it took all her strength to hold on to the rope with her teeth.

                                            > The horse was working herself into a panic! The squeal came again, followed by whinnies and neighs from the other horses.

                                            > Thistle tugged the rope sharply down, to keep the mare from from kicking out. Luckily having control over the mare's halter proved to be quite useful and Thistle was able to restrain the animal before it could hurt itself, or her.

                                            > She heard shouting from outside, and her blood ran cold. That wasn't any of the nomads.

                                            > "[Leave it! Let's go!]" Hisein called, in a half-whisper, half-shout.

                                            > Thistle did as instructed and ran out of the stable. It was just in time. The two horses with Salki were agitated and starting to neigh to their friends still inside. Hisein quickly took one, and Thistle grabbed the other rope to help Salki hold on.

                                            > They began pulling the recalcitrant animals away, when the door of the nearby dwelling burst open. Men with torches ran out.

                                            > "[Shit. Hold him,]" Salki said and took the bow from his shoulder.

                                            > It was all going wrong, and she couldn't even say anything! In desperation, she stepped on the rope to free her mouth.

                                            "[No, Salki. Let's just run!]"

                                            > Hisein was beside her, struggling to control the horse. "[These won't go. How do we make them?]"

                                            > She didn't know. It had never been a problem in Equestria, and Thistle wished they had Janus with them. He at least knew a bit about horses.

                                            "[That word Janus taught you. Use it!]"

                                            > Hisein did so, and followed it with a slap on the mare's rump. It made her dance a few steps, and when he began walking the mare followed, if a little reluctantly.

                                            > Following his example, Thistle barked what she had mentally translated as 'Go'.

                                            "[Go, you dumb beast. Go! Yah!]"

                                            > She couldn't hit the animal, not the way Hisein said, and she had to quickly switch the rope to her mouth again, but the stallion easily followed the mare ahead of them.

                                            > When Thistle glanced back, she saw that Salki was keeping pace, his bow drawn and aimed at the villagers.

                                            > There were four of them, three men and a woman. Two of them held torches and they were shouting and pointing.

                                            > She wasn't sure they could get away without bloodshed.

                                            > "[Here. I'm here. I'll take the horses,]" Bulat said behind her. She hadn't heard him approach, but his help was invaluable.

                                            > He took the rope from Hisein, who immediately readied his own bow. Thistle kept hold of the stallion, afraid that both animals together would easily overpower the young nomad.

                                            > "[This way. Follow me, we can escape in the forest!]"

                                            > She wondered if they really could. They had the two animals to deal with, and the villagers did not. It would be easy to follow them.

                                            > Her mind was working furiously, trying to come up with some way out of the situation. She almost didn't hear Salki and Hisein murmuring to each other. As it was, she only caught the last few words.

                                            > They were going to shoot at the villagers.

                                            "No!" she yelled.

                                            > At the same time, both bowstrings twanged.

                                            > There were screams of pain and the torches fell to the ground, almost in unison.

                                            > In the ensuing darkness, the villagers yelled in shock.

                                            > "[Now. Let's go! On the horses!]"

                                            > Hisein had already jumped on the mare's back, and Salki did the same with the stallion. He pointed at Thistle and yelled: "[Bulat! Lift her to Hisein!]"

                                            > Before she could fully react, Thistle was picked up and thrown across the horse's back. Hisein leaned over her to pin her against the mare as he reached forward and grabbed her halter. She felt his legs move as he kicked the horse's flanks, and they were moving.

                                            > From her vantage, she saw Salki hold his hand out for Bulat and lift the other nomad easily onto the stallion's back. Soon they were following.

                                            "[The fence!]"

                                            > She had remembered the wooden fence, just in time.

                                            > Hisein glanced behind, where the villagers had recovered their torches. The wounded were still shrieking in pain, but there were more people, drawn in by all the commotion. There was a lot of angry yelling.

                                            > "[No time,]" he said. "[We will jump!]"

                                            > As if to prove his point, his heels kicked again and the mare picked up speed. Thistle tried to find some grip with her hooves, but there was nothing to hold on to. In the end, she hooked her legs around Hisein's waist and shut her eyes as the jostling grew worse.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > For thistle, the crazy ride into the night was a thing of pure terror. She nearly slipped off the horse as she was jostled around, and it was only Hisein's quick reflexes which kept her put until they both adapted to their mount's gait.

                                            > They were galloping through the pasture and the rush of wind led Thistle to imagine the ground whipping past at frightening speed. Her eyes couldn't quite pierce the darkness around them, and the only things she could see were a smeared blur of pale light above, which could have been the moon, and an occasional glimpse of yellow torchlight behind them. To her relief, those seemed to have been left in the distance.

                                            > Then the nomad above her slammed his heels into the horse's flanks and shouted: "Yah! Yah!"

                                            > Impossibly, they picked up more speed. Just as Thistle was about to shout at Hisein to slow down, there was a tremendous jolt and they were in the air. She didn't know if the terrified neigh came from her, or from the animal.

                                            > The moment stretched as they floated, almost gently, above the wooden fence. Thistle felt, more than saw, its indistinct shape sliding underneath the mare's hooves.

                                            > Time rushed back with a mighty slam, which pushed all air out of her lungs and made pinpricks of phantom light go off in her vision. For a single, painful moment, the mare feared her spine would snap from their hard landing.

                                            > Hisein was laughing, manically.

                                            > The horse came to a stop a few dozen paces ahead, lacking any clear direction from the nomad on its back. It was probably in shock, and Thistle heard her rapid breathing, interspersed with an occasional snort, or a toss of her mane.

                                            "[The others!]" she managed. "[The other horse! Where are they?]"

                                            > Just as she finished talking, they heard the shouts of Salki and Bulat. They were some distance behind them.

                                            > "[They didn't jump!]" Hisein said. He slid off the mare and then simply picked up the disoriented Thistle and plopped her on the ground. Her legs wouldn't carry her, but she managed to remain upright, in what could generously be called a sitting position. "[Come on,]" Hisein ordered her. "[We have to help them!]"

                                            > She looked up and caught the larger mare's eyes, but the beast just watched her dumbly. It hadn't yet worked out exactly what happened, and the jump over the fence had probably been pure adrenaline-fueled instinct when she had seen it looming ahead, too late to stop.

                                            > For that matter, Thistle wasn't sure she believed it herself, even though she could see the dark wooden beams of the fence as black lines against the distant, orange glow of torches.

                                            > The villagers would be there in a few minutes! She had to help Salki!

                                            > That got her to her hooves and the mare hurried forward. The two younger nomads were still on the stallion, which was pacing up and down and whinnying to his friend on the other side of the fence.

                                            > They would never get it to jump, and Thistle didn't know if they could make the horse crawl under one of the diagonal beams. That left only one thing to do. Well, two things, if they simply abandoned the animal, but that would leave the nomads to run from the mob on foot, and somehow the idea was unpalatable after the trouble she herself had gone through to acquire the horses.

                                            > She ran up to the nearest post, which was nothing more than a trunk of a small tree, driven deep into the ground. She eyed it carefully, and saw that the beams were simply nailed into it.

                                            > Without saying a word, Thistle spun on her hooves and dug her forelegs into the soft grass. She kicked with all her might.

                                            > Her aim was true, and her strength was boosted by a heady mix of exhilaration and terror. The long, thin wooden beam was torn from the post in a splinter of shards.

                                            "[Here! Come here!]"

                                            > She bucked once more and removed the lower bar, too. They remained attached at the other fence post, but they were easy to step over.

                                            > Hisein had quickly recognized her plan and jumped over the ruined fence. He gathered the stallion's lead rope, which was hanging loosely to the ground.

                                            > For a moment it looked as if the horse would refuse to budge, but when Salki added some encouragement with his heels, they made the beast come forward. Hisein led it to the place where Thistle had knocked out the beams.

                                            > It took some more urging and a few more kicks to get the stallion across. All the while the villagers with their torches were coming closer. Thistle could already hear their angry shouts.

                                            "[Hurry. We have to go!]" she urged.

                                            > Hisein kept hold of the stallion's rope, and led it to where the mare was still waiting, twitching and wild-eyed. When the two horses came closer, she snorted and hurried to her herd mate.

                                            > That seemed to calm them both, and, other than a few soft whinnies, the stallion wasn't making any more noise.

                                            > "[Up you go again,]" Hisein announced suddenly and Thistle felt his arms grip around her midriff. She didn't struggle and allowed the nomad to place her across the mare's back, once again.

                                            > The horse danced a few steps at the unaccustomed, strange weight across her withers, but she settled down when the large hunter patted her nose. After that, she waited patiently for him to climb on.

                                            > Once again Thistle tried to clutch the rider around his waist, and Hisein laid a steadying hand on her back. It was the best they could do without an actual saddle. A momentary regret surfaced in the mare's mind. She could have looked for one in the stables, on the off chance that the villagers kept saddles near their horses, but she hadn't remembered at the time.

                                            > Moments later, Hisein gave the command, and the mare, possibly still in shock, obeyed and took them into the dark forest. The stallion with Salki and Bulat didn't need much urging and eagerly followed a few hoofsteps behind.

                                            > With luck, they would be gone among the trees by the time the villagers found the broken fence. They might begin a larger search in the morning, but by then, Thistle knew, the nomads' group would be well on their way home.

                                            > More importantly, Hisein was apparently a very talented rider, even if no one among them had ever known. She had never seen him even sit on a donkey, the way the camp's youths sometimes did. True, he'd had an afternoon's worth of instruction by Janus, but the maneuvers they had performed this night were nothing short of amazing.

                                            > In a way, Thistle was extremely proud of his newfound skill.


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