[WIP] Barbarians, part 3 (SPG)


                                            Previous part: https://ponepaste.org/7856


                                            > The ride through a dark forest was tense and unnerving. They weren't going as fast as that mad gallop through the pasture, but Thistle was still in a precarious position and in danger of falling off. Not to mention that being unable to see more than a few paces around them made the trip more frightening than it should have been.

                                            > She took comfort in the steady breathing of the mare which carried them, and in Hisein's strong hand on her back. Even without a saddle, the nomad was completely stable as he guided their mount between sparse trees, and he wouldn't let her fall.

                                            > Thistle didn't know how Hisein knew the way, since neither of them had been in this part of the forest before, but he never hesitated and only stopped when he waited for the other horse to catch up to them.

                                            > Every now and then they all halted to exchange a few murmured words. Each time, Hisein asked the other two nomads about their pursuers, and Salki always assured him they had fallen far behind.

                                            > "[I think we got away,]" Hisein finally concluded, "[but we must leave this land quickly. They may come after us.]"

                                            > "[They will not catch us,]" Salki said with youthful bravado.

                                            > Thistle wanted to agree, but when Hisein didn't respond, she glanced up, trying to see his face in the night's gloom.

                                            "[We can outrun pursuit, right Hisein?]" she asked.

                                            > His hand patted her back a few times and then slid up to her neck, where the hunter twined his fingers into her mane. "[Perhaps. We must try. We cannot fight this many.]"

                                            > Hearing that the old, experienced hunter wasn't fully certain was like an icy shower and it made her heart beat faster with worry. Of course, they had a few donkeys who would not be able to move very fast, not with all the gear they would carry. More than that, they had Janus and his hand-pulled cart.

                                            "[Janus?]"

                                            > "[Partly. Let's keep going, we are close to Bulat and Temir.]" With that, Hisein expertly dug only one of his heels into the mare's flank, and she obediently turned. When she was facing the right way, although Thistle couldn't recognize any sign that it was so, the nomad ordered: "[Yah!]" and the animal began to walk.

                                            > Only when they were on the way did Thistle voice her idea.

                                            "[What if we make Janus' cart so I could pull it? I am stronger than he is.]"

                                            > There was silence for long moments as Hisein thought about this proposal. At last, he asked: "[What about the things you will carry?]"

                                            > She didn't know, and her ears wilted. The nomad must have seen this, because his hand came back to rest on her withers.

                                            > They rode in silence, except for both horses' hoofsteps. Thistle craned her neck to look at the sky. She couldn't be sure, not with her eyes, but she thought there were fewer stars visible. Perhaps it would be daylight, soon.

                                            > Their slow creep to the villagers' stable already felt like a lifetime away. The anger which had propelled her was gone, replaced by cold fear. There was no doubt they would all be killed if the villagers caught up to them. The nomads would have to fight. She would have no choice but to join them.

                                            > There had to be a way! She thought furiously for a solution.

                                            "[The tents!]" she spoke up and jerked upright, nearly unbalancing herself.

                                            > Hisein reacted quickly and shifted his grip to her rump, to keep the mare in place. "[Stay still!]" he ordered her.

                                            > For a moment Thistle flattened her ears in shame, but they sprang up immediately after, as she rushed to tell him her idea.

                                            "[Leave the tents! We can keep the leather and sticks for two tents and make from them a big tent. We will only need it in the mountains, the rest of the way is warm enough. We can sleep outside!]"

                                            > She didn't expect the methodical, thoughtful man to respond immediately, so she hurried on with her explanation.

                                            "[If we don't bring all the tents, I will not have a load on my back. I can pull Janus' cart! Surely he can make a harness quickly enough!]"

                                            > "[We will see,]" Hisein finally replied.

                                            "[It will work! I will pull the cart. We have four horses. Temir and Bulat are light, they can ride the gelding.  Zaur and Salki can take the stallion. You and Janus can ride a mare each.]"

                                            > His hand patted the side of her barrel. "[And you? You will run the whole way, pulling a heavy cart?]"

                                            > Thistle experimentally flexed her legs. She had come far from the fat and lazy bureaucrat. She remembered that escape attempt with Rainy Day, when she had pushed her feeble limbs far beyond what they could handle, until her legs had turned to water.

                                            > She was no longer that filly. She had become stronger. Her hoof went to her foreleg and she felt the hard muscle and sinew underneath.

                                            > The mare gave Hisein a firm nod.

                                            "[I can. We will not run the whole way, only until we are out of this land. When we start climbing the mountain, we can slow and let the horses rest. I will rest then, too.]"

                                            > Wordlessly, Hisein pressed his fingers into her coat. From him, that was worth more than praise from the others, and some of the icy dread which suffused her veins melted away. Thistle even managed a tentative smile, as she turned her muzzle into the light breeze.

                                            > They weren't going fast enough to have her mane stream in the wind, and it wasn't long enough for that in any case, but she could feel the air moving through the fur on her face.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle's plan had quickly been explained, and the nomads agreed to put it into action. Zaur, the best among them with needle and thread, was ripping apart one of the tents and fashioning it into loops of leather, as Janus had instructed. Temir had followed the blacksmith into the forest to find a couple of long, willowy branches to serve as shafts. In the meantime, Salki and Hisein were going through their possessions to decide what to leave behind.

                                            > There was little for Thistle to do, so she went to help Bulat with their remaining donkeys. He was untying their burdens so they could re-arrange the load after the other two had picked what was necessary and what could be left behind.

                                            > "[Leave it,]" Thistle's sensitive ears caught Hisein speak. "[We will hunt for what we need. Only bring enough until the mountain.]"

                                            > She didn't hear Salki's response, but when she glanced back she saw the young man emptying one of the leather sacks into a nearby bush. Doubtless some small, hungry animal would have a very lucky day, soon after they'd left.

                                            > Thistle smiled to herself at the thought and focused again on the work she was doing with Bulat. He'd already unloaded two of their five remaining beasts, and he was about to untie the ropes from a third.

                                            "[Wait. Those two, that is Hisein's tent and someone else's?]"

                                            > She pointed with a hoof and the nomad followed her gaze. "[Yes, Hisein's and Temir's.]"

                                            "[Where is your tent?]"

                                            > Bulat glanced around, and patted a pile of cloth on the ground. "[Here.]"

                                            "[Okay. Leave Hisein's donkey. It has the weapons and his tent, we will need all of that. I will unload this one when you have loosened the knots, and you can go to the last one.]"

                                            > The nomad gave her a single nod and went back to untying the ropes which fastened the bundles to the animal's back. He was soon done, and Thistle, although having to stand awkwardly on two legs, began tossing the sacks and bundles from its back.

                                            > Luckily by now the animals were used to her, and no longer reacted with fear when she did things like this and acted how normally only a nomad would.

                                            > She was soon done, and went to pick up Bulat's tent. She hoisted it up with her teeth and slung it across the donkey's back. The animal danced a few steps at the sudden load, but Thistle clicked her tongue and the beast stilled.

                                            > The mare had to walk around and bump the package from that side to center it a little better, then she looked around for other cargo.

                                            > Salki was walking to her, his hands full of various items, which he dropped near her.

                                            "[Good. Tie that on. I will bring you the other things. We are taking Hisein and Bulat's tents, they are the biggest.]"

                                            > The young man grunted something affirmative, then bent down to pass a strap under the donkey's belly. Soon the tent was secured, and Thistle lifted another bundle for the nomad. It wasn't difficult work, and very soon the animal was properly loaded, with all the cargo securely tied with ropes.

                                            > Next to them, Bulat and Hisein were doing the same with one of the other beasts.

                                            "[What else?]"

                                            > Salki pointed with his finger. "[That pile of stuff.]"

                                            > Despite his choice of words, there wasn't very much of it, and Thistle thought they might be able to move a few items from the already-loaded donkeys to the remaining two, so as to make all their burdens slightly lighter. That would enable them to move faster.

                                            "[Come on, let's get it done. Janus and Temir should be back soon, and I should go see if Zaur has made the harness.]"

                                            > As they walked over to the gear they'd decided to bring, Salki asked in a quiet voice: "[If we sleep in the same tent, we will not be able to-]"

                                            > For an instant Thistle's ears flicked down, and a blush threatened to take up residence on her muzzle, but she shook her head and managed to avoid it, even if it was a close thing.

                                            "[No, I guess not. We don't have a choice, the villagers will be looking for us. They saw who took their animals. You and Hisein shot some of them with a bow! They will come, and we must escape. We must move fast.]"

                                            > The young nomad heaved a sad sigh. "[We haven't- not since we came to this village.]"

                                            "[I know,]" the mare said, her tail flicking as she, too, felt the need. "[We will, when we are back.]"

                                            > At that, Salki patted her mane. They bent down to pick up the gear, but Zaur called for her.

                                            "[I think he is ready. I will go.]"

                                            > "[Yes.]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle was trying very hard to sleep in the open air with three snoring humans nearby. She had gotten used to Salki's, and she thought she could eventually fall asleep despite Janus, but adding in Hisein made it almost impossible.

                                            > On top of that, each time she nearly fell asleep, a gust of wind, or a hoot of an owl in the forest, would bring her back to full wakefulness. If was not that, it was one of the nomads getting up to go and relieve himself, or going to take the next watch, which also meant that someone would be returning very soon.

                                            > She was tired enough, and needed the rest, there could be no doubt. Thistle felt the matted and sticky fur around her barrel and down her legs, where rivulets of sweat had run during the brisk pace Hisein had set away from the foreign village. Both she and the horses had worked hard, and it promised to be no easier the next day.

                                            > That, combined with a sleepless night before, should have been enough, no matter the snoring, or the noises of the forest.

                                            > The final nail in her coffin was the worry. More than once that night Hisein had slipped from his horse and fallen back to check on possible pursuit. Each time he came running back, his face dark and worried. He conferred quietly with Salki, but neither of them had gone to tell Thistle what was happening.

                                            > She understood the news wasn't good, because after each such discussion, Salki kept glancing back behind them for a long while.

                                            > They couldn't move any faster, she had been pretty clear on that when the two nomads had asked her. Not without leaving behind the blacksmith's tools she was lugging, and not without risking the horses. Those were the two most important things the group had, so her warnings had been heeded.

                                            > She wondered now, in the dark, if perhaps it might have been better to go just that slight bit faster and further.

                                            > Surely their pursuers had to rest, too, hadn't they?

                                            > The mare groaned in dismay and flopped to her other side. The blanket with which she had half-heartedly covered herself slipped down until it was barely covering her hips, but the night was warm and Thistle didn't care enough to pull it back.

                                            > She shut her eyes tightly and tried to clear her thoughts. Once, a lifetime ago, some of her friends had taken her to try that new Neighponese fad, yoga. She hadn't liked it, but she recalled there was an element of getting your mind to stillness. Or perhaps she was getting it wrong and it was meditation she was thinking of.

                                            > It was no use. She heard footsteps approaching and lifted herself into a sitting position. One of the nomads was coming from the watch, which would mean another session of waking someone else up, shuffling in and out of sleeping cots, and the new watcher stomping off.

                                            > She might as well listen to their exchange and perhaps get some reassurance that all was well in the night.

                                            > It was Temir, and she recognized him mostly by scent when he came closer. To her eyes, he was little more than a darker shadow against the faint, blurry stars. She tracked him with her ears as he went to Hisein, and heard the slight rustle of animal furs as the older hunter was shaken by his shoulder.

                                            > He woke instantly, without the slightest sound. Temir must have seen Hisein's eyes open, because he began whispering immediately.

                                            > It was just slightly too low for Thistle to understand, so she shrugged her blanket off and walked over to them.

                                            > "[... went the other way, but maybe they'll come back. Bulat will stay near and send Zaur to warn us, but maybe-]"

                                            > Her heart began to beat faster, and before Thistle could ask the youth to repeat himself, Hisein lifted himself up and interrupted: "[Wake everyone. We have to go.]"

                                            "[Why? Are they coming this way?]"

                                            > She kept her voice to a whisper in a subconscious attempt not to wake the others, despite Hisein's words to the contrary.

                                            > Temir repeated his message: "[They are near. I don't know if they know where we are, but what else could it be? They just missed our camp, it looks like they're going too much to the south.]"

                                            > "[They plan to circle us while we sleep and wait for us on the path.]"

                                            > "[How? If they knew where we are, why not attack us at night?]"

                                            > Hisein shook his head as he began rolling up his sleeping mat. "[They don't know where we are, but they know we will take the road. We can't move as fast with horses in the forest. Some of them are going ahead. The road curves south, remember?]"

                                            > He fell silent for a while, deep in thought, or perhaps recollection, then continued: "[They will find the road again in the south and wait there. The others will follow our trail. They must know they are getting closer.]"

                                            "[They are getting closer?!]"

                                            > Thistle had expected as much, but having it confirmed still clenched her gut in a grip of sudden fear.

                                            "[How can they be so fast?]"

                                            > Rather than answer her, Hisein turned to Temir. "[What did you see? Tell me,]" he ordered.

                                            > "[Some men, walking in the dark. They have long metal blades, but no fire. The moon was enough, as it was for us.]"

                                            > "[Horses?]"

                                            > "[No,]" Temir replied, shaking his head.

                                            "[What does that mean?]" Thistle asked.

                                            > Hisein leaned down to run his fingers through her mane. It was far more comforting of a gesture than it had any right to be, and for a moment Thistle closed her eyes and simply enjoyed the warmth of his touch.

                                            > "[They left the horses with the other group. They will go ahead and wait in ambush by the road somewhere. The rest will keep following us. We are slow in the forest, and they faster. They do not ride double, remember? If we take to the road, the first group will attack us with bows. It is what I would do.]"

                                            > It sounded hopeless, and Thistle's ears wilted in the dark.

                                            "[What do we do?]"

                                            > The hunter was silent for a few more moments, then bent down to pick up his cot. "[We show them who they are messing with!]"

                                            > "[Attack?!]" Temir exclaimed, his voice at the same time eager and frightened. The thought also occurred to Thistle, and she swallowed a painful lump even as her tail tried to creep further between her legs.

                                            > "[Almost, but no,]" Hisein said. "[There is a river a hands-width away. I remember the road crossed a wide, shallow bed. It must get deeper to the north-east. We will go there.]"

                                            "[Will crossing the river throw off the pursuit?]"

                                            > Both Temir and Hisein chuckled at her question, and the older nomad went to pat her mane again. "[No, they are not as stupid as that. Which is why we will wade in the middle of the river, and we will go back to the south-west.]"

                                            "[What? Why back?]"

                                            > At the same time, Temir pointed out: "[What about Janus' cart? It will sink in the river. We will not get it through the mud.]"

                                            > That stopped the conversation for a moment as Hisein thought. "[We will load the things on the horses, and we will walk. We only need about a thousand, maybe two thousand paces.]"

                                            "[Then what?]"

                                            > "[Then we will catch those sons of donkeys from behind.]"

                                            "[There are more of them than us!]"

                                            > Hisein gave a shrug. "[We are better at hiding. Only some of us will go, without horses. We will hit them with arrows and escape. They will be in a confusion. Maybe they will think someone else is attacking them from behind. They will believe they have two enemies.]"

                                            > It sounded doubtful, but there was a growing urgency, an eagerness behind Hisein's words and Thistle knew she wouldn't be able to convince him otherwise. She also saw Temir nodding, and the glint of his teeth in the moonlight as he smiled at whatever glorious battle he was imagining.

                                            > For a moment she considered trying to argue them out of it, but before a single word could escape her mouth she clamped it shut. She didn't want these foreigners to kill her, or Salki, or any of the others.

                                            > Despite that existential fear, she couldn't quite suppress a small flame of anger.

                                            "[This wouldn't have happened if you and Salki didn't kill some of them with your bows yesterday!]"

                                            > "[We didn't,]" Hisein said.

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > "[I told Salki to aim at their feet. We only wanted them to drop the torches. They were not wounded very badly.]"

                                            > Thistle didn't have a reply to that, so she simply snorted softly to herself and went to pick up her things. On the way, she could wake up Salki and explain what was happening. She heard the other two moving to Janus.

                                            > It would be an early start, and with luck, the next night she would be so tired and exhausted that'd she'd have no trouble sleeping, despite the snoring and the forest and the worry.

                                            > Then again, if Hisein's plan went off the way the nomad expected, perhaps the worry would be less, too.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was down to Thistle, Janus, their remaining donkeys, and the four horses. Guided by Hisein's expertise, they'd hidden in a dense copse of trees, so at least it was shady. Unfortunately, the fact that they had waded through the river's mud, meant they all stank.

                                            > Thistle had thought she was beyond caring about such mundane matters, but a combination of pony, human, and horse stink was testing her stoicism. It didn't help when the beasts simply made dung where they stood.

                                            > They were not to move, unless their lives were threatened, those had been the instructions. The nomads had all gone with their bows to attack.

                                            > True, neither Hisein nor Salki had called it an 'attack', but that was what it was. They would sneak up behind the group of men who were chasing them down. Doubtless, according to Hisein, the enemy would split up to search the banks of the river, having easily guessed the nomads' intentions to hide their tracks.

                                            > That gave him and the hunters an opportunity to harass a smaller group of villagers.

                                            > Some people were sure to get killed, and Thistle really hoped it would be none of her friends. They were expert at this kind of thing, after all. Even so, the awareness of the inevitable conflict still left a bad taste in her mouth, but at least the villagers were the ones pursuing them.

                                            > In a small way, they deserved it, especially if Hisein had told the truth that he and Salki had only lightly wounded a couple of people that other night. They should not have chased them so hard, and so persistently, over a couple of stolen horses, not when one of theirs had tricked the nomads into buying a gelding in the first place!

                                            > No, in this situation the nomads were in the right, and if they could have evaded this senseless pursuit, they would have. Hisein and Salki would only fight because they had absolutely no other choice.

                                            > It irked Thistle that they all seemed to relish the prospect, and that even the younger three hunters had brightened up at the news. That was something she would have to work with Salki to change. Violence should be avoided whenever possible.

                                            > "You think they win? No dead, you friends?" Janus suddenly broke the silence.

                                            > The mare swished her tail, as much in annoyance at being disturbed from her thoughts, as to swat away a few pesky flies on her flank.

                                            "Yes. Hisein is our best hunter, and Salki is probably second best. They will be fine."

                                            > She wanted to go on and explain that it was the younger three she was worried about, but she couldn't bring herself to engage in another lengthy, complicated explanation.

                                            > Thistle was spared having to make up some excuse when one of the mares gave a shrill whinny and reared up. Something was wrong!

                                            > She hurried over, but the blacksmith was faster and had the horse's halter in his hand. He put himself between the mare and the other animals and spoke a word of command.

                                            > Soon he had the problematic mare backed a short distance away. Thistle followed them.

                                            "What was it?" she asked.

                                            > The little outbreak had happened when she wasn't looking, and she could draw no parallels from her experience with the donkeys. It was obvious they were quite a different kind of beast than these foreign horses.

                                            > The ironic part was that the horses' body language felt more familiar to her, even when it made no sense. Interacting with them was right in the middle of the uncanny valley.

                                            > Janus waved his hands expansively, indicating the mare and the other horses. "Mare fight mare," he said. "Maybe soon, they soon-"

                                            > He switched to his native word and it was so complex that Thistle had no chance of trying to decipher it. She wasn't sure she could even repeat it, but she tried anyway:

                                            "Sugar-verve-el?"

                                            > Her splayed ears and raised eyebrows told Janus exactly what she wanted to know. His brow furrowed as he, in turn, tried to come up with an equestrian word.

                                            > "Zugarvorvel. You know? This," he said and indicated with his hands. Thistle watched the gesture for a while as he repeated it. His thumb and first finger touched and formed a kind of circle. The third finger of his other hand was passing into the loop and out repeatedly.

                                            > Suddenly she understood and her face grew red.

                                            "Make small horse?" she ventured.

                                            > "Yes! Soon, maybe, mare want make small horse. Other mare no want. They fight." He gave an exaggerated shrug, and said: "Horse, you know?" as if that would explain everything.

                                            > That was good news for Thistle and the nomads. If one of the mares would go into estrus soon, that would mean their heard would grow quite soon. However, right at the moment it was an inconvenience. If the mares were prone to fighting under the influence of all these hormones, they would have to be handled more carefully during this, already tricky, time.

                                            > Maybe it would be simple, and all they had to do was to keep the mares a short distance apart. Thistle hoped so, but it was too hot, and too stinky, and she was too sweaty to work this out through Janus' broken equestrian just then. It could wait until the evening.

                                            > After the hunters were back, they would probably have to hurry, and the animals would be too tired to fight.

                                            > As if her thoughts had summoned them, Thistle heard the sound of hurrying footsteps, trampling through the thick forest underbrush.

                                            > Her ears perked up and swiveled, and Janus immediately realized something was up. His hand went to the mare's nose, in an effort to keep the animal calm and silent.

                                            > There were multiple people approaching, and Thistle couldn't immediately identify if they were her friends. She mentally reprimanded herself. She should have paid more attention to how the nomads' soft leather boots sounded in the forest!

                                            > She tensed up and experimentally dug her forehooves into the ground. If it was the enemy, she would only get one chance to buck, so it better go to the right place!

                                            > As the people drew nearer, her muscles tensed and her ears laid flat against her head. She crouched a little, so as to be ready to spring at a moment's notice. Behind her, she heard a soft rustle as Janus drew his knife from his belt.

                                            > She wished she had realized the danger sooner, so she and the blacksmith could have taken spears from one of the nomads' packs. It was too late now.

                                            > "[Thistle?]" came Hisein's call.

                                            > The mare nearly folded down in relief, and she hurried toward the sound.

                                            "[We're here. We're waiting!]"

                                            > His footsteps came nearer and the big nomad burst into the bushes, followed closely by Zaur, Bulat and Temir.

                                            > Her heart nearly stopped, and the sudden stammer in her voice barely allowed her to speak.

                                            "[S-S-Sal- Salki?!]"

                                            > For a moment Hisein looked at her strangely, then his face cleared. "[He is fine,]" he told her, and for the second time in as many breaths Thistle's legs nearly gave way. "[We were separated. Zaur is wounded. We have to go.]"

                                            > Only now did she notice that the younger hunter's leg was covered in bright, red blood.

                                            "[What happened? Are you okay?]"

                                            > She hurried toward him, but Hisein put his hand in her way and stopped her. "[Not now. No time. Get the blacksmith things, get the horses and ride north. Temir knows the way. Salki will meet you!]"

                                            "[And you?]"

                                            > Hisein's face grew grim. "[I will give you time and lead them the other way.]"

                                            > Without conscious control, Thistle's head began shaking in a firm no, and she threw her forelegs around his thigh.

                                            "[No! No, Hisein! There has to be a different way!]"

                                            > He put his hand on her mane for a moment, then cupped her muzzle and lifted it so she was looking at his face. His grin was confident. "[Don't worry. I am not so stupid to get killed by these donkey-sons. I will shoot arrows at them, and lead them back to the river. Then I will lose them and come find you. Salki will know where to go, we will meet there.]"

                                            > Despite the bravado in his voice, Thistle was worried sick.

                                            "[Please be fine!]"

                                            > Only now was she realizing just how much the stoic, calm nomad really meant to her. At first he had just been the hated Willow's friend, but now she saw him for who he really was. A moderating influence on a stupid boy whose mother had much political clout and who might become a chieftain someday.

                                            > Pretty much what she was trying to do with Salki.

                                            > Over the past few weeks, Thistle thought, they had become fast friends. She would need his experience and the esteem the camp showed Hisein. With his and Salki's help, they could start building a real society.

                                            > The man's grin just widened. He gave her an insolent wink, then patted her cheek and pulled his leg free of her grip. She let him go.

                                            > "[Go now!]" he said and pointed.

                                            > Zaur was already sitting on the mare, supported by Temir. He looked a little pale, and his face was drawn into a grimace of pain, but he gave the mare a smile and a nod.

                                            > On the other side, Janus had climbed onto the mare he had calmed. That just left Bulat, who was sitting on the gelding and held the stallion's lead rope in his hand.

                                            > "[Shame we do not have time to put the blacksmith things on the horse, so you could move faster,]" Hisein said. "[The ropes are too small, they will not be able to pull it. You will have to do it, Thistle.]"

                                            > She very nearly gave the man a salute, but realized in time he wouldn't understand it.

                                            "[I'll do it. You make sure you get there alive, too!]"

                                            > "[That's the plan!]"

                                            > Thistle didn't say that his last plan hadn't panned out the way they wanted, either. She raised one hoof in a wave, and then the nomad was gone, running back through the undergrowth in the direction they had come from.

                                            > Everyone was waiting on her and she still needed to get the harness on!

                                            "[Bulat, help me with the ropes!]"

                                            > The youth passed the stallion's rope to Janus, then slid down from his horse to do just that.

                                            > It had happened so quickly, and so differently from all the scenarios she had imagined, that Thistle could only stand there, shell shocked, as the nomad did his work.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > There was neither sight, nor sound of any pursuit, so Temir and Bulat assured Thistle. She couldn't tell on her own, not with veritable rivers of sweat pouring into her eyes and her rattling, thumping heartbeat filling her ears.

                                            > They'd set a gruelling, relentless pace after Hisein had gone back to buy them some time. Despite her earth pony strength, and the months of work which had hardened her muscles, Thistle wasn't sure she could take much more.

                                            > More than once she peered back, shaking her head to fling sweat from her eyes, to check whether the little cart she was pulling still had wheels. It felt as if the heavy anvil was biting into the soft ground, like an anchor.

                                            > The crude harness of ropes and leather strips was digging painfully into her chest and shoulders, and droplets of blood, mingled with sweat, left traces down her forelegs.

                                            > They had been trudging through the thick underbrush for what felt like hours, although it couldn't have been more than two, judging by the position of the sun, which was beating down on her back nearly vertically.

                                            > Some of the way was in the shade, which offered brief moments of respite, but that merely rendered the heat harder to bear when they returned into the open.

                                            > Through it all, Thistle kept stubbornly placing one hoof in front of the other. It would be worse if they got caught.

                                            > Eventually, she had no more to give.

                                            "[Stop,]" she croaked.

                                            > Without waiting to see if the others would do so, the mare slowed to a halt and hung her head. Her lungs strained for all the oxygen they could get, and her tongue, fat and sticky, lolled out of her mouth.

                                            > She'd had the presence of mind to stop in the shade of a big oak tree, and the ground felt marginally cooler than the air when Thistle sat. All her limbs were twitching, sending small jolts of pain from her otherwise numb muscles.

                                            > Thistle wasn't aware of much around her, but she felt a strong hand lift her muzzle up, and fingers poke something leathery through her lips. Moments later, warm, stale water splashed onto her tongue and she nearly inhaled the first mouthful.

                                            > Swallowing was a reflex, painful with her raw throat, but necessary to preserve her life. The second mouthful was easier.

                                            > Someone was talking, in a language she thought she understood. Thistle forced her eyes up and sought out Temir's face. "[...die on us!]" he was saying. "[Fuck, you should have said sooner!]"

                                            > He was scolding her, and Thistle's ears splayed out of sheer reflex. She let them, too busy concentrating on the life-giving water she was gulping down. Her muscles and tendons felt tight, and both her hind legs were starting to cramp. Thistle tried to relax them.

                                            > She concentrated on her midriff and imagined a plane across it, like the surface of water. It was cool and soothing as it moved down. One of her legs spasmed and kicked out, which tossed her hindquarters to one side, but Thistle kept herself upright on her forelegs. She pulled away from the water skin for a moment to breathe.

                                            > Something warm tricked down her thigh, and she looked, half expecting to see a rivulet of blood from where the harness had broken her skin.

                                            > It was yellow. She hadn't really felt her bladder loosen, and once she saw it wasn't life-threatening she ignored it and clamped her mouth on the little leather spout again.

                                            > "[Wait, I will get another bag,]" Temir said. The sack in his hands was limp and nearly empty, but despite that Thistle sucked down a few more mouthfuls.

                                            > On her other side she became aware of a different, larger presence. Janus, she recognized him by his smell, shared between the man and his little cart she'd been pulling along.

                                            > "There water not far," he said and pointed. His outstretched hand indicted a direction very nearly where they had been going before she had made them stop. "Water. Drink. Rest. Only small go, yes?"

                                            > Temir was giving the man a curious glance and Thistle translated.

                                            "[Water, near. Short distance, that way.]"

                                            > The young nomad gave a nod. "[Can you go further?]" he asked her.

                                            > Thistle tried to get her hind legs under her once again. She'd stopped peeing, and after a few false starts she stood up. She took a step, but the harness bit into her shoulders and she whimpered in pain.

                                            > At that, Janus jumped closer to inspect the crude leather and rope affair. His face looked grim as he peeled the straps away from her, and soon after he pushed on her head. "Back," he ordered her, and the mare took an obedient step.

                                            > That allowed the blacksmith to lift the harness from her body.

                                            > "[Fuck,]" Temir said.

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > She twisted her head down to see. There were ugly, purple lines down her chest, jagged edges in a few places leaking blood.

                                            > "No pull," Janus said firmly. "No more or pony die."

                                            "We don't have a choice. We have to keep going."

                                            > He shook his head and took the wooden poles firmly in his hands. "I pull now. You no pull."

                                            > He was probably right, and when Thistle jerked her head to try and nod, her vision went blurry and the world spun around her. She had to brace her forelegs firmly on the ground to stay upright. Once again her gaze went down, to the faint, diluted streaks of blood matting her fur.

                                            > If she tried to keep going, even at a slower pace, for much longer, she would die of heatstroke, or perhaps her heart would simply give out.

                                            > Temir seemed to agree with the blacksmith, having understood the general gist of it even if he didn't know the actual words. "[Come here,]" he said and grabbed a tuft of Thistle's mane to gently urge her forward.

                                            > She glanced at the blacksmith's cart, but then lost interest as Temir led her to the horses. Zaur was still sitting on the mare, his hand pressed against his thigh.

                                            "[Where is Bulat?]"

                                            > "[He went to look for Salki. We should be close to where Hisein said to go if we got separated.]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head in confusion.

                                            "[How? You don't know this land!]"

                                            > "[We know enough. We came through here on the way in. There is a bend in the river and the bed is shallow. We can cross, and head through the forest to that dead village.]"

                                            > The mare shrugged to herself a little. It seemed the nomads' navigational ability was bordering on what some of the best pegasi could do. Perhaps it made sense, since their life was spent moving through the landscape, following their old paths and finding their accustomed camping grounds.

                                            > She focused on the important bit:

                                            "[Salki will be there?]"

                                            > "[I hope so, in the clearing past the river.]"

                                            > Before she could ask any more questions, Temir put his arms under her barrel and lifted. His elbow pressed into her tender, bleeding skin, and the mare hissed in pain. The nomad muttered something apologetic, and then she was laid across the large mare's back. Zaur placed one hand on her back to steady her.

                                            > "[You are okay to ride like this? We will not go very fast,]" Bulat asked.

                                            > Thistle opened her mouth to say something, but Zaur beat her and she realized the question had been intended for the injured hunter, not her.

                                            > "[I will manage.]"

                                            > Bulat gave Thistle's flank a friendly pat. "[I will take one of the other horses. Janus will pull his cart. We can make it across the river.]"

                                            > At this, Thistle gave a small nod, then let her head hang. It wasn't a particularly comfortable position, and her raw skin was pulled uncomfortably, but it allowed her to fully stretch all four legs, which was nice.

                                            > Her belly was also full of water, and already the precious liquid was clearing up the fog in her head. Her hearing was back, now that her heart and her breathing had slowed down. She didn't even have to pee, thanks to the earlier accident. She thought about trying to wipe herself clean, at least with a hoof, but decided against it.

                                            > She could always wash her fur in the river. Some of it dripped down the big mare's barrel, but Thistle didn't think she would mind very much. If they found Salki, their escape would be perfect.

                                            > Correction: If they found Salki and then Hisein caught up with them.

                                            > Thistle heaved a sad sigh, fearing for the big nomad's life.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Somehow the jolting and rocking of the mare under her lulled Thistle into a gentle stupor. Her muscles didn't burn anymore, and the cuts on her chest and shoulders didn't throb. Even the air felt less like an oven. It was quite pleasant, actually.

                                            > A few times they stopped so that the nomads could confer, but other than flicking a lazy ear in their direction, Thistle didn't join the conversation. She kept her eyes shut and enjoyed the steady rhythm of the horse's gait.

                                            > She woke up from this reverie when she heard running water. A glance around showed her that they had found the place where the river could be forded, but the glint of sun on the shallow waves blinded her and she hurriedly closed her eyes.

                                            > It was too bright out!

                                            > Even with her eyelids tightly shut, she still saw the red and purple afterimages of the blazing white sky. Thistle grunted in annoyance and pressed her face into the large mare's withers. This nearly unbalanced her, and she had to scrabble with her hind hoof to keep herself steady. The movement made her whimper as her sleeping muscles became red-hot lines of fire for a brief moment.

                                            > Zaur's hand on her back pressed her down, conferring some support and stability, and Thistle relaxed again.

                                            > "[It is not much longer now,]" he told her. "[If Hisein was right, we will find Salki in the clearing where we camped before.]"

                                            > She opened her eyes again to look at him, and saw the lines of pain and worry on his face before she had to avert her gaze from the bright, burning sky.

                                            > In an effort to keep the terrible sun out of her head, Thistle wrapped her forelegs over her head.

                                            > It helped.

                                            >...

                                            > Almost immediately after that, at least in her perception, she felt Zaur's hand shaking her. "[Wake up,]" the nomad was saying. "[We're here.]"

                                            > For a few seconds she didn't know what the words meant, but when she drew in her breath in a half-yawn, Thistle got a noseful of horse. She remembered that she was being carried by the mare they had stolen.

                                            > She opened her eyes carefully, keeping her head pointed toward the ground, so the impossible glow in the sky wouldn't hurt as much.

                                            > This time there was no blazing light, no splitting headache. Thistle blinked a few times and saw that the sun was barely past its zenith. They hadn't travelled far. Had she really slept?

                                            > She didn't remember anything after the river.

                                            "[How long? How long back was the river?]"

                                            > Zaur lifted a hand to shade his face and looked at the sun. "[Maybe a hand? Not more.]"

                                            > Half an hour or so, Thistle estimated crudely. She didn't have a very good feel for how fast the sun moved, nor did she have a clock to really measure it, so translating it into hours and minutes was just a bad, imprecise crutch for her equestrian mind.

                                            "[I- slept?]"

                                            > "[I didn't want to wake you. You looked like you needed it. Here, turn this way,]" Zaur said and guided her face toward him with a few fingers under her chin. When she obeyed, he took his hand from her back and cupped her cheeks. His thumbs brushed through her fur, and he picked out bits of... something.

                                            > All she felt were tiny tugs on the sensitive hair around her eyes. She couldn't see what he was pulling out. It was quite pleasurable, though.

                                            "[Mm, what are you doing?]"

                                            > He was silent while his fingers brushed through her fluff a few more times, then he let her go and answered: "[I don't know. Dust? Maybe tears, or sweat. It was dry.]"

                                            "[Oh.]"

                                            > "[We will have to wash your wounds. I don't know how we will pull Janus' anvil now. I hope Salki is here, so he can decide.]"

                                            > At those words Thistle remembered why she was in so much pain and covered with welts and cuts.

                                            "[Janus? Where is he?]"

                                            > "[He is fine, although he curses a lot. He sweated more than you did, and he only pulled the cart a short way.]" The young hunter chuckled as he said it.

                                            "[Salki? Is he-]" she began, but the sudden thought made her swallow an unexpected lump.

                                            > This time Zaur was silent for a while, and his hand went back to stroke her back, before he replied: "[I don't know. I don't see him. I can't get off. My leg.]" He scanned their immediate surroundings and raised his voice: "[Temir! Temir. Come help Thistle down!]"

                                            > The other nomad hurried to them. His hands wiggled under Thistle's belly and barrel. He brushed her teats, but she hardly even realized it.

                                            > Temir wasn't as tall, so it proved to be a challenge for him to lift the mare. Zaur helped keep her steady, but in the end she nearly fell and the poor lad barely caught her in time. The jolt made her hiss in sudden pain, as her limbs were forced into movement, and her skin tugged at the wounds around her withers.

                                            > Slowly, Temir lowered her to the ground, but Thistle's hind legs simply folded up underneath her. She couldn't make them do anything. Luckily, she was able to remain sitting, braced on her forelegs.

                                            "[I'll be fine. Thank you. Did you see Salki?]"

                                            > Temir shook his head mutely, and Thistle tried once more to get her hooves under her. This time she was able to move her legs, even if they wouldn't yet support her.

                                            > All she needed was to keep working at it, stretch her poor, abused muscles, and she would be fine.

                                            > There would be Tartarus to pay in the morning, but at least they'd escaped. Well, she assumed they did. The other nomads wouldn't be so calm if they were still in danger.

                                            > She was staring at the ground, focusing on working one of her hind ankles, when Zaur shouted: "[Salki! Bulat has him!]"

                                            > The words nearly got her upright, but in the end Thistle simply flopped to her other side so she could gaze in the direction Zaur was pointing.

                                            > It was as if a heavy rock had rolled from her heart. There was no mistaking that tall figure, leaning on Bulat as they hobbled closer.

                                            > Hurt, but alive. It couldn't help but bring a smile to her face.

                                            > "[I found him leaning against a tree,]" Bulat said. "[Small cuts, nothing serious. The enemy was dead. Three men!]"

                                            > At those words, the other two nomads raised their voices in a boisterous cheer. Even Janus joined in, although he didn't understand what they were saying.

                                            > Thistle thought she saw Salki flash them a grin and raise his hand, as if to modestly ward off the praise.

                                            > "[It wasn't hard,]" he said, "[they were farmers, not warriors. I just needed a small rest. Hisein said to wait for you here. Where is he?]"

                                            > The mood immediately dampened, although not as much as Thistle had expected. "[He went back to buy us time,]" Bulat said, the first one to break the silence.

                                            > Salki thought for a moment, then his face cleared up. "[He will be fine. We will wait here. Bulat, let me down and make a fire. Temir, take care of the horses. Zaur-]"

                                            > Only then did he notice the youth, still sitting on the mare. "[Are you hurt?]"

                                            > "[Not badly,]" Zaur quickly said, "[only a scratch. I will be fine tomorrow.]"

                                            > This gave Salki pause, and he looked to the blacksmith. "[You still have the things. Oh, what happened to you?]" That last bit was directed to Thistle, who had dragged herself closer to where Salki was sitting.

                                            "[Nothing. Tired.]"

                                            > At her modest words, Bulat came closer and patted her back affectionately. "[Don't listen to Thistle. She dragged the blacksmith things from where we left them, to the river. The sun was not yet highest in the sky when we found the river!]"

                                            > That earned her an admiring, nearly disbelieving look from Salki. "[Wow!]" he said, sounding for all the world like the young boy she'd met when she first came into the nomad camp.

                                            > It was making her blush and she had to avert her eyes.

                                            > "[Okay, Bulat, help Zaur down. Watch for enemies. Temir, scout around in the circle, make sure there is no one on our trail. When you're back, you and Bulat will take first watch. Me and Janus will take second. Then you in the early morning. We will wait for Hisein until evening tomorrow, then we will leave in the night.]"

                                            > The others considered this plan, and seemed to find no fault with it. Salki sounded decisive, in charge, and seemed to know what he was doing. It filled Thistle's heart with pride.

                                            > "[Do you think they will still search for us? We bloodied them this morning, and when the ones you killed don't come back, they will know we are no easy prey. No doubt Hisein will take some more.]"

                                            > Salki gave this a moment's thought. "[You are probably right, but we should not lose our care. We will leave in the night and head for the mountains. Hisein knows this - if he doesn't find us before then, he will follow us and meet us ahead.]"

                                            > His reasoning was good, but Thistle couldn't help lowering her head in sadness. She couldn't shake the feeling that Hisein's mission had been a suicide one, and that the big hunter had known it.

                                            > Part of her wanted to go back and look for him, even while the rest of her know just how monumentally stupid that would be.

                                            > In this matter, she thought, she would have to fully trust Salki's judgement. His hunter's instincts were apparently serving him well.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > A hand shook her awake in the darkness and Thistle groaned in pain as she turned away from it. Her eyes were sticky, but even when she finally opened them, she was surrounded by gloom.

                                            > There was no moon, and the only light came from a torch.

                                            "[Bulat?]"

                                            > "[Wake up. We are moving,]" the nomad told her.

                                            > They'd discussed this when they met up with Salki, but Thistle couldn't believe it was time already. She felt as if she had barely lain down a few minutes ago, but her limbs were stiff and when she tentatively stretched her hind legs, quick bursts of pain shot up her nerves.

                                            "[Ow! I don't think I can...]"

                                            > The nomad watched her in silence for a few seconds, and she could not read his expression in the dark. Her ears folded and Thistle mentally braced herself to force her poor legs to work and climb to her hooves.

                                            > Bulat's hand came down to ruffle the short fur on her side. "[Take your time, I will pack your things.]"

                                            > True to his word, the nomad began gathering up the few animal fur blankets she'd unpacked in the afternoon, not so much because it was cold, but so she wouldn't sleep on the itchy grass.

                                            > Thistle slid off the makeshift cot and began to carefully work her limbs, testing just how far they could bend without her tendons feeling like they would snap. She rolled to her back and gripped a hind leg with both hooves so she could pull it against her belly.

                                            > The pain made her wince, but after the first jolt it became bearable. She thought, as she moved and warmed up, that it was getting better and her joints moved a bit more freely.

                                            "[What- hah- what about Janus' cart?]" she asked.

                                            > Her nomad friend didn't answer until he'd finished tying her cot into a roll, then waved a hand in the direction of the others. "[He is making it so the horses can pull it. We will not go as fast now and we can walk. Only Salki and Zaur have to ride.]"

                                            "[Huh. That's good. I'm glad we don't have to leave it behind.]"

                                            > She suspected the crafty blacksmith would have been able to make himself another anvil sooner or later, but that, along with a few bronze ingots, would give him an important head start. Bronze, or perhaps it was brass? She couldn't quite tell the metals apart, not from a quick glimpse she'd caught when Janus had shown them the contents.

                                            > There was probably suitable ore in the nomads' lands, but it would have to be found and dug up, and smelted, which would take a lot of time and effort. If the blacksmith could immediately produce a few useful items and, perhaps, a few weapons, his place in the nomad camp would be cemented.

                                            > She'd told him as much, and Janus had agreed. He'd offered to start forging weapons for the nomads while they were on the way, but she'd declined, especially once she understood that he'd first have to make coal, or they'd have to steal some from the next village they passed.

                                            > That meant there was little choice but to lug the heavy thing over the mountains and pray to Celestia its wheels didn't break until they were well clear of danger.

                                            > If that happened...

                                            > Hisein had said they would use the donkeys and the horses to carry the contents, and the rest of them would walk. They were used to it, after all.

                                            > As these thoughts rushed through her quickening mind, Thistle finished her stretches and tried tentatively to put some weight on her limbs. It was uncomfortable, and her legs had a tendency to buckle, but with some concentration she could stand.

                                            > A test step proved that she would be able to walk on her own, which was a relief. Being carried by one of the horses was both uncomfortable and humiliating.

                                            > She glanced at the bundle of furs which had been her bed, and considered trying to get it on her back. She crouched for a moment to test how stable her legs were, and nearly fell flat on her muzzle as, at the crucial moment, her muscles gave way.

                                            > There was little choice: she wouldn't be able to carry any significant burden and her ears were already wilting as she cleared her throat to admit this to Bulat.

                                            > The words died in her throat when the nomad hefted the package onto his shoulder and walked off in the direction of their animals. Lacking anything else to do, Thistle clamped her mouth shut and followed him.

                                            > Her other friends had already loaded up the donkeys and one of the horses. The remaining three beasts were at the centre of some activity.

                                            > On two of them, she saw, Salki and Zaur were already sitting, while Janus was explaining how to use the makeshift reins he'd produced out of an old tent. This involved much repetition and arm-waving, but the two were holding the loop of leather in both hands in what at least looked like a proper grip.

                                            > Thistle had no personal experience for this, but since the reins connected firmly to each horse's halter, she guessed it would work to help direct the animals' heads wherever the nomads wished to go.

                                            > The third horse, she saw, already had a crude collar made of quickly chopped branches, wrapped with a ribbon of leather to make it smoother.

                                            "[Where did all this leather come from?]" she asked no one in particular.

                                            > Bulat, who was standing next to her and watching the proceedings, answered: "[Janus had them in his pack. I think he cut up one of the tents we left behind.]"

                                            "[Clever.]"

                                            > The others became aware of her presence, and the lesson in horseback riding came to an abrupt end. Janus hurried closer and crouched down next to the mare. "You well?" he asked. "Let me look. You hurt from cart. Let me look."

                                            > He motioned to Bulat, who lowered his torch so it lit up Thistle's coat. She blinked in the sudden light and averted her face, lest it completely ruin her night vision.

                                            > A hiss escaped her as the blacksmith poked and prodded around her shoulders, examining the cuts where the harness had bitten into her flesh.

                                            > "Not good," he murmured. "You need water. Clean water. Otherwise it will give you heat."

                                            > The particular choice of words made Thistle's ears jump forward, and she took an involuntary step back.

                                            "Heat?"

                                            > "You know!" Janus said, punctuated by more arm waving. "Not feel well. Weak. Heat."

                                            "Oh. Fever. Yes, I know."

                                            > She hadn't thought of it until this moment, but he was right. She would have to clean her wounds and hope they wouldn't get infected. She'd tried to explain to her nomad friends once why wounds would get infected if not cleaned, and sometimes even despite it, but she doubted they had believed her.

                                            > The important part was that they knew the simple cause and effect: wounds had to be kept clean, or the person would contract a fever and possibly die.

                                            > Unfortunately, 'clean' was a relative term, and some of the camp nomads used some very questionable materials and methods. She'd seen more than one child with river mud plastered on their skin.

                                            > She shook her head of these thoughts for now, and looked at Salki.

                                            "[We will need to find a stream. I must wash my wounds.]"

                                            > He gave it some thought, then asked: "[Bulat? Did you see a stream when you scouted around?]"

                                            > "[Yes! That way, maybe two thousand paces,]" he replied immediately and held out his arm.

                                            > "[We will go and fill our water skins, and let the animals drink. Then we will turn north-east and head for the mountains.]"

                                            > He was forgetting a very important detail, and Thistle's ears wilted.

                                            "[What about Hisein?]"

                                            > There was an uncomfortable silence, until Salki broke it at last: "[We cannot go back. It is important we get these horses and Janus back to our people. If Hisein is alive, he will catch us. He is our best tracker, and he will be able to move faster than we.]"

                                            > The mare closed her eyes, then gave the tiniest of nods. She hadn't expected anything else, and a part of her wanted to argue. They should go back and look for him.

                                            > What if the man was lying in the forest, wounded and unable to get up? But for an hour's walking, they might find him.

                                            > What if he was dead?

                                            > Salki had beaten his pursuers, but who was to say all their enemies were simple peasants? If they had only a couple of hunters in the other group or, worse, warriors, then Thistle didn't think even Hisein could hold his own for long, not if he was trying to slow them down to give her and the others time to escape.

                                            > She let her head hang low for a few moments, burdened by these dark, sad thoughts, then she straightened up and heaved a sign. Ponies hoped, perhaps even more so than nomads. She would hold on to that hope, at least until they reached the mountains.

                                            > If Hisein was able, he would find them before then.

                                            > "[Okay, let's go,]" Salki said.

                                            > As if on a pre-arranged signal, Bulat hurried to the front, accompanied by Temir, who held his bow with an arrow nocked. Janus went to the donkeys and got them moving, and Salki and Zaur spurred their two horses forward.

                                            > The moment Thistle thought that word she looked at their feet, but of course there were no metal spurs attached to their soft, leather wraps.

                                            > She wondered for a moment if she should introduce that ancient Equestrian cruelty to Earth. Maybe they already had it? For all she knew, Janus would whip up some shiny, bronze spurs for them as soon as they came home.

                                            > Despite the danger, and the worry over Hisein, she wondered what it would be like if Salki got a pair and used them on her.

                                            > Her tail flicked a few times and she chased that image out of her mind before it made her blush like a first-year school filly.

                                            > Thistle snorted, half in self-derision, half in amusement, and began to walk. Moving was helping her stressed muscles, and exercise would soothe the ache, as long as they didn't go too fast. There was also cool water to look forward to.

                                            > As they left their clearing, she glanced back and tried to pierce the gloom under the trees. It would have been better if Hisein had caught up with them.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The pain came and went in waves, but to Thistle's relief it wasn't debilitating, and seemed to be getting better as the day progressed. When it became too bad, and she couldn't go any further, one of the hunters lifted her up to Zaur's horse so she could rest her legs.

                                            > That was utterly embarrassing, and quite uncomfortable, but it was the only way they could keep moving. Their progress was slower than before, which was to be expected, but despite their wounded and the exhaustion they must all have felt, the group made good distance toward the white-capped mountains.

                                            > They stopped only for a short, cold lunch and Thistle did her best to eat some of the unpalatable grass while the nomads attacked their bits of dried and smoked meat. She knew they still had a whole bag of grain somewhere, but no one had wanted to go look for it and she hadn't insisted.

                                            > The grass would be enough to stave off the worst hunger until that evening, when Salki promised they would cook. That was important. Thistle knew she would have to pull Janus' little cart as soon as she was able and over the mountains, and she would need all the calories she could get for that trip.

                                            > It was just barely possible to get the horse to pull it, but the harness was unfit and the animal kept trying to shake, or brush it off. More than once the cart had gotten stuck on a tree limb or a thick bush stem, and the horse had nearly panicked, clearly unused to this type of burden. As it was, Janus had had to put in nearly as much effort in controlling the thing as he would have in dragging it himself.

                                            > On a few occasions Thistle had found his antics funny, but made sure he didn't see her grin. It was unseemly. Soon, she hoped, her wounds would heal, at least enough for her to resume the job she'd agreed to take.

                                            > Of Hisein, there was no sign. Thistle kept looking back, both when she was riding the mare, and when she was walking, although during one of those times she'd tripped on a creeper vine and bloodied her nose. That taught her to stop before turning her head back, or at least make sure the path before her was clear.

                                            > The old hunter would have laughed at her little accident, and he would doubtless have turned it into a small lesson on paying attention.

                                            > It was late afternoon and Bulat had gone ahead to look for a suitable camping spot when Janus fell in step with Thistle and cleared his throat. She glanced at him, but then back to make sure she wouldn't trip again.

                                            > "Pony land go longer than mountain?" he asked, raising his hand to indicate the distant peaks.

                                            "Yes. It is far. It is not pony land, but the land of the nomads. Salki and his people."

                                            > "Good, good," he replied thoughtfully. He seemed to be struggling with some idea and Thistle waited patiently for him to spit it out.

                                            > When it didn't happen for a while, she gave him another, longer gaze, and asked:

                                            "What is it?"

                                            > "Um. Hmm," Janus mumbled, picking words with care. "There many mare in pony land?"

                                            "Mare?! No, just me," she said, confused by his question. "Why?"

                                            > The answer was very different from what the blacksmith had been expecting, and his mouth fell open. He turned and walked sideways so he could stare at Thistle. "No mare?!" he exclaimed. "No mare for Salki? No mare for Hisein and Bulat and Zaur? How small nomad? Where nomad not all dead?"

                                            > For a moment Thistle thought he'd found her secret and all the blood in her body rushed to her muzzle, leaving her slightly lightheaded. Only after forcing herself to take a breath and think did she understand.

                                            "Oh! You mean women. Not mare, woman. Mare is pony, woman is nomad. You understand?"

                                            > Janus nodded eagerly and his face cleared up as the misunderstanding passed. "Yes, wo-man. Many wo-man in nomad land?"

                                            "Yes, there are many women living in the nomad camp. Why?"

                                            > He fell back in step with her, but would no longer meet her gaze. Instead, the young man looked in a different direction and refused to answer.

                                            "Well?" she prodded after a few steps.

                                            > His words came out quietly, as if Janus wasn't sure he was allowed to say them: "Wo-men for Janus?"

                                            > This time the blush made it to Thistle's face and she also looked in a different direction. How should she even answer? Was Janus only going with them for the promise of a- of a *marefriend*? Well, marefriend, but for nomads. Woman-friend? Wife?

                                            "M-Maybe?"

                                            > He twirled back and went on to explain eagerly: "Janus only, understand? No woman, only Janus. Want woman, but no-" he made a little circle of his fingers and moved his hand rapidly up and down in a gesture Thistle didn't quite grasp. Seeing her blank look, he did the same, except near his groin.

                                            > This clicked and with her gasp of indignation Thistle accidentally inhaled a bit of spittle, which sent her into a coughing fit. She had to stop walking as she tried to hack up the fluid from her larynx. Even when it was done, she remained standing still, not sure what to tell Janus. He was standing beside her, red in the face, but also looking at her with concern.

                                            > She saw he'd already raised his hand to slap her on the back, but she shook her head.

                                            "I'm fine," she croaked.

                                            > "Okay."

                                            > After taking a few halting, uncomfortable lungfuls of air, Thistle though she was well enough to continue and began walking again. Janus took this as a sign that they could continue their very inappropriate conversation. "So, nomad land woman for Janus?" he prompted.

                                            > Her thoughts went to Ning and Thistle wondered if Hisein would have given the girl to Janus in exchange for becoming the tribe's blacksmith. She feared the answer was yes, and her muzzle scrunched up in distaste. She liked Hisein after having gotten to know him, but he was still a savage in many ways.

                                            > For that matter, so was Salki, but at least he was younger and she thought she could guide him in a better direction. He wasn't yet set in his ways like some of the older nomads.

                                            > She stopped thinking about it and considered Saule. Would she be interested in someone like Janus? Her grandfather had been good with his hands, and Saule had spent a lot of time helping Bakar and Thistle with their bow project.

                                            > Would the nomad girl find the broad-shouldered man attractive? Thistle gave his face a closer look and tried to decide.

                                            > Janus kept his facial hair trimmed a little shorter than the nomads, who only chopped their beards off as a thing of practicality, rather than style. There were a few in the camp who shaved, at least partially, but it was not the norm.

                                            > Janus was a little shorter than most of the nomad hunters, but he was undoubtedly strong. He was also a blacksmith, and Thistle was certain this skill would bring him much prestige.

                                            > Knowledge of that nature wasn't genetic, but some nomads might think so and his children, when he had them, would probably learn the craft, whatever their disposition. If he really could find the ores he needed, and produced the weapons and tools like Janus claimed her could, he could become a very powerful man indeed.

                                            > Since he only knew how to speak Equestrian, that would give Thistle herself a degree of added respect and influence, since she would be the one teaching him the nomad language, and translating for him as needed. True, Salki, Hisein, Bulat, and Temir could speak the language to varying degrees, but the mare was still the best person to translate.

                                            > She noticed that Janus was still watching her hopefully, and she gave him a bright smile.

                                            "I think many women will want to be with you in the camp. You will be the only blacksmith."

                                            > That cheered him right up, and the young man rubbed his hands together in eager anticipation.

                                            "You will need to learn the nomad language. Only Salki can speak Equestrian, and the others a little. Even Salki is bad at it."

                                            > "Yes, I learn!" Janus assured her and kept his eyes on her expectantly.

                                            > Thistle realized he meant *right now*, and after a moments' surprise, she shrugged to herself. It would pass the time.

                                            "Okay, I will teach you some words, first. Repeat what I say," she began, and cleared her throat. "Pony. [Pony.] Nomad. [Nomad.]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle sat a little ways from the fire, with her back turned to the feeble orange glow. Something was sizzling on a stick above it, a critter Bulat had killed with his bow while he was scouting ahead. She hardly even noticed the smell of burning meat anymore.

                                            > They'd made the firepit small, the flames barely hot enough to char their dinner a little. It was in a hole, dug into the ground, so it couldn't be seen very far. The nomads had also waited for the sun to go down and the dark to fall, so any smoke rising into the sky from their hidden camp would be invisible.

                                            > Those were all good precautions and Thistle agreed with them fully. There was only one problem: if they made themselves impossible to find, how would Hisein catch up with them?

                                            > On some level she knew this particular hope was irrational, but another part of her still held on to it. Until they reached the mountains, she'd promised herself. After that she would accept the big hunter was dead.

                                            > She wanted to be alone for a while, away from the others, so she could try and sort her thoughts out. Why was she *this* concerned over Hisein? Sure, she liked him, or at least thought she did, when she overlooked his tendency to punish any slight, not to mention the larger personality flaw of keeping slaves, but he wasn't Bakar, nor Salki, nor Saule. He wasn't one of the nomads she'd formed friendships with.

                                            > Or had she?

                                            > The mare shook her head in dismay. Whether she and Hisein were friends would entirely depend on what *he* thought of her. Friendship was something mutual, not a one-way thing. Now that he was gone, she couldn't really resolve it. She really hadn't spoken with him enough to know.

                                            > Her ears flicked back when she heard footsteps, and the faint breeze brought her the familiar scent of Salki, even if it was tainted by the lump of meat he carried. She didn't turn to help him, even when she heard his limp.

                                            > Moments later he stopped beside her, and Thistle was just about to look when Salki sat down. He draped his arm around her withers, which sent a tiny jolt of pain through her as he touched her wounds, but Thistle didn't react. A hug was nicer than the discomfort, and just what she needed. "[Why are you sitting here alone?]" he asked her.

                                            "[Thinking.]"

                                            > "[About what?]"

                                            > She didn't answer immediately and Salki made a guess: "[Hisein?]"

                                            "[How will he find us?]"

                                            > That question earned her a little chuckle from the nomad. "[Easily. He is one of our best trackers. Do not think yourself so stealthy that Hisein could not follow you. Not to mention the horses.]"

                                            > His words made sense, and Thistle's heart lightened a little. There was still the fact that Hisein hadn't caught up to them yet, and that boded ill, but at least she didn't have to worry about him missing them.

                                            > "[Do you want some grain broth?]" Salki asked. "[I made some. I have taken the meat out.]" He waved the lump in his hand as he said, as if to demonstrate, then put it in his mouth.

                                            > Thistle shook her head, but her stomach betrayed her with a loud gurgle. She pressed her forehooves over it, but that did nothing for the continued grumble.

                                            > Salki patted the side of her barrel and pressed the mare against himself briefly as he chewed and swallowed. "[Come, let's join the others and you can eat.]"

                                            > She didn't move, but Thistle placed a hoof over Salki's hand to keep it in place.

                                            "[Soon. Sit with me a little.]"

                                            > He'd tensed to stand up, but now his body relaxed and Thistle was happy to sense him lean against her. At least he no longer doubted her strength. "[What do you want to talk about?]"

                                            "[Janus asked me something strange earlier.]"

                                            > "[What?]"

                                            "[He wanted to know if any nomad women would be interested in him.]"

                                            > Salki gave this some serious thought, then his shoulders shot up in a shrug. His hand jerked a little under her hoof, but he didn't remove it. "[Probably. I don't know.]"

                                            "[I said that some would be interested because he is our first blacksmith.]"

                                            > "[Oh! That's probably true. Yeah, I guess.]"

                                            > It was nice to know she hadn't inadvertently lied to the newest member of their group.

                                            > They sat in silence for a while longer and Thistle felt Salki begin to fidget. His foot began to twitch up and down, and he played with the fur on her barrel with his fingers. He would want to get up very soon, so she tried to think of another topic to keep him still for at least a few more seconds.

                                            "[What is it like to ride a horse the whole day?]"

                                            > That question made Salki laugh heartily. His free hand slapped his back and then his thighs. "[Everything hurts. I would have been easier to walk, I think! Everything here, and here,]" he patted his belly and his groin, "[is numb. If you straddled me right now, I would not feel anything.]"

                                            > She couldn't help but chuckle at the mental image, and her mood lightened at the way Salki was joking, even at his own expense.

                                            "[Perhaps we should do that before we are together. You might last longer.]"

                                            > Her voice was low, but Salki roared with more laughter. Thistle heard the conversation around the fire stop, and she could clearly imagine everyone turning their way, curious what was so funny. Her muzzle colored and she was glad she was still facing away, not to mention that it was dark.

                                            > "[That is good! I will show you how long I can go. When we are further away, I will be on watch in the night. Come and find me.]"

                                            > It sounded tantalizing, and just thinking about it was making Thistle's body wake up with suppressed need. Salki had been right, and they hadn't done it in a long time. She'd gotten used to it every night on the way over, and now she missed the intimacy, the release, and the mindless pleasure of it.

                                            "[M-Maybe,]" she promised uncertainly even as she hunted for excuses. "[Shouldn't you be watching while you are on watch?]"

                                            > "[Bah, why did you think I said 'when we are further away'? I will tell you when it is safe.]"

                                            > Thistle imagined herself sneaking through the dark forest, tail already hitched up, the cool mountain breeze keeping the warmth under control. She would leave droplets of her essence behind, but that was fine and no one would notice. She would find Salki, a short distance away from the tents.

                                            > Tent, she corrected herself.

                                            > She would have to clean herself well after, or the other nomads might smell something.

                                            > When had she decided she would do it?!

                                            > The mare hung her head and gave in. Salki was insatiable, and she wasn't far behind, not when he was so exotic, and so malleable to her training. Maybe, soon, she would teach him how to use his tongue.

                                            > She had to stop these thoughts or she would begin to leak right now!

                                            "[Let's go back. I'm hungry.]"

                                            > Salki stood slowly, and she remained still to allow him to lean on her back. Unfortunately it was too low for him to use while hobbling back to the fire, but she stayed next to him for moral support, of nothing else.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle felt increasingly weak on her hooves, and her muscles could do less and less with ever passing hour. She'd tried to dismiss it at first, and had ascribed the weakness to extreme fatigue, but when she woke up in the middle of one night, covered in sweat and shivering, there was no denying it. She had a fever.

                                            > When she told the nomads, they let her ride on the big mare that whole day so she could rest, and Salki even cooked a grain broth without meat to try and tempt her. Thistle had no appetite, but she forced herself to eat, even when it threatened to come back up on more than one occasion.

                                            > Despite the day's heat, she made sure to bundle herself in furs, especially during the times when sweat liberally poured of her. It helped that they were gradually beginning to rise up into the mountains and the air was getting cooler.

                                            > It had to be her wounds. Despite the care she and Janus had taken to bathe them in fresh water and her best efforts to keep them clean, one might have gotten infected. The only other explanation was a sudden cold, but with how hot the weather had been it was very unlikely. It could also have been the stress of the fighting and their mad escape, or the sorrow at losing Hisein.

                                            > Once Salki could walk a bit more easily she led him to the small, clear stream on the mountainous slope near their quick camp, and had him check and wash all her wounds. The water was icy, and even a slight dribble on her slowly-healing flesh caused jolts of pain which made her hiss.

                                            "[Does it smell bad?]" she asked Salki.

                                            > Her own sense of smell had gone almost as soon as the fever appeared, and besides, some of the wounds were in places she could not easily reach or examine herself.

                                            > Salki gently poked his fingers at her tender skin and brought them to his nose. She watched his face closely. "[I think so. Maybe? It smells strange, but I don't know how wounds are supposed to smell. I'm not the shaman!]"

                                            > The mare thought quickly. If the fever got any worse she would be in serious danger. She didn't have access to advanced Equestrian medicine, and the band of nomads with them had no idea how to even attempt to treat her illness. Hisein might have known something, purely by word of mouth, or perhaps through his long experience, but he had still not caught up with them.

                                            > Thistle remembered her decision to give up hope when they reached the mountains and her ears lowered. It was time to accept that Hisein was gone.

                                            > Lacking any other options, she tried to remember what she knew of medicine. Admittedly, it was not much. It hadn't featured in her political science curriculum.

                                            "[Okay, wash all my wounds, okay? Wash them well, even if it hurts. We must get them clean, and then they must stay clean.]"

                                            > Salki gave her a long look, and his brow furrowed, but he didn't say anything and eventually bent to scoop water up in his hand.

                                            "[No. Wash your hands first. Scrub them with the sand and wash them!]"

                                            > He looked at her again, strangely, but obeyed, and used the fine sand on the stream bank to scour the skin on his hands until it was nice and pink. Only then did Thistle let him begin washing her.

                                            > The pressure on the wounds around her withers was especially painful, and she guessed one of those was likely infected. She grit her teeth and bore the occasional agonizing stab as her skin tore a little where it was not yet properly knitted.

                                            > Unfortunately they didn't have any cloth to make bandages, so keeping her wounds clean would be hard. It was lucky that most of them were on the top, so she wouldn't have to grind them against the dirt and sweat of the large mare's back.

                                            "[Salki? Can we follow the stream up the mountain?]

                                            > "[Why? We can fill water skins.]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head.

                                            "[No, you will need to clean my wounds every day. The water has to be fresh!]"

                                            > He seemed doubtful and glanced up toward the peak, as if trying to gauge the best way up the mountain. "[I don't know. The ground isn't very easy to walk on, it will be hard to get the horses up.]"

                                            "[We have to try. We can go an easier way, but we must find a clear stream every evening. If we do not keep my wounds clean, I will get more sick. Maybe die.]"

                                            > "[What? No,]" Salki said with a dismissive wave. "[No one dies from a small wound like this!]"

                                            > She shook her head and resolved to ask the older people in the nomad camp. Surely they would know about wounds bringing on a fever. Even Janus had known, she remembered. It had been the blacksmith's advice to wash her wounds, but it seemed they hadn't been thorough enough, and now she was paying the price.

                                            > Already her teeth were beginning to chatter, despite the heat of the sun on her back. The cool water trickling down her forelegs wasn't helping, but she forced herself to stillness, clamped her mouth firmly shut, and bore it like an earth pony.

                                            "[Please, Salki. It's important. We will have to wash them again before sleeping. We should stay near the stream,]" she insisted.

                                            > Salki gave this some thought and turned to the peaks again. They were following roughly the same way they had come, and would traverse the same mountain pass. Maybe Salki was worried that they'd lose their way? Thistle laid a hoof on his thigh.

                                            "[We can find this stream when we stop each day. You're good at finding our way, right?]"

                                            > How the nomads could navigate so well, Thistle had only the vaguest of ideas. At least it sounded reasonable, from the tidbits Hisein had taught her. Landmarks, excellent memory, and a good sense of direction. It really was as simple as that. She would have to really master that skill.

                                            > Salki brushed his hand through her mane and said: "[We will try, okay?]"

                                            "[Thank you.]"

                                            > Perhaps someone in the camp would agree to continue teaching her, now that Hisein was gone.

                                            > Thistle was barely aware of the hot, sticky tears dripping down her nose and into the stream below.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The weather cooled as they ascended and Thistle bundled herself in more furs. She was feverish and weak, but she thought it wasn't getting any worse, at least. The nomads accommodated her, but it slowed them down a lot. An extra pair of hooves would have come in handy to control the horses, let alone manage Janus' little cart.

                                            > She could see it in Salki's face, each time he came to check on her. He was both worried, and annoyed at their slow pace and the many times they had to stop so Janus could untangle his cart and turn it upright.

                                            > It seemed no matter how closely they watched the horse, it always overturned it. They were walking without a road now, making their way over treacherous, rocky ground.

                                            > Their few remaining donkeys fared a little better than the horses and the nomads, in their desperation, had tried hitching the cart to one of them. It was better, but the beast tired much faster, so they had to keep stopping and shuffling all the cargo around.

                                            > Now that it looked like the fever wouldn't get any worse, Thistle really wanted to be done with her illness so she could help and they could finally get back to the camp. It was the closest thing she had to a home.

                                            > Her wounds had mostly closed, although she insisted they wash them every day in a miserable ritual of freezing cold water and the occasional sharp jolt of pain. Soon, she thought they would no longer be bound to the stream so tightly. Even better, Thistle thought she felt a bit less sore, her head a little clearer each day, her fever a little reduced.

                                            >...

                                            > When her appetite returned, everyone took it as a very good sign. For the first time in over a week, Thistle sat with the nomads around the fire, rather than slept, bundled in fur blankets. She'd taken a few remaining tubers they had in their packs and buried them in the embers to cook. Salki even brought their last bag of grain, and Thistle felt well enough to make some crude bread. That and the roasted tubers made for a very nourishing meal.

                                            > Even the others were enticed by the smell. There wasn't much left, but she didn't mind sharing. Soon they would descend from the mountains and she could graze again, which would see her to the nomad camp. The bag only had to last a few more days.

                                            > After that, they simply sat and talked. The biggest topic was, of course, Hisein, and the nomads reminisced about the man. Even Thistle shared some of her anecdotes as he'd taught her to mind her steps, or how to find water on the steppe, or how quickly he'd picked up Equestrian from her teachings.

                                            > The atmosphere was getting melancholic, and Thistle wondered if she could excuse herself and go to sleep. It felt rude to Hisein's memory, so she stayed, staring into the fire, munching on what was left of the bread, and absentmindedly listening to the stories.

                                            > A hand passed her a strange, clay pot, and the mare accepted it almost without thinking. There was something so familiar in the gesture that she lifted it to her muzzle almost before she'd smelled what it was.

                                            > Alcoholic and strong. It smelled of honey, going stale, and some kind of fruit. Thistle's nose wiggled in surprise and she lowered it to stare at the container. It put her in mind of a flask, except it was pottery and quite heavy. She stared around the fire.

                                            "[Where did this come from?]"

                                            > Temir pointed with his finger. "[Janus had it in his cart.]"

                                            > She examined the neck, which was only slightly thinner than the jug itself. There was a rim, caked with a hard, brittle substance. When she poked it with a hoof, it crumbled, and she brought a piece up to her nose. It was wax.

                                            "Where did you get this?" she asked the blacksmith.

                                            > He looked at her strangely for a moment, then shrugged. "Got from village. Man sell. Bad water." he explained, then grinned at the mare. "Drink!" he urged her.

                                            "Man from where? Where did the man come from?"

                                            > Janus gave a shrug as he answered: "Don't know. Man trader, came from away. Sell bad water. It is good."

                                            > Thistle shrugged a little to herself and lifted the jug, but then paused and lowered it again.

                                            "Do you know how to make this?"

                                            > Her hoof tapped the jug carefully for emphasis. Janus shook his head. "No. It is a secret. Janus no tell man how to blacksmith, man no tell Janus how to make bad water."

                                            > That was reasonable and not a huge surprise, but Thistle balanced a bit of wax on her hoof and held it up.

                                            "What about this? This comes from bees. Do you know how to keep bees?"

                                            > Unfortunately, Janus did not know the word. Thistle pushed the jug at Salki, climbed to her hooves, and proceeded to mimic buzzing around. She used her forelegs as best she could to indicate wings, and emitted quintessential bee noises.

                                            > The nomads watched her in shock for a while, then laughed at her silly performance.

                                            "Bees!" she said, ignoring the laughter in her elation. "Bees fly around flowers. You know?"

                                            > Janus still looked blank, and shrugged apologetically to her. Thistle put him out of her mind and went to Salki, instead.

                                            "[Do you know this animal? It is small and like a fly. It likes flowers!]"

                                            > The nomad nodded and said a word. Thistle eagerly repeated it.

                                            "[Bees! Yes, bees! We will keep bees!]"

                                            > She hugged the surprised nomad, then sat down beside him again, the last remnants of her fever and ache forgotten in the sudden excitement. Only a slight ache in her muscles, and lack of oxygen still reminded her that she was not yet fully healed. It would pass.

                                            > More importantly, why hadn't she thought of it before?

                                            > Her mind was racing, making plans. They had to find a wild bee nest. They would build a wooden box for a hive and put it nearby, with something sweet inside to tempt the bees. If that failed, some nomad could wrap himself in thick leather and pick apart the wild hive to find the queen.

                                            > Thistle didn't know a lot about beekeeping herself, but she'd seen some and could conjuncture the rest. It was a lot less complicated than things like linen, or blacksmithing.

                                            > She smiled as she imagined this new source of both food and, provided she could figure out how to ferment honey, beverage. It would further increase her standing in the camp!

                                            > Again, Salki passed her the jug, and this time Thistle lifted it up and drank.

                                            > The mead was strong, and the berries in it left a distinct, pleasant aftertaste. It was a lot more palatable than nomad beer, and she couldn't help smiling when she passed it on to Temir at her other side.

                                            > The warmth was solid and pleasant in her belly, and already she could feel it spreading outward.

                                            > Perhaps it was the way Hisein would want to be remembered - in merriment. She would drink to his memory and say goodbye to the stoic nomad.

                                            > Then - the night was young and full of promise. They were far from their pursuers. She leaned closer to Salki and whispered in his ear:

                                            "[Are we far enough yet? Is it safe?]"

                                            > He gave her a startled look and she laid a hoof on his leg, indecently high up, as she grinned back.

                                            "[When is it your turn to guard?]" she went on.

                                            > "[Last watch. Before sunrise.]"

                                            "[I will wake up,]" Thistle promised, then motioned to Zaur, sitting across from her, to pass the jug along.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The mountain pass was cold, even in the midst of summer. The nomad party's breath steamed in the air, and each night they had to build their large tent. Even with that, the men wrapped themselves in all the animal furs they had as they slept.

                                            > Thistle and Salki had it a little easier. Despite strange looks cast their way the first time they'd done it, Salki pressed her comfortably against his chest each night, and that helped keep them both just that little bit warmer. After the second time, the other nomads paid them no mind.

                                            > Sleeping in the common tent meant that Thistle had to listen to all their snoring, and other little noises the nomads made each night, but after pulling the blacksmith's cart uphill she didn't have any trouble falling asleep.

                                            > Her wounds had healed, and her fever was gone. Now the mare wanted nothing as much as simply to get home. She missed her friends! Xuan, Saule, even Buygra and young Ning, and she missed the sheer luxury of not having to walk endless miles every single day.

                                            > It would be easier going downhill, but that was still a couple of days away at their present pace.

                                            > The nomads were all walking after Janus had warned them that the horses may break a leg on the shifting, uneven, rocky ground. That had been a doozy to translate, but through a combination of hand gestures, miming, and broken Equestrian, he'd managed to get his point across to Thistle.

                                            > It had only gone on to confirm the need for him to learn the nomad language, and Janus spent much of his time walking beside the mare and repeating the words she taught him. He didn't retain many, but he sat with the nomads around the fire each evening and the times when he looked up and said a word or two in their conversation were becoming more and more frequent.

                                            > Even better, his contributions were starting to make some sense.

                                            > For her part, Thistle went back to cleaning and cooking their dinner, partly because she'd gotten used to the work, and so had the nomads, and partly because it was what Hisein would have wanted. It felt like the right thing to do, to honor his memory in her own, strange way.

                                            > The grain she had was running out, but there were plenty of young conifers on the mountain and Thistle had acquired a taste for the green buds at the end of the low branches. There were not many deer or goats around, she guessed, so that particular food was plentiful.

                                            > It wouldn't sustain her indefinitely, but the taste was nice and it went a long way toward filling her stomach, especially if she supplemented it with a bit of grain broth.

                                            > Once they descended into the valley beyond the mountains she would be forced to switch to grass, but that would keep her for the few more weeks they needed to get home.

                                            > Unfortunately Janus didn't have any more mead, so that one taste had been their last, but Thistle was already making plans in her head to teach the nomads bee-keeping and fermenting.

                                            > A few times one of the scouts found a wild bird's nest, and the eggs were a nice supplement which lent both flavor and substance to her plain, boiled grain.

                                            > She suspected she was still losing weight, but with how hard they were working, that was to be expected.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was a particularly cold night, and Thistle anticipated to see snow on the ground in the morning. It had been raining for most of the day and the entire company was wet and miserable, despite the large fire the nomads had built in the evening.

                                            > The ground felt like ice, even through three layers of blankets and her own fur, and Thistle saw that Janus, the nearest to her, was also shivering with the cold. She could hear his teeth chattering!

                                            > Salki was out, keeping watch, so there wasn't even his belly to keep her back warm. However hard she tried to wrap the animal furs more tightly around herself, a cold draft always found its way under the covers and down her neck, to stab at her back.

                                            > After a while Thistle had enough. She got to her hooves as silently as she could, and dragged her makeshift cot closer to Janus. Even before she had done it, the blacksmith had sat up and was watching her. She could see a line of light across his face, coming from a crack around the tent flap from the fire just outside.

                                            > It would have been better to put the fire inside, but there was no room with six of them, even if the tent had been sown together from two smaller ones.

                                            > Because she had fur, and because she slept cuddled with Salki, the other nomads had pushed Thistle's cot to the far end, away from the fire's warmth. Janus, as the outsider, was only slightly closer.

                                            > Surprisingly, Salki had agreed with that reasoning, which Thistle thought was very mature of him, and showed good leadership. It was true, in either case, when Salki was with her, they didn't feel as cold.

                                            > "What you doing?" Janus whispered to her.

                                            "Quiet. Move, we will put all blankets together. Move. Make room!"

                                            > He didn't fully understand her words, not yet, but the gesturing of her hoof got him to recognize what she wanted and the man shuffled a slight distance away.

                                            > Thistle overlapped their cots, making sure to leave the combined bed large enough for Salki, when he returned from the watch, and flopped down.

                                            "Come. Here. It will be warmer," she murmured quietly and patted the cot next to her.

                                            > After a few moments' pause, Janus scooched closer and lay down beside her. He was shivering even more than before, and Thistle quickly rolled so her back was to him.

                                            "Closer. I will keep you warm and you will keep me warm."

                                            > It was purely pragmatic, she told herself. Neither of them could afford to get sick due to sleeping cold. It wasn't like her and Salki, this was just a practical concern.

                                            > Those deliberate thoughts worked and she easily pushed herself back until she was pressed against Janus' belly.

                                            > He was wearing all his clothes, and she had her cloak, of course, and thanks to their shuffling around any residual warmth had gone, but Thistle knew they would warm up soon. After a moment, Janus reached over her and arranged the furs to fully cover them both. Then he withdrew his hand under the blanket again.

                                            "On me," she told him quietly. "Put arm on me. It will be warmer."

                                            > His breath caught at the proposition, but Thistle waited until, eventually, he obeyed and his strong arm encircled the mare, if somewhat gingerly. His hand ended up meshed in her chest fluff, and Thistle closed her eyes with a deep sigh.

                                            > He smelled different than Salki, of course, of rock, metal, and leather. His shape was different too, and for a while Thistle was acutely aware of it, until she got used to it. A small, naughty thought asked whether she was 'cheating' on Salki this way, but she pushed it down ruthlessly.

                                            > There was nothing even the slightest bit sexual about the situation, so she didn't feel any urge to *do* anything. It was purely for warmth.

                                            > It was working!

                                            > Already her back was nice and comfortable, and the sneaky cold draft wasn't attacking her vulnerable neck anymore! Instead, there was Janus' warm breath.

                                            > She thought he was shivering less, and his teeth no longer clattered, so it was benefiting both of them.

                                            > If Salki didn't like it, he could sleep alone, although Thistle would have preferred him next to her. Being warmed by two bodies would be even better!

                                            > Besides, it was only for a few more days, until they descended this tall, chilly mountain, and returned to summer.

                                            > Soon, they wouldn't even need the tent anymore. Soon, it would once again be warm enough for her to sneak away and find Salki during the night, while he was on watch, alone.

                                            > The last time she'd barely gotten a taste of it, and he'd finished so quickly that it only left her hungry for more.

                                            > Yes, their descent couldn't come fast enough for Thistle.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The landscape changed rather quickly as they descended from the mountains. Part of that was because they were going rather faster than on their way up, but that wasn't the whole story. Thistle did her best to examine the land from the heights as it lay spread below them, whenever a break in the treeline allowed her to see.

                                            > The forest cover thinned once the land flattened out, and although she couldn't see well herself, the way the other nomads described the horizon led her to believe it turned to steppe before it was out of sight.

                                            > The mountain range must therefore work as a barrier to winds and weather. It was a bit like the effect Macintosh hills had, splitting the land between the fertile Appleloosa and the barren Badlands.

                                            > In that case, Thistle thought, volcanic activity and natural magic also played a big part, and as a result the transition was a lot sharper and more dramatic in Equestria. In this nomad land, the difference was from a thickly-forested area, to a sparse forest, and then to a steppe with occasional clumps of trees.

                                            > It meant they were coming home. It wasn't that much further and she was looking forward to the journey's end.

                                            > A new problem had appeared as they crossed the mountain pass, though. The blacksmith's cart had gone from dragging her back, to pushing her forward, and the latter was definitely worse.

                                            > If she wasn't careful, any unevenness caused it to suddenly lurch against her, which would easily have twisted her ankle or broken a leg but for a moment's inattention. There had been a lot of luck involved for her to have remained unhurt.

                                            > Over time she'd learned to watch out for such treacherous terrain, and she had gotten quite good at predicting what the strange, heavy little cart would do, but it was still extremely annoying.

                                            > On a few occasions, she had gotten lost in thought on a relatively easy and flat part, only to realize that she was practically at a canter to keep ahead of the madly-rocking cart. Slowing down from that speed, on a slope, was difficult without loosing her footing, even when there wasn't loose, shifting shale underhoof!

                                            > Thankfully Janus stayed near her after the first few near accidents, and several times he'd grabbed one of the wooden poles connecting her to the cart and helped her stop it.

                                            > They'd spent a lot of time talking, and the blacksmith was picking up the basics of the nomad language. He was at a point where he could have whole conversations with one of the others, without Thistle having to translate. His sentences were broken, and his grammar was horrible, but it was enough to get along.

                                            > Thistle was at the same time proud that she'd taught him so well, and a little disappointed, as it seemed Janus wouldn't rely on her translating for him quite as much as she'd hoped. That wasn't too bad, though. The man still held her in high esteem, and paid very close attention to whatever she said, despite the fact that she was both female, and not his species.

                                            > It dismayed her to hear that the human females were treated even worse on the other side of the mounts compared with the nomad lands. She knew that Darga was probably an exception, but nomad women had *some* agency, if only on account of how fierce they were. Where Janus came from, nothing like that would have been allowed to happen, even if it meant the tribe would disband without a leader.

                                            > The fact that Darga was pulling it off spoke volumes of her sheer stubbornness and determination.

                                            > Then again, Thistle herself was aware of the mutterings and the push for someone else to take the reins. Salki was a good candidate, if a little young, and Willow was another.

                                            > If Thistle had any say in it, it would be Salki. Luckily, now that she and Salki had brought them horses and a blacksmith, it wouldn't be so difficult to make that case.

                                            > Speaking of the young man, Thistle could tell he was also impatient to get home. He'd told her so every day. He also began to talk about Saule, and she figured he missed the young woman.

                                            > For that matter, Thistle missed her too. It would be good for them to reunite, and it wasn't out of the question that Salki would soon make his own tent, away from his mother.

                                            > How their little 'family' would function with the three of them Thistle didn't know, but she liked both Saule and Salki, and she was convinced they could make it work.

                                            >...

                                            > Not just Thistle, all members of their group breathed a sigh of relief when the land flattened out. Of course, that by itself didn't say much, since there had been plateaus and valleys in the mountains, but when the way remained flat for the rest of the day it was a promising sight.

                                            > They could see the peaks standing tall behind them, with none in the front, and the nomads agreed that they were most likely done with the climb. It meant the cart she was pulling behaved more reasonably, and it took a lot less effort to handle.

                                            > Everyone remembered the strange, warrior-like people living in this area, and for the next few nights Salki posted double guards around their encampment. The nomads all kept bows near to hand, and their scouts ranged further than usual.

                                            > Even Thistle kept her ears up and listened for every unusual sound, however slight. The strangers hadn't attacked them the last time, but there had been tension, and this time they had no one who spoke their language.

                                            > On the other hoof, they no longer had all those donkeys, so it might look as if they didn't have that much worth stealing. Unless the others grew curious about the horses, but with only four of them that might not be tempting enough.

                                            > Their fires in the evenings were subdued, and the scouts didn't hunt for prey, so the meals were somewhat poorer. Everyone bore it stoically, though, and Bulat, who was one of their best navigators after Hisein, reckoned they would be out of reach of these strange people in another two days.

                                            > It wasn't much further to home from there.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The night was extremely bright with the nearly full moon, and Thistle had no trouble finding her way. It was quite warm, although not as stifling as on the other side of the mountains. Thistle had foregone her coat and the nomads had stopped putting up the tent and simply slept on their cots, covered by one or two animal furs.

                                            > It also meant she could no longer justify cuddling with Salki, or Janus, if Salki was on guard, but it wouldn't be much more until they were back, and as long as she had these night-time encounters that was fine.

                                            > She had gotten good at sneaking away quietly, at least on grass, and through soft, forest undergrowth.

                                            > It was toward the end of Salki's watch, and Thistle hoped to have a bit of quick fun with the man before he went back to wake up the next nomad to watch over them sleeping.

                                            > Already, as she walked, her tail was hitching up in anticipation.

                                            > She didn't know which direction to go, but any heading was okay because Salki would find her. He was good at watching their camp as they slept while he, himself, remained unseen. Sometimes she couldn't even hear him follow her!

                                            > This time she caught the sound of faint footsteps, approaching from the side, and Thistle smiled proudly to herself. Despite that, she kept going in as straight a line as she could, to put the maximum distance between them and the rest of the gang, who were, hopefully, fast asleep, back near the embers of the fire.

                                            > Soon Salki was padding beside her, still making surprisingly little noise, and his hand found her mane to give her head a quick pat.

                                            "[All quiet?]" she asked him.

                                            > "[Yes. We didn't see anyone following us, and no one has tried to sneak up while I watched. There are no people in this land. The nearest, I think, are those strangers who live under the mountain.]"

                                            "[That's good. If we can't resolve things with Ruslans, we can come here, no?]"

                                            > Salki's hand in her mane stopped, and then he pinched her ear. "[Don't talk like that,]" he said in a near growl. "[We're not giving our land to Ruslans! We'll fight until we kill them all, if we have to! Maybe *they* can come live here!]"

                                            "[Why is that land so important? It's not like you- it's not like we farm! The donkeys can graze here just as well as there, and we would find more game in the forest!]"

                                            > They walked in silence for a while as Salki considered the answer to her question. Thistle glanced at him, but other than a faint glimmer of moonlight, reflecting from his eyes, she didn't see his expression clearly enough to tell what he was thinking.

                                            > At long last he responded: "[It is *our* land. Our fathers, and fathers' fathers fought to keep it. No true nomad would leave the land they were born in.]"

                                            "[You do realize how silly that sounds, don't you? You- we move all the time.]"

                                            > If her snide comment upset him, Salki didn't show it. "[We move from one camp to another, in our land. We will not leave it completely.]"

                                            "[Strange, but I figured as much. So at least now we will have weapons, and soon we will have horses.]"

                                            > "[Yes,]" Salki said, his voice growing lighter in anticipation of a glorious future. "[Ruslans have horses too, but they don't have bows.]"

                                            "[The others have bows. We saw in that land to the west. It is only a matter of time before Ruslans get them, since they already got horses.]"

                                            > "[True,]" Salki said, his voice becoming troubled once again.

                                            > Thistle gave this some thought, even though she was not a strategists, and had never really taken any interest in matters of war. She was a pony, for Celestia's sake! A diplomat and a bureaucrat!

                                            > The best she could do was take ideas from someone else and take them to yet another person. An exchange of ideas, which resulted in agreements, treaties, policies.

                                            > Paperwork.

                                            > At her very peak, a few times, she had been able to combine other, already existing ideas, to make something of more value.

                                            > Actually...

                                            "[I got it!]" she exclaimed and twirled around to jump in front of Salki.

                                            > Her tail swished around in excitement and she pranced a bit on her hooves, all the day's weariness forgotten in an instant.

                                            > "[Got what?]"

                                            "[I know how we can keep an edge over Ruslans!]"

                                            > Salki gave a small snort, not taking the placid, un-warlike pony very seriously when it came to matters of tactics and fighting. It smarted a little, and Thistle had hoped he would place more weight on her ideas after the bow, and after finding Janus, but she gritted her teeth, flattened her ears, and poked the young nomad in the shin with a hoof.

                                            "[Don't laugh at me, Salki! It's a good idea!]"

                                            > "[Okay, let's hear it, then.]"

                                            "[Bows, *on horses*!]"

                                            > "[What?!]"

                                            "[We train our people to shoot bows while they are riding horses. You see? The biggest problem for a bow is when the enemy comes closer. What if, instead of dropping the bow and picking up a spear, you could simply go away from them?]"

                                            > There was a moment of stunned silence, during which Salki only stared at the mare in dumb shock.

                                            "[Well?]"

                                            > He reached out his hand and laid his warm palm against her cheek. "[That's- yeah. Maybe.]"

                                            "[Maybe?]"

                                            > "[Is it possible to shoot a bow from a horse? They jostle around a lot.]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head to dismiss the worry.

                                            "[If we make saddles, that should keep you more steady. With- uh, I don't know how to call it. There are bits of rope with loops at the end hanging from the side, Janus told me. You put your feet in, so you can stand up. If you stand, you will keep your hands more steady.]"

                                            > She gave it a bit more thought and then shrugged to herself.

                                            "[For that matter, you could get the horse to stop and stand still so you shoot, and then kick it to run away, then stop and shoot again. You don't have to shoot while moving!]"

                                            > "[Yeah, that could work. Okay,]" Salki said, rubbing his scraggly beard with his hand in thought. "[We will try it. We can practice. That would allow a few of us to attack a lot of Ruslans. First, we shoot the ones with horses, then we can shoot the rest, and if they come close, we run away.]"

                                            > He smiled, and his teeth almost shone in the pale moonlight. "[That's clever!]"

                                            > Thistle beamed too, proud of her idea. She couldn't wait to get home and see it put into practice.

                                            > Her tail flicked left and right a few more times, and she realized that she was dripping.

                                            "[Now shut up and take me,]" she muttered and lifted her muzzle up.

                                            > Salki obliged her with a quick kiss, and then she twirled around again to present her rear to him. It had been a while and she really needed it.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The group pushed themselves harder as they neared their goal. They woke up a little earlier each day, and got underway sooner. They walked later into the fading light, and most nights they did not make a fire.

                                            > There was no point to it, anyway. The nomads ate their dried strips of meat, and Thistle had run out of grain to cook. None of the scouts hunted, nor did they range very far afield.

                                            > Thistle herself wasn't sure, but Salki said they had returned to lands which were familiar to him. In her eyes, it was unremarkable steppe, but the others were getting more and more excited as the day of their return approached.

                                            > The camp, Salki had told them, would not be where they left it. The others would have moved to another spot just as the summer started, one he and his mother had agreed upon before the expedition had left.

                                            > When they reached the place and didn't find anything, the nomads were surprised and more than a little worried. For long hours they scoured the ground, looking for any trace of recent nomad passing.

                                            > There was nothing.

                                            > Even to Thistle's inexpert eyes, the ground looked untouched at least since the previous summer. There were still a few places with barely any grass, where nomad feet had trodden the mud. A bit of digging in some likely places turned up remains of old fires.

                                            > Bulat and Temir found bits of bone, and broken flint knives. There was no doubt this was the right place, but no one had visited it, at least since the previous autumn.

                                            > The group made a camp in one of the old fireplaces and, for the first time in weeks, roasted some fresh meat on a crude spit. It didn't help with Thistle's growing hunger, but the fire gave her some comfort and reminded her that the nomads would be able to survive, even if it took longer to find their kin.

                                            > Her own diet would suffer, but the grass was plentiful and it would keep her going for a little while yet, especially if they didn't rush so madly toward a distant goal.

                                            "[What will we do?]" she asked into the silence.

                                            > Even Janus looked dejected, and he didn't even known anyone in the camp.

                                            > Rather than replying to her, Salki muttered: "[Something must have happened. Mother said they would come here. Could they be somewhere else? Why?]"

                                            > "[We go look,]" Janus replied. He swept his arms around him. "[Nomad no here. Nomad other place. Go look.]"

                                            > He sounded very matter-of-factly, but the steppe was huge, and if they didn't have a good idea which way to go, they could wander for weeks and not find anyone. Worse, they could run into their enemies, instead.

                                            > Having thought of that, Thistle stared at the fire and wondered if it had been a good idea to light what was essentially a beacon.

                                            > "[Janus is right,]" Temir said. "[We can go back where the camp was when we left. Maybe they hadn't gone yet.]"

                                            > That was a good suggestion and Thistle nodded to it, even if she didn't voice her opinion out loud.

                                            > Bulat tossed a small stone into the fire and spoke: "[Should we send one of us to look?]"

                                            > "[We should not split up,]" Salki said firmly. "[We stay together.]"

                                            > "[Then we all go there,]" Temir concluded.

                                            > There was silence and all eyes turned to Salki. "[Yes,]" he said, at last. He idly reached for the stick and turned the hunk of meat around so it would cook on the other side.

                                            > Thistle hadn't seen what animal they had caught, and the nomads had butchered it themselves while she and Janus were digging around, looking for clues.

                                            > "[We will go in the morning. We will move carefully and we will send scouts ahead.]"

                                            > Without having to say anything, Bulat volunteered: "[I will go.]"

                                            > Salki flashed the youth a smile, then looked around, as if his eyes could pierce the near-total darkness beyond the cozy glow of their fire. His gaze settled on Janus, at last. "[Can we use horses for this?]"

                                            > "[Use for what?]" Janus asked.

                                            > "[Use horses for scouting?]"

                                            > The blacksmith gave Thistle a pleading look, and she translated: "Go quickly and see what is there and come back to tell."

                                            > "[Oh,]" Janus replied. He tried the new word, just to fix it firmly in his mind: "[Scouting? Yes, horse fast. Horse scouting. No far, yes fast.]"

                                            > It had come as a bit of a surprise to Thistle, but the larger horses didn't seem to share her stamina as an earth pony. They could move faster, thanks to their long legs, but they needed rest more often. It would still have been a quicker pace than nomads could keep on foot, especially if their slow, plodding donkeys hadn't been holding them back.

                                            > The real value of the horses would prove in combat, Salki had determined, where a small group could strike quickly and retreat to a safe distance.

                                            > After her suggestion, Salki had tried shooting his bow from a horse, but the results had been uninspiring so far. She had encouraged the young nomad to keep trying, but he appeared doubtful it would ever work.

                                            > Salki was one of their finest bowmen, but Thistle still couldn't wait to get the horses into the camp to see if perhaps someone else would show more aptitude for combined riding and archery.

                                            "[I will go and sleep. We will move quickly tomorrow again,]" she announced and stood.

                                            > She caught Salki's eyes with their silent question, but Thistle shook her head slightly and he returned his gaze to the sizzling meat. They hadn't had the energy, nor the opportunity for their night-time fun in the last few days, and she didn't think it was a good idea to try now.

                                            > It would have to wait until they were back in the camp.

                                            > She moved a short distance away and found where they had dropped their packs on the ground. Their donkeys were tied to a wooden stake Janus had hammered into the ground near their fire, and the horses were tethered to another, nearby. She could hear the rustling as some of the animals still cropped the fresh grass, and the occasional grunt or snort from the ones resting.

                                            > It was a matter of moments for the mare to unroll her cot and wrap herself in a single fur blanket. The nights weren't as hot as in the lands to the west, but they were warm enough so she didn't need anything more.

                                            > Perhaps Salki would join her, although without the excuse of cold they hadn't really been able to cuddle through the night, so Thistle didn't get her hopes up.

                                            > She rolled over with a forlorn sigh, pulled the blanket right up over her ears, so that only her nose poked out, and closed her eyes.

                                            > It was disappointing and worrying that they hadn't found the camp, but she had faith that they'd reunite with their friends sooner or later. All four nomads with here were tenacious and resourceful, and even without Hisein, they knew this land like the back of their hands, as their expression went.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Dragging Janus' little cart was easier on the steppe than it had been in the forest, but the wheels still tended to snag on bushes, or fall into small holes, and each time it took effort to get them free.

                                            > Thistle was learning what to watch out for, but it was still slow and hard going, especially now that the blacksmith himself was no longer walking beside her and helping. He was able to communicate, however rudimentary, in a combination of broken equestrian and even worse nomad, so he spent all the time he could with either Temir, Zaur, or Bulat, mostly talking about the young women of the camp.

                                            > His reasons for coming were starting to crystallize in Thistle's mind. She had a feeling the blunt and sometimes awkward youth hadn't had much luck with the ladies back in his home town, and was hoping that a unique skill and being from exotic, far away lands, would afford him better opportunities here.

                                            > Thistle didn't mind, although she couldn't help but roll her eyes whenever one of the young men said something inane, or made a claim about the nomad women which was patently absurd.

                                            > She didn't intervene, though. It was something Janus would have to figure out for himself. At best, she'd decided, she would introduce him to Buygra and ask the hunter to offer some friendly advice and guidance.

                                            > Her belly growled, unsatisfied with the plain grass she'd given it, however tender it had been. If she had to keep up this diet, Thistle would need to spend a lot more time grazing every day. What the fodder lacked in calories she would have to make up in volume.

                                            > For now, however, she hoped that Temir was right and the nomads were still at the old camp. She didn't know how far that was, but believed Salki when he had quoted two days of travel.

                                            > It was later afternoon on the second day, and they still hadn't seen any sign of other people. Thistle had been thinking about asking Salki to stop, so she could graze until nightfall, but hadn't quite made up her mind.

                                            > She became aware that their procession had ground to a halt, so she did the same, making sure the wagon wheels were on firm ground so they wouldn't sink into mud.

                                            "[What is it?]" she asked the nearest nomad.

                                            > Zaur was staring into the distance, with his palm up to shield his eyes from the setting sun. "[Bulat is coming back on his horse,]" he said.

                                            > That meant they would wait for him, and then they would discuss what he'd found, or - more likely - hadn't found, Thistle decided. She scrambled with her hooves around her shoulders and squirmed out of the harness after a brief struggle with the knots.

                                            > The donkeys and the other horses had had the same idea and their heads were already to the ground. Thistle followed suit, although she kept an ear turned in the nomads' direction so she wouldn't miss anything important.

                                            > At first all she could hear were galloping hoof steps coming closer, followed by the horse's panting. Salki and Temir murmured to each other, but she couldn't catch the actual words.

                                            > Eventually the rider approached and slowed. She heard the thump as Bulat dropped heavily down from his mount.

                                            > "[Nothing,]" he said, even before Salki had had a chance to ask.

                                            > Thistle's heart fell and she lifted up her head even as she continued to chew.

                                            > "[Nothing?]" Salki asked, his voice flat and low with dismay.

                                            > "[There was a camp, but it has been gone for weeks.]"

                                            > "[Damn!]"

                                            "[Did you see which way they went?]" Thistle asked, with her mouth half-full of grass.

                                            > That reminded Salki and he pointed a finger. "[That's right! Was there any sign?]"

                                            > There was a momentary silence as Bulat gave it some thought. "[I don't know,]" he finally admitted.

                                            > "[We will go and check in the morning,]" Salki said. "[There will be tracks, we will know which way they went. When we know which way, we will know which camp site. We will find them.]"

                                            > That was as good a plan as any, so Thistle turned back to the patch of tender, fresh grass before her. Food was more important at the moment, and they would look for their friends the next day. One more night wouldn't make a lot of difference, and she knew it would be easy to miss any tracks or signs in twilight.

                                            > What was worse, blundering about in dark could lead to some incautious nomad to ruin traces of the other's direction.

                                            "[Salki? Unpack my roll, please? I have to eat.]"

                                            > "[Okay,]" the nomad said. "[Bulat, Zaur, go and see if you can shoot some game. We are almost out of dried meat.]"

                                            > The two he'd named rushed off and Salki pointed at the remaining two: "[Janus, Temir, gather some sticks for a fire. I will prepare the fire pit.]"

                                            > These, too, obeyed without question. In a way, Thistle was proud of Salki's tone of quiet command. He'd come some way from the demanding and petulant youth from only a few weeks ago. She knew he still had a ways to go, and he had a tendency to fall back into those habits.

                                            > More importantly, sometimes he made bad decisions, and when the others pointed that out, Salki usually decided to stubbornly dig his heels in and refuse to budge more often than not. Thistle had been guiding the young nomad to know when to give in and accept advice, but it was an uphill battle and it would take time.

                                            > Eventually, she thought, he would make a solid leader. Thistle couldn't help smiling a little to herself as she munched on the grass. A good leader, trained by her.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The new day brought more confusion, but at least there was some hope. They examined the remains of camp, and the refuse left behind. Thistle tried to imagine where the tents had stood, the impromptu 'streets' and places where the nomads had gathered.

                                            > Here and there she recognized a sight, but most of it was alien to her, inscrutable without the people, and their cooking fires, and their tents. Mere shapes on the ground.

                                            > Things had been left behind. Bits of leather and bone. Flint tools, and a few broken ceramic pots. In one place, there was the frame of a tent, mostly intact, but uncovered. A few fireplaces still had a dark, ashy mud, and one had the wooden tripod with the leather cooking pot.

                                            > Thistle couldn't guess what it all meant. The nomads were never this wasteful when they moved. It was certain they had gone, and all the hunters with her agreed on which way the tracks led. If the camp had been wiped out, Salki argued, the bodies would have been left for the wild animals. They would have found remains. Bones, and clothes, and tools.

                                            > It was obvious to them, if not to Thistle, that the camp people had left in a hurry. They hadn't had time to pack everything.

                                            > There was little else to do but follow them.

                                            > She went back to pulling Janus' blacksmithing cart, and the man himself walked beside her, but they didn't speak. Their group travelled in heavy, oppressive silence, each nomad lost in his own thoughts. The only change came when one of the scouts returned on a horse, changed it for another, and rode off again.

                                            > At least, Thistle thought, she wasn't very hungry anymore. She was too worried to think about that. What if something had driven the people off, and they would never find them? What if, whatever it was, had followed them and simply finished the job in another place?

                                            > What would become of their small group?

                                            > She kept her mouth shut and didn't speak of her worries, but whenever one of the other nomads came near her, she saw the same questions reflected on their faces, too.

                                            > The day gradually turned to evening, and when it was too dark to follow the trail, Salki called for a halt. Again he sent the others out, this time to hunt so they could keep up their strength.

                                            > Whatever they would catch wouldn't help Thistle very much, so she went off to crop the untouched grass to the side with the donkeys and the horses.

                                            > She kept going until it was fully dark and her belly was full, if not exactly satiated. When she came back to the fire, the cooking was already done, and the nomads sat, grim-faced and silent, around the flickering flames.

                                            "[How much further?]" she asked.

                                            > Her words were perhaps the first which broke the silence since Salki's quiet and subdued orders some hours ago, and the two youngest nomads jerked up in surprise at her sudden voice.

                                            > "[We don't know,]" Salki said. "[We will keep going until we find them.]"

                                            "[Where are they going? Is there a camp site this way?]"

                                            > Rather than replying, the nomad just gave her a troubled look and shook his head.

                                            "[Maybe some new, big animals showed up? Maybe they couldn't fight them off without you?]"

                                            > Even as she said it, the reasoning sounded dumb to Thistle. Salki flashed her a momentary smile, then shook his head again. "[No. It must be the Ruslans. They drove our people off with horses and numbers. We do not have many fighters.]"

                                            "[And some of them were gone.]"

                                            > It was the only reasonable conclusion they could make, and despite the fact that Salki didn't confirm it, Thistle felt it was the truth as the other nomads looked at one another.

                                            "[We will find them. Everyone will be alright, you'll see. Then we will fight back. We will have weapons.]"

                                            > At this, Janus spoke up, confident and boisterous: "[Yes, weapons! I make. Good weapons. Strong!]"

                                            > His claims helped lighten the mood and the nomads relaxed a little. The night seemed a tiny bit less dark, and the faces weren't quite so grim. Even Thistle felt a little better about lugging the blacksmith's tools and the few bars of bronze he had stolen from his old village. It wasn't much, but it would mean a few metal spears, and perhaps a couple of knives while they searched for ore.

                                            > She shuffled closer to Salki and leaned against his side in a show of silent support.

                                            > After a few moments, Salki's arm went around her back and Thistle rested her cheek on his shoulder.

                                            > She allowed the dancing flames to capture her imagination.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The sun was as high as it would get on the second day, when something changed. The nomads were still following the faint trails of the others' passage when Bulat rode back from his scouting run.

                                            > "[People!]" he said, pointing ahead of them.

                                            > "[How many?]" Salki asked.

                                            > "[Two! I saw spears! They saw me!]"

                                            > The others immediately drew closer together. Salki turned to the mare. "[You and Janus, stay back and protect the horses. We will fight them off. We can take two, easy.]"

                                            > Thistle tried to unbuckle herself from the harness, but her hooves shook with sudden nerves and she couldn't quite manage the knots.

                                            "[Janus? Help?]"

                                            > The blacksmith stared at her in confusion for a moment, then hurried over and untied her. They left the cart where it was and Thistle ran to herd the donkeys to the back. Zaur wordlessly passed her the rope to the lead jenny, and the other beasts smoothly followed when Thistle clicked her tongue at them.

                                            > Meanwhile, Janus waited for Bulat to dismount, so he could gather all the horses and join her. They stood together and stared at the distant horizon, trying to see the attackers.

                                            > "[Down! Don't show them how many we are!]" Salki said. He looked at the horses and his face darkened when he realized he couldn't quite hide them, but he didn't comment and joined the other four nomads lying in some tall grass.

                                            > At his words, Thistle flattened herself on the ground, making sure to keep her hoof on the donkey's rope.

                                            > The others had their bows in their hands, and arrows already knocked. Thistle knew they wouldn't be able to shoot from that position, but she also remembered how smoothly the hunters could rise up from cover and loose. It was a maneuver they practiced while hunting some of the more skittish animals of the steppe.

                                            > She swallowed a lump and forced her ears upright so she would catch any other instructions Salki might give her. She kept looking from the nomads to the distant horizon, but with her eyesight she couldn't really see much.

                                            > The group waited in tense expectation.

                                            > Temir was the first to whisper: "[I see them!]"

                                            > At his words, the others shuffled around and Salki partially lifted himself to peer above the clumps of grass. "[I see them too,]" he confirmed. "[They are coming this way. They saw the horses.]"

                                            > Thistle strained her eyes, but all that did was make her vision even more blurry with tears, which she had to wipe away with a hasty fetlock. She looked up at Janus, instead.

                                            "What do you see?" she asked him.

                                            > The blacksmith had the good sense to whisper, even though he hadn't lain down when Salki commanded it. Maybe that was good, she thought. If the enemy thought he was alone, if they didn't recognize that the person on the horse had been someone else, they may approach incautiously.

                                            > "Two men," Janus said, shading his eyes with his hand. "Spear. Bow. They walk to us."

                                            > Thistle's breath caught. A bow could only mean one thing, unless the Ruslans had beaten her tribe, in which case it didn't really matter.

                                            "[Salki!]" she hissed. "[They have bows! They have to be ours!]"

                                            > He glanced back briefly to give her a nod, but he also placed his finger on his lips. He didn't move from his prone position, unwilling to take the risk. "[Do you recognize them, Temir?]" he asked.

                                            > The silence stretched as the youth strained his eyes. Eventually he slumped down. "[I don't know,]" he admitted.

                                            > They waited, but the two strangers stopped some distance away. Temir said they might be talking, but he wasn't sure. They were obviously afraid of Janus, but also intrigued by the horses they could undoubtedly see.

                                            > "[One of them is going!]" Temir exclaimed. "[The way they came!]"

                                            > "[Shit! Going for more men,]" Salki swore. "[We have to attack! Come on!]"

                                            > He began to crawl closer on his belly.

                                            > There had to be a better way! Thistle thought quickly. The stranger was out of range of their bows, which meant they were also safe from him. Perhaps she could help them determine if the lone man was dangerous?

                                            > The answer was obvious.

                                            "[Wait!]" she said. "[I have an idea.]"

                                            > Salki and the others stopped and looked back at her in surprise. She gave them a nervous smile and rose to her hooves.

                                            > "[No! Get down!]" Salki hissed, but she ignored him and walked forward. When she was beside the prone nomads, she turned to one side, presenting her distinct profile to the stranger.

                                            > Her ears caught the faint shout, but she could not make out words.

                                            > There was a gasp from Temir. "[He raised his arm! He is waving!]"

                                            "[See? They are *ours*! They recognized me!]"

                                            > Salki remained silent for a few more seconds, but then Zaur said. "[I think he is coming closer. His bow is lowered.]"

                                            > That all but proved it. Salki gave her a quick glare and said: "[That was stupid, but I guess it worked.]" He stood up, followed soon by the others.

                                            > Soon after Temir exclaimed: "[It's Usman! Thistle is right.]"

                                            > By the time their friend reached the group, they were all smiling. He ran up to Salki and clasped his hand, even as he stared at the four horses. "[You're back!]" he exclaimed. "[You're back and you have horses. This is good!]"

                                            > "[Why did you look like you will attack us? Why did the clan move this way? You should have gone to South-East, like we agreed!]" Salki said.

                                            > At that, Usman's face darkened and he hung his head.

                                            > "[Oh, you don't know,]" he said sadly. When he looked back up, his face was somber.

                                            > "[We are at war with the Ruslans.]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was less of a triumphant return than Thistle had expected, but it still sparked off an impromptu celebration. The camp looked decidedly poorer than she remembered, with the tents clustered closer together, and hardly anyone drying animal hides, or smoking meat. The bonfire at the center was just an afterthought, and there were no fallen logs for benches around it.

                                            > The nomads she remembered were thinner, with sunken cheeks and sullen expressions, and even her closest friends barely mustered smiles when they saw her. Despite that, there was an aura of relief when Salki and the others came in.

                                            > Many stared at Janus in mistrust, although he was the one leading the horses and that helped break the ice. Thistle knew what the nomads thought of outsiders, so she stayed close to the man.

                                            > Almost immediately as they arrived Darga sent out a group of hunters to go get some big game, so they could have a good roast and celebrate. There would be no beer, but it felt as if everyone cheered up a little at the prospect of a good meal. For Thistle herself, there would be bread and tubers, and even a bit of grain that was left over.

                                            > There wasn't much of it, for the traders hadn't come back ever since the day their expedition had set out, and everyone blamed the Ruslans. No doubt they were waylaying the trading caravans and keeping them from getting to Darga's camp.

                                            > Pretty soon, the dark and gloomy atmosphere, and the bits and pieces of rumours Thistle heard, had soured her mood, too. The Ruslan tribe was larger than theirs, she learned, and they had more men. They were able to gang up on small hunting parties, and they'd even attacked the women when they went to gather yams and other roots.

                                            > Even the donkey herd had to be guarded at all times to keep them safe. It was impossible to go any distance from the camp in the dark. The enemy was harassing them and chipping away at their numbers with sneaky, underhanded tactics.

                                            > Her closest friends - Saule, Xuan, and Buygra, were alive, although Buygra had been injured during some recent fighting. Others Thistle remembered were mostly okay, but there were missing faces in the crowd, even if she couldn't immediately recall names.

                                            > It was only the nomads' proficiency with bows which kept them safe, but recently even that was not enough. The Ruslans had gotten wise to the weapon and were trying to make their own, with varying degrees of success. Now that they had seen it in action, perfecting it for themselves was only a matter of time.

                                            > Thistle wanted to tell everyone that they would have a blacksmith, but Salki had ordered her to remain silent until they'd had a chance to discuss it with Darga.

                                            > With that, all she could do was wander aimlessly from one friend to another, saying hello, and grudgingly accepting what little morsels they could give her. She wanted to say no to the mouldy bits of bread, or stale yams, but her own supplies had run out long ago and she desperately needed the calories.

                                            > At least with some, like Xuan, Thistle was able to forget their troubles for a few minutes. The woman was one of the few whose smile wasn't diminished, and who was really enthusiastic about the mare's return. Her daughter, Guuni, was not yet half a year old, but had grown visibly since Thistle had last seen her. The child stared at her with wide, curious eyes. She didn't speak yet, but some of the noises she made felt like they would become words in good time.

                                            > "[You will tell me about the things you've seen,]" Xuan had told her almost as soon as they met. "[Come, I will make tea,]" she invited.

                                            > There wasn't much else to do, not while Salki was explaining pretty much the same thing to his mother and the others were with their own families. Only Janus, who had nowhere to go, was standing awkwardly behind Thistle and looking bewildered at what he was seeing. She looked back at him, then gave Xuan a pleading look.

                                            "[He can join us? He is my friend.]"

                                            > Xuan glanced at the stranger, then shrugged her shoulders. "[Fine.]"

                                            > Thistle patted the edge of the rough animal skin Xuan had in front of her tent.

                                            "Janus, sit. We will talk."

                                            > He did so, giving Xuan a nervous grin and a head bow. "[Thank,]" he said, in fumbling and broken nomad. "[Thank for sit. Tired. Rest.]"

                                            > Xuan's eyebrow rose at the words and she looked at the mare. "[He doesn't speak our language?]"

                                            "[A little. He speaks more my language, Equestrian.]"

                                            > This was a reveal Thistle had been looking forward to, and she watched Xuan's face very closely. The woman tried to control herself, but for a moment her eyes widened and her mouth hung open. "[Your language?!]" she said, her voice calm, but with barely suppressed incredulity. "[How is that possible?]"

                                            > Thistle was silent for a few seconds as she thought about whether Darga may want to keep that information hidden. In the end, she asked:

                                            "[Will you keep this a secret?]"

                                            > Xuan gave an immediate nod. "[From everyone, except Buygra. We do not have secrets. He will not tell anyone, I will see to it.]"

                                            "[Okay, good. Janus knows Equestrian because my people were here, in your world, a long time before.]"

                                            > The woman gave the blacksmith a new, appraising glance. "[Really?]"

                                            "[Yes! They taught Janus' people the language, and the ways of making metal things, and they have been passing it down all along. The language is very bad now, but they are good with metal! They call themselves 'blacksmith'. It means someone who can shape metal.]"

                                            > Again, Xuan was shocked, but this time her gaping mouth became a gleeful smile. "[So you are this metal-shaper? The 'black-smith'?]" she asked Janus directly.

                                            > "[Yes,]" he replied, simply.

                                            "[Janus agreed to come with us and be our blacksmith. He will teach the clan how to find metals and how to make them into tools and weapons.]"

                                            > "[That will be useful,]" Xuan said. "[The Ruslans have been pushing us very hard. Some people have lost hope.]"

                                            "[I think I saw that,]" Thistle said sadly. "[What happened?]"

                                            > The woman just shrugged. "[They begun attacking our hunting parties. Always more men than ours. They killed some of us, and we killed some of them, but they have more men to lose. They began to draw closer at nights, attacking cowardly from the darkness and ambush!]"

                                            > Xuan spat, just barely missing the animal skin on which they sat. "[The dogs do not have the courage to face us head on, so they sneak around and pick us off one by one.]"

                                            > She reached out her hand to encompass the whole camp. "[Darga had us move here, because it is easier to defend. The grass is short, and there is a fast river, which is difficult to cross in the spring. It will be running low as the summer continues.]"

                                            > Thistle's ears were already splayed, and she swallowed a lump. "[How many people died?]"

                                            > "[I don't know,]" Xuan said. "[Many. Hunters, some women who went out to pick yams, a few children who were watching the donkeys.]" She spat again, and her face twisted into a grimace. "[Those dogs have no honor!]"

                                            > They were attacking the defenceless, and the children! Thistle realized her muzzle was scrunched up in a hateful snarl and shook her head, as if to try and dislodge those un-pony-like thoughts. She couldn't quite help being pleased with the aid she'd brought the clan, though.

                                            "[Janus will make us metal weapons! We brought some bars of metal, so he can begin right away! Arrows tipped with metal points! That will show them!]"

                                            > Even though he didn't understand most of what was said, the blacksmith's face was somber and serious. At Thistle's words he thumped his chest and said: "[I make weapons! Good weapons!]"

                                            > "[That is good to hear,]" Xuan said, a faint, sad smile returning to her lips. "[We need a good thing. I saw you also brought horses, but only four is not enough to ride into battle.]"

                                            "[Oh, that reminds me! Xuan, we need Buygra to try riding a horse and shooting a bow! Salki is not very good at it. If we can do that, we will have better and faster bowmen than Ruslans!]"

                                            > For the third time in a single conversation Xuan gaped in shock. "[Men with bows riding horses? Can it be done?]"

                                            "[Yes! Salki could do it, but he couldn't hit the targets. He needs more practice!]"

                                            > "[Hah!]" Xuan laughed. "[That will let us strike back at the cowards with impunity! This is good, really good! Is that what the people on the other side of the world do with horses?]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head and her ears perked up with pride. She even began to smile a little.

                                            "[No! It was my idea!]"

                                            > The woman reached across and tousled Thistle's mane. "[It is a good idea!]" She transferred her gaze to Janus. "[What do you need to make weapons? Darga will get you everything.]"

                                            > He didn't understand the question, but Janus understood the offer. His grin turned lecherous and he rubbed his hands together. "[Women for Janus? No lonely?]"

                                            > Thistle rolled her eyes at his youthful, hormone-induced lust, but Xuan just laughed it off. "[Is that all? There will be many who will want metal-shaper blood in their families. It will not be a problem.]"

                                            > It was the mare's turn to be shocked and she looked absolutely scandalized, at least until she remembered what she and Salki had been doing pretty much through the entire trip. After that, she just blushed and lowered her ears. Despite her own debauchery, she thought, Janus didn't have to look *that* pleased with himself. At least he could have given Xuan a serious answer.

                                            "[He will need- I don't know your word. It is wood which has been burned, but not completely burned. It is like the black bits of wood that are left in the fires.]"

                                            > "[Why? What use is half-burned wood?]" Xuan asked.

                                            "[If it is made correctly, it will burn much hotter than normal wood. We will also need a- a *thing* for blowing air. It is two bits of wood and leather, sown into a big water skin, with a small hole.]"

                                            > Xuan leaned her head to one side, but then nodded. "[I think Darkhan will be able to make something like that easily. What else?]"

                                            > The mare gave it some thought, but couldn't come up with anything. She looked at Janus, but decided against trying to make a comprehensive list just yet. No doubt Darga would want to know the same things, and they could go through it then.

                                            "[We have the rest. We brought his metal base, and his tools. We have some metal, but he will teach the hunters what to look for, to find more metals in the ground.]"

                                            > "[That is good!]" Xuan said, smiling openly by now. "[We will show those Ruslan dogs! They won't push us around any longer, not now that Salki and the others are back, and we have a metal-shaper!]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > A tent for Janus was found and erected right next to Darga's. A few of the others had to move to make room for him to set up a very temporary smithy. At last, all the effort Thistle had put into dragging his little cart across half the world was paying off.

                                            > The anvil, for which the nomads didn't have a word, was little more than a heavy wooden block, topped with bronze. The rest of the tools looked somewhat familiar - tongs, hammers, chisels, even the occasional rasp. Although they were suited for human hands, many of them had obvious Equestrian ancestry.

                                            > A more difficult problem was fuel. Thistle knew the rudiments of making charcoal, and Janus knew a lot more, but that would need a lot of wood. Besieged by the Ruslans, as they were, made it difficult. An alternative she'd thought of was coal.

                                            > From what she'd seen, this world was very similar to Equestria. There was a good chance it would have coal on the surface in places. When she mentioned this to Janus, he had agreed, and the two interrogated all the hunters and scouts.

                                            > Once they had a few potential leads, Darga sent out parties of three and four nomads to find these places and bring back the 'brittle black stones'.

                                            > Plain wood could be used, according to Janus, but it would take a lot of fuel, and they'd need to have the bellows. Thistle was able to describe exactly what they wanted to Darkhan, who promptly set off to work.

                                            > With luck, it would all come to fruition in a few days, and Janus would have earned a permanent place in the camp.

                                            > Many nomads were skeptical. Darga made it very clear that she would only believe it when her hand held an iron dagger, but at least she was letting them try. Despite their guarded attitude, after the news had spread Thistle could feel the mood of the camp shifting. More people smiled at her, and crowds congregated around the central fire pit, and Janus' tent. Still others were entranced by the horses and there was no shortage of helping hands when it came to caring for the beasts.

                                            > There were no fresh Ruslan attacks, which was thanks, in part, to the increased guard the nomads had set around the camp. Despite that, no one left the safety of the tents alone, and the nomads went in groups even to relieve themselves, and fetch water.

                                            > Thistle fell back into her old routine, and helped with fetching water, firewood, cooking, and washing. The transition had been surprisingly smooth, and soon their trip began to feel like a dream, compared with the realities of the life in the camp.

                                            > The biggest snag came on the morning of the third day, when she had gone to find Saule. The two had been spending time in the evenings to talk about Thistle's adventure, and the mare decided to take breakfast with Saule and her family, since there wasn't much to do around Darga's tent, or with Janus.

                                            > She had to ask for directions, thanks to the completely new layout of the small village of tents, and she soon found the young woman setting up her cooking fire.

                                            "[Good morning, Saule!]" Thistle chirped happily.

                                            > Saule cast her a glance, and her face darkened. "[Go away,]" she said, sharply.

                                            > The sheer, cold anger in her voice nearly sent Thistle reeling.

                                            "[What's wrong?]"

                                            > "[Don't ask me what's wrong! Just leave!]"

                                            > Thistle decided to ignore the command and came closer. She saw that the young woman's cheeks were marked with twin trails of fresh tears.

                                            "[Saule! Your face! What happened?]"

                                            > Her face was a grimace when Saule rounded up on the mare. She held her wooden mixing stick up high, as if she was going to beat Thistle with it. "[What happened? *You* happened, you mongrel bitch!]"

                                            > It wasn't language Thistle had ever heard from the normally soft-spoken nomad, nor did she expect to hear it! The name stung more than a slap with that stick would have.

                                            "[Why?! What did I do?]"

                                            > Thistle mentally replayed their previous conversation, but she hadn't said or done anything which could have justified this reaction. She hadn't been drunk, or anything!

                                            > "[I'll tell you what you did!]" Saule spat. "[You were fucking with Salki all the time you were away! That's what you did!]" At that, the young woman spat, narrowly missing Thistle's hoof.

                                            > The mare shrank back in the face of that incandescent rage, and her ears crawled to the back of her head.

                                            "[What? I- We just- Saule-]"

                                            > "[Shut up! I don't want to hear it,]" Saule replied and turned her back on Thistle. She picked up one of the long, straight sticks for her leather pot, and jammed it into the ground with such force that she nearly broke it. "[Salki is mine, you understand?! Keep your whore ass away from him!]"

                                            "[But Saule, I thought we were friends!]"

                                            > Saule whirled back around and smacked Thistle's side with the stick. It left a stinging line of fire across her ribs and the mare jumped back, yelping in pain.

                                            "[Saule, what the fuck?!]"

                                            > "[He's *mine*!]" the nomad repeated, growling the word so deeply that it made Thistle think of a wolf. "[Stay away! You're not going to turn him into an animal fucker! He doesn't like you!]"

                                            > Already there were tears flowing freely down Thistle's face, and she reached out a plaintive hoof.

                                            "[We can talk about this! He can l-love both of us! Don't do this!! We can work it out!]"

                                            > The angry woman raised her stick again, and Thistle took a hurried step back. "[There's nothing to talk! You stay the fuck away, or I'll tell Darga you seduced her son and made him fuck you. She'll skin you alive!]"

                                            "[I can't stay away, we sleep in the same tent.]"

                                            > Saule's face had been red already, but now it darkened to near purple. "[Not for long you wont! Move in with Janus, I don't care. You can fuck him all you like! Me and Salki will be together! I'll be chieftain's wife, and you'll just be a whore nobody!]"

                                            > Thistle placed her hoof on the ground in front of her, but Saule tightened her grip on the wood and lifted her arm again. She would hit her again, if the mare came within reach.

                                            > There was no talking to her, not in this mood.

                                            > Feeling like a coward, Thistle turned tail and hurried away, hot tears dripping freely from her muzzle.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Salki was avoiding her. Thistle had sought him out after her disastrous encounter with Saule, but he said he was busy and left. She considered following and demanding answers, but ultimately decided against it.

                                            > There was no one else she could talk to, either. If she told any of the other nomads what had happened, they would brand Salki an 'animal fucker', and it would severely damage both his, and his mother's reputation. Thistle wasn't certain who would become the chieftain after that, but Willow was an obvious candidate and that would end poorly for her, and likely for her friends.

                                            > She couldn't even confide in Xuan! The woman would probably understand, but this was in no way a certainty and Thistle didn't want to risk losing perhaps the only other ally she had in the camp.

                                            > Telling Janus was also out of the question. Even if she managed to explain it in a mixture of broken Equestrian and Nomad, he would be just as disgusted as all of the others. For most of them, it was unthinkable. It was one thing to do it with a captured Ruslan, who was an enemy and could be humiliated in revenge, but a rumor like that about any of the camp nomads was a far more serious accusation.

                                            > A simple drunken kiss had nearly turned Darga against her!

                                            > All Thistle wanted to do was go somewhere she could be alone, where at least she could have a good cry, but even that was to be denied her. Soon after her altercation with Saule one of the older girls sought her out and told her that she was needed at Janus' tent.

                                            > The mare collected her wits, set her face into an impassive mask, and made her way there. The reason was soon obvious. Darkhan had produced the rudimentary bellows, and some of the camp women had gathered a large pile of wood. Janus had dug a firepit and lined it with stones. A small, but fierce fire blazed in it while the man fiddled with his anvil.

                                            > Thistle had to push her way through the crowd which had gathered to watch this marvel. She was in no mood to apologize, or even talk, so she simply butted legs out of the way with her head, and didn't care of she stepped on toes. There was some cursing, and a few ineffectual slaps on her back, but she made her way to the center.

                                            > Almost immediately Janus spotted her and waved her over. "Come, come!" he spoke in Equestrian. His words were a lot surer in that language when it came to his craft, and he didn't even try with Nomad. "Come, you put wood on fire! You use bellows. I say when! Come!"

                                            > Even though she wasn't really in the mood for something so public and complicated, Thistle was very likely the best person for the job. Out of all of them, she at least had a vague idea what smithing looked like, and she was the only one who really understood the language.

                                            > Salki and the others could also speak it a little, but when she looked around the crowd Thistle couldn't see them. The important people were there: Darga, Intor, Kantuta, even Darkhan. But none of the young men who had accompanied her to the foreign lands. Either they were following Salki's example and avoiding her, or they had gone out to hunt.

                                            > She resigned herself to the task and went over to stand by Janus. At least, she thought bitterly, it would raise her esteem in the eyes of the people.

                                            "What do you need me to do?"

                                            > "I say already! Put wood, use bellow. I say when," Janus replied, a little irritably at having to repeat himself.

                                            > Thistle sat herself on a patch of dry-looking dirt and waited her cue. She watched the blacksmith unpack his tools and lay them out, close to hand. He pulled several lumps of yellow metal from his cart. She recognized them as bronze, although they didn't shine like the objects she remembered from Equestria. Then again, those had been largely ornamental, and they'd been finished products, whereas this was raw metal. Perhaps it was not meant to look nice.

                                            > Janus held his hand over the fire, then turned to her. "More wood," he told her. "Wood, then bellow."

                                            > She went to the large pile of dry twigs and branches. It must have taken a lot of effort to gather and drag over, and Thistle was secretly glad they hadn't sent her on that particular errand, at least. Compared to collecting the fuel, it was simplicity itself to toss some of the larger pieces into the fire.

                                            > After that, she looked for the makeshift bellows Darkhan had constructed. It was made of two wooden paddles, sown into several pieces of leather to make a sack. It opened at the thin end, but there was nothing which would prevent it from smoldering.

                                            > She would have to be careful and not stick it directly into the fire. Perhaps Janus could make a nozzle for it in time, but until then the little leather spout couldn't be allowed to get too near the heat.

                                            "Help me move this," she said to Janus.

                                            > The contraption was large and unwieldy, cumbersome to move with hooves. It wouldn't have been too bad to get into place before the fire was lit, but now the two handles flopped every which way and they could end up in the coals all too easily.

                                            > Janus quickly saw her problem and hurried over to help her move the thing. It was easier for bipeds who had two five-fingered hands, and in a matter of moments the bellows was set just right. Janus had left out one of the stones in the top ring, so that air could be blown right into the heart.

                                            > She experimentally lifted up one handle, but had to hurriedly step on the other one to keep it in place. It would be awkward work, and Thistle began looking at the crowd to find a volunteer after she'd demonstrated the principle.

                                            > Without springs, a bellows was a complicated object for a pony to use, especially one this large. Still, she made do, and when she pushed the handle back down, a large gust of air blew right into the flames, which leapt and crackled with fierce intensity. She could feel the heat on her muzzle.

                                            > Satisfied with the results, Janus selected a small lump of metal and simply dropped it into the fire.

                                            "Won't it melt?"

                                            > He looked from it, to the mare, then back, before laughing. "Fire not hot enough. It will go soft. I will take out when soft, and hit with hammer."

                                            "Oh."

                                            > "Keep bellow air!"

                                            "Sorry."

                                            > She fumbled with the handle to lift it again, then pushed another good blow of air into the fire. She cast a quick glance at Janus, and he nodded and waved his hand up and down, so she did the same thing once more.

                                            > After the first few minutes, it became a routine, although she still had to wrestle a bit with the unwieldy wooden stick. If she was going to do this often, Thistle thought, she would have to get Darkhan to make some kind of a strap for her hoof.

                                            > For now, it seemed to be a satisfactory performance and she heard faint murmurs from around them during the few quiet moments while the bellows were either full, or empty.

                                            > She saw the people were talking excitedly, and a few were pointing at the fire. The bronze was gradually, almost imperceptibly, changing color. She tried to watch it for a while, but her eyes began to water from the heat.

                                            > "More air," Janus said, needlessly. He hurried over to the wood, browsed through it for a few larger branches, and tossed those on the top, one by one.

                                            > Gradually, with the combination of heat and exertion, Thistle began to sweat. It wasn't too bad, and the moisture dried almost as soon as it appeared, but she was starting to get thirsty. She scanned through the crowd again for a potential replacement so she could rest for a bit.

                                            > Her attention was diverted when Janus selected some tongs and pushed the glowing embers apart a little. She held the bellows fully extended, but didn't push it down while he checked on his metal.

                                            > "Little more," he told her and stepped away, so she could give the fire a few good blasts of air. After that she stopped once more, and he went back to inspect it.

                                            > This time he found what he wanted and pulled the glowing lump of bronze out. It went to the anvil, where he held it with one hand, while he plucked a large hammer from his belt with his other.

                                            > He hit the metal with a resounding clank, a small shower of sparks and, a moment later, an exclamation from the observing nomads.

                                            > It was also Thistle's chance to rest, since there was nothing left in the fire. She let the bellows fall to the ground and went to sit down a little distance away to cool off.

                                            > She'd almost forgotten Salki's anger, and now she kept a curious eye on what Janus was doing. It was hard to see from her vantage point, but he hammered at the metal with quick, sure strikes. There was nothing primitive about his craft, even if his tools were rudimentary.

                                            > Perhaps the strangest thing was how the people watched, mostly in silence. A few of them spoke, or pointed, and there were ragged cheers every now and then when Janus made particularly many sparks glitter through the air. Darga and Intor were conversing, but it was too quiet for Thistle to hear.

                                            > "Come. More fire," Janus said at last, and held up the lump. It had more of a shape, elongated and rounded, rather than lumpy, but Thistle couldn't guess what he was making. Crucially, the bronze had cooled so it barely glowed, and there were black flecks crumbling from it.

                                            > Janus put it back in the fire, and motioned her to the bellows. With a small sigh, Thistle returned and fumbled to grip the handle once more.

                                            "What are you making?" she asked, mainly to pass the time.

                                            > "Small knife and arrow."

                                            "Just one arrow?"

                                            > If so, it would be a waste of metal, unless the nomad who had it made very sure to always retrieve it.

                                            > "Many arrow!" Janus explained. He prodded the metal in the flames again, but then began to look around the crowd. She saw him smiling and followed his gaze, to where a few of the older girls were standing it a group. Their faces held open admiration.

                                            > Thistle rolled her eyes and focused on the bellows.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The first blade had gone to Willow. Thistle had thought it would belong either to Salki, or his mother, but there was a big argument and in the end they had to give it. After all, Salki had brought a knife from the foreign lands, and Darga didn't go out on hunts. It was war time, so there was no room for extravagance.

                                            > The arrow tips were a different matter. Salki was still one of the best with a bow, so it made sense to give him the best weapon.

                                            > Despite the row that evening when Janus had finished and dunked the metal objects into a clay pot of water, the atmosphere in the camp was jubilant. Someone had brought a skin of old, stale beer from somewhere, and a few of the women began making bread. A donkey was killed, and the people decided to have a little festival.

                                            > It was quite badly needed, especially after the tension and worry Thistle had sensed in the air ever since they'd returned. Times were hard, and the future was uncertain, so a night to forget it all would help everyone.

                                            > Salki was still avoiding her, and the few times she tried to talk to him, the young man just turned around and pretended she wasn't there. It was infuriatingly juvenile and soon her teeth hurt from grinding them in impotent rage. Even worse - no one wanted to give her any beer, so Thistle was stuck with a few crusts of rough bread and a couple of toasted yams. Those were nice, but they didn't help her relax.

                                            > In the end she gave up on the situation, at least for the moment, and went to see how their new horses were doing. Bulat and Zaur, who had the most experience with the animals, had become their unofficial keepers, and it wasn't strange that they were with their small, new herd, rather than enjoying the party.

                                            > They offered Thistle friendly nods as she joined them, but continued talking about the four horses.

                                            > "[Janus said the mare will be in heat soon. Did you see how she fought with the other one?]" Bulat was saying.

                                            > Zaur, on the other hand, just spread his arms helplessly. "[Janus said that when we were still on the other side of the mountains. Neither of the mares have gone into heat yet!]"

                                            > At that, Bulat pointed a finger. "[It will be soon. See how she lifts her tail?]"

                                            > The statement just made his friend snort with laughter. "[Pah,]" Zaur shot back, "[she only does that to take a shit. They are the same as donkeys, only bigger.]"

                                            > For a moment the two glared at each other, then they both turned to Thistle, who was staring in shock at their conversation.

                                            > "[Thistle,]" Bulat said, "[what do you think? Will the big mare go in heat soon?]"

                                            "[How am I supposed to know?!]" she squeaked, face coloring slightly.

                                            > The nomad looked uncertain for a moment, but then wheeled his arms in a helpless gesture. "[I don't know! Can't you smell it on her or something? I thought animals can smell this kind of thing!]"

                                            "[Ugh. No!]"

                                            > Both men looked at her with blank expressions and Thistle felt something more was expected.

                                            "[Look, maybe donkeys can smell it on donkeys. Maybe horses can smell it on their mares! We ponies can't-]"

                                            > Her ears folded down and she looked away from them, even as the red in her face deepened.

                                            > "[What is it?]" Zaur insisted.

                                            "[Well, we can't smell it before it happens. We can smell it when it's happening.]"

                                            > "[Well, horses are like big ponies. Try!]"

                                            > Thistle looked from one nomad to the other in shock. Surely they weren't serious? Unfortunately, the pair were looking at her with expectant, eager faces, and even stepped aside to clear her way to where the horses were tied up.

                                            "[They're a different species! I've never even seen a horse in heat!]"

                                            > Zaur's grin softened a little, and he came closer so he could put his hand in her mane. His fingers pried one of her ears up a little so he could scratch what he knew to be her favourite place. "[Come on, just try. We won't mind if it doesn't work!]"

                                            > He gave her his most winning smile, and Thistle let her head hang. She couldn't believe she was even entertaining the idea.

                                            > "[Yes. Please?]" Bulat added.

                                            > She grumbled under her breath, but walked between the two nomads and approached the horses. She just wanted to get the silly pantomime over, so she could go back to-

                                            > Back to where? The party was crowded and loud, and she would run into Saule and Salki, both of whom were giving her dark looks, or ignoring her completely. She could instead stay around Darga and Intor and Willow, and listen to their argument about who should get metal weapons next.

                                            > Buygra was out on patrol, and Xuan was with her daughter. The rest of them, she didn't know very well, so the best Thistle could hope for was awkward conversation, especially if they'd heard she and Saule had had a falling out.

                                            > Luckily none of the camp people knew what had happened, or else she and Salki would be in deep trouble, but rumors abounded in the small community and by now every nomad in the camp knew that they were fighting over *something*. Salki would *have* to speak with her, if only so they could get their stories straight!

                                            > Thistle let out a sigh.

                                            "[Do you have any beer?]"

                                            > The two nomads looked at one another, then shook their heads, almost in unison. "[No, sorry,]" Bulat answered for both of them. "[There were no traders. No one has beer.]"

                                            "[Someone had a skin, back there,]" she said and pointed a hoof.

                                            > "[Yuck, if it was from the spring, it must be gross by now.]"

                                            "[It's not about the taste.]"

                                            > Thistle dragged herself forward until she was right by the smaller of the mares. The horse watched her with slight curiosity, but seemed as if she was ready to go to sleep. That was good, and it meant Thistle probably wouldn't get kicked.

                                            > She cast a quick glance back at Bulat and Zaur, both of whom nodded at her and made shooing motions with their hands. Thistle signed again, and went behind the mare. She wondered what she was supposed to do. Wait until the creature peed, then sniff it? Stick her muzzle right in the other mare's bits? Poke with a hoof and then smell *that*?

                                            > Thistle rolled her eyes in exasperation and lifted her head. As if on cue, the mare flicked her tail, awarding her a good view of her dirt-encrusted backside.

                                            > It just stank of horse urine and their grass-filled poop, nothing else. Not pleasant, but also not particularly bad.

                                            "[Nothing, like I said!]" she told the two nomads.

                                            > "[Try the other one!]" Bulat suggested.

                                            > Thistle stomped an annoyed hoof, groaned to herself, but nevertheless obeyed. The other mare was more alert, and snorted at her when she approached. Her tail flicked more often, and she leaned her head down to sniff at the smaller pony.

                                            > It was different enough that Thistle began to think it might mean something. She tried to walk around, but the mare followed her.

                                            "[Bulat, come and hold her halter.]"

                                            > The man sprinted over and grabbed the bit of leather around the mare's head. This finally allowed Thistle to get behind.

                                            > She didn't have to wait long. She saw the same set of *bits*, the same dirt, the same smells.

                                            > Except...

                                            "[Wait. Zaur, come here,]" she said.

                                            > The other nomad was by her side in a few moments.

                                            "[Grab her tail. I can't see, she keeps swishing it too much!]"

                                            > He caught the fine hairs and pulled them aside.

                                            "[Huh.]"

                                            > "[What is it?]" Zaur asked.

                                            > Thistle pointed a hoof.

                                            "[See? There is liquid on her- on her- there. Did she just piss?]"

                                            > To her surprise, horror, and a sudden, unexpected burst of red hot excitement, Zaur stuck his finger right in the other mare's parts, then brought them to his nose. A moment later he lowered them for Thistle to also smell.

                                            > She did it.

                                            > It was not urine.

                                            "[I guess that's it then?]"

                                            > "[See?]" Bulat said happily. "[I told you you can do it! I guess we keep her away from the other mare, and together with the stallion.]"

                                            "[Yes.]"

                                            > The two nomads let the mare go, and Zaur patted Thistle on her back. "[This is good!]" he exclaimed. "[We will have baby horses!]"

                                            > Despite herself, she was excited, too.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            "[Salki, stop and listen to me!]"

                                            > Thistle hurried after the young nomad. She'd chosen her ambush well, and thanks to the crowd it wasn't that easy to simply evade her. Before long she had the man with his back to the bonfire and surrounded by impenetrable walls of happy, partying nomads. The noise was deafening, but that just meant their conversation would be essentially private.

                                            > Salki looked around, but the only way through would be to physically shoulder people aside, and she would easily follow him through that. His arms slumped and he focused a glare at her.

                                            > "[What do you want?!]"

                                            > Her ears splayed at his icy tone. For a short while she couldn't meet his eyes and she simply stood there, examining a patch of dirt in minute detail, but then she pressed her lips together and forced herself to look at the man.

                                            "[We have to talk about Saule!]"

                                            > It was Salki's turn to study the ground between her hooves. Once more he looked around, but there was no place to go. The bonfire was a popular spot in the cool, summer night, thanks in part to all the food which was being cooked. The easiest way to leave would be right through the mare, where the crowed thinned a little in deference to the smaller pony.

                                            > Salki's shoulders went up and down, but Thistle couldn't hear his sigh above the general din of conversation, laughter, and singing. He took a step closer and said: "[Fine, let's go to the tent.]"

                                            > Was he trying to run away? She watched him warily as he shuffled around her and began to push through the crowd of people. It was still possible for him to make a break for it once he was clear. Despite his words, Thistle didn't fully trust Salki, not after the way he'd avoided her.

                                            > There was no trick, however, and she followed him the short distance to a tent near his mother's, on the other side from Janus.

                                            "[What is this? Whose tent is this?!]" she asked, bewildered.

                                            > She couldn't remember if it had been there in the morning. Salki hadn't slept in his cot the previous night, and she'd assumed he was either with his friends, celebrating the expedition's success, or with Saule, catching up. Now she began to think that he'd moved out already.

                                            > The young nomad glanced back at her, then gave a small shrug. "[It's mine. Mine and Saule's.]"

                                            "[But she was at her mother's tent this morning!]"

                                            > Salki grunted a non-answer and ducked into the relative calm and quiet of the inside. She pushed through the tent flap and let it close after her. It was dark, but her eyes soon picked out a faint red glow from the few remaining coals in the center.

                                            > She sat down near the entrance, not bothered very much by the bare ground. It was dry and well-stomped, and in late summer it wasn't cold.

                                            > "[Saule will live here soon. Mother and  Mitra are talking about it.]"

                                            "[Why your mother and Mitra?]"

                                            > "[I will be Chieftain, and Mitra is friends with Intor, who wants Willow to be Chieftain. Mother says we must get Mitra to agree that Saule will marry me, not Willow.]"

                                            > It came down to politics, and Thistle began to wish she'd paid closer attention to the social undercurrents. She saw Salki sit opposite her, and she slid down so she was lying on her side. It felt like it would be a lengthy conversation.

                                            "[Look, I'm sorry Saule is mad. I thought we- us three- You remember that night before we went away? When the traders came?]"

                                            > Salki gave her a curt nod. "[Me and Saule fucked for the first time.]"

                                            "[I thought all three of us would!]" Thistle said, with a slight whine to her voice.

                                            > She prodded at a bit of charred wood with a hoof and pushed it into the embers.

                                            "[We were all- there. Remember? We were kissing. You played with my- you put your finger- *there*! I thought we liked each other.]"

                                            > The sliver she'd pushed began to burn with a bright little flame in the darkness of the tent, and it illuminated Salki's thoughtful gaze as he stared into it. "[I remember. I think Saule thought I was hers, after we laid together.]"

                                            "[Well, I'm sorry. I thought we would share, all three! I liked- I like Saule. I thought we were friends. I thought she saw me as a friend, too! That we could be more.]"

                                            > "[I think that's the problem,]" Salki replied pensively.

                                            "[What do you mean?]"

                                            > He gestured at the mare with his hand. "[You're like a woman. Saule thinks you're trying to steal me away from her. She thinks I will marry you, and then you will be Chieftain's wife.]"

                                            > Thistle's mouth fell open and her ears folded back in shock.

                                            "[What?! But everyone else will outcast you if they knew! They'd call you 'animal fucker' and your mother would disown you!]"

                                            > It was Salki's turn to play with a dry twig he'd picked up from the ground near the fire. He wouldn't meet her eyes as he spoke: "[Yes, but Saule doesn't think that way! She doesn't think of you as an animal.]"

                                            > The mare was stunned speechless for a short while, and her heart gave a painfully strong thump. She stared at Salki and leaned her head to one side in incredulity.

                                            "[Really?]"

                                            > Salki gave her a single nod in response.

                                            "[We have to make up. I'll tell her I'm sorry. We can work this out!]"

                                            > "[No, Saule won't talk to you.]"

                                            "[Why not?!]"

                                            > Salki tossed his twig into the embers and let out a chuckle. "[Because we fucked while we were away. She thought her and I were promised after we had lain together. She hates you.]"

                                            "[Well, you have to talk to her. I don't want to be enemies with Saule! I really thought we were friends.]"

                                            > The young man looked doubtful.

                                            "[Promise you'll talk to her!]"

                                            > "[She said I shouldn't see you any more.]"

                                            > It felt as if one of the few people who really saw her as a person, not just a useful animal, or a resource, was slipping right between her forelegs. Over something stupid, too!

                                            > She'd never expected to supplant Saule, but she'd really hoped they could stay close. She had never wanted to get between the two, but as the only pony in this world, did she not deserve a bit of love in her life? Thistle slammed her hoof on the dry, packed dirt by the fire.

                                            "[Salki, that won't work! We have to help each other! You'll need me when you are Chieftain, and I want to help the camp! We'll have to talk!]"

                                            > Salki kept his large, dark eyes on her face for a long time, before tossing another small branch into the fire. "[I'll try,]" he said, but his voice was rather faint. He didn't believe it would do any good.

                                            "[Thank you. Just- Just get Saule to talk to me. I'll apologize. She can beat me if she thinks it will help. Whatever it takes.]"

                                            > Perhaps, Thistle thought, if she offered some sacrifice. She closed her eyes, swallowed, and continued in a weak voice:

                                            "[Tell her- tell her I promise we won't fuck again. I just want me and Saule to keep talking to each other! I want to keep talking to you!]"

                                            > Without her guidance, Salki wouldn't last very long as a leader. He was too direct, too honest, and too inexperienced. Intor and Kantuta would eat him for breakfast, especially if he couldn't rely on his mother for advice.

                                            > Darga did want her son to take up the mantle, but only because the people were getting restless and did not want to have a woman for a leader any more. It was a stupid and backward point of view, but unlike pony culture, the nomads didn't trust their females with a lot.

                                            > For that matter, it wasn't just the nomads. She'd seen something similar in the lands to the west. Thistle wondered if it was true for all the peoples of this world.

                                            > Salki and his mother didn't always see eye to eye, either. They fought often enough, and if they fell out, the others would take advantage. Intor still wanted her son to become the chief, and she would not be easily deterred.

                                            > It would take very careful hoofwork to tread the middle path, to appease all the factions in the camp just enough to keep them working together, and guide them all through this crisis with the Ruslans, and through any future problem they might find themselves in.

                                            > Things would get easier now that they had their own metalworker, and once their herd of horses became larger, they would be able to move faster than with donkeys.

                                            > The clan *had* to retain control over their lands, if Thistle wanted any chance of finding her way home to Equestria.

                                            > Thistle realized they'd been staring at the fire in silence for a while, and let out her breath. She gave Salki her best, most winning smile, together with her widest, shiniest eyes, and ears folded completely flat.

                                            "[Please Salki, I want us all to be friends. I'll make it up to Saule, and I'll swear to her I won't touch you again, we just have to talk for a while. You can convince her to do that, can't you?]"

                                            > It worked on the young man and he soon averted his gaze from her weaponized cuteness. "[Fine,]" he said, and hurled a bit of wood into the fire so hard it made sparks fly. "[Fine! I'll talk to Saule, but I can't promise anything!]"

                                            > Thistle had an idea. A good one, but also one which sent a pang of sharp pain through her very centre.

                                            "[Tell Saule that you and she have something special you and me can't ever have. You can have children.]"

                                            > The young man looked at her, and even in the red glow of the dying fire, she thought his face was flushed. "[I- I guess,]" he mumbled.

                                            "[Tell her she will marry the Chieftain, and she will have the Chieftain's son, who will be a Chieftain, too, one day. Tell her I will help you to do this.]"

                                            > "[I'll try,]" he repeated.

                                            > Thistle thought for a while, but couldn't think of anything else to say. If she forced it, things would become awkward. She pulled herself up to her hooves and turned to leave, but paused before she touched the tent flap.

                                            "[By the way, I think one of the mares is going into heat. We will have baby horses soon.]"

                                            > Salki visibly perked up and even flashed her a brief smile. He didn't stand up just yet, but he braced the palm of his hand on the ground, ready to lift himself. "[Really? That's good!]"

                                            "[Yes. With luck, the other mare will be in heat soon, too. We only have one stallion and we-]" she began.

                                            > This was difficult to explain with the nomads' lack of even rudimentary Equestrian education.

                                            "[We have to make sure the blood mixes well. We will need more horses, soon. We have to make another expedition next year.]"

                                            > "[We don't have anything to trade,]" Salki said.

                                            > Thistle had been thinking the same thing, and her ears lowered as she said her next words.

                                            "[We will have to steal some more.]"

                                            > This made Salki smile, and he quickly got to his feet and walked over to her. His hand patted her side and he said: "[Good. You're starting to think like us.]"

                                            > She didn't know if she should be proud, or ashamed, at this praise. Thistle decided to pick the former, and gave Salki a smile.

                                            "[Let's go and see if there's anything left to eat. Tomorrow you, and me, and your mother have to sit down and figure out what to do about the Ruslans.]"

                                            > "[Fine.]"

                                            > Thistle was about to push through the flap, but drew back and folded her ears down in apprehension.

                                            "[Um, go first and check that Saule doesn't see us together. You should talk with her first. I'll stay away until then.]"

                                            > "[Good idea,]" Salki replied. He sucked out of the tent and held the flap up in his hand while he glanced around. "[It's safe. Come on.]"

                                            > Thistle leapt through the opening, brushed her muzzle on Salki's thigh, and hurried back toward the central bonfire. She was feeling a little better about the future, and realized she was quite hungry. Some more bread, and a couple of baked yams would be a nice end to this miserable day.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Things between Thistle and Saule did not change much. She hadn't expected a miracle, but the young woman's unwillingness to even see the mare hurt. At least she'd convinced Salki that they needed to keep talking, but even that was causing tension between the couple.

                                            > There wasn't much Saule could do, however, especially since it was Darga's command that the mare be included in discussions. Janus had continued to produce small blades and arrow tips from his rapidly diminishing stock of metal, and the big question in air was who would get these new weapons. There Thistle's previous life had proven somewhat useful.

                                            > The final arbiter of these decisions was still Darga, but thanks to Salki having a quiet word with his mother, Thistle had been allowed to sit with them when they were deciding. It wasn't a council, or a committee, or any kind of official governing body, but the circle who allocated this important new resource included the most powerful members of the tribe, or at least the ones with the most influence.

                                            > Darkhan and Willow, of course, and Rinat, all three of them sitting together and as far away from Darga as possible. Closer to the current chieftain were Salki and Thistle, although no one paid the mare much attention, thinking her little more than Salki's pet at these hearings. There was also Usman, but only because he was filling in for Hisein, who would have sat opposite Darkhan.

                                            > The fact that their places around the central fire were so strictly determined was a surprise to Thistle, but after listening in on their first session, she understood it. The Chieftain wanted to have her friends near her, and her opposition in front of her, where it would be easier to keep her eye on them. That put Darkhan and Usman between the two groups, as some kind of a neutral party.

                                            > It also allowed the mare to keep a very watch over the nomads she most disliked - Willow and his father, Rinat.

                                            > She had come a long way over the past year and now that she'd gotten used to them, she could read a lot from expressions on their faces. For one, she could tell immediately that the three people sitting opposite the Chieftain didn't want to be there, but dealing with her was the only way to get some of these shiny new weapons for their own faction.

                                            > That told her that the blacksmith was, at least in the eyes of the influential, firmly Darga's property, or at least that the fruits of his labour were nominally hers to give away. That followed, Salki had explained, from the fact that Darga's expedition, led by her son, had found the man.

                                            > Furthermore, Thistle noticed with some surprise, Darga did not unfairly grant these new weapons exclusively, or even *mostly*, to her own friends. Despite her distaste - and it was plain to see on her face, even to the mare - she granted the tools to their best fighters and hunters.

                                            > It made sense. They were at war, after all, and the clan's survival had to be their top priority.

                                            > That fact gave Thistle an idea, and after the second such hearing had ended, and everyone was standing up to disperse, she laid a hoof on Salki's knee to keep him in place.

                                            "[I want to talk to you. Stay.]"

                                            > He gave her a puzzled look, but settled back down while the others filed out of Darga's tent. The Chieftain left, too, and the two of them were finally alone.

                                            > "[What is it?]" the young man asked.

                                            "[You and Darga are giving weapons to people you don't like. To Willow and some of his friends.]"

                                            > It was a statement, not a question, and the young nomad scowled at her. "[Mother says we have to, because they are defending us against Ruslan attacks.]"

                                            "[She is right.]"

                                            > For a moment Salki's mouth hung open, but then he shut it and glare darkened. Thistle raised a hoof to forestall his outburst.

                                            "[Listen to me. It's the smart thing to do, but you can- you can make it better for yourself and your mother.]"

                                            > His eyes narrowed in suspicion, but he didn't speak.

                                            "[Let's meet with Darga, and Darkhan, and Usman before the others come. We will discuss who is best to have the new weapons each time, and we will propose them to Willow and Rinat.]"

                                            > "[Why? They will demand the weapons go to their friends anyway, why make it easier for them?]"

                                            > The mare rolled her eyes, but despite her exasperation at Salki's lack of political acumen, she smiled a little as she delved into what her cutie mark was telling her.

                                            "[There is an important difference. Let me try to explain. Imagine that you are hungry, and you come to the central bonfire, where Intor is making bread. She is giving it to Willow, and Rinat, and Kantuta. Then she gives it to Tashi, and Yasin, but you are still hungry.]"

                                            > Salki gave a shrug, as if he had been expecting nothing less. "[That's right. She is a bitch and will feed her friends first.]"

                                            "[Exactly. So then you approach her, and ask for some bread because you are starving. She glares at you, and tears off a small piece, and tosses it into the mud at your feet.]"

                                            > Despite the fact that it was only a story, Salki was glowering and his hands were bunched into fists. "[Yeah? So what. I wouldn't take it, not from her! I'd rather starve to death!]"

                                            > Thistle laid a hoof back on his leg and gave the young man a rueful smile.

                                            "[Okay, now let's try that again. Let's say it's a different day, and once gain Intor is making bread, and you are hungry. You come to the central bonfire, and Intor sees you. She smiles at you. Willow has his hand out for a piece of bread, but she shakes her head to him, and gives it to you instead. She says: 'Here, Salki. You are hungry. Have this, and I will make more for everyone.']"

                                            > He blinked in confusion at the mare, then said: "[Intor would never say that!]"

                                            > Thistle grunted in annoyance and patted his thigh firmly with her hoof.

                                            "[Just imagine. Do you see the difference in the two stories? The result is the same: you get some bread to feed your hunger. Yet they are not the same.]"

                                            > The nomad looked blank, and she waited for a few minutes to see if he would understand. When he didn't speak, Thistle took a breath and continued:

                                            "[It is not only about the result. Intor's friends will get the weapons because they are the best fighters, and we need them to fight better than the Ruslans. If we decide who gets the weapons beforehand, and propose it ourselves, it will not feel to Willow and Rinat that they have to argue with us to get weapons. They will feel respected, and in turn they will respect us.]"

                                            > Salki's hand had found its way to her foreleg, and his fingers wrapped around her fetlock. Thistle glanced down for a moment, and her tail swished with sudden longing, but she dragged her mind back to the task at hand.

                                            "[This is what we have to tell your mother. Distribute the weapons fairly, to men who will make best use of them, but begin with those on Intor's side, and then those who are undecided, and give to your friends last. Show them that being one clan, together, is important to you and your mother.]"

                                            > He still seemed undecided, and his fingers gave her leg a squeeze. The touch was so familiar that Thistle's ears flattened and her tail twitched upward without her conscious control. She had to bite her lip to stop herself from letting out a needful sigh.

                                            > "[I don't know. Maybe.]"

                                            "[Talk to your mother. Tell her what I said. She will understand.]"

                                            > He leaned his head to one side and stared at her face, and while he thought, Salki put his other hand against the side of her muzzle. His thumb gently brushed her nose. "[I will talk to her, but I don't think she will say yes.]"

                                            "[Tell her it is important the people in the clan become friends, even Intor and Willow.]"

                                            > Saying that left a foul taste in her mouth, but the times being what they were, they couldn't afford a civil war or more mistrust between them. They faced a very serious threat, and needed everyone to pull together.

                                            "[We have to be friends and look out for one another, otherwise we will not survive. Only together are we strong.]"

                                            > To that, at least, Salki gave a nod. "[Together we are strong,]" he repeated. "[We will beat the Ruslans. They do not have metal weapons.]"

                                            "[We do not have very many,]" she pointed out. "[We will have to go look for metal rocks, like Janus said.]"

                                            > That was a more palatable topic of conversation, and Salki quickly grasped it in lieu of what they had just been discussing. "[Yes. Mother says we will move. We'll go to the camp near the forests. It is a long way, and perhaps Ruslans will not pursue us. We will take our lands back when we have better weapons.]"

                                            "[Why there?]"

                                            > "[The forest will give us wood to make this burned stuff Janus needs for his fire. There are also rocks in some places, and maybe there are metal rocks. We will search for them.]"

                                            > This made a lot of sense, and Thistle's ears flicked up in sudden curiosity.

                                            "[Wait! If these lands are far away and safer, why did the people not go there before?]"

                                            > Salki patted her muzzle, then withdraw his hand and released her hoof. It slid off his leg as he stood up. "[Because they had to wait near here for our return. If they left, the Ruslans would capture us and they would have the horses, and also a blacksmith, even if Mother didn't know we were bringing one.]"

                                            "[Oh. That's right. That's good. But we can leave now?]"

                                            > "[Yes. We will wait for Janus to make a few more arrow tips, and then we will move. There will be easier hunting in the forest, but there are more wolves, so we will have to send larger hunting parties.]"

                                            > The mention of wolves made her ears fold down flat, but the mare gave a slight nod to all that and followed the nomad outside. For a moment the mid-day brightness of the late summer sky nearly blinded her, but her eyes quickly adapted and she hurried to catch up to Salki.

                                            "[Good. Oh, by the way, the horses have mated. The larger mare went into heat and she has mated with the stallion. She will have a baby in the spring. I think the other mare will be ready soon, too.]"

                                            > Even talking about it was making her tail hitch up, and Thistle had to focus and firmly clamp it down. She hadn't had a release in some time and sorely needed it. Unfortunately Salki was now off-limits, and no one else in the camp would consider it.

                                            > She wondered if Janus could be convinced. He seemed horny enough himself, despite all the young women who had been visiting his tent on most nights. Thistle had heard them, even through the thickness of two leather layers.

                                            > It helped his cause, she thought, that he'd taken to smithing without his shirt, which went a long way to show off his muscular chest and wide shoulders. Celestia, it was even doing something to *her*, and she wasn't even a nomad!

                                            > Salki had said something and was looking at her expectantly. Her ears went flat and her face went even more red than it had gotten in her quiet excitement.

                                            "[Sorry. What did you say?]"

                                            > "[I asked if we can mate one of the donkeys with the horses. What will happen? They look similar.]"

                                            > Thistle swallowed and averted her eyes. There had been rumours floating around Equestria, even though neither she, nor anypony she'd known had ever seen such a thing for themselves.

                                            "[I- I think they can have children, but those children will not have any more.]"

                                            > "[So we can get more horses, but they will not produce more?]"

                                            "[Not horses. I'm not s-sure what they will be, but not horses, and not donkeys. Something in between.]"

                                            > Salki took this under consideration, then shrugged. "[We will try. Some of the donkeys will go into heat soon, we can pair them with the stallion. I don't think he will mind. If we get larger, stronger half-donkey, half-horse, that will still be useful.]"

                                            > The mare swallowed a lump and a tiny squeak escaped her. When Salki looked, she gave him a nod, but quickly averted her gaze.

                                            > "[Good. I will go tell Bulat to try it. Come on.]"

                                            > Again, Thistle bobbed her head up and down, then followed the nomad with her tail firmly, consciously pressed between her legs.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle lay on her side and tried to focus exclusively on breathing. Each heave of her barrel sent a fresh tinge of pain through her hide, but she didn't quite care. Little white lights swam through her vision, and veritable rivulets of sweat dripped on the dry grass.

                                            > She managed to lift her head enough to look at the gash on her flank. It was bleeding less, which was a good sign, but she was still worried. It had to be cleaned and bound, but none of the nomads could help her, and she wasn't sure she could do it herself.

                                            > A Ruslan spear had grazed her. The man would have killed her, but he'd grunted at the wrong moment, and her pony hearing had saved her life. She'd flinched at the unexpected noise and the stone tip aimed at her heart merely struck her side.

                                            > Her mind still spun with the torrent of images and noise. Angry, yelling people. The wailing of women and children. The screams of the wounded. The clash, and the twang of bowstrings. The braying of donkeys.

                                            > The attack had come from two sides!

                                            > Everyone had seen the Ruslans coming from behind. In fact, Darga and Willow had anticipated an attack. A camp was at its most vulnerable when it was moving.

                                            > Their own fighters had responded quickly and rallied in the way of the attacking force to fend them off. Perhaps they were a tad too confident because of their new weapons and the bows. None of them had noticed that the attack was mostly young men, weak and inexperienced. It had been a feint.

                                            > Once their own warriors had been drawn out, and away from the main group, the other Ruslans rose up from the tall grass ahead of the caravan and attacked.

                                            > True, they were immediately seen on the open plain, but in the sudden panic and confusion among the non-fighters in their tribe, they couldn't get word to the hunters time.

                                            > The fake attack broke and ran then, which drew most of Darga's fighters in gleeful pursuit. The few of the more thoughtful soldiers, who had the experience or the smarts to realize something was wrong, weren't enough on their own.

                                            > The Ruslans had done a lot of damage among their most vulnerable before they'd been driven off. It was only their new, shiny, metal weapons, and the bronze-tipped arrows which had prevented complete disaster.

                                            > The clan, and by extension, Thistle herself, had come very close to dying. Everyone was shaken, and that was only partly because of all the carnage.

                                            > A lot of them were wounded, and many - too many - were dead. Thistle didn't know which of her friends were hurt, not even which were still alive. She hadn't had time to think about it, much less look for survivors. After her personal brush with death, she'd ran with the other nomads until they stopped, and then she'd collapsed.

                                            > The bags she'd been carrying were strewn on the ground, somewhere, probably lost. She had had to take care of herself, first, so she'd shaken the burdens off to run faster. Perhaps, after she'd made sure her friends were alright, they would go look for the things they'd left behind.

                                            > It wouldn't be for a while, though. Her side hurt like bucking Tartarus! Once again she lifted her head to look. It was barely past noon, judging by the position of the sun, and even with her poor vision she could see the slash was deep and an ugly, angry red.

                                            > It went right across her cutie mark, too! She idly wondered if it would heal properly, if it would still be recognizable after. Would she bear the scar for the rest of her life?

                                            > The nomads near her were rushing about, some tending to the wounded, others looking for lost family members and friends. No one paid her any attention.

                                            > Her panting had abated a little, and her vision began to clear. Her muscles burned with the effort, but the exertion hadn't been debilitating and she could use her legs. She pushed herself up to a sitting position.

                                            "[OW! Ow!]" she whined at the sudden pang. "[Fucking... fuck!]"

                                            > Swearing in nomad worked a lot better than Equestrian, that much she'd learned in all her time with them. It was more satisfying.

                                            > She reached a hoof to her wound, but stopped when she saw the dirt on it. All she'd do was get an infection. She needed water.

                                            > Celestia damn it, she needed rubbing alcohol, local anaesthetic, and a suture needle, but she didn't think she'd get it. She'd have to settle for water and, if she was very lucky, some kind of fabric for bandages. Even leather might work, if she cleaned it thoroughly.

                                            > The mare rose all the way to her hooves with barely a whimper of pain escaping through her gritted teeth, and went to look for someone she knew.

                                            > She stumbled into Buygra first, and was glad to see the young hunter was unscathed. There was blood on his hands, and his quiver was nearly empty, but he was alive and unharmed.

                                            "[Buygra!]"

                                            > He looked at her, saw the slash, and winced in sympathy. "[What happened to you?]" he asked.

                                            "[Man with spear. I think they were going for the donkeys and thought I was one.]"

                                            > "[Did you kill him after he gave you that?]"

                                            > At first she was about to shake her head and snort in amusement. She was a pony, she wouldn't kill. Even after all this time, that instinct was still very deeply ingrained.

                                            > She couldn't shut out the memories, though. Thistle stared, her eyes wide with shock. She'd done it without thinking. The force of his strike had pushed his stone-tipped spear into the soft ground, where it had stuck, at least for a moment.

                                            > While the man had been trying to pull it out, Thistle, in a thoughtless, pain and fear fueled rage, had lashed out with her hind hooves, right into the small of his back.

                                            > She was pretty sure his spine had snapped, but she hadn't stayed around to check. She'd run, as much from the confusion of the battle as from the pain in her side.

                                            > Her rush had taken her between some of the friendly hunters, who were going the other way. If the man had survived her kick, they would have finished him off.

                                            > Thistle let her head hung down and held her breath, fighting to keep her crazy emotions under control.

                                            > The man had been trying to kill her, and all her friends. She hadn't had much of a choice. If she hadn't done it, he would have freed his spear and come at her again, and the next time he wouldn't be fooled by an involuntary flinch.

                                            > She'd done the right thing.

                                            > It just felt as if a piece of her soul died, and Thistle wasn't sure how many of those she had left.

                                            > She only became aware that Buygra had cupped her chin in his palm when she wondered, idly, why her tears were dripping on his hand.

                                            > He lifted her face up. "[You did good,]" he told her. "[You probably saved your life, and someone else's too. We wouldn't have gotten there in time.]"

                                            > Thistle closed her eyes and gave him a weak nod. She knew he was right, but she couldn't stem the flow of tears. She was grateful for the moment of human contact.

                                            > Eventually Buygra spoke: "[You're hurt. I'll help you.]"

                                            > She gave another nod and opened her eyes. His fingers withdrew, and he walked around to examine her wound.

                                            "[Don't!]"

                                            > His hand froze, almost touching.

                                            "[We need to wash it. You have to wash your hands, first, otherwise I will get a fever.]"

                                            > Some of the nomads had scoffed when she'd explained, but Buygra took her seriously. His hand dropped and he looked around the landscape. "[There is no water near here.]"

                                            "[Then leave it. The bleeding has stopped. We should leave it until we can get water.]"

                                            > The nomad looked uncertain, and he kept looking around. "[Should we all do that? No one will wash the wounds with water. We don't have enough.]"

                                            > Thistle closed her eyes and tried to remember her lessons in first aid.

                                            "[If it's bleeding, it has to be stopped. That is the most dangerous. Bind wounds with clean cloth or leather, but only to stop the bleeding. If the wound is not deep, or it stopped on its own, like mine, leave it.]"

                                            > She wasn't sure if that was right, and shook her head to try and jog her memory.

                                            "[If there's dirt in the wound. I don't know. We have to clean it. Use water, even if we don't have enough to drink. We will find water!]"

                                            > While she waited for him to think this over, someone off to one side moaned loudly in pain. Thistle glanced that way, and her ears flicked down in commiseration, but she returned her gaze to Buygra.

                                            > Buygra inclined his head. "[I'll go and tell people, but I'm not sure they'll listen.]"

                                            > Another, horrible thought occurred, and Thistle winced as it popped up into her head.

                                            "[Tell Janus to start a fire. Find someone for the air sacs. Get your knives hot, so they glow.]"

                                            > "[What?! Why?]"

                                            "[You can use glowing hot metal to stop wounds from bleeding. It will also clean them.]"

                                            > Buygra looked incredulous. "[Really? That sounds like it will hurt. A lot.]"

                                            "[It will hurt like all fuck. What if it's a choice between this, or dying?]"

                                            > The nomad swallowed a lump, then gave a slightly shaky nod. "[I guess. I don't know if we have time to make a fire. We need to move. It is too easy to attack again on this land.]"

                                            > "[They won't attack,]" another voice sounded behind her, and Thistle nearly smiled with relief. It was Salki!

                                            > He walked around her and repeated: "[They won't attack again today. We have beaten them too badly. They didn't know we had metal weapons.]"

                                            > The young hunter sounded confident, and his voice was light, all things considered. Thistle almost didn't dare to ask, but she gathered up her courage and spoke anyway:

                                            "[Are any of our friends dead?]"

                                            > "[I've seen Saule, and both Bulat and Temir are okay. Zaur was with us. Mother is fine, too. Janus wanted to fight with us, but Mother made him stay back. He is too valuable.]"

                                            > Thistle sagged with relief at those news, but then she looked up at Buygra.

                                            "[What about Xuan and Guuni?]" she asked.

                                            > The nomad just waved his hand in dismissal. "[Both are alive and well. Xuan killed a man with her knife. You know you don't have to worry about her.]"

                                            > She couldn't help the wave of relief, so Thistle just let it bubble up. She went and pushed her face against Buygra's waist, and he scratched behind her ears. This time her tears were borne out of relief, rather than pain.

                                            "[Good. That is good. I'm glad. Salki, what will we do now?]"

                                            > "[Mother is talking with Willow and Intor. We have to move and we can't stop until we've reached the camp site.]"

                                            "[We've lost a lot of things in the fight. My bags-]"

                                            > "[We'll leave them!]" Salki interrupted. "[Some of the men will go look for weapons and metal-tipped arrows. We can't let the Ruslans have those. We'll leave everything else. The rest of the fighters will stay with the people and move fast.]"

                                            "[Why? You said they won't attack again.]"

                                            > "[No, but we have to build the camp and set up defences before they do. It's a long way, still.]"

                                            > The mare let her head drop, but she lifted it back up almost immediately. Their very survival was at stake, and if she wanted a chance to ever see her home again, she would have to pitch in.

                                            > As many of the wounded had to survive as possible.

                                            "[I can carry someone. I've done it before,]" she pointed out. "[We can also use the horses. Are they okay?]"

                                            > "[Yes,]" Salki confirmed. "[Bulat and Temir defended them. The Ruslans didn't know we had horses, so they weren't looking for them.]"

                                            "[Good. They can carry some of the wounded, and the donkeys can carry the rest. We'll move faster that way.]"

                                            > Salki gave her a pat on the neck. "[Yes. Let's go and organize it. We may have to leave some tents behind, but we'll share until we can make new ones. There is plenty of game in the forest, we will make more leather.]"

                                            > He straightened up and looked into the distance, in the direction they had come from. "[Then we will find the metal rocks, and we will make bigger spears, and knives, and arrows. We will kill every last one of those donkey-fuckers!]"

                                            > Thistle's muzzle scrunched up in distaste, but she gave a slow, hesitant nod. They'd attacked without provocation, and they'd gone for the women and children, and for their animals.

                                            > Perhaps there was no other way?

                                            > A part of her still wished to try diplomacy, if only she could get a few Ruslans around the fire with Darga and Salki, and talk with them. What was left of her pony soul wanted that.

                                            > If it were possible.

                                            > Salki went off to organize things, and she followed Buygra to find his wife and child. Perhaps seeing them well would calm the turmoil inside a little.

                                            > All around them were the bewildered, frightened people, clustered in small family groups. There were a lot of injuries, a few grave. The sounds of crying, or whimpering, were especially poignant to her ears, even above the occasional scream.

                                            > They found Xuan tending to an older man, as she was pressing a blood-soaked bundle of cloth against his side.

                                            > "[Bastard got me with his knife!]" the elder was muttering through clenched teeth, "[but I showed him! I pulled it right out and gutted him like a rabid wolf!]"

                                            > He fell silent as Xuan looped a long strip of leather around his midriff and tightened it. The man's face was pale, and he hissed in pain, but he didn't complain.

                                            > "[There, it will stop the bleeding,]" Xuan said. "[You tell your son and your daughter they'll have to help you walk.]"

                                            "[We can use the horses and the donkeys,]" Thistle pointed out.

                                            > Xuan turned around and smiled at the mare, but it slipped from her face when she saw her side. "[That looks bad!]" she said and hurried over.

                                            "[Don't touch! It looks worse than it is. It stopped bleeding.]"

                                            > "[What did you say about the horses?]" Xuan asked.

                                            > Buygra answered instead: "[Thistle said we can use the horses to carry the wounded. Salki agrees. We'll leave some of the tents and things behind. We can always make more.]"

                                            > His wife gave a thoughtful nod. "[True enough. It is summer, we can sleep without tents for a few more weeks. We have to bring all the food. It will take time to settle in the new camp.]"

                                            > "[Agreed. Where is Guuni?]"

                                            > Xuan turned and pointed in some direction. Thistle followed her gaze, but a hand on her withers brought her attention back. It was the old man. "[I heard what you did for old Bakar. Will you carry me to safety, too, little pony?]"

                                            > She looked at where blood had dripped down his clothes, and gave a hesitant nod.

                                            "[I will, if you can't walk, and if there is no horse to carry you.]"

                                            > "[I saw you kick that bastard who gave you this,]" he said and pointed at her flank. His raspy laughter became a grunt, and then a curse of pain. Despite that, the man continued: "[Good job, there. And good job bringing the blacksmith. We'll beat those damned Ruslans yet!]"

                                            > Thistle gave the man a nod, but then heard the happy little gurgle of Guuni and turned around.

                                            > The child was being carried by Ning, and the mare felt a pang of shame for not having thought of the two children before now.

                                            > She'd made sure they were being taken care of, but other than that she'd hardly paid them any mind ever since they'd returned from the expedition.

                                            > It was good to see they were both alright and she went over to give them both a quick nuzzle. Their little hands patted her head, and she closed her eyes for a moment.

                                            "[I'm glad you're alive.]"

                                            > Fen Ko looked sullen and humphed. When Thistle gave Ning a curious look, the girl explained: "[He sad he no let fight. Xuan say no fight. Xuan say: take baby. Hide behind me. She say Fen Ko no weapon, no fight.]"

                                            "[Good. You're too young for fighting.]"

                                            > The boy stuck his tongue out at her, which proved that his understanding of the nomad language had grown, even if their ability to speak it was lagging behind.

                                            "[Xuan? What will happen to them now that Hisein is-]" her voice hitched for a moment, but she forced herself to continue: "[is dead?]"

                                            > The woman shrugged, which made Gunni giggle with delight in her arms. "[I don't know. We will have to ask Darga what to do. Maybe Intor will take them in, or maybe-]"

                                            "[No!]"

                                            > Thistle stepped protectively in front of the siblings.

                                            "[I will take care of them. I'll speak with Darga.]"

                                            > She felt Ning's hand on her back, and turned her head to see the girl smiling.

                                            > It was one good thing she could do, at least. Surely she had enough pull in the camp to make it happen. She probably couldn't return the children home, but she could make sure they wouldn't sold, and that Ning wouldn't be used by some malodorous, twisted nomad in exchange for some skins of bear.

                                            > "[We'll have to talk with the Chieftain,]" Buygra repeated after his wife, but he gave the mare an approving nod.

                                            > "[Here, Ning. Take Guuni and stay with Thistle. I will go help the others. We'll have to move soon.]"

                                            > The child switched hands once more, and the mare got an idea.

                                            "[Here. Put her on my back. Don't worry, I won't let her fall.]"

                                            > Ning did so, but she kept her arm around the child, who was, of course, too young to sit up by herself. That was fine with Thistle, since it only meant that the girl would stay by her side. She needed someone close to her, so she wouldn't think of the man she'd killed.

                                            > Buygra patted the side of her neck. "[I'll go and help the other hunters to find all the weapons and arrows. Stay near Xuan and watch over my girl.]"

                                            "[I promise!]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle grunted a little as she stood up from the cool stream. The wound in her side wasn't particularly deep, but it was long and hurt like blazes. Not to mention that it had bled as if the spear had pierced her through and through! Once that stopped, and she brushed the dried blood from her coat, it wasn't quite as bad.

                                            > The important thing was that they'd arrived without further incident, and the preparations to defend their new camp were on their way. Thistle had brought Ning and Fen Ko to a brook, which ran from the distant hills, through the sparse forests, and right beside the camp. It would mean the nomads would always have clean, drinking water.

                                            > The mare lifted her forehoof out of the water, but it was caked with mud she'd disturbed. She glanced back and considered sitting on her haunches. It would submerge her rump, and the summer was still pleasantly warm, so that wouldn't be so bad. Unfortunately, it would also put her wound right into the dirty water.

                                            > Then she would have to twist around awkwardly to reach the cut with her hooves, and without something to lean against, would likely result in her flopping down into the water in any case.

                                            > She would have gone into deeper, cleaner water, but there was none. The little stream was barely deep enough to reach her ankles even in the center.

                                            > Thistle let out a perfunctory sigh even as she looked for her companions. Buygra was on the bank, holding his bow and peering in all directions. He was expecting a Ruslan attack at any moment. Fen Ko and Ning, having drank their fill, were splashing playfully downstream of her. A few of the other women had set up on her other side and were filling water skins.

                                            > A sack she'd brought with her was at Buygra's feet, its contents too important to risk getting wet.

                                            "[Ning? Come here, please,]" Thistle called.

                                            > The girl looked over, which her brother used to send one last handful of water at her face. It resulted in both of them squealing, one from laughter and the other in shocked surprise. Ning dipped her hand to return the favor, which would undoubtedly result in a new water fight, one for which they didn't have time.

                                            "[Ning!]"

                                            > Her voice was like the snap of a whip, and Thistle was immediately sorry. Her ears flattened and she gave the youths an apologetic grin.

                                            "[Come here, please.]"

                                            > They both approached her, a little apprehensively at first, but when she kept her ears down they forgot her sharp tone and hurried over. "[What?]" Ning asked.

                                            "[Help me wash my cut. My side. See?]"

                                            > She twisted around to hover a hoof above the slash on her flank.

                                            "[First wash your hands. Scrub them well, understand?]"

                                            > Fen Ko looked at his sister and gave a small shrug. Ning asked for both of them: "[Sorry, Thistle. What is 'scrub'?]"

                                            "[Like this,]" she said and demonstrated with her hooves.

                                            > She couldn't really mimic nomad hands, but she rolled one hoof around the other, then vice versa. Ning understood and murmured something to her brother in their native language. A moment later they were crouching and splashing around with their hands in the water.

                                            "[Good. Yes. Rub between fingers. Make your hands very clean.]"

                                            > At her instruction, the pair scrubbed their hands until they were nice and pink. Only when they were both shivering a little from the cold water was Thistle satisfied.

                                            "[Good. Don't touch your clothes. Don't touch mud. Keep hands clean, understand? Now, Ning, come here. Grab some water.]"

                                            > Again, the mare demonstrated with her hoof, even if the position of her limb was completely untenable. The important thing was that Ning grasped the idea and captured a bit of water in her cupped hand.

                                            "[Yes. Wash my side. Wound. Gently.]"

                                            > After she'd nodded at her side, Ning approached. Their grins had faded, and the prospect of washing the mare's ugly wound was making both children somber and nervous. Just before she poured her handful of water on her side, the girl looked at Thistle for reassurance.

                                            > She gave her an encouraging nod and braced herself. The cold water splashing at the edges of her wound sent a new shock of pain, which made her grunt, despite her best efforts to maintain a stoic face. Ning rapidly drew away.

                                            "[It's okay! I'm okay. It stings a little, but it's fine. Again. More water. You too, Fen Ko.]"

                                            > The children conferred in their language again, and this time they both cupped water. Thistle stopped the boy with a hoof on his forearm.

                                            "[No. Clean water, not mud. Understand. Here, take it here. Wash your hands again.]"

                                            > She pointed at a patch upstream of where she was standing, and Fen Ko hurried to cup both hands where the stream was still clear. This time she gave him a nod.

                                            > As he trickled the water on her flank, she couldn't quite hold back a hiss of pain, but at least this time the children didn't flinch as much.

                                            "[Keep going. More water. Ning, brush the dry blood away. Make it clean.]"

                                            > By now, Buygra was watching them with interest, even though he still kept glancing around for danger. He kept his bow in hand, arrow nocked and ready. When he caught her eye, he gave her a shrug and a wince in sympathy, and Thistle inclined her head in a mute thank you.

                                            "[Good. Brush slowly. Don't put your fingers in the wound, but clean all around it, okay? Let the water run through it.]"

                                            > Not for the first time Thistle wished she had some antiseptic, or at least some strong alcohol. As it was, all she could do was hope that the water from the stream was cleaner than the caked-on dirt and blood. It was a risk, but at least this way she could bind the wound with leather straps around her midriff, which would maybe keep it from tearing open each time she bent her body.

                                            > She had to coach the children in how to run their fingers through her fur until the grime and dried blood was washed away. Then she had to instruct them to keep pouring clean water over the wound, until the worst of it was washed.

                                            > Only then, and very gingerly, did Ning agree to run her fingers through the cut itself, to pick out and remaining dirt.

                                            > It stung like Tartarus, and her vision swam from the pain. Thistle had to bite her tongue to keep from whimpering pathetically, but she bore it, more for the girl's sake than her own. She could see how Ning was wincing at her pain, and how her hands shook each time a little squeak or grunt escaped her.

                                            "[I'm okay. It has to be clean,]" she kept repeating. "[You are doing well.]"

                                            > Once she was satisfied the job was done as best as they were able, Thistle led them out of the water to Buygra. Her hooves were immediately caked with mud and small stones, but she paid them no mind. Instead, she inclined her head to the sack.

                                            "[Open it. There is clean linen.]"

                                            > Ning did so, and stared in amazement at the soft fabric. The camp didn't have much, but Thistle had appropriated all of it for bandages for the wounded. It hadn't been easy, either, despite Darga's orders, and she suspected some people have held out even so.

                                            > There was enough of it, though, and under her direction, the women had washed it in the stream, and then dried it near the fires.

                                            > She could only save a few small patches for herself, and the rest went to the people who were more badly hurt. It would be barely enough to cover the lenght of the slice on her flank, but at least it would be cleaner than just leather.

                                            "[Put it on the wound.]"

                                            > The cut had filled with fresh blood, now that it was no longer being washed away. Already small, watered-down droplets were sliding down her wet flank. Thistle paid it no mind. The bleeding would stop soon after they'd bandaged the wound.

                                            > Cool water had numbed her a little, and Thistle barely grunted as Ning pressed the fabric against the raw wound. The sting quickly faded to a dull throb.

                                            "[Good. Fen Ko, take the strips of leather and tie around my- around my waist.]"

                                            > The boy had to ask his sister for a translation, but then he quickly went to his task. While Ning was holding the cloth in place, he wrapped the long strips around her midriff and tied them with a clumsy, but workable knot. A few times she had to direct him to untie it, and tighten the strip a bit more, but by the end he understood and finished his task well.

                                            > Once it was done, they both took a step aside and looked at her. Ning couldn't help giggling. "[You look funny!]" she told the mare. "[Like you have skirt!]"

                                            "[How do you know what a 'skirt' is?]"

                                            > All the two siblings wore were some bits of leather, which they'd tied crudely around their waists, their feet, and - in Ning's case - around her chest.

                                            > "[Xuan tell us,]" the girl explained. "[She show skirt. Now it torn up.]"

                                            > Thistle hadn't even known that Xuan had such a thing, and she was sorry it was now gone. A few of the women in the camp had some item of clothing, mostly crude linen, but there were a few silk things among them. Thistle remembered the haul of fine fabrics they'd gotten from Ning and Fen Ko's wagon.

                                            > Most of it had gone to the traders, in exchange for beer and grain, but some of the low quality pieces had remained in the camp.

                                            > Undoubtedly most of those were now being used as bandages, but none of the camp people had complained. Survival was more important than fashion, or even riches.

                                            "[Oh. Well, thank you for this. You did a good job. Someday you could be a healer, Ning.]"

                                            > The youth beamed at her proudly, but her brother just shrugged. "[What healer?]" he asked. After Ning had explained, he looked almost disgusted. "[No want healer,]" he said with a pout. "[Want hunter, like Buygra, like Willow. Me good hunter!]"

                                            "[Someday, yes.]"

                                            > Her approval made the youth grin in delight and he immediately launched into some fanciful tale, judging by the gestures and the fierce expression on his face. His only public was Ning, unfortunately, and the girl looked bored. No doubt she had heard the same story many times by now.

                                            "[Come, let's get back,]" she urged them.

                                            > Nearby, the women looked like they were almost done with their water skins, and Thistle trotted over to help them carry the burden back to the camp. Buygra followed her, while Fen Ko picked up the empty sack Thistle had brought.

                                            > It was the last bit of cloth they'd had, and they'd have to return to the stream later to wash it. In a day or so she would have to change her makeshift bandages, and with luck her wound would be at least healed enough that she could bandage it with the crude burlap. She'd have the children wash the bits of linen, and the cycle could repeat almost indefinitely.

                                            > Linen or burlap, she'd have to keep a close eye on the wound to make sure it wasn't getting infected. Not that she knew what that felt, or looked, or smelled like, but Thistle was fairly sure she would be able to sense it.

                                            > What she'd do if it happened, she hadn't the faintest idea. She'd think of something if she had to, though. She could always think of something.

                                            "[Buygra,]" she called, "[we are meeting with the hunters to talk about how to defend, right?]"

                                            > The hunter looked at her with disapproval, then pointedly glanced around to make sure no one was listening. He stared at the children for a few seconds, but then decided they were alright, especially if they were Thistle's slaves. "[I'm not sure most of them would welcome you.]"

                                            "[I'll be there anyway! I'm with Salki. I still think we should try diplomacy, at least once.]"

                                            > The man spat. "[Those dogs have no honor!]"

                                            "[I know, but we have to try it. How would we do it?]"

                                            > Buygra grimaced, but he did look thoughtfully at the horizon for a short while. Eventually he gave a shrug and answered: "[I don't know. We have better bows than they. They saw us using them, and they are trying to make their own, but they are not nearly as good. And now we have metal tips which go right through leather! Just let them come to us!]"

                                            > None of that was particularly helpful, so Thistle tried to reverse her thinking.

                                            "[What if we go to them?]"

                                            > Buygra opened his mouth to ask, but she raised a hoof to silence him, even if she had to hobble awkwardly on three legs for a few steps.

                                            "[Listen to me. They don't know where we went, right? Salki said the hunters stayed behind to hide and watch, and they didn't see anyone follow us. So they don't know where exactly we are?]"

                                            > "[Maybe.]"

                                            "[If so, they will have to search a large area. We should post some men, hidden, to watch for their scouts. We should try and catch one.]"

                                            > "[Okay, and then what?]"

                                            "[We give him a message for their leader. Say we want to talk. Then we let the man go back.]"

                                            > The hunter gave her a fierce glare. "[What's to stop him from telling them exactly where we are?]"

                                            "[Good point. We don't bring him to the camp, that's fine. He only has to deliver the message.]"

                                            > "[Then what?]"

                                            "[We tell him to come back to that place with someone who can talk for the Ruslans. It has to be somewhere we can hide people with bows.]"

                                            > At these words, Buygra's face lit up and he smiled in evil delight. "[Aha! So if they come, we shoot them full of arrows!]"

                                            "[No, because they will have their own fighters close to hand. We talk to them. Maybe we can stop this stupid war! We can come to some understanding!]"

                                            > Already Buygra was shaking his head. "[No, Darga will never do that, and neither will anyone else in the camp. We can't talk to those curs. There is no talk with the bastards. Either we will kill every one of them, or they will do the same to us!]"

                                            "[It doesn't have to be that way!]" Thistle said, stomping a hoof in anger.

                                            > "[What other way is there?]"

                                            "[What if we tell them about the villages? What if we join together, and go back to the villages, and steal more horses? They have metal weapons, jewels, fine cloth! We know the way, and we know how to fight them. Together, we could be strong!]"

                                            > This, at least, gave Buygra some pause, and he turned it around in his mind a few times, before doubtfully shaking his head. "[I'm not sure. I still don't think Darga will go for it. Even if she does, what is to stop the Ruslans from attacking us as soon as we tell them where to go?]"

                                            "[We have to try and trust them, and they have to trust us. It has to start somewhere!]"

                                            > "[That's how it works in your magical pony land. This is the real world,]" he answered doubtfully, but his gaze was thoughtful and he didn't look as if he was going to spit any more.

                                            > They walked the rest of the way into the camp in silence.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Her wound was healing well, but physical exertion, especially walking, made it itch like crazy. More than once had Thistle torn the edges of the cut open again by excessive scratching. It was pure luck she hadn't gotten an infection.

                                            > On the plus side, she didn't have to do a whole lot of hard labor today. She'd accompanied Salki and Buygra to a nearby copse of trees to watch for Ruslan scouts sneaking closer to the new camp.

                                            > It wasn't that the two particularly needed a pony, since they travelled light, nor could Thistle contribute a whole lot to the endeavour with her poor eyesight, but she had needed a day away from the camp and, after some convincing, Salki had agreed.

                                            > Part of it was that she wanted to get away from Saule, who still gave the mare the stink eye each time they met. Another part were the two slave children.

                                            "[Mmmm, no...]" she murmured.

                                            > "[What?]" Salki asked. He didn't look at her, and kept his eyes on the distant horizon.

                                            "[Nothing. Talking to myself.]"

                                            > She shouldn't think of Ning and Fen Ko as 'slave children'. That was a bad, un-equestrian habit to get into. Unfortunately it was just so easy! The two youths followed her everywhere she went, and did everything she asked. It was helpful, up to a point, and then it had become a burden.

                                            > Food was the problem. Now that they were her responsibility, it was up to Thistle to keep the pair fed, not to mention clothed. Her pink mane and tail, despite the fact that they'd grown, were no longer interesting to the camp people. The color had become part of their everyday, and uninteresting.

                                            > There wasn't enough food to go around, despite the hunters' best efforts, and the ceaseless toils of the women. The people had already thinned their donkey herd as much as they dared under the threat of the looming winter, and now their options were limited.

                                            > What little game and forage was brought in each day, was divided among the people. Thistle got her share, and she could supplement it by grazing, but the two foreign children, whom most people considered to be slaves, were very far down the priority list.

                                            > They looked to her to provide for them, like she had promised. They never left her side, and each mouthful of food she got was subjected to pleading stares. Thistle just didn't have the heart to deny them.

                                            > It was exhausting.

                                            > Something would have to be done. Thistle knew that Salki and Darga argued about it most nights. Even her own suggestion to try and ally with the Ruslans and invade the lands to the west was considered.

                                            > Well, it was refused, but at least they talked about it for a short while. Were their situation not so dire, they would have rejected it out of hand.

                                            > The way things were going, they had only two real options: they could retreat further into the mountains, and hope that the Ruslans would not find them. Game would be more plentiful, and Thistle's suggestions to plant and grow their own grain were being considered.

                                            > On the other hand, Darga had suggested to go north-east and lie in wait. Travellers often walked there, passing between the lands in the west, to the far east, where there was a rich kingdom. If they chanced upon a caravan, their needs would be met for a while.

                                            > There was also a third option, but it was very unlikely to work. Thistle lifted her head and looked to the south. Somewhere in that direction, she thought, was the hole between the worlds where they had brought her from Equestria. If they went that way, perhaps they could find it.

                                            > The camp's old shaman had told her it wouldn't open again for many decades, but perhaps he was wrong.

                                            > Unfortunately the man had been killed in one of the Ruslan attacks while she and Salki had been away, so there was no way to ask him again.

                                            > It would be worth looking. If they could get into Equestria, even in the middle of the Everfree forest, the people would be able to survive. She would be able to help them, somehow.

                                            > Neither Darga, nor Salki would hear her proposal.

                                            >...

                                            > There was a rustle of grass and Thistle opened her mouth to warn Salki, but then she caught the familiar scent and relaxed. It was only Buygra, back from his scouting run.

                                            > Pretty soon Salki heard the man, too. He grabbed his bow, but he didn't notch an arrow. "[Anything?]" he asked, when the other had shown himself.

                                            > "[I haven't seen any trace. Maybe they don't know where we went?]"

                                            > "[Possible. We still have to watch.]"

                                            > Buygra jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "[Should we go further?]"

                                            "[No,]" Thistle said. "[The land is flat, except for this hill. We can see farther from here.]"

                                            > The hunter gave her an appraising look, which made the mare blush and lower her ears. She'd asked the same question while Buygra was gone. She sneaked a glance at Salki, but he just smirked and didn't say anything, letting her take the credit.

                                            > "[Good thinking,]" Buygra finally replied. He went to lean against one of the spindly trees, and stared into the distance. "[We will need to figure out something with food,]" he finally said.

                                            > Salki sighed and shot the other man an annoyed look. "[I know. Mother keeps saying it.]"

                                            > "[What does she say?]"

                                            > "[The same as always. We go east and look for a trading caravan. Maybe the two children from the last one remember where they travelled.]"

                                            "[No.]"

                                            > Both hunters stared at the mare, who had her ears pressed completely flat. "[What do you mean, 'no'?]" Salki asked.

                                            "[They won't help, not with that. Salki, their parents were killed! Willow did it!]"

                                            > To his credit, Salki looked a little uncomfortable, but Buygra just shrugged. "[So what? They'll help if they want to eat.]"

                                            "[No. It's wrong. We shouldn't hurt other people just to survive. We can go further south. I'll teach you how to grow food!]"

                                            > At the suggestion, Salki's face darkened and he spat. "[I won't spend my life looking at a cow's ass!]" he growled. "[I'd rather go fight the Ruslans!]"

                                            "[It's not that bad!]" she insisted. "[It's not a bad life, and everyone can eat! You saw how many people were in those villages!]"

                                            > "[So, we go steal from them. We know the way. We can move the whole clan.]"

                                            > At this the mare shook her head in a mixture of emotion. It was her suggestion, albeit one she'd come up with just after a Ruslan attack, when she was still in pain and shock at her injury. The people in the west *had* tried to trick them with the horses. They had chased them, and attacked them. They had killed Hisein.

                                            > Would it really be that wrong? Attacking a caravan meant killing people, but stealing from the villages did not necessitate that. They could rob them without really hurting them. At least, that was a lie she could almost believe.

                                            > "[We could attack the Ruslans,]" Buygra said.

                                            > The other two stared at him. "[What?!]"

                                            "[What?!]"

                                            > "[Think about it. We have better bows, and Janus can make us metal tips. We will have spears with metal points. If they don't know where we have gone, we can take a group of hunters and sneak close to their camp. We'll wait until their women go to gather food-]"

                                            "[No, not the women,]" Thistle said immediately.

                                            > It had been one of the most abhorrent news she'd heard when she came back. The enemy were attacking those who couldn't defend themselves. They were systematically weakening the clan.

                                            > "[She's right. We're not such sons of donkeys as them.]"

                                            > Buygra held his hand up, palm out. "[Fine, not women. We can hide and wait for their men to go hunting. They will never see us.]"

                                            > "[They have a lot more men than we do,]" Salki pointed out.

                                            > "[We have better weapons. If we strike from an ambush, we can even the odds.]"

                                            > They went back to watching the horizon in silence. Eventually, it was Salki who spoke: "[No, that would only work once, and maybe not even once.]"

                                            > Buygra shrugged expansively. "[Then what do you suggest?]"

                                            > There was no answer. Thistle watched Salki for a while, but then lowered her gaze to her hooves. They really didn't have any good answers. If only she could ask some of her friends back in Equestria, they might have some useful advice.

                                            > If it had been Twilight Sparkle, instead of her, who was taken, she would have all these warring tribes in an allegiance by now.

                                            > Would that work?!

                                            "[Wait! Salki?]"

                                            > "[Hmm?]"

                                            "[Are there any other tribes? Us, the Ruslans. Anyone else?]"

                                            > Salki looked strangely at her, but then shrugged. "[Ruslans are the nearest. We've always been fighting for hunting lands.]"

                                            "[Yes, but are there others, even if they aren't near?]"

                                            > "[I think there are Arashi to the north, but they keep far away. The traders talk about the Sagsai, and the Ulan-Zuk.]"

                                            "[Do you know how to find them?]"

                                            > Salki fell silent and thoughtful, but Buygra looked almost annoyed. "[Why? What use is this?]"

                                            "[We need friends! Fine, we can't be friend with Ruslan, not after what they've done, but maybe we can find other friends to help us!]"

                                            > At that, the hunter barked a laugh. "[Thistle, we've fought with every one of those at some point or another. Our grandfathers probably fought their grandfathers.]"

                                            "[That was long ago! Now we have something they want!]"

                                            > Salki snapped his fingers and began to grin. "[The blacksmith! We have bows and arrows, and we have a blacksmith!]"

                                            "[Exactly! We can find these other tribes and talk to them! They help us deal with Ruslans, and we give them metal weapons and bows. We become friends.]"

                                            > "[Do you think it could last?]" Salki asked. "[Why won't they just attack us after we've dealt with the Ruslans?]

                                            "[It's a chance,]" she admitted, "[but so we think ahead! Once the Ruslans are sorted out, we go west like we talked. We go back to those villages and take more horses.]"

                                            > Her words gave both the men a lot to ponder. They went back to scanning the distant landscape, but Thistle saw Salki's lips move as he considered her idea.

                                            > It could work! If the fighting was far enough in the past that no one living actually remembered it, other than through stories, then an alliance might be possible.

                                            > After all, it was the pony way.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Her heart was hammering as Thistle was being led through the strange yet familiar camp. It wasn't her people, but the similarities were staggering. She'd forgotten just how used the nomads had gotten to her presence, a stark contrast from how these strangers were staring at her now.

                                            > Her ears were already completely flat, and her tail would have pressed against her belly, if it had any considerable length to it. She'd had Salki chop it off, along with what little her mane had managed to grow.

                                            > To this new clan, her pink hair would be a novelty. Perhaps they could trade, even if they couldn't gain their help.

                                            > Now that she was among them, she wished she'd at least remembered to tie donkey hairs onto her dock, like they'd done in the lands to the West. As it was, she felt entirely too exposed, and it was far too hot for her coat.

                                            > A wave of murmurs followed the little group as they passed between the tents. Men and women and children pointed at her and murmured to one another.

                                            > She took refuge in Salki's solid, reliable presence, and made sure to brush her muzzle against his hand as often as she could manage. On her other side, Buygra walked with one hand on his bow, and his other on the large sack on Thistle's back.

                                            > They were lead to these people's chieftain. He was an imposing man, flanked by two bare-chested, burly individuals stood in their way, and their escort stopped. One of them, a thin nomad with a pencil-thin moustache, spoke: "[These come from Darga's clan.]"

                                            > At the words, the big man, whose poise and calm, attentive demeanor confirmed to be the leader, scowled. "[That old witch is still alive? I thought she'd be killed by now. Pah-]" he spat on the ground, "[a woman Chieftain. Who ever heard of such a thing?]"

                                            > He was about to turn back, and his people were casting increasingly dark glances at the party. Buygra's hand slipped from the pack and he carefully lifted his bow. Unfortunately there wasn't an arrow nocked.

                                            > "[Wait,]" Salki called. "[I will be Chieftain after my mother. I already lead. She is helping me with advice.]"

                                            > Thistle stared in slack-jawed amazement at this bold lie, and even Buygra glanced over in surprise. It worked, though, and the other Chieftain paused. "[You are barely a man,]" he barked and looked like he was about to spit again.

                                            > "[I have been far West. We travelled to the people who work the land and raise animals, and we stole their horses. I also brought back a blacksmith.]" With that, Salki pulled his knife from his belt.

                                            > They didn't need to know that he'd actually gotten it in the foreign lands. Surely, once they'd found some metal ore, Janus would be able to forge weapons of equal quality.

                                            > "[We have many new wonders to offer.]"

                                            > The man looked at the blade with eager, hungry eyes. He scanned their little group and pointed at Buygra. "[I do not know what that piece of wood is for. I do not know this creature you have with you. Perhaps you really have travelled.]"

                                            > He looked at his companions and jerked his head. The two stepped aside, and the Chieftain turned. "[Come. I will offer you hospitality and hear what you have to say. If I like what I hear, perhaps I will let you walk out of here alive.]"

                                            > His cronies chuckled at this threat, and even Salki and Buygra managed weak grins. Thistle's muzzle remained scrunched with worry. She wondered if they hadn't made a mistake in coming.

                                            > They followed the huge man to an equally grandiose tent. He held the flap open and barked some orders, which sent several young women scurrying out. Only then did he duck inside.

                                            > Thistle's companies looked at one another, but then followed. Salki held the flap open for her, but the voice of their host boomed from within: "[Leave your animal outside!]"

                                            > "[She is important. You will see,]" Salki said. There was no objection, so Thistle swallowed and gingerly stepped into the warm, engulfing darkness.

                                            > The tent stank of soured donkey milk, sweat, and piss. It was both different, and hauntingly familiar to the nomads back home. Thistle waited until her eyes adjusted to the gloom a little, and then took her place and sat on her haunches next to Salki. The pack slid from her back and Buygra pulled it closer to himself.

                                            > In the center was a fire pit, but it was dark. The only light came from the opening above, which would let out smoke to keep the occupants from suffocating.

                                            > "[My name is Adilet Ilu. I am Ulan-Zuk. My father was of the Saka, and my grandfather before him.]"

                                            > Taking his cue, Salki cleared his throat and spoke in as deep a voice as he could must, albeit not nearly as booming as their host's: "[I am Salki of the Borchi-Quin. This is Buygra, of the Borchi-Quin.]"

                                            > The unknown word made Thistle's eyebrows rise, and her mouth fell open in shock. She'd never heard of the clan refer to themselves in this way, and she'd never asked by what name they were known to the outsiders. Perhaps it was stupid, but since they were the only people she really interacted with, they'd always just been 'us', or 'the clan'.

                                            > Unsurprisingly, Adilet was more knowledgeable than her, and the grunted in dismissal. "[The Borchi-Quin died with your father. We will see if you are worthy of the name.]"

                                            > "[I am!]" Salki almost growled. "[I've been to far-away places and seen incredible things! I will bring back the name of my father and my grandfather!]" he said, and turned to the mare. She tensed, preparing for the role she had to play. Salki went on: "[This is Thistle, who comes from a land of magic, far away.]"

                                            > "[Its hair is a strange color, but it is just a donkey runt,]" the Chieftain said and idly plucked at the edge of the leather mat he was sitting on, thoroughly disinterested.

                                            "[I am not.]"

                                            > The inside of the tent fell deathly silent and she could have sworn the temperature lowered a bit. To his credit, Adilet controlled himself admirably, and only a slight hitch in his breathing betrayed his surprise. "[You've taught it to speak? How?]"

                                            > "[Thistle taught herself our language. She has her own. She brought my clan many secrets.]"

                                            > At that, Buygra drew the pack open and pulled out something wrapped in burlap.

                                            > "[Try,]" Salki urged as his friend held out the bundle. Already the smell of bread filled the tent, at least covering the less pleasant odours slightly. Adilet reached out and took it. "[It is food made from grain. It is better than broth.]"

                                            > They watched in silence as the Chieftain broke off a piece of the small loaf and put it in his mouth. He chewed it for a while, then swallowed. "[If that was poison, your people will regret it,]" he said, and burst out laughing again.

                                            "[I will have some and prove it is not poison,]" Thistle said.

                                            > At those words, Adilet tossed her the bundle and she scrambled to catch it with her hooves. She kept her eyes on him and took a big bite.

                                            > "[She also taught us how to make new weapons. We will show you how effective they are. Like I said, we have a blacksmith, and we have horses.]"

                                            > As he spoke, their host leaned back on one hand and began to pick bits of crushed grain from his teeth with his other. "[If you are so mighty, why do you come here? Do you only wish to show off?]" he asked.

                                            > Salki patted Thistle's side to signal she should proceed. They'd agreed she would take over negotiation, but now that they were faced with the large and imposing man, she wasn't as sure. Despite that, she managed a weak grin.

                                            "[Our people need some time to breed the horses and craft metal weapons for all. We are at war with the Ruslans, and there is more of them than us.]"

                                            > She took a breath to continue, but Adilet held his palm up to forestall her. "[Let me guess. You want us to drive the Ruslans away. What have they done to me that I should fight them?]"

                                            "[We will share these secrets with you. You can send people to learn how to make bows, and to learn from our blacksmith. More than that - you will have allies in us.]"

                                            > Adilet watched them with a beginnings of a derisive sneer on his face, but at least he didn't flat out refuse.

                                            > "[There is more,]" Salki said suddenly, drawing a surprised look from Thistle. "[I know the way to the lands in the West. They are fat and rich. They have jewels, and metal weapons, and horses. Together, we can go and steal from them. We will get more than from any careless caravan which enters our lands unaware. You will need bows to fight them, because they have them too.]"

                                            > At the mention of plunder and foreigners Adilet leaned forward, his eyes gleaming with interest. "[Hmm,]" was all he said.

                                            "[I have more wonders from my land which I will share for you. The shaping of metal came from there, many years ago. It was my kinsmen who visited your world and shared such secrets.]"

                                            > She hurriedly searched her memories for things which may be appealing to the nomads. She knew they weren't interested in farming, but perhaps some adjacent skills?

                                            "[I will show you how to prepare milk and make it into a solid food. I will show you how to herd bees and make honey, and strong drink from honey.]"

                                            > His eyes left the mare, and Adilet began to idly clean his fingernails, apparently not much interested. "[What else do you have?]"

                                            > Thistle's mind raced as she invented rapidly.

                                            "[My people can fashion metal into a suit. It is impervious to most of your weapons. I will teach our blacksmith! We can make machines of wood and metal which will throw a large rock into your enemies from a distance!]"

                                            > At that, both her friends let out small gasps and stared at the mare with wide, incredulous eyes. At their intense scrutiny, Thistle's ears folded completely flat and she blushed. It has only been a bit of folklore from ancient Griffin stories. She wasn't sure if she could build a catapult, but perhaps with some of the cleverer nomads they could figure it out, like she'd done with Bakar and the bow.

                                            > "[Interesting,]" Adilet broke the silence at long last. "[I will think about this. First, show me what your little wooden stick can do. If I am impressed, we will talk some more.]"

                                            > Salki and Buygra leapt to their feet, although they kept turning strange looks at the mare. She stood up more slowly, and followed them out in a slight daze. Surely her purpose on this world wasn't to come up with new and terrible weapons for these poor nomads to use on one another, was it?

                                            > At least it looked like they might get an alliance, or at least something similar to it. Perhaps the Ulan-Zuk would help them hold off Ruslans.

                                            > She followed the men outside, where Buygra was already explaining that they needed a large, open space. When they set off, joined by a few more of Adilet's men, she walked after them, hardly seeing where she was putting her hooves. All her attention was focused inward. Could she really help these people devise a working catapult? Did she have the skills? She wasn't an engineer. Was an Equestrian education well-rounded enough for such a thing?

                                            > More importantly, could she establish a pact with them? That was more up her alley, but these people were strange, despite living among them for so long. Their values were not her values, a fact she was consistently reminded of even among the people she knew well.

                                            > Thistle shook her head and hurried to catch up and press her muzzle again into Salki's hand. At least he'd be there with her.

                                            > Explaining the lies he'd told Adilet to his mother would be interesting, though. That was one place her skills could really help him.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle couldn't stop herself from pacing around her cooking fire. The grain broth she was making bubbled away in its bit of leather, but she hardly paid it any mind at all. It was a good thing it couldn't really burn.

                                            > The alliance between the Ulan-Zuk, and her own clan was going well. A little *too* well. Her politician's instincts, despite their year-long disuse, were screaming at her.

                                            > True, she'd never used them in a setting quite *this* different from Equestria, but as it turned out the skills were transferrable.

                                            > Adilet was up to something. The mere fact that he'd been respectful - downright *courteous* - to Darga, especially after his comments about a woman in charge, showed that he had something to gain from their exchange. Just what that might be, Thistle couldn't tell, not yet.

                                            > Then there was the fact that the big, loud, and crude man had turned out to be thoughtful and friendly, and spent a lot of time with Salki. Purportedly, he was teaching the lad some of the finer points of nomad hand to hand fighting, but if that was true, why did they exclude Thistle?

                                            > Both men had told her that she couldn't join them when they left the camp to practice. That first time, she hadn't even heard about it until they'd come back, and her heart nearly gave out.

                                            > Perhaps she was starting to think like a nomad, but it would have been an excellent opportunity for Adilet to simply make sure Salki didn't come back. He could always blame it on a Ruslan action, especially if he made sure to bruise himself up a little.

                                            > That would have left the clan and, more importantly, Darga, without a future leader, and it would have allowed Willow to easily seize control.

                                            > Thistle hadn't seen Adilet spending much time with Willow, and at best they seemed cordially polite to each other, but if she were planning a coup like that, she'd also make sure nothing really tied her to her prospective puppet.

                                            > It wasn't too hard to guess what Willow would gain out of the deal, either. Chieftainhood, a position of power which would attract the women and offer him a more leisurely lifestyle. Even more, it would allow him to get his hands on Thistle, for whom he still held some grudges.

                                            > During the talks where the mare was present, the alliance seemed to be going quite well. Both clans had realized very early on that Thistle had been correct, and they stood to gain much if they cooperated.

                                            > The Ulan-Zuk would get access to metal tools and weapons, and their young would be allowed to learn from the blacksmith. They would also learn how to make and use bows, which would give them a significant advantage over their northern neighbors. They weren't exactly at war, but the situation was not unlike the tense, uneasy truce which had existed between her own people and the Ruslans before Thistle and her party had left to the West.

                                            > For their clan, Salki and Darga would gain some much needed help against the Ruslan attacks, and there was even talk of going on a counter-offensive to end the threat once and for all. The senior members of both tribes were already discussing future expeditions to neighboring lands, to acquire more goods, slaves, and horses.

                                            > That latter one was mainly a fascination for Thistle's people. Adilet didn't believe that 'a slightly larger donkey' would be that beneficial to their long term success. Even after Thistle had explained about her idea of horse archery, and of Buygra's promising, if fledgling, mastery of the skill, the big man wasn't really convinced.

                                            > "[Show me how it works and then we'll talk,]" he'd told her, and: "[I want to see it in battle.]"

                                            > She was fine with that. It wouldn't hurt for her people to keep something of an edge in these dangerous, trechearous times.

                                            > Still, she could not get rid of the nagging feeling that something was wrong. Thistle snorted, stomped her hoof, and turned to walk the other way again. Her unseeing eyes brushed past Ning, who was minding the leather 'pot' in the mare's stead.

                                            > "[Hey!]" the girl yelled.

                                            > The noise brought her out of her deep thought momentarily, and Thistle spun around to stare at the youth.

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > Ning tapped her cheek with a finger. "[You hit me with tail!]"

                                            > The accusation was not unreasonable - Thistle hadn't been paying much attention to her body. She knew she must have avoided actually *stepping* on Ning out of sheer reflex, but it was a good bet that she'd been swishing her tail around in annoyance.

                                            "[Sorry. I'm thinking.]"

                                            > "[Thinking what? You look- uh, fennu.]"

                                            > Thistle leaned her head to one side and squited at the girl.

                                            "[What does that mean?]"

                                            > Ning waved her hands in a gesture Thistle didn't recognize. "[Fennu! You know. Like this:]" She twisted her face into a scowl and growled under her breath.

                                            "[Oh. Angry. I look angry?]"

                                            > "[Yes!]"

                                            > It was true, the mare realized. Not knowing what Adilet was doing behind her back worried her, and being unable to fetter it out was making her annoyed. Surely with her cutie mark, and her experience, she should have been able to see the man's undoubtedly simplistic strategy from a mile away! These people were hardly more than savages, after all!

                                            > "[You are doing it again!]" Ning said.

                                            > Thistle forced her body to relax, and she almost slumped as the tension left her muscles. Her ears splayed out and she let her head hang.

                                            "[Sorry. I'm just worried.]"

                                            > "[Why worried?]" Ning asked and sprang to her feet. She came to the mare and put both her hands in her mane. She'd learned just how calming and pleasurable it was for Thistle to have her ears rubbed. "[We have food. It is better. Why worry?]"

                                            > That part of it, at least, was true. Unlike their own group, the Ulan-Zuk still got visited by traders, and as a larger, more powerful clan, were able to negotiate better prices. They were well supplied, and Adilet hadn't begrudged their new allies a generous stock of grain and tubers, to be repaid with metal weapons when Janus was able to produce some.

                                            > Of course, that would be after they found some suitable metallic ore, which scouts from the both tribes were searching for with some fervor. In the meantime, the Ulan-Zuk shared their provisions freely.

                                            > Come to think of it, that was another suspicious move on his part! By now, Thistle had learned that altruism and generosity didn't come easily to nomads, and certainly not when it was toward a different clan.

                                            > Originally, she'd simply assumed it was a fair trade; food now, for weapons later. Now, in light of her other worries, she wasn't so sure.

                                            > Fingers tapped at various places on her snout. "[Your face is funny when you make it like this,]" Ning said, bringing the mare, yet again, into the present.

                                            > Once more Thistle went through the exercises of thinking about her body and forcing her muscles to slacken. She let out a deep sigh.

                                            "[I know. I'm sorry. How is the broth coming?]"

                                            > Ning spared a glance for the pot, which was still bubbling, and she shrugged. "[I don't know. We can eat it, I think.]"

                                            > Her mind now firmly in the practical, Thistle went over and grabbed the stirring stick skillfully between her forehooves. That meant she had to sit her rump down on the ash-covered ground, but she'd long since stopped minding that. Ash was clean.

                                            > She gave the stick a tentative lick, then smacked her lips a few times.

                                            "[It is good, I think.]"

                                            > Then she poked her hooves around the base of the fire, until she unearthed a large yam. Her mouth began to drool as she looked at it, even with the bits of ash and charcoal stuck to the vegetable.

                                            > Back in Equestria, she wouldn't have dreamed of cooking potatoes like this, not if she didn't have copious amounts of tin foil, but after living with the nomads, she'd learned to appreciate the flavor naked embers imparted on the root vegetables. It was, she thought to herself, a little bit like roasting them on a barbecue.

                                            > She picked up the yam easily between her forehooves, feeling only the faintest touch of the heat it radiated, and placed it on a flat rock she normally used for making dough. With a slight pressure, the vegetable split into two halves, and steam rose from the interior.

                                            "[It looks done. Get a knife and we'll try it.]"

                                            > Splitting it in half wasn't an issue, but her hooves were too imprecise, and too dirty, to try and tear it even further.

                                            "[Oh, and get your brother. Tell him it's time to eat.]"

                                            > As Ning hurried off, Thistle began rooting through the ashes for the other vegetables. The Ulan-Zuk had brought a few other types of tubers, for which Thistle didn't have words. The nomads, unhelpfully, just called them 'yams', or 'roots', even when it was clear to Thistle's earth pony eyes that they were different species, however slightly.

                                            > They looked and tasted similar, and probably shared a common ancestry, so she usually defaulted to calling them all 'tubers', at least in her head.

                                            > Now that she was alone again, her thoughts strayed to Adilet and the Ulan-Zuk. Their help was invaluable, and the clan wouldn't survive without it, Thistle was certain about that part. What she now had to worry about was the hidden cost.

                                            > It all began with figuring out what the large chieftain was up to.

                                            > Two avenues formed in her mind. On the one hand, she could get Salki somewhere alone, and have a heart-to-heart with him. After all, they *had* been lovers, and they remained fast friends, despite Saule's continued iciness toward the mare. He trusted her advice, and would listen to her concerns.

                                            > Well, at least he might, if Adilet hadn't yet completely turned the boy's head around with promises of power and women. As a side note, it might be worth discussing this with Saule, too. It wasn't uncommon for powerful nomads to have more than one wife, she'd learned, but Salki's first one was an exceptionally jealous creature. Perhaps Thistle and her could find some common ground there. Between the two of them, they would be able to learn what Adilet was up to from Salki.

                                            > On the other hand, Thistle could visit Buygra and ask for more lessons in stalking prey. He'd said she was a quick study, and if she practiced with the skilled hunter, perhaps should could follow Adilet and Salki when they left for one of their 'practice' sparring matches, and eavesdrop on what they were talking about.

                                            > Both, or rather, all three strategies were worth pursuing, and at least one might yield results, which would allow Thistle to come up with a counter to whatever Adilet was trying to do.

                                            > If he thought he could out-maneouver a born and Equestria-trained diplomat, he would find a nasty surprise!

                                            > This line of reasoning made the mare a little calmer, and she smiled happily at the two children as they came running.

                                            "[Careful, it's hot,] she warned Ning, who'd reached her hand for the yam.

                                            > Instead, Thistle held one half steady between her hooves, and the girl sliced a small piece off with her knife. She picked it up gingerly, then blew on it while juggling it from one hand to the other.

                                            > Eventually she popped it into her mouth, then nodded.

                                            > Thistle had learned to rely on Ning, rather than her own taste, when deciding whether the veggies were cooked well enough for nomads. Her own stomach could handle raw grass and tubers, while theirs couldn't, at least not as well.

                                            > She began to pull the others from the fire pit, one by one, and set them on the stone to cool. In the mean time, the two children grabbed the wooden sticks around the leather cooking sack, and moved it away from the fire. It was a practiced movement, and they barely disturbed the thick liquid.

                                            "[We'll have to wait a little for it to cool. Did you bring the salt?]"

                                            > Unfortunately, despite Ning's own prowess at the language, she still had to translate some things for her brother. He flashed them both a smile, nodded, and lifted up a small leather pouch.

                                            > Another little gift from Adilet to Salki's extended family. She wondered if she'd included herself in the gesture in order to placate her. Did the man recognize her talent? Was he worried about it?

                                            > Thitsle glanced around the camp as they waited for their food to cool. There were a number of cooking fires, despite the heat of summer, and she saw a few of the men trudging wearily back to their families. Some had small game, but all of theme looked tired.

                                            > Scouting party coming back, she guessed, and felt a pang of jealousy and longing at the way some of the wives hugged and kissed their men.

                                            > Thistle's own prospects for that were practically nonexistent. Even if Salki had wanted to continue the relationship, and if Saule had allowed it, a pairing between herself and a nomad would be taboo. She looked a little too much like what they considered 'animals', despite the fact that she could talk.

                                            > Perhaps in time, she thought wistfully.

                                            > One of the young men came running through the camp, shouting.

                                            > "[Riders!]" he yelled, stirring a commotion around him. "[In the distance! I saw horses! They are coming here!]"

                                            > Thistle's stomach clenched into a ball of cold fear. The only people nearby who had horses were the Ruslans.

                                            > Were they under attack? Could they fend them off?

                                            > A few of Adilet's men were in the camp, but they had nowhere near the numbers to counter a full-scale attack.

                                            > Suddenly, Thistle didn't have an appetite anymore.

                                            "[Take the food in the tent. Eat there. Don't come out until someone comes for you,]" she ordered.

                                            > The children recognized her tone of voice, which brokered no argument, and Ning began to collect the cooked tubers into her bag. She jabbered something to Fen Ko, and pointed at the tripod with the leader pot. They grabbed it and began to carry it away.

                                            > That was good thinking, and Thistle nodded to herself. They'd be as safe as anyone, inside the tent. In the meantime, she had to find out what was happening.

                                            > The shouting scout had gone to Darga and Salki's hut, which wasn't far away, so Thistle headed after him.

                                            > Already a small crowd was gathering, and she was pleased to see that the men all had weapons.

                                            > Maybe it was just a Ruslan scout, or a small party. The boy hadn't shouted "attack", just that there were horses.

                                            > Thistle butted a few legs out of the way and pushed through the crowd. No one complained.

                                            > In the center, the young man was already explaining what he'd seen to Salki and Darga, so the mare went and set beside the two of them to listen.

                                            > Unfortunately, it looked like it was going to be an interesting afternoon.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > "[I don't want to talk to you!]" Saule spat over her shoulder even as she was walking away from Thistle.

                                            > The mare had to hurry to keep up with the obstinate young woman.

                                            "[Come on! It's important!]"

                                            > "[Get lost!]"

                                            "[Do you want Salki to take more wives from among the Ulan-Zuk?]"

                                            > She hadn't intended to lead with this, but since Saule wouldn't even stop to listen, Thistle had no choice. It worked, though, and the woman halted so suddenly that Thistle walked into her legs. She didn't turn around, but her shoulders sagged and her words came out in a tightly controlled voice: "[What are you saying?]"

                                            "[I think Adilet will try to join the clans together.]"

                                            > At last, Saule dropped the bundle of water skins she was carrying and turned. She still glared at Thistle, but now she was biting her lower lip, a clear sign of nervous uncertainty. "[Explain.]"

                                            > It didn't seem they would be going anywhere, so the mare simply sat on her haunches, even if they were in the middle of flat, open grass. At least no one could easily sneak up and eavesdrop on them.

                                            "[Adilet has been talking to Salki, and I don't think Darga knows about it. They've been going to train, but I think he's been doing more than teaching.]"

                                            > She'd been watching Saule and caught a slight nod, as if some small, but nagging mystery had been solved. Thistle guessed he hadn't been telling his wife, either. Her ears flopped and she went on:

                                            "[At first I worried he was going to kill Salki and try to get Willow in charge.]"

                                            > "[Why would he do that?]"

                                            "[Willow is stupid. He would be easy to control.]"

                                            > Saule didn't comment, and this time her expression didn't change at all. If she agreed with Thistle, she wasn't showing it.

                                            "[I don't think that's it, otherwise he wouldn't have been spending so much time with Salki. I think he's trying to get his trust. Then all he has to do is get rid of Darga-]"

                                            > "[But Darga is in charge. If Adilet kills his mother, Salki won't be very pleased.]"

                                            > The girl was surprisingly blind to the political situation, especially for a would-be chieftain's wife. Thistle very nearly rolled her eyes, but she stopped herself just in time.

                                            "[He doesn't have to.]"

                                            > "[Why not?]"

                                            "[Women aren't usually chieftains with nomads, are they?]"

                                            > Saule's eyebrows rose at the unexpected comment, but she shrugged and then nodded. "[No, I guess not.]"

                                            "[Our clan is an exception because the old chieftain died, and Darga was capable enough to take over. She wants to make sure the position will go to her son, rather than some rival, like Willow and Intor.]"

                                            > "[So...]" Saule began, but she didn't know how to continue, so she fell silent after that first syllable.

                                            "[So,]" Thistle explained patiently, "[Adilet just has to remind everyone that a women shouldn't be in charge. He's an example. He can say that his clan is doing better because they have a man chieftain - him.]"

                                            > Saule shook her head in wide-eyed surprise. "[But that's not true!]"

                                            "[It doesn't have to be! Enough people have been complaining about being led by a woman. Darga is only holding on because Salki is almost old enough, and he's a good hunter. Oh, and the fact he brought back a blacksmith and horses also helps.]"

                                            > Thistle let her head hand and heaved a sigh.

                                            "[Look- all Adilet has to do is start saying that Salki should be the chieftain. It won't take much to do it.]"

                                            > Those words made Saule smile with second-hand pride. She looked into the distance, at the tents which were visible behind Thistle, and her lips moved as she tried out the new title for her husband. The mare let her have her moment, until the woman returned to the present. Her face twisted into a triumphant sneer as she looked down at Thistle. "[So? That's a good thing. I'll be the Chieftain's wife, and you will be nothing.]"

                                            > She was about to turn around and leave, but Thistle dashed forward and hooked her fetlock around Saule's leg.

                                            "[It's not that simple. Listen to me!]"

                                            > Her insistence earned her an exasperated sigh, but Saule stopped and gave her an expectant look.

                                            "[Once Salki is chieftain, Adilet has a number of options. The easiest is to give him a wife. One of his daughters, maybe. All she has to do is kiss up to Salki so she becomes his favorite, not you. Then, *her* son would become the next chieftain, and that'd make us *practically* Ulan-Zuk!]"

                                            > Granted, it was a long game, but Thistle didn't have enough experience in inter-clan politics to know how quickly Adilet might want to act. The scenario was very plausible, though, and Saule's thunderous expression confirmed it.

                                            "[If he wanted to do it quicker, he could make sure Salki has some kind of an accident *after* he's married an Ulan-Zuk daughter. Then he could step in, maybe claim it was 'temporary', just to make sure our clan had leadership during this war.]"

                                            > Talking about Salki being murdered had an effect, and Saule's eyebrows rose. She lifted her hand, as if to touch Thistle for comfort, but changed her mind and let it fall. "[He wouldn't!]"

                                            "[Why not? Saule, Adilet is *ruthless*! You think the Ulan-Zuk gave us food and are helping us fight off the Ruslans because we're friends?]"

                                            > "[We're giving them weapons and teaching them how to use bows!]"

                                            "[Yes, that's part of it, but Adilet knows if he makes our people like him, then bringing the two clans together under his rule would be easier. I think he wants Janus in the Ulan-Zuk clan, and-]"

                                            > This next bit was barely a suspicion, but not a comfortable one at that. Thistle swallowed, and her ears tried to press even further down.

                                            "[I think he wants me, as well. He wants what I can remember of my people's inventions.]"

                                            > For the longest time, the two simply stared at one another. Eventually, Saule's shoulders slumped and she asked: "[What do you propose?]"

                                            > It felt as if a huge weight had lifted from Thistle's heart, and she smiled with relief. She peered at the other woman's face, and wondered if she could push it a little further.

                                            "[Look- I'm sorry about me and Salki. I thought we - all three of us - would be lovers. I didn't know you wanted him all to yourself.]"

                                            > This was a mistake, and Saule took a step back, even as her face hardened. It looked like she was about to storm off, so Thistle quickly raised a hoof to forestall her.

                                            "[We have to work together. I'm good at things like this, but Salki won't tell me anything. I think Adilet knows I'm onto him, and he told Salki not to tell me anything they talk about.]"

                                            > The logic was a bit convoluted, and Saule needed a few moments to wrap her head around it, but then she gave a nod. She was still staring uncomfortably at the mare, and there was a hint of a sneer on her face, but at least she was staying put and listening.

                                            "[I want you to talk to Salki. He will trust you. Get him to tell you everything Adilet has been saying to him. As much as he can remember. Then tell me.]"

                                            > "[You mean spy on my husband?]"

                                            "[It's not spying, not really. We're working in his best interest, and the clan's. Please, Saule. We need the Ulan-Zuk, but if we're not careful, they'll eat us and we'll just become part of them.]"

                                            > Why would that be such a bad outcome for Thistle personally? She'd asked herself that. If Adilet needed her skills, then her work would be pretty much what she was doing now, except in a bigger and more successful group of nomads. That would mean more food and security.

                                            > The problem was that Adilet didn't trust her, so her influence would be essentially nullified. Then, who was to say he wouldn't simply kill her, if her usefulness dipped?

                                            > She had some pull, some say in the clan, mainly because she had Darga's ear. It could eventually help her get back home, someday. At the very least, it would allow her to influence the group's policies and perhaps steer them on a slightly more Equestrian path. Thistle didn't have illusions that she would civilize the nomads, but it was nice to dream.

                                            > Her thoughts flashed through her mind, and then the mare snapped back to reality when Saule bent down. She was holding out her hand.

                                            > Shocked, but nevertheless pleased, Thistle placed her hoof in Saule's palm.

                                            > "[I'll do this, because I believe you, and I want what's best for my husband. I don't want to be a second woman to some Ulan-Zuk whore!]"

                                            > She was frowning as she said it, her face betraying mainly disgust at having to deal with Thistle, but she pushed down her misgivings and went with it regardless. "[I'll think about your apology,]" she added, as an afterthought.

                                            "[Thank you. Here, give me those skins. I am going to get water for myself, I will bring yours, too.]"

                                            > Saule's eyes narrowed at this obvious attempt to curry favor, but she picked up the leather sacks from the ground where she'd dumped them and held them out to the mare. It was the work of a moment for Thistle to balance them across her back.

                                            "[Oh. You shouldn't tell Salki you're asking these questions for me. He might tell Adilet. We need to keep this a secret,]" she said, indicating the two of them with a hoof. "[You should-]"

                                            > She fell silent when her ears caught the sound of approaching footsteps behind her. At the same time, Saule straightened up and took one step away from the mare.

                                            > A quick glimpse revealed an unwelcome sight. Intor. She was on the way to the water too. Thistle would have ran for it, but the woman spoke up: "[This is good. I was looking for you.]"

                                            > For a moment Thistle understood just how Saule had felt when she'd chased her down for a chat. Her ears splayed and she took a breath to steel herself. She hadn't exchanged more than a dozen words with Intor or Willow since her latest episode of forced servitude to them.

                                            "[What do you want, Intor?]"

                                            > To her credit, there was no nasty remark, the woman just went straight to the point: "[You set this up with the other clan.]"

                                            "[No, Salki and Darga are negotiating-]"

                                            > "[Shut up. I have eyes. I have ears. I have a brain. Darga is stubborn, but she doesn't do subtle. Salki is an idiot.]"

                                            > Saule shifted on her feet, and for a moment it looked like she would leave, but Thistle gave her a pleading, splayed-eared look, and the young woman marginally relaxed.

                                            "[You're in the talks too. You know I'm just listening.]"

                                            > It was a silly bluff and they both knew it. Thistle couldn't meet Intor's eyes when the other woman retorted: "[Pah! You don't have to speak to be in charge of the negotiation!]" She leaned a little closer. "[I know what you're up to!]"

                                            "[What is that?]"

                                            > "[You'll sell us out to the Ulan-Zuk. Salki is pretty much your puppet, so all you need to do is get rid of Darga. Adilet will do that for you. What are they giving you in return? Food? Protection? More men to fuck?]"

                                            > That last one struck home, and Thistle's cheeks reddened. There was an instant of panic, until she realized that Intor meant the Ruslan prisoner, not Salki.

                                            > "[Hah!]" Saule exclaimed, and Intor gave her a sharp, calculating look. Suddenly Thistle regretted keeping the girl around. She could give away too much. She needed to distract the canny old woman, and quickly!

                                            "[No. Actually, I was wondering what Adilet has offered *you*!]"

                                            > "[What!?]" Intor almost roared and took a step closer, hand raised, as if to strike the mare. She didn't, but Thistle couldn't help flinching away.

                                            "[Hasn't Adilet been meeting Willow in secret?]"

                                            > "[No, and if you say that again I'll gut you like a worthless donkey!]"

                                            > Thistle stared at the woman's face, but there was nothing except outrage. If she was lying, she was a far better actor than anyone gave her credit for. She let out a breath.

                                            "[I thought Adilet wanted to get rid of Darga and Salki both, and put Willow as chieftain, because he could control him.]"

                                            > This made the woman snort, followed shortly by a disgusted spit. "[Not while I'm alive,]" she muttered, quietly, but not enough for the mare to hear. Perhaps she didn't realize how good Thistle's ears were, because she added more loudly: "[They are not meeting.]"

                                            "[Good. We need to make sure Adilet doesn't simply join our clan to his. I think he'll try it. He wants the blacksmith, and-]"

                                            > "[And what?]"

                                            "[Me. He wants what I remember from back home.]"

                                            > "[And why should I believe you?]" Intor asked with a slight, distasteful twist to her mouth.

                                            > Saule replied before the mare could: "[It's true. Thistle told me the same thing just now. Adilet has been meeting with Salki secretly. He's pretending to be his friend.]"

                                            > It was still just a claim, and coming from someone Intor considered to be Thistle's close friend, she obviously didn't believe it. Her gaze barely flicked to the younger woman, before returning to rest, solidly, on the mare.

                                            > "[I'll be watching you,]" she warned. Without anything else, she strode off toward the stream, with the other two staring after her in puzzlement.

                                            > "[So Adilet isn't dealing with Willow,]" Saule said.

                                            "[Maybe, but that's just what Intor claims. I'll have to figure out what she wants.]"

                                            > This time even Saule chortled. "[That's obvious. She wants Willow to be chieftain.]"

                                            "[Yes, but probably not under Adilet's control. She'll try and twist this alliance to get the others on her side.]"

                                            > To that, Saule had no real response, but perhaps her gaze on the mare held a touch more admiration. "[You really think so?]" she asked, mainly to fill the silence.

                                            "[Probably. It would be like her.]"

                                            > "[So, what do we do?]"

                                            "[About Intor? Nothing for now. We have to figure out what Adilet wants, first. Make sure you get Salki to tell you what's going on between them.]"

                                            > "[Okay.]"

                                            > It didn't look as if there would be anything else, and Saule crossed her arms as she stared at the camp in the distance.

                                            "[I will bring the water to your tent. We will talk tomorrow if you find out anything.]"

                                            > "[Salki trusts me. I will know everything Adilet has told him by tonight. I will come and find you.]"

                                            > Thistle shook her head and patted the empty water skins on her back.

                                            "[I won't be in the camp until tomorrow. I'm getting water for me and Zaur. We're taking one of the horses.]"

                                            > This was unexpected news and Saule's eyebrows climbed. For a moment, her hostility was forgotten, and there was nothing but pure curiosity in her gaze. "[Where are you going with Zaur?!]"

                                            "[We need to visit some places where there is stone. Janus needs metal rocks, and he explained to me what to look for. We'll move faster if Zaur rides a horse some of the time.]"

                                            > "[Oh. That's good. Be careful. You will sleep away?]"

                                            "[Zaur says we will find a place to hide. There haven't been Ruslan patrols near here since the Ulan-Zuk have been helping us.]"

                                            > Saule's mouth quirked up in a nasty grin. "[Well, maybe you can fuck Zaur, and then you'll stay away from Salki!]" She'd said it matter-of-factly, but then she began to laugh at Thistle's shocked expression. "[Fine, I will look for you tomorrow.]"

                                            > The mare didn't answer, and just watched the young woman walk back in the direction of the camp.

                                            > Did the joke mean Saule was getting over her grievance, or was it just a nasty barb?

                                            > Time would undoubtedly tell, but Thistle decided to take it as a good sign. At least the woman was willing to talk to her now. That was important. She had to stay Salki's close friend, if she wanted any chance of influencing the clan's politics. There was little chance of that, if his wife didn't approve.

                                            > Unfortunately, it was too easy for Saule to control Salki by his dick, Thistle thought with some distaste. She shook her head, turned resolutely away from the retreating Saule, and headed out to the stream. After all, it wasn't much different from what she herself had done, at least to an extent.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle began to drift off to sleep from the moment she laid her head down on the bundle of leathers she used as a pillow. She tried to watch the stars for a while, but her eyes kept closing. It was a shame, since there weren't that many opportunities to simply lie outside, away from the nomad camp, in peace and quiet, and without a tent.

                                            > She and Zaur hadn't put one up, despite the night's chill. A few more fur blankets had proven enough, and the nomad had assured her it wouldn't rain.

                                            > Unfortunately they couldn't cuddle together for warmth, because one of them was always up and watching over the other. It was exhausting, and Thistle wished sometimes that more people had come along on their little expedition.

                                            > On the other hand, it was nice to spend some quality time with the young man. Thistle had realized she hadn't really spoken all that much with Zaur, even during their trip to the West and back. Now, with no other interruptions, they'd been able to resume their Equestrian lessons, and the hunter had proven to be a quick study.

                                            > She tried to come up with a basic lesson plan for the next day, but the thoughts slipped from her mind before she could grasp at them. It really was time to sleep.

                                            > "[Thistle?]"

                                            > Of course, right in the moment she was nearly gone. Her muzzle scrunched up in annoyance, and her ear flicked toward the sound.

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > "[How much further do you want to go?]"

                                            > She opened her eyes and squinted at the smudges of faint light, which was the best she could see in the night sky without her glasses.

                                            "[We haven't found any white ore.]"

                                            > It wasn't a good translation, but it was what the nomads had arrived at after Janus' best attempts to explain. They were looking for two specific ores. The first one Thistle was pretty sure was copper, especially after Janus had instructed her and Zaur to look for green-tinted rocks. The other one she suspected was tin - the white ore, but it had been a long time since her chemistry class and, to her shame, the mare couldn't quite remember how one made bronze.

                                            > "[Yes, tell me again why do they call it 'white ore', but we're not looking for white rocks?]"

                                            > Thistle shrugged a little to herself. She tried to repeat her best best understanding of what Janus had told her.

                                            "[We're looking for black or brown rocks which glitter and sparkle in light. Janus will put them in fire, and parts of the rocks will become liquid - like ice melts into water. Once it hardens again, it will be white, or maybe silver.]"

                                            > Actually, the blacksmith had described 'clouds, but shining like water', which she interpreted as silver.

                                            "[He will then put the white and the green rocks together, and it will make metal he can make into tools. You remember where we saw the green rocks?]"

                                            > Zaur's hand patted her side through her cover. "[Yes. I know where it was,]" he confirmed. With luck, his memory wouldn't disappoint, so once Janus examined the samples they were bringing back, the hunter would be able to lead them right back.

                                            "[How far are we from the camp?]"

                                            > There was a momentary pause, before the hunter answered: "[Not far. We made part of a circle. It is only about two days away.]"

                                            "[Is it dangerous to go this way?]"

                                            > "[Why do you say that?]"

                                            "[The Ruslan rider we saw the other day. They found us.]"

                                            > There was silence at her reminder. A horse with a rider had been seen in the distance. By the time Darga had sent some men, there had been no trace left. The opinion in the camp was that it had been a Ruslan scout who had found their camp and rushed back to report. They'd all been on high alert ever since.

                                            > Eventually, Zaur said: "[We went in a different direction. They won't find us, and we haven't seen any other strangers.]"

                                            "[What if they try to sneak around and attack from where we don't expect?]"

                                            > The man chuckled and reached over to ruffle her mane. "[Then we will ride home and give warning. That is why we watch at night.]"

                                            > She gave a slight nod, and then went back to staring at the sky, even if she couldn't see individual stars. Something still bothered her.

                                            "[What if it wasn't a Ruslan scout?]"

                                            > "[Who else? Only us and them have horses near here, and it wasn't one of ours. If it weren't our enemy, why would they run away before we could meet them?]"

                                            "[I don't know, something feels off about that. Maybe it's too dangerous, and we should go back.]"

                                            > Zaur considered this for a short while, then spoke: "[We need to find the metal rocks, or Janus will not be able to make weapons for us. Without those, the Ulan-Zuk will leave, and the Ruslans will crush us. We have to go on.]"

                                            > He was right, and despite her misgivings, this was something the clan sorely needed. Thistle was one of the best to look for ore. She had the closest common language with Janus, and to top it off, she had her earth pony nature. True, it worked better for growing things, but all the best mines in Equestria had been established by earth ponies. Ground, soil, rocks - it was all in their bones.

                                            > She wasn't convinced that this world had any actual magic, but earth pony magic had always been subtle. It wouldn't surprise her if it manifested as nothing else than good luck while she was out searching for ore. It would feel like chance, but perhaps something in her would lead her to the right place. She'd all but proven that when they'd found what looked very much like a copper deposit in their second day of travelling. If they could find tin, too, the clan would have a fighting chance.

                                            > Her ears folded down, but she set her muzzle into a determined scrunch and she glared at the dark landscape, daring it to spit out Ruslan raiders.

                                            "[You're right. We're not going back yet. We still have food and we need to find the white ore metal.]"

                                            > "[Right. We will keep going this way, away from where the Ruslans are coming from. We'll be safe enough. I think there are some rocky parts beyond the next patch of trees. We will see if they are the right kind, and if not we'll go home to take more food.]"

                                            > They lapsed into silence, but the moment of calm had gone and the mention of the camp had Thistle's mind spinning around another problem.

                                            "[Zaur?]"

                                            > "[Yes?]"

                                            "[What do you think of Salki?]"

                                            > There was silence, and then the hunter asked: "[What do you mean?]"

                                            "[If he had to become chieftain. Would you be okay with that?]"

                                            > Another pause. "[Maybe.]"

                                            > Before he could continue, Thistle raised herself up into a sitting position and explained:

                                            "[Adilet may try to do something. I know the people aren't happy with Darga being in charge, and the Ulan-Zuk may try to use that and make us part of them.]"

                                            > "[That's not going to happen,]" Zaur replied confidently. He couldn't really see her face, but Thistle's tone of voice had been enough to betray her worry, so the man reached out his hand to pat the side of her muzzle.

                                            "[If it comes down to it, there may be a choice between Salki, Willow, and Adilet.]"

                                            > The hand paused for a moment, but then resumed gently brushing her fur. Thistle closed her eyes and focused on the warmth and comfort. "[That's good. Two in three are our people. No one in the clan will want Adilet in charge. Not a stranger.]"

                                            > Her eyes snapped open and the mare drew in a sharp breath.

                                            "[You would want Willow in charge? No, he's all wrong!]"

                                            > "[Why?]"

                                            > Thistle was at a loss for words. She opened her mouth a few times, but closed it because all she would have said was one of the personal anecdotes between herself and Willow. Did she really dislike the man mostly because of their bad relationship?

                                            "[He's stupid. He only thinks about himself,]" she said in the end, even if it sounded lame to her own ears.

                                            > "[He's a competent hunter,]" Zaur pointed out. "[He knows what he wants. We need a leader with vision, or the Ulan-Zuk will really just eat us.]"

                                            "[Salki's a good hunter, too!]"

                                            > After some more silence, Zaur's hand withdrew and he replied slowly: "[Salki is good with a bow. He is an okay hunter. He isn't decisive enough.]"

                                            "[He led us to the West and we got horses and a blacksmith!]"

                                            > At that, her friend chuckled and she thought she saw him shake his head. "[That was because you and Hisein were telling him what to do. Do you think we would get as far with only Salki in charge?]"

                                            > Thistle didn't have an answer there. It was true that Hisein had made most of the tactical decisions, and she herself had guided Salki when it came to trading. The few times the man had tried to put his foot down, it had been the wrong decision, and she'd had to change his mind.

                                            > Her silence carried enough meaning for Zaur to go on: "[See? If Salki is in charge, he will be soft. Indecisive. His mother will have her hand on his shoulder, or Adilet will. At least Willow won't listen to either of them.]"

                                            > In desperation to turn the conversation back, Thistle tried a bluff:

                                            "[How do you know Adilet hasn't been talking with Willow in secret? If he promised him women, Willow will do anything.]"

                                            > "[Unlikely,]" Zaur said. "[People would have said. I saw Adilet go off with Salki once, how do you know he isn't doing the same to him?]"

                                            "[I don't,]" she admitted, "[which is why I asked Saule to find out.]"

                                            > "[Why are you so interested anyway? The Ulan-Zuk are helping us against Ruslans. It has made the camp safer. They traded food with us, so we will not starve.]"

                                            > She considered explaining her whole, messy reasoning, but the night was getting late and she really needed some sleep before her time to watch. If only she could reach *some* kind of a conclusion, so she could put the matter aside and calm her mind.

                                            "[I used to do things like this back home. I negotiated, and set up trade, and dealt with rules and arguments. Adilet doesn't trust me. If he's in charge, I may be in danger.]"

                                            > Zaur didn't have a response to that, so she just continued:

                                            "[Joining the clan with Ulan-Zuk would be bad. It almost always ends up worse for the smaller group when they are taken into a larger group. My people have stories from long ago when this happened. We need to stay separate.]"

                                            > "[So, how do we do that?]" Zaur asked. His voice sounded skeptical, but he was humoring the mare.

                                            "[We either have to keep Darga in charge. She is stubborn, which is good. Maybe I can help her keep the clan out of Adilet's hands. If not that, we have to put Salki in charge, and I have to help him. If Darga still has some say, maybe that is good. She has the experience.]"

                                            > While she was taking a breath to continue, Zaur quietly inserted: "[Under Darga's leadership we started a war with the Ruslans, which we couldn't win without help.]"

                                            > The air left Thistle's lungs. She hadn't considered it from that angle, but it was true! If Darga had been less stubborn and open to talks and negotiation, the whole mess could maybe have been averted.

                                            "[You think so?]"

                                            > "[I don't know. Maybe?]"

                                            "[Did you fight the Ruslans before Darga was chieftain?]"

                                            > "[It was tense, and we threatened each other with war sometimes, but the actual fighting is new. We both want the same hunting grounds. People are saying the war is Darga's fault.]"

                                            > Maybe it really had been inevitable, then? Although, Thistle had to admit she hadn't heard this particular rumor before.

                                            "[It's still either Darga, or Salki.]"

                                            > "[Or Willow.]"

                                            > She didn't respond to that, because she disagreed, but it was obvious Zaur wouldn't share her views on that annoying, self-centered man. In either case, Thistle was convinced that between herself and Darga, they could install Salki as a chieftain, if only they could ensure that he wasn't Adilet's pawn. Too much of it hinged on Saule for her comfort, but right now she couldn't do anything about that.

                                            > At least it was a decision, of sorts. Thistle would have to throw herself fully behind either Darga, or her son. They both relied on her advice for the negotiations, so the opportunity to attach herself to one of them was unprecedented. Maybe she could even advise both.

                                            > Maybe that settled the topic enough so she could sleep. Thistle flopped back down on the makeshift cot and pulled the covers back over herself.

                                            "[Wake me up when it's my turn,]" she told Zaur.

                                            > All she got in response was an affirmative grunt.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle was chewing on some hard, stale bread, while she sat in Darga's tent. She hadn't had time to grab anything else when she and Zaur had arrived. The woman wanted to see her, and it was all Thistle could do to grab a half loaf from Janus as she passed him. He'd complained, of course, but she promised she would pay him back later, and then she was out of sight.

                                            > The urgency was a little concerning, especially as Darga hadn't even allowed her the time to give the blacksmith her rock samples she and Zaur had gathered. They were still in the bag slung over her back.

                                            > Something had the chieftain agitated, and the woman fidgeted with a piece of leather as she spoke: "[You said Ulan-Zuk might try to eat us?]"

                                            > Thistle froze, but then made herself swallow so she could talk.

                                            "[Yes. Why? What happened?]"

                                            > "[Salki has begun telling me we should move closer to them. It would be easier to guard against the Ruslan, he says.]"

                                            "[Maybe he is trying to make the bonds between us stronger?]" Thistle guessed, but even her own voice was doubtful.

                                            > Darga shook her head firmly. "[No, it is not that and I will tell you why.]" She held up a fist and lifted one finger. "[First, because this will give our lands to the Ruslans. If we are not here to fight them off, they will come and take it.]"

                                            > It reminded the mare of a rarely-used law in Equestria. If somepony staked out uninhabited land, and lived there for a while, it would automatically belong to them. Perhaps the nomads had something simpler, although here it was just about who could possess the land, and defend it against others.

                                            > "[Second,]" Darga continued and raised another digit, "[it would make us even more dependent on Ulan-Zuk handouts. We would have to hunt in their lands, and gather our food, and wood, in their fields, and our donkeys would graze their grass. Adilet would want payment.]"

                                            "[We would be closer, and it would make sense for Adilet to suggest merging the camps together. It would be easier to defend.]"

                                            > "[Right!]" Darga said, and for a moment she looked pleased with Thistle's understanding. She showed her yet another finger. "[Third, and most worrying, Salki told me he is ready and I should step down. I do not believe in coincidences.]"

                                            > Thistle considered coming clean and telling Darga that her son and Adilet had been meeting in secret, but decided it was not time yet. Not until she could speak with Saule and learn what they'd been meeting *about*.

                                            "[It, um, does seem strange,]" she quavered.

                                            > It smelled like Adilet. No doubt he was filling Salki's mind with stories of glory and leadership, and the privileges of being an actual leader, rather than just the leader's son.

                                            "[Are you going to do it?]"

                                            > The woman stared at her in shock, and then snorted in amusement, obviously deciding that Thistle had told a joke. "[No. He is not ready, and we are in the middle of a war.]"

                                            > Perfect time, the mare thought, for some accident to befall Darga, or for Adilet having to step in and 'help' with leadership.

                                            "[He wants to take our clan into more confusion. I think I see it.]"

                                            > "[Explain.]"

                                            "[If he changes our chieftain, right when we are at war, the clan will be weakened. Salki won't know what to do, *especially* if we are out of our lands. Adilet will offer to help with fighting decisions, but it won't stop there.]"

                                            > Darga snapped her fingers and pointed at the mare. "[Right! He will start with battle decisions, and then 'help' Salki with our war strategy. Of course, he will also help with deciding how we provision, and where we move. Soon, he will be the leader in all but name.]"

                                            "[He could also give Salki some of his daughters, and that would let him bring the clans together later, especially if- uh...]"

                                            > The thought was nasty and made Thistle shiver, even in the heat inside the tent.

                                            > "[If what?]" Darga asked, intrigued.

                                            "[If something happened to Salki. It is war, or he could have an 'accident' while he is out hunting.]"

                                            > "[I wouldn't let him take over!]"

                                            "[You can have an accident too. What if he tells people we are only at war with the Ruslans because you wanted one?]"

                                            > There was a sharp hiss of breath from the woman, and Thistle cringed away from the cold fury in her eyes. She quickly raised her hooves and splayed her ears. It was a stab in the dark, but something told her Darga had heard the same mutterings.

                                            "[I'm not saying it! I'm saying Adilet has been starting rumors! People are upset. If it goes much further, they won't listen to you, and they won't care if you disappeared. Then Adilet would have Salki all to himself!]"

                                            > "[That snake!]"

                                            > The response was a little gratifying, even while Darga's anger was scary. It looked like she was ready to get up, storm out of the tent, and go look for Adilet to settle the score directly. Thistle had to stop her from making a mistake.

                                            "[Relax and think!]" she ordered, her voice taking on some of her nearly-forgotten tone of authority. She was the Mayor of Ponyville, for Celestia's sake!

                                            > There was a moment of shock at her forceful words, and the mare seized upon it. She sprang to her hooves and pushed her face right up close to Darga's.

                                            "[If you do something rash and stupid, you will give the camp to Adilet. If you attack him, he will say you are crazy and kill you. Then Salki will be nothing more than his puppet.]"

                                            > The woman still glared, but her shoulders lowered the merest fraction. Thistle took it as a good sign and took a calming breath.

                                            "[You won't beat him with anger. The people like him because he gave us food. That's why he did it! We need to beat him by knowing what he's planning and being smarter than him.]"

                                            > This finally had the required effect, and Darga settled back down, even if she still glowered at the world in general. Her hands were clutching the hem of her dress in a white-knuckled grip. "[What do you suggest?]"

                                            > Thistle thought fast. She hadn't wanted to say anything, not until she had more information, but the woman looked like she would demand answers. Besides, if they worked together, Darga would have a newfound respect for the mare, and perhaps for Equestrian diplomacy. Maybe it was worth it to tip her hoof early.

                                            "[Salki and Adilet have been meeting. He says they are training bow and fighting, but Salki does not tell anyone where he goes. I think Adilet is filling his head with promises.]"

                                            > Once more it seemed like the chieftain would jump to her feet and storm off, but Thistle laid a calming hoof on her knee, and Darga relaxed.

                                            "[We need to know more. I made an arrangement with Saule. She will get the truth from Salki, and then we will decide what we should do.]"

                                            > There wasn't much light in the tent, but Thistle thought the woman gave her a wry grin. "[You are a sneak too,]" she said, but there was a touch of admiration in her voice. "[I did not believe when you said you were a leader where you come from, but maybe now I can see it a little. Alright, we will wait until we know more.]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > A crowd had gathered as Janus was making preparations for his craft. In fact, most of the camp had helped in some way, either by chopping down wood and bringing it in, or dragging endless blobs of mud from the river. Even the youngest and the oldest had joined in the work, as far as their strength would allow. They couldn't really move the heavy logs, but they carried handfuls of mud from the river bank and mixed it with twigs and leaves as Janus had shown them.

                                            > It took some effort without proper tools, but once the fresh wood was split, Janus had them stack it in the place where the camp usually made their bonfire, and then had the others cover it completely with the mud mixture.

                                            > Thistle remembered something about ancient ways to make charcoal, and she knew it had to do with incomplete burning. By poking very careful holes in the mound, Janus would be able to control the combustion and make sure the wood didn't get completely consumed.

                                            > Many of the nomads were skeptical, and some were casting dark looks at the blacksmith as he fiddled around the base of the mound. A lot of effort had gone into the project, and there were those who, even now, argued that it wouldn't work. That all they'd produce was a big pile of nothing.

                                            > Despite both Thistle and Janus explaining that the wood would change, rather than burn, most nomads would not accept it until they saw it. If you lit a fire, they kept repeating, all you got was heat and ash. Salki and Darga, however, believed the mare, and the chieftain had put her foot down however much it was costing her in political capital.

                                            > Thistle only hoped it really would work, otherwise there might be a revolt which would put Willow in charge. Janus looked competent, and he'd assured her he'd done this before. Either that, or he had personally seen it done, she hadn't quite understood which through his broken equestrian.

                                            > "We make hole, small air goes in," he told her again as he pushed a thick, pointed stake into the base. "We make hole everywhere, but only down. Big hole up."

                                            > She peered at the top, where the mound looked a little truncated, and decided to take his word that there was a hole for air there too.

                                            > Darga stood nearby, watching with interest and, at least to Thistle's eyes, an uneasy tension in her shoulders. "[Tell me again what this will do,]" the chieftain demanded.

                                            "[The holes will let a small amount of air in, and the big hole on the top will let the smoke out. The wood will not be able to burn quickly. Janus says he will watch how it burns, and then close the holes, and the fire will go out.]"

                                            > "[And we will not end up with a pile of ash?]"

                                            "[No. The wood will smolder, and it will become black. The black stuff can be used to make a much hotter fire, which Janus needs to melt the metal.]"

                                            > "[Hmm,]" Darga said, without any real comment. She kept staring at the mound with pursed lips, and tapped a finger idly against her chin.

                                            > Before she could ask anything more, Janus stepped back and called: "[Fire! Bring fire!]"

                                            > Several people rushed off, and in moments someone hurried to him with a burning branch. Janus took it and simply tossed it into the hole at the top. He stretched up to reach and peered inside for a while, ignoring all the smoke which was blowing in his face.

                                            > Eventually he pushed himself away and smiled. "[It burn. We wait.]" His nomad language was progressing well, Thistle noted, but for more complex things he still preferred to talk to her in Equestrian. He crouched down next to her and said: "We need to watch. Tell men. Watch bottom hole. When see fire, say."

                                            > She peered at the holes, where his finger was pointing, then looked at Darga.

                                            "[Some people should help him watch the bottom holes. When they see fire, they should tell him.]"

                                            > "[For how long? How long will this take?]"

                                            > Thistle didn't need to consult with the blacksmith, she remembered what he'd told them all earlier.

                                            "[The sun will move maybe one or two hands. We need to watch in case it happens faster.]"

                                            > Darga looked around the gathered crowd and pointed her finger, picking out some of the younger hunters. "[You, and you, and you three. Watch the holes and tell Janus when you see fire.]"

                                            > The nomads quickly jumped to obey and, after some hand waving from the blacksmith, sat themselves around the mound. Meanwhile, he himself walked around and slapped additional handfuls of mud where it was too thin.

                                            > Thistle couldn't see the difference, but her eyes were bad and, more importantly, Janus knew what he was looking for. Every now and then he would lean on the pile to look into the top hole, despite the heat already starting to radiate from the thing.

                                            > Everyone watched the proceedings with interest, but after a while it became obvious that nothing more would happen, so the people began to disperse. Even Darga shrugged to herself and walked back to her tent. "[Someone come get me when it is done,]" she commanded, before ducking inside.

                                            > Eventually, only Thistle, Janus, the watching hunters, and a few curious stragglers were left. She sat down, and prepared to settle on the ground, but she saw Saule slip out of the other large tent, next to Darga's. She quickly jumped to her hooves and approached the blacksmith.

                                            "I have to go. I will be back soon. You have everything under control?"

                                            > He glanced around his nomad helpers, then waved her away. "I fine. Got men help. Go. This part only wait."

                                            > She gave him a nod and hurried after Saule, who was weaving between the tents in the direction of the river. She didn't have any water skins, so she was probably only going to get a drink.

                                            > Alternatively, perhaps she'd noticed that Thistle was back, and had been waiting for the excitement around the charcoal mound to die down, so she could speak with the mare alone.

                                            > Either way, it was a good opportunity, as Salki was nowhere to be seen, and Thistle followed at what she hoped was an inconspicuous distance.

                                            > She caught up to the young woman just before they reached the river. They were alone, but Thistle could hear splashing coming from around the bend upstream, so she kept her voice low.

                                            "[What did you learn from Salki?]" she asked not bothering with a greeting.

                                            > "[He told me it's none of my business,]" Saule replied, just as curtly. She crouched in the shallow water and began washing her hands.

                                            "[Damn.]"

                                            > Saule scooped up handfuls of river to wash all the way up to her elbows, while Thistle walked up to her fetlocks and stopped nearby, letting the water cool her off a little. She stared at the bushes on the bank while she considered what to do next, but Saule just went on: "[I still found out what they were doing.]"

                                            > Thistle's head whipped around to stare at her in shock.

                                            "[What? You said he wouldn't tell! How?!]"

                                            > Her lips twitched up in a smirk and Saule paused her splashing to pat her belly. "[Easy. Salki will tell me everything after we fuck."]"

                                            > For a moment Thistle worried the woman would demonstrate, judging by the way her friend lifted up her clothes to expose herself. The mare's ears folded down and she began to back away, but all Saule did was splash some water against herself, and then rubbed at the patch of hair between her thighs. She was just washing.

                                            > As if she wasn't doing anything weird, she continued, but her voice was halting and tense from the chilly water. "[Adilet has been telling Salki he would make a good chieftain. He says it's time a man took charge, because we are at war, and only men know how to fight a war.]"

                                            > It was more or less what Thistle had guessed, so she nodded silently. For some reason, she couldn't pull her eyes away from Saule's belly. Her nose twitched as fragments of scent reached her. Salki's scent, mixed with Saule's. She hadn't been lying when she said they'd done it.

                                            > Was Salki sleeping it off in their tent? Maybe that was why he hadn't watched Janus make charcoal, even though the event was important enough for his mother to be present.

                                            "[Anything else?]"

                                            > At this, Saule's face contorted into a scowl. "[You were right. He is offering him girls! I'll strangle Salki in his sleep if he says yes!]"

                                            > There was such ferocity in her low growl that Thistle believed her. She swallowed and winced even as she asked that dangerous question.

                                            "[Is that why you were so upset with me? You don't want to share Salki?]"

                                            > "[Fuck that,]" the young woman swore. "[He's mine now. I was mad at what you did, but this is different. He-]" she said, but her words ended up in a grunt as she slid her fingers into her flesh to scrub those last, stubborn bits.

                                            > Watching her fingers was making Thistle's tail rise, but she firmly clamped it down and tried to focus on the conversation. She still didn't avert her eyes, though.

                                            "[Different- uh, different how?]"

                                            > "[I said you were right. Adilet is offering him girls so they would push me aside and have his first son. Then the next chieftain would be half-Ulan-Zuk!]"

                                            > Thistle considered telling Saule that Darga was on their side, but decided against it. She'd already made the mistake of revealing too much to the Chieftain. In this world, information, knowledge, was all she had, so she needed to consider it carefully before she gave it away.

                                            > "[What do we do?]" Saule asked. She rinsed her palms and scooped a few more handfuls against her privates, then stood up and let the furs slide down to cover her, once more.

                                            > In a small way, Thistle was disappointed, but at least that allowed her to wrench her eyes away and look for any others nearby. There was no one, and the people upstream were still splashing around. Probably washing their clothes, she figured.

                                            "[Nothing right now. I have to think what to do here.]"

                                            > It would be a tricky one. It sounded like Salki didn't fully trust Saule with these decisions, and if he was trying to replace his mother, it was unlikely he would take her advice, either. Did he have enough residual trust in the mare herself? After all, she had led him through the twists and turns of negotiating with foreign people, and when that failed, she'd helped him steal from them.

                                            > They'd fought together and escaped with the horses and a blacksmith. Perhaps that would carry some weight. Salki just needed the right kind of a push.

                                            "[There is one thing,]" she began, but her ears splayed as she searched for a way to put it.

                                            > "[what?]"

                                            "[I need him to trust me. I'll help him get through this without selling us to the Ulan-Zuk, but I can't do that if he doesn't believe me.]"

                                            > "[So?]"

                                            > Thistle gave Saule a pleading grin, and took a few steps closer, so her muzzle would be in reach of the woman's hands.

                                            "[I need you to trust me, too.]"

                                            > Saule watched her in silence.

                                            "[I swear to you I will not try anything with Salki. He's yours. I just need him to trust me when it comes to negotiation and dealing with Adilet. I need him to be my friend, and it won't go beyond that, you have my word.]"

                                            > She'd reached out with her head as far as she could, but the last hoof-breadth was up to Saule. After a few moments of intense, quiet scrutiny, the young woman asked in a tightly-controlled voice: "[You're not going to fuck him?]"

                                            "[No. He's yours, I promise. He likes you more, anyway.]"

                                            > That last was probably a lie, but a little flattery wouldn't hurt. It worked, and Saule flashed her a small grin, which vanished in an instant. "[Okay,]" she said at last, and Thistle nearly slumped with relief. "[If you try anything, I will gut you and wear your hide around my shoulders.]"

                                            > The threat sounded dead serious, and the mare gulped in fear.

                                            "[I promise.]"

                                            > "[Okay, let's say I trust you. Now what?]"

                                            "[Make sure Salki trusts me too. Tell him you're okay with us being friends. Tell him to go talk to me.]"

                                            > "[Why?]"

                                            "[It will-]" Thistle began, but couldn't quite find the vocabulary in the nomad language. "[It will feel more true to him, inside, if it comes from you. He will be less suspicious than if I approach him myself. He knows you don't like me, so such words will sound more real to him.]"

                                            > It was obvious she'd lost the nomad woman, so Thistle shook her head and took that last step. She pressed her nose against the back of Saule's hand.

                                            "[Please, trust me. I know how people work. Tell him we can be friends, and he should come talk with me. I will take it from there.]"

                                            > It was working! Saule's hands unclasped and she placed a palm on Thistle's nose. Her thumb stroked the side of her muzzle. It felt like the old times, and the mare closed her eyes to enjoy it. Only a few moments she allowed herself, then pulled away. She didn't want to push too far, too fast.

                                            "[Let's get back before someone finds us talking together. You go ahead, I will drink and follow you.]"

                                            > With a nod Saule strode off, and Thistle watched her retreating backside for as long as her eyes would let her focus on it. She kept imagining the smooth skin beneath and, almost without her realizing it, her tongue poked out of her mouth.

                                            > When the distance looked inconspicuous enough, she followed the woman at a leisurely pace. She'd forgotten to take her drink.

                                            > She was in sight of the camp when she saw the commotion. A group of hunters and a few women were rushing out of the camp into the steppe. Thistle squinted, but she couldn't see anything significant in that direction. She quickened her steps, but the nomads were running as fast as they could and she had no chance of catching up unless she galloped heedlessly after them.

                                            > Since she didn't know what had happened, she opted instead to return to Janus and see if anyone there knew what was going on. She could see the smoke from his charcoal mound, and hurried in that direction.

                                            >...

                                            > Xuan was standing in a huddle with a few other women when Thistle passed her tent, and she stopped to ask. There was an uneasy air of anticipation in the camp, and a lot of people were hurrying this way and that. Once again, a crowd was gathering around the charcoal mound, but this time no one was watching what Janus was doing.

                                            "[Xuan? What is going on? Where did the people go? I saw them running off.]"

                                            > The woman had her daughter in her arms and watched Thistle in silence for long moments. Then she said: "[They found Hisein. They said he's dead.]"

                                            "[WHAT?!]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle hurried ahead of the group as they went to meet the returning party. She hadn't seen them, but other nomads have, which gave her the direction. She was running as quickly as she could, to reach the hunters and, more importantly, the body they were carrying on a crude stretcher between them.

                                            > She pushed in, heart hammering in her chest, dreading that she would see a horribly mutilated corpse.

                                            > It was Hisein. She couldn't begin to imagine how, but it was him. His face was bruised, and his clothes were torn and dirty. His arm, resting across his chest was covered in old, dry blood.

                                            > Even as she stared, fearfully, at the corpse, the awful smell hit her and she took an involuntary step back.

                                            "[H-How long?]" she quavered. "[How long was he out there? When did he die?]"

                                            > She wanted to ask more. How he'd gotten there, for one. How they'd found him in the tall grass? What had happened to him?

                                            > Despite braving the stench once more, Thistle couldn't see any obvious wounds. The poor man was beaten, and his face looked gray and lifeless. There was blood, or had been once, but there wasn't a gaping hole in his chest, for example.

                                            > Someone was talking, but Thistle hadn't registered it. Only when a nomad laid a hand on her back did she turn her head away and look at Buygra.

                                            "[What? What did you say?]"

                                            > "[He's hurt,]" he repeated.

                                            "[Hurt?! I thought he was dead!]"

                                            > The conversation around them rose to a pitch as the people from the camp caught up and started asking questions. For a short while, it was impossible to hold a conversation. Thistle tried to go and press her nose to Hisein's skin, to try and feel for a pulse, but the awful stench repulsed her.

                                            > It was more than just not washing for a few weeks. She could clearly smell death in the air.

                                            > Feeling like a coward, she retreated and walked beside Buygra. At least that way she could listen to the answers and explanations.

                                            > They'd found him in the grass, mostly by chance. His leg was badly hurt, and they weren't sure the man would live. He was unconscious, and no one could tell how he'd gotten there.

                                            "[The rider!]" she suddenly shouted.

                                            > Nomads around her fell silent and stared at her. She looked around and blushed at her own outburst. Her ears folded down and she hurried to explain her sudden insight.

                                            "[Someone saw a rider somewhere near the camp the other day. When the hunters went to look, they didn't find anything. Maybe it was Hisein? Maybe he fell and the horse ran away?]"

                                            > There were some murmurs as the people discussed this, but it was Buygra who answered her: "[Maybe. We didn't find any tracks, but Shamil didn't remember exactly where he had seen the rider.]"

                                            > She stole another glimpse of the poor Hisein, but he hadn't moved, nor said anything. She hoped they'd be able to save him. They hadn't gotten off on the best hoof, but after getting to know the idiosyncratic man a little bit, Thistle respected him. The camp would need him, especially now with all the complications with the Ruslans, and the Ulan-Zuk, and what looked like a succession crisis brewing.

                                            "[Is he going to live?]" she asked Buygra.

                                            > "[I don't know. His leg is pretty bad. He was hit with an arrow, but it's old.]"

                                            > Thistle's nose wrinkled at the news. Was that what she'd been smelling? Really bad infection? Her ears went completely flat at the thought. The nomads had no way of treating that. With how bad Hisein looked, she didn't fancy his chances.

                                            > She walked beside Buygra in silence.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It had been Janus who'd come up with a way, although Thistle later thought he shouldn't have. It turned out the nomads did have a way of treating bad infection, at least if it was in a limb.

                                            > They simply cut it off.

                                            > The mere thought sent shudders down her spine, and a whimper escaped her throat as she remembered the screams.

                                            > Hisein had been unconscious when they'd brought him in, and after looking at his pale complexion, and the state of his leg, the youth who had been the shaman's apprentice simply proclaimed that he'd never survive the process. That he'd bleed out.

                                            > They had to chop his leg off above the knee. Even for an otherwise healthy man, that would be likely fatal, and for Hisein it was untenable.

                                            > Until Janus had come up with an idea.

                                            > They could cauterize the wound to stop the bleeding. It would also serve to disinfect it, Thistle knew.

                                            > Darga had asked her about it, and the mare had said it might work.

                                            > She wondered if Hisein would ever forgive her for the pain she'd forced upon him, even inadvertently. More than once she'd wanted to kick his head, just to knock him out and give him some reprieve.

                                            > Even with metal weapons, it had been an excruciating, slow process, and the cauterization had been worse.

                                            > There had been so much blood! The shaman's pupil, and the older hunters who'd helped, were covered in it. The younger nomads who'd watched were whiter in the face than Hisein by the end of it. More than a few vomited at the sight and sound.

                                            > Thistle thought she'd done the same. Her mouth and tongue burned, and her jaw muscles hurt from clenching them so hard, but she couldn't remember those details. What she'd seen and heard took precedence and edged out everything else.

                                            > Now, Hisein was unconscious again, and she thanked the distant Celestia for it. They said he was sleeping, and no one was allowed to disturb him. He didn't have any family left, but the women quickly organized a rota, and one of them was always with him in the tent.

                                            > Even so, there wasn't much more they could do. They'd given him a chance, and now it was up to Hisein to survive. The most they could offer him was a trickle of water between his lips, and keeping him as comfortable as possible.

                                            > A few times Thistle had poked her head into the tent, but she'd been told off.

                                            > At least he was still alive.

                                            > His return and the barbaric amputation of his leg overshadowed even Janus' small victory over charcoal. The mound had been very successful, and the blacksmith now had what he needed to smelt the ore sample she and Zaur had delivered. Soon, he said, he would know whether they'd found copper.

                                            > It wasn't quite bronze, but it as a start. Janus had said he would start making small things from it. Arrow tips and short blades. She would have to go out again with Zaur, and possibly some others, to look for tin again.

                                            > That, however, would wait. She wasn't budging from the camp on the off chance that Hisein woke up and wanted to speak with her. She'd never forgive herself if that happened, and she missed it, and the man died shortly after.

                                            > Then, there was still the problem of Salki and Adilet. Soon, she'd have to try and focus on that, however impossible that seemed.

                                            > She stumbled and realized that she'd been walking aimlessly around the camp. When she peered around herself, Thistle saw she was near Xuan's tent. It was as good a destination as any, and she went to look for the woman.

                                            > Maybe watching her with the baby would take her mind off Hisein for a few minutes.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > "[The horse, you idiots!]"

                                            > Those had been Hisein's first words to Thistle, and she couldn't help but laugh. He was delirious, although the shaman - who passed among the nomads as a doctor - had said the fever was breaking. Sometimes, the man had to be held down, or he would injure himself with all his thrashing in pain.

                                            > Despite all that, he was thinking about the clan.

                                            > Hisein had come in on a horse, one he'd stolen from the lands to the west. The animal had escaped when he'd fallen off it. If they could find it, still alive, it would greatly bolster their meager herd and provide some much-needed genetic diversity.

                                            > Thistle was told to go, both by Darga and by Salki in one of the rare instances when both seemed to agree. Zaur and Buygra went with her, but not Salki himself.

                                            > That last worried her a little, as it would give Adilet unfettered access to the young man, and he could continue to fill his head with lies and promises. Perhaps Saule would be able to counteract it, at least to an extent, but Thistle still hoped they'd be back soon.

                                            > She'd barely begun unpicking Adilet's plan, and she needed to stay close to Salki to gain enough of his trust to really make a change.

                                            > Then again, there was always the other choice. She could throw her lot in with Darga instead, and help the woman retain her position. All they needed to do for that was score some victories against the Ruslans and keep the Ulan-Zuk at bay.

                                            > Hard, but at least Adilet might not be expecting that. The fact that females could be clever, and thoughtful, and able to lead their people in battle wasn't something the big man really understood, or at least accepted.

                                            > For now, though, she had a different job.

                                            > Hisein hadn't been able to tell them anything about where the horse might have gone to. They would have to rely on luck, and on Buygra's ability as a hunter and a tracker.

                                            > First they would head out to the place they'd found Hisein, and then they would see. At least that much wasn't too far - nearly in sight of the camp. A little closer, in fact, and they might have found him days sooner.

                                            > He hadn't died yet, but from what Thistle had overheard, most were expecting it any day. The surgery, if she could even call it that, and the cauterization had gone well, but Hisein had been injured quite a while ago, and the infection had had a long time to fester. His fever was breaking, that much was true, but he was still weak and could hardly keep any food down.

                                            > Yet more reasons for her to hurry back. On the off chance that the man would get a few more moments of lucidity, she could ask for his advice in dealing with Adilet. Thistle had no doubt that Hisein would have something useful for her.

                                            > It was selfish, she knew, but that was how the nomads lived. It was, she was firmly convinced, what Hisein would have wanted.

                                            > That need to get back quickly drove her to quicken her pace, despite the fact she was loaded down with a tent and provisions for several weeks of journeying. Besides, she would get to rest a little as soon as they reached the spot.

                                            "[You can find horse tracks in grass after so long?]"

                                            > Buygra, who was walking beside her, reached out his hand to pat her shoulder. "[Maybe. Horses are big and heavy, they will stomp the grass and the mud, and they will shit.]"

                                            > The blunt way he put it drew out a giggle from the mare.

                                            "[Well, everyone shits.]"

                                            > "[Yes, but we dig holes and fill them up after. We don't leave it in the middle of the camp.]"

                                            > Thistle snorted in disbelief and shook her head.

                                            "[No one digs holes when we're travelling! We just go in the bushes!]"

                                            > "[We don't if we don't want enemies to find us.]"

                                            > That wiped the grin from her face and her ears lowered. She looked around for any sign of Ruslan pursuit, and then silently chided herself for being silly. They were still practically within sight of the camp, and they hadn't seen any Ruslan patrols anywhere near their new spot.

                                            "[Buygra?]"

                                            > "[Hmm?]"

                                            "[If it's so easy to track, why haven't the Ruslans found us yet?]"

                                            > "[Who says they haven't?]"

                                            > She nearly stumbled and had to skip awkwardly for a few paces to regain her balance. Once again she looked around fearfully, despite the fact that it was useless. Even if they hadn't been in relatively safe lands, she still wouldn't be able to see Ruslan pursuit with her bad eyes.

                                            "[What do you mean!?]"

                                            > "[They probably know where we are, at least roughly.]"

                                            "[But they haven't attacked us in this long?]"

                                            > Buygra chuckled to himself and gave her side another pat. "[That's because we have the Ulan-Zuk on our side. We're also quite far from them, so if they wanted to raid us, they would have to move their camp closer, and then they would be away from their hunting grounds.]"

                                            "[But we have hunting grounds. There are a lot of animals around here, in the forests.]"

                                            > "[Yes, but we would know soon if the Ruslans tried to move in. We would ambush their hunters, and with the Ulan-Zuk, *we* would raid *their* camp!]"

                                            "[So the war is over?]" she asked hopefully.

                                            > This one brought an outright laugh from the man, and Zaur, walking on her other side, echoed it. "[You are too naive, Thistle. We can't let it go after they've been harassing us the whole summer. We'll have to go and settle the score.]"

                                            "[Oh.]"

                                            > Her ears splayed at the thought of more bloodshed, but Thistle didn't have a counter. She'd suggested befriending them, following Princess Twilight's best teachings, but after living among the nomads for a while even she knew that it would never work, not with people like these.

                                            > Funny to think that she would consider even griffins and dragons as ultimately amenable and reasonable, she thought to herself. She'd never seen that one coming as a mayor of Ponyville.

                                            > "[Maybe that's why people are saying Darga should step down,]" Buygra went on and Thistle's ear snapped back up to catch his every word.

                                            "[What? What do you mean? Who says this?]"

                                            > There was a momentary silence and when Thistle looked she couldn't catch the man's eye. He was studiously examining the horizon or staring closely at the ground in front of him in turns. "[You know,]" he finally responded, "[people. Everyone. Everyone knows women aren't good at war. We were nearly killed, or captured by the Ruslans under her leadership, and as soon as Salki came back we started fighting back and now we have a chance.]"

                                            "[Buygra... the alliance with the Ulan-Zuk was *my* idea!]"

                                            > Finally his gaze flicked to her and the man stared in wide-eyed surprise. "[It was?! Salki said it was his!]"

                                            "[He lied. He wants to be chieftain, so he's making things up. Maybe Adilet put him up to it.]"

                                            > She glanced back at the camp, or where it would be if she could still see it, and her hooves itched to go back. The youth she'd met a year ago wouldn't have lied like that. Salki had gotten more cynical, selfish. She couldn't put her hoof on the why, though. Was it the hardships? Did his mother push him to it? The trip to the west which nearly turned so disastrous?

                                            > It *had* turned disastrous, she mentally corrected herself. Even if Hisein lived, he'd lost a leg! Most of the nomads were saying he would never hunt again, and he'd be reliant on the goodwill of his friends and neighbors for the rest of his life.

                                            > She thought he could still make valuable contributions, especially if he could ride a horse. Then his leg wouldn't be that much of a handicap.

                                            "[Where I come from, it's mares who hold most of the power. The leaders of my land are all female, and-]"

                                            > There was a pause as she sought for a way to translate.

                                            "[To the south of our land there is a rocky and dry place, full of fire. There live a kind of big lizard, and they can fly. Their leader is also a female. It is only with nomads that you think women are weak.]"

                                            > Neither Buygra, nor Zaur commented on that, and the three walked in silence, except for the rustling of dry grass and the occasional crunch of stone under their feet or hooves.

                                            "[It was a hard situation with the Ruslans. Darga saw the clan survive, and it was her idea to send Salki and me to get horses. We came back with the blacksmith because *I* recognized what he could do, and because *ponies* taught his people how to work with metal!]"

                                            > Buygra drew his breath to respond, but she just went on:

                                            "[The pony who came to this world and taught his ancestors was probably also a female!]"

                                            > "[Alright, alright!]" Buygra finally said with a short laugh. "[You sound like Xuan! Okay, so maybe *some* women are okay, but most are weak and don't know war.]"

                                            "[Do most women get a chance? Remember when we went to rescue Tashi from the Ruslans? Saule had to argue to go with us, and she only did because she was best with the bow! She probably still is, but she isn't allowed to go hunt!]"

                                            > There was no further comment, so Thistle let the topic drop. She only hoped she'd given these two nomads, at least, something to ponder. Maybe, in time, they'd come to agree with her.

                                            > "[That is the place. Stop here, so we don't trample any more grass. I'll go look,]" Buygra said suddenly. All three of them came to a halt, and the hunter put his spear and his bow on the ground. "[Watch for enemies,]" he ordered Zaur, then crept forward.

                                            > Thistle watched him curiously even as she sat on her haunches and began to root through her pack for a water skin. A glance showed her that Zaur was taking his job seriously. He was standing as tall as he could manage, balancing easily on his toes, as he scanned the horizon. He had his hand up to shield his eyes from the sun and he was rotating slowly.

                                            > It looked like it would take a while, with how closely Buygra was examining the ground, so Thistle settled down to wait as comfortably she could with her baggage.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It had been sheer luck, in Thistle's opinion, that they'd been able to track the horse. Of course Buygra claimed it was all down to his skill as a hunter and a tracker. Maybe there was some truth to it, but the fact remained that they'd gone in large circles until they happened on the animal in a small copse of trees and bushes.

                                            > The only problem was that their search had turned into a comedy since then. Well, maybe it was a tragedy, really. Not one of them was laughing.

                                            > Whatever had happened with Hisein and since the horse had escaped from him had badly spooked the animal. It ran away at the first sight or smell of nomad, and with its burst of speed none of them could really chase it down.

                                            > They wouldn't lose it, not with fresh tracks, both the hunters assured Thistle, but catching it could prove difficult.

                                            > It was part of the reason Salki had sent her with the two. The hope was that Thistle's familiar, pony shape would calm the horse and let them approach it. If that failed, she was to try luring it in with some 'horse language'.

                                            > Unfortunately, even her best, most welcoming whinnies had failed to produce an noticeable effect. It didn't help if they showed themselves from a distance, so as not to startle the animal, nor did it work if they crept closer to try and take it by surprise.

                                            > The damned beast was just too skittish!

                                            > As a last ditch effort, the three had decided that Thistle would approach alone. Maybe it was afraid of nomad shapes, and wouldn't be as afraid of a pony.

                                            > This was it. If this also failed, then Thistle was out of ideas. The horse would always outrun them, unless they persisted for days and days and wore it down into sheer exhaustion. Even that was not a perfect plan, as it could simply have a heart attack from constant fright and keel over.

                                            > They couldn't starve it out, since it could eat grass, and they couldn't trap it, since it never came back the way it had gone.

                                            > There was enough room in the steppe for a very long chase. Maybe that was why they'd been lucky and the horse hadn't been eaten by predators yet.

                                            "[We have to get it before the wolves do!]" she repeated.

                                            > "[Yes. Wait until Buygra is back, then you will approach it alone. Maybe that will work.]"

                                            "[Did you see a halter? Ropes?]"

                                            > Zaur gave this some thought as he stared into the distance to search his memory. "[Maybe,]" he finally admitted. "[It was far, hard to see in this light. I think it had something on the face.]"

                                            "[If I can get near it, I can't really tie it up if there's no halter. I don't think it will stand still while I tie the rope. I'm not 'Applejack' you know?]"

                                            > "[Who is 'appul-check'?]"

                                            "[Never mind. Someone from my home who was good with a rope.]"

                                            > "[Well, just do what you can. Hold it down or something. Drive it toward us.]"

                                            > Thistle looked at him skeptically. Driving the horse anywhere would require her to push it, which would bring her in reach of those dangerous hind hooves. She didn't know how the horses in this world compared, strength-wise, to ponies, but it was bound to be extremely unpleasant and very likely dangerous.

                                            "[I'll see.]"

                                            > Maybe she could do what Salki had said, and get the horse to follow her. The body language would be difficult, but maybe not impossible. It'd depend somewhat on whether it was a mare or a stallion.

                                            > Zaur lifted himself up from the grass for a moment, then lowered back down so he was squatting next to her. "[Buygra is coming. Let's go.]"

                                            > They shuffled forward, the nomad in a half-crouch, Thistle walking normally, except that she took some care where she placed her hooves. It wasn't exactly silent, but it was a lot better than she had been before their trip out West.

                                            > At least some of Hisein's teachings were sticking, she thought with a wry smile.

                                            > They met their friend a short distance away, and the two nomads knelt in the grass. "[That way,]" Buygra pointed a finger. "[Maybe nine hundred steps.]"

                                            > Those were nomad steps, Thistle knew, so it translated to maybe half a mile. She wondered how the hunter had even spotted the animal at that range.

                                            > Buygra saw her questioning look and explained: "[We are down wind, so it couldn't smell me, and I could get close. There is no cover, and the horse stands up from the grass.]"

                                            > She peered at the horizon, but couldn't discern any real shape. She would have to take his word for it and make sure she kept her direction until she spotted the horse.

                                            > A long sigh, and then Thistle divested herself of the baggage. She would need to move lightly, and it would help if she didn't have packs on her, especially if she had to chase the horse.

                                            > She closed her eyes while Buygra and Zaur untied the crude harness around her body, then shook herself to air out her fur where the leather straps had trapped her sweat.

                                            "[Okay. Here I go.]"

                                            > There was nothing to it but walk. For a while she considered sneaking, but since they were betting on her pony shape being familiar to the horse, there was not real point in hiding and maybe spooking the beast with noise from a carelessly-placed hoof step.

                                            > Thistle lifted her head up high, focused her eyes on where she was going, and smartly trotted away.

                                            > Before long she saw a brown splotch on the horizon, and she adjusted her direction. By the time she could discern the shape, she saw that the horse was looking right at her.

                                            > It was alert, and tensed to run away, but she didn't think it was particularly frightened. It was a promising start.

                                            > As she came closer, she slowed her pace. The animal kept its ears focused on her, even when it bent down to nibble at a few blades of grass. It always came back up to stare in her direction. So far it hadn't moved, though.

                                            > Even so, Thistle came to a near halt. She thought for a moment, then let out a quiet nicker. It should tell the creature that she wasn't afraid of it, and liked what she saw. It didn't respond, but neither was did it look spooked by the sound coming from such a strange creature.

                                            > As she came ever closer, she made sure to produce the occasional snort and a soft nicker here and there. If she wasn't too much mistaken, it seemed to work like it would on a pony foal.

                                            > Her heart was beating faster, and she had to fight to keep her hoof steps calm and measured. It was the closest any of them had come to it yet!

                                            > The horse was still tense, still watching her warily, but it hadn't bolted yet. It might do so at any moment, so Thistle carefully altered her direction so she would end up on the opposite side without going much closer. If it ran, she would prefer it to run in the direction of the nomads.

                                            > Buygra had cleverly positioned them downwind, so maybe it wouldn't sense the two until it was right on top of them. She knew the nomads were reasonably good with a rope, and they both had a loop handy for just such an eventuality.

                                            > This meant she was entering the horse's blind spot behind it, and it turned to keep eyes on her. It obviously didn't trust her, and perhaps it didn't know what to make of her, with her small body, large head, and pink mane and tail.

                                            > It was working in her favor, though. Uncertainty wasn't fear, and the animal was more curious than frightened. Thistle had to fight the urge to smile - baring her teeth would be an obvious threatening gesture. Instead, she let out a soft whinny and took a few more steps closer.

                                            > The bad news was that now she could see there was no halter. Zaur must have seen the horse's mane and mistaken it for rope. She couldn't be sure if the animal had rubbed the binds off, or if it never had them. For that matter, there wasn't a saddle either. Maybe Hisein had ridden it bare-backed and holding on to its mane.

                                            > It could explain why it didn't like nomads. It must have been supremely uncomfortable for both of them, especially over the mountain passes.

                                            > She was no more than a few nomad steps away from it now! Her heart was thundering in excitement and her legs trembled with the effort of not simply pouncing and holding the creature down until her friends came to capture it.

                                            > She was so close! They could get it and head back home!

                                            > She took another careful, measured step.

                                            > The horse jumped back.

                                            > Thistle nearly shouted in frustration, but held back when it didn't run. It stared at her with suspicion, and its ears flicked back, warning her to stay away.

                                            > Could she slowly gain its trust? Now that she was close enough, she saw it was a stallion. If she turned away and flicked her tail a few times, it might come over to inspect her. She was horse-shaped, if small.

                                            > If she pissed on the ground it might come check to see if she was receptive. She'd seen in the camp that this world's horses only had one thing on their minds.

                                            > It would be demeaning, but it wasn't like she hadn't done worse in her time with the nomads. Besides, maybe if she let it...

                                            > She *did* miss Salki.

                                            > Thistle snorted to herself and firmly shook her head. It was stupid to think like that, and the horse was much bigger than her. Even with the donkey it had hurt, and this thing looked like it could really injure her. It was best to forget such thoughts. The way her eyes kept twitching back to its rump and flanks was especially unbecoming!

                                            > Maybe it would be better to rely on her friends.

                                            > Thistle clicked her tongue and stepped forward. On cue, the horse slinked a few steps away. It still wasn't running, and it remained curious about her.

                                            > She would either slowly drive it toward the two nomads, giving them time to prepare a trap, or the horse would give in and let her approach. Both were good outcomes.

                                            > Even if it ran, Thistle didn't think it would run very fast, or very far from her. She could try again reasonably soon. She could try luring it in with her feminine horsey wiles.

                                            > She took another step. The horse backed away.

                                            > Regardless if it worked or not, it would be slow going.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > As soon as Buygra had looped a rope around the stallion's neck, it calmed down. The animal was still shivering from excitement, and it kept snorting and shuffling its hooves, but it didn't try to pull away. That much was a relief.

                                            > The other end of the rope was in Thistle's mouth, but she wasn't entirely sure she could hold the big horse if it really tried to pull away. If nothing else, there was the difference in their weight. Without something solid to hold on to, the stallion could just drag her along the ground.

                                            > The two nomads were breathing heavily, but both looked pleased. Thistle's own heart was still hammering, and she offered her friends a tentative smile.

                                            "[So, what do we do now?]" she asked, after having spat the rope out and stood on it.

                                            > "[I thought you would know,]" Buygra said. He waved a hand at the stallion, who flinched away from the gesture and let out a quick squeal of fright. "[See?]" Buygra added.

                                            "[I think Hisein didn't treat this horse very nicely when he rode it here. It's afraid of nomads.]"

                                            > Zaur gave a thoughtful nod. "[I'm not surprised, seeing what his leg was like. It's a wonder he made it.]"

                                            "[I hope he made it.]"

                                            > The reminder that the big hunter could still die silenced the talk and seemed to weigh heavily on all three of them. To take her mind off it, Thistle wrapped the rope a few times around her fetlock, then went carefully to the stallion. It was less afraid of her than of the nomads.

                                            "You really gave us the run around, haven't you?"

                                            > She'd spoken in Equestrian, mainly because it was a softer, gentler language. The beast wouldn't understand her, but perhaps it would get her tone. Behind the mare, Buygra murmured to Zaur: "[What did she say?]"

                                            > "[I don't know, something about running.]"

                                            > She ignored the two and came almost within touching distance. The stallion had his ears pinned back, but it didn't look as he would bolt, at least not right away.

                                            "That's right, I'm a friend."

                                            > For some reason, talking to another equine, even a non-thinking one from this world, felt much more natural in her own language. Thistle carefully controller her face so she wouldn't smile, and she splayed her ears. Maybe it would understand some of her body language.

                                            > The capture hadn't been easy. She'd driven it to the two nomads, or at least toward the place she *thought* they were waiting. As it had turned out, she'd missed by quite a lot, and the horse would have passed some distance from Buygra and Zaur.

                                            > Even worse - the two couldn't easily move without making noise among the dry grass and snapping twigs, so there was no way to intercept the animal.

                                            > It had been pure genius on Buygra's part to have waited until Thistle and the horse were nearest, then chucking a rock over the two to their other side. He'd timed it just perfectly when Thistle paused and the animal lowered its head to nibble on the grass.

                                            > The noise of the falling rock made the horse jump and bolt in the other direction. The aim had been nearly perfect, and it passed close enough for Buygra to leap up and toss a loop of rope around its neck.

                                            > After that, the two nomads held on for dear life and the big animal dragged them through the grass. To her shame, it took Thistle a long while to react and rush over to help. By the time she caught up, and added her weight and strength to the rope, both Buygra and Zaur were badly bruised.

                                            > That memory made her glance back, and Thistle winced again when she saw their faces. Buygra had a cut on his forehead, and Zaur's nose was probably broken. They looked like they'd been in a fight, but despite that both were happy. They got the horse, which would go a long way to bolstering their little herd.

                                            > She'd already confirmed that this one hadn't been gelded.

                                            > Suddenly she got an idea and returned to her two friends.

                                            "[Give me some bread,]" she told Zaur.

                                            > He obediently produced an end they had left, and she took it in her mouth. They didn't have very many remaining supplies, but that was okay, since they'd be going home right after this. They could spare a bit of stale crust.

                                            > She approached the horse and lifted up her muzzle toward him. He was still wary, but at least a little curious, especially when he caught the smell. It hadn't been on purpose, but Thistle was hungry so she was drooling a bit. Wet bread smell spread rapidly, and she saw how that stallion's nostrils flared as it inspected this new aroma.

                                            > He let her come closer this time, and she spat it out near his forehooves. Almost immediately he bent down to examine the food, and a moment later he was munching away.

                                            > Thistle closed the rest of the distance and laid a careful hoof on the stallion's foreleg. It glanced at her, flicked an ear, but didn't shy away.

                                            "You like that, don't you?" she cooed. "There's more of that. We just have to get you home. You'll feel better with the herd, you'll see."

                                            > Now that she was close enough, she could examine him in more detail. Something along his belly caught her eye, and her ears flattened.

                                            "[Buygra, which leg did Hisein lose again?]"

                                            > "[The left.]"

                                            > She headed around the horse to inspect its other side, but stopped before she went behind his back. That could be a bad idea. He didn't trust her yet, and practically anything could spook him. Instead, she hurried around the front, where the stallion watched her warily. He didn't stop rooting around the grass for the last few crumbs of the bread, though.

                                            "[I think I know why its afraid of men.]"

                                            > Her head lowered and the mare heaved a sad sigh. She was happy Hisein would make it, and she could understand his urgent need to get home, and his pain, but surely this hadn't been called for?

                                            > The stallion's flanks and belly on this side were smeared with blood. More importantly, there were no bruises. Not like on the other side.

                                            > He must have driven the animal hard, kicking hard to get it to move faster and faster. The horse's ribs were showing, and its lower belly was scarred and bruised, at least on the side where Hisein's leg wasn't injured.

                                            > It would take some careful handling before the horse would let anyone else ride him.

                                            > She turned back to Buygra and Zaur, careful not to tug on the rope. It was only a simple loop around the neck, so if the horse got frightened and tried to pull away, it could suffocate itself. Even if not, it would be supremely uncomfortable. They had to get it into the camp to make a proper halter.

                                            "[Hisein kicked it so hard that it is bruised. See down its belly? That's why it's afraid of nomads. Who knows how long and how hard he had driven it.]"

                                            > "[I see,]" Buygra said, even as Zaur winced in sympathy for the poor beast. "[Can we teach it?]"

                                            "[I don't know. We can try. If nothing else, it will be fresh blood for the herd. We can breed it.]"

                                            > "[Will it go with us?]" Zaur asked.

                                            > Instead of speculating, Thistle unwrapped the rope and grabbed it with her teeth again. Then she walked a few experimental steps. As the lead tightened, the stallion resisted for a moment, but then it followed. It moved aside to give the two nomads a wide berth, but it didn't look as if it was going to bolt outright. She dropped the rope again so she could talk.

                                            "[How far are we from home?]"

                                            > "[We will need to sleep, but then we can reach the camp before the sun is highest,]" Buygra said. "[We can make some distance before dark.]"

                                            "[Both of you pluck fresh grass as we walk. You will try to feed it from your hands when we stop. We'll see if it can lose its fear.]"

                                            > "[Good. Let's go.]"

                                            "[We should rest where there are trees. We will need to tie the horse. We can't hold it the whole night.]"

                                            > Buygra gave this some thought, then started walking. "[I know a good place. Come.]"

                                            > Maybe now that Hisein was back, he would agree to continue teaching her how to move and find her way thorough the nomad's land.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was a welcome sight when Thistle came back to the center of the camp. Hisein was sitting upright!

                                            > He looked pale, and even as she watched his face sometimes contorted in pain, but he looked alert as he was having a broken-nomad conversation with Janus.

                                            > Several others were helping the blacksmith stack up more wood for another charcoal mound. They didn't look too enthusiastic, but the youth were moving with purpose. She recognized one of Buygra's younger friends, and Usman's cousin, but the two others were strangers, which named them Ulan-Zuk apprentices. It was what they had agreed during their negotiation, so that both tribes would gain the knowledge of working metal, should something happen to Janus.

                                            > It was an unpleasant, cynical thought, but their alliance with Adilet and, more importantly, his protection against the Ruslans, depended on Janus' skill.

                                            > All of that could wait, though. Thistle pushed the lead rope she still held in her teeth into Buygra's hand, and hurried on. She felt only a momentary pang of guilt. The horse was nervous and jumpy around the strange smells and the multitude of people. He still wasn't too comfortable with the two men handling him, and they might have trouble if the stallion got too frightened or excited.

                                            > On the other hand, there were more nomads around and the horse was important for all of them. Someone else could help Buygra control the creature.

                                            > She had something more important to do.

                                            "[Hisein.]"

                                            > At the very least, she thought proudly to herself, she'd spoken it rather than shouted. She still ran to him, and she couldn't keep her ears upright at the sight of the man, but at least she hadn't yelled it like some impetuous filly.

                                            > In moment she was at his side, and Hisein put a hand in her mane.

                                            > "[It's good to see you too,]" he said, and Thistle winced at how weak his voice sounded.

                                            "[You look like you've been to Tartarus and back.]"

                                            > True, the nomads didn't have the concept of Tartarus, but they had something they called the 'lower world', where the evil spirits went after death. She'd mentally translated it as 'Tartarus', since it was close enough.

                                            > "[You would look worse, if you even came back.]"

                                            > She lowered her eyes and gave a slight nod.

                                            "[You're right. How did you come back? Your leg...]"

                                            > Her horrified gaze went to the stump, which was thankfully wrapped in bandages and leather.

                                            > Hisein's hand gripped her mane almost painfully, and his face twisted as if her look had sent a flash of pain through his missing limb. "[Those bastards to the west shot me with an arrow. I killed many of them, and the rest left me for dead.]"

                                            "[How did you get the horse?]"

                                            > He barked a laugh. "[I thought I would have to crawl on my belly the whole way back, but I found where your group fought your own battle. One of the enemy, slumped against a tree. Dead, but his horse wasn't far. His dead hand still clutched the rope.]"

                                            "[It didn't have a halter when we caught it.]"

                                            > The man's eyes brightened and he managed a satisfied grin. "[You got it? Good. That's good.]"

                                            "[What happened to the saddle?]"

                                            > Hisein gave a shrug as he answered: "[It was heavy. I needed to move fast, so I took it off.]"

                                            "[Idiot. It would have been a lot more comfortable and safer for both you and the horse.]"

                                            > The man shrugged and spat on the ground. His nonchalant expression was replaced by a look of intense focus. "[I was dying, Thistle. I didn't have the time for luxury. I knew if I pulled the arrow out myself, I would bleed to death. If I left it in, the wound would stink up and I would die of fever.]"

                                            > Thistle's ears fell and she swallowed a lump.

                                            "[I'm sorry.]"

                                            > "[I made it, didn't I?]" Hisein said, but his voice was sad. He was looking at his leg, cut just above the knee. His hand went to the bandage. "[I wish...]" he began, but didn't finish the sentence. The momentary euphoria of meeting Thistle again, and of hearing about the horse, was gone.

                                            "[Wish what?]"

                                            > She nearly took a step back under his glare. "[I wish they didn't have to cut my fucking leg off!]" he replied harshly. Thistle didn't know what to say to that, and her eyes began to fill with tears. Her vision went blurry.

                                            > "[At least I'm alive,]" Hisein said with a sigh. His hand bunched up in a fist and he punched the hard, packed mud. "[I'll never hunt again! Fuck!]"

                                            "[M-Maybe you will,]" she stammered out.

                                            > Hisein looked at her through narrowed, disbelieving eyes. "[What are you saying?]"

                                            "[You are a good rider. You came all this way with an injured leg. You can practice the bow and hunt from a horse, like we talked. I mean, like me and Salki talked about. I'll explain later.]"

                                            > For a few moments the man looked thoughtful, then he shrugged. "[We will see,]" he finally admitted, unwilling to let go of his anger quite yet.

                                            > She took a measured step closer, then laid her hoof on his good leg. She hesitated for a split second, then pressed her muzzle against his bearded cheek.

                                            "[I'm glad you're back. I missed you.]"

                                            > His palm cupped her muzzle and Hisein pressed her more tightly against his face. He didn't say anything, and the two stayed like that for long seconds, happy to simply be in each other's company.

                                            "[I need your help.]"

                                            > The sudden outburst made Hisein chuckle, and he let her go. "[I know. They've been telling me what mess you've gotten yourselves into. An alliance with the Ulan-Zuk? Really? I said: 'that has to be Thistle's idea'. None of the others are that stupid.]"

                                            "[We didn't have a choice. Ruslans would have killed us all by now.]"

                                            > Hisein gave a shrug. "[Maybe. So, what do you-]" he began, but his head drooped and he braced a hand on the ground to keep himself from toppling over.

                                            > Thistle realized, belatedly, that the man had had a horrific injury, illness, and a major surgery, all without the benefits of painkillers, or any other medicine. It was a wonder he was at least marginally upright. She quickly slipped her neck under his arm.

                                            "[Not now. We'll talk later. Let me get you to your tent to rest.]"

                                            > "[S'not my tent,]" he mumbled.

                                            "[Okay. Let's go. You need to eat something, and drink water, and sleep,]" she told him. His arm dripped with sweat. "[Mostly water.]"

                                            > She was already making plans. She'd get Hisein down, and she'd send Fen Ko to fetch water, and Ning to get Xuan. Surely the woman would know where to get some stew for Hisein. Maybe, after one of the children was back, she would send them for the shaman. He knew very little about medicine, but he might have some herbs or something which would help Hisein sleep, maybe even take away the pain a little.

                                            > Thistle took step after slow step, while the man leaned heavily on her and painstakingly shuffled on one foot. She wondered how he'd gotten to the center in the first place. Had someone carried him? Had he crawled over himself?

                                            > She also wondered when she'd decided to personally nurse him back to health. More than that, *why* had she decided it? There were others in the camp who could do it, after all. Hisein didn't have much family left, but there was a cousin.

                                            > If not that, there was Willow. Thistle's muzzle scrunched up with distaste, but Willow and Hisein were friends, even if she didn't really understand why.

                                            > Maybe, on their trip west, she'd become his friend, too?

                                            > That, and she needed his level-headed advice on how to handle Adilet, and Salki, and Darga. The sooner Hisein was well, the sooner he could help her solve that whole mess.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle had walked into an argument. More than that, it was a shouting match and her ears pinned back automatically to try and protect her hearing. Darga and Salki were at it again, except that it was worse than before and she was worried they might come to actual blows. Even if not, a crowd had already gathered outside the tent, and people were worried.

                                            > It looked like the camp was split right down the middle, with most of the younger people, and the hunters, supporting Salki, and a core of older men and women, clustered around Intor, standing with Darga.

                                            > That last part, that Intor would favor someone whom Thistle had always thought was her sworn enemy, worried her, but she didn't have time to figure it out.

                                            > First she'd had to go in and put a stop to it! Her every instinct, both as a pony, and as a politician, was screaming at her that division like this, in a time of trouble, was the surest way to lose the whole tribe. If they turned on one another it would be civil war, and in that situation only one person would win - Adilet.

                                            > It was pure luck that none of his people were in the camp, although they would surely learn about this as soon as they came back to study under Janos, or take patrols with the camp's hunters.

                                            > She had to end it, and quick!

                                            > Salki was the one yelling at the moment, his deep, powerful voice accusing his mother of denying him his birthright and holding him back. He flailed his arms widely, gesturing at Darga, and at himself, and out through the tent flap.

                                            > Thistle didn't wait for him to finish and simply pirouetted, pushed her forelegs into the hard-packed dirt, and put a hind hoof in his soft belly. It wasn't a hard kick, and she didn't want to hurt him, but the man went wide-eyed and doubled over in pain most satisfyingly. All he could do was gasp for breath as he folded up, and Thistle quickly fixed her angry glare at the woman.

                                            > Her muzzle was scrunched up in a snarl, and her teeth were bared. She didn't have fangs, which slightly spoiled the effect, but her incandescent rage worked just as well on its own.

                                            "[Shut the fuck up or you're next! I've had it with you two!]"

                                            > Darga didn't respond, and she just stared at the mare in mute shock. It was Salki who managed to wheeze: "[What are you doing? Fuck, Thistle, that hurt!]"

                                            "[I'll kick you again if you don't shut up!]"

                                            > His face was contorting in anger, and even Darga's stare became hard, so Thistle took a deep breath and spoke, quietly enough for the people outside not to hear, but loud enough so they knew she meant it.

                                            "[Adilet is out there somewhere, trying to come up with a way to swallow us whole and join us to his clan. Do you want that? Do you!?]"

                                            > She waited long enough for Darga to shake her head slightly, and she didn't even look at Salki. He was already under the big man's thumb, so his opinion on the topic was probably tainted.

                                            "[He's telling you-]" Thistle pointed a hoof at the man without turning her head, "[that your mother is keeping you from chieftainhood. And he's telling the people that you-]" this time the hoof swung to Darga, "[are to blame for the Ruslans' attacks!]"

                                            > "[I'm not-]" Darga began, but shut up immediately when Thistle crouched and squared her shoulders, as if preparing to flip her body around for a buck the next instant.

                                            "[It doesn't matter! He's looking for a weakness. He wants Janus, and he wants our people who are good with the bow, and he wants me! He doesn't need you two, not after the rest is his!]"

                                            > Mother and son looked at each other, a momentary flash of concern on their faces, before they went back to scowling.

                                            > "[He's right,]" Salki said. "[We're stronger together. He told me that! But you're wrong, he doesn't want to lead Borchi-Quin. He wants me to do it.]"

                                            "[If you believe that, you're a fool! He doesn't need a rival! Better for him if something happens to you and Darga both, and the people become a part of Ulan-Zuk. That way, the Borchi-Quin won't ever be his enemy again!]"

                                            > Darga spat on the ground and her scowl deepened: "[Even if what you say is true, and we are both killed, Adilet still will not have us! Willow and Intor will lead!]"

                                            "[And how hard do you think Willow will be for Adilet to manipulate into giving him everything?]"

                                            > There was no answer for her question, so Thistle switched her stare back to the young man. He was sitting on the ground, both hands clutching his stomach, and his face was still white from pain, but his lips were turned up in a sneer. Thistle decided to simply answer herself:

                                            "[Even easier than it was to twist you around his fingers. Let me guess,]" she said, not really guessing but rather knowing from Saule's report: "[he offered you women? Women and beer, as much as you want?]"

                                            > For a brief instant, the pain in Salki's face was replaced by shock. "[How did you-]"

                                            "[Because it's what *I* would have done if I wanted to take over! You're not good at this! I've been doing things like this my whole life! I see things that you do not!]"

                                            > Before Darga could butt in, Thistle glanced at the woman over her shoulder and added:

                                            "[Yes, I'm better at it than you, too! All you've had to deal with are people inside the camp! You should have dealt with the Ruslans, but you've just pissed them off until they went to war with us. Adilet isn't entirely wrong there!]"

                                            > "[And what would you know about this, pony?]" Darga demanded.

                                            "[I've worked on deals with bigger and more dangerous people! Flying lizards who breathe fire! Creatures who are half big cats and half huge birds. Creatures who are larger than horses and have horns longer than your arm!]"

                                            > It wasn't all *technically* true, but she had officiated some meetings between all of those in Ponyville, and during her college days she *had* learned about a long history of trade and peace negotiations between Equestria and its neighbors.

                                            > She glanced from one human to the other, and they both stared dubiously at her. They clearly didn't believe her, and Thistle stomped an angry hoof.

                                            "[It's true. Even if it weren't, the important part is that I know how to deal with Adilet, and you don't!]"

                                            > "[So why don't you? Why don't you just do what you say, and take over the clan, and fight off both Ulan-Zuk and the Ruslans?]"

                                            > It was intended as an insult, but Darga's jab was so obvious that Thistle just rolled her eyes and gave the woman a wry grin.

                                            "[Because the people are already unwilling to follow a woman, and I'm a pony on top of that! No one would take me seriously!]"

                                            > Salki used the momentary lull after her admission to point a triumphant finger at his mother: "[Exactly! It should be me! A man has to lead the clan!]"

                                            > "[You can't lead anything worth a damn,]" Darga spat immediately.

                                            > Once again Thistle pushed between the two and gave the woman the stink eye, which surprisingly worked to shut her up. That allowed her to address Salki first.

                                            "[You are both right!]" she concluded. "[I know women can lead, but most of the camp doesn't agree. Darga, they're only putting up with you because they're expecting Salki to get up soon. And Salki, your mother is right. You're not good at it.]"

                                            > Both nomads began to argue once more, their voices rising, until Thistle whinnied, reared up, and brought her forehooves back down on the packed dirt with a loud thump.

                                            "[Shut up! Between the Ruslans and Adilet, we can't afford to argue right now! You two have to say the same thing to the clan, and soon! You have to agree!]"

                                            > "[On what?]" Salki blurted out, at the same time as his mother said: "[Yes, I have to stay in charge until he is ready!]"

                                            > That gave the mare an idea and she turned her wide, open eyes on the son.

                                            "[Salki, you know your mother has always planned that you'll take over some day, right? You just have to learn how to lead.]"

                                            > "[I know how to lead,]" the youth bristled, to which his mother just gave a disbelieving laugh. "[I do! I went all the way to the Two Lands in the west and brought back a blacksmith!]"

                                            "[Salki, you had advice from me and from Hisein! If you had your way, we wouldn't have anything to show for it.]"

                                            > He didn't have any response to that, but just blushed a deep crimson in a mixture of shame and anger. Thistle left him to stew for a little bit and turned back to Darga.

                                            "[I think I can get us out of this. I can get Adilet to leave us alone, and I can get us out of this war with the Ruslans.]"

                                            > It was largely a boast, but her cutie mark hadn't let her down in the past, and that gave the mare enough confidence to keep her gaze steady and her face firm and sure. For long moments Darga just watched her carefully, then said quietly: "[I won't just step aside so you and he,]" she indicated Salki, "[can take the chieftainhood from me.]"

                                            "[Darga, he's your son. He'll have to do it sooner or later, unless you would prefer Willow becomes Chieftain?]"

                                            > That shut her up, and for a moment her eyes flicked down to her feet. She didn't have an answer ready for that, but her lips pressed into a thin line as she thought.

                                            "[Exactly. Think about what you want. I agree with you that Salki isn't ready, but maybe if he agreed to take our advice...]"

                                            > She left the end of that sentence open, as a kind of unspoken promise. It would give Salki what he wanted, but still permit his mother to have a large say in how the camp was being run. More importantly, it would also allow Thistle to keep some control over the direction the clan would go, hopefully enough for her to keep Adilet out.

                                            > It was hard to put her hoof on it, but something about that big man frightened her. He was polite and generous right now, but Thistle had seen something - or perhaps felt it - in his camp, and in the way his people deferred to him, which was deeply disturbing. Once again it was a part of a deep, unknowable instinct, probably arising from her cutie mark.

                                            > Even if the Ulan-Zuk didn't swallow them whole, giving them metal weapons and bows could become a problem in the long run. She saw only three ways forward. They could let Adilet take over, and most of the people would be alright. They would lose their identity and become part of his clan, but at least they would be safe.

                                            > That was thoroughly unpalatable to most, and would be entirely unthinkable to both Salki and Darga. For that matter, it wasn't something Thistle herself liked the smell of, either. On the other hand, they could work to make sure the Ulan-Zuk and the Borchi-Quin remained fast allies. The easiest way to do that would to go and plunder the lands to the West together. Once they intermarried a little, they might have bonds strong enough to last.

                                            > In time, she thought, they could even unite naturally, which would be better than being forced into one. It would have been easier if something were to happen to Adilet on one of these excursions.

                                            > The mare caught herself hoping for an accident, and it sent a shudder through her body. It wasn't the pony way, however convenient it would be. She didn't think she'd have the stomach to plan something like that, or even to ask anyone else to plan it.

                                            > That left the last option: Beat them at fighting and culture. Adilet didn't see a future in horses. He'd watched some of Salki's clumsy attempts to shoot a bow from a horse, and was unimpressed. He was focusing exclusively on archery, and on metal weapons.

                                            > She could capitalize on that. If the Borchi-Quin people became experts in horse archery, and if she came up with a few other Equestrian 'inventions' useful for nomad fighting, they would present a threat even to Ulan-Zuk, and Adilet wouldn't dare to attack them openly. If she gave them things which made their lives objectively better, every member of the clan would believe - rightly so - that their way of life was the best one.

                                            > It was risky, and uncertain, but unless Hisein helped her come up with other ideas, it was all she had.

                                            > At any rate, while she had been musing, the other two had been staring at each other, and at her, in silence. They weren't friends, not quite, but at least they weren't about to stab each other.

                                            "[Let's go our separate ways and think about this. We have to do something to keep Adilet away, and to survive this war with Ruslans. I need to think about it.]"

                                            > Darga gave a noncommittal grunt, and Salki shrugged his shoulders. Thistle nudged him in his thigh with her nose.

                                            "[Come on. Let's go. We need to talk.]"

                                            > If the Chieftain minded that her son and the mare were going off to plot, possibly against her, she didn't show it. Still, Thistle looked the woman in the eye and slightly inclined her head to tell her she would also come to discuss matters with her, in private. Darga didn't give any sign that she understood, but at least she stood there quietly as they left.

                                            > When Thistle pushed aside the flap, she saw there was still a worried crowd gathered around the tent, and her ears folded flat.

                                            "[Act normal!]" she hissed to Salki. "[Let's just get to your tent, don't talk to anyone!]"

                                            > She was already making plans what to say to the people to clear this mess up, but for now it was important to get Salki away before he and his mother began yelling again.


                                            > PART FOUR: Chieftain


                                            > It felt good to run. At least that much hadn't changed from Thistle's previous life in Equestria, and the pattern was quite familiar to her. She would let herself become busy, until she forgot to move, until she ached from all the sitting, or standing still. Then she would go out for a run and discover, yet again, how pleasurable it was.

                                            > Pony bodies were made for running. Not just that, their minds worked better when they ran regularly.

                                            > Each time Thistle that had re-learned this simple, important fact, she would promise herself that she'd take time. Every morning, or maybe every evening.

                                            > Until that one time which always came, usually within a few weeks, rarely longer than a couple of months. She would be too tired, or too busy, or ill, and she skipped a day. Despite her best intentions, she would always slip back into her work and the cycle began anew.

                                            > Would this time be any different? With the wind in her face, and the grass blurring under her hooves Thistle promised herself she would make time for running, that she would find a way to indulge in that most pony-like of activities. The only problem was that she'd made a similar vow before, and it had never worked for long. Would this be the time she kept it up through the winter's snow? Through aches and pains of exhaustion and injury?

                                            > Her life in the nomad lands was far harder, and more stressful, than even her worst day as the Mayor. Celestia knew she *needed* some kind of a release, and the Princess also knew the time and energy were hard to come by.

                                            > Even this run wasn't just a run. Thistle's ears folded back and she glanced around herself. The gelding cantered easily a few steps behind her, still there even if she had managed to forget it for a few seconds.

                                            > She wrestled with a desire to leap ahead and escape, but the duty won out. Hisein was doing well, but they still didn't have a saddle, and if Hisein fell off he could easily injure himself. Lying alone on the ground, who knows what might happen!

                                            > Even worse, at least by the nomad's own reckoning, the horse would probably run away. The gelding wasn't *as* important for the nascent herd they were building, but it would still be a loss. Thistle had plans for all their horses, even if there were only five.

                                            > She slowed down until the animal and its rider were beside her, then kept pace with them.

                                            "[How is it?]"

                                            > Hisein had the reins in one hand which also clenched the gelding's mane, and he was holding the other out for balance. He gave her a glance and a nod, but quickly straightened. She'd told him to look in the direction they were moving, based on some age-old advice her father had given her about skiing, of all things. Look where you want to go.

                                            > She wasn't sure it would work for riding a horse, but it sounded like useful advice and so far Hisein hadn't complained.

                                            > "[It's okay,]" he answered. "[I will get used to this.]"

                                            "[Does your leg hurt again?]"

                                            > There was no response for a while, and Thistle was about to repeat the question when the nomad spoke again: "[A little. It's fine.]"

                                            "[Do you want to stop? We don't have to gallop back, we can go slower, or I can carry you.]"

                                            > "[Shut up and let's keep going. It's coming up!]"

                                            > This had been Hisein's idea, one she didn't fully agree with. He was trying to go too quickly, and she'd told him much the same, but the man had been implacable. Finally, she'd huffed with annoyance and went to set up the targets.

                                            > At least the solitary run over there, and back to the camp had been pleasant.

                                            > Now Hisein released the horse's mane and unhooked a short bow from his shoulder.

                                            "[Slow him down! You need to-]"

                                            > Her words died on her lips as the gelding eased into a gentle trot. She had to blink her eyes to try and unblur her vision, but she was *sure* Hisein's hands were nowhere near the reins!

                                            "[How did you do that?!]"

                                            > The man flashed her a smile, which was equal parts pride and insolence, and Thistle almost rolled her eyes in exasperation. "[I can guide it with my legs,]" he said. "[I squeeze and it will stop. I kick my heels - heel - and it will go.]"

                                            "[How did you figure that out?]"

                                            > "[I taught it. I did these things when I used my voice and the reins, and now it doesn't need voice and reins anymore.]"

                                            > Thistle almost snorted in disbelief, except that Hisein hadn't yet lied to her. He'd been practicing riding for only a few days, so this was an impressive result. "[It doesn't work every time. I will tell the others to do the same. If we are to use a bow on a horse, we can't use our hands to control it.]"

                                            > It made sense when he put it that way, and it was a good idea. There was no reason it couldn't be done. If a horse could be taught to obey words and the reins, why not the movement of a man's legs?

                                            "[We're coming up. I put the targets close to here,]" she said.

                                            > At least that was the hope. She'd tossed the crude bags of old leather around the grass pretty much randomly, then tried to remember the direction and the distance when she returned to the camp. Unless her reckoning was completely off, they should come across them soon.

                                            > Perhaps Hisein would be proud of her skill in navigation? It was partially his teaching, after all.

                                            > They both looked around carefully, and he had an arrow nocked, ready to draw. When she saw this, Thistle let him ride forward, so she wouldn't be in the way of any stray shot. Shooting from a moving horse was something they were still practicing, even if Hisein could now hit things reliably when his mount was standing still.

                                            > "[There!]" he said suddenly and drew. Before she could even see where he was looking, the bowstring twanged and the arrow whisked away. In a smooth, fluid motion, Hisein drew another from his makeshift quiver and nocked it.

                                            > They hadn't yet fully settled on a design. Thistle had done her best to describe what the ponies used, and the basic shape worked. The mouth of it had to be a ring, carved from a piece of wood, and the rest was stiff leather, but the nomads were still experimenting with the best position it should be worn.

                                            > Some preferred to have it high on their backs, so they could reach the arrows behind their head, but others opted to carry the quiver at their sides.

                                            > Then there was the problem with riding. If the opening was too loose, the arrows could spill out when the horse jostled the rider. If it was too tight, the arrowhead was likely to snag on the lip, making it difficult to extract. Darkhan spent most of his time these days making changes to quivers, not least the various designs Hisein himself had asked for.

                                            > This one looked very functional, but Thistle had no doubts her friend would have some notes after they were done. After all, it was the first time he tried shooting while they were still moving.

                                            > As she thought about the problem and tried to remember any additional insights she might have from Equestrian archery, the man twisted in the saddle and loosed another arrow. This time the string slapped against his wrist and Hisein's breath hissed in pain. "[Fuck!]" he swore as the bow dropped from his hand, then almost immediately: "[Whoa! Whoa!]"

                                            > The horse came to a halt, but Thistle was faster. She'd already returned to pick up the bow. She held it carefully in her teeth and lifted the other end up to the nomad, who took it. "[Thanks. The string hit my arm. I wasn't careful.]"

                                            "Fetlock guards," she said in Equestrian.

                                            > "[What?]"

                                            > She tried to come up with a smooth and simple translation, then shrugged to herself and sat on her haunches. That allowed her to lift a foreleg and point with her other.

                                            "[A piece of hard leather, here. Tied on with string, or leather straps. It will guard your wrist from the string.]"

                                            > "[Good thought,]" Hisein said. "[I cannot be as careful when the horse is moving. I have to swing the bow from one side to the other, and loose quickly. Maybe the bow could be a little smaller, too.]"

                                            "[We'll talk to Darkhan when we're back. Do you want to try and shoot other targets?]"

                                            > He rubbed his injured wrist, then nodded. "[Yes. I will go ahead, faster this time. I want to try how it works when the horse is running. You follow and pick up the arrows.]"

                                            > Thistle inclined her head and headed in the approximate direction of the first target. She'd seen where Hisein had been facing for his second shot, so she had a rough idea of where to look. The arrow had probably gone askew, but it shouldn't be too far.

                                            > Behind her, she heard the man grunt as he drew the bow and the thunk as the arrow pierced something hollow. It sounded like old leather, so that was probably a hit. The horse wasn't moving very quickly yet, but it was still a good result.

                                            > If Hisein proved this could be done, no doubt other nomads would try to duplicate his skill. Even just five of them would be useful, she thought. Perhaps enough for the plan which was forming in her mind. She saw the first arrow, pinning the leather bundle to the ground. Hisein had barely hit it, but he had! She couldn't help smiling.

                                            > They were both learning.

                                            "[Hey, Hisein?!]" she shouted.

                                            > "[Yeah?!]" the voice was faint and the rider and horse were already quite a distance from her. Thistle lifted herself up on her hind hooves for a moment to mark the direction, then she picked up the arrow in her mouth and ran after him. She decided not to look for the second shot. It would take too long to search the thick grass.

                                            "[I fink I 'ave a flan fow A'ilet!]"

                                            > "[What?!]"

                                            > Of course the arrow in her mouth didn't help. Thistle chuckled to herself and increased her speed. It did feel good to simply run.

                                            > He wasn't waiting for her, even though she thought he kept glancing back. His bow was still ready, and the man shot two arrows in rapid succession. Only then did he put the bow back around his shoulder and pulled the horse back.

                                            > She caught up to him. "[What did you say?]" he asked again.

                                            "[I think I have a plan for Adilet,]" she repeated after spitting the arrow out.

                                            > "[You'll tell me on the way back. How was my shot?]"

                                            "[The first one you only hit the edge. I didn't look for the second one, it probably went wide. I'll go pick up the last three now.]"

                                            > "[I saw them. Two hits - the first and the third. Second one missed.]"

                                            "[Is that why you shot the last one so quickly?]"

                                            > Hisein gave her a nod. "[Yes. I think the quiver should be flatter. It is hard to reach arrows when they are all the way in the back. I will tell Darkhan and we will try again tomorrow.]"

                                            "[Good shooting. You think you could do it when the horse is going faster?]"

                                            > She looked around for the two targets Hisein had shot at, and he held out his arm to show her the way, even as he answered: "[I don't know. It is hard, but I think it can be learned. The horse goes up and down, but it is predictable. If you loose when it is at the top of the step, it is possible to hit the target.]"

                                            "[We'll keep practicing,]" she called back to him.

                                            > She found the last target, and saw that one of the arrows was indeed stuck in the ground near it, while the other had pierced the leather cleanly. She pulled them both out with her mouth and went back to the horse and the nomad, where she dropped them on top of the first arrow.

                                            > Hisein kindly pointed the direction to the other bag of leather, and she hurried to it. The distance was closer than she'd hoped, but the arrow was nearly in the center of the bundle.

                                            > She left the bundles where they were, so they could try again without her having to go and place them anew, but she thought about setting up some of those tall targets which resembled a man's body, like the other archers used to practice.

                                            > After all, the enemy wouldn't lie in the grass, at least not all of the time.

                                            > "[What did you say about Adilet?]" Hisein asked when she was back.

                                            > She concentrated on picking up the arrows, one by one, and holding them up for him so he could return them to his quiver. Such tasks needed her mouth, after all.

                                            > Once she was done, and they had turned and started to head back home, she began to explain:

                                            "[You said the Ulan-Zuk would respect strength and fighting, right?]"

                                            > "[Yes?]"

                                            "[I thought- we will have to fight the Ruslans sooner or later. What if we go and hit them soon? It is getting colder, maybe they will not expect an attack before winter. We haven't seen any of them, and Janus has been making weapons.]"

                                            > Hisein looked doubtful, with his eyebrows down and his forehead furrowed. "[I'm not sure. Janus says this metal is not the good kind. He says it is soft. We need to find the other metal to make it harder.]"

                                            "[I know, we only have the green rocks, but it is enough. We can make arrow heads and spear tips, and small blades. It is more than the Ruslans have. Besides, I have a plan.]"

                                            > "[Tell me.]"

                                            "[This is something the flying catbirds did in my land, and I have to change it so it will work for creatures who can't fly. I think the Ruslans did something similar to us, though.]"

                                            > She paused for a moment to think and organize her thoughts. The memories of that surprise attack still weighed heavily on her, and the mare glanced at her side, where she knew there was a faint scar under her fur.

                                            "[We send a small force against them, on horses, and only Borchi-Quin. We ride near to them and shoot them with arrows, and then we ride away before they can catch us.]"

                                            > "[The Ruslans also have horses,]" Hisein pointed out.

                                            "[Yes, but they don't have the bow, and even if they do, they won't be able to shoot from them. We can pick them off as they chase us, and then we will have more horses.]"

                                            > Hisein looked thoughtful, with his eyebrows pulled down and his brow furrowed. "[That won't do much to them.]"

                                            "[No, but if we do it a few times, they will get angry. I think with archers on horses we can annoy them enough so they go after us.]"

                                            > "[Hmm, make them angry? If it can be done, it's a useful thing. You want your enemy angry and not thinking.]"

                                            "[Exactly. If they get angry enough to attack, we will be waiting. We will split our people and the Ulan-Zuk into two groups, and hide them some distance left and right. When the Ruslans are chasing our horse riders, they can split up. The Ruslans won't know which way to go.]"

                                            > Hisein stared at the mare with something almost like admiration. "[The riders will tell us when, and we close on them like two hands going for the throat. We can attack them from two sides.]"

                                            "[Yes. We need to find a good place, where we can hide people nearby so they are not seen. They will have to be some distance away, so the Ruslans don't come upon them by accident.]"

                                            > "[Okay, but what did you say about Adilet?]"

                                            "[Oh. Right! This will show him we know how to fight, and how to plan. We'll tell our people that Salki, or Darga, came up with the plan. If it works well, they will stop listening to Adilet. It will be a Borchi-Quin fight, not his.]"

                                            > At this, Hisein's smile slipped a little. "[I'm not sure that will do a lot. Adilet doesn't think that way.]"

                                            "[It's not only about him. We will have to fight beside the Ulan-Zuk. We should make sure the groups are mixed, so they become closer when they fight together. They should see that we are strong, and smart, and that we have good weapons.]"

                                            > Thistle grinned to herself.

                                            "[After the fight we will have a feast, and the people will sing and dance together. It will make us friends.]"

                                            > It still didn't seem to impress the big man, and he shrugged to himself. "[That's your plan for Adilet?]"

                                            "[One more thing. I want him to see how good bows are on horses. He will ask us to teach him, and to find him horses. Before the attack I will get him to agree that *we* get to keep any Ruslan horses we capture before the attack, and he will regret this decision when he sees how useful they are. Then we have something he wants.]"

                                            > Hisein didn't answer, and Thistle couldn't read his expression. Her ears splayed, but she steeled herself and pushed forward.

                                            "[If he wants them badly enough, we will organize an expedition to the West again to get more horses. A few people from our camp, and a few from Adilet's. No doubt he will want to come, too.]"

                                            > "[Maybe.]"

                                            "[Well - if he is still trying to take us over then...]"

                                            > Thistle had begun talking, but quickly realized she didn't quite have the stomach for it just yet. Planning battles in abstract was one thing, but an outright murder of an individual? The mere thought sent a shiver down her spine, and she settled for a vague hint, sure that Hisein would understand:

                                            "[Well, the way is long and dangerous,]" she hinted.

                                            > "[It is, indeed.]"

                                            "[What do you think?]"

                                            > The man took a deep breath. "[I will think about it. There are some good ideas. Perhaps we can make something of it.]"

                                            "[One more thing...]"

                                            > "[Hmm?]"

                                            > For several steps the mare didn't know how to ask her next thing. She shook her head and took a slow breath.

                                            "[Salki or Darga?]"

                                            > "[What do you mean?]"

                                            "[They are fighting too much, and it is causing trouble in the camp. We are splitting. There may be a fight between the people for who should lead. We have to make a decision now and make sure everyone follows it.]"

                                            > Perhaps for the first time since she knew him, Thistle saw Hisein at a loss. His lips pressed together, and he looked down at the reins in his hands. "[I don't know. Darga had led us well, but she is a woman. Salki is a good hunter, but he is young and stupid.]"

                                            "[I will help whoever we pick. I can guide Salki to be less stupid, and he'll learn in time. The question, I think, is if we want to change now? Putting Salki in charge will make some people unhappy. It will be a change. Staying with Darga may be safer, for now, but Salki will continue to make trouble if we do that. We - *I* - have to choose and make it happen.]"

                                            > "[Then pick,]" Hisein said, simply.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle watched the riders from a safe distance. Except for Hisein, the others were still very new to horse archery and their arrows could fly in unpredictable directions.

                                            > It was all a part of their accelerated training, though, and their need to learn quickly outweighed the danger. If they were to be ready for an attack on the Ruslans before winter, the five chosen hunters had to practice, despite the risks to themselves or their animals.

                                            > Under her and Hisein's direction, the nomads had set up wooden targets and Darkhan had supplied them with shorter bows. They didn't have as much power or range as the ones the young men preferred, but they could easily be shot from a moving horse.

                                            > They didn't need to be too precise, but they had to be at least dangerous, otherwise there was little chance for a small group of five riders to sufficiently annoy the Ruslans into attacking.

                                            > It was her plan, at least in its essence. Thistle still didn't know how exactly she felt about that. She was angry and dismayed at the relentless cruelty those others had visited upon her friends while she had been away, and she realized they'd try and exterminate them all if not for the Ulan-Zuk help. Their world and their very way of life were harsh and unforgiving.

                                            > Unlike the ponies, the people of these lands couldn't control the weather and the wild beasts, so they had had to become hard. They were at least partially carnivores, so they had to hunt. That surely affected their combative nature.

                                            > She wished there was a way around it, that she could get the Ruslans and the Borchi-Quin to talk, but apparently there was too much of a history between the two to ever become friends. They'd been warring on and off for multiple generations now, and hatred for the *others* was part of their very identity.

                                            > Faced with that, and with the atrocities committed while her own people had been weakened, left them no choice. The fact that it was partially Thistle's own plan just went to show just how far the Ruslans had stepped over the line.

                                            > The first step was to train their horse archers. While they were working on that, Janus was busy turning out as many spears and small, hand-held shields as he could. They were only copper, but it was still better than nothing. She'd decided they would look for the other type of ore after they'd dealt with the Ruslan threat.

                                            > Several of their most skilled hunters, Willow among them, had left several days ago to find the main Ruslan camp. It was a dangerous mission, but they needed to know where the enemy was, and what kind of a force they were dealing with.

                                            > Thistle was sorry she couldn't outfit them with binoculars, but she only had vague ideas about how to work glass and wasn't sure they had time to experiment, even with Janus' skill with smelting. The two disciplines surely had at least *some* overlap, but it would have to wait.

                                            > Until then, the scouts would simply have to rely on their stealth and their eyesight.

                                            > That just left the most important question: What to do about Salki and Darga?

                                            > Both had merits and drawbacks. Darga was established and had proven capable. The people mostly trusted her leadership. Then again, going into battle with Salki at their head as the Chieftain appealed to the men who would fight. If he didn't say or do anything stupid, it could be an important morale boost.

                                            > There was also the fact that Darga was too set in her ways, and only with Salki leading them could Thistle begin to make the changes she wanted. She was still convinced that there was a place for pony values in this world, at least some of them!

                                            > Darga wouldn't be influenced by Adilet, but if Salki was in charge, it might not be an issue. Adilet may decide to take them over through marriage, which would give Thistle ample time and opportunity to make sure the clans mixed in the way she intended, and not how he wanted.

                                            > It was also very possible that Adilet would find newfound respect for whomever led the clan into a decisive victory over the Ruslans. If she proved her horse archery idea, Adilet might be willing to negotiate for horses, and they would organize another expedition to the west.

                                            > With all their resources, plus what they plundered from the Ruslans, they could trade for good horses, rather than steal them. She would do either, and she knew what would be Adilet's preference, but perhaps by then she would have sufficient influence to start out more peacefully.

                                            > With Janus to translate, and their newfound understanding of horses, the westerners wouldn't be able to trick them as easily.

                                            > It all hinged on her decision, and she couldn't make up her mind one way or the other.

                                            > So deep was the mare lost in her thoughts that she only noticed the riders coming back when one of their horses whinnied at her from only a few paces away.

                                            > Thistle jumped in fright with a small squeak, and then blushed vividly when she realized what had happened. The men were looking at her strangely, except for Buygra and Salki, who were grinning. She stuck her tongue out at them, then couldn't help smiling back.

                                            "[How did it go?]" she asked.

                                            > "[As well as could be expected,]" Hisein responded before the others could. He looked grim, and when he glanced at the other riders his face screwed up in distaste. "[I think they managed to hit the ground a few times.]"

                                            > Thistle took it for a joke and chuckled, but the way the others shifted and refused to look at either her or Hisein made her fall silent.

                                            "[That's not fair, Hisein. You have been practicing for two weeks now.]"

                                            > He humphed and spat from his perch on his horse. "[Bah. They've been practicing for three days and still can't hit anything!]"

                                            > At that, Salki scowled at the older hunter and raised his fist. "[I can hit just fine when we're standing still! It's impossible to shoot the bow when the horse is jostling me up and down!]"

                                            > "[I told you before,]" Hisein responded curtly. "[Feel the movement. When it is at the top of the jump, loose. Come, let's drink and piss and then we'll try again.]"

                                            > For a moment it looked like Salki would toss his bow down in disgust, but he changed his mind at the last moment. His fingers were white from how hard he was gripping the reins, but he unclenched his hand and slid off the animal. He resolutely put his bow around his shoulder.

                                            > "[Alright,]" he muttered.

                                            "[You'll learn, don't worry. It just takes practice.]"

                                            > "[Or maybe you let someone else have your horse. Someone who can shoot,]" Hisein added.

                                            > Salki twisted around, face already darkening with anger, but Thistle bumped into his legs to get him moving away. She turned her own glare at Hisein, but the hunter just spread his arms in a gesture, as if to say it wasn't his fault Salki was bad at this.

                                            > She made sure they were a short distance away, then finally spoke up:

                                            "[You know, this is something a good leader has to do sometimes.]"

                                            > "[You mean horse archery?]" He sounded incredulous.

                                            "[No. You have to understand when you're not good at something and when to let someone else do it. Good leaders know when it's best to delegate.]"

                                            > He twirled around, fists bunched, and loomed over here even more than usual. "[I *am* good at it! I'm the best shooter in the camp!]"

                                            "[Not from a horse. Salki, it's okay. They are different skills. There's no shame in it. You have to be the bigger man and pick someone who will be the best for the job, even if it's not you.]"

                                            > The man deflated a little bit, but he still stared at her with unshakable determination. "[I'll get better at it! You'll see.]"

                                            > Thistle rolled her eyes and sat on her haunches in front of him so she could lay a hoof on his leg.

                                            "[It's fine. Salki, listen to me! Do you want to be a good Chieftain or not?!]"

                                            > That broke through his bravado and the young man lowered his eyes. "[Yes,]" he muttered.

                                            "[Then start learning how to lead! You don't have to be the best at everything, but you do have to be the best at leading, understand?]"

                                            > He was silent, but the tightening of his mouth told her he did, even if he didn't quite like the implications.

                                            "[If you do it right, we will win against the Ruslans. People will remember. They'll say: 'Salki led us to victory!' That's more important than being best at shooting a bow from a horse!]"

                                            > It still wasn't quite enough, so she nudged his thigh with her hoof and gave him a bright smile.

                                            "[Besides, you are already the best at shooting from the ground, and no one will deny that. Don't you think your skill would be better used in one of the ambushes?]"

                                            > That had been the closest word for the groups which would attack from the two sides. She'd tried explaining pincers to the nomads, but they didn't have a word for it. Perhaps she would introduce the Equestrian term, or ask Janus for the western name of the tool.

                                            > At last, Salki heaved a sigh and patted the side of her muzzle. "[Okay, you made your point. I'll think about it.]"

                                            "[Good. Give it some more time today, but if Hisein still says you're not good at it, tell him we'll look for someone else. You'll see, he'll be impressed at how mature you are.]"

                                            > "[You think so?]" Salki asked hopefully, betraying that he did care what Hisein thought of him after all, even if he pretended otherwise. "[You think I can be Chieftain, soon? Will you help me tell Mother she needs to step down?]"

                                            > It was her turn to look away, and Thistle got to her hooves so she could turn aside and wouldn't have to look at his face.

                                            "[I don't know yet. Please understand, Salki, you've grown a lot, but you still have much to learn. Maybe- Maybe after we've dealt with the Ruslans and-]"

                                            > She fell silent, unwilling to badmouth Adilet, whom Salki still admired a lot. Unfortunately he wouldn't let it go: "[And what?]"

                                            "[When we have settled on an agreement with the Ulan-Zuk.]"

                                            > Salki's voice was flat and sad: "[You still don't trust Adilet?]"

                                            "[It's not that,]" Thistle lied, "[it's just- Salki, their clan is a lot bigger than ours. Whenever you mix two peoples, and one of them are a lot stronger, it's the smaller ones who suffer. We really need to have a good and fair agreement, okay?]"

                                            > "[Is that more of your special pony knowledge?]"

                                            "[Yes! I learned about this kind of thing, Salki. I went to a place for four years and all I did was learn how to lead ponies! How to make deals, and how to plan, and how to get things done!]"

                                            > He appeared thoughtful and Thistle watched the young man with some hope that he'd finally see her years of training and experience. That he'd finally take them seriously. "[Is that how you came up with your plan to fight the Ruslans?]"

                                            "[A little. We learned about old battles in that place, and I think I remember a lot of that. Besides, Hisein helped me with some of the detail. He knows how nomads fight better than I do.]"

                                            > An idea struck her and she grinned up at him.

                                            "[See? I know when someone is better than me, and I take advice. You should, too!]"

                                            > They continued in silence for a while, then Salki stopped in front of his and Saule's tent. The two looked at one another, and at last the man gave a nod.

                                            "[Okay, if you think I'm not ready to take over as Chieftain, I'll listen, despite what Adilet says. If you promise me it'll be soon.]"

                                            > Her muzzle fell open at this rare display of maturity, but Thistle quickly replaced with it a proud little smile.

                                            "[Of course. If you act like this, maybe sooner than you think! You have to promise you'll always take my advice!]"

                                            > At that, Salki crouched and grabbed her head with both hands. His thumbs brushed her cheeks, and his other fingers dug behind her ears. Thistle couldn't help but close her eyes in luxury, and her tongue lolled out despite her best effort to maintain a serious expression.

                                            > "[Okay, I promise I'll always listen to you,]" Salki finally said.

                                            > For a moment she saw that youth who was fascinated with her and taught her his language. All the hours they'd spent talking, and that arduous, but rewarding journey to the west when they'd really gotten closer.

                                            > A part of her was sad it was over. She could have been content to stay his lover, even if they had to keep it secret.

                                            > "[I saw you and Saule made up,]" Salki commented, still scratching behind her ears. "[Come, let's eat together. Then I will go back and practice with the horse some more.]"

                                            > Thistle glanced at the tent nervously from the corner of her eye. She didn't want to pull her head free from that blissful grasp.

                                            > Maybe he would be ready, soon, especially if she could guide him. If Saule was on her side, too, it could work. They could, between them, shut Adilet out in Salki's thoughts. Perhaps it would be even easier than with Darga in charge?

                                            > She just couldn't make a decision! A small whine escaped her and Thistle squeezed her eyes shut.

                                            "[Okay,]" she agreed.

                                            > If he acted this mature through the day, and if he was able to graciously give up his spot on the horse later that evening, she would seriously consider picking him.

                                            > It wouldn't be easy to dislodge Darga, but the woman would see reason.

                                            > On the other hoof, if Salki behaved like this, he would accept his mother holding the position for a while longer, at least until the upheaval was over.

                                            > She couldn't help but groan. She was no closer to an answer than she had been for the past couple of weeks!


                                            > ~~~~


                                            "[That's the best way,]" Thistle concluded.

                                            > The two nomads in the tent with her looked stunned, as if they didn't quite believe what she'd said. Now that it was out, and decided in his favor, Salki looked a little pale, as if he wasn't really sure he wanted to go through with it anymore.

                                            > Darga, on the other hand, looked furious. "[So that's it?!]" she growled. "[You two cooked this up together to get rid of me! Admit it!]"

                                            > An exasperated grunt escaped the mare and she put herself between the woman and her son before either of them could do something stupid. Unfortunately, she wouldn't have put it past Salki to gloat, and that would ruin everything.

                                            "[Darga, we agreed! You agreed I would think about it and decide what's best!]"

                                            > "[I agreed because I didn't think you were stupid enough to decide this!]"

                                            > It was Thistle's turn to growl, and her hoof itched to slap the annoying woman, but she made herself remain motionless, other than a scrunch to her muzzle.

                                            "[It's not stupid! I told you: we need to keep Adilet thinking things are going his way! If he believes he can take us and Salki is in his hand, he won't try anything more drastic. I buys us time.]"

                                            > She had gone through all her reasons in great detail, but it looked like Darga just wanted to be difficult and had decided to forget, or ignore, them all.

                                            "[Besides, Salki agreed we would advise him! We all know he's not ready to do it on his own!]"

                                            > There was a strangled sound of protest behind her, but Thistle lashed out with her hoof blindly and felt the satisfying thump against the young man's stomach. She made sure to pull the kick, so she barely touched him, but it got her message across and he shut up, aside from a startled yelp.

                                            "[He's not ready *yet*,]" she repeated with an emphasis. "[Someday he's going to make a good Chieftain, but first he has to learn from us. From both of us!]"

                                            > "[Everyone is going to say that a whore of a pony and my own son have thrown me out,]" Darga muttered. "[I'll be a laughing stock!]"

                                            "[No, not if you make the announcement! We'll show it as your idea. After all, he is your son and you've only held to Chieftainhood until he could take over. Once we beat the Ruslans, Salki will have proven himself and the people will accept it.]"

                                            > Darga kept her ugly scowl, but she didn't say anything. Her eyes darted around the tent as she searched for a way out and Thistle couldn't help but let out an exasperated sigh. She leaned closer and lowered her voice so that Salki wouldn't overhear them.

                                            "[He's just the face for the camp people, and for Adilet, Darga! It'll still be you giving the real orders! You and me. Salki agreed. It's the best way for him to learn!]"

                                            > For a moment, after Thistle had included herself in the decision making process, Darga's gaze turned sharp and her mouth opened in surprise, but then her eyes narrowed in suspicion. Thistle's ears folded down flat and she hurriedly spoke before the woman could make an accusation:

                                            "[You know I'm the best negotiator! I know how to organize! I can help you and Salki- help the clan become better!]"

                                            > "[You are a sneak, and a spineless coward,]" the former Chieftain grumbled.

                                            > The accusation made Thistle gasp in shock and she drew back, hurt.

                                            "[Coward!?]"

                                            > For a few moments Darga looked uncertain, then her eyes went to the mare's flank. The scar was no longer visible, of course, but the stare reminded her and Thistle took a self-conscious step to the side to move her side out of sight.

                                            > "[Okay, maybe not a coward,]" Darga said, holding up a conciliatory palm. "[But you're a sneak and a manipulator, and you know how to twist words to your advantage. Should I remind you that a year ago you were nothing more than our newest animal? Less than a slave!]"

                                            > The sudden knowledge made Thistle's legs weak and she sat with a heavy thump. Had it only been a year? Less than that, even! She hardly ever thought about her first few weeks, and about her introduction to the clan. The way Willow had tried to train her like a beast of burden.

                                            > Rainy Day.

                                            > Her heart fluttered and tears threatened to spill as all that suppressed emotion welled up. Thistle drew a shuddering breath, pushed the recollections back down, and brought her mind to the task at hoof. She needed to be strong, and she needed this influence if she were to have any hope of getting home.

                                            > Any hope of finding Rainy Day again in this world.

                                            > Still, despite her best effort, her voice was choked with emotion.

                                            "[I am good at what I do, and you have experience leading. Together we'll sort out Adilet. I promise you - before this is done, *we* will be running his clan, not the other way around.]"

                                            > For the first time since Thistle had announced her decision, Darga allowed herself a flash of a smile. "[You are ruthless. That is good. Maybe...]"

                                            > Without even waiting for her answer, the woman reached out a hand and simply nudged Thistle to the side so she could look directly at Salki. "[How about you, son? Can you become strong and hard enough to take us to glory?]"

                                            > "[Yes!]"

                                            > His voice sounded bewildered, and he'd hesitated before answering. Even Thistle winced, glad that her face was turned away from him. Darga wasn't so kind and her grin turned into a fresh scowl as she spat on the ground.

                                            > "[You'll need to get harder than that. If Adilet doesn't believe you're in charge he'll go right back to scheming against me.]"

                                            > Thistle nodded to herself in agreement, then turned around to face the young man.

                                            "[Salki, look at me. Think on how you feel and act when you're hunting. When you are stalking a dangerous prey. There can be no mistake, and no weakness. It is life or death.]"

                                            > His eyes widened, but then his chin thrust out and the young man bared his teeth. "[You're right,]" he said.

                                            "[That is how you will deal with Adilet. We'll be polite - we always have to be polite, but he is trying to take over and he would kill your mother and you both, if it helped him. Always remember that!]"

                                            > "[How do you know all this?]"

                                            > Thistle shared a glance with Darga, who was the one to answer: "[He is ruthless. How do you think the Ulan-Zuk have gotten so big? Have you spoken with any of them?]"

                                            > "[No, but neither have you! You don't go out of your tent while his men are here.]"

                                            > "[True, but some among us do, and they tell me. You have to speak with people, understand what is being said in the camp, if you want to lead. Don't let the people make you guess what they intend. You must be one step ahead of everyone.]"

                                            "[Good advice,]" Thistle confirmed, "[and I will help you do that.]"

                                            > His certainty and self-assuredness was down, and for a moment Salki looked even younger than he was. He stared down at his hands and played with a pebble he'd picked from the ground.

                                            > It wasn't right. She had to help him lead, and she needed Darga's long experience, but without any confidence all they'd have was a biddable puppet. Even if the woman was okay with that, it wasn't what Thistle wanted.

                                            > She turned back and touched her nose to his chin, which made him look up at her gentle smile.

                                            "[Don't worry. You've shown me you can be a good, strong leader. We'll build on that. You need to take mine and Darga's advice, but that's all it will be. Advice. Pay attention, ask questions when we're alone, and soon you'll know what decisions to make yourself, you'll see.]"

                                            > He gave her a relieved, impish smile, which reminded her just how much she missed his kisses, and the feel of his fingers running through her fur.

                                            > This was no time for that, and Thistle forced her tail to stay modestly down, lest she expose her glistening self to the Chieftain. If the woman drew the wrong type of connections it could end quite badly for both her and Salki.

                                            > "[So, what do we do now?]" he asked.

                                            > Thistle used this question to move away so she could face them both, and sat on her haunches.

                                            "[Hmm, we need to wait until Adilet's people are gone. This is a matter for our clan, and I don't want him to believe his men had anything to do with the decision. Then Darga will call for the people to gather, and she'll make the announcement.]"

                                            > "[Any ideas how that should go?]" Darga asked.

                                            "[Something like- we are going to war with the Ruslans, and our best hunters should lead the fighting, and Salki is one of our best shots with the bow. Remind everyone that you were only holding the position after Salki's father died. We need to make sure everyone sees his authority passed on.]"

                                            > The old Chieftain looked thoughtful at that and she tapped her lips with a finger. "[Yes, I can see that. Perhaps.]"

                                            "[So you will believe this isn't a coup? That we aren't trying to supplant you?]"

                                            > Darga stared directly at her for an uncomfortably long time in silence, then she shrugged. "[I am remembering what you told me of your people, and I'm thinking that maybe you are sincere. Maybe you really do mean to have Salki lead, like I always intended.]"

                                            "[Yes. I want to help!]"

                                            > "[Why? We took you from your home.]"

                                            "[I have a place in the camp now. Others might not accept me. Adilet would chain me up and use me for my ideas. Ruslans would probably outright kill me. I want to keep the Borchi-Quin strong, because that keeps me safe. That and-]"

                                            > "[And what?]"

                                            > For a moment Thistle wasn't sure if she wanted to reveal the next part, but eventually her ears splayed, she heaved a sigh, and went on:

                                            "[Only the Borchi-Quin know where the place is where our worlds touch. The old shaman told me the hole only opens once in a nomad's lifetime, but maybe he was wrong. Only if the Borchi-Quin are strong and hold their ancestral hunting grounds can we reach that place.]"

                                            > This was a surprise to both nomads, but while Darga controlled herself well, her son spun around, wide-eyed. "[You want to leave us?]"

                                            > Her face fell and Thistle leaned to him until he reflexively caught her muzzle in his hand.

                                            "[It's my home, Salki. Please understand. I have family, friends. I had a good life. I want to see it again, someday.]"

                                            > He was silent, brushing his fingers through the soft fuzz around her nose, and she closed her eyes in comfort.

                                            "[I've grown to like you, and all the people in the camp.]"

                                            > She paused at that, and mentally excluded a few from that picture, but it was no time to go into details.

                                            "[I want to show you Equestria. I want you to see what life can be like!]"

                                            > "[What exactly are you saying?]" Darga asked slowly.

                                            "[If I find a way back - I want you all to come with me. There is no constant war in Equestria. There is no need to fight every day, to kill your neighbors and drive all strangers away. You could build better lives there, and your children could grow up safe!]"

                                            > The three of them stared at one another in silence, until Thistle firmly pulled her face away from Salki's hand. Her ears remained flattened as she shifted her gaze from mother to son and back.

                                            > At long last Darga swallowed and broke the silence: "[This isn't the time for that. First we must survive the Ruslans, and then we have to survive Adilet and the Ulan-Zuk. After that...]"

                                            > There was a dangerous gleam in Darga's eye and Thistle's heart nearly stopped.

                                            "[No! No, Darga! I will not let you raid Equestria! If I take you there, I will find you a home. There are lands without any people where you can settle. There is hunting in the forests, and you can learn how to work the land from earth ponies. You can trade. It wouldn't be a bad life! You don't have to steal.]"

                                            > "[But you are okay with stealing and fighting while you're in our world?]"

                                            "[That's different!]"

                                            > "[How?]"

                                            > Thistle scrambled for an answer, but then saw the woman was smirking. Smirking, as if she'd won some kind of a debate! Her muzzle scrunched up in annoyance and she clamped her mouth shut.

                                            > Salki broke the silence: "[We'll figure that out later, it's not important. So I'll be Chieftain now?]"

                                            "[Yes!]" she blurted out, grateful for the change in topic. "[Remember - you need advice. Don't make any big decisions until we've had a chance to talk. You have a lot to learn.]"

                                            > "[I will teach you what you need to lead our people. Thistle,]" she indicated the mare with a flick of her hand, "[will help you negotiate with the Ulan-Zuk.]"

                                            > It was a snub and the mare gave her the stink eye, but Darga simply ignored it. She went on talking: "[I will teach you what I know and we'll make the Borchi-Quin the strongest clan in the steppe. Even the Eastern people will fear our name, as will those to the West!]"

                                            "[Or, we could learn to trade and become rich and respected! You don't have to be feared to be respected!]"

                                            > "[Maybe, but being both is best,]" Darga said simply. "[Leave us, Thistle. We need to speak. About leadership.]"

                                            > Already the woman was trying to exclude her and monopolize Salki! Unfortunately there wasn't much she could do without sounding petulant and entitled.

                                            > Her mind churned through plans as Thistle got slowly to her hooves, and she settled on Saule.

                                            > She would have the influence over her husband the mare needed! Ever since their talk at the river, the animosity between the two had dwindled and there was something like grudging respect. If they worked together, Salki could remain faithful to the mare and her teachings, rather than be swayed by his mother's violent tendencies.

                                            > Careful not to let any of this show on her face, Thistle took a step back and pushed her rump at the tent flap. She paused for her parting words:

                                            "[Salki, remember that you need to learn from both of us. A good leader isn't just one thing, he has to know different ways. It means you can choose talking, or fighting, whichever is best for the situation.]"

                                            > He stared at her earnestly and gave her a nod which made her think all was not lost. Yes, he was impressionable, but there had been a lot of animosity between him and his mother, and she could exploit that.

                                            > They couldn't cut the woman out completely, not yet, but with Saule's help, and with everything she and Salki had shared, they could limit her influence.

                                            > He would make a great leader by the time Thistle was done with him! Her face was set in a determined scrunch as she backed out of the tent and, blinking in the strong light, went to look for Saule.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle lay on her side and watched Salki pace up and down by the cooking fire. He was much more nervous than she was, and she couldn't help smirking a little when his back was turned. It was a refreshing change, and a promising sign that the youth worried about what he would say and do.

                                            > "[I didn't know they would be like that!]" he whined and spread his arms out in frustration. "[What do I do?]"

                                            > On the plus side, he was asking her advice, even if he did sound like a whiny child.

                                            "[Relax. This is normal.]"

                                            > "[You didn't see how they looked at me! Willow is going to-]"

                                            "[Nothing. He's going to nothing.]"

                                            > Her unexpected self-assurance had an effect. Salki pauses and came to crouch beside her. "[How do you know that?]"

                                            "[Because I asked Hisein. They are still friends,]" she said with an unsavory twist to her mouth. "[Willow won't be a problem. Hisein will talk to him.]"

                                            > "[Okay, but his mother, Intor-]"

                                            "[Is getting exactly what she's been saying she wants.]"

                                            > Salki's eyebrows nearly met in the middle as his forehead furrowed in confusion. "[What?]"

                                            "[Remember what Intor has been saying? She kept telling people a woman shouldn't be chieftain. Well, now she has it!]"

                                            > There was a certain degree of humor in it and Thistle couldn't help grinning. It served the woman right!

                                            > Salki was less amused. "[She hasn't said that in months.]"

                                            "[No, she hasn't. Ever since we came back with horses and a blacksmith.]"

                                            > "[Why?]"

                                            > The mare opened her mouth to explain, but changed her mind and shut it. She patted the ground beside her with a hoof. It was getting chilly, especially with the sun beneath the horizon, but the fire kept the worst of it away.

                                            "[Sit. Sit with me.]"

                                            > Salki stood up, and it seemed he would walk away in frustration, but his curiosity won out and he plopped himself down beside her. Thistle reached out a hoof and placed it against his thigh. She closed her eyes and allowed herself a momentary daydream, remembering what it was like to feel his warm muscles on her frog.

                                            "[See if you can work it out yourself. I'll help you. Let's start with before our trip. Why do you think Intor was saying your mother should step down?]"

                                            > "[So she could be chieftain herself!]"

                                            > Thistle held back a sigh and patted his leg.

                                            "[No. If she says a woman shouldn't be Chieftain, how can she become one after?]"

                                            > "[She can't!]" the sudden revelation lit up Salki's eyes with glee, and he grinned at the mare.

                                            "[And?]"

                                            > It took him a few moments, but then Salki slapped his fist into his palm. "[Oh! She wanted Willow to be Chieftain!]"

                                            "[Good. That's good. Now, tell me why Willow would be Chieftain? Why not you? It was your father who was Chieftain before, and your mother was holding the position for you.]"

                                            > At least that much of the social dynamic was obvious to the young man, and he answered immediately: "[That's easy. Willow is our best hunter. People respect someone who can feed the clan, and defend it from enemies.]"

                                            > Thistle closed her eyes and inclined her head in an approving nod. She waited a few seconds to see if Salki would continue, but he simply stared at her, waiting for the next tidbit.

                                            "[Okay, now you know Intor's motivation. So, what changed when we came back from the East?]"

                                            > "[We brought back horses and Janus. We can fight the Ruslans with that.]"

                                            "[More than that.]"

                                            > He looked blank for a moment, then snapped his fingers. "[The Ulan-Zuk! Ruslans only stopped attacking us when we made friends with Adilet.]"

                                            "[Exactly. Who did that?]"

                                            > Now he looked extremely confused and he watched the mare as if she'd gone senile. "[You did.]"

                                            > It was flattering that he would give credit where it was due, and as a small reward Thistle stretched out to brush her muzzle against his thigh.

                                            "[Thank you, but that's not what the people think. If you asked someone from the camp who befriended the Ulan-Zuk, what would they say?]"

                                            > "[They'd say it was me. You told me to tell Mother it was my idea, and you told Buygra to say the same to everyone else.]"

                                            "[Exactly. Now you know why I did that.]"

                                            > The stare Salki gave her was nothing short of incredulous. "[You planned this all the way back then?!]"

                                            > She very nearly took credit for it, if only to drive home her skill with planning and diplomacy, but Thistle's ears folded down and she decided not to lie to the man.

                                            "[Well, not exactly. I knew it would be useful if people thought highly of you. It wouldn't do me any real good, but it might help you, so I decided you would take the credit.]"

                                            > "[That was very smart. How did you learn to do that?]"

                                            "[It's something you will have to learn, too. Sometimes it's better not to reveal everything you know and hold it for the future.]"

                                            > His hand went to her ears and Thistle closed her eyes for a blissful moment. Sadly, it was not to last and Salki's voice soon intruded into her consciousness: "[Okay, so what does this have to do with Intor?]"

                                            "[Remember the original question we asked. Why did she stop saying those things about your mother after you came back from the East?]"

                                            > It was good that he could continue to scratch her ears while he pondered, and she was in no hurry for the feeling to end, so she waited.

                                            > At long last, Salki ventured: "[I think I understand.]"

                                            "[Tell me.]"

                                            > "[She stopped saying Mother should step down because if Mother stepped down, I would be Chieftain, not Willow?]"

                                            "[Exactly. See? It is useful to think about other people. To think how *they* think. Of course, there is probably more to it. Even Intor understands that such a big change right now is dangerous. We're in a war with the Ruslans, and the Ulan-Zuk could still decide to conquer us.]"

                                            > He gave a nod, and his hand slid down her neck to pat her barrel. "[I see,]" he said. "[So what do we do?]"

                                            "[First, we show Adilet that we can defend ourselves. Now, here is where I need your help.]"

                                            > "[You do?]"

                                            "[Yes. It's something any good leader has to learn. I told you this before. Understand your own limits. I am not good at fighting like a nomad. You will need to help me make plans.]"

                                            > He didn't answer, but his fingers travelled up and down the side of her neck, pressing her most comfortably against his side. Thistle hadn't even realized when she'd shuffled closer so she could put her head in his lap.

                                            "[We will have five men on horses to annoy the Ruslans.]"

                                            > "[Not just men,]"

                                            "[Oh, right. Saule is taking your place. That's good. She is excellent with the bow, if only she can learn to ride a little better.]"

                                            > "[She will.]"

                                            "[Some people aren't too happy about that. War is men's job.]"

                                            > Salki snorted in amusement. "[Whoever said that never tried arguing with that woman. Besides, you were right. We need to put our best because we have so few horses.]"

                                            "[Exactly. Okay, so the five archers on horses will annoy Ruslans and try to draw some of them out. If that doesn't work...]"

                                            > "[I talked with Hisein. We will let them see some of us, and they will think we have a small camp nearby from where we are attacking. We can even set up a few fake tents.]"

                                            "[Good, but it all depends on hiding. They must not realize the truth.]"

                                            > At the warning, Salki's hand gripped her muzzle and she gave his fingers a comforting lick. She immediately grimaced at the taste. She'd forgotten what he'd been cooking and eating not so long ago.

                                            > Salki didn't notice any of it, and changed his grip to a light massage with his fingers. "[They won't. We will hide warriors at night, and cover them with long grass. The hunters know how to stay still and unseen for a long time.]"

                                            > It was a boast she'd heard from Hisein, too, but surely they couldn't simply suppress their biological needs?

                                            "[What about water? Food? They will need to piss.]"

                                            > "[So?]"

                                            "[What are you saying?]"

                                            > It was Salki's turn to look smugly superior, knowing something she didn't. "[We're no strangers to discomfort. The men will have water and food, and they don't need to move to piss.]"

                                            "[Yuck.]"

                                            > He shrugged. "[It's war, Thistle. Sometimes you have to do what's uncomfortable.]"

                                            > She thought to the few encounters she herself had with fighting and shuddered at the vivid memories.

                                            "[I guess that's true.]"

                                            > "[If we make sure our people are hidden before time, the Ruslans won't suspect anything. If they send any scouts, and the scouts find us, we will kill them.]"

                                            "[I guess. Okay. What about the signal to attack?]"

                                            > "[Horns.]"

                                            "[Horns?]"

                                            > "[Yes,]" Salki said and mimed holding up a curved tube to his mouth. "[Darkhan can make a few, and when the attack begins we will blow them. That will be the signal, and the warriors will rise from the ground and attack from all sides.]"

                                            > It all sounded good on paper, though Celestia knew it could all still go very wrong.

                                            "[Which brings us to the most important question.]"

                                            > "[Which is?]"

                                            "[How many of Adilet's people do we take? We need the help, but we should take the fewest possible.]"

                                            > Salki obviously didn't understand this part, and he stared strangely at the mare, even as he cradled her head in his lap. "[Why don't we take all he will give us?]"

                                            "[No, no. We should take as few as possible. The fewer we take, the stronger we will look. It's important Adilet thinks we are very strong on our own. It makes it less likely he will try and take us by force when the Ruslans are done.]"

                                            > "[Yes,]" Salki said, but he sounded as if he was only going along because of all the arguments they'd had, not because he believed her. Rather than argue again, he just shrugged and went on: "[He taught me how to fight with my hands and feet.]"

                                            "[You have to trust me. He was nice to you because you could help him get rid of Darga. He thinks you will be easier to control.]"

                                            > Salki shrugged to himself, and she took a breath to try to convince him some more, but there was a noise behind them of someone clearing their throat.

                                            > "[So this is how you fuck me over again?]" Saule snapped.

                                            > Thistle nearly jumped up from Salki's lap with a loud 'eep'.

                                            "[Saule! I didn't- we weren't- it's not what it looks like!]"

                                            > Even Salki looked slightly scared of the scowl on his wife's face.

                                            > Thistle thought fast, before this could turn into something ugly and she would lose what little of the woman's tentative trust she had regained.

                                            "[Saule, I promised you nothing would happen, and it's true. Salki was scratching my ears and I was leaning on him because it's cold. It doesn't mean anything.]"

                                            > Her instinct for diplomacy didn't let her down and Thistle used her calm, non-panicked tone, which lent weight to her words. It worked as well as it ever had and Saule paused to gave them both an uncertain look. "[Is this true?]" she asked Salki.

                                            > "[Yes! I was just scratching her ears.]"

                                            > The other woman switched her gaze to the mare: "[You weren't touching him to make him want you?]"

                                            "[No.]"

                                            > Her teeth clicked shut as Thistle forced herself to hold her tongue. She had almost added some more excuses, but anything else would sound like she was trying to convince the other woman too hard.

                                            > Saule's face became a shade less red, and her shoulders sagged a fraction. She was at a loss, so she drew closer to put her hand on Salki's shoulder. The gesture was easy to read, and Thistle knew exactly what to say to reassure her:

                                            "[I know he is yours, Saule. I'm not going to put myself between you. I'll go away if you want me to leave.]"

                                            > As if to prove her point, she stood up and shook her limbs, stiff from lying on the cold ground. She even turned away and took two steps before Saule called after her: "[You can stay. I heard you were planning how to beat Ruslans. That's important.]"

                                            > At that, the mare returned to where Salki was sitting. She decided to push her luck and gave Saule a friendly smile as she patted the ground with a hoof.

                                            "[Sit down. You're right, I shouldn't touch Salki like that, but I can lean against you, no? It'll keep us both warm, and you can scratch my ears instead of him.]"

                                            > It was a tempting offer and Thistle knew from personal experience that the nomads enjoyed touching her. Something about fur felt nice to them. It had been an easy deduction when she noticed they used animal furs as clothes and to cover themselves while sleeping.

                                            > After only a moment's thought, Saule plopped down nearly in Salki's lap and his arm went around her shoulders. Thistle sat right next to the woman and pressed her side against her. She was rewarded by a hand on her withers.

                                            > "[So, what's the plan for the Ruslans?]" Saule asked.

                                            "[You tell her, Salki. It's mostly your and Hisein's plan by now. I just had the idea, but you two know a lot better than me how to pull it off.]"

                                            > "[Okay,]" he said eagerly. "[We'll hide the warriors in the tall grass the night before...]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > War, it turned out, was a lot of waiting. Thistle couldn't ride, and with her smaller legs she couldn't keep up with the horse archers. Not that there would be any point to it, since she couldn't shoot a bow.

                                            > Of course, she could have remained in the camp, but the uncertainty, the sheer agonizing wait, would have driven her insane. At least that was what she told herself.

                                            > Maybe it was worry whether Salki would be alright, or perhaps it was curiosity to see if her plan would work, which had made her come. For all she knew, it could just as well have been all the pent-up frustration with the Ruslan aggression and some kind of a misguided ploy to prove to herself that she deserved a place among these nomads.

                                            > Most of it, surely, was her desire to make sure Salki was safe and came through unhurt. That was a noble goal, and she wanted to protect her friend. Not least because he was now the leader of the clan, and if something happened to him it was doubtful Darga could claw her way back.

                                            > Thistle wished she'd thought of that before she'd decided to push him forward, but it was done now and she had to follow through. On the other hand, if the attack worked, it would cement Salki's position in the eyes of his people and, perhaps, give Adilet something to worry about. He had to learn the Borchi-Quin were no easy prey!

                                            > If only there wasn't all that waiting! Thistle scrunched up her muzzle and shook her head in a vain attempt to get rid of the thoughts. This was the fourth time she'd had to convince herself the whole thing was a good idea!

                                            "[When do you think?]" she whispered.

                                            > Salki was lying in the grass beside her and he moved his face a fraction to look at her. "[Soon. If Saule and the others are doing their work, the Ruslans should have enough soon. They will chase after them.]"

                                            > Thistle hoped so. Anything was better than the anxious waiting and the way her heart nearly stopped at each unusual sound. Her ears hurt from all the intense listening as she worried they might miss the signal to attack.

                                            > Not to mention the smell. The stink of urine was all around her. Luckily it was no more than that, but it was bad enough. Her group of men, a mixture of the Borchi-Quin and the Ulan-Zuk, had lain in that same grass, hardly moving, since the previous evening.

                                            > They hadn't had to exactly soil themselves, not if they were careful, but neither could they walk any significant distance to do their business.

                                            > For that matter, she herself had contributed to the smell, too!

                                            > It was one problem she hadn't anticipated, but what if the wind had changed and took the stench to one of the Ruslan patrols? They would have to figure something out, but for this time the best she and Salki could come up with was to post guards a short distance away.

                                            > If anyone came to inspect, they could get them with arrows from ambush. It would be at least a few hours before anyone was missed.

                                            > She was slightly glad it hadn't come to that, and she worried whether the other group, led by Temir and Bulat had come up with the same question and answer.

                                            > The fact that Ruslan warriors hadn't come to seek them out yet was probably a good sign.

                                            > The mare let out a long sigh and turned to her other side as she searched for a more comfortable position. Even the lush grass was extremely hard if you had to lie on it for hours on end!

                                            > She tried to get to her hooves so she could stretch out her limbs, but even as she gathered her legs underneath her, Salki's hand pressed down on her withers.

                                            > "[Stay,]" he told her. "[I think it will be really soon. They mustn't see you.]"

                                            > He was probably right, and Thistle relaxed. She closed her eyes and concentrated again on the sounds around her.

                                            > There was the faint breath of wind across the shivering grass. The quiet breathing of Salki beside her, and a creak of leather from one of the other men ahead. She thought she heard a bird call, but she couldn't spot anything in the wide, blue expanse of the sky.

                                            > Something else. The mare frowned in concentration and twisted her ears this way and that to seek out the barest hint of a sound.

                                            > Was it only her imagination?

                                            "[I think I hear horses,]" she told Salki.

                                            > Immediately he shuffled around with excitement, cutting off any possibility of her confirming it.

                                            "[Be still!]"

                                            > It took a long while, and his breathing was noticeably more rapid, but eventually Thistle thought she caught the sound again. Hoofbeats on hard ground.

                                            > She hoped it wasn't just her over-eager imagination.

                                            "[I think- ahead of us. Do you see anything?]"

                                            > "[I will go check with Yasin,]" Salki said and began to crawl forward.

                                            > To her ears he made a lot of noise, but she knew it really wasn't that much. More importantly, he hardly disturbed the grass.

                                            > She watched him slink away, then squeezed her eyes shut once more and concentrated. Were the hoofbeats getting louder? She found them a lot quicker this time, and she was more sure by the second that she was right.

                                            > If it was riders coming their way, it could only mean the mounted archers.

                                            > Perhaps it was beginning?

                                            > Her stomach clenched up, and her heart began to pound, the rush of her own blood quickly overpowering anything she could hear. Her limbs felt leaden, and she suddenly wished she hadn't insisted on coming along.

                                            > Salki had told her she would be fine if she stayed down, and kept out of the way, but perhaps she should have left the business of war to the men.

                                            > It wasn't as if she even had a weapon! At least not one she could use easily. Salki had given her a spear, and even improvised a sling so she could carry it on her back, but it was awkward for her to grip. The best she could manage was to awkwardly brace it between her body and a fetlock, but any half-decent fighter would simply sidestep and plunge his own weapon into her.

                                            > She should have thought of it sooner. Maybe she could have practiced. After all, the royal guard in Canterlot used spears, so it must be possible for ponies to fight that way. Maybe they had special kinds of spears?

                                            > If it came to that, Thistle thought, she would throw the weapon at her attacker and rely on her hooves. She could kick, and bite, if she needed to, and she would be a lot more proficient with those.

                                            > She realized she was panting, and forced her breathing to slow down. Already she was getting dizzy from too much oxygen.

                                            "[Stay out of the fighting,]" she repeated what Salki had told her. "[Stay low, stay hidden. If they see you, pretend you're just an animal.]"

                                            > He was supposed to keep near her! Thistle lifted her head and tried to find Salki, but she couldn't spot him in the grass. She thought she saw a few shapes of the other nomads, but no Salki.

                                            > She should have gone with him. It'd be better if they were together!

                                            > Before she could get her hooves into position so she could start crawling there came the rough, piercing blast of the horn.

                                            > The signal!

                                            > Around her, men burst from their camouflage, yelling. In moments every nomad was running toward the noise.

                                            "[Wait for me!]"

                                            > It was barely a squeak, and none of the fighters could have heard it, but it spurred the mare on and she leapt to her hooves. She had to find Salki! She had to stay near the men.

                                            > She ran with all her might, the spear shaft slapping her rump, unheeded. After about a dozen steps Thistle realized her own shout was mingling with the men's.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > No formation survived the first clash of wings, some of the Griffins used to say. Tactics, one of them had told Thistle, was the ability to change their approach as the battle unfolded.

                                            > She'd been humoring the old bird, and clearly remembered thinking to herself that these words would *never* apply to her, no matter what happened in her life.

                                            > Now she knew it was the truth.

                                            > She was probably in shock, but at least it didn't hurt as badly.

                                            > There were a few others on the ground around her, some moaning in pain, others horribly, unnaturally still.

                                            > Of the actual battle, she only remembered disjointed pieces.

                                            >...

                                            > The archers with her had shot volley after volley at the mass of Ruslans. A cheer went up and Salki told her the other group was shooting from the other side.

                                            > She could hardly understand him above the screams of the injured.

                                            > The Ruslans had bows, too. That was a nasty shock, when an arrow zipped past her head and stuck into a man right behind her. She remembered the red of blood on the grass so vividly.

                                            > Now she knew the enemy didn't have many bows, and they hadn't been ready for the ambush. Only a few of them managed to get them up and fire some shots. The others abandoned that idea and charged.

                                            > The Ruslans were angry to start with, driven to uncomprehending rage by the apparently effortless easy with which the horse archers had picked them off, one by one. When they came under fire from both sides, they went berserk. Someone barked an order, and the force split into two, each half running for one group of Borchi-Quin and Ulan-Zuk archers.

                                            > After a few more shots, the men around Thistle dropped their bows and switched to spears.

                                            >...

                                            > She recalled a fleeting thought of hers, hoping that the arrows had thinned the numbers enough.

                                            > One particular scene was burned into her memory, and she couldn't help seeing it in her mind's eye. Even if she squeezed her eyes shut, it began to run through her consciousness again.

                                            >...

                                            > Like a coward, she'd held herself back, away from the worst of the fighting. She didn't remember those first few minutes of the melee, but she still heard the screams and the wet, sickening sound of spears cutting, shafts clubbing, and men grunting with effort as they killed.

                                            > No one paid her much mind.

                                            > She could have helped, and perhaps some more of her people would be alive if she had, but despite the spear on her back Thistle hadn't dared approach the chaos. It was, she told herself, exactly what Salki had ordered her to do, but it didn't make it easier. Not when she could see the dead around her.

                                            > The worst of it was that she'd lost sight of Salki in that awful, noisy, crazy mess. Even if her eyes hadn't been so bad, she suspected, she wouldn't be able to make out much. The men simply moved too fast, and there was no real way to discern friend from foe except by their faces.

                                            > She'd run hither and thither, whinnying in alarm and panting with fright, trying to find Salki.

                                            > Eventually she came too close, and a big Ruslan man, who had just stuck a spear through one of Adilet's hunters, saw her. He put his foot on the other man's chest and yanked the stone tip out, accompanied by a fresh splash of blood and a weak gurgle from the fallen.

                                            > He advanced on the mare as she backed away. In desperation, she tried to grab her own spear and get it in front of her. Maybe she could deflect his strike, or something.

                                            > Her whinnies were becoming more urgent and the man was almost on top of her. He was grinning with the delight of the kill, his face a monstrous visage of teeth and blood, flowing freely from a cut on his forehead.

                                            > He hefted his spear to throw, but then cried out and dropped his hands to the small of his back as his eyes widened in shock.

                                            > Without his spear, Thistle saw her only chance and jumped forward. She closed her eyes before she made contact and the sudden pressure on her copper spearpoint pulled it out of her hooves.

                                            > The man let out a shriek and it was all she could do to keep herself from falling flat on her muzzle as her legs gave way.

                                            > She jumped a step back and only then dared to look.

                                            > Her inexpert strike had gouged a shallow wound in the Ruslan's side, and he was on the ground. Only now did she see an arrow stuck in his back. The only reason he hadn't impaled her!

                                            > When Thistle looked beyond the writhing man, she saw Salki, putting his bow back around his shoulder. He opened his mouth to say something, but another of the Ruslans threw himself on him, and it was all Salki could do to fend him off.

                                            > "[Finish him off!]" he yelled to her, but then had to focus on the fighting once more.

                                            > He was right, she knew. The man she had stabbed was tossing on the ground, screaming in agony as he tried to pull the arrow out of himself. His blood was turning the dirt into grotesque mud.

                                            > Thistle swallowed, ears completely flat and eyes as wide as they would go. Salki was right. She had to finish it. She had to end the man's suffering.

                                            > It was easier thought than done, though, and her hooves trembled so much that the spear fell from her nerveless grip twice before she could steady it.

                                            > She approached the man, who saw what she was doing and tried to crawl away. He raised his hand, as if to deflect her thrust.

                                            > This time she couldn't miss again. It would be nothing short of torture. Thistle whimpered and felt warmth trickle down her hind legs as she stepped closer.

                                            > Right through the heart, and it would be over.

                                            > Too late she saw that the man hadn't been holding his wound. His hand had been seeking for a knife at his belt, and his wild slash caught her.

                                            > A hoofs-breath higher and he would have slit her throat. Sudden pain made him miss, but his strike still left a bright line of fire across Thistle's chest.

                                            > She roared in pain and rage, and lunged forward with her spear.

                                            > This time her aim was better and the tip went in through the Ruslan's collar. He dropped the knife and clutched the shaft, but it was too late. He began to bellow in agony, and the only thing she could think to do was to redouble her grip on the shaft and push further.

                                            > Nothing could resist her earth pony strength and the tip drove home.

                                            > Her attacker gave a shudder, vomited blood, and slumped, his movement stilled forever.

                                            > It felt as if they were in a small oasis of silence, and she heard his last breath rattle out of his lungs.

                                            > She sat down in the grass, staring at the Ruslan's glazed eyes. Her own blood was dripping down her barrel, but she paid it no mind.

                                            > When Salki had come to get her, she allowed the man to lead her away without complaint, and without really seeing where they were going. She only half understood when he told her to wait with the wounded.

                                            >...

                                            > Salki had told her they'd won. He told her how many they had lost, but she hadn't listened to that part.

                                            > It had been her idea. The real thing was different from the plans they'd made.

                                            > Maybe, now, the Ruslans would leave them alone?

                                            > Some of the men were working with leather and linen bandages among the fallen. Others were coming from a distance with freshly cut branches for stretchers.

                                            > They'd won, but they would have to carry many of their own back home.

                                            > The worst part of winning, at least to her, was the group looking for the Ruslan wounded.

                                            > There was an occasional scream, cut short with a crunch or a gurgle.

                                            > Each made her flinch.

                                            > It had been her plan.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It was nice of Saule to tend Thistle's wound, and the mare made the effort to thank her, even if she didn't particularly feel like it. Her mind was still reeling between incredulity at how the rest of the warriors were celebrating their great victory, and the sheer horror of all the death.

                                            > Eight Borchi-Quin hunters were dead, and another five unsure whether they would live. Not one of them escaped without some kind of injury and cuts and slashes were the least of them. The really unlucky ones had an arrow in their flesh, left there because pulling it out could cause more damage than leaving it.

                                            > Not that the camp had much in the way of doctors, though. It was marginally better when the tribe's shaman did it, if only because they had plenty of bandages and didn't have to be moved afterward.

                                            > Of the Ulan-Zuk, the casualties were even greater, but they didn't hit home as hard, mainly because Thistle hadn't known them as well. It still meant a lot of senseless death, and there was something in her pony nature which would always balk at killing, however necessary it might be.

                                            > For that matter, she didn't even want to *think* about how many Ruslans had died! Despite their war and the way they had attacked and harassed her people, the mare couldn't remain indifferent. They had been living, thinking beings, even if hateful, even if they had attacked first.

                                            > It had to be done, she was still sure of that, but she didn't have to like it. The fact that it had all been her idea just made it harder to reconcile. Mayor Mare had never been given to prayer, but Thistle couldn't help but send a few tentative pleas for mercy to an imagined Celestia.

                                            > The only redeeming thing was that the war between the two tribes had now been effectively ended. There was no way Ruslans would try to fight her people again anytime soon. At least she'd seen to that. However she regretted all the death, at least she had ensured safety for those she valued.

                                            > Adilet had survived with only minor scrapes and bruises, and both Salki and Buygra were almost unscathed. Saule's left wrist was bruised and bloodied, but otherwise she was fine. One of the Ruslans had grabbed for her, but only managed to pull off her wrist guard. The woman had continued shooting her bow after that, no matter how much it hurt. That had been a foolish decision, but Thistle couldn't really blame her. How many more of their people would be dead without Saule's arrows?

                                            > Those were the good news.

                                            > At least they had won.

                                            > A sharp pain stabbed at her chest and the mare jumped to her hooves, pulling away from Saule's hand with the wet cloth. The woman gave her an apologetic smile, and motioned for her to settle back down.

                                            > The pain had derailed her train of thought, but Thistle's mind immediately jumped to a more frightening track.

                                            "[Who is dead?]" she asked. "[Zaur? Bulat? Temir? Are they alive?]"

                                            > Someone had probably told her already, but it hadn't stuck. The whole way back had gone by in a kind of fugue state, the only reality Thistle could remember was the weight of the stretcher she had carried.

                                            > Salki put his hands on her back and pushed her down. "[Stay still until Saule has washed your wound! You told me it was important, remember?]"

                                            > She just shook her head at the minor annoyance and repeated her demand:

                                            "[Tell me!]"

                                            > The young man shared a look with Saule, then rolled his eyes. At least she was staying put, and not aggravating her wound more. "[Fine. They are fine. Zaur will have a scar on his face, but it is not serious. Bulat got an arrow in his arm. Temir is only bruised where a Ruslan beat him with the spear shaft.]"

                                            "[Good. That's good.]"

                                            > Hearing that, Thistle let her head slump and her back sagged with sudden relief. She hadn't even been aware how tense she had gotten.

                                            "[I'm sorry. I didn't know it would be like that! I didn't mean for that to happen.]"

                                            > "[For what to happen?]"

                                            > She swallowed and her ears flattened. She wouldn't meet either of her friends' gazes.

                                            "[That. All the screaming, and all the dead and wounded. I didn't know.]"

                                            > "[You've seen fighting before,]" Salki pointed out. "[In the West, we fought with the strangers. The Ruslan attacks. What do you mean you didn't know?]"

                                            > She was shaking her head even before he had finished talking.

                                            "[No, it wasn't like that. When the Ruslans attacked us before we only wanted to get away. We weren't trying to kill all of them. In the West, it was the same. We shot some arrows and then ran away.]"

                                            > "[Then you don't remember what happened,]" Salki muttered. "[This was war. It was as good as war can be. We lost a few people, but we killed most of them. Soon, we will go and finish it.]"

                                            > This new horror made her jerk up again, earning the mare another hiss of disapproval from Saule.

                                            "[Finish it?! What do you mean finish it?!]"

                                            > The man looked at her as if she was dumb. He spread his arms wide in exasperation, and said: "[We will finish them. We will go and find their camp. There are few of them left to defend it, and we will finish the Ruslan threat once and for all.]"

                                            > His hand, bunched into a fist, filled Thistle's vision. She hooked her foreleg on it and tried to force it down, tried to make him relax it.

                                            "[No. No, we can't!]" she said breathlessly. "[Not more killing! They aren't a threat anymore, Salki. They are beaten! Let's just leave them alone. It's done!]"

                                            > "[What?]" Salki said even as Saule barked a disbelieving laugh which changed into a confused frown. He grabbed her hoof and stared at her face with frightful intensity. "[No, what do you think will happen if we let them go? The Ruslan women will raise their children to hate us even more. They will wait until they are strong again, and then they will come at us once more. We have no choice but to finish it.]"

                                            > His words were coming fast, as if he was worried she would try and stop it. Was she? Could she? Thistle didn't know herself. She wanted to! She couldn't let him do it. There had been enough death and misery in the land, and there was likely to be more if she didn't stop Adilet's frightening ambition. She might have seen the need to stop the Ruslan threat to their very existence, but she would draw the line at needless bloodshed.

                                            "[No. If you must, send a messenger to tell them to go away. As far away as they can. They killed ours, and we fought back. That's the end of it.]"

                                            > "[There won't be an end as long as the Ruslans have a camp. They are like starved, diseased wolves. We have to wipe them out completely! It's the only way!]" Even Saule had stopped dabbing at her wound and was looking at the mare in concern. Salki's grip on her hoof was almost painful.

                                            "[No, Salki! There are women and children in the camp! That's all that's left.]"

                                            > He hesitated for a moment, then finally let her go. "[We don't have a choice, Thistle,]" he told her. She was shaking her head, so he caught her muzzle between his palms and leaned so close their noses were almost touching. "[Okay, okay. We won't kill the women and children. Not if they don't fight us,]" he finally decided.

                                            > Still horrified, Thistle exhaled in relief. Maybe she was getting through to the man. Her ears lifted tentatively and hot tears spilled from her eyes. She gave a slight nod against Salki's hands, just as he said: "[We will take them.]"

                                            "[W-What do you mean take them?]"

                                            > He glanced at his wife, and then they both stared at the mare. Eventually, Saule replied instead of him: "[We will take them as slaves, Thistle. You will have a pick, too. It was your plan and you helped in the fighting. They will work for us, those that we do not sell, and thus they will make the Borchi-Quin greater. Nothing will be left of Ruslan.]"

                                            > "[Well said,]" Salki praised and gave the mare a pat on her head, the matter apparently fully decided. "[See how far you have come? When they brought you to us, you were a slave yourself, and now you will own slaves. That is good. I always believed there was more to you than it seemed.]"

                                            > All she could do for a long while was open and close her mouth in silent shock at the very idea. Thistle didn't even feel Saule dabbing with the cloth at the cut on her barrel.

                                            "[S-Slaves?]" she stammered.

                                            > "[Yes! You can get a nice young boy or two, and they'll gather your firewood, and make your meals, and- well.]"

                                            > Salki trailed off and his wife gave him a sharp glance. "[And what?]" She demanded.

                                            > He suddenly looked years younger and his face blushed a noticeable red. "[Well, remember in the spring when Thistle went into rut like the donkeys? Well, she can use the slaves for that.]"

                                            > Saule's face cleared up and she looked at the mare eagerly. "[That's right!]" she said. "[You can use slaves for that. No one will care if a slave fucks animals. You can use them and stay away from Salki!]"

                                            > All Thistle could do was stare incredulously at the two nomads. She raised her eyebrows at Salki, but she would get no help there. In the end, it was all she could do to keep her own face from bursting into flames. She thought about pulling away and leaving, but Saule was right and her wound still needed to be cleaned, at least superficially.

                                            "[What about Hisein? Is he okay?]" she asked, if only to change the subject.

                                            > "[He is well. The horse nearly threw him off when it was cut, but he is good at riding,]" Salki explained.

                                            "[The horse was injured?]"

                                            > "[It will be fine, and it was just the gelding in any case. Oh, that reminds me. Ruslans also have horses. We will be able to add to our heard from theirs.]"

                                            She tried for one last time: "[Salki, I really think we shouldn't do that. It's evil.]"

                                            > He snorted and spat on the ground. "[Evil? Evil was them harassing us when all we wanted was to be left in peace!]"

                                            "[We attacked first when they started going in our hunting grounds!]"

                                            > His face became a sneer, and he pointed a finger at her to punctuate his words: "[They were our hunting grounds and they knew that! They only provoked us because they knew they had more fighters, and even then they fought from ambush!]"

                                            > "[Besides,]" Saule added in a conciliatory tone, "[it would be a mercy to enslave them. It would save them from a slow death.]"

                                            > Thistle's ears shot up and she stared at the woman.

                                            "[What do you mean?]"

                                            > "[They have hardly any men left, and probably no hunters. They won't be able to feed themselves, and winter is coming. If we just leave them, many of them will die of hunger and frost.]"

                                            "[It can't be that bad!]"

                                            > At that, Saule grabbed her muzzle with both hands and brought her face closer in the same gesture her husband had done only moments before. "[Believe it! It will be hard for us too, with all the people who are dead! Ruslans? I don't think most of them would survive until spring, not without fresh game.]"

                                            > "[It's true,]" Salki added, leaning back on his elbows. "[You'll see. I bet they won't even fight very hard. They will understand we are their only chance.]"

                                            > "[Besides,]" Saule added again, her tone low and full of quiet promise, "[we will sell some slaves for beer. You'd like that, wouldn't you?]"

                                            > Thistle swallowed and shook her head, but her ears splayed and betrayed her. It made both of her friends chuckle in amusement.

                                            > "[Yes you would,]" Salki said, tauntingly. "[You'll have a pretty slave to fuck and as much beer as you want. It's the spoils of war. And then we'll figure out how to deal with Adilet.]"

                                            > At least, she thought to herself, Salki seemed to believe her, at last. Even better, it looked like Saule was finished with her wound and began to wash the bit of linen she'd been using.

                                            > "[Come, let's go find Mother and discuss how to move on the Ruslans. You should also find Hisein, he might have some good advice,]" Salki said and stood up.

                                            > Reluctantly, feeling dirty to be even this small part of the whole mess, Thistle got to her hooves and followed him.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Thistle had decided not to join Salki, and Adilet, and the other men when they went to look for the Ruslans' camp, but that hadn't shielded her from the horrific consequences. The hunters returned victoriously, as expected, leading a small procession of beaten, subdued people.

                                            > They were mostly women and children, with only the occasional man, many of them bleeding or bruised. A few of them had started struggling when they saw their enemies' camp, but it hadn't availed them much. The women were simply dragged, and the men - mostly old men - earned themselves a few hits with a spear shaft, or a couple of kicks, which got them moving again.

                                            > Even from a distance she could hear the heart wrenching wailing and the shrill, high-pitched voices of the children.

                                            > Thistle could close her eyes and turn her head, but she couldn't stop listening.

                                            > It had been the wrong thing to do! Fighting the Ruslans had already been a mistake, but they didn't have any choice. Going into their camp and taking everyone there as slaves just compounded the evil.

                                            > She'd never thought of the Borchi-Quin as evil, but Thistle couldn't keep that little voice in her mind quiet, not after this. It was something Tirek, or Sombra, or the old Changelings would do, not a pony!

                                            > The prisoners - fewer than she had expected - were marched to the central clearing in the camp and made to stand in a few groups. Sons and daughters, the ones old enough to walk on their own, were torn from their mothers as they were sorted by age.

                                            > Thistle couldn't listen to their renewed screaming and pleading any longer and she ran away as fast as her legs would carry her. She headed for the stream, ears folded flat, stubby tail and mane streaming in in the wind, and tears of shame leaking from her eyes.

                                            > If only the whole thing would be finished by the time she came back. If only she wouldn't have to see and hear the captives every day thereafter.

                                            > She knew what would happen, and it would have turned her stomach if there'd been anything in it. Maybe it was lucky she hadn't been able to eat since she'd learned of the whole sorry affair from Salki.

                                            > The powerful people among the Borchi-Quin and the Ulan-Zuk would get first pick of the new slaves. They wouldn't care about separating mothers from their children, or sisters from their brothers. They would pick the strongest, or the prettiest, or the healthiest. Whatever they thought would fetch the best price.

                                            > Some, Thistle knew, they would keep. Salki was expected to grab some of the best captives for himself, and Darga would make her pick, too. Adilet and some of the best hunters from both their tribes would divide what was left. It would likely cause a lot of arguments, and may lead to some fighting, but Thistle didn't really care about any of that.

                                            > Behind her, someone began beating a drum as the people started to celebrate their windfall and she hastened her steps in a vain effort to avoid the sound.

                                            > She made it to the brook where the people got their drinking water, and waded into the chilly stream until her knees were covered. The sound of the water running over rocks and around her legs helped mask most of the noises from the camp. Unfortunately it did nothing for her hammering heartbeat and the low whines escaping from her throat.

                                            > Her body began to shiver from the chill, but it was a distant thing and Thistle was hardly aware of it. She peered into the water, but it was dark and the surface was moving, so she couldn't see her reflection. Maybe that was a good thing. She wasn't sure she could look into her own eyes just then. For that matter, she wouldn't be surprised to find that her fur had turned black and red, and that she'd sprouted horns or something.

                                            > It had been her plan!

                                            > She really should have anticipated what would happen when they won. She should have tried harder to find a peaceful solution.

                                            > A strangled sob escaped her, and Thistle held her breath in an effort to keep from crying. She shook with the effort, and when she couldn't keep it any longer, it came out in a long, miserable wail.

                                            > After that there was no stopping it. She hiccuped when she urgently gulped air, then let it burst out in an anguished cry.

                                            > Those faces floated up from her memory. Defeated, beaten, vacant, angry. Some still disbelieving it was happening, others resigned to the horror. Some had been filled with pure terror.

                                            > The mare lifted a hoof and slammed it down on the water as hard as she could. It splashed her belly, but she hardly even felt the sting of icy droplets.

                                            > She struggled with the images for what felt like hours.

                                            > "[Why are you in the water at night?]"

                                            > She twirled around with a strangled gasp and nearly lost her balance on the slick river stones. She floundered for a moment, splashing more freezing water all over herself before Thistle caught herself, all four legs spread wide and her whole body trembling with a combination of shock and cold.

                                            "[Salki!? What are you doing here?]"

                                            > He came to the edge of the stream, but didn't wade in. "[Come out,]" he said and patted his thigh.

                                            "[Why are you here?]" she repeated, voice raw and unsteady.

                                            > "[I saw you run off. It's night, Thistle. I didn't want you to get hurt. Come out.]"

                                            > She peered at the sky, and it was indeed dark. The stars were not yet visible, and there was a hint of purple still on the western sky.

                                            > There had been some daylight left when the slaves were being driven into the camp, and surely she hadn't spent that long in the stream?

                                            > Only then did Thistle realize that her legs felt like lumps of ice, and her muzzle was completely sodden. Each slight breath of air drove daggers of pure frost into her face.

                                            > How long had she really been out there? Were the hours she'd imagined real, after all?

                                            > She lifted one leg and moved it in front of her. She hardly felt the bottom of the riverbed and her hoof slipped, but Thistle steadied it until it could support her weight.

                                            > Repeating the process mechanically, she made her slow way out of the water. The wind stabbed at her exposed, wet fur and she was shaking so badly that droplets flew from her in all directions. Her teeth were chattering until she worried she would break them.

                                            > When she reached Salki he took hold of an ear and pulled her further up the bank. She followed him meekly, numb inside and outside. She hardly even reacted when he draped his own fur cloak around her.

                                            > "[What were you doing in there? Are you sick? You're shaking!]" he muttered as he patted her down, looking for injuries.

                                            > All she could do was shake her head. She couldn't speak with how hard she had to clench her jaws together to keep from chattering.

                                            > Salki sat down and patted the ground in front of him. "[Come here. Sit with me.]"

                                            > She obeyed just as numbly as she'd gotten out of the water. Her hind legs all but folded under her and her rump hitting the hard ground drew from her a quiet grunt. Salki reached his arms around her and pulled her closer.

                                            > Where his bare skin touched her fur, it felt like white-hot fire. It was almost painful, but she clung to the feeling and managed to keep from whimpering. She let the man spin her around and leaned her back gratefully against his chest.

                                            "[W-W-Why... y-you? Here- here?] she stammered out.

                                            > He was silent for a few long moments, then heaved a sigh. His hands slipped under the cloak so he could twine his fingers into her chest fluff. She closed her eyes and let her head fall so her muzzle pressed against his bare arm.

                                            > If her cold nose bothered him, Salki didn't say.

                                            > "[Back there- in the Ruslan camp,]" he spoke, softly, as his hands began to stroke her fur, "[Adilet...]"

                                            > He couldn't quite say it, but Thistle waited patiently. Eventually, Salki let out the breath he had been holding, took a fresh one, and went on: "[He said we don't need the old, and the wounded. He said we don't need the small children. I-]" he paused to swallow, then went on: "[I stopped him from killing the children, but I couldn't stop him for the others. Thistle, his people just cut their throats! Anyone who doesn't know a useful skill!]"

                                            > His hug around her tightened, and the mare welcomed the pressure. She didn't want to hear these things, but it had been her plan and she owed it to Salki to listen.

                                            > "[They- some of them *used* the women right there!]"

                                            > There was silence for a while, then Salki shrugged. "[I know some of them will be used that way. They're slaves. But we shouldn't have done it right next to their dead.]"

                                            "[W-W-We?]"

                                            > She felt him shake his head. "[No, not we. It was just Adilet's men. None of the Borchi-Quin killed anyone in the camp, or- that. Zaur threw up, and Bulat too. I think Buygra wanted to, and I felt sick.]"

                                            > Still, the mare didn't give any kind of an answer.

                                            > Salki buried his nose in her mane and she felt his hot breath against her ear. It was pleasant, and reminded her of simpler, better times.

                                            > "[Thistle? I think I believe you when you say he is bad. We shouldn't have anything else to do with the Ulan-Zuk after this.]"

                                            > Her eyes flew open and Thistle twisted so she could stare at Salki's face. It was dark, but she thought she saw his eyes glisten.

                                            "[We made promises w-w-when we asked for t-their help,]" she pointed out.

                                            > Salki didn't have an immediate response to that and he looked around as if searching for a solution. Finally, his gaze settled on hers. "[You said you were good at this kind of thing. Negotiation? Deals?]"

                                            "[I- was.]"

                                            > "[You will figure something out.]"

                                            > She gave a slight nod, although there wasn't very much hope in her heart. She knew she had to do something, and at least now she wouldn't be alone.

                                            "[Why are you h-here?]"

                                            > "[I couldn't stay and watch how Adilet and his people grabbed the Ruslan women. How-]" he fell silent and seemed to stare into distance.

                                            "[Yes?]"

                                            > "[I'm worried some of our people aren't much better. What we did today- I think it's wrong. M-Maybe you were right, Thistle.]"

                                            > At any other time these words would have sent her heart soaring, but all the mare could do was lean her head against his chest and finally let herself go.

                                            > She wept, trying to let out all the anguish she'd seen in her time with the nomads. She wept for the loss of her innocence, for the death of the pony inside her. She cried for the wretched thing she was becoming, and the evils that were now her everyday.

                                            > Most of all she wept for how disappointed her once friends would be if they knew.

                                            > After a while, Salki cupped her face with both his palms, lifted it up, and began to kiss her muzzle where tears had left long, wet streaks. She threw her hooves around his chest and clung to him for dear life.

                                            > Maybe there was yet hope for both of them, but on this night it seemed further off than the moon.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > It wasn't getting any better, but perhaps, with practice, Thistle was learning to accept how things were. Except that a better explanation would be that she was learning how to turn a blind eye.

                                            > Salki didn't participate in any of the wanton cruelty she saw everywhere around them, but that was small consolation when she saw a young Ruslan - hardly more than a child - being beaten to make them obey.

                                            > There was worse, too, especially for the women, but Thistle simply didn't let herself think about it.

                                            > More than once she wondered if she might have chosen the wrong side. Had the Ruslans been right in preemptively attacking the Borchi-Quin?

                                            > No, she couldn't believe that. They were both bad, but at least she knew for a fact that Adilet and his people were worse.

                                            > Of course, that thought brought her to the problem, and to the reason why she was hiding away in Xuan's tent.

                                            > It was nice to visit with the woman and help watch her little daughter, but there was an ulterior motive. Now that the threat had been eliminated, Adilet wanted the things she had promised him. He wasn't very pushy - not yet - and Janus had truly started to produce bronze weapons and jewelry.

                                            > People from both clans ranged far and wide, searching for Tin ore so he could make even better, and that kept the Ulan-Zuk satisfied.

                                            > For now.

                                            > She would have to deliver on her promises, and Adilet seemed focused on one in particular.

                                            > He wanted her to build him a catapult. She'd described what little she remembered from ancient history books. The man was abhorrent, especially in his treatment of women and slaves, but he had a knack for war. A machine which could hurl a stone across hundreds of paces would be perfect to use against villages, especially the ones which had started to surround their buildings with walls.

                                            > As best she could understand, the Ulan-Zuk preferred to waylay trading caravans, but if the pickings were particularly slim, they would range far to the East, where strangers tilled the soil and built huts out of mud and wood.

                                            > Now that they had horses, these excursions would be made easier. With bows and arrows, they would be an even more formidable force, and if she produced other weapons, even walls would not aid the hapless villagers.

                                            > She hadn't liked the idea to begin with, but now she was outright appalled, especially after she'd seen the Ulan-Zuk's mistreatment of their prisoners and their insatiable thirst for plunder. There was nothing left of the Ruslan's camp, other than a bit of disturbed ground and some refuse. Oh, and bodies. So many bodies! Even just hearing about it from Salki had been enough to turn her stomach.

                                            > "[Your face is like that again,]" Xuan said, pointing a finger.

                                            "[Oh. Sorry.]"

                                            > Thistle made herself smile and her ears folded down flat in embarrassment. She did have a tendency to grimace when she was thinking about Adilet.

                                            > "[Here, sit. Watch Guuni a little,]" Xuan went on. She laid her daughter on the animal fur next to Thistle and ducked out of the tent before the mare could object.

                                            > It wasn't as if she minded, but having had no children of her own, Thistle didn't quite know how to deal with them. Guuni was still a baby, but that was even more responsibility!

                                            > Unsure of what to do, she leaned closer to the little one, who seemed mesmerised by her pink mane. Unfortunately it wasn't long enough for the child to play with it, but a tiny hand did reach her muzzle. It was more by accident than intent, but Guuni seemed happy to grip the soft fur on Thistle's face. At least she wasn't crying.

                                            > She leaned even closer, and brushed the child's cheek with her nose. It must have tickled, because her little arm flailed and she let out a mixture between a gurgle and a giggle. Thistle withdrew quickly, but Guuni reached out for her and made a distressed little wail, so she moved back.

                                            > A hand found her ear and gripped it with surprising strength. Guuni pulled at it, but it wasn't uncomfortable and Thistle was happy to let her.

                                            > It just meant she couldn't look when someone entered the tent. That wasn't a huge hindrance, and the mixture of smell and sound quickly told her who it was.

                                            "[Hey, Buygra!]"

                                            > "[You're good with her,]" he said.

                                            "[Yeah...]"

                                            > She tugged her ear, but Guuni held her tightly, and let out a soft coo. She didn't want to use more force, so Thistle gave Buygra a hapless grin.

                                            > He chuckled and carefully pried his daughter's hand from Thistle's ear. Finally she could straighten up and her face shaded a light pink in embarrassment. She opened her mouth to thank him, but Buygra headed her off: "[Salki is looking for you.]"

                                            > Her ears folded down and her smile slipped, but Thistle inclined her head in acquiescence and stood.

                                            "[I'll go and talk to him.]"

                                            > While the man knelt down to check on his daughter, she slipped past him and pushed out of the tent. It was getting quite cold outside, and she was a little bit sad to leave the warmth. Her breath misted in the crisp morning air.

                                            > She paused only long enough to receive a friendly pat from Xuan, then left the woman to cook and headed off.

                                            >...

                                            > There was a young Ruslan in Saule and Salki's tent. He sat in the corner, hugging his knees and watching everything with eyes full of fear. His tears had dried up some days ago, but now he just seemed stunned. Thistle really didn't like looking at this reminder of what they'd ultimately done.

                                            > They've had no choice but to fight the Ruslans, or they would have done the same, so she kept telling herself, but seeing the result didn't make it easy.

                                            > As soon as she'd entered the large tent, her ears folded down and she studiously avoided looking at the captive. At least it wasn't Salki's idea, but rather his mother's. He was the Chieftain, their fearless warrior who had led them to such a decisive victory over their sworn enemy. It would set a very poor example, and show significant weakness to the Ulan-Zuk, if Salki did not gain from the spoils of war.

                                            > Most of that had been wealth. Jewelry, gold, and silver. Animal furs, and pots of honey and spices. Skins of beer, but Darga had immediately confiscated those from her son. Most of it was material possessions, but they couldn't avoid at least one of the new slaves.

                                            > They'd ended up with the boy.

                                            > His situation wasn't far different from Fen Ko and Ning, so why was Thistle so apprehensive of this one, while she accepted the other? Was it only a matter of getting used to the situation?

                                            > She didn't want to think of herself that way, so she solved the problem by not thinking about it at all.

                                            > Even now she focused her attention entirely on Salki, who was sitting beside the fire and sharpening his knife.

                                            > It was a bronze blade, one they'd gotten from the Ruslan camp, and Janus had only recently given him the whetstone and taught him how to properly care for the edge.

                                            > Salki was so enamored with it that Thistle worried he would sharpen it away to nothing before the year was out.

                                            > When she entered, Salki let his hands fall into his lap and gave her a worried look. "[We need to figure out what to do about Adilet,]" he told her.

                                            > It was a good sign that he still believed what he'd told her that night by the stream, and it gave Thistle hope that she could lead this tribe, at least, out of barbarism.

                                            > At the mention of Adilet's name, the Ruslan boy made a small whimper. Word of the big man's cruelty spread quickly, both among the new slaves, and the Borchi-Quin people. He made everyone uneasy.

                                            > The sound reminded Salki and he half-turned to the youth. "[Nadir, go out and bring firewood.]"

                                            > His command made the boy flinch, but he scrambled to his feet and hurried out of the tent.

                                            > Thistle watched him go, then switched her gaze to Salki.

                                            "[Aren't you afraid he will run away?]"

                                            > "[No,]" he said, shaking his head, but didn't elaborate.

                                            "[Why?]"

                                            > "[His sister is here, he won't leave her.]"

                                            "[Oh,]" she said, her ears pressing down even further.

                                            > "[Sit down. We have to talk about Adilet.]"

                                            > Thistle took the spot across the central firepit, so they could look at each other's face.

                                            > "[He is asking for what we promised. What you promised.]"

                                            > She closed her eyes, but gave a slight nod.

                                            "[I know. I will need to work with Darkhan to make the- the stones thrower. I think I will also need some metal parts from Janus.]"

                                            > "[Okay, but I don't think I want to give him new weapons.]"

                                            > Her ears lifted up, and her breath stalled.

                                            "[What do you propose?]"

                                            > Salki had been thinking about this, and he already had a plan worked out. His mouth quirked up into an almost-smile and he began to sharpen his knife again. "[He has seen what people on horses can do. He has taken some horses from Ruslans, but he wants more. I say we go on another trip to the West.]"

                                            "[That won't give him weapons, but it's not much better.]"

                                            > "[That's not all. I thought about what you said. We'll only take a few men, so we can travel faster. We will not take things to trade, so we will not need donkeys. I think that will appeal to Adilet. He will want horses as soon as possible.]"

                                            "[Then what?]"

                                            > There was silence, and Salki's expression looked pained. He shrugged and said: "[M-Maybe something could happen on the way?]"

                                            > It was not a new idea, but no less palatable when spoken out loud. Thistle avoided his eyes and swallowed a lump which was suddenly in her throat.

                                            "[I don't know if I could do it,]" she admitted truthfully.

                                            > Neither of them could take their gaze off the other, and the two sat for long moments, just watching each other. At length, Salki drew a breath and spoke: "[I will ask Hisein. He will understand.]"

                                            "[No. No! Salki, he's lost his leg! We can't ask him to- to do this!]"

                                            > "[Who then?]"

                                            > Something in her heart balked, and for a moment Thistle didn't really believe the conversation they were having. Surely that wasn't *her*, sitting in a dark tent and plotting to kill someone in cold blood? She'd misunderstood!

                                            > Her breathing quickened and she became aware that she was whickering softly with each exhalation.

                                            > "[We have to do something,]" Salki went on. "[I told you what he did in the Ruslan camp! What his men did!]"

                                            > All she could do was nod. There had been no good guys in that whole, sorry mess, but what Salki had told her of Adilet went beyond even what the nomads considered acceptable. Even worse, it seemed the Ulan-Zuk all had this blind stop.

                                            > For a moment she wondered if Adilet was the product of his people, or they the product of his deranged cruelty.

                                            > Whatever it was, she could not let that poison seep into the Borchi-Quin, whatever the cost.

                                            > Even murder?

                                            > She swallowed a lump and nodded, both to herself, and to Salki's statement.

                                            "[I know,]" she whispered.

                                            > "[So I will ask Hisein.]"

                                            > Her gaze and her ears lowered, but the mare nodded again, even if it was smaller.

                                            > The decision made, it brought no relief. Her chest still felt tight, and it took an effort of will to quiet her low whinnies.

                                            > She looked at the young Chieftain before her and felt a pang of regret. Barely a month since he had taken over, and already he had to plot against those who were ostensibly their allies. She really wasn't guiding him very well.

                                            > Thistle shot to her hooves and backed to the tent flap.

                                            "[I'll- I'll just- I'll go help Nadir.]"

                                            > Salki was staring at the fire, and at first it appeared as if he hadn't heard her at all. Only when she cleared her throat to repeat did he glance at her and wave his hand. "[Yes. Go. I have to think.]"

                                            > He looked uneasy, and his head twitched as if he wanted to shake it. He was struggling with what they'd decided, too, she knew. It was a bad option, but knowing neither of them was alone helped, a little. Perhaps it helped.

                                            > On a whim, she hurried back to the young man and pressed her muzzle to his cheek. She inhaled his scent - soot, and grime, and sweat - and gave him a lick.

                                            "[We'll fix it. We'll get rid of him, and then we'll be better.]"

                                            > His hand went to her head for a quick pat, and she felt him nod. Only then did she hurry out of the tent.

                                            > Her heart was not exactly lighter, not at the prospect of what they had to do, but she didn't feel quite as wretched.

                                            > It had to be done.

                                            > Adilet was a monster, and if she'd known that before, she would never have approached him. She had, and now they were tied to him. It was up to her - and Salki - to sever those ties, or the Borchi-Quin would never be free of that oppressive presence.

                                            > She wished she could have Adilet's people take all the slaves, too, but her own friends and neighbors needed them. The war had drained them, and the traders would come soon, before the winter. They needed to trade for grain, and salt, and the thousand other little things which enabled them to survive in this harsh land.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > Trying to explain the basics of Equestrian technology to primitives was exhausting. By the time she was done, Thistle felt like she'd been put through the wringer.

                                            > Well, she couldn't quite call it 'done', not that miniscule amount of progress they'd made. Then again, she couldn't even call it 'technology', either.

                                            > Darkhan was maybe getting closer, although he still couldn't quite imagine how a catapult would work. She'd tried to demonstrate with a few twigs which she'd arranged into a crude seesaw and used to launch small pebbles. The fact that it was impossible to aim just made Adilet sneer in disgust.

                                            > Perhaps that was the worst thing. Now that he'd delivered his part of the bargain, and the Borchi-Quin were no longer under any threat by the Ruslans, the big man wouldn't let her out of his sight until she delivered on her other promises. He spent entirely too much time in their camp!

                                            > She had done her best, with words, hoof-waving, and even crude attempts at drawings on the soft mud, but very little had come across. It didn't help that she wasn't an engineer pony, so her own understanding of the principles was rudimentary, at best.

                                            > What she'd come up with was a big frame on wheels, with a supple piece of wood for an arm. At the end, there would be a large metal cup for a rock. It wasn't like any catapult she'd ever seen, but it was the best she could come up with, having had no training in engineering whatsoever. She'd just have to make the thing step by step, possibly helped by a willing nomad, until she could demonstrate the basic idea. After that, she had no doubt craftsmen would improve on her design.

                                            > There were a number of nomads extremely skilled at making bows, in both their camps, and many of the women were excellent fletchers. All they needed was that initial idea, a demonstration of how it was supposed to work.

                                            > On the other hoof, if her project failed, perhaps Adilet would give up on the weapon and she wouldn't be responsible for unleashing a new kind of horror on the poor, unsuspecting people of wherever the Ulan-Zuk raided.

                                            > She'd all but promised they would travel West and get more horses, and maybe that would be enough. Would Adilet leave them in peace, especially now that he had his teeth in the Ulan-Zuk?

                                            > Her head hung down as the others walked away, murmuring to each other. Salki remained, with his hand on her back, and Thistle took half a step closer to him, so she could brush her side against his thigh.

                                            > The two exchanged a look, then Thistle followed Janus to where he'd set up his forge. It had become the unofficial center of their camp, where nomads gathered when they didn't have anything better to do.

                                            > There was always a fire, and there was usually one or another of Janus' apprentices, hammering a lump of metal into a shape which may or may not be recognizable. It wasn't the attraction it had been those first few weeks, but there were often a few onlookers, so there was someone to talk to.

                                            > Unfortunately Adilet was going the same way, and Thistle half-turned to go somewhere else, but Salki held her with a hand on her withers. "[Come on,]" he said. "[Let's see how Usman is doing. He promised he would make me a spear point.]"

                                            > The mare shrugged to herself and followed in the direction of clanging metal.

                                            > They were in time to see Janus make a quick tour of his pupils. There were four - two from the Ulan-Zuk, and two from the Borchi-Quin.

                                            > He nodded amicably at one, and slapped another on the shoulder. Usman was the third, and Janus gripped his wrist with the tongs to change the angle he held his piece of metal. He was about to inspect the fourth nomad, the youngest, who kept striking at a dark, misshapen lump on his anvil. Even to Thistle's unskilled eyes, it looked like a mess.

                                            > Before Janus could reach the young lad, however, Adilet began shouting and pointing.

                                            > "[You call that a knife?! You're a worthless dog-spawn!]"

                                            > The would-be blacksmith cringed away, but Adilet's hand caught him a blow across his face so hard that the poor lad spun and fell to the ground. "[I said I wanted a dagger! You're worthless! This is nothing!]" Adilet went on. He picked up the lump from the anvil, thinking that because it was dark, it wasn't hot. There was a sizzle, although Thistle was sure she was the only one who had heard it, and the man dropped the misshapen bit of metal to the ground with a yelp.

                                            > He examined his fingers, and his face darkened as he loomed over the boy once more. "[You idiot! Why didn't you tell me it was hot?! I'll cut out your liver and feed it to your sister!]"

                                            > Before he could kick the hapless boy, Janus was standing in front of the big man. He didn't seem angry, but there was an aura of determination around him, as if he wouldn't be moved by any force. "[That enough. Back away,]" he said, his voice as calm as his face.

                                            > Denied, Adilet stepped closer, until his nose was nearly touching Janus', and he growled wordlessly. His hand bunched up into a fist, and he drew his arm back as if preparing to strike. Janus, meanwhile, let his hand fall on the hilt of his dagger, which he wore tucked in his belt.

                                            > Thistle's ears had gone completely flat as she watched the two prepare to fight.

                                            > Luckily a few of the older Ulan-Zuk stepped around their leader, gripping his hands and pulling him back. Thistle suddenly noticed there was a bronze dagger in Adilet's other hand, and her blood ran cold. Surely he wouldn't have killed Janus over an argument? Not just like that!

                                            > She'd always known he had an explosive temper, but surely no one in his camp would stand long for such outbursts of rage.

                                            > His followers were whispering urgently, talking him down. Eventually he stuck the blade back behind his belt, but as they moved past Janus, Adilet's foot shot out and he delivered a few swift kicks to the young apprentice's belly.

                                            > The young man gasped for air and curled around his midriff, flopping on the ground and letting out choking noises as he tried to get his breath back.

                                            > Other than the noises of his suffering, everything was quiet, and Adilet seemed to notice all the stares on him. His face began to darken, but then he barked a laugh and pointed at the other three blacksmith apprentices. The Ulan-Zuk one flinched from that digit, as if it was a spear.

                                            > "[See?]" Adilet said, his voice light and cheerful, and a twisted grin on his face. "[Let this be motivation. Learn to do better and we won't have a problem!]"

                                            > He pointedly ignored Janus's dark, furious stare. The blacksmith had crouched down next to his fallen apprentice, and was feeling his belly. The youth had his arm in his mouth to stifle the weeping, but tears rolled freely down his cheeks and he remained curled up.

                                            > No one spoke, until Adilet grunted and stalked away. The two men with him - his guards - glanced around impassively, then followed their leader.

                                            > Only when he was safely out of earshot did Thistle let her muscles slacken. Her legs were trembling with the effort. She'd been holding herself back so she wouldn't run up to the man and simply buck him in two pieces.

                                            > She'd known it before, but this proved it. All she needed to do was say it. There was only one language which had the proper expression, but only the other had good swear words. She brought the two together.

                                            "He's a psychopath. [Fuck!]"

                                            > Salki leaned down and asked: "[He's a what?]"

                                            > She shook her head and sat on her rump.

                                            "[You don't have a word for it. I will explain later.]"

                                            > His hand found her ear through her mane, and Thistle leaned into Salki's touch. "[He is dangerous. He was always dangerous, but at least before he was aimed at the Ruslans. Now-]"

                                            > She finished his thought:

                                            "[He might turn on us.]"

                                            > At least there was no fear that Salki would be swayed by the crazy man. Now that he was the chieftain, Adilet had stopped egging him on, and had started talking up his daughters instead. That, at least, was good news, and told Thistle that the man was indeed thinking of the long game.

                                            > Then again, with his quicksilver temper, there was no saying if Adilet would suddenly become impatient and do something a lot more immediate.

                                            > If that happened while he was surrounded by his lackeys and yes-men, they could incite all their men to a fight and come for the Borchi-Quin. It would be a massacre!

                                            "[We have to do something.]"

                                            > "[You still want to go West and- you know? On the way?]"

                                            > She gave it some thought, but suddenly wasn't so sure. She knew someone who could help, though.

                                            "[Come.]"

                                            > Salki didn't question and followed her past the tents until they reached the one she wanted. Ning was outside, stirring something over the fire, and she flashed the mare a quick smile.

                                            > The two children were still slaves, but perhaps Hisein treated them a little better since his injury, and they were getting used to their new life. It was still horrible, but less than some fates, especially ones she'd seen lately.

                                            > Shaking her head, Thistle ducked into the tent with Salki right behind her. They paused with the tent flap open at the sight.

                                            > Hisein was lying on his stomach, and Fen Ko was massaging the stump of his leg. The boy had frozen at the intrusion, and Hisein was pushing himself up on his elbows. "[Who- oh. Shut the flap, it's cold!]"

                                            > Salki did so, and the interior was plunged into darkness, barely given shape by the small fire in a pit in the middle. Fen Ko straightened up to leave, but Hisein's hand shot out and grasped his ankle. "[I didn't say you can stop,]" he muttered.

                                            > With a low grunt, the youth bent back down to his work.

                                            > "[What do you want?]" he asked the two newcomers.

                                            "[We need to talk, alone.]"

                                            > "[Then talk.]"

                                            "[Send Fen Ko out. This is just for us.]"

                                            > She didn't think the lad would betray what they'd said to anyone, even if he understood half of it, but there was no point in risking it.

                                            > With a groan, Hisein slapped his palm on the fur blanket underneath him. "[Go! But don't go far! As soon as they leave, I want you back! My leg hurts!]"

                                            > Fen Ko flashed Thistle a grateful grin and fled the stuffy interior of the tent. Only then did the mare sit down and pat the rug beside her for Salki. After a while, the Chieftain sat, his side nearly brushing hers.

                                            > "[What?]" Hisein repeated, but he still hadn't moved.

                                            > Thistle gave Salki a questioning look, but he just shrugged at her. This was her idea, after all, and the man looked doubtful, as if he didn't really want to be there.

                                            "[Hisein, we need to get rid of Adilet.]"

                                            > "[You're right there. Maybe the first smart thing I've heard since I came back.]"

                                            "[We- I was thinking. We take him West, tell him we'll get some horses. We have the Ruslans' gold and silver now. M-Maybe something could, uh, happen on the way.]"

                                            > "[Won't work,]" Hisein said almost before she'd finished talking. He rolled to his back and sat up, so he could see their faces. "[It's a good try, for a pony, but it won't work.]"

                                            "[Why not?!]"

                                            > The man lifted a finger. "[One: Adilet will be expecting that. He'll take some guards, and they would be watching you more closely than the forest. You'd never get near enough.]"

                                            > Thistle's ears lowered, but she didn't interrupt.

                                            > "[Two: Even if you kill him, do you think his men will just shrug their shoulders and go away? You'll have a fight, and you probably won't win. Adilet's people are good fighters.]"

                                            "[What if we used poison?]"

                                            > "[Three,]" Hisein went on, as if she hadn't spoken, "[even if you somehow survive and come back, what do you think the other Ulan-Zuk would say? Behind someone like Adilet are ten more, just as crazy as he is. They'd crush us with the slightest provocation. Just a suspicion would be enough, and there would *be* suspicion. Adilet and some people leave with you, and none of them come back?]"

                                            "[What about poison?]"

                                            > Hisein just chuckled at her. "[Think about it. You bring their leader a meal, he eats it, then curls up on the ground and dies. You think his people won't put two and two together? That is if you know how to find a poison he wouldn't taste immediately when he puts it in his mouth.]"

                                            > She lowered her gaze to the fire and her ears splayed out in embarrassment.

                                            "[So what do we do?]"

                                            > Hisein put his hand on his chin, and his other on his stump. Both began to scratch as he thought. After a while, he snapped his fingers. "[You use a Ruslan.]"

                                            "[What?]"

                                            > Even Salki straightened up to stare.

                                            > "[Simple. We have some Ruslan men. Wounded. They're tied up. Take one of those, and tell him exactly what Adilet did to their women and children. The way you told me. Then give him a bow and a single arrow, and put him in Adilet's way.]"

                                            > "[You think a Ruslan slave would attack Adilet? What if he attacks us the moment he has a weapon?]"

                                            > Hisein shook his head. "[Not if you make it very clear that the attack was *his* idea, and if you explain very carefully how he treated their women. You don't even have to lie, if half of what you told me is true.]"

                                            > Thistle felt repulsed at the idea, but she couldn't help nodding. It just might work, and the fact she was considering it disgusted her.

                                            > Less than Adilet, but still.

                                            > "[Trust me, any man would be happy to shoot someone like Adilet, even if he dies right after. At least it's an end to it.]"

                                            > "[What happens next? Ulan-Zuk would still blame me.]"

                                            > At this, the other man shook his head. "[Not if you do it right. Find a hunter with a bow, and have the prisoner punch him in the face to get the bow. The harder, the better. Now you have a prisoner, who got enraged when he saw Adilet and hurt one of your people to get at him. Offer him a quick death, and he'll do it.]"

                                            "[What?!]" Thistle gasped, aghast.

                                            > "[What do you think the Ulan-Zuk would do to him after he kills their leader? Any warrior will prefer a quick spear through the heart. You can always claim it was the heat of the battle, and the man is dead. They can't ask for more.]"

                                            > He paused for a short while, then shrugged. "[Maybe they'll kill a few of the other prisoners, and maybe they'll beat the women a little, but you get rid of Adilet. The deal was with him, so it's over.]"

                                            > Thistle looked at Salki, and saw the same horror she felt in his eyes.

                                            "[I- I don't know.]"

                                            > "[Well, there's your plan. It may work, or it may not, but at least with this one you can try again after things settle down. What's your alternative? Wait until Adilet gets the idea that he can just take over and pull us into the Ulan-Zuk?]"

                                            > "[His people still won't be happy. What if they want revenge?]"

                                            > This made Hisein laugh again. "[Revenge against who? The Ruslans are beaten, and we're supposed to be their allies.]"

                                            > "[What if they are unreasonable? You said there are more crazy people to take Adilet's place. What if they want Janus, and decide our treaty doesn't matter anymore?]"

                                            > Hisein gave this a moment's thought, then he shrugged. "[Then we run. We go up in the woods, where the bastards will never find us. There are fewer of us, so we can move faster. We don't have to spend as much time hunting. We can outrun them. Besides, Ulan-Zuk have always lived in the plains. We know the mountains better than them.]"

                                            > Thistle brightened up at the idea.

                                            "[Why don't we just do that?]"

                                            > The man reached across the fire to pat her muzzle. "[Won't work. You might be chieftain, but running like that is hard. You won't convince people, and they won't believe you how bad Adilet is.]"

                                            "[They saw today!]"

                                            > "[What do you mean?]"

                                            > She explained the incident which drove them to his tent in a few sentences, and Hisein just looked impassive.

                                            > When she'd finished, he said: "[They saw him beat one of his own people. They'll need a lot more to run. Running is hard, especially after the summer they've had with the Ruslans.]"

                                            > Could it be true? Surely if they explained, everyone in the camp would understand. Wouldn't they? She looked at Salki, and his face told her how naive her thoughts were.

                                            > Her ears fell and she let out her breath.

                                            "[I'll think about it.]"

                                            > "[Don't think too long. We have to use a Ruslan while their anger is still fresh and hot.]"

                                            > She didn't answer and simply stood up. After a moment, Salki got to his feet and followed her out of the tent.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The first snow was on the way, and the air was becoming frigid. Each morning any water outside of a tent was frozen on the surface. As the people went about their errands, the brown grass crackled with rime and left their clothes wet. The ground in the camp had changed from mud and slush to hard, frozen earth, which was at least a little more sanitary. Even the hardiest of nomads no longer went barefoot.

                                            > That last didn't really apply to Thistle, since she had hooves and didn't feel the cold as much. It still wasn't pleasant, but at least she wasn't risking frostbite, like the others.

                                            > Despite her hooves and fur, she still wrapped herself in the animal fur cloak and stayed inside tents as much as possible. Not to mention that she felt the chill around the withers and the rear, where her mane and tail still hadn't grown to their usual lushness.

                                            > At least there were hidden benefits of the weather. For one, Adilet and his cronies didn't come around as much. Another was that Janus' forge became even more the social hub of the camp than before. His charcoal was quickly becoming popular, too, and on most days there were one or two mounds smouldering a short distance from the edge of the tents.

                                            > Unfortunately it also meant that Salki had to organize frequent expeditions into the nearby hills to bring back fresh wood, but with the donkeys and their small herd of horses, at least they didn't need Thistle to help haul it back. As an additional plus, there were no other clans near enough to threaten them, now that the Ruslans were gone.

                                            > The cold temperature brought some other benefits, too. After that incident with Adilet and Janus, the big man had settled down, preferring to stay in his tent and enjoy his food and his beer, and Thistle's fears abated a little. Perhaps they could wait until spring to deal with him and the Ulan-Zuk, regardless of what Hisein said about the need for haste.

                                            > Of their prisoners, the mare didn't see much, and she was grateful for that. Saule had taken over the training of the boy she and Salki were given, and the rest of the Ruslan captives had been divided among influential people. Willow, of course, and Darkhan, and Darga. Janus had two - a young man and an older woman - to help him around the forge, and the man positively beamed at the privilege and the status this conferred.

                                            > On the other hand, his fires were almost never cold, and he churned out tools and weapons at a rate that almost satisfied even Adilet, who took the lion's share of the products for the Ulan-Zuk. The fact that they were arming people who might become their enemies was a little concerning, and the unease it brought caused Thistle to listen more closely to Hisein's plans.

                                            >...

                                            > She was thinking of that niggling worry - that the spring might be too late to do anything. That Adilet might be planning something, and his apparent absence and good behavior were ominous. He'd even stopped pressuring her for the weapons she'd promised him, other than to toss out an occasional mention.

                                            > He hadn't been around for the past few days, and she thought his visit was imminent. Maybe that was why she'd volunteered to go with the women and dig for roots and tubers. They weren't expecting to find much, but they had to bring in what they could before winter really set in.

                                            > She was relieved that she might miss Adilet's visit, even if she didn't quite want to admit it to herself. He was less pushy, but his stares, and his poorly-veiled hints were still poignant and made her uncomfortable. The way he listened to her every word with that scary, almost predatory focus, made her hide shiver.

                                            > He hadn't said anything of the sort, but it felt as if he was implying that her usefulness was over. Now that the clan had a blacksmith, they'd mastered crafting bows and arrows, and were well on their way to rearing horses, what use was her obscure knowledge? Why not simply kill her, and have one fewer unknown factors threaten his takeover of the Borchi-Quin?

                                            > She still had a few tricks up her sleeve, but at least she hadn't promised those to Adilet. She intended to teach the people to farm, so their food supply could be assured and they didn't have to hunt as much. She hadn't forgotten her idea of bee keeping, even though Salki and the others probably had. They never brought it up, but they'd be grateful when they saw their first harvest of honey.

                                            > Spring would be a good time to try her hoof at that, provided she could find a wild beehive somewhere in the nearby forests.

                                            > Reading and writing was another big one, but so far she hadn't been able to convince the people of their use. Why go through all the effort if you could simply tell people and they'd remember?

                                            > Her tail was swishing irritably under her cloak, and each jerk lifted the furs and let an icicle of freezing air stab its way up her flanks. The seal wasn't very good as it was, what with her pony anatomy, and the garment barely caught any warmth. She made herself stop.

                                            > The woman in front of her hadn't noticed, of course. They walked in a line, and the crackling of dry, frozen grass under their feet covered most of the sound. A few of the nomads walked side by side, talking in soft murmurs, but Thistle was alone. She only knew one of the others, and even that one not very well.

                                            > She glanced behind, and saw Gol walking near the rear of their little procession. She was also alone.

                                            > On a whim, Thistle stepped to one side and let the few nomads between them pass. They glanced at her, but no one commented.

                                            > Pretty soon Gol had caught up and the mare fell in step with her. She opened her mouth to greet her, but words failed her momentarily. They hadn't spoken in a long while, so she scrambled for something generic instead.

                                            "[Uh. Hi...]"

                                            > "[Huh. I thought you didn't remember me.]"

                                            "[What makes you say that?]" the sharp tone lifted her eyebrows in surprise.

                                            > Gol's mouth quirked up in a wry grin and as she shook her head, a few strands of her black hair slipped from the hood. She pushed it back with a practiced motion. "[You've become the important Chieftain's advisor. You never come and talk with me, or Mother, or Willow.]"

                                            > It was true, in a way, and Thistle's ears folded down under the hood. Gol couldn't see it, of course.

                                            "[I'm sorry. I just- There's been so much to do.]"

                                            > "[Yeah. Going around all over the place and having adventures takes a lot of time. You still come and visit Hisein, though.]"

                                            > Thistle lowered her eyes for a few steps in guilt, then slid a little closer so she could press her muzzle to the back of Gol's hand in apology.

                                            "[I'll do better, I promise.]"

                                            > Gol's fingers twitched, but she controlled herself and didn't pet the mare. Instead, she gripped her loose hand with her other, and said: "[I hear how you were the one who came up with archers on horses.]"

                                            > Not one of her proudest moments, and Thistle couldn't hold back a sad sigh.

                                            "[It was just an idea. Others made it work. Hisein, Salki. Saule. Um, your brother.]"

                                            > All she received in acknowledgement for her modesty was a low grunt. Thistle swallowed and tried a different approach:

                                            "[How is Willow by the way?]"

                                            > "[Chasing girls and complaining he should be Chieftain instead of Salki. What did you expect?]"

                                            "[He shouldn't be chieftain. Even Salki is not yet very good at it, but at least he listens to me. Willow would be a disaster with Adilet.]"

                                            > It had slipped out before she'd really thought it through, and Thistle cast a worried look at the girl. Would she go and tell Willow or Intor as soon as they were back?

                                            > She held her breath for a few steps until Gol answered: "[I know that. Mother knows that too, I think, but she won't admit it. It's just Willow who is stupid about it. He and Hisein argue almost every day.]"

                                            "[Uh, they are still friends?]"

                                            > Gol pierced her with an unreadable stare, then said slowly and clearly: "[Of course. Some of us don't stop being friends just because things change, you know?]"

                                            "[Okay, okay, I'm sorry! I should have stayed in touch. You could have come to see me too, you know?!]"

                                            > At least the girl had the decency to blush a little and avert her eyes.

                                            "[Why didn't you?]"

                                            > "[At first,]" she admitted, "[Mother said not to. She said it would make Willow mad. Then- I saw you with Salki and Saule, and I was nervous. They're older than me, so maybe I was afraid or something. Then you were gone, and when you came back we were in the middle of the war and you were all big heroes.]"

                                            "[Well, from now on, please come and talk to me. If your mother gives you trouble, or Willow does, I'll deal with them.]"

                                            > Gol hid her mouth with a hand so Thistle couldn't see her expression, and asked in a tone that was too nonchalant by half: "[So you're the Chieftain now?]"

                                            > The suggestion made Thistle stumble and nearly fall on her muzzle.

                                            "[No!]" she said, a little too forcefully. "[Of course not! I just help Salki sometimes when it comes to making trades and agreements.]"

                                            > Gol gave a short laugh. "[Don't lie. Mother is right, even if Darga and Salki can't see it. You're telling Salki what to say.]"

                                            > There was no use denying it, not with the certainty that sounded from Gol's every word, but neither was Thistle going to confirm it. Instead, she picked a different topic, something which would focus the young woman's mind away from politics.

                                            "[How about you? Have you found a nice boy for yourself yet?]"

                                            > It was Gol's turn to splutter a little and nearly trip herself up. "[No!]" she said, but her denial was insistent and the answer had come a bit too quickly. She also wouldn't meet the mare's eyes.

                                            "[Come on, who is it?]"

                                            > Her friend glanced around to make sure no one else was near enough to overhear, then lowered her voice. "[Promise you won't tell?]"

                                            "[I promise.]"

                                            > "[I think Zaur is cute. Don't tell him!]"

                                            > For a moment, Thistle shared a knowing grin with Gol, then she winked and nodded.

                                            "[I promise. Isn't he a little old, though?]"

                                            > To her best estimation, Zaur was perhaps a year or two older than Salki, while Gol was perhaps four years younger than Xuan. Her guess was that Gol wouldn't marry for at least two or three years. She was growing, however, and even in the last year she'd known her, the girl had noticeably expanded in the chest area. Her face had lost that childlike softness, and she was filling out, so she no longer looked like a badly-proportioned doll.

                                            > "[No.]"

                                            > It took the mare a second to remember which question Gol had been answering.

                                            "[Okay. When are you going to tell him?]"

                                            > "[Never! I'm too embarrassed!]" Gol said, and for a moment she seemed very much like that young, naive girl once more. Thistle couldn't help but smile.

                                            "[Tell you what - I will speak with Zaur-]"

                                            > Gol hissed as she took a hasty breath to say no, but Thistle forestalled her:

                                            "[Wait. I won't tell him it's you, okay? I'll just tell him there's a cute girl who is interested in him. Just to make sure he doesn't pick someone else, right? Then, in a year or so, when you're ready, he'll be waiting for you. Just don't wait too long!]"

                                            > The stare Gol had begun giving her turned to wide-eyed astonishment. "[You'd do that?!]" she asked in a breathless voice.

                                            "[Sure! I'll try, at least. Maybe Zaur is already talking with some girl his age. Maybe he won't want to wait. We'll see.]"

                                            > Gol's face flickered from sudden fear, to dark rage, to tentative hope, then back to a queasy embarrassment. "[I'll t-try,]" she squeaked.

                                            "[Good. So, tell me what you've been doing while I was away in the West!]"

                                            > At that, the young woman shook her head. "[No, you tell me what it was like, first! What did you see! Hisein said you fought an army to steal the horses!]"

                                            "[Well, it wasn't quite an army...]"


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The haul wasn't big, but despite that a day away from the camp was a nice change of pace, especially since Thistle didn't need to look at all the new slaves. She'd had to make her peace with that, and she agreed with Salki that this was the only way their people could be safe in the long run, but she didn't have to like it.

                                            > Some time away from it all, and with zero chance of Adilet staring at her with that strange intensity, was to be welcomed. When she also had chance to catch up with an old friend made it an absolute delight. She'd nearly forgotten that Gol was a kind, if young, nomad girl. She reminded her of some old friends from Ponyville, which was a rare thing in this unforgiving land, among these stoic and harsh people.

                                            > Their chatter had died down on the way back, mainly because Gol was saving all her breath for walking, and Thistle didn't really want to speak with anyone else. They walked side by side in companionable silence, and despite being surrounded by the other women, the time felt somehow personal. Every now and then the mare caught Gol's eye, and they grinned at each other.

                                            > It would be different from now on, she knew. She would find Gol sometimes and speak with her. They would have meals together, and she would teach the nomad girl to scratch that strange, sensitive spot just behind her ears. Until now, only Salki knew about that, and Thistle had missed his touch since he'd gotten married.

                                            "[Will you come visit me sometimes?]" Thistle asked, forgetting herself for a moment. "[Don't speak, just nod.]"

                                            > Gol rarely ventured out of the camp, and it showed. Thistle also figured the girl never really had to carry things, not with Intor's influence among their neighbors. Their walk wasn't particularly strenuous, or at least it didn't feel so to the mare. After her trip across half the world to the West and back, a couple of hours of walking, even through that annoying, cloying mud, didn't quite put her out of breath.

                                            > The other women seemed to be holding up fine, too, but Gol had started huffing and gasping before long. It wasn't like they'd found a whole lot of root vegetables either.

                                            > Not for the first time Thistle wanted to take some of Gol's load, to spare the girl the effort, but she decided against it. The exercise would do her some good, and Thistle didn't want to show favorites. Even more than that, she didn't want to bring the others' minds back to the idea of a beast of burden. It wasn't that long ago when every nomad with her would pile up their pickings on the mare and hardly give it any thought.

                                            > Worse, they would take everything back when they arrived in the camp, including anything Thistle had managed to gather for herself. No one batted an eye at taking from a slave.

                                            > She'd won some respect, and she gathered her own food, and carried her own burden. Most of the nomads in the camp hardly ever thought of her as a slave. She was pretty much just another member of the people, except that she had the ear of their new chieftain.

                                            > She didn't think of herself as his property, but maybe he needed to say it? Would there be a small ceremony, or something? Were there some words that needed to be spoken? It was something to ask Salki, but in confidence. Saule was still on the fence about the mare, and reminding her that she was *technically* still a slave might give the woman some wrong ideas.

                                            > All the more important to make other friends. There was Xuan and Buygra, of course. Those two surely didn't think of her as anyone's property. Hisein, she thought, also had a kind of grudging respect for her, even if he didn't show it. Then again, Hisein didn't show anyone much respect.

                                            "[We're almost home. Look, you can see the glow from the fires.]"

                                            > It was true, especially since the sun had set and shadows were rapidly stretching across the land. It had gotten quite chilly, and Thistle's breath misted in front of her face. The sight of tents in the distance was a welcome one, indeed.

                                            > Maybe it was just her imagination, or maybe the announcement lightened Gol's step a little. If nothing else, the girl focused on the distance, which was an improvement from her staring down at her own feet, lost in the misery of the cold trudge.

                                            > At least it hadn't snowed yet. That would have been worse.

                                            > A strange sound caught her ears and her hoof froze in midair as she stopped. The woman walking behind her bumped into her rear and cursed.

                                            "[Hush. I hear something...]"

                                            > The others slowed and watched her intently, while Thistle lifted up her head and focused her ears. There had been a faint noise at the edge of hearing.

                                            "["Drums!]"

                                            > She leaned her head to one side and sought for it again. The beat was definitely coming from the tent.

                                            "[Something is happening. I think I hear drums.]"

                                            > The others stood in silence, staring at the distant tents, then Ainur spoke: "[I think- the fires are brighter. Something is happening!]"

                                            > After a few moments the others agreed, then Nuray added a little doubtfully: "[Maybe it is the traders? I think I heard someone say they might come soon.]"

                                            > That elicited some excited chatter, and even Gol found breath enough to ask: "[Do you think it's the traders?]" she asked, her eyes almost glowing in the faint light. "[I hope it's traders! We'll roast and eat! There will be beer!]"

                                            > Thistle couldn't help wincing. She quietly promised herself she wouldn't drink, but she already knew it for a lie. If she could get her hooves on some, she would drink it, despite the taste.

                                            > She could lie to herself and say it was the calories, and the grain, but the truth was that she would use any escape from this place she could, however momentary.

                                            > There was no forgetting that this wasn't her world, and the camp wasn't really her home, and these weren't really her people. Her eyes strayed to Gol. Even if she liked some of them. She was content, if she squinted, and perhaps she event felt the occasional moment of happiness, but underneath it all was that deep longing to return. She was making the best of a bad situation, and whenever she became conscious of that knowledge it threatened to burst out as weeping.

                                            > She snorted to distract herself and headed off at a quicker pace.

                                            "[I guess we'll find out.]"

                                            > Gol fell in step with her. The other women followed, still talking excitedly about the things they would trade. Salt, and spices, and honey were high on their lists, and beer was a close second. Linen cloth, and silver jewelry, to make their friends and neighbors envious.

                                            > The mare glanced back to try and gauge how long her tail had gotten, and how much she dared chop off before the freezing winter. Maybe Salki would give her some things to trade, especially after her help with the Ruslan threat.

                                            > Unconsciously, her hooves quickened until she was nearly trotting and there was a bit more bounce in her step. Traders always meant good times. If nothing else, they would all eat well this night.

                                            > There was little doubt. As they came closer, she was sure she heard the rhythmic beat of the nomads' drums, and the slap of hands on wood, and their voices raised in song. Little else would bring this kind of celebration.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > There was a small cheer when Thistle and her party walked into the camp. Most of the people were gathered around the central bonfire, and she could hardly see the line of traders through the bustle. It looked like they were doing brisk business.

                                            > She itched to go and examine their wares and, even more importantly, ask after Rainy Day, but she had a couple of leather bags with the meager pickings of the day. She cast a regretful glance at the hubbub and headed toward Salki and Saule's tent.

                                            > Before she got more than a couple of steps, a hand grabbed the hem of her cloak and pulled her back.

                                            > "[Wait! I will put a few yams in the fire for us!]" Gol said.

                                            "[Don't worry, I'll be right back!]"

                                            > She paused for a moment, then jerked her head to one of the bags tied to her side.

                                            "[The left bag. Take a couple of mine, too.]"

                                            > Gol quickly fished them out, then began pushing her way to the bonfire. A few of the camp people were already cooking on the hot coals, and Thistle mentally marked Gol's place so she could find her after. It promised to be quite a feast, and the aroma of fresh bread was already spreading through the crowd.

                                            > A number of the older children were already waiting nearby, all but devouring the scraps of sizzling meat with their eyes.

                                            > They were used to stews and broths this time of the year, since it stretched what little meat they had, but today would be an exception and they would get their share of roast. No wonder they were dancing around and grinning like that.

                                            > Thistle couldn't help but smile herself as she pushed her way through the crowd. Not even the sight of Adilet with some of his cronies could dampen her mood. Surely he wouldn't be weird tonight, not when there was a celebration!

                                            > In moments she'd ducked into Salki's tent and shrugged out of her makeshift harness. She left it lying on her cot, but then noticed that she wasn't alone. The boy was there.

                                            "[You're not out there?]"

                                            > He shrunk away from her gaze and hurriedly shook his head. "[No,]" he squeaked. "[Mistress Saule said it is not for those like me. She told me to stay here and be quiet.]"

                                            > The youth was rocking from side to side, and he kept looking hopefully at the entrance.

                                            "[What's wrong?]"

                                            > He averted his eyes and bit his lip, but eventually answered, if quietly: "[I need to pee, Mistress Thistle.]"

                                            > She couldn't help but blush a little, even as she thought about going to look for Salki or Saule. She hadn't really interacted with their new slave, and didn't know what to do. Was she supposed to put him on a leash or something, so he wouldn't run away?

                                            > No, that was stupid. There wasn't anywhere to go, and it was nearly winter. He wouldn't survive on his own.

                                            "[If I go with you out from the tents, will you try and run away?]"

                                            > His face lit up with sudden hope. "[No, Mistress Thistle! I promise!]"

                                            > It still felt wrong, but she made a decision and beckoned with her hoof.

                                            "[Come then. Let's get you sorted out.]"

                                            > He half-rose, but then plopped back down on his rump. "[B-But Mistress Saule said I wasn't to come out.]"

                                            "[It's fine. I say you can, as long as you stay near me. Understand?]"

                                            > In a flash he was by her side, shuffling restlessly. He really had to go, it looked like. Thistle looked down to where his feet made small slapping sounds on the smooth, compacted mud.

                                            "[You need some shoes, you can't go like that! It's cold outside!]"

                                            > He followed her gaze down, then shrugged. "[It's okay, Mistress Thistle. I don't mind.]"

                                            > She was about to insist, but then thought that it would keep him from making a run. The boy would want to return quickly to the warmth of the tent if he was cold. She closed her mouth, shrugged a little to herself, and nudged him out with her muzzle.

                                            > The young slave kept so closely by her side that her flank bumped him a few times as they made their way past all the partying people.

                                            > He wasn't the only Ruslan out and about, and none of them were having fun. Thistle's people had them running around on errands, fetching food and drink, or cooking. Thistle saw her companion looking mournfully at some of the others, many of whom he likely knew.

                                            > She flattened her ears and hurried to get out of the crowd before any emotions had a chance to boil over. Saule would be very displeased if her actions started a fight or something.

                                            > By the time they reached the edge of the tents, the youth was jogging to keep up, but he still wasn't complaining. She slowed down and walked more carefully on the uneven, rock-filled ground. She didn't want him to stub a toe, or fall in the darkness.

                                            > Soon they were a good distance away from the lights, and she stopped.

                                            "[Okay, go. I'll wait. Hurry.]"

                                            > He glanced around, then turned and walked a few steps away from her. Thistle's heart went into her throat and she tensed up, ready to run after him if he took off.

                                            > She only relaxed when she heard the liquid, splashing sound and smelled the acrid stink of human urine.

                                            > It went on for quite a while, then stopped. A few moments later the boy's footsteps rustled through the dry grass as he returned to her. His face was shadowed, but she thought his eyes glistened as he watched her silently.

                                            "[Okay, let's go back.]"

                                            > He didn't answer, but when she took a step, he followed easily.

                                            "[Look- What's your name?]"

                                            > She heard his breath caught, but then he exhaled and answered: "[Rangi.]"

                                            "[Look. We'll go to the big fire, and you can warm your feet for a bit. I'll get you a little something to eat, and then you're going back in the tent, okay?]"

                                            > "[Really?!]" he gasped, but then nearly fell as he tripped over something in the dark. She slowed until he caught up.

                                            "[You can't see in this. Here, put your hand around my neck. I don't want you to fall and break your leg.]"

                                            > His hand trembled as he twined his fingers into her mane. She managed to hold back a hiss at his icy touch. When she moved, he followed smoothly, careful not to pull. At least she could pick a smooth path for them.

                                            > She worried a little that Saule might be mad she'd countermanded her orders to Rangi, but she would like it even less if he couldn't hold it any had an accident in the tent. She also couldn't begrudge the poor youth a bite to eat, especially if it was Thistle's own yam.

                                            > His life was hard enough, and the mare knew that from first-hoof experience.

                                            > She was very aware of the merriment around them and felt like everyone was watching them, but none of the camp nomads said anything as she led Rangi to the fire.

                                            > They quickly found Gol, watching over the tubers she'd buried in the glowing embers. If the young woman was surprised at her companion, she didn't mention it, despite the fact she kept staring at the boy.

                                            "[Are the yams ready?]"

                                            > Gol poked at the ashes with a stick until she unearthed one of the larger tubers. She prodded at it, then shrugged. "[I think so. Try it,]" she said.

                                            > It was easier for the mare to inspect the vegetable, since she didn't feel the heat as much through her hooves. She pressed it, and found it quite soft. A bit more pressure broke the skin, and she inhaled the steam that burst from it.

                                            > To the best of her ability to tell, it was ready. She deftly broke it in half and offered the larger piece of Rangi, who stared at it with wide, incredulous eyes.

                                            "[Here. You can have this.]"

                                            > She couldn't help noticing how he sat with the soles of his feet to the fire for warmth. Did he have no shoes, or simply didn't want to take the time and put them on when they left? Some nomads, especially younger men, were too full of such pride.

                                            > Rangi juggled the hot tuber from hand to hand, blowing on it and taking a careful nibble every once in a while.

                                            > Thistle watched him for a minute or two, then turned to her other side to look at Gol.

                                            "[What are you going to trade from the traders?]"

                                            > A smile spread across the girl's face and she leaned closer to whisper conspiratorially: "[I asked Willow to bring me Souslik!]"

                                            > Thistle blinked at the unfamiliar word.

                                            "[What is that?]"

                                            > The girl held her hands apart. "[It's an animal, this big. It has a brown coat with white spots.]"

                                            "[Why do you want them?]"

                                            > "[I skinned and dried their coats. Traders always like them! They're very soft, but you need many to make a coat.]"

                                            "[Oh,]" Thistle said flatly, unable to prevent her ears from folding down.

                                            > Luckily, Saule didn't notice and kept staring at the fire as she went on: "[I will trade them for a linen scarf for the winter, and maybe for a bronze bracelet, just like Neha used to have.]"

                                            > The name was familiar, but Thistle was sure it didn't belong to anyone in the camp.

                                            "[Neha? Do I know her?]"

                                            > Gol gave her a somber look and didn't answer at first. Only after several long moments did she say: "[Neha is gone. She was nice.]"

                                            "[Oh. I'm sorry.]"

                                            > They fell silent after that, and Thistle focused on her half of the yam. It was hot, and burned her tongue a little, but she didn't mind. It drove some of the chill from her belly.

                                            > She'd remembered where she'd heard the name. It was the girl who had been taken, like Tashi, except they hadn't rescued her as quickly. She couldn't live with the horror of what had been done to her.

                                            > Thistle's head bowed and she closed her eyes for a minute. She couldn't help but be aware of the boy sitting next to her. He deserved sympathy, and didn't deserve the life that was in store for him. He hadn't deserved to lose everyone he'd loved.

                                            > On the other hoof, those people had done that to Tashi, and to Neha.

                                            > Where did the endless cycle of violence and revenge end?

                                            > She watched Rangi carefully pick apart his yam and stuff the pieces in his mouth, happy for a few moments that he was warm, eating, and not being beaten or worked.

                                            > Maybe that was her purpose in these lands?

                                            > Maybe her, having seen a better way in Equestria, could bring the change they needed?

                                            > First, they would have to deal with Adilet, though.

                                            > Even as she thought that, she became aware of the big man's roaring laughter.


                                            > ~~~~


                                            > The roaring bonfire felt warm on her back as Thistle stared at the cluster of merchants. Most of them had arranged their wares on thick blankets, and only a few had wooden crates they'd turned into makeshift tables. Some only traded from the various bags and sacks they had hanging around their body, or from a pack donkey they'd brought into the camp.

                                            > Those were mostly trinkets, which didn't particularly interest the mare. A couple were selling sacs of stale, smelly beer, but the man Thistle was watching closely had wooden casks. There was a large crowd gathered around him for this novelty, and she nearly hoofed herself in the face.

                                            > It was obvious in hindsight, but a wooden cask shouldn't be too hard to build for some of the tribe's woodworkers, and it would make it a lot easier to carry drinking water around with them. Of course, it was only recently the nomads had enough high quality wood to make it possible, so perhaps she could be forgiven for not having thought of it.

                                            > After the trader was gone, perhaps she, and Janus, and Darkhan between them would be able to replicate the innovation, especially now that they'd both seen what it was supposed to look like.

                                            > More importantly, there was the trader's caravan camped nearby with their animals positively loaded with sacks of grain, and rice, and root vegetables. They would also have salted and smoked meat, and perhaps fish, but those weren't as important to the mare personally.

                                            > She screwed her eyes up to try and see her own mane and gauge how much she could chop off. If nothing else, she should trade for some salt and some grain, to tide her over the winter.

                                            > An elbow jostled her side, and she glanced at the boy, Rangi, who was finishing off the last of the yams she'd found that day.

                                            > Maybe she should have saved some, but there was an atmosphere of celebration, and Thistle had found her pony generosity flowing out of her. All the nomads she considered friends had gotten at least a quick bite, and Rangi had eaten better than any night since he'd been captured.

                                            > It hadn't been a one way street either. Both Xuan, and Bulat had freely shared small bags of salt they'd purchased, and the roasted yams had positively melted on her tongue. Just the memory was enough for Thistle to lick her lips again.

                                            > If only someone would bring some beer, though.

                                            > Maybe she could stand to cut her mane a little shorter. The people in the camp, as well as the Ulan-Zuk, had become used to the color, and many of the younger ones wore simple bracelets woven with a few pink strands, but for the traders it was something new and exotic.

                                            > She got to her hooves and turned to check on Rangi. He'd finally stuffed the last of that yam into his mouth and was busy chewing, so she nudged him with her head.

                                            "[Come on. You need to be back to the tent, or Saule will get mad.]"

                                            > The use of the name made him flinch, and he gave her a nod, albeit a sad one. He looked around at all the celebration with a hint of a smile, until his eyes swept past a few of his old clan. His grin faded and he returned his gaze to his feet. The important thing was that he got up when she poked him again, and didn't resist when she prodded him into movement.

                                            > Their tent wasn't far, and soon the two were in the dark interior. It was a little warmer than the outside, although not by much, since the central fire had gone out and the chill was taking hold.

                                            "[Wait here, I will get some coals.]"

                                            > She didn't wait for Rangi's reply, and simply backed out of the tent. She turned around and let the flap fall back into place and nearly ran into someone. Her blood ran cold when she saw Saule, standing in front of her.

                                            > "[Did you take him?!]" the woman demanded, her eyes flashing with cold fury.

                                            > Thistle would have taken a step back were her rear not already pressed against the tent. Her ears folded down, but she held Saule's gaze and stood her ground.

                                            "[Yes. He had to piss. You wouldn't want him to mess up inside, would you?]"

                                            > Saule didn't argue the point, but she pointed a finger at the mare. "[How long did that take? I was here a long time ago, and the tent was empty! I thought he escaped! I was getting Salki and some men together to go hunt him down when I saw you putting him back inside!]"

                                            > She might be able to lie, but as soon as Saule asked around, she would hear the truth. Thistle just sighed and scraped at the hard ground with a hoof.

                                            "[Fine, I took him to piss, and then we sat around the fire for a little bit. I never let him out of my sight. He didn't try to run away.]"

                                            > Saule seemed to loom over her as she put her fists on her hips and glared down at the mare. "[Yeah, that's very nice! Treat him like family! He'll forget his place and I'll have to train him to obey all over! Did you ever think?!]"

                                            "[I-]"

                                            > "[You said you wanted nothing to do with him,]" the tirade went on, right over what Thistle was trying to say. "[Fine, Salki says you don't have to, but then you don't stick your big nose in where it doesn't belong! Why are you always meddling with me and Salki? Is that all you ponies do?]"

                                            > When the woman finally paused to take a breath, Thistle almost growled:

                                            "[I just took him to take a piss so he wouldn't do it in the tent, and then we ate a few yams at the fire! Why are you so angry? This isn't about Rangi, is it?]"

                                            > Rather than answering, Saule simply stalked past the mare and pushed her head into the tent. After a moment's observation, she barked at the boy: "[You! Get the fire going again! I expect my tent to be warm when I come back!]"

                                            > There was a squeak from inside which might have been affirmative or not, but Saule took it as such and pulled back. She jerked her head at Thistle, and said: "[Come with me.]"

                                            > There wasn't much else to do, so she hurried after, trying to catch up to the angry woman. They went a short distance away from the party, through an increasingly eerie quiet and empty camp. Thistle wanted to ask where they were going, and why, but held her tongue and followed Saule between cold and dying cook fires, and around clusters of tents.

                                            > At long last, she paused to lift a seemingly random flap, and motioned Thistle inside.

                                            > In moments they were both in the warm interior, where a crackling fire provided both heat and light. Thistle stared around her, a strange, tight feeling spreading through her belly.

                                            > There was Hisein, but his face looked even more grim than usual. Salki and Buygra sat on his either side, and Zaur opposite. Saule took her place and patted the fur-covered ground for Thistle.

                                            > She sat, but kept staring at the circle uneasily.

                                            "[What's going on here?]" she asked carefully.

                                            > "[Shush,]" Saule hushed her, but Hisein held up his hand to forestall whatever the woman was about to say.

                                            > Thistle ignored her angry look, and fixed her gaze firmly on the older nomad's face. He spoke quietly, as if worried someone might overhear even outside the tent.

                                            > "[We're going to do it. Tomorrow, everyone will be sick from the drinking, and slow on their feet.]"

                                            "[D-Do what?]"

                                            > Her throat suddenly felt dry, and Thistle couldn't keep her ears upright as she stamped down on the only possibility that popped into her mind.

                                            > "[We'll have Adilet killed.]" Salki said, somberly.

                                            "[No! No, that's a bad idea!]"

                                            > She didn't quite know why she said it, not after she'd been thinking about it for so long. Maybe the method Hisein had described, of sacrificing one of the Ruslan men, was what really bothered her, or maybe her cutie mark had given her some new insight she hadn't yet had time to consciously grasp.

                                            > "[It's decided,]" Hisein said. "[I've been making the man ready for some time. He foams at the mouth when he sees any Ulan-Zuk, and most of all Adilet. Tomorrow morning, he will be cleaning my firepit outside of a tent right in the way where Adilet will be leaving.]"

                                            > Thistle shrank back, and her head shook even without a conscious decision, but she couldn't say anything.

                                            > Salki continued with the plan, and pointed at the youngest member of their little conspiracy. "[Zaur will have his bow out. He'll be cleaning it nearby. The Ruslan will punch him in the face, and take the bow and an arrow. He will kill Adilet, and then-]"

                                            > He looked ill for a moment, and had to swallow. "[We'll kill him. No one suffers.]"

                                            "[It's wrong,]" she managed.

                                            > Hisein watched her closely, then asked: "[Would you prefer Adilet? I think he knows you've been helping Salki in the talks. Or maybe he suspects it. He is telling Darga that you are useless. You promised him weapons, and haven't delivered. He's saying we should sell you to the traders, as a novelty. We'll get a good price.]"

                                            > It would have been a scary threat some months ago, but now she knew how indispensable she was to Salki and, after a fashion, his mother. She simply shrugged at the suggestion.

                                            > "[If we don't do it, I think he will have you killed. He doesn't want anyone to prevent his plans for the Borchi-Quin.]" Hisein added.

                                            > This was far more serious, and for a moment Thistle's breath caught and her forelegs wrapped around herself.

                                            > Salki sighed and smacked a fist into his other palm. "[It's decided anyway. It's happening tomorrow.]"

                                            "[Why are you telling me then?]"

                                            > "[Because we will need you to talk with the other Ulan-Zuk people. They will be angry, and we have to keep them from starting a war right there and then,]" Hisein said. Before she could repeat that the plan was a bad idea, he held up his hand and continued: "[In time, they will understand it was the Ruslan. They'll think he was acting alone, just for revenge. We only need to keep them from doing something stupid right away.]"

                                            > Saule jumped in right as the man fell silent: "[We may need to kill his guards, if they go into a rage. I'll be near with a bow, and so will Salki. If they have to die, you'll have to go with us to the Ulan-Zuk camp to tell them what happened.]"

                                            > A small whimper escaped from Thistle's throat, and her bladder nearly released at the thought. Walk right into the middle of Ulan-Zuk, many of whom revered their glorious chieftain, and tell them he was dead, along with everyone else in his entourage?

                                            > Hisein caught her stare and shrugged. "[Let's hope it doesn't come to that. Maybe his guards will control their rage.]"

                                            > "[There's one other thing,]" Saule said. "[They will be angry with the Ruslans. They'll want revenge. We may have to give them all the Ruslan slaves to placate them.]"

                                            > That made Thistle start shaking her head again, but she couldn't get a word in, as Hisein said: "[That's right. The people will complain, but it may have to be done. Salki, you'll make sure your mother doesn't cause trouble?]"

                                            > He nodded, and Saule put a hand on Thistle's back. Her grin wasn't entirely nice. "[Me and Thistle here will go and sell Rangi tonight. We need to get grain for you, and maybe some salted meat, and some honey.]"

                                            > She'd thought herself numb after all these horrible revelations, but now there were fresh, hot tears flowing freely down Thistle's cheeks.

                                            > "[Think of it this way,]" Hisein added, with more warmth in his voice than Saule had shown. "[If you sell him today, he'll be safe. However angry the Ulan-Zuk get, they won't attack the trading caravan. If they do, no trader will deal with them ever again.]"

                                            "[W-What about the other children?]" Thistle managed to get out. "[The Ruslan children?]"

                                            > No one answered, and the nomads stared quietly at the fire.

                                            "[Please, we can't let them do this!]"

                                            > "[There won't be an opportunity like this soon. Adilet is drinking heavily, and so are his men. He will be in the camp until morning, and everyone will be tired and sick from tonight. We have to do it while the Ruslans' wounds are still fresh enough that they want revenge.]"

                                            > Salki reached over the fire to put his hand on Thistle's withers. "[We have to, or he might go through with his threat to kill you, Thistle. Or maybe he'll simply decide to take us with force, now that he knows exactly how many fighting men we have.]"

                                            > For some reason, they were all watching her, waiting to see what she would do.

                                            > She couldn't condone it, even if her life really was on the line. Her heart felt like it would hammer through her ribcage, and she felt it pounding in her ears.

                                            > Several times she opened her mouth to say something, but each time she closed it with a quiet click. Her ears were as flat as they would go, and in the end she hung her head to look at where her forehooves were gripping her her belly.

                                            > "[It's going to be fine. Saule, you go and sell Rangi. Get some beer for Thistle. She's going to need it tonight.]"

                                            > The air moved, and there was a cold draught as the woman got up and left without saying a word. Salki and Zaur leaned closer and began murmuring about the plan.

                                            > Hisein stared at her for a while longer, then he reached behind him and tossed a half empty water skin into her lap. "[Take it. You look like you need it,]" he said.

                                            > She nearly asked what he was talking about, but the smell of that crude, nomad beer hit her nostrils.

                                            > If she ever needed it, it was now. Almost without her conscious control, her hooves scrambled at the knot. She had it undone in moments, and barely spilled two drops as she lifted the spout to her mouth.

                                            > The beer tasted just as bad as always, but she concentrated on the taste of the grain as she swallowed convulsively.

                                            > Maybe if she didn't have to think, it would be easier to get through the night.

                                            > Part of her knew that Hisein and Salki were right. They had to get rid of Adilet, and this really was a good opportunity.

                                            > If only innocents didn't have to die for it. However much she tried to tell herself it was the Ruslans, and they'd hounded and killed her people relentlessly all summer, she couldn't quite make herself believe it.

                                            > A new thought popped up and she nearly choked as she tried to stop swallowing.

                                            > The man who would kill Adilet, he was one of the fighters who had gone and attacked them. Maybe even one of the ones who'd taken Tashi and- done things to her. Maybe his death was just.

                                            > The others - women and children mostly - they didn't deserve to suffer for it.

                                            > Maybe with her cutie mark she could at least prevent that. She'd need her wits about her.

                                            > She carefully pulled the skin of beer from her mouth, turning it up to keep from spilling, and held it out to Salki.

                                            "[Take it.]"

                                            > He waved it away with a hand. "[Go ahead, you can have it all.]"

                                            > She shook her head. The amount she'd drunk would make her tipsy, and perhaps take some of pain away, but she didn't want any more. She pushed it closer to him.

                                            "[Take it! I don't want it!]"

                                            > "[Are you sure?]"

                                            > At her insistent nod he finally grabbed the skin and took a long swig himself. When he was done, he passed it on to Zaur.

                                            > Thistle focused her gaze on her forehooves, tried to clear her mind, and began thinking about what she would say. She would have to be persuasive and forceful. She'd have to be quick on her hooves. She looked at Hisein.

                                            "[When- when it happens, if his guards get enraged, do not kill them. We have to grab them and hold them, even if they are dangerous. We must not kill them.]"

                                            > "[Why not?]"

                                            "[We have to maintain the lie that we're friends with Ulan-Zuk. Friends would not kill more of their people, even if their people began attacking us. We would understand the guards were shocked and upset when their leader was killed. We will need to bring them back to their people, safely, as a sign of trust.]"

                                            > Hisein gave her a smile and a nod. "[Good thinking. See? This is why we need you involved in this.]"

                                            > She closed her eyes until the flash of disgust passed, then she gave a small nod.

                                            > The murder was being planned by Hisein and the others. All she was doing was trying to minimize the fallout. The rest of the people shouldn't have to suffer for it, and neither should the Ruslan slaves.

                                            > It was time to steer true to her cutie mark.