The journey had been a relatively pleasant one, compared to others that Mazyar had been on. The terrain had been mountainous, true, and perhaps difficult for some of their party who were not used to such hardship. But, as Mazyar noted to himself wryly, it was no Screaming Sands, and the most difficult part of this trip for him was dealing with the constant questioning of his [i]sparabara[/i], a young boy of thirteen named Mazis with an intensely inquisitive nature. That, and doing his best to deal with his Lord's brooding.

Mazyar sighed. He was, in truth, conflicted about his lord. Siddayumi Anabinpāl was not a poor master as far as they went—he tried hard to win the love and loyalty of his subjects—but Mazyar could not shake the discomfort he felt from Anabinpāl's bestial appearance and mannerisms. He felt more like he was serving an ape dressed in fine clothes than a great Lord and head of the vaunted Sidda family. But this was an unworthy thought, especially for one of Mazyar's reputation.

His reputation. 

Mazyar had garnered many titles over the years: Windchaser, Magebane, Swiftspear. Once they had filled him with pride; now they simply brought him an empty weariness. They were accolades he had once earned but perhaps no longer deserved, and their upkeep required him to pretend he was still the spry young man he had been when they were given. A man whose joints did not ache, whose breath did not desert him from rudimentary excercise, a man who did not have grey in his beard and wrinkles across his face. 

His time amongst the Jalwarudi had robbed him of his lust for glory and fame. For a precious few years, they had shown him what a peaceful life unmarred by constant adventuring and fighting may have been like. He had once disdained such a lifestyle; now he craved it. But Mazyar knew he would never be able to return to those days, not after she had died, and that—

A commotion at the front of their party interrupted his ruminations.

Mazyar peered ahead and saw the Carogacts brazenly snatching a goat in their train. He heard the angry words exchanged, but his first instinct was not to ride forth as it once may have been but instead was to grab his [i]sparabara's[/i] wrist.

"You must be cautious." Mazyar chastised.

"But they attac-" The boy began heatedly.

"Mazis." Mazyar's voice was stern, brooking no argument. "It is already well in-hand. And they are men grown, and you merely a boy."

Mazis flushed an angry red but said nothing, and settled into a sullen silence. But there was truth to Mazyar's words, as even as they watched Lord Anabinpāl laid out a pair of Carogacts unfortunate enough to be close to him. Mazyar had to admit that Anabinpāl's strength was simply monstrous, and unlike most he knew how to use it properly. Nantunipāl had clearly not skimped on his training.

Mazyar spotted the Carogact Chieftain's approach, and glanced at Mazis. He considered for a moment, before reaching out and ruffling the boy's hair—dark brown and curled, like his own—and whispered to him. "Patience, Mazis. Now watch carefully."

"Is this how you Carogacts hail a fellow tribe?” Anabinpāl asked. “Unsheathing your swords and ganging up at every sign of commotion? Your chief must be proud of you.”

Mazyar frowned. Did his lord not realize he was already speaking to the Chieftain?

“You are right; I am not proud of the spoiled apples in my bunch.” The Carogact Chieftain spoke softly. “The few.” And then with great dignity, Chieftain Lubbo reined in front of his men so that they were squarely behind him. “Who spoke the first insult, and who drew their weapon first?” Lubbo dismounted slowly, and spoke to Anabinpāl in a cool tone. “Our men almost died because of one goat.”

“Happens more often than one’d admit. Cattle are scheming beasts. They confuse us on which of us get to butcher them, and make us butcher each other instead,” Anabinpāl replied, and Mazyar made an almost silent noise at his sarcasm. His lord was badly angered, it seemed.

Lubbo gave a sardonic smile. “You and your tribesmen are welcome in our long hall tonight. We’ll have wine and mutton.”

Anabinpāl seemed to pause, before replying. “Do not let it be thought that we Mikanna are ungrateful for the Carogacts’ hospitality, Chief Lubbo,” he said, before another pause. “But we know that the other tribes have made… assumptions about us. I would like it if we did not feed these assumptions further, so… It’s my opinion that it’s best if we honor your offer, perhaps after the conferring.”

Mazyar's lord glanced at the wounded man before continuing. “It would have been better if we hadn’t met over such an incident, but… such is fate. We did not come with a baggage train; the goat must have been yours. But one bad turn only leads to another. I had to stop these fools before their cockiness caused further incident. Still, we have the culprit; best make an example of that goat before others can follow in its wake.”

Mazyar raised an eyebrow, pleasantly surprised at the shrewd suggestion.

Lubbo clasped his hands together with a thoughtful noise. “Aye, it would be a bad omen unless we give this creature up to the gods. Only they can have it." The Chieftain said, before collecting his people and speaking his goodbyes. As the Carogacts returned to their camp, Mazyar motioned for Mazis to accompany him as he approached Anabinpāl.

"My Lord, are you well? I am at your service."