Howard was continually surprised by the endurance and fortitude of the farspeakers. They traveled almost constantly. Setting up and taking down their tents in a matter of less than an hour. Even heavily burdened, Amien moved along at a steady, groundeating pace. The Franklins could keep up, but just barely. By the time they reached the current camp, they were both exhausted and drenched in sweat. Someone had set up Amien’s tent for her, likely expecting her return, the layout of the camp was almost exactly the same every time, only changing when the location of the camp provided an obstacle for them to shift around.

Clark and Howard dropped their packs unceremoniously on the ground and turned to tend to their horses. The animals took priority their needs were seen to before anything else. Howard hummed a soft tune to the animal as he worked, rubbing him down with handfuls of the tall grasses and gently currying the dark bay colored coat. The gelding finally seemed to relax and Howard turned him loose before settling down next to the growing fire.

“Long run.” He observed, watching Amien as the tall woman crouched next to the fire. Her tanned skin was mostly bare still, but the Franklins had grown somewhat used to the casual nudity of the farspeakers in the past several days. Enough that they carefully kept their eyes on peoples’ faces. Amien’s fierce blue eyes flicked up to meet his with a slight smile playing around her full lips. Her face was sharp featured, with a pointed chin and high, proud cheekbones, her nose like a blade and straight as an arrow. Her deeply tanned skin was criss crossed by layers of scars, a few new ones from the earlier battle barely crusted over with dark scabs. For a moment, Howard wondered what she thought of him.

He pushed the thought aside, reaching into his pocket for his brass plated harmonica. He brought the instrument to his lips and played softly while Amien made dinner. Clark finished with his horse and took both toward the herd of rashtow before letting them go. They had learned, in their short time with the farspeakers, that the rashtow were quite capable of protecting themselves as well as the horses. In fact, part of the reason that the farspeakers even kept them was for security.

Amien cooked small seasoned chunks of meat and vegetables on skewers over the fire she had stoked. Passing them to the Franklins as they finished cooking. “Eat. No complain.”

Howard smile was hardly visible behind the harmonica and gone before he tucked it away. “Yep.” He said as he took the skewer.

“We fixin’ to tell the others ‘bout the narra?” Clark asked before digging into his own skewer.

“We tell. Council meet.” Amien answered before lifting her skewer and saying. “Eat.”

They had almost finished with the skewers, passing a skin filled with a weak ale around their fire as they ate, when a horn sounded, low pitched and long. Three short, higher pitched bleats of the horn followed. Amien leapt to her feet, discarding the skewer and nodding to the others. “Follow.” She ordered as she took off at a run.

The twins were quick to follow, though it was clear that whatever the horn call meant it was only meant for certain people. Many of the farspeakers remained at their fires, eating and working on various crafts while they talked softly to one another. A handful of others ran through the camp, all clutching spears. They quickly reached the southern edge of the camp and the nearby peace tent. The shaman was there, his tall, slender body painted with brilliant green stripes the same color as his hawk-like eyes. His entire face was somewhat raptor-like with a long hooked nose that gave the same outline as a beak. His long steel grey hair was caught in dozens of braids that each ended in some sort of trinket. Pretty bits of rocks clasped in metal, carved stone totems, feathers, claws, teeth, and even a small rodent’s skull. His tall staff was adorned with a similar plethora of decorations and he stood tall and proud with it. Behind him, the warriors had gathered, barely a dozen of the hundreds that Howard knew protected the camp. Behind the warriors, the Franklins stood, feeling more than a little awkward and out of place.

Amien stood near the center of the group of warriors, but neither in the exact center nor the first row. Perhaps their order had something to do with status within the camp. Howard made a note of each warrior’s position, trying to find some unique feature to label them as, though it was difficult. Many of the farspeakers were tall, brown haired, and well muscled. Most had brown or green eyes, Amien’s blue ones were almost unique. It seemed the spears were the most different thing about the warriors, each had some trinkets on it. Amien’s had a large fang tied to it, as broad as a fist at the base and easily six inches long if not closer to eight. A piece of antler carved to resemble some sort of deer, hung from the warrior in the center’s spear, along with two feathers the color of blood.

A trio of riders eventually appeared out of the darkness and tall grasses. Mounted on sturdy horses in varying shades of brown, they approached slowly with the reins held in one hand and the other hand empty and lifted up.

“We come in peace!” The central figure called, his deep voice rumbling out over the silent grasslands.

Howard couldn’t yet make out many details of the riders but the Shaman and the warriors seemed to relax. “Blackfist.” The Shaman yelled back. It sounded almost like a challenge.

“Garthu! You old bastard, you’re still alive?” The voice called back.

The shaman laughed.

Howard was finally able to make out some details as those on horseback continued toward the Shaman and his warriors. The center figure wore polished scale armor that caught the brilliant light of the moon. He didn’t wear a helmet, exposing neatly kept gray hair and a well trimmed grey beard. Large, pointed ears flared back away from his face and beneath his somewhat broad nose was a prominent chin with a fairly wide underbite. A pair of fangs, fat and short, speared up over his narrow top lip. The fanged mouth was spread in a wide grin.

“Come, we go to peace tent together.” The Shaman started walking in that direction and Blackfist, the central horseman, turned his mount in that direction. The other two approached much more warily. On the left was a tall, broad man with olive brown skin. His hair was a ruddy brown, eyes shining yellow-red in the darkness. His overall appearance was similar to Blackfist in feature, with pointed ears sweeping back from his face and a broad nose. Instead of the stout fangs that Blackfist had, this one had a pair of tusks similar to those of a boar or an elephant. The one on the right was much smaller than the other two, only about four feet tall from ears to toes. Its eyes glowed yellow and green in the darkness, their focus almost constantly moving and it took stock of the gathered warriors. It was mostly red and almost entirely covered in short red-brown fur. Longer hair the same color was tied back in a stubby braid. Short, black ears pricked through the hair at the top of her head, flicking here and there in response to sounds in the darkness. A long, fluffy tail swept over the horse’s back and twitched gently just at the end.

Clark emitted a very quiet whistle as he took in the last of the three horsemen and Howard couldn’t help but agree. Amien glanced back at them, a curious expression on her face.

“Warriors of the Farspeakers.” The massive, tusked, horsman said, his voice a little slurred around his fangs. “I am Tamesh Latuil. I greet you.” He bowed toward them, hands still empty and very far away from the sword strapped to his belt.

The central warrior stepped forward, the feathers on his spear chiming together with a sound much like tapping glasses. He inclined his head only slightly to the massive warrior. “I am Maikun, War Leader of the Farspeakers. What news do you bring?”

His english, or standard, or common, or whatever they call it is very good. Howard mused. I wonder why no one else’s seems to be.

The other horseman remained silent and almost perfectly still once it brought its horse to a stop next to Tamesh’s. “I believe High Commander Blackfist will share the news with the Shaman.”

Maikun snorted. “You will wait then, to enter.” The War Leader stepped back and made a couple of subtle hand gestures. Half of the warriors scattered into the tall grasses on the outskirts of the encampment.

“I will wait.” The big one agreed, dismounting and reaching for a waterskin. He drank deeply and seemed to relax, leaned against the shoulder of his brown horse.

Amien had vanished into the grasses with some of the warriors, probably setting up a perimeter so that these two couldn’t cause too much trouble. Unfortunately that left the Franklins at a loss, what could they do but wait.