Kanu had never been beyond his village; he knew other people existed. Many people had come to the village to trade, others had left the village for the same person. Part of the harvest each year would be sold to others. Despite never meeting others, he assumed that they were all like his own people. It was a reasonable assumption for a man who had never been so far from home. Imagine his surprise when he met Hassian’s people. It was not a village like his own, or any he could imagine. There was nothing he could recognize as a home. Instead he saw massive carts with walls that stretched upward and over, large furry creatures with humps across their back. He was astounded.

The Grand Cafila, that is what Hassian called it when he noticed the surprise and wonder in Kanu’s eyes. Hassian couldn’t help but laugh at how amazing a camel seemed to Kanu when he had considered them so typical. The Grand Cafila traveled across the continent, never staying in one spot long. Over four-hundred merchants, many with their families traveled together. The young or poor rode camels and slept in tents. The wealthy and experienced had carts that doubled as homes and shops. With so many people it was not strange to see the arrival and departure of the lead cafila merchants weeks before the end. In reality it was not one cafila, but many small cafila and independent merchants working together to manipulate local economies for their own benefit.

“It’s a tiger cub,” Hassian explained as Kanu looked into a cage at the furry orange and black creature.

“I was hunting one. I wanted it to be my spirit animal,” Kanu explained, confusing Hassian.

A young woman beneath a hooded garment spoke and joked with Hassian in the language Kanu didn’t understand. If Kanu had know she was offering to sell him the tiger cub as a pet he would have offered her his spear and sword, the only things he had to barter. He followed Hassian through the tents and carts, amazed as things were explained to him.

The two finally stopped at a cart that had several cushions seated in front of it. Hassian pointed to a seat for Kanu as he went to talk to the cart owner. After exchanging some small coins he returned and waited with Kanu, answering questions about his people. There was no name for Hassian’s people as they come from different places, joining and leaving on a whim. They had developed a unique culture of their own and it did not take long for outsiders to adapt, Kanu would be no different if he were to stay. For now he stood out, and earned many stares from onlookers. Food arrived, food that Kanu was unfamiliar with. Hassian needed to explain the utensils but once he knew how to eat Kanu had no issue devouring the food as well as a second serving. He hadn’t eaten in days and had no intention of pacing himself.

“Do you know what honor means,” Hassian asked as they walked.

“Fulfil your promises.”

“Yes, but it can also mean trustworthy. Do you know what that means?”

“I do not speak your language, but I am not an idiot.”

“I do not think you are one. I ask because I will need to risk my honor to tell your story in the morning.”

“Did you not wish to die? Now you care about honor?”

“I’ve found reason to live,” Hassian responded as the two entered a large tent. “Welcome to my home.”

The tent had two dedicated sleeping spots, things that were obviously weapons but unrecognizable to Kanu and boxes of what was likely merchandise. But that wasn’t what drew Kanu’s attention. As far as Kanu had known people lived with their families. A husband, a wife, maybe children and a grandparent. Most of the elders lived in a large clay hut. For Kanu, his straw hut had been his and his alone. Now he was seeing someone else who’s home lacked the sounds of family.

“You have no family either,” Kanu asked.

“My father is one of the cafila leaders. He and my mother have their own housing. I set out with my friend Zakia to become independent merchants. We earned enough to purchase a large tent for ourselves,” Hassian pauses, to wipe tears from his face. “We had a future planned together, but life had other plans for us. Do not think me weak for crying,” Hassian turned away. “That bed roll was Zakia’s, use it.”

Kanu settled in on the bedroll, looking away from Hassian, “In my village, we are taught hat tears are a sign of weakness. No man should ever cry, especially not in front of others. I have only seen men cry when facing death. Sometimes when I am alone in my hut, I cry. I cry for the mother I never knew, the father that never wanted to know me and for the way others had treated me. I am told to feel ashamed of it, but it releases the pain from my body. You seem to care about your friend very much. I hope that one day your tears will bring you peace.”

“I have been told to be ashamed of many things in my life. Thank you for not shaming me. I am glad to call you my friend.”

Kanu burst into laughter much to Hassian’s confusion, “I have never been called a friend before,” Kanu spoke after regaining his composure.

“You are a true outsider,” Hassian laughed.

That night, neither man slept well. Hassian was troubled with how he would speak to his father about the white eyed children. He was going to request a group of fighters, for a mission to fight what amounted to a myth. All based on the words of an outsider. When he did sleep he was haunted by dreams of Zakia as usual; dreams about avenging him. For Kanu he was filled with joy to have his first friend, but terrified at the idea of facing off with a necromancer. Questioning where the voice in his head had gone and if Hassian would still consider him a friend if he knew he was chasing it. Despite the lack of sleep, when the sun rose they were ready to tackle the issue at hand.