Page 7 of Blood Fist
For Corric, it was that. Eyes closed, face tipped to the sky as he rested against a wall that had been standing for so long, that it had been forgotten. Even time hadn’t bothered to strip its integrity. Kaledonea was impassive faces dressing him in clothes he hated. Kaledonea was monotonous, with the occasional spike of fear when he was forced to stand in front of his father. Kaledonea was confining.
“It’s dead,” he said, more to himself than the vivacious omega.
Ridan shared a look with Jonen, his brows pinched. Jonen cleared his throat, his smile shattering the tension like a weak branch.
“You know, I heard Mama has onions in her garden this year.”
That caught Ridan’s attention. “Think she’ll make them like last festival?”
The alpha nodded. “Yeah! You should have seen it—Ridan ate so many he couldn’t even stand!”
“What?!” Ridan spluttered, shoving Jonen so hard he nearly toppled off Brownie, taking Corric with him.
The alpha only laughed; his eyes scrunched up so tight his face wrinkled like an old man. He looked over his shoulder at Corric. “Mama gets the good butter, the kind Anja’s family makes, and she slathers the onions init. Then she fries ‘em in the fire. They fall apart in your mouth.”
Ridan sighed dreamily, slumping over on his pony’s neck.
Corric’s eyebrows rose. “Onions?”
That launched the boys into a long conversation on food—the best way to eat vegetables, which cow had the best milk, onto who made the best dishes. Corric didn’t know any of the people mentioned—and hadn’t heard of half of the foods—but he was engrossed. His mouth watered as they finally cleared the trees.
His expectations of the clan were non-existent, but he was still surprised when he saw it. Just past the trees, the land opened up into a massive plain as far as the eye could see. Flat, occasionally broken up by a landmark or the village proper. The sky seemed bigger here; the sun dipping below the horizon in a swirling splash of colors Corric didn’t know existed. He couldn’t see the sun rise or set behind Kaledonea’s enormous walls.
But here he could see everything. The clan sprawled out under the painted sky. Structures of all shapes and sizes—predominantly tents made of a thick hide he didn’t recognize, scattered around in what must be some kind of organized plan he couldn’t comprehend. The few more permanent structures were on the outside, but they were too far to see what they were used for.
As they rode closer, there were a few people outside tending to crops or coming back from wherever the day had taken them. They smiled warmly; hands raised in greeting to the boys. One or two looked at Corric quizzically, but none seemed to question his presence too heavily.
Once they got into the clan, the smell of cooking hit him. Spices he couldn’t identify snapped along his lips,coating the back of his tongue in a way that made his stomach clench. Jonen and Ridan rode confidently, guiding their ponies through the tents and around fire pits. One boy stopped to talk to Ridan. He looked to be about their age, with a shaved head. They chatted for a moment before riding off.
Their destination became clear before they stopped. The tent was larger than the others around it, made of the same thick hide in a round shape. Unlike some of the other tents, this one was decorated. Someone had meticulously painted sigils and swirls. Patterns Corric was sure meant something, but he couldn’t possibly recognize. What he did recognize was the image of Artrax.
The great golden dragon was unmistakable. His maw lifted in victory; teeth sharp as he roared to the skies. Beside him, dozens of humans lifted their hands to the sky, rejoicing with him. It was beautiful.
Before the ponies halted, the tent flap flipped open. A woman strode out into the fading light, her eyes widening when she caught sight of them. Hand flying to her chest, her face dropped in relief.
“You two,” her voice was soft, a smile curving against her round cheeks. “Are you hurt?”
“No, mama,” Jonen answered shyly, ducking his head. “We just lost track of time.”
Jonen’s mother looked a lot like him. Her hair was slightly darker, not nearly as curly. She was wearing a simple dress that looked to be made of deerskin, but she seemed pleasant. Warm.
“Lost track of time?!”a screech emerged from the tent, a second woman striding out. “You two want to tell me why Gustall came to tell me you ran off and he hasn’t seen you for half a day?”
The second woman differed greatly from the first. Statuesque,she carried herself regally. Shoulders broad, her tanned skin was carved with sharp muscles. She wore her hair short. Wearing thick leather pants and a hardened leather shirt, her exposed skin was littered with scars. The bracers around her arms were scuffed, teeth embedded in the leather for decoration.
But the most prominent part of her appearance was the heavy earrings hanging down to her shoulders. As red as the setting sun, they were nearly iridescent when they fluttered in the light.
Ridan scowled when he saw her. “Ma, we were?—”
“Do you have any idea what I’m going to?—”
“We were so worried!” The first woman cut them both off, the skin around her eyes strained. “I know classes can be tedious, but you two can’t just go running off like that.”
The blonde woman wore a similar scowl to Ridan’s and it was clear he was his mother’s reflection—from their blonde hair to their critical eyes. The alpha clearly passed on her strength and temper to her son. And if she was Ridan’s mother, she was chief of this clan.
“What could possibly be so important you had to run off?” the chief asked, arms crossed over her chest.
“We found a horse,” Ridan answered, lifting the reins of the cart horse he had ponied.