The smoke arising from the herbs tickled his nostrils and he did not think for fear that he would distract himself from his current activity. It wouldn't do now to have his thoughts stray from what he was supposed to be doing and to do otherwise was to go back on his training. Any setback, no matter how miniscule would surely drive his father into a despondent rage. He was always more fearful as to what his father didn't say as opposed to the words that were uttered by others. But he was used to verbal abuse and, therefore, he focused more on what was performed symbolically as opposed to direct verbal communication.
The smoke clouded the alcove he occupied and though he was so far away from home, he was accustomed to his standard solitude. Before he could surround himself with the company of others and return to the village, he had to learn to endure the psychological hardships of loneliness. But, actually, he rather liked it. There was a lot less noise out here other than the chirping of birds and rustle of trees and the occasional growl from one animal hunting another. It was so different than back home, others of his clan striding back and forth, making so much noise and racket that it was hard to concentrate.
But he was concentrating now and was doing a damn good job of it. He'd made a small camp, one that was easily concealable near another camp that was at the bottom of hill near the rise of the mountains. Hysaeda hadn't been this far north before in the longest time. He was used to the southlands, the mountains that bordered the country humans called Adela. That was where his home was and in that land, he was home wherever he went. As he meditated now, his mind drifted back there, to the life and the fire that spewed from the mountain tops intermittently. But as he wandered, he did not focus on the sudden racket that exploded from the camp below, a thunderous shouting that made him jump from his cross-legged position. "What the," he breathed to himself and wiping the sweat form his brow. Stamping out the burning herbs, he crawled out of his alcove soon enough and looked out down the hill, the incline steep and deadly with one false move.
Down below he saw lots of people shouting, several robed figures with makeshift daggers and blades running back and forth as several more armored figures came in. Many were cut down and many more were dragged along the ground. The uproarious outburst tinged at his curiosity and he slide a little ways down the hill, his sandals doing well to grip on the loose dirt. Stopping at a jutting boulder and gripping a tree beside him, he looked down and continued to watch the burning fray. Ragged men and women were driven out of what looked like huts and many appeared chained. Some of them were dragged off with the rogues that seemed to try to make their escape, but were immediately cut off by more armored fighters that blocked their way. Maybe some successfully disappeared into the forest, this Hysaeda did not see. Yet a sudden wave of arrows blackened what view he had and a few hitting the rockface in which he occupied sent him jumping back. But just when he thought his footing was firm, his foot slipped in the loose dirt and sent him tumbling down the jagged path of the hill. His body struck several pointed rocks on his way down and as he tried to stop himself, his flesh skidded against the stone, scraping it in many places. He grimaced at the pain, but was quick to curl his head into his chest and rolled to a very uncomfortable landing at the bottom of the hill.
He was hidden in a cloud of dust momentarily, dizzy from the fall and feeling his head and body throb where they were pierced with rocks and even feeling a bit of blood trickle along his temple. Thankfully, his bone-and-leather armor, fashioned from the hide of savage beast, protected his most vital organs from receiving the brunt of the fall. Hysaeda got up dizzily, holding his head carefully even as the fury around him swallowed him whole. It only took a second to realize he was in immense danger. He stared wide-eyed as one of the armored riders rode at him with his sword drawn. He screamed and was intent on driving the blade at his head, but Hysaeda ducked just in time to dodge the blow. He scrambled away now, running headlong and looking back at the rider that doubled back. The skirmish was dying down now and the battle was coming to a close as the riders rounded up the last of the rogues, killing some and dragging some of them back to camp. Hysaeda was caught between two of them, who both charged ahead with their weapons drawn. "Wait!" he had tried to call out in Common, but his words were lost on deaf ears and their weapons were intent on coming down on his head. Only his arm was cut as he moved out of the way, then successfully disarmed another and knocking him out with the hilt of his own sword. He did not want to draw blood, not now. Instead he made his way toward the center of the calming bustle, looking around him to see which way he might make a better escape. Yet he did not see another of the soldiers approach from behind him and club him on the head. Suddenly his vision went black and he collapsed on the ground.
Whether it was several minutes or several hours that passed, he couldn't tell. All he knew was that his hands were suddenly bound as well as his feet and he couldn't move too well. His limbs were heavy, like as if he were wading through muddy water. Grunting lightly, the fog over his eyes lifted when he felt a sudden nudge. "Gah!" he breathed, sucking in air sharply then trying to get into a comfortable position. He opened his eyed and glared at the woman with the amber-red of his eyes. "I don't belong here," he said quietly, keeping his eyes glued to hers. "I slipped and I fell. And now your men want to kill me. I wouldn't tell my name to you; you are my enemy. Why don't you tell me your name first? And what the hell is going on here!"
