The King Trials 2: Beyond.

~From a Primus's Perspective~

Primus. P.O.V.

I never did need directions. I can always feel her.

Her palpable energy rising, the sense of her presence heightened.

I stroke the wedge-shaped face of my  stallion whilst I survey the village. Unlike Nure, this is a gated community with a towering palisade erected around it, with only two points of entry. It mainly consists of equal-sized homesteads. With a few stores, and only one tavern.

Already a few passing villagers chuck hostile looks at me, muttering to each other in Nuvele, which they assume that I cannot understand. With a last brush, I leave to move down the rim of a narrow path. I exhale a puff of white, cool air nips my face. Every moment glares pierce my back. It is all too clear that I am an outsider. .

Ahead of me, a little girl ambles out of a door from my left. She's swathed in a fur coat bigger than she is. She pauses and turns to face me, her gaze rising high to meet mine.

Hazel-doe eyes stare back at me. Most of her head is swallowed by a woolly hat. "Ureze ka lempase tu pasva?"

I narrow my eyes at her. "You should not be talking to strangers," I respond in her tongue.

"Erekumpa ge lump aske." She gesticulates, signalling behind her. "Rumpas na la va."

I nod. I pull my lips back to offer my thanks in a form of a smile. She burst into a small peal of giggles, covering her mouth with tiny, gloved hands. She then extends her arm out to me with her hand flattened. I sigh and lower myself to sit on my haunches. I outstretch my arm to lean it against hers, our arms crossed. Simultaneously, our hands lift until they brought into line with each other. A common farewell salute performed by the lowborn of Nivalis.

Promptly, a warmly dressed woman exits from the same place. They look alike, too young to be her mother, so she must be an older sister. Her eyes on transfixed on me as she absently closes the door. My eyes clasp her gaze, and she tears it away quickly. She looks down at the little girl and lightly scolds her for talking to me.

I ascend, and I walk passed them, trampling over small mounds of snow.

The tavern is easy to locate. It is the most populated, drawing in crowds, most of them dally near the entrance. I drift inside—hit by a wall of malty smells, a blend of yeasty rich ale, and other fermented drinks. My eyes scour the rowdy crowd with large pints in their grasps.

I delve through, shouldering passed stumbling folk with absolutely no cognitive functions at work. I skim over the congested tables with females draped over the males' laps. Suddenly one of them springs up and obstructs my path merrily.

She sways towards me. "Elve ompre nesalva lump ta?" she says in high spirits, but level-headed enough to hold a conversation.

"I do not understand you. I am not from here."

I move. She sidesteps to block me once again.

"Neither am I," she says Arkian. "Why don't we trade stories and..." her finger draws a line down her skin, between the plunging neckline of her garb, "get to know each other better."

"A fine-looking foreigner." A companion of hers rises from a seat, barely clothed, with so many holes and slits in her dress. Immune to the cold of Nivalis. "He's for sure not from here."

"Isheke," the other agrees and fastens her eyes on me, playing with her hair; a multitude of frosty braids. "I never beheld such rugged beauty."

She slinks behind me, fingers exploring my back, venturing from shoulder blade to shoulder blade. "You seem tense. Stressed. Why don't you allow us to take care of that? No expense. Just endless pleasure."