Skytrails

3-Home

Sharn left the Vari'noo and walked northwest into the open prairie lands of the Pit'n Poa. Clouds covered the sky. A steady breeze blew out of the west. His hands brushed over tall grasses as he moved. Two nanda'kii buzzed through the air, big as canoes, playing their games.

Sharn felt a deep peace when he walked this stretch between Mn'vaarin and home. There were no foreigners here. No enemies. Nothing harmful but a few teksa'do, and they could be scared off. He could see for days here. The big sky reached down and touched the earth in every direction.

He spent the night in Dur'din's village, as he always did. The village sat at the edge of prairie and forest, close to a creek. Their roundhouses were spread out in a circle, fire ring at the center.

Spirits soared in the village that night. The sabba flowed freely and their pipes, full of newly harvested smii'otchka, made many circles. Not because of Sharn, though they were glad to have him, but because a raiding party had returned with the two stolen children.

The party had snuck into the Minkaera town at night, found the children, cut the heads off the two men who were holding them captive, and brought the children and the men's bodies back to the village. The women of the village had burned the men's bodies that afternoon and were preparing the bones to be made into tools and weapons. In the old days, they would only have kept the bones of the brave and no one thought of those kidnappers as brave.

Sharn tried to enjoy the celebration, but he barely ate. In his mind, the two dead men represented two more logs thrown on the fire of tension between their two peoples.

He walked the forest and riverlands of Paret Edain the next morning, lands he knew better than the back of his own hand. Midmorning he arrived at his village, laid out along the great river that gave its name to these lands, Paret Edain.

"Tenem'ok, look! It's Aka! Aka's home!"

The boy stared, finger in his mouth, his other hand holding onto his mother's skirts. She gave him a pat and said, "Go! Go get him!" The boy smiled wide and took a few hurried steps, then wobbled, recovered, and took a few more steps. He yelled and squealed and Sharn couldn't help but smile back at him. The boy laughed, then lost his balance and tumbled sideways.

Sharn ran to his son just as his little face broke into tears. He picked the boy up and lifted him high. "Tenem'ok!" he shouted. The boy laughed, tears still on his cheeks. Sharn threw him up in the air and caught him. Once. Twice. Three times. Then he brought him close and held him tight. The boy rested his head on his father's shoulder for a quick moment, then pushed away, ready to play again.

Sharn set Tenem'ok down on the short grass. The boy held on to his father's leggings for a moment, then spotted some stones and crawled over to inspect them. Tesdaera wrapped her arms around her husband and laid her face against his chest.

"We missed you," she said.

"I missed you too," he said. "Both of you, very much."

She let go and kissed him, then looked over at their son, sitting in the grass, banging stones together, talking to himself in a language only he understood.

"His walking is getting better," Sharn said.

Tesdaera smiled and nodded, "A little better." She looked up at his face. "Are you hungry?"

He nodded, "I am."

"Come," she said. "We left some stew for you."

Sharn scooped up their son and they walked through the village, past the low roundhouses and a farm, to the fire ring. A wooden bowl sat next to the small fire. Tesdaera grabbed the bowl with a folded piece of hide and handed it to her husband. She got him a spoon and a piece of day old flatbread.