39th of Ymiden 720
The caravan had been roving over the Western Hotlands for near enough to two days. They were already halfway to where they were going. Someplace called Yaralon would be their first stop, where they could replenish their water supplies and pick up mercenary guards for the caravan. As Demda steered her horse, stiff and rigidly sat in her saddle, she had to fight the animal to even walk straight. Several times through the journey, Khorog had to brusquely grab her animal by the reins and correct its course for her. This persisted for about another day before they made camp, as the sun began to rise.
The Caravansary and members of the tribe began pitching tents here and there, setting up their sleeping positions and assuring that they would have shade and cover for whatever the desert brought their way. Demda was about to join them, when Khorog tapped her arm, shaking his head as she made to get off her thorned horse. "No, I zaakh, I ... er... teach you to ridah."
She took zaakh to mean teach in Vorkelian, and so tucked that away in memory. Khorog got off of his camel, and grabbed her by the waist, at which she squirmed, pushing his hands off. "No" He said, "I teach you to sit horse."
Having assured her that his intentions weren't anything incorrect, she relaxed, and let him correct her position in the horse. He tapped her thigh, signalling that she should throw it over the other side of the horse. "This why you ridah crook ed." So she complied with the instruction.
Whenever she sat up in the horse, or became rigid, he tapped her hard on the knee with his riding crop, triggering a reflex, and of course a bit of pain. "Ow! Stop that!" Demda rubbed the spot where he'd struck her, and frowned at him beneath her goggles.
"No." He said simply, as he led her horse along. "It how we surakh, learn." Another word, another gift in Vorkelian, which she absorbed greedily. She had to admit to a perception of mystique on part of the Hotlands tribes. They existed outside the greater hierarchy of Nashaki, yet had their own culture, language, and ways of life. While they weren't entirely alien to the city amid the sands, there was a few important differences.
The earnestness of the city dwellers was wrapped up in monetary value, what value one brought to the equation. How many nels one could make, and survival was gated by wealth and influence. Whereas the Hotlands tribes were harder to pin down. Even Dimza Nil, the caravan master who was neither tribesman nor Nashaki, he didn't seem at first glance like any merchant she'd seen while in the city of the spires.
Her reverie and reflection on the nature of the Hotlands Tribes and Nashaki was interrupted by another whack against her knee. She cried out in surprise, but then saw why he'd reprimanded her this time. She was about to lead the horse into a patch of loose sand. While thorned horses were well capable of treading any terrain in the desert, a lesser horse might balk at the sight of the dunes. This was part of what made Camels so useful.
So Demda made to steer the animal away from the sands that led into the deeper desert. "Now, pick speed." Khorog muttered to her. She was more than happy to oblige, as she turned the horse around, and began speeding up into a trot, digging her heels in lightly to the sides of the horse. Not quite kicking, but very lightly pushing it forward. At that point Khorog let go of the reins, and let her have the way forward with the horse.
She let the horse show her how it wanted to move at first, and then followed the man's advice, to relax, to sway with its natural movement. The creature certainly had a mind of its own, as it showed every time she tried to regain control of where they were going. Yet it was well trained enough to respond to her cues. She turned it around by the reins and then used her feet to signal how fast she wished the animal to move. In a few more clumsy and ill-directed circuits around the camp, she managed to get a handle on how to make the horse move the way she wanted it to, more or less.
The thorned horse ran over toward where Khorog stood, next to his camel. There, it seemed keen on trying to pick a fight with his camel. This didn't go over well with Khorog's animal, as it brought its long neck forward to lightly bite the thorned horse's neck. The creature went wild when the camel did this and began bucking lightly against its rider.
Demda held tight to the reins, which did not help matters as the horse wheeled around, making it more difficult to maintain balance on the horse. With one final throw of its body, Demda slid off of the horse but was swiftly caught by her warden. Khorog let her fall into his arms and then slid her swiftly down onto her feet.
Without bothering to check her condition, he moved toward the horse to try and calm it down. The thorned horse stood off to the side then, no longer being ridden, it stood still for a few moments. It flared its nostrils as Khorog approached, letting a few hot breaths out of the airways. It tapped the ground with its front hoof as he got closer.
Khorog was gentle with it, though, and tentatively reached out to touch the snout of the horse before ever thinking to touch the reins. He had a date in his other hand, which he used to treat the beast. This he fed her while taking the reins, and patting down the scaley hide of her neck.
Demda was not eager to resume her 'lessons' then or anytime soon. But Khorog beckoned her over to the animal. She went along with it, walking over slowly, as he waved ever more frantically for her to get closer. Once she was there, the horse recoiled a tad from her approach, but Khorog held the beast gently in place. He reached into his pocket to retrieve a few dates, and handed these to Demda. He didn't have to tell her what they were for. It was simple to see now that there was a bond of trust that needed to be formed between beast and rider. Demda would have to nurture that relationship before she could ever hope to ride with ease.
She took the dates, and fed them one after the other to the horse. Khorog stood away, with a hand on one of the reins, just in case the beast flew out of control once more. Demda mimicked her warden's actions with the beast, patting it along the neck while feeding it dates.
"Speak soft to horse." Khorog advised. "It get used to you sound."
Demda glanced skeptically at the man beneath her goggles, then nodded. She began whispering sweet nothings to the animal, feeling slightly silly for doing so. Yet the more she treated the animal like a precious life, the less strange it seemed for her to do so. In time, the horse was eating eagerly out of her hand, and allowing her to pat it along its scaley hide without any resistance.
"No ride now, follow." Khorog said, and beckoned for the woman to follow him back to where they were setting up camp.
Demda led the animal by the reins behind her warden. Once they reached their tent, she led the horse beneath the canopy of the stretched hide and canvas lining of the tent, where it could enjoy the shade while they rested.
As the horse took to sitting on the ground, giving itself a rest on the bare sand of the desert floor, she sidled up against it, using it as backing to prop herself up as she had some rest herself. Khorog sat well apart from Demda. He merely stared at her, and the horse, taking in the sight of his ward with disapproval evident on his face.
Demda shrugged to herself at his apparent displeasure, and just let her eyes shut, to get some sleep before they'd be off again. The journey through Yaralon and Volanta would prove to be perilous, from all she'd heard of those lands. And she would need to catch up to her wits in order that she might survive.
The caravan had a long way to go out of the desert, and back around into it, before she'd see Nashaki again. She fell asleep, dreaming of lands filled with fresh water, food, and people living free of servitude.
