Some of the warriors named their horses. They were great, noble names, like Aszentio or Bernat. Indar, when he thought he understood a certain horse he was tending to, would also name the horse. His names were not quite so mighty, but he felt the names were much more appropriate. It didn’t make sense to name a horse something like Aszentio, which the horse couldn’t pronounce. A name like Whickerty-Neigh or Neieeegh-Snort made more sense, and the horses could share their wonderful names with each other. Indar just hoped he wasn’t insulting any of them. None of them had kicked him after he named them, so he figured he was doing just fine.

Indar was particularly excited when he had left the herd this afternoon. One of the mares--he called her Whinney--was very likely in the very beginning stages of foaling. She’d likely give birth that night. It was an odd time of year, but she had gone into estrus much later then the rest of the herd. Indar was sure she’d be fine, but he wanted to be certain. Plus, it was one of the greater joys in his life to see new little foals. His sisters used to tease him about that, telling him that when his own child was born, he’d be likely to faint.

He wanted to stay with the herd for the rest of the day, but there was no point in that. He would need to be his best, just in case something happened. That meant that he needed to eat. Oh, and no smoking. Indar didn’t mind the second too terribly—being with a newborn foal was a high all on its own—but for the former he had to return to the Gathering. One of his sisters would understand if he snagged some food from them. They were annoying girls, but generally good. Besides, he hadn’t spoken to most of them in some time. Most had moved off to the tribes of their husbands; only Bibane and Oro were still with the Izotzi.

His head was so full with thoughts of horses, he almost missed the fact that he bumped into someone. “Ahh, excuse me!” Hopefully it wasn’t Gogo, demanding to know what exactly he was up to. Gogo always thought Indar was too sentimental in times like this. Whatever—Gogo wouldn’t appreciate the glory if it slapped him in the face.

"Thank you arebba."

Arine smiled at her older brother and shook her head. "Anaia you often get many wounds lately. What have you been doing?" Finishing the wrapping of cloth and herbs on her brother's right leg she noticed the way his body tensed before relaxing. "Nothing. You do not need to concern yourself in my affairs." His tone of voice was harsh and clipped causing Arine to fall silent. Lately Erramun seemed like he was getting more distant from her and it caused a pang of sadness to sweep through her heart. The brother who she used to confide in was now a fully-fledged warrior of the tribe…a man.

It was common for men to treat women as inferior beings but Arine had always thought her brother would not treat her that way. Now she knew better. Quickly gathering her scattered herbs she placed them in a rough skin bag and slung it over her shoulder. “Just be careful anaia.” Leaving him to lie down on top of the furs she exited the tent, gently closing the flap behind her.

~*~
Erramun watched his sister leave with a sad expression. He could not let her know the truth. How could he tell her that the reason for his wounds were from trainings for an upcoming war? It was not certain yet if the Baskar would go to war with the interlopers but it was a high possibility. Arine hated war and he knew that. Looking up at the ceiling of the small tent he sighed and made a small prayer. Eguzki. Watch over and protect my little sister.
~*~

Briskly walking through a crowd of people Arine nodded her head in greeting as a couple of her friends greeted her. Many faces, especially the ones of elders, stood out to her. She had treated them for small things: a cough, a sore joint, sicknesses, and many more things. Thoughts of her brother soon faded away as she once more immersed herself in that which she loved, healing. Busy greeting elders and friends she hardly noticed where she was going.

It did not come as surprise when she bumped into someone. Looking up at the person who she bumped into she saw that it was an elder man, probably a young warrior of the tribe. “Sorry. I was not paying attention,” she said, bowing her head in embarrassment.

She was a tiny wisp of a girl; Indar was half surprised that he hadn’t knocked her over when he bumped into her. Not that he was too terribly big, but she was just so tiny in comparison to him. She looked almost familiar—no one from his tribe, but maybe she was a friend of one of his nieces. He didn’t talk much to them, but he had seen the girls run around sometimes.

Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed something that looked to be like a bunch of grass. Probably herbs of some sort. They had probably fallen out of the girl’s bag. But what was she doing with herbs? Maybe she was training to be a healer; that may be why she looked familiar. Nahia was not a healer, but she was often in the company of healers.

Indar knelt to pick whatever the plant was up. He took the wisp girl’s hands, placing the plant in them, remaining on his knees. It seemed to relax younger girls when he did that, maybe it was some sort of reflex. It was easier to calm when the thing you fear was smaller then you. “Hey, relax. Accidents happen. I hope whatever this is is fine—I don’t think either of us stepped on it.”

Arine felt her cheeks warm when he did not immediately speak. She worried that she had done something to upset the young man. Praying that was not the case she waited silently to see what would happen. To her great surprise she saw him kneel and begin to gather something off the ground. Raising her head she looked at the spot he was in and found that he was picking up her herbs.

Eyes widening in surprise she looked down to her side and saw what had happened. The skin bag she had been keeping the herbs in had ripped along the seams. It was an old bag and the skin had softened. Along with that the rough thread, made from seeds, had started to thin due to the rough treatment Arine subjected the bag to. The thread had snapped and slowly come undone. Her impact with the man had finally broken the last bit of thread and the result lay before her eyes.

Before she could even bend down to help him pick up her herbs he was in front of her. She froze as he placed the herbs in her hand, but relaxed quickly. I touch people on a daily basis. Why should this be any different? That was her reasoning to relax but another part of her conscious was telling her that the healing touch and this touch were vastly different.

"Thank you. I need this for my next healing." She smiled, her eyes meeting his for a brief moment before she turned them down once more. It was rude to do such an action and could be seen as an insult by another man of the tribe.

“A healer, then. How long have you been studying? Do you know Nahia? She’s not a healer, but her work does keep around your lot.” He smiled. She still wasn’t entirely relaxed, but there was only so much he could do. If she was too shy to look him in the eye, then all he could do was to be gentle. Skittish girl, she was blushing. Dealing with her, Indar thought, wouldn’t be too different from dealing with a horse. Well, with her, there wouldn’t be that worry about being trampled. He doubted she could break one of his toes, even if she stomped on it with all her might.

Her bag was broken; he didn’t think she’d be able to carry all of her herbs without dropping some here and there. “Where are you going? I can help you carry, if it’s not too far.” And maybe poach some food off of whomever she was healing. There were still many hours before the foaling would really start, but Indar was a little anxious. A little detour, though, couldn’t hurt very much. It’s not like he was following Nahia on one of her birthings.

Suddenly, Indar remembered his manners. “I’m Indar,” he said, reaching for one of the herbs he had missed. “May I have your name?”