From the shadows of the retreating sun Xanti watched as the newly named Endikai left their lands for the gathering, still fervently untrustworthy Xanti had not only opted to stay behind but was all but expected too. The political strife he would cause arriving with the Endikai would be potentially catastrophic. As Xanti belonged with the Zerui people many warriors had too stayed within their lands, not only to protect from a potential surprise attack but from the black sheep amongst their midst. The soul reason he had stayed with these people for so long had been because of Edorta’s fierce stubbornness that Xanti was still unfit for travel. While still rather stiff and sore in his shoulder from the arrow and begrudgingly carrying a limp the young warrior of the Zerui could have made his way home many sunrises before now.
Meagre hours after those who had tended for him left Xanti too followed their trail, walking lamely in their wake, eager not to come across any of them, for the most part he’d stayed regrettably to the shadows. It had been many nights since he had seen his family and although he doubted they missed him he heard his people feared him dead. Unaccepted among the Endikai and dead to those of his own people currently Xanti had no kin and no home. Despite Edorta’s promises Xanti knew he’d be far from accepted among the fellow mans tribe, he followed different ways of living and almost laughed at the ideas of the spirit worshipers. However, for his future and for Edorta he hoped from the deep depths of his soul that eventually he could be one with the Endikai despite his blood and lineage.
Inaki would be the next Zerui warlord and Esti his wife, deep down Xanti always knew there was something between his brother and sister. They’d never been close, he and his siblings, not at all, but Xanti was sure most of that distance was placed because of his very own status among their father’s people. Groaning from the twanging jets of pain from his right leg as he limped onward Xanti tried ardently to think of other things. He wondered if his people would cheer at seeing him, would they cry? Become shocked into silence? Angered? Only Eguzki knew those answers and Xanti feared deep down that his family, for the most part, were glad of his riddance. He was an able warrior, talented to the extreme and born of powerful blood, yet his arrogance and egotistical façade rendered him an unfavourable being among the Zerui. Had his father wept? His brother cry? Xanti held these thoughts in high doubt, not only were Zeru and Inaki men, but men who favoured him little.
Sound escaped the silent atmosphere and the young warrior was dragged from his solemn revere, straining his hearing he struggled into a lope. Fearing the worst though banishing the thoughts from his mind desperately Xanti hoped he’d still be able to fight with a limp, and just as finely as before. He was correct in his assumptions, the noise belonged to people, and people of his own language and immediately his heart began to hammer. Perspiration littered his brow and his breath shorted out, for the first time in a long while he’d be greeted with faces he knew, faces he dared say he loved. The scene before him took his breath quite literally away, Endikai and Zerui alike mingled, although not comfortably they still did. Their war paint and clothing was so alike yet different and despite what others may think they looked and almost behaved as one. The Baskar race once again united, through the haze of his own breathlessness Xanti began to identify those he knew.
Warriors who he’d played with when he was young, women who’d cooked his meals and forged his clothes, men he’d practised with and girls who’d tragically given him their hearts and attractions. Although dramatic in his thinking Xanti was almost scared to see them, although not all of his tribe stood before him, they who did would surely know him. Slowly limping forward he got nearer to the Baskar people, his naked chest heaving, his new scar upon his shoulder clearly unseen compared to that on his abdomen and stomach. He could now sense eyes on him, bewildered, shocked; yet they carried on their business. Frightened to know who’d mention something first Xanti walked on until those of both tribes melted around him. Shoulders pulled back head held high Xanti was the perfect image of a man of authority. His good looks and muscular physique desired plainly within the eyes of women who sought out husbands. Mahogany eyes scanned the people, where was his father? Where was Inaki and most importantly where was Edorta?