My travels have taken me far from my home and the lands I grew up in, the desert I know and love, The Sea of Fire. A place that most think of as desolate and forbidding, and even deadly. It is all of these, and so much more. There is beauty in everything if you only look, and in the Sea of Fire, also called Zhi’vieba, Zhizio, Zhudurqua, Turmeda, Latduame, and sometimes Zhifiier, depending on whom you speak to, beauty is never out of sight. Even after all the years I've been away I can close my eyes and almost see it, my home. It is desolate, it is dry, it is hot, but it is also a place of serenity, peace and incredible wonder, and I miss it horribly. For, you see, I am Tehir.
I left Latduame before reaching my seventeenth year. Before I had finished my last Trial of Manhood I thought the world was going to be my playground. My own status among the Tehir was very high due to the success I had in my trials up to that point, and I knew I would have little trouble in finding a mate of high status, but my destiny would lead me outside the world I was born to, the world I was familiar with, the world I was comfortable with.
My travels began the morning following completion of my last trial. That trial, a vision, brought on by the consumption of a hallucinogenic herb specially prepared for the rite, sealed my fate. The elders of my adopted clan made a decision that would affect me for the rest of my life.... they left me in the desert, alone. They cast me out, not as an undesirable, but as one who would never again fit within the confines of the tribal ways of the Tehir. I was not marked, except for the scar for the completion of my last trial, nor were any of my teeth removed, common when someone is banished and turned out into the desert. My circumstances were much different. My vision told the elders that I would never be truly satisfied within Tehir society, it was not my destiny, and my life was to be led outside it, beyond it. But my status would remain, my scars hard won and I wear them proudly in proof of this. I am Tehir. I will always be Tehir. I cannot be anything else.
My second-parents, G'Arrone and his wife, the healer and herb mistress K'miza, taught me everything I needed to know to survive in the burning sands. Though it pained me greatly to not be able to say good-bye to them after awakening the next morning to only the silence and heat of the desert, and one hell of a headache, I knew in my heart they felt my gratitude for everything they had done for me over the years, wherever they were. K'miza had left me all the equipment and supplies I needed for an extended stay in the desert, and what I didn't have I would hunt or forage for. It is, and always has been, the way of it. I am Tehir.
I spent the remainder of that day under my sunshade, for by the time I had come fully awake it was far too hot to travel on foot. I took stock of my situation and made an inventory of my supplies and began to assess what I would do and where I would go. I was very familiar with the landmarks in most of the Sea of Fire and where each oasis was in any direction I chose to go because my clan did a lot of trading and was very well traveled. I could tell by the tracks that my clan had left, which were quickly eroding in the wind-swept sand that they had traveled east. I would go west. In choosing this direction I knew I would probably never see my second-parents again, for the Sea of Fire is a vast place and chance meetings are few. The desert is a cruel mistress, but she is my home, and I am Tehir.
That evening, after the oppressive heat of the day had passed, I set out, heading west. I walked for over a week, resting during the heat of the day and traveling only at night. Hunting was also better at night since a majority of the fauna is also active during the cool of the darkness. I did not suffer due to hunger or thirst, for I know how to survive in the desert, I am Tehir.
I had passed a number of caravan trails but none seemed to have been used recently. I knew the closer I got to Imperial lands the more caravans I would come across. Sure enough, in another day or two I saw a caravan of eleven wagons heading south, laden with goods. This would be my first contact with people, and non-Tehir to boot, since I had been turned out into the desert. I was nervous. How would this turn out?
Now, I've never been a master of the Common language, but in those days I knew only a smattering of words used in trade and commerce. I had no reason to learn more, nor did I have a desire to, I am Tehir. I stood in the center of the "road", really just a barely recognizable path, and waited for the traders to approach. Upon seeing me the caravan called a halt and three men at arms left the wagons and approached me, their spears at the ready. As they approached they were wary, heads always in motion, scanning the area for any sign of ambush. I had stowed my bow in my back-quiver and my yierka spur was on my belt, fastened down, and I had my hands at my sides, palms facing the approaching men so that they could see I was holding no weapons.
The men approached and the eldest, who I took to be the leader of the three, spoke to me. I understood nothing he said so I gave him a little shrug. He gave an exasperated sigh and, with one more cautious look over the area, motioned me to follow him. We proceeded back to the wagons and I was shown to a water barrel. I knew the common words for water and drink, so I knew I was being asked to quench my thirst. This I did, sparingly, as I had been taught, I am Tehir. I also knew that the offering of water was always an offer of peace, both between Tehir and those who dealt with them. This eased my mind considerably and I'm sure it eased the minds of the teamsters as well.
After quenching my thirst I was led to one of the wagons, this one just a bit larger than the rest. This must belong to the caravan master. I was quite surprised, and had a very difficult time not showing it, when the fattest man I've ever seen looked down at me out of the back of that wagon. He was enormous! I don't know how he got around, but for all his girth the man was quite light on his feet, he jumped out of that wagon like a fellow a quarter his weight. The sound his feet made upon making contact with the ground reminded me of the final death quiver of a very large Morduska, giving one last flap on the sand. But I was in for another surprise, this man spoke Tehir, or at least he spoke more Tehir than I did common.
He introduced himself as Lanson Erswind, and yes, he was the master of this caravan. In his Tehir, which wasn't too bad, all things considered, he asked if I'd be willing to give him my name. This was of course within Tehir custom; a man never has to give his name unless he wishes to. I gave him my name, with matronymics, and he offered his hand, which I took. I liked this obese man immediately; there was nothing fake about him. He led me to the other side of the wagon, which had a bit of shade, and told me, in his not-too-bad Tehiri, that the caravan would stop here for the day. He said he was hungry anyway, and gave a great laugh and poked me in the ribs. It took me a moment to realize he was making fun of himself and his weight, but when I did I laughed as well.
This was the beginning of a very good friendship, if a very short one. Lanson was bitten by a Selshis less than a month later and died from the bite. The Selshis had evidently crawled into his sleeping blankets for the warmth and Lanson must have rolled over on it in his sleep, we found him stone cold dead the next morning. Life in that caravan was never the same after Lanson and I got on with another caravan group as soon as I could. Lanson had been the only one in that group who never treated me as anything more or less than a man, the rest of the teamsters always looked at me as if I was something less than human and I was never comfortable around them.
Lanson's caravan had been heading deeper into the Sea of Fire on a southerly route out of Vornavis. A week or so after Lanson's death we met up with another caravan heading north, back to Vornavis. I joined up with them and that's where I met Joazen. Joazen was a rather surly fellow at first and I didn't think we'd end up getting along at all. He had a misshapen face, all skewed to one side I suppose is the best way to describe it, and he LOVED to fight. He would fight anyone, anytime, for any reason, I'd never seen anyone like that. As Tehir we would wrestle, a lot. It was a way of life and always in good sport, but this man was something different and outside anything I had experienced.
For some reason Joazen liked me. He took it upon himself to teach me the common tongue and had me ride with him on his wagon. He would point to something and make me tell him what it was, in common. If I didn't know he would tell me but he didn't like it when I forgot something or got it wrong. He would chide me mercilessly. Unfortunately, what I didn't know was that his common was quite bad due to his deformity and hardly anyone could understand him. His deformity was due to him having been hit in the face with a mace when he had served as a soldier. I was told that the blow would have killed most men, but not Joazen, he was simply too mean to die.
But Joazen was good to me, he always treated me as an equal, something he didn't do with most men. But my learning of the common tongue suffered due to being taught by him, with his speech deformity. I don't fault him for this; it's simply the way of it. As a matter of fact, I appreciate his efforts. Had it not been for him I may never have learned to speak any sort of common at all, since very few people would take the time to teach a Tehir anything in those parts of the world.
I spent a few years caravanning with Joazen, and they were good years. I learned a lot of the ways of the world, cities, towns, people, and the ways of the Imperials. But I was growing restless. The vision my birth mother had given me before her death kept haunting me. One day we had arrived back in Vornavis and I knew it was time. I thanked Joazen for all he had done for me and bid him farewell. The man had tears in his eyes as he told me good-bye, but he understood. It seems he always understood. "Walks wit' da sun, Tehir", were his last words to me.
It was time to move on. It is the way of it. I am Tehir.
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