Himar – Jagged peaks of granite jutting upward into a clear blue sky. The sun is low, but climbing, its daily foray across the sky well-begun a few hours before.

The sky is empty, but for the sun and, a bit nearer, an eagle drifting in the updrafts in a leisurely hunt for breakfast. And, of course, a lone Vartan…

Zoltan soars over the snow dusted treetops. Three weeks of nothing, a few signs… but nothing solid. He's beginning to lose hope. Perhaps the K'hu'an really aren't here?

The hippogryph's wings brush against the tips of the pine trees as he drops down a bit. His eyes scan the forest floor; what little of it he can see through the tree branches.

But for the occasional fleeting form, there's been no sign of life beyond the occasional deer or rabbit… but somehow, for the last week in particular, there has been a certain sense of silent watchfulness, the restless feel that the rocky slopes and wooded valleys possess some intelligence buried within, and that it has been looking skyward…

Open ground ahead appears ahead, an alpine meadow covered in the gold of dry grass. A thicket of brush, with a few sparse trees lies near one end… and from the edge of that thicket, something momentarily catches the morning sun's rays, a quick flash of light, and then nothing.

Zoltan's eyes narrow as he catches a glimpse of… something. His wingbeats raise him above the treetops as he circles over to get a better look.

The flash comes again, from just about the same spot, near the edge of the thicket, right beside that medium-sized rock…

( It could just be a riverstone, or a puddle of water… but it's all I've seen that's remotely promising this week. ), Thinks the Vartan. He circles over again, this time aiming his flight to take him directly over the rock.

… or is it a rock? It almost appears by be something alive, a bipedal form hunched over something on the ground, clad in mottled gray that looks like stone.

The "rock" moves with a sudden jerk as Zoltan's shadow passes over the ground nearby… and dashes for the thicket. Something glitters on the ground where it was so recently hunched.

Zoltan's eyes widen. Has he finally found one? They're really here?

Zoltan scans the meadow. ( Well, they already know that *I'M* here now. Might as well investigate further… this might be my only chance. )

The Vartan slowly lowers to the ground. His eyes dart around, scanning for any more that might be nearby.

The creature rustles through the thicket and drops to a crouch, to all appearances thinking that it has managed to hide. It has done a creditable job – it'd be all but invisible to one who didn't know where to look – and its attention seems to be divided between Zoltan's approach and the… something… there on the ground.

The meadow appears deserted, empty grass swaying in just the hint of a breeze.

Zoltan's hooves tear out small gouges in the grass as he lands. He slowly walks over to examine the shiny object. ( I can have a souvenir to take back with me at any rate. )

A bit of metal lays half-buried in the soil, a brightly polished something that looks all to like a spear-point stuck in the ground.

As Zoltan eyes the bit of metal, a series of faint rustles tickle his ears…

Zoltan jerks upwards, he looks around for the source of the sound. His wings stand half open in ready for a hasty take-off.

And *PFT* *Pft* *PFT*, Zoltan's flanks suddenly feel like they've been bitten by a half dozen horse-flies.

Zoltan scrawks in surprise and grabs at his stinging sides.

Something definitely seems to be wrong, some… things… stuck in Zoltan's side that really don't belong there. Small… yes… feathers, that's the word. Little clumps of… feathers. Why are they all blurry like that?

Zoltan falls to his knees. He tries to pull the feathery things out of his side. What's happening?

Half a dozen mounds of grass stand up and start shambling toward the Vartan, gathering a short distance away, watching. Soon the creature in the gray robes joins them from the thicket, and rapid whispers are traded between them. The world appears to have gone all gray and fuzzy, and for some reason, Zoltan finds his hands not cooperating with what his brain wants. Instead of plucking at the darts in his sides, they just seem to want to twitch limply.

Zoltan thinks . o O ( The Jupani said they used darts. Stupid stupid bird! I've been poisoned… am I dying? ) He tries to squawk at the blurry moving things.

The one in the gray robes separates itself from the small group and meanders over, stance speaking of a certain wariness. It comes within a pace or two, pauses, then murmurs, "Estofel. I-he niada Shofen Estofel" just as the world goes black.

Some time later, Zoltan becomes aware of two things. First, that some considerable amount of time has past, and second, there's something making a really shrill noise in his head.

The noise comes again, keeping a steady rhythm for a few moments before pausing a heartbeat, then picking up the rhythm again.

Zoltan's hands, legs and wings decide to take this moment to report in, feeling like they lay some great distance off. No pain, everything seems to be all right, except for this minor feeling of constriction at the wrists and ankles…

The hippogryph shakes his head at the noise. He moans softly and blinks his eyes,

The shrill noise continues *SKREESKREESKREEpauseSKREESKREE*, but slowly seems to distance itself as time passes… now, instead of seeming to resonate around inside Zoltan's skull, it seems to be coming from somewhere "outside", accompanied by the occasional whisper of voices.

The noise stops as Zoltan shakes his head… opening his eyes reveals a cricket, sleek and black, perched upon his beak. It is night.

A quiet voice murmurs, "I-hei sena" and the whispering noises come to an abrupt stop.

Zoltan shakeshakeshakes his head, trying to scare the cricket off.

The cricket leaps (in a curiously slow and extended way), disappearing into the dark. Zoltan is soon faced with yet another sudden realization. Shaking his head was a bad mistake.

The world seems to cant and twist and spin in the most stomach-wrenching, unpredictable fashion…

Zoltan screws his eyes back shut, trying as hard as he can to hold onto the contents of his stomach.

The voice again murmurs, "I-he… do not move so. It get better soon… "

More rustling, then the voice murmurs, "Drink… "

Zoltan creases his eyes open.

A gray-clad form hunkers in front of the Vartan, a delicate-seeming cup held forward at arms length. Steam wafts from the cup, slowly assaulting your noise with a more-than-bitter smell.

"Drink", the K'hu'an says.

Zoltan winces at the smell, but opens his beak and sips at the contents.

Nodding, Grey-robe obliging pours the tea the Vartan's mouth. It tastes about the same as it smells.

Zoltan chokes on the liquid for an instant, still queasy from waking up. He manages to hold it down with a bit of effort.

Amazingly, within a few minutes the world seems much more steady, and so does Zoltan's stomach.

The hippogryph looks around the room. He keeps quiet, waiting until he's spoken to.

Grey-robe is not alone… three others, clad similarly, sit nearby, watching. It is a small room, more of a cave, really, with a tiny fire the only source of light.

( They haven't killed me. I wonder why? ) Thinks Zoltan.

Zoltan wiggles a bit as he tries to get into a more comfortable sitting position.

The K'hu'an are bipedal creatures, fairly small – the tallest here stands about five and a half feet, at a guess – muffled head to toe in cloth. The only easy way to tell these four individuals apart is but the elaborate knot that adorns each of their left shoulders.

Somehow, unsurprisingly, the largest and most complicated not rests on the shoulder of the one who spoke.

Zoltan orients on the speaker. Their leader perhaps?

Grey-robe puts the cup back by the fire, and settles cross-legged before Zoltan. "Have you honor, I-he?" it says quietly.

The others watch in silence.

Zoltan blinks. Odd question. He answers quietly… his voice croaking out dryly at first from disuse. "I not judge of myself." He scrawks quietly. "Is try best to have tho, yes."

Grey-robe glances toward the three watchers, then turns back to look at Zoltan. "You stay. We untie you, you stay. Agreed? On your honor."

The Vartan nods. "I stay. On honor."

Zoltan thinks to himself, . o O ( They could just shoot me down with their darts if I tried to bolt. And they've not attacked or done anything aggressive yet. Might as well stay. )

Grey-robe nods, and the others dart forward, knives suddenly appearing in hand. Before he can react, Zoltan's bonds fall away to the floor… accompanied by at least one feather.

Zoltan gasps in surprise at the swiftness. His feathers stand comically on end for just a moment before he realizes that he's unharmed. He relaxes.

"Now", Grey-robe continues, "name yourself."

"I Zoltanos Cambio, of Mountain Shadow." The Vartan answers. "But known better as Zoltan."

Grey-robe nods. "I am Kisa-nehone-krisana-shiho-nasen-iona ua-shofen Estofel."

Zoltan tries to repeat the name to himself. He fails horribly.

"Is alright just say 'Kisa', yes?" Kisa says quietly.

Zoltan scrawks, "Kisa. Hrr… yes."

Zoltan itches at his wrists now that the ropes are off. His talons dig under the leather straps.

… and the act of scratching reveals his gauntlets are missing.

"I-he niada Shofen Estofel", Kisa says softly. "You are fallen to clan Estofel. You are ours."

The hippogryph jerks to full alertness. He starts tearing the leather away only to find his bare wrists glaring back.

… and elaborate patterns in black sinuously weaving across the back of his hands, around his wrists, and well up his forearms, forming eye-wrenching knots and weaves, with what appears to be writing worked into their midst.

Zoltan looks back up at Kisa, his hands closing around each wrist. "Yours? You make me slave now? Or kill?"

Zoltan stares blankly at his arms.

Kisa says quietly, "I do not understand. You are niada, fallen. You are ours. Tell us why you have come."

Zoltan just stares at his arms, not bothering to look at Kisa. "I… I… " he stammers.

( they already know about the Jupani spying on them. My guide said as much… ) He thinks to himself, slowly recovering form the shock of finding the most valuable thing to him gone… and these… these… markings on his arms.

None of the K'hu'an so much as shift as they sit watching, patiently.

Zoltan sighs, "I was hired by Jupani to look for K'hu'an. that why I here."

Kisa nods, and the other three softly exchange whispers.

"Please." Zoltan squawks. His voice has taken on a rather high pitch, but not loud. "Give gauntlets back. If you kill me, I rather die with them on. They mean everything to Zoltan. Please."

"Why?" Kisa murmurs, quietly as always.

Zoltan scrawks. "Was gift from father. All I have left from him. All I have left from family.

Zoltan keens quietly. "They mean world to me… Was going to give to nestling if ever have one."

The K'hu'an considers, then murmurs its companions, "Shah sehi kione." They murmur approvingly.

"Tell us story of them. History." Kisa says after the others quiet down.

Zoltan screeks, "Father work in Rephidim temple. He usually wear chitin armor like all other guards."

One of Kisa's companions murmurs something to its neighbor at mention of Rephidim, its tone of voice low, perhaps angry.

"He save big important temple priest. I forgets name… happen before I come to Rephidim. Was rewarded with shiny gold coin. He buy gauntlets with coin… metal rare. Were in bad shape… but still metal. He hides under armor like Zoltan does with straps." Zoltan continues.

Zoltan squawks, "Father get tired of working for temple. He go in airship to work for trader in desert. I stay in city, he give gauntlets to me as goodbye present. I not seen him since. Is probably dead."

Kisa nods.

Zoltan adds, "Mother dead too, and I not know any others of family. Not been to tribe since hatched from egg. Would probably not be welcome. No family… just memories of family."

"That it." the Vartan scrawks.

The K'hu'an considers a moment, then says, "They are yours. We give them back. After."

Zoltan brightens a bit. He nods to Kisa. "I thank you." ( After what, tho… ) his mind ponders.

"Why you fly for Jupani?" Kisa asks.

Zoltan scrawks, "They pay me to. They not ask me to kill anyone, or steal anything. So I decide it alright to scout for them."

"No more. You fly for Jupani no more." Kisa says, voice adamant.

Zoltan sighs and nods, he traces the patterns on his arms with a talon.

"On your honor?" Kisa demands.

Zoltan replies, "On my honor. I not fly for Jupani any more." ( Especially after this… ) he adds mentally.

Kisa nods. "We leave you now. You stay. Not even look outside. On your honor?"

Zoltan blinks. "Leaving?"

Zoltan scrawks, "Hrr… I stay, Not look outside, on honor. How long I needs to stay?"

"Until after" Kisa replies, standing. The others have already shuffled off.

Zoltan nods, still looking confused. "And Zoltan's gauntlets?"

"After" Kisa says, and disappears through the curtained entryway.

Zoltan sighs… at least he's still alive. He scoots closer to the fire and examines the markings on his arms a bit more closely, making a point to keep his back to the curtain.

A covered bowl sits beside the fire.

Zoltan scoots over and examines the bowl. He uncovers it slowly, as if expecting a snake to leap out and bite him.

Fragrant steam wafts from within, and Zoltan is hit with another revelation. He's ravenous, almost as if he hasn't eaten in two days or more. Whatever is in there certainly _smells_ edible, if a bit on the spicy side.

Outside, not too far away, someone starts beating a drum. The first is soon joined by another, and another, and then voices take up a chant in time to the beat.

The Vartan pulls the bowl onto his lap. He stares at the contents for a bit, then shrugs. ( Poisoned? No… If they wanted me dead… they could have done it a hundred times over already. And I'll die of starvation if I don't eat soon. ) He starts tucking into the contents of the bowl.

Zoltan ears perk backwards… but he resists the temptation to get too curious and focuses on the things in the cave. The flickering of the flames, his arms, the straps that need to be mended.

The bowl itself seems to be of an exceptionally hard wood – it is too light for stone – a polished grayish-white stained red by the glow of the fire. Within it is some form of stew, bits of meat and vegetables in a thick, pungent sauce.

The stew itself is spicy, not unpleasantly so, and the meat very tender and like nothing you've ever tasted before.

Zoltan hungrily fishes out bits of meat and vegetables with his fingers, and then tilts the bowl against his beak and slurps down the broth.

There's something vaguely familiar about the bowl, the general shape of it. It's asymmetrical, oval when viewed from the top, and the curve of the sides vary a bit, one end slightly sloped outward, kinda like a Jupani's forehead…

The singing continues outside, and the drums. One voice rises over the others in a gasping cry, almost as if in pain, and the pace of the drums picks up.

Zoltan abruptly stops eating. He looks closer at the bowl. ( No… it couldn't be )

The Vartan's stomach lurches… oh… oh…

The voice cries out again, trailing into a howl. A Jupani voice.

Zoltan plasters his ears against his head to keep the sound out. He throws the bowl to the back of the cave and drops to his hands and knees.

The drumming – and screaming – goes on well into the night, the singing voices far outlasting the pained Jupani howls.

Zoltan curls up in the corner of the cave, The fire has long since burned out and gone cold. The noises thrum through his head no matter how hard he tries to keep them out. He is grateful that he can't see outside of the cave.

And so the night passes…

A hand comes down on Zoltan's shoulder, shaking him awake – he must've dozed sometime in the wee hours of the morning.

Light shines around the curtained entrance, and a lone K'hu'an leans over the Vartan… very likely Kisa, but it's hard to tell.

Zoltan lurches upwards. He turns to gaze at the K'hu'an. ( Am I next? ) he thinks. the thought sends shivers down his spine.

Kisa says quietly, "Is time. Come."

The Hippogryph shakily pulls himself to his feet.

Zoltan gulps.

"Come", Kisa says again, disappearing beyond the curtain. A flash of morning sunlight spills across the room.

Zoltan inhales sharply. ( I can die well at least. ) He shuffles after Kisa, wincing as the sunlight hits his eyes.

Zoltan finds himself in a narrow canyon, perhaps thirty feet wide, with caves riddling the walls on both side. A small stream spills over a waterfall at one end, trickling down toward the canyon mouth. A large group of robed figures are gathered near that stream.

The hippogryph looks at the group of K'hu'an. Why do they all wear robes?

Loose rock litters the canyon floor, ranging from fist-size to the size of the large slab of stone beside the gathered K'hu'an.

Kisa leads the Vartan toward the gathering, toward that slab… and the dark stain upon it.

Zoltan steadies himself. He focuses every ounce of his strength to keep from trembling.

His breathing quickens as Zoltan looks at the slab… blood?

The K'hu'an watch in silence as Zoltan and his escort approach.

Kisa leads the Vartan to the slab, climbing up onto it. "Come", the K'hu'an says.

Zoltan shakily climbs upon the slab to join Kisa. Please, let the end quickly… please.

The stain is slightly sticky under foot, and emits a sharp, metallic odor.

Kisa turns to Zoltan. "Your hands", the K'hu'an says, quietly as always.

Zoltan tears his eyes from the slab. He slowly holds his hands out to Kisa, determined to keep them from trembling.

The K'hu'an reaches out and turns Zoltan's hands palm upwards.

Zoltan's breathing quickens as Kisa touches him. He keeps his hands outwards, dead still.

"Ke nisa shian esta" Kisa says, loud enough for the others to hear, waiting a moment. "Speak your name" the K'hu'an prompts.

Zoltan gulps, "Zoltanos Cambio of Mountain Shadow… " he squawks, just as loudly as Kisa. He adds, "I also known as Zoltan."

Kisa draws a knife from its belt. "I-he niada Shofen Estofel. You are fallen to are clan" the K'hu'an intones, and, in a flash of steel, cuts straight across both of Zoltan's palms. Blood wells almost before he can feel the cuts.

Kisa tucks the knife back into its sheath, slowly and calmly.

The Vartan winces. His hands begin to tremble just a little.

The K'hu'an reaches up to fold Zoltan's fingers in over the wounds, and push his arms skyward. Blood runs down his arms to drip on the stone. "You are ours, by your blood. Swear it."

Zoltan loses his voice for a moment. Then finally, "By my blood, I yours… I swear."

"You are ours by the blood of those who came before. Swear it" Kisa continues.

The Vartan closes his eyes and inhales sharply. "Yours by blood of those who came before, I swear."

"You are ours by the bones of the world. Swear it."

Zoltan scrawks raggedly, "I yours by bones of world… I swear."

Kisa nods. "By these oaths… you will do no harm to the Estofel. You will do no harm to their people. You will come to our aid when called. Swear."

Zoltan squawks, "I not harm Estofel. I not harm people. I come to aid when called. I swear."

Zoltan focuses on the pain in his hands. The smell of his blood. Every fiber of him screams for him to run… to flee. But his mind grips him tightly. He swore not to run, not to fight. Honor is all he has anymore. Even if it means this, he must keep that little bit.

Kisa turns to face those gathered. "Ianada icha niada?"

The K'hu'an cry "Hai!" as one.

"It is done. Farewell, Zoltanos-cambio ne-shofen Mountain-Shadow, niada-shofen Estofel" Kisa murmurs, and turns, walking away. The gathered K'hu'an do the same. At the base of the rock, stacked neatly, are Zoltan's belongings, his father's gauntlets perched atop the small pile.

Zoltan blinks… and then stares.

Zoltan shakily climbs down from the rock. He lovingly snaps the wristbands back into place, then wraps them tightly in their leather bindings. As quick as he can, he throws on his white traveling robes and his pack.

There is not a K'hu'an to be seen by the time Zoltan is done.

Zoltan glances around nervously, then leaps into the air… flying off into the morning sunlight as fast as his wings can carry him. He does not look back.