brambles

[M-E] Brambles
Brahim Zafar 253
Bashir 592
It was empty in the forest that afternoon, the sound of birdsong almost absent as
Brahim walked alongside his pony, Bashir. The duo were quiet as they made their way through
the brush, the grullo pony and human searching for something neither entirely knew. Well, the
man knew in a sort of way - they were searching for a mage. This search had led them from
highlands to steppes, to deserts and valleys, and finally, to this forest.
The search was not going to end here, Brahim sensed. Following clues and small trails
that he wasn’t even sure of had left him exhausted, ragged, missing his family. But still, every
day he rose before the sun, the same routine he had followed for his entire life. He stretches,
packs up camp - sharpens his sword and cleans it - then feeds everyone and goes on. They've
been doing this for months now, Bashir and him, and have seemingly made no progress. It
could crush a person; being this alone for this long, and all of it being his fault, but Brahim was
not the sort of man to crumble.
Today, he holds the small horse his daughter made him, clutching it gently in his hands
and running his thumb over the folds in the paper, crinkles and creases he knows by memory
from how long he has had the small toy. He walks next to Bashir, the gear shared equally
between the pony and himself, giving his mount a break as they walk uphill, along a winding
path through the trees. There is not much to be seen in terms of noteworthy appearance - not
many animals seem to call this place home, and the mage, if she had come this way, had covered
her tracks well.
Soon however, if his rudimentary map is to be trusted, they will come to the very top of
the hillside, where Brahim should be able to gain a larger vantage point. But for now, they hike
together, man and beast side by side, each focused on making their own way up without falling
on the other. Halfway up, Brahim leans an elbow on the back of Bashir, catching his breath for
a moment, mumbling something about needing to get to the top before sunset.
The broad-shouldered man walks with a walking stick in his hand - just a large branch
found on the ground - and his sword bumps against his hip as he goes, cloak flapping with
every step. He turns his head to Bashir, and begins to talk to him properly this time, to have
some sort of company in the quiet wilderness. "So, a long trail ahead of us, huh boy?" The pony
huffed, seemingly agreeing with the little whickers he made as they walked. "I wonder what will
be at the top..." Brahim put away the origami horse, and brushed a hand through his thick dark
hair, the recent greying stripes making him sigh whenever he saw his reflection.
But there was no time to worry about how age affected him - he had to find that young
mage, bring her back...get his family back, even at the sacrifice of another. He sets his jaw and
continues, reaching the top of the hill in record time, Bashir always at his side; keeping step
with him.
Finally, the duo stare out at the rolling hills underneath them, and Brahim looks back
down the trail they have come from. His small campsite from last night's rest is still visible,
albeit looking like a smudge on the green grass. He rests a hand on the neck of his pony, both
taking another few minutes to catch their breaths. Then he stands up straighter, and sweeps the
land below with his gaze.
They have been following clues and tips from small villages and passersby, but who even
knows if their words have been truth? Regardless, Brahim and Bashir have continued, and now
they have to head north, where the last set of clues have led. It's time to pick their way down
the other side of the hill, time to continue along their way to find the young mage.
This time, Brahim climbs aboard Bashir, ruffling his fingers through the pony's dark
mane comfortingly. It would make more sense to not lead him down the hill - if his surefooted
horse managed to slip somehow, it would take Brahim tumbling too. So, they moved smoothly
down the hill together, Bashir picking his way over rocks and pebbles, until they encountered a
roadblock. Here, Brahim dismounted, and took the reins over Bashir’s head, leading him
closer. They were finally on flatter ground, and the man stood, surveying the thicket of thorns
that held them from continuing. He considered his sword - hand resting on the hilt, thinking
about slicing through the brambles. But no, this would take too long, and potentially damage
the blade itself, as the thicket grew wide and close together. Brahim turned his head to look to
the side, where the path ended and tall grasses grew, without the brambles.
What a way to continue along their journey. With another sigh, he swung his leg over
into the saddle again, clicking his tongue so that Bashir would begin walking. Brahim carefully
threaded the two of them through the thorns and around, avoiding any major scratches on his
legs. Still, some of the fabric of his pants caught, and he had to stop several times to unwind
himself.
It was slow going, but they finally broke through, and were back on their way.
Traveling to the north, against the light of the sun setting to the west, casting their shadows
long and lean on the ground. Bashir started walking forward, without Brahim needing to utter
a noise. Soon, if they were lucky, they’d happen upon someone else who had seen the object of
their quest. For now? They had to scout the horizon in front of them.
As Bashir clipped to a trot, Brahim rummaged in the bag hanging on the saddle,
catching deftly in his hands the map which another man in a tavern had scribbled out for him
for a small fee. Even through his steed’s jittery pace, he could make out the lines of the map,
tracing it gently with his hands. Over the rise of the hill, along the flatter plains to the north,
and eventually coming to a mountain range.
He had overheard traders in the marketplaces of little towns along his way speaking
about a young girl, traveling all alone, with a hand that sparked with magic if someone looked
her way too long. Talked to some of them privately, asked what she had bought - jerky, warm
clothing, blankets. A knife. Wherever she was going, Brahim had to guess it was going to be
cold, and it was going to be dangerous.
As he folded the map, he took the reins up in his hands again, and shaded his eyes to
better see the land in front of them - the bright bloody glow of the setting sun made it difficult
to see, but he could make out the mountain range in the distance, faded into the sky as it was.
He nudged his heels into Bashirs’ sides, whistled a long, high sound, and the pony started
galloping, taking Brahim closer and closer to what could hopefully be the end of his journey.