graasvoel

The vulture’s joking, if crass, words and grin do not elicit outright mirth from the fearful, little hyena-man. But it does seem to cause an ebbing of his terror. Ever intense and alert raptor eyes (for all his contradicting lackadaisical and hedonistic temperament) catch the slowing of his labored breaths and perked ears catch the cease of clacking, trembling bones. A slice of triumph streaks though his heart; (see father? There are as many victories in words as weapons).

But the Korofi man is not left long to dwell on his triumph, for the darkly striped and well-haired man began to speak— in common tongue. An annoyed snort push harshly past his nostrils, sharp stare narrowing on the others odd-colored eyes (forgetting, for the moment, that he was trying to put this man at ease), “You speak the common tongue?” The small Dorobian spoke common this whole time, and let him blunder his way around Plainspeak? He jerkily shakes of his black-marked skull to himself: Never would he understand the strange ways of the Plainsborne. Though he, himself, was not entirely Korofi in his actions.

But it is immediately on the heels of his disbelieving annoyance that the substance of the words spoken sinks in: “Because I am a coward.” And they hit the hulking vulture strangely: both poignantly and abrasively. How often had his father accused him of being a coward? Of choosing to hide in the pleasure between mare’s thighs rather than face the punishment of the training fields with his sire? So his starkly white ears lay back slightly amid the tangle of black, tawny, and cream mane as his stare darts away from the bone-decorated stallion. They dart to the earth, covered in strange mosses and green growths that were so alien from the plateaus.

“A coward is only called as much by those who would pin their ideals of ’morality’ and ’greatness’ on others. A coward is defined by circstamce, and circumstances are forever changing. A man can be a coward one moment and a hero the next without changing a single thing about himself. The word ’coward’ is useless. Life is not about cowardice or bravery; it is about survival. And these so-called ’cowards’ almost always survive,” the usually laid-back and colloquial tone of his words fell away as his noble, learned upbringing shone through in his irritation.

And then the next, tired question fell into the man’s now-strung head. He watched closely for a moment— he did not know that Korofi had begun to outright hunt the plainsborne. Take a deep, mildly calming breath, he answered, “You, are from Dorobo,” his starkly white skull motioned over the man’s bones and markings, plainly indicative of his heritage on the Plains, “As am I,” his wings ruffled slightly, drawing attention to his feral, Korofi markings. “If one Dorobian runs, should another? And you plainsborne are better at survival than most, and I would rather be safe. Call me a coward as much as you, but I will end the day alive,” a wry grin finally found its way across his mouth once again, earlier ire melting away as he resumed his laid-back nature.

“I am Graasvoel, but I go by Gaal. Who are you, hiënajie?”