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Arowe Shot First
Dragging one of his fallen brothers on a hastily constructed travois, the barrel-chested Tsigane sighs. His voice is deep but contrite as he talks downward to the elf walking beside him.
"I... We appreciate your graciousness in victory. When I saw you chasing after poor Charlie, I assumed the worst. Our past dealings with Humans haven't gone well and, in fairness, you did shoot at me as soon as I cleared the thicket."
Arowe can't contain his curiosity about the poor dumb creature.
"As an elf, I've had dealings with your kind before but I've never seen such a creature as 'Charlie-horse' before. Does this 'accident' happen often?"
Tsigane allows himself a half-smile and shakes his lustrously maned head.
"He's not one of us. Although we are a nomadic people by nature, we tend to repeat route patterns over the years and we found him during our last migration to this region. We felt pity and took him in. He's a pathetic creature. A frail human body but with the mind of a dumb horse. He gets confused and scared but he's harmless and we care for him out of empathy for his plight. But for the grace of Skerrit: The God of all Centaurs, his condition could have easily been ours."
Arowe's incredulous eyebrow elicits a further response from the brawny and hirsute Tsigane.
"He's not the only waif and stray we've adopted along the way. There are a couple more members of our tribe that you may find of interest."
The odd group of centaurs, horses, humans, elves, a halfling and a dog move steadily but slowly for the sake of the two wounded centaurs. The bizarre reverse centaur creature, they refer to as 'Charlie' is tugged along behind by a loosely tied rope around his neck. He could easily lift it off with his untethered hands but it seems to not even occur to him.
At this plodding speed, the journey back to the centaurs' camp takes several hours but Tsigane is unwilling to risk further injuring his brothers. Rifkin, though not that skilled in the healing arts, continues to check on their wounds, reapplying dressing whenever necessary.
Eventually though, Tsigane's deep, rich voice calls out.
"Nearly there now."
"I... We appreciate your graciousness in victory. When I saw you chasing after poor Charlie, I assumed the worst. Our past dealings with Humans haven't gone well and, in fairness, you did shoot at me as soon as I cleared the thicket."
Arowe can't contain his curiosity about the poor dumb creature.
"As an elf, I've had dealings with your kind before but I've never seen such a creature as 'Charlie-horse' before. Does this 'accident' happen often?"
Tsigane allows himself a half-smile and shakes his lustrously maned head.
"He's not one of us. Although we are a nomadic people by nature, we tend to repeat route patterns over the years and we found him during our last migration to this region. We felt pity and took him in. He's a pathetic creature. A frail human body but with the mind of a dumb horse. He gets confused and scared but he's harmless and we care for him out of empathy for his plight. But for the grace of Skerrit: The God of all Centaurs, his condition could have easily been ours."
Arowe's incredulous eyebrow elicits a further response from the brawny and hirsute Tsigane.
"He's not the only waif and stray we've adopted along the way. There are a couple more members of our tribe that you may find of interest."
The odd group of centaurs, horses, humans, elves, a halfling and a dog move steadily but slowly for the sake of the two wounded centaurs. The bizarre reverse centaur creature, they refer to as 'Charlie' is tugged along behind by a loosely tied rope around his neck. He could easily lift it off with his untethered hands but it seems to not even occur to him.
At this plodding speed, the journey back to the centaurs' camp takes several hours but Tsigane is unwilling to risk further injuring his brothers. Rifkin, though not that skilled in the healing arts, continues to check on their wounds, reapplying dressing whenever necessary.
Eventually though, Tsigane's deep, rich voice calls out.
"Nearly there now."
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