I should start when it comes to the wonderful beasts of this wide world, right here at home, for without the beasts that currently mill about us, this Caravan would not get very far now, would it?
Take the Adaraak, without whom half of this Caravan would be stuck in the dunes, no matter how hard the spirits beckon, ha! Tamed first by the yaka and men that dared delve beyond the fog, they are towering beasts, with the largest nearing three spans in height, with long necks and fangs as long as carving knife, and thick tail that swing like clubs behind them. You'd think they would be something to be feared. And that doesn't even get into their hefty spade claws on their forelimbs! But, by spirits or quirk of luck, the first Adaraak were placid things, which shouldn't be a surprise; they are sloths, after all.
The Adaraak taught those first soujurners how to live out here, where to dig for water and how to build up a working shelter with sand and stone alone, what plants wouldn't turn your stomach, when to run like the eight winds, and when to stand and fight, four front limbs flailing like mad!
Now, that's not to say we've always got on with our big friends. Skies, I've been smacked around more by an ornery Adaraak than most meat-seekers beyond the Caravan! Something 'bout my scent keeps them peeved, I guess. When one has gotten peeved, the best thing to do is to move out of the way and let it vent. Honestly, all the flailing and gnashing they do is kind of artful.
But if they like ya, they like you deeper than most beasts. I have seen Adaraak race to the defense of this Caravan more times than I could count against threats that dwarfed them five times over, but they've got grit, heart, and unity, and as such, they represent the spirit of this grand Caravan better than anything! Their kin to their south are a bit more ornery, of course, but I'll get into that in a bit, and they don't look the same either. Our Adaraak come in all manner of colors, black being rarest, which pity be them, and a silver piebald becoming more and more common! Blessed of the spirits, I'd say.
I think you've noticed by now that most of the Caravan is pulled by mamas and their foals, with the males wandering a bit on the outside. That's because Adaraak bulls are normally solitary creatures, but it seems our bonds mean enough that they chose to stick around. Isn't that something? I'll say this, though: if ever there was a mount to take you on a breakaway, it's a bull Adaraak, long as you can convince him to let you ride, ha! But a beast like that, strong and loyal, will get you back home. Trust me.
Now… what to chatter about next, ah, the
Dongo! While the Adaraak is the backbone of the Caravan, the Dongo and their riders are not just our eyes and ears, but our hands as well. Now, plenty of cattle are found across the breadth of Moulaat, but the Dongo is special. They are one of the fastest beasts the sands have ever known, able to outpace a wind spirit and outlast nearly any predator the dunes can throw at them.
It makes sense that the first scouts and hunters of the Caravan would have taken them as mounts. How exact they came about catching that first herd, I don't rightly know! Some say it was an alliance with wind spirits who had grown jealous of the Dongo, while others claim it was a vast net crafted by the Spider Folk. Regardless, Dongo are curious for another reason. They're one of the few animals I know of that only have two limbs! That's right, their sturdy multi-jointed legs can send them bounding twenty spans at a time when truly pressed between steps!
And you had better move when two bucks get their blood up and start eyeing the other like the worst insult to the spheres above! Quite a sight, aren't they? Four eyes rolling, ears flat, lips flared out as they gnash their jagged teeth. It is not thunder that shakes the dunes this far north, no, no, it is the wide horns of the Dongo.
Now, the females are plenty more amenable and aren't as taken to riders, though without them, we'd be missing a great deal of our provisions, now wouldn't we? Can you imagine a world without cheese? I sure as spit, can't! No, I don't know the first fella that figured out how to get milk out of them, even with how gentle and matronly the does can be, but if I was to put coin to it, I'd say it was a Yaka, curious as they are.
The last thing I'll say about the Dongo is this: It may be a quick ride, but it is not a comfortable one. Every scout I have ever spoken with has told me they need to wrap cactus gum around their hand just to keep the reins in hand! They ain't ornery, they are just too carefree to give their rider much thought once they get going, so just know, if anyone of you are seeking to be a scout, every one of ya is gonna fall off your first time, ha!
Hear that, hunts back, and what would a hunt be without those scrappy
Bakan, eh? They come from the hills leading up into the Reach, and it was the Kah-Rehm of those same peaks that brought them to join our ever-growing family. They're pigs, obviously, though one elder buck I knew called them something in particular. What was it? Oh! Peccaries. Not sure what the difference is, if I'm honest. Anyway, Bakan are some of the smartest dang animals I've ever seen! Half convinced that a couple of years from now, they'll be running the Caravan! He, he, nah, maybe they ain't that smart, but I've seen them in action.
See, they're pack hunters by nature, one racing down the hill to flush out prey while the others wait in a gully or a bush before they all lunge out, mouths chomping. Now, Bakan ain't big, far from it in the grand scope of the desert, only about a half a span, but they're built like boulders, all muscle and grit, though ignite quick too when they want to be. All six limbs are used for running and climbing, though their frontmost pair ends in hooves as sharp as any knife. Those are what they'll get their prey with, and then well… let's just say the wild ones are messy eaters too.
From what I understand, they started following the Kah-Rehm that came down from the mountains, lurking near their fires looking for scraps. The first Kah-Rehm to tame a Bakan is kind of a legend today, Pala-Bunyn, her name is, and her great big beast, biggest damn Bakan ever to walk they say was named Babe, went on all kinds of adventures, but I'm getting away from myself, now aren't I?
Bakan's biggest advantage as a hunting companion is their sense of smell. Water, fungus, carrion, fresh fruit, you name it, they can smell it at least a mile out. Their flag-like tails are able to signal what they sent, and any hunter worth their water knows how to read a Bakan's tail down to the twitch cause for some reason "danger" and "food" are almost exactly the same. Maybe they think it's funny, but the real answer is that danger and food often go hand in hand out there.
Course, Bakan are able to talk, not knowing-like, like you and I, but they are able to parrot speech, so most hunters teach their Bakan to bark words that coincide with their tails when not on an active hunt mind. But again, I swear those swine have a sense of humor. I watched one start a whole stampede of Wala-Wuno because it really wanted its hunter to know that it smelled "Eggs!".
Now, this might be a bit opinionated of me, but even with all that, I can't even begin to believe they cause more trouble than the
Dul-Yaka. Course, I'm allowed to say that as my folk have been living with the Dul-Yaka since before there was a Caravan! That's right, hugging the coasts and begging for fog or rain, or both, we met the little scamps.
I imagine my ancestors' surprise when they moved further down the coast and came upon the Yaka. It looks exactly like your boon companion, except it stands a full two spans tall, is bedecked in shimmering silver fur, and then it starts talking to you in your own mother tongue! What an experience that must have been!
I imagine the Dul-Yaka were called something different back then, but now they are denoted by the dune color of their fur. However, I've heard a few uncharitable folk saying the name refers to how dull they are compared to their larger kin, who, outside of fur color and larger ears, they are nearly identical to. You can imagine why folks like that don't last long amongst the Caravan now, don't you?
For what it's worth, the Dul-Yaka seem to adore their larger kin, though most Yaka have no idea what to do with them, for the fawning attention often gets in the way of their own duties, as well as whatever purpose the Dul-Yaka is meant to be doing.
Course you know Dul-Yaka have three jobs, two official, and one otherwise. Hunting small game taken down by wind or arrow, keeping watch while most everyone else is asleep and stealing any damn thing that isn't nailed down and packing it away into whatever part of the Caravan they have chose to build their nest, often also crafted out of stolen materials, namely cloth and bamboo pulp.
Of course, you get riled and go looking for them, and what do you find? Come on, we've all experienced it…
Right! A bunch of cactus fruit-sized pups mewling and yipping with the mama and dad looking up, you pleased as punch. Hard to be annoyed at that!
They do good work. I ain't saying any different. Dul-Yaka have saved this Caravan from more fool raiders and Dune Drakes than I can remember; their screams loud enough to shake Shimreth from her slumber!
Hmm… What to…
Gotcha! See this little bugger, rib weevil, the death of a wagon if left undiscovered. Luckily, it's not us that needs to keep a constant eye out for them.
That's the Mori-Mori's job. We've all seen them, the little jumping rodents with the quarter-span-long tails and flower-shaped ears. But tell me, young'uns, who brought them to join our merry Caravan?
Hmm. Nope. Funny, but no. Close.
The truth is, no one brought the Mori-Mori here; they joined the journey of their own volition and domesticated themselves! Why?
Because we had food they wanted, not on purpose, see, but all manner of bugs and critters have been chittering and tracking after us for as long as there's been tracks in the sand! Pinch-flies after out blood, Dust Rats seeking belly's full of grain and buggers like this here weevil, seeking to eat the very Caravan out from under us!
Enter our little friends the Mori-Mori, who find all those critters and many more absolutely delicious. Their ears can move ever which angle, able to zero in on the sound of pitter-patters and chitter-chatters of the vermin in work, and when they get an earful about a half dozen of the buggers will hop off. The next thing you know, the sound of ropes cracking fills the air, and you know the Mori-Mori are at work.
For those of you who have somehow missed it, Mori-Mori hunt using their tails, stunning their prey with whip-like strikes or wrapping their tails around them and choking the life out of them. A gruesome affair, all told, if you stay and watch it for long enough, but it has just become part of daily life in the Caravan. Most folks don't even spare it a second glance.
Course, the fact that the little buggers love to be cuddled probably helps matters, and most folks can attest to being a 'hitching' post for tired Mori-Mori at least once. They especially love Kah-Rehm folk; I remember having a conversation with a fella that had eleven hanging off his horns! Course, those that can't catch a ride on folk, catch a ride on the wagons and the walks, swinging like hammocks beneath the bellies. That's why your mas and pas always told you to watch your steps when we disembark, cause the Mori-Mori, always think they have the right away, ha!
There are a handful more, but I can see you're getting bored, so let's move on to something more interesting, eh… say, the Sky Islands?
An Adaraak Bull stands Sentinel
Now, where was I… right, the Sky Islands. Now, before you go getting your hopes up too high there, young'uns, I don't mean actually floating spars of rock and sand that fly like a bird on the wing. Sorry to tell ya, but the only time you'll see flying dirt is when the green-storms make the sand go all wonky. No, I am talking about Pyandor Reach. Look there; you can see the edge of the northernmost part now. Towering mountains, rising defiantly up into the air, daring to scrap the face of Shimreth herself! Still impressive, ain't it? Now, while some say there are two mountain ranges to the northeast, anyone I've ever talked to from them mounts has referred to both ranges as just more of the Reach.
Why?
Well, most folks I've asked and stories I know all say the same thing. There used to be a whole handful of mounts tying the ranges together into one big snaking mass. Kept the Yaka, Men and others from delving beyond the fog and into the deeper desert, long, long, long before the Caravan see! But they wanted to explore, wanted to see more of the world whispered by the wind. Now, here's where things get messy. Some folks say that my folk found something that allowed them to crack the mountains apart, scattering them to join the sands beyond! Others say the Yaka managed to speak to the spirits of the mountains and asked them if they could politely move aside. Not sure which, if any, are true. I had one crazy guy say it was part of the ring that came crashing down on our heads, but I'm not sure how much I bought that.
Anyway, the Reach is often referred to by folks as Islands because up there, above the heat, clouds gather. While some are capped by a gift they leave, something the mountainers call snow, others are blessed with bounties of green. See those bamboo struts over there? Got it from the Reach—those berries in your Stew. Reach again. Plenty of mountain folk have traded their chilly soaring homes for the Caravan over the years. Many more are likely to, bringing all kinds of stories and goods, and when folks break away, you can bet your last coin they aim to reach the Isles—aiming to set down roots or form a new Caravan, who's to say? The sad thing is, few ever even get to make it that far.
See, Pyandor's Reach has something of a gate guardian, the
Tkul-Mtura, or Maul Drakes in the language of the Makii. Now, up in the mountains, there is plenty of well… plenty, hmm, oh you know, greenery, growth, food, you get me. Down here, though, where the mountains give way to sand, it is a sight sparser, but I don’t need to go telling you that.
The Tkul-Mtura know that, and they also know most beasts have a way of scenting that plenty, even as far up as it is. Because of this, they’ve devised a clever method of hunting.
It comes in three parts, the first being camouflage. Now, you’d think a nearly five-and-a-half arm-span-long beast would stick out in a land that sparse, but you’d be wrong. See, they- well, I like to say they’re turtles, so they have these big ol’ craggy shells that blend right in with the stone around them, and not just on their backs either. They got a thick bit of armor atop their heads, too. Now, I’ve been told they aren’t turtles, some other kinda reptile, but I can’t for the life of me remember what that was.
Anyway, they set their six hefty legs to digging, and soon, every bit of them was covered except their head and their craggy shells, and at that point, I would bet none of you young’uns would be able to tell it apart from any other bit of crag.
The second part is the most devious; see, when they get hungry, all they need to do to hunt prey is crack their mouths open. Sounds pretty easy, right? Kinda like nonsense too, and I’d giver you that, but the moutainfolk say their spit smells like fresh meat, or rotting fruit, enough to bring a curious Dongo or Bakan snuffling. Some even claim that some have learned how to smell like foods that would draw out ilk, such as cooked meats and sweets and thalo tea, but I think those are the makings of tall tales.
Now, when prey gets close, the third part of the plan unveils itself; for quicker than a wind-blessed arrow, their head will shoot out, clamping hooked jaws around the limbs or head of their curious victims. But that isn’t how they kill; no, that’s just to hold so they can get their proper weapon ready. Their length, multi-jointed tail ending in a solid block of bone not so dissimilar to a maul, hence the name. They bring that thing cracking down with enough force to turn sand to glass, and by the spirits, I’ve seen their handiwork! This here bit of glass was drawn from Tkul-Mtura kill-sight, in fact.
After the killing is done and their prey is spattered into so many pieces across the sand, they slurp it all down and get back to sleeping and waiting, though they often get a whole lot of sand in their craw while doing it. After a bit, they tend to cough up crimson pearls that rest about their maws, a temptation for the greedy and dumb, though I don’t believe the beasts are bright enough to know they’re doing it.
Course, I’m making them out to be monsters, and that ain’t wholly accurate. You wouldn’t think it by looking at them, but they are gentle and proud parents, letting their young eat all the best bits and clamber all about their backs, guarded by the twitching sentinel of their mama’s deadly tail, not that any creature is fool enough to target a baby Tkul-Mtura. Well, most ain’t. I’ve known a few Yaka that would be so daring, ha!
Luckily, it's rare anymore for our Caravan to come too close to their territory, allowing them to draw the overly curious away. Even when it does happen, the Mountainfolk, the Makii in particular, have taken to placing rather gruesome trail markers warning of their presence. Anyone who continues on despite that, in my opinion, is going to end up fodder for the sand one way or another.
But that’s just what lives down at the bottom of the mountain, far form the bamboo and marrowwood trees and other manner of bounties far above, so what pray tell lives there, a whole bunch if I’m particularly honest, but I’ve seen three beasts in particular that stand out to me to this very day.
Now, not all beasts are spread, so even across the parted Reaches, and in the more isolated west, there is an animal that makes harvesting bamboo difficult. Not because it’s got anything against us, spirits no, but because when we come poking around they’re already cleared all the prime specimens out for the season.
The Pyandor Bear are prodigious bamboo eaters, heck I’ve seen one tried to eat a walker once, and they can be right menacing when they want to be, but the spirits blessed them to be slow, so even when one get riled, you’ll be a good ten spans away before they start trundling after you.
It's not that you should try getting them riled, though. Bamboo is some of the sturdiest material at hand, and they can tear it apart with claws and teeth like wet paper! Now, while they’re called bears, of which there are a few smaller species up in the isles and that particular infamous bastard, the Nandi back east, they most definitely ain’t bears. Bulbous noses, flat faces, heck, the closest resemblance is their round ears, but they’ve got two thumbs when a bear doesn’t even have one, plus they’ve got a sack in their stomachs where they keep their babies. No, I ain’t fooling you.
Now, I’d say they were some kind of sloth, but that probably isn’t accurate, either. There is no bony skin beneath the fur, and the limbs are all wrong. See, Pyandor Bears do have six limbs, but they have two sets of arms: a front pair that they walk on the knuckles of to keep their claws sharp and a smaller second pair situated next to their pouch, which they use to protect their young and help them climb in and out.
Last thing I can really say about the beasts is that they are some of the ugliest singers I have ever damned heard. Like a didgeridoo that’s gargling rocks and belching bubbles, and when one gets going, let me tell you, they all get going. Worst span of sleep I ever had was trying to rest in the Western Reach, 'cause oh howdy do their voices carry.
If you want a pretty singer up in the Reach, you look no further than the
Ilumara Griffins; now, theirs is a curious story. I’m sure plenty of you have heard about the stories of the sky-fishers who pluck strange things off of Shimreth and the dazzling display that alights the sky when she draws close. Not sure how much I believed them myself, as I ain’t eve seen it done, and I can’t imagine the strength and length of line required to make that feat possible. But supposedly, the first Griffins to ever grace our skies were pulled down by a Yaka woman named, you guessed it, Ilumara. Now I’ve heard all kinds of stories about her, and if even half of them are true, then that woman became something far grander in death, I’ll tell you that.
Regardless, I can see why some folk would think the Griffins aren’t of this world, with skin like a lapis, not an eye to be seen yet never missing their targets when they strike, and eight limbs paired at the shoulders and hips, and long fluttering tails. Now, most would look at them and think bird, and believe me, there are plenty of birds in the Reach, winged or otherwise. Now, I’d hasten to agree with that estimation, but convention holds they’re some manner of reptile, and while I met a fella once that told me every bird was also a reptile, I don’t hold to that nonsense. So winged reptiles they are, for whatever that is worth.
The most striking thing about them, which I noted before, is their singing: voices like a flute pitched so low you can hear it in your gut before your ears, and the melodies they craft, I’d swear to you it was a language entire, and by the tracks it might be! I’ve seen spirits dance to their songs, and I felt my heart fit to burst from fear, and my lungs wanted to bellow with joy.
They hunt through sound too, and I don’t mean like bats, but with weaponized tunes, now that you are allowed not to believe me, 'cause I didn’t believe it myself when I first laid eyes on it. One minute, the Dongo I was trying to re-rangle was fine, tossing his head and showing his gums at me; the next, he was coughing up blood and twitching on the ground.
It landed not long after, turning its great head towards me, full two span in length, wings near to twelve, spread wide, and I damn near fainted on the spot, but it just… flew off, taking my mount and all my provisions with it. Still, I was thankful, and the Mountain Kah-Rehm that stumbled upon me bout a day later swore I was blessed. Yet, for all the fear I heard from folk bout them, not once did I hear stories of any Griffins ever carrying anyone off. Just… staring at them and flying off, and I do understand how off it sounds to say something like that after already noting they have no eyes. Hauntingly beautiful and intriguingly mysterious in every way, yet they avoid the Caravan at all costs. I just wish I knew why.
Now the fire is burning low, and the stars are beginning to grow heavy in the sky, so I think I got one more in me before we call it for the night. That sound fair? Now this one… it ain’t no slow and easy beast, or mysterious legend, no… It’s a devious thing.
The Kolmado is the apex predator of the region, and I’m sure you wouldn’t think that looking at them, but it turns the most craved resource in this world against us.
Water.
See, up in the islands and amongst the valleys, far from the blazing heat of the desert, water can stand for far long, and not tiny points like oases. I’m talking about bodies of water hundreds of spans across, and these beautiful locales are the domain of the Kolmado.
Kin to the frog, but with a body like a lizard, this “salamander” is only about two span in length at their biggest, with most not being half that, but they don’t need to be big to kill you. They don’t need nasty claws, or knife-like teeth, nah, all their need is to touch ya.
Now, I’m not sure how they do it—blessed by some cruel spirit? Too much time in the green-storms in the past? Your guess is probably better than mine, but their touch is like getting struck by lightning. The lightest tap, and they send sparking pain racing through your bodies. It’s at that point they swarm up out of the water and drag your paralyzed form into the water. Saw a full-grown Adaraak go down to a swarm, so believe me when I say these are beasts to take seriously.
Most beasts don’t even get a chance to drown before they are going for the softest bits, ears, eyes, noses, but what they are all aiming for is the mouth, prying it open so they can slither down your throat and get at the sweet meats inside. Saw a breakaway shatter following one of those attacks, which is understandable.
It might have been a mistake to leave this one for last. Hmm, sorry about that, but like I said, there are monsters and majesty in this world. The Kolmado just happen to be one of the beasts with very little to admire about them. I’m not saying that makes them deserving of scorn or killing; far from it, they are simply doing what comes natural to them, heinous as it might be to us.
That being said, we’re getting closer and closer to the Reaches, so keep an eye out once we get up to the isles and let me or one of the other older folks test a bit of water first before you go drinking or diving. They’re mean, but they’re cowardly, and if you can drag the target out of the water before they can latch on, they lose interest pretty quickly. Something about being out of the water frightens them. Blessings of the spirits, that.
But there, the fire is out, and the time for stories has ended, though I assure you plenty more beasts ill the Reach. I can speak on that more in a night to come… or perhaps a new locale, one storied and chaotic, the ever-shifting legacy of the Torrent perhaps? See, I thought y’all would take a shine to that one, but another night, another night I assure you.
A young Tkul-Mtura at Work
