She had noticed the dust trail while they had eaten. It was while he was down by the stream scrubbing out their pot that she could tell that the trail rose up from a pair of riders making their way towards them.

“Quartes,” she called, her hand shading her eyes as she tried to make out more of the approaching figures.

“Riders?” he called back up and she gave him the affirmation. “What can you make out of them?” he asked after a pause.

“Not much,” she answered, squinting. “They’re still too far away.”

“Got a bit of time then,” he answered and she heard him return to the dishes and his scrubbing. Keto stood staring at the approaching figures for a while more before joining him down by the stream, taking up one of the still dirty bowls and scrubbing it.

“Should we try and hide?”  She asked as she worked at a stubborn bit of stew.

Quartes shrugged, “We cooked without a fire and they’re not coming from the way we did, so they didn’t pick up our trail.” He rinsed the pot once more time before putting it down and grabbing the last bowl. “Which means they’re following us by some other way.” He looked over to Keto, “I’ve got at least one idea on how they can do that but more so I’d like to know why.”

They finished with the bowl and with the rest of dishes in hand returned to their camp. The riders had continued to near and Keto could make them out now, not that it did her much good.

“What are they riding, those aren’t horses.”

“No,” Quartes answered, looking up and shading his pale eyes before he finished with stowing their dishes, “they’re Taikeets. It’s a bird.”

“Those are big birds,” Keto observed as she kept her eyes on the pair. The feathers of the birds shimmered with the morning light and she had trouble making out further details from the riders.

“They’re Finnupavian Riders,” Quartes observed as he neared her. She noted that he had the shield and the two longsword in his hands. He extended the hilt of one to her and then leaned the shield against the tree trunk nearby. “I’ll have you stay back, Keid and Ras should be enough to keep an eye on you.” He kept the second blade, Cheriss, in hand. His own sword, and the Hilt-Shard, already strapped to his belt.

Keto recalled the stories she had heard about the nomads of the central plains. The plains themselves offered the bulk of the stories. A land of shifting grass, impermanent and changing, with wild storms that ravaged the landscape.  The nomads of the plains somehow survived out there, passed into the Provinces only on occasion. Sometimes to trade, sometimes to raid and pillage. The people seemed as fickle as the lands they called home.

“When the nomads were last seen, was it a trade or a raid?”

“They raid two years ago,” Quartes answered after a pause.

Keto felt her stomach clench, “Should we be worried about that?”

“That’s why the weapons are out,” Quartes answered. He stood facing the approaching riders now and after a moment he pulled up his gray hood.  Keto, Ras in hand, stood back and waited.