[X] Come Away, Human Child... (Open to anyone) {Inactive}

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[Character of the Month]

Character of the Month
Prince Caspian

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Played by Cara

"Cara has managed to...create a character that is both mythical and life-like. Impulsive, moody, and yet kind and good-hearted, Caspian is just beginning to show the makings of a true leader."
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[Tarkheena Samaah Selim]

Sometimes it is exceedingly boring to be the only child in a household that does not want you.

More epecially so, the young Tarkheena had come to find, on days such as today when Father was in a very black mood, and stomped about scowling and angering the servants, who were in turn snappish and sharp, and thus had no time at all to listen to a little girl's story-making. She wished they would though--stories were were comforting, happy-making things. It was like breathing the cool night air after the day's heat. But no one had time today. Mother was shut up in her suit of rooms changing her dresses and appealing to Tash for a son; Father was storming around glaring at everyone, and gathering up his generals to bring back into his rooms and talk in low voices with them. There were supposed to be more battles going on, more war--how exciting; that meant more gloriously-clad Tarkhaans with their bright mail and shining swords were going on parade later, and they they would ride off into the desert for a race! Oh, it sounded like such fun! but why was Father's brow furrowed like that? Had one of his horses had a fall and got itself hurt? Perhaps that was the answer--he was angry now because he couldn't win the race!

There was nothing to be gained for interupting him now, so the child decided instead to go and see to the horses. A story would make the infirm feel better! And she could share some of her lunch--horses liked dates and raisans and nuts, didn't they? Of course they must; everyone did! Her nurse had only that morning given her a jeweled comb to distract her from asking questions and fidgetting so in being dressed--this and a ribbon carefully threaded out of the sleeve of her dress would help make up the poor horse, and looking pretty all made people feel better! That was why her mother had so much clothes. Thus wrapping the choice bits--with some bread--in a napkin, the little Tarkheena slipped out of her room as her nursemaid went to see if the washing was done. There were so many halls and corridors, that it felt like wandering in the wilderness already. Perhaps she was having a grand adventure, seeking to find the stable of the Talking Horses and bring them gifts. Talking Horses, she decided, granted one wishes if they were pleased with one's gift. Her wish would be that she might be perfect enough for her Father to smile at her. Mother had said once he had such a beautiful smile...

Past the rooms where Father and his men were gathered, leaning over parchments spread all over the table, pointing to things and gesturing angrily--they must be plotting how Father could possibly still win the race! But to her they were exceedingly wicked giants, with dark flashing eyes, and sharp pointed teeth like scimitars, that had jewels drilled through. On their hands were heavy rings adorned with sacred seals, which swore their loyalty to Tash and the Tisroc (may he live forever!). They must be crept past, very lightly, very carefully, so as not to draw their attention. If one of them saw her, he'd snatch her and eat her up scrunch-munch! Being eaten didn't sound like a fun way at all to have an adventure.

She managed to get past them without being seen, and slipped by the kitchens next. The cooks were bustling about as usual, waving spoons and chopping things and stirring and poking the fire in the huge brick stove. It was like a horrible sort of cave, but the inside was all on fire. Perhaps that was why she was seeking to find the Talking Horses--not only to bring them gifts, but to save them from being trapped inside the fire-cave! She would need procisions...no..provisions, to bring with her, in order to make it a proper sort of adventure. To that end she crept up to one of the tables, quiet as a mouse, and snuck away some carrots and an apple, a soup spoon and a full sloshing wineskin, then scampered away as fast as her silk-slippered feet could carry her. The wine she would have to dump out; it was yucky and made her sleepy, so it must not be good for horses either. There was a tap in the stable; she could refill the skin there. The spoon was to chase away unfriendly beasts--for in the stories there were always a few. It might hurt the horse, but the shine of the sun on the spoon would be enough to drive the creature away whimpering, for certain!

Thus satisfied--arms laden--she made her way to the stableblock and set her procisions down on a turned-over water tub. The tap was on the wall, set over a drain--down into its dark bubbling mouth went the wine, glug-glug-glug! Water wooshed in to replace it. On a hook she found a small leather bag, the sort that is called a pannier--used to carry things on the side of a horse. It quite fit her bundle of fruits and bread and the waterskin--and the whole lot tied around her neck and hung behind her back--and the spoon could be tucked up carefully inside her sleeve with the comb. The first horse that poked his head over the door of the stall to greet her--he was a brown bay, and very sleek--she petted on the the nose and gave a carrot to.

"Greetings, Oh great Horse! The Tarkheena Samaah Selim has come to bring gifts to you, and to save you from a horrid fate in the fiery mouth of the fire-cave! Hurry oh noble Talking Beast; we must away before any knows of this!"

The horse didn't seem to object much to her climbing the bench, and from there hoping over the partition of the stall onto a haybale beside him. (Her skirt got rather wrinkled in so doing, and she nealy lost a slipper). Patting his neck, she took the comb out of its hiding and began to untangle his mane and tail.

"There, oh Horse! Now no one shall recognize you, and we may fly as the wind!"

So saying she got her foot into the stirrup and after several tries managed to perch sideways on the horse's back. He was exceedingly nervous about this--in his experience, people didn't usually climb on until after he was out of the stall and in the courtyard. he shied, and with a snort and a bow of his head, crashed down the wooden door of the stall and took off down the aisle, nearly knocking down a pair of slaves who were washing saddles. A Tarkhaan who had been visiting--and was now preparing to go home--tried to give chase, but the horse panicked at the pursuit and ran faster, out into the yard and wheeling, made straight for the gates. The Tarkheena managed to hold onto his mane, thankfully, but had her eyes closed the entire time. The gates had just been opened to permit a squadran of warriors to gallop off to 'battle again'--the Tarkheena's mount breezed past them, clipping one in the chest and upsetting it into rearing, startling all the rest and causing such a commotion that no one went after them. Meanwhile, the little girl herself was feeling quite frightened, being jostled very hard, and beginning to think that perhaps an adventure was not such a fine and wonderful thing to have. She had no idea where she was; none of the streets looked familiar at all, though thankfully the horse was tiring. Since she didn't know the way back, why not simply let him slow down on his own, then let him go whatever way he might be inclined to go? The horse must surely know where he was going; men would not ride them if they didn't know where to go.

[Tarkheena Samaah Selim]

Clop-clop, clop-clop, clop-clop

Amazing how despite going sort of fast like on the shiny cobblestones--which, it must be confessed the little Tarkheena nearly slipped off in leaning over to look closer at; all little children adore shiny things--the horse's feet never slipped. He didn't seem tired in the least, either. He was a true charger, bred to withstand long days marching through the Calormene desert, with little feed or water. He at least, would be suitably equipped for what lay ahead. They wandered the streets--Samaah occasionally tugging at his mane to try and make him go back in the alleys instead of out in the market streets, where people might recognize her and make her go home--exploring things. It was exciting to sneak around some more--like wicked Prince Caspiar in that story, sneaking away from his beloved uncle in the dead of night. Caspiar supposedly becme some cruel tyrant far away in some country called Telmar, though--the little Tarkheena shuddered at that bit. None of that, none of that--all she wanted was adventure and exploring! Already in her head she was spinning a story, to try and take her mind off the smell of the fresh-baked pastries in the market stalls. (She hadn't any money anyhow). It was like a forest of buildings, crowding in like the walls of a cave to hide her and her trusted steed from their wouldbe captors (for all good stories must have captors, just as surely as the best ones end happily.)

Eventually the cobbles became sandy, and the horse ventured forth from between two buildings and into the sunlight. They stood on the brink of a vast stretch of orange-brown sand. Samaah's lessons tickled the back of her mind--yes, this was the desert! and far away across it there were other countries: Archenland--Narnia. Home of singing trees and Talking Animals. Excitement fluttered through her all the way to her toes-- a Talking Cat would make lessons so much more fun! Cats are clever creatures; it was said that the Tisroc (may he live forever!) even had a Talking one called Ginger, who helped to settle Affairs of State. The child wasn't sure what an Affair of State was, but it sounded like the province of very important people. Surely upon returning home she herself would number among such people, and thus require the sage wisdom of a Talking feline as an insistant.

The rode on an on, the first chunk of the morning whiled way in the little girl's head with blissful imaginings--what would it be like to be in her Father's favour for once? might she get to sit at the gatherings of his Jeweled Giants and listen to his plans for winning the battle? Would he smile and pat her head and call her the 'joy of his sight, the child of my heart' when she told him stories? Then, bored with that, she started to talk to the horse, as she was accustomed to do. As ever, he responded not in words but in whuffs and snorts, and in the occasional backwards flick of an ear to show he was still listening (he was a really uncommonly good horse, breeding apart.) She sang to him a bit, such as she Must Never Do in the palace, as it was Most Unseemly for a Young Lady. She sang to him about the oceans that her lessonbooks said were far away at the edges of Narnia, and about forests, and sun shining golden on the sands, and about how he was so very noble and brave a horse;  she should like to call him Fig. To her ears, Fig was a fine and regal-sounding name. Besides, he was colored like the fruit.

Thus, the little fugitive and the newly-Christened Fig continued their journey until the sun began to fall. The sky faded from pink-gold, to copper, to a soft wooly sort of of purple that reminded one of blankets and sleep. It was time to find a place to settle down. Unexpectedly, the desert seemed a far larger, lonlier, colder place than it had before. There were no nursemaids to tuck her in. No warm bed to be tucked into. No soothing voice like a cool flow of water over pebbles, lulling her to sleep with tales of old. There was only the shadows reaching jaggedly out from the bases of dunes, and the stars above, and Fig. Patting his neck, she steered him over into a little holow near the side of one such dune, so that no unfriendly Beast might sneak up on them at night. Then, very carefully, she slid down to the ground. Plop! Right in the sand she went, legs tingling all over. Fig touched her shoulder with his nose, curious, and she huged his face and tried not to cry. It would be Too Undignified to so so. Instead, she reached for the bag of provisions--remarkably still in place!--and ate a little from it, rewarding Fig for his valor with an apple and then they both had a go at drinking from the skin bottle. Sadly, far more water got into the sand than into their mouths, but one might call it a learning experience in any case. Fig locked himself into a sleeping posture--quite upright; how odd and uncomfortable-looking!--and she slept as she'd fallen, leaning against his legs, in her fine clothes.

[Tarkheena Samaah Selim]

Sleep is difficult to come by when one is suddenly alone in a big and unfamiliar and very dark place, essentially alone save for one's horse. The night noises sound different when not filtered through the constant soft sounds of the palace--the whisper of slippered feet on carpets, doors creaking, the murmur of low voices and the hiss of steam in the water pipes. Out here was the wind whining and sighing over the dunes, the occasional snort and shifting of Fig--and the prowling hunting noises of the Beasts of the desert, that haunted her dreams. Besides all, the little Tarkheena had sat herself somewhat akwardly, and was sleeping sat up, in her stiff uncomfortable clothes. Later she would come to be most glad they were so thick--though the Calormene desert is terribly hot by day, at night when the sun goes to bed the heat melts away and leaves the whole place uncomfortably chilly.

Fig also passed a moderately uneasy night, though less so on his own part as he was A:) More accustomed than she was to sleeping standing up and B:) well-used to being suddenly brought to camp in unexpected places after a hard day's working. Such was the lot of the Tarkhaan's horse. Still, he would have liked a proper shelter at least--the camps his master generally made had usually at least a tent with some straw scattered on the floor, and always a pail or two of water. The furrow between the dunes, by comparison, made very poor lodgings. At least there were no flies to flick away; for this he could be glad.

At last the sun came awake again, lightening the sky from midnight blue, to that soft wooly lavender, to rose-golden as the rays spilled over across the sand. Both runaways stirred themselves, blinking sleepy eyes. Fig shook himself, twitching his entire body at once to shiver his coat like a shaken-out blanket. This and a nervous stamping of a hind hoof served as enough of a stretch for him. The little Tarkheena pulled herself up with some difficulty and worked the stiffness out of her arms and legs. Then she patted Fig and scrounged in the pannier for something they could have for breakfast. Nuts and bread and a small bit of cheese for her; dates and a carrot for him. Then again both tried a  drink from the bottle. A horse's lips, Samaah had come to notice, could grasp things just like short stubby fingers. Could she maybe get Fig to grasp the bottle and tip it up to  drink from it? It bore attempting. A short while later he had it! All she had to do was place the rim to his lips; he would take it and tip it. The trouble was to keep him from taking all of it! She had an inkling they might want for water later on. She too had a drink but only a short one.

Once they both as refreshed as was possible under the circumstances, the chiefest thing was to get moving on again. Patently, this stretch of desert emptiness was neither Narnia nor Archenland; thus they could not stop now. The trouble was, here there was nothing which to climb on and get from there onto Fig's back. very well then--for a bit she ought to walk. thankfully her slippers laced up high, and try as it might the hot sand could not burrow its way in and hurt her feet. The reins had fallen loose on Fig's shoulder--she took them, and took her try at leading him. it was more tiring than one supposed; sand dunes are devilish things to walk on, as the sand loves to shift under one's weight and fall quite suddenly out from beneath one's feet. It is not asy going, but perhaps the unease was part of the adventure, Samaah decided. She told this to Fig, and other things too--this place they were going through now was called a desert, and the lessonbooks said it had once been the sea, but then during a horserace (battle) some dragons had swooped over and with their fiery breath had dried up the water to leave only the sand. They still lived underneath the desert, and she and Fig must hurry to get out of it,  before the creatures awoke and decided to feast on Tarkheena-and-horsemeat pie. That sounded truly foul, didn't it Fig? What manner of food would he like most right then? Did horses like raisins? She had some they could share later. Were there raisins in Archenland, did Fig suppose? and how did they come to be so wrinkled? It was funny to imagine a fruit growing on a little bush from a  tiny purple seed, all furrowed and ridged, and then the plant sprouted fruits that were beetle-shiny and all wrinkled up.

All this and more, she told him as she led him--and then by midday she could walk no farther. Again, she sat down in the sand, panting in the sun and resisting the urge to drink down what remained of the water. By accident she discovered that dates and raisins worked wonders for this; their juices made one marginally less thirsty, to the point that she could give Fig the water and then, after a bit of rest for her aching limbs, could get back up and start leading again. By now the heat began to play tricks on her eyes--she would watch furtive golden lions slink over the dunes, only to have them melt away into part of the dunes themselves as she and the horse approached. Sometimes there seemed to be great pools of water just ahead of them, in depressions between the sandhills. These were never any closer, however long one walked. She told Fig this as they trod along.

Eventually the sun began to set, and again, the pair set up residence for the night against a dune. This time the Tarkheena slept on her side lying down, at at least she wouldn't be so stiff come morning. Thoroughly bruised and exhausted, she was asleep instantly.