Humble dreams of Hengk-Otang
The youth of a warrior led into temptation
to Tom L. & Sophia E.

[Note: Hengk-Otang’s name is pronounced and stressed as HENK OH-tung. It means ‘bony hand’.]

The sun drifted low above the city of Dok-Ur. As dawn broke, rows of neat cob houses sprung up out of the blue night, and fields of green shone with the yellow of jonquils, the purple heads of thistles, white clouds of gypsophila and yucca, and in the distance the bright pink blooms of grand vetch crops. Hengk-Otang observed all this from afar, standing out front of her small canvas tent. She took in a lungful of crisp, cool air, and looked up past the villages and farms to that great circular palace they called the council cloister, a huge ring of hewn stones that stood out like a mountain beyond all those little square houses.
	Her tentmate, Rus-Ari, emerged, unsteady on her feet, approached Hengk and grasped onto her shoulder to hold herself up. Hengk had regarded the sight of Dok-Ur with a placid, neutral face, but at Rus’ touch a smile danced across her lips.
	“Sun’s warmth on you, friend Rus,” she said, reaching up and placing a hand on top of the other’s. “Did you sleep well?”
	“Like a shrew,” Rus replied. “Every hour I got up again and paced around, couldn’t tire myself out, laid down again restless until I dropped off again. I can’t remember if I had any dreams, so I don’t really know how long I spent actually sleeping.”
	Hengk nodded, and patted Rus’ hand. “It’s always the way with you, isn’t it? I do wish I knew what would help.”
	“Don’t fuss about me,” she came back, taking her hand away. “You wish this and you wish that, you’re always saying, but when your fellow tells you what she wants you won’t listen to her.”
	“You’re sharp this morning, for someone so drowsy,” Hengk said, and folded her arms, looking back over her shoulder at Rus, who was skulking back toward the tent. “I bet if I fix you a cup of root and spice you’ll be less of a shrew and more of a quail.”
	Rus frowned, turning back around to face her. “Excuse me? Meaning what, exactly?”
	“Meaning you’ll be a bit more spritely and not so bloody-minded,” Hengk replied.
	“You know as well as anyone a quail’s got brains the size of a shrew’s single shit. Not to mention the nerve of comparing me to a bird when you know what’s going on out in the Peaks.”
	“So we go to war and now every harmless little bird is the enemy, is that it?” Hengk shook her head, tutting her tongue against her teeth.
	Rus sunk to her knees, clasped her hands together, bringing them up to her mouth and taking long, focused breaths. She could feel a river of heat rushing through her body, but soon her concentration dispersed it. She gave a deep sigh and let her hands go, resting them on her knees.
	“In any event, don’t go boiling water for me before the waking gongs, alright? You know how much trouble you’ve gotten in for starting fires before the generals get up.”
	Her arms uncrossed, Hengk went over to kneel down before Rus, taking both her hands and giving them a gentle squeeze. “That’s trouble for me, not for you, and I’ll deal with it if it happens, okay?”
	“I can’t talk you out of it, I suppose,” Rus said, and gave a brief and weary laugh.
	And so Hengk lit a small campfire and made Rus her hot drink, and when she was done she took her shovel, set off, walked and walked until their tent looked as small as her thumbnail, and buried the kindling and ashes.