[Book 2] Chapter 3

  The Elbas

  《Baleon’s Log》

  Morning at the nomad encampment — Outer Steppe.

  The day after the feast.

  [Fael] Out early. → After relieving himself, he was seen chatting lightly with Xaelo.

  [Serio] Still fast asleep.

  [Maya] Still fast asleep.

  After last night’s feast, we all sank into the comfort of soft bedding. Worn from the journey, everyone slept soundly.

  This morning, I can finally read an old manuscript at leisure. A day like this, once in a while, does no harm.

  After sharing breakfast with Xaelo’s family, I plan to travel deeper into the steppe with Fael, lightly equipped.

  Maya will be fine—Serio is with him.

  In the bright, open valley of the Steppe, even Xaelo’s family, who had hosted long-awaited guests, awoke later than usual.

  In one of the two square tents pitched beside the great circular tent, Xaelo’s grandchildren were still asleep. In the guest tent, Maya and Serio lay in deep slumber.

  Xaelo and Nohra had already finished milking the Elbas and let them out to graze. Inside the tent, Neyra was heating Elba milk in a pot and preparing the rest of breakfast with practiced ease.

  Fael and Xaelo, who would spend the next few days apart from the younger two, were stripping down their caravan gear—leaving behind the heavy cargo and seven pack Elbas in Xaelo’s care—readying themselves to travel light into the heart of the steppe.

  Before long, a creamy fragrance of Elba milk blended with spice drifted from the tent, reaching even the square tent where the children slept.

  Drawn by the aroma, Nivia stirred awake, with half-asleep Nava in tow, and went to the water bucket to wash their faces.

  Maya and Serio soon followed, roused by the morning greetings exchanged between the sisters and Fael. They stepped out of the tent and stretched wide together.

  Xaelo, having just finished putting away the fence, called out to them with a laugh.

  “Sleep well?”

  “Yeah, it’s been a while since I’ve had such a good bed. Thanks.”

  Serio answered with a smile, and Maya nodded beside him.

  Nohra came out from the tent, carrying wooden bowls and plates.

  “Come, the weather’s fine. Let’s eat outside today.”

  Xaelo urged Maya and Serio to wash up, then went back into the tent to fetch breakfast.

  A cloth was spread outside, with bowls and plates arranged in a circle. Nohra tilted the pot, pouring thick white Elba milk tea. This morning’s spice differed from last night’s, steam rising into the chill air.

  The remains of the feast were also laid out; what could not be kept overnight had been chopped fine and added into a milk stew, ladled into each bowl. The savory aroma set mouths watering.

  You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.

  As Neyra cut and handed out grain bread to her daughters, she noticed a small shadow perched on little Nava’s lap.

  “Well now—who’s your tiny friend?”

  Nava beamed.

  “This is Roro! Serio’s friend.”

  The night before, Roro had been unsettled, curled up in Serio’s bag until morning.

  But now he was calm, having perched on Serio’s shoulder when he went to wash, where Nava found him and quickly befriended him.

  Fond of children, Roro now sat wagging his tail on Nava’s lap, waiting for breakfast along with everyone else.

  The autumn wind swept gently through the cheerful circle, carrying warmth from food and fellowship alike.

  By the time most of the meal was done, Neyra turned to Maya.

  “Maya. Have you ever ridden an Elba on your own?”

  Mouth still full, he shook his head.

  “I thought so. Then after breakfast, it’s time for your first Swift Elba lesson!”

  Her eyes sparkled with delight. She stacked her dishes together, then leaned toward her mother, who was eating with the others, with a grin.

  “Mom! You take care of the cleanup, okay?”

  And with that, she dashed off, unable to contain her excitement.

  Turning back toward Maya, she called, “I’ll have everything ready, so don’t keep me waiting!”

  Fael smirked and asked Xaelo wryly.

  “Is it always like this?”

  “Hah-hah-hah. So it is,” Xaelo chuckled with a shake of his head.

  The Swift Elbas, well-trained, were accustomed to bearing riders.

  Each member of Xaelo’s family had a partner Swift Elba.

  Since Maya and Nivia were of similar build, Maya was allowed to ride Nivia’s Elba, while Serio took the slightly larger Elba that had been passed down from Xaelo to Nava.

  At first Maya climbed on timidly, but Nivia’s instruction was precise, and before long he had learned how to sit and signal.

  Neyra stood squarely, arms folded across her chest, bobbing her head in pleased approval. “Yes, yes.”

  Serio, though used to caravan beasts, had never handled a Swift Elba before. Still, it took little time to read the play of the reins and the stride of its gait.

  Once both had found their balance, Neyra handed them cloth bundles of dried Elba cheese and grain bread.

  “Keep these in your pouches.”

  “No fruit?” Serio asked.

  “There’ll be some along the way,” she laughed.

  And so, the three of them left Xaelo’s tent before noon.

  Not long after setting out, Neyra looked back with a shout.

  “Autumn days are short—we ride fast!”

  At her signal, the Swift Elbas leapt into a run.

  Maya and Serio followed.

  For Maya, it was his first true gallop.

  The rush of wind on his body thrilled him beyond imagining.

  When he had first mounted a pack Elba back in the mountain village, helped up by Serio, the view had amazed him—higher and broader than ever before. Yet now it was more.

  The reins shifted in his hands, the Elba answered. Each stride carried him onward, changing the world around him. He felt as though he had become the wind itself, and his heart soared.

  They raced across a bright valley, leaping streams and climbing a low hill.

  When Maya looked back, Xaelo’s tent was already gone from sight.

  Though it had felt brief, the Swift Elbas had covered a great distance.

  Neyra pointed past the crest ahead.

  “There—see that little speck? That’s Santal’s tent.”

  She dipped her head to signal and led them down the slope at full speed.

  Neyra rode straight to the tent and leapt lightly from her Elba.

  Serio, catching up with Maya, whispered wide-eyed:

  “Did you see that? She jumped off at full run.”

  Maya, equally stunned, nodded.

  “Yeah… and her Elba just strolled back to the tent as if nothing happened.”

  The way beast and rider moved in perfect accord left them speechless.

  Meanwhile, Neyra had already hailed an elderly man seated on a wooden bench at the edge of the pasture.

  “Hello, Santal!”

  “Well, if it isn’t Neyra. Looking well. What brings you today?”

  He was surely past sixty, his lined face warm with a kindly smile.

  After Neyra briefly explained about Fael’s company, she beckoned Maya and Serio over.

  “Not seeing Nibera today?”

  “She’s across the river with the grandchildren, teaching them herding. I’m staying put—an Elba went into labor last night, can’t leave her side.”

  “I see.” Neyra nodded, then explained to Maya and Serio.

  “Santal specializes in the births and rearing of all four Elba breeds here.”

  In this steppe, the main types were Alpine, Dune, Swift, and Woolen.

  Alpine Elbas thrived in mountain climates—like the very first one Maya had met.

  Dune Elbas endured dry lands and long flat journeys.

  Swift Elbas excelled in solo speed.

  Woolen Elbas bore long, thick fleece, the source of weaving fiber.

  Santal’s pasture held Elba mothers and calves of every sort, grazing freely. Some young Elbas pressed against their mothers’ bellies, nursing. When weaned, they would be sent to households specializing in their breed, raised and gently trained into adulthood.

  But training, as Neyra explained, did not mean harsh discipline. To the nomads, Elbas were family. They lived together, letting each beast’s nature grow, learning to dwell with humans as kin. From them, the nomads took milk and wool—yet never forgot to limit their herds, for the steppe’s grass was finite.

  Their livelihood, their herds, and the land’s life were one cycle. Guarding it and passing it on to the next generation was not just survival—it was the heart of their lives.

  Maya was astonished there were four kinds of Elba. But what struck him most was how the nomads each honed a skill, and by sharing them, lived as one.

  It made him think of the faces back in his mountain village—and warmed him inside.

  Santal went on, recounting tale after tale of Elbas—his first birth attended in youth, the night he braved a storm to guard the pasture, the time he saved a lost calf. The sheer number of stories amazed Maya and Serio.

  Listening to the elder’s vivid recollections, they felt anew the resilience of these people of the steppe.

  By the time the sun dipped past the hills, the two thanked Santal deeply.

  Then, together with Neyra, they turned their Swift Elbas back toward Xaelo’s tent.

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  AI disclosure: I am a non-native English writer and have used AI for partial translation and light editing. No AI-generated prose.