regenstein
Hinrig groaned exhausted as he turned back to look down the incline he had just traversed. Trying to calm his panting, he leaned on his knees. A whinny made him stare at his steed, who already grazed happily in the sparse greenery the ridge provided. He swung himself up on the animals back after making sure it hadn’t suffered any injuries climbing. There he combed the horse’s mane unfocused, it didn’t appear impressed or to take much note. Hinrig sighed and took in the panorama.
There it was, the Basin of Regenstein, his home.
He was standing on the other side of the ravine that opened the mountain plateau towards the land beneath. It would take him another day of riding to circle it and pass Regenstein’s outermost buildings. A small price to pay for the breathtaking view.
Over millennia the water raining from the clouds caught on the mountains crest, had cut into it. Wide channels had formed and created the stone towers Hinrig’s people used to carve their buildings into. Over generations the outsides of the natural pillars had been smoothed and decorated. In places, even he sometimes wondered if a god hadn’t just picked up a castle and placed it on the mountain.
Hinrig sighed and clicked with his tongue, signalling his horse to move on. “What am I supposed to tell them, Gigara?” he asked but the Horse didn’t care to comment. With a bitter smile he continued: “The Drought in Gruenenland is even worse than what I imagined. It needs a miracle to save those people.”
He wiped at his eyes and looked at the faint glitter of tears on the back of his thumb. Hinrig had spent more than a lifetime in war, killing countless warriors and heroes that were now part of legends sung by minstrels. But this was the first time he faced an enemy he wasn’t able to overcome.
His mind went back to what he had seen on the border. A small village. Mothers and Fathers rotting where they had laid down to rest, not enough flesh on their bones to even interest the ravens. Their children sat beside them in apathy, waiting for their inevitable demise. With their sun bleached skin and strangely bloated bellies, they already looked dead. But even worse were their blind and dull eyes and how they stared into eternity, unable to change their situation.
Hinrig hadn’t been able to save even one. His peoples food was poison to humans, his drink could not quench their thirst. There had been nothing to hunt or gather from the dead land. In the end, all he had been able to do was to sit beside them and keep them company. Thinking about giving them the mercy of a quick and painless death.
Gigara whinnied to free her rider from his mental prison. He blinked away the thoughts and patted her head thankfully. Looking up and at the waterfalls again, he suddenly felt a spark of inspiration igniting in his mind. He leaned down to his trusty companion and begged: “I would never ask this of you if I didn’t know it was necessary. But. Run, my friend. Fly, if you must. If we reach Regenstein before night fall, we may save them.” Hinrig had been never sure if there wasn’t more to this horse than it let on, but as soon as he had finished his request, her body exploded into energy.
Sparks and gravel exploded from where her hooves dug into the rocky surface. With every step it felt as if they were catapulted even further towards their goal. Faster and faster they shot across the ridge in a blur of speed. Steam rose from Gigaras Body and Hinrig felt her passionate determination as he held on with dear life.
He couldn’t comprehend why he hadn’t thought about this sooner. His people were building canals for decades. They couldn’t feed the people but they could feed the soil. He would dig them himself with his bare hands if it meant he wouldn’t need to see another child’s glint-less eyes again.
This was a response to a Writing Prompt: [IP] Returning Home