Perhaps it was the joy of watching the oasis around the great lake return to life that had diluted his sorrow. Or perhaps the Elder's counsel had made him realize that even the spirits of the dead would not want to see the living mourners with tear-streaked faces.
By the time he arrived at the village ruins beside that enormous skeleton, Altaïr's emotions had completely settled.
He poured the wine and water he had prepared in advance onto the ground.
In the resource-starved Great Desert, such a wasteful memorial custom did not exist. This was a "bad habit" he had picked up from the northlands.
But since this was a long-overdue offering, a little extravagance was permissible.
Sitting cross-legged on the ground, he spoke with the spirits that existed only in his imagination. Feeling considerably lighter afterward, Altaïr rose to his feet and walked over to the skeletal remains of the "big fellow."
Gazing up at the pair of towering horns that stood like flagpoles, Altaïr suddenly let out a laugh.
A few years ago, he had hunted a Gendrome near this area. Moved by a desire to honor the dead, he had severed the Gendrome's head and hung it atop those great horns.
After two or three years, that skull had long since dried out and weathered away. Unexpectedly, however, beneath the Gendrome's skull hung a chaotic string of other skulls.
There were skulls from Cephalos, Volvidon, and even Konchu. Recalling that a Hunter's Camp was not far from here, he figured the Hunters on missions nearby must have seen the Gendrome skull hanging from the horns, mistaken it for some peculiar local custom, and hung the skulls of their own prey there as well.
Once people started following the trend, more and more skulls naturally appeared, until that great chain of skulls now clattered and rattled in the desert wind.
To an ordinary person, this sight might border on the macabre, but in Altaïr's eyes, it was rather amusing.
At least the big fellow wouldn't be so lonely anymore.
With that, the memorial offering was complete. There was no need for wailing and weeping. Altaïr walked back with a light step to the place where the nomad caravan had stopped to rest.
They planned to camp and rest here for a day, then set out again the next morning to continue toward their destination oasis.
Someone had suggested they might be able to settle here permanently, but the experienced Elder knew that a newly revived oasis like this would still need several months, perhaps a full year, before it recovered enough to support grazing. It could serve only as a temporary waypoint, not a home.
Still, at least for today, everyone could rest well and relax.
Altaïr, who had originally intended to head back immediately after the memorial, decided at the urging of the Elder and the others to stay and rest for the night.
His pace on foot was much faster than the nomads' camel caravan, burdened as it was with families and belongings. If he traveled at full speed, he could be back in Loc Lac in three days at most, so there was no need to rush.
To help everyone recover their strength, the nomads brought out their finest food.
There was cured jerky made from Raw Meat, salted, seasoned with spices, and air-dried; nutrient-rich dried dates; cheese produced with special techniques; and wheat cakes baked with flour bartered from towns in exchange for furs and handicrafts.
Having spent his teenage years in a major city like Loc Lac, then wandered the outside world for several more years, Altaïr had tasted plenty of fine food. Compared to those delicacies, the nomads' fare could only be described as rough, yet every item stirred memories of his childhood.
He remembered that many of these were treats reserved only for honored guests, which was why, back then, he had always looked forward to visitors arriving.
And now, he himself was that honored guest.
Suddenly losing his appetite, Altaïr stuffed the baked wheat cake, filled with hot cheese and slices of cured jerky, into the hands of a drooling child beside him, and ate a few more of the cloyingly sweet dates instead. These were common around the oasis, and even the snack-craving children would not consider them a prize.
The plainspoken caravan leader looked a little ashamed. "Sorry. You've helped us so much, and by rights we should at least have butchered a beast and treated you to a fresh Well-done Steak..."
"Don't even think about it." Altaïr cut him off with a laugh. "I was born a nomad myself. I know this isn't the season for slaughtering livestock. Besides, you're setting off again tomorrow. There's no custom that says you butcher an animal right before moving camp."
Just then, a young man who looked only two or three years younger than Altaïr came running over, grinning at the caravan leader and Altaïr. "Dad! Altaïr! Guess what I just found?"
Looking from the steady, composed Altaïr to his own hopelessly unreliable son, the caravan leader immediately felt a surge of irritation. He barked, "What's all the ruckus? If you've got something worth saying, spit it out! What's with all that giggling and grinning?"
Long used to being scolded, the young man just chuckled and said, "On the other side of the lake, there's a small herd of Aptonoth drinking water! About four or five of them, and they've got two calves with them!"
At this, the caravan leader's eyes lit up.
Aptonoth were docile creatures with a strong herd instinct. A small group like this, especially one with calves, sometimes needed little coaxing. They would simply follow the nomads' herd on their own.
For desert nomads, this was a rare chance to grow their herd.
Altaïr naturally understood what they were thinking. He smiled and waved a hand, gesturing for them to do as they pleased.
The caravan leader gave Altaïr an apologetic nod, then shouted orders and took a few men with him. They led out the strongest lead Aptonoth from their herd and hurried off toward where the wild Aptonoth had been spotted.
The Elder watched them leave with a trace of worry, then sighed softly and shook his head. "Unexpected windfalls aren't always a blessing."
Yet even as he said this, the Elder did not try to stop the caravan leader and his men.
For a nomad band as small as theirs, an opportunity to gain several Aptonoth at once was rare indeed.
Never mind four or five; even a single extra animal would mean many additional meals of meat for everyone in the year to come. Such a chance could not be passed up.
"Don't worry. If it bothers you, I'll go after them and keep an eye on things," Altaïr said with a smile.
The Elder shook his head. "No need to trouble you. Those fellows aren't children anymore. If they do spot any real danger, they won't go charging toward it."
Hearing this, Altaïr said no more and continued watching the nomads dance around the campfire. The steps were much like those in his memory, yet somehow a little different.
Just as Altaïr was staring at the campfire, somewhat lost in thought, the caravan leader and the others, who had been gone barely a quarter of an hour, came rushing back.
They had not brought back the wild Aptonoth, and even the lead Aptonoth they had taken with them was gone.
The caravan leader, drenched in sweat, shouted, "Pack everything up, quickly! Handlers, calm the animals, we're moving out!"
The crowd dancing around the campfire scattered. Some folded up the tents, others sorted and carried supplies, some fitted reins onto the herd animals, and still others gathered the children to keep them from running off. As nomads who survived in the wild, everyone knew exactly what they needed to do in an emergency.
"What happened?" Altaïr stood up and asked.
The caravan leader stepped quickly before the Elder and said urgently, "That small herd of Aptonoth was scattered by a few Genprey. That much is nothing. If they're gone, they're gone.
"But the lead Aptonoth we brought with us went mad too. The handler couldn't hold it. It broke its reins and ran off.
"That's not right. That one was an experienced old Aptonoth. It knew staying near us was safer. Even a Gendrome shouldn't have scared it that badly.
"A more dangerous Monster must be nearby. I don't know what cursed thing it is, but we need to move fast before it shows itself."
"You did the right thing." The Elder nodded, his face full of gravity. "On our way here during the day, we passed through a stretch of boulder-strewn badlands. There's a narrow cave there.
"Large Monsters can't get into places like that. We'll go there and take shelter tonight."
The caravan leader acknowledged and continued directing everyone.
The Elder turned to Altaïr. "Young Altaïr, though I'm sorry for the trouble, could we ask you to escort us as far as that rocky badland area? We'll pay you a proper reward."
Altaïr waved a hand dismissively and said with a smile, "It's a small matter. There's no need for a reward.
"Tell everyone not to worry too much. Don't let my young age fool you; as a Hunter, I'm fairly capable."
Altaïr wasn't normally one to boast, but to calm everyone's spirits, he chose to brag just a little.
The nomads were all very efficient. In less than ten minutes, everyone was ready to depart.
A handler mounted on a woolly camel was shouting, just about to urge the herd forward, when a chilling roar suddenly erupted in the distance.
"GRROOOOAAARRR!!"
The instant the roar rang out, the entire herd panicked. A few of the more timid Aptonoth collapsed to the ground, voiding their bowels.
After it came the sharp, grating shrieks of Genprey. In the lingering light of the campfire, several Genprey could faintly be made out closing in from that direction.
Flames, the panicked cries of the herd, the children's weeping, the deafening roar in the distance, the Genprey pack approaching in the darkness. A scene buried deep in his memory replayed itself, and Altaïr's breathing suddenly quickened.
(Translated by yourtl.app)