The sun shone down upon the lush fields of grass with such brightness, it gave each singular blade a green glow so that it appeared more as the waves of a deep and vast ocean rather than a valley. Morning dew dripped down back into the earth, and tiny white flowers that looked like white gulls on the sea, gently blew in the wind. And as he stared across the valley that stretch farther than the eyes could see, no thoughts ran through the placid mind of the boy who sat mounted upon his fathers gray mare. Thirteen years of such serenity and peace, had given him a sort of tranquil, yet lonely disposition. For he truly had no one, save perhaps his father and mother, who shared his view of the world around him. His eyes were different from any other in his tribe; he saw the earth and the sky the way many others merely longed to. The boy did not know exactly why he was different, why he felt so different from all the rest of the world, but he did wish with all his heart that he would someday find true companionship and complete understanding. The boy let out a heavy sigh and hung his head. Just then, a swift breeze blew long strands of messy hair into his dark eyes, causing him to look up once more. The wind blew to the west, in the direction of his village. At first, the boy thought nothing of the sudden gush of wind as he turned his mare back towards his home, but he paused as a feeling started to wash over him. All morning, the wind had been blowing steadily to the east, but now it was going strongly to the west. Something was wrong.
"Hiyah!"
The boy gently, but firmly nudged the mare, and in a flash the two were racing back towards the village. Over hills and through tiny streams, the boy drew closer and closer. Fear and anxiety gripped at his heart. His hands began to tremble as they clutched the reins, and he began to fear that he might loose his bearings and fall. But his mare was strong and trustworthy, sensing it's tiny masters fear. It kept it's fast pace, but maneuvered swiftly through field.
His village came slowly into view as he neared the top of a small hill. It was what he saw that day in the town square, as he ominously slowed his mare to a trot at the very top of the hill, that haunted the youth for many years later into his manhood. A vision that plagued his dreams and eventually cooled his once warm, childish heart.
Below in the square, five horsemen sat upon there steeds surveying the village and all those who dwelled there. Their armor reflected the suns rays with a mock gallantry, and the red plumes that stuck out of their helmets seemed to demand respect and honor. The boy knew instantly who they were, even though he had never before seen their likeness. Romans.
The boys heart sunk even lower when he noticed that there were others on horseback, that were obviously not Roman, with heads hung down low and anxiety and sadness in their young eyes. They were other boys, from all different tribes, but they were his clansmen none the less. Sarmatian boys ripped from their families and lives to serve a cause not of the own for the next fifteen years. He would join them too, he realized. He would suffer now as his father had so many years past.
"You there! Boy!" cried a Roman who had turned around and spotted the boy as he slowly entered the village limits. "Come here boy! You look of age."
The man looked the boy up and down as he drew his mare close up to the crowd of villagers. The trembling in his hands had stopped, upon the will of their owner, and the boy glared at the man emotionlessly. He would not show fear, nor anything at all. There was no way he would give a Roman the satisfaction. They had taken so much already, and he would not let them conquer his soul as they would his body. For he was now a slave of Rome.
"Get your stuff, we leave as soon as the rest are packed," the same Roman grunted from high atop his horse.
It was then that a village elder and midwife, Rhianna, stepped forward from among the crowd. "You cannot take him. He is but an orphan and belongs to the people of the tribe. We need some protection when all the rest have grown old."
"Listen, woman. We take whom we deem fit," the Roman barked down at her with annoyance in his eyes. "He is coming."
Rhianna's eyes filled with unshed tears. This was a battle she knew she couldn't win. She gave in, and walked over to the boy as he dismounted his mare. "Come, my son."
The two walked slowly towards the boy's lonely tent. The tent he had shared with his mother and father when they still were alive. He lived there alone now.
Rhianna helped the boy pack up his meager belongings in silence. She wondered whether she would see the youth ever again. In her mind she prayed to the gods that death would find her before it would him. Rhianna had grown to love him, even though they hadn't shared but a couple of moments together. After his parents death, he dwelled alone in solitude. She was attracted to him not only out of pity, but also by the fact that she sensed that he was more in touch with nature, just as she had been when she was his age. He was indeed destined for a greater life and deeds that would last forever.
Just as they were about to leave his tent, Rhianna placed her hand on the boys shoulder asking for his attention. He turned and looked into her eyes as she knelt down to him.
"Now begins your life as a man. You will see many great things with those eyes of yours, and you will lead a life that no man before has ever lived. You will take many lives, and live many years alone. But, you will find salvation in the turmoil. One day, you will find the peace that was taken from you when you're parents died."
For the last time until many years later, the boy wept. He buried his head in Rhianna's shoulder and wept for his parents, for his people, for his enslavement, and for the lonely life he faced. Rhianna stroked the boys dark, unruly hair as he cried. And when his tears had dried all up, the boy pulled away from the old woman's embrace. He wiped his eyes, stood straight, and allowed his emotionless mask slip back onto his face.
"Take the spirit of this land, your land, with you always."
The boy only nodded and then turned out of the tent. He walked strongly up to the mounted troupe, and climbed up onto his father's mare once more. The Roman from before stared at the young Sarmatian for a moment, as a disgusting smirk reached across his less than noble face, before he turned and directed the group to start.
The boy remember kept his promise to his father that day, as he rode silently among the nervous group of his clansmen.
"When they take you, my son, and they will come, promise me this. That when you ride off into the distance, don't glance backwards. Only forward. Your path is always forward, my son. Promise me, Tristan. Promise me."
"I promise, father."