Taruma, apprentice to the Honoured Mother Getaruda in the arts of healing and the applications of herblore, was curious.

She was an inquisitive soul by nature - it had been her constant and unrepentant sneaking into Getaruda's stocks when she was younger that had eventually persuaded the older woman to take her on as an apprentice, even if only (in the herbalist's words) "To stop you poisoning yourself by accident" - and the mysterious Anpu, the metal man, the not-human-not-spirit had certainly piqued her interest. She hadn't gone near him at first, thanks to the shaman's warning to be careful, but then, when she had been sent out to retrieve the children who had snuck out during the midday tinishi inik'ilifi, she had stumbled across the intimidating being who was, of all things, playing with the children.

She had seen the powers he had demonstrated earlier, reforging the chief's sword within minutes, with no need for hammer, forge or anvil, and she had seen him using them again later on, as he methodically worked through the pile of weapons next to him. And when she had first seen him, up to his middle in children, he had been using that self-same power to shape the sand into toys for them.

After their somewhat awkward introduction, the jackal-headed man had helped her to herd the children back to their parents before returning to his self-appointed task, continuing tirelessly as the sun sank lower and lower towards the horizon. By then, she'd managed to find some free time and to pluck up the courage to go and talk to him again.

She found him where she had left him earlier, the pile of grey-patterned swords to his left having grown, while the plainer ones to his right had decreased in number. Greetings had been exchanged, again, and before she knew it, they were talking about whatever came to mind, even as he reforged another of the tribe's blades.

"What is it like, living in a desert?" he was saying, as he slowly ran his hand over yet another of the blades, causing the now-familiar grey ripples to seemingly bubble up from within the metal.

Taruma thought for a moment, then answered. "It's… Hard, I suppose. We don't usually come this far north, though. Usually, we live on the plains further south. It's greener there. Grass as far as you can see, and we used to have goats as well. You could see the Beors on the horizon." The young herbalist broke off, a choking feeling in her throat as she remembered the goats fleeing off into the savannah as the slavers bore down on them.

Anpu seemed to register her discomfort and stayed silent for a while. The sword was re-sheathed and placed at his side and another one was taken up. Then the metallic being spoke again.

"I am sorry. I was never the best with people, and I do not think that my current situation lends itself well to sensitivity." His voice had a ring of sincerity, alongside the odd harmonics which seemed to underlie all of his speech. Taruma nodded, remaining silent. "Changing the subject entirely, what do you know of magic? I know how it was used in my time -" He gestured to himself "I am an example of such - but I know little of how the art may have evolved over time."

"Evolved?" Taruma replied, feeling out the sound of the unfamiliar word. She had never been the best at the common tongue. The sounds were strange.

"Changed."

"Oh. Well, there's lots of different kinds of magic. Ulukarana's a shaman, which means he speaks with the spirits and sometimes he asks them to help him, but there's also people who enslave spirits as well. There's some people who can just do magic without having to bother with other stuff. I'm learning herbs from Mother Getaruda, but I don't know if that's really magic. I mean, sure you can heal people with them, but it just helps. Ulukarana can heal a wound like that." she snapped her fingers "He gets very tired though."

The canine visage turned towards her, transfixing her for a moment with its glassy blue eyes. "It depends on what you think magic is, I suppose. There was a famous man of my time who said that any sufficiently advanced technology is indistinguishable from magic. Everything is relative, and magic is only what is not understood." He trailed off, an odd tone in his voice, then rallied. "What have you learned so far then, O mistress of magic?"

Taruma smiled, and told him of the poultices that she helped to make, and how they stank and stained her hands. She told him of the potions that could flush poison from the body, which she did not yet know how to make, and of the glass vessels which Getaruda kept safe and secure, wrapped reverently in lengths of soft cloth. She told him of the brews which the old herbalist had mentioned in passing, or as stories. Seithr oil, which burned only living things. Potions which could conjure love, or make a man's skin like iron. Ointments which would let one walk through fire, or to charm any who come near them. The sun sank and the swords moved, one by one, from one pile to another as she spoke, interspersed with the occasional question or comment from the stoic metal man.

The call went out that dinner was ready, and Taruma went to answer, surprised that so much time had passed. The meal was a broth made from the dwindling stores of cured meat, thin and unsatisfying. There was talk of killing one of the camels to eat, but it had come to nothing before the young herbalist had finished her meal and returned to Anpu, intending to continue their conversation.

Before she could reach the open space where the metal man sat, however, an arm shot out of the darkness between two of the tents and grabbed her own, pulling her into the gap between them. Her eyes met the face of a young warrior, Loseru. She remembered when they were younger, how Loseru used to charge around the camp, wooden sword held high. She remembered fighting with him over who got to be Vrael and who got to be Galbatorix, and how they had a silent agreement that Vrael should have won, and made it so when they playacted the Rider's battle.

She pulled her arm from his grip and he let her. "What do you want?" she asked, irritated.

"You shouldn't spend so much time with him." He nodded in the direction of Anpu. "He's dangerous. He's not of the tribe. We can't trust some random… thing that turned up out of nowhere." There was something in his eyes, Taruma realised, concern blended with fear and bravado.

"He want to help us though, doesn't he?" she replied, trying to calm the agitated youth.

"He says he wants to help us," he countered. "We don't know what he really wants. He says he's not a spirit, but how do we know he's not some kind of shade or something." He stepped back, taking a breath. "Look, I just don't trust him, alright?"

Taruma was about to reply, but before she could a voice tore through the camp at an inhuman volume and with the same odd sub-harmonics that she had become used to in Anpu's voice.

"Chief Dularat! The swords are finished. I would hear your plans as to what should be done."

There was a moment's quiet in the pronouncement's wake, then an indeterminate commotion of noise. She turned back to Loseru, but he was already leaving, striding past her with his face set hard.

Lexicon

tinishi inik'ilifi - nap. Used here much like the Spanish concept of a 'siesta'; A nap or period of lessened activity during the hottest part of the day.