Heritage

Campfire, Outdoor, Fire, Camp, Outdoors

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“Why did you come to our aid, back there at the bridge?” The large-eyed officer asked.

“It was the right thing to do,” Omar responded.  “We aren’t who you think we are; and secondly, we were as much at risk as you were.”

“I suppose you were,” the officer said thoughtfully.  His prisoners definitely didn’t seem to be the hardened mercenaries that they had been reputed to be.  One of them was a teen-aged girl, and she had somehow healed his wound.

“I am going to let you keep hold of your weapons for now, but only on your word that you will not use them against my men.  I will also require you to surrender them again before we get to my headquarters.”

“Thank you,” Omar said, accompanied by the hand gesture common in the Sultanate.

“You know our ways well, and you speak our tongue; though my men find your accent amusing.  How did you learn them?”

“My mother’s mother was a Green-lander, but lived most of her life as a slave of the Ralulee.  My mother was born in the Sultanate.”

“To a Ral?” the officer asked with genuine interest.

“No, she said to a desert tribesman,” Omar responded with the half truth. “I was born in the Kingdom though.  My father was from there.”

“Pardon my questions,” the officer begged. “But was your mother a slave then?  And if so, how did she gain her freedom to marry a Kingdomer?”

“She was born a slave, but her master’s son gave her her freedom, and she travelled to the Capital where she met my father, though they never married.”

“Ah,” said the officer, “Intriguing indeed, but I’m not going to trouble you about your personal affairs any longer.  Get some rest, there is a long ride tomorrow.  And please let your companions know that I thank you all for your aid.”

With that the officer stood and walked into the night.

 

Padre

 

FOWC with Fandango — Aid

 

 

 

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