[Book 2] Chapter 5

  The Xaelo Family’s Daily Life — Their Work

  “Alright, let’s begin.”

  At Xaelo’s word, the family dispersed to their tasks.

  In the pasture at dawn’s edge, where the first rays of sunlight touched the steppe, Maya and Serio exchanged a glance, nodded, and set to their assigned duties with renewed spirit.

  Maya went with Nivia to collect Elba dung, the precious fuel of the steppe.

  Serio joined Xaelo and Nohra in milking the Elbas.

  Neyra and Narva were already feeding them.

  As the animals stilled while chewing vigorously on dry grass, the “milking team” worked swiftly and without waste.

  And Roro? Only his tail poked from beneath the Elba-wool blankets inside the tent.

  Maya and Nivia, the “fuel team,” searched the pasture for droppings left a few days earlier.

  Each time they found some, Nivia tested its dryness with a stick and tossed only the brittle ones into Maya’s basket.

  “Elba dung actually smells better than I expected,” Maya thought.

  Indeed, the Elbas grazed on fine grasses, including fragrant herbs, and each piece carried its own faint scent.

  Maya, carrying a basket nearly the size of his own body, followed Nivia as she worked.

  Every time she found good fuel, she dropped it into his basket.

  Though intent on the search, Nivia would occasionally reach out to adjust the straps on Maya’s basket.

  “…Not too heavy?” she asked.

  “I’m fine,” Maya answered with a smile.

  As they walked, Nivia asked,

  “Hey, Maya, have you always been traveling?”

  

  “No. Until just a few days ago, I lived in the mountain village.”

  Maya told her about living with Amna, about the people of the mountain village, Dogs’ Valley, Nutwood Hamlet, and his encounters with the Falconer Clan.

  He spoke of the special day of the festival and how, afterward, he had asked Fael’s leave to join the caravan.

  Nivia listened eagerly—about a way of life unlike that of nomads, about people who lived differently, and about how someone her own age had chosen to leave home and travel.

  “By the way, how do you build a fire in the mountains?” Nivia asked.

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  “At home we had a hearth,” Maya said.

  “I started with thin branches or pinecones, then added thicker wood bit by bit, waiting until the logs burned down to embers.”

  “Really?” Nivia narrowed her eyes, then asked again.

  “And what does it smell like?”

  Maya thought for a moment before answering.

  “It depended on the kind of wood. Sometimes it smelled sweet, sometimes sour, sometimes kind of toasty. But when the wood was damp, it made a lot of smoke and stung my eyes.”

  Nivia laughed, saying she’d had the same experience, and tossed another piece of fuel into Maya’s basket.

  “Even here, the smell changes from day to day.”

  “Yeah, I noticed that,” Maya said, smiling back.

  At first they had been a little awkward, but the more they spoke, the more they found common ground.

  What had seemed far apart now felt unexpectedly close, until they were lost in lively conversation.

  By the time they neared the tents, they realized they had been so caught up talking they had forgotten their task.

  They gathered a bit more fuel, then returned.

  Back at the tents, the milking was already finished.

  Nivia laid the gathered fuel on drying racks, with Maya helping.

  After washing their hands in a water bucket, they went inside.

  Nohra pointed toward a steaming pot.

  “Come, sit. Have breakfast with everyone.”

  On a large cloth lay coarse bread and cheese, while on the hearth a pot of Elba-milk stew simmered, made from last night’s leftovers as always.

  The gentle fragrance of milk rose with the steam, easing their chilled bodies.

  The hard bread was warmed by the fire until its surface crisped and turned fragrant.

  After breakfast, Neyra sat weaving small ornaments from string, Narva played with Roro’s tail, and Serio laughed that his hands had gone numb from the morning’s milking.

  Nomads of the steppe rise before dawn, warm themselves with a light meal, and head to early work.

  Afterward, they gather for breakfast around the hearth, then rest quietly for a while.

  During that time, elders look over the family, watching for signs of illness.

  Though details vary from one household to another, life begins with this rhythm.

  After breakfast comes about an hour of rest, letting food settle and body warmth return while the dew dries and the temperature steadies—then the true work of the morning begins.

  Some process milk, some spin wool, some repair tools, others prepare for trade.

  So the nomads of the steppe live, each family according to its craft.

  “Among those roles, the most important of all are the messengers,”

  Neyra said, never pausing her weaving.

  Maya could imagine the other trades, but the messengers remained a mystery.

  He tilted his head and asked,

  “…What does a messenger do?”

  “Good question.” Neyra smiled.

  “They ride Swift Elbas and carry messages across the steppe. And, more than that, it’s our family’s craft.”

  A Swift Elba, at a steady pace faster than walking, could cover up to sixty kilometers in a day.

  Maya didn’t know how far that was, but guessed it must be a great distance.

  Neyra went on,

  “Nomads don’t graze at random. To protect the land, the whole community shares information and agrees on rules. Even pastures are used by that agreement—it’s a promise across the steppe.”

  Maya nodded, realizing, So that’s why the messengers are indispensable.

  In fact, a Swift Elba could cover one hundred twenty kilometers in a single hard ride.

  But the strain was great, so a system was built for urgent news.

  Every twelve kilometers stood an ‘Elba Station,’ each with several Swift Elbas.

  There, a messenger could change to a fresh mount, or pass the message to another rider, making the most of the animals’ speed.

  Families whose trade was messaging took turns caring for the stations and the pastures around them.

  And the place where Maya now stood was itself one such station.

  With pride, Neyra added,

  “And it was Father who proposed the idea and built this system!”

  Maya and Serio looked in awe at Xaelo, who sat by the hearth repairing Elba tack without a word.

  Neyra continued,

  “Father wasn’t born a nomad. He was a traveler, like Fael. He met Mother on his journey, fell in love, and stayed.”

  “H-hey, Neyra…”

  Even Xaelo faltered at this, and the boys laughed.

  “But it was after he settled here that he realized—his knowledge from traveling could help the nomads. That’s how the messenger system was born. So their story is something to be proud of!

  Want to hear about how they first met?”

  Neyra asked brightly.

  But Xaelo cut her off, flustered.

  “Th-the dew must be dry by now. Time for work, everyone!”

  The children groaned in disappointment, while Neyra, grinning from ear to ear, was watched by Nohra with a long-suffering smile.

  《Baleon’s Log》

  Afternoon on the Steppe — Deep Steppe.

  Clear skies, strong winds.

  [Fael] After a short rest, climbed a low hill to watch the clouds. → Checked the direction of the elders’ encampment and shared notes with me.

  [Serio] (Separate) Staying with the Xaelo family.

  [Maya] (Separate) Staying with the Xaelo family.

  We are pressing deeper into the steppe to hold important talks with the elders.

  Now and then I see falcons overhead—the Falconer Clan must be on the move.

  What experiences will Maya and Serio have today, and what will they feel?

  The wind is drying. Winter draws near.

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  AI disclosure: I am a non-native English writer and have used AI for partial translation and light editing. No AI-generated prose.