Ares looked out to the distance to see… nothing. It was still bronze and cracked, there were still trees sprinkled throughout the land, and it was still searingly hot with the sun high above them. This sucked. He didn’t want to continue the expedition, but he needed to show off a strong face to his companions, whom were all currently suffering. Zika was fine, but Ezak… Ezak was almost dead. Ezak needed to consume twice as much water as everyone else, and everyone else needed to consume twice as much as usual so they were drinking a mass of water throughout the day, though none needed to pee since they were all sweating the water out. Ares eventually summoned a large cloth and then sectioned it off into rectangles before then wrapping it around his head, keeping his eyes clear of cloth in order to see, but the rest of his head covered. “Like this,” he said as he wrapped Ezak’s head around with the cloth. He turned to the rest to show them how to pull the cloth down in order to drink without having it unravel apart. Zika did not need the cloth, she seemed to be enjoying the heat. Her eyes were darting with new life as she now led the way forward. Eventually Ares could see something off in the distance, but he wasn’t sure if he was just delirious or if he was actually seeing something. “What’s that?” Ares pointed forward, his eyes too blurry from all the heat. “What is it that you see?” Torak asked. “I see… tiny blocks of wood, I think.” “The homes of the buffalofolk?” Beor asked. Torak shook his head. “The buffalo folk live within tents regardless of whether it’s as clear as the day or as rough as the storm.” “Maybe they are tents, I’m not sure…” They eventually arrived, though it taken an hour. Around them were wooden huts, though they were empty. Ares walked over to the side to see a large number of wooden stakes that had long fallen. He glanced around and then saw another large hut that had long fallen to ruin. This one in particular had been destroyed, though seeing how old the wood was, faded and cracked, Ares doubted it had been any time recent. Beor kicked down one of the wooden huts, which crumpled easily under his boot. The hut had been made of the same stakes, which then slot into the roof. It was similar, in some way, to the way that Ares had the Riveans make their items, though not quite as advance. Ares continued to explore between the sparse huts before finding larger and larger huts that had been ruined. Ares dropped down to a knee and then picked up some of the wooden planks that had crumpled. Most of them were quite thin. Ares threw a look back to the smaller huts. There were six of them, but they had been many more of the larger huts, which could easily house twenty people a piece. “Six huts and a hundred others,” Ares said aloud. “Perhaps a little more than a hundred.” He turned to look at Torak with a raised brow. Torak shrugged. “I do not know, perhaps the buffalofolk do?” Ares nodded and then he looked to see Beor about to kick another hut. “Beor!” Beor froze, leg raised. Ares shook his head and then Beor relented, staring at the huts. “Ares!” called Ezak excitedly. He then dragged over a large rug that was almost entirely red, though had grey-cream diamonds on the sides that were all connected with a single line through it. Ares reached over to feel the rug, which had been woven quite well considering it was still put together. Ares then checked the other side, which had the same design. His eyes peered across every inch to see if he could find something. The only thing amiss was one side where there was a bit of extra rug as though someone wanted to repeat the design but stopped after a single square. No, there was something on it. Ares squinted as best as he could to make out a symbol of some kind. Several three dots near the middle that formed a straight line, a box around it, and then a few more dashes about the place. “A beastsign,” Torak said with surprise. “Those have long fallen away.” Torak examined the sign with a tense expression. “This is old, very old. At least two centuries.” “Whoa…” Ares said as he looked at the rug. “It managed to survive all this time?” He looked towards the hut to see that it didn’t hold much dust within it as the window had a sheet of wood over it to keep out the sun and air. That would make sense. “Shall we check the others?” Beor asked asked. Ares nodded in return. Then he saw Jiaga, who was circling around the area, Zika opposite him. They were keeping an eye out in case anything was to come and sneak on them as they explored the area. They made quick work of exploring the musky huts that held very few items. Another pair of rugs, as well as some beans that one would find with buddhists, though they were made of small stones and wooden blocks that had been smoothed and glazed. Ares ran his fingers along the stones and little wood blocks, feeling just how smooth they were, as though he was caressing freshly shaved skin that had the ointment to make it so supple. Ares turned to look at Torak who was giving him a queer look and he just smiled innocently. He handed the beads over, doing so in a manner that one would think he was passing over a precious relic. “Do you by any chance know what these are?” Ares enquired as Torak looked over them. “These are beads of prayer,” Torak said, “typically used in times of great joy or…” Torak looked into Ares’ eyes. The next words lay unspoken. Ares merely nodded his head in response. They could assume nothing really, but there was a bad scent in the air, a scent of great urgency and loss. Ares spent no time mourning however, as he was keen to continue. Yet he was stopped by Ezak, who had rushed over with a book in hand. “Ares!” he exclaimed with great excitement to reveal the book. Ares’ eyes shone as he saw the book and then reached over, almost snatching it, but that would be unbecoming of a King and so he merely held out his hand. Ezak gently placed the book into his hands, as though it was an even more precious relic, which it could have been. Ares stared at the book for a long time. It was made of leather, with cracks that ran through as though it was a window pane that had an unfortunate meeting with a tiny stone, as dark as those with sun-kissed skin. There was no title on the cover, no writing on the spine, and the back was bare save for the sprinkling of cracks. Ares held the book as electricity flowed through his body. ‘A book! A fucking book! Fuck yeah!’ Ares couldn’t help the smile that crept on his face. He was a child that was finally given the gift he had wanted on his birthday. He leaned in and brushed the cover against his cheek. “It’s real…” he whispered to himself, his eyes closed as he enjoyed the moment. Torak cleared his throat and Ares pulled back from the book. “Allow me my peace, Torak,” he said, “I have been wanting such a thing for so long…” He hadn’t even thought about it, but it was true. He had missed books. He tried to contain his excitement, tossing it within a chest to lock away, but it bounced out too gleeful to be contained. Ares brushed his thumb along the page edges and felt each page tickling him, as though hundreds of tiny feathers. He brought his thumb away but then used his ring finger to slowly open the cover. It was blank, but the paper was a tea-stained brown and cream. He opened up the next paper and then saw writing, which he couldn’t quite read at the moment, though with each passing moment he felt like he understood it. He opened up the page and then saw more text. It was handwritten, though he couldn’t read it. It was beautiful though, he could tell it was something akin to cursive, but written in a way that was from the medieval period. Ares continued to look through it as the intentions made them clearer to himself. There was this feeling he was getting, the kind one would get when they were looking at art, that this was a history of a peoples. After a few more pages he could see that the writing changed, it was similar, but not quite the same. The next few pages were the same, and they continued on like this, every few pages or so changing handwriting. Ares continued to flip through, much quicker now to see that eventually the writing stopped and it was blank. “A book of tongues,” Torak said. Beor’s ears flickered and he marched over to peer in. The others did so as well, even Zika was intrigued. Jiaga remained on watch, allowing the beastfolk their curiosity. The beastfolk marvelled over the book and Ares threw Torak a raised brow. “A history of the peoples. They were once very popular, the tradition started many generations ago, this was perhaps… a thousand or so? I do not know, but they long fell out of fashion when the various peoples fell into decline on this land.” Ares frowned and nodded his head. “So… whoever this belonged to, they are no longer around… it cuts off, probably when whoever was here left.” “Or were driven out,” Torak said. Ares couldn’t help but feel his eyes sting with tears. He couldn’t help but let them fall. The others stared at him surprised. He handed the book over to Torak and turned, he needed to be alone for a long moment. His body grew cold and heavy, and he stepped over to a hut to sit down. He reached down to his knees and then leaned forward, holding his head into his hands. There was a book detailing the histories of a people, and yet for one reason or another, this item of great importance was left abandoned, an entire history left to the wayside. Torak stepped in to see Ares, who had long stopped with his tears. “Are you alright?” he asked. “I’m fine,” Ares said, “I just needed a moment to myself to think.” “I had not expected tears,” Torak said. Ares looked up at Torak. “There are very few things as sad as this, Torak. To lose one’s history.”