Stasolya settles herself to endure another cramped, rocking, shifting, sea voyage. Her hooves ache to be galloping across endless plains. Soon. She braves the deck a few times during the journey, pulling out her bagpipes to play a sea shanty or two as they sail across the water. But she lets the pipes go silent the evening they spot Godzilla, and her own silence from then until they arrive is complete. She also doesn't leave the deck after that, not even at night. Gazing into the distance where the electric blue flashes into the sky.

But she pays her farewell to Captain Saewulf as he sees them off to shore. "Thank you for the kind advice, Captain," she says. "May the wind always fill your sails, and the waves keep danger far from you. I hope we have the fortune to meet again one day." She bows to both Captain and crew as she and Thea climb into the rib to head ashore.

The centaur's hooves sink into the sand as she leaps off the boat, eager to be on solid ground. She sighs in relief and takes a deep breath of the evening sea air. Stasolya faces the sun dipping low in the sky. That's the way they'll head---west. "Come on, Thea," Stasolya says with a smile. "Climb on. We can make a few miles before dark." She offers a hand to the small woman, light enough for her to carry, and pulls her up onto her back, settling her between her saddlebags.

Once Thea is secure, she cries, "Hang on!" and leaps forward, galloping around the inlet of the bay and then towards the setting sun, moving blindingly fast even for a four-footed equine, the magical horseshoes flashing in the light.

"Aye, 'tis ea'ier  said tha' done, when ye' always tarnin' yer sai's to the chop."  The Captain says with a wry smile.  He looks back over his shoulder, back toward where the electric blue flashes had filled the sky, and studies while Stasolya is disembarked...

Thea holds on for dear life as Stasolya sets herself loose upon the plains of the Great Grass Sea.  They ride until it's too dark to ride, then rinse and repeat the next day...though day, night, morning and evening...it has all become the same in a world of infinite twilight.  

By the next evening they had found one of the trails that crisscrossed the plains, and were following it along its western path when the soft glow of fires started to light the horizon.  

"Stasolya,"  Thea said, shifting to keep her bottom from getting sore as she sat tight.  "What do you know about these Dothraki?  And what do we do if the uh...what'd he call them?  Khalasars?  What do we do if the Khalasar she rides with isn't here?"  

Stasolya slows her pace as the fires become visible on the horizon. She picks up a fast pacing amble, less bouncy than a trot, but nearly as fast. "I know little of the Dothraki," she says to Thea as they make their approach, "but that they are fierce fighters, as apt to fight one another as to band together against a common enemy. They are like my own people, in some ways. Any nomadic people of the horse live as centaurs do, so there will be much that we have in common. My people are storytellers, astrologers, and lorekeepers, not fighters, but we run and we roam, and we live in close-knit clans."

"I don't know what we'll do yet. I don't know which khalasar she's with. We will need to show them our common spirit before all else. If they have taken the Princess in, there is some thread of loyalty to Order, as all creatures have at least a glimmer of it in their hearts, for the Childlike Empress holds all in balance and loves good and evil alike." Stasolya sighs inaudibly. And all creatures, even the mightiest, are drawn fight for her Order to keep balance in Hyboria. She never remembers the baleful calls of the King of the Monsters without wistful heartache. The heartache of being too small in the face of a war of overwhelming losses.

"We're almost there, but maybe we should stop to rest, and greet the tribes in the light of the morning. The night is unfair to strangers."

Thea nods as she maintains her spot on Stasolya's back, and offers a gentle agreement before they bed-down to camp for the night.  It's a sad affair, as Stasolya is sorely mistaken.  Years of conditioning have led her to expect the rising of the sun, of any sun, and yet when morning comes, or when her body tells her that morning has come, the lone star that barely sheds light on them now is still rolling around the edge of the bowl the world sits in.  It is no more light than it was when the two warriors had lain down.  Stars still shimmer overhead.  

There is no dew; the temperature barely fluctuates enough now to settle the moisture of the air on their backs as they rest.  

An examination of the area around them reveals the gate to be some quarter mile distant.  It's dark, but Stasolya can see the Dothraki riders who have emerged from Vaes Dothrak to maintain the fires in the huge braziers that mark the gate.  Watchmen walk the walls with torches.  The raucous sounds of revelry issue up from within the city...

Stasolya awakes to await the morning, before remembering that it doesn't come. A bare glimmer on the horizon, and that's all. Yet there must still be some sense of time. The rhythm of the rise and set of the sun lives on in the rhythms of wake and sleep, of rest and new energy. It is all they have left, now---and the awakening of the Dothraki forces tells Stasolya that maybe... now is a better time.

"Let's go, Thea," she says, once she sees that the girl is awake. "The sun will come again, but there is much work to do before it does." Once they are up and packed, the centaur pulls Thea astride once more, and lopes the rest of the way to the gate. As they approach, she pulls the old bag under her arm and the chanter to her lips, and begins to wail a sorrowful tune, a tune of marching purpose, but of melancholy note.

Two men in leather breaches step through the gate and block the path as Stasolya approaches, even as she begins to play her song.  They listen but remain in place.  Both of them have curved swords in their hands as they block the path, and begin speaking to Stasolya in common. 

"No outsiders within the walls of the city."  The one on the left says.  He's not intentionally being harsh, but his voice is gruff nonetheless.  "These are strange times, and the Great Stallion rides ceaselessly.  You need to turn around."   

Stasolya pulls up short as the guards step up to block the path. She pauses there for a minute, swishing her tail, and finishes her tune, then lets the chanter fall from her lips. "These are indeed strange times," she says. "I will remain outside the walls, but I come in dire need, on a mission from the Ivory Tower. We seek the Princess Zelda."

The mention of the princess makes the two guards bristle.  One turns around and shouts some words that Stasolya doesn't recognize; definitely not common, but probably some sort of code or something known to the horse lords.  The other steps forward and points to Thea.

"Your rider must come down."  He says, making a motion to Thea and then pointing to the ground.  "Come down, stand here."  

"Stasolya...what do I do...?"  Thea says, suddenly timid.

"What is your business in Vaes Dothrak?"  The other says to Stasolya after turning back around from whoever he was calling; probably reinforcements.  "Who sends you, and on what authority?  What do you know of the Princess?"

"Stay there, don't get off," Stasolya whispers to Thea. She knows she can outrun any of their horses with her magical shoes, but it will do neither of them any good if she must flee without her charge.

The centaur nods to the guard who is demanding that Thea dismount, but turns to answer the other guard, instead. "My business is to seek the counsel and audience of the Princess in Hyboria's time of the greatest need of royal order. I have been sent by Atreyu, on the authority of the Childlike Empress." She grasps the AURYN that lays around her neck and lifts it high to where the guards, and maybe any others who are approaching, can see. "I only know what Atreyu told me---that Princess Zelda has taken shelter with the Dothraki, and to seek her here."

The two guards eyeball one another nervously as they examine the AURYN and listen to Stasolya's words.  One bristles when Thea doesn't listen to the command to dismount and reaches up to drag her down, but the other grabs his arm and pulls him to the side.  They walk back through the gate, perhaps fifty feet from Stasolya, and begin to whisper into each other's ears.  The bristled one shakes his head and side-eye's Stasolya before the other, clearly the dominate of the two, reaches up to grip his arm and give it a squeeze.  Stasolya can see the bronzed skin of his arm turning white under the pressure.  

Two more guards stroll up as the conversation happens, and the talk of course spills over to drag them in.  One gesticulates toward Stasolya and Thea with a curved sword, but the dominate guard, the one that Stasolya would believe is the leader, corrects him with an admonishing point.  There's some nodding, a few words of reluctant agreement, and then the three hang back while the leader approaches the gate.  

Another disappears back into the bedouin city, looking over his shoulder at Stasolya one last time as he disappears among long-standing tents and wooden structures draped in horse hides and ornate tapestries.  

"The Childlike Empress has done little for the Dothraki.  Our reliance has been upon the Great Stallion.  We will honor your display of AURYN, but this is a privilege to you, not a right.  Come into the gate.  We are summoning the Khals.  We will take you before them."  

Stasolya waits, quietly, her hand wrapped around the AURYN and her head bowed, while the guards discuss amongst themselves. Even such as these, who do not know the Order she holds Hyboria in, are loved by the Childlike Empress. They know it, too.

The centaur lowers her hand holding the AURYN and bows to the leader of the guards as he invites them into the city. "I am honored by your honor of the AURYN," she says, and steps out to follow him through the gate. O White Lady, our hearts are in your hands.

Once Stasolya walks through the gate, the guards push it closed.  The three, upon closing it, cluster up and discuss in hushed whispers while the leader pulls Stasolya off to the side.  

"You shall follow me.  Stay with me at all times.  We'll go to the feasting hall and you can talk to them there.  Come."  

He returns his curved sword to the sash at his waist and then motions with his hand as he leads Stasolya through the tent city.  The whole thing is crudely built wooden merchant stands and poles upon which thick tapestries hang to create the 'buildings' that compose Vaes Dothrak.  Merchants hock all sorts of wares and foods, including things that look like lizards skewered on sticks and what is probably bottles of mare's milk.  They can hear drunken revelry inside of some of the tents and walk past several bonfires in clearings where Dothraki dance and drink and seem to be having a great time.  Debauchery runs rampant as well, and it's clear the different tribes are happy to be mingling with new people.  

They finally reach the center of the village after ten or fifteen minutes of walking, and a huge tent stands in the center.  One flap has been raised and pinned to the side.  The guard leader motions Stasolya inside.  

"Go in and have a seat.  A servant shall bring you refreshments."  

Stepping inside, she finds the room dimly lit by a lone burning brazier in the center of the room and silken tapestries lining the ground and plush pillows scattered on the floor for sitting and laying.  One woman is already there, her bronze body barely covered by a series of leather straps and crude hide coverings.  Two blue tattooed lines mark the left side of her face vertically.  

"They say you come with the AURYN."  The woman says, her hand patting the hilt of her own curved sword.  It doesn't appear to be a threatening gesture.  More of a absentminded habit.  "They say you seek someone.  Who are you, Vezhof-blessed?"  

Stasolya clops after the guard into the city, through the mess of fires in the darkness, the shouting and singing. She begins to sing, softly, herself,

"When the Light of all goes dark in dread
And rises or sets no more is said,
In darkness the spirit turns inward and bites
Wandering in forgetful flight."

After a time, when they reach the enormous tent and step inside, Stasolya takes a moment for her eyes to adjust. Horse bodies aren't well-built to sit, or even to lay down, sleeping being an awkward and risky necessity at best. But hospitality accepted demands a measure of trust, and she takes Thea's hand to lower her off of her back so that she may take advantage of the cushions.

As the scantily clad woman turns to greet them, the centaur nods in greeting to her. "I am Stasolya, of the Kiros clan, who serve the Childlike Empress and remember the tales and lore of Hyboria. I am seeking the Princess Zelda, and I seek all those who hold to the unchanging Order of the world, to stand against the Chaos that threatens to destroy it."

The Dothraki woman laughs at this, mirthful and maybe a little hurtful.  

"Oh Vezhof-blessed, how little you know."  She says, then chuckles again.  "Stasolya, you say?  And who are you, young one?"  

"Thea.  I..."  

The older woman waves her off.  

"I don't need an explanation."  She says.  "We Dothraki have lived here in the Great Grass Sea for generations unnumbered.  We rarely have the privelege of talking to the people of Hylia, or Eternia, or even Fantasia, where your Childlike Empress resides.  Like the Cimmerians and the people of the cold north, they don't appreciate our ways, so we are here, out of sight, out of mind."  

The flap to the tent wavers, and a man walks in, dressed similar to the woman, though bigger.  Tattoos cover his shoulders and run down his chest.  His face is tattooed with three lines that look, for lack of a better description, like a birds foot.  The woman has a short conversation with this man in a language that isn't Common, and then they redirect their attention to Stasolya.  

"You seek the Elven Princess?"  He says.  "You have the AURYN?  What gives you the right?  What do you think you're going to do with her?  How do you even know she's here?  It would be safer for her if we..."

The woman reached out, steadied his arm.  The man scowled but held the thought. 

Stasolya swishes her tail patiently. "It is the fate of all nomads to live somewhat apart from those who do not roam," she says. "Few appreciate my peoples' ways, either, but we know our duty to Hyboria."

"I know only what Atreyu has told me, who gave me the AURYN," she says to the man's inquiry, after he enters and addresses her. "I have been told to seek her out, not to do anything with her. I believe that her guidance will be crucial to the next steps taken in our war against Chaos. I come not by right, but by entreaty in time of great peril. We are not here to offer threat to her, or to you."

"There's not much that's appreciated about our ways."  The woman says sourly.  

The woman laughs.  It's a vicious laugh, not malicious but still mocking and full of disbelief at what is happening.  She steps toward the center of the room and centers herself above a cushion before sitting down, crossing her legs.  

The flap of the tent opened and another man walked in, four claw marks tattooed diagnolly down his chest from his shoulders.  He reached behind himself and pulled his braid forward, letting it fall over his torso as his eyes settled on the other male already in the tent.  

"Yasseni."  The new comer says, crossing the room without so much as a glance at Thea and Stasolya.  "Always laughing.  Even when it's not funny."  

She spits something at him in their language, but the new man ignores it.  

"Vrozzo."  The man says to acknowledge the other male in the tent, ignoring Yasseni's remark and slowly returning attention to the Centaur.  "I've been listening.  So this one seeks the child?  Has anyone explained to her that this girl, this princess, is nothing more than a little girl?  Her eyes tainted by years of pampered seclusion?  She's been here for weeks, more than a full cycle of the moon, and you're telling me she is supposed to have the answers you seek, Vezzhof-blessed?  As far as I can tell, she's been tutored in your ways, but never shown how to live.  I apologize for the Khaleesi, blessed-one.  She is watching the grasses that feed our stock slowly die beneath the sky where the Great Stallion rides ceaselessly.  We are all bitter.  I am Khal Drogo."  

Stasolya bows. "Greetings, Khal Drogo. I am Stasolya, of the Kiros clan. I seek the Princess, yes. But who better than a girl in eyes of innocence to see the fabric of the fate of Hyboria? It is not an accident that our Empress is Childlike. Or that the dawn is only a young woman,"--she smiles at Thea before turning back to the Khal. "Our suffering is great, but it is yet the warp of the new tapestry being woven."

Thea offers Stasolya a smile, and light from the brazier glints off the tip of her alicorn.  She seems to relax as she watches Stasolya's exchange with the Dothraki leaders.  Khal Drogo doesn't seem too impressed with the Centaur's reply, but keeps his seated position as he glances from her to Khaleesi Yasseni to Khal Vrozzo.  

"I don't put much stock in such a tale."  Khal Drogo says finally, his flat expressions remaining.  "What I do put stock in are the Sheikah.  They have always been fair to us.  When they brought us the Princess and placed her in our care, we gave our solemn vow to keep her safe.  It hasn't been easy, though.  She is spoiled by the comforts of your world.  She does not understand our ways, and has been...petulant.  Regardless, they believe she is terribly important.  Important enough, in fact, to offer us a very valuable trade.  Namely status, when Hylian royalty is returned to the throne.  I am no fool, Vezzhof-blessed.  I know when you say that you see the Princess you believe that you'll be leaving with her.  What is it that you think you can offer me that is more valuable to the Dothraki than status with the Hylians, who see us as nothing more than flea-ridden barbarians?"  

Stasolya smiles, even though Khal Drogo doesn't return the expression. "I respect your ambitions, my friend. But no one's ambitions will come to fruition if Hyboria is destroyed in the Nothing. Political ties and unions must be set aside to come together and fight the greater enemy--that is why Atreyu has sent us, and countless warriors and heroes, across Hyboria, to unite it to protect and restore the Order that allows us all to gallop across the plains under the rising sun, to have honor and tales told among our people and among strangers, to watch our families and our legacy grow and spread. All I have to offer you is a part to play in this effort, to save our world."

The centaur's expression becomes solemn. "Atreyu made no mention to me of taking the Princess. I believe the need of what is to happen next will be made clear when I speak to her. If she is needed elsewhere, I will wish to take her there. But I do not do my own will in this matter."

Khal Drogo doesn't respond to much.  He pays little heed to talk of Atreyu, of talk of the Princess, anything else Stasolya says...except for the part about galloping across the plains under the rising sun.  The Khal seems to sit up a little straighter, a little taller as his skin pimples with gooseflesh.  

"Follow me."  Drogo says, standing, and moving toward the front of the tent.  He glances from Stasolya to Thea, then pushes the flap aside and motions for Yasseni and Vrozzo to stay put.  They step out, back into the sounds of revelry, into the darkness of the endless night.  Drogo guides them away from the tent, away from any sources of light on the ground...and then takes his time as he begins to point out stars in the sky, tracing their outline with his finger.  

"The Great Stallion."  He says with clear reverence.  "Vezzhof.  He rides ceaseless now.  In the past, before the Great Conjuction, we spent the nights in the gaze of Vezzhof.  Now though...it has lost its...luster.  It is both a blessing...and a curse.  If a horse rides too long, and too far, the horse will die.  We do not want Vezzhof to die.  If you are telling me that this Princess of yours can stop this...somehow..."

He pauses.  

"...then wait here." 

The Khal walks away, leaving Stasolya and Thea alone for a moment before returning.  Away in the darkness they can see the Khal walking back toward them with a young girl, maybe eleven or twelve years of age...