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Organised by
RogerDodger
Word limit
400–750
I Will Learn
Beneath a deep indigo sky, a chill wind swept wisps of sand through the air. Though the moon had not yet risen, cool starlight shone down upon the desert dunes, illuminating a modest group of huts. Seemingly defiant of its surroundings, one particular hut burned warm and fierce.
It was to this hut that a figure quietly walked, mindful of the sleeping nomad camp. Just short of the glowing hut’s entrance, the figure stalled for a moment to suck a deep breath through his nostrils. It did little to placate the uneasiness churning within him. Releasing his breath, he reached a foreleg down to pull away the canvased entrance. The strong light of multiple candles quickly outlined his features. A zebra, sand-layered saddlebags dangling from his sides and a spear strapped to his back. On the far side of the entrance moved a zebra around a table littered with what looked like provisions. Purpose was in each of her hoofsteps.
“Zecora?”
The zebra stopped, turning her neck slightly to reveal a striped muzzle from beneath a dark hood, acknowledging the late night visitor.
“Makonnen. It is good to see you have returned safely from your journey.” Zecora turned her back on him, placing on a large saddlebag upon the table.
“It is good to finally see you as well.” Makonnen moved through the sparse hut, eyeing the pile of supplies. “I have heard of what has happened.”
The other zebra disregarded him, roughly swiping a hoof-full of empty bottles into her bag.
Makonnen paused in his walk, staring down. He felt the weight of his weapon shift uncomfortably on his back. “You know that there was nothing-“
“No,” came the curt reply, “you will not speak of it.”
The male zebra moved forward. “Zecora, Sangoma Zeilo tried-“
The force in which Zecora spun was near violent. Her hood was blown back to reveal a face matted with coarse lines of dried tears. The once gentle turquoise of her irises glimmered with raw ferocity; nearly knocking Makonnen off his hooves. But it was the striped mohawk, standing young and proud above a freshly shaven head, that buried the warrior’s words into the ground.
“Do. Not. Speak of it.” The words themselves seemed trampled beneath the weight of her bared, gritted teeth.
Makonnen gawped at the new appearance of his oldest friend, his legs seemingly rooted to the ground.
“Z-Zecora! Your mane…it is forbidden for you to-!”
“Yes!” Zecora winced at her own volume, pulling her ears down and drawing her anger and frustration into herself. “Yes, I know it is forbidden. I know this, Makonnen.”
Composing himself, and remembering that he did have legs; Makonnen strode forward to rest his muzzle on Zecora’s withers. Zecora sighed with small relief, returning the gesture. The two stood together, warmed by each other’s presence. Two exhausted souls, finding solace in the solidarity of their lifelong bond. The desert wind rustled steadily outside.
“…what are you going to do?” Zecora drew in a deep breath before she replied.
“I will travel, Makonnen. Travel to lands where I may be allowed to learn. Potions, magical brews, spells, medicine…” Makonnen could feel her swallow at the last word. “I will learn what the shaman does not know. I will help others. I will do something.” Zecora pulled her muzzle back, leaning against Makonnen’s own. “Do you understand?”
The young zebra looked upon his friend and rubbed his muzzle against hers in a show of gentle affection, smiling.
“I understand.” The deep turquoise of her eyes opened and he received a nuzzle and smile in kind.
“Thank you.”
The young zebra mare gazed silently into the dark expanse of desert, her back laden with saddlebags. The young zebra stallion stood alongside her. The wind whipped between them.
“I would travel with you,” his eyes on everything but hers, “there are dangers you need not face alone.”
“I appreciate that,” she turned to face him, “but you have your duty.”
“I would leave my duty, for you,” he stated firmly.
Silence.
“It is time.”
“Yes…”
“…”
“...if you do want to become a real shaman, you will have to speak as they do, too.”
Zecora chuckled deeply.
“We shall see.”
The zebra raised her hoof, ready to take the first step into her journey. Leaving it suspended, Zecora turned to look back at Makonnen. Even in the darkness, his dual streams of tears gleamed brightly.
“My dearest friend…I know in my heart that this is not the end.”
It was to this hut that a figure quietly walked, mindful of the sleeping nomad camp. Just short of the glowing hut’s entrance, the figure stalled for a moment to suck a deep breath through his nostrils. It did little to placate the uneasiness churning within him. Releasing his breath, he reached a foreleg down to pull away the canvased entrance. The strong light of multiple candles quickly outlined his features. A zebra, sand-layered saddlebags dangling from his sides and a spear strapped to his back. On the far side of the entrance moved a zebra around a table littered with what looked like provisions. Purpose was in each of her hoofsteps.
“Zecora?”
The zebra stopped, turning her neck slightly to reveal a striped muzzle from beneath a dark hood, acknowledging the late night visitor.
“Makonnen. It is good to see you have returned safely from your journey.” Zecora turned her back on him, placing on a large saddlebag upon the table.
“It is good to finally see you as well.” Makonnen moved through the sparse hut, eyeing the pile of supplies. “I have heard of what has happened.”
The other zebra disregarded him, roughly swiping a hoof-full of empty bottles into her bag.
Makonnen paused in his walk, staring down. He felt the weight of his weapon shift uncomfortably on his back. “You know that there was nothing-“
“No,” came the curt reply, “you will not speak of it.”
The male zebra moved forward. “Zecora, Sangoma Zeilo tried-“
The force in which Zecora spun was near violent. Her hood was blown back to reveal a face matted with coarse lines of dried tears. The once gentle turquoise of her irises glimmered with raw ferocity; nearly knocking Makonnen off his hooves. But it was the striped mohawk, standing young and proud above a freshly shaven head, that buried the warrior’s words into the ground.
“Do. Not. Speak of it.” The words themselves seemed trampled beneath the weight of her bared, gritted teeth.
Makonnen gawped at the new appearance of his oldest friend, his legs seemingly rooted to the ground.
“Z-Zecora! Your mane…it is forbidden for you to-!”
“Yes!” Zecora winced at her own volume, pulling her ears down and drawing her anger and frustration into herself. “Yes, I know it is forbidden. I know this, Makonnen.”
Composing himself, and remembering that he did have legs; Makonnen strode forward to rest his muzzle on Zecora’s withers. Zecora sighed with small relief, returning the gesture. The two stood together, warmed by each other’s presence. Two exhausted souls, finding solace in the solidarity of their lifelong bond. The desert wind rustled steadily outside.
“…what are you going to do?” Zecora drew in a deep breath before she replied.
“I will travel, Makonnen. Travel to lands where I may be allowed to learn. Potions, magical brews, spells, medicine…” Makonnen could feel her swallow at the last word. “I will learn what the shaman does not know. I will help others. I will do something.” Zecora pulled her muzzle back, leaning against Makonnen’s own. “Do you understand?”
The young zebra looked upon his friend and rubbed his muzzle against hers in a show of gentle affection, smiling.
“I understand.” The deep turquoise of her eyes opened and he received a nuzzle and smile in kind.
“Thank you.”
The young zebra mare gazed silently into the dark expanse of desert, her back laden with saddlebags. The young zebra stallion stood alongside her. The wind whipped between them.
“I would travel with you,” his eyes on everything but hers, “there are dangers you need not face alone.”
“I appreciate that,” she turned to face him, “but you have your duty.”
“I would leave my duty, for you,” he stated firmly.
Silence.
“It is time.”
“Yes…”
“…”
“...if you do want to become a real shaman, you will have to speak as they do, too.”
Zecora chuckled deeply.
“We shall see.”
The zebra raised her hoof, ready to take the first step into her journey. Leaving it suspended, Zecora turned to look back at Makonnen. Even in the darkness, his dual streams of tears gleamed brightly.
“My dearest friend…I know in my heart that this is not the end.”