She must have made some sound, because suddenly the horse is gone and the cruelly-bright Mongolian sunlight smacks her full in the face, making her groan.
Somewhere not to far distant, someone is laughing at her, either ignorant or uncaring about the horrendous pounding in her head. After a few minutes where her main accomplishments are to throw an arm over her eyes and to pray for death (it doesn't come), that someone pokes at her foot rudely.
"Up you get, you great pussycat, we have miles to cover today." Seymon is unfairly chipper this morning, as if he hadn't been matching her drink for drink with the locally-made arkhi last night.
"Screw you, and your ancestors, and your descendants, for a thousand generations." She snarls, a curse he breezily counters while the effort of it makes her whimper. "Why aren't you hungover, you bastard?"
"Superior training." He sniffs. "Come, I will make you the traditional remedy." If anyone would know the traditional remedy for a arkhi-induced headache, it would be Seymon, so she struggles to sit up while he disappears into the tent. She is worried when he re-emerges with a sheep's head and a knife.
She's found somewhere else to be when he announces that an eyeball is part of the cure and makes to dig it out with his knife.
Some people should not be challenged
She must have made some sound, because suddenly the horse is gone and the cruelly-bright Mongolian sunlight smacks her full in the face, making her groan.
Somewhere not to far distant, someone is laughing at her, either ignorant or uncaring about the horrendous pounding in her head. After a few minutes where her main accomplishments are to throw an arm over her eyes and to pray for death (it doesn't come), that someone pokes at her foot rudely.
"Up you get, you great pussycat, we have miles to cover today." Seymon is unfairly chipper this morning, as if he hadn't been matching her drink for drink with the locally-made arkhi last night.
"Screw you, and your ancestors, and your descendants, for a thousand generations." She snarls, a curse he breezily counters while the effort of it makes her whimper. "Why aren't you hungover, you bastard?"
"Superior training." He sniffs. "Come, I will make you the traditional remedy." If anyone would know the traditional remedy for a arkhi-induced headache, it would be Seymon, so she struggles to sit up while he disappears into the tent. She is worried when he re-emerges with a sheep's head and a knife.
She's found somewhere else to be when he announces that an eyeball is part of the cure and makes to dig it out with his knife.