[Book 2] Chapter 4
The Xaelo Family’s Daily Life — At First Light
《Baleon’s Log》
Morning in the steppe marshes — Inner Steppe.
Dense fog.
[Fael] Holding movement until the fog lifts; conferring with me about possible route changes.
[Serio] (Separate) Staying with the Xaelo family.
[Maya] (Separate) Staying with the Xaelo family.
Along the way, we discovered several previously unknown old stelae.
There is much I wish to examine, but carrying this straight into the Capital would be unwise.
When I asked Fael for counsel, he said it may be time to draft a ciphered map readable only to us.
Clack, clack, clack, clack, clack!
“Wake uuuup! Morning’s here!”
The ever-energetic Nava burst into the guest tent, her wooden clappers rattling at full volume.
“Oh, Roro—you’re up early. Good morning.”
Startled by the noise, Roro had jumped up; Nava greeted him with a bright smile.
From beneath the Elba-wool coverlet, Maya timidly peeked out with only the upper half of his face.
Eyes wide, he blinked and stared toward the entrance where Nava stood.
The nomads’ tent, though simple in build, held its warmth.
The bed was just a mattress of piled dried grass with two layers of Elba-wool cloth laid on top.
Even so, the way it yielded without letting the body sink, and the way the wool kept heat from escaping, made the chill of an autumn morning no trouble at all.
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“Ugh… I don’t want to get out of this…”
Serio burrowed under the woolen coverlet up to his head, groaning in reluctance.
Yet when Nava’s “It’s morning!” rang out again, he yielded, wriggled free of the grass mattress, and sat up with a shrug.
Maya glanced at Serio with just his eyes and chuckled softly.
After changing out of their sleepwear into their usual clothes, Maya and Serio draped Elba-wool stoles over their shoulders against the cold and stepped out of the guest tent.
Outside, the sky beyond the hill was brightening sharply—sunrise about to break.
Their breath smoked white; together they felt how near winter had drawn upon the autumn steppe.
Inside the round tent, a simple bite before the early chores had been laid out: warmed fermented Elba milk and bite-sized dumplings.
Xaelo was tending the hearth, while Nava beside him beamed at the two.
Neyra and Nivia, at a small cooking hearth separate from the central fire, had already begun preparing the meal for after the morning’s work.
Noticing Maya and Serio by the entrance, Nohra called out,
“Good morning. It’s chilly, isn’t it? Xaelo has just got the fire going—come warm yourselves.”
With that, she handed each of them a wooden bowl and urged them to sit.
Roro was already perched neatly on Nava’s lap, waiting politely for breakfast.
Serio muttered under his breath,
“Roro, you’ve already become one of this family’s kids.”
Neyra sat down across from the still-sleepy pair and chuckled.
“So the clappers we use to gather the Elbas on the steppe woke you? Poor things.”
Xaelo nodded with solemn exaggeration and said,
“Serio. There’s one way to prevent it—get up earlier than Nava.”
“Wh-what… no way…”
Serio clutched his bowl with both hands, almost ready to cry.
Nava raised her clappers proudly, and Roro gave a short “waf.”
Laughter spread around the hearth.
Maya laughed as well, and through the rising steam Neyra smiled, eyes narrowing.
Maya held the warm bowl of fermented Elba milk in both hands to warm them and took a careful sip.
A sweet aroma and gentle tang spread across his tongue, with a faint trace of salt.
The warmth slipped from throat to chest and quietly to the pit of his stomach; he felt heat gathering, little by little, at his core.
He pinched up a bite-sized dumpling and popped it into his mouth.
Its springy softness and indescribable sweetness made his eyes widen.
Watching him, Xaelo adjusted the fire and began to speak quietly.
“Long ago, our nomadic ancestors spoke of a place called Ratul-Sulan-Meria—The Land of the Roots’ Slumber. Wild Elbas from across the steppe gather there, and there’s an old tale that those who graze there never fall ill.”
Xaelo continued:
“Recently, the elders consulted with trusted caravaners and examined the grasses growing there. We learned it’s useful to us as well. We collected seed and tried sowing it in various places, but it thrives only near the original ground. So a few families took turns staying nearby to tend it—unusual for nomads, half a farmer’s life, really.”
Serio asked, curious,
“And? How did it turn out?”
Xaelo smiled faintly and went on:
“Only recently we began harvesting larger grain. We milled it to flour, mixed it with a little water, rolled it into small balls in our palms, gave them a brief boil, and tasted them… Sweet, pleasantly chewy, truly delicious. Stranger still, a single dumpling kept hard-working folk going for half a day without tiring.”
Maya looked down at the dumpling in his hand, then back to Xaelo.
He nodded deeply and finished:
“So we decided this new grain should become fresh sustenance for the steppe nomads. We increased the families taking turns, kept it growing, raised the yield, and now, little by little, the flour is reaching tents scattered across the grasslands.
In thanks to our ancestors, to the Elbas, and to that sacred land, we named the flour ‘Rasulian powder,’ and these round ones ‘Rasulian dumplings.’”
Maya realized that even these small dumplings held the nomads’ ingenuity and effort.
That thought alone seemed to kindle enough energy to carry him through the day.
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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.
