The Yak Came Back

One might think that after all he’d done these past several moons — all the trudging back and forth through the frozen wastes of Coerthas fetching herbs, slaying wolves, slaying primals, and oh yeah, ending a thousand-year-long war, Ryusei might be afforded a modicum of respect. But when he approached the sentry stationed north of Falcon’s Nest, the man only had one thing to say:

“You again?”

Ryusei rolled his eyes as he procured the guildleve from his pack. “Eloin sent me. You’ve another yak problem?”

The sentry huffed. “Aye, he’s back again. I’ve no idea why he insists on these regular visits.”

Because gods forbid the knights of Ishgard show an onze of fondness to those who’ve come to their aid. But aloud, all Ryusei said was, “Point me toward the beast.”

The Last Yak was, once again, pacing back and forth not a malm from the walls surrounding Falcon’s Nest. Ryusei sighed fondly and shook his head. “What is this, the fifth time in a moon? You like Ishgardian ale that much? Personally, I can’t stand the stuff,” he said as though he were confiding in an old friend.

Well, since this was the fifth time he’d been dispatched to steer the creature away from civilization, perhaps that’s exactly what they were to each other.

“Come along, then.” Ryusei beckoned to the yak and trudged along through the snow. With his blade at the ready, they had naught to fear from any bateleurs or wolves with a taste for yak flesh.

This time, Ryusei led the yak as far as the hills around Twinpools. “I know I’ve seen other yaks around here,” he mused. “Is this far enough to keep you from returning?”

The yak let out a plaintive moo. It stamped its hoof and tossed its head, then turned toward the hills.

Ryusei waited and watched, but the yak didn’t move. Finally it took one step, mooed, and looked back at him. He lifted an eyebrow. “Now you want to lead me?”

Another moo, another toss of the head.

Ryusei shrugged. “Oh, all right, then,” he muttered under his breath in his native Doman. “What do I have to lose?”

The Last Yak headed for the hills west of the Convictory, moving with the ease of one who knew these snows like the back of its, erm, hoof. Ryusei kept his hand on the hilt of his sword, but nothing threatened them here, in the yak’s home territory.

In the blowing winds and snows, the cave in the side of the cliff was invisible until they were practically right on top of it.

“Is this where you live?” Ryusei asked.

Predictably, the yak did not respond. It just stood there and stared at him.

So he went in. It was a small cave, or as small as the den of a full-grown yak could be. “Cozy” might be the better word, perhaps. It was warm, at least — especially with the body heat radiating from the pile of small, snoring calves that lay snuggled up in the back of the cave.

“Ah. I see.”

“Thank you for leading our wayward friend home once more,” the Falcon’s Nest sentry said. “May the Fury keep him from wandering this far afield again.”

Ryusei shrugged. “I’m sure she has her reasons. Perhaps she simply needs a break from the drudgeries of life, as do we all.”

“And what such drudgeries could a beastkin such as that face?” the man demanded, skeptical. “Hold— you said ‘she’?”

“The biting cold, the frenzied beasts of these lands,” Ryusei offered. “The toil of caring for one’s family. Can you not relate?”

He left the man to ponder his words and made for the warmth of the tavern. It really was far too cold out here.