༻❁༺

---

Batu

Through caves they had traveled, and seemingly through time and space once more. The verdant place where the dynasty came to land was worth the rend, and the group of wolves had taken residence there. The Orchid no longer felt the innate pull towards another place, as she did amongst the streams. Though Shenlei had been the masthead of their voyage east (for Yue could have died a happy woman, amongst the busy wisteria isle) and she was most grateful that he had pushed forth. As always, his vision had been flawless.

The execution of that vision went far better than their arrival to the Rest.

The Empress was ultimately relieved to have a place to winter, as the season was full upon them. Her pelt was full and warm; she felt more rested than she had in any of the recent months. There were so many unknowns here, but the life of an Empress was notably simpler with far fewer tenets and neighbors to manage. Some might say life was emptier – but to Yue, it was not a void, but instead rife with possibility. She dreamed about it at night. She could taste it.

The Empress wore this possibility like a most voluminous robe, and could feel it flowing all about her as she meandered amongst her new lands, conscripting every corner to her memory.

---

༻❁༺

To the west of the dragon settlement, green ridges jut towards the sky. Between the mountains and the flat grassland are a few barren hills. A small camp trimmed with pelts and meat has been raised on the south-eastern slope of one; the kin traveler reposing against a huangshan hull. His legs are stretched long before him, a hollow bladder mid field-dress held there. Quietude keeps thick fur drawn about his face, but a gleam of eyes can be seen looking over the fells.

“Out in the backcountry,
Altargana with her wings,
Balanced on her elbows;
My blood.”

A ghost is on his hillside. An ethereal likeness. The nomad is sitting still as the pine, but on his tongue is the mongolian song and in his eyes a fair light.

“She grows in the earth,
Altargana with all blessings,
Balanced on her back;
My soul.”

༻❁༺

---

In truth, Yue was quite entranced with these new lands. Heaven's Mercy was woefully untraveled, for one who shouldered entire worlds. There were only two places she had ever been – her birth clan, and the one she had been married into – which was now made three places, then four, then five.

She had once dreamed of adventure. She managed to find adventure within the confines of her role as Empress quite easily, despite almost never leaving her silken palace. Now somewhat of an expert in all types of terrain, it was now clear why the morass of the west had not suited her – how could she live amongst mud, when firm earth felt so good beneath one’s paws?

Such things, most wolves likely already knew about themselves.

This was not the only thing that was different. Advisors, translators, entertainers, servants, they had all come to her – but now, she came to them. The rules of the dynasty were being rewritten in her every footstep, as much as the Empress wished to maintain the status quo. She was often alone now; something she never been before. Her thoughts, her mind, were no longer her only private space.

She now had much private space, and some to spare. Miles and miles of it.

Even this strange encampment, the smear of tan against a milieu of verdant, emerald green. Yue crept closer, no longer willing to trust the true state of her dynasty to that of a third-party. She must lay witness to it all, this corner of hides, and this man who sat amongst them. Quite uncharacteristically, she noticed him far too late, and her interest in his homestead was far too evident.

He sang, and the tongue was familiar but the lyrics were foreign. The words, and the man who spoke them, did not seem of these lands.

"I regret to disturb you," the orchid lamented. She didn’t know him. It was such a strange thing, to meet someone unfamiliar – and stranger yet, perhaps he did not know her. The Empress’s breath ran smooth in her throat, in long drawn, silken inhales and exhales. She recalled that he had traveled with them from Queen’s Rest, and now she noticed that his scent was mingled with others she knew well. Royal family, he was not.

What a strange thing, indeed.

---

༻❁༺

So went the han through a mythic cavern refused by the nomad, whose tastes better suited the open sky under which all life is spent. A rutted road had taken him eastward over ranges, skirting deltas, and deviating from the main thoroughfare as the sun pressed its fingers too sharply along his spine. There, Batu had witnessed small settlements and dwellings in abandonment, with not even a prisoner to man their keep. Near the ruin of many dens, limbs had been torn from date palms whose fruit once nourished populations. Wherever he turned, he’d seen destruction— hills of churned earth which might have been mass graves. Empty stretches of dry land and no prey. All wisdom wagered for a foothold in court, bestowed by a man of the earth likely viewed as a menace to orderly life.

Hundreds of li had passed before his eyes, Batu managing to ride from one desolation eastwards, only to find another; a barren obelisk. Water in the land was too precious to waste, and a nomad risked offending the spirits if he washed in running streams.

The man’s stench is that of old flesh and seared blood. Dust embeds deeply so as to monotonize a fulvous pelt.

Death and decay and sepia he’d seen. The stallion atop his high mount now stands to vastness.

From night his wraith begins to emerge more definitely while the man basks in shadow.

“Imperial Highness,” the length of her face is consumed before bowing. Even in a lack of retinue and servants, the kin knows who stands before him. “You disturb nothing. Join me.”

But it gleams too boldly for the horselord to overlook—

She is achingly beautiful.

༻❁༺

---

What did Yue know of pelts, when her entire life was swathed in silk?

Had she ever truly known destruction, as she passed orders to generals to execute her will? These questions did not swirl around in her mind yet, but perhaps one day soon they would. At this moment she appraised and appreciated the stark differences between them. His culture was sundered from hers but not altogether foreign; after all, she had learned his mongolian tongue from one of her earliest tutors, and she did not study subjects that had no use. Their kingdoms were neighbors in some aspects. Distant cousins, in others.

His eye contact was potent, as she knew to be the way of his kind – but it was also the way of her kind, so lilac held patina, following his downward as respect was paid; attention, diverted. The twist of a smile upon her face portrayed her acceptance of the honors, and a wide sweep of her tail accepted his invitation to join him amongst his hides.

The Empress walked forward, looking around at his disarray, and then towards the ruffian himself. There was something quietly endearing about the way he held himself, a flame that she saw within certain individuals that could not be extinguished. After so much upheaval, it felt frivolous to sit and bask in another’s light, but Yue found it a fortuitous sign for the future: though all was new, even here there was light, and contrast. a duality that made life worth living.

She didn't notice her own silence, as she gazed about. Yet her mind churned, thinking that if war could be autopoietic, then something like sheer survival could be as colorful as a tapestry, or as fine as lacquerware, or as exquisite as calligraphy.

Whatever one wanted to call it, it deserved to be seen as a work of art.

---

༻❁༺

The empress moves from fur to fur and among those lain out in varied states of dress, each given quiet attention. Looted finery, a lady may expect.

“Sarlag.” The mongol motions with his chin toward the hide of spotted ivory beneath her regard. “Takhi,” is deemed another of thick dun and, “Ram. Sable,” are named next to them.

The bladder is set aside. Batu stands some distance away, watching her face. There is a blend of speculation and interest within his own.

“The Lotus has an eye for softness.”

༻❁༺

---

The Empress maintained a strong-held belief that true quality existed solely in the details – and when the details were cared for, then the entirety thrived. This held true to things of material wealth, such as pelts and silk, but also when applied to ideas that were far more philosophical in nature.

Details such as textiles mattered within the context of a dynasty, whether they were acknowledged or not. It would be difficult for a reign of great propriety and wealth to exist while adorned in rags.

Perhaps these were not the kindest of topics to muse upon, as she entertained the audience of the dusty ruffian. His existence proved her wrong: for his land was not one made for finery, but the Empire that ruled the plains held the strength to endure generations.

It behooved no one to assume that power could only be draped in jewels.

Similarly, the craftsmanship that belied his wares could not be denied. The edges were clean, and the fur itself laid smooth. It retained the essence of the animal, while being fully removed from the animal itself – in death, it became more than what it was; it became a bed, clothing, a thing that can be loved beyond life itself.

Unlike the meat of something, the pelt endured. It retained memories that more processed items easily forgot. The only thing that could compare was the bones, which held spiritual significance to her own people more than any other material.

If bones could scry the future, then what could pelts tell of the past?

She listened, a good student, committing the names and their accented embellishments to memory. Concluding her assessment, the sylph turned to the man named Batu, eyes holding a similar, interested glimmer. "Are you a merchant?" the empress questioned softly, thinking immediately that it was a silly question (the answer was clearly yes), but she desired greatly to know how he would describe himself.

Born of the same want, did the woman sweep her nose towards the one with the long tendrils, the one called sarlag. "It must have been a grand creature."

---

༻❁༺

“I was.”

He likes her eyes. Their lilac is made more compelling by a dusting of moonlight. Down his own are drawn, across the slender neck and into the pelt of silver-flecked ivory. Breezes shake its gentle curls.

“A herd matriarch. She endured many bulls, but never took to them. It was not until she was stolen by her fourth that she produced calves. They had many together each spring, until old age took him, as it did her.” Batu takes the remaining strides until they two are side-by-side. A calloused paw sinks into the hide’s undulating richness.

“Feel it, your majesty. The fur is just as soft as the day she was weaned.”

༻❁༺

---

In truth, the empress didn’t know many merchants. She knew the results of their travails, enjoying the feats of their travels and trade with much glee, and relied upon them to make accessible the wants and needs of her people. The traders themselves had always remained delightfully distant, a mystery hidden behind a veil. They came and went, a concept that was foreign to the woman of ivory. Ever still, ever present.

She was a carved obelisk that did not move.

Even if it was a thing of his past, Yue could not place a mental image to the term ‘tradesmen,’ thus he became that image for her forevermore. She turned on her heels to face him, made curious by his response. “What are you now? and she only turned to look back at the hide when the story the man wove began to captivate her, somewhere halfway through, when the matriarch had been stolen.

It must have been a most happy theft. As she placed a pointed paw against the fur and skin, she could almost feel the deep fulfillment that radiated from it, inherent in its cells. It was the last vestige of an ancestor, and Yue wondered if the connection was strong enough that the great spirit of the matriach might adopt its wearer as a child, and bestow it with the same fortuitous blessings as she would her many offspring.

“It is very fine," she uttered, a soft gasp as she pressed her paw more firmly into the supple skin. “As soft as silk. Her awe was as genuine as it could be, for Yue managed to muster no small amount of appreciation for fine things. She often allowed the beauty of things to overtake her. Her eyes shifted again to look at him in a sidelong glance. With a less trained hand applied, the yak and her story would have been lost to rot and decay.

“How can it be so?"

---

༻❁༺

Son of heaven. Does he know what he has?

Does he know what he has is within fatal reach of feral hands? It is not with hands, but eyes that rove to take in a tilted profile, the curving bridge of a just-turned nose, the crook of a dimple where it breaks against her full mouth.

“I am to be what son and mercy deem me to be, Empress.” No, the emperor had lost sight in one eye, and now his wife walks Batu’s steps, and the nomad has no desire to return her. Were they married, he would not lose sight of his platinum-silver. He would not allow her to enter a third year unfilled with his children.

True curiosity takes him by surprise. He cannot imagine the han willow-women caring for this work beyond a final, luxurious end. The process itself is slow, demanding patience and finesse. This he would begin to explain, running a palm through the sarlang folds to reveal many-hued layers within the coat itself.

“These coarse guards hairs must be cleaned through and buffed to remove wiry strands from the fine down beneath. It yields a pelt softer than deer or sheep’s wool, while the outer layer shields against wind and water.” He gathers the fur in his grasp, raising its curls and holding them before the lotus’ mirrored tones.

“Wear her.”