It was not the deep resonance of the Kirabi nor the lilting roll of the Vastara. She had an awkward, sideways glance at strangely built people who were quickly and efficiently preparing a campsite for the beast riders’ return.At last, the banta slowed to a walk, and then it stopped before a small crowd of the sturdy workers. The man pushed her forward onto the saddle while he dismounted. He gripped her arms again, sliding her off the banta. Sabra was grateful to feel the dirt under her feet. She stood still in the man’s grip while he used his other hand to unsaddle the beast and remove its headgear and reins. “Feed,” he ordered, and the banta glided off at a run, back towards the meadow.“You have really tamed a banta,” Sabra said, not able to hide her awe at the discovery.“As you will be tamed,” Dasheen chuckled.One of the hunched-over workers picked up the gear and walked off with it. Sabra stared around the campsite where other beast riders were dismounting. She was dismayed to see that none of the first or second season gatherers had escaped capture.
