Nisava River Valley - 1381
Part I - The Doe and the Tree
Bojan Borislavic lent down and prodded at the soft muddy turf with his fingers as his keen eyes slowly made their way up the rough track which meandered along the banks of the Nisava. A soldier standing not far behind him stood in absolute silence, afraid to disturb his comrade of whom such stories were told of his unpredictability and martial talent. The soldier, a young man with curly brown hair from the south of Kosovo watched Bojan's breath against the cold still air of the morning and painfully listened for any sound. Aside however from the creaking of his bones and the mumbling of his stomach he picked up nothing. Then, as if Bojan read the young man's thoughts he spoke quietly as a wind passed over them from the west, "Goran Konstantinin, what do you hear?"
Maybe it was simply the frosty chill of the morning air, but Goran's face seemed to darken in its red hue as if the young soldier feared that his creaking bones and grumbling stomach were annoying the great Bojan Borislavic. After a moment of awkward silence, Goran spoke replied shakily in a whisper, "N-nothing sir…"
Bojan smiled to himself, this wasn't the first time he had been sent out scouting with an intimidated youngster - indeed, he had been one himself not many winters ago. Still, he enjoyed his reputation and was not ill-inclined to 'take advantage' of it as it were. As far he could tell the only thing that had passed over this way in the last couple days was a limping farmer, a cart and a particularly badly shod horse. If the young soldier with the curly hair believed they were on the path of some Turks however, it was probably for the better. Might just keep him silent and stop him from asking stupid questions, after all while this wasn't a Turkish track, there could very well be Turks about. Goran was forced to wait a few more agonizing moments of quiet before Bojan responded, "Exactly, even the birds are quiet this morning. This track is old, we'll go through the wood, there's a hill from which we might gain a better vantage."
The sky was dark and though dawn had no doubt broke a couple hours prior, it was still difficult to make out much at a distance. Bojan and Goran strode quietly across a field that looked as though at one time it was used for hay, but now the grass was long and wet with the morning dew and the rain from the night before. Staying low, clad in grey, both men passed nearly silently and almost invisibly to the untrained observer the only noise they made was that of the grass rustling and Goran made sure to follow in the wake of his more experienced comrade. Before long they entered the shadows of the forest, though to Goran it seemed an eternity in the peculiarity that the minutes on such dark, chill mornings seem to draw on unnaturally. Pushing through the underbrush at the forest's edge the two scouts were greeted with the heady earthy smells of a wet forest on a cold autumn's morning. Such a smell as it made the soul rejoice and the nerves tingle, a feeling that combined with the inherent danger of tracking the enemy created such a combination that was wholly addictive and frightening in its own attractiveness.
Slowly the ground began to ascend toward the hill that Bojan had mentioned, the trees began to spread about and as they climbed rocks jutted from the floor of needles and fallen leaves. Once or twice Goran had to catch himself as he nearly slipped on the wet stone or the uneasily settled forest floor. Bojan led onward, but would always halt when the wind died completely, his dark hair wet and hanging about his brow he would look about him with his hand on his sword pommel and listen intently. Occasionally he caught Goran's eyes looking expectantly at him and always Goran would look away once more. They weren't far from what Goran hoped to be the peak when Bojan stopped once again, listened and before Goran could look away tapped his own nose and pointed. Goran looked as indicated to see some ways beneath them a doe drinking at a brook that no doubt met with the Nisava. A smile lingered at Bojan's lips just long enough for Goran to see it before the former with a nod of his head indicated it was time to move on. Goran cast one more glance down to the brook and the graceful creature by its side before following dutifully.
Briefly it was before the ground began to level and the two found themselves at the edge of a steep slope, beneath them was another bend of the same brook which evidently wound its way around the hill upon which the two Serbian scouts now stood. Goran strained his eyes in the darkness of the forest but could make little out, of any real importance anyway. Just as he was about to turn and ask Bojan what he hoped to see from here he heard the scratching to his side of Bojan's boot against the bark of a tree as the latter hoisted himself up into the branches. Goran hesitated a moment to follow until a harshly whispered, 'Come on' made up his mind for him. Not having climbed a tree since boyhood, Goran looked at the tree for just a moment before pulling himself up onto the nearest branch with a quickly stifled grunt of effort. The bark of the tree was cold and wet against Goran's already chilled and half-numb fingers as he followed Bojan high into the tree's limbs. It took him a good minute or more to catch up with Bojan who had already stopped and stood upon a branch, hugging the trunk with one arm and surveying the country about them. His breath rising in thick vapour before his face Goran finally stopped beneath Bojan, his arms propped on the same branch upon which the latter was standing. The land about them was beautiful under the cold grey sky. Though the trees were largely bare, the grass of the hills and fields were such a healthy dark green. Goran first looked back to where they had come from, clearly now seeing the trail along the Nisava and the brook at the toes of the hill. Bojan's eyes were fixed however on barely distinguishable figures in a small group along the river to the east. Goran noticed Bojan's attention and looked out, now seeing for himself the unidentified party, "Who-?" he began before Borislavic interrupted him.
"Scouts, mounted. The Turkish van is there.", Bojan said as he pointed to vague hills amid the mist and further down the Nisava.
Squinting in vain, Goran whispered back, "But how can you see?"
"I don't.", was Bojan's quick response as he looked beneath him now, searching for his way back down the tree.
"But then…", continued Goran, feeling himself suddenly quite startled and yet terribly excited at having 'seen' the enemy.
"I just know, let's go. There isn't much time."
STOP! COOKIE TIME
