SunchaserShaman

The night before the Horn Gathering, in the tent of the Great Shaman. The current Great Shaman, Uughan Otag, was instructing her men on the final matters before the gathering. The priests of the nomads were sitting around her on the floor with tense faces, as if a great enemy was at hand. Are the sacrificial animals ready? Otag asked. All according to your request, fifteen red cows and thirty antelopes, to be slaughtered in the morning. A priest answered. Slaughter within an hour, the blood released shall be well preserved, I have other arrangement for it. Otag continued, afraid of missing something, "The livestock bought from the herdsmen, must pay a sufficient price." Your kindness must be appreciated by all. The priest echoed, but was given a hard stare by Otag, and she continued on, "Send my guards to watch over the ancestral totem, and no one is allowed to come near." But, your safety ...... one of the priests tried to argue back. No need to worry, I can guarantee my safety. Otag's answer was unquestionable and loud. By the way, Otag suddenly thought of something, "is Torghut going to participate in the Wind Run?" She lowered her voice, as if she was cautious of someone outside the tent. Yes, your dedicated guard is one of the contestants with the highest call to win, why mention him specifically? A priest sensed Otag's thoughts. Then he had better take the championship. Don't disgrace me. Otag went back to her normal voice.

Once every five years at the Horn Gathering, the entire nomad would gather together to hold various events, the most notable of which were the Wind Run and Horn Contest. At the beginning of the Wind Run, the Great Shaman will play magical music to give blessings to all the warriors. Otag was standing in the center of the field, holding the spiritual horn, blowing the first note of the magic music. Not far to the northeast of her, was the field of Wind Run. Dozens of wind rhinos and their riders lined up at the starting point, waiting for the signal to sound. When the sun reached directly above all of them, the magic music was played on time, and the melodic sound of the spiritual horn blasted through the grassland air. More than a dozen wind rhinos shoot out like a bow off the string, under the blazing sun to compete for the warrior's championship. In just a few seconds, half of the wind rhinos tripped over each other in the course, and the five contestants were far ahead. Shaman servant Torghut was one of them. Otag continued to blow the spiritual horn, and the magic and magic drum followed suit. The competition was slowly heating up, and the focus was on the battle for championship, with Torghut currently at second place, just an inch away from the first place. The rhythm of the magic music was getting faster and faster, and the drums were falling like rain. Torghut made a mistake and almost fell from his wind rhino, causing the audiences to scream. Otag blew a wrong half beat, resulting in a less harmonious note in the magic music, but people's attention was focused on the field. After a fierce competition, Torghut finally overtook before the finish line and won the championship of the Wind Run. Otag turned her attention back to the music, blaming herself for the mistake she just made. Under the blazing sun, the sound of the spiritual horn was calm and melodious.

On the night of the Horn Gathering, outside the tent of the Great Shaman. Otag walked back to her tent, feeling exhausted after a busy day. A figure had been waiting for her for a long time. Otag noticed him, immediately became alert and said with authority: "Why are you still here?" It was Torghut, who has won the Wind Run during the day. He replied, "It is my duty to guard you, Head of Horn." Head of Horn was the old nomad name for the Great Shaman, and Otag did not like being called that. What do you think you are? Otag's voice was full of disdain as she continued to humiliate, "Don't assume that just because you've won the championship I'll think highly of you." Not expecting a response, Otag walked straight into the tent, without looking at Torghut the whole time. The wind on the grassland becomes bitterly cold at night, the Horns had always relied on thick tents to shelter from the wind and rain. Under the bright moonlight, the Shaman Servant still stood straight outside the tent, not moving an inch to guard. He looked resolutely at the star-filled sky and murmured alone, "I will always protect you, my sister."