Arrow watched not with apprehension, but with a certain amount of suspenseful anticipation, as Lazslo put the ale to his lips. The Ethaefal's expression was enough to let the brewer know, even before the words of approval came forth, that the beer was acceptable. He could not help but smile, in the way that anyone does who brings something to life, who creates, can not but take pride in his accomplishment, no matter how humble it might be. With the mug that Lazslo had passed to him, Arrow quickly and expertly drew himself a cup and tasted it, letting the flavor expand in his mouth. It was a good batch. With time, the consistent quality of his brewing had increased, so that he could feel assured that each batch would please.
With another sip, Arrow felt the tingling and he knew the sun was setting at that very moment. This had happened so often, twice a day, every day, for more than four centuries, he barely noted it. A flash of light, and another where Lazslo still stood, and it was as if the two had changed places. Now Arrow’s head sprouted the curling horns, though instead of a reddish hue, they were the color of butterscotch. The short blonde hair had lengthened to rusty brown tendrils that fell down past his shoulders. Once green eyes now shone a shimmering silvery violet. His tan complexion had lightened to an opalescent glow and his face had taken on that unearthly beauty that had been Lazslo’s but a moment before. In height, he had only gained an inch or so, and his musculature had expanded just enough that the shirt he wore was more taut across the chest and arms. It all happened literally in the blink of an eye, and to Arrow it was just simply what transpired every evening of his life. But he was indeed curious to see what form Lazslo took at night, and whether, as it had sounded, this nocturnal form was a cause for dismay.
His eyes had already been on the other Ethaefal, so it wasn’t an obvious act of ogling that allowed him to witness Lazslo’s transformation. Right away, he recognized this new form, Lazslo’s nightime race. And Arrow could understand why Lazslo might think him more lucky to have his other half take the form of a plain human. A Symenestra was not, perhaps, the most happy of bodies to inhabit for half of each and every day. That was not to say that there weren’t plenty of Symenestra who were exultant to be of their race, proud and sometimes even a bit contemptuous of other races. But to share your consciousness between two such different forms, yes, he could see how that in and of itself would be difficult. Knowing what he did about the Symenestra culture, their use of surrogates and how many throughout Mizahar loathed and despised them, made it that much easier to believe that Lazslo might be unhappy with his lot. And finally, knowing full well what it was like to go through the trauma of rebirth, and having to learn all over everything there was to know about life, Arrow could empathize completely with the now dour looking creature before him. To have to be Symenestra, without the benefit of being raised as one, supported at least by a family and an entire culture, to help harden those beliefs that their way was a righteous and necessary one, that would be difficult. With sympathetic eyes, he gazed on this other version of Lazslo, wondering what hidden grief might roil within that wan, frail body - wanting to soothe it if he could, yet knowing intuitively that in all likelihood he would not be able to. Aurelia had helped him, all those years ago, but he had opened himself up to her, and her comfort, only after he came to trust her, and to love her. It had been a very, very special bond, one that had truly brought him from the depths of despair. That level of connection between two souls was rare indeed.
Still, if he and Lazslo could at least become friends, Arrow thought that he could try to bring some comfort to him. It might be a great coincidence that Lazslo had met two of his siblings in a very short space of time. But really, there were few of them all told, and scattered about across the face of Mizahar. When they could, they should try to help one another, to cope with falling from heaven to this indefinite purgatory. He firmly believed that.
All these observations had passed within a brief moment, and Arrow’s expression had not changed to reflect any of them. In response to the information about having to wait and talk to this Victor Lark, Arrow said simply, “That would be great, if you could do that. I look forward to meeting him. Sounds like a man after my own heart.” He smiled and then took another sip of the ale. “I’m glad you like it. I hope your Victor will as well.” When Lazslo finally raised those amethyst eyes and put his question to Arrow, the Etheafal’s smile did not lessen, but a very observant person might have noted a touch of wistfulness that settled on his features.
It was a loaded question, the answer to which would probably not make Lazslo happy. The uncertainty of their existence, the limbo that had no foreseeable end, was like a bad dream sometimes, where one is always walking but never moving forward. Run and run and run, and you still get nowhere. It was possible Lazslo was old himself. If so, Arrow’s considerable age would only confirm Lazslo’s own experience, but probably would not make him feel any better about having gone through the same lengthy time himself. On the other hand, the other Ethaefal might be very young. Knowing that Arrow had fallen so long ago, and was still here, earthbound, would almost certainly bring little joy. It was a question that had no good answer. So, there seemed nothing for it but to answer it simply and directly and let Lazslo make of it what he would.
“I fell not too long after the Valterrian. Over four hundred years ago.” His own silvery-purple eyes looked steadily into Lazslo’s, which were very alike in color. “So, that makes me . . . very old.” He leaned casually back against the bar, resting his elbows on it, the mug dangling slightly from one elegant looking hand. “And you, Lazslo?” He asked quietly. “How long have you been back here?”
