She pulled ahead, circled to cliff once and came to rest on an outcropping there. Akaidras halted suddenly; his nostrils flared and he pranced in indecision. He smelled something, and it was something he did not like.
Shahar placed a hand on the stallion’s shoulder in comfort and encouragement, urging the beast once more towards the cliff. The grass shrouded all but what was directly in front of them, blocking his view of whatever it was that had made his companions so wary; that, in turn, made his own hair stand on end.
The falcon’s barred underbelly caught his eye from the cliff, marking his destination. He bumped his strider into a trot, and was nearly thrown from the yvas when Akaidras almost ran over a young man.
The horse shied violently, pawing at the air with a startled neigh. His hoofbeats were light upon the ground; he had difficulty placing his feet somewhere that was not on top of flesh, and within moments was straddling the man below with his forefeet. With some delicate stepping, the horse had soon managed to abandon the two figures and retreated a good few yards.
Unlacing his hand from his strider’s mane, Shahar regarded the two people at the base of the cliff with a cold, predatory stare. One lay upon the ground, twisted unnaturally and painted with the blackness of dried blood. Something pale glittered from his elbow; an exposed bone, perhaps? At first he thought him dead, but a few moments of observation revealed an almost nonexistent rising and falling of the shoulders—he clung to life, it seemed, though how strongly was something the rider could not see. The other seemed younger, and his skin bore an odd, shimmering quality to it; under the sun, it looked almost like bronze. He looked haggard and drained, and one of his hands was completely black.
The only thing Shahar knew for sure was that they were not Drykas. Their presence was sharply incongruent with the world around them; even a dying Drykas would have the feeling of belonging here that these two lacked.
Akaidras, too, could sense the desperate nature of the two young men, and he eased when he accepted that they were not a threat. Shahar slid from the beast’s back and hit the ground walking; though he did not make any move fore the javelins at his back, neither did he raise his hands in peace or diplomacy. His step was confident; there was no need to parlay with the conscious one—wiry and having been at the mercy of the grasslands for gods knew how long, the pitiful thing didn’t look like he could have appeared threatening if he tried. For his own part, the Drykas himself wasn’t completely clear on what he was doing—almost exactly as he had been when he had set out for the Serenity Tree. It was his gut pulling him towards the twisted one; if nothing else, he wanted to see exactly how broken that particular foreigner was.
oocApologies for the late reply!
Shahar placed a hand on the stallion’s shoulder in comfort and encouragement, urging the beast once more towards the cliff. The grass shrouded all but what was directly in front of them, blocking his view of whatever it was that had made his companions so wary; that, in turn, made his own hair stand on end.
The falcon’s barred underbelly caught his eye from the cliff, marking his destination. He bumped his strider into a trot, and was nearly thrown from the yvas when Akaidras almost ran over a young man.
The horse shied violently, pawing at the air with a startled neigh. His hoofbeats were light upon the ground; he had difficulty placing his feet somewhere that was not on top of flesh, and within moments was straddling the man below with his forefeet. With some delicate stepping, the horse had soon managed to abandon the two figures and retreated a good few yards.
Unlacing his hand from his strider’s mane, Shahar regarded the two people at the base of the cliff with a cold, predatory stare. One lay upon the ground, twisted unnaturally and painted with the blackness of dried blood. Something pale glittered from his elbow; an exposed bone, perhaps? At first he thought him dead, but a few moments of observation revealed an almost nonexistent rising and falling of the shoulders—he clung to life, it seemed, though how strongly was something the rider could not see. The other seemed younger, and his skin bore an odd, shimmering quality to it; under the sun, it looked almost like bronze. He looked haggard and drained, and one of his hands was completely black.
The only thing Shahar knew for sure was that they were not Drykas. Their presence was sharply incongruent with the world around them; even a dying Drykas would have the feeling of belonging here that these two lacked.
Akaidras, too, could sense the desperate nature of the two young men, and he eased when he accepted that they were not a threat. Shahar slid from the beast’s back and hit the ground walking; though he did not make any move fore the javelins at his back, neither did he raise his hands in peace or diplomacy. His step was confident; there was no need to parlay with the conscious one—wiry and having been at the mercy of the grasslands for gods knew how long, the pitiful thing didn’t look like he could have appeared threatening if he tried. For his own part, the Drykas himself wasn’t completely clear on what he was doing—almost exactly as he had been when he had set out for the Serenity Tree. It was his gut pulling him towards the twisted one; if nothing else, he wanted to see exactly how broken that particular foreigner was.
oocApologies for the late reply!
