The goat and the bird (dor)

[Zeneth]

Timestamp: 34 Fall 511

Syna was at her peak in the sky, people were mulling about, unconstrained and carefree, as this city always seemed to be. Occasionally Zeneth felt as if he was the only one with problems in this place, with the capability to frown and grimace and bite. To be quite honest, he would have loved to skewer a man or two, to give them something to bitch about.

Unfortunately, he'd decided ahead of time that a visit to the Temple of the Moon warranted his immediate attention. Normally the kelvic would restrict himself to the surrounding wilderness, finding the city a bore and far too chaotic for his tastes, but when that unmistakable pull overwhelmed anything else, there was nothing Zen could do but follow through.

His footsteps took him towards the temple at a leisurely pace, passing glimmering buildings of different hues and shades. He was in a human guise, for his animal form attracted far too much unwarranted attention, thus he wore clothes, lest he attract the sort of attention he'd want least of all. With a simple black jerkin, grey trousers and leather boots, he looked the part of a huntsman of some sort, except for the lack of weapons.

He didn't enter the Temple once he'd arrived. He simply stood there, glancing up at the shimmering structure with little-to-no interest. Man-made, was all his thoughts would project, Not made by the hand of Leth. And why should it matter to a kelvic? We follow, we never lead.

Zen grunted, and glanced behind him. The crescent mark on his chest throbbed, as if calling out to his dear Tamsin, but she would be busy by now, and he had to make do by himself. And so he settled himself against the outer wall of the Temple, cross-legged and eyes closed to the wonders this city held.

[Dor]

When Zeneth glanced behind him, there was a girl within the sphere of his sight standing barefoot before the massive pillars holding up the archways of the Temple of the Moon. The air had taken a turn toward cold, chilling with the warning winds of autumn that even now rattled shriveling leaves on their branches. It sounded not unlike a death rattle, the rasping cough of a dying world that would slip to sleep with Morwen's reign. If the gods were good, it would wake again in spring. If they were good. She studied the temple with too thin shoulders huddled up and arms crossed over the curve of her chest. A canvas jacket, too big and the color of rain, was wrapped around her while the hems of leather trousers sagged. More time of late had been spent in her skin rather than walking into the feathers of the other. This was primarily due to the realization of what she sought was not going to be like her, that nothing was ever like her, and every predator knew that it was wise to know their prey. It might have been smarter to wear her shoes, but walking continued to be a trial. She was not meant to walk and her upbringing had been in a place whose very construct dissuaded such a means of travel for someone like her. Today her hair was braided, a messy but hard fought wrap of thick, woven blood about her head. Loose strands blew against a pale cheek, spreading like capillaries. Men made much of their gods. She had known it even in Kalinor where the only god Whom she even pretended to understand had reined the fate of an entire race. Thus, she sought to learn more of the gods men worshipped. "Hullo." Her greeting was somewhat muffled by the upturned collar of her jacket. She had come to a stop before the man slouching with what to her seemed an elegant indolence against the temple wall. It was a man, or was insofar as she knew, and one who might be willing to let her ply with questions. As much as the need for company and companionship throbbed within her, most often she denied herself. On the other hand, it was never wise to hunt hungry.

[Zeneth]

Zeneth expelled a low hiss of breath, reluctantly opening his eyes to settle a deprecating gaze on the disturber of his peace. A thin girl with hair the color of wildfire and eyes that held some trace of curiosity that no doubt followed her abrupt greeting.

His brows furrowed in visible disapproval, "What do you want?" He barked, hunching his shoulders forward. Being stubborn, he felt inclined to sit rather than stand and return the greeting properly.

"I've no coin on me if that's what you're looking for, girl," He told her, "And if you're here for... other business, I get plenty of that already." He offered her a crooked smile.

[Dor]

"Dinner. To know about the temple," the answers spun out in an automatic manner, absent answers to the questions posed as if they were but a handful in a long haul. The girl stuck her tongue into cheek at the sight of his disapproval, her own eyebrows nettling delicately in response. It huddled up her shoulders further, jamming hands into crumpled coat pockets even as her nails scratched lightly at the canvas, seeking perch. "I'm not a beggar," she informed him, predator's eyes glinting toward a glower. It flushed otherwise pale cheeks, discontented, wondering why she kept failing. "And you're a jerk," she decided abruptly with those last words and that crooked smile. Her breath huffed out of her and it might have been adorable. Too bad she was too other to be thought of as cute. Considering that she looked as if kicking him in the shin would be greatly pleasing, charm was far from applicable.

[Zeneth]

Zeneth wasn't sure whether he should have felt annoyed or amused. The antics of this girl was intriguing to him, if not undesired. Most everyone else had offered him dull, rehearsed commentary, which most likely attributed to his increasing distaste with conversing.

Yet here she stood still, plugging away at him with a huffy look, as if he'd just taken her favorite sweet and tossed it over a cliff. He decided to indulge her.

"Indeed, I am a jerk, but someone's got to be in this shykehole. I think I fill the role quite well, don't you?" He glanced up, eyeing the columns and domes of the temple he sat against, perhaps reminiscing. "This is the Temple of the Moon, a place of worship to Leth." And the only being who has ever given me a fighting chance. His lips twitched into a smile, then he looked at her, a curiosity thinly veiled.

"Do you know who He is? Leth, the Lord of Change, who presides over all beasts and their very nature. I'm just one of his many insignificant followers."

[Dor]

"The hanged man," she determined while lightless eyes widened. They were black in this city of light, even the queer bio luminescent quality of which calias boasted avoiding the intensity of regard. It was if it knew that this was a watch that waited detached on the mountaintops, judgement long since delivered. Remarkably delicate hands erupted from jacket pockets, gesticulating in the general direction of Lhavit's incumbent sky. "You mean the moon," she determined and was awarded the narrow glance of a passerby. They thought her slow, no doubt, touched in the mind which was of the artist city's greatest instruments. While derision may not slip their teeth, tongues would be forced to check against an unfiltered, pitying sigh. "In the books," she went on, altogether too close now for comfort, scented of fresh turned earth and shredded atmosphere. "He's called a huntsman and.. And a man of great love. Old bond. What --" She stilled, head tilted. Eyes front. She desperately wanted to know. "What would you call him?"