beleaguered. (open)

[Caelum]

Caelum automatically accepted Flick's dress. It was done while he stared, halfway between bemused and transfixed, at the minor miracle making of shape-shifting unraveling before him. The only other substantial form change he had ever witnessed had been wrought upon himself, every dawn and every dusk without fail, merciless and interminable even in the rosiest looking glass.

Ultimately, he turned wide eyes upon Rhylen, quite as if to inquire -- did you see that? - - and slowly folded the girl, no, the fox's dress in his hands to tuck it away safe somewhere.

The urge to fold his winding frame down into a crouch and reach for the fox, to feel with his fingers what his eyes had watched, was suppressed with the assistance of seven long years of solitude. Weathered saddle bags were shifted against his shoulders and he twisted, settling them across Vega's strong back, before burying his hands deep into his pockets. Free of their corporal burden, his shoulders drifted up, hunkering against both the hours and the heated press of his Cyphrus surroundings.

"Thank you," he said gravely and at length to Rhylen for his offer to purchase breakfast. The scrape of a broken boot hell and with a loose hipped stride he began to follow a fox and wind-marked stranger towards the breaking of a fast he did not need.

[Rhylen]

Rhylen followed cautiously, keeping an eye on the small fox and the eerily beautiful ethaefal, whilst attempting to also ignore the increased wake of stares from onlookers. He’d seen one other Kelvic in his life. A beast of a man. Grohmir. His reaction had been one of shock initially, but this experience among others, was becoming a somewhat regular occurrence in his strange new life.

The Shaman fell in step next to Caelum, his eyes fixed forward. “I don’t mean to be rude,” he said quietly, watching the erratic path of the fox, wondering if she might suddenly disappear beneath some barrel or around an unexpected turn. “But you are of the Sky Children, and I have never seen your kind before. I am curious to know of your ascension.” Rhylen was careful not to mention the fall back to the realm of mortals, but felt as though he might have struck a chord with his brash questioning. “Forgive my ignorance,” he added instinctively. Such naivety had earned him many lashings in the past.

He focused again on the Kelvic, waiting on whatever response the fallen one might decide to share. As a medium between worlds, it was difficult not to think of all the worlds and realms that made up existence. Rhylen’s hopes of one day ascending to the heavens were foolish. As a Drykas he was more heavily bound to the Cyphrus than most outsiders would ever know. With death came rebith. Rebirth as a Drykas. Or even rebirth as a Strider. But always rebirth to the Grass. All Drykas were bound by the web, though few would ever understand its ways.

[Flick]

Flick pattered along with her pink tongue lolling, pausing to wait for the two men to catch up to her, before moving on again. She could hear every word they spoke, every breath they took, even their heartbeats if she listened close enough. Well...one of them. The beautiful autumn creature seemed to exist by sheer willpower, and it fascinated her. Sitting down, she waited for the men, before turning down a side street. It was faster to the tavern this way, and it kept her away from the butcher. As she sat, the fox studied the men. So different, one rugged and weary..the other beautiful and withdrawn. Patiently, she waited, listening to their conversation. She wanted to know about Caelum too. And Rhylen. Curiosity almost burned in her tiny little veins.

[Caelum]

Cyphrus pressed around him, the mists of Riverfall a poor veil for the Sea of Grass he knew very well sprawled beyond. For seven years he had avoided this land, traveling nearly everywhere else in his endless, ridiculous quest. Yet fate and an ill spoken word had landed him here at last, another road block on the path to find Lillis, thrown up before him like a meteor shower, impossible to navigate.

He felt somewhat more at ease with companions, as if company and conversation could form a shield from the nightmares of this place that haunted and plagued, plucking with ghost's fingers on the sleeves of his memory. He wondered to where these dead were attempting to pull him. Even the questions he therefore did not mind too much, amber eyes flickering from the patiently waiting Kelvic back to the Drykas at his side as they walked.

"Yes," his voice was smoke, queerly accented. "Ethaefal is what they call us. The beloved of Leth and Syna. Not many people have seen one of us before, I've found," an ironic tilt took his mouth. Monster, he had called, anathema, and god as well. Wrong or right, he never appreciated such labels. "You want to know about my ascension?" There was caution, then, for though he understood Rhylen probably did not know it, it could be considered a very personal inquiry.

[Rhylen]

“Ethaefal,” he said softly in his own slightly more brusque accent, testing the peculiar word. His bearing had become intent, that of an apprentice - old habits, the saying common amongst many races. “I am only curious,” he said, his eyes finding Flick between the solid stone buildings. So stubborn, these Akalak, bending even the cliff face to their iron will.

“I know little of what happens when we die. It would be comforting to think that perhaps there is something more.” They approached Flick quickly. Rhylen could hear the whispered words from more than one blue-skinned onlooker. None were very pleasant. “It is also disturbing; this tear in the sky. Why haven’t the gods done anything to fix it?” He was only half focused now, feeling the uncomfortable weight of too many eyes.

“Almost there?” he asked the fox, Rhylen’s cautious smile poorly concealing his growing unease.

[Flick]

Flick looked at Caelum, her huge ears intent on him. Ethaefal...beloved? It sounded almost wonderful, but clearly the autumn man didn't believe so. Turning to scratch frantically at her chin, the kelvic looked up at Rhylen as he came over. Nervousness soaked his very skin. Looking around at the whispering akalak, Flick growled quietly before standing and moving on down the street, sensitive ears listening to the onlookers. She certainly couldn't leap out and save the two men from..well..anything -but she could suprize the hell out of people! Pittering down the street, pausing for the men, she finally stopped outside of a rather non-descript building and yipped. The door was open and the windows were uncovered to let in the full morning light. Inside, the two men would find a rather neatly arranged tavern, with round tables to sit at and a large inviting fireplace. A few akalak and one or two kelvics sat inside eating their own breakfast.

Shimmering brightly, Flick turned to Caelum in all her human glory and smiled widely, waiting for her dress.

[Caelum]

Caelum followed the Drykas' glance to the carved stone walls, expanding the area of his immediate perception to immediately absorb the glances, the low hum of commentary.

It was several steps before he murmured to Rhylen remembered words from long lost orisons, recalled in the clips and phrases of memories' nightmares. Some were still beautiful. "The storm can't grind the mountain down. It can only shift the stone."

He tied Vega to the post placed outside of the tavern for that purpose before ducking inside. A better breath was taken in once they were within the tavern and he was caught once more while witnessing the fox's transformation back into Flick or, rather, Flick's transformation back into a girl. Mutely, he held out her dress to her, hoping that she would put it on swiftly. Shame had been one of the first lessons relearned after he had fallen, naked and battered.

Why haven't the gods done anything to fix it?

Rhylen's astute query had one corner of his mouth quirking wryly. It was a question he often wondered after himself.

"Perhaps they are," he answered it while moving towards a table, his smile increasing with elements of gratitude for the fox girl. "Or perhaps they are trying to do so through the use of their follows." That last was self-deprecating. Caelum knew he was more than a little bit mad.

He slid into chair that placed his back to a corner, dropping saddlebags to the floor. The entrance of the tavern within his line of sight, paranoia lingering. It possessed evidence in the scars circling his wrists, thick and silvery, placed their by the manacles of slavers.