brother of the forgotten.

by **Davus** on November 5th, 2013, 8:28 pm

Davus let loose a deep throaty chuckled that didn't suit his appearance "There is a lot to be said for thicker women, I'll give you that. And stop with Sevfra, the name's Davus" he said boisterously as he gave the Drykas a second glance, perhaps he had been a bit hasty in burning the bridges that could have joined the three of them in this cause but what's done is done and he doubted that any conversation would rebuild them. He caught the glare from the Akalak though, every word that came out of his mouth made Davus like him a little less, not that he would hate someone for what they said, by the gods' no, he was well aware of what he spoke of when sober.

"Careful what you say little male. Particularly to those who would be in a position to watch your back in the midst of battle."

Davus knew a threat when he heard one and this one screamed out that the words were hollow, he had spent enough time in Riverfall to know that most of his kin would be honour bound to protect a comrade in battle and this one seemed to live and breathe honour with every moment he spent in this world "Don't worry about it friend" The word left a bitter taste in his mouth where Favchean was concerned "I have gotten used to watching my own back, if find others are more invested in their own, if that weren't true I would be looking at you with both eyes" He said before chuckling again, this time without warmth of emotion.

As he rode along he may have not noticed the potential ambush but he did notice Favcheans' expression as he faltered in his speech, while a break from his attitude would be welcomed by Davus he couldn't help but think if the hardened Akalak was on edge perhaps he should be as well. He spurred his horse along the path when a sudden snap of a stick broke the building tension within the group, sending his bird into a screeching fit, filling the copse with echoes of its cries. "Shut it" He said through clenched teeth as he grabbed the bird's beak, The woods just became a little darker in his mind; a gentle breeze, a singing bird and even a falling leaf would set off alarms in his mind, making his eye jump out of its socket trying to keep him alive, he started to feel vulnerable with the white bird with the bright yellow beak perched on his shoulder like a target. He didn't allow himself to relax until they passed the trees "Perhaps..." He muttered to his tavan "We should keep the noise down" He warned letting go of the beak.

"Say Vanator, that's your name right? What do you know about the Zith? I have only heard the basics, and any other rumours I hear are full of crap" He asked nonchalantly, unsure if he was trying to build bridges or just save his skin.

by **Caelum** on November 6th, 2013, 12:18 am

Remarks :

As the volunteers joined him, Nicroval measured them with his eyes. The smirk he wore was not unpleasant. Rather it had the feel of a personalized “stone face”, as if instead of going empty eyed when attempting to maintain a clear countenance, the Akalak smirked just like he was now. It was simple to surmise that the silent Cerulean relaxed in his saddle nearby was the reason for that. In contrast to Nicroval, Doran did not even look at the volunteers when they gathered. His head was turned away from them, lantern eyes on the distant river and the lowering light.

“Nicroval,” Doran muttered and the other Akalak looked over at him. He held up a hand in a bid for patience from the volunteers and kneed his agile Windrunner around to come up alongside the Cerulean. They bent their heads together and muttered between them while the volunteers introduced themselves. A handful of times one or the other looked up, as if intrigued by the nature of the volunteer’s conversation; but in the end they offered nothing.

After a few minutes of this, both Akalaks straightened in the saddle and Nicroval indicated that they were off with a tilt of his head. He took the lead and Doran held back on his reins until the volunteers were ahead of him, ultimately falling in at the rear. Sunset was a bell or more away, and true dark a few bells after that. Nonetheless, the Zith boasted of a keen night vision and Nicroval kept them at a swift trot for the Ki River and the thick clusters of trees surrounding it. None of them wanted to be cut off from the group when night fell.

Behind them three other scout groups fanned over the rolling grasslands, vanishing behind the rise of hills, while only a small group remained to set up their chosen camp ground. Nodorus was still atop his horse, one hand raised to shade his eyes, looking after them until they vanished beyond a curve of the hill. One might wonder if he was watching all of them, or but one.

"Ten gold mizas if you keep that damned bird quiet, Davus," Doran spoke from the back of the group as they rode into the dappled green shadows of the woods a little while later. His voice was deceptively quiet, holding in it the suggestion of a smirk that was far more wicked than Nicroval's earlier one was capable of. "Better yet, send it up. Let it do our scouting for us. Eh?"

"Twenty if you shut him up," Nicroval retorted back.

"Try it," Doran returned easily. His smirk merely tightened and when Davus looked he rolled his eyes. He had no actual intention of trying anything.

Their path through the trees opened to a small clearing. Brush scrabbled and wind ravished branches were bent in an almost skeletal scrabbling for space amid the still dense canopy. A thick blanket of autumn leaves crunched beneath their mounts hooves, shallow rivulets of water emerging into broader puddles. The musical chomp and cacophony of the river could be heard. They were drawing nearer.

Nicroval drew to a halt, swaying easily in the saddle, and he waited for them to stop in loose formation around him. "Doran will go north," their leader indicated, head tilting to the left. "And I south. I want the three of you --" He looked at each of the volunteers in turn. "To move forward to the river bank and spread out from there."

"See if you can't find a decent crossing point," Doran spoke up, his unaccountably mellow voice softer than the deeper tones of Nicroval. The other Akalak frowned at him for the interruption, but Doran just shrugged. "Look, it'd be best if we can perform at least a cursory search of the eastern bank. Vanator knows, doesn't he?" The Cerulean raised an eyebrow at the Drykas volunteer. It would appear that he knew of him. "Nodorus is the only man mad enough to bed down in the open. Zith traveling with captives so near to Riverfall?" This time the Cerulean glanced to Favchean, yellow eyes searching the darker skinned man's face. "They'll house more fear in them and need closer access to water. Won't they?"

Nicroval's frown flattened further, but he waited until the volunteers said their piece. In the end, their scout leader proved himself to be better than his blacker feelings toward the Cerulean and agreed with the others to his advice.

"If you see anything, mark the place in your mind and meet back here," Nicroval delivered his parting words. "And gods help you, do not show yourself to any Zith if you do happen to come across them. Nodorus doesn't expect them to be so close just yet, but he is not positive. Just come back, quick and quiet, and we will meet you all here in half a bell."

Delivered their orders, Nicroval rode south and Doran north, leaving the volunteers to ford the last twenty or so yards to the riverbank and make good on their presence.

* * *

Roughly thirty yards into the woods on the eastern bank of the Ki River, the opposite side of the waters the Riverfall scout party had parted at, a human woman in her early twenties carried a pair of empty buckets toward the sound of water. She was of middling height, lithe of make and strong of limb. The sun had burnished naturally pale skin and she wore soft leather boots that were tied up to her dirty knees with charred leather thongs. A tunic that used to be white and once was fine hung nearly to her knees and was slit up the sides, the once colorful embroidery at its hems dulled by wear and weather. Mahogany hair could use a wash, but it was braided back as neatly as cold fingers could make it and she wore a rope as a belt, slung low about her hips. Bruises decorated her arms and her throat, but the look in grass green eyes was sharp as Leth's sickle mooon just waiting to slice its way through the horizon and bid farewell to the dying day.

She walked slow and held herself as if she was in pain, and she kept taking sipping glances to the man who walked beside her. It took no great observer of men to recognize that she was struggling with a decision, the gears of her mind churning faster and faster with every step they took away from the camp their Zith captors had set on the far side of the woods a mile or so back. The camp was slow to waking, their Zith leader Samhuinn having found that bedding down during the day was wiser. They could travel faster by night and run less risk of crossing paths with foolish but potentially hero hearted caravans traveling through Cyphrus. With seven slaves and a wagon load of stolen goods, Samhuinn was eager to return to Xy.

"Do you know how to fight?" The woman asked at last. She spoke low and her usually sweet voice was hoarse. There had been some screaming in the earlier hours of her captivity, before she learned it was better to swallow such sounds than have her captors cut them off for her.

When Oworo looked at her, he would find himself faced with a pair of idealistic eyes. They were the color of new mint and spring joy and in the slow coming dusk looked as fierce as an animal's.

"I'm Elia," she told him in a rush, never once looking away. "Ellie. Do you know how to fight?"

by **Favchean Hronis** on November 6th, 2013, 4:10 am

Favchean made a haruumphing noise in the back of his throat but he left the one called Davus have the last word...at least between themselves. The one that Davus had referred to as Vanator might have the patience to deal with the lummox but Favchean did not. Besides, now was the time for quiet, Favchean was no tracker. He was no scout, but he had battled the Zith before and he knew of their treachery.

Listening to the orders that the Akalak gave, Favchean gave the Cerulean a hesitant look, and watched him for a moment as he walked in his direction. He wasn't too worried about night falling, Akalak's night vision were better then the humans and possibly the Svefran, he wasn't sure but he didn't think the sailors had better night vision then other humans. The bad thing was zith's night vision just took his greatest advantage and equaled it, and this scouting party did have limitations in that department..though the green male figured Vanator probably would be able to hold up for a while in the dark.

Best not test that theory out though, so Favchean moves on, slowly moving his horse through the fall foliage, cringing at the crunching of the leaves but seeing no other option he just tried to avoid the biggest piles of them. Coming up to the river, his intention was to go the water then spread out looking for a good crossing. However before he cleared the trees his icy gaze caught sight of two figures across the way. Halting his horse, he raised his hand just to alert the other two, not knowing if they saw what he had.

From here it looked to be two figures...no wings visible..they didn't look to be zith. But what were the odds that there were two figures in the same general vicinity where a zith raiding party was sighted? It could be coincidence but there was no reason to tread without thought. Favchean thought that he might not have been seen by the two, he thinks he stayed within the tree line but again fate might conspire against him. It would be better if they hadn't. If they are just random travelers then no harm them not seeing him, if they were captives then they might alert the zith camp that would be near surely by running or shouting for help. Best if he noted the position and perhaps sent the insufferable Svefran to alert Nicroval of the position, leaving Vanator and himself to watch.

He looks to ensure that his companions were close enough to where he could speak quietly and still be heard. "What say you Vanator? Perhaps Davus can go and alert Nicroval..we can stand and watch. I can't be sure what those two are doing over there, but I do not see telltale zith appendages." Favchean turns to look first at Davus, then again at Vanator, "Or You and Davus can stand watch and I will ride back to alert the commander."

crossing

by **Oworo Birdflight** on November 6th, 2013, 3:19 pm

A long tale is so difficult to tell, because one must start at the beginning to fully understand it. Say I tell a story of a godly man who makes one mistake in his life, near the end of the story. The man who starts at the beginning alongside me knows all the good the man did opposite of the bad, thus he can still say he's a godly man. The man who walks in at the part where he performs the bad deed, though, knows him only for the bad thing he did. Same story, two different entry points, and a world of difference.

~G.K. Dalton

***

The rush of water off in the distance ahead mingled beautifully with the soft sound of boots walking over the foliage below as Oworo Birdflight walked alongside the captive, shortbow strung but no arrow notched. When Samhuinn told him to accompany the woman to replenish the water supplies, Oworo had been reluctant to take the bow. Despite his own participation in the raid earlier in the season, he didn't feel the need to take the bow with him. This woman didn't appear to have the willpower to escape, nor did he think she could overpower him. As to the threats awaiting him in the sea of grass . . .

Oworo concluded long ago that nothing he faced out there could ever compare to the monsters he bedded down beside every day.

And if needed reassurance to the Zith's danger, Oworo merely had to look for the bruises covering the woman beside him. Running along the arms and throat like ugly Wind Marks, blue and black blots that stand as her reminders of this captivity. He was sure she had more, in places he couldn't see with her clothed, from where one of the younger Zith had forced himself on her. Oworo could still hear her dreams when he closed his eyes to sleep; thankfully, they died down shortly into her time in their camp.

Oworo was watching her now, as they walked in silence. Despite the worn clothing she wore, she was an attractive woman, a gem among the camp. Oworo was sure she knew all of this, maybe exploited it in her earlier days; she'd capture men in those green eyes, trap them in her beauty. He was sure she knew now, after her nights among the Zith, that beauty was a double-edged sword. Now, now those green eyes didn't seduce, but plead.

Oh, Oworo had noticed the woman's inner turmoils since they had gotten a good distance away from the camp. She had repeatedly glanced at him, her face a mask of fear and pain. Had she not been carrying buckets of water, she probably she would've been holding her abdomen; she looked as if she just wanted to curl up somewhere. That was just her exterior, though; on the inside, Oworo knew she wanted to escape.

Most slaves did.

Oworo had definitely contemplated it in his early days under the Zith's rule. Now, after nearly a season under their control, the thought of escape had . . . well, escaped him. He had lived among them, seen how their society functioned, learn their ways to a point. They were hard masters, yes, but their cruelty increased when slaves became disobedient. Slaves who followed their rules lived an easier life.

Oworo was a good slave.

Thus, Oworo was forming his response to the woman's question before she asked; he was going to tell her no, he wasn't going to help her escape. Except, her question wasn't the one he was expecting for multiple reasons. One, she didn't mention anything about escape, and two, it was in a language he didn't comprehend very well. It was the common tongue, a language widely spoken among the Drykas, but Oworo had never taken the time to learn it. In the entire statement, Oworo only recognized the word "fight."

He focused his eyes on her, his hazel focusing on her green. Silence stretched between them for a few moments, and then she spoke again. Again, her words were in common, but she thankfully switched over to Pavi as the words rushed out of her like the water rushed down the Ki river. She named herself Ellie, and asked if he could fight. And then silence once more, as she awaited his answer.

Oworo immediately broke his gaze off of her eyes, looking down at the bow in his hand. He thought it was obvious that he could fight, else why would he be carrying it? But thinking back, back to the men of this woman's caravan who carried weapons, yet died like sheep under the Zith; it seems just the ownership of the weapon didn't mean you could use it. So when he returned his gaze to the woman, he nodded once. "Yes, I can fight," he replied to her.

Across the river, a small flock of Jade Jays flew in-sync out of the copse of trees bordering the bank of the water. It could've been anything that startled the birds; many an animal enjoyed the taste of those birds. Yet something in the back of Oworo's head told him to be wary; one can never be too cautious when your traveling companions are Zith.

"Go now, Ellie, and fetch the water. Be quick about it." He didn't wish to frighten the girl, so he would wait until she turned her back on him (because he knew she wouldn't refuse him) before he drew an arrow out of the quiver strapped to his thigh, notching it on the bow with ease. He left the string slack, but it was ready to be drawn in a single breath, should the need arise. With that done, Oworo fixated his eyes on the opposite shore, watching, waiting.

by **Caelum** on November 6th, 2013, 4:49 pm

Ellie looked at Oworo for several chimes, still as a bird in the dappled light. The same breeze bolstering beneath the wings of the jade jays ran its fingers through her hair, tugging loose a tangle when she finally stepped back and around. The empty buckets bumped against her calves as she moved through the last strip of trees, leaves crunching underfoot; but at the last line of sycamore and twisted long leaf pine, she turned back.

“Will you fight?” She asked, her Pavi transparent. The sudden spark of ferocity that determined itself in her regard left no room for mistaking her meaning.

Silence fell when she saw he had notched an arrow and that his attention had turned outward, spreading across the uncaring waters and the opposite bank. Her hands tightened on the rope handles of her buckets and pivoted halfway around, seeking the same thing he sought -- the latest threat in a world where time could be kept by their appearance.

She saw nothing, but then she did not look long. She would say what she would and do what she must, come what may.

“Will you?” She asked again, softer this time. “What’s your name?”

by **Davus** on November 6th, 2013, 4:51 pm

Davus glared at the Doran as he rode off, while he may openly threaten his bird another person should never do so unless they want to find themselves on the wrong side of any Svefra, it was like threatening family. As Doran faded of into the undergrowth Davus dismounted from his horse, steadying himself against the cumbersome beast as he struggled to find his balance on his sea legs. The night was starting to fall over the forest and this did little to help the Sevfra as he fumbled around for the horse’s reins to tie to a branch to prevent the beast wandering off. The horse whinnied when the Svefra attempted tie him to tree and anyone who knew horses could see the distress but he didn't know them so horse continued to pull his head back in protest as Davus yanked on the reins "You better listen to me or I'll slit that throat of yours" He threatened as the horse calmed down, the reassurance of his voice soothing the horse more than the actual threat. He turned to the bird who had hopped onto the back of the horse “Shoal” He said softly “I want you up in the canopy, the last thing I need is a bright white target on me in this dark forest. Squawk if you see anyone” He added quickly “Or anything” He picked up a handful of dirt and rubbed it over the bird quickly it a attempt to blend it in with the trees "And I don't want you to be a target as well, we have been through worse" He whispered, with a genuine hint of sincerity in his voice. The bird jumped off the horse and flew into the trees, accustoming itself to it weight of its camouflage as it did so. Its eyesight was better than any of theirs, but he did sometimes doubt the intelligence of the bird.

He made his way across towards river, his leather muffling the sounds of his movements, but it did little to cover up the sounds of snapping twigs and the rustling of leaves as waded along the forest floor. He followed Favchean, sticking about 10 yards to his left side as they approached river where it seemed shallowest. Just a he was about to place his leather bound boot into the rivers icy water, he saw Favchean stop suddenly and raise his hand "Well what is the bleedin' problem now?" He whispered. He decided to pull away from the river edge, Favchean had seen something and he probably had better vision then Davus. He knelt behind a thorn bush, gently peering through the branches as he followed the gaze of his comrade, letting his eye adjust to lack of light as they scanned the cover of the forest. Then a sudden movement caught his eye as he tried to make it out "One... No two figures. Maybe a man and woman?" He said as he squinted struggling to decipher any more information. He knelt down, right at the banks of the river listening to the Akalak's theories before replying "The way I see it, is that there are three reasons why they would be here, they are stupid or bloody unlucky travellers, they are slaves and have been ordered out here for some reason, and finally they are slaves and they have managed to escape" he said before scratched his chin thoughtfully adding "And I while I am no expert, I am guessing escaping slaves run"

"What say you Vanator? Perhaps Davus can go and alert Nicroval... We can stand and watch."

"I think we should follow them together, neither of us are the best of riders, me even more so then you, and if some Zith catch us I want this guy there with his axe. Stick to our orders; follow them and then one of us heads back in half a bell to tell them what is happening. If they turn out to be travellers we would do well to leave them alone, if they are slaves with orders two of us should follow them back to their camp, and if they are escaping" He paused before saying the next line, hoping it wouldn't cause to much in the way of protest "We wait for them to be captured, then with any luck they will be taken alive and we can get a good idea of what we are dealing with" He suggested, tearing his gaze away from the river edge to Favchean and Vanator.

by **Favchean Hronis** on November 6th, 2013, 5:34 pm

Favchean raises a brow at the sailor man, turning in his saddle to look down at the one on foot. He was tempted to dismount, but he disliked having to remount, pitying the poor beast beneath him. On one level he knew the horse had no problem bearing his weight, but he relied on his own body for most things so to rely on an animal for walking was a bit against his nature...both his natures.

"The orders were not to follow anything we saw. We were to look for a crossing and if we saw anything to mark the place and head back to report." Favchean reminds the other with his voice remaining low. "I have to say I can swim but not stealthily...if you want to follow them you will have to do so without me because I don't intend to announce to those two out there the presence of anything not a fish. We don't know if they are slaves..or if they are inopportune travelers. Either or we do not further our cause in finding a crossing and not alerting them to our presence by following without good cause."

by **Davus** on November 6th, 2013, 7:00 pm

"Without good cause?" He repeated, almost accidentally shouting at the Akalak but he managed to keep his tone down to a whisper. He had half a bloody mind to drag Favchean right off his high horse and hold his head underneath the river's water till the bubbles stopped. He cursed himself silently about their orders though, but he had hoped the Akalak would have seen sense, or at least his sense, but naturally Davus had to continue arguing his point "Of course we have good cause! What have we been told about the slavers? That there was about nine of them with a handful of slaves, that is not information! We need to know what we are going up against; numbers, skill, equipment. These are the facts we need to know, what are the chances that two people are travelling through the wilds of Mizahar without any form security or guides have just managed to stumbled upon the area we are in, tracking a group of Zith slavers with slaves in chains? Very unlikely, yet despite this you don't want to follow them. All that is going to happen is someone else is going to have to risk their neck scouting the Zith when we finally close in on them" He finished hoping the Drykas would agree with him.

He continued to peer through the thorny bush, still only managing to make out the faint outline of the figures before turning back to look up at Favchean "At least get down off that bloody horse, you are like a sitting duck up there. Even if by some miracle they are just travellers it doesn't mean they are going to be friendly, or have you only experienced a world full of sunshine and rainbows?" He said scathingly before continuing "We should wait here to see what they do next, before following them to get a better look of who they may be. I not afraid to get wet if needs be but I am not doing anything until we agree on it"

by **Vanator** on November 7th, 2013, 2:37 pm

Vanator had dismounted, removing the bow, quiver and ax from the harness. Neither he nor Sirocco were as familiar with moving through the woods as they were the open plains, and the advantage of the Strider's speed was robbed them in the tree crowded landscape. The Drykas let the stallion roam. The yvas used by the horseclans had no head harness or reins to guide their mounts, the very thought of tying his bonded horse to a tree unpleasant and a death sentence should a predator happen upon them. For his part, Sirocco stayed put mostly, close to the Svefra's tied horse, shifting only ahead far enough to keep his rider's figure in sight.

Though Davus had no idea how to handle a horse (the Drykas told himself whatever the Svefra did to harm his horse, Van would visit the same upon the seafarer), the cavalier sailor did have a special bond with the gull, as he whispered instructions to the bird before it lifted up into the branches overhead. Slinging the quiver over his back and the bow over his shoulder, Van gripped the haft of the battle ax as the three moved through the fading, gray light.

Vanator too saw the figures across the river. Twilight provided few details, but the Drykas knew immediately that they were not Zith. As his companions debated, the Denusk stayed quiet, observing the curious pair through the foliage. The woman was shabbily dressed. Her movements were hesitant, the set of her body tense. She was fearful. The girl's only visible possessions were the wooden bucket. The man was equally anxious, given his demeanor, eyes watchful. His garb seemed in somewhat better shape, though by no means fine, and he gripped a shortbow in his fist. The male's comfortable handling of the bow inferred he was not unaccustomed to wielding the weapon. The man and woman spoke in quick, quiet quips, the content lost in the distance.

Finally, Vanator looked over to Davus and up at Favchean. His Pavi accented voice lifting but hushed. "They certainly are a curious pair." Any of the possibilities offered up could be true. A flock of jays took to wing nearby, and Van watched the man across the river nock an arrow, now actively surveying their side of the bank. The girl tentatively moved to the water's edge with her buckets. Vanator considered the words of Nicroval and the Cerulean. If the Zith were near, this close to Riverfall, the woods would be the place to be, where their visibility would be naturally obstructed. They would also need a water source, with so many to keep from thirst. A dehydrated captive moved too slow and died too easily.

"There is no need to pursue them. They are fetching a good amount of water, certainly for a camp nearby. If human travelers, they are settling for the night. If part of a Zith party, the creatures will just be arising and still preparing the group to move through the night. Even if escapees, they have a camp somewhere beyond the eastern bank. They aren't going to carry full buckets of water on the run. Either way, they will not be going far for a bell or two at least."

Vanator paused, still debating with himself. "Petch. it will be too dark soon in these woods, and any light we use will give us away way too early. I say we see in what direction they head, then go back to the meeting point and report. If they are this close, we don't want to walk into the middle of them with just the three of us." It chafed at Vanator, wanting to follow the pair, or even try to make contact. But if they were slaves or captives, the Zith could be watching even now. There were possible scenarios where the man with the bow was loyal to the Zith as well. Van understood the way the mind could be conditioned under the duress of slavery. He looked again to the other scouts. "Either way, I think horses could cross here."

by **Oworo Birdflight** on November 7th, 2013, 9:53 pm

Despite the troubles he had experienced in the past season, the situations the Zith had forced him into and the inner changes he had felt because of it, Oworo couldn't help but pity the woman and her pleading words. She stood there, looking onto him like her long lost savior, expecting him to pledge himself to whisk her away to safety. Had he formed such poor notions after his own imprisonment? Had he expected his people, the Drykas, to coming riding in on their Striders to rescue him from the clutches of the Zith?

More likely than not, he did.

Immediately after the attack, Oworo probably did believe he'd see a cloud on the horizon that announced the arrival of his people. But as the days drew on, he accepted the reality that saviors didn't exist in this world. The only person he could trust to watch his back, protect his life, was himself. With his family dead, and his people no where to be found, he himself had proven to be the only person left.

Thus, the first time Ellie asked him if he would fight, Oworo ignored it. The question itself was simple; the undertones behind it was what would make the difference. He knew Ellie wanted his aid, his support, something Oworo wasn't sure he really wanted to give. Oh, the thought of being free from the Zith was tempting, but not in this situation. Running from the Zith would put his life in danger, for sure; they would hunt him, and if they found him . . . well, there were worse things that the monsters could do to him than Ellie had already experienced. Why would he forfeit the trust he had been given from his masters for the fleeting thought of getting away?

No, Oworo would need a stronger guarantee that once he got away, he wouldn't be hunted again.

Standing there, though, as he watched the woman fetch the water, her back turned to him, he couldn't help but feel the need to lead her on. He wasn't a cruel person, persay, one who would instill a belief that he would in fact help her escape. But this conversation . . . well needless to say, he didn't hear his native tongue much since losing his family. Usually, it was a body gesture or crude common directed to him by his masters; very few Zith spoke Pavi. Thus, hearing the language roll off this woman's lips was nice. Oworo would hate to let this die away, especially since he didn't know how many chances he would have after this.

Thus, when she asked him again, he replied in a tone that mimicked her own. "Of course I will fight. Fighting, you see, is human nature. If a Glassbeak were to appear right now, I'd fight it. If you were to turn on me, I'd fight you." Oworo cut off, brooding on his own thoughts. He wasn't an overly philosophical person, but this whole conversation was right up his alley. "Thing is, the question isn't will we fight, but what we fight for."

Oworo didn't know if Ellie was watching himself at the moment; his eyes were focused on the bow in his hand.

"Name's Oworo, by the way," he added, offhandedly. "Oworo Birdflight. I won't be helping you escape, either, in case that's where the whole conversation was headed." The tone was blunt with the last sentence, without much warmth behind the words. For some reason, he hoped she wasn't going to judge him harshly because of it either; he wasn't a bad person, just a realist.

"What brought you to the grasslands, you and the rest of the people you were with?" Oworo asked, hoping to take the minds off of escape. All the while, he continued to watch the opposite shore; despite the calamity around him, some inner being told him to remain cautious.

Closed brother of the forgotten.