[Mithryn and Beyond]Through field and forest.(Oriah)

[Marrick Corvis]

Spring 23. 514 AV. Kiter’s broad head hung out of her stall as Marrick placed a flake of hay in her feeder, along with a handful of oats. The Tiaden nickered softly and dived face first into her trough, happily chomping away at the roughage like it was the best thing she’d ever tasted. With the great mare distracted, he had time to replace her water bucket. It was still dark out, but the farmers would be getting up soon with the Cocks crow. Marrick felt as if he had drank his weight in water last night, and the urgency he had felt in the morning had pushed him out of his bunk wakeful and alert. With a soft thunk, Marrick set down the fresh bucket of water and removed the old one, turning its murky contents out on the water run at the back of the stall. As the mare’s attentions drew her to the bucket of refreshment, the Kelvic gave her a couple gentle strokes to her neck. “Yer jest a big softy, yeh know that pretty lass?” His gentle voiced crooned softly in their dimly lit section of the stables. The Mare nickered in response her nose still in the bucket as she slurped at the fresh water. When she at last had her fill, and her snout dripping with wet, Marrick slipped on her lariat and tied her off to the railing near her feeder. “How about a brush down afore we head out today eh Koiter?” Marrick said, as the mare gently nudged him for attention before she turned her sites back to the oats in the bottom of her feeder. Brush in hand, Marrick set to work wiping the left over grit and grime from the mare’s night in the stable. As he worked his way down the great horses neck, he found himself marveling at how intelligent the horse was. Not so unlike himself. “We’re all intelligent beasts, eh lass?” the Squire said as he continued to brush away the dust and bits of hay and straw. When she was clean of grit at last, Marrick grabbed the hoof pick off a peg and got to work on her hooves. The poor mare had been fighting an infection in her right front hoof days before, and the squire had attended to it himself, with the guidance of some of the stable hands. Salts and sugar water, they had suggested for cleaning the wound. As he cleaned away the little bit of dirt from her hoof he inspected the trimmed and healed surface. “Oi need yeh today lass. We’re takin a trip up north.” Marrick said as he let the horses hoof fall back to the ground with a thump. The Mare had been out of commission for several days as Marrick watched her condition. Now it seemed at last that she was ready for a hard ride again. As the Raven Kelvic spoke in his soft baritone, the Great mare snorted and nudged at his shoulder. “Sweet lass, yeh needn’t be troubled.” He said with a smile and a stroke of her neck. “Were takin a trip with yer ol’ fren Oriah.” The long sigh that escaped his lips, felt as if it flowed from his heart. Marrick wasn’t sure if Oriah was simply avoiding him, or if her Patron had her training as hard if not harder than himself. Regardless, through some minor miracle, the pair of them had found a few days leave they could at last spend together. With every breath that escaped her lips, the Kelvic found the ember in his heart for her grow in intensity. Yet, he still held back. Even though Marrick knew how he felt about her. He found himself struggling as he always did against his nature. The slave he was, the Kelvic he was, and the man he wanted to be. With the weight on his heart he lifted Kiter’s saddle blanket off of the rack, drawing it down past her withers, and followed it with her saddle. Patiently he waited for her to exhale, and he tightened the buckles till they felt snug. Then just as he had many times before he completed the ritual by removing the lead, and slipping on the bridle. “Toime now lass.” With a smile and a twist of his wrist, he unlocked the gate and lead his eager Tiaden out of her stall, and into the long walk of the stables with an encouraging cluck of his tongue.

[Oriah]

"Not quick enough. Try again."

Oriah bit back an acidic response and nocked another arrow, raising her shortbow to align with her grim expression. The squire struggled to calm her nerves and focus on the task. The final task. Don't let the anger distract you, she coaxed herself, don't let your impatience make you hasty...just watch the target...steady...aim...Blessed Yahal I can't belie--no, no don't think about that, focus! Just get this over with so you can leave....leave to meet him...and Kiter...

...gods above, I'm finally seeing Marrick today!

Twang! Her heart lurched and the arrow flew from its string, soaring straight through the empty space where a large, shiny apple was perched not two ticks ago.

The squire stopped herself from dropping her bow in sheer frustration. It was most unbecoming of a bred and born Benshira to be displaying such petulant behavior. Downright shameful, really. But she just couldn't help herself! How hard she had tried for almost an entire season to bear Sera Mora's enigmatic and cryptic ways, but this...this was too much. To keep her here with these fruitless tasks while a certain raven haired, blue eyed squire was likely already making his way to their meeting place was blatant torture.

Today had finally come, when she could at last spend unfettered time with Marrick and his faithful, hungry steed. Oh, how she had longed to see them both! It was almost physically painful, knowing they were just a short trek away. Knowing he was somewhere in the outpost, barely a quarter of a day's worth of distance, whilst she toiled with these maddening trials one after another.

"You're getting no where like this, Little Bird," her patron chided in that soft yet piercing tone of hers. "Concentrate. Use your wits."

For the briefest of ticks, Oriah contemplated shooting the Chaktawe instead. How's that for wits? she imagined herself challenging in snooty triumph. With Mora out of the picture, no one would be left pulling that dreadful string each and every time the squire loosed another arrow so that the apple always swung beyond her aim. In fact, no one would be assigning her these ridiculous tasks, period.

Briefest. And then reality took over once more and she was forced to admit the plan was a dud. Her eerily omniscient patron would know within a heartbeat if her squire was up to no good. Besides, it was wrong. Sort of. Maybe.

Fortunately, Oriah had a bit of experience with her own rage. The steps to tame it were familiar to her from all those days spent hating the slaver, then Priah, then the gods, and then at last herself. She took a slow breath and didn't bother nocking another arrow until she felt her heartbeats slow to an almost sluggish rhythm. Let it go. Let it all go. It isn't worth it.

When she opened her eyes again, the Benshira felt a strange moment of realization: she would be late if she didn't get this over with soon.

"Try again."

Sera Mora loosened her grip on the string and the apple wobbled back onto its designated tree stump. Will reinforced with newfound vigor, Oriah drew up her bow and held the arrow steady. Her mind raced ahead of her; she knew Mora was going to pull the string. She also knew from her last dozen attempts that it was impossible at her level to hit the apple before the woman yanked it out of harm's way. So, now it was just a matter of anticipation...

Oriah pulled back her arm and made as if to aim directly at the apple. She could almost taste her patron's initial disappointment in the air. Gritting her teeth, the squire readied herself to loose the arrow.

Only to tip her aim half a foot higher at the last moment. For a tick, it seemed as if she had finally managed to land a shot. Then the tip of the arrow grazed the apple, sending it swinging wildly back and forth, before plummeting to the earth along with the rest of its failed brethren.

The girl was about to attack the apple barehanded when an unexpected phrase rolled from her patron's lips.

"Well done."

Oriah's gaze swiveled to meet that of the Chaktawe's, not entirely sure it wasn't some kind of test within a test. "Relax, squire," Sera Mora assured, sounding rather amused. "You finally understand the point of the exercise. You deserved the compliment."

Such an explanation was only met with more wariness, to which the knight countered with the faintest of smiles. "The point, little one, was to teach you the value in knowing how to shoot something other than a sitting target. And how to use patterns to your advantage. Remember, knowledge is power; if you can anticipate where your target will be, you will always have the upper hand."

The exhausted squire nodded eagerly, wondering if this might, by any chance, mean she was free to go. A heavy silence followed. Sera Mora seemed to be thinking about something before she met her squire's pained gaze once more, as though she had forgotten Oriah was there.

"Well, you are free to meet with your dear, avian friend," the Chaktawe smiled, her mind clearly halfway onto something else entirely. "Just remember, a Raven's wings are real, and yours are not."

Then she was gone, melting into the woods she knew so well with the blink of an eye. Oriah tried and failed to watch her go, as she always did. And she felt morbidly confused as to what the Hai that woman had meant by her last words, as she always was. Shrugging it off as yet another elaborate metaphor regarding the one time she had described Marrick's hair, the Benshira picked up the rest of her arrows, stowed her gear into a sturdy pack, and set off for the Avitar between the Bronze Woods and Mithryn.

Her heart sang and thrummed with excitement all the way there.

[Marrick Corvis]

Leth was bright in the blackened morning twilight, shedding her serine light upon the world. The cobble stone streets looked like the canals of Ravok in the silvery pools of light. Yet, as Kiter’s hooves tapped their tattoo against the streets Marrick felt safer and more bold than he ever did in The City of Lies. The Great Mare walked toward the darkened gates of Mithryn with an eager swing to her neck in every step. Her dark coat shone like hot oil in the torchlight of the streets. The Tiaden, hadn’t gotten out of the Stables for some time as her wound needed to heal. Now though, nothing could stop her as she drank the air of freedom. The Raven Kelvic could feel it too. That indescribable rush of life, almost as if the wind off the Cobalts was full of that new spring scent. Marrick could smell the new grass beyond the wall and the dampened earth from the morning dew. The aroma reminded Marrick of the taste of black tea. He could almost sense Kiter’s anticipation to get out of Mithryn and really run. The dark haired squire had really taken a shine to the gentle Tiaden. Marrick knew that she could likely bite clean through his hand if she had the mind to, but that just wasn’t her. As often as he had tried to deny the concept that Kiter belonged to him, Marrick continued to be reminded daily how much he depended on the mighty warhorse. Though, he belonged to her just as much. The Raven Kelvic had found that she would even grow jealous at times when he would tend to other horses. He passed the darkened windows of houses and shops there in the outpost, like a ghost in the night. As he neared the gate a hooded man approached holding a torch, his mysterious figure flanked by two of the Knights on duty. As they drew near, the Kelvic watched Kiter for her reaction. Subdued as she seemed, Marrick could tell that it was likely safe, so he drew in her reins with a soft “woah, there Koiter.” The Mare halted with the soft clack of her hooves against the stone walk of the gate, snorted and tossed her head. “Marrick.” Came the familiar voice of his Patron, David Whitevine. A kind man, who’d taken him in as his brother, and had been training him for many days since winter, “It’s dangerous to go alone little brother.” Marrick listened and watched as Ser Whtievine drew back his hood and looked at his squire appraisingly, as he often did. The Raven Kelvic took a deep breath and nodded. “Oi know brother.” He said with a resolute nod, followed by a smile. “Oi’ll be alroight.” David Whitevine stood there a moment, his usual appraising gaze dancing across his squires features. “I understand little brother. Don’t keep your ‘bonnie lais’ waiting.” The Knight said with a grin as he tried to imitate Marricks accent. With a nod of his head he reached up and gripped his squire’s forearm. The Raven Kelvic took his Patrons arm in his own hand and squeezed. Then as one, the pair said a short prayer. “Sylir, grant him a peaceful journey, watch over and protect him, until he comes home.” The Knight said softly. “Sylir grant me a peaceful journey, watch oar me and protect me, until OI come home.” Marrick said with similar solemnity. Then almost as if guided by the call of freedom itself, Ser David Whitevine walked with his squire, and his horse to the little door in the gate, and unbolted it swinging it wide. “Sylir bless you, and Oriana watch over you little brother.” Marrick smiled at his Patron filled with a genuine love. “Oi’ll come home brother. Don’t yeh worry.” The squire said with a furrowing of his brow. Then like the air wanted to rush from his chest, Marrick sighed loud as a bellows. “Let’s go Koiter!” the Raven Kelvic said followed by the loud clack of his tongue. Marrick gave Kiter’s ribs a gentle tap and the pair of them rode off into the early morning twilight. ~ Syna’s molten gold rays peaked over the white crowns of the Cobalt Mountains as Kiter trotted along gleefully. The fields had melted from darkness to rich greens and browns, where trees were already beginning to sprout leaves. Wild flowers budded and bloomed in the grassy fields, filling the air with their scent. The air smelled like Syna’s light and flowers. The wind smelled like her. For what seemed like a full season, Marrick had done everything to divert his attention from Oriah. He had dedicated himself to an agonizing level of training. Yet, he couldn’t stop seeing her. She was in Syna’s rise every morning, and the cool breeze at night. She was in the comforting folds of his blanket, and the quiet contemplations when he rested. As the wind blew through the Raven Kelvic’s hair he could even remember the gentle running of the Benshira’s fingers when she drew them through his dark locks. The memory sent a pleasant chill down his back, and brought a smile to his face. As Marrick crested the tallest hill in the northern fields, he drew in Kiter’s reigns. From this vantage he could see the green canopy of the tree line in the distance. He looked on as the mighty warhorse sidestepped briskly upon the un-furrowed earth. Just in the distance he could make out the meadow within the tree line where Oriah would be waiting for him. “Moy darlin Oriah.” Marrick whispered beneath his breath, before giving Kiter another gentle nudge to the ribs. The Great Warhorse sped quickly into a zealous run. Marrick felt as if the world of Mithryn was melting away, like the honeyed drops that Oriah had given him last winter. Like the snow, and the cold, it was all falling away. Replaced with a single minded goal. He was going to find that Benshira, and catch her up, and love her to bits. ~ Kiter crossed the wide shallow point in the Avitar river casting a spray of bright clear water into the noonday light. Marrick felt the cool spray of droplets hit his face, and he couldn’t help but enjoy how good it felt. As the great mare lifted her girth out of the water and onto the bank on the far side Marrick gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Well done lass. Almost there.” He said in a soft hum. Belly dripping wet, the Tiaden crested the bank of the river and made her way into the Bronze Wood along a deer path. The trees became claustrophobic, tall as they were. Their thick canopy brought a warm gloom to the ground beneath, keeping the area clear of small growth. The occasional warm ray of Syna’s light cast its keen radiance through the shadows. Even through the gloom he could see the meadow through the closely knit trees. ~ The meadow was just as Marrick had remembered it. Well, not quite like that. In winter it had been covered in the lightest dusting of frost, and the spring that burbled softly in its centre had been frozen over. Yet it still felt strangely, well lack for a better word, magical. The grin that Marrick had worn for nearly the whole journey there had not ceased its brightness. He could hardly contain his excitement, yet Oriah was nowhere to be found. With his hand, Marrick estimated the bell of their meeting against where the Syna rested in the sky. He was early, though just. With a groan of exertion, the Raven Kelvic dismounted from Kiter’s saddle and guided her to the edge of the spring where the great Tiaden ecstatically slurped at the water. A sentiment that Marrick eagerly followed. Removing his gloves and folding them into his belt, he knelt by the water holding Kiters Reigns in one hand, while splashing his hot and dirty face with water trying to wipe away some of the dust and muck from the trip. “Oy” Marrick groaned in relief, before he scooped a mouthful of water up in his hand and drank. “Sylir bless this place.” He said shutting his eyes to the pleasant cool that now filled his parched throat. Marrick was about to pull some oats from one of Kiters bags, and a strip of jerky for himself when the warhorse’s head rose from the springs edge, and her ears pricked forward. Marrick couldn’t see what the mare was hearing, but Ser Whitevine had taught him caution first, especially in the wood. Slient as possible he slipped his long bow from its casing in the saddle and strung it quickly, using his leg as a brace to bend the bow, and loop the string. He let Kiters lead fall, grabbed a single arrow from his quiver, notched it, and did his best to blend in with the bushes and stone that ringed the spring. Patient as stone, he watched the area where Kiter’s ears pointed. Ready for anything, though he hoped beyond hope it was Oriah, and not trouble.

[Oriah]

Late, late, late!

Oriah sped through the woods on wings of exhilaration, but they grew heavier and heavier with every step. Worry and anticipation spun their webs in the corners of her spirits like industrious little spiders. Would she fail to show up on time? Would making them wait cause her companions to grow weary? Would running almost the entire way there lead to her first impression, after so long of not seeing one another, being that of a giant tomato?

Why was she even worrying in the first place?

Truthfully, Oriah was not yet late--that last shot at the dangling apple released her with enough time to make it on foot and still be a chime or two early. But she had wanted to be earlier, much earlier, so that she could watch the pair approach. Relish the strange yet sweet agony of waiting for a familiar face to appear, see them quicken their pace upon realization. Heart racing, hands slick, head constantly swiveling around to make sure everything was as it should be.

Granted, there wasn't much dirty clothing to shove out of sight or half eaten bread rolls to chuck out the window in the middle of the meadow. But the Benshira mentally wrung her hands all the same, wishing she had at least the time to prepare herself instead of rushing headlong with naught but her legs and determination to outpace Syna's ascent.

Despite her urgency, the squire still took great pains to move through the forest as silently as possible. She was as ever paranoid as her patron was ever watchful. If Oriah showed any lessening in her efforts to uphold the Chaktawe's lessons, she may very well find herself facing yet more exasperating tests upon her return. So it was with furious concentration that the squire avoided twigs or dead leaves whenever she could, as well as freshly budding patches of grass or plant life. After so long spent training in the woods, it was getting to be a little easier to traverse its endlessly diverse landscape. But it still required most of her focus and she almost failed to notice that, at some point, the tree lines had fallen back and she was now running through dewy green.

"Blessed Yahal," she breathed in relief as she saw her destination just up ahead. A serene little spring with Kiter's familiar, formidable bulk on one side and a certain, raven haired squire's on the other. She fancied she could almost see his dazzling smile even from this distance, though Oriah knew she was still too far to be sure.

Well, time to remedy that!

The Benshira made quick and mostly quiet work of getting to the spring. Fortunately, the grass was fresh and young so there were fewer chances of giving herself away. Being so close made her heart pitter patter with uncontrollable rhythms; it was only a matter of time now, of a few more steps and mutual greetings. She was less than twenty strides from the site of Kiter's happy guzzling when the Tiaden suddenly lifted her head, ears pricked as something caught her attention.

Oriah froze as soon as the warhorse raised her silent but effective alarm. She was not in the direction that both steed and squire now faced, the latter armed with his long bow and clearly ready to use it.

Something shifted in the grass where Marrick now aimed. Then it seemed to part--no, it was rising! What in the name of all the gods and goddesses was going on? A mound of grass began to...grow, for lack of a better description. Taller and taller, until first a torso appeared, then limbs, and then a face--a dark, familiar face--was revealed beneath it...

Oh, for the love of Yahal.

"So, the Raven is a competent one," Sera Mora smiled, her tone even more cryptic than the strange grass ensemble she was now wearing. Syna take us all, how did that woman even know? Had she been following her squire this entire time? No, Oriah realized belatedly, she didn't have to. All the Chaktawe knight had to do was listen to her little plants.

For a moment, Mora seemed to stare at the spot where her squire crouched. "Take good care of one another," the knight intoned. Then she was gone, loping easily through the meadow and back into the trees from whence she came.

As her patron faded from view, Oriah commenced moving again, using Mora's retreating sounds--scarce as they were--to cover her own. It might have been a bit much for Marrick's presumably tensed state, but she couldn't help it. The Benshira was struck with the sudden urge to feel his presence, now that she had a proper view of her fellow squire, to make sure he was real. To ascertain this wasn't all just another vivid dream she would soon have the great misfortune of awaking from.

Oriah crept past Kiter, who merely gave her an amused look as the girl's hand brushed against the Tiaden's silky shoulder. Less than ten strides now...almost there...just a little bit closer...

Once she was directly behind him, Oriah lifted her hands to place them gently over his eyes. It took supreme will not to burst out laughing.

"I've caught you, Squire Corvis!"

[Marrick Corvis]

Marrick’s eyes were keen, and his hands ready for action. He felt a strange eagerness in his belly, frosted with a strange iciness that he knew would urge him to draw his bow and shoot if need be. He watched Kiters eyes and ears as they began to flick back and forth between him and the thing that now rose from the tall green grass of the meadow. With a swift roll of his feet and shift of his weight, the Kelvic took a deep breath and pulled his bow string and arrow back. He aimed along the shaft at the figure that rose out of the grass as the sunlight glinted off of the polished steel of the broad-head. The thing took shape, slowly at first, until at last Marrick saw the painted face of a Chaktawe. He held his bowstring taught, but opened his other eye to better see the intruder. He blinked twice, as something familiar seemed to be prodding him somewhere in the back of his mind. But it was not the appearance that tripped the Raven Kelvic’s Memory, but what she said, and how she said it. As the words past the woman’s lips, The Squire loosened his bow string allowing the arrow to slide back under his guiding finger. “Sera Mora?” He muttered softly, and just as quickly as she had appeared. The Chaktawe vanished back into the wood, leaving the squire scratching his head. ‘if her Patron is here…’ no sooner had the thought begun to form in his head than he heard the sound of light feet in tall grass behind him. He dared not turn. For it had been a prayer in his heart that it was her at last, as it had been many times before as his patrols had brought him near the wood. Many nights he had dreamed of this moment, every time she had been just out of reach. While desperately he wished to dream Oriah out of the wood, he knew that she would never be there when he woke. The disappointment had almost been too much to bear. She was so close to Marrick now, he felt the softness of her breath against the tawny dark hair of his head, and the slow slip of her hands against his face as she covered his eyes. The vivid memory of her rough hand as it brushed against his cheek triggered nostalgic joy of a time months ago, when he had seen her last. His heart cried out in a desperate flutter for him to stop waiting, and hold her in his arms at last. Yet, the Raven Kelvic held to his Patrons teachings. He used his breath to keep his calm, and kept his movement slow and intentional. Almost as if in water Marrick lifted his arms, and took the Benshira’s hands in his. As he lifted the veil of her fingers from his eyes, he turned to stare into the face of the woman he’d spent the better part of an entire season obsessed over. The sight of her being there made his heart ache, and his knees weak. She was so close, he was actually touching her. The dream was there. She was there, at his fingertips. He didn’t have to forget about her today, he didn’t have to put Oriah from his mind. No…he didn’t… and wouldn’t “Caught me yeh have moy bonnie lass, n’ no quarry has ever been more grateful.” Marricks brogue came through heavy and thick, as he let go of her hands and smiled. Smiles though just weren’t enough for the Kelvic. The ebony haired squire wrapped his arms about her and squeezed Oriah in an embrace so warm, and full he felt almost as if he may not ever let go. He buried his face in her unruly hair, breathing deeply of her aroma. He placed a single tender kiss upon her neck, and rested his head against it. The exhaustion of distance at last brought to an end was just too much. “Oh… Oh Oriah, by Yahal and Sylir OI missed yeh. Pech dignifoied behaviour.” Marrick said almost in a whisper as tears began to form at the corners of his eyes. For the briefest of moments he felt he might have been once again in some vivid dream. Concern gripping his heart he pulled away to look upon her beautiful face once more. “You’re here.” He said, as a tear rolled down one of his cheeks and he stroked the soft curve of her jaw. “You’re really here.” His smile was a light. A glow with the joy of Syna’s brightness. “Oi’ve missed yeh more than ye’ll ever know Lass.” Marrick exhaled in relief before embracing her once more, squeezing her tightly in his corded arms. He held her there in the meadow, by spring and stone, in the cool spring breeze and sunlight, until he worried she could no longer breathe. And like the Suvan Sea as its waves embrace the shore, the Kelvic exhaled, and finally released her.

[Oriah]

His hands, as worn and calloused as her own from their relentless training, enveloped hers with seemingly no effort at all.

He's here, he has to be real.

Without warning, Oriah's heart beats took upward flight like a startled flock of sparrows. They spiraled out of control at dizzying speeds and the newly recruited squire felt as though she had had one too many glasses of wine. Only instead of being reduced to stumbling about and watching the room spin, she had been lifted to unimaginable heights on wings of heart rending glory. It was frightening, and it was exhilarating. It convinced her she could do anything and nothing all at once. She could slay fifty Yukmen on her own with nothing but a rock and a sling. Yet, at the same time, could not be torn from Marrick's gaze if her life depended on it.

Always, such sorcery under his unexpected touch. How did he do it? With mammoth effort, Oriah managed to force her eyes shut and try to steady her breathing, but in the end it was futile. Whatever hold the man before her had, whatever charms or spells he'd woven since that night they had defied the odds and limped out from the alleyway alive and breathing, was too strong for her will away. And, to be perfectly honest, she had no real intention of succeeding anyway.

Only a couple ticks had gone by but they felt like entire days. Time seemed to move with the sluggishness of her fading but still present incredulity, leaving the squire somehow acutely aware of every minute detail: a Spring breeze flowing gently past their heads; the smell of young, dewy grass; a birdsong in the distance; the happy melody of trickling water; and, most poignantly of all, the halo-like gleam of gold upon raven black hairs that swept up from Marrick's smooth brow, their feather soft tips kissed by Syna's loving rays. She had opened her eyes just in time to see Marrick turn his face, his expression over-brimming with disbelief and longing--a perfect mirror to her own.

That was when all of her denial came crashing down and Oriah's heart finally melted.

Whatever remained of her life's source drip-dropped down in honeyed globs, forming a pool of nameless feelings in the pit of her stomach. It felt so warm, and so dangerously heady. Like she had sniffed one too many perfumes at the same time or sat faced with a sumptuous feast after an entire season of arduous trekking. For a single, helpless moment, she forgot everything. Her goals, her duties, her own blessed name.

Everything but him.

He was talking...what was he saying? The girl's mind was wading through leagues and leagues of thick, syrupy joy. She barely knew what was up and what was down anymore. She didn't even care. It was brilliant in every direction. Everything was brilliant in every direction. Then Marrick pulled her into an embrace--an act even more unexpected than the first--and the all those directions suddenly coalesced into almost painfully sharp clarity.

In her twelfth year of sand-scorched existence, one of her Tent elders, Rajin, had showed her how to wrap a sandal in a way that completely protected one's feet. Oriah had been in many seasons of grieving over the loss of her twin. She hardly ate or slept and refused any kind of comforts whatsoever, convinced that if she showed even a moment's worth of happiness it would dishonor the memory of her sister, would be as though she was enjoying her life without Priah. She even took to walking barefoot, so that she would be reminded everyday of the pain Priah had endured before she had died. Nothing anyone said or did could remedy this and Oriah spent many a day living a life comparable to that of the harshest ascethetic.

But of course, Rajin always seemed to know a way into her mind and heart. He knew that as dejected as the young girl felt, her sense of community and faithfulness to Yahal had not wavered. So he implored of her one day to help him with an important task. The hottest time of the year was arriving and their Tent had to move to a better location, closer to the city, as was tradition. Only the others had been so busy preparing for this journey that many had neglected to repair their sandals. Luckily for everyone, Rajin had come up with a way to not only mend their worn sandals quickly, but also improve them in the process. Now the one remaining problem was that he could not mend all of them by himself and no one else had the time to spare.

Oriah had not even hesitated. She saw this as both her duty and as another way to show penitence for her failure to save Priah. So the somber little girl set to work with her mentor, repairing sandal after sandal until their entire Tent had likely the best footwear they'd ever owned in their entire lives. Each one came personally to thank the hard working duo, and each time she heard their gratitude she felt the dark weight clamping down on her heart grow a tiny bit lighter.

Then at last it came for Oriah's own turn to wear one of Rajin's new creations. At first, she refused. She could no more imagine herself enjoying such comforts than spurn the love of their god. But the Elder merely shook his hand and assured his pupil that it was for practical reasons. She needed to survive the journey, after all, and what good was she to her Tent and her god if she was a hobbling cripple? The girl could see sense in his words. Survival was as ingrained within her as Yahal's winged mark of favor; there was no denying such truths.

So, at last, she placed the sandals around her cracked skin. And though they were made of simple, rough material, the inventions felt like heaven beneath her soles. It was almost better than dipping her legs into a night-chilled pond in an oasis or rubbing the bottoms of her feet against a new, downy-soft rug. For the first time in entire seasons, her blistered feet experienced the blissful respite they had long since deserved. All of a sudden Oriah couldn't imagine going back to walking barefoot. This felt so good not even she, in all of her guilt ridden mule-headedness, could imagine enduring that kind of suffering again. It all became so clear, how much unnecessary pain she had put herself though. How it would have broken Priah's heart to see her twin live with such agony, and how relentlessly she would have fought to bring Oriah back from the miserable darkness if she were still alive.

She'd only had the sandals on for about a chime before the girl wept. All the sorrow, all the pain, all the bitter self loathing that she had carried unleashed themselves in the form of teary torrents. The young Benshira was still far from healed after what she had lost, but with her new sandals she had walked once step closer. And she did so with no intention of ever going back.

That was what it felt like to be with Marrick.

All this time, Oriah had never known such brightness, such certainty. There was so much of her life that remained unknown--and sometimes downright terrifying, to be sure--but their once intimidating presence shrunk down to something nearly inconsequential, like swaying mirages in the distance. She could give up everything, lose it all in the blink of an eye, and still find the will to survive if the two of them remained in the aftermath, arms wrapped around one another, faces buried into each other's warmth.

Oh, and how he kissed her. Oriah found herself gripping the edge of Marrick's collar as she felt his lips meet her skin, afraid that if she didn't she'd collapse as soon as her heart finally managed to burst free from layers of ribs, flesh, and leather armor. No more thoughts seemed able to find entrance to her skull. She just stood there, surrounded by feelings and emotions and images too beautiful to describe, holding onto Marrick as though her very sanity depended on it.

When he pulled away she had to resist the urge to yank him back, feeling all too much like someone perched up on the highest branch of a tree who, upon looking down, found fear lodged in their throat at death's proximity and limbs shot with icy panic as they scrambled for purchase.

He was speaking again, but this time Oriah heard him loud and clear. Marrick had missed her, he confessed, more than she'd ever know. And though she'd heard many a friend in her past say the same, for some reason it struck her a hundred times deeper to hear it from him. Unable to help herself, the squire hoarded it away like a squirrel preparing for Winter, to admire and feast upon later in times of coldness and loneliness.

And Blessed Yahal, his tears! She found herself moved to her own at the sight and released a shuddering sigh of relief when Marrick took her into his arms a second time. Oriah was spared the embarrassment of her own quiet weeping and she let it sink away into the heavy fabric of his clothing.

So warm, and good, and strong...the Benshira thought to herself, not trusting herself enough to speak aloud. Very strong...maybe a little... too strong....can't.....breathe.....hnng.......

She felt the air rush back into her longs once Marrick released her again, and with it enough sense to perhaps start generating functional thoughts again. "I missed you too, Squire Corvis," Oriah beamed. Then flushed. Then grew twenty different shades of awkward. She'd never, ever found it difficult to remain talkative and charming amongst otherse. Yet in his presence the desert bred traveler found her tongue tied in knots and mind struggling to string together a sentence with a mite more wit and substance. Blasted sands, why was this so difficult?

"H-How goes your training with Ser David?" she asked out of the blue. Stupid, who would ask such a random question after he said such heartfelt words? "And, um, I see Kiter is doing well!"

Oriah winced. That was hardly any better.

Desperate for some way to redeem herself, she struggled in silence for a while longer before finally suggesting, "Sera Mora told me there are mushrooms that grow on trees, and some taste like lemon chicken! Would you like to try to find some? If we're lucky we can cook some for lunch."

She stared at him like a deer in lamp light. It wasn't exactly social genius, but it was better than nothing.

[Marrick Corvis]

For one whose life had been a tragedy in his youth, it felt good to feel the thrill of romance. It was almost as if a little piece of himself that he had lost somewhere along the long road had been returned to him and all he wanted was to never forget how he felt in that moment. He filled every sense he had with her. When she reciprocated his feelings, Marrick felt almost as if he were being held aloft on a great swell of wind. Like he was in Raven form, and she the air he glided upon. The rosiness flushed her cheeks behind the little bits of dirt that rested on them from her travels, and all the Raven Kelvic could do was marvel at how beautiful she was. The woman could be covered in mud, and filth yet somehow the light of her smile would shine like a ray of sunshine through a cloudy day. The Kelvic’s pale blue eyes watched his fellow squire with curious intensity, as she stumbled over her words. A genuine little smile tugged at one corner of his mouth in subtle amusement. For some reason, he could not remember Oriah having such a hard time talking to him. It had been far too long, and something inside him felt tickled at the idea that he had made her feel so flustered. “Ser David is foine. He’s quite fond o’ lessons in confusin the bloody mess outa me.” He said as he chuckled softly. “Moy trainin goes well, exhaustin as it may be. But Oi’m naught gainin enough skill Oi think. Oi’ve been lookin forward teh our day fer some toime.” Marrick’s words dropped off softly as he distractedly plucked a tiny piece of leaf litter from her hair and dared twist one of the wayward locks between his fingers. Marrick smiled reassuringly at Oriahs awkwardness, though he knew that Kiter would have heard her name on the wind. As he had expected, at the mention of her name, the massive Tiaden Mare turned and slowly lumbered over to them. The Kelvic could tell by her lumbering gate, that she expected a treat. Fortunately, he had time to dig a palm full of oats out of his hip pouch before the Mare was upon them. “A grand oidea fer food lass, as fer Koiter, ye’ll foind out shortly!” With all the tenderness of a lover, the Kelvic lifted Oriah’s hand letting the grains of oats fall from his palm into hers and closed her fingers about them. Just in time for the great Tiaden to lumber up to her and snuff at her hair. The Mare nickered softly with a politely added nudge to the Benshira’s shoulder. Marrick watched as his Mare ever so carefully lifted her head and laid her neck across Oriah’s shoulder hoping for a rub. It was a magical moment to watch his companion horse react so tenderly to a woman she had met only on a few occasions. Then again the Mighty Warhorse had always liked the Benshira. “Mothers Love.” The Raven Kelvic exclaimed. “She remembers yeh, loike it was only a few choimes since she’d last seen ye.” Marrick gave Kiters strong neck a loving stroke before continuing. “Oi’ve never seen her do that fer anyone but me, n’ one o’ the pages o’ Mithryn.” The Kelvic recovered the Mares bridle leads and habitually tightened them until they rested evenly in his hands. Marrick would have been content simply to watch her all afternoon. Almost as if he were in a hazed dream. Fortune favoured him though, he was awake, and the dream was persistant. The Kelvic knew their time was limited together. A desperate urge to squeeze every last ounce of their time together out of the dry rag that was their day motivated him. “So how’s loife with the Water Priestess.” He said with a little smirk. “Rumors flew loike lit arrows on a battle field when she claimed yeh, and dragged yeh off inta the wilderness.” His face became evidently distressed as old feelings of concern resurfaced at the memory of his friend leaving him behind at the Outpost. “Oi was worried Oi’d never see yeh again.” Marrick mumbled softly as his gaze tracked little details in the pools of Oriah’s eyes. Like a student in a hall he listened to her intently while he helped stow away what little kit she carried. It fit neatly in the extra space in his saddle bags. He would nod at an explanation, and caught himself smiling at her from time to time. Yet all lead at last to the inevitable delicate lift of her into the saddle. He stepped into the stirrup after her and, just as he had the day they had brought Kiter from the Windmount, nestled in behind her. The feeling still made his cheeks burn. Desperate to find anything to relieve his mind of the sensation that he was violating Oriah with his hips, he tried to shift the focus away from their situation and to the horizon of their day. “Would yeh loike teh take the reins m’dear?” He said in a hurried tenor.

[Oriah]

It was to her immense relief when Marrick showed no signs of finding her behavior laughable. Sure, there was still a glint of amusement amidst the pale blue of his gaze, but Oriah felt certain it wasn't one of ridicule. In fact, she questioned if her fellow squire was even capable of such a thing in the first place. Instinct said no and reason didn't bother refuting.

And the way he looked at her...it was as if he thought the very same.That she could not be marred under even the muddiest of conditions. Dazzled by the very idea, Oriah hoped with all her being he saw true. That her years of hardship dedicated to following her path had shaped her into the slightly awkward yet honest and determined young woman now mirrored in his guileless eyes. She would go to the ends of Hai and back if that was what it took to maintain his highest regards.

What was he seeing now? She noted a trace of distraction on Marrick's face and took it as an opportunity to stare boldly up at his handsome features. He was just a finger width taller, with pale, clear skin, a hint of stubble along the jaws, and a perpetual smile that lingered in his crystal clear eyes. Oriah dared to breathe a little of him in, feeling a bit wicked for doing so but unable to help herself.

Maybe it was an odd thing to do.

Maybe she just bloody didn't care.

It was her turn to wear distraction as a new face piece, however, once the other squire began to twist a lock of her hair between his fingers. Familiar tingles ran down her spine every time she felt a slight pull and it was all Oriah could do not to press her head against his fingers like a purring feline. Blessed Yahal, why did it feel so ridiculously good? Part of her wondered if this might somehow be unnatural, enjoying something as simple as having her hair touched. But the other remained mute and weak kneed at how pleasant the casual gesture felt.

She was still riding on a cloud of dumbstruck intrepidity when Marrick's hand moved to find hers again. Except this time when he let go, something remained within the heart of her palm.

Oriah looked down in confusion. Oats...?

Snuff! The Benshira gasped in surprise as Kiter's warm muzzle snuck up on her and huffed, sending wisps of tawny hair flying across her face.

"Kiter!" Oriah laughed, shrinking inward just a little at the tickling--and somewhat formidable--sensation of a towering Tiaden settling her silky head on human shoulders. In the end of course the human always succumbed. This one rubbed Kiter's gentle face with delicious affection and offered even more delicious oats to be eaten. Ahh, the two things she enjoyed most!

Oriah herself was relishing the unexpected horse cuddles immensely as well. It had taken her a long, long time to come to a point where she didn't turn and run the opposite direction at the mere sight of the beasts. But tender Kiter had helped quell a large portion of those fears. She was simply too sweet for the Benshira to react any differently.

"Well, I feel honored to be a part of her memory," the squire beamed, giving Kiter a few more loving pats before Marrick recovered the mare's reins, "as she will always be a part of mine."

There was a third part to that statement, but Oriah's palms grew clammy at the very thought of uttering it out loud.

Before she could decide whether or not to continue, Marrick had changed the subject, for good or for worse, inquiring how she'd been faring under Sera Mora's reclusive tutelage. She was about to mentally kick herself for not speaking up sooner when the squire glanced up in time to catch the distress peeking through her companion's amiable cheer.

All the gears in her heart and head ground to a halt. For a full tick, she forgot how to breathe. Did he really care for her enough to worry about something like that? And how could he ever think she wouldn't--

"--have found a way!" Oriah blurted. "That is..." she bumbled, utterly embarrassed at having spoken her own thoughts aloud, "I would have found a way. To see you, training or no training."

Syna smite me. Probably not the smartest thing to say so close to the woods. On second thought, make that definitely. Mora was going to find a way to re-establish her knightly sensibilities for certain when the smitten squire returned.

But Oriah wasn't going to take back what she said. Here's to throwing just a tiny bit of caution to the wind!

"It has been..." she coughed and continued, trying to piece together the right words to answer Marrick's original question. One could never be too careful when one's patron talked to plants and there was no sense in adding to the damage she'd already done. "...challenging. And rewarding in its own way. Though there are days when I too feel it is going slow, and begin to wonder if I will ever become fit for knighthood."

As she spoke, they made calm and efficient work of settling her small amount of gear within Kiter's saddlebags. No sooner had they finished than Oriah found herself being lifted gently onto the Tiaden's saddle. It was still somewhat unnerving, having to mount such a tall warhorse, but she managed easily enough with Marrick's help. She wondered how her fellow squire accomplished this on a daily basis as he settled in behind her. It was hard enough for her to get onto Pie's saddle, and the mare was only half of Kiter's size.

At some point Marrick offered to let her hold the reins, to which she tentatively accepted. Kiter didn't need much help but it did lend Oriah a moderate sense of peace to feel the leather in her hands and not be careening wildly out of control.

Pesudo-control, as her patron sometimes like to put it. The Benshira didn't mind; she needed all the help she could get.

Not to mention it was a useful distraction from the sudden lack of physical distance between both squires. She couldn't do much else besides lean into his broad shoulders and welcoming warmth, but that didn't stop the flames from lighting her cheeks. Her only relief was that Marrick couldn't see her ludicrous reaction.

Oriah tried to focus on where they were going. This would be easier if I actually knew where to find those mushrooms...

She tugged at Kiter's reins now and then under the pretense of navigation, all the while praying fervently to Yahal that he guide them, somehow, someway, toward the right direction. Sera Mora had mentioned once where these rare and delectable delicacies grew, and by all rights her squire should have had no issues getting within the general vicinity. But Oriah was finding it hard to think with Marrick so close to her, alternating endlessly between forced calm and fluttery panic. It was like fighting a high fever and there wasn't a chance in Hai she could bear another chime of deafening silence.

When attempts to focus failed, she resorted to more tangents.

"The woods are beautiful this time of the year," Oriah offered, struggling to suppress the frantic edge in her voice. "Sera Mora and I spend most of our training there. Sometimes we don't see another person for days."

Ahh, too morbid. Quick, think of something else!

"And...well, when it becomes very lonely, I think of you. And Kiter."

Perhaps morbid was better.

"I had a funny dream once about you," Oriah hastily added, scarcely giving herself time to think. "In it you were a black bird with shining feathers and giant wings, and you flew from Mithryn to visit me. We even talked, though you were still a bird. Imagine that?"

By the time she revealed her odd ball dream, they had traveled well into the forest. The Benshira recognized a few potential signs that they might be heading in the right direction. A small stream trickling between two ancient oaks on their right, a cluster of red berried shrubs coming up on the left, evidence of much older trees as they rode deeper--all hints Sera Mora had dropped concerning the location of the elusive shelves.

"We can begin searching somewhere here," the Benshira suggested a couple chimes later. A mischievous grin tugged at the corners of her mouth as she turned to look back at Marrick. "They are rare, these Chickens of the Woods, but I have a feeling we will find one today."

She patted Kiter cheerfully on the neck.

"We have our good luck charm, after all!"

[Marrick Corvis]

With each stumbled word, Marrick imagined her lips as they moved and mumbled. Words soft and sweet as summer rain, yet with each mistake the Raven Kelvic felt the boldness within him stir. It urged him, nay called him toward those lips. An encouraging force that whispered in his ear ‘kiss her.’ ‘Kiss her as hard and blissfully as you can Marrick, your life is short.’ The Raven Kelvic rode as calmly as he could manage with Oriah’s lithe form pressed against him. As she started Kiter forward into the wood, he slipped his left hand beneath her bosom and around her belly careful not to touch. The other hand draped his sword hilt, ready to draw it if need be. Marrick couldn’t see her reaction. If she were offended, flushed, or enticed, he would never know. In the deepest cockles of his heart though he hoped that she understood he had naught but pleasant intentions. The ambiguity of that concept dawned on him a few tics down the trail, and his own cheeks colored with the lightest tint of crimson. The wood seemed to stretch on forever, as Oriah drew them deeper and deeper into the trees. The song birds sang cheerfully in the boughs of trees, while they slowly made their way through gnarled root, and fallen log. Marrick would have felt claustrophobic had it been someone else. He trusted the Benshira quite implicitly. Yet, there was more to the feeling; a desire to be closer. A feeling he had not felt since he was but a young one, and trust came easily. Truth be told, it had only been a few short years but the Raven Kelvic had to grow up fast in the city of lies. A mist floated through the trunks of the trees, lit with little streamlets of light that glided through the canopy like little bits of Syna’s Ethaefeal . To Marrick, the wood was eerily beautiful though with each new sight, or keening sound the Kelvic found himself returning his gaze back to his riding companion. Oriah’s words of admiration for the wilds stirred a strange familiarity within him. Almost like seeing a spark in the darkness. With each passing moment Marrick began to grow more comfortable with where he sat. Like the bird within him, he moved his hand to a better perch and delicately slipped his hand away from her belly to her hip. If the need arose, he could wrap his arm about her again if Kiter bolted forward. It felt like a lazy day. Not that Marrick had known many of those in Ravok, he had indeed found one or two in Syliras. When one wasn’t training he had been encouraged to find things to enjoy. Dice, Cards, games, and other hobbies were encouraged for morale. Yet this- this Marrick enjoyed most of all. A ride through the wood with his companion was breath of fresh air. He sighed happily hearing of Oriah and her Patrons lifestyles. It sounded peaceful. To live and learn away from the bustle of Mithryn free to wander and learn the wilds. It sounded like a proper adventure. The Kelvic was briefly distracted by a memory of his first ride to Mithryn when he halted at the Stone Marker near the road that lead to its gates, his eyes cast southward. Marrick would be a liar if he denied that he had the itch to see the world. However, he knew that as a member of the Order he most definitely was able bodied enough to learn what he needed, to make his way in the world there. When the Benshira spoke of the loneliness of her journey, Marrick smiled and leaned against her back. His arm lifted and squeezed her belly in the closest method of a gentle hug he could manage from the back of the saddle. “Oi’m here now Lass.” The Kelvic spoke sweetly, though boldly. He was very near to mentioning that he could send “his messenger bird” to visit her in the wilds, when she conveniently mentioned her dream. With a badly concealed nervous chuckle Marrick straightened in the saddle. He was grateful she couldn’t see his face, because the look of astonishment at how close she was to knowing exactly what was going on was about as subtle as a stampede of pigs. “It sounds loike a strange, dream. Though-” Marrick spoke with a soft and contemplative tone. He could hear the voice of Gypsy whispering in the back of his mind telling him that it was wrong not to tell Oriah the truth. While his instinctive reaction to conceal the aspects of himself he was ashamed of, washed over him like a tumultuous sea. The Kelvic chewed the corner of his lip in thought, wishing very much for a twig, or a strand of grass. “Though, Gypsy once told me that dreams are a glimpse o’ the truth.” The words flowed from his mouth in an almost casual manner, though mentally he was on edge. Marrick was certain he had feelings for Oriah, as his Patron had teased him about on many an occasion. Yet, he struggled with himself. He both loathed and appreciated his ‘gift’. Costly as it was. The Raven Kelvic had grown hungry the more the bright and mischievous eyed Benshira carried on about these magical sounding mushrooms. The budding culinary inventor in him was already trying to envision how he would prepare and cook them. He’d used mushrooms to make food before. Soup and salad had been their primary use, but these ‘Chickens of the Forest’ sounded quite versatile. Kiters sure footed slow gate avoided tree root, and stone until at long last she brought them to a halt when Oriah gently tugged at her reins. Slow and careful, Marrick lifted himself out of the saddle and brought his leg over Kiters rump in a simple dismount. He dropped functionally to the soft loamy forest floor with a subtle thump. After a short stretch he offered his hand to his friend to help her off the enormous horse. As Oriah dismounted from the saddle to join him, Marrick caught her hand in his. Yet, whether by design or by accident the Kelvic saw the early signs that his friend was going to slip from the saddle. Quick and concisely he stepped into position and caught Oriah about her waist in his other arm. He swallowed nervously as he slowly released her to slide slowly down his chest plates. She slipped downward with the subtle sound that leather makes as it rubs together, until at last she came to stand on her two feet safely on the forest floor. Yet, he could not let go. His eyes focused their cold sky blue piercing gaze into her azures. While within him he felt the churning of some wild energy in his chest drawing him to her. It was as if every ounce of his being were trying to pull him over that abyss. He felt her warm breath against his face, and the musty perfume that people have when they’ve been outdoors for a season. She smelled of the forest, and green things. She smelled of life, as bright and beautiful as her smile. Marrick felt the inexplicable pull drawing him toward the softness that was her mouth again and he shut his eyes to the overwhelming urge. Like the sound of the sea as it rushes upward along a sandy shore, Marrick inhaled deeply. His eyes opened wide a tic before he exhaled, and cleared his throat. Finally with a slightly high pitched timbre to his voice he spoke. “Roight then. Mushrooms. Oi know a bit about forest edibles, but Oi don’t think Oi’ve ever seen these sort before.” Marrick said quickly as he created some space between them and exhaled the last of his breath. Yes, the Raven Kelvic struggled. Marrick couldn’t decide whether he was disappointed or proud of himself for resisting his desires. There was a piece of him that swore up and down a blue streak of curses for not taking the moment in hand and blissfully ignoring his sensibilities. While another piece of him patted him on the back with empty reassurances that he had done the right thing. In his own mind those two halves wrestled, but in the end where did sensibilities belong when one sought love. The moment had past, and if it came again The Kelvic told himself that he should not hesitate. Surely their Patrons would understand. A slight air of disappointment in his gaze, the Raven haired squire surveyed the nearest trees and ground. As he observed the terrain he took note of the rocky soil, and the way the trees stood. Each boulder was a testament to what had once been. Each tree filled with life. With a childlike curiosity the Kelvic removed his gloves, and knelt near a tree. He touched the hard bark, and soft wet moss, his hand wandering into the cool black earth between its roots. Gently he scraped up a small handful, brought it to his nose, and inhaled deeply. It smelled of rich black tea, and the air after it rained. Slowly he stood and picked through the dirt, releasing any small living denizens back to the ground before he rubbed the dark earth into his hands. The filth on them reminded him of bad times, yet the pain of those days was overshadowed by the experience he was having now. Safe, warm, free, and yes happy. The Kelvic dwelled on that. It was almost as if he were sweeping away the old feelings, and replacing them with the new ones. “Oi think Oi’m beginnin teh understand.” He said, his brow furrowed. “Oi’m beginnin teh understand why she keeps yeh out here.” Like a dog smelling at the wind, Marrick lifted his head to a ray of light that streamed through the canopy and let it warm his face. Almost as if in a trance he stood their trying with all his might to take it all in. “So where moight we foind these mushrooms?” He said at last, turning his attention back to his friend.

[Oriah]

Someone once gifted her a nugget of wisdom Oriah hadn't quite understood at the time it was offered. The giver was an old drummer of the Benshira style, all leather and hard angles from so many years spent under Syna's scorching reign, though his fingers still retained their quicksilver nimbleness as they danced across the clay head of his doumek.

"You dance with passion," he complimented after Oriah's impromptu performance on the bustling streets of Yahebah. It was during the same visit a particular ring of considerable worth had been stolen from the markets. The same day Priah had died. Neither sibling had been a season older than twelve.

"But," the old man continued, drawing a slight pout from his young performer, "you are all passion, little one. Ceaseless energy. You are a good dancer now, yes. But if you learned how to stop from time to time, to respect stillness, you would be a great dancer. Do you understand what I'm saying, girl?"

Oriah hadn't understood. Not in the slightest. Moving was what she did, what dancing was all about! The drummer was clearly addled from old age. But the girl's upbringing was too ingrained in her and she politely humored him, in spite of any objections she had to his claims.

As she thanked him for his advice and bowed out to search for her twin, the man merely shook his head and smiled, baring his near toothless mouth with unabashed good will.

"Hear the silence in the music, child," he imparted at the last moment, eyes glazing over with a far-off look. The last thing Oriah remembered seeing was how his gnarled hands hovered lovingly over the drum head, fingers trembling from bone rot. Young as she may be, the girl was not inexperienced. She'd danced with enough drummers thus far to know some were completely unable to resist showing off whenever the opportunity arose.

But this old man was different. He held his doumek to his body like a parent would his child and touched it only to caress, or when he felt the sincere intention to play. As if he was just enjoying the existence he and his drum shared. Nothing more and nothing less. Oriah respected him for that.

"Appreciate the pauses in between, and you will understand." That was his final statement before he shooed her away. She hadn't forgotten, even after all this time.

Now, in the presence of Marrick in this quiet, unspoiled moment, Oriah could finally understand.

The pauses in between, the Benshira echoed in her own head every time she felt her fellow squire's breath catch or body shift after she spoke. Heard him sigh and attempted desperately to guess the motives behind it. Or when her own air supply evaporated as she felt the warmth of his palm rest against her stomach, heating skin right through leather armor and coarse fabric. Doubly so when it moved to her hip.

At some point she closed her eyes, afraid of something she couldn't quite put a finger to. Perhaps it was the fear of losing control? Or embarrassing herself in front of Marrick? No, that couldn't be it. Neither seemed dire enough.

It baffled the squire to no end. She'd never felt this way before, had no inkling of where these sudden emotions erupted from like one of Ivak's volcanic upheavals. And though the comparison felt apt in ferocity, it did poorly to describe the impossible, beautiful calmness she experienced at the same time. Her feelings became like a rushing torrent of water, steady in its course but teaming with life and motion beneath. She could control it no more than her need to breathe or desire to eat. It just was.

Blessed Yahal, maybe I'm going insane.

It certainly wasn't the first time she'd assumed this. Not since that fateful night the two of them had hobbled out of an alleyway with three dead bodies in their wake. But what else could it be, if not madness that planted the bizarre desire to turn around in Kiter's saddle and bury herself in the man seated behind her at the mere sound of his voice? That produced the wild urge to throw her arms around him, as if he was the last solid thing she could hold onto before a tidal wave crashed down on them both. The only solid thing she cared to hold.

And perhaps...maybe...do more than just hold...

Oriah mentally slapped herself.

So engrossed had she been in the jarring disruption of her almost meditative state that the Benshira failed to notice Marrick's strange reaction to her dream. Later on, she would attribute his nervousness to her rather bold admittance of just how often her fellow squire occupied her thoughts. But for now there was only mental self-slapping and paralyzing anxiety.

When the time came to dismount Kiter's towering frame, Oriah forcibly drew her thoughts away from distraction and tried to focus on not falling to her death. It was always a bit of a harrowing experience, getting herself out of a saddle, but it was made infinitely less daunting with Marrick's hand guiding hers.

Less daunting indeed, she found, but his presence did nothing to remedy her own clumsiness. He'd made it look so easy, the way he dropped onto the ground with effortless grace. For some reason Oriah began entertaining the idea that she, too, could land with similar ease, and tried with a bit more gusto than usual to extract herself from Kiter's gear. Half a tick later she realized it was a foolhardy attempt to impress the other squire. But by then, it was too late.

Broken legs was the first image that came unbidden to mind. Broken arms next, or even broken ne--

One moment she was careening dangerously from atop Kiter's saddle. The next, she found herself firmly within Marrick's arms, wide eyes glued to his as she slid down onto the ground without so much as a bruise. There was a ridiculous amount of armor between the two of them, but some delusional part of her was convinced their unexpected contact was the best thing she'd ever felt.

She watched him watching her, surroundings and dreaded horse saddles and chicken mushrooms utterly forgotten. There was something intense reflecting through the perfect pale of his eyes. And from the way he failed to let go, even after she was clearly in no sort of danger, Oriah could only assume her own gaze held a very similar look. Perhaps too similar, as her fingers had somehow woven themselves into the straps of his armor without her even knowing.

Some distant part of her suggested that this not exactly a normal reaction two people, bonded as they were through both friendship and squirehood, displayed in close contact. But she was strangely unafraid, compared to how she felt moments before. Even when Marrick's gaze seemed to trail down to her mouth, affording her a complete view of the gentle sweep of his elephant lashes, she experienced no alarm. A compulsion to kiss them was all consuming, though she fought against it on the grounds of its sheer absurdity.

Oriah wasn't entirely sure what kinds of compulsions were invading the other squire's senses right then. Or wasn't willing to believe she did know. But either way, whatever they were, and against all better judgment, she was starting to want them to manifest. Or to usurp them herself and do...something, anything. She could smell him, feel him, see him in every painstaking detail, but it still wasn't enough. And it was maddening.

Lost as she was in the stark intensity of the moment, it took a while before Oriah realized there were sounds coming out of Marrick's very close, very attractive mouth. Those sounds formed into words, and in turn the words broke whatever mystical spell that had bound them both to perplexing feelings and even more perplexing urgencies.

“Roight then. Mushrooms."

Oriah stifled a spasm of laughter at the state of his voice. It sounded like it'd been squeezed through a reed, and it was inexplicably, ridiculously funny.

Her mirth was cut short, however, once he finally let go and took a step back. The distance between them suddenly felt like an infinite gulf and it was all the Benshira could do not to dissolve into a helpless fit, being able neither to reach for him again nor protest the withdrawal of warmth and electric enticements.

"Aye, mushrooms," she echoed, the shaky disappointment also apparent in her speech, though the squire did her best not to show it. It was the sensible thing to do, she assured herself. To resist. Aside from their duties and priorities as squires, there was also the ever present possibility that Mora was lurking out there amongst the trees and shadows, watching. Always, watching. And even if she wasn't, the flowers would rat them out.

Stars and stones, how Oriah wished sometimes her life wasn't so complicated.

As paranoia crept itself into her consciousness, she noted how Marrick busied himself with a gentle, probing exploration of the forest life around them. After a while she began to forget her worries as she watched the other squire take in his surroundings. Touching, smelling, absorbing the woods in the most visceral way he could. Marrick had never seemed more at home in front of her softening gaze. Almost as if he were meant to be out here--belonged, even. Oriah thought of what it would be like if they could train together in these woods. Or, better yet, live here in total obscurity, blissfully ignorant of everything but each other. The very idea took her breath away.

Marrick spoke again, and in his wistful words Oriah found the possible traces of similar desires. It only further rendered her incapable of speech. So she just stood there and pined as Marrick basked in the comforts of forest life. Under any other circumstances, she might have not-so-jokingly suggested her patron kept her out here as a form of torture. But she'd rather be struck by lightning than mar the serenity blanketed across the young man's comely, guileless face.

"Ah...right. Right! Mushrooms," Oriah stumbled. This time it was her turn to clear her throat. "Well, Sera Mora said they grow on trees, and that we should take care to avoid those grown on eu...euookalyptus or cedars."

She'd always had difficulty pronouncing the particular tree, but the Benshira glossed over it with every intention of moving on. "They are also supposed to be very yellow and grow best this time of the year, so we may be in luck." At this, Kiter shifted her colossal head and bumped gently into Oriah's shoulder, as if to remind everyone hey, I'm still here!

Laughing, the squire lifted her hand to pet the beast's face with tender affection. "Thanks to you, Kiter, of course. "

Looking around, Oriah figured this was as good a place to start as any, and turned to address Marrick once more. Though she did so with a good deal of struggling to ignore the pink tinges that had snuck onto her face."We may as well begin searching here. With the two of us we can cover more ground." Realizing this might be construed as a suggestion to split up, she hastily added, "But we should stay close and look together. It's, um, easy to get lost out here."

As they paced side by side around the area, Kiter contentedly in tow, Oriah worked hard keeping her eyes peeled while simultaneously remaining hyper aware of Marrick's every move. She couldn't help it. It just seemed like the most important thing in the world right then, even though she knew well enough it wasn't. Not in a practical sense, at least.

"So I've been meaning to ask..." she awkwardly began, trying to fill up those pauses again with familiar noise. "Did you--how were the, ah, things that I sent you last season? I know my terrible Common must have been amusing to read."

It wasn't exactly the most pertinent of questions, she knew. The package had been sent an entire season ago after all. But for a long time Oriah had wondered everyday if Marrick made use of what she had sent him, or liked any of it to begin with. True enough that over time these questions faded into forgetfulness, but they were renewed easily once more in Marrick's presence and she could retrain herself no longer from asking.