PM to join Meeting (Shahar)

[Scand]

The nineteenth day of winter 514 AV

Scand lay on the ground, staring up at the angled ceiling, playing with the ring about his finger, lost in thought. Though his eyes saw the cloth, his mind saw something else. He stood on a hillock, staring down into a valley whereupon stood a man. He was familiar, not in shape or form but in feeling: a brother, a true sibling. His face was obscured, but his intention was clear: join me. He moved towards him, but every step seemed to take him farther away until the man was gone and he was left alone in the night, the grasses swaying about him in a taunting hiss. He was alone again, wandering, lost.

With a start, Scand sat up, blinking the sleep from his eyes as he realized he'd dozed off. Turning to stare at the entrance to his family's pavilion, there was no sign of the one known as Shahar. Pulling himself up into a seated position, Scand tapped against his feet in thought. He'd been dreaming more and more often, drifting away from the present and off into the worlds unknown. He knew little of Shahar, not something necessarily uncommon, but he could not even call to mind the man's family name. He'd been called in as a guide for his sisters on their next hunting trip, apparently he was well versed in the ways of the wild. Beyond that, however, he only knew his name.

Rising, Scand shuffled over to a table, plucking three nuts from a wooden bowl, he tossed them into the air, one after the other. The idea was to continue the tossing, creating the illusion of a circle. He dropped them more than he caught them, however, having to scramble around the tent to pick them up before he could begin again. It wasn't that it was soothing so much as it did seem to be one of the few things that he wasn't terrible at. It also passed the time. His eyes watching the rise and fall of the nuts, Scand didn't notice the small sound of intrusion until he turned with a concentrated smile to see someone standing before him.

Fumbling with his juggling, Scand tried to catch the nuts, dropping two and keeping the third in his hand. Glancing around for some where to put it so be could greet his guest, Scand dropped it to join the others. Moving forward to offer the man a bow, he introduced himself a soft smile on his lips. "Hello friend, I am Scand Skycrown. Welcome to our home." His gestures were light, welcoming, though the smile didn't quite reach his eyes. "May I get you anything while you wait for my sisters?"

Pavi | Common

[Colt]

The Diamond district was not one Shahar typically found himself visiting. Diamonds were warriors, trained to fight people and outsiders while Shahar’s skills lay more in the fighting of beasts. That was, coincidentally, the reason he was here; he himself would have never volunteered to guide a Diamond hunting trip, but a favor had been pulled in by a favor pulled in by a favor, and Shahar had been offered coin in exchange for aid on a family’s hunt. To his knowledge, they wanted to hunt something large and “honorable,” which the hunter found baffling and uninformative, but this was his task for the day.

He just had to see it through without clawing his own eyes out in irritation. He hoped these Skycrowns had at least some rapport with the grasslands.

Akaidras was uneasy beneath him and unsure what to think of the more militant style that shrouded the Diamond district. Shahar managed to keep him assuaged, but his efforts wouldn’t last forever; he wanted to be out on the plains as soon as possible. Tuka had been left behind, for everyone’s sake; Shahar couldn’t manage people in addition to an excitable hunting cat. As his tension slowly continued to mount, he found himself glancing upwards more and more––only to find the flickering shadows of thief-birds dancing to and from this tent or that one, looking for whatever scraps they could filch without being noticed. Poor substitutes.

The Skycrowns were not vastly difficult to find––he was getting better at navigating the city––and it wasn’t long before he’d tracked down the white-clad pavilion he was looking for. Dismounting, Shahar saw that Akaidras was made as easy in these surroundings as possible and was directed inside.

The interior of the tent was much roomier than Shahar was expecting, which was a pleasant surprise; the tents he was used to being inside were much smaller, meant to shelter single individuals rather than an entire family. The entrance area was empty, save for a single young man throwing around some nuts. Blinking, Shahar tilted his head in vague bemusement to observe the activity––just as the man himself turned, caught sight of the hunter and lost control.

It took a few moments for the man to regain and deposit the nuts in a small pile of others, and then he was turning, bowing and offering a greeting with an oddly mirthless smile.

Polite greetings, Shahar replied, although there was a hint of confusion at the man’s question––what did he mean by “get him something?” Was he asking permission to get him something specific, or was he… nevermind. The emotion was wiped from his posture; Shahar knew better than to try and decode every strange custom the city-Drykas threw at him.

[Scand]

At the man's confusion, Scand quickly flitted his hands embarrassment, apology. "Are you thirsty or hungry?" He let his posture read as best he could for openness and a willingness to serve. It was a sign that wasn't incredibly common among the Drykas, but something he tended to fall into it easier than anything else. There wasn't much more else he was suited for other than simple errands or basic labor. Even then, he had a way of muddying things up with his ever present knack for making mistakes. He kept his eyes on the man however, appraising him with as soft a gaze as he could manage as his thoughts wrestled about his features and mannerisms.

He seemed uncomfortable, but not in the sense that the weather was too chilly or the tent wasn't to his liking. It was in his stiffness, though it was possible Scand was simply reading too far into it. He figured the man had ridden from where ever it was he'd been called from, and the drop in temperature was enough to make a trip that much longer. There was his posture too, a slouch to give the illusion he was shorter, even weaker than he was. He was a curious man, and his lack of words, while not necessarily uncommon to an extreme, was something he wasn't quite familiar with. His sisters spoke, always, and while they rarely spoke to him, their voices often filled the tent during the stillness of night, sharing their stories with the family, laughing and singing.

Giving the man a small nod, Scand stepped back to allow him into the main area of the tent. There were cushions arranged around a low, collapsible table with a bowl of nuts and dried berries casually set upon it. He gestured, not wanting to cause the man any more discomfort by continuing to drone on, welcome, warmth before taking a moment of retreat to fetch a pitcher of water and a wooden cup. When he returned, he knelt down onto one of the cushions, setting the cup on the table and filling it with the pitcher before setting it aside. Placing the now full cup before him, Scand gave the man a curious smile. "You are Shahar, yes?" While he had not given his name, Scand had been given his arrival's name to wait for. It was possible it wasn't him, but most of the signs pointed towards it.

He pulled a small handful of nuts and berries from the bowl, popping a few of them into his mouth while he absentmindedly played with the rest in his hand. He had the feeling the man before him, Shahar or not, would reply without speaking. There was a shyness about him, something that seemed odd for one who appeared as strong of arm and bright of eye as he did. Scand supposed to each their own, however. It was rare for a person to appear as they did for no reason at all. Often those who seemed the most contradictory did, in fact, make the most sense once they were better know. He figured he was something of the same. His short hair and weak physique paired with his juxtaposed reservation and openness were all a result of his decisions and values in life. Shahar - or not Shahar - was most likely something similar to that in that regard.

Pavi | Common

[Colt]

The man backtracked, offering apologies and clarifying his question. Food or water. Yes, that was what the city-dwellers offered to strangers, wasn’t it? Shahar responded with polite acquiescence, assuming that acceptance was the correct thing to say back. The man’s shoulders were open and… subservient? Was that what he was seeing? It was at least a willingness to be of service, something Shahar was more accustomed to seeing on shopkeepers than family members in their own home. Still, it was hardly the strangest thing Shahar had come across, and he said nothing on the matter.

He was allowed farther into the tent, where space and material had been arranged for simple comfort; there was a low table surrounded by cushions, and atop the table was a bowl of dry nuts and berries. The young man––presumably a Skycrown––gestured for Shahar to sit.

Shahar sat.

The Skycrown then left him to his own devices, venturing off into the deeper reaches of the pavilion and rusting about with whatever lay there. In short order he had returned with a pitcher of water and a cup. Kneeling, the Skycrown filled the cup ceremoniously and the slid it towards the hunter, who took it with gratitude and drank.

“You are Shahar, yes?”

I am “Shahar.” Even the simple two syllables were grating in his mouth, carried upon a voice that had grown rusty from infrequent use––although, as far as words went, his name was one of the easiest he found to say; it was spoken quietly because it was a quiet name, one that could almost be difficult to shout, and it didn’t hurt his throat like others did. He still wouldn’t volunteer his surname unless it was asked for, however. Having never been a conversationalist, he would be quite content to let silence stretch on for as long as the Skycrown did, body folded into waiting.

[Scand]

Not only did Shahar seem to exclusively use Grassland Sign, he seemed to do it so that he didn't have to speak at all. His voice was much quieter than Scand had thought it might be, and his soft whisper of his name caught his attention far more effectively than a shout ever could have. Everything about the man before him seemed to insist that he was little more than another blade of grass, bending beneath the winds of Zulrav's whim, yet still he could not hide his strength entirely. He wondered what could have made the man act in such a way, if it were a personal choice due to some fear of his own abilities, or if he had been humbled to the point where he no longer thought himself in the same light others may have seen him. He doubted the latter, pensively playing with a berry by rolling it around on his tongue in the confines of his closed lips. If Shahar doubted himself, he would not have agreed to accompany his sisters. His father would not have allowed it, nor would he have called for him.

So then it was, perhaps, something of the prior. In the silence that he assumed the man preferred by the slightly more relaxed posture and sip of water, Scand contented himself to solving the answers to his questions on his own. It seemed to make the man uncomfortable to speak, and while Scand could communicate with gestures alone, he wasn't very practiced in it. It felt unnatural to say something with only his hands or his body, like looking without seeing or drinking without swallowing. Thus, he was happy to chase about his own speculations rather than to pull Shahar into them, though he didn't think to curb the intensity of his stares.

Perhaps it was guise, and Shahar was something of a terrifying brute under a duplicitous nature of falsehood. It was an entertaining thought, the gentle man before him a terror in the wilds, roaring and bloodthirsty like a razorbeak rending apart its prey. A small shiver ran down his spine and he chewed on his lower lip, his handful of food having been already ingested. If Shahar were indeed that sort of animal, he doubted his social armor would have been so complete. His eyes would have belied him, and they were as gentle as the rest of him, reserved and cautious, certainly, but not in the terms of shielding some massively dark secret. There were the usual secrets, the small guarded things that everyone had, but Scand let his mind wander on to other possibilities.

He continued on for a while, his eyes flicking over different parts of Shahar's face and body as his mind weaved stories to explain each and everything about them. The silence between them was complete enough, the sounds of those outside the tent creating a dull throb of activity. When Scand realized how long he had been staring and with what open, searching interest, he pulled back some, moving his hands embarrassment, apologies, giving him a sheepish smile and letting his eyes fall to the table before him. He wasn't really sure what else he was supposed to do, and his sisters weren't supposed to be back from their preparations for a bell yet. Tapping his thigh with a thoughtful finger, Scand let his eyes roam about the room, looking for something that might spark an interesting, silent discussion. Letting his eyes land on a skin that was draped over a chest to the right of Shahar, he made a gesture of interest, followed by curiosity. Not practiced enough in speaking Pavi without his words, he did his best to communicate whether Shahar had hunted much before or not. He found it to be not quite as unnatural as he'd thought at first.

Pavi | Common

[Colt]

The Skycrown was staring at him.

Shahar shifted, uncomfortably aware of the intensity of the young man’s gaze; he was unused to being regarded with such close scrutiny, and he tried to avoid scrutinizing others in such a manner. He spent more hours of his day amongst beasts than he did humans, and beasts did not stare at each other––not unless they intended to fight. Or to mate. And Shahar was currently a guest in the Skycrown pavilion, which automatically put his companion at an advantage; Shahar wanted no conflict today, not so deep in Endrykas.

In the end, he just tried to avoid meeting the young man’s eyes, looking everywhere in the tent except at him. It didn’t matter where or what, he just needed to look at something. His body took on lines of discomfort, but he couldn’t openly tell the Skycrown to stop; that would be as good as stepping up to challenge him, and that was never a good thing to do. He just wanted his charges to arrive and get onto the grasslands.

Apparently, the Skycrown hadn’t even been aware of his behavior; the younger man lifted his stare, to Shahar’s great relief, signing sheepishly in apology and embarrassment. Shahar let out a breath and gathered himself, attempting to minimize his reaction; he didn’t want to offend. Not here, not today.

The Skycrown lowered his gaze to the table, allowing Shahar to start his own assessment. The man was sandy-haired and lean, made of cord and wire with little muscle or fat. His skin was tan, as could be expected from a Drykas, but held few flaws––the past had not left many scars upon the Skycrown’s body, which meant that he was either very skilled or did not encounter danger very often. Idly, Shahar wondered if this man was to accompany the hunting party; he bore no weapon, but that didn’t necessarily mean he couldn’t use one––Shahar didn’t wear his weapons in his own tent, either. He had little experience with the customs of larger pavilions.

The Skycrown’s gaze rose, and Shahar’s immediately fled. Staring was a double-edged sword; just as he didn’t like feeling challenged, neither did he want to give off the impression of a challenger by letting his eyes linger for too long.

But no, that was not what was on the Skycrown’s mind; the younger man was looking about the room, as Shahar had done earlier, until his eyes landed on something to Shahar’s right. He gestured curiously towards it, motions indicative of a question––Shahar turned and saw an animal skin, although nothing about it seemed unusual or out of place.

Turning back bemusedly, Shahar asked the Skycrown to elaborate. What about it?

[Scand]

Scand had taken little notice of Shahar's own appraisal of him. He was, in a sense, wrapped up in his own mind to take too much notice of those around him unless he put forth the effort to do so. Instead, he focused intently on Shahar's hands and body as he replied. In a way, he could hear the man's quiet whisper in the soft motion of his gestures, a curious sort of feeling, as he was fully aware the other man wasn't saying a peep. He hadn't offended, which was good, but he hadn't been able to get his point across very effectively. Scand wasn't much for telling stories with elaborate undertones as the most celebrated were able to do, but as he watched his guest speak, Scand formulated how he would respond.

In his head, he said the words, moving his hands in sync with his thoughts as he elaborated, a small smile of concentration curving his lips. Hunting is exciting which he gestured with a lack of experience in the actual act of it, Have you had exciting hunts? His smile turned more towards a frown as he thought, not wanting him to think he thought of hunting as sport purely. To hunt was to provide, and there was pride in that. Pride he had yet to experience. Dangerous hunts? His concern shone in both movement and face as he asked his question. Whether his sisters cared for him or not, they were part of his family, whatever that was worth. He was sure they would be fine, they were natural huntresses as well as inclined towards impressive physical feats. Even without Shahar they would be fine. Probably. But it didn't keep Scand from worrying.

He was not well loved or even liked, but they were things he accepted. It was the Drykas way, and he had gone against that way and continued to do so. He harbored no ill will towards his sisters, but his mind had a way of playing through scenarios in vivid detail. It was, if it could be counted as such, his gift: to perpetually exist between the what is and what could be. His father, even before he had stopped speaking to him, had thought it a waste of time, but Scand found it an escape, and a welcome one. There were times, however, when it was not so welcome. The gory mess of his sisters' bodies splayed across the grasses at the behest of glassbeaks wasn't something he found appealing in the least.

Pulling his attention away from his own thoughts, Scand set his eyes on the man in front of him. Having resolved himself to speak with as few words as possible to make thing most comfortable for his guest, Scand found the quiet bustle of the muted outside to be a soothing backdrop for their silent conversation. Picking out a few more berries from the bowl of food, Scand dropped them into his mouth as he waited for Shahar's reply, curiosity settling in as he began.

Pavi | Common

[Colt]

The man paused at Shahar’s question, and Shahar tilted his head quizzically. Was the pelt not in the Skycrown’s own pavilion? Surely he would know more about it than Shahar? Or was this another city-Drykas way of securing conversation, meant to banish the silence that so many seemed to fear?

The Skycrown clarified his question, not with words, to Shahar’s surprise, but with sign.

Hunting is exciting, his hands said, though they belied inexperience with the action itself. Have you had exciting hunts?

Again, Shahar was taken over by bemusement; hunting was not an activity it had ever occurred to him to be excited about––it was what it was, and he hunted to provide for his family. There was a type of excitement, he supposed, once one passed the initial stages of tracking and Webbing and prediction; there was alway a rush of adrenaline when he threw his javelins, yes, but once his prey was dead that energy trickled away. Hunting was, if anything, a game of patience and foresight, and much of the skill took place in the mind rather than the arm.

The Skycrown seemed unsatisfied with his own question, and he restated it: dangerous hunts?

That was an easier inquiry to answer; yes, Shahar said. Hunt always danger, some way, big or small. Small hunt, less danger, big hunt, less danger, but always danger.

[Scand]

Shahar's reply was, at first, confusing. Scand's eyes darted over the movements, watching them more closely than one might have in a regular conversation between two Pavi speakers. Usually, the movements were a half of a whole, supplementary to speech. He knew that in the wilds, when silence and stealth were required, it was common to communicate purely through sign. As the thought flicked through his mind, he wondered if Shahar used sign primarily due to having lived in the wilds himself. It was entertained for half a tick before Scand disregarded it. Whether Shahar was a wildling or not, he had a feeling that the man's reluctance to speak was something more than simply habit. Either way, Scand nodded as his watched the hunter speak, he took note how he did so.

As he had already learned from trying to exclusively sign himself, there weren't good ways to make fully structured sentences, but Shahar's intent filled in the the gaps. It was an easy, intimate form of speech, like their spirits were conversing rather than their bodies. Scand repeated the last bit, always danger, pulling in thoughtfulness as he frowned. It was a logical response, and it wasn't, he supposed, unexpected. He had held a small, barely formed thought that Shahar might dispel his worries. The hunter had, in a way. His statement that there was always danger in a hunt was easily translated into every day life. The Drykas were no strangers to hardship, and Scand was fully aware that life was as easily lost as it was lived. It didn't mean he enjoyed being reminded of it.

Instead of furthering his frown, Scand turned a soft smile to the man, the sombre shade of his eyes lingering on Shahar's own, curious but much more controlled on the front of intrusion. Danger, he began, chewing on his bottom lips as he though, playing the signs over in his head as the unspoken words played over them. More danger, your experience, pain? Immediately, Scand shook his head, feeling foolish for having asked something so personal of a man who was, effectively, a stranger. Not pain, power. You are strong? Nodding that he was happy to disregard his blunder if Shahar was, Scand finished, a posture of curiosity will still maintaining the poise of respect adjusting his shoulders some. Soft eyes, strong arms, why? His brow knit, the words moving quickly in his mind, Have strength, show strength.

The way the question was phrased had potential to be interpreted as aggressive, as Scand had gotten a bit excited about it. He didn't understand why a man with so much would work so hard to lessen it from what it was. It didn't offend him, per say, but Scand had never had the opportunity to make the choice. He had always been weak, always different enough that he never quite had the privilege. As he thought about it, however, his unconscious change in posture shifted back towards a more calm one. He had made choices that others didn't understand, that others thought to be the epitome of foolishness. Whatever Shahar's reasons, it wasn't Scand's place to questions him. He gave the man a small shake of his head, offering an apologies for his excitement.

Pavi | Common

[Colt]

The Skycrown echoed Shahar’s signs thoughtfully, pausing to contemplate and then settling his eyes on Shahar’s own. The unexpected visual contact immediately made Shahar uneasy, and he tried his best to avert his gaze.

Danger, said the Skycrown with a soft smile. More danger, your experience, pain? He immediately shook his head and backtracked before Shahar could respond, reiterating and redefining into Not pain, power. You are strong?

Pain power strong, Shahar reflected with another dose of bemusement. What is? Pain is in all people. Power, what kind? Strength, what kind?

It was rare for Shahar to be so open with… any stranger, really. Strangers had strange thoughts and strange customs, always talking and talking while somehow saying little. Spoken words would run on into infinity, and Shahar would always seem the strange one for not participating in meaningless speech. And whenever he asked after just why people talked so much, they would become insulted and refuse to answer his questions; the entire affair was exhausting and something Shahar had decided not worth the time a long while ago, and so he rarely spent time trying to understand––he simply went about his business as he pleased and let others to the same.

The Skycrown, though, was different. He wanted to know about Shahar. And where others in the past pressed and wrote him off as queer, the young man before him seemed quite curious to understand and even embrace what Shahar thought of this or that; his questions were almost refreshingly clear and unbiased, and he did not baulk at being asked to explain. He was someone Shahar did not at all mind being in a conversation with, and so Shahar was quite happy to offer nothing to apologize for, certainty.