5th of winter, 515 a.v
mid morning
Syna was well into her morning climb, setting the recent snowfall on fire with glittering lights and twinkling rainbows through the ice. There was a hint of warmth to be found in her gaze, although it was superficial at best; the winter wind never ceased, breathing through the brittle brown grass and rattling it like an instrument that never ended. What creatures were out and about took advantage of the warmth, smelling fouler weather on the horizon and scrounging around for food while there was still clear air to scrounge in.
It was this scene that bore Shahar Dawnwhisper within sighting distance of Endrykas. The tents pierced the horizon, stubborn against the snow, and beckoned him closer, even while the grasses beckoned him to stay outside, with the plants and the animals and the wild things. They had a name for him now, all those wild things, a name in Nura that he didn’t know could ever be spoken in Pavi. They called him big brother, although that wasn’t quite it; there were also overtones of guardian and caretaker, although in Nura a word could be all of those things, and at the same time be none of them.
Amongst the Drykas, the word was known only as ‘Witch,’ which was a word that couldn’t even come close to describing the meaning.
Recognition, home. Akaidras’ feelings came through Shahar’s fingers on his neck, tempered by relief. His strider was more open with emotions than most creatures, apparently quite at ease with his rider’s new ability to communicate; it meant that Shahar would be able to hear a desire for scratching, or hear which hoof had a rock in it, or hear when he wanted treats. Akaidras had a different name for him, a more direct combination of partner, rider and sibling. Not that he needed to use it very often; the stallion had always been remarkably skilled at demanding specific things from Shahar, and now, on their way home, Nura only added images.
Not for the first time, Shahar found himself thanking the fact that the Dawnwhispers lived on the outskirts of the city. It made crowds something he could avoid, and conversation with strangers minimal.
What he was thankful for right now, however, was their shortage of neighbors.
To say that the man was disheveled would have been a vast understatement. He wasn’t disheveled; he was a mess. He had begun his journey wrapped up in winter clothes, long sleeves and a cloak, relatively clean in the grand scheme of Drykas hygiene. But upon his return, he looked as if he had walked through a disaster. A disaster with a large amount of death.
First and foremost, Shahar was splattered in no small amount of blood. It crusted the sleeves of his shirt, was splattered generously about his chest and neck and even stained his knees. It was in his hair and on his chin, spread in the pattern of the human hands and fingers that had put it there.
On his face there were three parallel scratches, red and angry, from his forehead to his cheek where the portly Roland had attempted to thumb out his eyes. His left eye hurt to blink, as one of Roland’s nails had scraped over the lid, but he could manage that pain well enough.
Not only was Shahar scratched and bloody, but he was also covered in a layer of ash. It was less prominent that the blood, but it was still there––as were the singe marks on the hem of his cloak.
Shahar was very glad no one outside the family had to see him before he got the chance to clean up.
He entered the camp from the far side, just as if he was returning from his morning trapping. He dismounted just within the boundaries, and despite himself, he hoped that he could make it in quietly––a hope that was shattered by a piercing cry of joy, preceding a spotted tawny blur that flashed out from under the wagon and made straight for the returning hunter.
Joy you return relief together happy love! Tuka’s eyes were screaming as she threw herself into Shahar’s arms. He grunted in pain as his shoulder was aggravated, Tuka didn’t notice; his absence had not been kind to her, and she didn’t care about Snow’s startled barking or Akaidras’ affronted whinny; her human was home, and anyone within earshot would hear it, too.
mid morning
Syna was well into her morning climb, setting the recent snowfall on fire with glittering lights and twinkling rainbows through the ice. There was a hint of warmth to be found in her gaze, although it was superficial at best; the winter wind never ceased, breathing through the brittle brown grass and rattling it like an instrument that never ended. What creatures were out and about took advantage of the warmth, smelling fouler weather on the horizon and scrounging around for food while there was still clear air to scrounge in.
It was this scene that bore Shahar Dawnwhisper within sighting distance of Endrykas. The tents pierced the horizon, stubborn against the snow, and beckoned him closer, even while the grasses beckoned him to stay outside, with the plants and the animals and the wild things. They had a name for him now, all those wild things, a name in Nura that he didn’t know could ever be spoken in Pavi. They called him big brother, although that wasn’t quite it; there were also overtones of guardian and caretaker, although in Nura a word could be all of those things, and at the same time be none of them.
Amongst the Drykas, the word was known only as ‘Witch,’ which was a word that couldn’t even come close to describing the meaning.
Recognition, home. Akaidras’ feelings came through Shahar’s fingers on his neck, tempered by relief. His strider was more open with emotions than most creatures, apparently quite at ease with his rider’s new ability to communicate; it meant that Shahar would be able to hear a desire for scratching, or hear which hoof had a rock in it, or hear when he wanted treats. Akaidras had a different name for him, a more direct combination of partner, rider and sibling. Not that he needed to use it very often; the stallion had always been remarkably skilled at demanding specific things from Shahar, and now, on their way home, Nura only added images.
Not for the first time, Shahar found himself thanking the fact that the Dawnwhispers lived on the outskirts of the city. It made crowds something he could avoid, and conversation with strangers minimal.
What he was thankful for right now, however, was their shortage of neighbors.
To say that the man was disheveled would have been a vast understatement. He wasn’t disheveled; he was a mess. He had begun his journey wrapped up in winter clothes, long sleeves and a cloak, relatively clean in the grand scheme of Drykas hygiene. But upon his return, he looked as if he had walked through a disaster. A disaster with a large amount of death.
First and foremost, Shahar was splattered in no small amount of blood. It crusted the sleeves of his shirt, was splattered generously about his chest and neck and even stained his knees. It was in his hair and on his chin, spread in the pattern of the human hands and fingers that had put it there.
On his face there were three parallel scratches, red and angry, from his forehead to his cheek where the portly Roland had attempted to thumb out his eyes. His left eye hurt to blink, as one of Roland’s nails had scraped over the lid, but he could manage that pain well enough.
Not only was Shahar scratched and bloody, but he was also covered in a layer of ash. It was less prominent that the blood, but it was still there––as were the singe marks on the hem of his cloak.
Shahar was very glad no one outside the family had to see him before he got the chance to clean up.
He entered the camp from the far side, just as if he was returning from his morning trapping. He dismounted just within the boundaries, and despite himself, he hoped that he could make it in quietly––a hope that was shattered by a piercing cry of joy, preceding a spotted tawny blur that flashed out from under the wagon and made straight for the returning hunter.
Joy you return relief together happy love! Tuka’s eyes were screaming as she threw herself into Shahar’s arms. He grunted in pain as his shoulder was aggravated, Tuka didn’t notice; his absence had not been kind to her, and she didn’t care about Snow’s startled barking or Akaidras’ affronted whinny; her human was home, and anyone within earshot would hear it, too.