Déjà Vu

[Rufio]

　　

20th WINTER 516av
the sea of grass, 12 bells

　　　　 Haze drifted lazily, shrouding the grassland. Rufio could taste the dew in the mist about her, enveloping her in its softness, closing her off from the world beyond, dampening sound and sight and making shadows out of the grasses and clumps of shrubs. Loha, her red-dun stallion, stood behind her, a comforting solidness in a land the mist had made unfamiliar.

　　　　　　　　　　　　His breath huffed and whuffed into the din. Rufio’s hemp sack rustled against her hide leggings as she brushed between the grasses that reached her hips. Dew drops seeped into the mustard dyed wool of her crocheted vest, and she was glad she wore her low, slouching leather boots for her forage. Chilly fingertips brushed at the evergreen leaves of a bramble bush, seeking juicy, ripe berries.

Finding the black fruit, the drykas woman plucked bunches as best she could without getting scratched by the prickly bramble thorns. Every now and then she’d hiss, and find a scratch etched into her soft, caramel skin. As she plucked and stowed the berries, her shaggy black hair fell into her freckled face, making her brow furrow. Loha’s black tail swished contentedly as he grazed.

　　　　　Her strider’s contentment seeped into her through their shared bond, that spiritual connection forged between woman and beast, and the story of their meeting etched into her arm in black ink markings. Rufio was not bothered by the fog. As she finished gathering her berries, she looked all around and saw the blurry shapes of shrubs and grass-tips ahead. “C’mon, Loha.” Her pavi called, and the stallion perked up his ears and head, nodding. He was ready to move on.

Settling her hemp sack a little farther along on her hip, adjusting the long strap that slung it over her shoulder, Rufio moved to the strider’s side, and laid her hands on his hide. With a smile, she felt the softness there, he had grown in his thick, red winter coat. Crouching at the knees, and arching her back, Rufio bore her weight downward into her core, before, with a heave, throwing herself upward and over Loha’s high back. Swinging a leg quite ungraciously over his rump, it took a tick for the drykas to find purchase and wriggle into the comfortable nook behind his withers.

　　　　The stallion stomped and snorted, and Rufio narrowed her eyes at the spot between his ears. Loha was always urging her to ride better. The drykas couldn’t blame the horse, she was sloppy. Pulling in her stomach, and lengthening her spine, the drykas elongated her legs down his flanks and raised her seat. Ready, listen it conveyed, and the stallion’s ears flicked back, listening.

　　　　　　“How do we pick our way through this?...” Rufio wondered aloud, a tinge of concern filtering into her calm mood. “Let’s go.” Her heels pressed into Loha’s flank, and the strider started off back the way she knew for certain they had come, her thighs squeezed gently for balance. Rufio was not worried, yet. The fog was thick, they could not see tent feet in front of them, and it was odd, but they would go slow, and find Endrykas soon if they stayed their course. They had not come far to forage.

　　　　　　　　　　　　 So she thought...

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　As the chimes dragged on, and, drykas and strider waded through the mist, worry began to seep in. It was quiet, so quiet. Not a breath from her patron god of storms. Not even Syna’s glorious light could filter in through the thick fog. Shapes loomed, unexpectedly, startling Rufio. A bush here, a lonely, stunted tree there. Twice Loha half-stumbled on a rock, or abruptly halted with ears pinned back, uncertain. “It’s just a fog, it will pass.” Rufio urged him on with a rock of her hips and a squeeze of her heels. The stallion snorted his disagreement as his hooves clomped.

As the chimes swung into a bell, Rufio began to resent the quiet. The mist seemed to congeal and thicken, muffling everything. Was it getting thicker? She couldn’t tell. A frown had settled within her freckles. Her lids grew heavy in the din, her gaze unfocused. It was hard to look, unable to see. The mist curled like smoke, swirling about Loha’s legs. Tendrils clung to Rufio’s thighs, her bag of berries, as if it was hungry, or curious of them.

Hazy fingers grasped at her bare arms, and a tendril of white mist brushed up her shoulder towards her face—it was the last straw. Rufio’s breath hitched and she twisted away from the touch. Pitter-patter-pitter-patter—her heart skittered against her ribs. Was she seeing things? The drykas put the disquieting paranoia away and bit back her anxiety and echoed herself “’s okay, Loha, it’s just fog.”

　　

[Rufio]

　　
1 bell later...


　　　　　　Rufio felt the edge of panic, grasping at her thoughts. The fog roiled about her and her stallion, who plodded along slowly, uncertainly. He kept stopping, hooves clomping this way and that as he backed up and then stepped forward again, indecisive. The half-drykas laid a hand reassuringly on his shoulder and leaned over to peer into his broad face, which swung this way, and that.

“Loha?” She murmured, afraid to speak louder, her heart skittered at the sound of her own voice. The strider grunted and nickered gently, as if he was shy of the noise too. His ears flicked incessantly and he tossed his nose fervently. When a drum-beat began, echoic and dull in the din. Loha whinnied, his voice shaky with his anxiety. Rufio felt her breath hitch, her heart thundered.
“Where is that?” She whispered with wide, fearful eyes.
　　　　　　The fog roiled passionately,
　　　　　　　　　　dancing with the drums.

When a low rumbling growl fell into the mists. The horse started, his hind pranced nervously, his hocks bent, his hind-quarters bunched and Rufio felt the mass of muscle beneath her, ready to lunge into a gallop. When a shape prowled amidst the swirling fog, circling, circling. Those low growls rumbling. Those drum-beats thrumming. Night-lion.

Rufio’s ochre orbs locked onto the feline, female. The inky fur stark against the white fog, which shrouded her gently, shifting away from her great claws as she set them softly upon Semele’s skin. Rufio could not see her silver eyes, or see the shape of her features in the sifting fog. Yet, something snuck in under her fear watching the lioness prowl around her and Loha. Something that made her heart crack, her throat swell.

“Ih-…Ixz…?”, her Shiber-tinged voice hushed. The lioness’ maw parted lightly, revealing pearly-yellow fangs and a growl reverberated into the drum-song. Rufio’s heart sank and hammered, all at once. She didn’t know if it was her kelvic sister. Tears pooled in her ochre orbs, and the lump in her throat burned. Loha snorted and raked the dirt with his fore-hoof threateningly. Rufio felt his tension quivering under her thighs in his warm, thick hide.

The lioness roared, and they startled. Loha brayed, nostrils flared, he lunged forward, kicking up dirt as he lashed out at the lioness with his hooves. Aggressive, protective, a warrior woken to his strider life. He had not gone down without a fight in his drykas life, and he would not again. Rufio cried out in surprise, and squeezed her thighs, her stomach, her hands gripped at his mane for balance.

Cease, stop Was her plea, but the stallion neighed and bore his weight into his hind, half-rearing to kick out his fore-hooves at the lioness. The feline hissed and arched her gloriously muscles shoulders, tail lashing out to her side, her nose crinkling and her silver eyes gripped Rufio’s. No, this was not Ixzo. Rufio realised, heart thundering.
　　　Thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum
　　　　　　the drums were beating;
　　　　　　　　rhythmic;
　　　　　　　　　　 tribal.
　　　　　　　　　　Red strider stallion snorting and tossing his black mane and throwing out his hooves. Night lion snarling and hissing, and lashed out with a mammoth claw, raking at the edges of his show, silver eyes slithers of menace bent on her prey. Drykas clinging to her horse, nothing but a prayer shaped wordlessly in the silent-cry shape of her lips.

　　　　 When the drum-beat ceased,
　　　　　　the lioness vanished.
　　　　　　　　　　Strider and drykas were left standing in the fog, ebbing and flowing like an ocean about them.

　　　　　　　　 Quiet hushed again.
　　

[Rufio]

　　

1 bell wore on...

　　　　 It took a while for Rufio and Loha to calm after the lioness vanished into the mists. Every few strides, Rufio felt her freckled skin prickle, the hairs on her arms lift and a flutter in her belly. Loha seemed to have been left with his nerves on edge, too. His ears twitched incessantly, his breaths huffed loudly, his hide trembled, barely containing his flight instinct.

Rufio kept her thighs neat against his sides, her muscles tensed, her core pulled in and her hands upon his shoulders either side of his thick, arched neck. Listen to me, Loha, her signals reminded him, asking him to trust in her. She knew they could not just take off into the grasses in the fog, even if her heart rattled against her ribs and her own fear licked at her thoughts. Eventually, though, the looming shadows seemed like nothing but that, just shadows, shapes, inanimate, silent and uninteresting. The night lion had vanished, melted into the mist.

Rufio felt a pang at that, oddly. The sight had reminded her of Ixzo. She is gone, and past is past… The half-drykas chided herself. The dead wake to a new life. Her chest ached, though, a thorn of grief lay in between her bones, lodged in the flesh there, where she refused to inspect it, and do the work to pluck it out. Every time her heart beat, it throbbed. Grief was known to her. Grief is the brother of love, her mother had once told her. The shiber still murmured in her mother’s voice.

Rufio’s hands rubbed Loha’s shoulders just below his withers, massaging the muscles tightly knotted there. “We’ll be alright, Lo.” She thought about stopping. Maybe they could sit in the grasses and huddle for warmth, wait out the mysterious fog. Her ochre orbs flickered in the dreamy light as she cast a furtive glance over her shoulder. The fog rose in waves, undulating in their tracks. It urged them on, that’s it, keep going, keep going.

　　　　　　　　　　　　Rufio almost cried out in alarm, when Loha halted abruptly, jerking her attention back the way they were going. Fog, all around. In the mist, though, a shadow wandered. Rufio’s brow furrowed as she squinted her eyes, trying to discern it. It looked to be a tree to her. “Loha, on.” She urged him to keep moving, a fearful prickle at her spine for the sight she had seen behind them. The stallion did not move. Rufio sighed, stubborn as he was brave. “Loha?” The stallion was staring straight ahead, ears pressed towards the shadow.

　　　　Rufio knew better than to ignore his instincts, which were better than his rider’s. She looked ahead, and waited patiently, fearfully, for the fog to sway just so, to see a little. When it did, her heart leapt. A man, a person, a human, another living soul! It was a man wandering in the fog. Zulrav and Caiyha and Yahal be praised! She could have kissed every one of their godly faces in thankful relief. “Hai!” Rufio called out, cupping her lips with her hands to carry her voice against the dampening fog. “Hai, hai!” Her heart thundered, relief seeping in where fear was loosening its hold. They were not alone.

　　　　　　　　　　They must be close to the city by now and they would soon be home—be safe—within the warm tent of her pavilion. Rufio would tell her family of her strange stand-off with the night-lion. Lodai would call her a story-teller, or boast about charging out to spear the lion on his blade. Jasmine and Taurina would be worried, and be a comfort. She would ask Haena for a tea to settle her nerves, and watch the children’s faces, finding equals in her excitement as she told her story. Azmere—she smiled—he would worry and he would be quiet, and he would say something wise that would ripple into the family like a wind across the grasses.

　　　Her family, not by blood, but by spirit and heart.

　　　　　　　　　　　　The stranger would be welcome to the hearth, and share stories of his own, she was sure. She urged Loha on towards the man but the stallion would not be moved. “Loha we must meet him, what if he is hurt or lost as we?” She chastised him, but the stallion grunted and snorted. With a hiss, Rufio swung a leg over his withers and slid with a dull thud to the ground. “Alright, I’ll go.” follow close bid her grass-sign. The strider peered at her sideways, reluctant.

Rufio paid him no heed and strode through the mist towards the wandering man. Yet, as she drew closer, some sense of unease settled in her, some flurry of instinct in her belly. “Hai, drykas?” Her voice persisted though the sound was dull in the heavy air, and breathless she realised with surprise. Curiosity and confusion congealed with her fear. The man did not turn, but as Rufio drew within a handful of paces, she recognised him, by the tattoos etched into his shoulders.

　　　　　　　　 A lion inked in stark black.

The muss of dark hair and the frame of his shoulders, the sense of pride and enduring, as if he held the weight of the grass-sea on his shoulders, emanating off him. Rufio knew the man, though she had not seen him in two Winters. “Dravite-” Her whisper breathless grief, and longing. Rufio had paused in her moment of surprises, and took up a few more strides towards the man. “Dravite, what are you do-...” Her question lingered, unfinished, uncertain.

Dravite he was, but he did not hear her. He was wandering, stumbling a little, like in a drunk beyond his senses. Somehow, this felt familiar. Rufio felt an unsettling déjà vu. There was once before she had followed the Blackwater ankal into the sea of grass as he wandered in a drugged daze. The memory seemed far away and hazy, floating half-submerged in the pond of her mind. No matter how she stretched, trying to reach it from the edges, it drifted just out of reach.

She resisted the urge to call his name again, instead she took to following him, as she had before on that hot, unusual day. Vaguely she was aware of the dull thuds of Loha’s hooves as he went with her. The grasses brushed against her thighs, tickling at her hips and her arms as she waded through. Her brow was furrowed and a sadness had crept into her freckles. Why she felt sad, she didn’t know. Uneasy curiosity licked at her as she followed the wanderer—wanderer, herself.
　　

[Rufio]

　　
　　　　　　　　　　　　 As they walked in silence, the fog’s rolling, ebbing flow seemed to pick up energy, it danced about them, around them. Like dolphins leaping and bounding in the current of some salty ocean. Rufio felt a headache settle in the back of her head and the dreary, blurry vision from before. She kept up with the staggering ankal, though. It was strange. She felt the warmth of his skin as if they did not walk in the damp Winter but in the Summer. Whenever she braved a glance at him, he was lit with a golden glow, yet when she looked up, Syna was still hidden.
Stranger, and stranger.

Loha’s hooves were a comforting rhythm behind her, and she could feel his large presence within her reach if something were to happen. Yet, Rufio did not feel in danger, not as he had all this strange afternoon. She glanced again at this strange man she knew. Was it Dravite? The thought chimed in, then came the splash of doubt. Was this fog real? Was it dancing about them? Like a happy, clapping nuisance, finally getting its way. Was this a dream? Rufio tried to remember what she was doing before the fog rolled in, and could not. Her head hurt.

With a heavy sigh, she looked down as the grasses gave way to stunted scrub. When her ochre gaze alighted on her hands, drifting lazily by her sides. Her fingers were stained in red. A quiet gasp fell off her lips and she raised her hands to inspect them. Confusion played in the shadows of her features as a sticky, sweet smell greeted her senses. Berries.

She had been picking berries. As if wakening a little from a sleep, Rufio felt renewed energy ripple through her. Her thoughts stirred and became less clouded. She shook away the daze, though it lingered, turned from the wanderer leading them across a rocky patch of steppe, her boots scraping on loose gravel as she scuffed her feet back towards her horse. She had had enough of this fog, and seeing things, and strangeness. It was time to go home. A sudden, unbidden frustration bubbled into her then.

As she laid her hands on Loha’s side, she made to turn to tell Dravite she would wander no more, When she was caught with surprise; the fog had lifted a little. In the hazy sphere stood Dravite, and he was standing in front of a dark, spiny, foliage-less tree. Rufio’s breath caught in her throat, it looked like those she had encountered in Wanah’ite, where she had found her strider tangled in thorns and mud. Her heart hammered, and she turned her gaze all about, half expecting wolves and swamp daemons to melt out of the mist, as they had that fateful night.

But it was just her, Loha, Dravite and the tree. Rufio’s breaths came hard. It felt like she had come to a confrontation. “Dravite, what is this place?” She asked, some instinct telling her that he had awoken, that he would answer her this time. Was it Dravite—was it a dream? The Blackwater ankal turned slowly, his feet were bare—Rufio just noticed now—and his face was soft with a smile. He looked well, he looked contented. Rufio thought, and her fear ebbed a little, as did her grief.

A few quiet chimes stretched between them…until —“Ru.” His baritone, gentle like a fast river grating over stones and making them smooth in its roaming currents, fell into the clearing. Rufio’s breath was racing, her heart too. She took her hands slowly from Loha’s sides, and somewhere in her awareness recognised that he was calm and breathing deeply. “Y-yes.” Her voice was even, even though she stuttered. His smile deepened with an almost-chuckle, and his gaze dropped to Rufio’s hands. When she looked down, she was holding a tarot card.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 The Two of Cups. A man, a woman, unified by the sharing of cups, and a lion overseeing their union. Unified love, passion, relationships were its meanings. Not just romantic in its suggestions, but, self-love and union of all the pieces that make up a person—to be whole.

A smile lit her freckles, while a blush touched her cheeks, and fondness twinkled in her eyes. She remembered the day that she had met Dravite, finally reaching the memories. She had read Dravite’s fortune, and he, at the end of a mysterious session, had picked a card for her. Unconsciously her fingertips brushed a button that she wore on a leather choker around her neck. The button he had left her too, and she had kept it. A talisman of sorts to remind her that those who disappear—her father, her mother, Dravite, her ancestors—are not forgotten.

Sweet burning scents overwhelmed her senses, and a sedate, happy haze seeped into her, as if she had been drinking ale, music still thumping in her veins. A thundering of hooves took her vision to the Sea of Grass, where the wild horses were galloping all around, circling their little clearing, figures stood amid the herd, her father and grandfather with them.

　　　　Her Wildmane ancestors.

　　　　　　　　So caught up was Rufio, she did not notice that the tarot card melted into mist in her hands. She did not notice the worn leather of her necklace finally give and the button land softly on the ground, or that with the card, so did Dravite vanish and become fog. As she turned towards Loha, he nickered gently, relaxed and at ease among his kind. When he turned his head to watch the herd, Rufio noticed something tangled in his thick, charcoal-hued mane.

With deft hands, she undid the knots and revealed a small, carved figurine of a lion, and below that a circular piece of flat gold with its centre missing. It was then that realisation struck her, like Zulrav’s lightning did Semele in their moments of passion, as she held the trinkets in her hands. This, what was happening all around her, she had seen in a vision before, gifted by Caiyha.

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　　Rufio looked up towards the tree, where Dravite had stood and found he was not there anymore. A tick of disappointment flickered in her, before it faded and she let the longing go. May you find a new life. Her lips murmured the prayer, though she kept the words to herself. Her heart lifted then, with an idea. If she was saying goodbyes...

　　

[Rufio]

　　
　　　　 Semele was sodden with Winter’s cool caress as Rufio knelt by the roots of the otherworldly tree and dug out an impression with her hands. Feeling the soft dirt sift between her fingers and breathing deeply in the rich, heavy scent soothed her. Her headache still throbbed dully, but less insistent. The horses still thundered around them, they shook the earth. It made Rufio smile. Semele had a beat, like all things, if you just listened.

　　　　Wasn’t that something her father had once said? That thorn in between her bones pinched, and she felt the liquid of her heart well up in her, threatening to spill from her eyes. But Rufio heard the scrape of sandals against the rock, and even heard the wind catching in billowing skirts. She laughed, and it was a derisive noise. This was not real, she sensed, though the thought was distant. Tendrils of fog crept up the slope the tree clung to and wafted about her. She shrugged them off, wafted them away with the irritated wave of a hand, leave me now, but they persisted, and drew her back into their embrace.

　　　　　　　　　　　　“Ru,” It was her mother, she knew before the voice wove into her and tugged her to look round towards the grasses. Tears spilled, then. Her greatest hurt, the biggest, deepest thorn ached. “Mama.” Rufio whispered, voice cracking just a little, choked by the fog.

A diminutive benshira woman stood, hands clasped by her faded blue skirts, whisps of her black hair escaping the shawl draped around her head and her face. Azure eyes watched her, touched with an exotic glow set within deep, dusky features, like an oasis’ waters shimmering in the desert dunes. They were smiling at her. Rufio felt words she never got the chance to say stuck in her throat, could not get them out. When she saw her mother’s quiet posture, she realised there would be no palaver with her in this foggy dream. Her lips pressed closed, and she smiled, tearfully.

　　　　　　　　When her mother’s gaze fell to the lion figurine and the strange coin in her hands, Rufio looked down and realised there was a decision set there. Hesitant ticks drifted by, the thundering growing quieter as the wild horses slowed to a standstill. Rufio looked at the lion figurine, and smiled. She looked at the coin, and puzzled over it. She looked at the dirt, and wondered whether to bury both. Loha, forgotten for a tick, clomped over to her, and lowered his head to peer at the items.

He grunted and rose his head, tossing his mane. Decide now. Rufio sighed at his impatience. When she looked up at him, it was then she noticed her mother’s journal peeking out of the nearly-empty yvas bags strapped to him. The tattered corner seemed to chide her. She felt guilt spark, she had not touched her mother’s journal in an age. Rufio felt guilty that she did not want to become a herbalist, as her mother had been, as her mother had taught her.

　　　　　　　　“Mama, I’m sorry. I must find my own way, now.” She murmured quietly, decisively. The half-drykas pocketed the lion carving and the odd coin, and rose to reach into the yvas bags. Without letting herself pause to think, she lifted out the book, and knelt. She laid it in the hollow she had made and found it fit just right. Something then made her hesitate, her hands quivered.

Rufio looked back at her mother, who was still standing where she watched, fog wreathing around her slender frame. Rufio felt she should say something else, but she need not. Her mother bowed her head and there was a knowing twinkle in those iridescent eyes. Rufio smiled, felt her mother’s approval warm her. She buried the book. Laying flat hands over the fresh dirt, Rufio closed her eyes, and let shiber tumble off her lips without tears or sorrow, I love you.

　　　　With that, she stood, and when she turned, her mother nodded at her gently, before she gestured to the tree, and made a scraping motion with her hands. Rufio glanced at it, and studied the dry, cracked bark a tick. When she looked round to ask her mother for clarification, the benshiran woman had vanished. The wild horses had all stopped, watching her, as if waiting for her.

Without really knowing why she did, Rufio took a sharp, angular rock from the ground and began to chip away at the skeleton tree. With grunting of effort and losing some skin off her knuckles and fingers with a stinging hiss, Rufio pried some of the rough, black bark free. Taking these chips, she settled them in her hemp bag, along with the berries.

The fog had thickened and nearly obscured the herd while she had worked, so when cast her vision their way, they were ghostly shadows. Rufio took a deep breath, and, grabbing a handful of Loha’s thick mane, mounted and settled herself where she felt she belonged. The wild horses, which had stood eerily silent for now, kicked up their hooves and began to thunder all around. They faded into the fog, until their hooves ebbed into a drum-beat. Thrum-thrum thrum-thrum.

　　　　　　　　　　　　A low growl rumbled amidst the drums, and Rufio and Loha startled. The lioness? Rufio’s heart thundered, and she strained to peer through the thick white swirls. Seeking the sleek shape and the inky fur. There, a black feline shadow melted into sight, prowling across the rocks. Rufio’s breath hitched and her hand took to grasp the lion figurine in her pocket. The lioness planted her great paws on the rocks jutting egde, and lifted her head proudly into the fog.

She roared, gloriously, and Rufio felt it rumble in her bones.

　　　　　　　　The lioness leapt off the edge of her jagged perch, and vanished. Leaving Rufio alone, with Loha, standing in the fog, hearts hammering and breath coming ragged. It was not in fear this time, though. That lioness, that had been her Ixzo. Her bones knew that majestic voice anywhere...

　　　　　　　　　　　　　　 As if the fog had finished with her, its roiling receded. It dissipated slowly, into a light mist. Syna filtered in, and chased away the reluctant tendrils that clung to the rocks and the grasses. When Rufio turned to look up at the tree, it was gone. Twenty yards behind her and her strider, stood the tented city. Sleepy and grey as the fog faded, and Rufio's headache faded with it. Lingering, though, was the dull throb between her ribs, and the thundering of her heart as the lioness' roar rang in her ears. Something felt unsettled within her, that thorn, it had dislodged a little. Although she did not hear the words again, they etched themselves into her bones, along with a deep and seductive curiosity— what did this vision foretell?

The Sea of Grass stretched out before her, vast and dangerous, and full of all that she had lost.

　　

[Samuel Longwell]

Grading Complete Please edit your grade request thread so that it's obvious that it's been graded. Feel free to PM me if you have any questions/problems with your grade. Name: Rufio XP Award: Wilderness Survival 2 Foraging 1 Riding 3 Horsemanship 3 Philosophy 1 Observation 4 Lore: Foraging: Appearance of a bramble bush Loha: Protective warrior Grief is the brother of love The fulfilment of a vision with the appearance of another. Notes: This was a really enjoyable read, your descriptions were very immersive. Enjoy your grades.