Denied Surprises [Open]

[Kadarus]

73rd Day of Winter, 509 AV
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Tag: Render

A warm bead of sweat slid down Kadarus Lagh'ratham's cheek, the tickle of its descent unnoticed in his savage focus. He lifted his arm towards the form of Syna, blushing deep red in the coming dusk, the limb shaking in anticipation, his fingers white and bloodless wrapped around an apple sized stone, his grip like cold, wrought iron. Like the incensed beast inside of him, an eyeblink away, his lips were pulled back from his teeth in a menacing grimace, his eyes wide and wild, stinging from sweat that had fallen into them. His eyes, usually golden and calm, were red, an all too appropriate color of madness. With a hiss of breath, he swung the stone done with all the strength he could muster...

The tent pole shuddered under the blow, vibrating in the hand that sought to hold it stil. The stake sunk deeper into the soil, and without a hint of pause to catch his breath, Kadarus hoisted the stone into the air, then brought it back down with another heavy thud. Again, he brought the rock crashing down, then allowed it to simply tumble out of his numb hand, wrapping his other around the head of the tent pole. He tugged on it, and seeming satisfied, tied a secure knot around its thick body, taking longer than usual with fumbling fingers. Sighing, he settled back on his knees, staring at the dirt he'd just peirced.

The dull, muffled roar of voices swarmed in his ears from behind him. He supposed there were safety in numbers, and for once in quite some time, he was not up to taking the risk of sleeping alone, entrenched in the heart of the wilderness. Digging a rag from his pocket, the hunter wiped at his burning eyes, then stared aty the others of his shoulder. A loose caravan, if one wanted to put it in a term, the motley collection of people were locales scattered across the world, all going to different, new places, all banded together, for the time, with one goal in mind; safetly. Some would leave as they travelled, and new faces would emerge, most times unannounced. His gaze swept over them, studying them vaguely - most of the crowd was human. He knew none of their names, spoke only to them if he needed something he didn't have. These days, that meant food or medicine.

Astoiredea's stomach had begun to swell. He did not dote on her constantly, though; most often, he excused himself through chores, watching her cautiously. It had happened before, a pregnancy, and she had told him the child was his...until the children had come into the world, full blooded zith. He had been too foolish, too naive in the slave pits to clutch to some small glimmer of hope. Not to mention, the word about zith pregnancies was quite varied - some said it was possible, others suggested they were sterile to other races.

Still, when she was cold, he brought her warmth, when she was ill, he found herbs to calm her stomach. The son of a farmer had joined the collection of travellers some days ago, taking animals to market. Kadarus had bought her a piglet when she complained of hunger, stripping it the bone and turning on the skeleton to devour the marrow. He did not deny her anything, but there was a certain disattachment to the hunter, when compared to past affections.

Kadarus didn't move from his spot on the ground. Astoiredea lay in the tent, napping, having escaped into it before it was completely put up. The travellers roamed about behind him, talking to one another, but he stayed in his own strange little word, silently rolling a fresh cigarette, wordlessly reaching for the skin of wine.

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She laid within the covering although the state she laid was hardly what one would call sleep. Astoirdea laid upon her side curled slightly, protectively over the domed flesh of her stomach. Rarely did a zith sleep on their back, the wings and the feeling of being pinned did not make the position too comfortable least one was greatly wounded. Yet the life and firming of her stomach made sleeping sprawled impossible.

It seemed on her own the zith reveled in her pregnancy . Every flutter of moment, or ungainly wobble as she adjusted desperately to not only the learned skill of walking, but to travel and walk so long and far with her rapidly growing and shifting weight. Kadarus… was behaving strangely. As if the male expected her to lash out and seek to devour him. It was not that he carried the scent of aggravation, like the anger and anticipation he held before a hunt. Those emotions that made his blood run hot were familiar, and kindred. Yet this scent, this strangeness, was too much akin to regarding a great aged boar alone, or a forest cat near its den. It was a distant, weariness.

It was something unexpected and strange. It left her feeling, adrift. Like waking at the base of the colony, the area reserved for the dead, unable to drag herself forward, unable to bear being lifted. She could not answer her daughter’s calls, or her mother’s urgings. It had been a feeling, akin to death, being broken, alone, and not feeling right when all went away. The female was not found of this, feeling. She could not put it to words, could not give voice to what agitated her, for she could not give word or gasp what was agitating her mate that made him act so weary. Or why the caution made her think of times of pain.

The striking of the rock and the noise it made within his hand ended, and while the covering shook, he did not enter, and for a moment she laid there. The ill feeling in her stomach that made food hard to hold down, she did not recall it being so bad. It made hunting hard enough without her own physical impairment. Were she alone… she would not allow herself to starve. But she would not be feeding as well until the illness passed, and with winter fast approaching… Sitting up the zith touched her clawed nails to the goggles upon her head, even within the tent the female wore protection from the light of the setting sun. The eyewear firmly upon her face she moved slowly to the entrance of tent to gaze out.

It was a common misconception that the hair of the zith was black. While often see in a cowl or at night, and indeed the silky fur that covered her skin was dark in color, the strands that flowed from her head was the color of the bleeding orb in the sky, dying from its work during the day, fleeing to rest and give birth to the night. Red hair glinted in the evening light before the body emerged from the tent the familiar scent of kelvic and smoke gave little need to search for one with her eyes when her nose found him easily. The others that milled around in the distance were o no importance and were to be thankful the pregnant zith paid them little attention. They were not to be food, and Astoirdea alone could not enslave them, why the urge came to mind was not pondered upon, but simply written off due to the lack of caves. Still, they were safe, and they were fortunate, not for her kindness or sense of comradeship, but to her chosen. He chose to bring her food rather than she herself hunting, and he tended to bring her, smaller creatures, their taste were not similar at all, but food, was food and kept her strong and the child she carried stirring.

The female did not speak as she moved near the kelvic, cloak and protective stance hid slightly the protrusion of her diminutive form. Sitting upon chilled grass a breath came from the woman, and fingers rose to touch her goggles, working the edges of her gift as her eyes scanned the humans that surrounded them. It was unsettling to be around so many. IT was not the first time, her months within Sunberth could attest to that, but now, she did not care for I, did not like it and could not think of a reason why, or to search for one, it simply was, she ignored them or was agitated by their presence but this matter as well as not mentioned.

“When will we hunt again Kadarus?”

[Kadarus]

Kadarus turned his head slightly to follow her glance at the rest of the motley caravan. He knew well her aversion to mankind, knew well that she preferred only his company, and begrudgingly tolerated Finn. He was more comfortable with the presence of the others - but only slightly so. He knew some of them were hunters as he was, and it was no secret that the blood red pelt of his more savage person would fetch quite a price at a trader's outpost. And they knew, unlike the others, that he was much more than he seemed; his gold eyes flashed in the reflecting light of the sun before he turned away from them, taking a long drag from his cigarette as his mate drew close, crouching down in the grass beside him.

"We'll hunt again when we have left the company of the others. While I do not worry for our safety in the slightest - there are none that could fell us, here - I am more worried for them. It has been a long time since we felt the thrill of a hunt. I don't think either of us would be able to...be very rational." He smiled at her wearily, flicking the coal off the end of his cigarette, and setting it aside for later. Reaching out, he gently clutched her hips and pulled her closer, urging her to sit and lean into his lap. One of his hands settled gingerly on the swell of her stomach, and he kissed her on the top of the head. The old memory, that had visited him as often in his sleep as it did in his waking hours, drove a dagger of pain and sorrow into him, but he struggled to fight it off. He had taken too much stock into the rumors of the impossible cross breeding of the zith...but, the akalak only ever produced akalak...

Thankfully, they were left alone, ignored. Finn had vanished into the tents and fire circles hours ago, the sociable little thing she was, and by one of graces of one of the many gods, she had not come back in some time. Being near her still hurt, and while he knew that it was all in his head, the scar she'd carved long ago on the back of his neck burned when she was close like this. Kadarus lowered his head, feeling the sting creep up the back of his neck, and laid his forehead on her shoulder. She was warm and content, as he made sure she was, and a part of him still enoyed it; working in the cold had stolen away his heat. "Did you take the herbs today? And did you rub the balm on your knees and ankles? I know with the extra weight, your legs have been hurting."

Kadarus lifted his head, and looked up towards the sky, turning a cold shade of dark blue as the minutes ticked away. He was worrying, doting on her and he knew it, but he was dancing around the big issue. The worry that gnawed away at him like a cancer, making him weak, seeking to break his resolve. He pressed his lips into a hard, expressionless line, fighting with himself. "Astoiredea..." He hesitated, breathiong warm breaths against her ear, his hand slowly massaging her stomach in a circular motion. "I was...uhm...wondering. If you think....that...well...maybe I'm....what I'm trying to ask is...is..." A hard knot formed in his stomach, and he winced at the stress induced cramp, struggling against his instincts to continue.

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Such a mystery, males were. Maybe it was something to do with her mate not being entirely human nor beast, maybe it had simply to do with her mate, being her mate. He held her apart as if worried and weary, or like now he enjoyed her company, and reached out to the presence that grew and was as tangible even though they yet had a face or a scent for the young. These moments, despite her hunger brought her a feeling of warmth she liked, like laying amid the cloth cavern Kadarus would build and have the scent of her mate permeate the enclosure. He would return to this place, for this place and she would be there welcomed. It was a nice feeling, strange as well, like enjoying the morning light although she did her best to hide from it, for it warmed the ‘tent’, almost as if they were not bare and exposed on the ground.

They were not going to go hunting soon, the knowledge of it was not pleasing, but her condition tempered her impulses, it’s one thing to go hunting for hunger demands it, another with the hunter is soon to be the hunted. The zith’s pride still burned at the thought of being forced away from a wonderful pride of sows, by their tusk bearing mate. So weighted she was, with a protective need she was forced away, to abandon her hunt and instead forced to flee. It was a woeful time, to come back to camp, not bloodied, and the energy she expanded only served to make her hunger grow. Colony or not, if a zith could not hunt, they may not die, but how could they consider their selves a zith, to eat only the food that walked the cavern routes, or was provided for you?

She had walked back to camp without a word and sat beside the bag of supplies and proceeded to devour just about all the supplies of dry meat Kadarus held in his bag before she turned her dark eyes towards the kelvic, hunger still evident. Since then, Kadarus had provided her meals, sometimes living still, others, freshly killed, still warm, others, he let her come along for, to give the final strike and devour his catch. That is what she longed to do tonight, but with his hand upon her stomach, the lids of her eyes slowly began to close.

“I cannot smell much beyond that when I wear it. Not even your scent. I want to hunt.” The zith’s voice was low, almost purring more than usual, and the throaty tones slow and lingering. Her attention was going, evident in her speech, the broken statements. The balm however helpful Kadarus believed it to be, blocked her sense of smell, and worse scented her stronger than her own, just a shift of the breeze would expose her and this night she longed to go out on a hunt for a change.

Her name spoken brown eyes opened to slits, her face turning towards the warm breath that breathed upon her ear and cheek, the faltering words were curious but not enough to stir her from the pleasant warmth the circling hand and body warmth brought her. Astoirdea tucked her head beneath the Kelvic’s chin nuzzling the skin so near.

“The outsiders are growing bold. Can we eat them now?”

[Kadarus]

Kadarus sighed, trying and failing to fight off a warm smile at a question that had been asked nearly every day since they'd begun travelling with the others. She derailed the question he dreaded asking, put off giving the answer he feared. They were words that could cut him down quicker than any Blademaster of the Syliran Knights...part of him sighed in heady relief that the issue had been forced away, but another part bristled in impatient anger. The fingers of his free hand brushed the warm, short fur of her cheek before sliding through long, soft strands of her blood red hair.

"No, no. Not right now." He laughed and stared at her sleepy face, his eyes strange with the light of love and fear making them glow. His hand fell from her hair and settled on her hip, and reluctantly, he tore his eyes away from her. The others were cooking upon fires, thick cuts of meat and vegetables, others were conducting business, gesturing wildly and talking excitedly between one another, while some merely sat and stared into the sunset, smiling, their eyes far off. Dreaming, he was sure, of the better lives they thought they would have wherever their destinations were. They were completely ignorant of their luck; without her fatigue, and his quickness to care for her, the zith would have surely stripped most of them to the bone in her hunger, then turned upon the rations they'd brought.

"They've yet to bother us, or menace us. In fact, most of them have helped," he clarified, once more giving her his full, undividided attention. Honestly though, if it came down to it, whether it be as trifling as an argument or as serious as life and death, the travellers would receive the short end of the stick - and the business end of his claymore. Astoiredea was far more important than they were to him, more important than his own life - if he had not been so clouded with the thought of the new life breathing inside of her, he woiuld be running now, away from the first chains of the inevitable bonding.

Shifting his weight, he tugged at the sides of his cloak, careful not to cut himself on the hidden blades, and managed to drape most of it around the both of them. "If you don't want to wear the balm anymore, you don't have to," he murmured quietly between the two of them, the rest of the world quickly vanishing as he adjusted himself so she lay cuddled, nestled between his legs, shut off and warm. "I just thought that it would help you with the joint pain. And...we'll hunt once we get into the Cyphrus plains. Away from the people to see us and fear us as what we really are. We'll take down one of those Glassbeaks, I hear they taste pretty damn good. Never had one myself, though." She thrust he head under his chin, rubbing against his neck, seeking warmth - but the hunter couldn't enjoy it. His attention had been sapped, his nerves grated upon by a pair of shouting, angry voices.

Slowly, Kadarus turned his angry gaze towards the voices. Beside a crackling campfire, two men were shouting at one another. The taller of the man had coal black hair, long and tied back in a til over his shoulder. A series of manacles hung from his belt, with space enough for the hilt and crossguards of a longsword to poke out. That one was red faced, screaming at the shorter man, who wore a dark red robe with an herb pouch around his waist. Suddenly, Kadarus' arms locked around Astoiredea, his lip curling back in an ugly snarl. Other men stood behind the tall, black one, dressed similarly, some holding tall polearms topped with strange, piked iron rings - Mancatchers. One of the men reached out and grabbed a slight woman at the roben man's side; fair skinned, dark haired, and high pitched, as she began shrieking as a pair of shackles were locked around her wrists. "Then they will pay for your failure to follow through, alchemist!" The black haired man shouted, drawing his sword and gesturing at the other travellers. His mean suddenly spilled into the campsite, knocking people to the ground if they caught them.

"Slavers," Kadarus growled, his eyes suddenly burning with hatred, his body tense beneath the cloak. His sword was in the tent, too - but the kelvic and the zith were seprated by quite some distance from the campsite. Kadarus would let the men live, so long as they did not come near...