Fantasy Gifts From A Moon God

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot hadn't seen the rogue that had been perusing Panyin like she was wears to purchase, lost, as he was, gazing at the many stalls around them, and admiring the colours and varied cloths and other assorted things that surrounded him on all sides. Bastion, however, had noticed his mistress straight away, and snorted with discontent as she had her hair caressed by the creep. His heterochromatic eyes stares hard across the space and he started forward, jolting Wy'Ziot from his trance and dragging the giant albino with him, as the man tried to gain control of the giant horse. Bastion stopped as Panyin snatched herself back from the man, and allowed Wy'Ziot to believe he'd stopped the beast from his continuation towards his mistress. The woman had spotted them, and the creep that stood with her paled at the sight of the two monstrous males in the street, before slinking off, tail between his legs. Wy'Ziot brushed down the neck of the Vanner, making soothing noises, before his attention turned to Panyin as she approached, a large, sharp grin splitting his face as he recognised the woman walking towards him.

Her touch startled him a moment, but he leans his jaw into it a moment, before the whiff of another man made his eyes narrow, and he realised her lines were tense. His eyes roved over the area she'd walked from, and Bastion also snorted again. The culprit was sneaking deeper into the covered area, hoping he'd not been seen. Wy's large fingers tangled with Pan's for a moment, as he lifted a lip to the man's direct and the silent snarl took over his features for a moment. The man seemed to slink even lower, like a rodent vermin beast escaping the gaze of the great cat threatening his survival. Wy'Ziot would watch for his scent again. It took the giant a moment to register her words, but as she nudged him, and turned from that which had tightened her muscles, he simply nodded, and followed as they progressed towards the food district.

The smells of food made the albino salivate as they were walking through it all; great salted and preserved sides of beef, lamb, venison and pork hung from the beams, fresh sides also hanging, curing. The drying racks around gentle flames elicited scents of pepper, chilli, and other assorted musty spices. All around, crisps of vegetables were being bagged; thin cut, thick cut, dried, fried, baked, so many flavourings to choose from. Wy'Ziot took to hand a few varieties, as well as some corn kernels, dried and ready for popping with their own flavourings. These were stores alongside the dried meats and fish Panyin bought. As she bought sweets, Wy'Ziot was intrigued, and excited as she offered him the candied flesh of what appeared to be a gelatinous fruit. He had never really eaten such sweets, preferring the savoury. He dipped his head, and smirked at her mischievously, as he closed his lips over her fingers holding the syrupy, crystallised fruit. He sucked on her fingers a moment, and straightened, considering the taste, and how chewy the item was. It appeared to be somewhat like pineapple; fibrous, tropical tasting, and so sugary sweet and divine. He hummed greatfully, and nodded his approval as he continued to chew and suck on the sweet.

Wy'Ziot couldn't help but chuckle at her reaction as they neared the Apothecary district, and he waited to see if she would chose to enter. She looked to him, like he was supposed to make that decision. He simply looked back at her, waiting himself, for her decision. He tilted his head a little, his dreadlocks swinging across his face as he did so. "If djou vish too, 'Ot 'Ead." Wy'Ziot chuckled, and winked at her. Panyin skipped ahead, and visited near every stall. Her excitement at all the ingredients was infectious, and Wy' simply followed, packing each thing she purchased with care, ensuring Bastion was managing. The great beast was barely even noticing what he laid across his back. Wy'Ziot couldn't help but be impressed by this creature. Wy'Ziot often stayed outside the stall or shop, allowing Panyin her freedom to assess and examine all the stalls and all the wears. As they neared Zhaa'kir, Wy'Ziot couldn't help but pout a little as he became the butt of the joke again. Wy' waved off the jovial Stallkeeper, whom barely seemed to register the scowl, and instead got to business with Panyin.

The giant stood outside, surveying all that passed. He'd feel so happy when they were headed out. Spend a night at the cabin to plot their route, and work out how long it was all going to take; ask Panyin to read through the instructions again, though he knew it was go assist in a war that was breaking out, and stop it before it evolved further. Simple things, really! Bastion also seemed to be restless for the road, and pulled on the bridle a little, seeing the wall was not far away, where they had entered. Wy'Ziot patted the vanner's neck, and placed his forehead against the animal. "Patience. Our Master is busy vizh zhe Stallkeep. Ve shall be on shortly. Patience, Bastion." The giant albino could barely talk; him body trembled with the idea of getting back out to the Wilds. He chuckled at the idea of all the extra provisions they had, as he'd be able to hunt wherever they were, and nine times out of ten he'd capture something for eating. He allowed Panyin her presumption of requiring all this stuff. Had she not yet realised what he travelled with could be stored simply on his belt? He need none of this fancy kit... at least, not before she arrived in his life anyway! He leant against the shoulder of the Vanner, arms crossed over his broad chest, watching her create the powder she had found so effective in his wounds.

 

[unais]

The salt was ground from pebbled kernels into a rolling batch of grit. She picked from the jars handfuls of yellow and white flowers, and dried purple bulbs.

This was how it tasted. And how it smelled. So she thought. An unusual flush of indecision came to mind, and as she ground it together, realized a quicker solution. She got up from her post and went out to Wy'Ziot in the sun. He had time enough to note her before she yanked the bag from his belt and she turned back into the stall without a word. She tasted the powder. Salt wrapped around her tastes in a stringent hold, choking out the taste of everything else. Eugh. Her hands portioned out the dried flowers, crumbling the petals against her palms. Letting herself work as if unthinking. There was a voiceless mind that triggered here when she was not entirely sure of a compound. And she gave into an instinct built long out of practice. It seemed to lead her where she wanted to go. She watched this mind in a resting state; waitng to stop herself if needed. Her hand picked up from the pestle, and dipped the pinky into the pouch of salt, adding the faintest touch to her tongue. She fingers twitched as the taste took over again. A clack on the table as Zhaa'kir set down a cup of water, the lacquerware finely inlaid with red and blue paint.

"Thank you." She drank.

Panyin ground the salt and herbs to dust. The result smelled similarly. Tasted close. Well. She canted the powder into a small pouch of her own. Pulled the paring knife from the table.

Wy'Ziot heard her approach again. He could have ignored her; knowing her frivolous nature in decisions lately. To stay or go; she fluttered from leaving to staying as she found more choices making their way to her grasp. He felt her lift his arm and looked down just as she pressed the knife into his forearm and dragged a hard, deep line into his skin. She wiped the blood on her arm, and exchanged the knife into her belt for the pouch. She pinched a hand full of powder, filling the fresh wound with it as he resisted pulling away from her. Her fingers pressed, bubbles coming up red and pink through them. She let her hand off. And studied the reaction of blood.

It seemed comparable; she seemed proud of herself. Or smug. Something. She clapped her hands together, seeming pleased, smiling at Wy'Ziot. The rest of the water Zhaa'kir gave her was used to wash the acrid liquid from her hands. She packed her things carefully, Zhaa'kir going to clean up the pestle as she attempted to take care of it herself.

Wy'Ziot was even more restless now. She had noticed how he was a moment before she disturbed his anxious quiet. He had been far away.

She observed him with interest, tying the salt to another place on her belt. She was comfortable in these elements. The coiling before springing into the untamed world. She could stay in the coil for some time. Like a bird priming for its flight. There were no qualms of taking the time to preen her wings.

Because she always found her way out.

"Impatient?" She chuckled at her companion. "Ahem." She had spotted something in the next district over. "Almost done..."

Zhaa'kir left them in good humor, joking that she was not buying as much as before. She slipped a silver out of her pocket and hid it on the table for him to find, as he had a last laugh to his homeland customer, and they headed out. They ambled along in an angled light, the sun coming down boldly now. Panyin found her step beside Wy'Ziot, in his shade, the rest of her covered by the equine beast. His muscles rippled under the black skin and fur, the faintest sheen of sweat starting on his shoulders from the sun. Each step twitched a muscle, something she usually found disconcerting like a restless need to exert its excess power. But beside them, so casual in his step, so undisturbed by that which embroiled about him that usually spooked every horse from here to the Northern Wastes… she was finding herself trusting this creature. Or at least starting to trust he was not going to rear and crush her in a startled step.

The faintest smell of old blood, long washed down to the gutters scented from here, a place there they practiced bloodletting and balancing humors. She took ahold of some stray hair, straw in her fingers. They fell now just beyond the length of her shoulders. It'd only go longer, and that was unbearable. Now was a good time. She handed Wy'Ziot the bottles on her belt, and stepped under the white adobe roof.

It was clean and well-kept. The bloodletting was done in the back. No one right now. Panyin thought it a strrange choice for the walls to be white. But upscale it was. They built mirrors into the fresco, and stacks of clean towels with finely twirled cotton lined the walls in wicker shelves with copper frames.

What can we do for you, Miss? The slim, well-kept lady approached her.

Just a haircut.

Layered or straight across. She really didn't care either way. As long as it was just about the length she desired. Very specifically long enough not to reveal her jaw from all angles, but not long enough to touch her shoulders often. But she couldn't bring herself to say that. She gave instruction as to what she'd gotten before.

"Layers, please; long." And indicated how to short to cut. Three times.

The woman wrapped a soft towel around her neck and led her to a stone bowl to lay her head. The cool water washed down her scalp. She was gentle with her hair. Moreso than Panyin was. It was dried, dampened, before she led her to the chair where they wrapped her in a tightly woven cloth. She stared out into the sunlit street. Wy'Ziot's silhouette against the hard light. She watched him browsing their things; their cutting shears, odd brushes and paraphernalia. The hair dresser whirled her seat around where she could not see him.

Her mind turned inwards, ignoring the reflection to her right, and the hair falling stark against the cloth hiding her body. The last vestige of culture and humanity in her terms. Cutting hair; such an extraneous portion of life. Certainly a mark of being in what passed for civilization nowadays. A long sigh from her lips, and the hairdresser paused, wondering if she had done something wrong. The snipping resumed. Her ears tingled.

So many things had been happening. Snipped hair fell to her shoulders. She'd gone to sell some wares in a podunk town on her path aimlessly northern bound, and ended up in a little murder tryst which left her taking care of a werewolf and fleeing two towns over. The snipping came again near her ears, and she felt the tremble of a start in the hands as the hairs revealed her heritage. Panyin closed her eyes, the tingles going down her throat, flushing her chest. She'd met more people than she cared to feel trust towards. The scissors came close. Her eyes winced. And he hadn't intended to come out alive. Her eyes opened.

I wanted to keep you forever. Until his very short, expected following death. It was something she had swallowed and kept down below her surface. Now was not the time.

Why did you intend to die?

Her eyes shifted to the form she could make of his silhouette in the mirror. Was life too long now? It was worth dying for another werewolf, after all this time?

You give me purpose.

Why did you intend to die.

Yet here were her thoughts in a salon, so tempted to speak them right across the room and off these artfully empty walls. As was her way. She took another inhale. The scissors ripped bodily into a line of hair, shredding it thinner. As she had asked. Ouch.

Here she was; not in hate, not in love with herself. But always, disgusted with her little things. What else lurked beneath her surface and ached to come out. A darkness had surfaced when easily enticed. He knew very little of her and her history. And what spawned a deep loathing of her past self; what she still saw in the mirror as her truths. Having spent all her time alone, untrusted, she was repulsed by whenever she gave into the weakness of trusting someone. And was unsurprised and bitter when it came back to roll over her. But Wy'Ziot had made things easy. And bypassed all the mannerisms that tended to leave her mind fleeing from her body leaving nothing much behind. And trust manifested around him in its own little ways.

The scissors behind her head. It was odd. He gave her soul rest. Her mind was often heavy with thought, but light with feeling now. She hadn't known she would have wanted this. A security she could not shake. It would have never occurred to her to wish for it. Yet she was here, digesting it, molding and observing this form as she pleased. And it existed without the ache of hatred and resignation in despair. And it was so comfortable. As if it had been there for years. And so uncomfortable; as it was new and frightening and absurd. But it was alright. For once the unknown was not something that deterred her venture.

The dresser held up a mirror. It was shorter. Notably enough below her chin. Layers seemed to suit her thin, flyaway hair. Panyin stood and paid the woman, hopping over to Wy'Ziot where he waited.

She approached from behind. "Did you need anything?" Cheeky. She doubted anyone touched the length of his hair but himself, but it hadn't escaped her notice of him perusing their shelves for their shears and beard grooming. Her head tilted against his chest, near to him, and she had started herself with the unbidden act. A hand of hers moved through her new length, just enough of a difference to be startled by its absence.

"Come. Let's to the gates." She led with a swift step. It hadn't been an enjoyable thing, but it was like shedding the last vestige of civilization that held her. She needed things. That much was sure. She was not capable of everything, nor interested in developing every skill set. She did not need to; not when there were so many who had trained to do everything else and coin was easy enough. So cities and bustling towns were a haven of replenishment. An illusion of safety, where she rested to repair herself. The structures that made her. And refresh her with what it was like to have everything at her fingertips.

But how she hated being amongst them all.

Almost like now. As They waited in the sun in the long lines moving outward of the city. It wasn't so bad. But time was passing slowly. Panyin sighed as they stepped forward. Fingers itching with boredom. Her gaze caught on a tall frame, with thought black hair and a delicate, sheet scarf. But as she turned her face her eyes were brown. Her face was plain. Panyin chuckled, and as the line moved forward with him, pushed through the embarrassment to voice the thought.

"Ah... you know I ah..." she was cautious. She hardly heard his name called save for by Contractors and herself. She unsure if it was something not meant to be spoken. Heard by everyone. "I perhaps... misunderstood your relationship with Mina as it were." They stepped forward. "And you, perhaps, as well. What I thought. It's not that I... thought you'd had relations before--though I... I don't care if that is even the case." She truly didn't. To imagine it made her feel nothing. Not one hair raised on her neck. "I j--I thought she was something... mmmore akin to..." she paused, eking herself through the painful embarrassment. They stepped closer to the gates, looming overhead in their stony build. "…your daughter...?"

It did not seem so absurd to her. The story he told her was that he had met Mina young and helped her as she grew to secure her place in the world. "What??" At his expression.

"Anyway..." after that had passed. "I am pleased if you are able to eke more pleasure out of others than I can." No matter what it may be. "I don't care what you do." With others.

She knew he would not. And perhaps… that he could not, now? But she wanted him to know. There was no cause or interference in her mind. Jealousy was a figment that she understood at a distance. Perhaps simply because she knew, immutably, she held the highest priority. That was a little lofty of her.

They passed through the gates unmolested, seeking each other on the other side, Bastion being handed by his reins. The guard himself seemed unnerved by his immenseness, and relinquished the hold as soon as Wy'Ziot had got him. The werewolf seemed a little happy, reunited with the blade by his side. The one she had hardly noticed at the time--was a joint and a bone.

"Is it too late to start traveling?" A joke. It was certainly too late to ask. He helped her onto the horse, and they set off at a great pace. The vanner started on his own as they had given him cause. He was, perhaps, happy not to be cooped up any longer, and he took them quite the distance in a short period of time, before his gait slowed, and his muscles set for a softer pace.

They neared the forest, the crepe myrtles flowers all dried and rotted now. The fortress of a city was long behind them. All around stretched the quiet wilderness.

She sighed. Able to hear her thoughts over Bastion's hooves now. Her hand touched something, Wy'Ziot's hand, which took a few fingers, cradling hers gently. She stared at the mottled flesh, dark and white with bursts scars.

Now that they were alone. "…Does it hurt? When you…" the pause was more than a beat. Two, as she struggled. "…trans... form...?" What would he call it.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'ziot's eyes were like daggers as he watched his homeland brethren fraternise with Panyin. He watched the hands, the touches, the gazes and the smirks. He bit his lip, his gaze enough to make the pot-bellied man shift a little uncomfortably. Panyin was lost to the herbs and reagents, her frivolous use of ingredients not wasted on the Apothecary dispenser. But his joy was short lived as she returned to Wy'Ziot, took his pouch of wound salts, and tasted it, taking it with her. The water was offered, but she barely touched it as she worked her way through the herbs, the ingredients dancing upon her palate. Wy'Ziot had seen this before, but Zhaa'kir was learning now why he couldn't fool this one. He kept shtum, her skill evident, and he watched her put together the weird concoction the giant asked for every return visit, and realised he was no longer needed.

What Zhaa'kir had never witnessed until that moment was the reaction it had on Wy'ziot's blood. His eyes widened, and like many, he gagged and reeled at the acrid scent. Wy'Ziot snarled a little as the blade was trailed through his flesh, and he snatched his arm away as speedily as he could; the bubbling wasn't as tight as that produced by Zhaa'kir, but it also didn't form the same hard substance within his flesh; instead it was like a glue, and where his flesh met, a tidy line was drawn through his forearm. He studied it, running his hand over it to try and rid himself of the blood, and the stench. Others in the street had stopped at the smell, and Bastion veered away. Taking a rag from one of the bags, he wiped his arm over, and glared at Panyin's back. When it came to Potions and the like, she held little concern for whom saw his secret, it seemed!! Glowering at Zhaa'kir, whom pretended not to have seen the reaction, nor smelt it, Wy'Ziot stood the other side of Bastion, balling up the blood stained rag and pocketing it, to throw into a fire later. His arm didn't throb as much, and he was impressed by the neat appearance of the wound, noting it would still scar as he preferred, but he wished beyond all wishes that Panyin had waited to test it away from City crowds.

As Panyin went about paying, and trying to tidy, Wy'Ziot moved from foot to foot, no longer calm, not in this area. Eyes watched the giant, and Wy'Ziot could no longer tell what was decades of paranoia, and what was real inquisition. Her queries behind him drew mottled eyes over his shoulder. His brows were still furrowed at her, but he simply nodded acceptance of her words, taking Bastion's reigns and following her obediently. The smell of blood as they entered realms of Doctors, and Surgeons made Wy'ziot's nose wrinkle. He looked at Panyin as she selected a stall, and entered. As a belt was handed to him, his eyes widened when he realised what was about to happen. The blades flashed, and fiery locks started to shear from her head. Wy'Ziot turned away, shock covering his features. Had she wished for a styling, why had she not asked him? He turned and looked again, before taking cover from the horrendousness of it all, her hair falling in clumps as it was thinned and hacked away; yes there was skill, but it was not his. And not had she even mentioned wishing to lose that which gave her her nickname of Hot Head. Of Vixen. Wy'Ziot tried to distract himself, gazing blankly at the items around himself. Time seemed to pass so slowly, as he stood, facing away from the atrocity occurring behind him. His shoulder line was tense, muscles bunched. Each snip made his muscles twitchy, and Bastion pressed his nose again Wy'ziot's spine to try and calm the giant.

"Did you need anything?" Wy'Ziot turned his head, and almost physically winced at her hair. He wanted to reach out and touch it, mourning the loss, but he held back, tightening his fists and shaking his head no. He did not trust his voice. She did not seem to notice his discomfort as he followed behind her a hand holding Bastion's neck, the other the reigns. He took comfort from the stoic beast, acknowledging that Youngsters these days liked to mix it up; hell, Mina had done it to him a multitude of times, and had always laughed at his inability to comprehend cutting her hair. Wy'Ziot just shrugged; hair was something Werewolves didn't cut! Sure he braided it into dreadlocks, but were he to tease these out, the hair would be extraordinarily long. He kept his beard short, but facial hair didn't hold the same zeal. Hair... it was what distinguished you, like your fur. No two people held the same hair, or fur. Her voice drew him out of his reverie, and he finally forced himself to look down upon her. He sighed and shook his head a little.

"I may be old, Panyin, but even by Verevolf standards I am not djet of an age to consider children." He scratched his scarred midriff. "Vell... I guess I am now... closer to zhat age." He thought for a moment. "Volves... ve only start to seek a mate for offspring vonce ve are at a point vhere ve are no good in zhe Vilderness. Older, able to teach. Mina... Mina is an age vhere I could be 'er fazher, djes. But I do not see 'er zhat vay, same as I do not view djou zhat vay." He smirked a moment, the customary cheekiness returning to his face briefly as he noticed the slight blush and incredulous look Panyin threw his way. "Djou do not believe me virile enough for djou, Panyin? Mina never 'ad any complaints." His smirk remained as they headed towards the gates, a short chuckle escaping him as Panyin struggled to find words, her mouth working around gulping noises, as she couldn't quite form the response she wanted. "May'ap djou vish me return to Mina? She vas certainly alvays greatful of my prowess." His tongue ran over his sharp teeth a moment, and his eyes glazed, as he thought of their encounters. Pan smacked at his arm, both pushing him away in his mocking, and gripping him tighter next moment, scowling at him, before laughing at his brashness. Truth was, Mina fell for most men when she first met them; she liked the excitement of something new. Wy'Ziot had certainly been something new. But, like everything in Mina's life, Wy'ziot's exoticness soon dwindled, but they remained good friends. He did not see her glances, her touches, wishing he'd look at her again as he used to. She'd dropped him once; Wy'Ziot wouldn't hang around to be dropped a second time.

The gates held very few surprises for them; allowed through, and their items returned with barely a question raised. Leaving always was easier. Wy'Ziot felt whole again as he slid his bone machete back into place at his side, and as he met Panyin on the other side, he smirked, and nodded, her joke only raising an eyebrow from him as he helped her upon Bastion. Cooped up for so long, Wy'Ziot did not join her in the saddle, instead giving her the reigns, and jogging beside the beast. How he longed to release his fur. The New Moon was so close he could feel it, tingling within his breast, and his loin. Running beside the Vanner would at least permit him some release until they were free of the eyes of the Capital. As they neared the fork, where the Cabin stood a good few miles down off the main track, Wy'Ziot slowed, as did Bastion. He placed a hand on the saddle pommel, and as he contemplated their next move, felt fingers wrap around his own, and he looked up into those golden eyes; wild, more than his own, he felt at times.

"…Does it hurt? When you…trans... form...?"

His grin was genuine, and he gripped her hand with strength. "Djes. It does." He commented lightly. "But... it's like zhe burn of djour skin after a day spent in the sun. Like... like the pain in djour belly after a meal too large, but so delicious djou couldn't stop djourself. Like zhe ache in djour muscles after a night wizh zhe vone djou love." He looked off towards the wilderness, feeling that ache intensify in his chest, a roll of movement beneath his skin where his Wolf pressed up. "It's like a release. So powerful, djou vould die if djou released it, but so could djou die if djou didn't." He looked up at her, turning his face away a little, and releasing her hand. "It is 'ard to explain to somevone 'oo is not Vild. Come. Zhis vay is zhe Cabin, and I 'ave a Need." He pushed Bastion's head down the track away from the main road, to head into the Wilderness.

 

[unais]

Panyin squinted as she looked at him. An old ache that could not be ignored. Something that called to his skin, and twisted the form of him until it did as it had pleased. Suppose that made more sense to her. He looked away, and slipped his hand from hers. She noticed. And supposed she was a selfish little girl. The question was to gauge her guilt for curiosity; it seems there should be none. She was quietly pleased.

They lumbered on ahead.

A Need. She raised her brow.

The crepe myrtles were bare. Curled into dry sleeping husks to hide through summer. Their petals have dried and been swept by wind.

The lumbering that pulled her forward slowed, the candle cold in the alcove, and the cabin empty. It rattled with a wind that blew. Wy'Ziot lit the signal, and Bastion headed off himself, towards the cabin. Realizing her unbidden ride, she froze, but the horse huffed, and stopped just before coming under the jutting that would shelter him by the cabin. Panyin looked about, bravely slipped one of her legs over the side of the horse, but waiting there for Wy'Ziot to help her. Like a child needing assistance.

The distance to the ground seemed more immense as she looked down, and she was not ashamed to wait helpless.

He came to the side of them, and she paused them a moment in her strangeness. The one that came over her in bouts. Her hand touched his neck as she had reached out, followed to wrap around him. This was a resting state, and she leaned towards him, her head to rest against his. As if she were going to kiss him. But as his eyes fully raised to see her, there was a soft movement, just enough that she slipped from the saddle. He caught her before she truly fell, and she held her breath of relief, feeling that he had known it was coming.

He seemed embarrased. It seemed that he had hesitated. But her eyes could not find his nor catch his, and he went to take Bastion into the threshold. Panyin opened the door, wishing somewhat that Wy'Ziot allowed her to do some of the manual work. She needed to wait for him to bring their things, unburden Bastion, and then tend to the horse himself. He took at this upon himself, bringing it all in, and heading back out to fully finish with the steed. She exhaled, relieved to be left alone with their provisions.

The bridle unlatched, Bastion pulled away from under the overhang. He stayed near, stomping slightly. Hooving but following the wolf. He stayed to be watered, but refused to come under the shelter and settle. He paced a safe distance, wishing to stretch his legs over the canvas of land. He stared at Wy'Ziot.

Inside, Panyin unpacked the bones, the clay pot they had taken. She could make a light stock... Something they could take with them. But the bones were mostly used... She had taken the ones left over from their meal as well. It wouldn't be so light, but not ideal. The bones clattered around the pot, oiled with a fragant olive mixture, ready to be roasted again. She turned her head as she heard the door open. Wy'Ziot dropped a few fire logs into the heath, and picked up enough kindling from besides the fireplace. He knelt with a soft tinder set against the brick and struck a chip of steel down a flint. She came up behind him.

"I can take care of it." She held out a hand. "Come now." I'm not helpless. He nodded his acknowledgment, and handed her the flint without a word. She took it to her hip, her hand staying there as his form seemed to hurry to leave.

"We'll only have stock this way for dinner." She turned herself from him, kneeling just as he had. The chip scratched slowly from the surface, sparks exploding "If you'd like to stretch, and hunt something..." She left that there. "Suppose then I'll go out too and find something forage to eat." And then no one would be here. Her lip pulled in thought.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot noticed she was quiet as the made the distance to 'home'. The cabin was a bare and untouched as it always was when he returned to it. Panyin watched him as he moved forwards, to carry out the tasks that were a ritual to him. As he reached up, fingers taking the candle, and breaking it from its base of pooled wax, his head span a little. He lowered himself to a crouch, hands on his knees as he leant forward. Scents seemed to intensify for a moment, and colours seemed to form brighter in his vision. Taking a few deep breaths, the giant stood straight, fingers slowly clipping off wasted wax, and his blade was drawn, clearing the wick. He missed the horse taking his precious cargo around to the shelter, his head swimming. His mouth had dried, and the Werewolf frowned. What was happening? He thought back over his day, but his brain couldn't bring everything of his day into clear focus.

His rituals completed, he made his way around the building. His feet scuffed a little, and as he rounded the building, the albino noticed Panyin struggling with the dismount of their steed. He smirked, walking forward, opening his arms just as he reached her, and she tipped forward, falling into his arms. He forehead presses to his, her body pressed up against him as he stood with her held up still, her arms snaking around his thick neck. As she fully slid from the saddle, and rested her whole weight against him, her scents engulfed him, and suddenly, he felt hot. What was happening? He felt odd, and he didn't like it!! He set her down quickly, petting her arm apprehensively, before zipping into the outbuilding, occupying his thoughts away, and into the jobs of settling Bastion.

A few trips back and forth completely unladen the horse, whom took himself off with a prance. He loved the feeling of freedom, under a watchful eye. The giant beast drank of the water offered, but took himself out to graze. Wy'Ziot couldn't stop it, so allowed the horse to carry out what he felt was the best option for him. Wy'Ziot crossed his arms and smirked at the horse, allowing the defiance, and entering the cabin, raising his brows to Panyin as he met with her, and found himself seeing a cold fire hearth. He exited a moment, bringing in dried wood from the undercroft..

As he tried to spark a fire together, gentle hands spread over his shoulders. A whispered suggestion had him slump a little, and cast mottled eyes to where she was. Slowly, he nodded, and handed her the stricker. He stood away, looking out the window. Her final comment caught his attention, however. The heat flushed over is skin as he nodded. Barely did he acknowledge her skill with the striker, instead, behind her, grunts and creaks and cracks of joints and sockets reverberated, his chest rumbling as fur and a tail sprouted. Wy'Ziot felt so odd, he didn't seriously acknowledge her success with the flame, nor what was said beyond his hunting. As she turned, the pure white Wolf that stood within the cabin simply licked its jaws, before trotting out. Left behind, strewn where the beast had been, where the items that made him feel human. What left the cabin was completely Wild, and bounded off, searching for meat, and for a true Chase.

 

[unais]

Blinked. She hadn't expected him to turn there in the cabin. Her head canted, and his tongue rolled across his teeth before he padded out of there; the cabin and wood all creaking with the effort of holding his immense weight. There was a start from Bastion outside, who trotted some distance away before the wolf made his disappearance, and then after cantered back to his grazing.

Panyin put the rack over the logs before the fire had started. She breathed down through the nest of husks and feathers, embers scattering as the detritis lit into flame. Her eyes caught something, above, and the flame snapped at her fingers that held the small kindling for it to climb. The fractured pieces dropped, and she flicked it in toward the hearth. She glanced frequently up at it, unusually curious. She pushed the flames back beneath the logs and tossed in the last kindling.

She looked outside, where there was no trace of wolves hunting. The yellowed grasses swayed in the picking breeze. The light was still strong. She snapped back to the counter and dragged the pot of salted bones to the rack over the fire. It was still barely heating. It would grow slowly.

She washed her hands, the plain fat soap loosening the oil from her skin. The water and fat dried her skin into parched scales rubbed open with the cloth towel.

It was not a home, she thought as she stalked then to the bedroom. Empty and cold as before. She pulled the mattress from its hiding space. Swept for salt and dust. Their bags were by the door. None needed to be unpacked. They didn't seem to be staying long. She pulled out the roll of fur, brushed and glossy and untouched by sleeping skin. It unrolled cleanly, and hung heavily from her hands as she stood there, perplexed as to what she was doing. She lay it gently over the bed, and left it there, as she tightened her belt and set back outside.

Bastion lay a presuming eye over her, curious as to her swift take outside. She struggled not to return the stare, and strode herself due east, where she would follow the long shadows back.

The light was still strong over the horizon as she returned with a laden arm and laden handfuls. She greeted Bastion, who had come back under the roof to rest. His side was was in the dust as there was not enough hay laid beneath him.

There was a subdued, delectable smell as she entered the unlocked cabin. She lifted the lid of the clay pot, and the bones had roasted beautifully, the marrow ready to come free when it'd be boiled. Panyin took garlic from the window, some still left unsprouted, and smashed the cloves, mincing them and throwing them in the pot with another splash of oil. The garlic began to sizzle immediately. Her foraging was washed, rolled, and the next batch of water poured carefully over the bones, just enough to cover.

Batches of nettle were abundant by the stream, and the cuts nicked up and down her parched hands. But she'd gathered three batches, and set two to dry, hung by the mantle with the garlic and rosemary. She'd take with them wrapped them in parchment tomorrow.

The counter was a littered with green and purple radiance. With red stalks of orach, and burgandy leaves. She stripped the rough stalks out and tossed them into the boiling water. The soft leaves were cut, their shears releasing a nutty fennel scent. They were halved, ready to roast, or be chopped again into soup. Freshly salted, and smoothed over with pepper and oil. The twisted beans were salted, oiled, prepped. These she tossed into another pot, feeding another stack of kindling to heighten the flame. There was then nothing to do but wait.

Time made her antsy. She looked at her clothes. Caught with underbrush, knelt with dirt, sticking with nettles. She made a single minor effort to sweep it from the cloth. Giving up. She changed in the other room, removing the tunic, the vest, removing one shirt underneath. A hand paused at her collar. They had said not to wear it for longer than she needs to. Prolong its life. She unlaced what was underneath. It slipped from her shoulders, and she changed then into something else they persuaded her into. It seemed comfortable. It held her form gently and snugly. Though she had chosen a simple design. She removed her trouser legs. Her legs prickled with the cold, and she lit the bedroom candles, going then to the hearth where her legs were wanting for no warmth.

The fire popped with protest, demanding food. Panyin reached a hand onto the mantle, peering at its formless wild shapes. The steam bubbled hotly beneath its confines. Her hand twitched against the brick, and its immutable form wiggled under her touch. She looked at it. A crack on the mantle.

She stared, eyes implacable, heart beating softly for a minute. It calmed slowly.

He had investigated something of her, and never told her the answer. What he had heard; it had stopped him still. He stood there shaking in his repression, and she had left at his behest.

What was it, she wondered.

There was a step on the porch, the door opened, and she turned her head. The fire glowed hungrily behind her, the setting light cast across the room.

 

[Malhyanth]

Freedom.

Paws beat the earth beneath hard and fast. Whatever was belting through his veins didn't have the effect it did on the human; the Wolf, instead, was driven to madness with the Need to run. And so he did. He didn't know where he was going, this monstrous version of a white wolf. It's mane tangled into loose red dreadlocks, clacking as the bones and other various bits and pieces bounced off each other with each forceful pounding of large, dinner plate paws to the ground, loose scree and loam flicking up behind the powerful creature. His tongue lolled out like a playful pup, hanging out far from his mouth as he pushed on through the undergrowth. Wild creatures scattered before the sound of such an animal running through the trees, bushes and undergrowth. Bracken crackled and snapped as he tore through it, heading North all the time, keeping the sun to his right shoulder.

Soon, the ground beneath him because wetter, denser and dark, his claws sinking in so delectably. He skittered over rocks, that grew into boulders, until he leapt up the side of a waterfall, its rocks jutting out, and his racing mind seeing the ladder as his feet landed, and pushed off. He hit the top, and stood, surveying. The sun was starting to alter its colours, a strong orange yellow flooding the deciduous forest. The desire to ululate took him strongly, and he raised to his hind legs, standing humanoid, and threw his massive head back and howled out his song; it echoed out, rebounding from tree, and rock, and mountain to his back, reverberating, resonating. In the distance, true wolves returned the call, and he continued to sing with them.

"Who are you, Brother?"

"I am Wolf's Brother, ancestor, and future."

"But Brother, you have never run with us."

"I shall run with you."

Without a second thought, as the Wolfsong died on his lips, he leapt from the waterfall's crest; his humanoid form changed into a perfect diving line, and he made barely a splash for such a large body into the deep, crystalline waters. He remained underwater, swimming his way to the shore, before shaking himself off, and following the howling he could hear to his West. He chased the sun as it started to burn a bright, terracotta orange, and soon, the sound of other paws joined in, and a Pack raced the giant in their midst. They did not question the new Wolf in their midst; his size and scent told them what they needed of what he was. He was a Brother, but he was not one of them. They ran with him, and they raced him, the youngsters shoulder barging him, to initiate play, which he accepted. None were like him; none held the moon in their coats, though one was touched by the darkest of skies, her orange-gold eyes reminding him of his commitment back at the Cabin. He slowed to a stop, watching their backs as they continued without him, off to hunt as a family unit. His tail flagged, and mottled ice-and-dusk eyes turned to the lowering sun, and Panyin brought Wy'Ziot back to himself; that female wolf's eyes reminded him of his human promises, and his human self.

Turning, his paws beat a hasty return into the woods that surrounded the Cabin. His nose scenting, he chased and captured four rabbits, young, and fit. He carried them with ease, lined up in his maw. He almost pranced back to the Cabin, his nose taking control as the scents of human cooking drew him back, a thin trail of dark smoke easing from the top of the chimney. His head held high, he stalked the door, Bastion in his laid out state only snorting at the beast this time, having smelt him returning, but recognising the Man beneath the Wolf. The way Wy'Ziot had charged out earlier had clearly startled the great horse, but this time, he'd felt prepared. Shoving his nose against the door jamb, Wy'Ziot shoved his way in, his senses bombarded with the smells of cooking and cleaning. Panyin stood, seemingly transfixed to see him in this state still. Did she expect to see him any other way? He was so close to the New Moon, he wasn't even sure his body would allow the Man back. Perhaps whilst he slept?

He grinned with his wolffish face around the deceased rabbits, and laid them at her bare feet, pressing his cold nose against her bare thigh a moment, before turning, his large body on all fours, barely finding the space required to carry out the manoeuvre. He placed his paws either side of the sink, and used the elongated toes and longer dew digit as a thumb to pump the faucet and release water. He gulped greedily, tail lashing with happiness as he did so, knocking one of the chairs back and forth at the table, nearly knocking it over. He stood this way, drinking, for nearly a full few minutes, before lowering, his chin resting on the cold basin, and he licked his maw at the scents around him. He turned, again knocking the chairs of the table set and nearly battering them over with his thick, rudder like tail. He flopped himself down at her side, where she sat, his chin level with her lap, so he placed it there, heavy, warm and still somewhat damp from his diving swim. He breathed heavily through his nostrils, wolffish eyes, the same colour at the Man's looking up at Panyin, before his muzzle nudged her hands, useless and not seeking to fulfil his bidding; every canine loved a good ear scratch after all. He kept nudging, pushing, manoeuvring until her hands were over his head, at which point he sighed, closing his eyes, one opening every now and again to show he was aware, and expecting her to carry out his bidding. Wy'ziot's tail thumped from side to side lazily as he accepted the ministrations, drool pooling a little in his mouth as he savoured the scents around them. The rabbits remained forgotten on the floor.

 

[unais]

He came back pleased with himself, laying rabbits at her feet. His nose touched to her leg, acknowledgement of something, and she hid the expression as it quietly pleased her heart, pulling something tight and warm against it. She stared at the laid forms.

"Am I to do this myself then?" She had no inflection. She was not one who shied from work; but his spoiling of her had made her lazy. To expect things to be done. She expected to nearly be finished with her own work, but she had to dress and clean these rabbits now it seemed.

The room that barely fit the two of them was almost knocked apart into a mess.

"Why are you so--" she moved from his tail swatting hard across her legs, "clumsy--" and fell, onto the bear rug. "Oof." Panyin folded her legs, preparing to get up, but his head nudged across her bare thighs. Wet, and dripping. Heavy. Her shirt become damp as she leaned into him in front of her, her breasts pressing just into the fur guarding his temple, barely able to get her arms over the crown of his head to rest herself. There was a paw that laid over her leg, and she made a sound seeing it come away muddy. She obviously didn't regard severe cleanliness; he seemed to have more of an eye for it than she did. But even chips of mud were something she could react to.

This wiggle was seeking attention under her arms, and she looked down there. Her fingers smoothed up one of his ears, tough and cartilaginous, fuzzy with stout hairs that stuck out in all directions. Her hand repeated this movement idly. The other hand rested over his muzzle while she looked away to the pots and rabbits. Dress, clean. How to cook them.

His eye flicking at her again and again brought her gaze back to him, and she stared at him before covering that eye with a hand. "Stop that." The whole of her hand could barely cover the whole of it.

A tongue lolled across her wrist and she jerked her hand back with the unbidden chuckle. She rubbed her nose to regain composure, laying both her hands on his head and rubbing, moving the heavy skin back and forth over his skull as she thought.

A hand pressed to his head. She reached toward the knife on the counter. Couldn't quite get it.

With a huff, she looked about. T some heavy kindling from beside the hearth and chucked it. The wood bounced about the counter, the knife spun before slipping and clattering to the ground. She leant over him, barely able to, to drag it toward her. She wiped the blade on her shirt.

The rabbits were dragged from their spot and beheaded on the floor with five chops. She peeled the skin from their heads and plucked out their eyes for the pot. She sat the skulls at the foot of the mantle for now, while the bodies were degloved of their pelts. With the edge of the knife she began to peel off the silverskin, carve out the sinew. She offered these to him, these unlikable parts, and they were lapped in by a large pink tongue. They were not unusable; she would have ground it into meal had he not accepted. She cut the meat free from the ribs, tossing the bones into the pot one after another, leaving the flayed meat collected into the open pelts to keep them off the floor. As she got to the organs she finally sighed, and pet a clean palm over his forehead, his eye closing with her touch. Her warning as she stood and took the rabbits to the sink.

The fat was carved out, and the organs sliced. Pulled, opened to clean them. She stopped a moment, and turned to offer the wolf one small, clean stomach, full of fryable fat, and he chewed on that while she sliced the rest into thick strips and set them apart with the beans. The legs and cuts of meat were added, as well as the heads.

The pot wasn't boiling fast enough. She thought for a moment. The beans and meat were all added to a pan, and she took with it a set of tongs and knelt by the fire. The clay pot bubbled above, and she slipped the pan underneath, grazing it with fire, before pulling it out again. She did this gradually, in measured movements. The oil slowly heated, and the fat seared to render meat. The rabbit bacon sizzled quickly, with the fat browning and crisping the beans. She moved the collected bits in the pan, pushing Wy'Ziot's nose away as it became in the way for her arms. She turned the rabbit heads as they browned on one side, until all flanks of meat had browned.

She placed that pan down on the brick, and huffed a sigh, needing to continue. Not wanting to. She gave the wolf a hard stare before her bare feet took her up again. Gathered washcloths from the kitchen and wrapped about the lid to lift it up. The warmth of air was like a hot, wet breath, and she fished out the newer bones with a slotted spoon. She tossed the emptied bones into a bowl, then took the handles of the clay pot, and lifted it whole to pour the bubbling stock over the seared meats.

The pan took its place over the rack this time, with the clay lid to close it. The pot and trash were set aside, but the rest of the room was in quite a state with her set and done. Pelts sat in a pile undone, their open sides collecting dirt. There hunk of wood sitting in the sink. She had cooked on the floor.

She ignored with this a sigh, relief, as she leaned back into the side of the werewolf. Using him as she saw fit. A hand lay before him, opened to his muzzle, and the tongue appeared, licking blood and juice from her fingers.

She looked at him doing this, at him beside her. Domestic and gentle. There had been a moment where she looked at him below her in her lap and her hair had risen. He had most looked like a normal beast, a dog and a wolf. But his muzzle, the sides of it soft, his flesh squishing as it had pressed against her had reminded her. Became a question again.

Why was this not a beast as she considered it? The fear that normally lay within her; where had it gone?

Her hand clean, she pressed it over his ears again, stroking idly the thick fur, unpenetrable. Her eyes fell across the crack in the mantle. There would be no answers it seemed. Not tonight.

A familiar buzz sounded in her head. And then one from outside of it pricked her attention to the window. Distant little howls came out over the horizon. She stared at the dying light. In forty minutes time, she would add the loose foliage, and they could eat.

Her hand pet over his head slowly, continuously the motion becoming a metronome. The fire flickered in her eyes. The soft breath of him, his slow and heavy heaves as they came. The huffs every now at then as she tickled his ear. His tongue lapped across his muzzle, wet, revealing teeth. The fire cracked with the light glowing in her hair.

She looked at these things. A chuckled hummed to her.

"...hm. 'You play a dangerous game, little girl.'" She lent into his side, stacking her arms over him and resting herself. The fingers moved atop his head.

The chuckles hummed into her voice, and as her eyes became sleepy with the buzz of it, of all of it; the fire lapping in front of her, the soft steam and bubble of the pan, the heavy undeterred breathing of wolf under her with the soft wind and scarce sand crickets outside. She found herself humming the song again. She was not musical. Never lent her voice to song. But the sloughing heat strung a voice from her throat. She closed her eyes. She remembered. It was a song from an ancient North.

One of courting Death in her mythical states. Where she kept earthly forms, yet still had another self which lay waste to life as the ephemeral reaper always did. It was the song of a lover whom had fallen for an earthly form whom'd forgotten who she was. And a song of sacrifice. He laid his life down for the gentle death to take, to save the short life of her other self. But he recognized the form of his love in the Death that had come to take him. And he allowed this first love to slip away, and chased Death herself across the Black Sea between life and death. Forever searching for her requited proposal.

She paused at the refrain. She realized now that she didn't know how the song ended. Well. She sighed; content nonetheless. It was just another ancient myth. A popular one for its sweet melody and soft hums. There were many versions across different languages. The story changed here and there. Sometimes the Black Sea was just that. Other times it was the night sky, with the pale silver coin across it that splashed the nebulae out of sight, and rendered everything black and pitiless with the shatter of lights across it. It was quiet again.

Time passed. It was a quiet hum with a bubbling sweetness. Sleep was far away from her, not even at the edges of her mind. Her eyes slipped open and she stared to the window and it's darkness.

She sighed, crawled from the wolf and knelt forward to the pot. The meat had braised and simmered. There was still some left to go. She picked the pan from the fire and placed it on the bricks of the hearth.

"You know..." Panyin had to hop to the kitchen to grab a fork, and as she knelt again, he saw how her legs had pressed together. Cold from the sides, without a fire and wolf wrapped fully around her. A long, wolfish arm draped around her lap, pulling her closer; and she laughed. She tried to make room, as she needed both hands. She picked out the heads and turned them, tearing the meat from them with the fork. "...I know that... people think the stars are beautiful."

The braided meat freed easily from the cheeks and throat. With most of it flaked off, she offered the skull to the maw beside her; see if the bony thing was to his liking. They went into the bowl with the rest of the stripped bones. Her hand slowed its scraping.

"But I..." Her voice was faded. Hadn't the conviction it'd before. The scraping resumed slowly. "...'ve never found the night to be a comforting..." He felt her heart beat with remembered things. Old, tired fears. Her hand paused, and she resumed after a breath. "...thing." It was just another immutable part of nature. Apathetic to the going ons of whatever happened to her.

She sat back. Wiped her hands with the cloth. Felt for him behind her and leant into him before she caught herself on him, and she took a breath, calming from his being there. She heard his tail move across the floor.

"But..." She leaned into him again, looking out at the stars barely seen against the window with the firelights reflected at them from inside. "...I suppose I could see how it could be... a comfort." With him. To look at the glittering, milky purple ways that were always up there. "When... As long as you feel..." Somehow she felt ashamed to hear what truly gave her peace with which to regard the world. "...safe..."

She let her weight sink into him again, barely moving this creature. That he did not move away was a comfort. She lay against his fur, resting herself, collecting what bravery she could in the scent of him. Willing the embarrassment and dying old fears to part their ways from her; just for now. A chuckle hummed as she caught sight of herself. The concept of a girl who speaks and immediately regrets it.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'ziot's eyes watched with interest as she went about the task of preparing the rabbits, felt her body lean over him, clearly making it know he didn't make this AT ALL easy, but all he could do was smirk. His lips pulled back and revealed a glint of fang as she worked, and he simply allowed the world to continue around him, as she did so. Time passed differently for him; aged as he was, hours were like seconds. Days were like his minutes. Weeks his hours. Time was a slow affair, and yet the task she carried out would have happily left him meditative. Years were nothing to him. If it weren't for a need to quench thirst, as with any creature alive, he would happily slip away in this quiet shack, for years at a time, in quiet contemplation, meditating on life and its meaning for him. Instead, he'd filled his time with death, destruction, and gore. She, of red hair, and fiery disposition, was the first thing in many a decade to bring him back to a sense of living, of focus. Mina had served her purpose, but she had tired of him, crushed his heart and moved on to the next exotic creature to make a pass at her. Panyin... maybe she'd too do the same, in time, but until such a time, Wy'ziot was at her beck and call.

He grumbled happily with each touch, each lean into his giant torso. His tail beat lazily against the wooden floor and wall, flicking in idle contentment. His head was slightly clearer after his run. His muscles tingled and popped with the exertion, and he felt his muscles wanting to melt back to human. With every light finger touch to his fur, he retracted slightly; he felt the urge to return to himself gathering like an iron ball in his stomach, but also his need to feel this attention. His Wolf was stubborn, and wanted his time with their Master. Could Wy'ziot blame him? Not at all. This woman had become their Goddess; he could no more force the Wolf back as he could the Human. Both craved her to a point it was ludicrous. The Wolf took every offered opportunity to lick at her skin, to clean her hand and fingers, to nuzzle into it, claim it. The Human within pushed back, but the command fell on the deaf ears of the enamoured beast.

Howls outside raised his head, and the dusky pink and icy blue mottled eyes, quivering, as they did in the Human face, stared out the windows as they listened together, to the stories being sung.

"Brother, where did you go?"

"We have food. A successful hunt we wish to share."

"Come back to us Brother of Future and of Past."

A soft whine escaped him. He felt a need to go, but the touch of her hand to his pelt sent shivers through every follicle, and he laid his head down again, large paws flexing, tail stilling. Panyin's gentle hand slicked his fur to his dreadlocks, and back again, from brow down. His ears twisted as she started to hum, taking in every intonation of her own howling song, eerie and beautiful. She started to sing, almost idly, and he lifted his maw, and joined her, quietly compared to the belting, miles wide howling he had sent up before, and together, they filled the cabin with music. It danced around them, and told the story. Wy'ziot recognised it; his Dark Spirit had told him the story on one of his meditations. How the Dark One had found a beautiful man of Light and Life, and they had run together through the forests. Under the Full Moon, they had mated, and the Dark One, her fur as dark as the night, had borne the first Werewolf. The Man of Light had not wished to care for their child; had cast the creature out that neither belonged to the Light nor the Darkness. The Werewolf walked the world alone. Seeing her child alone, the Dark One ran once more with the Man of Light, and lay with him again, bearing a second child, so the Werewolf had a companion, and they could procreate, and teach the world that Light and Darkness could seamlessly blend. The Man of Light, tricked, swore to kill his offspring, and the instilled fear and hatred of the Werewolf had been sown, and so Werewolves hid themselves in secret pockets throughout the world. Seeing this, the Dark One became angry, and she killed her lover; she then made him chase her, every night, across the sky, and cursed him to twist as their offspring did, and be both of Light, and of Dark.

He realised she'd stopped singing, and had likely not understood the story of his song, being in Wolf-tongue. He smiled, sheepish, and nuzzled under her arm, watching her return to the kitchen duties. Her next words, however, pricked his ears, and he felt the Man within pushing forwards, wanting to respond in a way she'd understand.

"You know ...I know that... people think the stars are beautiful." Mottled eyes watched her carefully, their wolffish nature twisting ever so slightly as the Human forced his way back to the surface, joints and bones altering very slowly, more achingly, as he listened intently. "But I ...'ve never found the night to be a comforting ...thing." His body felt the changes of her reaction to her words; a change in heart beat and breathing rate, a scent of anxiety and sadness, a tightening of her facial muscles, ever so slightly, like some bad memory had flooded her mind for just a fraction of a moment, but enough for a perceptive beast to notice and feel within the atmosphere between them. He pushed himself up to a sit, his body altering with more speed now as she leant away from him, tending to the duties she'd set herself. "But ...I suppose I could see how it could be... a comfort. When... As long as you feel ...safe..."

She leant back once more, expecting the Wolf, laying a hand to where there had been fur. Instead, Human arms wrapped around her midriff, and pulled her against his chest, Human head and dreadlocks dropping to her shoulder and clattering lightly. His chest rumbled deeply as he hummed at the warmth of the contact, the hair that still remained on his body that hadn't been stripped by the multitude of scars standing on end. "I vill alvays be djour safety, Little Vixen." Wy'ziot mumbled against her skin. His hands enclosed around her arms, taking hands and diggers wherever they worked their way into his grasp, his strong, long legs unfurling from beneath him carefully, stretching out joints that hadn't popped fully as he changed and letting out soft grunts as they now did so with deep 'thock' sounds of joints realigning deep within muscles, tight and ready. He curled his shoulders down around the small woman, almost draping like a cloak around her as she sat within his lap, his exposed body radiating heat through the gorgeous sheer cloth of the lingerie she'd been tempted by.

"As delicious as djou are, Little Vixen... I am drooling for zome of zhis food djou 'ave been busy vizh... and if I do not eat zhis soon, it may be djou on my menu..." He chuckled low, his hot breath flushing over her skin and neckline as he nuzzled his nose into the space behind her small, tipped right ear, breathing deep, still saddened by the loss of her hair. He released her right arm with his left hand, and finally raised it, fingers trembling a little as he finally ran their tips over his scalp in a soothing motion, feeling how little of the fiery, wild tresses fell between his digits. He groaned his sadness into her hair, laying the hand onto her nape, feeling almost nothing but skin. "Promise me." Wy'ziot whispered. "Zhat next time, djou let no ozher but me take djour 'air." He planted a chaste kiss to the space behind her ear, trailing down to her neck, before he rested his cheek against her shoulder, his mottled, flickering eyed looking up to her with pleading. "I can make djou so beautiful, if zhat is vhat djou vished. If it is utility, I could braid it for djou; make djou like zhe varrior vomen of my Tribe, as I remember zhem, my Little Vixen... my Master..."

 

[unais]

Her hand missed a space for a wolf, and she looked to find where it had landed, and found no wolf, only arms to pull her into him. The circle of his embrace and warmth. The prickle of his arms hot against her, and the grip that held her fingers strongly in his. She eased into him, into the surprise, becoming a part of him.

I will always be your safety.

Little Vixen.

She smiled.

They stumbled often. Together. Her intents were bumbled by words and fumbled by anger.

But this time she felt that he had understood her. That the night of blackness and the stars in their pinprick flares, things forever lauded and feared by humans, had finally begun to show her its nascent beauty. Because she was here with him. She wrapped her fingers around his. The nebulae was starting to bleed its violet milky purple as the dark mass turned darker.

Her head turned, the words a croon in her throat. "...I know." She felt it.

That somehow they were tied together. If she was within his reach, somewhere he could hear, somewhere she was felt... he would find a way to her. Always.

Nothing will stop me from getting to you, if you need me.

Her head leant back against him, warm and strong.

He seemed to have come out of the forest sprint more warmth to give her. Perhaps the untamed air had freed him from the thoughts that plagued him. The demands of men that hung over both of them.

He cleared her loathing with his lips talking against her skin.

"As delicious as djou are, Little Vixen... I am drooling for zome of zhis food djou 'ave been busy vizh... and if I do not eat zhis soon, it may be djou on my menu..."

"Hm." The hum of a chuckle. "Again?" His words fell in hot curls, caressing her mind and her neck. He'd never said as much, but she had an inkling that the werewolf might have thought to snatch her up in his jaws once or twice. If she were him, she would have eaten her. His touch alights behind her ear and sparks the voice in her throat. She covered her mouth with a thumb, feeing the tremble at the tail end of her breath. He seemed to be finding his way there more and more. The smile against her hand didn't mind.

And a tremble seemed to find itself outside of her at his fingertips. A vague clumsiness of the slight claws caressing through her hair. He groaned, and she was reminded that she'd done wrong.

"Promise me."

She was quietly still.

"Zhat next time, djou let no ozher but me take djour 'air."

She tensed as he kissed her, the urge still bursting into her brain even now as he touched her there.

Pressed himself again against her shoulder. Pleading as he held her gently. Waiting for her punishment and her judgment.

He moved and allowed her to turn in his embrace, to look at him comfortably.

"I can make djou so beautiful, if zhat is vhat djou vished. If it is utility, I could braid it for djou; make djou like zhe varrior vomen of my Tribe, as I remember zhem, my Little Vixen... my Master..."

Her expression was vague in its sadness. She watched him fall into something from before. Watched him sink further and further into it. Before she pulled herself into it with him.

Her forehead touched his gently, her hand brushing his brow before she could brave a look into his eyes. It was quiet.

"...Okay." Her thumb ran down the scar that cut deepest. Ending at the corner of his mouth. "I promise." She paused, and brought a lock of her hair to his lips. "…It's yours."

It fell to the side, still at the edge of their lips as she kissed him. "…I didn't know it'd hurt you so. I'm sorry."

His hand moved to touch her face and she grabbed it, holding it, pressing the palm to her cheek. The topography raised with the cracks of scars, but the skin softened by years.

"I'll entrust you..." Her eyes cracked open, to his always shifting gaze. "…My Wy'Ziot... to care for it as it grows…" her other hand reached for him, touching his face again. Running her fingers down the white scruff of stubbly. "…However it suits you… And to do whatever you wish with it that makes you happy." Her heart beat, jumping, the inanity of herself suddenly visceral. "…While adhering to whatever wish it is I have at momentary phases in time."

Panyin leaned into him again. A smile for her strangeness, but she leaned until she kissed him.

She didn't care. She didn't care if she touched him too much. If it was that she was too close to many times. If she was too different from a Panyin that had been known and was too gentle to be the person she had seemed to be. She wanted his closeness utterly. She wanted it in his entirety. She couldn't even stop as fear and love beat through her veins in equal measure.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'ziot smiled softly as she leant into him, trusting. She didn't realise that in needing him, and trusting him, she saved him, too. His arms flexed a little, and he rolled his shoulders to alleviate the ache in them from stopping to her size. As she turned in his embrace to cuddle up against his bare and scarred chest, his throat let out a rumbling sigh, and his smile, a natural smile anyway due to the scarring, upturned more into a defined smirk as he decides it time to lighten the mood. Her forehead against his, and a stolen kiss made him chuckle, his fingers raising to intertwine with her hair, fingers deftly working on the one side of her head to take the shortened length of her fringe and braid it back, against her head, incorporating other lengths as it went till the layers were secured at the back, so that the left side of her face was revealed, and the right still left free. He marvelled a moment, at all the new shades of red that danced within the fibres.

"In my Tribe, 'air is sacred. It is like our pelt." Wy'ziot tried to work out how to explain this to a human that did not transform. "My 'air is like zhis in Man, and in Wolf. It is recognisable from a distance, like my 'owl. My Brother and Sister vould recognise it instantly as my own." He pursed his lips in thought a moment. "Ehhh... zhis is 'ard to explain... my 'air 'as never been cut. It is mine, and zhough I tease it into dreadlocks, zhe same 'air I 'ad as a pup is 'ere. My identity." He looked at her, and his eyebrows furrowed in the middle, but peaked upwards, trying to portray a cry for help. "Is zhere somezhing like zhis in djour culture?"

The Werewolf thought to her clothing, and how different it was to others with the belts and leggings. The corsetry, and the shirts. He clicked his fingers and waved his hand in excitement. "Our 'air is like djour clozhing style. It is what defines ourself in zhe Tribe, as ve all vear similar!" Wy'ziot grinned broadly in triumph, flashing his cheeky, stunningly pointed teeth. It brightened his whole face, and gave him a childish quality in finally being able to express why it was important to him. Since his capture, torture, years of slavery, and gladiatorial battles, to the indentured nature of his life with the Contractors, there were not many of the customs of his Tribe he remembered; the clay, the hair cutting, or lack there of, and the pride in scars. As well as the utilitarian use of every element of an animal's structure. The songs, and stories, that he could remember, the tunes of those he could not. He held these with an iron grip, and he was pleased to have someone to share them with, if only in part.

He leant forward and pressed his forehead to Panyin's, his grin still in place. What was at odds with it was the growl of a hungry appetite that almost echoed around the cabin. Mottled eyes widened, before the giant albino burst into laughter, pressing a hand against his stomach, and sheepishly eyeing the fire behind them. "I zhink... I am starved." The albino released his enamoured prey, and it was only then it really registered with him he was as undressed as nature. He slunk across to where Panyin had placed his clothes from when he'd taken himself off to run, and pulled on his breeches, fastening the straps and ties. The new fangled armoured shoulders he had purchased he left off, not feeling up to entangling himself in the myriad strips of fabric and knots, pads and straps, as well as the hood it held. Finally more decent, he turned to face Panyin and the plate she had prepared, sitting now at the table, and revelling in the feel of humanity. He peered through the glass panes at the slither of moon still in the darkness.

"The Moon is playing 'is tricks vizh my body..." He murmured as he picked up a spoon and dove into the delicious meal set before him, chewing ravenously on the starchy beans, the sweet tripe fat, and sucked loudly on marrowbone.

 

[unais]

No one ever touched her hair, she realized. It was a strange feeling. His adept fingers soothing along the side of her head, so close to her brain. Her eyes shuttered, closing for a minute as he worked, cracking open as he stopped, leaving one side free.

She ran a palm over it. The braids rose like fish scales under her skin, smooth as silk since he had tended to it with his oils. A chuckle. He told his story.

"So this one..." Her palm cupped the tip of his hair. "This was from when you were born?" How funny. Even with all the years he'd been... She would have thought something. Torn hair. The slaver fights. Annoyances, brambles and twigs.

Sacred. Ah.

In that instance she understood how it'd been traumatic for him. Though she shouldn't have, she felt as if she'd done something wrong. He pursed his lips, and she set her cheek on her hand. She watched him in her contented fondness, smiling as he worked his way around words he'd struggled to find. Her expression changed as he looked back to her, turning an eye to her past.

"My culture...?" Her eyes flicked. Her lip poked out in hard thought. Would she consider it one. He brought her back to him, finding his analogy, one he seemed more proud to have found. His little joys were contagious. All she could muster was her weak chuckles; though it was that he glowed. Made her weak, robbing her strength as her skin went hot with happiness. He resumed the form he had with her, and she settled into it, but the call of hunger was still present, and he parted from her with another laugh.

She sat back on her hands, watching from behind. The shift of his muscles beneath his skin, rolling under the mat of scars when his weight moved to one side at the other. She turned her gaze into the haloed glow of her hair vignetting her right. She remembered the city in a ravine. "...So dyeing my hair would also be out of the question?" Her eyes came back to him. She felt bad for the joke, though she was enjoying his reaction. "I'm kidding..." She stood, and looked down at the mess she had to step around her feet. Would he want the rabbit heads? She had picked them clean without scratching them much, but she didn't find anything special about them. It couldn't be that he simply collected bones for bones. Her eyes glanced at him for a moment. Felt them without seeing, them, his back to her. His bones that touched her while he held her, clacked as he moved and let her feel his presence. She hadn't yet asked.

The heavy kindling scraped out of the sink as she lifted it and tossed it back. She didn't hear it land and looked to see she'd nearly hit Wy'Ziot; who gave her a look and put it back where it belonged. She pulled a serving plate from the counter, and a normal platter for herself. She split the meal three-quarters to him, one for herself. Plopped herself in the chair. It was a mistake. It was cold, and she preferred the furred rug by the fire. Her eyes went over to him, with a smile crooking her mouth. Well, two furry rugs. He sat himself, and she lost her chance.

Panyin mirrored his glance out the window, the sliver of moon drawing more closed as the nights moved on.

"Tricks...?" She picked up her spoon and looked into her plate. Rabbit head stew. Peasant food, generally, but on Kellige Isles it was made into a fine dish with hand-pulled noodles and the meat as a dry sauce. They'd no pasta, so she made soup. She stopped with a hand to her mouth. "...I left the brains inside...?" No wonder she had forgotten something. Tsk. She resumed eating.

Eyes and innards didn't bother her. Though they should have. But brains. She almost twitched. She could eat them. Has eaten them. But it reminded her.

"My culture." She stuffed a spoon of meats and juices into her mouth. Chewing, talking around it. "If you can call it that. Is from Morrow..." A set of islands far southeast. A small place, where it seems backwards in technology. Probably still now, if she were to guess. Certainly backwards in... everything else just as well. It's not an island where they sent criminals like Ragael. No, Morrow... infamous in what times its small name is known, is a place that grews criminals.

A place whose beasts are so bold they roam the streets and drag civilians out of town while the guards stand idle. Pockets should be watched. Backs should be guarded. Corruption and the worship of malevolent dieties were all but out in the open. She was surprised to find the gossip of Morrow accurate, now that she was outside of that place. That everyone was a criminal. She sipped her soup. Little wonder she became one there.

"...In prison, they thought I was a high elf." She was not considered short like she was here. "Though I think it was because I became fairly gaunt in my stint there." Her gaze hardly met the table as she thought. "...Yes, that's about it. I was treated as one thing to the next, between elf and human mage though I have almost no ability for it... Red hair wasn't so uncommon as well, but it got me in trouble because..." Her eyes shifted over to him with a barely cracked smile. "You could see it."

She realized where this was going and regretted speaking. She didn't know if she should keep talking, but did. "...I'm sorry. I have no beautiful cultures, no stories. I want to say I have no culture to speak of... and no traditions to follow..." Her hand stilled, her mouth empty. "...And no stories to remember..." She pinched around the pewter spoon. "...But I do. I suppose. I followed the tradition of doing whatever it took to survive. I didn't trust. I hid behind the strong knowing they would turn on me." Her pause was long, and she resumed eating. "And I let--" Her hand tapped down, her words weakening and her throat to weak to let them leave her throat.

It wasn't even that bad of an admission. The words were easy. Simple. Yet they made her weak when she came back to those moments.

"...And I let people die." She lifted the spoon. Ate. Stared unfeeling, untasting at her food. "...so that I could stay alive." Her grip tightened. "Or unbothered."

She would have rather

"...The moon, and his tricks," she looked up, her eyes brighter, alert as they looked upon him. "What were they, that you were saying?"

He would not absolve her. He could not. But she was cleaner being with him. Meeting him. As if his purity could flow through her and cleanse her of the sins that carried. Even if for a little while. That was enough. It always has been.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'ziot watched the young woman feel over her hair; the delicate loops, lifts and swirls of her glorious locks intertwining to create the elaborate braid, utilising her hair, but creating a utilitarian look, to keep it from her face. It brought to sharp relief the shape of her face, the high cheek, the tipped ear, the harsh line of brow, the large, golden orbs that flashed at him. Her dainty little nose, full pout. Lips he could die for. As she reached for his longest dreadlock, the one decorated wth the bluejay feather, he smiled broadly, and nodded. He twirled its length through his fingers.

"Vere I to tease zhe lengzh of zhis 'air out, it vould vell reach my buttock." No mean feat, considering the length of his body. "Over time, I vill 'ave lost parts of it to sword, or breakage. Or zome bastard taking it from me to teach me a lesson in 'manners'." He scowled here, spoon raised above his bowl as though his brain had stopped mid-motion to remember the man. "'Is life vas shortened for zhat indiscretion..." His face softened again as he continued, raising another spoonful of food to his mouth and chewing in contemplation. "But not vonce 'ave I been zhe cause of my 'air to be cut."

Wy'ziot listened to her regale the stories of her homeland; the way she tried to make light of it, but failed. They way she tried to put a brace face on her experiences. As she stilled, he touched a hand to her arm, eyes calm and serene, his thumb soothing in a comforting motion. He didn't say anything, just let the touch linger to state he understood her pains, and nodded as she finished. They are in silence for a moment. He chewed for a few moments, before a grin spread across his face. "So djou let people die. I 'ave purposely 'unted, dismembered, and even eaten Prey." It was said so casually. "I prefer djour meals by far."

The giant albino looked up at Panyin slyly, his smirk spreading across his face, the look devilish in appearance, before a great booming laugh filled the cabin. It was as though, at his age, very few things of weighted seriousness were of concern. They were simply moments in a vast spread of time. Moments captured in amber and remembered, but moments nonetheless. He'd survived, and he'd carried on, like the lessons had never been taught, never mind learnt from.

"Little Vixen, zhere is beauty in djour story, because zhe one 'oom tells zhe story is a vision." Again, he smirked as he set down his spoon and lifted the plate. "Even if she does joke about zhe cutting of 'er 'air." Wy'ziot's pale, silvery eyebrow rose as he smirked, and lifted the plate to his mouth so the last of the meat and bone juices could slide in. He stood, taking up the implements of her cooking and their eating, and strode to the large sink. Plugging the hole, he filled the large pot they'd cooked with with water, and set this on the hearth again. Corded muscles bunched and flexed as he worked, lifting these heavy items like they were little more than bricks, or bowls. With the water set to bubble, boil, and lift any remains from the pot, he pumped more cold water into the sink after clogging the drain with a rag. An old slab of harsh soap was fetched from a cupboard, and the arduous task of cleaning began. He was quiet as he did his task, arms working the rag over burnt on segments, wiping over plates. His eyes lifted to the frail slice of moon, frowning a moment.

"Panyin... can djou fetch zhe instructions?" He knew he didn't need to state to get fully what ones he meant as he worked, back to her. They needed to get serious. They were being sent to stop a war in his homelands. He was sure many whom he'd known when he was taken from there were just memories, but something niggled his mind; he'd left someone behind whom he should be wary of, but his mind was fogged; those moments were not clear like the crystalline amber memories of now. Back then, he'd been young, reckless, and he'd paid the price. A low growl had built in his chest, and it rocked his frame as he released it, oblivious to the sound filling the small cabin as he stared out the window. Sizzling brought him back to the room, and he strode over to the pot that was boiling, dumping its hot contents into the sink and taking the caustic soap to it, ignoring the way his skin flooded bright red; the burn felt good as he got angry with his brain, and his fractured memories.

 

[unais]

She felt over it again, the silk lattice woven into the side of her head. Surprised that he could do much at all with the slight hair she'd had left. And was touching it because it felt nice.

Teaching him manners. She winced. Yes, that was what she had expected. But she felt an odd draw from the sips of his stories. A draw to watch him young, to see what he was like in the pits where he'd once spend so much time. She wondered if she had seen him their paths would not as crossed as they would now. She probably would have watched, and averted herself.

He would accept her, at this point. Anything she would have done in the past would not be ignored, nor unseen, and simply exist as some woven part of her history. All the parts that existed of her: ugly, annoying, cruel, mercurial, horrible, with a backline of sin that ran so deep it may as well have beat as her blood. He would accept all of it. He extended his hand of welcoming for her existence. All she needed to do was take it.

She wondered how long it would be before then.

As he attended to his cleanings, and she watched for a moment, finding peace in his motions, so smooth and calm and practiced. The room swelled with a growl that released around them, going unnoticed by the one who owned it, and she hummed her amusement, taking herself up. Her mouth was dry, and she stood to stop beside him, taking the small pot back as he set it to dry, filling it with water as he stepped back to the fire. She sat this over the hearth again, and went away to their things where she unraveled her another muslin sheet, tore it into a pouch to crumble into it handfuls of flowers and leaves. As she wrapped this, holding it closed, the other hand she reached into his kit where she could see the paper tucked, folded in quarters as she'd done before.

The water wasn't boiled yet, but she tossed the satchel into it, its form darkening and sinking overtaken by simmering water, and sat herself down at the table. Her hand smoothed over the paper, and folded it back until it could lay flat again. The words were soft against the grain, a muddied, watered ink to not be seen from behind in the light.

"So," her hands pressed the sides of the paper to the sanded wood, "what was it that they told you...?"

The Western Wilds. That they were to address a war. There was a man there. Ah'dren Kha'zhir. They were to leave a message as bloody as the war that would to break if they did not succeed in this task. Stop the uprising, and any chances it held to regroup. And string this man from the walls for all to see.

Hm.

The information was careful. The ink wavered in places where the scribe had paused, listened, and shifted their handwork. Their mind had thought it was going elsewhere with these words. It seemed a little scant, she thought.

His heavy gaze fell over her, and she stood, the paper curling back into itself, as she went to take two mugs from the cabinet. They were somewhat out of reach. She jumped to snatch them out before his hand drew any closer to help her, and she placed one mug in the offered hand.

The water had come to a heady boil now, and she lifted the pot, pouring the tea into the cup set on the table, and handing him hers.

She sat hard, again, elegance and carefully gone from this form as she sought to address the annoying prattling which now stood on paper. Her leg pulled onto the chair with her, and she wrapped her arms around it, picking up her cup with two hands. "I simply wish to know if they told us anything differently." Blew the steam out from over it.

Her finger set hard onto the parchment, running along a word there for if his eyes were following. "Ah'dren Kha'zhir. Familiar to you?" She doubted it. It sounded like a long time since he had been in his homeland. Lifted the paper again. "They aren't actually telling me much... very little... except for the goal." Let it drop back down, hardly a scratch of sound. "Stop an uprising by killing someone or another." Her eyes held on him in a way they hadn't before. No hatred, no anger. No annoyance. But they were hard, bidding answers. Her thumb rubbed against the paper, seeking another one underneath, but it was just the one.

Tsked, her eyes moving off him to the source of her annoyance. "There's nothing in here for preparation--what kind of clothes, climate, political undercurrent. I suppose they expected you to know." Or they were making this difficult on purpose.

She closed her eyes, picturing the map. "The Wilds... Is there a peninsula of water between here and there?" She was hoping to be misremembering. "And we'll have to take a... boat... at some point...?"

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'ziot's jobs completed, he settled himself down opposite her, looking at the scribbles, not hearing her first question. His mind was casting back to the moments in the crucible, but he could really remember much; he could only feel his rising distaste of being amongst them now. All his brain had really absorbed was the task, kill, maim, make it gory as all Hell. He could do that. He was good at it. He thought, his mind drifting a moment, but little came to mind, and he slowly shook his head.

The tea presented to him was warming and sweet smelling; woody, but not in a earthy way. It smelt like sweet sap, and nectar, whilst dancing around the notes of bark and foliage. It was like a trip through the forest, and he drank deeply, ignoring the scold to his tongue, hoping the tea's heat would clear his fogged mind. The Moon was indeed having a horrendous affect on his sensibilities. He was struggling to keep a Man's head on his shoulders. The Wolf was clawing to go and lie on the rug before the fire. He didn't want to think, he didn't want to scheme. He wanted to spend time as a wild beast, and forget his responsibilities. Wy'ziot couldn't blame him.

As Panyin plonked herself down opposite, his glazed eyes looked up from the steam trails of his cup, and they smiled slightly, though his scarred lips barely moved. As she poured over the documents, to see the tricks in their words, his slightly clawed fingernail scraped over the grain of the table, picking at some invisible mark, digging at it, making more of a mark; anything to distract his Wolf. "Ah'dren Kha'zhir..." Wy'ziot murmured. His head bowed again to stare at the half drained mug, and he lifted it to finish it. "It is not a name I know, but it 'as been many a Moon since my paws touched zhat Earth..." He smirked. "Or crossed that Vater..."

He sighed a moment and let out a low chuckle at her determined face, trying to work out the truth. "My dear, do not scramble djour brains understanding zheir plots, or chat tricks zhey 'aven't included in zhe words on zhe page." He grinned at her, more of a baring of his fangs than anything. "Vhen it comes to vork, zhey do not play. Zhey are paid for results. I am paid to ensure zhose results stick." He laughed at her concern over preparation.

"Djou forget; I am a Volf. Vhat preparation do I need? Djou are zhe only one needing zhose, and as far as zhey are concerned right now, djou are an extension of me... zhey probably are expecting me to infect djou vizh zhe coming New Moon, as is zheir fancy." The words hung heavy, and the giant stood, stretching his broad arms above his head, placing the palms, fingers linked, behind his head; muscles popped and creaked from his run, shifting under his skin. The Wolf shifted as well, pushing at his broad shoulders to be allowed free again, a faint roll beneath the skin that shifted colours and shapes like the winds shaped sand. He leant against the hearth, hand running over where his fingers had cracked the stoneware before. He smirked.

"It is zhe right time of year to avoid boats. Ve vill 'ead souzh. Zhe Vroj'Ahzik... Great Freeze, vill be spreading. Ve vill cross zhat land-bridge. Travel light and fast. 'Op between zhe islands, using zhe ice. Listen to zhe tales. 'Ead to zhe battle fields. By zhey, tensions vill 'ave grown enough vhen ve leave zhe message, it vill be poignant, and lasting. Just 'ow zhe Contractors like it." Wy'ziot's shoulders rolled again as his Wolf pushed for the taste of human blood. He pushed him down, told him to wait. The journey would take around a month; place him there at the right time for the Full Moon, and the most devastation he could cause to one frail Man. They'd have to break once the New Moon was in full swing; or she would have to go on ahead and he'd find her later. The Contractors knew there would be difficulties with their union through this mission; distances were always a difficulty with those whom weren't Wolf; they ran a risk every time they travelled to meet his Wolf full Wild. And it wasn't something Wy'ziot wanted to test with Pan.

"I... I am tired, Pan. I'm going to settle..." The albino glanced over his shoulder at her, and smiled a little. He pushed from the hearth, and strode to the door out. "I vill return in the morning."

 

[unais]

She did not expect it to be a name familiar to him. It sounded like a long standing distance to his homeland, and this young pup was to be... young. They were to be crossing water. Panyin winced at the paper, irritation crinkling her nose.

My dear. Her eyes flicked up to him. Of love, of ardour, but she couldn't help but hear a shred of patronage in such words. He encouraged her to not waste her mind on it, expend such energy, and her eyes went back to the paper. Not reading. Hiding the gaze from his. Sorry again that she hid thoughts in her mind to not surface where he could see them. They were paid for results. He was following, to intend the results in fruition. She said nothing of it. And felt fine.

I am a Wolf.

Something about this struck her, that she looked at him again. That she realized as he said that, what it was she truly regarded him as. Werewolf. Werewolf. Werewolf. But the study of such things was few, far between, rare, scant and untrustworthy stories. When he turned to a wolf he was wolf. When he turned to Man he was man. And he was a man that turned into this hybrid of things. But was it that when she looked at him now, into the face of Man, she thought of him as human? And that was... not right. Not what it should be. He was wolf... She pressed back in her chair, resting her mouth into her palm as she regarded him.

"Infect me." She was not impressed with the Contractors and their supposed fancies of intent. Perhaps it would happen. She should think more deeply about the possibility. The fact, that they both swore to, in an inn in a morning light before the corpse of a goat. That she were to spend her time with him, a wolf--a werewolf--for another milennia if survived... If she were to contract Lycanthropy, which she'd no reason to doubt she couldn't, there was probably going to be chance for that in all the time they were going to be together. But for now…

The land bridge... They would not be riding boats. Her tension exhaled, safe, but not removed.

It was going to be cold, which was fantastic. But it was that she hated any weather that required any treatment and care of herself that expanded her attention beyond needing to work. She hadn't dressed for winter, nor had she clothes for the desert. It was seeming that she was unprepared, not to any worries of his.

And weren't there dragons in the South? They migrated there and would congregate in the farthest southern isles to nest for a short period of the year. Well, they were drakes, rather. About the size of a horse, but armored, as draconids were. The Southern tribes and cities that lived closest were famed for their staunch ability to head off populations of young draconids, but for whatever reason did not exterminate them all permanently as their numbers surged every winter.

"I... I am tired, Pan." Her eyes resumed. "I am going to settle..." And her hand lowereed, as he stepped away from her.

"I will return in the morning." Without another word, the door flapped and he disappeared behind it. There was a dull roll of cracks and pops, a white flash into darkness that was the night all around. With the scarce moon, the landscape disappeared all into one unmoving mass of blackness. She left the fire, allowing it to crackle down into embers, and cleaned up a bit. Washing their tea dishes, she went to the spare things in her pack and washed herself over with her own cloth and a soap they had bought. Her hands were uneasy to not find more work to do. Her skin cooled in the light, as she dragged over soft pieces of clothes to cover her from the encroaching night.

The fire burned quite mightily all through the day. But it felt cold as she lay in the bed, away from the furs and the light.

She had wanted to walk with him. To lay with him. To talk over the dying fire in disregard for what they were send out to do. He hated the questions, she knew, but she was pleasured by his voice and sated in her curiosity when he spoke. She could take the time to look at him without feeling it all along her skin. He would talk, she would listen, and he would avert his eyes. Not look at her. Stare with the regard that held her in every capacity of his being, all the fibres of him attuned to her being, existing, making her heart unsettle as it pattered to see him love her.

She thought of it now and it made her heart beat. Swept with unease of what to do with herself. Confused at her existence and embarrased that it happened.

She hadn't expected to miss him this night instead.

Sleep came. Dreams came. Nothing she could determind. As as she rolled to find a groggy sense of body, she was awake. The light was pale. And everything was cold. She crawled out from the fur that covered her, and stepped out onto the cold slats. There was nothing going on behind the door. Not one sound. She pushed it open.

"Wy'Ziot?" Nothing called back. No sounds or movements. And as she scanned the room, in a bleary gray morning light, it looked like nothing had moved since the night.

She squinted, the softened pads of her feet brushing the rough wood as she walked across, and stepped outside. The air was damp, and cold, clinging to her skin as she stepped out to look about the grounds. Bastion was undisturbed, and there was no wolf sleeping out here.

Had he broken a vow to her already? She huffed, and knew she was keeping away from something. They should be leaving as soon as they were able. So she went through the cabin and picked up their things. Wrapped his clothes into his kit, finished putting away the bed, her things.

She had to do it. All of it. There was a nagging sense in her neck, and suddenly she understood how women could be such shrews to the men they claimed to adore. There was something there, and she was certaintly tempted to give into it next she saw him.

Her clothes were laced, fixed, and her boots tied on. She saw weird loops in her hair from the side, and knew her braid had mussed. Carefully, she unraveled it, bothered to know it would be sticking out at odd angles. She left the hair as it was after; crimped and whorled. There was still no one else here. She checked the morning. The sun was casting shorter shadows with its risen height. If she stayed any longer, the beds of her nails would itch and she would start, and she did not want to do any more alchemy right now. She had to keep herself far from that precipice of work.

She tapped her fingers on the sill of the window. Was she to wait? To forage? To wait for him... Wasn't that to be expected?

An hour passed and she was looking into the fire not to burn her hands on the sweet coals as the itch grew, burying itself deeper under her nails. The fire was warm, and welcoming. Like warmth of liquid gold, strung into water from her mind by her fingers. She couldn't stand it. Her madness was starting to chew. Asking to be fed.

Panyin was standing before she knew what she had done.

Had he had gone ahead to check the path?

If he had, he would have been back by now.

Something had happened, it was sure, but it wasn't that he was dead. Hurt, possibly. Dying, unlikely. But he was somewhere. She just didn't know why, yet. And if waiting for him was what she should do. No... her mind said. She should go find him, if not and yet. It seemed that was not what she should do yet now, either. Something in her told her. She would either be putting herself into danger, being a weakness, or unable to do anything if she did find him.

Should she then... go ahead to where he could find her? Or was she to sit here in quiet, waiting for him?

Her feet slowly moved to the door, and her hand pulled it out of the way. Bastion had gotten up, and trotted heavily towards her, pushing at her, asking for extra feed. She pushed the velvet nose away from her, it following her and padding at her shoulders as she pulled out for him to eat. It was just the two of them? Not permanently, she couldn't think, but...

She stopped with her hand on Bastion's flank, dusty from his roll with the dirt, with the thought that she knew, that she could follow.

That he would find her. Wherever she would be.

She dressed Bastion with the saddle. A carrot from their things was found, and surprised her, feeding it to him carefully. Then slipped the bridle over his head with some difficulty. What side it was. She never could remember. He didn't like this. His wide eyes looked about, finding for Wy'Ziot who usually handled him. She shushed, suddenly aware of her handling as he began to back away from her. As she gently got it into place, and adjusted the saddle again, he seemed less fussed with her, patient in the ways that a parent begrudgingly withheld themselves from helping a child. Letting them learn their incompetence, to remember more correctly next time. She settled the saddlebags. Reached into her bag for the loose notebook she kept. A paper wriggled free from the stuck pages, and she took this to the door and knelt with it. Her charcoal pen stopped on the parchment.

She stared at the paper. Come for me, it would have said. She stared some more.

Panyin pocketed the pen, and picked a charcoal from the fire, instead, drawing a thick line in an arrow south. She pinned this at the foot of the door with a rock.

With one look around, the sun hitting just before noon, she determined her way south. Pulled the sides of the saddle as it came towards her as she mounted the horse, and plopped herself on the steed, alone. Another look.

One last thing. She reached behind her and took her short knife from it. She sighed, wiping the blade and bringing the tip to the back of her arm, just below the wrist. With a hiss, the she dug carefully, a pinprick enough to draw blood. She sheathed this back. Let the blood whell and rise. She touched it, and it smeared a small streak down her arm. Barely like a touch of dirt. She looked at her fingers. Then snapped the reins into her hands.

She clicked Bastion to go, turning, then shouting to set him on the path. He took off in a run.

The sun was warm overhead. They headed south, as she saw it. They hit the coast and she veered away, closer to what roads she could find that were taking her down towards the peninsula.

Time passed. With nothing else, she had only two thoughts ahead.

Was she heading down the right path? At all? The best path to find their way south?

And if not, was she meandering some idiot way through? Taking a labyrinthine way?

And... the other thought, as she went further away from the cabin, was if he would find her. If she was just getting away from him. Where he was cold, hurt, injured in some place where he couldn't move.

The thought blinked into absurdity in her mind, as she saw who he was. As the sun rose, much like the moon would in the next nights. And be an empty form. His moon.

He'd a side that had been opened that healed in twelve hours. If the new moon was stronger, they only thing that could keep him down would be death.

Her eyes had to focus on the road ahead of her. A convoy was stopped, and she slowed Bastion's canter to a saunter. Just short of a dozen men, a unit and all, was set along it, blocking the path. Two travelers talked with the men, all in plate and mail just as those in the city were, and she approached, unsure of the commotion as she looked upon it. Panyin strode up on them, appraising with her eyes, before speaking to the first man that looked at her.

"Is there a problem here?"

 

[Malhyanth]

Sometimes, the giant hated what he was, and this was one of those moments. As he'd stepped through the door to the cabin, a Wildness had taken over, and he'd had enough time to get away from the cabin, it's inhabitant, and the loyal steed outside, watching quietly as he chewed his hay; the beast witnessed the transformation as if it was in slow motion, taking it in, throwing back his giant head only once in a bit of distaste for what this man really was. The shift was so fast it seemed to ripple over his muscles, the fur shaking out as the limbs extended. Tearing could be heard as the trousers fell from his form, the belt section tearing away before his legs swelled with their new shape, falling from his form as he bounded out of them.

Wolf took over entirely, and the brain of the Man, his thoughts and his intelligence, his reasoning, were pushed far down into his belly, far from the light of the day, and stores away, safe. The beast ran, pounding the earth. His eyes had lost the Man from them, glowing with solely the Wolf, their shape different to other times Panyin had witnessed the beast. Yet there was thought; it was rustic, and it was forward, but there was comprehension; Panyin was more than Prey. She was something different. She wasn't quite mate, though the Man had strong feelings of such a claim. The Wolf didn't see her that way yet; he could sense something there that could be, a lost depth to her. Perhaps he could find a way to draw out the beast? Then both Man and Wolf would find in this female a solid foundation; something to call home? The heady scent of Vixen filled the small confines of room, and cabin. She was delectable, and made the Wolf salivate. But not enough to protect her completely. Not yet.

The large paws pounded on, heading Westerly. His nose was filled with wild scents, and on he followed them. The Moon's tiny slither barely graced the world below with light, but the vision of the Wolf was keen, and didn't need it; it was almost like day to his vision, and he headed on, thick froth flicking back from his mouth as he pounded on, his muscles screaming at him. The Hunt flooded his veins, though his stomach did not feel hunger. It was the chase, the fight. On he forced his body, screaming at him now to slow, but instinct was taking over, drowning the Man's voice. Scents flooded his brain, and suddenly, he found what he'd sought.

It was a musky scent, deep and earthy, the opposite of the sweet tea he'd drunk before leaving the woman in the cabin. It smelt of deep fur. It smelt of blood, and dung, and musk. It was a large, lone male, like himself, scarred from his battles. His hulking form was up on the ridge ahead, his deep russet fur shifting over hulking shoulders. His wedge head swung from side to side, his muzzle snuffling around the heathland around him. His claws were like sabres, and his size rivalled the Wolf's, but the fight was wanted, desired. The Man felt drowned out by the endorphins of finding such fine prey. Realising the futility of it, the Man relaxed into the Wolf, with only one thought going through to the mind so raptured by the Grizzly that lumbered ahead.

'Don't kill yourself for this sport. She needs you.'

It was acknowledged by the Wolf, but the attack went ahead, swift and violent. Lustrous white fur was ravaged by the thick claws of the bear, tearing at shoulders, neck and face as he leapt upon the beast. They touselled, teeth and claws clashing and flailing. Blood splattered over the conifers, the ferns, the loam of the forest. The roars echoed over the forest's bowels, and all was silent; no birds sang as the dawn started to penetrate. The mountain of brown fur, so thick, so warm, stirred. It lifted, and fell to the side as the victor raised to his hind legs, his savaged face baring a fanged grin as he through back his head. He howled a salutation to the sun, the echos of it reaching out far, sparking wolf packs close to his position. He didn't require the meat, it held no interest, but something in his mind made him double take on the body. Thick. Warm. Fur that needed a thorough wash, but had that female been concerned about this? The Wolf tried to think, and allowed the Man within to raise a little. He looked down to his blood stained claws, and the Man directed his body, carving carefully, taking the huge paws, slicing with the sharp implements of his body, and working on pulling the pelt from the bear.

The Wolf didn't understand, but allowed the Man his moment in the body. Wrapping the heavy pelt around himself, the carcass was left, leaving it for the wild beasts to feed on, after sending up a prayer to the Mother Moon for allowing him the ability to hone his skills and fight such a worthy warrior. Blood still dropped, sluggishly, from the crossing of slashed over his Wolf face, from his shoulders and his chest, the bite wounds of his neck and belly. He looked a state, but with the pelt wrapped around his body to return with, he felt triumphant regardless. He trotted back, following his nose to the cabin.

By the time he arrived, the place was cold and dark. His canine nose cast about, and found the note. An arrow. Pointing due south. He snorted at it a few times, taking in her sweet scent. Then something else captured his attention. He scouted till he found it. Droplets, tiny, littered the dry, crumbling loam of the forest floor. It lead off in the direction of the arrow. Smart girl; just in case he couldn't follow their tracks, she'd left him a scent trail. The sun was high, and hot. It was cooking him under this musky bear pelt. He set off at a gentle pace, his tongue lolling out, lapping up her scent as he trudged on, off the road, to avoid detection.

He followed her meandering path, impressed by her distance. Her scent was still strong, and their tracks clear, and it didn't take long for him to feel her presence growing closer. He slowed, his large paws carrying him into deep cover of the forest. His mottled eyes narrowed as he pushed through the undergrowth. A new scent started to mingle in, over take. It was Wild... his eyes widened as he heard the growling, the yelps, the snarls. The men speaking together and arguing... then...

"Is there a problem here?"

The giant white beast stopped, his long muzzle lifting in a snarl as he listened to the silence after she'd spoken. The two men lowered their spears at her; they were guards from whatever convoy this was, and they weren't messing about. They looked at her like fresh meat, snickering. Foolish...

"No, li'l Miss, but ain't you a beaut'?" Wy'ziot felt the Wolf shudder; his muscles bunching, his eyes narrowing at the scene. The two men were preoccupied with Panyin, but from his position, he could see further into the commotion. Panyin would be able to deal with those men. If they laid a finger on her, he'd beat them with their own limbs. Stalking closer, further down the road, there was thrashing and mewling that sounded pained and angered. Men laughed as they jabbed at something in the road, covered with a tarp, which had been tacked down to stop whatever was beneath it from escaping. It's ferocious snarls hit Wy'ziot square in his bloodied chest. As he continued to step forward, his fur melted away, his body shrank in on itself, his face melted back, and the wounds from his fight stood out stark against his white flesh, his dreadlocks clattering as he forced his way forward. His snarl tore from his chest far more fiercely than he'd anticipated as the giant man, covered in the pelt of a freshly deceased bear, covered in blood and fresh wounds crashed out into the center of the men, stepping over whatever it was that they held captive.

"Move, peasant!! Wot sort of wild man are ya?"

"Yeah. Move away from my slave!! I caught it, it's mine!!"

Wy'ziot snarled again, tearing the tarp away from the body below with a heaving roar, tearing its stakes from the ground. Revealed below, a child... more of a teenager really, screeched, his darkly tanned skin covered in welts from belt, whip, and stave. His eyes shone a deep amber gold, his spiky dark hair matted to his face with blood. His pupils were odd... they were slotted. The scent of him was Wild, similar to Wy'ziot... but more similar to Panyin. The boy quietened at the sight of the giant, bloodied man, his limbs stilling against the ropes that bound him, biting into his flesh, tearing and blistering it. The men backed away from the crazed man in their midst. One ran at him with his stave which moments before had been beating the lad. A hand flashed out and slashed it with such brute force it was snapped in the man's hand before flinging off to the side.

"Fuck!!! Wot is this!? Another of them beast-men?" The cry went up from the man before him, and before he could back up, Wy'ziot had grabbed him by the throat and bodily lifted him. The other men in the troop gasped and skittered back, dropping their weapons, in some cases, and pushing away from the man suffocating in the grip, his feet kicking out.

"LET ZHIS BE A LESSON TO DJOU!!!" The roar was more beast than Man as Wy'ziot's body shuddered with the effort of keeping his Wolf inside. "TO 'URT ZHOSE OF ZHE VILD VILL GET DJOU KILLED!!" The guard in the giant albino's grip gurgled, as his eyes popped from his sockets as the giant flicked him with ease, using the weight of the man to snap his neck and fling his corpse at the men that shrieked, and tried to catch him, being bowled over by his dead weight. Wy'ziot stood over the boy, his mouth frothing with his anger, his muscles bunching below his scarred skin, the bear pelt hanging from him.

"Shit, let's get out of here lads!!!"

"But wot about the boy?"

"Fuck him!! I ain't going up against that animal!!"

The men scrabbled to get their weapons, and tripped over each other to gather their horses, and their cart. Wy'ziot continued to stand over the lad, listening to the harsh breathing of his own chest, as well as the gasping below him as the troop of guards raced on down the track. Taking a few steps, Wy'ziot saw Panyin, before falling to his knees.

"Pan..." He grinned, before falling forwards, exhaustion from his night time fight, and then his anger at seeing the treatment of the Wild kid. Behind him, as he fell, he heard the kid cry out.

"Hey, hey big guy?! You wake up, no leave me like this now, eh?" His voice was harsh and sounded somewhat uneducated, its grammar not great, the amber eyes wide as he tried to wriggle his beaten and tied up body around to see what was going on. Seeing the woman on the giant of a horse. He hissed, like a Wildcat, a yeowl escaping his chest as he tried to scrabble away. "Eh?! You's get away!! No come close, I bite ya!! See, sharp teeth, bite ya hard!!" The kid was maybe 15, scrawny, lithe, his spiky black hair and dark tanned skin almost completely different to Wy'ziot. His eyes shone at the pair, the passed out giant in the road, and the woman with her horse. His teeth were indeed pointed, like Wy'ziot, but he held a very different carriage, a solitary predator feel... an aggressively independent soul, not by circumstance, but choice. His body was welted with the beatings he had received at the hands of the men, but otherwise, he was relatively free of damage. His nails, on feet and fingers, were sharp like Wy'ziot too. What could be seen of his ears, below his crazy hair, were high tipped, similarly to Panyin's.

"Eh?! Why keep looking? Stop it! I bite ya!!!" He was a ferocious kid, and it was obvious the men had been using the tarp to protect themselves from his aggressive nature. He continued to fight against his thick rope restraints. Wy'ziot, however, was still and quiet as his body recovered from his interesting night. Bastion nudged at Panyin, itching to get closer.

 

[unais]

"No, li'l Miss, but ain't you a beaut'?"

She had apparently approached with the right tone. Authority instead of innocence. Panyin blinked slowly. "I suppose so. But do I look… rich and foolish? You think there's nothing I can do when I come across men like you?"

As she spoke, her hand went to the side where glass flasks lay rolled in a heap below the surface. But it wasn't needed.

He found her.

Quite indeed.

It was not that she shouldn't feel relieved, but she didn't know what she felt as he stood snarling and fighting, with a fresh pelt that dripped gore from his limbs. She perhaps should have found it more serious; but her expression was that of one who comes across said pelt, and doesn't know why it's here.

"Move peasant!!"

This maintained the perplexed frown on her brow. Did Wy'Ziot look to him like a malnourished peasantry that slaved away in the fields?

It was so dramatic. Not that she could blame him as she looked at the tattered mass pinned to the ground behind him. She felt Wy'Ziot's sentiments, but could not roar them as he did, Bastion wickering and fidgeting as he snarled.

But another one of them beast-men. Her eyes went to the boy beyond the group.

He killed one, crushed out his life, and her hand went back to her bag, pulled the reins to step back. But they scattered, did not rally, and she moved forward, Wy'Ziot calling her.

Pan, he had started saying lately. And he was out like a light. In the dirt.

She turned her gaze back to the boy, who spoke. Regarded him and all his details. He noted her unbidden stare, and disliked it. More than once. Bastion stomped, startling the boy in his approach, uttering a huff; not at all impressed with this lad who weighed likely less than Panyin.

A sigh. Her eyes held him. "Are you thirsty?"

"Eh?"

"Are you thirsty?"

"I--" she didn't give him enough time to answer before hopping from the horse. She caught herself. He scrambled, or tried to, but the ropes that held him were true to their purpose. For that, she was glad. Though to let him go, she was highly uncertain if he was going to stay once she untied him.

He yeowled and mewled and hissed and threw a fit like a cat. But she was uncertain. And he was either quite plucky or this whole ordeal had been a recent development. She found that to be lucky as well.

She could still hear the wagon rolling in the distance, gaining speed as it went away from them.

It was odd that Wy'Ziot's solution had resulted in less deaths than hers was going to.

The boy bore his teeth at her. Then she forgot him, and her question, as she turned to Wy'Ziot in the dirt and sighed. A hand held her brow as she thought.

She took the pelt from him, folded it in on itself, skin side inward, and tying it tightly with twine to keep it compact and contained. The edges still started to become heavy with drippings, but at least it would drop alongside Bastion, and onto the floor instead of her things.

Water. She didn't simply have enough, and used one bottle to wash some of the wet blood from him. The rest, where wounds had nearly clotted, she ferreted out a selection of potions to wash with, thinking what would be the least changing, least damaging for him. In particular. Night vision, which would change nothing but his capability to see in darkness. And endurance, which may be useful as he was asleep. Hopefully he didn't wake with the sun still up, else he would be quite grumpy with her and his new blinding state. But it should also have worn off by then; but perhaps the fermentation would have made them stronger.

She washed his wounds, his hands. She washed his face, as well. She thought of applying the powder but without understanding of how an unconscious Wy'Ziot would react in his sleep; even she had to second guess that choice of action.

The boy watched her drink something else and his struggles ceased as he saw her, lifting this man over herself, slumping him over the back of the horse. She dusted him off from the now wet dirt, cleaning whatever again. His clothes were shredded, and she could not dress him now. The position he was in would also give him a headache. But what could she do. He would be fine. She took the wolf's pelt roll and laid it over him, tucking it in under the sides of the saddle and tying it so it would not blow off. At least then it would take a second look for someone to know she was dragging a dead, naked body alongside her. Bastion seemed a little nonplussed by this arrangement, but quickly got over his fuss.

Hopefully Wy's wounds weren't going to reopen from here, to leave bleeding trails all over Bastion and the bags. She knew the next potion she should be working on would be complete and utter bloodstain removal. This was so consistently frequent that she should step outside and expect to be splashed in blood.

A huff of satisfaction, though her work was makeshift as always. She turned back to the lad, who remembered his nervousness as he came under her stare. She came to him, in his attempts to leave, and knelt at his ground.

"Thirsty. Right?" She nodded until he nodded too. She paused, and took a bottle from her side, and then reached to pull the knife out from behind her back.

The hissing and snapping resumed in a scramble, and she stopped it as the knife was shown between them.

She spoke with it between their faces. "Don't scratch me." And tilted her chin. "…And don't do anything that'll make me send him after you when he wakes." That seemed to get him to think.

She would have preferred to stand and pour the healing potion over him without all the risks, but he was young, and it would have healed him to the shape he was now, taut and convoluted by bindings as he was. And to reorient that would be to reopen all those wounds and let them do it all over again.

She found a place to work the knife in and sawed at it. Uncomfortably close to him, it shredded through six layers of braids, before she put the knife back and snapped the rope itself with her current strength. Before he could move she thrust the bottle at him. Stared at him to drink, which he did, and past the hesitation he took his drafts greedily. Then coughed, and sputtered as the taste was an off sweetness with the bitterness of alcohol. And then he kept drinking; to her surprise. Her hand was held out to get it back.

"That's a healing potion." Her hand was stern until he returned it, which he did after it was tipped wholly into his mouth. He had liked the taste? There was practically nothing left.

Panyin rehooked this to her kit, and stood, startling him. He jumped back with all his strength returned, and she saw him checking out his wounds, sealed as they were. The welts dying down.

"Wash your face with this." She tossed to him an endurance potion, though it was unlikely to reach his open flesh by the time he applied it.

She stood by Bastion, soothing his cheek, his neck and his shoulder. She gently pulled the reins forward, starting to walk. Prompting the boy.

"Where do you need to go?" Whether he knew or not, had a place to go, they would walk.

 

[Malhyanth]

The balled up creature watched with complete confusion as what appeared to be a Human helped his kin; sure he was far removed, one of the oldest types, he could smell that without even trying. His size, his ferocity, the young lad had honestly felt concerned for his safety as he had felt the vibrations of his footfalls over his prone body under the tarp. His golden amber eyes narrowed at the woman's gentleness with the giant brute. It was so familial, but they were clearly not related in any way that the young lad could discern.

"Eh... eh you? What you do to big guy? Eh?! I talk at you!!" His voice held a young tonality; it belief his young age. He may appear in his mid-teens body wise, but as was their way, these Wild races often held vast ages. He could well be older than Panyin, in years, but still be a child. His amber eyes watched her clean all the wounds out, and he hissed at the way they looked. "Him fight something BIG!" The words were so clumsy, but he got his point across, as he continues to wriggle against his bindings, trying to free himself before this crazy woman got closer to him. He watched her drink her vials. What happened next sent him back into his hissing, flailing yeowling. She. Just. Lifted him. Like he was a rag doll!! The Wild-child freaked out, and tried to manoeuvre away from them, roll down away from the road, but he was simply too injured and frail; his ribs pressed through his skin, revealing his malnutrition. As the giant was settled, the boy heard a low grumble escape the man; so he was still alive.

"Thirsty, right?" The question caught the boy off guard. Her nodding was weird, like she expected he couldn't understand her. He frowned, but started to nod at her too. The knife flashed suddenly, and from his prone position, the kid started to snarl, spit and hiss. Has he been able, he'd of kicked out and flailed to deter her actions, but she simply let him tire himself out, before she continued.


"Don't scratch me… And don't do anything that'll make me send him after you when he wakes." The boy looked at the slumbering giant... he slowly swallowed, an audible sound coming from his parched, cracked lips as he licked them tentatively, before nodding his agreement. She spent some time considering him, before setting the knife first between his ankles, to cut through the ropes most of the way, and then between his wrists, to work on them there. She sheathed the knife again, and broke the last of the ropes with brute strength. His large amber eyes simply widened at her, and once free, he scuffled back a little, and rubbed his fingers over his damaged wrists, the sores so deep and pus filled. A round bottomed flask was forced between his clawed fingers to stop him scratching at the sore flesh. It slopped its contents within, its strange viscosity making the boy a little nervous. But he was so thirsty... he started to drink!

His first reaction was it was so sickly sweet, then it hit him with heat, like the weird alcohol brews of his Clan. Then it was sweet again, so he continued to drain it, missing her words on exactly what it was, as he opened his mouth and let the opening of the flask balance over his tongue. She kept shaking her hand at him. He grumbled a little, before giving the flask back. She was resetting her flasks, whilst the boy watched his wrists. His whole body felt tingly, and his stomach gurgled. The wounds healed so fast, it was like magic. He gasped, running his clawed hands over the pale, new skin growth, impressed by it. He touched his hands to his sticky head, and prised the hair away from his bloodied face. The thick starburst from the thwack he had received initially, which had split his head down to the skull like someone had begun to try and scalp him had sealed up, but there was a slight raise, and it was pinker than his darker skin. His amber gold eyes looked at the woman, serious concern on his face.

"You, Witch." He growled, as he took the second vial she offered. It was more of a statement than a question, but he watched her reaction to his words carefully, weighing her up, assessing. She got up to check her other patient, and the boy also stood. He was short, similar in height to the woman, but he was far too skinny; he was all odd jutting joints, ribs, hips. His face clearly had sharp cheekbones and a jutting, aggressively set jaw naturally, but with his lack of weight, he seemed even smaller, and sharp. Like a knife's edge.

"Where go? I not got no where... Witch helped Beast... why?" He crouched, edging closer to the giant horse low to the ground. Bastion snorted and stomped a hoof close to the boy. He toppled back and scuffled back with a hiss, his golden eyes flashing, the slotted pupils widening a moment in fear. "Big horse..." His muffled words spoke gently, then looked around the side of the Vanner to the giant albion's head, still lolling around at the horse's side. "Big guy..." He rose to his feet once more; he held himself peculiarly; like it was an unnatural position for him. His shoulders slumped, his back curved over his narrow chest. His arms hung forward, and his legs were bent. The most alert part of him seemed to be those glowing eyes. "Why help, Witch? Why help big beast guy?" He lowered again, but his feet were more planted, his eyes staring at Panyin with such heated intensity. Why was she helping this old Race? Did she even know? She must? He could scent it like a heavy blanket had been thrown over him, like the tarp. What was interesting was her scent, and it made him inquisitive... she... she smelt... she smelt like his mother had... bit diluted, and twisted, and changed, and forgotten... What was she?

 

[unais]

"You, Witch." Not unheard of.

She stared implacably, feeling no need to exert pressure over the wild child. "You're welcome."

She didn't know if that was the word familiar to beast men out of city civilization. She couldn't think of another term of phrase. Almost wholly since she never used truthfully herself.

I have nowhere to go. That she feared. She sighed, openly, and took another sidelong look at him. Making sure she had seen what she'd seen.

Indeed. She stopped her walking and Bastion came into a slow halt as she went back to his side. Felt through her things. The boy nattered on with his incessant questions.

"Why?" She was quiet. Left it. He didn't catch her social etiquette, for some reason she had thought he might, and he asked her again. She found what she was looking for and pulled strips of it. She looked at this bare meat, and peeled this with her nails, into thin, long strips. Then thrust these small pieces of jerky at him. He wavered at her movement, and she balled it up and threw it at him. He caught them.

"I don't know. Why am I helping a small beast man?" She peeled off a piece of the large jerky in her hands, and ate it demonstratively. "You should ask him when he wakes up; instead of me. Whatever I say… you won't believe me, will you?"

She pointed between her bites, notably not having had breakfast herself. "Wash your face." At the other bottle he'd been tossed before. She couldn't have a dead man, naked, slumped over an immense horse with one pale eye, while a naked wild child walked beside her with a bloodied face and crown. It was just not what she wanted to be found doing. But it was just about what was happening.

She watched him tear into the pieces, slurp them up with a ravenous hunger she'd expect, but she winced wary, perhaps pained. Her mind ferreted through what could happen. If he had been eating but underfed, it would be alright. If he was starved, he would be sick from the hard food, unable to take it into his body. At best, he should be having the lightest, softest soups with the food boiled practically into mush. But all she had was the stiffest food available.

Her teeth ripped off a piece of the salted, sweet cut meat. It softened on her tongue, and saliva, and she knew that's what she should be doing, too. But she couldn't. He wouldn't take from her and she didn't want to put her mouth on him. Bastion had taken to the sauntering gait, and she took the last bottle of water, ripping the shreds into there until that was all gone, and then shoving it back into the bag, closed.

The young man skittered back and forth on the road, appraising them; watching her walk, her gait, her style, her things. He wandered and decided to come back. She looked at him as he came into the sight before her, and left him alone as he went behind her.

"Are you following us?" The same bland tone. She had prepared and understood the food she should make at camp; without considering that he might take off. Her head already went through their supplies, their things that were to feed him.

 

[Malhyanth]

The Witch's words were very strange, and the young man screwed up his nose at her, pulling a face, not really understanding at all. He fiddled with the hem of his torn up breeches, pulling on threads that hung loose on his hips. He inched forwards as she brought the horse to a stop and reached out to his nose. Bastion was not at all keen and stamped a front hoof at the kid, sending him skittering back again to a safe distance, and crouching. He watched the woman, and the meticulous way she did things. He handed towards him what appeared to be food of some description, but he still wasn't sure he trusted her. She threw them at him, and proceeded to eat some herself. His eyes lit up as she ate, and he started to ravenously tee into the food. His stomach was still gurgling, protesting these weird items it was ingesting. He usually only drank from streams... ate raw food he caught. Her potions, this cured meat, the stuff the guards had been feeding him; it was all combining in his body and making him feel ill, but he squashed it down, and continued to force in the food.

The woman seemed exasperated by him, throwing him glances of concern mixed with annoyance, especially at his questions. He missed her command to wash his face, and continued to crouch-hop around woman, beast, and man. She seemed immensely annoyed when he disappeared behind her and the horse, as he inspected the sleeping face of the man whom had saved him, hanging loosely and waggling back and forth with each step of the horse. He held out a finger, and prodded the scarred head, releasing a low, guttural growl. The boy leapt back, startled. His body shifted almost instantaneously, not like Wy'ziot, whom had a lot of body on the inside; the kid darted back through from the back, but what Panyin would see was a large black and silver flecked fox, his pointy features turning to look at the woman as she continued to walk with the horse. Soon as he was away from the giant of a man, his body started to melt back into that of a boy, but this time, something seemed to stay.

Large, curved black and silver ears stayed atop his spiky head, his eyes seemed more feral, his back ended in a lustrous tail, white tipped. He crouched in front of the woman, grinned wickedly, and skittered off one his clawed hands and feet; it seemed, unlike the Werewolf hanging from the back of the horse, this kid's changes were more based in emotion; fear and upset seemed to be the triggers for a full change. Anger would trigger the bipedal change. Happiness, inquisitiveness, just general comfort, lead to this form; a downy, ear and tailed boy. With claws on his digits, and immense speed and dexterity. The Human form was more for his day-to-day survival. The bushy tail was all that could be seen as he jumped into the bushes on the side of the track, dancing between the stems and branches. He leapt back out onto the road and appeared to be chasing something, his clawed hands trying to snatch at it; a small rodent of some kind.

"Are you following us?"

His claws finally captured the young rat, and he cheered a moment, before bringing it to his face and setting his teeth against its flesh. He ate happily as the woman and her horse passed with their cargo, eating swiftly, trying to satisfy his body's shouting about how weird it felt. Once finished, he leapt after the woman, body shifting into that of the large Fox again, weaving himself between her legs, nearly tripping her over as he raced about, before skidding to a halt as a split in the path came. He backed up hastily, not realising his backside had come into contact with the legs of the horse, until Bastion bowed his head and snorted between the ears of the large Fox. Shifting again, his body stretching out to Man size again, but with his ears and tail still, he hid behind Panyin's legs, peering around the side. At the split in the road, a Guard stood, not noticing them yet; his shield held the same insignia as the men from before. However, he was younger, and clearly set here to watch for the trio, with only brief descriptions. It appeared he was trying to like a cigarette, but he was struggling with the striker. He was getting increasingly frustrated.

"No want to go there... let go back. Turn back, no need to go there." Thr afternoon sun was spreading out the shadows further, and indicated the road the man was stood opposite was the one they needed, threading its way south. Gripping tight to Panyin's legs, one hand at her belt, tugging back and away from the guard ahead, the boy let out a hissing whimper. "No take me there. Ivak like you guys much better!" His voice wavered as his large amber gold eyes peered up into Panyin's own gold eyes. His pupils were slits, so thin with fear.

 

[unais]

He was feeding himself, which was good. Raw blood and meat would be soft for him. But disease, sickness, parasites; she wasn't sure about.

Oh! She shook her head free of surprise. He transformed already. How unguarded. And he was… a fox? A black and brown fox. She didn't know what that was. Bastion didn't seem to care for him either way, and preferred to be left alone from the little thing. It was amusing, as much as she shouldn't think so.

The next she turned, the fox threaded her legs between her steps and she stumbled, catching herself on Wy'Ziot's leg, him growling, and her yelling. But ahead he'd spotted a figure, and she seethed.

She should have had him leave no survivors. Her instincts were right.

"No want to go there... let go back."

She didn't have the clout of Wy'Ziot's intimidating stature. Now would have been the time to use it. All the times it was a wasted gesture and now here they were.

"Turn back, no need to go there."

"Why did you do this?" She exasperated at his unconscious form. Not knowing what he did or why besides that he had killed a bear and expended all of his energy in the night. Now she had to take care of them both. Though the horse could take care of himself.

She felt a hand around her belt and him tugging her back, the desperation seeping through his voice and barely through her consciousness. She looked down, annoyed and stolid, though she knew what was happening.

"No take me there. Ivak like you guys much better!"

"I'm not taking you anywhere." Ivak, his name collected to his face. She stopped Bastion, and fidgeted through her things.

With bottles in her hands she bent to Ivak's height, though she didn't need to, and set a hand on his shoulder. She didn't know if he'd let her do that.

"Tell me something. Listen in and tell me how many are there? Far away or nearby? And point to me where."

His panting didn't cease for a while now, but she stared at him with her own calmness, and eventually he swallowed his panic and spoke through it. Eyes flashed about, slit with fear, his ears maneuvering and listening.

"Ah… no… not far…" he pointed in the forest beyond the single guard. "A lot there."

"What about that way?" Her hand swung to the path they had to take.

"N-no. No."'

A growl under her throat. "Can they hear us if I talk to that one?" She pointed again to the man standing in the road.

"A-ah..." he thought, wild eyes flashing about. "N-no." He seemed sure.

"Unless he calls them." She stood up. "Alright." She drank something. Another thing. And half of another thing. A tentative burst of an idea.

"Turn back into human."

He wavered, wide-eyed.

"Do it." Her stare was unrelenting, until he shuddered through it and fully changed. "Okay good." She put her arm around him, to make sure he was turned to where he should see. "We are going that way. Stay near the horse. Or run to keep safe." She brandished the blood on her arm. "Or come find me later. Drink these." The half bottle she had drunk, and another, smaller one.

She stared, with her prompting, and a hiss of 'Now', would he not comply.

His body came over with a translucency, forming first from his stomach, the effect pumping quickly through his veins. "Now turn back into the... the beast." She didn't know what it was.

She watched him, the fur sprouting from his skin with the same translucent form. It had worked, oddly. Usually invisibility was such a hassle with hair and clothes it was unusable. Here was the only time.

"Now go."

She could see him, easily, but as he hopped into the confusing mess of brushes and undergrowth, even if he had stayed looking at her, she lost him. Surely now he would have discovered his reflexes and agility had extended far beyond his natural ability, and it was that sense she was trying to keep about her. That the world had slowed suddenly, and she needed to proceed as normal.

She hooked different bottles to her belt. A vial tied to her wrist as a harmless bauble bracelet. She went slowly, walking normal in her pass, toward the fork. Her hand on Bastion's shoulder, she quietly murmered to him.

"You need to go that way, alright?" The fork in the road. "Just keep heading that way. I'm sure you'll be fine." His head swung a bit towards her, the black eye on that side skeptical in regards to her. "And I'll be fine, too." His huff was not impressed. But he seemed to listen to her.

Panyin took her place before the horse, walking in front of him. Her form was made out well, the body of the Vanner a black mass outlining how small she truly seemed.

The guard noticed their approach, hers, and lowered his flint. His eyes flicked down as he saw her.

She slowed and stopped. Bastion paused, before

"…They must not like you very much." The boy seemed to like the sound of her voice. Which was lucky. She could use that.

"They sent you out here all alone?"

He started to raise his sword and her hands went up. Small. Empty. A bracelet.

She closed her eyes, her form seeming demure. "I don't advise drawing my blood." Her eyes opened. "You never know what you could wake up."

She felt Wy'Ziot, unmoving, unstirring, in the mass under the black fur to her right.

The great Vanner moved, and started to meander down the path, picking at brush and leaves there. The boy turned his sword to the horse, and Panyin settled him with her surprise.

"It's just a horse… he doesn't listen to me so often."

He kept looking at her. He was trying not to.

"What did they tell you about us?" He looked at her hands. The thin wrists. The curve of her neck. The wisp of hair that glowed against her cheek from the sun just barely behind.

He started to approach her. "They told me you were with the boy. And your partner was a ten-foot-tall beastman." Closer than could use a sword. "White… as a sheet. Covered in blood."

"And…" He came closer than his sword could handle. She let him. His shield arm threaded under hers, sudden. Pressed against her back, pulling her into him. She shied at this, let her voice with a tremble. "…what did they tell you about me?"

"That you were with a beast. And probably used to rough handling." He was clean cut. Hygienic. His breath was… alright. This wasn't the worst accosting to happen to her.

"I…" her hand felt for the edge of the shield beside her. He felt her pushing against it, weak against his strength. "…Perhaps."

Her eyes were heavily lidded, drawing to him, and he pulled her closer. She moved her head away, worked her hand up his chestplate, and she heard the sword drop to the dirt behind her. His hand moved to her jaw, pushing it to face him.

"So if it's just you right now, I guess I can have a taste. Before the rest of the unit has you." The glove caressed her cheek, and she winced, her hand going to rest on his shoulder. They closed their eyes. She opened hers.

There was an odd twisting sound, and a movement of the shield on his arm. He looked to it, and was hard to comprehend the sight of the twisted metal, crushed under her fingers like clay. She pushed it, squeezed it such that it seeped through her fingers, where he could watch it happen.

He tried to move and felt her fingers along his spine. Her thumb on his throat.

She was smiling. "Now, listen to me…" Her head tilted. "Why is it that… two beasts would obey me?" The corner of the shield twisted. Her thumb pressed in, keeping him still. "Is it that I am one of them…?" The metal began to peel from the body of the shield. "Or am I simply strong? Or… is it magic? …Are you feeling dizzy, yet?" She was pressing on his artery. The blood flow would slow. Besides that she could crush him as well.

"Or… is it all of the above?"

Bastion was much farther down the path. Quietly walking, his large step taking him quickly. Her head tilted again. "I wonder." Her fingertips pressed, drumming the back of his neck.

"I just need to head to head to Tepe. ." Southeast, opposite of where they were heading. "And it would be lovely if I could head on my merry way. Unobstructed." She leaned close, her forehead touching his cheek, her voice the lowest whispers. "And not have to come back for the blood of some boy that ruined my trip." You.

"Now that your face and blood is clear to me... I don't advise thinking you can escape." Her eyes seemed large. "Just give me no reason to chase you."

"But." The nail of her thumb seemed to dig. The pulse under her finger. "I'm curious. Of what importance is that boy to you?"

She leaned closer, her skin like poison as she touched him now. "And don't forget. My hand is on your pulse. And I can… taste… you lying."

So don't.

She wanted answers. Before he would faint from the cutoff. And the sleeping salts at her wrist.

 

[Malhyanth]

Ivak's large amber eyes looked up at the woman, feeling confusion flood him as she started taking charge again. She busied herself, before the guard could look up and notice them up the path, and drank so many things the fox-boy could barely keep up. She did so many things, and was speaking so fast, he barely kept up with her questions. He answered them as best he could though, using his instincts, as his Clan had taught him, and agreed straight away when she pressed more glass bottles into his clawed fingers. Ivak couldn't understand what it was about this woman that made him agree, but she honestly seemed set on protecting him, just like that giant slumped over the horse. Who were these people? Where had they come from to be so accommodating to people they didn't know, and yet... yet be so dangerous in other ways!!

Ivak had to admit, he was pleased Big Guy was out cold, as he felt this could get messy so fast. He drank the potions as commanded, handing her the vials and bottles back quickly, feeling heat and tingles spread through his body. He coughed, and sniffed, a pounding headache brewing around his eyes and temples, but he kept quiet, his nausea also returning full strength. "Lady..." He murmured once, before she cut him off, and told him to shift to full Fox. Her urgency gave him the emotional stress to dissolve into the Fox extremely quickly, and he peered up at her as his body seemed to dissipate before their eyes. She ordered him away, and he fled into the undergrowth of the ditches either side of the track with a slight mew. He skittered down, slowly, and carefully, not wanting to disturb the swamp rushes that grew in the claggy earth, nor the wild flowers that seemed to sprout around this foul smelling, dank ground. This woman was determined to continue trudging South-ish, and Ivak wasn't going to stop her! She was too fierce to argue with. He edged past the man in his plate armour carefully, but his attention had been drawn by the giant Vanner, and his female companion. The horse acted up, and pulled away from the Lady, heading to where Ivak sat, trembling. He made a show of eating some of the herbage here, but rather, his large pale eye blinked at the invisible boy, and he snorted low, like a warning. The Fox-boy nodded, forgetting the beast couldn't see him, and moved further down with the giant horse, casting his eyes back to the Lady, whom seemed to be in trouble. He stopped, and the horse carried on. Why wasn't the beast concerned?

From their safe distance, boy and horse stopped and watched the Lady. She was fearless, and Ivak couldn't help be impressed. She played her role, drew him in, like a spider. She captured him, and all of a sudden, she was bending and twisting the shield he had with just her hand! The word 'WITCH!!' kept up a constant siren in Ivak's head, but she had been so kind to him, helped him, fed him. Sure whatever she'd given him was making his vision swim, his belly reject, and his head pound, but she was trying to help him! He watched, mouth agape, as she took his throat, and he whimpered, just staring at her with wide eyes and a gasping mouth, like a fish not able to breathe on dry land. How funny he looked!! And how powerful she!!

"What are you?!" His query was choked off as he said it, clearly not the answers she'd been waiting for. Colour was draining from him like water from a stuck pouch. He looked to grow frail and weak, all because she had a hand on his neck? Was she able to do that with just skin on skin? From this distance, Ivak could not work out the intricacies of her grip on the guard, and her blazing red hair, framing her in sunset light, burnt into his memory then as someone to not upset. The guard swallowed against her hand as his mouth worked some more, his words harsh.

"The boy? That Beastman creature? No importance!" He coughed and choked some more, like she was tightening her grip. "Serious!!! I'm not lying! He was simply found! One of the boys took a liking to him; said he'd never tried Beastman before. Didn't matter he was male, he said. Said that a hole..." He gagged and held his words, choking, eyes bulging, as Panyin shook her head that she didn't want those kind of details. The guard was looking woozy, his weight starting to sag in her grip. "Boys just wanted to have fun. He was gonna get killed before we made it back to Barracks. Lord Lanheim of Forgedown does not accept Beastmen on his lands. Says they're a pestilence to be exterminated. We were gonna carry out his decree; kill 'em in sight. Till you showed up!" His words were getting more and more faint, and his body finally sagged, and he dropped from Panyin's grip, his dead weight hitting the ground, the plate armour bending him in the most uncomfortable ways. Panyin looked sickened by his words, and charged down the path where Ivak and the horse stood waiting. She grabbed the reins harshly, but didn't yank on Bastion, instead, letting him set the pace.

Ivak stood behind a moment, looking at the downed man. He ran forward, taking his Beastman form, with ears, tail, downy fur, and clawed digits, and he kicked the guard roughly in his head, so hard the metal of his helmet echoed with the clout for a few moments. Behind him, he heard Panyin calling him, to try and identify where he was. He fled the scene, his body surging with adrenaline from what he'd done, and making the transition back to full Fox easy. He ran up to them, and yipped a few times, which seemed to satisfy woman and horse. They charged on, a fast pace being set by the Vanner, one the woman would surely tire of quickly! The little Fox-boy started to recognise some landmarks, and knew they'd soon be free of the reach of the Lord that resided over these lands. First, a river to cross, and then on the other side, freedom.

He raced on ahead, his shape starting to return to visabilty. He stood suddenly, his body melting with very little effort into his preferred form, his ears twisting back on his head, rounded and fluffy, his long tail sweeping around behind him, as he dipped his clawed feet into the shallows. "Lady... we do a c-cro---" His little face suddenly dropped, and he paled, large eyes looking up at her. He frowned, swallowed hard, and tried again. "We do a cro---" The pain in his head built, and he grabbed at it. He yoweled, and his claws dug into his spiky hair. Blood dribbled down from his nose, and also from where he clawed his scalp to try and alleviate the ache brewing there. He bent double, his knees bending, and he tried to scoop water into his mouth. As he scooped for the fifth time, his body gave a huge guttural heave, and he vomited. He squeaked, clearly unused to such sensations as another huge heave rocked his small frame. All the bad feelings that had been building in him since meeting the Lady came to a top, and he vomited again, this time mewling meekly.

"Lady murder Ivak!!! Kill him with drink!!" He heaved again and again, splashing his head with the cold river water as often as he could between heaves. He turned his foxy little features to the woman, and frowned at her "Witch kill Ivak!!" Blood still streamed from his nose, like the potions had affected his blood pressure, and this had been increasing gradually, until his body had found a way to release it. His pupils were large and rounded, almost obscuring the gold of his irises. He snivelled as another heave made him splash forward into the shallows of the river. He whimpered and hugged himself, waiting for the horrid sensations to pass. "Poor Ivak..." He kept repeating over and over.

Beside him, Bastion lowered his head and drank from the river, upstream, to avoid the vomit. The horse lifted his head and looked at Panyin, like he was expecting her to take charge and look after the kid. His heterochromatic eyes blinked slowly, and he simply snorted at her, like she was taking too long. On his back, he could feel movement from the giant, but he didn't move to shift the albino, instead, kept still, so the woman would care for the child before worrying about the heavy dolt on his back.

 

[unais]

It was good. Actually. That the boy had no special significance, was of no importance other than a taken thing. It seemed they were set on catching them simply for the grudge. Likely of killing, as Wy'Ziot couldn't help himself. But if it had been her, she'd have made quite a bigger show of it. And then perhaps this Lord Lanheim would have had reason to come after them.

He dropped from her grip, both things coming over him eventually. She looked down at him, wondering if she should slit his throat. He'd likely be punished when he was found, but she was more concerned that he would tell his story. She may have intimidated him enough. The accusation of witch and sorceress had been a useful idea. But she didn't know how little pain this one could take, and the camaraderie or torture his mates were capable of.

She would leave him. Best not to provide for them more reason to give chase.

There was a strange sound, like something had popped by the armor, but she didn't mind it, save for making sure no one else had heard it. The agility potion was coursing through her veins, and she felt the ease at which she could keep up with Bastion. But knew it was taking a toll on her, once it wore off.

The swamp grounds started to become more prominent, and the underfoot was becoming muddied. Irritating. The smell was starting to sour with the deep saltiness of the earth bubbling up from the water. They reached a cracked area, the earth solid and dried for a stretch. And came toward a wide, shallow river of stones. It kept the water rather clean, the dregs of sandy dirt collected mostly along the sides.

"Lady..."

Ivak called her from deep along the shore of the river.

"We do a c-cro---" He stopped. With some difficulty, started again, pale and sallow. We do a crossing, he was trying to say. She squinted at the dark sheen coming from his nose. At his clutched head, at his screaming, and his thirst. He doubled-over, overcome, and vomitted into the water. She didn't know what expression she was making. She looked then to Bastion who, stopped his drink, stepped a few feet further, and resumed it again.

Murder!! He screamed at her. Killed me!

She stared. Then looked athe sky. At the indiscernable blue there. Nothing else in her sight. There was a splash, at some point he fell, but his moaning went on, and she didn't need to look. She felt the potions draining from her veins. The strength left her. The agility left her. The healing potion was slowly losing its odd warmth.

This was the middle of the day. It wasn't even over. Her head hung back far.

"Please, gods. Strike me dead here so that I may escape from all this madness."

It was quiet. She closed her eyes.

Quiet. The rambling of the brook and the muttering of the child. Her head lowered to level with the horizon again. She opened an eye, meeting Bastion's unexpected gaze. Indeed. She was still here, alive, as she always was, and that never worked.

He snorted as she made her way to his side. Him looking at her in the way that she looked at herself; it was relieving. That he would expend the exasperation on herself, so that she wouldn't have to do it. She found a jar from her kit and sloshed her way into the water. She stood next to him, ignoring Ivak's attempts to escape her approach. The bottle was unlatched and she pulled out what was inside and held it down to him.

"This." Bits and pieces of charcoal.

He looked at her, body shaking and enervated. Racked with exhaustion, starvation, the agony of vomitting. She did not kneel this time. She could not pretend friendliness, expecting to be received now that he hated her from the effects. She would stand, away from his snatching claws, but held out her arm for him to take it from her. She looked down into his eyes of hatred, and mistrust, and her hand came closer.

Her head did not even tilt down as she looked at him. "You will eat it." Even in all his hatred, his fear, he listened, and chewed down the charcoal. Like dirt. "Drink it with water and chew." It made him gag but he stopped it. She handed him some more. Panyin looked as though she surveyed the landscape, one hand on her hip. Listened to the chewing, the mild splashes, before she handed him another one. "Keep eating."

She stood with him, there in the water. The sun passed overhead, reflecting hard light from the river.

He was right, surprisingly. The onset could be a slow build of disease spread, but not from the rat, and very mildly from the food he was given; if any. Blood that wasn't growing. It seemed evidence enough it was likely potions coming to a head. But why.

Her shoes were filled, and the water climbed the pants of her legs. She heard a stir in the water beside her and looked down to see Ivak sitting up. He seemed better. Physically. The charcoal had done its work. Mentally; he seemed exhausted. She stepped away for a moment, going back towards Bastion, but in a look back, Ivak still was there in the water. Collecting his thoughts, dazed, or simply tired. She stopped. She didn't want to. After a moment, she splashed back, lowing herself and holding out a hand with trepidation. He looked at it, not knowing exactly what to do, and she yanked him up to standing as his hand came up. Allowed him to jump back from her, as she headed back to shore.

She drank. Moved Wy'Ziot, the saddle a bit further back. Then grabbed ahold and hopped a few times to get up. With some effort, Panyin managed to climb up in front of the saddle, her hand soothing apologies to Bastion. He seemed fine under their weight. Nearly about the same as before.

She looked about for Ivak, who stood near and apart from them. He was watching her with strange eyes. They had light in them again, but cautious. Perhaps he was curious of her antics, trouble with climbing onto her horse. Perhaps it was that he didn't know what to do now.

"Going?" She took the reins, but knew it would be better to point than think she were guiding Bastion with the leash itself. "We won't go much farther. We just need to get further away from them. But we can't stay here in this state."

With a kick of her wet shoes, Bastion set across, finding the shallowest parts of the river that would hold his weight. Panyin turned back to find Ivak, a careful stride following, before he reached the opposite shore and bound into a fox. The bushy tail had to be a fox. His long limbs took to the pace where Bastion struck a canter, and they headed out into the marshlands.

The sun had dropped a hand's length over the horizon by the time the alchemist looked at their drier surroundings and at the flagging tail of their companion. "We'll stop here." She set herself and hopped off the horse, stumbling nearly to her knees from the unsteadiness. They'd passed quite some distance. Not enough that she couldn't expect the guards to find them if they had given chase; but enough for a false sense of security she could have as she set up a makeshift camp. "Tell me if you hear anyone coming."

Panyin unhooked the bridle, and drank again, noting the mundanity of use she was getting out of the strength drafts. Just to move Wy'Ziot. If only this lummox was awake.

"Ivak." She slumped Wy'Ziot off the horse. "I can give you food. It's the same meat as before. Or do you want to hunt for yourself?" She set the werewolf down on the wolfskin pelt. Ivak was a bit distant. Perhaps not knowing how to speak to her now. After waffling for a moment, he took off, back in the fox form, and she heard his rustling through the brush. She wasn't sure if his hunt was being successful. She took the bottle of rehydrated meat and set it down in the grass for Ivak later.

They weren't supposed to need provisions because Wy'Ziot would be there to hunt for her. Now she knelt at his side, arranging her snares, since she'd be hoping to catch swamp rabbits. His sleeping face infuriated her with these thoughts. Unknowingly, she raised the snare and hit him in the chest, startling herself as he groaned, his eyes cracking open for a moment. Ah. His hand went over hers, to detect what it is that hit him.

"Wy--" He pulled her hand to him, weaving his fingers in with hers, breathing in the scent of her skin. She blinked, and leaned down. "Wy'Zio--" He pressed into her, into a hard kiss she didn't know what it was for.

He released her, and started get up. She was flustered, for another complete reason. "Why did you-! Why were you so tired?! What happened? What--"

 

[Malhyanth]

Ivak was starting to get cold crouched in the sluggishly flowing water. He was starting to feel better, but he just hugged his knees and mewled pitifully that the Witch had poisoned him. He ignored as she walked around him, going to the horse, going further out into the river; it was only when a lump of charcoal was presented, the smell of its cleansing properties making him raise his head. She demanded he eat it, and waggled it at him, at a safe distance. It seemed almost like she was scared of him!! Well that seemed to be a joke!! He reached out tentatively, and snatched it, shoving the dry, dirty thing into his mouth, the dust coating his cheeks and throat and making him splutter.

"You will eat it." She stated, and he nodded vigorously, not liking the way she said that. "Drink it with water and chew." The Fox-boy choked and gagged a few more times, but his system purged, and the charcoal settling his stomach as she constantly fed it to him, Ivak was beginning to feel more strength, and the pounding of his head had eased. He grinned a black fanged smiled at Panyin, as she nodded her approval and returned to the horse. Staying in the water for a moment longer, he continued to drink the sluggish watch, and enjoy its clear, crystal taste. He scrubbed at his face, cleaning it if the black powders and paste that had been formed by his chewing on the charcoal. Gross!!!

After some time, the Lady stomped back to him and offered a hand. Large amber gold eyes peered at pure gold, and tentatively took the offered hand. She yanked him to his feet, and he staggered, blood rushing around his body, making him nauseous, but in a different way to those strange drinks she'd given him. She drank herself a few times, then returned to the horse, shifting things around, and getting herself up onto his broad back, motioning to Ivak. The boy shook his head, his tail tucking in close to his body. No way was he going to get on that thing!! It was a Beast! It was enormous, and his gangly legs would struggle to sit across that back. He stayed down, and just grinned at her. He nodded as she spoke, just rubbing a wet hand over his face, and realising a clump of hair was still stuck to him. He crouched quickly before they left, and dunked his whole head into the water, and scrubbed with his clawed hands, the water swirling around him dark brown and red. How long it had been since he last cleaned himself was anyone's guess, but his rough treatment at the hands of Lanheim's men had certainly exacerbated his dirtiness.

Finally clean, the boy followed after the high-stepping horse through the sluggish water, feeling the pebbles below his feet as they followed in single line through the river. On the other side, the horse kicked up his heels, and started to canter away from the river, and the stressful situation they'd all experienced before. Leaping into his Fox form, he trotted alongside the horse and his masters, and skipped about happily. At least initially. The Lady pushed them on hard, and soon, Ivak was flagging, his tail down, his tongue lolling out of his mouth as far as it could go. Finally deciding they were far enough from the issues of Forgedown, the Lady stopped them to set up camp on dry ground. Ivak flopped for a moment, breathing deep and letting his paws have a rest. She drank more potions, and lifted the sleepy giant. Ivak chuckled audibly, watching such a small woman lift such a monster. She didn't seem to find this amusing though, and he hid his face under his paws. When she offered him food, he turned his nose up, snorting a few times, and setting off into the undergrowth.

Back on level ground, Wy'ziot was starting to come around. His head was throbbing as blood started to shift back into the rest of his body from where he'd been hung for so long. Feeling was coming back to his nerves, and he was noticing things; sounds, touches, the coolness of the ground. Then the slap to his chest. It made his muscles twitch strongly in response, and he groaned at their movement. "Wy--" Fingers touched his chest, and a sluggish hand raised up and took the hand, interlacing their fingers. "Wy'Zio--" The scent of her swirled in his nostrils, and a low rumble vibrated through his chest. The fingers were squeezed, and raised his his lips to kiss. He dragged her down, raising his other hand to circle her spine. Dragging her onto his chest, he pressed his lips to her own, and smirked against her. She pushed away flustered, a hand thumping down on his chest and making him laugh, then groan with the effort.

"Ow, Pan... calm down." He chuckled, holding her hand and rubbing soothing circles on her palm. "I am sorry. New Moon fever." He grinned, and started to push himself up. Bastion trotted over and nudged him forcefully with his velvet muzzle. Wy'ziot grumbled, before chuckling. A large hand shoved the Vanner away, before wrapping Panyin into a giant hug. "Vhat 'appened? My 'ead is still svimming!" Wy'ziot rubbed at his forehead, looking around for water to drink.