A Shadowy Path [Zeneth]

[Rorugir]

Timestamp: 47th Fall 511 A.V. It was Rorugir's first time wandering into the woods since the incident, and he was suitably anxious. The nightmarish trip he'd gone on last time, all the worst given he'd been stupid enough to wander out there at night, brought back bad memories that made him more than a bit unhappy to have been given this particular assignment. But Aska was resolute; he was to deliver the repaired fishpoles to the fishermen of Tranquil Port himself, and not take more than a day doing so. He'd been unavailable to assist his master in repairing said fishpoles, which was why he suspected Aska had assigned his the loathed duty of courier. She hadn't been happy to see him late that morning, that was sure, citing numerous occasions when late apprentices had cost her a job. She also mentioned Rorugir's own hiring, in which he'd filled in for a late worker, as an example of what being tardy could do, and the not-so-subtle threat of replacement had Rorugir asking humbly to what he could do to make up for the situation. And, of course, it had to be this assignment. Midday light, shifting to a soft green as it passed through theleafy forest canopy, lazily fell on the path that led between the Tranquil Port and it's mother city. Shadows ate at the edges of this weak luminosity, aching to submerge it in a inky black darkness. The isur walked down the well-walked path apprehensively, not straying off the beaten path this time. One hand hovered near his battleaxe at all times, the other pulling along the small cart with the fishing poles. He watched the wooded forest around him warily, obsessively; tales of what had happened to travelers in these woods had reached his ears on more than one occasion, and while Rorugir was a skeptic, he couldn't help but feel a gnawing sense of ominousness along the back of his neck. What is out there? More than once the thought echoed around Rorugir's head, each time it did heightening his growing fear. A zith? Highwaymen? Rorugir pulled his cloak closer around his body, took another glance at the forest, and picked up the pace.

[Zeneth]

The wilds were purer, simpler, calmer than the city. There was a solitude that could not be replicated amongst humans, who found their need to accost him with their asinine words and undesired attention. Here, where the world was smothered in all the shades of green and brown and blue, he felt most at home. Critters scattered away from his steps, crystal hooves crunching fallen branches and crisped leaves.

But Zeneth was not whole when he was left to his quiet reprieve. His other half, his lover, his purpose for being who he is, was away, high in the mountain peaks of the crystal city, where she taught to those who were not worthy of her presence. The thought of those wretched eyes milking in her beauty made him rage inside, though she always found a way to soothe the fury with her calming touch and the sweet words she wove.

There was an unnerving silence in the air, however. The death of all sound, every shriek or hoot or howl. There was nothing but his slow breath, the swish of his tail, then the piercing whistle of an arrow and the thunk as it buried in the bark of a tree beside his head. The great okomo reared his great forelegs up. Hunters, here? Another arrow, a direct hit that sunk into the flesh of his thigh. The kelvic expelled a cry of agony, and quickly bound across brush and thicket, shoving aside stray branches with a vicious thrust of his tapering horns.

Hard hooves crashed onto the undergrowth, spraying earth in his wake. He raced toward the west, where the winding path led towards the Tranquil Port, where he knew he could hide. But as he crashed through the low shrubbery, Zeneth found himself blocked by the wagon of a passing stranger. He reared, crystal hooves dancing dagerously close to the isur.

Blind wretch! The kelvic's words echoed in the stranger's mind, as clear as if the okomo had spoken. His voice was strained, laced with pain. The arrow, in my thigh, take it out, take it out!

[Rorugir]

The man was stilled, the cart unmoving. The isur stood, listening. What had that noise been? There it was again! Was that...was thank branches snapping? Rorugir swore violently, and with a vicious metallic noise the axe was wrenched free of it's holster. Seconds after he had heard the second sound, the wretched voice of a beast in pain broke through the portentous ambience. The sudden sound of hooves of a different sort than the horses he was used to was quickly followed by something breaking out of the bush. It headed straight for Rorugir, and for a second all he could see was the flash of fur and the sheen of crystal. Then his mind reasserted itself over his frantic eyes and he focused. When he finally did, he saw that it was an okomo - with an arrow in its thigh. Despite the stupidity of such an act, for a moment Rorugir only marveled at the crystalline horns and hooves of the magnificent creature. He had seen okomo, but none like this one. This creature was different, seeming to possess more intelligence. After having met two of their kind before, you would think that Rorugir would have recognized a kelvic by then; but he had thus far met the kelvics in human flesh, never before in their natural human form. So when the voice of a man, who he somehow linked to the beast in forth of him, Rorugir was taken completely by surprise, only muttering a shocked moan in response. Telepathy was new to the isur. It was like someone calling to him, like this okomo had suddenly started speaking. Since they were alone, Rorugir could almost imagine that the okomo had actually spoken...but a part of him knew it was the okomo had spoken in his mind. Another part rejected that as a fanciful and inconceivable idea. But then the first part countered that an okomo speaking in the first place was fanciful in and of itself... Rorugir shook his head suddenly. This wasn't the time for this! Whatever the case was, this okomo had spoken and it needed his help. Rorugir staggered forward, the battleaxe slipping through numb fingers to hit the hard ground below with a thud. He rushed forward to the animal's side. "I'm...I've never done this before." Rorugir said, tentatively touching the arrow. "This...this is going to be painful. Just hold still, whatever you do." And then, he began to pull.

[Zeneth]

The pain shot up his leg, a piercing agony that exploded in a spray of blood, sending the animal rearing, his mind warped by the throbbing wound oozing red. It was done.

His legs trembled under the strain, but as his hooves collided with the ground, his body was consumed in a flash of brilliant light, phasing the horns, the digigrade legs, the midnight pelt, everything that made him an animal vanished, and what stood in place was a man.

His sun-kissed skin was marred by an array of scars and blemishes, and his hair, as black as ink framed a wild, almost ruggedly handsome face. But those ice-blue eyes, always brimming with the rage he kept concealed under a facade of an animal was gone, replaced by a look of genuine appreciation, if only for the time between pangs of agony. On his chest was a mark, a crescent moon.

"I thank you, stranger," He growled between his teeth, using the edge of the cart to keep himself aloft. Rivulets of blood trailed down his leg like macabre rivers, soaking the ground beneath. "Petch, looks like they got me good. What an idiot I was." There was a rustle not far off, a distant rumble of voices. Zeneth glanced up to meet the isur's gaze. "Let's go. We can't stay here. Wherever you're going, I'd appreciate a lift."

[Rorugir]

Brow furrowed, mouth set in uncompromising frown, Rorugir drew the length of the arrow shaft from the okomo's leg with all the strength that he could muster. It came free with a nasty squeal, and the isur fell back. The bloodied arrow was discarded at the same moment Zeneth took shape as a man. Rorugir would have been surprised, but blood and arrows and foreign thoughts in his mind had relieved him of whatever wonderment he might have once had. Instead, he just stood there, breathing just a little harder than he should have. "No problem, my animal friend." Rorugir replied in kind. The fright of the chimes before had been seemingly discarded for a sudden and cold directness, an unwavering levelheadedness that Rorugir surmised was only delaying the fear for after the immediate threat was gone. Or maybe he was more courageous than he thought. Whatever the case, dark coals watched the dripping blood with a studied yet inexperienced mind - and it wasn't a good look. "I don't know if it hit an artery or what, but that looks really bad." Rorugir said plainly. "We need to get you treated." A silent gaze followed Zeneth's to the rustling bushes. "So it seems." Rorugir agreed quietly. "I was traveling to the Tranquil Port, which is probably the best place to travel to anyways." "But you shouldn't walk in your condition - ah, here..." With a thrust of an arm the tools were lifted from their iron bed, leaving the cart bare. Rorugir hefted the fishing rods over one shoulder, leaving the other free to take the cart's handle once more. "Get in." he said, quite calmly.

[Zeneth]

Zeneth gave him an incredulous look. From the cart to the strangely receptive isur, the kelvic's ice-cold gaze lingered. "You want me to ride on the back of this cart like a sack of meat? Unlikely. I'll walk."

He turned to take one step down the road, and a spasm of pain erupted in his leg, procuring a fresh dribble of blood down his crimson-smeared limb. It was all he could do to bite down on his tongue, swallowing the scream.

Petch this wound, petch those poachers, and petch this isur for having some Leth-forsaken sense.

"Fine," He croaked, grasping the sides of the rough cart to drag himself in. Teeth clenched against the pulsing agony, he made himself as comfortable as he could, careful to keep any particularly sharp instruments away from the gaping wound. A hoarse shout echoed amongst the tall, stark trees then was swallowed by the howl of the wind, rustling the foliage above them.

"Go," He snapped, "They'll be here soon."

Every bump and creak of the cart made his jaw clench. He felt humiliated. A proud creature as he was, he'd been degraded to a weeping spew of blood and pain, carted off by an Isur of all things, while his enemies still roamed the wilds, murdering his kin. The thought made him clench the sides of the cart, his knuckles white from the strain.

"Can't this go any faster?" He barked, turning his head to eye the Isur with an unwarranted glare. "What brings an Isur out from the bowels of Sultros, anyhow?" The kelvic added, as he shifted into a more comfortable position.