[Flashback] Where the Grass Meets the Sea (Nel Sayo)

[Vanator]

Timestamp: Early Summer, 506 AV Location: Remote Cyphrus Coastline Tag: Nel Sayo The air had changed, its transition so subtle the horseman wasn't quite sure when it had occurred. The buckskin Strider beneath him seemed to notice as well, her wide nostrils flaring as she inhaled the cooling breeze. The wind carried a scent that he did not know, but somehow the man knew it what it heralded. "We are almost there my friend." He encouraged Zura, patting her strong shoulder. With a shallow tuck of his heels against the mare's barrel, the mount broke into a gallop, parting the grass in a beeline towards the low ridge ahead. A long-winged white bird appeared over head, its unfamiliar, obnoxious called echoed by another appearing from beyond the hill. With a final lunge, the rider and steed crested the ridge and stopped dead. For an instant, what lay beyond had arrested all function in the man's body but breathing and pumping blood. Vanator gazed in awe, his lips parted with a slack jaw. He managed to swivel his head, his gold-fleck brown eyes to follow, across the wide beach and down the length of the coastline, extending as far as he could see in one directions, disappearing around a horn in the other. Then he looked wide-eyed out to the sea, the distant horizon a hazy, flat line that separated the azure blue sky from the rolling green sea. It was not like the Sea of Grass, as he had been told. The ocean was boundless, yet miraculously halted at the shore. The expansive body of water seemed infinite, yet at the same time as if he could reach out and touch the horizon. The surface rolled ceaselessly, and he suddenly heard the crashing of the surf below. The sensation gave him a heady, dizzy feeling. With a shake of his shoulder-length mane, Vanator urged Zura down the steep bank to the broad beach, the horse balking upon hitting the loose sand, prancing across the unfamiliar ground. The Drykas vaulted from the yvas, landing with a soft thud in the soft surface. He patted the nervous animal on its lathered neck, whispering to her until she was calm. Vanator scanned the beach, concluding that he was alone aside from the noisy seabirds and his beloved Strider. He glanced back at the horse, who was curiously nipping at the clumps of strange grass sprouting from the sand. Vanator strode towards the surf, stripping the hot leather armor from his chest, then the sweat-soaked tunic beneath. As he reached the edge of the lapping water, he pulled the hand ax and dagger from his belt, tugged off his boots and dropped is breeches. The cool sea breeze was a welcome sensation against his skin. With a tentative gait, the Drykas man made his way waist deep into the frothy green waves. As the surf crashed against him, he caught the spray in his open mouth, all but gagging at the salty gulp. He coughed a couple times, only then seeing the large dark shape rounding the bend, plowing its way through the waves. It was, he could only imagine, a seafaring ship.

[Nel Sayo]

As the ship cut through the waves in the distance, spearing across the horizon with sails gorged on the wind, a flicker of light pulsed from the deck. Like sunlight bounced off a looking glass. One, two, three times, the light brightened and dimmed again, brightened and dimmed.

Out of the corner of the Drykas' eye, an answering flicker gleaned.

Atop one of the dunes, a man stood with a mirror held high up over his head, tilting it this way and that to catch the sunlight in a series of sharp jerks, thrusting it back across the distance to reply to the passing ship. Once, twice, three times.

He was tall, leanly muscled, skin burnished to a beautiful gold by the sun, hair a rocket of blond spikes that stuck up at odd angles, as though he'd just jolted awake for the day. Many a working girl had blamed her pillow for that hair. Dressed in a shirt of muslin that had seen better days, and patchwork brown trousers, barefoot, he looked precisely like what one might have supposed a sailor was meant to look like. Slung low on his hips was a battered brown swordbelt, a scarred cutlass hanging there like an afterthought.

He lifted a hand to shield his eyes from the sun, dropping the mirror with a soft thud to the sand, and peered out across the beach. A blink and he went still when he espied the strider down the shore, surprise shifting his shoulders, which turned defensive the minute he saw the Drykas in the water. He turned back towards the grass on the other side of the dune, as though to call to someone else that they were not alone.

Except he only got half-way into the turn when a second figure barreled right into him. The smaller individual slammed into the sailor's waist, and with a startled Oomf! and a curse, the two went toppling end-over-end down the steep slope of the dune. White sand whirled about them as they struggled, the roar of the waves not loud enough to swallow their voices.

“Get off me!” the sailor shouted.

“Say uncle!” It was a girl's voice, the second, and though she wore trousers and tumbled about, it would have been hard to mistake her for a boy.

“--that's my arm--”

Shrieking and laughing, they wrestled across the beach. Every time it seemed the sailor got his hands on the girl, she'd kick him and scramble back; every time he tried to gain his feet, she'd tackle him clear to the sand.

“Do you give?”

“--skin you and use your hide as a rug--”

“Just give and I'll let you up!”

“--OUCH, Nelly, sand in my ear--”

“Say that you give!”

In the end, the sailor ended up on his stomach, the side of his face squished against the sand, and the girl had one of his arms pinned against his back. She was sitting on it. This vantage provided a clear view of her face – delicate and pale, skin a bleached-bone white and huge blue eyes that were presently concentrated on throttling the life out of the man beneath her. Nose crinkled in determination. She puffed a spiral of pale hair out of her eyes and wrenched his arm a little harder. He waggled his fingers.

“Fine!” he snapped. “I petching give, now get off me, you evil thing!”

She let out a whoop! of triumph and climbed to her feet, hopping with her fists shoved up against the sky, the exquisite joy of a warrior victorious in battle.

The sailor spat sand and pushed himself up to his hands and knees, working towards a stand.

“Who's the Queen of the beach!” the girl demanded, kicking more sand at him. “Go on, say it! Who's the Queen! I know you know it's me!”

“Queen of the bitch, more like,” the sailor muttered, wiping at his mouth.

He squinted down the beach to see whether or not their audience had enjoyed the show, though he didn't point out either the horse or the Drykas to his companion just yet.

[Vanator]

Vanator studied the curious sailing vessel, the wooden ship bobbing on the gentle waves, when he saw the bright flashes it emitted. The Drykas did indeed catch the echoing signal from the dune up the beach, like a shard of a looking glass catching the sun, held aloft by someone looking out to the ship. The man on the dune had a notable wide bladed weapon at his side, and when Vanator discerned that he had been spotted, he strode out of the surf. Scooping up his tunic to dry the salty moisture from his skin, he saw the second figure attack the sailor. His eyes stilled trained on the scuffle on the dune, he motioned for Zura. The Strider approached at his silent signal, the gifted horse cognizant of the strangers as well. Reaching into the pack hanging from the yvas, Vanator retrieved the sighting lens. Raising the leather cylinder to his eye, he aimed it at the dune, the heirloom magnifying the ensuing struggle. The Drykas could see the attacker was actually a woman, pale and white-haired. He frowned when he found her face was not gripped in the grimace of a fight, but in the grin of playful frolic. Vanator chuckled as the woman bested the man, pinning him to the sand. A brisk breeze kicked up around him, the cooling sensation reminding him of his current state of undress. Laying the damp tunic across the yvas, the horseman retrieved his breeches, shook the sand from them and tugged them back on. With the dagger and hand ax thrust though his belt, he raised the sighting lens again to spy in the intriguing pair up the beach.

[Nel Sayo]

The girl continued to dance and bounce about the sailor, flinging all manner of unseemly insults in his direction. He growled here and there at her, but never moved to take a more threatening posture. Like a grown lion enduring the torment of a playful cub, though they didn't look that far apart in age.

Eventually, he snaked out an arm, catching the girl about the waist, and hoisted her feet up off the sand.

"Pumme down!" she shrieked, kicking and failing.

He hauled her to the waterline, though she struggled, swearing a blue streak loud enough to chase the gulls that skirted across the sky. The sailor just grinned, something wolfish in the expression, and wrestled her against his side so that she couldn't escape.

"Sy, no!" she half-laughed, half-yelped.

The sailor paused long enough to turn towards the observing Drykas and give him a flourishing wave-and-salute, before he shoved the girl unceremoniously into the water, mashing her face-down into the waves, whereupon he sat on her. Arms slung across his knees as she thrashed her legs and waved her arms, he kept her submerged in six inches of ocean water with the weight of his body, and turned his face instead to the sun.

Ah, quiet. At last.

[Vanator]

Vanator lowered the lens as the scrapping sailors separated and the woman's epithets rose above the roaring surf. Their antics drew a grin across his salt encrusted face as he pondered who the two were...siblings, companions, lovers? The sight of them, wrestling and kicking up sand, strangely stirred memories of Tamar. Not that he and his slain wife ever wrestled as fiercely as these two, nor did Tamar ever call him the things the pale sailor spewed out at the man. But there was a playfulness encompassing the two strangers that stung Vanator's heart, a reminder of the vibrant, sometimes raucous fun he had shared with his wife. He could not believe it had been almost a year. Stirred from his thoughts, the Drykas watched curiously as the man lugged the flailing woman to the surf, offering a dramatic greeting that caught Vanator off guard. He could not help but laugh, a loud guffaw from his gut, as the woman was unceremoniously dumped into the water. The horseman's grin slid a bit from his face as the man plopped down on top of his sassy companion, her face buried beneath the surface. He wondered how long she could hold her breath. Vanator became increasingly uncomfortable as the man remained firmly planted on top of the woman, her head unable to rise above the water. Finally, curiousity got the best of him, and Vanator tugged on his boots and began to head towards the sailors. Zura nickered loudly, then snorted. Turning back, the Drykas nodded. "yes, you can come too." The Strider trotted up next to his rider. Vanator moved the wet tunic from the yvas and mounted up. The man and beast trotted towards the strangers, bringing Zura to a halt before the sailors with some silent command. He gazed down up on the two of them, an awakward, concerned curl to his mouth. "I hate to interrupt, but I have to ask. Is she alright under there?" He motioned towards the woman's head, watching the silvery-white strands of Nel's locks floating in array around her sumberged head, dancing with the moving tide.

[Nel Sayo]

"Aye," the sailor replied with a broad grin to Vanator, squinting golden eyes up at horse and rider. "She's part fish."

That was a somewhat vulgar way to put it, but nevertheless relatively true. The struggling that went on beneath him didn't seem at all hindered by the fact that she was underwater, nor did he seem overly concerned with fishing her up any time soon. The sailor just reached beneath the waves and patted the girl on the head; he didn't take his eyes off the Drykas before him.

Syon Sayo was a friendly sort, and the grin on his mouth was amiable and unthreatening, despite a flicker of defensive curiosity that sprang through his warm, hazel eyes. If he was other than human, it didn't show, just a robust sort of bloke with a smooth barritone voice and an open demeanor.

When he'd reached down to pat the girl's head, she managed to get a hold of his wrist, and he sighed hugely when she started tugging on it.

"My sister's afraid'a horses," he told the Drykas, with a nod to the noble Strider upon which he sat. "Mind backin' yours up a bit before I let her up?"

That idea was abruptly cut short, however, when the girl yanked his hand beneath the waves and, apparently, bit it. The sailor hissed a cursed and jumped to his feet, shaking out his hand, and that pale head burst through the water, followed by narrow shoulders, and soon enough the girl was climbing to her feet.

She wasn't even winded. And she was still yelling.

"--can't believe you did that, you unbelievable fucktard, have to comb my hair again or it'll get all tangled, sore loser, you stupid oaf, can't even take a joke--"

As she stood up, she shoved the sopping tangle of silvery hair out of her eyes, and that's when she looked up and saw the Drykas. And blinked. And then saw the horse. And let out a terrified squeak, even as she scrambled to get behind her brother. He rolled his eyes, and shot the Drykas a See what I mean? look, before slinging his arm about her shoulders.

"It's all right, Nelly," he muttered.

"It's looking at me," she stammered.

"Just a horse, sugar," he sighed.

"Like it wants to eat me," she added.

Syon managed not to laugh or smirk or even bat an eyelash when he looked directly at Vanator and asked, in his most serious brother-voice, "Your horse isn''t gonna eat my sister, is it, friend?"

[Vanator]

The sailor seated quite nonchalantly on the squirming, submerged woman had an engaging grin and friendly eyes that Vanator found disarming. However, the Drykas grew more and more uncomfortable as he waited for the gregarious fellow to let the girl up, it had been quite a long time. It was strange, he thought, that her struggle did not seem focused as much on raising her head above water as it was trying to grapple the man squatting on her back. Vanator was about to coax the Strider back when the man cursed and the surf exploded in a spray of saltwater. The woman burst to her feet, spewing venom without so much as a pant, as if she had just got up from the dinner table. Vanator stared at her, sensing a vague familiarity about the pale woman, but the feeling fled as she continued her raving. The horseman found himself staring dumbly at the two of them as Nel stared wide-eyed at his horse, stammering like a skittish child. By the time Syon had placed his arm around Nel, and made his cheeky inquiry, Vanator could hold back no longer, and his face split with a wide smile as a hearty laugh erupted from his belly. "no, she prefers to eat brunettes!"

[Nel Sayo]

Syon managed not to laugh at the Drykas' comment. Mirth shimmered through the golden glint of his eyes, humor threatening the unrelenting line of his mouth with an upwards tilt, but he maintained that brotherly seriousness while his sister glared suspiciously. At the horse, notably, not the rider.

"Well all right," she said eventually, on a bit of a sulk, and she stepped out from beneath her brother's arm. Not within biting distance of the Strider's nose, of course, but it was a very courageous step. "I guess that's fine."

They were quite a pair when one looked full upon them. He a walking bar of sunlight, all warm tones and easy smiles. She dressed all in black, a bare minimum of white skin visible, the silvery lengths of her hair a-topple with braids and seashells, like she selected only the most beautiful from every beach she'd dug her toes into. And, in truth, she had.

Sy's attention shifted between their new friends and his sister, something naturally defensive in his posture when Nel stepped away from him, though it was as easy as his smile. Forever prepared, just in case she got herself in trouble. Which was, admittedly, quite often. But only a few seconds later, Nel shot a smile right up to Vanator -- the expression was near as blinding as Syna's gaze, a great burst of unstoppable good humor in one flash of white teeth and one focus of bright blue eyes.

"Wanna have supper with us?" she asked the Drykas.

"Nel," Syon sighed, rolling his eyes.

"There's plenty," she insisted.

"Not the way you eat."

"I'll only eat one supper then."

"Sure you will." But he smirked, the expression no less welcoming for all his complaining, and shrugged as if to say: whatever the girl wants, really. No use arguing with her once she'd decided to make a new friend.

[Vanator]

Vanator tamed his mirth as he noted the man's feigned stoic sobriety. The horseman's gold-flecked brown gaze shifted to the pale woman, as she skirted past the Strider. The Drykas considered coaxing Zura into a nicker, having caught the sailor's contagious humor. But the woman was armed, and he always found it best not to taunt an armed woman he did not know, or some that he did. The black-clad woman's sudden flashing smile did catch him off guard, and he looked a bit perplexed as his head swiveled between the two bantering seafarers. Vanator was on the verge of refusing, if only to allay his own discomfort, when Syon gave him an accepting twisted grin and shrug. A wind swept in from the sea, and the sensation on his salted skin reminded Vanator of his state of partial dress. He glanced down at the Lacan mark at the center of his chest, still not used to the divine mark of loss. Vanator swung down from the yvas and grabbed the sleeveless tunic tucked under a strap, pulling it on over his head. Meanwhile, Zura simply eyed the two strangers. The horse had no bridle or reins, only the wood and leather Drykas contraption strapped to her back and the gear attached to it. The grasslander took only a few steps towards the pair. He was not sure how these people greeted, so he simply nodded his head, hands on his hips, flashed his own toothy grin and introduced himself in accented Common. "I am Vanator of the Drykas, and I would welcome a meal with you." His gaze lingered on the woman, studying the silvery, trinket-laden hair and the almost glowing white skin of her face and neck. She did look familiar. He had never seen anyone with skin like that, except for his sisters and their mother.

[Nel Sayo]

"A Drykas!" Nel exclaimed, glancing up at Syon. "Have we met one of those before?"

"I have," the sailor chuckled. "But you haven't."

"Neat -- Here, I'll go --" She was already scrambling away from them and back up the side of the dune, over the top of which she abruptly disappeared.

Sy lifted a hand to shield his eyes, squinting after her, watching her go as though entirely prepared for the sand to open up and swallow her whole, and then he'd have to go rescue her or something. Ah, the life of a big brother. Once the last glint of her pale hair vanished, he turned another amiable grin towards Vanator.

"I'm Syon," he said, and didn't offer his hand, since the Drykas hadn't. "That's Nel, my sister, she's -- excitable. We've a camp on the other side of the dune."

He tilted his head in silent invitation for the Drykas to join him, and started pacing after his sister. His gait was much slower, unhurried.

"Kinda on the edge, for your people, huh? Don't see too many striders on the beach, I guess."