The Edge [Inwe]

[Belgar]

74 Winter, 511

The docks were as they had been. Ice clung to the posts and dripped from the platforms, tore into the grains in the wood and settled there, awaiting the first thaw. The line between white frost and black water was too far to fathom, and the possibility of an approaching boat seemed too distant to consider. And yet they had come, had caused a stir, and left again. It was too little consolation, to know that they had probably died at sea soon after.

If anyone asked him why he had come, he would tell them it was to pay his respects. He knew the words were the right ones, but he did not understand why they were necessary. Belgar did not come to this place, on this day, out of obligation to the dead. Somehow, he thought there might be some way to regain a piece of what he had lost. He stayed for as long as he could, hoping, waiting, thinking.

The Queen herself had said he was not to blame. Then why did he suffer?

Before long, he realized that there was no use. Just like on any other day, there were no answers and no consolation. There was only the quiet of the world and the noise of his mind. The sun had moved, and its light was fleeting this time of year. With a decisive white huff, Belgar turned away from the empty ocean and walked. He walked where his instinct led him, and so he walked aimlessly; he walked for as long as he could stand it, and so he walked for hours. He focused on the ground, the way the fresh-fallen snow broke as he stepped through it, and sometimes the way she would tell him not to drag his feet...

He smelled her long before he saw her. It was not the woman who lived in his memories, but another. She stank of sweat, adrenaline, and the heated blood of exercise. He heard cries of effort and the sharp shuffle of snow and air. The rhythm of the footfalls was strange, but he could not say why.

It was uncommon to encounter another soul too far from the safety of the holds this time of year, but as he thought of it, he remembered how near Skyglow Hold stood. Even as the realization put thick cotton in his throat, still he trudged on, allowed curiosity full reign of his feet. The trees grew thicker around the pond here, he observed, allowing for a hasty retreat, if nothing else. With that cowardice in mind, he peered between the pines at the source of the commotion.

And he could not help but stare at what he saw.

[Inwe]

All alone, I have cried silent tears full of pride
In a world made of steel, made of stone.

Now I hear the music, close my eyes, feel the rhythm
Wrap around, take a hold of my heart.

She was rhythm. The ice hummed and the snow whispered. Winter was singing to her, so she listened, responded. Eyes closed, she threw her body backward. Stepped. Turned on her heel and threw her arm in a wide arc. The weight of her spear pulled her forward, so she stepped again, always, always in rhythm. The dark, iridescent waves of her unimpeded hair came swiftly around her head and draped over her face. A thin ribbon of black became caught on the moisture of her lips, but she she didn't appear to notice. She was already dipping in her next twist, her spear buzzing through the air as she brought it around in another mock slash.

The soles of her boots slid across the perfectly white snow, already well packed into the ground by her efforts. In the fresh snow that had fallen on the pond, Inwe had created a wide depression, almost flawlessly circular. The pond itself had long been frozen, maybe for several decades, and was nothing more than an solid, over-sized chunk of ice buried well beneath the snow. It looked more like a clearing between the trees, not far from Skyglow Hold, but Inwe could feel the ice beneath her feet, under perhaps a foot of snow.

Some hours ago, she had been visiting family and catching up with her brother. He was on the hunt for a bride, so their parents were vicariously thrilled. It was a repeat of what had happened six or seven years ago when Inwe had decided on a suitor. She stayed until she was weary of Jeriah's spotlight, then politely excused herself. She'd told them she was going back home, to Findecano, but she took a detour. Winter was singing, and she was restless.

Listening to the snow, Inwe bowed low and kicked a leg into the air. Inwe grunted as the spear pulled her in a direction she hadn't meant to go. Opening her eyes, she stumbled. Her muscles screamed as she tried to pull the spear upward again, trying to obey its gravity and move with it. Inwe had to hop on one foot to avoid toppling over. The spear's blade slashed through the air sloppily, and she had to tap the ground with the butt of its shaft, but her balance recovered and she retained her inertia. Her body was tossed into an involuntary twirl.

There was a shadow.

"Oh—" Inwe's body hurled forward; she had to cancel her momentum by planting her feet heavily on the ground. The spear fell from her hand and disappeared into some of the fresh snow nearby, leaving only a trace of a line where it had broken through. Hesitating, Inwe stood straight and examined the stranger's outline. He was tall, solid. A marauder? A thief?

For a thoughtless moment, her previously ignored apprehensions manifested as a tight knot in her stomach. Inwe had feared she'd be attacked by something or someone if she left the immediate safety of Avanthal. But who would be up in the Northern Reaches aside from the Vantha and wildlife?

Inwe stooped for her spear, plunging an ungloved hand into the feathery, fragile cloud of snow. It collapsed and melted on her skin as she plucked up her weapon, standing it next to her. It was nearly twice as tall as she was. The spear became a walking stick as she approached the stranger. She decided that he wasn't a ruffian, but if he was, she wouldn't show her nervousness, only her polearm. Even if she wasn't very good with it, it was an intimidating weapon.

"I didn't know I had an audience," she offered the stranger, though some of her voice was swallowed by the thick snow around them. "Are you lost, or did you follow me?" Inwe stopped, close enough to make out the man's face in the fading light of late afternoon. She didn't know him, but he looked Vantha, even if his eyes were dark and empty. A mindful hand finally pulled her hair free from her lip, placing it behind her ear. Her faint smile was cautious beneath a perked eyebrow. "Or did you hear the ice singing, too?"

[Belgar]

Their eyes met, and Belgar felt a shiver of terror melt down his back. He thought he might look away, but there was no use. In the wild, that kind of stare meant a standoff that only ended in one party’s retreat. But here, with a creature that was clearly and entirely human, it meant the opposite. It was a wary truce that piqued in her approaching feet, a curiosity that only a human would be bold enough to entertain. The point on her weapon might have intimidated lesser prey. Belgar could respect her caution.

He had chosen that spot because it was easy to hide in. Now that she had spotted him, Belgar cursed his cowardice. His hands had been warming him his pockets, one wrapped around a small wooden toy that never left his side. He released it and showed his hands as he stepped grudgingly out into the open, through the stark threshold between water-side foliage and the makeshift arena. He was too tall to be Vantha, and too pale; his eyes seemed eerily solid in color, and yet he did not wear the thick furs of a foreigner. His was a face in many a Skyglow’s memory, but it had been a year since he had been even this close to the Hold, long enough for the memory to have faded.

Stiff-necked and hard-lipped, he kept his cold black gaze locked to hers as he dipped his head. It felt like submission, but she had always described it as courtesy. As he lifted his head, he tried to return the smile she gave him. All he could give was an awkward twitch on one side of his mouth, but he hoped it sufficed. His gloves cracked noisily as his hands became impatient fists, unsure when was the right moment to respond.

He turned his ears to the world, the ice and snow, and tried to hear what she described. It was just like a Skyglow, he reflected, to think the world made art. He had thought something similar once, and tried to enjoy it. Eventually, he had learned it was a fool’s task.

“I was only walking,” he explained. The melodic turns of her language were lost on his growling tone. He hesitated before he thought to add, “What were you doing?”

[Inwe]

When the tall stranger's immediate reaction wasn't reaching for a dagger, Inwe's posture shifted and relaxed. Her cautious smile brightened and became more genuine, creasing her teal-blue eyes. Now that she had a closer view, and she'd heard his monotone Vani, perhaps he wasn't Vantha. He was too pale, but mostly he wasn't bundled up in seven layers of furs like other foreigners would be in the middle of an Avanthalan Winter.

"Isn't it obvious?" Inwe quirked a brow with her smile, resting a hand on her hip. "I was dancing. Or… training with my spear. Sort of. Kind of both, actually. Huh… you know, maybe it wasn't obvious." Reaching beneath her hair to her warm neck, she rubbed at her skin with cool fingers still wet from snow. "I'm a little embarrassed. I've never let anyone watch me do this. Did it look very bad?"

[Belgar]

Belgar swallowed the lump in his throat and shoved his hands back into his jacket, eager to touch the familiar grooves of the wooden trinket there. He looked away from the Vantha woman and at the design she had carved into the snow. Dancing and training, she said; more than one human had tried to convince him that fighting and moving was an art of its own, but Belgar knew art to be embellishment. That kind of improvisation could kill a man in a fight. She had kept every aspect of her life separate, organized, clean. There was art, family, conversation, and battle. When they mixed, disaster happened.

His eyes were clouded with disbelief as he turned them up to her again. “No. I—” A season ago, he might have mumbled some apology and asked for an explanation of the dance. A year ago, he might have insisted that it was beautiful, though he did not know what beauty was. But he was tired of that game, and tired of playing the dimwitted brute. A noise like a grunt huffed behind his lips. “I don’t know. Excuse me.”

With a matching nod of departure, he turned back to the forest and made for its other side.

[Inwe]

"Wait!" Inwe's spear teetered in the air as she stepped forward, reaching out for the stranger's arm. The chance that he might violently retaliate, and attack this woman so much smaller than he was, never occurred to her. It was thoughtless and instinctive, the way she hooked her and on his forearm to stop him from leaving. It was only after she managed to stop him and meet his eyes again that she asked herself why she had done it.

Because he was awkward, she observed, like she often was. Inwe preferred those types, the little understood, relating to them more easily than most others. Besides, he was acting as though something was upsetting to him, almost as if he was afraid of her. She didn't know why he would be. Despite the spear, they both probably knew that she was the harmless one here.

"Wait a moment," she insisted, politely retrieving her arm and returning it to her side. "You've just seen me at my most vulnerable, and now you're going to leave? That isn't fair. You didn't even tell me how clumsy I looked."

Inwe paused to glance around the area. The snow that buried the earth mirrored a white winter sky, though it was darker and more gray as the hour slipped by. Among the evergreens that bordered the pond, she couldn't tell whether anyone was lurking nearby. Someone could easily be hiding in the trees and she'd never know. So, Inwe consciously decided they were alone. There was no point in being apprehensive in the face of uncertainty.

She remembered something that a stranger had once said to her when she was very young, a foreigner from some far corner of the world. Dance like no one is watching.

"I'll make you a deal. If you embarrass yourself too, I'll consider us even." Inwe nudged her spear away, letting it fall and bury itself in the snow. Now completely unarmed, she offered her hand. "Dance with me."

[Belgar]

Belgar balked. His arm had tensed beneath her touch, but as she spoke he forgot to be hostile, or annoyed, or sad. Warm embarrassment crept up to his ears, and refused to fade as she admitted to her own; he might have laughed, on another day. He turned back to her, obliging her happy confessions with a hanging jaw. “You didn’t...” he began, but he did not know how to compliment her honestly. “I don’t...”

Her smile was friendly, her eyes inviting. It made him uncomfortable to look at her face. He turned his black gaze at her fallen spear and saw the gesture of peace, like the end of a battle that never happened. It felt like a conflict avoided, and yet his guard would not yield. He knew as much about dancing as he did about carving or any other art. The Vantha did it, not the Bears. He did not know how, and she spoke of embarrassment. Could she not see?

He did not think to consider her ignorance as a boon to him. He raised his hand in apology, leaving her offer unheeded and empty. “I don’t dance. I...” No, he could not apologize. He couldn’t—“I did not mean to embarrass you. Go on. I will not bother your... training.”

But he did not move away.

[Inwe]

An unheard song.

The Winter, by Balmorhea

He was nervous; Inwe understood that. Most people would be if someone was forcing them to leave their comfort zone. The tall, dark-eyed man looked the sort to be far retreated into his shell. For her, however, 'I don't dance' was hardly an excuse.

"Everyone says they don't dance," Inwe laughed, reaching out and clasping Belgar's open hand with both of hers. She leaned back and tried to pull him, to lead him onto the packed snow where she had been training, or dancing, or whatever it was. "It's easy. You aren't bothering me, honest. Come on out of the deep snow. I'll teach you."

If he didn't struggle or fight back, Inwe would lead the kelvic onto the snow-covered ice. The trails of her feet swept over a wide area, telling signs of the hour she had spent here. They swept in long arcs, leaving smooth trenches, dozens of boot-prints, and clumping the loose snow together into a tight rocks. Inwe led Belgar to the middle of it, then released his hand and turned to face him.

"Relax," Inwe told him, her eyes flushing golden brown. She seemed to take the order as well, letting some part of her body slacken. "It's harder to dance when you're distracted. There are those who say you need music to dance, but there is music all around us. Through Morwen's mark, I can hear the Winter singing, although… outsiders aren't marked…" Maybe this one was, if he wasn't freezing to death out here? Inwe couldn't be sure. Some outsiders did receive Morwin's Gnosis if they earned her favor. "It's alright. Just follow me. Do as I do."

She placed one foot back with such a flourish that the motion appeared to ripple through her entire body. "The easiest way to start is to follow your dance partner. See my feet? Keep yours close to mine. Mimic every step I take." Inwe stepped forward again, then placed her other foot back. She twisted and slid that foot back further, stepping forward once more with the other foot. "Keep up. Anyone can do it. You just have to try." To an unheard rhythm, she moved, stepped, twisted. The movements became a sequence, repeating themselves. One two three, one two three. After every cycle, she was facing a new direction; three cycles brought her fully around.

Inwe only asked Belgar to follow her feet, but her entire body moved to this rhythm. Her hips swayed, and her arms followed her like ribbons pulled underwater. She leaned her head back, lips parting, harkened to a music that could not be heard through any traditional convention. "Our Queen gifts her mark to the Vantha upon birth. We are always able to hear the ice, snow, and the winter air. It sings; can you hear it? Feel it, at least? Outsiders think our tolerance for the cold is a simple racial talent, but it's more than that. It's a power of a goddess. Left alone, ice is cold and dead. But to Morwen's marked, it can have beauty, a soul, a voice."

Move, step, twist. One two three. "But you don't need to hear it to dance."

[Belgar]

Belgar could not find the words to correct her, so he remained silent for a time. He had no other choice, and he knew he could use the distraction. He followed her carefully, focusing on her instructions and the patterns in her feet. His head hung heavy as he concentrated on his own. Hot white breath huffed from his into the cool winter air. He tried to listen to what she described, to hear the air sing, but there was only the crunch of snow beneath her feet and the stench of stale air that wanted of a breeze.

It was simple enough to predict her movements. She did not evade or preempt him, like a fighter would. She expressed like the artist she was, and told him her intent with flourishes that seemed almost inane to his analyzing eyes. He struggled not to move against her, to let instinct block her from her purpose or sever the flow of her progress. The rhythm begged to be interrupted, and yet he tried to hold it, to oblige her knack for it.

A minute passed like an hour. They moved; they stepped; they twisted. Just as he began to feel the dance turn in him, so he forgot himself, his focus and his precautions. When they moved again, Belgar countered.

His bulky body cut into the space she meant to fill, and they collided. The sudden gesture was a tactic meant to throw the balance of less coordinated foes, one that had been ingrained in him like reflex. The same reflex responded in the next instant. Whether or no she fell, he reached out for her and grasped her firmly by the wrist to keep her from it. It was only when he was certain that she was on her feet that he realized how he had assaulted her.

Petrified, Belgar dropped her arm and stepped away. A few hasty breaths later, rosy embarrassment was flaring anew on his ears. With an apologetic snort, it grew to anger. He was angry at himself, for trying, and at his instinct, for failing; he was angry at this stranger in front of him, for proposing an art he had long since forsaken, and at a distant friend, for leaving him to make sense out of the pieces of her death.

The softest, darkest red wavered briefly on black eyes.

He could not make sense, and he could not apologize. Instead, he mumbled through a stiff jaw and faltering glare, “I am marked by the Queen. I am a servant of Icewatch.” And nothing more. He paused to look around, glancing at the sky as if it held an answer. He could not hide his exasperation. “I do not hear it.”

[Inwe]

They collided, and Inwe might have laughed. It wasn't expected for the stranger to have a complete understanding of the footwork, and in fact she would have been surprised if he didn't misstep. Only, he moved too swiftly for it to be an accident. This felt deliberate, malicious. His body was startlingly solid, feeling more like the trunk of a tree than human flesh. Stunned, she stumbled back. His large hand clapped over her wrist.

Inwe gasped and instinctively tugged at the arm held captive by a stranger, but he did not immediately let go. A shocking wave of panic switched on her senses and tightened her skin while her boots crunched and slid in the packed snow. Inwe regretted leaving her spear buried in the snow, several yards from where they stood. She did not struggle past her initial attempt to break free, only turned to make eye contact. By the time her golden, frightened eyes purchased his, her arm was released.

Making distance between them, Inwe took her two steps back, rubbing the memory of the man's hand from her wrist. Only the sound of a winter wind could be heard whispering as they regarded each other, the man she would come to know as Belgar before her looking almost as confused as she was. He didn't pursue her, and didn't appear to mean any further harm. Perhaps she had overreacted, and it had been an accident. It was hard to tell. He looked so frustrated.

Curiosity dissolved her fear, and she stepped forward again, letting go of her wrist. "That's alright," she said softly, recognizing in him the same resentment and exasperation she sometimes felt for the world. She didn't dare touch him again. "Not everyone hears it. You have to listen, with your eyes, your body, and your mark."

Knowing that he was a member of Icewatch calmed any apprehension Inwe may have had. It didn't solve the mystery of his identity. She had heard of outsiders joining Icewatch, and being marked by Morwen. He was such a large man, though. Inwe wondered if he was one of the Kelvics, so precious to Avanthal. She was afraid to believe he might be. "I'm sorry, if I made you angry. Maybe I was insensitive. My name is Inwe."