[Flashback] You're in My Head (Syllke)

[Mara]

Fall 49, 509 AV

The day initiated as a curious one. Daylight had been shrouding itself behind a coverlet of clouds since dawn, casting a grey silhouette over the entire city. Just as the sun Mara had swathed himself inside the blankets of his inviting and undisturbed bed. His head frivolously latent upon a cushion in a muddle of unruly brunette threads and wrappings drawn up to his nose to shelter his unadorned torso curled beneath the sheets. It was a long required disruption from a stretched week of duties in the Whitevine hold.

A convoy of ill and freezing traders had arrived in Avanthal, most in need of healing of some kind. They were fools that had undervalued the pending winter of the Northern Wastes, they were ill-prepared and if they had drifted just a petty distance off course they would have suffered the loss of their whole caravan. Still of course they were tactfully nursed. The worst of the assembly’s injured were monitored in shifts by the various healers agreeable to volunteer their time. Mara would not turn down such an opportunity. He consumed much of the week’s attention to the visitor’s maintenance and watched over those that required it. He had been a faithful errand boy when requested and was quite diligent in checking the wrappings that needed substituting.

Most were improving nicely, it was an all-around triumph for the hold, and he, like many others, had taken the day to recuperate. He purred contently beneath the sheets, circling to confront the window of his cubed chamber. No transformation, the day was at its half-way mark and he was growing increasingly restless lying still for so long. His limbs ached and cramped from being bowed together and his stomach rumbled protesting its abandonment.

He rose leisurely on an unsteady arm and began pinching his eyelids together to extort the haziness from his vision. His head flung back in a stretch and a mewing yawn, before snapping his attention to the door in abrupt allegations. There was no sound, it was a good sign, but he was wary still. His father was to be expected in bed, sleeping off his work and celebratory binge the evening before with a few mates. There was no time for dispute between the two for several days. In fact they had been somewhat amicable. His tensing shoulders relaxed reminiscing on this.

The white slate of fabric pooled around his waist as Mara wrestled with the jumble until he was free of its clutches and his feet dangled freely from his cot setting onto the icy wood floor. He wriggled his toes delightfully, in a wave of glossy black nails, his body followed suit and emerged into the chilled noon air. He scratched at his scalp, another yawn insistently pulling the caverns of his jaw open.

He took his time, for once not concerned about his father's occurrence. He pulled on a pair of loose grey pants, and a stretched-out sleeveless colorless cotton shirt, with his dusky fur hooded jacket heaved over it, so just the limp wings of the shirt hung just in sight. Today he did not glide on his piercings. He had decided for the first time in a while to remove them previous night, and so they continued for this lethargic afternoon. Even his tresses fell evenly over his scalp so that the shaved scalp only peeked beneath the strands. He did not put any further effort into his preparation, and somehow he looked juvenile or maybe just less aberrant than normal.

He guided his ankle high boots up over his feet and hung his bag of belongings around his shoulders. He had a destination in mind, but as his thoughts wandered into the snow, so did his feet. He had intended to head to The Luminary Commons to fill his babbling gut, but somehow before he had realized it, he was directed somewhere only somewhat familiar. Toward another hold, the Skyglow hold, but more specifically a certain Skyglow's hold. He felt ill at ease almost immediately upon recognizing where he had been subconsciously directed, but then again, he had promised to check up on the boy. Still the closer he got the more uncertain he became. He undoubtedly was not even home. Knowing him he was likely off on some self-proclaimed escapade only inches away from damaging himself again.

Mara managed as far as the luminously lit entrance, and lingered, feet shuffling in the snow and hands jostled deeply into his jacket’s pockets. He chomped at his naked lip and his eyes squinted as he considered the building as if willing the little Warrior to exit the building of his own accord without him having to face the awkward arrival and possible introduction to fresh faces. He groaned and kicked at a clump of snow his shifting feet had collected, tossing it up a small flurry of ice and began to turn away on his heels diffidently.

[Syllke Skyglow]

It had been a lackluster day, both in terms of the sunless sky, and in terms of the dreary passage of time for a boy who had nothing to do. Since he had returned to his hold almost three weeks ago with his face looking like it had been run over by an icewatch bear, his parents had told him to stay closer to home. Syllke had interpreted this injunction quite liberally, and was back on his sled the next day. But his grandmother ratted him out a few days later, having caught wind of the fact that he had been far enough out on the still forming ice as to catch sight of walrus. The boy suspected the old woman was jealous over someone else having patched him up. She had asked many nosy questions about who this other ‘healer’ was. Syllke had immediately clammed up, for three reasons. One, he was a teenager and hated being interrogated about his personal business. Two, he didn’t want to name Mara and then have his grandmother gunning for the other boy, to take him down a peg or two for having the audacity to think he could do as good a job as she could, treating her own grandson. Three, for some very inexplicable reason, when Syllke thought about Mara, he felt like he didn’t want to share him with anyone, not even the memories of that day, not even the ones he could safely tell without his cheeks flaming up into a self-conscious blush. He had, in fact, thought about Mara quite a bit, but in a very private way. On most days, he had considered going to seek the healer out, though he hadn’t yet. He wasn’t shy, as much as he was unsure. When he ran the various moments of their encounter over in his mind, he could not be entirely sure that Mara would welcome his company. He was pretty sure Mara liked him. But that didn’t translate into wishing to see him again. It was all a bit confusing. Once Syllke’s transgression had been outed by his granny, he was well and truly grounded. All sledding privileges taken away, and next the snowshoes too. Staying close to home meant staying within the city, dammit! So he had moped about a good bit, and did his best to find some inspiration for his art. But being confined in any way for Syllke was like putting a bird in a cage. The song had gone out of him and he counted the days until his freedom would be at hand again. It had been an ambiguous grounding but finally he had wheedled a date certain out of his father. At least he could count down the days. His granny had fussed over his quickly healing wounds, and Mara himself never showed up to see how he was doing, which was a bit depressing. It also confirmed for Syllke what he suspected – that Mara didn’t really want his company. So he moped more and then finally went off to hang out with some cousins, who were tending a sick caribou calf, which was interesting. He had tagged along with his mom to see a glassblowing demonstration given by a visiting Inarta, which was fascinating. And bit by bit, he had quit moping and decided to do what he could to amuse himself within the city walls. But on this day, with only two days left until his freedom was restored to him, Syllke had been back down in the dumps, a bit. His cousins and friends were all busy, and he wandered about, trying to think of something to do. Finally, he had realized that he was hungry. Not wishing to go home, where his granny would only fuss at him, he turned instead to find something to eat at the Luminary Commons. Entering the warmly glowing cafeteria style eating hall, his face had lit up. Three boys his age were seated together talking animatedly about an upcoming sledding race to be held in conjunction with the celebration of Morwen’s departure. The three were good friends of the gregarious young artist, and he went over to join them. They welcomed him with smiles and greetings and a few comments and questions about the new bump in the bridge of his nose. He sat down with them, ordered some food and something to drink, and joined in their conversation easily, like an otter slipping into the familiar water of its home river. From where he sat, Syllke could easily see the main entrance to the eatery, though he was not on the look out for anyone in particular to show up. OOCI thought maybe Mara would leave Syllke's home without trying to ask if Syllke was about and go to the Commons and go in and see him there. Let me know if that doesn't work for you

[Mara]

Mara schlepped his carcass in the conflicting direction, suffering even as even more a fool than he original ordained for having come all that way only to turn away. Sloshing through the fluff arranging beneath his ankle boot, he headed back in the direction of the Luminary Commons. He intended on attainment a meal and returning to bed to hang beneath the covers and dissuade thoughts away from their existing fixation.

It did not take long to reach the eating hall. Jerking his feet spotless before ingoing, he strode through the doors to a fusion of odors and sounds. He did not trouble himself looking around the area or offering polite greetings. Those who would have offered them, had dismissed their efforts, he was likely to not return or be incapable to keep any kind of considerable dialogue. It was not that he disliked them. He just couldn't bring himself to find anything worth saying. More so recently, if it was not a matter of employment, he found it more trying to converse casually. He attributed it to fatigue, but if he was honest it was that he was more distracted. His thoughts wandered to a meeting, the only recent meeting that had actually impacted him in more ways than a rehearsal of medicine.

He made a straight aim for the assembly line, his steps swaying in elongated and fluid strides and hands still twiddling within his sleeve. When he reached the attendant, it was a woman he was impartially familiar with. He was actually quite partial to her, and she smiled at him genuinely, silver sheened ladle in hand. He stressed his sealed lips into something that could only insinuate to an addressing smile, and lasted less than a second. "Same as always." he tipped his head to an ampule of a thick and steaming soup.

"No problem!" she responded merrily her round and rosy cheeks rose with her grin, his bowl already in her hand as she began to spoon the liquid into the container.

Just ahead of Mara was another female, around his age, with long dark polished curls that swished about at her waist. She wore snug fur lined clothes that charted her trim and voluptuous figure. Upon hearing his voice she circled around, mid-stride to meet him, with an impression of exaggerated amazement. "Mara?" she queried a finger presently winding about in her locks, framing her soft and carefully sculpted features. She was exactly the variety of woman that was born to attract men and women alike.

Mara presented her no second glance. He remembered her almost immediately, the slight smack of her lips as she finished each word and the strong floral smell that wafted off her pasty skin. "Hi."

"You remember me right? From class?" she pulled herself closer to him, chest puffed out and hips swinging, to further engross him.

He nodded biting the inside of his cheek in vexation and taking his offered bowl from across the paned line.

"Would you like to eat with us? Maybe catch up?"

He raised a brow; his cerise lakes scanned her incredulously. "No thanks." he was not very fond to her, in fact he could not even remember her name, but he had remained silent in class long enough to know what she was doing. She was a striking girl, there was no denying that, but she seemed to need validation from any and every one. She was insistent only to see if she could perhaps seduce someone who had not given into her charms. It was all a narcissistic game.

"Oh come on. It'll be fun." she cooed resting a dainty hand upon his arm and squeezing, her sultry eyes fluttered like she would swallow him whole.

He shrugged his arm to slide her hand from him unsuccessfully, and his eyes narrowed upon the appendage before gliding over her. He leaned toward her his mouth rested just by her ear in what could be misinterpreted as an affection. “I have other company,” his voice a quiet hiss under the roar of the room “So if you don’t mind releasing your bony claws from my arm; you can go back to pretending I don’t exist.”

OOCFeel free to act out any of said female's actions, if you like.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke’s attention had been focused on his eating companions and their boisterous talk, and so he did not immediately notice Mara’s appearance at the commons. His eyes were across the table, but they happened to flick up just as Mara had crossed to get in line. His heart practically stopped, then resumed beating with such a roaring cadence that Syllke was sure everyone in the place must have heard it. But of course, it was all in his own head, literally. His friends just kept jabbering away, and they didn’t even notice how his eyes remained fixed on the other boy now speaking to the woman serving out the meal. Syllke hesitated, all the same old confusion of emotions befuddling his usually much clearer brain. Mara had no idea that Syllke was here – or did he? When Syllke considered the possibility that Mara had spotted him right off, while he himself wasn’t looking, and had deliberately chosen not to come say hello, his heart plummeted to his boots. So it was that he hemmed and hawed about whether he should get up and go say hello himself. He didn’t exactly fear rejection. He just didn’t want to have some sort of awkward, embarrassing moment where Mara felt compelled to act like he was glad to see Syllke. In the end, Syllke was just too sociable a creature to pretend like this boy who had so captured his attention wasn’t even there. He rose and without even saying anything to his mates, he strode over to the line, his chest feeling a bit tight and his stomach fluttery. Mara’s eyes were fixed forward on some point behind the counter, his back to Syllke’s trajectory. Syllke wasn’t sure if that made things better or worse, that Mara had not seen him approach. He was almost so close to Mara that he could have stretched out a hand and touched his shoulder, when he saw another variable enter the equation, in the form of a very cute girl who turned to speak to the healer. Syllke’s feet slowed and he slid to a stop, once more unsure of how to proceed. There wasn’t anything to indicate that Mara was on some more than friendly terms . . . oh wait. Yes, there was. He saw the dainty hand slip onto Mara’s arm. And then – Mara was leaning forward, whispering in her ear practically. Oh shit. Syllke stood there, staring at the two, wondering if he could just turn around and quietly retreat. Meanwhile, whatever Mara had whispered to the girl, she leaned back a bit, a smile plastered on her vapid face, though it seemed a bit frozen. Her eyes though, told the true tale of her barely suppressed anger, for they swirled suddenly red. It was hard to hide your emotions when Morwen’s lights exposed all. Her nails dug into Mara’s thin arm – no doubt she wished they were clawing into his face – before she released him. With a venomous hiss, she dropped one word between them in a low tone, but loud enough to be heard by anyone standing close by. “Freak!” She turned to grab up her food, and then twirled about once more, to walk past Mara, her eyes steadfastly refusing to acknowledge his existence, just as he had suggested. But when she came to Syllke, one step beyond, she cast him an icy look. “Move it, moron,” she ordered imperiously. “Damn, chill why don’t you!” he replied, returning her bitchy look full on. She huffed and moved past him, and it wasn’t until she was past that Syllke realized that, if Mara recognized his voice, the healer would know for sure that he was standing right behind him, and that the artist had probably heard the girl’s comment.

[Mara]

Mara gave her no return as her talons burrowed into his arm, only glowering at her tightening mouth and stunned fury blistering from the inside. Her shrill voice now spewing out such a term to abuse him with, it was almost laughable if not equally debasing. It was enough to assure him his action were appropriate. She was a shallow tart of a girl, and he coveted nothing to do with her. Being shunned by what she had deemed a freak, and prized by the men she set sights on, should be a blow she would spitefully swig and be over with.

He slung his head, unperturbed that she decided to take her sudden leave when from behind he caught her comment toward another. What a gem she was. The rejoinder was what arrested him in a tightly woven net though.

The remark was nothing substantial, but the proprietor of the voice was all that had a bearing. He revolved hastily, nearly spattering his bowl's contents all over the floor with the swivel. How nostalgic that would have been.

"Syllke..." like a whispered secret, he was not sure what this encounter would be like. It had been a fair enough passage of time that many things could have changed between them. What was he doing, coming to say hello? Or was it some happenstance that they had been pressed so immaculately together in the line.

He wanted to shout at him for inexplicable reasons, for making him feel so mortified for walking all the way to his hold only to find him within arm’s length standing behind him at the very location he had proposed to go before the detour. "What are you doing here?" his voice was more severe than was warranted.

He banned a comeback with a shake of his head, halting the only painfully obvious answer that could be given. Frustration filled him "I was headed to your place earlier, that's why..." he looked away trailing his words into their original tone he had reserved for the boy. “That’s why I asked."

A fidgeting hand protruded out from beneath the sleeve that had swallowed it and grabbed hold of Syllke's arm to coax him forward. "Sit with me." he demanded more than requested. "If you have food, get it and come." his short answers were aloof and probably confusing to his past patient. Still he had no other way to ask, he was flustered and taken off guard. It was a sensation he did not relish, just for the reactions he was choking on trying to swallow them down.

Mara turned to walk away without another word, headed to a table at the far corner of the room, a less populated area. He bit his tongue to stop the following sharp comment that threatened to protrude itself of “Hurry.” He just wanted to be alone with him, away from the crowds and away from the frustration, in hopes that Syllke could sooth his raw and frayed nerve endings.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke actually jumped back when Mara turned so suddenly – not from fear of flying soup but just because his nerves were slightly on edge over how Mara was going to react to seeing him. The first word that fell from those unadorned lips was hopeful – Syllke’s name, spoken in a to-be-expected tone of surprise, soft and not ostensibly grudging. At least it didn’t sound as if Mara had already known that the young artist was here in the commons. That mollified Syllke’s nervousness somewhat. But the tone of the healer’s voice quickly shifted to one of mild accusation as he posed his question – a switch Syllke could only interpret as intending Why are you bothering me and why don’t you leave me the petch alone? Syllke backed up another step, his hands already coming up in a conciliatory gesture. But then Mara switched tack again, and his explanation fell on slightly confused ears. Had Syllke missed something? Was it – could it be that Mara had sent a message to him – that he was dropping by – and somehow Syllke had missed it? Syllke’s thoughts immediately jumped to his granny, wondering if somehow she had intercepted such a note or messenger. But – she didn’t even know who Mara was, so, that made little sense. For a boy who was normally pretty sharp, Syllke was now standing there looking quite dumbfounded, and acutely uncomfortable. He didn’t know what to say, but he felt like slinking back off to the table where his friends sat, or maybe right out the door, to flee. Then Mara’s hand reached for his arm, and the healer placed a curt demand, two in fact, before wheeling about and stalking away. Syllke could only look at his retreating back, mouth still slightly agape, as he tried to process that odd and awkward interaction. He felt chastised, but with no idea of his transgression. He felt like he was in for more of the same, for why else would Mara wish him to come sit with him, far away from any others, from the looks of the seat Mara was now selecting, against a far wall, surrounded by empty tables. Syllke really could not understand the undercurrents here. But he predicted that what Mara had to say would amount to something akin to, Hey, look. Don’t bother me, kid, alright? I got a life. You go get one too. The further thought that Mara had just been called a freak by the bitchy girl flitted across Syllke’s mental landscape too, with the certainty that such an exchange would not put anyone in a good mood. So . . . maybe Mara was just being grumpy? Syllke’s head turned to look back at the table where his friends sat. Having finally realized that he had left, they were looking his way, and one of them motioned for him. Slowly, as if his feet wanted to walk in the other direction, towards Mara at his isolated sanctum, Syllke returned to their table. The boy who had signaled to him, asked with a smirk, “Smooth, Syllke, really smooth.” All three of them snickered. “Did you ask her out? Is that why she called you a moron?” There followed a moment of pleasant speculation about the various attributes of the young lady whom any of them would have died to get a chance to chat up. They had only caught a glimpse of what had transpired and clearly had their own take on events. The other boy who had spoken to Syllke was quite obviously a cipher to them, for the moment, their attention focused for obvious reasons on the girl. Syllke frowned, still preoccupied with Mara’s odd behavior, and he said, “No, she just wanted to get around me.” His companions chuckled and made a few lewd comments, as Syllke reached for his abandoned plate and cup. The one boy lifted dark, merry eyes to him and asked, curious, “Where are you going? Gonna try your luck again? I think it’s a lost cause, mate.” Syllke shook his head no. Then he nodded to the spot way across the room to where Mara sat by himself. “I’m going to go eat with him.” Three heads turned as one to scrutinize this heretofore unacknowledged third in that impromptu trio of a few moments ago. Three brows crinkled in frowns and three sets of eyes went to Syllke. “Who’s that?” One boy asked, while at the same time the other two exchanged a look. “Isn’t he that weirdo?” One of the two asked. “With the freaky hair cut? And the piercings?” The other was nodding, and smirking again. “Spider man,” was all he remarked, but with a knowing air. The first boy, who apparently didn’t have a clue who Mara was, asked, “What do you mean?” The third boy bared his teeth, as if he was displaying fangs, then laughed. “Symenestra – his mom was one. That’s why he’s so frickin’ weird.” He turned his face to Syllke, frowning for real this time. “Why you want to hang out with someone like that?” He leered, then snickered again. “Don’t you know freaks like that want to drink your blood?” The two boys laughed, while the first one looked again at Mara, frankly curious and ready to believe his friends. “Do they really drink blood? Is that what he’s eating right now?” The one slapped the first one on the back of the head. “No, dummy! He’s not gonna eat blood right here, out in the open, is he?” His face twisted in a grimace of disgust at such ignorance. “They wait . . . “ Syllke, who had been trying to get a word in, said sharply, “Shut up! You don’t know anything.” His normally sunny expression was dark with anger. This reaction to the healer – and his simple statement that he intended to eat with Mara – was so unanticipated. He was still so unsettled about Mara’s own curt words – and now this on top of that – he felt frustrated and in the dark. But he still wasn’t going to stand there and listen to such crap from his friends. The one boy who had been making the smart remarks, looked at Syllke, frowning again. “You shut up! You’re the one that’s dumb as a rock – if you’re going to go eat with someone like that.” He snorted and looked to the other two for support. “They don’t call them widows for nothing.” He nodded, secure in his superior wisdom. “Just shut the petch up!” Syllke said again, his eyes darting to where Mara sat, and then back at the smart ass boy. “Every time you open your gob you just prove what an idiot you are.” Finished with arguing with such a petrified brain, Syllke turned to leave, food and drink in hand. But a hand snaked out and grabbed the back of his jacket. As he turned to protest, the boy rose and let go, but planted both hands on Syllke’s chest and shoved him hard. Caught off guard, Syllke stumbled backwards and half fell against the table behind him, his lunch flying everywhere. The people at that table half rose with exclamations of surprise on their lips. One set of helpful hands reached out to help him back upright, as his erstwhile friend retook his seat with a smirk. Half of the food and most of the drink had doused Syllke’s front. “Enjoy your meal, Syllke,” the boy sniggered, the other two looking on with huge eyes. “And the company. You probably deserve one another.” He then appended an obscene name directed at the young artist, as he blatantly turned away. It took only one short leap for Syllke to get his hands around the other boy’s shirt and yank him from his chair, so that they both fell to the floor, wrestling for the upper hand.

[Mara]

Mara had deteriorated into the seat of the bench. He ought to be exultant, and a part of him was. The reaction that whitewashed all of that was much more dismal. He was dismayed, with his own confrontations, with that unreasonable display in the food line, and with the guise of absolute shock and misunderstanding upon the artist’s face. He thrust his bowl away from him, so that it skidded to the side of the tabletop. His appetite had bolted, and the sustenance now looked unappealing, and he required it out of his view.

He heaved a sigh and tugged a willowy leg to his chest, the heel of his foot reinforced by the chair. His cheek leaned upon his knee, digits knotted tightly around the extremity to face the wall. Not capable of bringing himself to observe what Syllke had elected to do, if he would join him or not after such a brash exchange in which he had allowed the other not a solitary lungful to digest the situation properly, so as an alternative he sealed his eyes, letting deep inhales flex the hollows of his nostrils and pace his fluttering temperament.

When finally acquiring a glance up, he found the other at a bench full of what he could only presuppose to be his companions. They were jesting about, and not until an incline in his direction was comprised and a hoot trailed a gesture of pincer-like fangs, was he sure what the object of their mimicry was.

He shifted in his chair uncomfortably, prepared to get up to disappear. It was a cutting betrayal, for he could only assume that Syllke was partaking in the give-and-take. It cast a murky gloominess over the warmhearted memoirs he held, and his middle lurched as if he would banish the intestinal acid that sloshed in his gut. He crept both bearing to the floor and guided his chair out to stand when he heard Syllke bark, the room didn't terminate its prattle but a murmur rippled over the multitudes. The Vantha was defending him, he had suspected him, and he picked anxiously at the rims of his fingers as he watched as the other boy's joking turned to yelling.

Mara began to stand regardless now, he was not sure where he was directed, to break them up or to just leave-taking and spare him the conflict. He spied the boy’s turn-off to join him and immobilized looking over the exasperated look of his face. He had not seen this expression and though he had formerly been fascinated as to what a look besides a broadening chortle would look like upon his face, it only proved to still his beating heart.

It was too heartbreaking, the lined brows, the inadvertent pout of his lip. Even the ire echoed some contrasted emotion. His annotations were devastated as a hand reached out to grab the object of his gazes and the resulting action slopped the tray full of food across the boy, and pitched him to the ground. It was his opportunity to feel livid, his irises exacerbated to a churning overcast of darkened gray, as he began forward with the sound of the final nail “Enjoy your meal, Syllke, and the company. You probably deserve one another.”

He was incensed, not for himself but for Syllke. He wanted to slice off their tongues and drain them of goblets of blood to imbibe before them, just for the unalloyed irony of it. He was habituated with the discrimination, to the insults, but the fact that any interaction outside of his unwavering solitued was cause for blatant viciousness. He only wished he had the stomach to actually wound them and glug their revolting plasma.

Before he was even across the room, Syllke had come to fighting, storming the boy so that they both writhed in a jumble of knuckles and feet. He hastened his speed until they were just in sight and regarded to the two adjoining faces of their trio who were dumbfounded at the match lying before them. "What are you doing? Break them apart!" he yelled at them furious at their insolence. He would have joined in, but he only dared reach out for Syllke and in the midst of the scuffle he would either break a bone or two of his feebler anatomy, whether accident or intent, or Syllke would be distracted long enough to give the other time for unrestricted strikes.

The boys looked at him with shock that flickered to detest, for his outwardly command of authority over them. "Shut up!" one of them countered out of guileless need to put Mara in his place before they hurdled into the befuddlement.

When after a long and almost unsuccessful struggle and streams of yelling obscenities, had drawn a sizeable crowd, at last the two swinging forms were being forcibly ripped apart, Mara scrutinized the both of them for damages. He would still not refuse the assaulting boy if he needed assistance, however begrudging and harsh his treatment would be. His devotions remained chiefly on Syllke however, fearful even to reach out and handle him and worsen the altercation with some malicious remark one of them would create.

"Come to Whitevine if you need anything mended; otherwise, give up your unreasonable argument. Syllke Skyglow has been instructed to my surveillance by his family, so that he may regulate his time out in a suitable process. It is a part of a punishment they have conducted. He no more appreciates my company than I delight in his." Mara's voice was a loud enough to silence the muttering opinions around them, and capture attention by his substantiated announcement. His very core shuddered uttering the words, but he held his waver locked tightly beneath his exterior. It would end the quarrel, and diminish any burden of ostracizing from the artist. He could not even succeed in looking upon Syllke's face, for his own facade would shatter instantaneously.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke was no stranger to brawling. Most boys his age engaged in it from time to time, or frequently even, depending on their temperament. He had a naturally congenial disposition. But he could be riled, under the right circumstances. And so it was that he was able to reasonably quickly get the upper hand of his opponent – for a moment. Syllke wound up straddling the other boy’s chest, and got in a few good blows to his face, with his balled up fist, before the superior weight and size of the other saw him tilting over, and then it was Syllke on the bottom. Instead of pummeling, the bigger boy went for Syllke’s throat, and began to throttle him. For a moment, Syllke wrapped his fingers about the other’s strong hands, but he quickly realized that was not going to dislodge them. So, like a snake, his hand shot upwards, index and middle fingers pointed, and he jabbed the boy in the eye as hard as he could, following up with trying to dig them into the socket. His foe let loose of Syllke’s throat and grabbed for his eye howling, and Syllke raised his torso up and jabbed the boy in the ribs with his elbow, shoving at the same time, managing to push him off and onto the floor. But the boy did not go down, instead he grabbed Syllke by the chest with his other arm, still clutching at his eye with one hand. He dragged Syllke over on top of him, trying to get his forearm around that neck again. This time, Syllke really meant business. His elbow was not within striking distance of the guy’s crotch, but he slammed his fist backwards, and got the desired result all the same. Whirling about, he brought his still balled fist with him and slammed it into his opponent’s temple. Thinking he was done, Syllke made the error of underestimating the fury of his enemy. Sitting back, panting hard and coughing from being choked, Syllke relaxed, only to be rushed and bowled over backwards again by the boy who had risen to his knees and lunged like a wild bear at the artitst. Syllke’s head hit the hard floor with a resounding clunk and he saw stars, right before he felt the fist smash down into his cheek. This time it happened to be the other, unmarred cheek that had not collided with the sled runner. He felt the sting of ripped skin and he looked up at the other boy whose fist was just pulling back for another go – when miraculously it hung suspended in mid-air. Not questioning how or why he was getting this reprieve, Syllke rolled to his side and kicked out, catching the boy square in the stomach. The boy ‘oooofed’ out a great expulsion of air, and the other boy who had grasped him to keep from beating Syllke’s face in called out in anger. It was then that Syllke felt the vice grip of arms about his own, yanking them back so hard it felt like they would rip from their sockets. He struggled mightily, assuming it was some trap. In all the chaos of the fight, his attention had been so focused on his opponent that he had not seen Mara appear, nor did he hear him shout at the other two boys to separate the combatants. Syllke continued to wriggle and try to pry his arms free, but the boy had him in a death grip. His foe, too, was subdued and it was only then that Syllke’s wild gaze took in that lanky body, that captivating face, now peering down so seriously at him, for the briefest moment before sliding away to check out the other boy, too. Syllke could only blink somewhat owlishly, blood trickling down his cheek, more blood pooled once again inside his mouth, his chest heaving. The chest of the boy behind him pressed to his back, his own arms now hanging limp, his eyes locked on Mara, who refused to look at him. Then those stern words devoid of any real emotion were uttered by the healer – and healer he was, apparently, and no more. Syllke’s brow wrinkled at the lie, not understanding. His somewhat addled brains tried to find some reason behind that lie, and could only come up with one. Mara had no more inclination to admit to their friendship now than he had five minutes ago. Not in front of the considerable crowd that had now developed around them. And then – the final blow. Mara’s final summation of how things stood between them. Well. That was that. Syllke felt the sting behind his eyelids but he’d be damned if he would let one petching tear escape. With a furious glare at Mara, he gave a mighty shove backwards against the boy holding him. But that one’s grip had relaxed too, and Syllke moved fast enough to escape his hold, jumping nimbly to his feet. He shot a look at his now quiescent opponent, and said sharply, “I guess you were right after all.” Though he did not elaborate further. Instead, he pushed into the crowd, which parted for him, and marched to the door of the commons, pushing them open and stepping out into the still petching grey day. Breaking into a run, his feet flew over the hard packed snow, his arms pumping hard as he bolted off down the road.

[Mara]

The crowd commenced to evaporate and those not implicated began to disperse into their respective areas, no longer enchanted by the demonstration that had accompanied their meal. Mara peered in Syllke's direction just long enough to be on the receiving end of a new mien, a glower as piercing as daggers. His own face looked staggered, he projected him to be hurt; he dreaded it actually, but such resentment. His face unstiffened ready to unfurl out to him and withdraw every announcement, but it was too late. The destruction was already doled out.

The vehemented artist split free in a retaliatory shunt and a hurry that chucked him in the reverse direction. Mara pushed passed the people before him, including the boys that still hulked in a group before him. He wedged between their shoulders submitting no pleasantries of their bumping figures. "Great job, you made him into a freak just like you." the aggressor grunted just forceful enough for Mara to catch.

Mara bequeathed him an inky stare to the boy that erected a full head over him, his jaw clenched with tenacity. "Don't bestow me another motivation to expurgated your heart and devour it." he spat, it had been a long time since he had been incensed enough to expel such words, to feed into the tales just enough to induce fear. The outcome was what he sought for as the boy strained to imitate laughter his face paled, and he shrugged off without another intolerant word.

He interlaced through the rest of the crowds, realizing less people moved to tolerate for his slender frame. As he grasped for the door and swung it open he gathered the indistinct stream of precipitate being booted up with Syllke's sprint. "Syllke!" his shouts held no sway if they were received at all, he did not envisage them to, but still he undertook the effort.

He started to jog after him, his legs fluctuating inelegantly beneath him. He was not talented at things that required excessive physical strain. He never found the need to be, and so his run was slow and made him pant after just a lesser succession of paces. "Syllke! Please stop!" he screamed with a voice giving into the cold air with each tortured breath.

"Let me explain dammit!" he stopped having lost sight of him already, and his voice hardly migrating past his own ears. He leaned over clinging to his thighs and panting coarsely. His eyes stung and his side manipulated as if there was a scalpel shunted between his ribs. He wanted to think that his eyes only stung because of the wind wiping into his them, drying them, but the warmth that began to blot around his eyes only allowed that belief partial sway.

He stood feeling defeated, for this would assuredly be the last time they came face to face if he could not find him and make him listen. Maybe that would be for the best. He pressed his palms to his eyes and tossed his head toward the sky. His fangs bared and he let out a perturbed yell into the empty air.

When he had composed himself, he noticed there in the white blanket of turf the hints left behind. It wasn't considerable. The marginally disturbed areas that gave evidence of steps and the ornaments of red that sprinkled the area a few feet from one another. Mara knew he could not abandon him, whether he desired him to or not. The Vantha's expression was branded onto his cranium. He shadowed the tracks at a hastened march. "Syllke please!" he called to him over and over hoping he was gaining on him some. It seemed like he was walking boundlessly.

"Please just listen to me!" his pleas became swollen with anguish with each announcement and no reply until the track began to disappear and his hope waned. He wanted to cast himself down and deferment there, hoping to be buried there in a grave of white. If this was what life would continue to be like then what was the sense? The thought was a fleeting one, but it resounded in his ears over and over until he felt mad with it. Tears that befitted only him, with no crease to his face and only his tiresome walk adding to the visage of his crestfallen appearance, began to flow in streams that would only have caught the light if they had been illuminated by the sun's rays or seen up close. He hugged his chest as if trying to keep himself from falling apart. Syllke now seemed so very far away that it would now take him years to cross the oceans that separated them. He scrubbed away the stubborn spills of moisture, fighting grueling against the burning that threated to expose him, and endured on.

[Syllke Skyglow]

All he could do was run. He ran, hard and harder, pushing his body to suck up all the oxygen that his lungs could drag in. That way there was less for his brain - it could go into automatic and he wouldn’t have to think. Because thinking was too painful. But even if he could not think, he could not shut off the ache in his chest. His lungs burned and his muscles protested as he pushed himself to go faster, but that ache – that had nothing to do with physical exertion. Maybe he was overreacting. Maybe his emotions had gone haywire and he was making a mountain out of a proverbial molehill. But what could he do? You can control the way you act. You can not control the way you feel. That tiny seed that had somehow dropped into his heart during his first encounter with Mara had taken root. Quietly, without Syllke even realizing it, the seed had germinated and pushed upward, and today, upon seeing Mara again, Syllke had been acutely aware of this new presence in his emotional make up. And even now, as he ran, despite everything that had just transpired – despite the troubling hurricane of confusion that now swirled about that new growth – he could still feel it, deep inside him. That feeling still remained, clinging tenaciously to his heart, and he didn’t know if that was wonderful or terrible. Regardless of how it might be categorized, one truth remained – that seed of affection for Mara that had been sown was still there, even if he might wish it were not. His boots beat a steady, fast rhythm on the snow and carried him forward, as he tried to escape this truth, and the pain it had brought him. Syllke gave little thought to a destination, needing only to keep moving – away. When he saw the city gates ahead, he didn’t pause or slow. Yes, he would be in trouble for leaving the city. But he would be in trouble anyway, for fighting. He knew his parents would find out, and he only hoped that Mara’s name would not be dragged into it. That seemed unlikely though, given the healer’s vocal expression of his relationship to Syllke. It wasn’t that Syllke would care about having to explain that lie – he just didn’t think he could – because the only explanation he knew of was too painful to be forced into simple words. To voice the truth would only make it that much more certain. Mara wanted to make sure no-one made the mistake of thinking that he and Syllke were friends. In fact, the healer had been on the point of driving home that certainty to the young artist, but he had been pre-empted, by Syllke’s own stupidity. Syllke’s impulse to protect Mara had only provoked in the healer the need to publically declare what he would have otherwise privately explained to the boy. Syllke didn’t regret that act – the coming to blows over the slights to Mara’s character. He only wished that Mara had been spared the knowledge of what any of it was about. Despite his anger, Syllke still did not wish that on a boy that he would have considered to be his friend – if that friendship had been acceptable or wanted on the other side of the equation. He flew through the gates, garnering only a cursory glance from the guards there, and ran on, down a road of sorts that led away from the city, and out towards the tundra. Here, it seemed the air was clearer, sharper and finally he let his pace slow. He had pushed himself to the point where he was sweating slightly, despite the chill of the season, and he let his fast moving feet descend to a more sedate pace, jogging along until he came to a walk. His breath puffed out in big clouds of warm steam, and he put his hands to his hips, sucking in air, trying to slow his heartbeat. He felt a prick of cold on his cheek, and, turning his head upwards, he saw the first fat, lazy snowflakes swirling down out of the leaden clouds. Coming to a complete halt, he looked ahead, wanting to just keep going, but realizing that might be foolish. Being out on the tundra alone in a blizzard was never a good thing, even for one marked by Morwen. He had nothing with him other than his clothes. Reluctantly, he decided he should not go any further. But neither would he return straight away either. With the motion of his body stopped, once again his brain began to churn, as well as his stomach. Syllke flopped down onto the ground, not caring about the frosty white crystals that showered up as his bottom hit the snow. Pulling his knees up, wrapping his arms about them, he leaned his forehead on them, watching the vaporization of the air exiting his mouth and nose as it hit the cold, tiny clouds swirling between thighs and chest and then disappearing. At rest, a great sadness stole over him, though in truth, he told himself, there was no reason for this. Mara was nobody to him – a healer who had seen an injured boy who needed his help – that was all it had been, right? The rest – just Mara’s way of dealing with his patient. Not his friend – his patient – just like anyone else who might come to him for help. That hug, only a small thank you for Syllke’s little gift. Really, that was it. Syllke thought about how he really didn’t know anything about Mara, did he? Only now, he knew a bit more. Syllke had never met a Symenestra before. Well, that wasn’t a surprise, was it? Weren’t they the nightmare beings that stole the Vantha girls and young women – and . . . Syllke frowned, even to think about what he had heard. The grisly deaths such girls faced, after being raped and bred, like some sort of non-sentient animals. It was horrible! Could Mara really be a part of that race? Did it make a difference that he was only half? Did that make him any less prone to such practices? Did the Symenestra really drink human blood? Syllke didn’t know – he just didn’t know because he had never thought it an important piece of information that merited his attention. He suddenly recalled the way Mara had licked his thumb . . . and he felt slightly ill. With his head practically buried against his knees, Syllke finally capitulated. The warm sting behind his closed eyelids signaled the moisture to follow, and slowly, the tears he had fought for so long, began to trickle down his cheek, to mingle with the drying blood of his cut.