[Drykas Camp] The Better Man (Sama'el)

[Ronan]

Timestamp: 45th Day of Spring, 512 AV

They had made camp for the night, and Ronan sat some way away from the others, who ate and drank, and talked among the flickering flames.

His eyes were on Sama'el. They spoke of guilt. Festering, heavy guilt. Weeks had passed since Denen and Oluse had saved Sam's life. It had only been after he had discovered the full cause of his injuries.

Ronan had stood and gawped like a child, while Sam had hoisted up the Olidosapux. He had been oblivious, not even offering to help. And that moment of ignorance had caused Sama'el internal injuries.

He looked away, feeling melancholy as his eyes shifted to the stars. Denen had made him feel especially unwelcome. Sam hadn't said anything, but the deaf healer had made his opinion of Ronan clear. Oluse had been indifferent of sorts. He was still grateful to Ronan for his equestrian training.

He knew he had to speak to Sama'el. The whole thing was pressing on his mind. He had learnt in the past that keeping things bottled up never helped. This time he should unburden -- but would Sam even want to listen?

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el's face flickered with a gentle, introspective smile in the light of the camp fire. The face was younger than the one Ronan saw in mirrors or pools of water, and yet he was leading them through the wilderness again. The young man had borne heavy burdens his whole life, from the weight of guilt at surviving his pavilion, the yoke of slavery, the fear of solitary travel, the mantle of Watchman, the responsibility to raise his pavilion from the ashes, a name he was not allowed even to speak until it lived again. There were scars on his face from the beating he had received at the hands of a goddess; it had not even been a battle. The young man had an abiding respect for the gods as evidenced by the solar disc and its one radiant arm circling his eye, but he had made a decision in order to preserve them from a Talderan blizzard and paid the price. Despite his injuries then and the one that followed, he was more solicitous of Issima and the others than of himself. They had all heard Oriana's pronouncement, and his young wife was fretful and worried. She had every right to be. Eventually Sama'el got up to relieve himself. He decided he would have to stop lighting the camp fires with his Mystery or they would all forget how to create fire with their own two hands. When he returned to the edge of the light, though, he paused, watching his family from the anonymity of the dark.

[Ronan]

Sam got up and disappeared into the darkness. Ronan watched Issima for a while. The expectant mother's life had been cruelly twisted by the Bear Goddess's revenge on Sama'el.

They did not speak on it much, but everyone in their travelling party knew of the omen. Sama'el's wife looked perpetually frightened, shadows casting themselves over her face.

Ronan sighed, hands cupping his face. It wasn't until shortly after that he became aware of someone standing in the perimeter of the camp. Languishing in the darkness, Sam watched the flames quietly. Ronan had been so caught up in his own guilt, but how must his brother feel, knowing he had partly brought his wife's tragedy to fruition?

He left Sam standing for a moment, turning back round and trying to preoccupy himself with other things. He had barely had a chance to practise the skills Sama'el had taught him. He tried to create that balance, grounding himself, just like he did when he entered the Web. It seemed knowing one strand of magick, could at least aid you in another. He focused on that djed coursing through his body, missing the hook once, then finally producing a trickle of res the second time.

And a trickle it was. Small amounts, that with earthy, steady focus, he managed to turn into tiny pieces of gravel. He flicked it through his fingers, watching the fine rock tumble to the ground.

Sighing, he turned back to find Sam still in the shadows. He climbed up from his spot, and sank into the darkness too, walking towards his brother softly. At first, he didn't say anything, merely standing beside him in companiable silence.

Then, "I'm sorry," Ronan said quietely, so that only he and Sam would hear, "your injuries were my fault. I was... I didn't think."

He breathed in and out, biting his lip a little.

"and I'm sorry for the other stuff. I know that the baby meant a lot to you, Sam."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sama'el smiled at Ronan when he approached. The Drykas weren't a particularly private race; they lived among their families in intricate tents, but children grew up knowing the sounds of their parents' love-making, and secrets were more frequently told on rides outside Endrykas than in whispers among the people. If he wanted to be alone, truly alone, he would have ridden away with only Horse as a companion. He had sensed Ronan's guilt, but didn't know how to address it. Perhaps he should have known, should have dealt with it as a fledgling leader, but he was still quite young, and all these people, even Ronan himself to some extent, depended upon him. But when he finally spoke of it, Sam looked down at his feet, sighed, and turned toward the darkness. "Walk with me?" he asked quietly, sounding as young as his years. While they moved through the trees, a much easier feat now than during the Winter, he said, "I was stupid. I should have waited for your help, and it turned out all right. Denen demands I let him work on me daily, and Oluse did good work. It only twinges sometimes now, and they both say that should go away eventually." As to the child in Issima's belly, and the curse of the bear-goddess, he said nothing yet. That was an issue that weighed more heavily upon him. Ronan's transgression, such as it was, that he had let go of before they had hauled what they needed of the odilosapux back to their cave dwelling. When he had realized it was the cause of his pain, he had merely been glad to identify it, the better to share that knowledge with the healers. His body would heal. Issima's heart might not. "I still don't understand," he said quietly. "I was just making sure we had shelter in the storm. Would She have been angry if the bear had awoken and I had killed it with more pain with my scimitar?"

[Ronan]

Ronan nodded, and walked alongside Sam, padding softly into foliage and forest.

Sama'el spoke of his injuries in such a nonchalant way that Ronan couldn't help feel a little relief. Denen and Oluse had saved him, it was true, but a fragment of guilt still lingered. Why couldn't he shake the feeling that Sam was just trying to wave this away, when truly, deeply, it mattered to him.

But he was being stupid. Sama'el had darker tidings to worry about. Issima, and the baby. The repercussions of Sam's actions against a bear, and the consequences bore to fruit by Oriana, the Goddess.

Ronan stopped walking. He could barely see Sama'el in the darkness, shadows cast over his face, only one half eerily on show. He shuddered, but stifled the motion. The image was burned to memory, like a bad omen.

"Thank you... your forgiveness will make you a good leader." The words came out more formally than he had intended. He changed tact, words softer. "Be the better man, that you truly are. Do not think on the what-ifs and whys brother," he rested a hand on Sam's shoulder, hoping he could draw comfort from the gesture. "It is not our place to guess on the God's motives. Who knows what games they play?"

He closed his eyes for a moment, willing the pain and misery away. Mizahar could be a cruel world. If one loved truly and wholly, it only made the pain greater when it was torn away.

"Focus on what you can control."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Out there in the dark with Ronan's strong hand on his shoulder, his words of comfort, Sama'el looked down. There might have been silent tears, but in any case, it was heartening to know that the family he was building was there for him as much as he tried to be there for them. Finally he nodded, and if he couldn't quite see Ronan's face, he knew it was there without sparking a witchlight or letting his eyes relax to the point where the Web's glow would illumine everything. "Next time we hunt, I'll make sure you pull your weight," he said, laughing darkly. "But for now, I can get us back to Riverfall, get Izurabelle and the children to Ragnor. And get us back to Endrykas in due time..." He knew Ronan would want to stay at the Sanctuary, but once they were back with their people, it was easy as pie to ride a Strider to Riverfall in no time at all. It was the larger group with its baggage that took time. And then... He tried not even to think the name of his pavilion until the elders and Ankals witnessed its resurrection.

[Ronan]

Sama'el finally nodded. Something of Ronan's words had sunk in, he hoped. Ronan laughed lightly at his words, hiding the shame that emblazoned his cheeks in crimson.

"Yes, of course," Ronan said, looking down at the ground.

He tried not to think about what Riverfall would bring. Kavala, alive and well he hoped. But there were no definite things in life - not since the storm had ravaged the land.

"And what will you do once you return to Endrykas?"

There were unspoken words on his tongue. The revival of the Pavilion. The past Sam had wiped from his memory, would return again, and rise from the ashes. Ronan wondered if he could ever truly do the same for the Windsong Pavilion. It had been a beautiful thing, and the love he held for his family was undying, but all that remained were cousins, uncles, aunts. Akilah Windsong. People he barely knew, and would never know. It was not the same.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Oh," he said, "you know. The pavilion, the herd, the Watch, the Web. Win the Great Race with Dohaina when Winter comes." He grinned at that, fully intent on winning his newly reborn -- gods willing -- pavilion fame and glory. "Nothing much." His nonchalance was patently false. He had thoughts, of course, of another wife or two in time. He was content with Issima, more than content with Issima, even if her worry was wearing them both down. He couldn't blame her, and he tried not to let his guilt rot within him. But she didn't want to talk it out, and he didn't want to drag her worries out for others to peruse, even among the group so tightly knit that most of them were counted as family. "I want the pavilion well and truly established," he said, more seriously now. "I want the seme foals... they'll be yearlings when we get to Riverfall... I want them trained; we'll need a proper wagon for the pavilion. If Dohaina's up to it, I'll breed her with Issima's Aponi. Or perhaps Tairell? He was going to have to make some decisions about bloodlines and the health of the horses once they were home and the rigors of travel through mountain and forest were past. I want to make Rayvehk by Winter too... and push my limits on the Web..." He glanced then at Ronan, trying to make out more of his face in the faint light that managed to filter through the spring growth of trees.

[Ronan]

Ronan grinned at Sama'el's words. A spark of the young Watcher returned. And by Semele did his plans sound good - plenty for any Drykas to keep busy with. There was still something beneath though, something forlorn and lost.

Of course, the pavilion. Sama'el had spoken a little in the past, and Ronan had listened, and he had waited in anticipation for the lauded rebirth. He wanted to witness it, and perhaps, be a part of it.

He nodded at the mention of his Strider. "Yes. Tairell is more than ready to breed this year. I don't know why we never thought of it before."

And the Watch.

"I'm sure you are more than ready for the next rank. There is a leader in you, Sam. You don't always realise it, but it's always there, like a golden aura for everyone to see."

Sama'el glanced at him in the darkness, and Ronan felt a flutter inside. He knew the words he needed to say. Windsong was a name. Windsong was a memory. But Windsong was not the future. He knew the turn of the wheel.

"I would like to be by your side, Sama'el. When you pull your pavilion from the ashes."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Well," he said. "Dohaina will have to choose between Aponi and Tairell this season, then." He laughed. "And the other the season after that, I suppose. I'll have to buy another mare. Dohaina's outnumbered." He laughed again, quiet in the vespertine gloom. He didn't know what to say to the compliment; leadership for him seemed to be a long repetition of trial and error, like trying to remain on the back of a horse whose gaits kept changing just as soon as one got used to the previous. But he had learned to ride a horse. He would learn to be a leader. He had to believe that. "I'll probably have to be a better swordsman before I make Rayvehk, too. We need to spar more. I know it's cold, but..." When he trailed off, Ronan started speaking so seriously, and Sama'el wished, not for the first time, he could see Ronan's expression in the dark. He knew Ronan's pavilion as failing, as was Leto's. He wasn't sure about Denen's, but if his father was their Ankal, it seemed only a matter of time before a true disaster struck. The thing that seemed to set him apart from his friends, then, seemed to be his desire to rebuild from the ashes. He thought none the less of Ronan for letting go, and of course he would love to call him brother in fact. He took a deep breath. "When we get back to Endrykas," he said slowly, "before the Elders and the Ankals, I'll mark you and teach you a new song." And that was the closest he could come to saying the name of his once and future pavilion. For now.