Closed Three if by Sea of Grass

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla’s eyes immediately narrowed as she heard Ronan laugh, and her cheeks started to flame. Apparently she had not been so lucky as to not be heard, and for a moment she wondered if she would be able to get away with kicking him in the balls. That would stop him, but Sama'el might notice, but she just hated when people laughed at her expense since she didn’t, after all, need any more of an excuse to feel more like a child; an idiot. She dared a glance at Sama’el, but he, at least, seemed not to have noticed her slip, and she let out a breath of relief, all but sagging against Andraste, though she immediately straightened as soon as she realised what she was doing. She lifted her chin and set her jaw, the mask slipping back into place. She had to be in control. Again, she didn’t look directly at Sama’el when the offer for water came, though this time she allowed Andraste to step forward and drink, although not before shooting Ronan a look that could quite literally kill, daring him to laugh again. “Do men only talk about sex?” she suddenly asked, interrupting the conversation, and again not thinking about what she was saying. She didn’t much like the topic; sometimes she felt that was all women, including humans, were for, or so men thought – the carrying of babies. Not her. She wouldn’t be a broodmare. She wouldn't. Not her. “I’m sure you can talk about filling bellies when I’m not around. Should I be glad you don't have wives?”

[Ronan]

Ronan turned to Sama'el. He had always trusted the young man's judgement, but this was something Ronan had always been unsure of. Tairell was more than ready to breed, and yet she still retained an air of immaturity. Like a mischievous child. He guessed he needed to do as much sooner rather than later though. "If you think now is a good time, I trust your judgement. It's something I've been... pondering on for a while." He caught Mealla's sidelong glare. It told him not to dare laugh again, or show her up to Sam in any way. Ronan stifled a smile at her expense. "Who fired you up, grouchy?" he asked. When she mentioned about wives, he turned to Sama'el, feeling awkward. Sam had had a wife... but she had died. And Ronan had his own fair share of dramas in the past. He looked back to Mealla, smile gone, frowning.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Taking Mealla's silence as acceptance, he moved forward to offer her Andraste his Water from the unending fountain that flowed forth from his hands. Water was the blessing in the dry times, and those were many. Winter was spent so close to Eyktol that their water would be scarce but for those who could call Makutsi's blessing down for a dance, or those who could spin their souls out in the form of Water, but few of them were skilled enough where that was an efficient use of their energies. Thankfully the Drykas knew where every well and stream lay. "Not only," he said to Mealla with his gentle smile. To Ronan he said, "If you are worried about her temperament, we could certainly wait a year. Sometimes carrying a foal will calm a mare down, though. It's like they know what their nature asks of them." But Mealla's jibe struck too close to home. If she had wanted to strike him down with her sword, now would have been the most opportune moment, his hands outstretched in offering to her Strider, his heart-wound prodded, ready to bleed anew. Still he smiled, not believing she meant the hurt she caused. Part of him wanted to tell her that a woman of the Watch ought protect the feelings of a Drykas, too, but it might have sounded awfully self-serving. But he certainly tried to protect her feelings. Perhaps he was wrong in that. "It's just something to keep in mind," he told Ronan. Among the Sunsinger herd, they only had two mares: Dohaina and Tairell. Dohaina had given birth to a foal while they were gallivanting north to Avanthal and back, and had certainly taken her turn. Denen's Durno, Issima's Aponi, and Leto's Arias, sire of Dohaina's foal, were each capable of siring Tairell's foal. It was just a matter of deciding how their herd ought to develop.

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla pointedly ignored them both as Andraste drunk from Sama’el’s hands. A part of her had hoped, immaturely, that the Strider would shun the Watchman’s offer, but Andraste was not as fussy as her, or as judging. A traitor, she thought, as she lifted her chin once again and stared defiantly into the distance, her whole body stiff and tense; a clear sign that she did not appreciate being called grouchy. Her hand had once again found itself on Andraste’s neck, always seeking reassurance and comfort from the familiar, and ever aware that she was always out of her depth; always the odd one out. It wasn’t just that she didn’t want to -hadn't wanted to - hear them talk about the horses because it made her think about her own role in life, but also because it didn’t include her. She wasn’t a part of it, she was an outsider, and it wasn’t a terribly nice feeling. She hated being so alone; so close, so near, to people and yet so alone. It hurt. Finally, she snapped out of it and forced herself to smile, though it wasn’t nearly as gentle as Sama’el’s. Hers still held fire, managing to show her annoyance. “What else do you talk about then?” she asked. “Is it something in which I can be included, or shall I just go sit over there whilst you bond?” She had hoped to sound casual, indifferent, but a note of hurt still managed to enter her voice.

[Ronan]

"I will bear it in mind brother," he said with a nod, patting Tairell on her side. When Mealla spoke, realisation came to Ronan. Was this the source of her anger? Feeling left out? She had a chip on her shoulder, alright. Part of that seemed to stem from her gender, and a fierce drive to break out of the stereotype. The thing was, neither he nor Sama'el judged her for it. She self perpetuated the whole situation. He didn't answer her, knowing Sam would have something to say. After all, they were both his apprentices, and thus subordinate by nature (though Sam did not treat them like that). Instead he turned to his Strider, whispering nonsensical gibberish into her ear. She'd always liked the feeling next to her face. He met her eye, years of respect flashing before him. It was easier to meet hers than Mealla's seething visage...

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Correction :

Apparently Dohaina had two foals, which is almost unheard of. She's a fancy lady! So there's a colt and a filly back at the pavilion. Whee!

Syna grant me perspective, he silently prayed. Weeks had passed. He had shared his knowledge and skill, the comfort and hospitality of his pavilion, the time and company of his family to her. She remained stubborn, which needn't be a curse in all situations, but, more than that, she seemed determined to be unkind to everyone around her. The only person to whom she showed any affection was her horse, which at least gave him hope that she could show such a positive feeling. But he really didn't know how to proceed. The Sayaph himself had made the decision that she ought to be his apprentice, but she did not trust in his wisdom. All Sama'el was trying to do was prepare her for the greater dangers of the post-storm Sea of Grass, and she showed no respect or gratitude, only endless dagger-glares and sharp remarks. It was tempting to hit her, and she seemed to crave such violence. Certainly she seemed to incite it. But the only time he attacked another person was in defense of his pavilion and his people, or in training. Once her mare was done with the water, he dropped his hands, let the Water cease to flow from his very soul, and dried his hands while giving silent thanks to Makutsi and Laviku. The silence had stretched on too long, though, and Ronan was whispering sweet nothings into Tairell's ear. He looked Mealla in the eye, nodded, and said, "What would you like us to talk about?"

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla was tempted to follow through with her words and go sit away from them, but she knew that would be letting her temper win, and it was her temper that was making her act like this. She wasn’t used to feeling left out, and, even worse, she wasn’t used to desperately wanting someone’s –Sama’el’s mainly - acceptance and attention, and it made her furious; made it so that she could not help but lash out. She wasn’t good at new situations, social or otherwise. This whole thing was still so overwhelming. But instead of storming away, she simply bit her lip, her gaze focused on Andraste. She was almost ashamed of her words. They had come before she could stop them, and perhaps they had been too harsh, but they had managed to put her view across and bring it to their attention. They had been talking about something that she could not be included in. She wasn’t, after all, part of the pavilion. Still, she turned and faced Sama’el when he spoke, feeling slightly embarrassed, her cheeks flushing. This, of course, only made her raise her chin defiantly. “Perhaps we could talk of what we should expect in the coming days. How does that sound?” Her voice was somehow calm. "Or we could go back to talking about sex. How are you in bed?"

[Ronan]

Ronan couldn't help but rejoin the chatter with a brilliant laugh. Mealla was a comic without even realising it. Her dry witty humour got Ronan every time, and he felt compelled to join in with a little wit of his own. "There are... rumours, Mealla. Thirty second Sam, that's the nickname I've heard travel round the tents." Ronan braced himself for anger from Sama'el, but he grinned sheepishly at his comment. He gave Tairell another pat, the strider's tail swishing around merrily. Of course, it was a joke. He had heard no such rumours. Drykas rarely made mass jokes about sex, and there was a simple reason for that. Fertility and infants were godsends among the horse clans - since every life was endangered from birth, just from living among the many terrors of the grass. Velispar hatchlings, ravenous glassbeaks, and most frightful of all, the bloodthirsty Zith. Prowling, always prowling... Finally, countenance shifting to a somewhat more serious appearance, he nodded to Sama'el in agreement. "I think that would be a good choice of conversation." It was never bad to be prepared for what lie ahead. Not only in a physical sense, but one could condition the mind for the ordeals and experiences that awaited. After all, life threw up too many surprises as it was. Especially for the Drykas race.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

He rolled his eyes at Ronan, but laughed a bit. "It's called efficiency, Ronan. But your lazy arse wouldn't know about that, would it?" Then he grinned. Ronan could call him names and mock his manhood all he liked; Ronan was his brother. The remains of the smile turned back to Mealla thoughtfully. They had spoken for two seconds about the pavilion's herd, and she had gone ape-shit. She could have offered her two cents, talked about her plans for breeding about Andraste if she had any, but instead she took offense. He was glad Ronan could laugh cheerfully about it, and Sama'el tried to maintain his good humor, but to be perfectly honest, he was worried that he would be unable to train her properly because of whatever it was about him that set her teeth on edge from the very first moment. It would be a shame that marked him as surely as Oriana's curse on his shoulder if he were responsible for her death in the line of duty. Whether or not it was his fault, however her death came to pass, he might wonder what he had done wrong, how he had failed her. In such a time, he would not think about her prickly nature, the chip on her shoulder, or her insouciance. He would only wish he could have been better and helped her survive. Nodding, he patted Bigarren on the flank and told him to graze and rest a bit after pulling some dry rations from his yvas bag. Though not as intelligent as Dohaina, nor bonded to him, he was coming along well. He sat down cross-legged in the grass after inspecting for mutated fire ants or something, and nodded. "I've a message to deliver to the elders of Riverfall," he said. "Other than that, I wanted to introduce you to Kavala Denusk, who runs the Sanctuary there. She is Drykas, and she would be the first person to whom I would go if I were in trouble in Riverfall... That is, if my coming wouldn't bring trouble upon her shoulders. We need to make sure the Web links from Endrykas to her Origin, the better to get news from Riverfall from afar. We ought to work on that after we eat, as well." Another something Mealla would flip her shit about since she was not, so far as he knew, initiated into the Web. The Sayaph had not said anything about initiating her, and it was not something common to all Watchmen. But they would need her and the horses to guard them while they worked, as they would be physically vulnerable all the while.

[Mealla Stormsong]

Mealla flushed. Once again she hadn’t meant the words, but they’d just sort of slipped out, rising to the fore, her temper yet again wanting a voice. It was wrong, but sometimes she lashed out, said horrid, cutting things in order to feel better about herself, because there would finally be someone who felt worse than her. Twisted, wasn’t she? She wasn’t proud of it, but she didn’t know any other way. She cleared her throat, hoping that both men were too interested in comparing their stamina and prowess in order to notice her embarrassment, and forced a smile, though her eyes dropped away as soon as Sama’el’s gaze fell upon her. She had a sudden desire - a sudden hope - that the ground would open up beneath her and swallow her whole. She didn’t know why she cared so much for what he thought. She’d never felt like that with anyone else. Usually she didn’t give a rat’s ass, but Sama’el... She wanted to impress him, and yet, at the same time, wanted to curse him and make him feel like crap for making her want to do such a thing. “O-oh,” was all she finally said, pushing back her hair and leaning against Andraste once more, seeking comfort and reassurance from the mare. She was still feeling thoroughly outnumbered and outcast, and the thought of meeting yet another of Sama’el’s acquaintances made her quail. Things needed to go slower. “I’ve always... I’ve yet to learn the Web,” and she winced, embarrassed, “so perhaps you could teach me one day?” and then lifted her chin defiantly, “You don’t have to, of course. I’m sure I’d be a terrible pupil. Forget it.”