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[Aramenta]

Ara closed her eyes, at the same time as Vallora, the muscles in her finger palpating, flexing, unflexing, ever so subtly, like the miniscule movements of a foot keeping balance. She had not sat silent on the web in... years. So many years. Her way of listening was a singing way, the echos of her own voice providing the counterpoint that clarifies the things she seeks out, like cries of a bat echoing against a cave wall.

This silent listening... this was from her earliest days, on the web with a teacher who did not understand her peculiarities in the way she experienced the web. She had learned to be silent then, to try to find the sounds that echoed the sights that he pointed out to her, so unfamiliar and strange to her, when the sounds were so natural and clear. She had forgotten, in some part of heart, the low under-thrum of the web, the ways its tongue tripped enticingly against the ear, the way it called, softly, seductively, with the hollow, comforting empty chorus of a thousand-thousand voices of the dead. She smiled at it, and remembered it, and kept a firm grip on her own home-lines.

//These are sweet, but I am a Drykas, I have a duty, to my family, to my clan, to my people.//

And then she felt the other girl start, and her own eyes flew open, to see her. The other girl was frightened, and this made Ara frightened, she did not release the girl's hand, her own fingers gripping convulsively, feeling subtly - panic? A little... loneliness... temptation.

"You hear it too," she whispered, soft, and sat back. Released the hands, staring down, guilt in her eyes. She should not... she was not a teacher. She should not have tried. It is dangerous, teaching. If the girl had fallen, what would she have done?

She sang again, her voice quavering at first, but gaining its richness, a sorrowful richness know, her hands sweeping gestures of apology in front of her.

"Sight then, sight...
Sight, I see only shadow.
Sight, then,
For I see only reflection, like moonlight drinking the sun.
Sight, then,
For I have frightened you -
We should go to your safety, friend,
And show me your own ways?"
x

[Vallora Salvari]

"No, no, no, it is not your fault. I should have known better than to dwell in something I did not master in these times." It was true. She should have realized that she would not be ready for shift in her ways of the Web. "The Web has me knotted in it these couple of seasons. There is a pain I wish to escape. Here in the Web, I could choose only to dwell on the sweet feelings and none of the agony of reality." The deaths of her loved ones still affect her deeply - much more than she wanted to admit.

She would try the arts of listening and singing the Web when she was ready, but now, Vallora would just enjoy the swirling lines and colors that held so many stories.

When Aramenta told her to go back to using her sight, Vallora was more than happy to do so. It was a familiar place, where she could be safe. "Honestly, I'm not sure where to start. I've never taught anyone about the arts of Webbing before." Immediately, she was reminded of her father, her mentor. A wave of longing tugged at her mind - she pushed it away. "My father always told me: If you want to really see others, you need to see yourself. Otherwise you'll be blinded by the world."

It was true what her father had said. Before, Vallora learned how to see the tangles of Webs surrounding her, she had never seen the colorful crisscrossing line of the world. Every color represented someone and every shade meant something. From those colors, she could identify between different individuals, setting them apart from each other. At first, most of the colors looked the same to her - a light green was just a light green. With experience she knew it was not. Light green. Light green. Light green. The more she recognized the slightest difference in their colors, the more she realized that the possibilities are endless.

With gentle gesture, Vallora reached out into the air, catching the slender pearly line that had just detached itself from the swirling mass of Web surrounding Aramenta. "I hear . . . see your songs as thin cords of emotions and words. It was like I could see your song rather than hearing it. It's rather hard to explain." She smiled apologetically. "I see myself as a figure encircled with various shades of blue strings. Every strand held a part of me, my emotion, my memories, my reality, my pain. I have to acknowledge all of them before I could truly see. I relive them."

"How do you see yourself Aramenta? That is the first thing you need to know to see the knowledge of the Web."

[Aramenta]

Ara blushed softly, sitting back softly to give the girl room. She was growing older, she realized, she was not a child who could simply take other people's hands without asking. Her song was absent and passive at any rate, as she listened to the woman, curling the tendrils of her voice around Vallora's words, probing them, weighing them, trying to understand. But now, the little feelers took on a slight quivering undertone, confusion, shame, regret, just the palest quiver of them, like a quirk of the eyebrows, or a slight decline of the chin. She listened to girl, so the words of her song grew absent, lulling, almost incomprehensible, the bare echoes audible only because they wrapped so intimately around the girls words in the process of listening.

"No hands, no hands,
Servant of your people.
The song, must speak but not carress
The notes must guide, but must not take her hands."

But this, again, was subconscious almost, hardly in her mind so much as under it - it was part of the signature of her, of her utter emotional vulnerability here, open to the world of lines and cords, and the echoing, haunting song of her people. And of this girl, the smell of dust and the chords of a keening mourn, subsumed, hidden away.

The front of her weighed, and dissected, and tried to understand the words, little surgeries of sound piercing the not-air between their not-bodies. What would a song look like if it was made of light? Would she see the song of this woman the same - blue strands of light? Slivers of the winter-cold moon, sliced and laced around her. The thought was dream-like and foreign to her - to take a song itself and look at it and see its outlines. Her own eyes were so blind, here. The weight of the idea of a beauty she did not know made her bend under the profundity of it. Without realizing it - for a singer knows her body only as a throat, a rising falling breast, a tongue, lips, and a heart - she lay on her side, staring at the woman like a child listening to a story.

And then, the deeper question, the request for response: what did she look like, to herself?

Ara heard the question, and song a whole, thick strand around it, unwinding and tying the ends of it onto the words. How. Do. You. See. Yourself.

It was a strange question. How did she? Her eyes were clumsy, and opaque and unimaginative, not like this girl, with her poems composed of light. She did not know how to turn her eyes back on herself. If she was Vallora, she she thought, perhaps she could spin a mirror for herself, the way she could spin a loop to hold her words in, the she had wrapped the sentence Vallora had given her up in a lacework of her own song to hold to her ear like a seashell, letting the words run against the un-flesh of her ear. How do you see yourself? How do you see yourself? It became a question of means as much as perception. How WAS she to see herself?

She shivered, quietly, and closed her eyes, and her body lay slack and still, as she very nervously sang herself out of her own lips, the heart of her like a fine, sharp tone of sound drifting from her lips, to rest in the nest of her own echo, and turn, turn, very slow, very cautiously, to look at herself. She did not sing, but the echo of her song wrapped round her heart, and echoed the pulse of its beat outward, crawling tendrils of itself to try to find some anchor, with the body gone.

"I see nothing, nothing, nothing.
I'm the corn with the cob stripped out.
I am the echo without a voice.
My face changes when I shift the light,
Becomes the one I last looked one.
Pale imitations.
Pale imitations.
Nothing, nothing, nothing…"

The sensation of it, of her own hollowness began to reverberate through the mass of her song, starting as something like shame, and crescendoing slowly into something larger, like fear. The Heart of Her shook, and pulsed wildly, and the song, suddenly holding up the weight of fear, began to collapse into splintered dissonances of broken sound. The heart of her grasped at it, and pulled to try to find her lips again, to pour like a shaking decanter, back into her heart, but the strings were breaking, and the voices came again, now, thirsty, thirsty, thirsty, for the pureness of living soul, thirsty to have it poured down their life-starved lips.

"Let go, Aramenta, let go, come down to us. IT is quiet here." She looked down, and saw, in a sudden, flash, so strong it filled her with nausea, the pulsing, grey-black light of them, thirsty, soft, and dry, like sand waiting to mold about her heart, to cradle it, and then, and then to swallow it up.

"Vallora! Vallora-sister!" she heard her voice scream, and it startled her - she had not screamed, not since she was a little girl, it was a foreign thing, now, and it was as if hearing the fear of her own body, she was aware, suddenly of her own danger, and her body pulsed, trying to find her, and she scrabbled trying to pull herself to it. "Vallora! Vallora!" She said the name so forcefully that it became real, became a thing, a sigil in her mind, more than simply the way to address a new acquaintance, but a vital, living thing.

"Vallora!"
x

[Vallora Salvari]

Aramenta had took a moment to consider Vallora's question and she did not say a thing. Vallora remembered the time when her father had asked the exact same question. She was really young then and she did not really understand what he was asking. Of course, she saw herself as a human and a girl, she had thought. As she grew up, she noticed that there was a far deeper meaning of the question than what it seemed. In his own way, it was Father saying that she should be strong and believe in herself. That she was an individual and no one could change that unless she let them.

As she understood what Aramenta was saying, Vallora shook her head smiled sadly. “No one is nothing, I could tell you that much.” It was true, Vallora was not simply saying it. Everyone had something inside of them and Ara too. She had something special. Vallora saw it through the two-colored strings around her. She could not be sure what it was, not yet.

Vallora could see the startling change in the air around them. Aramenta’s white and soft pink webs began to shudder as a bruise the color of gray began to wrap around her. The glow of her had dimmed the slightest bit, but Vallora noticed the small change. It was nearly imperceptible but it was there. Emotions radiated from the webs. Uncertainty. Fear. Desperation. Seconds later, Aramenta called out to her hysterically. Her eyes could not focus, searching, only searching. Immediately, Vallora knew her newly-made acquaintance was in the danger of slipping away. She knew the panic well. It would feel like losing yourself.

She did the first thing she could think of – grabbing Ara’s hand and squeezed, letting the girl know that she was there. She was right next to her. With some effort, Vallora tied some of the Web that enveloped her to Aramenta’s, holding on to her not just physically but mentally telling her that she should be strong that she should not let the voices get through her. “Ara! Ara!” Her voice was sharp and shrill. There was no way she could let this girl lose her hold on reality. “Don’t let go! Think of something important to you. Something you have out there. Don’t let them pull you in.”

Never before had Vallora felt so useless. There was not much she could do. This was Aramenta’s fight. A test of her will and Vallora could be almost no help.

[Aramenta]

*murmurs, murmurs*

Rest, rest, relax, little girl, let go...

Vallora! Vallora!

She will come too, someday, rest, relax, let go. We all come, one day, rest, rest

I am alive. I am alive. I am not just a thread, I am not just an echo. I am not a strand, I am a voice.

Rest, rest, relax, little girl, let go...

No. No. Something. Vallora's voice, like she is shouting through water. Something. Who was there? A father? I have a father... who was he? Who is he?

Rest, rest, relax, little girl, let go...

I cannot remember him. I have a Strider... Canter... Canter... listen, mind, listen for her...

Echoes of a thousand thousand STriders, you are nothing, now, rest, rest, rest little girl

I cannot hear her. A people. I have a people. I have a people.

You are not person, you are a servant, then

Then I will be a servant, I will be a servant, I will serve, and server, and serve, and give, and give, and give, and...

The give, give, give yourself up to us. We too are your people.

You are imaginary.

Yes, we are. No voice can rise from this. But all people are an imagination. Come dream, come dream with us, little one.

I have a body... this... this is my body, I have to... it is my body... I have to...

No, no, the body is illusion, imagination is real. Rest, rest, give, give, give for a thousand years...

I am... I am so tired...

Then lie back and rest, lie back, let your fingers slip.

My fingers... my fingers, what do they hold? A warm bed, on a frightened evening. Someone would weep if I disappeared. Can I remember them? Rest? Rest... rest or remember...

------

And then, on her hand, ARa felt a hand, the hand of the girl... she struggled, fought. VAllora. Vallora. That was her name. And she had a father... yes... and a mother... and the sharpness of that loss, and then the feeling of that warm bed. Yes. Someone would weep if she were gone. Father would be wild. Livvy would cry. Livvy would be lost. And Vallora... Vallora... she was here. She was here. She would help her.

So she staggered, the heart of her heart and gripped not-hands against her own pale teeth, and dragged herself inside.

The song came suddenly to life, a howl, unmusical an awkward, and her hands unbidden, took the threads of djed that she had nested in, and began to weave a second skin around her throat, her lips, her breast. The song moaned hollow and sick, and the eyes returned, and looked at Vallora.

Vallora.

Vallora.

Now, now the girl had a name. She was not The Girl anymore. She was Vallora.

"Vallora, Vallora,
Brave Lady of the Mirror,
Vallora, Vallora,
Who sang me back awake.
Vallora, Vallora,
Who took my hand when I would wash away."

She realized with the dullness of a mind slowly shuddering back into itself, that she had sung the song, and was looking still, blank at Vallora. Her lips smacked, feeling the faint dusty echoes of this Named One, echoes of loneliness, of loss, of being alone, that worst curse to place on a Drykas heart.

And Ara cried. Her voice stayed clear, and soft, and smooth, but her eyes cried, and every tear was a little mirror, wrapping and reflecting the song of Vallora's echo, singing her back to herself. And in the midst of the murmuring semi-songs, Ara sang, softly, herself.

"You have heard the voices I have heard.
You have known the tease and desire.
We are sisters now, a little bit. We two.
We are sisters now, a little bit, if you will have me."

[Vallora Salvari]

The whole time Aramenta was deep inside her won struggles, Vallora was swallowed by fear. It was frightening to think that this she had just started to like was going to disappear into the Web. She knew full-well how frightening the experience was and how it felt good too. It had always the temptations that were dangerous, not the Web itself, yet she could not enter the Web without these temptations clinging to her every step of the way.

Right then, all Vallora could do was pray to the gods that they would let Aramenta get lost between the strands of the world.

When the Amethyst had come around and focused her eyes on her, Vallora breathed a loud sigh of relief and squeezed the girl’s hands gently. The blossoming color returned to Ara’s web and she knew that the worst was over for now.

“You did it, Ara. You’ve given me quite a fright. You’re alright now. Just don’t do that again, alright?” she tried to joke weakly, still a bit fearful that this friend of her might slip away once again. She could not be sure how firm Ara’s hold to reality and she wondered if she should advise her to stop Webbing for the moment.

Then, Vallora was again taken aback when silvery tears slipped down the girl’s face. They looked peculiar – almost reflective – but beautiful all the same. She looked so shaken, yet she could see the strings of her song, humming and twisting around the two of them. She wanted to wrap her arms around the girl, but she worried Aramenta might not want it, so she did not.

"You have heard the voices I have heard.
You have known the tease and desire.
We are sisters now, a little bit. We two.
We are sisters now, a little bit, if you will have me."

Vallora’s eyes widened before it softened along with her whole features. It was quite surprising, the words Aramenta uttered. Sisters. She was right, though. Vallora had never truly met anyone from the Web besides Father, more less understand that they were struggling together. That through the Web, they had come to understand each other a little bit. "Yes. Yes, we are."

[Aramenta]

Aramenta with a quaver still in her voice sang herself softly forwards just a hair so that she sat very, very close to the other girl, and looked at her eyes with a quiet surety. She murmured wordless words quietly, absently, the closed her eyes a moment, lifted her hand, and began to sing a ribbon of clean, silver djed out from her lips, weaving it with the oscillations of her tongue and throat, into a tight strand of web - unbound, though, floating. Private. She sang the strand long, so that it floated in a coil around her arm, then sang a tightening that drew it in, in, so the silver grey turned dark and rich, and the ribbon shortened. And then, she opened her eyes again, a slender ribbon of herself now in her hands.

She knelt then, and if Vallora let her, took the older girl's hands in her own, wrapping the unanchored ribbon round and round her wrist, plaiting it, to make the magic of it tightly woven, strong, to keep it from fraying, to keep the signal of it clear and strong. The silver surface reflected the light in slender curves, felt soft to the touch. The plait wound, and wound, and wound, until there was no ribbon left, and Aramenta took the end, in her delicate fingers, and pressed it gently into the soft vulnerable flesh of the other girl's inner wrist. It knotted quietly into the non-flesh of the other girl, a strange foreign space, as pale and echoing as Aramenta herself, like a not of birdsong ossified into silken-grosgrain. It was not bound to the great Drykas Web - only to Vallora herself, something of hers, alone.

Aramenta looked up with a blush now, and her voice sang soft and yielding.

"Now, Vallora,
Duaghter of the Dusty Road,
Now, Vallora,
Lost Drykas,
Now Vallora,
You must not be alone here.
We will be family, you and I."

And she kissed the girl's cheek and turned down her eyes.

"And when they call me down,
To Underneath the subtle strands,
I will remember you, as well,
To tempt me back home."

x

[Vallora Salvari]

At first, Vallora wasn’t quite sure what Aramenta was doing, her mind still too crowded with worry this girl who had nearly lost herself. It took her seconds to realize that she was actually weaving the web around her wrist, making intricate braids and patterns with the silvery strand of the Web. It was nice watching Aramenta weave, her hands carried a sort of precision of those who knew the magic well. She could feel it, touching her in a way that was not physical, yet just as vivid.

Truthfully, she didn’t know what to say. She was a bit shocked. Vallora had only met this girl. No, not met. Not exactly anyway. They had never seen each other in the physical world, never had actually uttered a single word to one another. Their exchange was simply their thoughts and feelings woven into these surreal strings. Yet, it connected them better than any conversation would have done. And before this, no Drykas would actually ask to have a relation with her. So yes, it was quite overwhelming for her.

"Now, Vallora,
Duaghter of the Dusty Road,
Now, Vallora,
Lost Drykas,
Now Vallora,
You must not be alone here.
We will be family, you and I."

Vallora still couldn’t find the words to say anything as she wondered what it would mean. She was not like Ara, who could string words into beautiful songs. No, that was not her thing. The dark-haired girl, in turn, simply gripped the other girl’s hands tightly and smiled. “I hope we meet soon . . . sister.”

[Aramenta]

Aramenta, the pale echo of her, curled its tone into a solemn nod, and leaned and kissed the little place beneath her wrist where she had knotted, with her own signature, a thread of herself to the other girl. Then softly, softly, released the girls hands and began to drift backward, backward, backward, the soft song of the threads of home echoing back toward her place, her duty. The echo of the cording underneath her, the web murmuring the soft echoes of 'Stay, stay, stay and rest' mixed melancholy with the whispering tones of the brushes of her fingertips.

"Yes... yes, soon, sister. Soon, sister. We must meet soon."

And then...

And then...

She was awake, her finger tangled in the grass near her tent, her body shuddering and heavy with sweat. She blinked and fought to sit again, and looked about her, her whispery murmur inaudible to any but the wind.

"Vallora-sister Salvari. Remember, remember."
x

[Elysium]

Aramenta

XP:
Webbing +3
Rhetoric +2
Observation +3

Lore:
Xaven, Twin of Vallora
Vallora, the Dusty Traveler
Webbing: How to Sense and Repair Frayed Strands
How to Avoid Overextension

★

Vallora

XP:
Webbing +2
Observation +2
Rhetoric +1

Lore:
Aramenta Stonewhistling, the Webber
Webbing: Sensing Ancestral Djed
Webbing: How to Sense Sound
How to Save a Webber from Overextension

Notes: I loved the intuitive descriptions of the web, though the sudden overextension seemed oddly abrupt. It'd help to describe the djed spooling out of you as you linger on the web. Otherwise it seems completely effortless, which is untrue. If you have any questions, PM me and I'll be happy to reply.

and so, the journey continues...