Closed Lost and Found [Jess'e, Khida, Shahar]

[Ymir]

The third day of summer, 513 A.V. The shimmering blades of the Sea shifted and rustled as the humid breeze swept through them. The grass extended from the ground to the sky like a jungle, each stem a fragile trunk that supported a sharp, blade of a leaf. Deep in the maze of greens and browns, there rustled two bodies against the massive flora. The sky was all but hidden by the swaying tips of what hindered the two in their progress. The heat was boldened by the humidity in the air, compounding itself upon the sweat that adorned both figures who pushed against the stalks. Ymir was covered in minor cuts and scratches from where the grass had left its marks. His shirt had been ripped apart for the bandage which was wrapped around his companion's torso, leaving his exposed skin to fend off the unwelcoming element of nature. Though his body still ached from the bruises of the morning, Ymir had managed to push through them, stifling them down to a dull throbbing sensation that pounding with each beat of his heart. The various thin red lines that scattered his black and blue skin stung from the salty perspiration that had started only a few chimes after the two had begun their journey through the Sea. Despite these things, Ymir pushed on through the grass, his hands balled into fists to reduce the chance of receiving more vicious lacerations to his fingers and palms. There was silence between the two young men as they slowly forged a path through what seemed like an endless wall of a living maze. Ymir was focused upon the events that had transpired prior to their current predicament, replaying over and over which direction they had run and how far. The distances and times were all jumbled in the mess of his mind, and though he had been attempting to navigate his way through the giant grasses back onto the path, he felt that there was little hope short of a miracle they would find the road again. Of course, Ymir was not counting that possibility out; however, Yahal had provided them with much more than either of them had ever expected. The likelihood of more divine help was unlikely. Ymir sucked in a quick breath of pain as he felt the edge of a blade slice a gentle curving incision into his arm as he stumbled slightly. Letting the air leave slowly, Ymir continued on, letting the blood trickle down his forearm. The first few times it had happened to both him and Jess'e, they had stopped to try to deal with the wounds. The attention was simply a waste of time. Though the cuts often would bleed, it would not be very long before they would close up. Worrying about them was only one more distraction to add to the many that had landed them into the middle of Syna only knew. They had been making good time, following in the tracks of the caravan along the preordained road through the sea. Though they had come from a somber scene, both Ymir and Jess'e had been in relatively high spirits. Those feelings of hope were quickly dashed by the appearance of glassbeaks. Ymir had only heard about them during the short time he had spent with the caravan, but the beasts that had blocked the path some good distance from them were certainly they. Jess'e had been the one to spot them. Had he not been with him, Ymir certainly would have walked straight into his death. There had been strange, moving shapes in the distance, which Ymir had assumed were just the shifting blades of the Sea. Jess'e had felt otherwise, though had Ymir not taken the time to ask Jess'e to explain, it was possible the two would have continued on, despite the once slave's observation. They had decided to get a bit closer, moving with extreme cation, and that had been when they realized what they were dealing with. There was not only glassbeaks, but the ravaged caravan that had forsaken them the night before. From where they had stood, it was difficult to discern the exact scene, but it was understood the creatures were eating. Ymir and Jess'e had wasted no time in getting away. Turning back had been no option at the time. It only meant they would be going back to more dead, where another pack of creatures were more than likely gorging themselves. Despite his better judgment, Ymir had opted to head into the tall grass of the Sea, away from the path and the murderous birds. What awaited them, he had not stopped to consider. To him, it had been either death by glass beaks or possible life in the unknown reaches of the sea. Though he still did not regret his decision, he had wished during their flight he had retained the directions from which they had come. Once isolated from the road, there was no longer any indication of direction. Even the sun was hidden from view beneath the whispering foliage that had surrounded them. When they could no longer run, Ymir and Jess'e had continued to walk. Where they were walking, neither knew. Away, they hoped, but towards civilization? They could only pray that were the case. Now, in the heat of the day, without water or food, Ymir found himself breathing heavily. Air moved out of his lungs faster than he could inhale it, and his aching muscles seemed to gradually be refusing to follow the wishes of his mind. Sweat trickled down his neck and back, stinging as it embedded itself in the several open cuts that decorated the entirety of his skin. Yet, this did not trouble Ymir nearly as much as the condition of his companion. The young man was a much worse state than he, and Ymir held up a hand for them to stop. Turning to give Jess'e a concerned look, Ymir offered him what little water they had been able to salvage. "Drink, please. You appear as though Dira were already halfway back to her domain with your soul." Not allowing Jess'e to refuse, Ymir held out the flask until it was in the other man's hands. He stared expectantly at Jess'e, his arms hanging loosely at his side to avoid agitating the stinging cuts and throbbing bruises. They were a rag-tag looking duo, standing there in the middle of the dry sea with barely any clothing and even fewer supplies. "Drink. I was raised in the Burning Lands. I can survive much longer than you without need of water."

[Jess'e]

The worst day – ever. The worst nightmare of a night, followed by the dawn of a new existence that Jess’e had never dreamed nor hoped for, followed by a day of torturous travel such as he could not have imagined. The fact that he was now technically a free man – if you considered the murder of his master as meaning he now belonged to no man – was irrelevant and of no account to the slave. The mindset engendered by a lifetime of servitude is not erased with one plunge of a spear point. If anything, Ba’Rat’s death only weighed Jess’e down, as they had trudged along, each hour bringing him lower in spirits and outlook. The emotional and mental burden of his loss was almost as great as the physical difficulty that had overtaken them, after their near encounter with the glassbeaks. Jess’e was glad that they had managed somehow to avoid the fierce plains predator, for Ymir’s sake. But for himself, in the last few hours since they had detoured into the tall, waving grass, he had more than once wondered if he should not have been better off to simply have walked forward right into them and invite the beasts to bring about a quick end to what seemed like a now too painful existence. It was not just the heavy heat that blanketed them and had sweat dripping down his neck and back and legs. Nor was it the million million blades that surrounded them – both decorating their skin with dozens of tiny paper-cut like lacerations and hiding the sky and their path from view. Even his injuries from the evening before were not the sharpest bane of his immediate existence, though the cut on his back was stinging like fire ants had bitten him over and over, where sweat descended into its edges, and the skin that was trying to mend was reopened with every step he took. His hand, black and swollen over thumb and his first two fingers, throbbed unceasingly, just as the laceration and contusion on his forehead, near his hairline, also smarted and throbbed, spreading a blue-purple blush down to his eyebrow. Even all of these many irritations and discomforts together were not the sorest spot on his troubled soul. No, the keenest blade that sliced the deepest into his already bruised spirit was the realization that he was, at last, for the first time in his life, truly alone. During the first years of his life, he had had the company and love of his mother. Then he had been the pet of the elderly Eypharian matron. And finally, he had been ‘lifted’ to be Ba’Rat’s lover. On this worst of all days, with each step it sank in deeper into his bones, and his soul, that he now had no-one. Oh, of course he had the companionship and invaluable help of Ymir. For that was was truly, truly grateful – he knew without Ymir’s steady reassurance and comforting presence, he’d probably just sit down and not move another step. But the Benshira owed him nothing, and if they ever reached a civilized city, or outpost, there would be no ties that bound the two young men together. Jess’e would not wish it to be so, either, for he knew, a little, of Ymir’s dreams to see the many wonders of the world, and he would not make himself an unwanted anchor to the dancer’s voyage. Despite whatever looks and unverbalized thoughts that might have flown between the two during the past weeks of travel, Jess’e had no delusions that those somehow translated into Ymir wishing to form any sort of long lasting bond. It hadn’t been possible, of course, whilst Ba’Rat had lived – unless somehow the Northwind noble had taken it into his own head to invite the Benshira into his tent, and then had decided that Jess’e should stick around for the entertainment of such a guest. It wasn’t inconceivable – it had happened countless times in the past. But of course such an arrangement would not have been anything of long duration. Similarly, Jess’e, having been a slave and thus used to being used all his life, had no thought that the Benshira, though not a supporter of slavery, would have any thoughts of forming any other sort of bond with the dark haired young man. In his mind, as they trudged along, he saw Ymir’s friendship and presence as being born of necessity and kindness. They had found one another, alive, in the dawn. They were both in the same boat. And though Ymir probably had no need of Jess’e – for the slave was totally unskilled and unknowledgeable about the ways of such survival – he had been kind enough to stick with him. By looks and words and occasional pats and touches, Ymir had encouraged Jess’e to move along, and to keep up his spirits. He was too generous a soul to leave a fellow sufferer behind. Jess’e could almost wish that he was brave enough to tell Ymir that he could go – that he could walk off and just concentrate on getting himself to safety, and not worry about another. But he knew, Ymir would never take him up on that offer. That was not the kind of man he was. So he did not give voice to the thought – yet – and simply walked along beside the dancer, keeping up as best he could. As Syna arced through a sky they could not see, that was proving harder with each passing bell. The sweat that poured from his pores was depleting his internal fluid levels, along with needed salts. His injuries were growing more and more vocal in their protests against further movement. He was unused to walking all day, and his spirits were flagging with the realization that they were very, very lost and had little hope of finding the trail of the caravan. Ridiculously, the fear of another encounter with any of the savage predators of the great sea was not one that plagued his mind – the others were just too immediate. When Ymir called a halt, Jess’e was so turned in upon himself that he almost didn’t realize they were stopping until he bumped against Ymir. It took a moment for Jess’e to look at the offered container with the few precious sips of water, and then shake his weary head, with a mumbled, “No, no – I can’t have it. That wouldn’t be fair.” Ymir went so far as to physically place the skin in Jess’e hands, pulling them forward with his own and firmly setting the vessel in them. His assurance that he could go without wasn’t one Jess’e accepted. They were both exhausted and thirsty – there was no reason for Jess’e to have the water. In fact, there was a very good reason for him not to. He shook his head slowly, looking a good bit dazed, but still intent upon making himself understood. His own survey of Ymir yielded a picture that was little better than that of the Benshira’s take on his own condition – the bruises that bloomed on almost every part of the dancer’s body were truly incredible. And now each one was laced with delicate criss-crossing of tiny streaks of red. His face was a mess – handsome features now pushed and pulled in various lumps and contusions and welts – beautiful still, even though so sorely abused. “Yes,” Jess’e said, his voice gravelly from lack of moisture. “You can survive. You have the skills, where I do not.” This might not have been an accurate assessment of the other man’s background, but Jess’e made that assumption nevertheless. His look became more focused, more…direct. “That is why you should drink. Ymir – you do not have to stay – with me. You will travel faster without having to wait for me, and you will have only yourself to look out for. Take the weapons, and the skins, please!” His tone became pleading. “You at least have the chance to save yourself. Truly, you do not have to stay.” Jess’e had clutched the skin to himself, to keep it from possibly spilling any of its precious contents. But now he pressed it to Ymir, his fingers splaying to rest against the bare skin of the dancer’s upper chest. His green-gold eyes looked deeply and candidly into those sea-blue ones. “I will only slow you down, Ymir. You don’t need me. Please, take this, and go.” There – he had finally given tongue to the certainty that had been growing in the pit of his stomach for many hours. He sighed with a sense of both relief and profound sadness. He wasn’t sure he could really watch Ymir pass into the enshrouding grass. But he supposed he could just close his eyes, and then keep them closed, for there’d be no reason to open them again, ever.

[Ymir]

From the first time Ymir had set his eyes upon Jess'e, he had felt the warm, unspoken comfort of home in the familiar features of the young man's face. Having never been separated from his family before, Ymir had realized how greatly he had taken for granted the bonds of family and ties of kinship. He had never known a world outside his Tent, even the city of Yeheba was a foreign concept. When he had begun his journey, Ymir had set out to see, to live, to grow. What he had actually done during the time he spent travelling was reflect. True, he had seen, lived, and grown during his journey from the Burning Lands to Ahnathep, but much of what dance about in his mind in the quiet hours of the night were memories. When Ymir had realized Ba'Rat's slave was of Benshiran descent, he had felt a deep and inexplicable fury at the very idea that any child who shared his blood should be cast into such a position. He had struggled with the very idea of accepting things for what they were. Many a night, he had contemplated how to free the young man, that he might have the chance to sing his own song. Yet, each time, the smiling face of the young slave would stay Ymir's thoughts. Confusion would overtake him and lay him to rest. He did not understand the happiness and joy that poured so freely from the heart of one who was owned by another. No amount of kind treatment nor favoritism could ever belie the abomination that was slavery, or so Ymir had thought. Yet, Jess'e had enjoyed his station, embraced it. It was completely baffling to the young Benshira and had caused him quite a deal of frustration. Perhaps, because of this, he had found himself both fascinated and saddened by the young slave. In a way, Ymir had thought him simple. He assumed the young man simply rolled over to have his belly rubbed by his six-armed master because he was to foolish to think otherwise. Yet, the man lacked the vacant gaze and idle speech of a simpleton. He was not well-learned, this was certain, but Jess'e did have a fire that Ymir had not thought possible to kindle beneath the shackles of slavery. His warped and twisted idea of love, however monstrous, was real and true for him. Everything the young slave had done he had done out of love of his master. Now, that master was gone. The bright sparkle of the young slave's eyes had dwindled to a dull glaze with the loss of the man who had been his source of light. This had not been lost upon Ymir. Though he could not fathom what emotions Jess'e struggled with, what demons gnawed and clawed at the young man's heart and mind, he understood that there was nothing he could do at that point for the once slave. In his Tent, when a member of the Tent passed, there was a time for mourning. People would gather together in tacit peace, each silently coming to terms with the loss of life and turn of the wheel of fate. Words were rarely, if ever, exchanged during that time. So now Ymir let Jess'e come to terms with Ba'Rat's death. He had remained quiet, allowing Jess'e to his thoughts, but Ymir had not anticipated the young man might fall so deeply into doubt and uncertainty. The leather skin against Ymir's wounded chest caused him to wince slightly, staggering back against the grassy wall to net him yet another shallow slice into the skin of his back. His hands moved to gently close over Jess'e's good hand and their limited water supply. Fierce blue eyes met with a green-gold sadness that melted Ymir's to a soft appraisal of the man before him. Jess'e was in a much worse condition that Ymir had first thought. A cut along his forehead had become much more prominent as their foray into the grasses had progressed, and Ymir could see his body shook with exhaustion. The many scarlet ribbons that adorned Ymir's upper body were reflected upon the exposed skin of his companion, but what failed to be mirrored was Ymir's firm determination to survive. "Jess'e," He began in a soft, even tone, gently pushing the hand that held the water off his chest. "You speak true in that I have a choice to leave you behind, but that is where your verity ends." Ymir moved closer now, gingerly placing a hand upon the other man's shoulder, careful not to aggravate the several red slits that laced themselves around it. "Even should I leave you behind, my progress would only be hampered by the weight of my guilt pressing down upon my soul." His eyes, still soft, reflected a pride and honor in them. They glowed with quiet strength that welled from deep within the young Benshira as he continued, his voice gradually becoming stronger. "No life is greater than any other, Jess'e. My own is not excluded nor yours. As I live and breath, so shall you." He let his arms fall to his side, allowing a few moments to breath. It was difficult to speak so much after so long a silence. "My body and mind are weary, Jess'e. You have little bearing upon the speed with which I am able to conduct myself, I assure you." He gave the man a weak smile quickly following a wince as it agitated several cuts along his battered and bruised face. "We began this journey together, and we shall see it to its end. Together." Ymir swallowed, closing his eyes and letting his words sink in for a few moments before continuing. "I do not offer our precious supply of drink to you out of foolish kindness." Once more, Ymir stared into the eyes of the young man before him. "I refuse to add your death to my already exhausted conscious."

[Jess'e]

In a life that had only known servitude, and the bending of the will to that of another – in a world surrounded by others such as himself, all of them bound to such servitude, under the heel of those few who owned them body and soul – Jess’e had experienced little of this concept that Ymir now referred to. That one life held no value greater than another? That Jess’e, the slave, was worth as much as Ymir, the free? As Ymir spoke, his look steady and sincere, Jess’e could not doubt that the Benshira believed what he said. But Jess’e – well – one does not divest the body, mind and spirit quite so easily of all that it has ever known and believed to be true. He didn’t believe it. He was only a slave – a slave with no master, at the moment – and quite sorrowfully so. Ymir was born a free man, and could choose his own life’s course. It still did not seem to Jess’e that they existed in the same plane. Yet he still looked upon the other man with pity – for the circumstance they both found themselves in. In an indirect but very tangible way, Jess’e was part of why Ymir was here right now. Ba’Rat was the innocent (in Jess’e’s eyes) catalyst for this series of events, and Ba’Rat was inextricably woven into the very fiber of Jess’e’s being. If Ymir had not had the great misfortune to be with the particular caravan that Ba’Rat and his party had traveled with, this fate would not have befallen him. And for that, Jess’e was woefully sorry. He knew that the latter part of what Ymir said was in all probability true. He was in little better shape to move further or faster than Jess’e. They would, in all likelihood, end this journey together indeed – and in death. Jess’e’s demise would not cloud Ymir’s conscience for long, at the rate they were going – hopelessly lost and without food or water in this green desert. When Syna returned to her nighttime abode, as she was bound to do in a few bells time, and the night creatures came out a’hunting, the end of their journey might come quicker than they thought. All this flashed through Jess’e’s mind as he looked upon Ymir, whose eyes were now closed. He saw the grey shade of fatigue and the lines of pain etched in that beautiful face, and he felt the warmth of those hands closed over his. His heart lurched in his chest and he said in little more than a whisper, “Let us drink together then. Half for you, and half for me, and however far it takes us, so be it.” Gently he pulled the vessel away from their combined grasp and held it to his lips. One small sip, and then two, and he drew it away from a mouth that screamed for more, and held it out to Ymir. “Together, until we find a respite from our journey, and the comfort of some more peaceful state of being, agreed?” His eyes were sad, but held a light of…not hope…but perhaps…some other looked for end to their trials.

[Ymir]

He saw no point in pressing the matter further. While everything Ymir had said regarding his ability to last longer without the water, it was irrational of him to refuse Jess'e's compromise. Not only that, but Ymir figured his companion was just as concerned for him and Ymir was for Jess'e, so when the skin was handed back to him, he took a small sip of the water, leaving a little bit behind without making it very obvious. The feeling of the liquid passing over his exhausted tongue and barren throat made him cough slightly as it ran down. It was almost worse than having no water at all. He could feel his body scream out against him for refusing to allow it more of the precious, life-giving liquid, but his resolve was stronger than his urges for the moment. As he replaced the container back into the band of his pants, he nodded at Jess'e. "Have faith, Jess'e. We have yet to be destroyed by that which we feared would overcome us. Now is no different." He clasped hands with the other man, his determination now set in his gaze as he looked into the resignation of the other's eyes. There was a peace there, a longing for an end to their strife. Ymir understood what peace Jess'e had spoke of, and while it would have been so much easier for them to lie down and embrace the death that seemed so inevitable, Ymir had faith Yahal would see them through. Turning once more the face the seemingly impenetrable fortress of brownish green that pressed against them from all sides, Ymir pushed back against it to advance. His pace was slightly slower than it had been before, but his movements were much less sloppy. Fewer cuts were administered during the time it took the two of them to begin their journey once more. Though the stinging reminders of the grass's vicious rebellion against their progress elicited a permanent scowl from the young Benshira, he continued on, letting silence once more surround them. There was very little the two of them could say at that point anyway. Jess'e had already prepared himself for death, while Ymir fought and struggled against it. If he had had the strength to converse, Ymir doubted anything that passed between the two of them at that point would have been very constructive. His thoughts were focused on internal matters to the extent that Ymir didn't realize the sudden drop-off until his body began plummeting through the open air. It happened so suddenly and took him by such surprise, Ymir didn't have time to shout at all until the sharp blades of the grass below easily slid through several sections of his arms, legs, and torso as he passed through them. The real pain came with the sickening crack of his leg beneath his own weight. A second, equally revolting snap sounded as his arm extended to catch himself. Fortunately, Ymir had avoided being impaled by the giant grasses of the sea, but they had done their fair share of slicing deep enough to draw blood. His broken leg was contained within the skin, but the bone of his arm had found its way out into the open air and with it a pool of blood began to form around his forearm. For a few moments, Ymir was unable to move at all. His head felt like a leaden ball, far too heavy to move around as he usually did. As soon as his motor control returned, so too did his ability to realize just how much pain he was in. A terrible, heart-rendering shout escaped his lungs and continued on as he felt the cracked ribs and crimson lacerations that now bled upon the dry earth around him. His cries only grew louder as time passed. The pain was disorienting and overpowering. He was unable to think about anything other than the terrifying realization that he had fallen and now lay broken upon the earth. He tried to move into a seated position, but when the mind splitting pain of his leg alerted him to the fact it was broken, he fell back into the ground with uncontrollable sobs. Ymir was entirely unable to control himself. Tears streamed down his face as his cries seemed to alert the entire green ocean that he felt as though he were dying. In fact, Ymir realized he had increased his chances of death exponentially by taking the dive off the cliff where Jess'e's frantic face had just disappeared from as the young man hurried to find an alternate way down. There was a much more mild slope a few feet from where Ymir had fallen, but he was far too distracted by the smell of his own blood to see the frantic dash of his companion sliding down to come to his aid. Ymir's good hand grasped uselessly at the ground around him, squeezing the dirt between his palm and fingers in an attempt to assuage the pain. It seemed to help, as the pain had become so intense it was almost numbing. His cries grew quieter as Jess'e approached, but his vision began to blur slightly. A wave of nausea passed over him as the young man stooped over him speaking unintelligible words. The sounds were dull and distant, much like the receding light of Ymir's vision that seemed to waver with the twisting, waving fronds of the grasses. The only sound Ymir could distinctly discern was the loud ringing in his ears, as if a bird found itself stuck upon an single high pitched note. He mumbled a little gibberish in Shiber before his consciousness finally left him twisted, broken, and bleeding beneath the hands of the distraught Jess'e.

[Khida]

Syna shone brilliant and golden, the vault of the heavens gloriously blue, the earth below carpeted in shades and textures of green whose patterns were only truly visible from the highest of vantage points. Khida had that level practically all to herself at this time of day, save for a pair of angle-winged vultures climbing a thermal in the far distance. High aloft, the moving air cooled her feathers even as the sun warmed her back; with that, she found the heat of the day still quite agreeable as she tracked her way across the vast blue sky. With the freedom of the air about her, the falcon didn't keep directly overhead of the horses and their burdens; she let the wind carry her aside, though never so far as to be beyond the hunter's easy call. It was not quite like the past summer, this traveling, but the heat and the empty landscape and the simple routines it required still echoed those memories in a significant way. They woke, they hunted, they traveled, they slept; there were none of the human complications the tent-city brought with it, and Khida found the simple familiarity of this day-to-day existence both soothing and alluring. Except for her continued deficit of a bond, that familiar, nagging lack she sometimes worried at as a person might a loose tooth. But not today. Not when she had the sun at her back, the wind in her feathers, and all the world laid out before her eyes... ...including a certain shallow cliff, and hasty if cautious motion down a narrow track, glimpsed just before the moving thing vanished into the lower grasses. Intrigued, cautious, the Kelvic banked into a turn, winging towards the clifftop and then following along it -- albeit at some considerable distance above. She saw no ripple in the grasses suggesting motion away from the cliff; coming about and making a second pass, the peregrine finally spotted the place where two men huddled at the precipice's foot. She passed them by again, then circled back one more time to land on the rocky edge. She peered warily down at them, leaning out and craning her head as if for a better angle, gauging first the threat these two men might present... not likely much... and then coming to focus, curiously, on one more than the other. The one who was hale, and seemed disturbingly familiar... It bothered her, that familiarity, this abrupt intrusion of people and their pasts upon the unhurried complacency of her summer idyll. Khida shifted her weight back and forth in a display of discomfort, then shoved herself free of the cliff and winged back up into the sky, calling her discontent to her partner as she returned to her own companions.

[Colt]

Summer had rolled over the plains, bathing the grass in boiling breezes and half-seen mirages. The waves upon waves of rattling gold and green twisted and writhed for an eternity in every direction, broken only by a stray herd of beasts or flaw in the ground. The two horses wove their way through the Sea of Grass unhurriedly; the routine of travel had settled deep into their bones by the time the watchtowers had flared, marking the ever-present turn of the wheel of time as spring faded once more into memory. Now there was heat, there were shimmers and there were the faded cries of carrion-birds picking over sun-baked corpses hidden from sight. Everything had come full circle, and the dog days had returned.

Akaidras’ characteristic belligerence had vanished with the morning coolness; in summer, any kind of excess was dangerous. He walked calmly and evenly, keeping to the tallest grass as best as he could. The rippling shadows danced over his not-quite-sanguine hide, managing to dispel some of the heat that radiated from his shoulders.

The stallion and shook his head as an insect buzzed too close to his nose, and Shahar patted the great beast’s neck in reassurance.

Shahar Dawnwhisper. The name hovered in his mind like a flock of gulls above a harbor, wheeling and calling to him with half-heard words and thoughts. It was a name that followed him of its own free will; it lay in his heart, beneath his tongue, but those were the only places it lived: in his own mind. It did not live in the air or in the minds of anyone else; the only witnesses to his name were the earliest-waking birds, the first stirrings of winds in the dawn. He had not spoken it since he had been given the axe beneath the Serenity Tree, save a single, reverent whisper to his strider. It seemed like something Akaidras should know.

She had taken to the sky, exploring the wind above the group’s progress with winged desires that the grounded rider could not comprehend. Hunting alone, perhaps, or simply observing Cyphrus from a perch beside the sun. Drelah, as always, plodded steadily behind the strider and his Drykas, and Slither, as always, watched over the gelding.

He lazily regarded the endless world around him; any curious thoughts and contemplations had run their course long ago, and in their place was the almost blissful mindlessness of simply being. He was, he had been, and he would be, and there was nothing in the world that was more important.

The piercing call of Shahar’s partner penetrated his trance. He shook his head, returning to where he was and blinking to be rid of the blinding green that had overtaken his vision. Akaidras swiveled his ears towards the source of the sound, and the Drykas urged him into a lazy lope. The falcon crossed above, voicing an unknown concern. The stallion pranced worriedly, and the rider examined the direction from whence his partner had come. The shallow cliff in the distance snatched his attention, and he narrowed his eyes.

Caution, on your guard, he said to the sky. His gut fluttered warily as he signaled Akaidras to greater speed. Something was wrong.

[Slither]

Charged with the gelding's care he'd been and so there was no higher priority for Slither - not because he cared about the beast itself, but simply because it was his task; one that if carried out properly would save him trouble. It would come as no surprise, then, that the beauty of Summer in the Sea of Grass was lost to him; albeit for a completely different motive than one might assume. It was not caring for the horse, but himself, that kept his mind busy under the unrelenting sun, and his thoughts strayed far from the animal's wellbeing. His master was part of the focus of his attention, as evidenced by the frequent glances the reptile took at him - there was no doubt that the human was, as far as masters went, one of the best he could find. That very thought had surprised Slither greatly, making him wonder where it came from. Not from the man's great communication skills, that was for sure, so it couldn't be because of his leadership. Definitely not because he'd started to enjoy his status, as some previous masters had been eager to suggest. What made him better? Being chained to a wall with nothing to do had a way of teaching people the art of introspection, of how useless lying to oneself truly was. Slither had mastered this knowledge long ago, and was at the point where all he wanted was answers to his questions about himself, be those pleasing or not. So he pulled on the stream of thought, trying to follow the trail as far as he could to find what made his current master different than the previous ones. It suddenly dawned on him. The lack of pain. Every memory of his past, up to now, was framed with the thorns of pain. Pain for the loss of his homeland - his mind quickly moved on, not letting him dwell on the Nest. Pain from physical punishment, beatings, fights. Insults, which didn't hurt the same way as a whip did, but they left their scar nonetheless. That pain was now... gone. Nothing in his body, in his soul, hurt right now. That was what made Him different from the others. He didn't offer greatness or power; he just offered a life without pain. A shrill call from the airborne scout broke the Dhani's daydreaming, to be resumed at some other time. His master's agitation promised nothing good - the man had a way to read his falcon that Slither did not; and if the call had made him nervous then there was likely a good reason. The Master accelerated, and so did the Dhani, able for the time being to keep up the pace as he spurred the gelding next to him.

[Jess'e]

Ymir relented, and drank in his turn, though there was barely a swallow left at any rate. Still, it made Jess’e’s heart lighter to know that, truly, they were in this together – until the end… When Ymir spoke again, however, Jess’e tried not to let his certainty of what their fate would be shine through in fear on his pale, damp face. He nodded, and actually managed a small smile, saying, “You are right. We must just keep going, and surely we will find our way.” Ymir then stretched out his hands and took Jess’e’s in his, his grip still strong, and reassuring, in its own way. It was not a reassurance of survival that Jess’e felt, warming his already boiling brain. No, it was the comfort of knowing simply that he was not alone in this. Come what may, they would face their fate shoulder to shoulder. He gave Ymir’s hands a light squeeze in return, and then their hands parted, and Ymir moved off, to break the trail, in whatever direction his feet took him. It mattered little, in Jess’e’s mind, what that route might be. They were doomed, regardless. But he would press on, until he could walk no farther, because he did not want to disappoint his friend. So, In Ymir’s wake he toiled on, his head throbbing and his back stinging – but the worst of it was his hand. His thumb and forefinger were well and truly black, and the rest of his hand almost to his little finger was a deep bruised purple and indigo. It was badly swollen and hurt with every slight movement that jarred it. Each step made him clench his teeth against the screams that lay within, but onwards they trekked. He knew Ymir’s injuries were hardly less in scope, and not for the first time, he admired how stoic the Benshira now seemed. Earlier, in the dawn, the dancer might have cried piteously. But now – no – he marched on, like a soldier, erect and with a seeming resolve. If only Jess’e had been just a bit simpler, he might have actually been convinced that Ymir would in fact get them out of this horrible mess. Alas, the slave still had far too much of his wits about him to be that self-deluded. Like Ymir, Jess’e’s thoughts were far away, his feet plodding robotically forward with little regard for their path, when suddenly, Ymir dropped down. For a split second, Jess’e thought only that his friend had fallen to the ground, right there. There wasn’t even a cry, at first. But as Jess’e looked on, open mouthed, he saw through the gap in front of him, and he saw that there was… nothing! Only a bit of blue sky and beyond that – across the way, the grassy plain resumed. Then the first of several heart wrenching cries of pain rent the air, and Jess’e took the final step to come to the lip of the previously hidden ravine. The green-gold grass that swayed to heights well above their heads grew right up to the edge, where the ground dropped away suddenly, and sharply. As he looked down, his own safety in question as he balanced there, his horrified eyes caught the heart breaking sight of Ymir tumbling over and over as he half fell, half rolled, down the slope. It took – what? Five blinks of an eye, at most, and then he was stopped, come to a sickening looking pile of twisted limbs and clothes, some six meters or so below the edge of the ravine. Jess’e's breath caught in his throat, and then he forced it out, as he called in terror, “Ymir!” In response came the most blood-curdling yell Jess’e had ever heard – and it did not stop. On and on it went, shattering the stillness of the great, silent plain. That one look down had convinced Jess’e that there was no safe route for him there. As he scurried to the side, looking for some alternative path down, that nightmarish sound went on and on still. Finally, desperate to get to Ymir, he sat on his bottom and scrabbled and slid down a gentler incline, coming to the bottom in a cloud of dust and a pile of displaced stone. Without stopping, he streaked to where Ymir was futilely trying to move about, already the frantic words of trying to soothe and calm his friend into staying still pouring from Jess’e’s lips. At the same time, tears streamed down his cheeks, his hands reaching out. Coming to Ymir’s crumpled form, Jess’e dropped to his knees, his mind panicked and his eyes averted from the pooling blood about that gruesome, shattered arm bone. His hands reached to cradle Ymir gently, not knowing what in the world to do to render aid. His words flowed from him like water wasting itself leaking from a punctured flask, spilling over his broken comrade, useless to effectuate any change for the better. As if in a mirror, Ymir’s crimson life force spilled itself on the dry, cracked ground, as the Benshira drifted away, his shocked mind taking him to some still, dark place. With no clear thought, Jess’e tore the kilt from his hips and with the tiny dagger he slit free the waistband of the once fine garment. With hands that trembled so badly he might have been burning up with fever, he tied the make shift tourniquet above the shattered bone, trying to stem the flow of that precious life sustaining fluid. The other contusions and lacerations, the oddly twisted lower leg – well – what could he do? If by some miracle Ymir did not bleed to death, what other miracle would see either one of them alive come the morning? Jess’e was, in fact, so dehydrated that his tears even ceased to flow, though his body was racked with great sobs. Bending low over his companion, he tried to shield Ymir’s face from the cruel rays of Syna, who looked down, impartial and unfeeling, on the plight of the two young men. Overhead, a bird wheeled, but Jess’e was oblivious. Stroking the ragged hair from Ymir’s abused face, He began to keen very softly. It was nothing anyone had ever taught him, and he had never once in his life engaged in such a sorrowful demonstration. But he had heard the Benshira slaves thus accompany the passing of a life from amongst their midst, and somehow the sound simply welled up from spot deep, deep within. Rocking back and forth ever so slightly on his heels, as he knelt beside Ymir’s still form, he began to sing their souls safely into the next world.

[Khida]

He looked up as her voice reached his ears, then turned his gaze back along the wake of her flight. He urged the Strider on along that very route, not exactly to Khida's surprise -- though in some measure to her disappointment, to be entirely truthful. He gestured for caution and care, which she surely intended to practice; hopefully he would do the same. The falcon flared her wings, banking through a wide turn, and came about to see the snake-man following in the hunter's wake. She cast a look down their backtrail, then to either side of their chosen direction -- and saw grass, of course. Grass in all directions, waving lazily in the summer breeze, seeming undisturbed by any large creatures other than the two horses. On those sides, all seemed well. That established, Khida winged ahead towards the cliff, where the two men remained huddled among the rocks at its base. One of them lay still and apparently senseless, perhaps even dead; the falcon's eyes quickly spotted the wrongness of his leg, and knew the why of his stillness. The other sat idle on his heels, seeming absorbed in some internal reverie -- heedless of the Sea's dangers, perhaps even heedless of the two horses coming his way. Entirely stupid for him to do. The peregrine wheeled a circle overhead, then came to rest once more on the rocks at the precipice edge, turning towards the greater expanse of the Sea -- taking up a sentinel's station as her own companions continued their approach. Someone had to, and it was rightly her province besides.