Closed First Impressions All Over Again

[Khida]

Summer 8, 513 AV before dusk Syna descended towards the horizon, though in the way of long summer days, there were around two bells yet before true dusk. Khida flew low over the grass in the slowly reddening light, a woolen bag suspended from her talons. She was glad to have the city behind her, more so than usual --but then, today was in no wise a usual day. She flew now towards what she considered 'home' -- shelter, comfort, the family of her choice. Not within the city, but just past the edge of it, part of and yet apart from the greater community. The grasses danced in the mild evening breeze, stalks heavy with ripening seed. Two tents rose out of a small flattened clearing, low and subdued in their angles, as near to being parts of the landscape as could be managed. Two horses grazed nearby, the long-legged Strider and the other of more stocky build. It occurred to Khida that she didn't know if the second had a specific name, like Strider or peregrine; maybe she'd ask. Sometime. What she didn't see immediately to hand was the hunter. Maybe he had gone inside, to do something there, or even just around the other side where the tent obscured her sight; if so, she was certain he'd come out eventually. In the meantime... In the meantime, she was very weary of carrying this bag. The falcon went to ground amidst the grasses, releasing her burden with some relief. Stepping aside from it, she shifted, the attendant blur of light diffused by obscuring grass and Syna's steady glow. Rising, the woman paused to stretch out her arms, reaching up towards the sky and rolling her shoulders a bit to relax them. Then she scooped up the bag -- which was rather less of a burden to her human shape -- and turned towards the horses. Towards one horse in particular. Khida tipped her head and studied him, familiar visage that he was. Then she raised her hands... which were unfortunately occupied by the bag. The Kelvic promptly dropped it again with a muted clatter of contents, the better to sign at the Strider: greeting, and friend, as the hunter was wont to use towards her. Then also permission, mindful of imparting a questioning angle to the sign, a sense of waiting in the way her hands hung suspended an extra moment afterwards. Though she still had no certainty of Striders comprehending Sign. Even if they were sacred -- or somehow, in some way, human as well as horse.

[Colt]

Akaidras regarded the Kelvic with curiosity; this was certainly different than what she usually did. But she made the signs that his rider did, and she was a familiar figure—the stallion did not approach her, but neither did he shy away; he made a soft whicker in recognition of the gestures, even taking a single step towards her, but was altogether unsure of what exactly she was on about.

* * *

The sun had begun to make her descent, though the day had not yet turned to dusk. Endrykas was bustling as the day’s work was ended and people went home to their pavilions and families. The time for labor had passed, and the time for together-ness was nearing, soon to be followed by the time for rest.

It was in this hour that Shahar walked briskly from the place of the Ruby clan, a new two-person tent in hand. There was another body at his hearth, it seemed, and another to join once healing took place. Money was no object now that he had reaped the rewards of his hunts and deepened the pouch of mizas in his bag; all he needed right now was to ensure the immediate survival of the bronze-skinned man whose life seemed to have fallen in his hands.

His limbs felt as if they were carved from stone, weary as they were from the sheer speed that they had traveled to reach Endrykas. With the broken man in the hands of the Opal clan, all that was left to do was wait and recuperate.

The tents thinned, giving him a glimpse of the two tents on the outskirts of the city. Heartened by the sight of home, Shahar hurried his step—once he pitched the new tent, he would rest well tonight.

He saw a figure in the distance, one that did not tug at his memory as Slither would have—what is the bronze man, out and about? No, because… Akaidras was there, too? Shahar stopped dead in surprise, then felt the sudden urge to sprint to the campsite and make sure that the stallion didn’t charge. But no, he didn't, because the stallion seemed perfectly fine with someone in such close proximity; was interacting with them, even. The hunter opened his mouth slightly, then closed it—something felt very odd. Determined to uncover this mystery but rather leery of what he might find, Shahar began his trek to the campsite once more.

[Khida]

She had the Strider's attention, at least -- that was clear in the way his ears pricked forward, in the bob of his head and the soft whicker he made, in the single step he took towards her. Khida took that as permission, her invitation to come closer. She took the bag back up, tugging at the string which closed its mouth and pulling a broad brush from among its contents. This she held out on display for the horse to see, plain and clear; even if he wasn't part-human, he surely would recognize what it was -- and her intent. Only after that did she step closer, coming up to the Strider's shoulder. Here she set the bag behind her feet, where the horse couldn't easily step on it, and settled the brush into her hand. Where a human might have clicked her tongue or murmured at the horse, the Kelvic woman set to her task in silence, her satisfaction at the Strider's acceptance of her purely internal. For all the time they had spent together in the hunter's company, she'd had little to do with the horse, and he little with her. Yet they had common cause, and while she still had no use for horses herself, it was good if she could count this particular one a friend. Besides, she needed something to do until the hunter returned. So she set the bristles to the Strider's long black mane, brushing the locks down the breadth of his neck. This quickly revealed an insistent tangle which resisted every effort of the brush; Khida set her fingers to it instead, carefully picking apart the interwoven strands. Intent upon that task, she didn't see the motion in the corner of her vision which was the hunter's approach; not until a shift in the Strider's posture alerted her did she know he was coming. Khida turned, brush momentarily forgotten, to watch the Drykas complete his approach. Where she had not been able to sign in that night, now there was light, and clear vision, and no need to support his weight -- only a brush in the way, and that was easily tucked under her arm. Greeting, she signed to him as well, and friend, confidence and certainty informing the motions -- though they were also recognizably the gestures of a foreigner still learning to sign.

[Colt]

He neared enough to make out a naked figure, but more stunning was the fact that the figure had begun to put a brush to his Strider’s hide. Shahar almost dropped the tent, so startling was it to see; the horse was showing no signs of aggression at all, instead standing patiently to accept the care being given.

Enjoying it, even. Though he loved his rider fiercely, the Drykas had little to no idea how to care for a horse. Akaidras didn’t mind; he had taken care of himself for most of his life, and he was certainly no worse for wear. The attention, however, was a delight to the stallion, and once he felt the dirt being brushed from his mane he lost all reservations and sidled up cozily next to the Kelvic, going so far as to lower his head to give her an easier reach at the snarl.

Shahar continued to stare for a few moments before his Strider noticed his presence. Nickering cheerfully, Akaidras inadvertently informed the bare person brushing him of the hunter’s presence, and the person turned.

This time Shahar did drop the tent. He blinked dumbly at the woman as she regarded him with a brilliant yellow gaze that sent shivers of recognition up his spine. He couldn’t believe it. It was her.

Greeting, friend.

It took a few moments to realize that the gestures were in fact Sign, though whether because of their odd, jerky accent or his own state of surprise he could not tell. They broke some small part of the spell that had descended upon him, at least enough for him to respond. Though coherent thoughts had fled him, his odd grasp of social norms had not, and the response came automatically.

Greeting, friend. He paused, snapping closed his agape mouth. The next word was almost timid, and it sent chills down his spine greater than would a charging glassbeak.

Again.

[Khida]

The hunter dropped his burden as she greeted him, abruptly and she thought without deliberate intent; apparently, she had surprised him. Khida tipped her head, regarding him quizzically, wondering at his hesitation and astonishment. Wasn't she always here? But she left off wondering as he echoed her greeting; the simplicity of it, the truth of it, brought a small but heartfelt smile to the Kelvic woman's lips. Something about the exchange of signs, rather than one-sided welcome, brought the weight of that simple statement solidly home. Yes. Friend. And friends helped each other. She took a step forward, around the bag nestled in the grass, holding the brush out to him. "I saw... you did not have these things. Brush. Hoof pick. ...Other things," she finished a bit awkwardly, not actually sure what all else was in the bag. "I thought you should have them, for the Strider." Khida used as many Pavi words as she had, and couldn't help but huff slightly at how few they were. Even though she knew he had some Common. She hesitated then, because the uncertainty of his regard wasn't at all what she was accustomed to. Why did he hang back, his posture giving the impression of wariness? Her free hand moved then, not quite with conscious direction, uncertainty turning the sign for approve into a hopeful question. Is good?

[Colt]

His signs brought a smile to her lips, and that managed to bring him a small bit of ease, as well. He’d never imagined since that night that she could be any more than a dream, and even thinking of her as a spirit of the plains had seemed far-fetched despite the signs of her existence he had managed to discover. But here she stood, flesh and blood in his home and fitting there as naturally as if it was where she had been all along.

She stepped towards him, arm outstretched to offer what it was she had been using to brush Akaidras.

How had she gotten here? Where did she come from? Who was she? Why did Akaidras not charge? Was she spirit or flesh, divine or earthly? His mind almost exploded with questions, each thought brawling for center stage so haphazardly that none of them made it.

Brush, hoofpick, other things. She switched between Common and Pavi as one who was still learning the language of the Drykas, but her Common words were simple and straightforward, as they had been on the night of the storm.

The questions were temporarily silent as all of his thoughts were focused on her. In the light, he could see her in a way that he could not in the rainstorm, and she seemed real enough. She was shorter than he, but not quite small—exposed, her body keenly displayed corded sinew and angled muscle. It was a body built for sleek speed and efficiency, one that plucked at strings in the back of his mind like a harper, but the melody of the song was one that continued to elude him. Though he’d kept his silence, as he often did, the vague tune was one that had haunted him for a very, very long time; it was like an interesting tree that remained invisible until pointed out, but, once pointed out, it became apparent that the tree had always been there. He could remember the tune being there since… well, he couldn’t remember since when. It could have been since his return to the Drykas, it could have been in his days of beasthood upon the plains, it might have even been longer than that. He didn’t know.

But it had always been quiet. Now, however, it wove through his thoughts relentlessly, as the wind through the grass. What was worse was that he felt as if it was something he should know. There was something important that continued to elude him.

She hesitated, refocusing him. Her posture signed approval? Good? He blinked, and then decided to drop contemplation altogether. These things could wait, and, however inexplicably, he felt that she belonged here. It was the same familiarity that he felt for Slither or Drelah, as strong as what he felt for Akaidras, strangely enough. The what of the fact was more important than the why or how, and the reality of the woman before him was more important than the reason.

Yes, he said, looking down a bit sheepishly. Sorry, yes, approval, good. Thank you.

He stubbornly suppressed his questions, and with the voices silent he found an odd glee pricking at his chest. He looked up and met the woman’s eyes, still confused but accepting of the fact. The inexplicable warmth had made its way to his face, and he tilted his head to regard her with a lopsided half-smile.

Hello, friend, he repeated. Again.

[Khida]

He regarded her steadily, at first with a distance in his demeanor, inwardly preoccupied. Then he blinked at her, and offered a sudden spate of signs, each of them familiar to Khida. Yes, he said in essence, approving of the gift she made. He didn't take it, but his posture conveyed sincerity, truth -- and he smiled back at her, repeating his greeting with considerably more confidence. She stepped forward again, closing the distance between them without so much as a thought for her unclothed state. Not that she'd given it a thought since the beginning, in any case. Her gaze held his as she approached, and in that mutual regard, Khida thought -- no, knew, on some level deeper than thought, in a way she could never have articulated in words. Knew, without question, that she was... home. She belonged here, with this one, always and forever. Mine. Vaguely, she wondered at the feeling. Not in surprise at this truth writ in blood and bone, so deep that surprise couldn't begin to mar it. But -- so long, they'd been together. So many seasons of mutual assistance, of solace in his company, of their tiny yet cherished community. Yet only now did she feel the full strength of his pull... now that she stood here, amidst the grasses and free of present danger, face to human face with him. A human might have feared the attraction; Khida did not. She welcomed it, at long last, the burden in her hand almost entirely forgotten in this far more important development. For the Kelvic, the potential was its own acceptance; rejecting him, of all the people in the world, never even began to be a consideration. But she was only one half of the whole... and his acceptance was never so certain, no matter her regard for him. His acceptance... His hesitance... His surprise... Groped at in internal darkness and confusion, the thought came only slowly into shape. For all that friend had come with confidence in the end... at first... at first, he had treated her nearly like a stranger. Khida had forgotten entirely that for all their time together, for all they knew of each other... all that while, she had been falcon, and only falcon. Never human, save once, and in that once they had hardly spoken to one another. How could he recognize her human skin, if she hadn't shifted before? Khida still didn't quite make the leap to realization, didn't quite put the pieces together; he was there, always, and that he knew everything was axiomatic. But as she gradually developed a sense of what was still lacking, a number of emotions wove their way across the woman's features in progression, reflecting the slowly changing course of her thoughts: affectionate regard, pensive introspection, tension, and finally an edge of hesitant uncertainty settling over the innate self-assurance of her carriage. "Do you know me?" she asked at last, words emerging softly into the silence between them. There was an anxiety in the question, as in nothing else she had done, not today, and not before -- an anxiety only stronger because she knew it wasn't the right question. It was just the only one she currently had.

[Colt]

Something in her changed, then. While the change itself wasn’t startling, there was something else there, something that he did not quite comprehend. It loomed like a full moon behind moving clouds, biding its time until the shroud peeled back to display brilliance. It was a crystalline heat that captured his eyes and did not allow them to stray, even when she stepped close enough for him to see the woven canyons of her irises. The searing heat, still fresh in his memory from the night of the storm rose once more, filling the air as his personal space became home to another. But the heat was not between them, as it should have been, would have been with anyone else; the heat was instead around them, pressing from all sides—and with her here, the breath of a touch away, there ceased to be two spaces. Without thought, his space became theirs.

And he realized, to even greater shock, that the song behind her eyes matched his. It was the song that had haunted him since his days of beasthood, a song that he knew, but that was completely alien in its familiarity. He was torn from each side, instinct and logic rending him down the middle. But it wasn’t logic that told him nothing to fear, it was his heart. It was the deepest parts of what made him him that dragged him towards the woman before him, while the years of lessons learned and common logic beat furiously at him to flee from the she-spirit that pulled him in like a fish on a line. It made sense, now, why his head had been so filled with the melody ever since the storm--it had been in her eyes, too, and that night was the night he had first tasted harmony. Something he hadn't know he was missing until it had vanished once more into the darkness.

And then she changed again, recognizing his reservations of just a few moments before. He could see her feelings as they changed on her face, turning his stomach with uncertainty. What now, then? Now that she was here, wearing his aura like a second skin?

His breath halted in anticipation of something he did not know, holding them both in suspension that felt like an eternity. Surely what she had to say would give him something to lift the shroud of ignorance that lay between them like a wall of stone.

Her words shattered the deafening silence that had fallen around them; they were Common, softly spoken, but he understood. Do you know me?

He laughed. Not a soft smile or low chuckle, but a laugh that was full and strong. It was not malicious, nor was it patronizing—he actually found her question funny.

He sobered and took a moment to summon his Common words, sparse as they were. His face became serious as he leaned close to deliver his answer in her ear.

“I was to ask you the same,” he whispered. “I do, and I do not. You are close to me in heart; I feel you here. But I do not knowing why or how; I do not know you, but you are not strange. I remembering the storm, but not before. But I feel you. And it is frightening, knowing but not knowing.”

[Khida]

He laughed. He laughed as she had rarely heard, and for all the strength of it, Khida thought it was a good sign. It wasn't scornful; he didn't use it as a way to divide them. Indeed, after a moment, he leaned closer still, cheek to cheek, lips to her ear. Without thinking, she reached up to rest her fingers against his shoulder -- neither pushing away nor pulling close, simply establishing that point of contact. I do, and I do not. His statements were like the tumultuous winds of a storm; they dashed down as readily as they might lift. He did not know her, and yet he knew her to be close, felt something that must be his half of the bond -- -- and it frightened him. She tensed at his admission, almost as if struck by it. "I do not want you to be afraid," Khida declared, heartfelt protest and plea, the words quickened by her own distress at the idea. That led to outcomes entirely undesirable in her mind. If he was frightened, would everything they had between them break, before it even started? If they didn't bond... if they didn't bond, then eventually, she would have to leave to find someone she could bond, and that... no. No, that was unfathomable. Khida took a deep breath and marshaled her roiling thoughts, resolutely deflecting her own worries. Nothing was lost yet. She leaned back to meet his gaze again, reaching to catch loose hold of his hands. "You should not be frightened," she said, pleaded, assured, the words spoken more measured and deliberately to ensure he could follow their meaning. Even with her refusal to dwell on the negative possibilities, one truth, she worried at like the figurative sore tooth it was: That recognition frightened him. He didn't recognize the potential bond as she did, didn't know it for what it was. And Khida recalled, that the quiet girl hadn't even recognized the word Kelvic. Was this Drykas, too, entirely unfamiliar with her kind? "...I am Kelvic," she said after a thoughtful pause, searching his expression for any indication that the word had meaning for him. That it was more than just so much syllabic noise. "I am Kelvic," Khida reiterated more softly, her voice gentle. "And you are -- you could be," she amended, stressing the choice he had, "my bondmate. I think that's what you feel. Close," she echoed, remembering what she herself had said to Livvy and Aramenta some time before. "Closer than family. "If..." She couldn't keep her voice from catching, barely even noticed the hitch, focused as she was on him. "If you choose."

[Colt]

The sudden touch of her fingers sent electric chills through his veins. They pulled at something within him, something deep and instinctual. Human contact, real human contact had never before seemed to him so gentle, and never before had he been touched skin-to-skin. But the sheer care with which she brushed his shoulder dispelled any notions that it could be anything but a gesture of closeness—and, like the person from which it came, it was a gesture that tugged at the core of his being. He shivered involuntarily with the simplest kind of pleasure, with excitement and with fear of the unknown storm that had finally reached its breaking point.

It was her heart speaking when she asked him not to be afraid; that much he knew. Concern was etched on her face, a concern that was soon accented by something else: anxiety. He couldn’t help but feel his own nervousness heightened by hers, even when she leaned back to lock her eyes with his once more.

He didn’t jump when she took his hand; if anything, it was less surprising than her touch upon his shoulder. He wanted to look down, to see with his eyes as well as his fingers, but he couldn’t—not while she bated her breath for more words.

Kelvic. The meaning was unfamiliar to him, but the word was not. It was a word he had heard before, but never bothered to define; it was not enough to dispel his apprehension, but it was at least enough to give him some small inkling of hope that his fear could be dispelled. If she was Kelvic, then he needed to know what ‘Kelvic’ was.

The future tense of ‘could be’ was lost on Shahar, as was ‘bondmate.’ Even ‘family’ was not one of his Common words. There was a language barrier between the woman and Drykas that even the looming possibility of “bondmates” could not overcome. Frustration found its way into his posture, and he forsook her gaze to glance at their hands.

Gently, he turned their hands over, exploring the softness of her palm with his own calloused fingers. Her hands had not seen many things, though her body wore the signs of maturity still dancing with youth. He was fairly certain that he understood the gist of what she had said; the depth of his feelings, the ones that frightened him so, they were is some way connected to ‘Kelvic.’ His feelings, while unknown to him, were not in themselves the darkness within him—how could they be? The ultimate feeling of here and now was one that made the rest of the world cease to matter like twinkling stars beneath the glory of a full moon. While the air around them burned, the air between them was a vacuum that he wanted nothing more than to close. The fear that filled him was secondary, a response to that which he did not fully comprehend. His feelings were like nothing he had ever felt before, and their ferocity shook his very bones like drum beats that came from inside. But somehow, the instinctual part of him didn’t care; it was the logical part that still held him back.

“I do not know ‘Kelvic,” he confessed. “I do not knowing too many words; too many your words are strange and I do not know. But I feel them. I think… I think you feel, same like I feel. Heat, wanting. Those are the frightening to me.”

He laced his fingers with hers, face still tight with apprehension, and brought them closer to cradle her hand against his chest.

“But I want to choose. I want to know. Drykas know ‘Kelvic,’ they can tell me ‘Kelvic.’ I can know their words, they can tell me ‘bondmate’ and I can choose. But…” but that meant another day, another time, and threw their meeting into perspective. Would she be gone again tomorrow, like the night of the storm? “… but asking take time. Not now, I am sorry. I…” he looked down at their hands again, and a blush began to creep into his face. “You come again, when I know? Please?” The thought of her vanishing again caused his breath to catch, now that she was here. Her hand was entwined with his, and he now wished very much for it to stay that way—and for the assurance that it would not be the only time.