[Outside Endrykas] Outriding (Denen)

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

69th Summer, 510 A.V. It hadn't occurred to Sam that he would seek solitude even while among his own people, but it was happening. Though he had met distant relatives who had offered him a place in their pavilion, he preferred to remain alone. The seed of an idea was blossoming now within him. He didn't want to join some other pavilion; he wanted to rebuild his own. His mind still shied away from the fact that in order to do this, he would have to become an Ankal. For the time being, he was absorbing the culture of his youth again. Becoming Drykas. Becoming what he had denied for a decade, longer than he had spent as a Drykas, even. And so it was that he was riding Horse beyond the bounds of Endrykas proper, not far away enough that he would need any of the Diamond clansmen to protect him, but far enough away to let Horse stretch his legs. Far enough that there was a slight chance that he might run into something that required the use of his shortbow or his scimitar, both of which were strapped to him for easy access. They galloped and galloped, and Sam reveled in his speed. Though he was nothing compared to the Striders here on the plains of Cyphrus, anywhere else he was a marvel of speed. He was also Sam's oldest friend and companion. They had been together so long now that they anticipated each other's needs. So when Horse wanted to pause, Sam allowed him to stop on a slight rise where he could look around and get a good look at anything coming their way. He had to get used to the Sea of Grass again if he was going to be a true Drykas. And there, was that a rider? It seemed so, and when Horse was amenable, he urged him into a trot down to intercept. It didn't hurt to be friendly. "Ho, stranger!" he called in Pavi.

[Denen Sunsinger]

He wasn't fully sure that this was a good idea, but there was no way that Denen was going back yet, not after he had begged and pleaded with his father to let him go. Stone hadn't exactly been willing at first, especially in light of Jada's death. But there hadn't been many duties for him, and he was young and persuasive when it came to his father. There was a particular look, one Denen knew well, that could be used to get Stone to allow him just about anything he might want. The lad didn't know it, but it had been a look given by his mother in the past, one that melted the heart of his strong, stoic father. After a few weeks of nearly incessant begging from his youngest child, Stone had agreed to let the boy travel. He hummed to himself, though the tune wasn't especially good, and closed his eyes, letting the wind blow in his face. He breathed it in deeply, and then exhaled it shakily. His legs held tightly to Reth's bare back, keeping him rooted to the spot. Dark hair whipped out behind him and in his face. His lips parted and he fell silent, save for the gasping breath that was torn from his lips. It felt so good. The wind hadn't felt this liberating before. Of course, Denen had ridden by himself before, and when he was younger, he had talked to the wind, pretending it was his mother, but he had grown out of some of his childish ideals. At least that was what he told himself. He had not worked Reth hard, as the horse was more than a little old, and Denen wanted to take his time exploring and gathering herbs as he traveled. He was eager to see, to learn, but he wanted it to last. He pushed his hair from his face, and then leaned down against Reth's neck, keeping his eyes closed and breathing in the deep, rich scent of the animal's hair. "Dear Reth," he murmured. "It feels good to ride so freely. We don't even have to go home tonight. What do you think of that?" The horse tossed his head, as if to answer, and Denen laughed. "You think he'll be terribly worried for me? I did promise him that I would be careful..." Again, the animal tossed his head, and Denen grinned widely. He hadn't heard the greeting, but Reth did, and the horse craned his head about to assess the newcomer, alerting his chosen to the presence of another. When they had turned fully about, Denen gave a wide, friendly smile, and raised his hand in greeting, though he signed, rather than spoke. "Hello there!"

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

The use of grassland sign surprised Sam, as it wasn't especially loud out. It would have been useful back in that alcove, hiding from the killer storm with Aiken, Aren, and Horse. And the wolf puppies. But in any case, he fumbled to respond in kind, though he was terribly out of practice, even more so than he was with Pavi. "Apologies. Rusty." That explained, he paused, formulated what he wanted to say, and signed, "May the wind be at your back." That was easy enough as the phrase was a common one and easily translated through the hands. He was curious, but too polite to ask why they weren't speaking aloud. The other young man must have had his reasons. "May I ride with you a while?"

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen's smile remained, and he tucked his hair behind his ear as he studied the other. There was no shyness in the boy's countenance, only eager curiosity, which was so apt to get him into one degree of trouble or another. Still, he didn't seem to learn from this. Instead, he simply...kept it up. As he watched Sama'el approach, he lowered his hands a moment and rested them on Reth's neck. He nudged his horse forward a bit, though his body was lax and showed no signs of defensive or offensive behavior. He simply held all the wonderment of a new foal exploring the world for the first time. At the greeting, however, he clasped his hands together, and his smile became a grin. He was so happy to meet someone who seemed friendly. He wasn't fond of being alone. Even though he was largely ignored by his older siblings, there were always other people in the pavilion. "Thank you," he replied. "And upon yours as well." While Denen didn't use sign at home, he knew it was difficult for some to understand his speech, as it was a bit clumsy. As such, he preferred to use his hands to talk to those he did not know. "Of course," he answered the request to be allowed to ride together. "I would be happy if you joined me. I am Denen Brokensong of the Opal Clan." He almost bounced on Reth's back, holding back his excitement at being out and about for the first time. Independent.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

The practice seemed to sharpen his memory for the lexicon of sleight-of-hand language. Words seeped back into his fingers, old, old muscle memory that bypassed his thought processes, even. Horse seemed content to nose at the stranger's Strider; the Cyphrus breed intrigued the windrunner, whom Sam had stolen years previous from Sunberth to make good his escape from slavery. Now he was back within the fold, and who would have thunk it when they were breaking him as a child far from home, his family utterly destroyed. He kept having to introduce himself, but he was not ready yet to reclaim his old name, his Sama'el. He hadn't even said the name of his old pavilion since it was brought down, and he thought he might rename it when he became an Ankal, a new beginning. As for his clan, well, he was a Sapphire through and through, and at least that seemed safe to share. "Well met, Denen. I am called Sam. I'm from the Sapphire Clan." Denen, he assumed, would understand with his Drykas heritage about the fluidity of names. Pressed, Sam might divulge some of his story, how Sama'el had become Sam, who would become Sama'el again, a boy interrupted.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen had never lost touch with the things he knew, had always lived in the sheltered comfort of his pavilion. Speaking with his hands was second nature. It was one thing that he knew as if by instinct. Still, he was pleased to use it now. Better than speaking, at least at first. He couldn't exactly hide being deaf, after all. Reth, who was busy being sniffed, did so in return, though he snorted piously at the other equine. Denen ran his finger's through the horse's mane, focused, however, on the other boy. He kept his pleasant smile, happy to have the company. Perhaps he would have some stories to tell, or would want some told. Denen was always more than happy to indulge others in that particular area. Stories were, after all, one of the most important aspects of his life. He noted, naturally, the lack of pavilion name, and made a slight face. It was odd for one to leave such a thing out, but he wondered, momentarily, if the other had troubles in his pavilion. It was a saddening thought. Families were supposed to be strong, or at least strong enough to work through issues. "What brings you here?" He asked curiously, his blue eyes reflecting the nature of his tone. The wind toyed with his long hair, blowing it across his pale brow and cheeks.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"I have been a long time gone," he admitted. "I have come back to reclaim myself." It surprised him how speaking with his hands had forced him to be so succinct with his history and his plans. It really was that simple; bruised and broken, but not defeated, he had needed time alone to heal certain parts of himself before he could come home and be Sama'el again. Who was Sama'el, after all? The seven year old man whose first Strider had died in his defense? The orphan? The slave? He had been all of those things at one point or another, and now it was time to see whether Sama'el had what it took to make his dead pavilion proud: to raise them up again, refashioned for the future. He had stories to tell and stories yet to live. "It's a long story."

[Denen Sunsinger]

To be gone a long time from home. It was difficult for Denen to comprehend such a thing, as he had never before left the safety and security of the place he called home. Even this was pushing it, and it wasn't like the Drykas intended to go anywhere further than Riverfall. At the moment, anyway. Still, hearing even this slight hint of Sam's history made the boy curious. He had come to reclaim himself. Denen's mind was already trying to wrap itself around such a concept. He wondered what had happened, why he called himself by simply his name, leaving that of his pavilion out of his introduction. Denen was so proud of his own, so eager to have others know that he was the son of Stone Brokensong, even if he was the youngest, and the child of the third and final wife. His blue eyes sparkled. Perhaps Sam would tell the story to him. He used his knees to guide his horse, though Reth largely wandered where he pleased. Denen trusted the aged animal to get him to safety, as Reth had traveled much before his mother died. "I have a lot of time," he answered honestly. "I have no set destination, and my father has allowed for me to travel as I wish." He flashed the other a warm smile. "I will tell you a story in return."

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Well, I don't want to stray too far from Endrykas. The passage here was violent." He looked not a proper Drykas at all. Horse had not been trained to an yvas, though he guided him with a cavesson rather than any sort of bit. His clothes were still a rag-tag of Syliran garments he had picked up over the years, and the windmark on his wrist, the only one, was still covered by a leather cuff. "My hands are going to hurt before the end of this," he signed, and then contradicted himself by giving this young scion of the Brokensong Pavilion the condensed version. Nobody ever claimed that Sam was a storyteller. "About ten years ago my pavilion traveled to Sylira to trade. On the way back we were beset by bandits in the night and everyone was killed save me. I was sold into slavery, eventually to Sunberth. It took me eight years to escape, and I have been living in shame since. But finally it seemed to me that living in shame would fix nothing, so I have returned to remedy the situation." With that, his hands fell silent. He wondered how this news would be received. There had been a variety of responses to his story.

[Denen Sunsinger]

When one put aside the rough nature of the elements, and the harsh life Endrykas provided, Denen Brokensong of the Opal Clan had lived a relatively peaceful and safe existence, though the truth would have told another story entirely. Denen was, however, blissfully unaware of how his mother had died, and how the woman who raised him had ended her own life out of guilt. But his thoughts were not on himself. No. He was far too curious about the fellow before him to think of himself. He watched intently as the story was told, feeling acutely the agony that such a tale bore with it. It might not have been an elaborate rendition of events, but Denen was, nevertheless, touched. In truth, he was so moved by it, that when the end came, he was very near tears. How heartbreaking to have everything taken from ones hands! To lose pavilion and the only life that had been known! Denen could hardly stand to think about it. He missed his family as he thought of what he had just learned, but he felt, too, the motivation to do something on behalf of his newfound acquaintance. "I want to help you," he informed plainly. No point in hiding his intentions. "I am no fighter, but I would like to do whatever I can." Perhaps the gods had made it thus, so that their paths would cross. After all, Denen was a firm believer in cosmic intervention.