PM to join Déjà Voodoo II [Dravite]

[Rufio]

part ii of deja voodoo
41 summer dxv
16 th bell

　

It had been a strange, strange day for Rufio and Dravite. Dragged by Lhex's touch through a string of misfortunate Voodoo Moss events!

　　　　Nothing like a bit of shared misfortune and experiences to pull two strangers together. As Rufio was pulled into a loose one-armed hug by the tall Drykas man, her infectious laughter spilled into the din. Syna's warmth began to dry the mud on them, and Rufio's intricate braid had been pulled asunder, her cropped hair sticking out all ways.
　　　　The pair were a mess of a sight covered in blood, mud and bracken—who wouldn't be after chasing a man, who had been high as a kite on Voodoo Moss, across the tundra, and then brawling together with a panic-charging Olidosapux in a muddy pond for life and limb!
　　　　Speaking of, the woman's dark eyes stared at the still animal with a grin that didn't feel it would subside any time soon. They'd had an extraordinary match with the Olidosapux! When her mare, Sakita, returned to them from her skittish escape. Rufio only realised then that she must have slipped away amidst the drama.
　　　　With an affectionate cuss under her breath, the woman clambered out of the murk to stroke the mare's nose in her thanks the horse had come back. Sakita might have had the courage of a mouse (that is, lack thereof), but at least she was faithful.
　　　　"Ay." Affirming Dravite's assumption that the woman had brought rope with her into the Sea Of Grass. After ruffling in the yvas bags, she soon withdrew a good hefty knot of rope. Using her muddy hands to untangle it with ease before—"Catch!"—she chucked Dravite an end to tie around the juvenile Olidosapux they'd brought down.
　　　　Wrapping and entwining a make-shift harness on her mare took a try or two. At first she simply wrapped it around Sakita's shoulders and body, where it dropped to her hooves. Huh. Rufio cocked her head, after half a tick, like a spark striking flint, her creative side ignited with a flurry of motion.
　　　　She braided a simple chest-section, and then a hoop to go around just above the mare's withers and under her forelegs. Fashioning it not-too-tightly with a mind to allow the harness some 'give' as her horse would pull. It wasn't fancy, knot-work with crude braids, but it would let the mare put her weight into it.
　　　　Rufio patted the mare's shoulder encouragingly, glad for her sturdy Zavian build, it'd come in handy. Turning to Dravite, his deft hands lashing the rope securely to the beast, she trotted to the other side of the great-lump-of-beast to give a helping hand. "That looks good."

　　　　When Dravite suggested—“Why don’t you drag it back and I’ll meet you in Endrykas to help you skin and butcher the animal. I don’t have any of my gear on me and I should probably wash this wound out before too long.”—Rufio's brow furrowed with her concern, constellations of freckles shifting over her face.
　　　　"Na-ah. Can't get rid of me that quickly, Watch-man." Her small hands reached up to grasp his face either side, and she tip-toed to peer into his eyes and stated in her stubborn, willful way. "I have a batch of new herbs at my tent that'll do those cuts good." Healer. Insisting.
　　　　Inspecting the hue of his eyes, and his skin, the woman's mud-caked face performed her thinking expression, all puckered lips and deeply thoughtful eyes. "Strange." She muttered. Her hands were small, even delicate, but definably dominant as they moved his head this way, then that, for inspection. Before releasing him to his autonomy.
　　　　　　　　"What's the last thing you remember today, Dravite?"
　　　　Rufio reached into her yvas bags a second time and lifted out a water-skin, which she handed to Dravite. "Here. There's enough to drink and to clean your leg a bit." She felt the urge to ask if he hurt. Instead her gaze took in the way he moved with silent, purposeful observation. He seemed not to have been too seriously injured, as grazed and cut and bruised as he was.
　　　　A chuckle escaped her as she turned towards her mare, her mind wandered to the poor man's fist-fight with the trees whilst in his Voodoo Moss stupor. Taking the yvas in her hands, she tugged the mare onward, letting go to let Sakita follow at her own pace. The horse brushed Rufio's mud-plastered hair with her nose, then put her weight into the makeshift harness, just happy to have a job to do.
　　　　Luckily the Olidosapux was relative in weight and size, and the Zavian-mix began to drag the animal out of the water. Rufio encouraged her with soft words—just sitting on her breath like a hum so as not to interrupt Dravite—"Good, good girl.", as she walked alongside the mare.
　　　　They'd make a decent pace back to Endrykas at least.

　

[Dravite]

Rufio seemed displeased with his suggestion that they part ways and took the man's face in her hands, searching his tinted grey orbs for something he wasn't privy to. It felt strange being so close to the stranger and yet, there was something oddly comforting about the way she looked at him; was that concern etched between her brows the horse lord asked himself. Rufio asked Dravite what it was he last recalled doing this day and after a moment’s thought Dravite replied, "I know I was in the marketplace, but I don't remember why or how I got here."

Dravite was a natural leader, only he didn't know it. The man was fond of delegating and planning ahead, so when confronted with an alternative; it took him a moment to process what the woman was suggesting. Rufio had herbs back at her tent that would prevent the wound on his thigh from becoming infected and offered him the last of her water to drink and wash his wound with; how could he say no now? Dravite kneeled on his good leg and rinsed the cut with the water from the water-skin. It didn't bleed much, catching the little fatty tissue to be found, rather than muscle. It didn't look like the kind of cut that would need stitching up, especially if Ruifo planned to pack it with one of her herbal concoctions, and so the horse lord did not seem worried. "Then I shall accompany you to Endrykas and we will go from there.”

Pulling the dead yearling from the muddy pond proved difficult and took all three of them to accomplish. Rufio's horse inched forward as both of them pulled on the rope, using all of their strength to drag the calf from the muck and up over the edge of the slope. Dravite felt a burning sensation in the lower part of his legs and back, and the skin of his hands stung by the time they had managed to complete the task. The road back through the Sea of Grass wouldn't prove as difficult, but Rufio's mount would be well deserving of the rest to follow.

Dravite readied his mind for the task ahead. The animal would probably be worth a lot more to the two of them if they chose to sell the beast as it was to a butcher or tanner without marking it, but he could do with the experience and a slab of meat for his family. Tanning the pelt would come in handy for the coming winter and no doubt Rufio wouldn't mind a bit of red meat herself. Whatever was left over would go to good use; Dravite had hunting dogs to feed and Drykas as a people were good at finding uses for bones, either as weapons, arrowheads, jewellery, or carvings. Craft was a huge part of their culture and the fur on the pelt would be perfect for spinning into yarn to later use in weaving. Dravite wondered then where Rufio's skills fell. "What will you use the calf for?" He asked the woman as they made the trip back to the city of tents; it would be interesting to see where and with whom she lived.

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[Rufio]

　　　Her eyes flicked over her shoulder to the fresh carcass they three hauled. What would she use her share for?
　　　Rufio had little in the way of practical skills, an oddity for Drykas. She had instead survived since her mother's passing on Endrykas intrinsic sense of community and bartering. She was an endless source of helping hands and so her neighours helped her in turn.
　　　Now she was getting older (hopefully wiser) the woman wondered if she should apply herself more rigorously to skills of survival. Pink tinged her cheeks, hidden beneath her freckles and darker skin at her lack of usefulness, though she hid it well under an offhand grin.
　　　"I make a mean stew."

　　　It took the hard labour of a few long bells before the duo and mare made it to Endrykas. Rufio's calves, thighs, biceps, shoulders—everything—was burning, unused to the grueling physical task.
　　　The sweat-laden Mix-blood dropped the rope and let out a long sigh. "We made it!" Good-hearted pride pooled in her smile as she glanced at Dravite. "I live with the Emerald Clan." Not far.

　　　Navigating around the tented city, a few Drykas men pitched in their help, lending strong arms and shoulders to get the carcass to Rufio's tent. Speaking of, it was a simple four-birth structure, and once there Sakita whinnied gently, glad to be home after the haul.
　　　Rufio patted the tired mare's withers, offering her well-deserved praise. Good. "Y'did it Sa." Before she loosened her from the dead animal. Tending to her animal, Rufio led the Zavian-mix mare to a pail of water sitting by her tent's doorway to drink, and the mare dunked her nose in gratefully.

　　　Beside Rufio's humble tent a larger home sat—Wildmanes that were cousins of Rufio's mysterious father, so she had been told. The grandmother of the Wildmane pavilion—a lively elderly lady who had somehow reached sixty in her years—was sitting on a hide blanket in the late-day sun.
　　　Behind her furs were piled to support her aged bones as she weaved baskets with gnarled hands, which shook uncontrollably only when they stopped their work. Her icy blue eyes gleamed out from deep-set sockets and bushy grey brows as Rufio and Dravite had approached, while a wickedly mischievous smile lingered on thin, creased lips above a swollen jutting chin.
　　　"Rufio! What in Caihya's name has happened to you?" The aged voice croaked with a vibrancy one did not at all suspect from a woman so frail-looking and small.
　　　Rufio half-jogged over to the woman and greeted her in grass-sign. "Great-Mama we had quite an adventure! But I must see to this man first ay. Meet Dravite of Blackwater Pavilion and The Watch. And Dravite, this is Raen, first grand-mother to pavilion Wildmane." Great-Mama Raen peered at Dravite with an unnervingly piercing gaze as she nodded her head to him. "Blackwater, eh."

　　　Fortunately Rufio didn't leave too much time for Raen to begin a pseudo-interrogatory conversation with Dravite, as she ventured into the doorway of her tent and signed for Dravite to enter. "'Mon I'll get started on those scrapes. Before the day grows as old as Great-Mama." Who, on hearing her name, made a strangled coughing sound, which, after a tick or so, one realised was a sound of laughter.
　　　Just then, a younger face peered around the doorway of the pavilion tent. A boy-not-yet-a-man with long, dark, braided hair and eyes the same-said blue of Great-Mama's. Freckles were scattered across the bridge of his nose, a family trait it appeared. He inquired with not-quite-innocent curiosity. "What's funny? Is that Rufio, with a man?!"
　　　Rufio's face fell into a look of thunder, her dark eyes vengeful as they turned on her young Wildmane cousin, her cheeks emblazoned in red hues. The youth caught the look and giggled nervously as he scurried away, bow in hand, without another cheeky word!

　　　

[Dravite]

Dravite gave one last pull of the dead calf as they turned into Rufio’s camp. He thanked the men that had helped them with a wave and quickly spoken Pavi before wiping the sweat from his brow on the back of his arm which was also glazed with the thin layer of salty liquid. Dravite sat against the bull calf’s high set shoulder and caught his breath before being waved over to meet Great-Mama Raen who seemed displeased when she learned of the man’s pavilion name.

Blackwater was a very old name that could be traced back through story, further than Dravite remembered. Of course, it was also a name that held a curse, one few recalled, and had recently lost its way after Cyprine Blackwater, ‘Rider of the Night Lion’, led his party into the Sea of Grass, returning to Endrykas only by chance, once or twice in the whole time he led. The line had been whittled down to just one, a son with wheat coloured hair and a light for adventure hidden beyond the grey tint of his eyes.

When Raen spoke his last name Dravite couldn’t tell if she knew, she was also speaking to the rumoured last son, after the death of his mother Lazuli at the end of spring gone. Dravite greeted Raen but said little else, following Rufio into her tent on invitation. He watched as they girl started gathering all she would need to pack his wound, the two of them suddenly disturbed by another over-excitable family member. Dravite, suddenly shy (which was very unlike him), decided to retreat out into the camp again, crouching down near the fire pit to pack and light it.

He set the kindling in a fortress of small sticks and kept a block of tree-wood near to feed to the fire once it got going. Using his flint and steel he managed to spark the fire to life and leaned forward to blow on the tiny sparks that threatened to go out, causing a ghostly plume of smoke to curl up and away from the pit. Raen watched with squinted eyes as Dravite got the fire to roar and gently set down the large piece of wood he needed to burn in order to get his hunting knife hot enough… but where was it?

Dravite got to his feet and felt around his belt quickly, unsuccessful in his search; his tools were at home, which wasn’t too far from Rufio’s camp. “Ru,” he called, “I’ll be back in two chimes!”

With that the man departed, finding the energy he needed to run through the streets of Endrykas until he found home. When he got there, it seemed everyone was out and finding his tools was suddenly a lot easier; hatchet, hunting knife, preserves, and skinning pelt. The horse lord ran out of camp and stopped part way down the street, he didn’t remember seeing a blue tent, “I’ve gone the wrong way.”

Navigating the streets hurriedly, he remembered Rufio’s pavilion were set up near the Emerald district and went that way, thankful when he spotted the untouched calf near the fire which was really burning now. Dravite put his hands on his knees and puffed before sitting with his leg out-stretched for Rufio to take a closer look at while he heated his hunting knife and stroked the edge of the hot blade against the pelt of the bull calf to remove the hair. “You could use this,” Dravite encouraged, “For spinning wool.”

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[Rufio]

　　　Endrykas was a mosaic of pavilions and each brought to their names a unique history. Did Grandmother Wildmane know of Blackwater? Perhaps. Though her fierce eyes and scrutinizing countenance had no high-horse from which to pass judgment on suspected curses.
　　　Her own son, Davyd Wildmane, Rufio's father, had brought the hushed whispers of curse to her own pavilion years past. Then again, maybe her musings were simply in-passing. Either way, the elder had (quite proudly) cultivated a skill of creating controversy wherever she went—for her own amusement of course!
　　　Oblivious to Dravite's sudden bout of shyness, Rufio's brow was furrowed as she thought about the ingredients and implements she would need. Her mind was a whirl as she conjured up things she had learnt in her mother's journal.
　　　A few of its pages contained her mother's botany notes, made in neat Shiber beside faded stains where flowers were once pressed between the parchment. Rufio knew half of the recipes by heart already, love and grief made good teachers.

　　　'Uhm, Vyfox leaves. They will cleanse and help the blood to thicken. And plaintain, crushed is best. It draws out poisons and infection already breeding in the wounds. Lavender would stop any hurt while I apply them to the raw flesh. I know, I'll make an infusion of lavender and add it to the poultice. Or should I make a salve?'
　　　Indecision struck the budding herbalist's train of thoughts. 'A poultice would be faster, simpler.' She reasoned. 'Just chuck everything in.' And it was decided. Rufio became a whirl of purposeful action.
　　　From a humble row of jars sitting beside a simple brazier in the corner of her home, Rufio selected a handful of dried Lavender flowers, two handfuls of dried Vyfox leaves and a handful of Plaintain leaves. She gathered the herbs into a worn mortar and pestle, which in turn was dunked into an empty cooking pot.
　　　As she was passing her bedroll, above it was strung a short hemp line on which hung select flora she had gathered more recently. White sage caught her eye. The imagery of Dravite's fist-cuffs with the ominous tree on his herbal-high struck her and she stifled a giggle.
　　　The happenings of that day wasn't going to get any less funny any time soon. More kindly was Rufio though—she wasn't just laughing at the poor man, she was thinking of the relatively mild beating he had taken in his misadventures. Not a little to those more delicate parts—Rufio stifled another giggle with her forearm.

　　　With the herbs selected, she picked up her cooking pot and lifted the lot outside. She set them down beside the fire-pit, where then her brow arched in surprise as she noted with appreciation that Dravite had already lit a small fire.
　　　The elderly Raen didn't fail to notice either and clucked her tongue against the roof of her mouth as she called over to Rufio. "Knows how to be useful, that'un's a keeper." An impish cackle tore across the pavilion. Rufio ignored her and turned to Dravite with a faux-grimace that spelt apology. Her pavilion took the utmost pleasure in making fun of her unmarried status it seemed.
　　　Plonking herself down like a child ready to play, Rufio began to prepare the concoctions she hoped would cleanse and heal both their bruises, cuts and scrapes. Pouring water into the cooking pot, she was added the bunch of lavender flowers when Dravite's words caught like a red-hot torch. “Ru,” he called, “I’ll be back in two chimes!”
　　　Rufio's hands froze, her heart skipped a beat quicker than it should. Her dark-ochre eyes flickered to the Watchman's back as he left, deep, searching, wondering. Ru. The nickname resonated with her. Only her mother had ever used to call her Ru.

　　　With a pang of nostalgia tinged with long-ago grief, Rufio pressed onward with the herbal tasks at hand. While the lavender flowers soaked in the water, infusing it with healing properties, Rufio took the White sage and crushed it up in the mortar and pestle.
　　　She set the crushed Sage into a bowl, along with a helping of olive oil. Then set the bowl atop the cooking pot, creating a double-boiler performing two duties at once. Then she began to break up Plaintain and Vyfox leaves into the mortar.
　　　Crushing the leaves up with gentle grinding as Dravite returned out-of-breath. Her eyes darted curiously to the knife in his hands as he heated it, and watched as he began to scrape hair from the bull's hide.
　　　Her eyes took on that inspired element of a child learning something new, forgetting her earlier embarrassment at lack of know-how. "Wool, from the hair." Great! Multi-tasker by feminine nature, she took the lavender water infusion off the heat and poured the liquid little by little into the crushed leaves.
　　　Once her mortar bowl seemed to be moist enough with the lavender concoction, she set the pot back under the bowl full of White Sage and oil. It would take an hour for the White Sage to really bind and infuse the oil. Before she turned to examine Dravite's cut.

　　　Her small left hand placed itself comfortably on his thigh, above the cut, and her right hand dipped into the Vyfox-Plaintain-Lavender paste she had prepared. Mushing it up even more in her hand, before she applied it with gentle fingertips to the cut until it was covered in a medium-thick layer.
　　　Done with his leg, she stood and retrieved scrap cloth from her tent, and lobbed it at Dravite. "Here, I know wives like a man that looks tough, but-" So much! She was referring to the mud that had caked itself onto their skin from the Olidosapux brawl. Had that actually happened?!
　　　An easy grin laced Ru's features as she took a cloth of her own, dunked it into the pail of water (Sakita had wandered off to nap), and scrubbed dried dirt from her arms. Sitting beside Dravite, she applied some of the poultice to a few well-earned cuts and scrapes of her own when the calf had knocked her like a two-by-four.

[Dravite]

Dravite accepted the cloth with a thankful smile and ignored the playful teasing pointed at them by Rufio's family, "oh go on, give us a show," one of them called, "Rufio," whistled another.

Dravite rubbed the wet cloth over his face quickly before letting it go to ground; he didn't mind a bit of mud and seemed far too focused on butchering and skinning the calf to worry about himself. As the horse lord worked he stole a sidelong glance at Rufio and found himself smiling; how could a girl so pretty, so useful be without a husband? The wheat haired male rolled his eyes back to the task at hand, it didn't matter what he thought, his first wife, Belkaia, was the only one who had the power to choose who would and who could not join them.
"How is the fortune telling going?" He asked to break the silence, not that he felt awkward in the young woman's presence, in fact he felt quite comfortable; even with all the teasing going on around them.

Kneeling on one knee, Dravite rolled the carcass, which took more strength than he was willing to exert initially. He put his back into it and was finally successful. With the hunting knife he drew a line down the length of the calf's belly and traced up the inside of each leg, leaving the back, rear leg for Rufio, who he encouraged to take the knife and give it a go. "Here," he said, moving back to allow her to take his spot.

Dravite closed his hand over Rufio's and applied more pressure until the tip of the blade broke the soft hide of the inside of the bull's leg. He drew his arm back, guiding the cut Rufio made until he was confident she could manage and let go. "Right up to the hoof," he told her only to take the knife when she was done.

The horse lord moved round the bull calf and started peeling the skin back, exposing more and more of the deep red muscle underneath. He worked slowly, methodically; everything had a place, there were steps that needed to be followed and Dravite had committed each and every one to memory. "Tell me about Wildmane," he suggested; listening to Rufio talk was a little bit like working with music; it was pleasant but didn't interrupt his work or line of thought.

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[Rufio]

Frustration was rising close to overspilling in the Mix-blood as her father's pavilion cat-called and wolf-whistled. Patience not exactly her strongest virtue. Sure, the woman's soul was a warm spring of caring, yet beneath that was a turbulent undercurrent, a heart of passion. Unmarried, unbonded to any Strider as she was, Rufio knew they cared...she just wished they'd show it less—sometimes!

Ru feigned ignorance and worked on her scrapes. There were a few, shallow, along her bare arms and shoulder. With tentative fingertips she covered them well in the poultice. It will dry and form a healing seal. Her thoughts resounded in her mind more like her mother's words than her own. Sometimes Ru wondered if her mother wasn't still around, the voice not just in her mind.

As Dravite offered she take over the knife, she leapt at the chance. Kneeling down beside him, she felt his hand on hers and concentration drew her brow down. She looked serious. She noted the weight of his hand, the pressure he applied. The knife sunk into the hide easily and she felt the give. Surprise when she realised now why he had put it in the flames beforehand. It leaves a cleaner cut. She tried to apply just the same pressure Dravite had. Then sat back and grinned at her handy-work. Huh, good teacher.

As Dravite forgot himself in his work, and asked after Rufio, the woman peered at him with narrowed eyes. She recalled that day she had told his fortune, wary of his skeptical of her craft. "It goes as well as I expect in Summer." As she spoke she stirred up the oil-White-Sage concoction simmering gently in the cooking pot. "Drykas are happy in Summer." Syna, hunt, plenty.

"It's in the Winter when more will want to know answers for things." Dark days. "Sadness seeps into some bones like the cold. I guess Drykas need more words-" Help, support, care. "-to lift their spirits, y'know? I like to give them the words they need then. During Summer when Drykas are happier, I am tryin' to practise herbs..." She chuckled and added with a teasing wink. "...And lookin' after strange, daydream-walking Watchmen."

She wanted to ask what he thought might have caused his confusion earlier that day. Alas, she was easily distracted by what the man's hands were up to instead. Her brown gaze followed the way he was gentle as he pulled the animal's skin from flesh. So not to tear. She realised. And the way he seemed to work in steps. Like weaving. Like making poultice. Methodical.

PART I/II

[Rufio]

Tell him about Wildmane... Rufio felt a pang of longing at her heart. What can I tell him? She mused. Am I really theirs, or they mine? A little out of place, her Benshira maternity adding up to lack of Strider meant she was not accepted into the pavilion as a fully-fledged Drykas just yet. Her tongue clucked the roof of her mouth. Sure, why not; comfortable to be the soundtrack to his work.

"Wildmane is my father's blood. My mother, she was not from here." Far away, South. "See the Wildmanes know well how to live out in the Sea. They like wandering far and seeing new skies." She chuckled to herself, and let Dravite in on her fondest familial musings. "My mother used to say that my father was like a wild stallion. He liked Endrykas and family, but he liked feeling the wind in his mane more." Odd-ball. "Grandmother Raen says everywhere is like hot coals for Wildmanes. They don't like to stand still for long, more than is usual."

Regret. Her sign represented her feelings towards their flighty, flaky reputation. Though she did add with a subtle sense of pride, as if to reiterate it for herself rather than for Dravite. "Best navigators of the Sea, though. They know all the stars, my father used to show me." She glanced over to Grandmother Raen a tick, and noticed with narrowed eyes that she was listening in.

Returning her attention to what Dravite was doing, absorbing his trade just as he was her family history. "Great-mother Raen is first wife to Great Ankal. She is always telling stories. The Ankals of Wildmanes never die." Superstition, uncertain. "She says they get older, and they get restless, and then go out into the grass and never come back." Rufio's lips were tinged with a pensive frown at the dramatic myth. Sometimes she wondered if it were truly a curse. Others had whispered gossip saying so. "Wives remarry, so now we are a small lot." She held up both hands, indicating that their number fit on her 10 digits alone.

"Grand-Mama says she is Ankal now-" A rasping cough echoed from the old woman herself, who was grinning like a wolverine, as Rufio mentioned the elder's self-proclaimed matriarchal status. Rufio frowned at her and called over. "You know that is not a good thing!" Tall-tale. The elder made a face, as if this was news to her, then snuffed her nose upward, and carried on her basket-weaving. Wildmane women as free-spirited and untethered by traditional Drykas values as their men it seemed.

"My father's brother's son is Ankal now. He is best of our pavilion at hunting. Now us Wildmanes are hopin' to be less known for getting lost and never coming back, and more known for hunting." She chuckled, realising that she and Dravite were sitting with the carcass of an Olidosapux right now. "Maybe soon we will be known for taking down Olidosapux!" She slapped a hand on the leg of their kill and laughed again. "And Blackwater too."

Realisation struck the mix-blood. As she divulged her family myths and reputations, she realised she knew little about Dravite. Sure, she had read his fortune once, and that in itself cultivated bonds of a familiarity. Still, the man was as mysterious and reserved as she was an open-book. Blackwater was an ancient name, she knew that much. Just like that her curiosity was piqued. Her query mirrored his. "What about Blackwater?"

PART II/II OOCLengthyyy sorry!

[Dravite]

A wandering spirit, he thought as Rufio told him the story of her family’s history. His slow, methodical work with the bull calf seemed to pass by all the faster for it and soon most of the pelt had been peeled away with gentle flicks of the knife. He could feel Rufio's eyes on him as he worked down the length of the animal's legs and traced around the hooves slowly. He had discovered no use for the feet yet and usually just left them to rot; though perhaps the Wildmane pavilion could find a use for them?

The horse lord unfolded a rabbit pelt he kept his salt dry in and started working fistfuls into the wet pelt of the calf when Rufio asked after his heritage, "it's a nice legend," he offered in regards to Ankal's of the Wildmane never passing but instead walking out into the tall grass never to return; if he ever got old enough, that would be the way to go, save everyone the grief.

Dravite was quiet for a short spell but he could only avoid answering the woman's question so long. "I only know what my grandfather told me before he passed. It sounds like our families tread the same hot sands for Blackwater have always preferred the sea to the confines of the city." The man had to admit he too was fond of venturing outside of the walls in favour of the wild grasslands, but all that had changed now that he had a pavilion of his own to lead.

"I remember little of my father; he was kind I suppose, he had a warm smile and rough hands. He was always bringing strange animals back to camp, snakes, lion cubs, Taloker said when he was a boy, he adopted a skunk," Dravite was forced to laugh, that one he couldn't keep in, "I bet you can imagine how that one ended without the help of your cards."

"I am like him in a lot of ways, I have a collection of animals, I tend to keep my plans to myself, grooming isn't high on my to-do-list," he smiled, giving a tug of the light smattering of sandy coloured hair that lined his jaw, painted red under the caress of his blood covered fingers. Dravite smelt as wild as he looked, his hair was styled with beeswax, his fingernails were ground down to nothing by his work, and the reddened skin across his shoulders told the story of a man who was outside more often than in. He had surprisingly nice teeth for a man who worked with horses, and other than windmarks, the snake bite scars on his left shoulder and teeth marks gifted by a wolf in the spring on his right forearm; the man had no other visible markings.

By the time he had finished removing the skin from the carcass, Dravite's brow was wet with sweat, yet still he worked on, not content to set the pelt aside until he had rubbed salt into every last square inch. The Wildmane pavilion was ten strong, but even so, there would be more than enough meat on the calf to feed them all tonight and allowed Rufio to sell what they did not need to the marketplace; a fair trade for the pelt and the time Dravite would spend butchering the meat for them.

The carcass had been rolled onto his tarp in order to keep it clean and he started cutting away the legs which would be the easiest cuts of the animal to sell. Taking out the innards was the smelliest part of the job, but old Raen had managed to find a bucket for Dravite to stow all the messy bits in. She licked her lips when she saw the man pry the heart from the chest of the beast and offer it to Rufio, his arms painted right up to the shoulder with blood; clearly, he was not afraid of getting dirty, but was she? Dravite smiled when the girl took the heart turned back to his work, drying his hands on his pants before taking his hatchet to the ribs. There would soon be little left other than a spine, large hips and shoulder bones, with the animal's head still intact. The horn used to go to his mother who used it for medicines, so he was use Rufio would be thankful for it.

As he worked, he sang, humming over some of the words he couldn't remember. The sun had jumped out from behind the clouds and soon he became concerned for the quality of the meat if it was to sit too much longer. "You should get someone to run these legs to the market while they are fresh," he encouraged, "that way you will get the best price for them; or I could do it while you move everything else to the shade?" Food, storage, Wildmane.

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[Rufio]

Ru listened as keenly to the Blackwater story Dravite shared as he had to the Wildmane's. Her gaze watched, and watched, content to take in his hands' work. She was learning a great deal about skinning, butchering, precious knowledge for survival.

As keen to get in and bloody as he, just like in the murky pool earlier that day where they had made the kill together, Rufio made a sign to help him. She gave her herbal concoction a final stir with the spoon, set a lid onto the mixture, and got up to help rub salt into the carcass. This took less know-how and more elbow-grease.

The woman almost chuckled aloud when he touched his face with his bloody hands, making a further mess of himself. Though there she had, to stifle her giggle, put her hand across her jaw, leaving behind a crimson hand-print.

As Dravite took up hacking at the meat, Rufio took a step back, while Grandmother Raen hobbled up with eager interest. Ru took the heart without a thought, feeling the sticky, weighty mass in her palms, before plunking it in Raen's pail.

"Take the feet, Ru—Blackwater, you know our Ru makes stew dumplings of feet, eh?" Delicious. Invitation. Rufio took the feet and threw her grandmother a wilting look. The elder thought herself unofficial Ankal and a matchmaker.

Yes, she was grateful as Dravite left her the horns, a glimmer of excitement catching in her eyes as her mind already began to imagine what she might do with them. Grandmother Raen turned and made for the pavilion tent as she heard Dravite's wise advice.

Two girls, not-quite-women-yet, appeared a tick later. They looked not so different to Rufio herself. Though their hair was much lighter, longer and plaited elaborately, and they appeared of slimmer face and build, they bore the same freckles, and similar noses as Ru. Ru introduced them to Dravite.

"Laiha and Farha" Ankal sisters. They giggled between themselves shyly as they regarded Dravite Blackwater, unable to trust their voices it seemed. Rufio ignored their silliness, and lumped into their arms the meaty legs Dravite gave. "Hi take this to sell, see if Louka will go with you." Grateful. Need.

The girls looked less than pleased to have been charged the task and began to make complaint in their sign. Grandmother Raen had returned to her seat beside the pavilion entrance, though, and intervened with an assertive croak. "Do 'ye's Ru tells if ye's want supper!" And like that the two skipped off. Grandmother Raen was a force to be reckoned with among the Wildmanes it seemed.

Rufio turned to indicate a lean-to set against the main pavilion tent to shade the meat. Taking up rank beside the man, she leaned back, put her weight into it, and heaved with all her might. Her body was already beginning to feel sore from the day's antics.

"You are generous- giving us -heart -feet - horn-, you take the rest, -Blackwaters -have gotta eat -too, ay." Rufio panted as she returned to sit by the fire. With the rags they'd used earlier she took the handles of the cooking pot and lifted it off the heat. Taking a chime to rest herself, while the white-sage concoction cooled.

Her mind wandered back to the whole reason a hefty hunk of meat was sitting in the lean-to. What had happened to Dravite that morning? She turned to him and told him her thoughts, concerns laid bare in the blood-smeard face sitting beneath the short hair stuck out all-ways.

"Dravite, before, when I met you in the Sea, I think you were under a herb-spell." High. Trance. "Do ya ken how?" Mystery.