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The horse lord sat near the fire with his legs crossed, eyes closed, and hands in his lap, palms open and turned up. For a few chimes he had been working on clearing his mind for the day ahead; though the fall had been relatively good to them, there was still a lot weighing on the watchman's mind like the deaths of Trail and Bayon. The weather couldn't seem to make its mind up though things were a lot colder now, and his wives seemed sombre, with little he did working to cheer them.
A cold little hand touched the nape of his neck and Dravite's eyes shot open, taking him from his trance to see that Kyanite had moved to join him. "What's that?" The boy asked pointing to a bowl sat on the fur pelt in front of Dravite.
The man picked up the bowl and let Kyanite touch the charcoal inside, "burnt wood," Dravite told him, "want to help me crush it?"
"Yes!" Kyanite grinned and sat down Bessie his father, crushing the small pieces of charcoal up just as Dravite showed him.
The watchman took another bowl for himself and crushed some charcoal until it resembled a fine powder. He raked out the bigger pieces with his fingers and added a few drops of water to the powdered charcoal so that it resembled a paste. Kyanite copied him, happily working away besides the man without any fuss. When the horse lord finished making the paint he paused and looked at his son, paint, he signed, "do you want some?"
The boy nodded and Dravite used one of his fingers to decorate his son's chest and shoulders with the black paste as if to mimic the windmarks on his own form, not in quite the same detail, but he got the shape right. Kyanite smiled up at the man proudly and dipped his chubby little fingers into the paint to start painting his father's skin, tentatively filling in the flesh coloured gaps in his windmarks. "What are you doing?" Dravite asked; curious, he then signed.
"Turning you into a night lion," Kyanite told him.
"What should I turn you into?" He asked the boy.
"A grass bear!" Kyanite beamed excitedly.
"I don't know about that," the watchman smirked, "you look more like a toad to me." He dotted some of the black paint to the boy's nose and laughed.
"What is the paint for?" Kyanite inquired, curious, fun, questioning.
Dravite dipped his fingers into the paste and closed his eyes before dragging the tips of his digits over the length of his face, leaving a set if dark lines wherever his fingers touched, "camouflage," the horse lord admitted, "I'm going hunting."
"What's camouflage?" Kyanite asked.
disguise, blend, similar, hide, Dravite signed with his hands, "to sneak."
Belkaia called to Kyanite from outside the tent and the boy went running to greet her. Dravite, meanwhile, cleaned up the rest if the paint, smothering some over his shoulders and arms before he set the rest aside. He stared down at the backs of his hands and concentrated once more, this time on the colour of his skin; could he change it with the magic Kavala had taught him?
Concentrating his djed to the area, Dravite attempted to make his skin then change to match the black pigment painted there, just as he had done once by changing the tip of his finger into claw. Everything is the same, he reminded himself, djed can be transformed. With a lot of focus, the tips of his fingers seemed to slowly change colour, but he couldn't hold the transformation past the point of his knuckles. Baby steps, Dravite reminded himself.
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40 Fall, 515 AV
8th Bell, Morning
Endrykas
8th Bell, Morning
Endrykas
The horse lord sat near the fire with his legs crossed, eyes closed, and hands in his lap, palms open and turned up. For a few chimes he had been working on clearing his mind for the day ahead; though the fall had been relatively good to them, there was still a lot weighing on the watchman's mind like the deaths of Trail and Bayon. The weather couldn't seem to make its mind up though things were a lot colder now, and his wives seemed sombre, with little he did working to cheer them.
A cold little hand touched the nape of his neck and Dravite's eyes shot open, taking him from his trance to see that Kyanite had moved to join him. "What's that?" The boy asked pointing to a bowl sat on the fur pelt in front of Dravite.
The man picked up the bowl and let Kyanite touch the charcoal inside, "burnt wood," Dravite told him, "want to help me crush it?"
"Yes!" Kyanite grinned and sat down Bessie his father, crushing the small pieces of charcoal up just as Dravite showed him.
The watchman took another bowl for himself and crushed some charcoal until it resembled a fine powder. He raked out the bigger pieces with his fingers and added a few drops of water to the powdered charcoal so that it resembled a paste. Kyanite copied him, happily working away besides the man without any fuss. When the horse lord finished making the paint he paused and looked at his son, paint, he signed, "do you want some?"
The boy nodded and Dravite used one of his fingers to decorate his son's chest and shoulders with the black paste as if to mimic the windmarks on his own form, not in quite the same detail, but he got the shape right. Kyanite smiled up at the man proudly and dipped his chubby little fingers into the paint to start painting his father's skin, tentatively filling in the flesh coloured gaps in his windmarks. "What are you doing?" Dravite asked; curious, he then signed.
"Turning you into a night lion," Kyanite told him.
"What should I turn you into?" He asked the boy.
"A grass bear!" Kyanite beamed excitedly.
"I don't know about that," the watchman smirked, "you look more like a toad to me." He dotted some of the black paint to the boy's nose and laughed.
"What is the paint for?" Kyanite inquired, curious, fun, questioning.
Dravite dipped his fingers into the paste and closed his eyes before dragging the tips of his digits over the length of his face, leaving a set if dark lines wherever his fingers touched, "camouflage," the horse lord admitted, "I'm going hunting."
"What's camouflage?" Kyanite asked.
disguise, blend, similar, hide, Dravite signed with his hands, "to sneak."
Belkaia called to Kyanite from outside the tent and the boy went running to greet her. Dravite, meanwhile, cleaned up the rest if the paint, smothering some over his shoulders and arms before he set the rest aside. He stared down at the backs of his hands and concentrated once more, this time on the colour of his skin; could he change it with the magic Kavala had taught him?
Concentrating his djed to the area, Dravite attempted to make his skin then change to match the black pigment painted there, just as he had done once by changing the tip of his finger into claw. Everything is the same, he reminded himself, djed can be transformed. With a lot of focus, the tips of his fingers seemed to slowly change colour, but he couldn't hold the transformation past the point of his knuckles. Baby steps, Dravite reminded himself.
.
.
.
