PM to join A Syliran Storm [Noah]

[Keene Ward]

The seventy-third day of fall, 515 AV

It began with a tingle, just at the tip of his ears and nape of his neck. The bed was, by far, the most comfortable he'd slept on since he could remember, but the press of the city's ever looming presence, like a heavy handed, squeezing grip of sweat and noise, allowed his mind little rest. While his body rested and mind wandered, long after the smoke from the extinguished candle had dissipated into the air with nothing but the twisted, blackened wick to remember its passing, the feeling that something was coming took hold of him. It wasn't an all consuming presence, hardly more than a slight shiver of anticipation, but it was enough to take hold of his curiosity.

So early in the morning, there were few people about. Light had yet to break through the inky curtain of darkness that presided over quivering skies, but there were torches that glared with hazy gazes, illuminating the world in flickering shadows that danced on the anticipation of the winds. He followed them, the breezes that were usually barred by the never ending conglomeration of flesh and sound, taking careful, quiet steps to keep his movements from disturbing the quiet, ethereal whispers of excitement.

A storm was coming.

The city was not entirely empty, but Keene had room enough to avoid each and every person he came across without needing to shove his way past them - something he'd never expected to experience while in the restrictive stone walls. There were knights, mostly, that watched the young man with suspicious glares, all of which fell unnoticed against the cloaked shoulders of the young man who moved with such steady purpose. He'd been searching for peace and quiet since his arrival, but he had not thought to find it in so natural an event. Quiet was not synonymous with the distant, rolling rumble of the thunder's declarations, nor was peace with the rising currents of the winds as he made his way out into the city's gate yard. Though not a conventional solace, it was not without precedent. The power and wonder of storms had always soothed him, put his mind at ease, allowing it to focus on what was in front of him rather that behind and ahead as well.

Guards barred his exit, asking what his business was to which Keene replied in his quiet and reserved manner, "To go outside." Though not necessarily what the guards had requested, they let him pass, one of them making a gruff suggestion that drunks should be locked up at night.

Once he was only a few feet from the city's entrance, the winds met him like a rolling rush of refreshing water, cascading over him with force enough that he had to brace himself to continue. The dervish moved with the rolling heat of the air, sometimes wrapping around him, tearing at his clothes with a powerful curiosity, while other times drifting over the open landscape with a languid, lazy drawl. In the darkness, Keene moved slowly, letting the winds guide him as they would, following the ever-nearing grumble of the thunder overhead. The air itself felt dry, the heavy moisture having been pulled up into the rolling clouds that, as the sun slowly began to creep over the horizon's edge, hung low and dark. He watched them, eyes searching the billowing grey sea for the small flashes of glaring white and soft lavender that preceded the clash of thunder that boomed above him.

He realized, as his sylph guided steps led him into a barren grove of leafless trees, he had been expecting rain. In Sahova, when storms had rolled in from the east or west, there had always been the hiss of moisture tumbling from the weighty, ever present mass of ice and water in the sky. It wasn't disappointing so much as a curiosity, and Keene paused, slipping his hand from the confines of his glove to test the air, fingers moving through the empty space with a gentle, fluid motion. Light crackled across the sky, illuminating the pale skin of his palm, marred by the scars from so long ago. He stared at them, the image a fading ghost as the light was swallowed up by the roar of the storm's voice, the "x" that marked his initiation into the elemental magic of reimancy once more a secret to keep hidden than a qualification of skill.

Another gust of wind pressed against his back, flowing over and around him, beckoning him ever forward. He followed, steps slow and steady, eyes turning once more the growing gradient of monochromatic greys as the sun finally found its momentum. Light filtered through the storm clouds, the heat only lending to more frequent exclamations of power that shuddered across the sky. In the distance, there were the cries of birds, signaling that day had finally broken over what Keene had come to realize was the forest he had wandered into. Taking stock of his surroundings, Keene's pace became only slightly more purposeful than a static linger, fingers tracing the weather-worn bark of the trees, eyes calmly gauging the distance he had come and how much father he might go.

In the quiet of the weather's steady beat of light and sound, the winds whispered to him, fragmented thoughts that drifted just on the edge of perception. The city had all but obliterated the ethereal language of the sylphs, but beneath the sprawling branches of the wood, he could hear their breezy voices with as much clarity as he might his own. For a tick, Keene wondered if it were merely a language he did not know until there was a very clear, very Common sort of voice that rose up out of the shadowy choir with a breathy, distant, but definitive greeting. It brought him to a stop, eyes having no target to find as his mind knew full well the source of the words. He let his fingers trail through the tails of the flurries that snaked through the wooden trunks, searching their voices for a hint as to where the singularity had spoken with such clarity. A snapping split of a fallen twig pulled his attention to his left, a flicker of movement catching at the corner of his eyes. It seemed he had not been the only one to venture into the woods.

[Noah Amuel]

The door to the Traveler’s Row closed with a tinkering thud behind him as the streets of Syliras greeted his boots. The meager hours of daylight had yet made their journey to the skies, leaving dark clouds hanging above, sending the familiar breezes of a coming storm with them. Noah felt them in his sleep, the animalistic instinct stirring him long before the blessed mark on his back had sent trembling crawls across his skin. He had threw the blankets from his bare body, rummaged through his wardrobe and trunk for suitable, weather appropriate attire.

The cawing of crows came from overhead, sending his pale orbs to the sky where the murder flew by, black, flapping specks against the darkened clouds. The shocking flash of lightning illuminated their black feathers and beaks. Rumbling came a moment after, causing Noah to continue on his trek to the gates, the forest beyond the Kabrin Road was his destination. Dry dusty streets, disheveled by the occasional cobblestone, were barren, deserted except for the odd early morning worker making their commute before the rush of Syliran citizens at the first light of day. A breeze blew through the streets, fluttering past his person, heaving his heavy woolen cloak up against his trouser leg.

Guards that momentarily barred his way exchanged tired yet suspicious gazes as he requested to pass by them through the gates. Often he had been subjected to such glances. The questions they asked had come before.

“State your business.”

“Strange time to go for a stroll,” they would ask and say.

Guard Besbin was not there to greet him this morning as he usually was when Noah went on such adventures into the forest. The Kelvic had long grown tired of explaining himself to the guards, having to remind himself they were only doing their jobs. They meant no harm to him, they’d face discipline should they let any heavily cloaked person through the gates without asking. For all they knew he had committed a crime and was seeking to escape the city under the cover of dark. His eyes shifted from one guard to the other, regarding them with a calm expression, one laced with determination.

“I’m going hunting,” he expressed to them.

“With what? You don’t have a bow on you,” one guard interjected, nodding towards Noah’s weaponless frame.

“Nor a spear,” said the other.

“I’m a naturalist,” the Kelvic replied, showing them a small smile of mocking.

One of them grunted. “He’s that Kelvic fellow Besbin’s told us about.”

With that they allowed him through the gate, his boot’s steps fading from a knocking to a thudding as the cobble gave way to dirt. He travelled up the side of the road until sparse trees developed into the raged edges of a forest starved by the cool temperatures of autumn. Soon the season would give way to winter, where life would cling onto survival, an infant to the waning mother of life. The tops of trees resembled gnarled fingers belonging to victims of famine, so thin and weak, fragile, delicately swaying to their heartbeat. The heartbeat in this case being the winds preceding the storm ravaging the Suvan Sea before making landfall. His predatory eyes, uninhibited by barren branches, could see where clear skies continued to lose their battle with clouds laden with heavy drops of rain yet to deliver the most certainly cold load to the hardening ground.

The dirt road transformed into stiff grass, his boots stamping them down before they failed to spring back to life, temporarily entrenched by his weight’s impression. A subtle tune came from his face, vibrating through his chest, up his throat, expelled through closed lips and open nostrils. The hum faltered in sound against the leather boots destroying dry leaves in their wake. Personally Noah could not appreciate autumn and winter for what they were, despite them often bringing whipping winds that he respected fiercely. It was because they robbed him of what he sought after most: prey. Squirrels, rabbits, other birds – his usual victims – were rare or invisible at this time, hibernating within their burrows and nests, migrating to warmer parts of the world, forcing him to search long and hard for a decent meal.

Winter starved predators like himself. Those that didn’t hibernate, like bears, relocated to parts of their territory known for harboring game this time of year. Noah was unlike other predators, though he would go far for a meal, he could not leave the city like before. He had obligations, a friend who worried, and he would not worry her. Besides, if he really cared to ask, she would make him a meal. She understood just how difficult it could be in the winter for him, hopefully she also understood that it was her who was keeping him within the confines of Syliras and within the smallest patch of his territory in years.

Noah waited beside a tree for daylight to make its way to the sky, spreading its dampened rays over the ground, awaking the prey that he so desperately sought after. A rumbling came from his belly, gurgling the recognizable begging of hunger. He swallowed dryly before continuing on. The approaching storm had taken over the area completely now, spreading for as far as the predatory could see. Rain had yet to befall he ground, lightning and rumbling thunder took its place, as well as Zulrav’s breezes of prodding curiosity and urging.

One came over Noah then, pressing from his left powerfully whispering into his ears indiscreetly allowing its intentions to be known. In the infantile daylight Noah could see clearly, noting the whirlwinds of leaves spiraling up from the ground, highlighting the path the god willed him to travel. Eyes bright and attentive, yet blindly he walked, with flushed pupils of focus. The god urged him to see and so he would, he would not miss a beat in his devotion. Zulrav spoke, Noah listened, daring never to defy the orders of the being so kind to him.

As sudden as the wind came, it died down, leaving Noah without a guide. Thunder did not rumble, crows did not speak, lightning did not flash. Feeling the destination had been reached he looked around, searching the collection of trunks around him for an answer. The tree’s bases parted as he took careful steps, revealing, like a curtain, a man midst the forest much like himself. A lost soul, perhaps, misguided in their search of the road? No, there was more. Why was the fledging Warden led to him, to his location?

Noah heard his breath bellowing out against the silence. The hand of his right arm came against his lips, the fleshy palm letting warm whispers circle in its cusp before being extended, expelled by a gentle air travelling towards the other lost soul. The guard’s words rang like a memory in his head, ‘Strange time for a stroll,’ he had said. Strange indeed, Noah thought in reply.

His own words, sent over the transmitter of air to the other man’s ears, lightly said, “Are you lost? Need… help?”

[Keene Ward]

He turned, fully facing the distant figure who, in the murky morning darkness, was too difficult to make out, even after the winds had stilled in a moment of passing peace. The words had been as clear as if they had been whispered into his ear, but the message itself was one that Keene found reminiscent of another time, though those words had been harsh and jagged, like the spikes of purple light that flashed through the sky, thundering overhead. This, however, was soft, warm... Things that were not typically associated with a storm. As he stared, his eyes waiting for the few flashes of light to illuminate what details he could discern, Keene did not reply immediately.

Cloak rustling in the wind, he hardly made for an imposing figure. His diminutive height and boyish features were countered only by the pale, passive stare with which he studied what he determined to be the other man. Whether the stranger had been the one to speak to him or not, there had been the unmistakable breath of life that had shivered across his back as his mark had responded to them. Without having any better mode of communication, he spoke with a slightly louder voice than he typically employed, waiting until just after the crack of thunder to reply. "No." It was succinct, but there was no hint of displeasure or really any other emotion in the word. He had answered the question with all the honesty of one who never lied for the convenience of it, rather than for anything else. "Did you ask that question?"

Curiosity played just on the fringes of his voice, but he remained in place. He had come to the woods to be alone, and while another person wasn't the worst possible outcome of his journey's end, it wasn't necessarily the greatest prize.

[Noah Amuel]

Noah’s head canted after asking his question of the man, waiting patiently for the winds of his conjuration to reach the man’s ears. When they did, the man turned to face Noah, and the Kelvic looked immediately to his eyes before drifting off to take in the other features of his face, boyish in description. His skin was fairer like Noah’s, if not more, lips plump and pink braised slightly by the wind. Noah’s eyes, blue in the light, searched for more, tracing along the man’s jawline as the flash above brought more light to the area for a mere instance in time.

Their cloaks were churned by the passing breeze, Zulrav’s breath renewed as the two set their eyes upon one another. Despite the world being alive around them, he couldn’t help but feel frozen under the man’s gaze. His stance was neutral, but his seeing was hungering. The Kelvic felt the man’s eyes on him as his own were on the man, exchanging inquisitive glances, taking in one another’s discernable details when the light above would allow. Another flash, another crack of thunder, and then came his voice, full lips parting to let loose an answer to Noah’s whisper spoken question. The answer was almost blunt, frank, yet harbored no tones of gruffness, dull and blank like freshly fallen snow over a prairie, undisturbed by an outside force of nature or man.

The man rebutted with a question of his own, spoken slightly different from his previous answer. Noah nodded in reply, face utterly indifferent save for his analytical eyes retaining intensity on man’s own if allowed. Momentarily he remained silent, mind shuffling through various ways of handling the situation at hand. Here he was, with another person, someone he could tell was human in appearance, but could possibly withhold the same racially shifting secret as himself. However, unlike most humans, the man displayed no physically reaction to Noah’s staring. Still, the lessons he learned while living in Syliras broke through. One was to speak when spoken to.

“I did.” The tone was affirmative. “If you do not need help and are not lost, then why are you here in the forest?” Questions started and maintained conversations he had learned, best to ask them.

[Keene Ward]

The frank response was, just as the the storm that rumbled on above them, gathering the winds to its side and leaving the shivering lands below a breathless, airy realm, a refreshing change from the oppressing cackle and caw of those he had finally been able to escape from, if only for a short time. Turning so that he faced the other man head on, Keene let his ears listen as closely as his eyes studied. Light had begun to quiver through the clouds, a gossamer whisper drifting down to illuminate the world in gentle greys and soft shadows.

He was taller than Keene by a fair amount, enough that even with the slim frame and gaunt, angled features, there was a noticeable difference even at the distance from which the two men studied each other. Though their cloaks obscured the finer details, their faces were allowed to study the other unhindered, and as Keene's eyes scanned over the firm jaw, substantial ears, and thick brows, he found himself drawn back to the intensity with which the other man mirrored his own investigations. There was a fierce intensity to the way the light, greenish grey eyes flicked over him, as if Keene had been staring into a mirror in which time had sped up by just a fraction. It was not the expression of a passing wandering, but rather the inquisitive search of a predator or, perhaps, prey. Whatever the case, Keene settled on the man's eyes, his own gaze steady and unyielding but lacking the hostility that often preceded so bold a stare.

Words were next, and Keene's lips turned only slightly into a thoughtful frown, his own brow raising with the sighs of the winds around him, their gentle currents playing at the cuffs that battered the edges of his gloves. The tone, the volume, the intensity, all were not enough to explain how he had heard the whisper so clearly. While the other man affirmed not only through a direct reply but with a pursuit of the initial line of inquiry, Keene still found his thoughts lingering on the "how" of the situation.

With a steady, slow breath slipping from between his lips, Keene let his djed rise, already stimulated by the crackle of power in the air that hissed with each strike of the storm's lightning and rumbled with the echoes of its strength. Light crept into Keene's vision, auras wavering just on the edges of his perception as he focused on the quandary at hand. Though the distance was a strain and the aura was mottled by the gathering, whipping winds, there was a distinct tint of pale white and delicate teal that he had seen in his own, beating steadily with the pulse of his heart. Though there was a wealth of curious colors and strange scents and tastes, the short moment of augmented sight was enough: it seemed he had come across another of Zulrav's marked. Whether a curse or a blessing, Keene still had yet to decide, but as he funneled the djed within him back along its proper pathways, letting his eyes close for a few ticks longer, he found the other man far less a threat and far more a curiosity than before.

A question had been asked, one that Keene had heard but not taken the time to comprehend during the midst of his investigations. Taking a few ticks to mull over what exactly it was the other stormwarden had asked, Keene tilted his head a fraction to the side, wind ruffling this hair as it ran in a flurry past the two of them, a sweeping haze of the forest's debris following close behind. "I was led here by the breezes." His eyes reflected the flash of the lighting's light, his eyes appearing to be intently searching in the tick they were illuminated. "Are you not the same, stormwarden?" His own gaze was mottled some by the use of his magic, a dull ache at the base of his skull a reminder that the benefits did not come without cost.

[Noah Amuel]

Curiously the Kelvic watched on, the faintest of a squint coming across his eyes, as if attempting to better focus his already raptorial gaze on the man before him. Despite their distance, Noah could see him quite clearly, but in order to observe the subtle features of the man’s fair face required him to look harder, to dig into his animalistic ability to reach the little baubles of treasure that were the man’s almost unnoticeable expressions. He took note of the slight twitch of the man’s face, the minute part of his lips, accompanied with a blink. A cant came to the Kelvics head. He partly wanted to step forward, partly wanted to continue on, and partly wanted to remain where he stood. If Zulrav had been so insistent, what exactly did the god want him to learn from this situation?

The man had yet to answer his question, leaving him to believe that his words fell on deaf ears. Perhaps he spoke too quietly? It had been a problem before, but he was sure he spoke loudly enough, enunciated enough for the apparent human to heed him. His sights shifted from the man momentarily, the shudder of a branch above catching his attention for an instant. Dismissing the branch as unimportant his eyes fell to the man before him again, attentive to the lingering shut of eyelids. Unanticipatedly the cloaked man slanted his head in the same fashion as Noah, a gust of mood-less wind passing over them, sending their heads furling in the breeze, small twigs and loose, dead leaves coming soon after.

Plump lips parted, losing words his way. Peculiar reasons were revealed on the man’s part before the question he asked sent Noah’s mind reeling. Surprised, the Kelvic straightened up, rearing back for an instant of temporary shock. Any thoughts he immediately had stood outside the realm of sense, on the precipice of his psyche, either falling into destruction or being saved over for consideration. In the end he set his jaw, taking a hesitant step forward, bold eyes looking on at the man. “I am,” he admitted. “How…” Quizzicality settled on his face, brows furrowing in question. “How do you know that? Who are you?”

A leaf crunched beneath his other boot as his step was completed, the distance between them closed by the singular action just a tad. He took a breath through his nostrils, exhaled through his mouth. At first his reaction was curiosity, then the fear of the unknown, followed by the breaths taken to bring himself down from such extreme emotions. He would wait for an explanation before he allow himself to react in such a way. The man was an anomaly midst everything he recognized. There were trees, crows, leaves, the forest, so on and so forth, but this man was something else. A seer of souls or otherwise undetectable things? He could not answer his own question in confidence.

[Keene Ward]

Surprise was warranted and an acceptable reaction as the man seemed taken aback by Keene's question. He waited patiently, the winds slowing some to wrap first around his own, shorter frame then onto that of the other man, curiosity and interest tinging their overall excitement at the electricity in the air and the tingling chill of the storm's presence. Though he had inquired as to the other warden's reasons for braving the tumultous, rolling darkness that carried on above them, there had never been a doubt that the taller, slimmer man was one of Zulrav's marked, further emphasized by the manner in which the winds swept past and over them, their intrigue clear even if it was only in passing.

When he did reply, there was uncertainty at first, though his confidence seemed to gain ground as a single step was taken forward, one that Keene matched and then once more. "You ask for answers without offering any of your own." It was an observation, as simple and clear as the moment of empty space the two of them shared in the lull of the storm's thunderous rhythm. "A trade then; a name for a name, and a secret for a secret." He paused as lighting flashed once more, the boom of the heat sucking the air from the clearing for just a tick before the winds swept themselves back up into a flurry. "I am Keene Ward."

The other bit of information, however, was withheld. Instead, his gaze sat steady as the leafs rustled beneath and around him, carried up and way to lands unseen. Though light glimmered in a pale grey behind the heavy clouds, the clearing was still a bleak, hollow sort of world, shadows still more dominant than anything else. The flapping snap of his cloak competing with his slightly raised voice, though still it sounded more soft and reserved than anything else. "How do you convince the winds to carry your words?" In his experience, the sylphs were little more than capricious bundles of emotion. Some seemed more cognizant than others, such as the familiar breeze that had led him about the island like a small child at the heels of an elder - or perhaps vice versa.

[Noah Amuel]

For Noah’s one step, the man matched, then doubled his, taking two steps forward. Confidence wavered to and from the forefront of the Kevlic’s dominating emotions. He wanted to put his trust in Zulrav, understanding that his god would not willingly put him in harm’s way, but the sudden revealment of a stranger, who held an air of mystery, was fighting against that very trust. He swallowed the dryness in his throat as the man began to speak a light accusation against Noah at first then an offerance of a bargain. Noah complied without words, keeping his light eyes trained on the man who introduced himself as Keene Ward.

“Keene Ward,” he repeated lowly and more to himself, placing the name in his mouth, practicing the motions of saying such with his tongue. “I’m Noah Amuel.” His reply was flat. Another step came from Noah, the distancing closing between them slowly, gentle undecipherable whisperings from the wind speaking into his ears. The winds went on past them, the barren world whistling emptily at their insistence. Unease was slowly leaving him, confident inquisition settling in its place. His eyelids closed for a moment, a blinking instant, before reopening, a sudden realization coming upon him.

He could not see it before, or perhaps he could and didn’t understand it at first, but there was a familiarity within Keene. Noah recognized it for it mirrored in himself. Keene was led by the breezes conjured by the coming storm like the Kelvic. The harder he peered, the more that revealed itself about Keene and his similarities. It was another of Zulrav’s marked, another follower, his level of devotion matching that of Noah’s. He parted his lips to speak, but Keene’s question came first, halting Noah’s tongue.

Another tidbit of information revealed about the man was replied to by an initial cant of Noah’s head. A questionable glance at first, but was straightened out as Noah replied, thinking as he spoke. “It took time, a year, before they allowed me to control them. I listened to them enough, learned how they flowed through the air, how He talks to me through them. First, I used them, held them beneath my wings as I flew, then, as a man, I borrowed them, bid them to come from my fingertips, my hands. I would whisper in the fields, alone, as He ran past, His breath carrying my words. Eventually the winds from my hands and the whispers from my mouth came together. There were simple words at first, choppy and unable to be understood. It took them time to understand how to carry my words like they carry His, but in time they did.”

His eyes remained on Keene, hoping that the man understood what he was trying to say. It was still very hard from him to explain something to foreign in origin to himself, let alone another person. “I’m sorry,” he said. “It is difficult to put into words.”

He knew he had permission to ask a question of his own of Keene, but he could not settle on what to ask. There was so much that he wanted to know, yet his time with Keene was unknown. He may not have the time to ask all the questions he desired answers to. He needed to choose carefully.

[Keene Ward]

Noah Amuel.

The name was soft, subdued, one that matched the man in theory, but when it was paired with the hawk-like eyes, it took on a slightly different color, different tone. Keene nodded, the distance between them close enough that he did not need to speak nearly as loudly as before nor strain quite so much to hear what was said. There was recognition in Noah's eyes, something that Keene found odd, but he made no comment on. Whatever it was the man seemed to realize out him, Keene had already discovered their similarities through a far less intuitive mode of operations. Instead, when Noah delved into his elucidation on their shared god-given abilities, Keene's brows knit in concentration as he listened, eyes focused more on the other man's lips than anything else at the voice slid through the winds, thunder sounding overhead, but only long enough for a few words to be missed, the meaning of those lost reconstituted through careful, logical assumption.

It seemed the technique was not dissimilar to the use of magic. Time, patience, understanding... All things that Keene understood to be beneficial the pursuit of more scholarly and arcane endeavors seemed to hold true to those of the divine. There were other interesting bits of information in what Noah Amuel spoke of. He was Keene's elder in terms of their pious stations, and while Keene's title was somewhat of a hollow name in that he only acknowledge the storm god, Noah seemed to worship him as the Zeltivans did Priskil or Laviku. There was an admiration and humility in his tone, and it was no wonder that the god spoke to him over the heated words Keene had cast to the winds seasons ago. Along with his piety, there was another admission, one that was lightly cloaked in the wrap of the current subject. Noah Amuel was not human; a man and a bird, one of the Kelvic race. He wondered then, as the winds rattled the empty branches of the forest, if the mottled aura had not been so because of distance but rather race. The slight ache of his head told him it was a mystery better solved at a later time.

Still, he had his answer, and it opened up a realm of further, greater possibility. Zulrav had given him no instruction regarding his mark. There was the slight chance the breezes had led him to the forest's clearing to be taught, and alternatives were few and far between. Still, Noah had offered him more than he had requested, and as the man spoke a unbidden nor needed apology, Keene shook his head. "I believe I understood." Perhaps to those who were not marked, it was a concept beyond their grasp. Before he had been marked, wind had been nothing more than that, but after Zulrav had charged him as one of his own for reasons Keene still did not understand, the very air itself had come to life - or more likely, he simply had his eyes opened to it.

Though no new question was asked, there was a debt to be paid and Keene accepted it. Without blatantly disclosing he had made use of magic to peer into the aura of the young man who, with only a few feet between them, stood taller over him that he had gauged at first, Keene spoke again, voice soft and cool, carried by the breezes as the storm lulled in its rampage. "I have a... second sight. It allows me to glean information when I concentrate." A far simpler explanation than Noah had given in, but it fulfilled the bargain as far as Keene was concerned. The air was filled with electricity, raising the hairs on his arm and neck. They were in the heart of the storm, and it raged all around them, yet never once was there ever a hint of danger felt by either man. "You speak of him as if you know him. How?" There had never been even the vaguest hint of communication after the night on the prairie. Perhaps it was a skill as well.

[Noah Amuel]

Despite explaining his god given ability in what he presumed was a confusing way, Keene expressed that he understood, or at least he believed he did. Still, Noah was grateful. Vocal communication and contact, connection with another, was not something that the Kelvic was well versed at. Even though he had been raised in near constant association with humans – going on eight years now – he much preferred exchanging ideas and emotion through simpler displays. In the wilds, as people would call it, feral beasts, his unlikely brethren, didn’t necessarily need to vocalize their opinions to convey what they felt. On the other hand, humans associated with one another more than animals. When one creature met another it was usually to end the life of the other, to dispute territory, or to mate. Socialization was more humane an action, thus could become quite a task for him to complete under varying levels of success.

There was a small quiet after Keene Ward’s answer. Normally Noah was the enjoyer of such quiet, one of the many assets few understood to be relative to him and his personality. Thankfully the other Warden’s voice came, soft like the wind, the sky coming to a cessation in its rumbling forging further quiet as if to allow them to converse in peace. An admission came from Keene: he possessed what was explained as a second sight, a sight granting him the ability to garner information when in a state of concentration. Another morsel of knowledge to add to the growing collection of perplexing pieces that made up Keene.

How? Noah wondered. More questions were brandished by the Kelvic’s mind. Here he was believing himself to have learned much of the world around him, then came along Keene, a possessor of additional sight and the same god given ability in which Noah dubbed his own. He was not unique, he learned now, there were others, more of Zulrav’s favored. How many more were there though? Was it just the two of them here in the clearing, or were there more in the vast, suddenly unsettling world he inhabited. Clearly he was but a small glimmer, a speck, upon the stream of time. Peering through wide open eyes he figured Keene was the same, a pawn in the game of life. Yet an itch begged to be scratched, another question unformulated in the recesses of his mind’s theater.

Keene asked another question of him, one beseeching another answer, an answer not easily translated from mind to mouth. The disheveled unknowing of his rank to Keene, the fogginess of hierarchy, cleared up to reveal Noah as the more knowledgeable, the improbable elder of the two. “When you were blessed with His powers did He not come to you as He did me? Were you troubled as I was when He came? He told me that it was wise to be afraid, for only in fear could courage be born, with courage came the bravery needed to banish the unknown. I talk as if I know Him because I feel as if I do, like my mother before me did. Without my mother’s introduction I would not know Him as I do. You must talk to Him like you do a friend, or,” a pause, “a lover.” His eyes gleamed with a mellowing excitement, a passion rumbling deep within like velvet thunder to clouds.

“But, as I learned, just because you talk to Him does not mean He will come to you again, like He did when you were blessed. I felt ignored at first, but I was young, a child as you would say. I was told by my mum that He answered in breezes, whispers in the wind; His silence often misunderstood for negligence, but it is the opposite. Patience is required from both of you and Him. He must have the patience to understand what you are asking and decide if you are worthy enough of His intervention; you must give him the time to consider all that you say. You cannot give up because He is not answering, you must talk to Him.”

He gave the man before him a lingering look over, the features of his face branding themselves in the Kelvic’s mind. “I speak as if I know Him because I believe He talks to me as well, in His storms and gusting winds. There are moods there, His feelings and emotions. Can’t you feel them as I can?”