The man called Azmere was cold and efficient, taking stock of what he could before slipping into the Web to look farther. Automatically, Shahar settled in to wait and to watch; although he hadn’t seen signs of anything large and dangerous––yet––that didn’t mean they were safe and a man in the Web couldn’t defend himself. Until Azmere returned, Shahar would keep an eye on his body.
Words were being exchanged behind him, between the two women, and what they said was making him uneasy. Someone was out there. They needed to move.
When Azmere returned, he leveled a gaze at Shahar. They needed to leave, he said, as if that wasn’t clear enough. And then he reached for his belt and drew a dagger, holding it out to Shahar in offering.
Shahar paused in surprise––he’d never been offered something by a stranger before––but it passed quickly. There was no time for surprised. Dipping his head gratefully, Shahar took the dagger and looked out to their destination. The group was moving towards the trees, and so that was where he would go. He hesitated long enough to send a glance at Azmere, accompanied by concern request, sister, he gestured at Seirei, indicating that she was who he was talking about, protect her. Azmere had the look of a warrior, and Shahar couldn’t protect anyone if he was scouting ahead.
To Seirei, Shahar signed for careful, this one, he gestured to Azmere, stay close to him. He was likely worrying more than was necessary, but couldn’t much help it; without any knowledge of where they were or what was happening, he had no point of reference to say what was dangerous and what was not. In a way, Seirei’s presence was almost a blessing; sharing danger with her anchored him to something other than himself, keeping him aware of his surrounding and how they related to everyone.
Shahar headed into the grass in front of the group, although he didn’t immediately sprint out of earshot. It was just like hunting, at least in execution; he fell into a swift, quiet hunter’s crouch, cautious of where he placed his feet and of how much noise he made. As long as he wasn’t crashing around, he could still hear the movements of the others, even if he couldn’t see them.
Cutting a strafing pattern through the brush, Shahar did his best to investigate the flora; this certainly wasn’t his land, but whose could it be? He ran his fingers through the grass, asking it if there was another Witch in the area. What killed the grass most often? What were the largest herbivores? What small creatures ate the seeds, and did any birds build nests nearby?
He routinely looked up at the trees he was approaching, looking for signs of major danger that could threaten the others. With a single javelin and dagger, he had little chance by himself if there actually was something, but he didn’t intend to fight anything that did pop out––he was the scout, the warning signal, and his purpose was to give the others time to protect themselves.
Words were being exchanged behind him, between the two women, and what they said was making him uneasy. Someone was out there. They needed to move.
When Azmere returned, he leveled a gaze at Shahar. They needed to leave, he said, as if that wasn’t clear enough. And then he reached for his belt and drew a dagger, holding it out to Shahar in offering.
Shahar paused in surprise––he’d never been offered something by a stranger before––but it passed quickly. There was no time for surprised. Dipping his head gratefully, Shahar took the dagger and looked out to their destination. The group was moving towards the trees, and so that was where he would go. He hesitated long enough to send a glance at Azmere, accompanied by concern request, sister, he gestured at Seirei, indicating that she was who he was talking about, protect her. Azmere had the look of a warrior, and Shahar couldn’t protect anyone if he was scouting ahead.
To Seirei, Shahar signed for careful, this one, he gestured to Azmere, stay close to him. He was likely worrying more than was necessary, but couldn’t much help it; without any knowledge of where they were or what was happening, he had no point of reference to say what was dangerous and what was not. In a way, Seirei’s presence was almost a blessing; sharing danger with her anchored him to something other than himself, keeping him aware of his surrounding and how they related to everyone.
Shahar headed into the grass in front of the group, although he didn’t immediately sprint out of earshot. It was just like hunting, at least in execution; he fell into a swift, quiet hunter’s crouch, cautious of where he placed his feet and of how much noise he made. As long as he wasn’t crashing around, he could still hear the movements of the others, even if he couldn’t see them.
Cutting a strafing pattern through the brush, Shahar did his best to investigate the flora; this certainly wasn’t his land, but whose could it be? He ran his fingers through the grass, asking it if there was another Witch in the area. What killed the grass most often? What were the largest herbivores? What small creatures ate the seeds, and did any birds build nests nearby?
He routinely looked up at the trees he was approaching, looking for signs of major danger that could threaten the others. With a single javelin and dagger, he had little chance by himself if there actually was something, but he didn’t intend to fight anything that did pop out––he was the scout, the warning signal, and his purpose was to give the others time to protect themselves.