Lost Girl

[Rufio]

14th winter 515av
3rd bell, sunny showers

Louka Wildmane paced restlessly just outside of the pavilion tent. His wild, unruly mane frazzled than usual. Syna's pale, Wintry light filtered between broken clouds, raindrops clinging to grasses glittering brilliantly.

His square mouth was set in an anxious line, worry seeped into his round, brown eyes, tenseness lay across his shoulders. His large hands entwined into his hair again as he held his head, creating chaos in his locks. Thoughts raced in his mind, furrowing his brow. He felt torn.

❇ ❇ ❇

"Louka, promise me something—"
Rufio and Louka had sat by the Wildmane fire, sharing a fur blanket wrapped around their shoulders. The flames licked at the hunk of fat-soaked peat Louka rolled into the pit, and crackled noisily. The rest of the Wildmanes had retired to their beds, it was just he and his cousin.
—"Promise me that you'll always stay the same loyal, gentle Louka you are now?"
Louka chuckled quietly and shook his mop of curls, gripping his half-spear lighlty in his grasp as it lay across his folded legs.
"What are you talking about?" Amused, curious.
"Just—"
Rufio gazed into the fire, the red-hot glow danced in her cocoa-orbs and threw shadows to shift across her soft freckled features.
"—I don't know. Just don't let anyone beat the softness out of you, ay. You have something that the rest of us don't, Lo-lo, you've got soul. It's going to forge you—" Great, Drykas, Strong.
There was a chime's silence, Louka was taken-aback by his cousin's mysterious words. Then he smiled, and threw an arm around his little, older cousin.
"Rufio have you been at Alar'ck's smoking pipe again?" Teasing, concern.
Rufio grinned impishly and shoved Louka's abdomen.
"I mean it, Louka. You've got something rare. You're like the reed, you bend with the wind." Admiration, praise, meaningful.
"I'd rather be like a spear—swift, strong, true." He puffed up his chest in mock-pride, and laughed.
Rufio laughed too, and then admitted quietly—
"I wish, sometimes...I was Drykas...like you."
He frowned lightly, and regarded her with intense gaze.
"You are Drykas, Rufio."
—But she cocked her head lightly. "I am half. No Strider has chosen me. I'm not sure-..." Belonging.
Her deep, maculine-yet-feminine voice trailed with self-doubt, and Louka huffed out a breath, knowingly.
"You are Drykas. You will bond. A Strider will come. You'll see."
Rufio considered his affirmations a chime, chewing them over, mulling, and then bobbed her head noncommittally, before returning to the light-hearted, unabashed Rufio that others than Louka knew better.
"Tell anyone about this and I'll tell everyone about your secret nickname—Lou-lou." Playful, threat, confidante, secret.
Louka laughed and grumbled—
"Gods Al would have a day with it, don't dare!" Plea.
They laughed together then, and finished drinking warm goat's milk, watching the fire burn low together for a while.

❇ ❇ ❇

I should never have let her go alone.

The young Wildmane chastised himself. He had let his cousin wander into the wilderness, by herself, and she hadn't returned for a few days now.

The responsibility rested heavily on him, and his stomach churned as he thought about what the Wildmane Ankal would say, what the older members would say, what they would think of him.

Louka Wildmane—the eternal zibri-head.

The thought spurred him to action—he made his way through the tented city in search of The Watch training grounds. As he neared, he hung back a little, watching the skilled men and women with an intimidated awe.

His spirits skittered nervously, hesitant—who to talk to? Until his gaze fell on Azmere Stormblood. He had heard a little of the Stormblood—and the fiery scars that laid across his flesh. In Louka's state of anxiety, that small sense of familiarity drew the Wildmane to the Watchman and he approached slowly, mouthing the words he would say.

"Hiy!"—Louka called for Azmere's attention—"Can you help?" Need, urgent, plea. He gripped a half-spear in his hands, as if to find his strength in its sturdy wood.

　

[Azmere]

Azmere held perfectly still. He had his right hand in front of his neck so that the back was touching his throat. The front of his hand was held their by the blade of a gladius. His left arm was pinned behind his back by a strong grip and the proper amount of torque. His eyes looked outward at the others who were watching but his mind focused on the threat to his life. There was no evidence of this unless one can read minds. The simple observer would see a man held at blade’s end and the consistency of his breathing.

“Now pay attention.” The gruff voice of the instructor called. “Some day you mind find yourself in a similar position so no screwing around.” The man was half of who he used to be. Beaten, torn, sliced and broken by time and many, many trials, Tavehk Houdjin did not strike an imposing figure like he once did but any who know him fear the knowledge in his mind…though some say the cry of war is still in his heart. The man lifted his one eye towards the two tangled up on display and nodded then signed for them to begin.

Azmere closed his eyes once the sign was given. There were several ways to go about trying to free one’s self from this predicament but all had their risks. Grabbing the blade or trying to wrest it from the hand that wields it was risky. One could be cut or miss or be overpowered and it would be all over. As if to read his thoughts, the other watchman in the exercise, a Topaz ankal called Soto Lightblade twisted the tip of his weapon so that the edge rested on Azmere’s palm. There is the train of thought where going to ground would give a moment of freedom for the hostage to turn the tables but Azmere didn’t like this option either because he would have to leave his feet to do so. No, there was a better way.

Azmere’s eyes popped open and he stomped his left heel down on the top of Soto’s left foot. As soon as both of his feet were established, Azmere turned his entire body. He strained with the muscles in his left arm to yank it free as his shoulder pitched away. His right arm delayed a mment until his shoulder went back into Soto’s chest. The man went to pull back on his blade but the moment of pain had cost him control of the situation. Azmere’s fingers wrapped around the Soto’s hand so that neither one had full sway over the sword. When Azmere’s left arm came free he continued to turn creating space between the two bodies.

Soto laid his other had over the Azmere’s and pulled it back towards him. His arms were straight and this opened the man’s side up to his opponent. The archer could do several things to attack Soto but the lone weapon would remain in his possession. Azmere did not fight the shift but made sure he kept a hold of the weapon throughout the sparring dance. Rather than jab at the man’s ribs or try and punch him in the head, Azmere opened his left hand and laid a series of heavy palm strikes just above Soto’s left elbow. Having maintained his grip in the struggle, Azmere was able to pull out on the arm as he was smashing against it. Four, five six strikes; like blows from a hammer brought a scowl of pain to Soto’s face. Azmere kicked the back of Soto’s knee which dropped him partially to the ground and then administered three more blows to the arm. Soto cried out as a pop was heard then fell relinquishing the weapon and clutching at his left shoulder. Azmere stepped back and waved the sword about for a moment before setting it on the ground. It was light but too light. He much preferred the weight of his club instead.

As Soto was escorted away to have his shoulder put back into place, Azmere looked up to see a man watching him. He had never seen that face before and after a few simple congratulations on winning the spar, the scarred Drykas walked over, heard the greeting and read the signs. He was supposed to go home and spend some time with his dog, Grey and begin to train the creature in the ways of hunting but his heart was leading him to offer assistance. He approached Louka and stood before him with a casual stance and penetrating eyes which contrasted one another as night and day. “Azmere Stormblood.” He signed Diamond clan. “Tell me what you need and we’ll see if I’m the right man for the job.”

[Rufio]

　
Louka felt the courage he had mustered dissipate in a sharp intake of breath. He felt his nerves rattling in the pit of his stomach, and his voice trembled lightly.

"L-louka Wildmane, Emerald C-lan."
Respect, meeting, honour.

His grip on his half-spear squeezed and released rhythmically, creating an imperceptible squeaking noise against the sweat that licked in his palms.

His freckled features were caught between fear and panic, those large round brown, doe-ful eyes deep pools of un-shifting sadness. A skittering deer caught in head-lights.

"It's my cousin, Rufio...
She's missing."

An element of confession laced in his tone, and he took a breath to explain.

"I-I, she left, going East a few days ago, she told me she was going to The Serenity Tree to pray, and I...I didn't stop her." Guilt, worry.

His grip on the shaft of his spear tightened perceptibly. "Rufi', she's-" Louka indicated her height, lifting his hand to hover a few inches beneath his collar-bone, well below Azmere's own height, and then waved a hand to encompass his own freckle-scattered visage—family resemblance.

"She's out there alone...she should be back by now." Worry. "Wildmanes, we are known for grassland navigators, but not Rufi', and not me."

He cleared his throat, and those eyes seemed to grow larger than they already were—"I-I can't tell my Ankal, he- will- kill- me." Plea. "Will you help?"

　
　

[Azmere]

Azmere was off until the next move so there was plenty of time to find this girl, Rufio. The watchman looked over his new acquaintance and saw the pain in his eyes. Surely, he could find L-l-louka’s cousin. Azmere didn’t realize people found him intimidating for if he had, he would probably blush. He gave the air blowing against his skin a few more ticks to cool him down after the workout then nodded. He signed an acceptance of the task then motioned for the spear-chucker to follow him. The watchman walked straight to his horse, Hephiestian. He clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth three times which caused the old strider to raise his head from the sweet grass that he’d been grazing. The archer leaned his head to the side until his neck popped. He relished the instant warmth and almost imperceptible increase in range of motion.

A smile, Azmere’s half smile, moved his lips. He reached down and lifted his pack in both hands. Azmere kept his back straight and lifted his hands, still holding the pack, until they came to his chest. He kept his elbows against his sides and slowly lowered the pack down until his arms had completely straightened and then he raised them again. He did it five times with fluid motions that seemed interconnected before he slung the thing over his arm and onto his back. The contrasting eyes blinked then focused upon the younger Drykas. After a few ticks of just staring and watching, waiting to see what the man would do, Azmere mounted his horse almost as if he had levitated into the yvas. He wasn’t exactly sure where to start but he had some theories. Louka seemed very nervous; even apprehensive about everything but he was going to have to sack up and handle business. The watchman knew he couldn’t do this without some assistance.

“Louka Wildmane, I need our help.” Azmere moved his hands to communicate the signs for trail, direction and time. The eyes of the older Drykas never left the youth. The archer had set his resolve to aid in this search but he hoped the cousin of the lost was aware that every tick was precious. So much could happen to one who was not familiar in the Sea of Grass. Azmere could cover hundreds of miles in the web but without someone to watch his physical body; he would be exposed and vulnerable. Likewise, Rufio might be fine but she could have run afoul of night lions, spearbacks or worse…glassbeaks. “How’s your riding skill, Wildmane? Are you healthy enough to accompany me?” Once more, the archer threw several signs at Louka but this time it was a bit slower wanting to make sure that his meaning was not lost. Azmere signed temporary, starting point and close to home. He was ready to go and had everything he needed. It was at this time that Grey came charging up towards Hephiestian. The watchman had all but forgotten his newest edition. He chuckled as the pup yipped defensively at Louka. Azmere climbed down and retrieved his new companion and placed him on the yvas just behind the handle. The archer winked at Louka. “Maybe I won’t need you afterall.”

NoteI wasn't sure if you meant Serenity Tree or not. It's more of a Summer location. Wanah'ite is closer to Zeis lake.

[Rufio]

　　
Louka watched the Watchman. All the while, those large, round doe-eyes full of nerves, the hint of admiration for the older Drykas' physical power and build tickling at the edges of his lips.

Louka—who was wiry and slim of build, clumsy and uncoordinated, except for when he threw his spear—rubbed his thumb against the shaft of his weapon. When the Watchman called him to help find Rufio, he startled.

"Louka?" help?—before he nodded eagerly. Track, skill. "But—" He hesitated, his signing-hand mid-air as he wondered how to put his thoughts without seeming cowardly, or worse, useless. "—Ankal Tal'ck will know I am gone, and Rufio too." Suspicions, suspect, big, big trouble for Louka.
　　　　　　　　　　Eternal zibri-head
　　　　　　　　　　　　—echoed in his thoughts.

　　He gripped his spear tighter as the animal slunk by and greeted its master with loyal adoration, and then he smiled as the Watchman joked with him, taking his meaning to be literal.
　　　　　"Animal is good protector?
Louka need not go?"
　　He paused in thought, and tossed his mane of curls.
"I'll show you where she went."

The man had not brought his Strider, so instead he began to jog at a good pace towards the Wind-Knotted Gates. He had a good gait, with his long legs, and the wind swept into his hair, Syna dancing across his skin.

When they reached the gates, the young fellow indicated with his spear the direction his reckless cousin had gone days before, and indicated her intentions with his words and hands.

"She has gone to the Serenity Tree by way of the crow, she said. She went on foot—" Louka hesitated to spill Rufio's deepest insecurities but he felt it was important to explain—"Uh, she, she has no Strider. She thought if she prayed at the Serenity Tree that Caiyha would hear her...she is half-Bensira...but she is Drykas. She is."
　　　A splinter of guilt was laced in his emphasis there, for betraying her most inner feelings to a total stranger. He hesitated and then carried on pragmatically.
"Uh, her tracks will be careless, Rufio doesn't mind carnivores" forgets danger "-I tried to warn her that the tree is too far, but—"

　　　　　　An inward chuckle lit his face and he glanced up at the Watchman sitting tall on his horse, before his doe-eyes fell to take in the Strider's face with a deeply thoughtful gaze.

"—Rufio is like her father." Willful, wild-spirit. He shook his head and turned to look out at the horizon. "—"

　　　　　Had Rufio been bitten by
the Wandering Wildmane curse?

He took out a package of wrapped jerky, unhooked his waterskin from one of the many throngs of leather criss-crossing his frame, and held the rations up for the Watchman to take.

When Louka turned to the Watchman, his heart was bare, his brow furrowed, and his tight spirituality knit confidence in his voice for the first moment since their meeting.

　　"May the Gods keep you safe, Watchman.
　　　　I will keep watch for your return."

　

OOC*pm'd ya about this post* Additionally, sorry if this is a bit "blah" i'm rusty for sure!~　

[Azmere]

The Watchman observed Louka’s expressions as his excuses poured out. There was a genuine fear in his eyes but there was also a deeper fear; something seeded so deep that it was beyond the reach of any other being. Insecurity. Louka more than likely believed he would be more of a hindrance than a credit to his pavilion. Asmodeus often spoke of such fears and doubts but he called it by a single name; cowardice. Azmere felt for the young man but would not force him to journey. The archer had heard of the Wildmanes and knew of the freckled young woman known as Rufio. She was a bird of a different color by all accounts but then again, so was Azmere. He had gotten all he needed from Louka except when the man said Serenity Tree. That was on the other side of the Sea of Grass. Louka’s words prattled on and the archer was picking up the general idea. It sounded a lot like some kind of rite of passage that didn’t exist but maybe for the walahk it was necessary.

The cousin saw the confirmation in Azmere’s nod and took off towards the center of town at a dead sprint. Azmere simply blinked. He was beginning to think that the entire pavilion must be strange. Louka ran off while Azmere was still on the ground and so instead of mounting up, he decided to lead his stallion with the canine passenger after the fleet of foot spearman. After a few chimes, the Watchman found Louka at the Wind-Knotted Gates. Trying to be patient, Azmere listened more to the information that he’d been given. He nodded, accepted the jerky and water. While he had enough for himself, he might need extra if he encountered a wounded or dehydrated Rufio. He signed thanks and sat down off to the side of the gates. He closed his eyes and allowed his body to relax while his mind pushed the world away.

In a blink, Azmere was on his feet and standing between the gates. He had to take a minute to adjust to the brightness of the web within Endrykas. So many objects, animals and people were tied to the web that it was a mess to try and view or make sense of the innumerable tangles of lines, loops, belts and knots. The archer slipped over to Hephiestian using his previous position with the horse to verify where Louka had indicated. It was then that he realized his dog, Grey, had never been tied to the web. Azmere focused on his awareness and began to pool an electric blue orb of djed in his left hand. As it grew, he used his right to twist out a single strand. He coiled the rope up at his feet as he kept pulling djed from his hand and making more magical string. After a few moments of this, he stopped making web and set about the task of weaving a belt around the dog’s chest. It wasn’t like making a collar so much as interstitching the strand into the dog’s natural djed. Several moments went by as this process was completed and then Azmere made a very large loop down to the ground and around an ancient line of Web. He lifted the end back up and began to weave his origin knot. This was a very intricate item and took several chimes to complete no matter how many times he practiced.

Once that was done, Azmere used his abilities to bounce in a zig-zag away from the city in the general direction that Rufio’s journey had most likely taken. The Watchman searched for what seemed like bells but he knew it wasn’t that long. He did stop twice to reset back in Tent City. Each instance that he would set out, the angle of his search was altered slightly. The third track proved fruitful. On a course to meet the terrible swamp of Wanah’ite, there was a lone horse and a tattered young girl with cropped hair and freckles who was plastered with sour mud and dried blood. The Watchman wasted no time, returned to his body and rejoined his physical self.

He mounted Hephiestian, tucked in Grey and took off without a word. His booted heels dug into the stallion’s flanks and the rider coaxed him onward with soft phrases of encouragement. The young pup hunkered down and curled his claws into the leather of the yvas. The pace that they rode made them just a spot within a few chimes and in about twenty, they were gone. Azmere rode steady but he rode hard keeping his horse in line with the chain of rock croppings, tree clusters and long fissures that lead to the haunted realm of Wanah’ite. In a moment of clarity, the Drykas reached out and covered Grey with his hand. Ticks later, Hephiestian’s body lit up with the lights of the web as the creature’s maturity and oneness with his rider sank down into the skin of Semele. This action was met with the embrace of The Web and the trio was instantly flying over the land at great speeds. The beauty of ghosting was that the rider barely noticed the difference in speeds but Azmere held the pup just to make sure he felt secure.

After a bell of this travel, the Drykas knew he had to give his mount a break. The man ran his fingers into the mane of Hephiestian and pulled up slightly. There was a period of slowing down. It as one tier then a plateau and then down another level. Over and over this happened until the horse was just above a trot. Azmere relaxed and Grey perked up while the rider scanned the area for a place to make camp and rest Hephiestian. The Watchman found an interesting set of trees that had intertwined low lying branches. He steered his strider towards the area and began to visualize how he was going to set up camp. He figured it would suit well to have some idea of safe havens should he find Rufio in bad shape. This would be a good spot for a break. From this point on, Azmere would have to use his other skills to find the girl.

[Rufio]

this post continues from ✼

　　　　 a Strider's breath rattled thick and laboured into the quiet of the grasslands. His thick, concave skull hung low, his hooves dragged the ground as he plodded on and on and on into the wavering Sea of Grass.
　　　　　　　　　　Atop his back was a woman, as wrecked and ragged as the horse.
Sweat was slick across her caramel skin, which shivered lightly with a fever-touch, her mud-matted hair swept lankly against her round freckled face, falling into an almond-shaped, ochre gaze that was fixed, blurry, on the path ahead.

As the lost wanderer clung to the back of her brutish, dappled dun stallion, soft grey clouds gathered above and swelled. It would rain soon.

Rufio could taste the moisture in the air mix with the tangy, iron-bite of blood, smell the Winter flora around them release a breath of anticipation. Her right hand was clamped to her side, the red-black of drying blood caking her fingers.

She took a deep breath, at least tried to, and winced as the dull throb in her side rose it's pitch. "Mmmmghh"—She groaned, and the stallion tossed his nose around towards her, nickering tiredly.

Rufio clasped his coarse mud-matted mane in her fist, and tried to pull herself upright, her weary gaze seeking ahead as she wondered if they were still going West. They had been riding for bells, a day. Syna was higher now, a ghostly light veiled behind dim cloud.
　　　Rufio didn't know where they were.
　　　　　They were lost.
She sighed, too exhausted to feel panic, and braced herself as she expended the effort of lifting her water-skin to her lips from the cross-body thong it was tied to. Her fingers shook and were clumsy, and she could't get the stopper off. Her freckled features quivered as tears filled her eyes. F'Gods'sake!
　　　Frustrated, impatient, thirsty, feverish.

　　　　　　Rufio leant back and unhooked the skin from around herself, her fingers buttery-slick with sweat, it slipped and landed with a dull thud amidst the grasses.
The stallion wandered on a pace, two, three—lifted his hooves to take another step but couldn't summon the energy to move himself forward. He swayed a tick, and set his fore-hoof down, letting his knees give way beneath him, he slumped to the ground too, and lay down his head.
　　Rufio's heart was pattering a strange, rapid beat.
"Lo..ha..."—She urged him not to give up, calling him by the new namesake she gave to him after their shared plight in the gloomy tree-swamp of Wanah'ite.
　　　　　The Strider grunted, and didn't get up.

Rufio slunk off of his back, and crawled back for her water-skin. Her breaths came more ragged as renewed warm, wetness oozed at her side. Her wound begun to bleed freely again. Spots and strange, pipe-smoke colours whirled in her gaze. The grassland seemed to tilt, and lilt, like a boat on strong tide—she capsized.
The half-Drykas collapsed onto her back and just breathed.
　　　　　　Just breath.
　　　Her ochre-orbs rolled above her and she reached upward to grasp the water-skin they saw laying above her head. When she un-stopped it, she tipped it up but lost the feeling in her arms, and the water dribbled over her lips, down her cheek and into the grassland.
　　　　—"Mmhh"—
　　　　　　It would have been a grunt of irritation if the delirium was not taking a-hold. Her arm threw down the skin as she let herself relax against the soil. It was cool, and warm. The Mother seemed to thrum beneath her. Yes, she could hear The Mother's heartbeat.
　　　Thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum, thrum-thrum.
　　　　　　Rufio smiled wanly in stupefied awe. The Mother had come to take them into her warm, everlasting embrace. Surely, they must be dying.
　Thrum, thrum.
The stallion neighed, though it sounded muffled to her.
　　　　Thrum, thrum.

　　Sounds like horse-hooves. Rufio thought idly.
Loha thumped a fore-hoof into the dirt, sending rippling vibrations to Rufio, as he tried to get to his feet, faltered. He grunted angrily, and thumped his hoof again, this time he managed to get to his feet—this time he would stay afoot.
　　　　　　Thrum thrum.
　　　Those are horse-hooves!
　　　　　　Rufio's eyes shot open and she lifted her head an inch from the dirt, couldn't see over the grasses. "Hai- hey-"—her yell was little more than a mumble. She tried to raise herself up onto her forearms but she felt the world spin.

As Makutsi took pity and spilled her light, misty showers on the Drykas below, everything went shadowy and dark for the foolish, lucky half-Drykas.
　

[Azmere]

The Drykas had all but reached his destination when a strider stood up from the grass. The puppy who shared his yvas tensed with bristled fur. Azmere sat up straight putting a convex curve into his back. The subtle shift in weight told the old stallion to stop and halt he did. Hephiestian twisted his ears at the other male horse and blew a large gust through his nostrils. The other stallion only looked over with a lazy swing of his head. Azmere was not a veterinarian or anything of the sort but he could recognize fatigue. This horse was beat. The grass was quite tall in this area so the archer took a moment to look round before he dismounted. It wouldn’t do any good on his search if he jumped onto a jagged rock or some other hazard. It’s the Sea of Grass and it’s chocked full of danger.

Every Drykas knows that.

A tick went by then three more and the brief scouring of landscape was completed. The watchman swung his right leg over his strider’s rump and dropped down on the left side. He used his hands to grip the yvas handle and kept his arms flexed and bet at the elbows. He slowly extended his arms testing the strength in them after the long ride by dangling his dense body off of the ground. Hephiestian put up with this behavior for a moment then sidestepped to the right. His rider quickly accepted this as end of his stallion’s patience and released his grip. Leather boots crunched the dried grass beneath his feet and found sure footing. It wasn’t meant to last. A sound like a crisp leaf scraping down the side of a canvas pavilion, words reached the ears of the scarred man.

In an instant, Azmere collapsed his tall form into a deep crouch that was facilitated by his left foot dropping behind and planting on his toes. The strange eyes of gold and blue were now filled with splashes of color that bled from the inside out. This toxic gaze stared as if to burn away the grass and reveal what lied behind the swaying tendrils of brown, yellow and white. A thousand shades of color as every blade was unique but when one allowed the focus to drop away in search of something else, the individual strands disappeared and were replaced by epic swaths of bland hues. For several chimes, the archer looked around him and his horse. His left hand slowly removed Vihar from over his head while his right rested in a reassuring pat on Hephiestian’s side. Grey had sprawled across the yvas with his little face hanging over the side. Bright blue eyes stared down at his owner with curiosity and hesitation. Being so high up on the horse’s back, the canine was very careful to keep his weight balanced.

Fruitless in his initial search, Azmere decided to try his gift. He was leery of it, to say the least, but if he had stopped riding after the first time he fell then he would not be Drykas. So, the watchman closed his eyes and forced the memory of the paths into his thoughts. Colors, trails and signatures were all available if he could unlock the way. There was a mystery within this new ability; a riddle…he had but to solve it. When Azmere’s eyelids fluttered open, the world had changed. Dull were the colors of the grass, trees and sky; duller than before. Next to him, Hephiestian was shrouded in a deep blue coat that reminded the Drykas of when he had seen the outer ocean as a child. He gazed up and found that his new pup had an aura as well. The difference in his color was a very soft blue like a summer sky when Syna was at her peak. These two animals being pressed together revealed something Azmere had never seen before with his special vision. The trails of color seemed to be alive! They moved and shifted around their hosts as if a part of them; alive yet invisible to many. Is this the way through? the archer mused to himself. Only a few ticks were spared for ponderance.

The Drykas rose just slightly using the muscles in his legs for balance. His eyeline was now above the grasses and he could plainly see the other stallion. It had licks of red like a warm sunset but it wasn’t an angry color. The image gave Azmere a feeling that the animal was kind or gentle. Now that he had the color, he looked off into the distance trying to spot that same shade of red. Quite some distance to the west, several bobs of the red were apparent but it was attached to a second wave of color. This new flag was almost gold in the way that the djed sparkled. The gold trail was more broken than the red one but by gazing around, the watchman found little else to see.

Feeling confident that he was not walking into an ambush, he closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths using his will to remove the magic or turn it off. In truth, Azmere still wasn’t exactly sure how it worked. The next few chimes would prove if it had been useful or not. With bow in hand and fingers tickling the fletchings in his quiver, the archer rose and began to calmly walk towards the strange strider. His eyes shifted constantly. The big horse gave a stomp as if to mark its boundaries to the strange man but the saliva plastered to its mouth and the dampened hair around its face told the Drykas that this animal was at the point of collapse.

Wet droplets, tiny and sparse, fell upon the dark hair of the man. His head tilted to the side so that a sideways glance could cast itself to the darkening sky. For a moment, there was a grumble prepared to rise from his chest but then he noticed the stains on the coat of this stallion; brown and a different sort of brown which struck a chord in the watchman’s mind…blood. Closer scrutiny resolved the question as to whether or not the horse had been wounded. He had, around his neck, but not on his flank. As the rain fell harder these things gradually washed away. Azmere’s gaze peered around and widened at the sight. Dark hair matted a cute face of sun-kissed skin which was painted with freckles. Louka gave the archer the impression that he’d been exaggerating but asleep in the grass seemed to be the most natural pose a man could imagine for this woman. Several moments went by with the Drykas twisting his head to examine the girl. She was the source of the blood on her horse; a stubborn beast who was refusing to allow admittance to his rider.

The man was tired of the games. He shouldered his bow by slipping it over his head and stared at the stallion with a cold, even gaze. “I’m going to fix your human, beast. Stop me and I’ll feed you to the dog.” The scarred face remained unmoved by the right side perked a bit as he mentioned Grey. Slowly, Azmere made several steps to move around the strider with his hands up in a nonthreatening gesture. For some odd reason the trick worked and once he was a stride away from the slumbering body. With a quick pat to the creature’s neck, the watchman dropped to one knee making sure he didn’t kneel down on the splayed out locks of hair. As gently as he could, Azmere slipped his weathered fingers underneath the delicate head of Rufio. Once he had a firm hold, he gently lifted her head up and slipped his legs forward until her head rested in his lap. “Rufio…” His words were soft but clear. “Rufio Wildmane…” A few stray hairs were clinging to sweat on the girl’s face. Azmere’s fingers lighted down like a moth and took hold of the renegades then removed them so that her entire visage could be seen. She was a very pretty woman and being wounded, she needed help but the Drykas didn’t want to try and patch her up while she was unconscious. A person could wake up and take it the wrong way.

[Rufio]

　　
　　　　 rufio heard faintly through the thick fog of semi-consciousness shuffling beside her. When she felt her head lifted off the ground, a strange sensation tremoured through her body. It felt as though she were floating.

　　　　Was this it?—
　　　　　　　　was her spirit leaving
　　　　　　　　　　　　to join The Web.

　　A voice reached into the fog. "Rufio." Fingertips brushed against her cheeks. "Rufio Wildmane." The floating sensation ebbed, and she felt the ground sturdy beneath, she opened her eyes and peered up blearily.
A shadow hovered above her and strong arms cradled her head. Details filtered into the shadow like paint-strokes brushing across canvas. A man, his eyes striking in the dim, they glowed softly, azure and gold.
　　　　"Zul—rav?..." She breathed, the syllables tinged with fearful wonder, before she startled lightly at the thought.

With renewed consciousness the picture flooded in in full-colour and vibrance. His face, strong-boned and masculine square, obscured in half by a terrible scar. The sky above, gloomy and grey. The grasses swaying about them, whispering.

　　Not the God Of Storms.
　　　　(though the thought persisted superstitiously, that perhaps he might be).

"You know my name?" Who are you? Her sign fluttered with an undercurrent of—grateful relief.
Her left had found its way to clasp his forearm gently, as if to make sure that he was flesh and bone, and to tether herself to him, to Semele, to Life.

After her ochre orbs flickered, taking in this stranger's features, Rufio started suddenly. The freckled Drykas looked for the dun-dappled strider, mild panic ensnaring her. "Loha?!" Strider, worry.

Too much sitting up, she winced and groaned, the pain in her side throbbed grossly, though clamping a hand to the clotting wound there she found the bleeding seemed to have slowed again.

With a grimace she gestured to the Sea Of Grass, her gaze slipping to the flora wearily scanning the straw-shades for the delicate lilac-blue petals of Forget-Me-Nots, or comfrey, any herb that might help staunch the bleeding.
　　

[Azmere]

The man held firm to the woman despite her musings and movements. The watchman sucked in his lower lip and held it between his teeth to avoid laughing at her initial question. His gaze softened but the colors might have shown more as his worry passed. Azmere knew virtually nothing about herbs and such but he stared at the wound with a few half-baked notions. When Rufio clasped his arm, his skin warmed at her touch. Her tiny grip was weak and while his mind was prepared to wander a bit, the cold drops brought him into the present. His strong arms helped steady her head as she sat up and his thick torso gave her support should she need it. He saw the worry on her face and twisted at the waist. It moved his left shoulder so that she could see her stubborn horse not more than ten feet away.

Azmere knew they had to find shelter and soon so he gradually shifted Rufio from resting against him to supporting herself albeit in a bit of heap. “I’m Azmere Stormblood.” The abused hands bent into the signs for watch and friend. He then signed for her to stay put followed by a common display for camp. The man rose on steady legs and jogged to Hephiestian. He gripped the yvas to mount but not before Grey ran up and nipped the man on his nose. Th Drykas smiled and blew air into the face of the pup who backed up to his spot between the stallion’s shoulders. Azmere climbed up and steered the horse towards the location he had previously spotted.

The watchman dropped to the ground absorbing the shock with bent knees. He removed the yvas and dropped it onto the grass. He quickly retrieved his rope, some arrows and his tarp. Azmere unshouldered his bow and notched an arrow. He fired one into a tree shoulder high then turned and fired a second into the opposite at roughly the same height. The tree which was further away and somewhat smaller also received an arrow in its trunk only this one was less than two feet off the ground. Azmere then went about tying off one corner of his tarp to one of the high anchors. He stretched the tarp over to the second shoulder-height arrow and tied this off as well. He made sure to leave a bit of slack in the front which would eventually act as an overhang. The Drykas gathered the rest of his tarp and drew it back to the low arrow. He did not tie this location but rather centered the canvas. He stepped out of the shelter and went to the far corner and stuck an arrow through it which nailed it down to the ground. The same was down to the opposite corner which gave the refuge a slant from front to back as well as a central ridge which would prevent any rain from pooling in the middle.

Azmere grabbed the pup and placed him under the canopy then helped his stallion sit near the front which kept him protected though not covered. He dragged his gear inside the makeshift home then jogged out to where he had left Rufio. The big man knelt down next to her with a calm look that asked for cooperation. His right arm went under her arm and around her back until his fingers found a hold against her ribs. His left arm slipped under her muddy legs behind the knee. In a singular action, he drew himself into a tight crouch effectively lowering his center of gravity. The archer then curled his arms putting all of the strain into his biceps and shoulders which lifted the girl up against his chest. Now bearing both her weight and his own, Azmere arched his back and pushed down against the earth with all of his might. The action forced everything to shoot through his thighs and down into his heels. He felt the burn of the exertion but knew rushing the action could lead to disaster so the rise was a slow one.

When he reached his full height, he walked steadily and carefully to the shelter as the rain began to fall harder. The Drykas dipped down in a full reverse of the motions that helped him lift Rufio. He settled her upon the grass beneath the tarp which was mostly dry. He released all holds and slipped away to her strider. It wasn’t hard to approach the stallion but once he had the rope, he found himself outmatched; perhaps not in stubbornness but at least in strength. He quickly dropped the idea of forcing the strider to join them but didn’t release his hold on the rope. The ankal thought for a few ticks how best to coax the ass to listen.