Lost Girl

[Rufio]

　　
　　　　 thankful relief fluttered in her grass-sign as her gaze alighted on the strong-willed stallion standing at a wary distance.

His ears pricked forward, his head swaying this way to peer at them with one eye, then the other, as he regarded the Watchman's strider with a curled lip of caution. Alert, sturdy, gruff, wary—the reincarnated soul had retained these traits strongly.

　　Rufio smiled at the sight of him.
　　　　　　　　　　Her soul-kin.

When the man shifted his weight and distracted her with a peek into who he was and why he was there—“I’m Azmere Stormblood.” Watch, friend—her cheeks flushed under the fever with embarrassment.

Tal'ck must have noticed that she was missing and sent The Watch to find her. Reminded of the reasons that she left, the Drykas felt silly now.

Revived a little by thought of home, when Azmere Of The Watch signed for her to stay put, the half-Drykas, with an incredulous grimace, waved him off with—will try not to.

　　　Abundantly teasing, mildly sarcastic, a smidgen self-pitying.

　　　　　　Though, as Azmere mounted and wandered away on his horse, Rufio couldn't help the irrational, panicked, fleeting thought that he was leaving her from skipping through her mind. He will not leave us, her calm-self bit back.

　　While the skilled Watchman was setting up a shelter from Makutsi's Wintry mood, Rufio—unhappy to sit and wait—slumped sideways onto her forearm, and shuffled across the ground, through the grasses towards her backpack, which lay where Loha had crumpled chimes ago. In it she dragged out her mother's journal.
　　　　Battered and dog-eared from season's of wear as it was, Rufio felt comfort embrace her warmly just to hold her mother's heirloom. For a few chimes she simply rested, panting, feeling her heart patter strangely in her veins. When the Watchman returned, relief rippled through her exhaustion again.

　　　　When he put his arm around her back, and slipped his other under her legs, she understood what he meant to do and nodded, slipping weary arms around his shoulders. Her side lanced with pain as he hauled her up into his arms but she didn't want to seem weak, and let a wry grin mask her wince.

　　　　　"So I s'pose this is all a day's work for you, carrying pretty girls off to your tent, huh?"

Rufio masked her wounded pride in humour and flirting. Embarrassment roiling like a strong tide in the pit of her stomach—at her childish venture to seek The Serenity Tree, for winding up lost, and for putting a Watchman at risk.
　　　　　The Drykas damsel wanted to laugh at herself, but it would hurt, so she settled on comfortable silence as he carried her to shelter.

When he let her down, she slumped again onto her side, and tugged her book up where she could unwind the thong that held its pages fastened within and open it. Across the damp pages Shiber was scribbled in neat hand. The leather binding had kept out the rain, damp only seeping into the edges of the paper.

　　　　　　Rufio flicked through quickly, knowing by heart many of the pages. When she found what she was seeking, she made a noise to call the Watchman. "Azmere—" Sitting up, grunting with the effort and clutching at her side, Rufio held the book up and called—

　　　　　　　"Do you know yarrow?"

Amidst the indecipherable notes and recipes, the Benshira herbalist had detailed sketches of delicate flowers clustered on tall stalks, coloured beautifully in white dye, though it was faded with age. Healing, medicine.
　　

[Azmere]

Azmere spent a solid chime or six trying to work with the muddy strider. The stallion wanted nothing to do with the Drykas male. Azmere released his hold on the rope and took a step back then clearly signed something to the tune of you’re on your own, horse. He felt the cool droplets pat him along his neck and shoulders. The archer looked up and closed his eyes with arms outstretched; for a moment he was alone in the gentle rain. His mouth moved but there was very little chance that Rufio could hear him.

“Father of Storms, thank you for your merciful ways and powerful breath. Humble is how I wish to walk in your shadows.” The watchman resumed a normal posture and made his way back to the freckled girl. He had seen her around from a distance but now he had a chance to study her in a more personal setting. Her eyes were the color of spice and they seemed to float and dance about behind the messy locks of dark hair. Her freckles, generally something Azmere did not find appealing, added a sort of playful or ornery spirit to the wide array of expressions. Her pain seemed to come from a place of welcomed burdens and her cast-away casualness was riddled with more than just her words suggested. The watchman was never good at nor learned much in the way of flirting and the ways of women. He had completely missed her little comment earlier. In one ear and out the other; a true geht voune if there ever was one.

The man lowered his body with the slow control of flexed muscles in his legs and core. This enabled him to squat down in front of Rufio and her outstretched book. He inclined his head and studied the pictures signing with fast fingers that he did not know of either plant. His broad shoulders hunched forward so that his elbows, bent with hands inward, could rest upon his knees. The leather breeches made that oh-so familiar creak from the strain of being bunched up. The contrasting gaze sought through the sketches for details that would aid him in locating the herbs. He leaned to the side a bit so he had a clear view of the muddy girl, the wound on her side bleeding more now and beginning to soak the grass. “I see them. Where do they grow?” He could clearly see the scribbled notes but it was in a language that he had never seen before.

A crease formed above his brow on the right and then zagged to along the top of his scar on the left side of his face. The grey tinge to Rufio’s skin made him worried. Azmere knew next to nothing about healing, medicine and herbs. His balance righted with a simple shift which allowed him to extend his left hand and place the backs of his fingers against her cheek. She was warm and while he understood it wasn’t always a bad thing, something inside of him threw up a warning that he should find the special foliage sooner rather than later. The rain fell consistently but it did not appear to be getting worse. Azmere whispered a “thank you” in conjunction with a quick skyward dart of his eyes. The gold and blue fell once more upon the young woman. A dutiful host, he awaited further instruction.

[Rufio]

　　
　　　　" i see them. Where do they grow?”
　　　　　　　Rufio left the book on the ground as she leant back against a grassy knoll. Sweat broke across her forehead as her wound began to ooze red blood.

Her shirt was soaked through with shades of red. Her hand clamped to the sticky material wasn't enough pressure to staunch the bleeding.
　　　　　"Yarrow grows—" All grasslands, her hand swept generally. With a wince, she swallowed bile, and took a deep breath to steady her fluctuating heartbeat.

　　　　With shaky fingers she brushed along the Shiber etched neatly along the page and read the instructions, with the intuitive sensation that she mightn't be conscious for much longer. "Beat the leaves so they bleed. Place here-" Her hand pressed against her side and she grimaced again, closing her eyes and swallowing. "-under bandaging. It will help with- bleeding, pain."

When Azmere rose his fingertips to her cheek, a gentle smile slipped beneath the pain. The touch was a comfort to her. His skin felt warm. Rufio was getting cold with the loss of blood, and shivered uncontrollably.

Rufio was beyond taking notice of her condition, though. As the rain lightly pattered against the tarp above, and she looked up into the Watchman's unusual eyes, the light of consciousness begun to slip.

It was then, again, in the dimming of her senses that she noticed his Pathfinding gaze. The swirling colours that ringed his irises. A breath of wonder escaped her parched lips.
　　　　　As Rufio succumbed to blood-loss sleep, she breathed. "...there are...
　　　　...stars..
　　　　　　in...your...eyes..."

　　　　　　　　　A loud clomp resounded behind the Drykas, obscuring her superstitious query. The stubborn red-dun stallion had conceded and came to stand by the tarp-tent. He swayed his thick, concave face this way, then that, trailing the lead rope, and grunted lowly. Watching his newly bonded rider with equine concern.
　　

[Azmere]

Azmere listened carefully as Rufio gave instructions for how to find the medicinal plant. The watchman had no skills in herbalism so hunting down something helpful was going to be a chore. His crooked smile flitted into existence across his face at the recent thought that he was as useful as an infant in such a circumstance. The archer made a mental note to spend some time working on survival skills beyond fighting. After all, no amount of weapon skills or arm strength can best a fever. The freckled beauty displayed patience despite her condition and the urgency it demanded. Still, Rufio was kind enough to give a gentle line of instruction regarding the wound and how yarrow can be used as a treatment.

The young woman’s skin was cold against his fingers. Azmere’s smile faded as convulsions and tremors of cold racked Rufio’s form. Just before the girl slipped into a sleep built upon pain and exhaustion, she made a comment about the stars in his eyes. The smile returned. The archer moved around Rufio and opened his pack. It was at this point when he heard the other stallion stomp. From a gaze cast over his shoulder, the watchman could see that the stubborn beast had finally decided to join their merry band.

Azmere was not going to allow himself to be distracted from his task and went back to his stowed gear. It didn’t take the strong hands long to find a wool blanket. The archer removed his arrows that had been wrapped within and left the bundle inside his pack. He took the blanket and draped it over Rufio being extra careful as he covered her body. He tucked the soft material around her legs but left the part over her midsection loose. Grey moved from his place near the back and curled up on the warm blanket in the space behind the woman’s knees. Azmere extended a hand and scratched the dog behind the ears which brought a soft sound of appreciation from the small canine.

The watchman stepped out into the rain and tilted his head back to stare up into the bleak clouds of grey that loomed overhead. His contrasting gaze met the droplets as they splashed down upon his face and cooled his skin. Azmere was unaware that he had grown warm but enjoyed the refreshment provided by the gods. For several ticks, the Drykas stood and gazed about the area where he had made camp. He did not see any of the healing herb and debated how best to proceed. After several more chimes of soaking up rain, the man moved back to the opening of the tent and sat down next to Rufio. He relaxed and closed and his eyes while absorbing the sounds of the world around them.

It was almost reactionary at this point in his life. Azmere joined with the web so easily that it was no longer considered an effort in the mind of the watchman. When he opened his gaze, he could see all of the glowing strands that crisscrossed the Sea of Grass. Not wanting to take too long, the Drykas reached down and grasped a dim line of djed in his hand. It throbbed with power but the diminished glow was indicative of old lines. Azmere rested a thought in the forefront of his mind to repair any damaged strands while he searched for the yarrow plant.

Thoughts moved the essence of the man to and fro along the glowing lines of the web. Azmere always made certain to venture out and then back to camp before changing directions; an old trick that he’d been taught by his grandfather, Asmodeus. After five courses of travel, the reluctant doctor still had not found any yarrow plants. Standing near the tent, Azmere looked to the status of his camp and found the animals and patient to be resting. The watchman turned outward and adjusted his position and took hold of a different web line. He pushed onward and ended up in a clearing to the south. Unsure of the actual distance, he began to rummage about in the taller bunches of grass but grew frustrated with his failures. When he turned to make his way back to his body, the golden stalks with white flowers seemed to stand up and say hello. The web mage made his way back to camp in small jaunts that allowed him to spot various landmarks that would enable him to physically find his way to the medicinal plant.

Once back at the tent, Azmere slipped back into his old self then blinked as he awakened in his body. The Drykas turned to find everything as it was then stood and moved outside. His eyes found the first landmark which was a knoll covered in purple clover. The watchman jogged to it quickly by utilizing long strides and being mindful of his footing. As he bounded up the gentle incline, the maize and gold stare looked further south to a cluster of cattails nestled in a crevice; the next checkpoint. Azmere was sweating. His salty waste mingled with the cool drizzle that painted his skin and caused his shirt to stick to his chest and arms. The Drykas felt his cheeks flush while his body struggled to circulate enough oxygen to his muscles. At the crevice, Azmere turned his body west a few degrees and continued to run while his eyes scanned the terrain for his final marker. A tick later, he was dashing towards a cluster of three briar bushes. When he reached his destination, he placed his hands on his knees and bent over for a moment to inhale huge, quick breaths of air to try and calm his overworking heart.

Inside the briars’ perimeter were several bunches of the yarrow plant. Azmere bent down and picked every single stalk and made sure to carefully stack them in his left hand so that the ends matched and rested evenly. With a fistful of herbal remedies and a general return to his normal stasis, the archer took off at a brisk jog back in the direction from which he had come. The watchman used the same landmarks to navigate the grasslands and was soon back outside the makeshift shelter that he had constructed.

Azmere ducked under the tarp and was met with the lifted gaze of his strider and puppy. Rufio’s horse didn’t seem to care much and continued to munch on weeds close to his sleeping rider. Beat the leaves until they bleed. That’s what she had said. Beat them with what? The contrasting gaze looked to Rufio and then to the flowers in his hand. He had no idea what he should do. Azmere turned next to stare at Hephiestian and then Grey. “How do you make flowers bleed?”

The watchman set the stalks on the ground between his feet and began to pick the leaves off then placed them in a pile. Once he had completed that task, the flowers were pushed off to one side. The watchman pinched some of the leaves and lifted them to his lips. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Grey had tilted his furry little head as if he was asking a question. Azmere shrugged then stuffed the bite into his mouth. The leaves had a hairy texture which caused the Drykas to make a face of surprise. He began to chew and the bitter flavor spilled over his tongue repeatedly. Azmere bit down half a dozen times before spitting the minced leaves into his fingers.

The Drykas slid closer to Rufio and peeled back the blanket with his free hand to expose the bloody mess that was her shirt. The empty hand gingerly plucked the cloth away from her side to reveal the gash. The skin was puckered along the edge of the wound and it smelled almost sweet. Azmere pressed the chewed up herb into the open sore then smoothed it out. The feeling against his fingers was strange; both for the sensation of touching an open and warm wound but also the cool slick of her tanned abdomen trailing against the side of his palm. The Drykas shook himself back to a stoic point of reality and covered Rufio up with her shirt then the blanket.

The rain was really coming down now and the sky had grown dark. Azmere debated a fire but he didn’t want to leave her alone at this point. His eyes shifted from the creatures under the shelter to the one just outside that stubbornly stood in the rain. The archer leaned back onto his elbows and clicked his tongue against the back of his teeth twice. Grey’s pointed ears perked then the four-legged companion rose and stretched before tottering over to snuggle in against Azmere’s right side. The man remained alert but was glad to be away from the city and vastly enjoyed the quiet.

[Rufio]

　　
1 bell later......

　　　　 rufio slept, and slept - lost in a deep nothingness. In the quiet her body fought for her survival. The herbs Azmere had chewed oozed their sap into the wound. The pain dulled, the infection was took to battle.

For a while, she shivered, her breathing rapid. As the gloom dimmed, and the rain poured, though, the shelter of blanket and canine warmed her. The herbs did their magic, and a dream came.

At the crossroads of the paths towards Death or back towards Life, Lhex appeared in the foggy dream. With a gentle, fatherly push, the God of Fate gave the tiny Benshira-Drykas a nudge onto the path of life.

As she turned, her ochre gaze was caught by a figure standing amid the mist. A man, he was familiar. In his hands he held a circle of gold with the centre cut out, atop it was a proud lion. He peered her with seeking eyes, intense.

Like he was trying to tell her something with his pristine, azure gaze. A strange glow came up from the fog where he stood. When Rufio blinked, and when she looked again, a lion stood in the man's place.

"Wait-" Rufio resisted the robed fellow that was nudging her along the treaded path, grasped at the sleeve of Lhex's robe. "Wait! Wait, I-?"

As sudden as her urgency arose, just as sudden she forgot what it was she wanted to ask the deity.

Lhex-at least, her dreamed version of a mysterious deity unknown to her in waking life-simply smiled and bade her be on her way. He didn't speak, so much, as his words were felt.

An ancient echo that tugged the chords and sinew of her being.

The foggy dream dissipated as her dream-self turned towards Syna's light. The muffled sound of Zulrav's thunder rumbled quietly in a din ahead, calling her back to the conscious world.

Nothingness took back the space of her unconscious mind, giving her rest.
She would not remember the dream when she woke.

1 bell later...

...

Rufio's eyelids fluttered, sweat licked down her freckled face. Her breathing had slowed considerably. Though she shook subtly, her body was warm as it began to repair torn flesh, sinew and skin.

A few chimes, and she woke.

Taking a deep breath, Rufio's gaze flickered lightly as she first noticed the sound of rain all about. Gazing up at the tarp, she felt a smile slip across her parched lips. The sound of rain was soothing under the dry shelter.

A dull ache throbbed in her side, when she went to lift her hands to see her wound, she found that a blanket covered her. Surprise danced across those freckles, before she remembered.

Azmere Stormblood. Ra'athi of The Watch.

Her fingers gently pealed back her shirt to reveal the crushed yarrow and dried blood and yellow body-knitting fluid. Her nose wrinkled, and she felt nausea sweep her a tick. She took a steadying breath.

When she looked round to see the Watchman and his dog, her nausea was forgotten in the sight of them. He hadn't noticed her awake yet. Her ochre orbs traced the man's face. The fortune-teller's seeking gaze studied the gruesome scars that marked his features.

Pity welled in the pit of her chest, but she bade it away. No one wants pity. It was then that her gaze sought deeper into his features.

Taking in the size of his shoulders and his arms she deduced he spent effort making himself strong. A warrior, that was obvious—Diamond Clan—but—she felt a gentleness to his presence, too. There was more to his spirit than the fight. His brow was low, and deep—he's used to frowning, she thought to herself.

Her eyes traced his scars again, and her curiosity sparked gently. He had survived struggle and trial. With a spiritual vibration felt in her bones—the gods have paid him mind
　　　　　　　　she mused, superstitiously.

The thought echoic in her mind, it was her mother's Shiber voice. With that she shifted uncomfortably, her side throbbing. Her throat dry and scracthy as she disturbed the quiet with her own voice - "Azmere?..."

She smiled sheepishly, unabashed as her curiosity tumbled over her lips and into the din. "...how did you get eyes like stars?..."
　　

[Khida]

Rufio

Skill	Points
Flirting	+1
Observation	+2
Teaching	+1

• Azmere: Watchman with starry eyes
• Azmere: Stormblood Pavilion, Diamond Clan
• Flirting: quips to deflect from circumstances
• Herbalism: comfrey or forget-me-not to staunch bleeding
• Herbalism: yarrow poultice for pain and bleeding
• Observation: hearing hoofbeats through the earth
• Teaching: relaying rote information
• Yarrow: appearance and habitat

Azmere

Skill	Points
Bodybuilding	+1
Herbalism	+2
Horsemanship	+3
Interrogation	+1
Investigation	+3
Land Navigation	+1
Medicine	+2
Pathfinding	+2
Planning	+1
Riding	+1
Running	+1
Tactics	+2
Unarmed Combat	+2
Webbing	+2
Wilderness Survival	+2

• Bodybuilding: moving slow and steady to ensure stability
• Herbalism: chewing leaves to make a poultice
• Herbalism: yarrow poultice for pain and bleeding
• Horsemanship: making a nonthreatening approach
• Horsemanship: the haggard look of a worn-out horse
• Horsemanship: leaving a resolute horse to his own devices
• Interrogation: emphasizing need of information
• Investigation: making use of alternate perspectives
• Investigation: zig-zag search pattern
• Lifting a person by knees and back
• Louka Wildmane: cousin of Rufio
• Medicine: applying a poultice to a fresh wound
• Medicine: gray skin a cause for concern
• Navigation: routing by landmark sequence
• Pathfinding: djed in creatures appears alive
• Pathfinding: dull world, vibrant creatures
• Pathfinding: gleaning a sense of personality
• Riding: ghosting through the Wind Gait
• Rufio: half-Benshiran daughter of the Wildmanes
• Survival: a tent of tarp, rope, and arrows
• Survival: the need for skills beyond combat
• Tactics: contesting control of the opponent's weapon
• Tactics: stomping opponent's foot for a painful distraction
• Unarmed Combat: determinedly dislocating opponent's shoulder
• Unarmed Combat: knee strike causes collapse
• Unarmed Combat: on the offense against blade at throat
• Webbing: seeking plants through the Web
• Webbing: stitching a soul into the Web
• Webbing: the tangle that is Endrykas
• Wildmane Pavilion: navigators of the Emerald Clan
• Yarrow: appearance and habitat

Notes

Talk about an unbalanced grade here! Rufio -- lovely, evocative writing as always, but what with playing the Damsel in Distress role to the hilt and all, I didn't find much to award you. I had a great time reading the thread, though, and getting the chance to see how these two met up.

Please let me know if you have any questions or think I overlooked anything. Also, Rufio, please edit your request to show this thread has been graded.