I, Drykas (Rhylen & Sam)

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

When he caught Rhylen trying to make eye contact, he ducked his eyes down to the pot again, his mouth a thin, thoughtful line as he finished up the poor man's stew. Pouring them each a bowl and sticking a spoon into each, he passed one to the other man before retreating a bit to a safe distance. He blew on his food, eyes on it like it was the whole world or he was starving.

As the silence between them stretched out to the point where one might reasonably assume Sam was hard of hearing, simple, or just unforgivably rude, he looked up, brown eyes clouded, to meet Rhylen's curious stare if only for a moment. He blew air through his lips again, this time more to release some internal pressure than to cool his food.

"I, uh... No. Not anymore."

He started eating, tasting the lie in the way the Cyphrian nuts and berries told their own stories to his palate, trying to just chew and ignore all that. Repression was key.

[Rhylen]

“Oh,” he said softly, surprised more by the break in silence than the other man’s subtle avoidance of a straight answer. Rhylen mulled over the words for a time, gleaning more than might have been polite from the cryptic response. He chewed on the stew thoughtfully, delighting in its taste, but distracted by the man’s curious bearing. Sam was quiet, much like he himself, and perhaps a little more reserved than most; not at all an unfamiliar trait.

“Well I’m not much of a Drykas myself, though I wish to one day enjoy a higher standing among the Clanfolk,” he tried to fill the discomfort as best he could, opening himself to the other man so as to glean more information in return. “I am of the Amythest Clan,” he said in a contemplative tone, “I believe that to be true at least. Much of what I was told as a youth has begun to unravel about me like a poorly tied knot. What once I held such hope for,” he paused, emotion finding him, “now feels like little more than a lost cause.” He quickly righted the feeling, taking another large spoonful of the stew, and chewing past the pain in his throat.

As he slurped down more of the brew his eyes sought Sam’s again, a grin on his face. “By the Gods and the Grass I will have my answers, Sam.” He couldn’t help but chuckle as Feyn’s cockeyed head came up from his mangled meal to take in the shaman. “Why else are we here if not to find answers?” The question was rhetorical, one Raghnall had asked of his apprentice many a time. Though he’d tried to answer and failed just as often, he still hoped that the lost Drykas might at least give it a go.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Sam didn't say anything about Rhylen not being much of a Drykas. He had his strider, after all, while Sam had not been able to save his. Thus, he had let the creature that had made him a full-fledged member of the pavilion die, so he had lost that connection to his blood and his people. But the more Rhylen spoke, the more something instinctual in Sam began to make itself known.

"Not Amethyst," he said, not really sure how he knew, but he did. Embarrassed by what he said, perhaps, he looked back down at his food and started eating.

For him, life had been a matter of survival and little more. Horse gave him someone to take care of, which was a sort of purpose, though lately he had been feeling more and more that he needed more of something, though still unsure what that something was. Had he still been a Drykas, he might have turned to this man for guidance and wisdom, but as it stood, he didn't feel he had the right.

[Rhylen]

The curious expression on Rhylen’s face lingered for some time. Another painful silence extended between the two, forcing the shaman’s senses outward to the forest about them. It had been difficult getting used to the suffocating feeling of this land’s massive trees. He’d been awed at first, followed by a terrible uneasiness. Without a full horizon his ability to detect oncoming danger had been severely limited. Rhylen could barely get a sense of the weather through the newly blooming and lush canopy above. It was as if a part of him had been blinded. Likely this had something to do with his being away from the Cyphrus.

Feyn continued to munch on his meal, the sound of crushing bones doing little to settle his master’s stomach. The stream gurgled along its endless path, Thalla watering herself. And the trees, looming high above, swayed calmly in the now playful breeze. It grew colder as the daylight began to fade more quickly, and quieter. Rhylen silently finished his stew and returned the bowl to its owner.

“Do you know anything of magic?” he asked suddenly, startling even himself. Certainly he would know if Raghnall was using his body to communicate. Probably. Maybe. Regardless he continued, the words inspiring a reason for his companion’s unusual revelation. “I mean, how could you know that I’m not of the Amethyst?” He drew out the words, making sure that they were his own. “Surely you’ve heard that all Drykas are bound to one another through magic?”

He couldn’t discern his fellow’s reaction clearly, but pressed on. “The Web?” he asked finally, feeling for his own djed in hopes that it might show him something unseen. What he saw forced a obvious gasp from his lips.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

He shrugged at the question. "Not really. I mean, I know about the Web, but I'm not... you know... any kind of wizard or shaman." He paused. "And I don't know. You're not Amethyst, though." He peered at Rhylen curiously, and also hesitantly as if he didn't want to do what he was doing. "Diamond," he adjudged, then looked away at the fire as if to burn out whatever sort of vision he was having that he oughtn't.

If Rhylen could have opened himself up to the Djed and the Web, he would have seen two terribly faint lines, so thin, translucent, and fragile that too violent a sneeze might snap them in twain. One was normal enough, aimed back to Cyphrus, but glittering with potential energy. The other pointed elsewhere, with a strange quality that few Drykas web mages would understand.

As for Sam, he remained ignorant of all. But when Rhylen gasped, he looked up suddenly.

"What?"

[Rhylen]

“Death,” he signed, releasing his djed. The two shades faded slowly from view, their presence prickling at Rhylen’s senses. “Always death, no matter where you look,” this he muttered to himself, his mood shifting considerably from the quiet calm to an electric edge. “A great deal of it.” His eyes met Sam’s, looking deeper now.

“They cling to you like… it’s as if they are afraid to let go.” He shuddered visibly, turning his stare to the flame. “There are two of them. One is a young man,” he said this while avoiding the other’s gaze, their roles had shifted in an instant. “The other is younger, a child.” Emotion surged within him, crossing the divide between life and death to convey her muted agony. “A little girl.”

No more, he urged, feeling the weight of their spirits. Their sorrow. Stop! His pleaded thoughts fell on deaf ears. Tiny hands; ethereal eyes penetrating the void. “I said no more!” This he screamed at last, standing erect and casting the tent flaps away from him.

His eyes shaded, Rhylen stormed away from their small camp, crossing to the far side of the path and into the trees, Feyn was alert and at his heels. Thalla seemed uneasy, but her rider was in no danger, save from the fraying edges of his mind.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Rhylen's arrows hit too close to home and Sam's face clouded over until one could almost hear the roiling pot of emotions within. Of course death clung to him; he was the one with whom Dira didn't bother. The leftover. A young man. A little girl. Too many of both sorts had been lost to him.

He startled at the scream, though, and Horse whinnied and sidled, ears rotating to find the source of danger.

"Well, that's just perfect," he muttered to Horse once Rhylen was out of earshot. He stood up and walked over to calm the windrunner. With that accomplished, he set about cleaning up after their meal.

Perfect, indeed.

[Leviathan]

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