Sunstruck [Caelum, Denen]

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

42nd Summer, 511 A.V. The skeins and threads of energy spanning the region led Sama'el back home, his ancestor in tow. The prairies were not so greatly changed from Kasb'el's time, perhaps, or it might be they were. Such changes were generally gradual, and nothing had truly changed in the short span of the young Watchman's years. But the days had come and gone with songs sung to Syna in two voices, and while he could not match the liquid music of an ethaefal's voice, he hoped that with age his voice might be a match for Kasb'el's. His gossamer threads led them to where they could see the flickers of cook fires in the pre-dawn light, stopping to sing their songs at daybreak and ride into Endrykas following the smudges of cooking smoke. The final stretch was accomplished at a gallop, Dohaina allowed her head as she knew the way home, and keeping her pace mellow enough the Windrunner could keep up. They skirted most of Endrykas proper, finding the edges of the Sapphire Clan's section to where Sama'el's humble camp. His own tent was strapped to Dohaina currently, but Denen's tent was there, and Jyn's where the servant slept with his little daughter. Currently Ugly Pony was nowhere to be seen, meaning the industrious Jyn was off on some errand. But Horse, the Windrunner stallion, frisked about, eyes and ears arrowed in their direction, so happy to have his human home again. As their gallop slowed into a walk, he laughed and leaned over in his yvas to wrap his arm around Horse's muscular neck. There was a brief look of confusion amid the equine glee before he slumped out of the yvas, vaguely grasping at the necks of both beasts to keep himself upright, but then he disappeared from Caelum's view beneath his horses. Fortunately, both were well-trained, and though Horse looked confused, he stepped carefully around Sama'el's body with all the daintiness of his breed, suddenly alert to the possible need to defend his body from anyone who approached. Dohaina, alarmed, knelt beside him, rather quickly for a horse, and arched her neck protectively over his prone body, one liquid eye catching the Ethaefal with a look that might have meant: "Do something." Home at last.

[Caelum]

Last he had ridden into a gathering of the horse clans the word Valterrian did not exist. Vocabulary since had altered, made molten as had been most of the world by the catastrophic destruction of the war. Fresh words had sprung from the blood rich earth, fleet as breath, to spill their way through tongues and pages until with the turning of centuries they too grew grey. The language of the Ukalas was cinders in his mouth, but it was with that divine expression he wished in this moment to be capable of communicating with the two goddesses – traitorous Syna and sweet Rak’keli -- reigning over his soul. Vega slowed, he shifting with the sway out of a gallop into a sedate walk with the final yards. The collection of tents that comprised the portable city were scattered and circled in what to him appeared as concentric chaos. The disparity existing between the observable present and the dimly recollected past dotted his consciousness as broad as the blackness between the stars, forcing him to blink away from the light of the sun just in time to watch his ultimate grandson do the Drykas unthinkable: fall off his horse. The earth caught Caelum in his dismount far before thought, that still attempting to catch up as he flung himself across the grass to land on his knees beside the golden Strider. “Dohaina,” he said, words shot with lead like meteorites in their demanding calm. “Let me see him,” and he was reaching down, inexorable fear fluttering in his physician’s throat. “Sam.”

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen had slept fitfully, though he couldn't exactly pinpoint the reason for it. His dreams had been dark, and filled with flitting images he did not wish to remember. Whatever they had been, he was grateful when the soft strands of morning crept across his consciousness and drew him up from slumber. He awoke slowly, by degrees, until he lifted his head and sat up, letting the furs pool around his hips. A tired grunt and he pushed sleep-tousled hair out of his face. There were lines on his cheek from where he'd pressed his face against the furs. He took his time getting dressed, pulling on his knee-length tunic, his trousers, and fastening his leather belt around his slender waist. He braided the tail of his long hair, though his bangs fell into his face. No point in trying to keep the shorter strands contained. He knew full well that it wouldn't work. He rubbed his eyes as he rose, ready then to step out into the sun. He pushed back the tent flap, greeted by the sight of Dohaina. He smiled immediately, though his attention was drawn down within seconds to the dark shape on the ground. “Sam!” His heart seized up, as though a fist had plunged into the cavity of his chest to tighten icy fingers about the organ. But Denen did not waste a moment standing idle. With surprising agility, driven as it was by the need of the moment, he rushed to the side of the stranger, who knelt now alongside his Sam. Denen's lips were drawn into a tight line, and concern was etched on his features. He cast a quick glance to the stranger, eyes widening for just a moment. Denen had never seen such a being before, and even in his concern, he was awed. Though there would be time for that later. “S-Sam,” he whispered, reaching to gently touch his face with the backs of cool, slender fingers. He cast his eyes about their camp, and nodded to his tent, before he made a motion with his arms as if to indicate scooping Sam up. He wasn't big enough to carry him himself. His fine brow creased with concern and he slid his arms beneath Sam's shoulders to lift his upper body. His eyes cast urgently to the stranger, pleading for his help. He looked, too, to Dohaina, brows furrowed, and slipped one hand out to sign to her. “Horse. Away.” He knew she'd keep the others, his own Strider included, in line.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Dohaina decided to trust the two that Sama'el trusted, nipped Horse in the shoulder until he recognized Denen's scent and even Caelum's from the distant past -- at least from a horse's point of view. The fallen rider peered owlishly at them, both disoriented and wondering what they were on about. While only a middling warrior, he was one of the best riders the Watch had, and it hadn't quite occurred to him that something serious might be the matter. "M'all right," he said muzzily. "Jus' lookin' too hard a' th' Web." His speech slurred drunkenly, but he didn't put up any real resistance to Denen getting him up and the pair of them moving him. He even laughed a little. "S'warm, though," he noted conversationally, and he continued to blink at what he imagined were the afterimages of the Web burned into his retinas, a lattice of sunspots across his vision. "S'what I get for gettin' up so early t' sing... t' Syna... need sleep. Sleep's good. Good, good." He blinked, a bit of clarity shining through. "I'm talkin' crazy... Wh'... wha's happening?"

[Caelum]

"You're burning up with fever, that's what happening," Caelum bit out. His mouth settled into a grim line and with a shock of eyes at the slender stranger signing at horses, he shifted his grip on Sama'el and bent down. One arm went behind the Watchman's knees and, with some effort, he hefted Sama'el into a cradle against his chest. "There?" Caelum rose his eyebrows at the stranger, it coming clear that he was Sama'el's friend. Without waiting for a response, he started towards the tent in long, loose hipped strides, the light of Syna rippling over Her blooded singers. Caelum was not paying attention to the queer image he made, a patchwork of occasionally incongruent impressions from weathered and wounded to shimmering and noble. "Did you overgive?" He wanted to know of his descendent. He knew so little of Webbing that he was incapable of determining if the amount Sama'el had performed in the fetching of him was dangerous.

[Denen Sunsinger]

Denen's features took on an oddly blank stance, his defense against hurt. It came through making himself solely clinical, through making his care seem like that one might offer to someone they did not know. But within the pit of his chest, he ached. Not his Sam. He was praying already, whispering prayers to Rak'keli, ready to do whatever it took to keep Sam alive and well. Sam was taken to his tent, and Denen helped to ease his weakened frame down against the furs. He knelt near his head, brushing back the dark hair from his eyes. Sam was burning hot, and Denen felt bile creeping up the back of his throat. Oh, gods. Not Sama'el. They had to get him cooled down. To somehow stop this fever before it became too hot and destroyed Sam's mind or killed him. He quickly moved to the bucket of water he kept in his tent, cooled from the night air, and snatched up a scrap of cloth, which he soaked in it, wrung out, and then folded to place across Sam's brow. He had to cool him down. He looked to the stranger, praying frantically that he spoke Pavi. "H-How long...Has...Has he b-been acting...l-like this?" He asked shakily.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

"Don' think so," he said to Caelum, though his awareness was a little too muddled to be absolutely sure. He blinked at the strange light in his eyes. Gazing at the radiant Ethaefal, he was proud that he was family, though part of him wanted a true pavilion to show him, and to show Kasb'el when he arrived. He still wasn't sure if something essential in Caelum's nature shifted when he returned to the body of an old ghost. "Caelum... this is Denen. Healer. Friend." "Denen," he signed, even his unspoken language tripping up a bit. "Callum... grandfather. Kasbul tonight." He grinned. "Now you know." Then Denen's cold compress hit his brow and he leaned back into the furs. He thought a nap would be nice, after all. "Can't see so good. Too much light." Even there in the dim of the tent, his eyes were overloaded, so he kept them closed, hoped that his family, now introduced, were getting along. "Just a nap..."

[Caelum]

"It hit of a sudden," Caelum explained to Denen, unearthly features grim as he rocked back on his heels to make room for the physician's efforts. "He was acting fine, normal, and then we were here and I blinked. He was down. Fell right off Dohaina," and what did that say? His Pavi was fluent as the wind with the grasses, rippling over and through with an accent seemingly conjured from nowhere on earth. "Denen," he greeted, acknowledging the introduction; but he was already rising to his feet, worn riding leathers creaking as he stepped around Sama'el's prone form for the tent flap. A hand rose to twist in an attempt at signing he knew so little of, describing something of I'm getting my kit into the empty air. Sunlight flashed and he into it, the flap tumbling down behind him. A short whistle brought the dappled Windrunner's head up and Caelum ducked beneath Vega's strong neck to reach for saddlebags. They were unloaded in swift succession, tossed to the ground beside the tent as the horse shook himself with a quiver of muscle. "I'll see to you soon. Swear," Caelum promised his mount and Dohaina as well before dragging at the straps of his bag. The worn, pine wood box was on top of the meager supply of belongings. With it in hand, the returning Drykas cast a glance across the sprawl of the tent city and slid back in to Sama'el and Denen.

[Sama'el Sunsinger]

Dohaina followed Caelum to the tent, not getting in his way or attempting to stop him, but hovering near the flaps as if she could understand what went on within. As if she could understand sickness and the ever-present threat of mortality. She whickered with Caelum's passing, as if praying for his success. It all seemed dire to her, even if Sama'el himself was trying to shake it off inside. His fingers were flickering about, describing things more quickly to Denen than he could in words, though there were long pauses as he tried to remember certain phrasings. It all came to a screeching halt when he saw Caelum's silhouette, horns twisting black through Syna's glare before the flaps fell shut behind him. "I feel sunblind," he mumbled. "And sunburned." Then he shivered. "Is something really the matter with me?" He could hardly remember being babied as a small child. When he was sick or injured as a slave, the help was clinical rather than warm. Since returning, Dymphna and Denen had been gentler when he'd hit his head or otherwise been injured, but this unknown thing was frightening and in his current state he could only fear the debilitating weakness and lack of control without someone to watch over him, let alone give comfort.

[Denen Sunsinger]

He felt sick, though he did his best to conceal this fact. He had to keep himself calm, for Sam's sake, though panic blossomed in his heart and threatened to overwhelm and blind him entirely. The only thing he could think to do at present was to get Sam cooled down. Fevers could be devastating. A mind could be utterly ruined if one was allowed to get too far beyond control. His blue eyes flickered the the stranger, and he offered a respectful, short nod of his head, before his attention to his friend. By the gods, and as They lived, he refused to lose Sam. He watched Sam's fingers explaining what he was feeling. He reached for the bucket of water and tugged it to his side. He re-wet the rag that he'd spread across Sam's brow, before applying it again. The Ethefael returned, and Denen moved to allow him to come closer to Sam, though he did not once leave the young Drykas' side. He carefully took one of Sam's hands in his own and offered a gentle squeeze of encouragement. "Is...Is it...a v-virus?" He wondered aloud. "I h-h-have n-never seen...any...anything...like this."