Heart and Mind (Akilah)

[Colt]

"I don't know what the king would be," Khasr mused. "They're all so different. But one of the things all kings are supposed to be is regal. And moths are regal. They have wings like butterflies but when they close them they turn into capes. They have crowns, too." Akilah touched her cheek, leaving a smear of dirt before continuing. Khasr nodded along. "Yes, exactly. All things have their own circles and courts. The skies and the forests and the plains and the rivers and the oceans. They all have kings and queens and courtiers and subjects." He trailed off, losing himself in his own thoughts.

[Akilah Windsong]

She disagreed on that point. "They should be regal, but they aren't always." There had been plenty of kings that had been horrific, with hooked noses and sharp eyes. Plenty of kings who committed misdeeds, plenty of kings that were ugly but kind. "But still, a king ought to be regal," she sighed. And she couldn't deny that the moth was regal, more so than the rest. It was not the caps or the crowns, but the softer, more muted colours. Butterflies were too flashy to be a good king.

As he quieted, thinking, she took a moment to observe his face. The frown was no longer present, creases disappearing slowly. With kinder eyes and the tension in his stance all but gone, he looked like a different person than the angry youth of summer or the confused man a few minutes ago. "You seem a lot..." she paused, thinking of the word, a finger tapping her chin as she did so. "Nicer? Not violent? Softer? Hmm...easier to approach. Yes, that's it."

Her horse whickered at that, lifting her head to face the pair. "He stopped glaring, at least," she retorted. Stretching her arms over head, she shook herself over, arching her back slightly until she heard the familiar snapping of her bones. Staying still in one-spot was aggravating at times and the silence that covered them was neither comfortable nor awkward. It was just there, and she wasn't sure if she should break it or not.

[Colt]

He nodded in agreement. Kings were supposed to be regal, but there were differences between insects and the intelligent races of Mizahar. Insects adhered to their species' rules, while humans and their ilk could never keep a rule or law for more than a century at a time. He didn't notice Akilah's scrutiny of his face, but returned to attention when she spoke. He listened in confusion, and when she found the words she was looking for, they struck him dumb. He stood there without the slightest idea of how to reply, blinking at her with intelligence reduced to that of a brick. She didn't seem put off by the silence, though. In fact, she... Khasr's face felt as if it had been set aflame as she stretched, defining curves he hadn't noticed before but were now almost blazingly obvious. Her joints popping did nothing to help, either. Blush spreading to his ears, Khasr shifted uncomfortably and averted his eyes, looking at everything except her. "Er..." The silence was stretching, awkwardness rising. Even worse, he still had no idea what to say.

[Akilah Windsong]

Considering the silence that surrounded them, she wondered if she had said something wrong. Slowly, Akilah had come to realize that she often spoke without considering her words or the situation, just honestly speaking her mind.

And sometimes, like earlier, it had unwanted consequence. Turning from her strider, she faced him once more. Oddly, though, he seemed to be avoiding her, his eyes moving this way and that.

She had done it again. It wasn't as serious as last time, no storm clouded his face and he had yet to stomp away from her. Instead, he seemed a little tongue-tied. Her words must have been more awkward, then, than rage-inducing. Holding back a sigh--she certainly had a gift at this, as her friends told her--she tried to think of another topic. Something to move onto. Vespera wasn't with her, unfortunately. She could have set the large pup on him and moved the conversation that way.

Glancing back her strider, she realized she had yet to see his. Both today and last time, he had been unmounted, travelling on foot through the dense grasses that populated the terrain. Even here, he remained alone and the city was far enough that horseback would be more comfortable. "Where's your strider?" she asked, curiously craning her neck to see a large body swallowed by the grasses.

[Colt]

Then came the question that he didn't want to hear. A sick feeling arose in his gut, one prompting him to answer the question and the other one telling him to walk away. What could he say? He was extremely old not to have bonded, and a Drykas without a strider was like a Drykas without legs. He couldn't be considered an adult until he bonded, despite the fact that he was already four years older than standard. It was like a deformity that deeded to be hidden, but he had hidden it for so long that he ached to tell someone. His gaze returned to Akilah and his blush faded. He looked at the ground nervously and backed away slowly. He wanted to tell her more than anything, but he had gone so long in fear of being ridiculed for it that he could hardly comprehend the idea of change. "I-I..." he had to tell someone. He had to take a chance. "I... need to go check a trap," he said hastily, turning to walk away.

[Akilah Windsong]

His face fell and immediately she knew she had once again said the wrong thing. This time she didn't hide the dismay that crossed her face, the clenching of her jaw.

Obviously, he didn't have one. Or if he did, it was injured. Maybe it had died. Maybe his strider hadn't found him yet. There were dozens of possibilities, ranging from the horrifically tragic to the downright disturbing, and whatever his story is, he wouldn't tell her.

After all, this was only the second time they've met. A part of her was disappointed. Striders could tell a lot about a person. Was he obsessively tidy? Impulsive? Forgetful? His strider would reflect a lot about him and that would be more than she could figure out by talking to him, considering how guarded he was.

And now he was trying to leave. Briefly, she wondered whether it would be such a good idea to be friends with this boy (man?). She was bound to step on a few more wounds before she even figured out what was taboo.

Oh Zulrav, he is worse than your storms. At least there is a consistency with you.

As he turned, slightly hunched over, Akilah snorted. Either way, there was no way she was going to let him leave like this. Last time he angrily charged off, now he was trying to run away. No, this time when he left, it would be on good terms or not at all.

Moving forward, her fingers snapped around his wrist, pulling him to a halt. Tightening her grip when he tried to pull away, she narrowed her eyes slightly, her gaze firmly locked on his. "Oh no you don't. Not this time." Closing her eyes, she reIaxed her expression, an apology written on her face when she opened them once more. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have said that."

A pause. Exasperation coloured her voice when she spoke next, a wry smile on her lips. "I didn't realize how sensitive you were--don't get all prickly now that I've said that." How did he even live in her city, where thoughts were the currency? He couldn't last a day. "It's like walking on glass with you."

Looking away now, she sighed heavily. Eyes downcast, a frown settled on her lips, and she organized her thoughts.

"I am sorry." And she was. From the looks of things, there were only bad memories associated with her question, things better forgotten. Yet she had picked the scabs, the recollections bleeding out.

Tired now, she quietly asked, changing the topic, "Are you going on the Fall Hunt?" Loosening her hold on his arm, she slowly let go, letting him choose where to go next.

[Colt]

He hadn’t taken three steps when a hand clamped around his arm. He tugged, trying to free himself, but Akilah’s grip was much stronger than he would have expected. He turned, stunned, and looked at his captor. Her face was set, so many expressions roiling around that he couldn’t tell what any of them were. Her eyes caught his, and he tried to shrink back. Her iron grip stopped him. “Oh no you don’t,” she hissed. “Not this time.” He tried to say something, but his throat failed him and it came out as nothing more than an incoherent whisper. Her gaze held his, paralyzing him. He looked at her with eyes wide in disbelief, but strangely enough, no fear. Surprise and extreme unease, to be sure, but he couldn’t find himself to fear her. Hers was the first physical contact with another human being that he’d had in years, but it wasn’t meant to be harmful, only firm. And suddenly, it loosened. Though it occurred to him to tear away and bolt, the notion seemed alien and pointless to him, like running away from his breakfast. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have said that.” A single beat of silence. “I didn’t realize how sensitive you were—don’t get all prickly now that I’ve said that.” Sensitive? Of all things to call himself, he had never thought of that. Or prickly, for that matter. He blinked at her in response. “It’s like walking on glass with you,” she said, almost to herself. That altered his worldview dramatically. She broke eye contact and looked down, giving Khasr the time to looked at his racing thoughts. They were mostly memories: the times he’d yelled at his family, run away from them, avoided contact with others… had that been sensitive? Prickly? “I am sorry,” she said. Her sincerity was louder than her voice, and slowly, very slowly… Khasr started to believe her. He scrutinized her face, looking for any stray twitch to suggest that she might be lying. There were none. She looked drained, in fact. Tired. Khasr, however, just felt numb. He was saving his self view alteration for later, which left a sizable hole in his mind. Her hand loosened, and he stepped back to lean against the lonely tree on the rise. There was no awkwardness in the next silence, only stability. There was a ring of bright soreness on his arm, and he rubbed it gently as he watched her thinking. “Are you going to the Fall Hunt?” she asked halfheartedly. Khasr shrugged. “Dunno. Been thinking about it, but haven’t decided.” He let another silence stretch amiably. “Do you think I should?” He flexed his arm and rolled it around, wincing slightly. “Damn, you have a tight grip.” He rolled up his sleeve, examined the afflicted area, sighed, and rolled it back down. Due to his rather dangerous lifestyle, he was well acquainted with the various types of bruises he could get. This one wouldn’t be particularly bad. It would probably be a light purple at worst, stick around for a day or so, then fade well enough. “If I do join, I’ll need a partner,” he continued. “I can hunt and track well enough, but I can’t throw my javelins worth shyke yet unless I get lucky or something runs up and throws itself on it.” He tilted his head. “What about you? You joining?”

[Akilah Windsong]

The entire time she spoke, he merely stared at her, blinking his eyes owlishly. Once released, he moved to the lone tree on the hill and she watched his movements carefully. Oddly, he didn't seem ready to bolt, rubbing his wrist as he stared at her.

A smile lit her face when he spoke. Giddy, she nodded in response to his question. "You can't call yourself a hunter if you don't." Remembering their hunt, she coughed in an attempt to hide her laughter. Despite what he said or felt, that memory was still a humourous one to her.

His wrist looked red and painful whenever she strayed a glance at it. As he rolled up his sleeves, his skin looked worse and worse, a wicked bruise blooming darkly on his skin. Wincing as he examined it, she gave a sheepish grin. "I've been doing a lot of push-ups and grip-strengthening exercises lately," she admitted, holding up the offending hand up to her face. Rolling her fingers, she closed it into a fist. "It makes it easier when I use my sword and I try to use the longbow."

A mischievous smirk wormed its way onto her face and she took a threatening step forward. "You should see me arm-wrestle." With his muscles though, now bare and easy to see, he would give her a run for her money. Keeping it as a jest, she lowered her arm once more and tried to keep her eyes at his face as he once again pulled down his sleeves.

She snorted in response to his question, she had been preparing for this event all year. "Of course I will, it's my first one on my own. I wonder what we'll be hunting this year." Thinking it over, she gazed across the plains, the small clusters of trees and the flat savannah. A small breeze stirred, running through her, and she wondered if the scent of their prey lingered in it.

"And..." She held an innocent expression at her next words, her eyes wide and smile angelic. "I've seen well enough what you can hit with that javelin of yours. We'll probably need a large group to take down whatever the beast is."

[Colt]

Khasr watched her, making a hm as she spoke. He didn’t agree, he didn’t disagree, but acknowledged her words. “I can feel it. You could crush a Glassbeak egg if you wanted to,” he commented, nodding at her hand. “I’d rather not arm-wrestle, though.” Armwrestling would only bring him more trouble. She snorted in affirmation of her participation in the Fall Hunt. He shrugged. “Dunno. Should be something interesting though. It’s always Glassbeaks. Maybe a rhinoceros this year.” His mind automatically went to the crocodile he’d encountered over the summer. That thing had been massive. His gaze followed hers to the great expanses, and his mind wandered along many little paths, most of them having something or other to do with the Fall Hunt. Should he really join? What? He looked at her when he realized she’d said something else. He blushed again, less this time, and looked down as he shrugged noncommittally. “Maybe, but nothing good enough to bring down anything big. I’ve been meaning to start practicing soon, though. Maybe I’ll be good enough when the Hunt comes. If I decide to join. Dunno.” He shrugged again. He fell into silence, not really knowing anything else to say. He spotted a lovely rock and left the scraggly tree to sit upon it, but quickly moved to the ground when the many protrusions left him less than comfortable. He turned to face Endrykas, a thoughtful expression upon his face. “Does Endrykas seem noisy? To you? At all?” he asked. “Always has to me. We’re still new, though. We’ve always been on the open plains. We used to support ourselves. Now we’ve turned into traders and crafters. On the plains it was so… quiet. You could hear everything, and it all smelled like the Sea. Here it smells like… horses and rugs. They smell weird together.”

[Akilah Windsong]

She furrowed her eyebrows when he looked down, his face coloured from her words. Obviously, he wasn't angry this time and judging by his next words, he even took it as a compliment.

Which was extremely odd, considering that she was referring to him hitting a tree. Quickly, she ducked her head to hide her surprised expression, biting her tongue to stop her from giving anything away. Clearly, he was even worse with his weapons than she realized, if hitting a tree was such a big accomplishment.

Not that she was much better but even she could hit living things. Pity welled up as she walked up to him, patting his shoulder comfortingly. "Don't worry, I'm sure by the time the hunt comes around, you'll be better."

After all, he couldn't do worse. Her opinion of his skills drastically changed from the first time they met, from rather good to nothing. And to look at him, who would have thought. This would be the last time she assumed just because someone looked strong and had a weapon that they could use it.

The rock he abandoned she scaled, liking the vantage her perch gave. Here, she could see everything: the tents at the edge rippling in the breeze, the people moving through the paths and secret short-cuts between the tents. Her eyes remained on small splashes of colour in the city, the patterns she knew by heart.

"Sometimes it is noisy," she admitted, "but never unbearably so. I have lived here since I was born and I know every pattern that the city has laid itself in, the smells and sounds and people better my own hand." This was her city, her people. She knew which pavilions liked to lay near the outskirts, which left gaps in-between for her to traverse. There were pockets that made for easy hiding and places where you could snag a free meal if only you say the right words.

The plains were nice, wide and open. They were the boundaries she ran through, played in, learned from. She knew the dips and terrain of the paths that their city traveled, the places she and her friends could fight in without fearing their parents' eyes.

In the end, though, that city was her home, and she hadn't been away from it for longer than a few days. She wasn't sure if she wanted to--sometimes the urge was strong, sometimes weak.

Wistfully, she looked down at him. "You've been to the sea?"