Heart and Mind (Akilah)

[Colt]

Heart and Mind (Akilah) Fall 27, 511 AV Wind. Guidance without direction. Nothing as wild. Nothing as strong. Nothing as— Enough! Khasr was sitting on a rise just out of sight of the City of Tents. It may have once been covered in lush grass, but time and erosion had claimed it for what small amount of time they could. The dirt was as fine as flour, soft to the touch, and kept heat and coolness for a long time. We’re in a bad enough situation without you thinking in lyric! Khasr growled and rubbed his temples. He had only recently come across the novelty of thinking in second person, and didn’t like it at all. His second person, however, had no intention of vanishing. It was early evening, the time when the sun was shouting to the world that it did not want to go to bed, while the darkness was busy compromising and cooing it below the horizon. It would probably be a while before the sun submitted. And still, in this period of suspension, his mind worked with fervor, as it had for more days than he could count on both hands. He was mulling over everything in his immediate social circle, which wasn’t very much considering that said circle consisted of only one person. Akilah had been haunting him for much longer than he thought was necessary, but what irritated him the most was that he had no idea what he thought of her. He hated her with all of his being one minute before swinging to desperately yearning for her solid forgiveness the next, and it was exhausting him. In the time since he had met her, he had taken to placing things before her pavilion for her to find, and he was completely sure that it wasn’t working. It was meant for her, but given to the entire Windsong family, so how could she know? He was sure that an antelope, three rabbits, a coyote, and three grouse were enough to earn him forgiveness, but if she didn’t know, then how could he get it? Khasr surged to his feet and yelled, kicking the ground with all his might before sighing and plopping back to his seat. He was going to drive himself insane; he knew it.

[Akilah Windsong]

Adámas whickered softly in front of her as they rode back to the city. Shifting her weight so it was more evenly spread, she gave a soft click to let her mount know to slow down. They had been riding fast to get back to the city in a bid to get there before the evening set in. As it was, she thought she might make it there in time to get in one last sketch.

Leaning down to press her head against Adámas's neck, she pressed lightly to the left in a way of directing. "Head for that clearing," she added, straightening only slightly after. A more streamlined position, she remained bent, her hands tightly gripping to the small hand grip resting at the base of her horse's neck. The terrain beneath her was uneven, bumpy, and at the speed they were riding, it was hard for her to miss every change in the terrain.

She would be sore tomorrow, but for now she was one with the wind. It roared in her ears, excited for the competition, and she grinned in return. "Zulrav," she murmured, and she wondered if this is how it felt to be a storm warden, to hear the voice of air.

Approaching the clearing, the ground dusty beneath her feet, Adámas slowed down to a trot, her hooves giving distinct clops as she moved on the dry earth. Panting, Akilah could feel her horse heaving, breathing in, breathing out, each snort creating a tremor through her body. "We had a good run, didn't we?"

Dismounting, she stroked her partner's mane, noting how wet it was. "When we get back, you'll get a nice rubbing down," she promised, before taking a look at the sky. Still some light, fortunately, and reaching into one of the bag's attached to the yves, she pulled out a small sketchbook. Flipping through it, she grimaced at some of the sketches, ignoring how Adámas was peering over her shoulder and whickering.

"I know, I know," she muttered. "Not very good." Some of the pages held rough sketches of the scenery--charcoal and graphite rubbed lightly against the page, some strokes confident and bold, other shy and quiet. The shading was inconsistent, though, and her trees looked more like twigs with clumps than anything else.

It was still a start. The pages that held her attempts at drawing a map, the small circles that indicated elevation, were the ones she smiled at. Her estimates at distance were getting better.

Another snort. "They aren't that bad," she growled back. "I bet you can't do much better." A pause. It was pregnant in the air and she sighed in response. "Yes, hooves, I know."

Moving around the clearing, she continued to speak as she looked for a place to sit. With one hand holding the book, it was harder to sign, but still manageable. "I bet you couldn't do better even if you had hands." The elevation was increasing, and she slanted her body accordingly. "Does it matter if I'm challenging you? I don't think you're magically going to get hands."

Reaching the top, she almost sat down, satisfied, when she realized there was someone else already occupying the area.

A certain someone who had yelled at her earlier. And stormed off angrily. And--she still didn't like the bitter taste that came when she remembered that day. She felt that breach, that line she was about to cross over, the force of it all. Growing up was something she was doing already, something she wanted (needed) to do. It still didn't make it any easier to accept. Once she crossed over, took that first step, there would be no going back.

And he had to explode like her younger cousins when they didn't get to join the hunt.

Her thoughts were jumbled at the sight of him, but one remained clear and compelling.

Get away.

And following that urge, she started to walk past him, to the city. She could capture the sunset some other day.

[Colt]

Khasr felt a small tickling on his hand. He turned his gaze to identify the culprit and saw, to his amazement, a moth. It was maybe the length of his pointer finger, with dusty brown wings marked with flecks that didn't seem to have any particular pattern. He raised his hand to eye level and looked the moth in the eye. Up close, he was struck by the regal aura that it emitted. The fur-like stuff on what he assumed to be its shoulders was proud, kingly, its wings like a great sweeping cape. Its antennae were tucked back like a trailing headdress, and its feet looked armored. Khasr suddenly knew, without doubt, that moths were the kings of insects. He didn't know what he had thought they were before, but a part of him admired the moth for a reason he couldn't identify. A gust of wind swept up the hill and the moth alighted, flitting on the air in a jerky manner unbecoming of a king. Khasr watched it lazily as it jumped about, making its way down the hill towards another being in the clearing. Another being in the clearing. Khasr mouthed a particular nasty curse. The girl and her horse were breathing hard as she slipped from the mare's back. Akilah whispered, and for all else Khasr felt a strong wave of his signature band of envy. However, his attention was quickly garnered when she began to ascend the hill upon which he sat. He swore silently again and stood, looking around for something, anything to escape upon or hide behind. Unfortunately, he was on a hill, and this particular hill hosted no such objects. She reached the top of the hill and saw him, causing him to freeze like a rabbit in front of a charging horse. Khasr opened and closed his mouth several times, unable to find words. It was only when Akilah turned on her heel that he snapped out of it. He sprinted forward and caught her arm, then released it and drew back as if she had burned him. "I..." He couldn't think of anything. His reason and common sensed seemed to have decided to take a particularly inconvenient day off, leaving him to grope around for something to say. He found nothing but silence. Then the horse nickered. He looked at it as if it was a blessing from the gods themselves, then back to Akilah. "Uh... I think your horse is... uh... pretty," he said lamely.

[Akilah Windsong]

His grip was firm on her arm, for the two seconds he grabbed her. Whipping her head around to glare at him, she remained still as he released his hold, almost stumbling back.

Part of her felt vindictive as he groped for words, desperation clear in his eyes. Obviously this was uncomfortable for him as well. And, though she hated admitting it, it felt nice to see him squirm.

Akilah knew herself well enough to know that if he apologized, she'd probably forgive him in an hour.

It was a good trait, to forgive so easily. She disliked it all the same. However much she hurt, the other person never seemed to get the same treatment. It was low and petty of her, to think like this. Her mother wouldn't be proud if she found out, though, of this malicious side of her.

She couldn't entirely stop. She still tried anyways.

Adámas snickered at the scene, a little high-pitched. It seemed to have struck Khasr with inspiration for he awkwardly stumbled over his words and spoke.

And all thoughts, all the shame at her own darkness and the anger at him, disappeared. Flabbergasted, she stared at him, her jaw slack.

"Adámas is pretty?" she repeated, dumbstruck. The apology she expected dispersed into the air and she took a step forward.

"You..." The anger came back now. "After the months that passed, that is all you could say?" Her voice rose slightly, and she couldn't fully rein in the disbelief. "Seriously?" Summer had passed, fall had started, and over that long break, this was how he started the conversation?

It didn't help that Adámas gave a soft neigh, amused by the scene and pleased by the compliment. "You get no say in this," she retorted, though she took a step back anyways. Frowning heavily, she considered the young man in front of her.

It would feel good to just march away, to ignore him as he ignored her. Easy and more pleasing, that choice was something she could do without thinking.

A sigh escaped her lips. She wasn't raised like that. More than that, just leaving without hearing him out would leave her regretful for days. She knew better than to trample on feelings.

With an angry release of air, she took a few steps to the side and sat down. Her mare trotted to her side, whickering as she lowered herself to the ground. Patting her side, Akilah reluctantly explained, "She liked the compliment."

[Colt]

“Adámas is pretty?” Adamas. That was the horse’s name. “You…” Khasr’s attention was returned to Akilah as she took a forceful step towards him, involuntarily making him take a step away from her. “After the months that passed that is all you could say?” She seemed angry, disbelieving. Before he knew it his own anger resurfaced, blazing like wildfire. “If you think--” he shouted before cutting himself off. No. With a ludicrously large amount of visible effort, he suppressed his rage. Taking a deep breath, he rose his gaze to look her square in the eye. “You laughed at me,” he said, getting a better grip on his temper. Nicker. Horse. What was it? Adámas? Khasr felt his emotion subside a small amount, and allowed himself a small sigh. He flicked a thankful gaze at her, and she looked slightly amused, slightly stern. He looked back at Akilah, taking another deep breath. “And you laughed first. If you want me to apologize, then you must as well.”

[Akilah Windsong]

Akilah stared up at him in disbelief. "I didn't laugh at you." Was that the reason he ran off before, like a spooked colt? "I laughed at us. At the situation. You hit a tree. I stumbled into a bramble patch. Why wouldn't I laugh at the end?" Her voice was firm as she spoke, though a tinge of bemusement lay underneath as she recalled the day.

She saw no need to apologize. It wasn't as though she was making fun of him and any imagined insult he had was not something she had to pay for.

Then again, she was forgetting his rage. His anger was a volatile thing, she was slowly learning. Khasr seemed to go off at the slightest thing, without the humour that marked her friends and family. It was only in her eldest cousin and one of her aunt's that she dealt with this, and at least they understood when a laugh was mocking and when it was of mirth.

He was still standing as she sat on the bumpy earth, her back leaning against her partner's flank. A terse figure, she contemplated for a moment standing up once more. In the end, though, her horse was comfortable, the evening warm, and she dismissed the idea entirely.

[Colt]

Khasr face darkened and he unconsciously took a small step back without answering. How could she think that? Laughter wasn’t good, not at all. It hurt just as much as a fist, and sometimes accomplished more. It was painful. Why did she think that it was alright? She bore an expression of confusion, which in turn confused him. He wasn’t quite sure what to think of that, and looked away from her, face slightly pained. He knew that he would have to think everything over carefully before saying it, and he was struggling to remain passive. An idea struck him like a slap to the face, and he jumped. It was a vague idea, but it was a good one. He looked at Akilah and tilted his head, wondering how she had put the idea into him, and, unable to come up with an answer, put it away for later thought. A flickering caught his eye. It was the moth again, dancing about the hill. It fluttered around the horse, then angled towards Khasr. He rose a hand and it landed on his knuckle. “Moths are the kings of insects,” he said, almost proudly. It wasn’t the greatest attempt at small talk, but he didn’t know about much else.

[Akilah Windsong]

She watched as his face clouded, thunder in his eyes as he reacted to her words. Lightning coiled, released as he took a step back. The storm remained, though, and she was baffled by his reaction.

Plainly, she had hurt him. Even as he looked away, that pain remained in his profile, in the tense jaws and the tight frown.

Laughter wasn't always a good thing--she knew it could be mocking at times. It can be sharp and cutting. Her laughter, at that moment, hadn't been malicious, though. Surely he could have heard that, seen that in her expression.

Surely he could have noticed that now, in her words, in her honest confession. Yet, despite that, he still didn't seem to understand her actions.

And she understood his less.

Startled, she pressed a little closer to Adámas as he jumped, turning to face her. Giving a nervous smile as the erratic youth stared at her, she sighed lightly when he turned away, raising his hand.

When they first met, she had thought of him as slightly odd. Angry, for certain, but certainly sane.

As the moth landed on his outstretched hand, she found herself reassessing her opinion at his words.

He might be insane after all. Khasr seemed proud at his sentence, of moths. She didn't know why. A minute ago, they were talking about apologies. A second ago he was angry.

And now he was talking about moths.

Maybe he had been out in the sun for too long. Getting up now, she dusted her pants off, the reddish-brown soil printed onto her white pants like a wildcat's spots. Approaching him, she raised a hand to his forehead. "You don't seem feverish..." she mused, trying to remember the obvious symptoms of other illnesses she knew. Perhaps he had been bitten by a poisonous snake or bug.

Before she could stop herself, she added, "And I think cockroaches are the kings. Do you know hard it is to kill them?"

[Colt]

Awkward. The moth fluttered away as Akilah stepped forward, and Khasr tensed as she put a hand to his forehead. He prepared to bolt, having to earthly idea of what she was doing. Oh. She was checking him for illness. He wasn't sick, he was fairly positive of that. He tilted his head at her, quite bemused. He took another nervous step back and looked down. "Fine. I'm fine. But it's true." She replied, though it seemed mostly a distraction. "No, no," he said, shaking his head. "Cockroaches are the Stormwardens. A king does not have to be the strongest, and they often aren't. Wasps are hard to kill, too. Wasps and Cockroaches are the Stormwardens. Wait, no. Wasps are the... archers. Assassins? No. Yes. Something between those two. But then cockroaches are stronger than Stormwardens. Cockroaches are..." He shook his head. "Damn. What are cockroaches, then?"

[Akilah Windsong]

He didn't seem fine, but perhaps this was how he normally was. All she knew was the hunter and the rage and right now Khasr was neither. Giving up on checking on him, she frowned at his words.

"Then what should the king be? The smartest? The most striking? The largest? The moth doesn't win in those categories either." She rested one hand on her cheek, dusty and warm from the earth. There would be a mark there after, she knew, and she'd probably have to take a bath later.

Remembering her clothes, her frown deepened. Her father would not be impressed with the mess she was. Sighing lightly, she shook off the worry and concentrated on the conversation. With his talk of wasps and assassins, it seemed more like a game than anything else and she was eager to play.

"Cockroaches are tough to kill and that's about it. They are," What was that term? She tried to remember the chess game her uncles played once. "Oh, that's it. Pawns. The infantry. The ants can be the civilians, there are so many of them. And the court can have the ladybugs--they are just pretty and useless."

As she spoke, her words started to get a little faster, words running into each other times. Excited, she tried to match other jobs to other bugs, hoping to pick the right combination before Khasr did. Remembering a certain bug's penchant to eating heads, she chuckled. "And praying mantis can be the executioner."