[Flashback] Making of The Plains Hunters (Ronan)

[Solicah]

510 Fall, 33

Solicah strolled wide eyed as usual through the pathways fashioned by the beautiful Drykas tents of Endrykas. He always loved when his Pavilion joined in full to the Stalk Meet. He somehow felt more connected to the rest of his people. Life as a Moondirge could be somewhat lonely at times. One always had family, of course, but interaction with other Pavilions were often restricted to the burial rites alone, which though profound, rarely inspired entertaining conversations. But, Solicah could strike up a conversation with anybody in the Sea of Tents, as it were, that was the beautiful city of Endrykas. His only problem was that it wasn't a matter he had much practice in. Though, most could attest to the fact that socialization, once initiated, came quite fluidly to the young man. Perhaps too much so, at times.

His father had sent him out to fetch water from the stream, though knowing there was no particular hurry on the request Solicah had found himself well away from the path to the river Endrykas was based upon this time of year. Instead he perused the ornate woven wears of his people, gawking over clothes he would never have, and weapons he could likely never wield. Still, seeing this vibrance and strength around him put his spirit in a good mood.

His mood, however, was improved ten fold at least once he saw a familiar face through the crowd. He wasn't sure at first if it was really him. It had been nearly a full year since the last time they had seen one another, and Ronan's hair seemed different than before. Solicah walked parallel the man through the light crowd and plentiful dyed colors. Ronan seemed to be moving, like Solicah, with no real direction. Down time wasn't rare among the Drykas, but much treasured. Tents and stalls drifted by between them, Solicah trying to keep both an eye on his friend, and on where he was going. The attempt proved more successful than not, for most the trek.

Solicah thought a moment of just approaching his friend with a jovial greeting. But, instead he thought a more sportsmanlike reunion was in order. A sly smile pasted across his face as he continued to stalk his prey through the treacherous pillars of unknown goods and wares around them. His prey was alert, but distracted by all of the others around. Yes, Solicah felt he had the upper hand indeed!

As his Drykas prey came to a tarrying halt before some nondescript merchant's stall Solicah took the opportunity for a preliminary pass. Like a shark circling his prey he walked toward Ronan, pulling his vivid blue stretch of light cloth up over his distinct hair like a deathly dark cloak's hood. For, in the bright and multicolored city of Endrykas it was a disguise just as worthy as a dark cloak. More so, in fact.

Solicah walked leisurely past his friend from behind, his stomach growing tight with excitement and anticipation as he pass. He followed the flow of the crowd perfect, and reveled in his apparent success as he walked off a ways. He was very tankful that Ronan had taken his stroll in quite truthfully the most busy part of the city. It allowed Solicah to stop, half concealed behind a nearby tent, and evaluate his prey further. He looked over Ronan, taking stalk of his clothes, his demeanor, and checking for any wounds. He was honestly concerned for the man. Solicah had seen him at his weakest, his most injured, and since that day, even though the man was his age then several more, Solicah felt a certain urge to protect him, to nurture him. Solicah would of course never tell his older friend this, pride would not allow, but still he would take the silent moments to look. To care.

Soon Ronan was on his way again, a slow but consistent pace carrying him along the path toward where Solicah felt he was cleverly hidden, poised for his trap. For good measure Solicah ducked inside a nearby merchant's tent upon Ronan facing his direction. The kind looking women within looked up at Solicah, and in sweet as honey Pavi words and motions she gave her greeting, "Hello there young man. Is there anything I can help you with?"

Solicah peaked out the opening of the tent, watching Ronan a moment more before turning to the women. His face set adorned with a kind and excited smile. "No thank you Ma'am. Very kind of you to ask though. I sure hope you are having a wonderful day!" With that he turned back around, waiting the final few second before it was time to make his strike!

The women in the tent stared at him perplexed as he scanned the surrounding crowd, not wanting to knock anybody over in his exuberant strike. Just before the women finally spoke once more, Solicah took his moment. He dove with great gusto out of the tent toward his friend, aiming the best he could for the man's waist to topple him over in the middle of the busy Endrykas street. Along with his unpracticed assault he let out a mockery of a fearsome war cry, to show his jest to any that might witness the lunge.

[Ronan]

Ronan walked through the centre of Endrykas uncomfortably. It was busy, the meeting of tents and pavilions creating a raucous of colour and noise. He much preferred the quiet winds of the grasses.

He glanced around, only looking for some of the herbs he had not been able to find out in the wild, but as he walked past a particular tent, a figure suddenly darted out, the blur tackling him to the ground.

He groaned, smacking into the ground, dazed for just a moment. When he blinked his eyes open, he saw the familiar face of Solicah Moondirge - one of the only friends Ronan kept up with in Endrykas. His locks were still curly, giving an almost unkempt appearance. He almost laughed at the thought. Stubble covered his face - he was the unkempt one.

He pushed up, shoving the young man aside with a gentle laugh. "Solicah," he said softly. His day was brightened somewhat by the man's appearance. "It seems you stalked me like a rabbit."

[Solicah]

Solicah laughed hardly, eyes glancing half apologetically to the passerby as he stumbled to his feet, a proud and open grin across his face. "I sure did! And never have I hunted such easy pray! You're getting rusty, big brother!" He said louder than he possibly needed to, and winked. The title was endearing, but not in the least shallow. Though Solicah had never come out to say his words of gratitude explicitly, he always felt a close kinship to Ronan ever since they met. To Solicah, Ronan taught him the lesson that his elders had attempted, and failed, to teach him orally for years before he began practicing the burial rites. He felt as if he truly discovered the connection, not only in blood, but in spirit that bound Solicah to Ronan that night they danced beneath Leth's condoning gaze, as together they ushered off the brave fallen. Not only Ronan's parent's but by extension his own family as well. For this lesson he had silently promised himself to always stand by his newly discovered brother's side when they met, and to never waste a moment in formalities or self imposed distance. To always embrace him with open arms, as a brother. Even if this meant a tackle.

Just the same, Solicah knew full well that Ronan was the superior hunter, of course. It would be saying something to meet a man who was not a superior hunter to Solicah. He had many strengths, some more valuable to his pavilion than others, hunting was far at the base of the lengthy list. Ronan had once made a promise to remedy this lack in Solicah, but the times were rough, and their time together fleeting. Not to mention Solicah was still a boy, unmarked, and without any true freedom to stray from his family. Much had changed since then, it was not a peaceful time, tucked into the protective fold of Endrykas, with all the time Syna offered to do as they pleased. And, on top of that, one more thing had changed.

Solicah's grin then turned into a half-turned smirk mischievously placed on the corner of his lips as he purposely put out his right arm to help Ronan up up from the dusty dry street of Endykas. Upon the arm lay not the smooth and untouched golden hued skin of youth, unadorned, but instead an ornate wind mark, modeled very closely to that of Ronan's own. The design was different enough, representing more of a gentler and flamboyant nature, (lacking the harshness and severity of Ronan's) suited well to Solicah, but there was no mistaking the intentional similarities. His eyes look toward it expressively, and his jerked his head a bit toward it, making full well that Ronan, and likely any passerbies could see it, as they fought to get around the rambunctious boys blocking the heart of the pathway.

[Ronan]

Solicah was Solicah. Seemingly a son of Syna - though he didn't know it - he was a ball of energy and integrity. The young man offered a hand, and Ronan accepted it as he climbed up from the ground.

"Rusty," replied Ronan, with a nod and a knowing smile, "Perhaps I am in my old age."

Suddenly, Solicah was prostrating his arm before him. He looked down, and found himself grinning at the dark, sweeping windmarks that adorned the Moondirge's arm. Out of character - though the man often brought such emotions to him - he pulled the man into an embrace.

"The Moondirge earned his stripes. Welcome to the Drykas fold, brother."

[Solicah]

Solicah let out a loud, likely obtrusive, laugh as he returned the embrace, giving Ronan a short series of firm claps on the back before releasing. "You should meet her!" he exclaimed with a lingering grin, of course implying his strider. "She is gorgeous and strong. Twice as fast and smart as Tairell is, of course." His grin was wrestled off his face for the shortest moment where he tried to look serious, and challenging before the grin reappeared with full force, a laugh teetering on the edge of a giggle erupting out of him as he pushes some of his curly mane off of his brow, which it would stick for likely no more than a minute before shaken loose again.

"But, on the topic of my marks, it's time to pay up! You promised, old man!" The near giggles persisted as he struggled through his sentences, begging the question of how Solicah could ever speak when he never seems to take the time to breath between words. "I've earned my place, and now you get to teach me to hunt." Solicah's father could hunt of course, but he never taught Solicah. Solicah showed aptitude in his pavilion's magics, and though branching out was not discouraged, the elders couldn't waste their time teaching any in that not of their aptitude, even ones own father. And so, Solicah forced one from outside of his Pavilion, one that held a lesser bond to his Pavilion's demands to teach Solicah. Ronan's attempts to delay the excursion had finally run out, and Solicah was not going to accept another extension. "You sure don't look very busy right now! You look hunger though." He gave an almost cute, hopeful look of enthusiasm to Ronan. "Starving even! Famished! Fatigued to the point where you might fall down! Really we should do something about that, it seems oh so very bad." His face began the shift to the slightest hue of red from the chuckles he was struggling to hold at bay, with little avail.

[Ronan]

Ronan laughed at Solicah's enthusiasm. It was certainly infectious. He had never met such an upbeat man - even without a night's sleep, he seemed to be filled with such a warm pocket of energy.

Old man. He scrunched his face a little and smiled again, shaking his head in disbelief.

"Fair enough, fair enough. I will teach you a little, though I'm no expert by any means. Do you own a dagger Solicah?"

He nodded firmly. He was free, it was true. A promise was a promise. He had burned too much to break something true and real that he had ensured so long ago.

"I'm free now, if you're ready for a lesson. And I'm not hungry... well, not very hungry. It's just..." he looked around. So many faces he didn't know. His race incarnate, living their lives, buying and selling, living and being, "I haven't been in Endrykas much recently, is all."

And that was the simple truth.

[Solicah]

Solicah's smile refused to diminish even as he seriously responded to the question.

"No, I don't have a proper hunting knife. Why? Do I need one? Because perhaps I can barrow yours? I don't really have the funds to trade for one right now. And I can't rightly give up my bow. You can use a bow, right Ronan? Of course you can. Teach me to hunt with that. Oh,"

Words steaming without pause from his lips, with flashes of white teeth he slapped a firm hand down squarely upon Ronan's back and began leading him without much delicacy the opposite direction he had been traveling, giving little mind to those he might step before as they moved. Clearly a young man, as he was to be called now, without much awareness of his surroundings. No doubt training him to silently pursue game would be a challenge.

"Aureunna's this way!" An expressive hand almost connects with a large Drykas man as they move along the strips of colourful trading tents. "And my mother would like to see you as well, I'm sure. We should introduce you to the youngings too, there has been two births since we last met. They are so adorable, you will be jealous!"

His enthusiasm beat off him like waves of sound from a drum, seeping from his pours as sweat built up from quick and fluent gestures of Pavi from his extremities.

[Ronan]

"That's fine," Ronan said with a gentle nod, "I only say it because I was taught to hunt with my dagger. And no, I don't own a bow. Should I?"

He had barely finished talking when Solicah almost dragged him forward. They traipsed through Endrykas, and the strange feelings continued to bubble inside Ronan. Regret. That was truly the central strand in all of this.

He felt like he had missed a lot. But he had isolated himself through choice. He told himself so often there was nothing left for him here, but when he spoke to people like Solicah, he wondered if that was true. Solicah had been a friend since his youth. There were still people here that he cared for...

Indecision carried him forward, listening to and following the golden haired youth. Aureunna was the man's Strider - he presumed - and felt a little excitement at the prospect of meeting her or him. Every Strider was different, guided to their riders through fate.

"Uh... okay."

It was all he could say as Solicah babbled about family. Family was an alien concept to Ronan, alien indeed. When the boy spoke, it was not just in Pavi. His hands gesticulated, working in grassland sign to exaggerate his points. He was glad for Solicah. It seemed his life had moved a stage, shifting to a phase that Ronan's never would.

"I'm happy for you Solicah," he said with a gentle smile, "I truly am."

[Solicah]

Solicah's manner shifted slightly, caught off guard by the statement for just a moment. He lended a good long glance back at Ronan, and slowed his pace, looking into those captivating eyes of his, those eyes that seemed to hold all the harshness of a Cyprus spring storm all in two small rings. He had been so abused, not just by people but the fates as well, and he carried a heaviness in him that hinted at trails long before he ever reached the body he had then.

Solicah smiled, this time softly, silently for a long breath's length, before beginning speech again with a calmer more measured voice. As if he spoke with purpose, and he wouldn't allow anything in the world distract him from his message.

"In the older times when the grasslands were still untamed," he began calmly almost matter of fact, "there were three men in a pavilion of women."

He glanced forward as they broke from the cropping of sales tents and began swinging around the territory of a rather small pavilion of merchants, "The first was a gallant man, rippling with muscle and towering above all of the others. He presumptuously called himself Ankal, and gathered together the most beautiful women to the Pavilion, and lavished with little more than nightly visits and the frequent stories of his conquest with his sharp blade."

He gives a sigh, "Well," and slows his pace further to walk comfortably by Ronan's side instead of urging him too quickly.

"The second man was a bitter sort, and refused the Ankal's rule. He stole for himself the women by night, and worked away at his crafts with malice in his mind, hammering at his woods, and whittling with his blades, all the while swearing to himself of the haughty Ankal."

With the hand not proudly attached to the woven stretch of windmarks upon his upper arm he reached out and puts his palm firmly on Ronan's shoulder, trying to hold enough balance not to throw their walking off as they move through a small group of children at play.

"It was the third man, however, that lived his life with temperance, and love. His strider was enough to fill his heart, and he did not even take a wife as he stretched well into his second dozen cycle of seasons. He was no warrior like the first, nor a master of craft as the second. He simply assisted his people, and tended to himself and his own strider as their Ankal's rule stretched into a very harsh winter."

Solicah gives a theatrical shiver at the thought and draws his hands back, splitting for a moment as they step around a wide gap in the ground where once a thick pole had supported a pavilion.

"Food was scarce, and many women died that year. So harsh was this year, even in the protected south, that the Ankal lost his prized strider, and the craftsmen soon after. And, in sorrow, they took what pleasure they could in the women left.

It was not long before the Ankal knew of the hateful man's nights of desperately rubbing for heat with all the women, and challenge was made."

His eyes stretch wide in near exasperation at the story, but also excitement as he voice raises, catching more than a single glance as they walks along.

"The two fought! They fought over the women, and they fought over the title. With a great need, and a fair amount of blood, bursting out of them the man who loved his own accomplishment too much found a whittling spike through his eye, and the man who could think of nothing but another's accomplishment found a sharpened blade in his gut."

Solicah's excited speech slowed again, and he breathed deeply before continuing.

"Spring broke the next day."

Again the matter of fact tone, as he came to stop and waved his hand outward toward the vivid azul pavilion before them, his home. He made no attempt to move closer, not yet. He turned and looked into his friend's eyes again as he spoke, as if his words held the meaning of life. As if it were essential that the story be finished.

In fact, to him it was.

"The last of the three was unaware of the fight. After a proper day's play and work he retired to his tent, where his strider lay warm around him. All through the bitter winter they remained like this, keeping one another warm and alive.

As he came from his tent he began work, as always, and only when all the day's work was done did he find the most beautiful, best riding women of the Pavilion waiting for him in his bed. She greeted him as 'Ankal' during her seductions, and placed a beautiful woven piece upon his shoulders. They lived happily, and before the next winter they had more children frolicking within the pavilion. They went farther south that season, and each one after and never again during the man's entire life did they have another unbearable winter. Forever they were happy."

A peaceful expression spread slowly across Solicah's features, his eyes almost sparkling in the bright sunlight. The story's conclusion brought a calm in the otherwise energetic Drykas, and he reached out, taking Ronan's hand, softly this time, not harsh.

"In your time, Ronan Windsong. You are the best of man, and the world will," the word comes with unforced certainty, "be rewarded for your virtue."

Then to hide the redness creeping over his own face he turned and began again toward the edge of the Moondirge pavilion. He did not, however, let his hand slip from Ronan's.

[Ronan]

Ronan listened curiously when Solicah began to tell him a story. But listen he did. The boy often spoke a nonsensical type of wisdom. Words that made sense when they were considered in their context.

As they came through a gaggle of children, singing songs and kicking a small leather bag round in the grass, Solicah's hand came restfully to his shoulder. He could tell the story was for his benefit. Solicah knew of some of his hardships. After all, the boy was from a pavilion that specialised in the dirges and rites of Drykas death. He had grown up around the severing of life. Perhaps that made him a different man - more accepting of Dira's final strike.

Ronan liked the sound of the third man. He was an honourable sort. He shivered too at the mention of the harsh winter. The season was hard on the Drykas people. They had to keep fires going through the long nights. Cloth and fabric was not resilient enough against the fierce cold winds, that gained strength across the great swathes of grass.

As the story progressed, so too did Solicah's voice. Excitement and volume blossomed in his words, and Ronan nodded, laughing and smiling a little as curious children watched and listened, and adult Drykas simply looked up from their duties to raise an eyebrow or too.

Solicah turned to meet his eyes as he finished off the story. As expected, it was the third man that lived on, and in a measure of happiness too. The others... they lay in pools of blood, all of their own making. Good things had come to the third man, in the end of course.

He was surprised when the Drykas took his hand, but he didn't recoil. He couldn't help but see Solicah as a younger brother type figure. He knew how to cheer Ronan up.

"Thank you," Ronan said. He was half temped to wave off the praise, but he restrained himself. Solicah had spoken kind words, and the least he could do was accept them. "You know, I can see you as an Ankal. You have a wisdom beyond your years, Solicah."

He let the boy continue to guide him, but felt like he needed to brace himself a little. Solicah alone, he could cope with. But meeting an entire pavilion suddenly was always one of Ronan's strange, quirky little fears.