An Awkward Seperation (Pash)

[Sariana]

86th Day of Spring, Morning.

Sariana watched the ocean waves crashing against the worn and weary wood of the dock, sky-blue eyes scanning across the water slowly. People passed quietly by, some packing boats, others coming off time at sea. Of all the places she had briefly explored yesterday, the dock seemed to be the most...safe. Things didn't up and change for no reason.

Somewhere behind her on the sand of the beach, Vrathetu nickered, pawing at the seafoam catching on the sand after each swell. The strider was happier off the boat, and frankly so was his rider. The drykas had hated his terror during the storm. Glancing back at the horse, she smiled and walked along the wood slats and jumped onto the sands to greet him.

"Yes I know, it's curious stuff this ocean business." She said in pavi  with a smile. Reaching out, she stroked his golden neck, scratching a soft cheek. Vrathetu snorted in delight, enjoying the warriors attention.

As she scratched the great stallion, Sariana's mind wandered. Spring had been a strange thing, a whirlwind of events and emotions. Her gaze grew distant as her smile became softer. Somehow, that petching celestial bastard always crept into her thoughts. It was at first, disturbing, and the warrior had made a firm decision with herself not to entertain the silly fluttering in her stomach when she saw him, or heard him, or recalled his cerulean gaze.

But herself wasn't really listening.

[Pash'nar]

Pash'nar had spent some time in parting with the small pod of Svefra who'd put themselves in danger to transport a horse and three women across the Suvan at his request. They'd told him of the kind of destruction the djed storm had indeed waged on their kind, telling him of the great gathering, telling him what was left … and what wasn't. It was disheartening, and enough to remind the tattooed sailor that of the two shades of skin he wore in a day, he often identified with the sea-faring one much more than his celestial one. The tales of devastation brought memories of his time with other Svefra, especially of those who had chosen to see past his anger and called his bluff whenever the opportunity presented itself. It hurt to drudge up such flotsam from the depths of his internal sea, his history spreading out before him in pieces as he was left considering—once again—his place, his existence. It was with a heavier heart than usual that he saw them back on their way, back into the farther reaches of the Suvan to rejoin their people in rebuilding what had been broken. For the first time in a long time, there was a part of him that wanted to go, too. To see if maybe he really was missing some purpose he'd been called back to Mizahar for. But he didn't. He wasn't really a Svefra, was he? He didn't really know half the time, and the other half he just chose to ignore the nagging longing to belong somewhere that dragged along the black, volcanic sands of his thoughts like a wayward anchor. Besides, he had other distractions. They were immediate and decidedly not related to the sea at all. They were currently dark-haired and lovely, with a bit of sharp-edged danger he found he couldn't resist despite his many internal objections. He tucked his conflicting thoughts deeply into the back of his mind once again as he made his way through the winding paths of worn wood that made up the Patchwork Port toward the beach. While the beach did not hold any happy recent memories, considering the last time he found himself on it was near-drowned and exhausted, this arrival at Alvadas was resoundingly safer, better, and somewhat easier to deal with. The sun was shining. Repairs were underway. The port wasn't exactly bustling, but it was no longer entirely maimed. He spotted Sariana's horse before he saw the Drykas, both together on the narrow strip of beach near the docks, still strewn with ship bits and broken wood. It took a moment to finally focus, a smile slowly creasing into the unaging windswept features of the dark-haired navigator as he approached the woman and the beast that had caused all the travel complications in the first place, "Ahoy!" Pash called teasingly as if the pair were far away, "Ain't you gonna find a stable for your beast? I'm sure there's one somewhere in Ionu's city for him to be somewhat safe in." He smirked as he said this, obviously on the fence about just how comforting and safe Alvadas really was, especially after the djed storm. He was more than happy to come to a stop next to the swordswoman and her four-legged, less-toothy friend, hovering more than just a little into her personal space in their current state of familiarity, though he managed to keep his inked hands momentarily to himself, "I ain't ever needed one, 'course, but I'm guessin' someone knows how to find one 'round here." The tattooed sailor leaned in a little, invitingly, hinting at the intimacy they shared while adding quietly, "'Less you plan on campin' on the beach instead."

[Sariana]

Turning her head at the familiar sound that raised again the butterflies in her belly, Sariana smiled at the ethaefal robed in his svefra form, wind catching her raven locks and tossing them about her face like some victory pennant. Lifting a hand, she pushed the unruly tresses behind her ears as the grinning navigator closed the gap between them, close enough to almost feel the electric air between them.

"I'll be honest, I'm afraid if I stable him the very ground might open up and swallow him whole before either of us knew it. This city is very...unusual." Raising an eyebrow, the young warrior couldn't resist tilting her face towards his own as the tanned and tattooed man leaned towards her. Her heart pulsated in her throat and her gaze scanned over his perfectly bowed lips. Catching her breath, Sariana pressed her lips together and quickly turned her face from Pash. The ridiculous, girlish fluttering of her pulse was a sick reminder of just how disruptive emotions and connections and ties could be. It frustrated her how easily the proud, strong warrior could so simply be turned into a puddle of quivering mush just by a decadent look.

"Who knows, the beach seems to be a rather safe place to make camp from what I've seen of this place. Enough wood for a fire, and over there some small patches of grass for Vrathetu. I'm sure I could even buy some grain from the stables and bring it down for him." Her chin lifted as she spoke, stroking the stallion and altogether uncomfortable with the fact she disliked the city. It confused her being here, why had Karithus guided her to it? Nothing so far had jumped out at her as the ultimate reason for their round about journey. Turning her gaze back on the camouflaged godling, she smiled again.

"Unless you've found safe lodgings that don't shift once you close the petching door." The brunette joked gently, knowing full well if anything Pash'nar would be on his ship. Still, she didn't trust stabling her horse. It was just too concerning.

[Pash'nar]

The dark-haired navigator kept a pout from creasing into his windswept features as the swordswoman resisted his purposeful proximity. An inked hand reached for the tanned, exposed skin at her waist to tug her closer still, stealing a lengthy, uninhibited kiss without warning. He wasn't quite as burdened as the Drykas with the worry over feelings or entanglements. Perhaps he should have been, but for the moment, he was much more distracted by what was available and willing. Thinking too deeply would have simply been frustrating, and so the false Svefra chose the easier, seemingly more rewarding path for the time being, tossing the potential consequences to the petching wind. He released Sariana with a coy chuckle, shifting his sparkling sea glass gaze from her face to the well-muscled slopes of her horse. He hissed chidingly, calloused fingers sliding away from her skin to touch the animal he was still wary to be near, having never ridden a horse nor been so close to one for so long, "Tsk, the beach ain't safe, woman. The djed storm woke up all kinds of petchin' creatures. You ain't campin' out here. Not with your horse an' not with that wolf." He frowned a little with genuine concern, meeting her sapphire eyes with his own, "Ionu's city's complicated, I agree. I ain't real keen on th'place, either. You can either stable this beast o'yours an' stay with Nira an' Sylkra or me. I ain't sleepin' in the city, an' you know that. If you're gonna petchin' worry 'bout this horse all the time, why'd you bring 'im? I get that he's you're friend'r'whatever, but … you can't keep everythin' safe all the time. Are you gonna ride to Avanthal from'ere?" He wanted to be nice, but he struggled with understanding the kind of attachment the Drykas shared with her horse. He had no real concept of the kind of bonding or relationship the two shared, having never spent a heartbeat with her people in the Sea of Grass. He supposed it was something like the bond Svefra shared with their tavan, but having never experienced that himself, he had no perspective. To him, it was another animal. It was a special animal, but nothing to make a big deal out of. People seemed more important, more interesting, more necessary, but perhaps he was missing out and didn't have a clue. His tone wasn't rude, just calloused, ignorant. Pash obviously had other things on his mind, though it was obvious he disliked the shifting streets of Alvadas as much as Sariana. He remembered crawling ashore during the djed storm, scrambling madly through the streets after the Gaping Maw spat him out again, and barely being saved from some untimely death by Eridanus in the chaos. He knew a few places that were safe havens now. He thought of the Stallion's Rear, but assumed there would be no lodgings for his friends with the city still in need of repairs. Surely, they were full. "You do what'cha want." He breathed, finally, still very near the swordswoman, "Jus' please believe me when I say it ain't safe to stay outta the city walls jus' anywhere you want inna tent. If y'want my help findin' some place, that's fine by me, but I got somewhere to stay. There's enough room for Sylkra, but you know I can't fit a horse in there." It wasn't an ultimatum. He just presented some more pleasing alternatives.

[Sariana]

Pulled into a sudden, almost defiant kiss, Sariana didn't hide the warmth or eagerness that crept into her returned favor. She might be confused and frustrated about the feelings and emotions that welled within her every time the damn ethaefal entered her mind, but it didn't mean the drykas was against spending a little quality time with the celestial man.

Catching her breath as Pash'nar released her, the brunette smiled as she watched the cautious navigator stroke Vrathetu's golden coat. The horse nickered, his shoulder twitching slightly and tail swishing. Her lips pursed stubbornly as he told her what she would be doing. Granted, he was obviously right, but the city was just as dangerous as the petching beach in her opinion. Lifting her eyes to meet his tide pool gaze, her pursed lips turned into a frown, brow drawing down as his mouth continued running. It wasn't a matter of friendship that had her dragging the strider miles and miles from his home, it was necessity and something more. They were bonded, there was no one else who would ride him. Not unless he wanted them to or she was with him. The warrior was getting angry now, and she turned to face him, looking up at his tanned features.

"For one thing, Vrathetu isn't just some petching horse. He is a strider, a creature with the soul of someone long since passed away, and he is not just my petching friend, he is bonded to me, and I to him." Resting her hands on her hips, Sariana began to find the wind behind her words, however she didn't yell.

"Secondly, I didn't petching drag him along because I wanted him close to me. Have you ever walked a day in your petching life? Or did you spend all these years on a boat? Do you realize how far away Endrykas is from Avanthal? I wasn't travelling of my own accord to the city of Ice, otherwise I would have just caught myself a stupid petching ferry and been done with it. I know you don't get why I do this, I can see it in your face...but there is more than just my will taking me across Mizahar. If I hadn't had Vrathetu, then when the djed storm hit I would have been on foot in the middle of open grassland, and I very much doubt I would have survived that. Or in the middle of the ocean on a boat to gods-know-where!" Irritated, she shook her head and looked back at the horse. Truth be told, it wasn't Pash'nar that she was angry at, not really. It was her situation, and the fact what he said made a lot of sense. Ever since she had arrived in Zeltiva weeks ago, Sariana had begun to wonder whether Vrathetu would be able to survive the thick wet cold of Avanthal. She had remembered that Karithus had once spoken about the horses in his country, huge bulky creatures. The strider was a light weight, build for speed, with a fine coat.

Listening to his words, Sariana sighed and finally looked up at him again, fight gone from her features.

"Your right. Sort of. Vrathetu is never going to survive when we eventually reach Avanthal." There was no indication in her tone whether 'we' referred to herself and Pash, or herself and the horse.

"I know...I just. I'm not sure what to do with him. I need to get him back to Endrykas, where he's going to be safe with my family. But I don't want to ride all the way back. Not when we've come so far. I don't...there is no feeling that tells me to go back. It's just silent, like when the wind stops blowing in the middle of a storm." Raising an eyebrow, she lifted her chin.

"Stay with you on your boat huh? I don't know whether that's safer than staying in the city or not." The woman said with a small smile, before it disappeared as she glanced at the strider and stroked her hand across his neck.

[Pash'nar]

Pash'nar didn't understand their bond. He knew nothing of the woman's culture or the spiritual qualities of their special animals, nor was he confident he necessarily found all of it interesting on any more than a surface, factual level. Oh, hmm. And … done. He had indeed spent as much of his life as possible on a boat, all 116 years of it with only his first decade or so in Zeltiva crammed in an old house with a bunch of fishing folk. Had he walked for an entire day? Petch no. Why walk when you could sail? Or swim? He'd run a bit, mostly from trouble in the city streets, and walked plenty, just not for petching useless days in a row. There wasn't anywhere inland he wanted to go. The port cities suited him just fine when he needed to visit somewhere. Her indignant words roused some anger of his own, defensive. It creased a scowl into his salt-worn features, tightening his lips and hardening his gaze into sea glass instead of tide water. While he would have normally softened at her tease about his safety, smiled coyly even, his expression remained unchanged instead. She'd come all this petching way, far from her home, following some voice in her head she believed was her dead friend. To go where? Petching Avanthal. With his ashes. And her dead friend didn't care enough to help her petching plan? What a useless dead piece of shyke. If his heart was really with her, why didn't he warn her about dragging this important horse all across the petching Suvan to end up in the City of Illusion traumatized and useless? Obviously, this dead friend was about as full of shyke as he often felt Leth was. His scowl remained and his words bordered on the unkind, "You sailed all th'way 'ere an' don't even know what to do with your horse? If he's that petchin' important t'you, shouldn't you have thought about it all before you got 'ere? I mean, 'sides, if that friend'o'yours in ashes inna box really knew what the petch he was doin' with you, he should be better about helpin' you along. He's a lazy vagik, your dead friend's spirit, if he jus' leaves ya hangin'. I'd be petchin' mad if I was in your place." And he was. Not at Sariana so much as at her trust. She deeply trusted this nonsense. He'd trusted nonsense before. Trusted that Leth would reach down and scoop him back up and apologize. Trusted that Leth had some purpose in dropping him here to this miserable, dangerous place naked and alone. Trusted that he could fix things, not make them worse. Lies. Broken promises. All of them. He just wanted Sariana to be prepared for the worst, if only because he had so far failed to see the better of his situation, even if it was there staring him in the face.

[Sariana]

Sariana found herself struck by the look on the fallen godlings face, and the harsh tone of his voice, as though he had physically hit her. A look of hurt flittered across her sapphire eyes for the briefest of moments, before her brow drew down to match his own sour expression. Her fist clenched and her jaw twitched.

"How dare you. You know nothing about my friend, or my life. Or my journey. You know nothing about loyalty. I should cut out your petching tongue you good-for-nothing selfish bastard!" Moving suddenly, she shoved the tattooed sailor away from herself and the horse.

"I know I must not live up to your divine expectations of an 'intelligent' being, what with taking a horse on a cross-country journey and all. Following around the spirit of my friend to perform his dying wish. I am angry, furious. For expecting someone like you to understand the concept of friendship. For seeking advice from someone I thought I could trust." Her chest felt fit to burst, and again she slapped herself internally for feeling for this man. This celestial excuse for a man. This is exactly why she avoided getting involved. Because of the pain that he could cause her with simple words or looks.

"Keep away from my strider, and keep away from me." The aching in her words was hidden by the shaking of her body as she trembled with anger and hurt. His words, they were true of course about Vrathetu, but his insult to Karithus burned deeply. Somewhere inside, a small voice wanted stop her mouth, but it was too late. She was to upset. Sariana stood her ground, staring down Pash with fists balled and hair whipping across her face. Part of her expected a fight, waited for it.

And part of her wanted to break down like a pathetic little girl and cry.

[Pash'nar]

The dark-haired navigator let her shove him with a grunt, stumbling a bit in the sand not necessarily because he was outmatched but because he found himself tangled for a brief moment in the heat of her anger despite the hurt he'd so obviously caused by his words. He didn't raise his hands to fight back, he didn't invite any violence at all once he regained his stance. He could see the pain on her face, but he struggled with feeling guilty. Her anger had captivated him before; the depth she was willing to feel when angry seemed fathoms deeper than she was willing to feel about anything else. She held back other feelings, and she had no idea how much he understood that. Her words stung but didn't surprise him. She needed to know—mortals were fallible, even dead ones she'd once cared about. How could she not see that? She'd known his body—and both of his forms—but he'd easily kept his heart to himself. No one needed to see that. At least Pash spoke plainly. No, he certainly wasn't always honest—not when it served him better to be otherwise—but he'd learned that it was in his favor to be forthcoming with the Drykas. His fistfuls of decades and lack of faith in the very god that once held him close had led him to be wary about where he placed what little he allowed to be left of his heart. He was no stranger to death, but he wasn't about to admit just how well he understood that ache of loss. He'd told no one his secrets, kept his memories to himself and to his nightmares. The swordswoman was a tale long untold when he slipped through the seeming of Leth's realm and crashed into Laviku's waters. Her limited view of trust only drove home the reminder he'd chosen to ignore for his own pleasure—kindling feelings was too easy, and now he was watching the fiery results. Sariana had willingly admitted in their quiet, intimate moments that she feared placing such heartfelt trust into the hands of men, given her experience with their lack of delicacy. And yet, here she was willing to travel the dangerous uncivilized places for a man, an old heartbroken one at that. Surely that man wanted her to think for herself, regardless of whether or not she decided to make true to her promise or not. "Don't petchin' think you can tell me anythin' 'bout friendship." The false Svefra finally hissed in response, an indignant timelessness weighing down his words, "You ain't lived even half my life. Your grandfolk were barely old enough to be courtin' when I slipped through Leth's fingers, so don't think I ain't kept a share of friends longer'n'you've had breath in that pretty body'o'yours. What feelin's you've shared with others are fallin' stars—bright'n'brief—compared to lettin' someone hold your whole petchin' heart until they give their ol' unrecognizable body back to th'cycle." He dragged his last sentence over stormy seas, his salt-worn voice wavering with deep and unspoken memories. It hurt to remember. An intricately inked hand swept upward, calloused fingers splaying over his tanned, bare chest and the sunlight catching on the leather of his vambrace, "I ain't pretendin' to know 'bout your life, but I know mine." And the tattooed sailor felt as though his had been more a tale of betrayal than loyalty. There was envy that burned in his broken Common, a fire that he'd long snuffed out that longed to be rekindled, a need to believe in something more than just the tide. Pash'nar swallowed audibly, a sadness creeping into the fierce anger in his wind-swept expression that brought a noticeable welling of moisture to his tide pool eyes. He refused to look at the Drykas, dropping his gaze to the sand, to his feet, to the sea. His whole body tensed for a moment, all sea-honed muscle and blue-black ink. He'd let himself drudge up too much that had been buried in the depths of the sea. Her anger had shifted the tide in his thoughts and he ached for it. Petching feelings. Petching trust. Petching mortality. His raised hand reached higher to thumb his nose before dropping limply to his side, "An' that's enough for me." The dark-haired navigator hovered for a heartbeat, caught between choices, but then Sariana found herself suddenly staring at his back, glimpses of the manta ray that spanned his shoulder blades hinted at by the sea breeze that ruffled his vest as he walked away.

[Sariana]

Sariana stood with fists clenched and body trembling as she watched Pash turn his back on her and walk away. His words stung deeply, both making her angry that he would compare her love and affection for Karithus to something as fleeting as a shooting star, and because she could see how much the argument had cost him. How much it had hurt him. But all the Gods be damned, if he felt that deeply, if he held back something so painful and so raw...then why the hell couldn't he show her some small scrap of sympathy. Why did he have to be such an ass?

It was as he became a smaller figure on the sands that the warrior felt the hot sting of tears prickling at her eyes, her nails dug into her palms as she tried to stop the bubbling sob that clung in her throat. Finally she turned on her heel, grasping the blonde mane of her stallion and swinging onto his back. Vrathetu snorted as she pressed her thighs to his back and signaled him to run. With a whinny he dug into the sand and began to run, racing across the sand and kicking it up behind him. The drykas' raven hair streamed behind her like a banner of war, and the wind blew against her face. They ran the length of the beach, heading towards the entrance to the city.

Just go. Leave. You have everything you need. Go and don't look back.

But then she thought of Sylkra. And she slowed. Vrathetu panted and reared as she eased him back, muscles twitching underneath her skin. He came to a walk, finally coming to a complete stop as Sariana slipped off his back to crouch down on the ground. Wrapping her arms around her knees, the brunette sobbed angrily, feeling as though someone had punched her in the chest. Before meeting the stupid celestial navigator the warrior had never cried. Not even when Karithus finally died. Gods she hated him for it. Hated the feelings she didn't want to feel.

Sitting in the sand, strider patiently by her side, the young woman allowed herself time alone. To think, and to decide. There was a letter that she had to write, to send immediately. Because when all was said and done...

He was right.