[flashback]They say it's your birthday (Mara)

[Syllke Skyglow]

Winter 15, 509 AV It had been a nightmare, and the sweetest dream – a tumbling mess of a night, that had left Syllke breathless and scorched, in more ways than just one. The section of the Whitevine hold that had housed Mara and his father had been almost completely destroyed. In the intervening two weeks, repairs had been begun but were far from complete. Syllke and Mara had come in for a good deal of scrutiny – the factor of alcohol being a part of what had happened had been closely considered. But though it was true that Mara had consumed too much that evening, the resultant fire had sobered him up considerably, by the time the icewatch were interrogating him. Syllke was stone cold sober, and kept insisting that it was his own clumsiness that had set the blaze going – that it really, truly had been an accident and not something foolish caused by two drunken boys getting up to . . . well, whatever it was boys got up to. There had been some rumors about that too, the way the two had been accosted in something akin to a snake’s constricting clench. But that was only gossip. Most thought the two had indeed snuck off to get drunk and it was simply bad luck that the fire had started. In the end, they were absolved of all but simple negligence and their penance had been only to help in the repair work. Syllke’s family had only been relieved that the two had not been injured more than they had – Mara receiving the worst of it. There were no negative repercussions on their end – of course, it hadn’t been their house that had burned down. Aniska and her husband had invited Atric and Mara to come bunk with them, during the interim, until the house was fully restored. Atric had politely and curtly declined, with an odd look being thrown in, directed at the woman whom he might have recognized as once having been present in his home a few times, way back, when his wife was still living. Mara too had declined, after his father did, and this puzzled and disappointed Syllke greatly. If ever there had been a time and an opportunity to . . . well . . . spend some quality time together, this would have been it. No excuses needed – sharing a room for a few weeks – he couldn’t understand why, after the mutual confessions they had made to each other that night – why didn’t Mara want to be with him? When he had pressed – this one time – for an explanation, he received only silence. A warm kiss, a hand placed over his and a shrug – and silence. So he asked no more, because that was his way, to simply accept what he was given and not demand more. As it was, his heart was still soaring, with those three little words that Mara had blessed him with. He could almost think that Mara had just been in shock, or that the sentiment was more along the lines of ‘thank Morwen that you are safe.’ But the clincher, for Syllke, was the fact that Mara had dropped his precious books into the snow in order to pull him close and whisper those three words. If Mara had been that concerned about him, to neglect his books so, Syllke could not really doubt his sincerity. So, despite the tragedy of Mara’s tiny family’s loss, Syllke could not deny it – he was happy. Joyous and high with life. He grinned way too much, even when Mara was so very quiet. He tried his best not to be too effervescent. It was hard though, quite hard for a boy like him. He did note Mara’s extremely subdued behavior, and he attributed it to the fire, and the loss of other things that could not be salvaged. Syllke had come to know that Mara’s mother had left very little behind. And now . . . well, some things just can never be replaced, can they? As Syllke looked across the table at his friend, he hoped that such memories weren’t preoccupying him too much. Mara was perhaps a bit less glum than he had been of late, and Syllke grinned at him. Aniska had made a special meal and in honor of his birthday, they had all tasted and eaten the liquidy repast that Mara’s digestive system required. They had wished him many happy returns of the day, and there had been a gift from Aniska – a fur lined hat with long ear flaps and braided ties, from her own handiwork of course. Now Syllke said, “OK my turn.” He shoved a small package across the short distance to where Mara sat beside him. It was about six inches long, rather cylindrical and wrapped in paper tied with colored string. He watched expectantly, wondering what Mara would make of his gift. Mara's gift :

[Mara]

The fire had ignited more than the chopped lumber of Whitevine hold. The nadirs of Atric's resentment were seared, egged on by the deluded conjecture that Mara was not who he pretended to be. As drink surged steadily their arguments amassed, stacking into more audacious and unremitting invectives and wounding blows. Atric saw in him a murderer, a destructive force of heart and home, swathed in the crust of his offspring. The half-blood refused to dispute his father or even defend himself. His restraint only ever proved to infuriate, but he felt he had no argument worth giving. Molded judgments garbled into shouts of betrayal and soon injury was inevitable, inescapable. It was everything he felt he deserved. By winter's mercifulness, he was concealed, shielded from the scrutiny of what occurred behind fastened egresses. It was mostly his limbs, shielding from ricocheted cut-glass, nothing more than dull scrapes and cuts, child's abrasions from playing too hard in a forest of twig and rock.

His asylum, a place of reckoning and undeserved blessing had formed into a mutual sense of grief. The words he uttered in the passion of pursuing flames had drifted into the sweeping briny, an area untouched by further exchange, and the words had refused to befall his lips since. Syllke allotted him time, and he could only assume that was his intention, to provide the space need until Mara would come around and embrace him openly on a new night. He, however, was undecided. As much as he idled through unwavering considerations of his faithful sentiment, he was as troubled as ever by his undeserving existance.

The weeks that past soothed the brewing tempest, eventually his silence won out and he was given a chance to recuperate. He returned to Syllke as it has always been. A persistent reminder of what decency crept into his life. When he had let slip the imminent visit of his birthdate, he had merely revealed the fact that he would be getting his own place soon. Since the fire, the plans would be postponed, but once exonerated of fault the procedures ensued as usual. This he found was a great source of assurance. It was then that he realized Syllke had rehabilitated him, from a alacritous martyr to a soul as hopeful as any.

It was then that he agreed to spend more time with Syllke, as they had once been known to have, but more importantly spend more time away from Atric. Smidgeons of the fire and glass peeled into fresh pink smudges dappling the icy layers of untouched marble. A renewed sense of affection sifted through the sand of its burial site, and it had been far too long since he had felt close enough to touch to the Vantha.

The celebration was unnecessary, one he nearly refused all together, it was time to remember something, something that made his mother weep. Still he was persuaded, and touched by the supportive display. An entire meal of ingestible food: It was uncomfortable, but touching.

Mara sat knees pinned together under the wooden plank of table. His fingers bent around the braided ends of Aniska's gift, as he returned Syllke's smile with an uneasy grin of his own.

He deserted the hat in his lap and reached for the ornate cord, capturing the twine between tweezing black points and unwinding a loosely knotted bow. The paper fell away easily, as if jostled by the gentle breeze of his exhale. Beneath there was a sculpted figure, dangling earrings of ceramic figures. His smile veered off into a crest along his cheek, dimpling his slender face in a diminutive dent. The gift was so very Syllke, and it was for this fact that he loved it.

He took the figure in his hands and stroked the stony ridges with the spiraled ridges of his fingertips. "Did you make this yourself?" he asked and blinked toward Syllke. "Thank you"

His head dipped again, his shoulders trembling with an imperceptible laugh. "This was really too much. Thanks for all of this." he was discreet, cordial and somewhat uncomfortable with sights set on him. Still it was Syllke's family and they had been family enough to him. For them, but mostly for the artist, he would endure it.

[Syllke Skyglow]

He was so nervous – poor Mara. Any and every gesture of friendliness, of affection, froze him into a stiff caricature of the boy he could be, when no-one was looking. Even in those moments, though, Syllke knew his friend could be so guarded, so vigilant, almost as if he feared to breathe. Or perhaps he simply regretted each and every breath that he drew into his too-thin body. As Mara’s hand tentatively, politely, reached for the paper-wrapped gift, Syllke continued to smile warmly, encouragingly. The Vantha didn’t believe he had the power to change the healer – to cure his awkwardness, his somber mien. But the alternative was just not possible. If Mara told him explicitly, Go away, Syllke – and he had, occasionally – then the younger boy would have done so, with little protest or attempts at persuasion. But for whatever occasions Mara would tolerate him, Syllke could not bring himself to leave the healer alone. His own love compelled him to care, even where caring was not wanted. In the face of all the woodeness, all the silent unresponsiveness that Mara could throw at him, Syllke still hoped. Thus does the deep affinity and connectivity that binds one person inexplicably to another wreak its damage to what we like to refer to as ‘the heart.’ In the face of all sense, some part of us believes that this pairing is meant to be, and we go down fighting, to our knees, to prove what any half-way rational being would need only a moment to know just isn’t so. And for his patience, his waiting, his caring, Syllke was rewarded with a genuine smile. Oh, it was a Mara smile, altogether. A small, wry thing that appeared in an almost apologetic mannerism – as if to say pardon me, I know I really shouldn’t be here, but I just couldn’t help myself. Syllke watched Mara examine the figure closely. He knew the healer might be puzzled by the symbolism. Syllke himself wasn’t entirely sure what each part represented. But he was completely sure of what the whole was – or who, to be precise. His warm smile dropped back into more of a smug grin. “Yes – it’s you! And you’re welcome. Now you can think about what to give me for my birthday,” he teased. He didn’t ask if Mara liked it, or recognized it, or understood it. The young artist had found that it was a waste of time to pursue such inquiries, with anyone. His joy came in the creation. If another didn’t understand what he had created, or why, or didn’t care for the piece, well, he couldn’t fix that. So he tried to please himself – and often times didn’t succeed. But the satisfaction he received from giving the small statuette to this boy he loved so well didn’t depend in any part on whether Mara liked it. Syllke liked it, and he had crafted it with complete and undiluted affection for the subject. The symbolism was there, mostly placed there with a known purpose, some of it not. If Mara ever asked him what he meant by the various components, Syllke would gladly tell him. But in the end, the art was for Mara, and of Mara, so it was really up to Mara to figure it all out. Syllke noted the subtle shift in his friend’s demeanor, and knew that Mara was alright with this. This birthday celebration – one Syllke was sure would not have ever come about at the hand of Atric. The man seemed so aloof. He had yet to ever once really speak to Syllke. As of late, Syllke could easily attribute this to what had happened – the fire – and how Atric must have viewed Syllke’s part in that debacle. But even before that, Mara’s father had been completely remote, removed. Syllke would not have expected Atric to demonstrate paternal love by dint of a birthday party. But perhaps he had or would gift his son something in private. For in this, Mara and his father were of a like kind – both very private individuals. Aniska was bobbing her head, and smiling, at both boys, assuring Mara that it was wonderful to have the chance to celebrate with him. The other adults concurred – Mara had found a place in each heart, even the originally slightly jealous one of Syllke’s grandmother. More words of thanks and deprecation on both sides were offered, and finally everyone was rising and helping to clear the table. Mara was forbidden to help, in honor of it being his day, and Syllke used the momentary distraction of his family to ask in an aside, “So . . . got any plans? Do you . . . “ He shrugged. “Want to take a walk, or something?” God how he longed to go somewhere – anywhere – private with Mara. To wrap his arms about that skeletal frame and hold him close. To breathe in his scent again. To kiss him. Anything. Everything. Syllke was burning with the longing to re-establish . . . something. Some physical connection. But, as always, he would settle for whatever Mara found he could give. It would be enough. It would have to be.

[Mara]

Mara restrained himself with reluctance as all at the table rose with arboreal pegs scrapping across the sanded floor boards. The sound of chiming dishes and shuffling feet fashioned disquiet in his gut. He tried to regard the request to be still, mainly for Aniska. His admiration and love for her had grown, especially since the fire. He deliberated at times if she was any indefinable semblance of his own mother. A secrete he was sure only she would eye amidst his discretion. When all were departed for a brief moment to the kitchen, he could not help but heap the remaining dishes into neatened stacks, utensils proudly topping small plated towers and sprinkled with the small handfuls of swept crumbs.

Syllke was the first to return, capturing the half-blood in his best impression of innocence. For a moment their false solitude fluttered up the walls of his innards and preoccupied him in the haze that the Skyglow stirred up with his untroubled grins and tempered regard. He shook his head and let his crimsons dart toward the door away from the skewering Vantha eyes pulling their cherry coating over his colorless features. "I don't have any other plans." he admitted, cheek slurping into the crevice between serrated ends before twisting over his shoulder toward the kitchen. "A walk sounds great. They won’t mind?" He knew the answer, but it seemed compulsory to ask. The Skyglow’s family, just like Syllke himself, was too kind to him, gestures he was only now growing to accept with an infinitesimal amount of polish.

Mara was subdued, pulled back by some unnoticed and intangible barrier that his extremities writhed against in the reminiscence of what they had been missing in the presence of their occasionally-unspoken counterpart. He shuffled back on gliding feet and turned toward the door with a swivel. "Let's go then." Lengthy insipid fingers shoveled into his pockets where the knitted hat's braids dangled at his side. His shoulder pushed the door open into the gusting sunlight. Powder sprinkled onto the doorstep, dotting his boots and beckoned them further into the crisp breath of Morwen. The flakes melted as they struck his warm face and stuck between the curling strands of his lashes. As it always did the winter gave him strength, soothed his throbbing limbs. It was hard to imagine what it was like to feel discomfort in the cold.

His head dipped as he watched his feet in the snow and heard the echo of the door clicking against the force of Syllke’s push. “You know I never asked you,” He finally spoke. “What happened those weeks after the fire? Was everything ok?” They had avoided the subject exclusively since their reuniting. It was a still hard to understand everything that happened even with being there himself. He assumed the Vantha went through some sort of questioning at the very least, and obviously whatever he had said his family had been happy to see him safe. That was the kind of thing families were expected to do, he knew that now; though the thought was heartening in the most obligatory of ways.

[Syllke Skyglow]

Syllke had to smile, seeing Mara’s lame attempt at feigning innocence as to how the dishes came to be stacked so neatly. But he didn’t call attention to it, as he was distrated by Mara’s reply in the negative. No plans – that equaled potential for plans, in Syllke’s mind – plans to share time with him. Unable to resist one tiny poke at his friend, Syllke, replied, “Well, they all might break down and weep bitter tears of loss, but I think they’ll survive.” He smirked and reached out to yank on Mara’s earlobe, but stopped there, letting his hand drop as he said, “Good. Come on.” Mara, not surprisingly, simply stood, unreactive, and then acquiesced in a neutral tone. Withholding a sigh, Syllke followed him to the door. Both boys grabbed their coats, though the marks on each slender body was enough to keep them comfortable even in the frosty chill outside the snug home. Syllke let Mara precede him, and then pulled the door to behind himself. The air was actually fairly mild, for Avanthal, and the sun sparkled on the million million crystals of white that lay covering all. Mara waited for him, and then put his question, and Syllke stopped, facing him, wondering what had sparked this curiosity, now. He shrugged. “Well . . . Yeah, they asked me a lot of questions, just like they did you, right? About what we were doing and all that, why we were in your house, why we had left the festival.” Of course, the honest answer to those inquiries would have been far too complicated for Syllke to even dream of trying to explain to the Icewatch. Too complicated, too painful, too confusing. Just like most things having to do with the healer. Unconsciously, Syllke’s hand jutted further from his jacket sleeve and the twisting vine stood out in stark, dark contrast to the ivory hue of his winter complexion. “I just told them it was an accident, you know. I – I said I kicked the box, by accident. It didn’t really matter – me, you – what difference would it make, right?” He squirmed a bit, both his body and his conscience. He couldn’t care less about lying to the city watch. But he knew, he knew, right this very moment, that Mara would be somehow taking all this on himself. That the fact that Syllke had tried to cover for him, even when it wasn’t really necessary, would be twisted about into something that would compel Mara to keep his distance – like somehow he was bad for Syllke. It was crazy! Mara was the best thing that had ever happened to the young artist. The healer made him feel like . . . well, it was almost impossible to describe, that feeling, because it was so novel, so intense, so visceral, and so intangible. But Syllke knew, Mara was a very, very good thing, for him. He only wished, with all his heart, that he could convince Mara of that, somehow. He stopped there, reaching up to scratch at his cheek, not knowing what else to say. He rubbed his fingers down the back of his head, and looked away and then looked at Mara. “It was OK. They didn’t care. I mean, I guess they were OK with what I told them.” He paused, a look of concern passing over his face. “It doesn’t matter now, does it? Look . . . “ He stepped closer, their chest separated by only a hand span. “It’s over. And soon you’ll have your own place. Lucky you.” He wanted so badly to add And then we can have all the time together that we want. But he kept that thought, and his hope, to himself. After three heartbeats, he said, “Come on. Let’s go somewhere. Anywhere.”

[Mara]

Shade of rollicking cloud gestured dexterous digits over the two of them, and their shoulders were laden with a fine film of silver dust in minutes. His hush adhered to the nether of the artist's replies and explanations. Marvasa's chops pursed securely; a tight streak loitered over shaped cheeks.

In that succinct instant he deliberated if Syllke had made a habit of being so candid with him, explaining things in their vague entirety? Mara found much of what he could appreciate with his own eyes of the other was genuine. The narrow chest of the half-blood squeezed at the way the other fidgeted as he continued, and his brows scrunched in an undulating bow of concern, or childlike fright of chastisement. Their time away from each other had not eviscerated these things from his mind. He enjoyed it, watching his expressions and the Vantha flare of apprehension. Though it never mended what he knew the Vantha was frustrating over. Of course guiltiness harassed him because the fire was entirely his doing. No twisting of words or justifications would change that, but neither would floundering in the guilt of his gaffe. They had lived through it, he had faced the penalties, the questionings, the anger, and Syllke had done his explaining. It would have to be enough.

"I guess..." he finally agreed his eyesight crawling to the leaping flora spring boarding the dropping snow from its expansive olive leaves at their feet. “Your family is...pretty great." a humph of a laugh trickled from an overwrought reedy grin.

"I think my father is nearly as thrilled as you are about me getting my own place." Mara was ready to be out of his father's house as well, and Syllke was not the only one considering the prospect of having a private place where they could return to. It was terrifying and enthralling. His only regret was the knowledge that Atric would not likely release any of his mother's remaining article to him, the ones that had survived the fire.

His eyes widened in a locking gaze at the proposal. "Sure.” He bolstered enough to stretch out a limb from his pocket and tug the Vantha’s furry hood up over his head and over his eyes. A sharp black fingertip pecked firmly at the tip of the boy’s nose. It was a playful gesture that diffused the tension brewing over them like the meek storm clouds overhead. “Do you have somewhere in mind?" He burrowed the toes of his boots into the ground as he spoke, and sloughed up a pile of ice that sprinkled over the hem of his pants in thawing globules. There were a lot of places to visit in Avanthal. It was no surprise Marvasa seldom visited the majority of them, his impression of scenery was likely to be the view from his office window, or the shinning metal utensils sprawled along his cabinet counters. Even the harsh land beyond the city gates where the two had met was somewhere he had neglected for some time.

[Syllke Skyglow]

That gesture wasn’t enough, but it was more than Syllke expected. It spoke more loudly to him of Mara’s acceptance of what had happened than words could. Though Syllke knew Mara better than to think all was forgotten, at least it seemed like it would be yet another one of the hundreds of things the healer chose to bury. For such a wraithlike body, Mara sure was able to pack a lot of misery in there. Syllke smiled in an almost seductive way, with thoughts of his own running rampant through his mind. But he was also considering where, indeed, they might go. Wherever it was, he completely selfishly wanted it to be some place that would keep them together for hours and hours. “How about some sledding? Until it gets dark? And then let’s go to the Smoldering Embrace.” He took a step closer to Mara, and said in a mock sultry tone, “I’ll get you lost and give you one.” The name of the park was one that had always engendered giggles and snerks from the kids of Avanthal. But this time, Syllke could seriously imagine finding some secluded angle of the maze and . . . well . . . yes . . . Bringing his mind back to earth, he added, “I have the insider’s scoop on what’s in one of the puzzle boxes, and I want to try to get it for you. Another birthday present.” He hadn’t mentioned this in order to bribe Mara into coming with him with the promise of more gifts. Somehow, he just didn’t want Mara to know how much time he spent thinking about him. To support his ruse, he laughed. “Really I just want to see if I can get one of those petching things to open.” Syllke waited to hear Mara’s verdict on his proposal, knowing the sledding was a bit more physical than his delicate friend usually preferred activities to be – and it was close to the skating which was something Mara never wanted to do. That was a pity as Syllke loved ice skating. He had no clue as to why Mara was so averse to it – except for a fear of falling and breaking something, which was unlikely. But as always, he never asked. He simply bypassed and avoided and accepted, and moved on. That was easiest.

[Mara]

The knuckles of his sloppily curled fist rolled across his mouth to shield a shabby chuckle, one that brought up an unanticipated but fugacious cough. "Those are new proposals," But so very like you. "The Smoldering Embrace?" he questioned in a hum, his wine filled ponds dashing in the wide-ranging trend of the park, a location he had until then evaded like so many others. "I believe I have received more questionable injuries from this location than from any other." his head shook with a sigh. He peered back toward the artist with a scrutinizing guise, "Have you been there before?" It was a question that slipped sensitively into the banter with a slope of his head, one that hinted that he wanted to discern more than his request inferred. Jealousy would have stung an unfamiliar blister into the mix blood if he had fathomed the complete significance of his feelings in that moment.

The Vantha was young, striking, and charismatic. All the constituents that made someone desirable, the same superficial traits that drew Mara to him. Yet, it was what lay beneath all of it that bid him to stay. His misgivings developed heeding the offbeat nature in their conversation of the puzzle box. He had to have been there recently, with someone, Mara assumed. His middle weaved into delicately sewed knots, a discomposure that caused him to draw his cheek between the harsh edges of his molars. He still selfishly wanted him all to himself, and their equal refusal to reveal their true intentions since the fire only proved to pike some distance between them. He had not overlooked that he had been the first to voice his admission in an ash covered hold and they were dragged apart so suddenly, he had not received a concrete reaction to his confession.

A breeze swept in from the flank, tossing their tresses and whistling against their stagnate frames. "Never mind." he amended. "It is really not significant." he interiorly scoffed at how immature the proclamations sounded in his head as he listened to it leave his opening. He lingered along the points of the boy’s jaw, and up and over his eyes before he shied away.

"The park sounds fine, though you know I am not very gifted with anything that requires more than walking, Syllke." His hand rose to tame the wild mess of hair flicking against his twitching lashes. He flattened it to his temple by the side of his palm, an eye pinched shut with the irritation of stray strands. "Where are the sledding slopes? I cannot say I have not ever been there." It should not have been unforeseen, he likely knew Mara better than anyone in Avanthal did. Hoping not to further discourage him in the wake of all he had done to make this day special he offered a proposal, “Maybe I’ll watch from afar. The weather is pleasant enough, I don’t mind being in the snow for the remainder of the day.”