Busy with his work, the man did not notice the bloody paw-print on Rufio's chin until he had finished helping her drag the rest of the meat under the lean to and she started inquiring about his state of mind when she had stumbled upon him in the grasslands. Dravite touched the pad of his thumb to the edge of his tongue swiftly and smudged a single stroke of the blood from Rufio's chin, "you got something there," he laughed, wearing an amused smile.
The horse lord joined the girl near the fireplace and tried the think back to the morning's events, his arms, chest, and face splattered with blood which he wore proudly, like a comfy second skin, "you know I think I do remember being treated at the River Flower; there was a mix up with the herbs," his brow knotted as he tried to remember the name of the powerful hallucinogenic they had given him, "moss? Doo moss? No" he grumbled that wasn't it.
"Voodoo moss," Raen called.
Dravite turned his gaze on the old woman and smiled, "Aye, voodoo moss; they ground it down into a powder and heat it, the result was fairly instant."
The Watchman wasn't going to say no to supper, especially if it was what Raen had promised, even if he didn't make for a very attractive dinner guest in his current state. "Can I help you cook anything?" Dravite asked which was when Raen moved to join them.
"Let Ru cook," she encouraged, or perhaps demanded? The old woman had an air of authority about her that was hard to deny, "Tell me about Blackwater," Raen looked at him.
"I fear I've told as much as I know," Dravite shrugged.
Raen smacked his shoulder; did she have something against the dismissive arm action? "This Blackwater," the tip of her finger touched his Windmarks.
Dravite peered down at the tooled skin, "Zulrav," he told her, pointing out the eyes of the god, "Caiyha, Semele, Strider, Windborne," he finally admitted.
"I know Windborne," she smiled.
Dravite perked up at the thought of someone recognising the pavilion he had grown up in, those who had been Blackwater before his father had died and Belhaur Windborne, his closest friend, had remarried to his mother and altered the Blackwater name to make the pavilion his own. "Have you seen them?" Dravite's tone was almost hopeful, as much as he was angry with them for casting him out on his own; he wanted to know if they were safe."
"No," Raen shook her head slowly, "not this summer."
There was still time, Dravite thought, "I no longer follow them," the horse lord admitted.
"Who do you follow?"
Dravite touched the goddess at the centre of his markings, "the gods, my heart, my mind."
"Big pavilion?" Raen asked.
The man shook his head slowly, "my wife, my son, and I."
"Many animals?"
Again he smiled, a smile full of regret as if he knew he were disappointing Raen in her matchmaking game, "my strider, we have little."
"And you give us all the meat?"
Dravite nodded, "you have more mouths to feed, and I will hunt rabbit."
Raen got up and shuffled away without another word; Dravite watched her go before turning in his gaze on Rufio, "do you have many animals, Ru? I was thinking of starting a herd, perhaps once my summer pay from The Watch comes in, if I live that long," he laughed when in fact those were the realities of his job, if it wasn't for Rufio who knows how far he might have wandered today.
.
.
.
The horse lord joined the girl near the fireplace and tried the think back to the morning's events, his arms, chest, and face splattered with blood which he wore proudly, like a comfy second skin, "you know I think I do remember being treated at the River Flower; there was a mix up with the herbs," his brow knotted as he tried to remember the name of the powerful hallucinogenic they had given him, "moss? Doo moss? No" he grumbled that wasn't it.
"Voodoo moss," Raen called.
Dravite turned his gaze on the old woman and smiled, "Aye, voodoo moss; they ground it down into a powder and heat it, the result was fairly instant."
The Watchman wasn't going to say no to supper, especially if it was what Raen had promised, even if he didn't make for a very attractive dinner guest in his current state. "Can I help you cook anything?" Dravite asked which was when Raen moved to join them.
"Let Ru cook," she encouraged, or perhaps demanded? The old woman had an air of authority about her that was hard to deny, "Tell me about Blackwater," Raen looked at him.
"I fear I've told as much as I know," Dravite shrugged.
Raen smacked his shoulder; did she have something against the dismissive arm action? "This Blackwater," the tip of her finger touched his Windmarks.
Dravite peered down at the tooled skin, "Zulrav," he told her, pointing out the eyes of the god, "Caiyha, Semele, Strider, Windborne," he finally admitted.
"I know Windborne," she smiled.
Dravite perked up at the thought of someone recognising the pavilion he had grown up in, those who had been Blackwater before his father had died and Belhaur Windborne, his closest friend, had remarried to his mother and altered the Blackwater name to make the pavilion his own. "Have you seen them?" Dravite's tone was almost hopeful, as much as he was angry with them for casting him out on his own; he wanted to know if they were safe."
"No," Raen shook her head slowly, "not this summer."
There was still time, Dravite thought, "I no longer follow them," the horse lord admitted.
"Who do you follow?"
Dravite touched the goddess at the centre of his markings, "the gods, my heart, my mind."
"Big pavilion?" Raen asked.
The man shook his head slowly, "my wife, my son, and I."
"Many animals?"
Again he smiled, a smile full of regret as if he knew he were disappointing Raen in her matchmaking game, "my strider, we have little."
"And you give us all the meat?"
Dravite nodded, "you have more mouths to feed, and I will hunt rabbit."
Raen got up and shuffled away without another word; Dravite watched her go before turning in his gaze on Rufio, "do you have many animals, Ru? I was thinking of starting a herd, perhaps once my summer pay from The Watch comes in, if I live that long," he laughed when in fact those were the realities of his job, if it wasn't for Rufio who knows how far he might have wandered today.
.
.
.