11th of Fall, 516 AV
2nd Bell
Azmere woke with a start. His mind was a blur as he fumbled around in the darkness for something though he wasn’t sure what he needed so desperately. A trap and a trigger from a dream had left him wanting –longing for answers which had not come. The scarred man was haunted by dreams of a tiger and a woman with gold eyes who held his heart in her mouth. Fragments of reality began to wither away as the man’s focus escaped him. An irregular pattern of sleep fueled by exhausting days of unseasonal heat was not helping the Drykas to get a grip on the world around him. He had responsibilities now; to his pavilion and his people as well as to himself. But if one was pursuing a desire –hunting a dream- was that not serving his needs?
It was far too early for such thoughts and the Watchman rolled off of his pad onto something warm and furry. The big heap yelped and stood swiftly which left the human on the ground. Azmere screamed into the grass, his breath kicking up dust around his face that eventually made him sneeze. He placed both palms beside his shoulders and brought his feet together on top of his bed. Slowly, he pushed his upper body off of Semele’s skin until he was just about to lock his elbows but he stopped the push and held it for several ticks until the burn of strain worked itself into his chest, shoulders and upper arms. The warrior lived for that kind of pain. He awakened his soul and set fire to his mind. Under complete control, Azmere lowered his body back down until the grasses tickled his stomach and chest. He did not allow his form to rest on the soil but maintained a hovering position. This caused the muscles in his legs and back as well as his abdomen to tighten while they worked to keep his body straight like a board. The scarred man held himself like this for almost a chime before slowly pushing himself back up into a second hold.
Azmere repeated this pattern for some time until he could support his weight no more and then collapsed on the grass. With a smile, he rolled over and allowed his canine companion to nuzzle and lick him. They tussled for a bit and the watchman scratched the dog behind his ears and along his jaw. The Drykas eventually got on a pair of leather breeches and moved on to his flap. He tucked his dagger into his waistband and slipped out into the night air.
Leth was sinking but still bright and his rays illuminated much. The steppe was beautiful with her gentle hills, kind dips and hidden secrets. Every now and then some animal from far away could be heard stalking its prey or calling to a mate. The new ankal looked around his humble campsite and did not detect any activity from his group…that is, aside from Lodai’s snoring. Azmere smiled his half smile and began to walk softly along the outskirts of the small ring of tents. He wasn’t out for much but he needed to move, to breathe the air and to clear his head.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw hers. Those golden orbs haunted his mind even when he was awake. He made a promise to know her but she had all but vanished every time he went back to the refugees. Now that the season had changed, a creeping fear like a rock in his guts hinted that she could have moved on or was left behind. The feeling made him sick so Azmere tried to focus more on the last time they met…the only time.
2nd Bell
Azmere woke with a start. His mind was a blur as he fumbled around in the darkness for something though he wasn’t sure what he needed so desperately. A trap and a trigger from a dream had left him wanting –longing for answers which had not come. The scarred man was haunted by dreams of a tiger and a woman with gold eyes who held his heart in her mouth. Fragments of reality began to wither away as the man’s focus escaped him. An irregular pattern of sleep fueled by exhausting days of unseasonal heat was not helping the Drykas to get a grip on the world around him. He had responsibilities now; to his pavilion and his people as well as to himself. But if one was pursuing a desire –hunting a dream- was that not serving his needs?
It was far too early for such thoughts and the Watchman rolled off of his pad onto something warm and furry. The big heap yelped and stood swiftly which left the human on the ground. Azmere screamed into the grass, his breath kicking up dust around his face that eventually made him sneeze. He placed both palms beside his shoulders and brought his feet together on top of his bed. Slowly, he pushed his upper body off of Semele’s skin until he was just about to lock his elbows but he stopped the push and held it for several ticks until the burn of strain worked itself into his chest, shoulders and upper arms. The warrior lived for that kind of pain. He awakened his soul and set fire to his mind. Under complete control, Azmere lowered his body back down until the grasses tickled his stomach and chest. He did not allow his form to rest on the soil but maintained a hovering position. This caused the muscles in his legs and back as well as his abdomen to tighten while they worked to keep his body straight like a board. The scarred man held himself like this for almost a chime before slowly pushing himself back up into a second hold.
Azmere repeated this pattern for some time until he could support his weight no more and then collapsed on the grass. With a smile, he rolled over and allowed his canine companion to nuzzle and lick him. They tussled for a bit and the watchman scratched the dog behind his ears and along his jaw. The Drykas eventually got on a pair of leather breeches and moved on to his flap. He tucked his dagger into his waistband and slipped out into the night air.
Leth was sinking but still bright and his rays illuminated much. The steppe was beautiful with her gentle hills, kind dips and hidden secrets. Every now and then some animal from far away could be heard stalking its prey or calling to a mate. The new ankal looked around his humble campsite and did not detect any activity from his group…that is, aside from Lodai’s snoring. Azmere smiled his half smile and began to walk softly along the outskirts of the small ring of tents. He wasn’t out for much but he needed to move, to breathe the air and to clear his head.
Every time he closed his eyes he saw hers. Those golden orbs haunted his mind even when he was awake. He made a promise to know her but she had all but vanished every time he went back to the refugees. Now that the season had changed, a creeping fear like a rock in his guts hinted that she could have moved on or was left behind. The feeling made him sick so Azmere tried to focus more on the last time they met…the only time.
Textbox courtesy of Firenze
