Completed To Light a Spark (Belugnir)

[Zavya]

30th Day of Winter, 518 AV, 22nd Bell, Outside Ravok's Northern Outpost

Continued from...

The nervous grey pony at Einar’s side captivated the tigress, golden eyes roaming his muscled flesh with the heated intensity of a beggar who’d been starved for weeks and was suddenly presented with a nobleman’s feast. The taste of another predator had done little to satisfy the tigress, the wild, musky flavor not quite suited to her palate. But horse… Her tongue brushed her lips as she eyed the animal, taking another step in their direction before she took hold of herself with a tightening of her jaw and a shake of her head. No, no, can’t eat this damn grass eater, the Kelvic reminded herself with a twinge of regret, summoning her will and turning to look at the human again before she did anything she might regret.

“Wounds?” Zavya repeated in a confused sort of haze, her adrenaline not yet having worn off enough to truly feel the impact the canine had on her. “What wounds?” Truthfully, she wasn’t sure how much of the blood that coated her skin was her own versus the wolf’s, but judging by the look on Einar’s face… it would seem more of it was hers than she’d originally thought. “Really, I’m fine,” she assured him, even as she reached back for her neck where the animal had clamped down. She hissed as her fingers brushed the gashes, hand coming back even bloodier than before. It smarted more than she expected, wrinkling her nose as she muttered, “All right, got a big more banged up than I thought…”

Stumbling, the Kelvic turned around at his insistence, flinching and growling in pain when he pressed dirt into the bite marks marring her flesh. A pelt was bound around her shoulders before she turned back to face him, the bloodlust finally fading from her gaze and discomfort taking its place. Zavya couldn’t deny that it hurt, but it was no worse than one of her master’s punishments. At least… that’s what she told herself, even as her blood sluggishly soaked through the hide swaddling her. “It’s not that bad,” she said to Einar, the man scrambling to hook all the loot up to his horse before another pelt was thrown over her back, a torch was pressed into her hands, and she was urged forward. Even as she spoke the words, she wasn’t sure if they were meant more to reassure herself or her warder, who, in spite of his customary gruffness, actually seemed genuinely worried.

In spite of her reassurances, their shuffle through the forest passed in a staggering fog, Zavya’s vision narrowing to a pinpoint by the time they reached the fire lit camp. Lightheaded, the tigress dropped slowly to her knees and dug out a spot for the torch much like Einar had done before. Thrusting the piece of wood down into the earth, she took a moment to watch the dancing flame with a dazed sort of fascination. Had it always been so bright? And why was it getting smaller?

Slowly, the Kelvic looked up as the human tied off his horse and stepped in front of her, the man’s outline starting to blur around the edges. “Food?” she asked hopefully, her voice faint even to her own ears. Trust a cat to heed the rumbling of her stomach over the steadily mounting pain between her shoulders.

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[Belugnir]

''It's not that bad... a bit more banged up...'', Ein mimicked her words with a muttered scorn, chucking his morbid mantle away in favor of ever so slight ease as he went on prowling through his supplies, before clawing out a messy bundle of bandage, a strap of hard leather, a flask of some horribly strong booze, and a skin of water he'd ended up hanging inbetween his own teeth in a clumsy rush to get back to where he'd left Zavya by the campfire. It could have been endearing, really, had the only witness' life not been in danger, how a hardened thug broke down into a stumbling mess the moment he had to do ought but frown and holler violent profanities.

Once at her side, he went about unsheathing a dagger and tucking its blade into the fire, turning to Zavya to have her utter dreamy inquiries of food.

''No.'' No, stupid!, nearly came out of him. ''No, not yet.'', he repeated himself trying best to calm himself amidst the thought he might be stuck with a pale corpse on his hands in less than a couple chimes. ''...In a bit.'', every ounce of him wanted to yell and scold, yet he heard reassurance in his own voice. '' ...I need you to bite down on this, though.'', sure enough, he proceeded to tug the folded leather strap for her to take between her teeth and keep them apart. ''...Just don't try eating that.'', he reminded her after a single prolonged glance reinforced his worry, as he took in the manner in which the girl's body swayed back and forth unable to decide which way to collapse... Her tired squint seldom made it look any better.

Having dropped the poorest man's excuse for medical supplies to the side, and after one frustrated fiddling that undid the gauntlets from his hands, Ein took Zavya by the shoulder and nudged her to lean forward, yet holding onto her so that she'd remain upright. He'd nearly been taken aback with how cold she was to the touch, still smeared in blood both her own and the wolf's. It was an unsightly thing to look upon, what greeted him when he undid the pelt he'd previously fitted across her chest to place pressure on the wound. Skin tanned but paling, as if set aflame at the base of her neck where the dusty bite wounds...

And though Zavya was seldom bleeding anymore, it did very little to ease Ein's mind. ''Suppose it could have been worse...'', he uttered with almost childish begrudgement, pulling the girl in to lean into the cavity above his chest, so that he may keep her from collapsing and reach around to her back with both hands. He couldn't help but think back to the one time he laid splayed on the street after a knife fight, bleeding out the side of his neck... And feeling something horrid cold crawl down his back as he realized he was no old gran with two sons to help out and a boxfull of healing herbs, he was no Shiress, and the only sodding help he could call upon would have been a pony who'd likely hoof the woman's head off sooner than let her so much as touch him...

So Ein did what he could, which was hardly much mroe than pour water and alcohol in slow succesion over the back of the woman's neck, occasionally brushing away with the bloodied pelt, trying his best not to agitate the injury and draw new blood from it as he went about cleaning it.

Ein didn't even realize he was holding his breath nearly the entire sodding time, only letting loose an unaware shudder when his chest could still itself no longer.

''...You still awake?'', he'd inquire at one point, had he not already recieved an answer amidst the clenching of jaws and the inevitable hissing that folk resorted to when their wounds met with the cold burn of alcohol.

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[Zavya]

The fog in Zavya’s brain was not quite thick enough to obscure the unusually strained tone of Einar’s voice, the man stumbling around the camp in an unwonted haste that spoke volumes more than the gruff cadence of his speech ever could. He was concerned. Genuinely concerned. He might rant and rave at her all day long, but somehow, some way, over the time they’d been together, at least a part of him had come to care. The Kelvic wasn’t sure what to do with that revelation.

Instead of thinking about it too much, she bit down on the leather when he handed it to her—closing her eyes and clenching her jaw against the pain to follow. The makeshift gag muffled a long, drawn-out groan as he pulled the dirtied pelt away from her wounds, fist white knuckled where it tightened at her side. Her shoulders slumped when the hide was pulled free of her skin, a heavy shudder following. Her relief didn’t last long, however, the man gently pulling her forward before a stream of stinging liquid coursed down her back. A sleuth of muffled hisses and curses erupted in its wake, burying her head in his shoulder as a crimson haze of agony briefly veiled her vision.

When the worst of it passed enough for her to speak, Zavya spit the leather from between her jaws. “Should have seen what I did to him…” she muttered in a weak jest before another river of fluid ran down her spine. Much to her chagrin, the Kelvic actually whimpered, her free hand clenching unconsciously in the man’s shirt.

Each new flood of water had her quieter and quieter, the searing torment slowly fading to a dull, bearable ache. Her hand loosened in the fabric it clung to, tension gradually easing as her body came to rest itself against his. Shuddering gasps and heaving sighs were replaced with steadier breath, even if pain still showed itself in the crinkled corners of her eyes. One by one, her muscles let go until she was cradled against the mercenary’s chest in a bloody mockery of a lovers’ embrace.

“Yeah, I’m awake,” the tigress replied after an extended silence, her voice hardly above a whisper, though she wasn’t sure how much longer that would be the case. A messy head of dark hair still lay pillowed against the hollow of his chest, the steady thrum of his heartbeat, combined with the significant amount of blood she’d lost in the fight, lulling the exhausted Kelvic closer and closer toward inevitable slumber. Her head turned slightly to the side as she took a deep breath, Einar’s unique aroma mixing with the coppery tang of her own blood and flooding her senses.

He has a nice smell, Zavya thought idly, her nose tracing lazily from his shoulder toward his neck and inhaling again. Salt, sweat, dirt, and his own musk all coalesced together into something that to another human might have been unpleasant, but to her… It stirred something in her belly that she was hard put to recognize. The oddness of her reaction to his proximity was not entirely lost on her, questioning herself that she lay against him so comfortably when only a few days ago she would have flinched from his touch. I’m just punch drunk, the Kelvic asserted silently, unwilling to even entertain the thought that it might be something more than that. A little sleep and everything will be back to normal…

“Not sure why you’re in such a fit,” she mumbled, molten eyes flicking up toward his face. “If I bleed out, it’s just one less thing for you to worry about, yeah?” Her attempt at humor was bleak and dark, but it was there. “It would be a nicer death out here than whatever’s waiting for me back home.”

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[Belugnir]

''Aye, I figure you turned that hound to mush...'', Ein indulged her comment of the wolf who could have come close to biting her head off. ''...be it another day, I'd pat you on the back.'', he tried to voice the sly remark as endearingly as he could, content that muffled groans and whimpers weren't the only thing she could conjure in her state. Mayhaps he wouldn't have a corpse on his hands after all.

Still, as the last splash of bloodied alcohol was brushed from her back, Zavya's whiffs against Ein's neck had the man stop still and unnerved, it was rather notable how abruptly he'd practically petrified at the curious breaths she'd taken of him... Part of him he'd thought he'd forgotten would have backhanded her to the ground then and there... part of him he wouldn't acknowledge nearly moved him to cradle and tuck her leaning even more onto him... Instead he just reeled his head back after a long, breathless instant to look down and meet her lazy, amber gaze. ''She's just loopy from the bloodloss, get your shyke together.''... Nay, he only kept staring with a faint furrow of his brow as she whispered grim jests in regard to her own life.

''Where we rest our head is home.'', Ein grumbled in grumpy retort, yet keeping his voice down so that she wouldn't have even heard him had their heads not been less than a foot apart, as if the words left him before he could even consider them.

A moment passed in which the mercenary seemed to rebuke himself for even speaking up before he shuffled ever so slightly to the side and straightened his back completely, letting the girl lean onto him some more, spilling an ounce from the waterskin and onto the corner of the bloodied pelt, bringing the thing up to begin wiping away the caked, crimson mess under Zavya's chin and collarbones, while his other arm came about her lower back to keep her from rolling over at the most minute nudge. ''I'm in a fit, eh?...'', he found the wits to scold gently again. ''Then I expect you to be tossing up an equal one over me when some cocksucker inevitably shafts me with an arrow or some shyke like that, you hear?''
Was I meant to sit on my sodding hands and whistle away while you cool into a corpse, you daft twat?''

''We didn't pass that blonde whoreson by a hair and skulk around here for weeks so that I can let you to die to some mangy wolf who ain't even cockin' alive anymrore.'', he lectured, brushing away a pair of particularly thick strands of coldblood from her scarred cheek. Rosy as her paled skin had become from the blood he'd cleaned away, she at least no longer appeared as though having freshly clawed and bitten her way out of some horrid monstrosity's womb... and Ein found himself staring blankly at the marrings upon Zavya's face for an entranced moment, before his eyes darted away toward thin air elsewhere... then to the bundles of goodies they'd looted from the wagon, and then back to Zavya again. ''Keep steady for just a moment now, alright?'', he let go of the bloodied pelt and took her by the wrist of the hand with which she so tiredly clutched at his shirt, now smeared in blood more than the girl herself was. Slowly he would pull himself away, lingering to make sure she got to straighten herself up and make sure she would manage a brief moment without collapsing.

As soon as they were apart, Ein picked up speed and darted over to the pile of pelts and furs Zavya had seemed so taken with upon discovering them at the wagon. Hides of bear, wolf, fox and plenty other, piled up into a soft mess of quality preserved fur. Ein grabbed as much as his two arms together could envelop, and strode back over to the girl by the fire that was slowly running out of fuel. Several ticks it took him to stretch out hides of bear and direwolf one over another several feet away from the campfire, tucking the rest to the side for the time being, as he figured the thick, stripped skins of creatures just as large and larger than the woman's feline visage would make for a cozy enough base to lie upon.

''Come on now, on your belly.'', he would take her by the hand and about the waist to help her either stumble or crawl the couple feet it would take over to her hastily thrown together beddings. ''I've still got to bandage those gnashes, so don't start curling up and doozing off just yet.''

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[Zavya]

The night around them was quiet, save for the crackling of the fire and the sound of their own voices. Even had she been yards away, Zavya would have heard Einar’s muttered comment about home, one that had her pausing and staring at him with curious golden eyes. Beneath all that bluster, the anger and sarcasm that the mercenary presented to the world… there was a man, just a man who was fumbling his way through life like everyone else. Why hadn’t she seen it before? And why was she seeing it now?

There was a restrained tenderness in the way he cleaned the blood from her skin, Zavya shivering at the sure motions of his hands that brushed the pelt over her chest and collarbones. A sound suspiciously close to a purr vibrated her throat, unconsciously leaning into his gentle caresses with all the wanton joy of a common house cat. She looked up at him with a veiled gaze as the makeshift cloth was then swiped over her cheeks. His own gaze met hers and lingered for just a tick too long—that tick painting her face a gentle shade of crimson that was thankfully disguised by the bloodstains that remained. Confused warmth flooded her body before she looked away with a feigned cough.

Get yourself together, you weak-willed idiot, her inner voice scolded her firmly, listening to his own scoldings with half an ear. Is a few soft touches and concerned glances all it takes with you? He’s still the same rude, crass mother petcher he was this morning when you wanted to rip his throat out. You getting hurt doesn’t change that.

Yet even as she had the thought, the Kelvic found herself looking at him in a different light, one she’d never even considered before. A light that confounded and excited her, and one that terrified her to her very core. It was a light she wasn’t ready to stare into, not yet. But here she was, doe-eyed and speechless while he simultaneously teased and reassured her that he wasn’t going to leave her to die. What was wrong with her?

Thankfully, before she could make an utter fool of herself, Einar steadied her and stood up, walking over to the discarded pelts and building a little sleeping pallet by the fire. Zavya’s eyes didn’t leave him for a second, watching the fire lit play of muscle under skin with a very peculiar fascination while hides of nearly every shape and size were piled together into a plush layer of warmth that looked comfier than any bed she’d ever laid on. Already, she could feel her eyelids growing heavier at the thought of sleeping on it, and a hazy smile crossed her features when Einar came back her way.

It didn’t take long for the mercenary to have her stumbling over to the nest he’d made for her, Zavya collapsing gratefully against the springy furs and rubbing her face into the thick softness. The tigress chuffed softly while burying her fingers in the bear pelt he’d laid on top, caressing it and pulling it against her skin with a blissful sigh. Content, she made herself comfortable on her stomach, nestling down and turning her head so that she might look at him.

“It’s stopped bleeding, hasn’t it?” she murmured sleepily, jaws parting on a sharp-toothed yawn. “What do you need to bandage it for?”

Zavya didn’t care a bit that her logic made no sense, nuzzling into the fur again with a deep inhale. Getting into the fight with that wolf had been worth it, if only for finding these pelts. The Kelvic had no qualms whatsoever about sleeping in the dirt, but this… this was the height of luxury in comparison. It was all she could do not to roll around in them like a proper cat, the only thing stopping her being the open gashes Einar was – somewhat – patiently waiting to tend to.

Golden eyes peeked up to meet his, unexpected mischief mingling with the sleepiness in her gaze. “I say we should eat and break into that crate of wine, and neither one of us will give half a damn about wolf bites anymore.”

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[Belugnir]

Having laid her down onto the pelts, Ein went about washing his hands with another splash from the waterskin, before setting about slicing up a couple lengths of bandage... and attempting his vain best to focus on what he was doing instead of the dreamy eyes Zavya was casting his way. ''We'll get to that in a moment.'', was the only acknowledgement to her feverish insistance on food and drink... and for whatever reason she appeared to be... somehow sly about it.

With a shake of his head, he soaked two thrice-folded lengths of white wrap in water and an ounce of booze, turning back to the girl and settling beside her to place one across each row of the bitemarks. ''Wounds need to be kept clean and covered, lest they start festering.'', he answered the girl's inquiry with a minor grumble, taking the loose end of the leftover bandage roll inbetween his own teeth, and sliding his spare hand under her, pressing his palm to the flat of her chest so that he would get her upper torso away from the pelts for the brief while it'd take him to warp the bandage about her a couple times so that the pledgets on her wounds would remain in place... Only that brief while seemed to stretch out. Part of it was to blame on Ein's lack of dexterity when it came to gentler things... Nor was it ever an occasion in which he had the chance to find himself taken with holding the weight of another's deep breath and labored heartbeat in the palm of his hand... and certainly not whilst that breath and heartbeat belonged to a rugged, good-looking lass... and once again he began absently holding his own breath in like an utter dimwit, slow and clumsy, he would still do a respectable job.

Five times the white linen strap folded around Zavya, crossing over the injury and going both over and under her arms on the front, before Ein had to lower his head to her back with a shuddered exhale, letting go of the bandage he'd kept between his teeth and letting the girl settle back down onto the pelts and tucking his hand away so that he could finally tighten up the binds an ounce and tie a knot at herback securing it in place.

It was yet another lengthy, quiet moment in which Ein sat back and realized he'd practically driven himself breathless, before finally coughing up an agreement with the girl, glancing back to their spoils for a moment.

''I do suppose some feasting is in order now, yeah?'', he'd even managed to crack something akin to a sheepish smile. It had been a long uneventful day and a boogling evening... and frankly he was rather content with how it all turned out.

Standing up, Ein took up the bundled hides of fox and wolf and boar, unfolding them and casting them over the girl and leaving her to nestle there whilst he went over to look through the crates that they hadn't checked yet... Realizing after a brief, fruitless endavor lined with spices, fruits and plenty of pouches filled with herbs and odd powders, that the doe he'd killed would likely be the only food Zavya wouldn't outright spit away... So he went about the messy errand of stripping hide away from the dead creature's hind thighs and glutes. It took him a couple chimes to skin a single leg and slice it apart from the body.

He went back to the fire, feeding another couple of branches and chunks of deadwood to keep it going, before suspending the doe's fresh, bloodied leg above it with a couple sticks. Constantly did he keep glancing back to Zavya to see if she held on to conciousness... and to see just how much she might protest against her dinner coming with an ounce of charring.

Once again Ein washed his hands off, before using the opportunity and about half a chime and seeing to it that Fin was properly bound, had some oat strapped to his snout in a pouch, and had his blanket over his back in place of the saddle and other gear... Afterward, Ein took a moment to rummage through his belongings and pull out an older, spare shirt, swapping it out in place of the blood-smeared one he'd ended up with.

Finally, he settled down by Zavya's side again, with a freshly uncorked bottle of wine, raising it at the girl and taking a brief swig. So much for never drinking again, huh?

''To your health, eh?'', came a gruff tease as he offered the bottle to her, holding onto it to see if she could conjure up the wits and strength to sit up and take it herself, or if he'd also need to hold her head and nurse her to the sweet and sour bevrage.

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[Zavya]

Zavya was just as breathless as Einar when he started wrapping the bandage around her torso, heart pounding feverishly beneath his hand. With her master’s penchant for pain, the Kelvic had known many a healer’s impersonal touch on her flesh, but this… This was different. Why is it different? she wondered, stealing brief glances back at him while he wound the length of fabric around and over her chest. For that, she didn’t have an answer, at least not one that made any sense to her. It was the same heated excitement she’d felt when Shiress touched her, the same longing that had her shivering with a bated anticipation that had no place here at this fire. I don’t even like him, she thought incredulously as he tied off the bandage and released her back to the pile of furs.

But was that really the truth? Did she truly despise him the way she had at first? No, I suppose not, she thought, wrapping herself more fully in the pelts he’d lain over her body. No real reason for me to anymore. Over the weeks they’d been together, she’d chafed at his rough demeanor, but had quickly come to learn it wasn’t her that his gruff and grumble was saved for. It was just the way he was, a manner of showing himself to a world that held nothing but scorn for those who weren’t born with a silver spoon on their tongue. It was a sentiment Zavya could well understand, and one that she shared in no small measure. The tigress wasn’t the most pleasant of companions even during the best of times, and on a run for her life… she could only imagine the headaches she’d given her surly human warder.

Once more, an unconscious smile answered his when he stood to rummage through their newfound bounty, her gaze never leaving him while he moved about the camp. She did her best to keep her stare hidden behind a thin barrier of fox fur, but his eyes seemed to flick back in her direction near as much as hers followed him. Whatever the strange buzz she was feeling, it wasn’t one-sided, of that she was almost sure. Something had shifted between them tonight. Zavya wasn’t sure how she felt about it.

Her stomach rumbled eagerly when she saw him cut the leg free of the doe, licking her lips and pulling herself upright with no small effort. Light-headed and weary she was, but Zavya would pull herself together for food. Especially deer, she thought, pupils dilating and tongue outlining her mouth.

The tiger’s excitement noticeably lessened when he set the freshly skinned meat on the fire, sighing heavily and sparing him a long-suffering look that left no question as to what it was for. “Why must you always cook it?” she asked in a displeased grumble, her irritation at last cutting some of the unspoken tension between them. “Have you even tried it raw?” Zavya raised an arch eyebrow, huffing at him. “You take all the flavor out when you… burn it like that.”

She supposed she shouldn’t be complaining, not after she’d begged him for something to eat since the tick they’d stepped back into the camp, but she had to bring some element of familiarity back to their odd night. Griping was a thread they very much held in common, and felt much more natural and comfortable than… whatever had just happened.

Nearly as soon as her tension had eased, though, she felt it return when the man settled at her side again. Zavya sat up a little straighter, pulling a pelt tighter about her shoulders before gently taking the offered bottle. Another brief smile was shot his way as she raised it to her lips, taking a bold swallow before nearly choking it right back up. Handing it back, she pursed her lips and coughed again with a self-conscious laugh. The only time Zavya had ever drank wine had been the night she’d met Shiress, and the taste… well, it wasn’t the smoothest.

“To my health, indeed,” she replied with a wry shake of her head. “And to our luck holding out in the future, eh? I might’ve nearly gotten my throat ripped out, but look what we got out of it!” She gestured to the crates and packs they’d looted from the wagon, her other hand gently stroking the fur she sat on. “I’d say it was worth it, huh?”

After a chime or so of companionable silence, Zavya shyly glanced his way before turning her eyes back to the ground and absently fingering a blade of grass. “Thank you. For… you know. This.” She plucked at the bandages he’d wrapped her in before falling quiet again. Another few ticks passed before the tigress shifted a little closer, took the edge of one of the hides she held around herself and wrapped it around him too. Carefully, she tucked it over his shoulder with a gentle pat and let her hand fall back to her lap.

“Not that I’d ever let some runt of a dog kill me, but… I’m glad you didn’t let me die.”

And for the first time… it was true. Zavya didn’t want to die. In spite of it all, of everything that had brought her here, the years of pain and torture and abuse—sitting here with stolen pelts and sour wine, a fresh kill on the fire and a hot-headed mercenary at her side, the tigress finally knew she wanted to live.

Perhaps the world’s not all bad, after all.

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[Belugnir]

Her answer about cooking would have recieved more of an answer than a vague, knowing chuckle, but the girl seemed to set that aside and be agreeable sooner than he could utter a word... and then there was more mild, innocent laughter to be had once she'd nearly choked on a gulp of wine.

Griping was a common thread, indeed, and one comfortably handled and woven into the days as they went by... Yet folk are often driven to find comfort in things that are seldom healthy... And unusual as this evening had become, Ein would have to argue for a lengthy while before convincing himself that he didn't find it enjoyable.

''I'd say it was worth it, huh?''[i]

[i]''Sad is this world where folk value luxury over the life of another.'', he nearly heard himself speak, looking away into the fire as if he'd find the words to respond in there instead. A month or so ago such a stupid saying wouldn't have ever crossed his memory.

''I suppose so, aye... to our luck, then.'', he'd have gone for the bottle again and sipped an ounce more heartily from it now, pausing with an odd distance in his gaze, before sipping again and offering the bottle back to Zavya.

''And to those three silly buggers back in town.'', he toasted for the trio who'd put the two of them together back at Caldera manor. That was one convolluted group of peculiar folk that the five of them made... yet Ein was hard pressed to feel as much animosity for any of them as he did for the Sahovan Nuit or the scumbags and slavers of Sunberth... Wasn't exactly spoiled for choice when it came to friends and companions.

When Zavya tucked herself closer and pulled a pelt to wrap about the both of them, it was Ein's turn to have his lingering blank stare turn almost doe-eyed... And earnest gratitude was... well, the currency he certainly knew how to handle the least. For a while he struggled to decide what to say... if he ought to say anything to begin with...?

''Don't sweat it, eh?'', was followed by a couple hearty pats upon her lower back. ''I'm sure you'd have managed on your own just as well.'', wine, the scents of sweat and blood's iron fading into those of stilling ash and warming meat, Zavya's presence, under the same pelt, close enough that he could hear her calm breath, and her own demeanor, be it caused by bloodloss and exhaustion or not... they all worked rather neatly together to help Einar ease up and relax as well.

''I do stand by what I said though.'', he admonished, giving his best childish mock-up of a stern elderly fellow.''Ye better not be slacking off if I end up mauled by some bushwack bastard one of those days, yeah?''

There was little good in the world... but that little was well enough to make life worth it.

Ein would wait a brief while longer before leaning out of the pelt for an ounce and take his knife to the bulk of the doe's leg above the fire. The flesh was still very much live and juicy with sparse fats and blood warmed up from its stillness. Holding onto the thing with the very tips of his fingers, he sliced out a steaming piece as thick as his own hand, and ever so slightly larger at that.

''And I'll have you know... I have eaten my share of raw meat. Figure every Sunberth orphan has... And it never sat well with me.'' he gave the large chop of meat a lengthy blow before bringing his thumb and the knife together about a corner, cutting off a piece as large as his little finger, and popping that into his mouth before offering the rest to Zavya.

''Mmm..., his head took an evaluating tilt as he chewed down. ''I do suppose doe beats warehouse rodents, live or charred. Still, not all of us have the guts of a massive feline, so we burn desease from our food.'', Ein thought on out-loud as he settled back down by the girl's side... seating himself that tiny ounce closer than he'd previously been.

''But, you know, we can always leave chunks uncooked for you if you prefer it that much, you've but to say it.''

Aye, next you'll be offering to clean her feet for her too, you babbling twit.", the thought gave him a wry smile much sooner than making him reconsider being openly kind.

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[Zavya]

“If some ‘bushwack bastard’ tries to maul you, they’ll find themselves short a few limbs… that, at least, I can promise you,” Zavya replied, unexpectedly fierce. The Kelvic found more thrill in fighting than she’d ever admit, but was it only that that brought a growling undertone to her voice and a grimace to her face? Even she wasn’t sure, and she wasn’t about to linger on it. She just hoped it never came to that.

The subject was dropped rather quickly when Einar cut a piece free of the deer simmering on the fire, popping a sliver into his mouth before handing the rest of it to her. Zavya waited barely a tick before she was ripping into the barely seared cut of meat, ravenously tearing at the flesh and hardly sparing a breath before swallowing. The tigress didn’t give a damn about manners or etiquette; all she knew was that she was hungry. The doe’s meat disappeared down her throat in record time, licking her lips and turning her attention back to what her companion was saying.

Swiping the back of her hand over her mouth, her head tilted when she looked at him. “Sunberth?” she repeated curiously. “What is Sunberth?” Zavya hardly had reason to know much about the places outside of Ravok, and the city’s name was unfamiliar. It wasn’t like Ryker had done much to teach her about geography. The world she knew was the world she knew, and he never saw reason for her to know anything beyond it.

Her train of thought was interrupted when Einar settled again beside her, closer than he’d been ticks before. His knee rested against hers, golden eyes flicking toward the brush of flesh before going back up to his face. Timidly, she reached to resettle the fur over his shoulders, her hand running gently down his back before settling in her lap. Subconsciously—or perhaps more consciously than she’d ever admit—she moved that much closer, hip and shoulder meeting and resting against his in a silent entreaty for the warmth and touch she’d always been deprived of.

Zavya accepted the bottle of wine back from his hand, taking another much deeper swallow and doing her best not to cough again. This time, she was much more successful, though she swallowed a bit harder than necessary before passing it back. “Rats taste all right,” she added absently, watching what remained of the doe’s leg sizzle and pop over the fire. “Though they’re hardly more than a mouthful. A bony, gristly mouthful at that.” A brief smile passed over her lips, flashed in his direction. “Deer is much better, though it’s got nothing on boar.”

His next offer caught her off guard, gaze flicking up to his in a shy, but thoughtful regard. “Thank you. I… I do like it better that way.” Everything about tonight was so unlike him, nearly like a different person was looking out from behind those familiar mismatched eyes. Over the weeks, she’d seen nothing more than little glimpses, the occasional comment dropped that revealed more of the person behind the stony veneer. She wasn’t sure what it was about tonight that had him acting so much differently than she was used to, but she was going to take advantage of it while she could. Zavya didn’t know why she even cared to know more about him, but regardless of why, she did. Perhaps she could dig out a bit more.

“Did you know your parents?” she asked quietly, referring back to his comment on being an orphan. “I never did. I knew they existed, obviously, because here I am, but I never met them. They could still be alive now, for all I know. It’s not like we had happy little families where I grew up.”

Zavya looked even more surprised at her own divulgence than she had at Einar’s, the tigress not one to reveal much about herself. Both because she didn’t like to dwell on the KRI and because… no one cared who she was. Not in Ravok. The black sun on her hand ensured that any normal citizen would never even see her as another person, much less a person they cared to know about. She was property. An object. A curiosity. Nothing more.

Taking another swig of the wine when it was passed back to her, she cleared her throat and set it back in front of him. Surprising herself even more, she kept speaking, “I managed to find out my mother was a wolf, and my father was a bat, which was why I was such a… fascination. How had a wolf and a bat made a tiger, much less one that looked like me? Every day was a new experiment, a new test to try to figure out the answer. Who knows if they ever did?”

After that, she went quiet again, her stare blank as it reflected the dancing flame. A shiver ran down her spine, in spite of the warmth surrounding them. Wrapping herself tighter in the pelt around their shoulders, Zavya stole a glance his way, then looked back to the ground. Another swallow of wine passed her lips, sighing gently as a warm lassitude spread through her limbs. At least it was behind her now.

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[Belugnir]

Her promise of retribution on his part would have been embarassing on any other day, but as things stood this evening, Ein found himself moments apart from grinning at it like some clueless child... Albeit that thought didn't linger for long, for soon Ein caught his own mouth watering as he watched the girl so nonchallantly devour a hunk of nigh raw meat and wipe away at full lips, glossy with warm grease. Tanned and fair, tough, savage, not at all prudish about walking around naked as a babe, and apparently without any qualms about crunching down on whole, live rats... yet then she'd start darting shy glances about once their hips so much as brushed upon each other... It was... wildly enthralling. Yet endearing at the same time.


''Aye, boar is splendid.'', he practically mumbled, settling down eyebrows that kept rising up at her eagerness for conversation... and the unusual things she so nonchallantly remarked. Not that his eyes didn't dart back at the fire before them with every other tick in which he realized he'd been repeatedly staring at the woman with bated breath.

Her inquiries did come as a surprise, however, one which helped sober him up for a mere ounce... Nothing another sip wouldn't see to. Ein's lips came curling up in the midst of a gulp of wine as Zavya went about adjusting the pelt to fit more closely about the both of them.

The tale of her origins, brief as she gave it, did have him settle down and listen attentively, this time without flicking his eyes away every breath or so... And he remained quiet for a lengthy while, simply looking at the girl as she talked, pondering what he ought to say... Was there any need to say anything...? In the end he found himself wrapping an arm about her waist beneath the pelts, and idly settling his hand upon her hip, giving her a gentle nudge to lean onto him not unlike she did chimes ago... Really wondrous, how long a way a bit of hardship and wine could go.

''A tiny flying rodent and a hound's first cousin to make one humongous warrior cat... That is a proper riddle, innit? Shyke, knowing them black 'uns, some handler probably got an arse-whoopin' every time they failed to figure it out.'', a bit of the usual Einar was finally beginning to shine through again... yet through a lens that was in accord with this rather peculiar evening.

Had Zavya obliged his little push at intimacy, he'd have, in turn, rested his healthy cheek atop her own head after taking a sip that brought the wine bottle down to barely half full. A lenghty sigh rolled about amidst yet another warm, quiet pause before he'd speak again.

''...Sunberth's a town... city, I suppose... Way down South and to the East... takes something over a season to get there.'', still mellowed and relaxed, his tone did sour up at the recollection. ''It ain't nothing like Ravok though. No lake, no fancy black guards... no fanatic orders running the city... No stuck-up nobles... Plenty of poverty, slavery and sick homeless bastards, though... Oh, and freedom for those who can beat the most teeth in without getting shived in the ribs along the way... Proud of that last bit, we are.'', it was with several long, long gulps of wine that he washed down the scorn in his voice.

''I never met me old folks either... Nor did I care much about meeting 'em... And Sunberth being what it is, I doubt I ever would have even if I stayed there. But, if I had to guess, I think I'd have a pretty good bet on me ma being your average whore, what have you... and me old man being some dim sod who hadn't the decency to pull his prick out of her before shovin' me in... I can't even rightly tell you how I ended up surviving me toddler days, to be honest, first thing I remember is begging for spare coppers on some dusty street corner...'', the cheerful sneers with which he began presenting that tale threatened to fade away into a more somber tone toward the end... 'til Ein brought the bottle to his lips again and offered Zavya a sip, freeing his one hand to point a finger upward all skald-like before continuing.

''There was those two brothers though. Old, retired buggering knights from another big, glamorous city over to the west... Took me off the street to share a shack with 'em, broke bread with me... taught me how to cook a stew that was... mostly edible... Tried to pass on some common decency onto me... That sort of shyke. Why me and not another one from the hundreds of little bastards running about the streets, I'll never know... But I owe a lot to those old farts. Without 'em I'd probably be dead about twelve times over by now... or be twelve times the bastard...''

He'd reached for the bottle, lips clicking after emptying another mouthful from it, before setting his head ever so gently atop of Zavya's own again and continuing a long, silent stare.

''Bugger me, I've got a loose tongue tonight...'', he dismissed, suddenly keenly aware of his fingers, curling slowly together and then apart, while his hand idly kept wandering across the faded ends of whip-scars upon Zavya's side. Mismatched eyes went to the notorious black sun at the back of the hand she'd kept in her lap, and he took it calmly into his own, thumb brushing over the branding, gently, yet without pardon... Finally, knowing compassion was blatent to hear in his voice.

''What about you? You's a fair lass. And a Kelvic. In Ravok. Shyke couldn't have been easy on your end.''

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