Wanderer [I'ka] [GoblinFae]

[Nightcrawler]

Wakine did not want the cloak. Eln examined it. Was it dirty? No, though mud flecked the hem. Did it smell? He brought it to his nose and sniffed. No...only of wool and forest. He lowered it and frowned at her. It was a fine cloak. If she didn't take it, some other villager would. But it was her choice to make, and not his. He released a resigned sigh and began to roll it up to prepare for the journey.

She asked again if he wanted to eat. "Ei," he insisted. She asked something else...something about a rock with ears. It bounced. He did not understand. "...Ei," Eln said again, this time a bit more uncertain. He motioned for her to finish the fish before sliding his weapons back into his belt and strapping his cloak down into a compact roll. He wondered how many days' journey it was to wherever they were going.

"Hmm. Wakine," he began. He gestured to the smudged drawing of them and the hut. Above it, he drew a circle, and next to that, the sliver of a moon. He pointed at the two new shapes, then drew a line between the two figures and the hut. "Nima kei tuya?"

[GoblinFae]

His brow furrowed as he observed the picture. "We can only go to your home at night—oh." He suddenly stopped and looked Eln up and down as if seeing him fully for the first time. 

He certainly was a capable warrior, a strong man, a worthy man, a merciful man. He was kind, he shared what little he had even with a complete stranger who likely seemed incredibly odd to him. And he was quite tall to boot. A bit weary and a bit rough around the edges perhaps but definitely not bad to look at.

Waquin'i snorted and shook his head slightly in amusement. He was no Bride. If Eln wanted relations he would either earn it or draw blood in his own kidnapping.

The humor left the younger man's face though as he thought further on it. Was it because Eln had seen his chest? Did he assume him to be a woman and think he now could just lay claim on him so easily? Waquin'i pursed his lips at the thought. He would be no man's Bride.

Angrily he kicked the drawing, rendering it erased as he retook his spear in hand and bent his knees to brace himself. In one fluid motion he swung the butt of the spear put in an attempt to strike Eln in the temple. If the man was so desperate for a Bride then he could become one himself!

[Nightcrawler]

Wakine looked. She said...something. Like she was trying to understand him.

And then it all went wrong. Very wrong.

She eyed him, first with consideration, and then amusement, and then, without any warning at all, her expression darkened. She kicked what he'd drawn, sending dirt flying into his face. Eln rose to his feet and stumbled back, wiping debris from his eyes. "Agh. Wakine — "

WHAM. Something hit him hard in the temple. His vision went white and sparks flew. He stumbled again, still not quite steady on his braced leg, and held up an arm to shield himself. He shook himself like a dog shaking water from its ears and winced over at her from the edge of camp. Why had she attacked him? He looked back down at the ruined drawing. Two people. A hut. A moon...

Oh.

The look he gave her was a mortified one. If she thought he was that forward, then she certainly deserved to strike him that hard. But he was not. She had gravely misunderstood him. He lowered his arm and held his hands out as though to pacify an ornery goat. "Eiiii. Ei. Tei yaso tuhu nai fuvi." Blood dripped over his brow and onto his cheek. He wiped it away. "Wakine," he implored.

[GoblinFae]

"No!" He barked back, baring his teeth in a snarl. He struck out again, uncaring for Eln's attempts at pacifying him and showing he was no threat. Waquin'i swore to himself that he would not be so easily fooled. His kindness had been mistaken. He was Bride-to-be. He was no woman.

That thought gave him pause but made the fire in his eyes deepen. His iridescent eyes seemed to darken with his thoughts. Had their peace since last night been because he thought him a woman? Had he gentled his treatment because he thought Waquin'i weak and helpless? Is that what this was all about?!

He shouted again a wordless cry of rage as he wielded his spear in a fury of blind blows with the sole intent to knock the other man down and out.

[Nightcrawler]

His gestures served only to rile her further. Why? Surely she understood now that he meant no harm. Yet she came at him with a ferocity that he had not yet seen from her. Even when they fought the night before, she had pulled her punches in some way. This...this was a savage beating. He held his arms up to shield his face, only for the spear to rap him across the skull. The world went white again. His teeth clacked against one another as they had when she punched him, and the same wound reopened in his gums. He fell to the ground. His horn glanced off a stone and cracked. Something bit into his ear.

Pain. Blinding pain. He couldn't see for the blood in his eyes. "Wakine!" he cried. "Yese!" But the spear landed again and again, and each time, he felt his consciousness slip away a little further, until finally, that darkness took him.

[GoblinFae]

The blows continued even as Eln fell still and silent until Waquin'i ran out of steam. He stood over the unconscious man, chest heaving for breath and muscles screaming from the overexertion as he looked down with eyes that finally could see and took in the damage he had done. 

Dark bruises had already begun to form and blood trickled from wounds Waquin'i had inflicted on a defending but not attacking man. His body thrummed as if not of this plane as he looked down at the damage he had caused Eln. Bile rose in his throat but he turned away, walking first in determined strides; each step faster than the last until he was bolting across the land back towards the river and his boat, his spear dropped and abandoned along the way. He ran until he hit water and it slowed him, quenching his inner fire in the biting chill of reality. 

Waquin'i dragged himself hurriedly into his canoe, his hand on the oar to set him on his way when his panicked eyes caught sight of some reeds he had accidentally left behind. What had he done? What kind of man was he choosing to be in this moment? Was this the man he wanted to live with for the rest of his life? A coward?

Slowly he lowered the oar back into the boat and instead reached to take up his traveling pack. He knew he had spare bandages for his chest binding in it and with the way Eln had been bleeding he likely could really use them. Waquin'i's eyes fell next on the netting beneath his pack. He could bring Eln back with him. He'd be able to get treatment and help. He could have community among the I'kanans, something he did not appear to have alone in the middle of nowhere traveling without a single understanding of Trader's tongue. But what if he had family to return to?

"He'd be even less good to them dead."

Waquin'i nodded his head, mind made up. He would act now and handle the consequences later. So determined, he gather the necessary things and marched back, stopping only long enough to collect his spear. 

Eln was still unconscious and sprawled where he had fell. Waquin'i's chest squeezed uncomfortably at the sight but he pushed through it, dropping to his knees beside him. He had a pulse but it was erratic and fainter than the younger man would have liked. He sighed and reached to examine the wounds he had dealt. His hands were shaking and his palms sweaty. He rubbed them off on his thighs just as tears burst forth and rained down hot upon his cheeks. What had he done?!

He blinked harshly, scrubbing at his cheeks in shame and anger before working on wiping the wounds and bandaging them with clean strips of cloth. His brow would heal but his ear looked bad and Waquin'i wasn't even sure what to do about his horn. He bandaged it anyway just in case.

The work was almost soothing in its methodical nature. His hands knew what to do even if his mind was growing numb in its self-torture and questioning. The task's completion brought with it a new problem; Waquin'i could not carry Eln. And yet they could not stay as his wounds required proper treatment from a skilled healer, something Waquin'i was not.

Surveying the camp, he busied himself with scooping dirt on the fire to quench its hunger. His own was destroyed with his pride. And when he looked upon the abandoned fish he had been so proud to have caught, his stomach twisted violently. He would deal with that later. Once more looking to things, he found Eln's pack and cloak. This he unrolled beside the man upside down before shoving Eln up onto his side and it under him. He could not carry him. But he could drag him. 

It was not the most brilliant or easy of plans, but it worked. Agonizingly slowly Waquin'i managed to drag Eln back to the water's edge. From there it was the "simple" task of getting him into the canoe and getting them on their way. 

"Simple indeed," he groaned to himself as he fought for the third time to drag Eln back out of the water as the canoe dumped him out again. It would be a miracle if the man didn't drown in Waquin'i's efforts to save him. 

Finally with the aid of his net, Waquin'i managed to drag Eln into the boat with the man laying flat within it and no room for the younger man whatsoever. With a sigh he bailed some of the water out, bound the netting so Eln could not thrash about or escape and hurt himself as he eventually came to, and confiscated his weapons.

The knife was placed in Waquin'i's own belt but the axe which was deemed too heavy was left under his pack in the bottom of the canoe. The line of rope that had once kept the canoe anchored in place now wound about his waist and Waquin'i began to walk. It would be a few days walk at this rate but he was nothing if not determined. He would drag Eln home. He would see that he was cared for, whatever it took, even this. 

[Nightcrawler]

Darkness.

The mountain punished them with a hail of fire. His people burned. He could not save them. He could only watch. And then: darkness again.

His skull felt like it had been split open. It throbbed with his erratic heartbeat. And it was hot. So suffocatingly hot. The mountain's ash choked his lungs. He longed for the water that he could hear but could not taste. He tried to lift an arm to drag himself towards it, but his arm wouldn't move. He tried again. No. No part of him would move. He couldn't move. He couldn't move. He couldn't move. It was happening again. Oh, gods, no. Not this.

He tried to cry out. A groan escaped his throat and nothing more. Something trickled over his eye and down his cheek. Too thin to be blood. He could not even reach up to wipe it away. Please, he begged. Not this.

[GoblinFae]

It was nearing evening when Eln began to make sounds of life and pain. Waquin'i slowed his plodding pace to instead pull the canoe to the shore and himself. Kneeling on the riverbank, he murmured soft words of comfort, brushing soft fingers along his brow and checking bandages with a grimace. He shouldn't have let them get wet. He shouldn't have done a lot of things. 

"It's going to be okay, Eln'y'ara. I promise. It's going to be okay. Just rest. I will get you to help soon." He pressed a cool, damp strip of cloth to his forehead, cheeks, and neck. "Be at peace, help will be here soon."

Waquin'i took opportunities along the way to try and press water to Eln's lips and care for him in between long stretches of walking and pulling. He forsook sleep even to make better time, stopping only to wrap Eln in his cloak before carrying onward.

Two suns and two moons passed before the sun rose on a third new day and Waquin'i could see the grass houses and longhouse of home in the distance.

"Soon Eln'y'ara! Just a bit further," he encouraged, even if it was more for himself than the unconscious and ill man. 

Coming upon the village was as anxiety-inducing as it was a relief. Waquin'i called to his people who hurried to help. A flurry of words and movement and Eln was whisked away to the Bride house to be treated while others questioned or congratulated Waquin'i. The mass of injuries caused by the younger man's hands was hardly the way things were done. A Bride was meant to be kidnapped not beaten half to death. It was a double dose of dishonor for Waquin'i who had no scars only bruises to show for his efforts and Eln with all of the injuries. He certainly had a great deal of explaining to do but at least Eln would be treated now. 

[Nightcrawler]

Time lost all meaning in that dark place. He floated there, a spirit untethered and adrift within his own mind, for countless days and nights. He did not have the strength to fight that prison anymore. He was done. He would die here. And until then...he would reach for those he loved.

Their hands brushed against him. Their voices whispered. He strained to understand them, but that ever-flowing stream drowned out their meaning. Still, they granted him mercy. They quenched his thirst and wrapped him in their warm, soft embrace: the spirits of the dead come to claim him at last. He would go willingly, if only to be with them again.

If only to see her face just one more time.

A fire crackled. Someone murmured. Outside: the sounds of merry folk at work and leisure. He took in a breath, and then another, and his lungs filled with smokey air redolent with leather and musk and dry grass. He cracked an eye. In the dim distance, he thought he made out a basket, with poles woven and grasses tied to them. His vision blurred, then came slowly into focus again. No. Not a basket. A ceiling. A very familiar ceiling.

Home. He was home. He shifted and found that he could move his legs and arms. Thank the gods. It had all been a dream.

"Mmh," he groaned. He winced. Even the low rumbling of his own voice threatened to split his horn in two. Had he fallen? Or had someone dealt a blow? "Ven?" he rasped. He waited, listening, but no one came. His brother must be out, Eln decided. The man had always been distractible. He would work his way out of the cot and go and find him. And then...he would find her.

Slowly and gingerly, Eln slid his legs over the side of the bed and set his bare feet on the cool earthen floor. He rubbed at his battered face and groaned again at all of those tender bruises. He looked down at his bare legs. His shins were similarly bruised, and his knee was a blotched rainbow of green and purple. He tested it. It was sore, but not broken. He could walk.

And walk he did, though it was more of a stumble. He reached out over the cots and leaned on the wall for support as he moved slowly towards the door, grunting and panting like an invalid old man. "Ven?" he called again. Still, there was no answer. "Ven-i-Pereten." He reached the door. He was exhausted already. He leaned bodily against the wall for a moment to catch his breath.

[GoblinFae]

The village was a lively place full of love and laughter. Children scampered about while their parents fished, repaired nets, told stories, or otherwise went about their business. A group of rowdy boys were running along the shore, shouting to each other as they spun a ball back and forth to each other using sticks with a netted bowl at the end. 

Waquin'i for his part stood by the large communal bonfire, that was currently a lower flame for the daytime, while discussing something animatedly with a much larger male. The other man laughed and shoved the smaller man's shoulder even as Waquin'i blushed and scratched the back of his head sheepishly.

A group of women, their hair parted down the middle and pinned in tall side buns passed Eln with baskets of laundry in their hips, their plant fiber skirts rustling as they walked. They offered him closed mouth smiles and a greeting in their own tongue. A few giggled and blushed as they eyed him up and down before being hurried along by others. A man approached him then, bobbing his head in greeting before herding Eln back inside. It would not do for him to be up and about quite yet, especially in his state of undress.

Only once Eln was resettled in his bed, did the other man retreat back towards the entrance. He stepped out of the way though as a smaller figure entered and greeted her before making his quiet exit. This new woman approached Eln quietly, her face and figure shrouded by an intricately crafted, white veil that extended from mid-chest and back down to her knees. The top of the veil poked up from her hair buns almost like horns. 

Abruptly, the woman offered him the bowl in her hands, motioning for him to drink from it with an aura of stern command, much like a mother refusing any nonsense from her children. 

[Nightcrawler]

His eyes seemed to take forever to adjust to the light, and when finally they did, he could make no sense of what he saw. It was not the village he remembered. For one, there were no mountains towering above him. The land was flat, here, and further on it rolled lazily into the horizon. The air smelled like it had in his dream: heavy and pungent and unfamiliar. And the huts were different, too. Their roofs were round. They were thatched and walled strangely. Had his people moved to some distant land, and carried him with them?

In the few moments he stood there and gazed out, he saw but one familiar face. And it, too, was from his dream. He frowned as he struggled to remember. There was a fire. A man — no, a woman. They were friends, briefly, and then...and then he fell. "Wa...kine?" he murmured as he tried to recall her. Then a man blocked his view and ushered him back into the longhouse, and she was no more. "Wakine?" he called. "Wakine!"

The exertion was too much. His head pounded. His vision blurred again. He barely recalled the walk back to the cot, nor the man who guided him there and helped him lay down. When he came to again, someone very different hovered over him. Yet, somehow, she was familiar. She motioned for him to drink from a bowl. By her presence, he knew he was not to refuse. He pushed himself up off the cot with one shaking arm and accepted the vessel with a weak bow of the head. He drank from it. And then, suddenly, he knew.

"Lette," Eln greeted her, a weary smile cutting deep wrinkles near his eyes in spite of his pain and confusion. "Ungh...Nima tuhi? Nima ka ti nai tufo? Ah...Nima tuhi Ven?" He took another sip, and his gaze traveled over his cousin's strange choice of garb. She had hidden her face beneath a veil. For what? He reached forward and took the hem of it in his fingertips. "Yei nali fuvi va tasi?" he inquired.

[GoblinFae]

She slapped his hand with a stinging blow before taking the bowl back from him. At'Eed lifted her veil only enough to bring the bowl beneath it and sip from it as well and seemingly ignored the man's words. Instead with the bow between them again, she motioned with her hand as if pulling something up and then pressing it flat against an invisible wall. A moment later water droplets rose up and formed a thin and small half-face sized rectangle of floating water between them.

"How are you feeling, Eln-i-Ara," she asked, the words leaving her mouth foreign but muffled before passing through the water translated anew to something he would understand.

Behind them at the entrance, a sheepish Waquin'i entered accompanied by the man who had helped Eln earlier. They approached stopping only at the foot of the bed but Waquin'i definitely stayed back, his head hanging some in shame even as the other man give his shoulder a comforting squeeze.

[Nightcrawler]

Lette slapped his hand away. Why? Was he not supposed to touch this thing she had hidden herself beneath? The more he watched her, the more he thought that she behaved strangely. She made a movement with her hand. He could not comprehend what he saw next: raindrops in the air, and a silvery sheet between their faces. He was still dreaming. He must be.

"How are you feeling, Eln-i-Ara?"

Lette's voice was not her own. And...why did she address him with their house name? Why the formality? Had he done something wrong? "I...where are we?" he managed. "What happened? Where is Ven?" Eln winced as his arm threatened to collapse out from under him. Slowly, carefully, he lifted his aching body and pivoted his legs back over the side of the cot to sit up. It was more difficult this time. Was he so weak that he had exhausted himself in getting up before? Gods. Just how long was he unconscious?

He looked back up at his cousin — or, where her face might be beneath that veil. "Lette. My head...I...can't remember. Was I struck down? Did they invade? The village, is it...I..."

And then the slow dawning worked its way across his countenance and through his tired mind. Her skin was not her skin. Her hands: not her hands. She was of a different build. His eyes traveled the room, and for the first time, he realized that the longhouse was not one that his people had built. In the background, by the door, a friend watched on quietly. And here, between him and the woman: a thing that should not be possible at all. Eln's expression darkened. Fear wound its icy grip up his spine. "You...are not Lette," he rumbled.

Not Lette. A witch. And she had given him something to drink. The fury of that thought seared through him. He glowered up at her and began to tremble. Could he stand? Could he keep the woman at bay for long enough? "Wakine," he called without taking his eyes off Not-Lette. "You should run. There is a witch among us."

Eln pushed himself up off the cot and through the silvery water curtain. He was slow. Much slower than he'd hoped. He grabbed a weak fistful of veil and shirt and threw his weight forward.

[GoblinFae]

"You are in our village here in I'káa of Adela. Waquin'i brought you back after unconventionally striking you. You suffered many injuries and are being treated for them by me. And I do not know this, Ven," At'Eed replied calmly and patiently.

She observed him, noting how he moved weakly still and would require more rest and herbs. Waquin'i truly did a number on him. At'Eed tutted and shook her head in displeasure at the boy even as Eln's face darkened.

"No, I am not."

Waquin'i's head popped up at his name though without having drank from the bowl, he had no way of knowing what was said until At'Eed chuckled and translated for him. Both men also laughed softly once they understood. "No," the young man replied, holding his hands up soothingly. She is help. She is a healer."

At'Eed kindly translated for Eln's ears right until he was pushing through the water wall and she released it, allowing it to fall into a puddle about him. His grip on her was once more slapped even as his weak shove did nothing. At'Eed grimaced beneath her veil and reached up to give his injured horn a warning squeeze. "Enough!" She ordered in words he could no longer understand. "Lay down!" The woman pushed him back to lay in the bed waving a warning finger in his face that brooked no argument. 

[Nightcrawler]

Razor shards lanced through the core of his horn and down behind his eye. "Agh!" He tried to swing his neck to throw her hand. It only served to send the pain deeper. She commanded something of him, but he could no longer understand her words. How had he known what she'd said at all? In the absence of a shared language, her shove and the gesture that followed it left no room for misunderstanding, but he had no interest in obeying a witch. He fell back, narrowly catching himself on his elbow. He tried to prop himself up again. His arm was so weak. He was so weak. He would not be able to fight this — whatever it was she would do to him.

He moved to sit up and push her away, but his horn seared and blinded him once more. With that fresh reminder of his injury came a lightning flash of fresh memories. It was night. There was a fire. He had offended Wakine, somehow, and...

And this was not a dream. It had never been one. This was real: the village that was not home, the people who were not his. What he had hoped was just a nightmare had come to pass. Ven was dead. His wife: dead. His body was old and broken, and his people were no more. Eln looked past the witch and studied Wakine. She was at ease. She had even laughed just a moment ago. His gaze slid back to the witch again as the slow dawning of comprehension worked its way across his face. He recalled another of her ilk with whom he'd crossed paths up in the mountains. She had been kind to him. This one was different, but if Wakine trusted her, then...he should, too. Finally, reluctantly, Eln wiped the water from his brow, grumbled a sigh, and lay back down again.

[GoblinFae]

The moment he relented and laid back, she released his horn, her touch turning far more gentle as she brushed over his brow and examined his healing. That wound at least was on the mend even if it had caused a rather large and now yellowing bruise. His ear would need new wrapping after his stunt with her water magic and judging by how he had winced and his eyes had dilated, his horn would likely need even more care.

At'Eed sighed and gathered a basket from under his bed, pulling out fresh bandages and herbs. Leaves and petals of various plants were ground together in a wooden bowl before a splash of water was added and ground further into a thick, scented paste. This grey mixture she then attempted to spread upon his damage horn should he hold still long enough to allow her to.

[Nightcrawler]

The healer did not use magic again. Instead, she employed methods that were much more familiar: examination, the preparation of a poultice, the use of bandages. These Eln knew well enough from playing patient to his brother. He watched her warily as she worked, and recoiled as she reached for his horn. He froze. He glowered at her outstretched hand. But after a moment, he relented, and turned his head so that she could do her work.

It was agonizing. He knew that he had felt worse than this, but through the searing pain, he could not remember how. The healer seemed intent on shoving the poultice up against every live, exposed nerve, and each time she did, he could not stop himself from groaning. But he clenched his teeth, and he said nothing. It was his fault, after all. He had frightened Wakine. She was within her right to strike him.

Eln realized, suddenly, why this seemed so strange, and he cursed his foggy mind. This woman healed a condemned man. She wasted her time and herbs. By the way she spoke of Wakine, he wondered if his young friend had lied about the circumstances of their injuries. He looked over at her, still wincing at the healer's touch, before addressing the healer herself. "Nima tu ya nai fuvi?" he asked.

[GoblinFae]

Her eyes shifted over to give him such a look at his words. Without the water, they couldn't understand each other again. 'And whose fault is that?' the look seemed to say.

Waquin'i was sent off with a barked order, returning later with a bucket of water that he quietly placed by her feet. Not once did he look to Eln, doing everything he could to avoid making eye contact, so deep was his guilt and shame.

At'Eed gathered water into the bowl once more, speaking words over it and taking a sip. This was then pressed to Eln's lips and held there until he drank with a level of stubborn refusal to allow him another option that could have forced the very waves to obey her. Finally, though it was offered to Waquin'i who drank without pause. When the thin wall of water returned, the young man did not so much as blink nor falter.

"Speak again, Eln-i-Ara, that which you wished to say, At'Eed started dryly. You are only understood as long as the water remains until a time when you learn our words."

[Nightcrawler]

The witch used her magic again, and Eln's eyes narrowed. He kept his lips pressed tight together as she pushed the bowl at him. It had been flavorless, last time. It smelled like nothing now. He was certain it was water, but he did not trust it. Still she held the bowl there, silent yet unrelenting. He shot another glance at Wakine. She would not look him in the eye, but she still did not seem afraid of this witch's powers. Reluctantly, he took a sip, then pushed the bowl away.

The sheet of water rose again like fine and silvery glass. He leaned as far away from it as he could. Then the witch spoke, and at last he understood what this spell was meant to do. He sat up slowly and addressed the witch. "What did she tell you?" he repeated. "You said that she struck me outside of your customs, yet...I think she did not tell you her reason, or you would not be wasting your time healing a condemned man." He turned to Wakine, and his expression softened from mistrust to fatherly disappointment. "Wakine. Why do you take the blame for this? You thought me a danger and an insult. Were you my daughter I would think your actions justified. Your mother would be well within her rights to execute me for it."

[GoblinFae]

"She who?" Asked At'Eed, looking to Waquin'i questioningly as if he had the answer as to who a third person in his encounter had been. Waquin'i shrugged. There had only been him and Eln. Perhaps this was still the fever?

"I am to blame. I beat you nearly to the point of death. This is not our way. This is not how," he hesitated and glanced towards the woman, "Brides are treated. I dishonored myself with my conduct. Would you not be disappointed if I were your son and behaved such?"