Spirits of the Earth

@Magyar

Well, here she was. Back in this hellhole again.

She supposed she only had herself to blame- every other bar in Zantaric had essentially given her a lifetime ban for "causing trouble". Della snorted as she approached the door to opened it a crack to peek into the noisy establishment.

"I'm not getting paid enough for this," she grumbled to herself as she slipped inside. Her eyes flicked around, searching for the woman her contact had said she'd meet here.

It wasn't hard to find her. The rather elegant creature had draped herself over a cushioned seat in the back of the main room, next to a door that probably led to some rooms for rent. Her hair was fiery red, long nails painted black as they tapped against the very out of place glass of wine in front of her.

It was the necklace that gave her away though, a gold pendant with a large sapphire set in the center, cut in the shape of a star. Exactly what she'd been told to look for.

Ducking her head and making sure her horns were hidden under the hood of her cloak, Della approached the woman and cleared her throat politely.

"Ah." Her newest employer looked up with a winning smile. "You are Deloria, I take it?"

Della nodded, but kept silent.

"Please, sit down. I order some meals, I hope you don't mind." She took her seat as the woman extended a hand to her. "My name is Solaria Vaharis-"

"Yes, I know." Della shook her hand but quickly retreated back under her cloak. "Forgive me, ma'am, but I'm not much of one for small talk. I find these things work best if you give me my job and I do it."

To her surprise, Solaria laughed. "Well, right to the point then. I like that." She clasped her hands together and rested her chin on top of them with a small, playful sort of smile. Della felt an instinctive wariness creep up her spine. "Unfortunately, I'd rather wait until our full party is here before we get in the details of this particular...assignment."

Her eyebrows crept up. "Full party?"

Bolion crinkled his nose subconsciously as the wafting and pungent scent of alcohol flooded his senses, and blinked away the light of the tavern. After riding the several hundred miles from Essyrn City, and not seeing candlelight after dark for almost a month, adjusting was yet another nuisance he had to deal with as a result of long distance travel.

He tightened the strings on his low-cut robe, and pressed forward against the smell. It hung in the air and on the breath of every patron, of which there were many. It made him nauseous. He didn't drink.

He paused, and scanned the room for his contact, presuming that she actually showed. It wouldn't be the first time someone in this town had wasted a day's opportunity by not following through. The glint of gold and blue was a beacon for those who knew to look, and he walked confidently towards the woman.

She was more or less splayed like a gutted animal on a velvet couch, and drawing about as much attention as the average prostitute. Sitting next to her, was also a woman, at least Bol thought so, based on her height and shape, wearing a deep hooded cloak. If he was right, her skin was exceptionally pale.

But hey, if you live in the mountains, you don't get too much sun, now do you? he thought to himself, grinning. His opinion of mountain folk was not a kind one. Without further pause, he slid into the chair on the opposite side of the cloaked woman, and extended a hand to his contact.

"Nice to meet you," he said in a much more heavily accented Essyrni voice than he would've liked. He continued, "And you." He extended a hand to the cloaked woman, even as his contact pulled hers away, and examined the coin he had left in her palm. It was the same she had sent as a downpayment for him to meet her at the bar.

"Yes, well my name is-" the Contact started.

"I don't care." Bolion interrupted, still grinning as if they were talking over the morning's news, "You'll need more than a gold crown up front, sweetie. Business isn't cheap."

Della looked up, interrupted by the arrival of- what she assumed- was the missing member of their party. She eyed his hand for a moment warily, then eyed the rest of him.

Hm. Interesting creature, that was certain.

His bluntness made her chuckle despite herself and she finally took his hand. She could feel the heat of him even through the well-worn leather of her glove. She'd been out in the cold too long, it was an almost scalding sensation.

"A pleasure," she replied eventually, noting his accent and filing the information away. She drew her hand back and looked to Solaria. "So?"

The woman sighed and slipped her hand into the front of her dress in the least subtle manner possible. She flipped something that glinted at Bolion and got to her feet. "Would you like a down payment as well?" she asked Della with an arched eyebrow.

The sorceress shrugged. "I'm not particular. I'd rather hear the job first, I'm not sure if I'll take it yet."

Her contact nodded. "Fair enough." She jerked her head at the door over her shoulder. "If you two would follow me then? I have some rooms rented, it may be...prudent to discuss this in private."

Bolton's grin faded the instant his contact, whom's name he would later find out to be Solaria, offered the hooded woman a downpayment. He didn't play well with others, especially on contracts.

He took his place beside the hooded girl as they both walked behind Solaria. Trying to be quiet enough to hide his words from their employer but loud enough to have a conversation, he asked, "So you're not her bodyguard? Are we doing this together?" The irritation came out in his voice, but he hoped his uncertainty did not. Other people jeopardized things. He hadn't trusted anyone to help him with a hit since his Uncles were still alive, much less anyone but them now, even if that was impossible.

Della felt her hackles raise at his tone. "No, I'm not her bodyguard. I'd never met her before today." She snapped her eyes up to his face, solid silver orbs that hardened to steel. "Is this gonna be a problem?"

Solaria, evidently either ignoring or oblivious to the tension, opened a door into what had to be the largest room offered. "Come in then. Sit if you like, whatever makes you comfortable," she said, gesturing to the bed, small chaise, and chair that were set about the room.

Bolion growled low in his throat, a rather conflicting sound to the almost pretty features of his elven descent. Bone white eyes locked with steely silver ones, and a tense moment passed, but Bolion, through clenched teeth, bit out, "No. We don't have a problem."

He turned and placed a hand in the small of her back, pushing her gently into the room. "Let's go," He growled lightly, a scowl settling into familiar lines on his face.

Della hissed like a wildcat and jerked away from his hand. Shoulders tensed, she whirled and spat at him, "Do. Not. Touch me."

Solaria blinked, eyes wide as she looked between them. "Ah..." She cleared her throat. "W-well. Ahem. I...do hope I haven't created a problem by contacting you both. I was told...you are both very good in your line of work. I thought perhaps you may prove useful together."

Della's lip curled, revealing a flash of fangs. "I don't have a problem with it," she spat out. "I just normally work alone, that's all."

"Likewise." Bolion muttered, sauntering over towards the bed. He dropped into it ungracefully, relishing the soft sheets and cushions. "Oh... I've missed beds." he groaned, more to himself than the others. He pulled the sheets up around him and snuggled into a crosslegged position, the blankets coming up around him as if he were buried in them.

"So, who's the unlucky lad or lass that has perturbed you enough to get not one, but two professional assassins?" he asked, the humour returning to his voice, and a grin sneaking it's way back onto his face.

Solaria stared as Della scoffed under her breath and took the chaise, leaning back and crossing her legs.

"Well, you see, he's not exactly a lad. More of a grown man. My husband, to be exact." She smiled, but the expression was hard. "I need him gone. Unfortunately it is not an easy task that lies before you. He has many guards, and he's no slouch in a fight himself."

Della tilted herself. "Magic?"

Solaria nodded slowly. "A bit. He mostly uses enchanted objects though, if he wants to use magic." She looked to Bolion."I've heard you spend a good deal of time in Essyrn. We have an estate there where he spends most of his time, so hopefully your familiarity will prove useful."

"What kind of estate?" Bolion inquired, knowing all too well the inner workings of the Essyrni. His question was simple enough, but loaded, for if this woman knew him as she claimed to, she would know that he killed slave traders and traffickers first and foremost.

"And not that it matters, but why, if I may ask?" He tested, but didn't really expect an honest answer. Most people didn't reveal their true reasons, especially if family was involved.

The woman arched an eyebrow. "He is a merchant prince. He deals in a variety of goods, and it has brought him much wealth. Yes, he has bought and sold slaves." She smiled, but it was more an expression of bared teeth than anything else. "That was one of the reasons I contacted you, actually. Your...reputation proceeds you. I have no issue with this job being executed with...extreme prejudice."

Her eyes flickered darkly, then she said coolly, "He is a hard handed, merciless tyrant. No one would miss him should he pass, and I could run the household far better. I believe that is all you need to know."

Della raised one finger, keeping her head bowed slightly so most of her face remained hidden. "Question: what the hell am I doing here? Seems like you've got your man all lined up." She nodded at Bolion.

Solaris chuckled. "True. But my husband employs a powerful mage as his bodyguard. The man is skilled in blood magic, and I've never met one who might be able to get past him. However, your reputation proceeds you as well, Miss Deloria. I believe you may be just the woman for the job."

"Alright. You've yourself a deal," Bolion said, rising from his position on the bed, the sheets falling to the floor as he leapt over the back end of the bed. He however did not approach the woman who had summoned him to this tavern, but to the woman who had likewise been summoned.

He shifted his weight to one leg and crossed his arms, looking her up and down, and then straight in the eye. "I'm going to need to know more about you before we do this." His lips set into a grimace unconsciously, "Join me back at the Caravan I came with, the one that camped just outside of town. I'll be in the tent with the little red flag above it." He turned back on his contact, "And you contact me the same way you did to get me here once it's done. Within the week after," and at this his voice dropped low, and the light left his eyes. He close the gap between them with speed, and calmly spoke, "Or I will find you, and kill you like your husband."

He wheeled around and with the same jaunty voice he had entered the bar with, said, "Well, goodnight!" And left through the open doorway.

Della stood as he approached her. He wasn't much taller than her, really, but still she was used to towering over people, not looking up. At least on her feet the distance seemed less significant. She didn't say anything, but nodded once at his request. Well, it was more of a demand, but she decided to tear it as a request.

She did however get in his space when he approached Solaria. "The lady has hired us for a job. I'm sure she knows the unspoken rules of a contract."

Solaria nodded quickly and they both watched him leave. The woman sighed and gave Della a small smile. "Yes, well- thank you, I suppose. Would you-"

"Don't thank me," Della cut her off. "If you skipped out on payment, I'd come after you too. I just don't think you will." She arched a brow, then waved and slipped away.

Finding the caravan wasn't hard. She took her time though, deciding to let her new...partner wait a bit. She gathered up her supplies- a simple traveling pack and an ornate bow that had once belonged to her father- and decided to take a meandering route back through the town. Eventually she sidled up to the tent he'd mentioned and stuck her head inside the flap. "Knock knock."

The inside of the tent was sparse, with a folded bedroll on the left hand side pressed against the tent wall, and a small bowl with some incense sticks jutting out of it at odd angles. The incense itself had not been burned, and yet the smell of it lingered in the tent.

A soft glow emanated from a single candle, and cast the cross-legged figure in the back of the tent in deep shadow. Bolion glanced upwards at the disturbance, and narrowed his eyes but otherwise remained composed.

"Welcome to my palace!" He drawled, sounding for all the world a nobleman entertaining his guests. "Please, take a seat," he continued, "And sip with me the finest tea this side of the Terrins. I went through great pains to acquire it." At this he paused, and took a swig from one of two cups he procured out of seeming nowhere, and smiled, "No, actually, this I stole earlier today from a vendor down the street. Still good anyway! Now come, sit, and explain to me what exactly you are."

The mage slipped into the tent as looked around curiously, but she had a constant, wary eye on her host. She snorted under her breath at his extravagant manner and took a seat with her legs folded under her body closer to the entrance to the tent.

"My thanks." She took one of the cups and sipped at it, slowly, gaze fixed on Bolion over the rim of her cup.

Slowly, Della lowered the tea to cup her hands around it in her lap and tilted her head at him slightly. She had yet to remove the hood of her cloak, keeping most of her features hidden in shadow while her gloves concealed her hands.

"I am a mage, and for now I am an assassin," she said plainly. "As far as I'm concerned, that's all I am."

She had a feeling that wasn't going to cut it, wasn't really what he was asking, but she wanted to push a bit, see what sort of reactions he would give.

"You're very welcome." Bolion said politely. He watched his guest intently, and the edge of his mouth turned upwards ever so slightly.

"While all information is welcome, your occupation wasn't exactly what I was talking about." he said with a touch of sarcasm. "I meant more about," he gestured vaguely toward her in general, "This. What's with the tail? And what's your name, by the way? You didn't say."

Della frowned, drawing her tail closer to wrap tight against her leg. She hadn't realized it had been so obvious under the cloak.

"My name is Deloria," she replied a little stiffly. "And what I am is good at my job. That's all I can tell you."

She was quiet for a moment, then relented with a huffing sigh and added, "Really. I'm not being a smartass. I know I'm half human, but that's about it."

Bolion raised an eyebrow, his grin sneaking across his face, "Ah well, I wish I could say the same, but human would be the last thing to describe me. Alas, neither of my people enjoy my company, nor do most others'. But hey, that's how some things work." He shifted his weight onto his left hand, and leaned backwards, "So what do you specialize in? It would be best to put all of our cards on the table and prepare this way. Less opportunity for disfunction later, if it can be avoided at all. I personally excel in blade combat, can speak multiple languages, and I like to consider myself stealthy but my long track record of violent and desperate escapes would say otherwise. I'm also not very good at blending in." At this he chuckled, "I can also use a bow with adequacy but I'm no marksman. I have a few contacts in Essyrn to whom we can go for various supplies, and last but definitely not least, I carry several kinds of tea, at any given time."

He set down his cup, rested his elbow on his knee, and gestured for her to speak.

She scoffed quietly and brought one knee up, resting her arm on it and leaning back on her other hand. The posture was relaxed, but there was still an undeniable tension in her body.

"Magic. I'm a mage," she drawled. "An elementalist, if you want to get specific. Fire is my strongest- well, lightning, actually, but I'm pretty good with fire." She let her head jerk toward her bow and added, "I'm good with that. Really good." No point in being modest. "And I can use a knife passably well."

"Alright. I guess we'll see how those skills can come in handy when we get there." He replied, and then sipped some more of his tea. For a while he watched Della, and sipped his tea, pondering their possibilities.

After several minutes, he spoke, his voice harsh in the wake of silence, "Have you ever worked a joint operation before? And more importantly, when do you want to leave? I'm ready now, or we could leave at dawn, which grows ever nearer."

"I've worked in groups." She sipped her own tea. "Not often, though. I find I don't care for it- no offense."

She allowed her legs to fold to the side and her tail to flick out slightly from under the edge of her cloak. "It's not as though I have much to pack," she noted dryly, indicating what she'd brought with a wave of her hand. "I'm ready to leave."

She paused a moment, then added, "Traveling in darkness is good for me. I tend to...draw less attention."

Bolion picked up the tied sheets that were his bedroll, and plucked the incense out of the bowl one by one. He then took the bowl and slid it into a bag he had on his waist while he did the same for the incense with a long pouch, custom made for the sticks.

He then doused the candle and made to get up, but beforehand he did, he glanced at Della and said, rather tentatively, "Why do you hide yourself? It's not like there's any lack of strangeness here, especially here. You fit in... ish."

Della laughed. It wasn't necessarily a pleasant sound. She drew her hood back to show her horns, pale blue skin highlighted now by only the thin streams of moonlight. Her lips curved back to show a flash of fangs.

"True enough," she said with a shrug. "Still, I find a well placed hood and some gloves can usually preemptively head off any questions I'd rather not answer." Or that she couldn't answer, honestly.

She stood and shouldered her pack, slinging her bow over her back. "Shall we?" she murmured, waving to the entrance of the tent.

Bol glanced at the horns that lay just above her hair, and caught the flash of her teeth.

"I've got some of those too, y'know." He said, pulling his bottom lip down to show his oversized canines. "They're not much good for anything, except maybe opening letters."

He stepped through the canvas flap, and felt the cool night air bathe his skin, which prickled with goose flesh at the chill. Mountains did have nice nights, he'd give them that. Holding the flap open, he looked back in on the raven haired woman. She was younger than he, he guessed by about ten years or so. She was new, for he had never seen any of her kind, and that perturbed him. Newness was odd in his line of work, at least after having done it for as long as he. This was an experience he would not soon forget.

[Her hair is black, actually ;)]

She got to her feet and followed him out slowly. "I find mine to be useful in a fight," she said with a shrug as she drew her hood back up. Her eyes flickered from Bolion to their surroundings.

"You're familiar with Essyrn, right? I'll admit I've never been there." Her fingers drummed against her leg.

"Oh, yes. Essyrn I live and breathe, although the dust doesn't really help with that." He gestured to follow him, and walked out of the congested camp. "I travelled here with thirty traders, and nine other bodyguards. It was mostly a deterrent, knowing these traders. Good ties with the slave traffickers, who own the bandits who kidnap passerby on the roads these traders use."

Bolion sauntered rather than walked in the direction of the stables, and began to smirk as he spoke, "Little do they know, that their head-captain, a bastard of a man, will fall ill with incurable disease over the course of a week." His smile was wide and giddy now, "I poisoned his food every day for a month. Heavy metals and deadly herbs, all slow acting. He'll be dead for sure, but it'll seem all natural until they autopsy him."

[Sorry, I fixed it.]

[Np!]

Her eyebrows traveled steadily upward as he spoke. "That's...industrious," she noted wryly. "I take it from that, and your conversation with Solaria, that you aren't very fond of slavers?" She picked her way delicately along behind him as they walked, moving with the easy grace of a large cat.

"Lived as the property of one for many, many years. I hated him, so much." Bitterness crept into Bolion's voice, replacing the mirth he had carried with him most of the day. He walked over to the stable doors, and pushed them open slowly. The smell of horse and hay was thick, but not unwelcome. It beat alcohol any day. "Do you ride?" He inquired, turning his head just enough to see Della behind him.

"Hmm." Della had never had much interaction with slavery herself- it just wasn't a part of her life. But she was certainly no sympathetic to slavers: people weren't property.

A very small smile twitched at her lips as she slipped into the stable. "I do. I love horses," she answered honestly, approaching the nearest animal and dipping her head to blow gently into his nose in greeting. The horse bobbed his head and huffed back at her, making her smile widen.

"She smiles?" He remarked sarcastically. He was just unlatching the gate to a bay stallion. "Come make yourself friendly. We'll be riding together, unless you'd prefer otherwise, in which I'll need to... procure another one." At this, he paused. "Do you have your own?"

She screwed her face up and rolled her eyes at him. Yes, she smiled. She wasn't completely emotionless.

"I had to sell my last horse a while back," she said with a shrug as she approached the bay. "Probably for the best. Sweet little thing, not made for my line of work." She greeted the stallion with a soft exchange of breath and stroked his neck gently.

"I wouldn't mind finding another mount on our way, if we can," she added. "Neither of us is exactly small. Don't want to force the poor lad to carry us both." She clucked at the horse and smiled again when he bobbed his head and nosed her chest, looking for treats.

"Again, we could procure... one. Or we could leave town and hit a few bandit stops hoping to get lucky." He muttered the last half of the sentence to himself more than he did to Della. Tightening the last straps on Orrin's saddle, he stepped up and mounted the patiently waiting horse. Orrin snorted as Bolion turned awkwardly in the saddle and fastened his bedroll to the back end of the saddle. Riding out of the stable at a walk, he sidled up to Della, and extended a hand.

"Let's get the hell out of here." He said with dawning enthusiam, and the all familiar smile returned to his face.

Della frowned. "I'd rather not steal from innocents, if it's possible," she murmured with a sigh. Glancing at the offered hand, she cautiously took it and swung up onto the horse behind him gracefully.

Her tail twitched as she settled herself and she huffed, a little awkwardly putting her arms around his waist. There really wasn't much opportunity for personal space. "Alright. Just don't push him too hard, yeah? Not like Solaria gave us a deadline."

"He'll be fine. We're not going too far tonight anyway." Bolion spoke rather distractedly as he maneuvered the horse out of the half open doorway. "There's a spot I use regularly when riding with caravans up north. It's maybe ten miles south of here, so we'll ride by night and sleep by day starting tomorrow."

At this they had reached the main road for this part of Zantaric, and Orrin transitioned into a brisk trot. Down the hill and out of the town they rode, the moon lighting the night and the stars guiding them through it.

After about fifteen minutes of silence, Bolion spoke up, "You don't have to hold on if you don't want to you know. There's a handle on the back of the saddle for just such a reason, if you're uncomfortable." He would've remained quiet for a while longer, but the tension in her body was as discomforting to him as riding two in the saddle must have been for her. Until they got a second horse, this was the arrangement, for better or for worse.

Della snorted. "Not sure I trust that idea," she muttered wryly. "I'm just...not used to not being the one in control of the horse."

It wasn't bad necessarily, just unsettling. She huffed a breath and tried to relax a bit more.

"Well you can steer him tomorrow then." Bolion replied, "it'll do me some good to catch a nap or two while we ride."

After a time, the scenery began to change as they left the foot of the mountains. The peaks that had graced their horizon for the descent from Zantaric gave way to flatlands, with tall grasses and a colour pallette much browner and air much dryer. "Feels like home, almost," Bolion whispered to himself, and turned Orrin off the path they had been following. The sun was just peaking over the edge of the grass, and dawn had arrived. Nighty, Night Bolion thought to himself.

Orrin waded through the dry grass, stalks snapping as he forged his way towards a small hut hidden by an oak grove. "Here we are... pit stop." Bolion muttered To Della, "Make yourself cozy."

"Cozy?" She arched an eyebrow as she dismounted and moved to Orrin's head. "Good boy," she murmured to the horse, patting his neck and letting him lip her hair. "Yes, you're a fine lad," she chuckled quietly.

She stepped away to start making camp, building a small fire and lighting the wood with a pointed zap of lightning from her fingertips.

"Yes, cozy. It's an adjective; it means to be warm or comfortable. Relaxed. Surely you know how to do that?" Bolion droned on, the sarcasm dripping from his voice. He began to unpack his bedroll, and slung his one saddlebag off of Orrin before leaving the horse to Della's affections.

"I'm Bolion, by the way," he piped up, turning back to Della, "I don't think I introduced myself, so, sorry about that. My friends call me Bol."

Della scoffed and tossed her hair, grumbling under her breath. "Yes, I remember. You told Solaria."

She set out her own bedroll and hunted through her pack for provisions. She sighed and ran a hand through her hair. "Unless you have a surplus of food, I'll have to hunt food."

Bolion paused, "No I didn't." He said, suspicion creeping into his voice. "I definitely did not. And as for food, go right ahead. We'll not be in market for some time." 

He then proceeded to lay out his bedroll near the fire pit, and place his incense bowl near the head of the pillow. He lay down on his makeshift bedding, and stared upwards, watching the sky through the oaken canopy.

Della rolled her eyes again and huddled into her own bedroll. They weren't in dire need of food, and she was actually quite tired. No point in wasting the chance to rest.

Bolion stretched out under his thin blanket as dusk darkened the sky to a navy blue. It took him a second to realize that he had drifted off the moment his head hit the pillow. The remnants of a burned out fire lay several feet from him. The smell of ash awoke his senses, and he bolted upwards in his bedroll, alarmed at his obliviousness to the passage of time. He was normally much better than this.

"Shit, we slept in!" He swore and sprung up to his feet. He stuck both fingers in his mouth and whistled, then began to roll up his bedding. "Della!" He cried, eyes on the bedroll, "Wakey wakey, we've gotta go!"

Orrin came trotting from inside the hut, saddle unslung but still hanging loosely on his back.

The mage was awake, finishing packing up her things. "Calm down," she said evenly. She stood and moved to tighten Orrin's girth. "We don't have a time limit, it's alright." She shouldered her pack and rolled her neck to crack it.

"It's not a deadline I'm worried about. This place isn't so much abandoned as it is partially occupied, and it's not by us. Come on," he said, a tone of urgency in his voice, "let's go!"

He strapped his bedroll and bowl to Orrin's saddle, and fit the saddlebags. He made to swing himself up into position, but stopped, swung back down, and flourished his hands elegantly at the saddle, "The lady first." He drawled pompously.

She growled. "You couldn't have told me that last night?" She swung up onto Orrin's back and settled herself. "Come on, hurry up then."

"Well," he protested, swinging up after her, "I didn't plan on sleeping in, thus there wouldn't be a problem."

He settled into the back end of the saddle, and faced his first problem. He hesitated, then asked, "Where do I put your tail?"

Della was faced with the same problem, something she'd never had to consider before, when he nearly sat on her tail. She whipped it to the side, blushing a soft blue. "U-um, I'll just..."

She bit her lip and wrapped her tail around her waist as much as she could, wishing it wasn't quite so sensitive. "Just- try not to jolt it, alright?"

"Yeah, alright," Bolion smiled widely, and placed his hands delicately around her waist, or rather now her curled tail. "So what exactly do you do when you're not traipsing around with professional murderers? Or is this a common occurrence for you?"

She had to stop a shiver from running down her spine, tail twitching in an effort to escape the heat of his hand. She took a few breaths through her nose and tried to put the feeling from her mind. She did note vaguely how oddly carefully he seemed to be handling her- his touch was very light.

"Traipsing with professional murderers? Not common for me, no. Being one, well, that's a little more of an average day for me." She shrugged, guiding Orrin easily along the trail. "I usually just take whatever job that pays. You?"

"I am much more particular with my tastes," Bolion settled easily into the saddle, comfort coming easily to him, "Usually I only take positions with which I can forward my own agenda, but every now and then I get mushy and look out for the little guy. We've quite a few of those in Essyrn, might I add."

Bolion remained silent for a minute, questioning whether or not he should ask what was on his mind, but after deliberation he decided to go for it, and spoke up, "Is it prehensile? Your tail, I mean."

"Mm. Honor among the wicked," Della murmured, almost more to herself than to Bolion. She was content with the quiet for a while, but his sudden question startled a small laugh out of her.

Instead of answering, she curled her tail up from where it had been pressed against her leg to circle his wrist. She glanced over her shoulder at him with a little glint to her eye and suddenly jerked his hand away, offsetting his balance slightly before she pulled him back to settle behind her properly.

"Yes," she said demurely as she looked forward again, voice utterly innocent.

"Oh, ho ho." Bolion chuckled, very disgruntled, "If you weren't steering the horse, I'd pay you back for that. Lucky for you, I know that Orrin is about as graceful as a drunken donkey without hands at the reins."

Despite that, Bolion did shift one of his hands towards the end of her tail and tighten his grip slightly. Not enough to pinch, but enough to cause discomfort under normal circumstances.

Della squeaked and her back went ramrod straight. Color shot to her face and she did her best to jerk away from him. "Don't do that!" she protested, hating how flushed she was. Tingles still ran up and down her spine from even that small touch.

Grumbling to herself, she urged Orrin into a steady trot in the hopes that it might force Bolion to focus on keeping his seat rather than grabbing at her.

Bolion laughed at her sudden and intense reaction. "How do you grab anything if your tail is that sensitive?"

He moved his hand back to it's original position, and leaned back into the saddle, still smiling like a fool. "So what puts you in Zantaric? Surely you could find a nicer place. Hell, even Essyrn has some quiet parts."

"It's not all that sensitive," she muttered. "Just the...base. Why am I telling you this?"

Shaking her head, she huffed and replied shortly, "Some of us aren't looking for a nicer place. And there's plenty of work in Zantaric."

"True, but you don't seem the 'drown your sorrows' type." Bolion sighed, then switched topics, "So where do you come from? Is there a clan of tailed, horned people waiting in the mountains?"

He leaned back, dropping his head behind him and watching the stars shine between the dark green leaves and listening to the rustle of little animals in the grass. He missed home. Not his house, or even the one he grew up in, but the feeling of home. It had been far too long since he had felt that.

He remembered his birth mother vaugely, as her image in his mind had faded over the years. Subconsciously he began to play with the tips of Della's hair, as he had done with his mother as a child, and sighed, remembering a time when he had gone through these trees many, many years ago, under much different circumstances.

She snorted. "Not exactly. I'm...from north. Adela. Nothing to go back to there, though." She shrugged. She didn't think about that.

Her shoulders tensed slightly as she felt him start to play with her hair. "Um...Bolion? What are you doing, exactly?" she asked slowly. It wasn't like it was an unpleasant feeling, but it was certainly...odd. Unexpected.

"What? Oh, shit, sorry." Bolion quickly jerked his fingers away from his travelling companion. He shook his hand, as if it had fallen asleep, "It's been forever since I've done that. Sorry. I used to do it to my mother, but when I was little. I mean, really little." His brow knotted in confusion as he tried to puzzle out why he'd done exactly what he'd done.

Della shrugged, not really sure how to react to that. "Right. Well, that's...maybe don't make a habit of it?" she muttered, hunching her shoulders, trying not to think about the last time someone has seemed so fascinated by her hair.

"It's just so smooth!"

She'd laughed, shaking her head. "That's 'cause I wash it, you cretin." She'd shoved his shoulder and he'd retaliated with a playful grab for her tail that make her shriek and dodge away.

She jerked herself out of the memories with a shake of her head.

"Yeah, no. That was as weird for me as it was for you, okay?" Bolion shifted in his seat, keeping his hands firmly to himself. He scrutinized the woman in front of him, and noticed the similarities between here and his mother. Her hair was of similar colour and length, and her figure (sans tail) was similar to the lithe elven physique his mother had once possessed. 

He frowned, thinking over his situation. After some time he came to the conclusion that he'd still have to work with this woman, whether or not she was triggering old memories, and shrugged, because hey, maybe connecting a bit to his past would work out better than logic told him it would. He sat up straighter in his seat, but still kept his hands thoroughly away from the girl steering his horse.

Della fell quiet for a while as they rode in silence. Eventually she piped up with, "I'm actually not entirely sure where we're going you know. I mean...south. But I've never been through the desert. You got a map or something?"

"Nope." Bolion chimed in, glad for a change of topic, "Carrying a map of a place that always changes is pretty arbitrary. The thing about traversing the desert is that it's so big, you kind of just run into it." He shifted around in his seat, unintentionally jostling Della's tail, but not noticing himself. He spoke with his hands, and as such when he got into detail about any particular topic, his clumsiness overrode his sense of situational awareness.

"But you see, the way we're going, we'll hit outer Essyrn, which is mostly desert towns and little settlements, almost head on. Once were there I can find us our way towards the center, which is where all the estates and super rich merchants live. Inside of that is the sprawl of tents and markets that is Essyrn City, and that goes on for miles. The city lacks more vertical structures so everything is kinda flat and long. Thats because when really bad sand storms come through, they total everything higher than two stories, and even then you're kind of at risk. Also bricks can't have the sand shaken off of them when they're mortared in place, so tents are the housing of choice for many."

She nodded along slowly as he talked, trying to shift away from him every time he jostled her tail. Little jolts of sensation shot of her spine and she worked hard to ignore them.

She wasn't very successful.

Finally, she had to cut him off but snapping the appendage up to clamp it over his mouth.

"Bolion!" she laughed, exasperated. "You're wriggling. You're gonna break poor Orrin's spine."

Bolion's eyebrows shot up not only at the tail on his mouth, but now just realizing how physically expressive he had been. Grinning like an idiot under Della's tail, he brought a hand up and gently pulled it off. "Sorry." 

Still smiling, he reclined, yet again in the saddle. He was a grown man but in all honesty he had the attention span of a child. "So yeah," he continued, albeit much more relaxedly this time, "That's the gist of it. The only other pertinent information you should know is if you're going to hide your tail and horns, do it before we get to the city and don't wear long hoods or robes. They're trademark 'someone has something interesting to hide' clothing. Worst case scenario you could get jailed for a few nights simply by looking suspicious. Wear a turban and a skirt or something. We can shop when we get there."

Della nodded again. "That...will work." She frowned, shifting uncomfortably. "I'm...not sure how I feel about not wearing my gloves though," she muttered under her breath.

Orrin protested all the movement with a snort and a short hop to his step that was almost a threaten to buck. "Easy." Della patted his neck.

"What do you mean?" Bolion inquired, craning his neck to catch a glimpse of Della's hands, "They're not too out of place. It's only claws right? You're not hiding some sort of webbing or metal fingertips?"

Bolion resigned to sitting with his view hand-less, but full of tail. He tracked the tip as it flicked back and forth, gauging how thin the bones in it must be, or if it was just skin and bone without any fat on the tip. He caught himself in the thought and snapped himself out of it, trying to focus on Della's answer.

She huffed. "Yes, but that's not exactly...normal. And-" She grumbled under her breath, then muttered, "I just don't like showing a lot of skin either, okay?" Her hands tightened unconsciously on the reins and their mount jerked his head in protest.

"I don't think hands qualify as a lot of skin, personally." Bol replied, looking down at his deep V-cut tunic, "Besides, when next to the bellydancers you'll look properly conservative, for sure. It's the tail I'd hide. It makes you look," he hesitated, searching for the right word, "Exotic. In a country famous for the capture and sale of slaves, especially young women, a tail is a... desirable trait."

Della screwed up her face. "Oh, ew. Why- you know what, I don't even want to know." She shuddered and snapped her tail in close to her side again.

For a while longer she lapsed into silence, content to travel in quiet. She was growing gradually more comfortable with the idea of working with a partner- Bolion was surprisingly entertaining company, if a bit abrasive, and she didn't really doubt that he could get his end of the job done.

Bolion finally managed to get into a position where his neck didn't snap backwards or forwards when he stopped sitting up, and within several minutes, began to doze.

As a travelling merc, sleeping any and everywhere came easily to him. The back of a horse was no exception. Now almost fully asleep, Bolion began to dream.

The tall stalks of yellow grass swayed in the wind, rippling like an ocean of grain. His heavy lidded eyes fell again, obscuring the sight, but not the sounds and smells. Rustling and the long, sorrowful cries of desert gulls called to him, urging him to explore. But he was in the saddle, strapped down so he wouldn't fall out, and simply had to hear from afar. The entire place was thick with the smell of baked dirt, a strong scent, but not a bad one.

Suddenly he was picked up, the straps of his saddle undone, and wrapped in a blanket, like a cloak. He was set down amidst the wheat, and he saw a face similar to his, but also a little different. She - for it was a she - had the same coloured skin that he did, but her features were much more beautiful.

Before he could say anything, she mounted the horse again, and rode away. Bolion simply stood there, the stalks shifting above his head.

Bolion opened his eyes, rested but deeply unsettled. He looked up, but the stars were still above them, and the sun was out of sight.

"How long was I asleep?" He asked, still watching the stars above them.

Della tensed when she felt him lean against her, then realized he was unconscious. She glanced over her shoulder and muttered something about "big damn mercs," but didn't wake him as she continued to ride steadily forward.

Her head twitched back slightly when she felt him stir again. "Not too long. Dawn's in an hour or two, we can camp then if you like." And she should probably do some hunting.

"Yes, let's. I'm going to be saddlesore by the end of this." He complained to no one in particular, "So I've done the math, and say we go about thirty miles a day, we should get there in just over a week from now. When we came here, the caravan and I, we were going maybe half the speed, and we frequently stopped, not only for rest and provisions, but also to trade, as it were. Those trading stops lasted a few days a piece, and we did so about five or six times." Bolion continued, unaware that the point to his tangent wasn't really getting across. He was trying to rationalize the difference in time the journey would take them, but had done so in a convoluted and twisting fashion.

"So it took us about a month to get here, but we should make do with a third of the time." He finished, confident that he'd explained himself thoroughly. He'd been thinking it over for the past day and a half, so it was a small triumph for him, and it didn't cross his mind that's Della probably had not been considering his personal dilemma. He added jokingly, after a pause, "You're very comfortable you know. I should use you as a pillow more often."

He then stretched out, arms raised high above him, and his back popped audibly several times. He groaned, then hunched back into place, accepting the fact that he'd be restrained until they made camp.

Della nodded along as he spoke, resisting the urge to ask him to get to the point multiple times. Finally she huffed out a breath and gave a sharp jerk of her head to show she understood what he'd been saying.

"That's a lot of hard work for the horse," she noted. "We really should get me my own as soon as we can."

His little joke made her chuckle dryly. "Oi, watch it. Who says I'd let me use you as a pillow?" She twisted to give him an arched eyebrow. "I'll let that first time slide."

"And thank you for that. Apparently I was hurting for more sleep than I thought." Bolion said quietly.

The near silence of the environment around them was blissful, and he didn't want to interrupt that for anything trivial. Naturally several seconds later he interrupted it for something many (but not he) would consider trivial.

"So earlier you said your tail wasn't all that sensitive... except the base. What's the base?" He questioned: His curiosity on the subject had bugged him for a straighter answer ever since their exchange, but he had decided to file it away for later. It seemed that a few hours passed qualified as 'later',"The underside?"

Della closed her eyes and took a deep breath through her nose. Gods, this man was curious about everything, it seemed.

"Where it connects to my spine," she informed him briskly. "By base, I meant that section towards the beginning of it."

She glanced around, trying to judge the time. "Think we should call it a day soon, find a place to camp?" she asked, not so subtly trying to steer the conversation toward what she deemed safer topics.

"We're too far from any settlements, if my memory serves correctly, to find them in under an hour." He said distractedly, thinking of his own mental map, "If we're to call it a night we should really just pick a tree. It's the best we've got unless you want to keep riding."

He seriously considered poking Della's tail about a foot from the base of her spine, just for kicks, but thought better of it. He'd seen her claws and had also coincidentally owned a cat before. Bad decisions were learning experiences, and he'd had his fill of tail facts for the night, so he switched topics.

"The nearest Inn is some five miles south, and is a common stop off for travellers of all kinds. We could jack a horse, or," he paused, remembering Della's disposition towards petty crime, "We could buy one." On the word 'buy' he had rolled his eyes and drawled out the word like a child would say the word 'chore'. Buying things is the untalented man's way of acquiring his Uncle Errahq used to say, and by the Gods did Bolion live by that sentence. He hadn't spent money on anything for years. Hell, Orrin right here wasn't even his. He had been a Slaver's personal favourite pre-mortem, and so Bol had acquired a new horse after completing a personal contract. Buying was something he frowned upon, to say the least.

"Oh, heaven forbid we spend coin," Della muttered with a roll of her eyes. "I can purchase my own mount, if that makes you feel better about it."

With barely a, "Take the reins," in warning, she performed a quick dismount to walk alongside Orrin rather than continue to ride on his back.

"If it's only a few miles I don't see much point in making him work harder than he has to. The better shape he's in, the faster we can travel." Not to mention she wasn't exactly objecting to the chance to stretch her legs.

Bolion shifted forward in the seat quickly enough to scramble for the reins before shooting Della a venomous look.

"Don't do that." He chastised, but before he finished the sentence a wry smile had worked it's way onto his face. "There's no reason to spend any money when you don't have to. You can have Orrin, all wrapped in a bow, and I'll get myself another horse. That way no gold is bled and your personal moral code is maintained." To him, his logic was flawless.

Della rolled her eyes for what felt like the millionth time. "You know, I would argue with you about that, but something tells me it'd be a futile effort," she grumbled. With a wave of her hand she added airily, "Do as you like, not as if I can stop you."

"See, we're getting to know each other already." Bolion grinned smugly as he rode next to Della, content, but still slightly uncomfortable. He hadn't thought of his birth mother, much less remembered her vividly, for years. He now thought over his dream, steering Orrin on autopilot, staring out into the horizon. He remained silent until the lights of a three story house came into view beyond a few trees.

"There she is." He said proudly, "The Blue Monarch. I've actually invested in that place. Lived there for a year after the old farm burned down." His face hardened after the last sentence, but he continued on anyway, "Let's be off, shall we?"

She shrugged. "I'm following your lead here." Her eyes were sharp and wary, constantly alert for any sign of danger from there surroundings.

The place seemed innocuous enough, as far as she could tell. She didn't let down her guard though, making sure her hood was secured and her tail was wrapped safely around one of her legs.

"Where do you put your tail when you do that?" Bolion asked, dismounting Orrin to lead him by hand, "The sway that gives it away kinda just goes away, so you must tuck it somewhere right?"

"Hm?" She was actually kind of surprised by the question, though she knew she probably shouldn't be at this point. "Oh. Here."

She chuckled a bit and opened her cloak a bit, pulling it up over her hip so he could see her tail curled around her thigh. She dropped the fabric back into place and shrugged. "Not always super comfortable, but it usually avoids unwanted attention."

"Huh. Tricksy of you." Bolion remarked, genuinely surprised.

He walked Orrin up to the outer stable-rack, and secured his reins on a post. The door of the Blue Monarch was made of the same dry dark Oak that the Southern Adela forestry was known for. He slowly pushed the door open, preparing himself for the onslaught of alcohol smells. It wasn't as bad as Zantaric's Tavern, but it was still overpowering, filling his nostrils, and so strong that he could taste it.

He grimaced, but walked quickly to the counter. The smell got worse the closer he got, but he needed to buy a room, so onward he went. "Lassar!" He called, "I'm back again!"

The Essyrni man who ran the bar, a tall and thick fellow with a penchant for well oiled mustachios, turned around and smiled ear to ear. "Boli! How's the road been?" his eyes focused on Della, just behind Bolion, and asked, "And who is this little lady?"

Bolion chuckled and replied, "She's just a travelling companion, for now."

"Oh." Lassar, winked and wagged a finger at him, "So a room for two, then."

"Not that kind of companion Laz," Bolion grinned, "But you can still put me down for that room. Coin is short up north and the last run didn't pay too well."

Della chuckled and trailed behind Bolion as he led them into the building. She crinkled her nose a bit, she'd never been a fan of the way sweat an alcohol scents combined in places like this, but it wasn't as though she wasn't used to it.

She quirked an eyebrow at the proprietor's apparent familiarity with her companion, then snorted. "Little lady?" she muttered wryly. For gods' sakes, she towered over most men she met, let alone the tiny women that could actually be called such.

A very faint, uncharacteristic blush dusted her cheeks when the man seemed to assume their relationship was more than just professional. She ducked her head and muttered something to herself about leaping to conclusions, but didn't argue with him, allowing Bolion to pay for the room in silence.

Bolion slid the silver coins across the smooth oak countertop and thanked Lassar. He beckoned Della forward and made for the staircase.

An old man, greyed hair whitening at the temples and just under his chin, grabbed Bolion's arm and pulled him into an embrace. Bolion grabbed him in return and clapped him on the back. Smiling widely, he exchanged a few words under his breath, and the Older man glanced towards Della curiously. Another few whispered words and he sat back down, waving Bolion on his way.

Bolion laughed, and began to walk up to the sleeping quarters, then called back to Della, "Come on, the room is just up the stairs!"

She blinked, startled by the sudden exchange. Casual affection had never really been a part of her life, not like that at least- Adrien was the only person who might have tried it, and even he knew how skittish she could be about being grabbed unexpectedly.

"Who was that?" she asked curiously as she followed Bolion, still tense and wary but making an effort to seem more relaxed.

"Gaerden," he answered briefly, then elaborated, "An old friend from a long time ago."

He opened the first door after the landing, into a small room with one large window and a twin bed. He laid out his bedroll next to the bed, which was little more than a mattress on legs. Sitting crosslegged on the bedroll, he took a deep breath, closed his eyes, and sighed.

"Home sweet home," he said quietly, to himself, "Take the bed," he told Della, "The floor is mine. You can let your tail go, by the way, and your hood, if you want. The people here are friends of mine. It's a... safe place, if you will."

"Hmph." She waffled, then relented and sat on the bed, shucking her cloak. "I really don't mind taking the floor," she murmured as she folded the cloak and shoved it toward the foot of the bed.

Without the extra fabric, it was clear that while she was tall perhaps the "little lady" comment hadn't been entirely out of place; she was lean and slender, her now freed tail waving gently back and forth behind her like a mildly irritated cat.

"Just warn me before someone comes in," she muttered, wrapping her arms around herself and hunching her shoulders a bit.

"No, you're taking the bed. I'll not be the big bad mercenary who takes what he wants and thinks about no one else." He said, "I don't do this for me, I do it for them." He motioned towards the open door, and down to the common room. His eyes hardened again, and muttered more to himself than to Della, "We're the good guys."

He looked up at Della properly, taking in the sight of her without her cloak for the first time. "You would be picked up and sold so fast. I'm not even joking." After he said the words, he quickly added, "In Essyrn I mean. You're alright here."

"I never said you were," Della murmured, "but you paid for the room, seems fair you should get the bed." She didn't seem all that invested in arguing the point though.

His comment made her head snap up and she frowned. "They're welcome to try," she growled as she sprawled out on her side and propped herself up on her elbow. Lean she may have been, but without the cloak her breeches and worn tunic did little to hide a distinctly feminine shape.

Huffing, she rolled onto her back and muttered, "Wake me when we have to leave."

Bolion laid back, mirroring her position, except on the floor. "So, you have a sweetheart back in 'Northern Adela'?" He asked, stretching out on his little mat.

Della's face shut down, her eyes going cold. "No," she said bluntly, in a tone that certainly didn't invite further questioning.

After a moment of silence though, she muttered, "...You? In Essyrn or wherever?"

"The last woman I cared about in Essyrn was my mother," he said matter-of-factly, but the sadness in his eyes told a different story, "And she died twenty years ago. My uncles too. We'll actually be passing the old cattle ranch I used to live in on our way to Essyrn City."

"...I'm sorry." She rolled onto her side, facing away from him.

"Mine too." She cleared her throat. "I mean- my mother. My parents. Died a while back." She chuckled and tried to joke, "Guess it's a pretty common story for people like us though, huh."

"Naw, some of us have families intact. Rare oddities, those ones are. My actual mom was an elf, hence the pretty boy face," he snickered a little bit at that, "but she dropped me outside of the old ranch, and I was raised by a slave woman, who was more my mother than that elf woman ever was."

Della shrugged. "We're lucky, I guess. Some people don't even get this much."

The words tasted bad as they slipped over her tongue. Lucky. Yes, she was lucky, compared to the rest of her village.

It certainly didn't feel like it though.

"Luck has nothing to do with it." Bolion said grimly, his eyes hard and lips tight. He then turned over, away from the bed. "Goodnight Dell."

"Night." She closed her eyes, but it took a long time for her to fall asleep, and once she had her dreams kept her restless, tossing and turning in the small bed. At one point, her tail flicked out, then lashed wildly from side to side so vigorously it knocked her pack off the end of the bed.

A dull thud ripped Bolion out of sleep, his many experiences with violence in the night ensuring he was a light sleeper. His breath faltered once, but then resumed it's slow, sleeplike pattern. His eyes however, were wide open. In his sleep, he had shifted onto his belly, facing towards the bed. It only took him a few seconds to see the pack half strewn across the floor and Della's restless movements, and put two and two together.

He stood up groggily, faltering for only a second as the blood rushed back into his legs. He quickly gathered Della's various items without paying them much attention, and replaced them in her bag. He set it at the foot of the bed so that it wouldn't fall again. It was then that he approached Deloria, and after only a second's deliberation, gently took her head in his hands. He proceeded to very lightly rub her temples, and held her in place as she fought the motion in her sleep. Several minutes later, seemingly with no success he released her, and decided to leave the room. Tired, but awake, he came down the stairs to the now much less alcoholic common room. Lassar was stewing something in a large brass pot. "Well hello there! I thought you were going to sleep through the whole day!"

Bolion belatedly replied, for he was still groggy, "That was the plan, but Dell is restless and I can't sleep, so here I am."

Lassar stopped his stirring and leaned on his elbow, for all the world looking like a renaissance painting. He stared off thoughtfully, then after some time asked, "Is she allergic to oregano oil?"

"I've no clue." Bolion said truthfully. He hadn't the foggiest idea about Della's allergies, or preferences, or anything really. He only knew what she told him, and that was very little.

"Well in any case," Lassar continued, "Try some of it." He beckoned Bolion over to the counter, and passed him a small bottle of golden liquid. "Temples, eyelids, and jaw muscles."

"Jaw muscles?" Bolion inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Yes towards the ear, the bunches of muscles that control when you bite. Usually bad dreams and stress induce clenching." Lassar said knowledgeably.

Bolion smiled slightly, and thanked him, adding, "When did you become the botanist-physician aficionado?"

Lassar smiled, a wide and happy smile, saying, "You've been gone quite some time Bolion. I've had time to hone some skills other than stirring and yelling at drunken patrons you know."

Bolion made to go back upstairs, but was stopped by Lassar, who had clasped his arm in one of his large hands. Bolion looked up at the mustachioed man, a questioning look in his eye. Lassar's voice, deep and rumbling, came surprisingly softly.

"Welcome home, lad. I know you've been avoiding this place for a while, but... it's good to see you again." Lassar let Bolion's arm go and went back to his pot,  but Bolion paused, before returning to the stairs. When he came to the door, he eased it open slowly, and slipped in, closing it equally slowly and silently. He then looked at the bottle in his hands, and began to think, firstly, if he should even apply the oils, but secondly, how in hell he would even do it if he tried.

Those first small touches almost brought her back to consciousness, but her dreams fought for dominance, dragging her back under.

Shouting, someone banging on the door. Della felt her heart racing, eyes wide as panic washed over her. "Adrien-"

"I know." He tossed a pack at her. "We can't take anything else, we have to leave now-"

Wood cracking, people screaming. Someone was in their home, someone full of hate and fear. She screamed, throwing her hands up and trying to put her body in front of his.

Della frowned and her back arched. Her tail curled up and she whimpered in her sleep.

"No, stop! Please, let him go, I'll do anything you want-"

"Don't you dare! I'm not leaving you! Let me go you, bastards- ah!"

Della shrieked and threw herself against her bonds. "Don't hurt him, please! Please, please!" Her eyes were fixed on him, slumped between the two men that held him captive- men they knew, neighbors, friends even.

The soft noises of someone entering the room slipped into her dreams and she frowned, rolling onto her side and curling up into a ball as though to ward off the outside world.

Bolion decided on self application, and made to place the oils on the floor next to the bed, when Della curled up and twisted away from him. He leaned over her, seeing her distressed expression, only reinforcing his decision to wake her. He placed a hand on her shoulder and shook her firmly, sparing no gentle touch this time. "Deloria. Wake up."

Her eyes flew open with a shout. Much stronger than her build would indicate, Della gripped his shoulders and flipped him over, one arms across his throat and the other hand raised, claws and fangs bared.

Her eyes seemed clouded, unfocused, as though she wasn't quite all there. Slowly though, the haze faded. She blinked, then gasped, snapping back away from him. "S-sorry. I- I'm-"

Suddenly she was on her feet, wrapping her cloak around herself and backing toward the door, mumbling, "I'm sorry..."

"Holy shit."

Bolion pushed himself back off of the bed. Good lord, he wasn't expecting that. To say he leaned to grab Della wouldn't be doing it justice. It was more of a leap that never left the ground, so by the time his hand got to her arm, only one foot was still on the ground. Because of this, he put more weight on Della than he anticipated, and when his other foot caught up with him, he went full body into her. Catching himself before he tackled the poor girl, he rectified his position, but the end product was an awkward closeness, only his arm separating them from each other.

"Della calm down!" he said very not calmly. "Chill out, it's me."

"I am calm!" She closed her eyes and took a breath. "I'm sorry, alright? I didn't...hurt you, did I?"

"No! No, I'm fine, just my pride." A look of concern passed onto his face, but he fought to keep it under, "What was that?"

"Nothing." She looked away from him and gently pushed his shoulders back so she could slip around him toward the bed. "It's...nothing. Bad dream."

She sighed and ran her hands through her hair. "Why don't you take the bed for now? I don't think I can get back to sleep."

"I'd say I can't go to sleep again, but we both know that isn't true." Bolion rounded back on Della. He went past her to sit on the bed, but on his way dropped down and grabbed the bottle of oil. He sat on the messy blankets, and unscrewed the cap.

"Come here a second," he called to Della, "Laz gave me this for your dreams, but I guess a little post-mortem wouldn't hurt."

She hesitated, eyeing the bottle warily. "What...is it?"

"Oregano Oil." He replied, a smile fighting it's way onto his face, "I'm not going to poison you Della. Not yet leastways. Now come over here so I can put it on you!"

Bolion, in the back of his mind, was wondering where the sudden maternal side had come from. It wasn't like him to act this way, much less with someone he barely knew. Despite that, his wandering thoughts were shoved back in place of a much stronger instinct to comfort. Odd, he thought to himself, Very odd indeed.

Della huffed and rolled her eyes. "Fine. Fine, if you must," she muttered, moving warily forward and perching on the edge of the bed so he could attend to her as he seemed to want to.

"Good." He said triumphantly, "And relax alright? I don't blame you for choke slamming me - actually can you show me how to do that sometime? - violently bad dreams happen. I've had them."

He placed his finger on the lip of the bottle and upturned it. When he turned it back over, he put it down and rubbed the tips of his fingers together, spreading the oil without dispersing it too much. He then took Della's head in his hands and began to rub her temples again, like he had done before he left the room. This time however, he didn't do so for nearly as long.

"Close your eyes for a second," he directed. Quickly, and only once, he lightly dragged his oiled thumbs across her eyelids, and then traced her jaw with his remaining fingers. When he was satisfied with the spread, he let her go and dried his fingers on the corner of the blanket. "There you go. Laz said that should help with stress and make you sleep better."

He stood off of the bed and sat back down on his mat, seemingly forgetting Della's presence. He brought the incense bowl out, and placed all the sticks in it very particularly. Then he took them out. Then he put them back in, in the same position. He did this several more times, and on the seventh round, he sighed, took them out, and wrapped up the bowl and sticks again, muttering under his breath, "It has to be right."

Della tended under his touch, but she kept quiet and allowed him to spread the oil over her skin. Once he was finished, she sighed and leaned back, hands braced on the bed behind her.

She quirked an eyebrow. "What's the matter?"

Bolion looked up, and didn't say anything for several seconds. Then, as if remembering her question, said, "Nothing. It's a-uh... nothing."

He got up again and walked around to the other side of the bed. He ran his fingers across the soft fabric, then stopped. He said something that sounded like Fuck it, I'm getting in, and climbed under the covers, snuggling into the (in comparison to his reed mat) bountiful bedsheets. He lay in a similar position to Della beside him, just under the blankets.

"I'm going to miss this tomorrow. I'll berate myself for even getting in, because then I'll have something to wish for, but damnit I'm indulging tonight." It seemed more like he was convincing himself, than actually talking to Della, who again, was inches away from him.

Della scooted to the edge of the bed and eyed him warily. But, well...she couldn't very well kick him out- he'd paid for the room after all.

"Alright." She huffed and put her back to him, curling as close to the edge of the bed as she could manage. "Just- if you try something funny, I'll pin you again. And you'll get more than a bruised ego for your trouble," she warned.

"Okay, first of all," Bolion said, "I wasn't expecting you to go fuckin nuts. I'll be more prepared now. And secondly, what do you expect me to do?" He leaned up on his elbow, turning to face Della's back. "If I wanted to do something to you, don't you think I'd have tried to do it by now?"

Her shoulders were tense. "It's been my experience that a certain...curiosity about me may inspire rather unwelcome advances, regardless of how long a person has known me." She huffed. "Can you blame me for being cautious?"

"No. I see where it's coming from, but the more I travel with you the more apparent it is that you've never been down south." He said the words knowingly, but also as if he were remembering something he were trying to forget, "If we were in Essyrn, and I were that kind of man, what you're worrying about would have happened within the first hour alone. And 'unwelcome advances' would be a very underwhelming word. Now if you can promise not to kill me in my sleep, I'm going to try and salvage the rest of the day."

He rolled over, gathering the blankets around him, and said one last thing before drifting off, "Wake me at dawn. We have to be somewhere by tomorrow, midnight, and it is of the utmost urgency."

Della tensed even more. "My point being I can take care of myself, but I like to make my intentions clear," she snipped.

She curled away from him with a grunted affirmative and closed her eyes, hoping to get at least another hour or so of rest.

Ash floated in the heat, little black specks against a background of red and orange dancing like grass in the wind. The pillars of flame captivated the eye, and the ear with a low roar punctuated by deafening pops and dry, rustling cracks that would send thousands of sparks climbing into the air and then winking out of sight. The dirt baked as Bolion watched his house, his home, slowly burn away. He was thirty feet from the bonfire, the closest he dared get, as even then the heat was almost unbearable, and what little tears fell down his cheeks dried before they hit the ground. He had been too late. No. He wasn't too late. That made it seem like he was gone, never there. He was there. He was there, and he left. He left his mother, his brothers, and his uncles to grieve while he avenged the death of his family, but he should have stayed.

What good would it have done?

'What?' Bolion raised his head, and looked around, 'Who said that?!' Nothing but the darkness of night surrounded him, the light of the fire ruining his night vision. 'Who's out there?!' he called again, fear and anger coursing through him. It was them. They were back, and he would kill them. Hastily forcing himself to his feet, he screamed out over the roar of the flame, 'Show yourselves, you cowards!' When no response came, he rounded on himself and yelled  out wordlessly at the darkness behind him. Still nothing, save for the silence of the night, and the pulsing of the blood in his ears. He fell again to his knees, kicking up dirt as he slumped to the ground. Tears began to fall again, and he struck the ground, hard enough to split his knuckles. He hit again, and again, and again, 'YOU! COULD! HAVE! BEEN! THERE!' he shouted through the tears, at no one but himself.

Even if you were, you would have died with them.

He didn't look up this time, didn't bother. 'Then I would have died with them!' He bit out, the anger and sorrow he felt blocking out the pain from his bleeding knuckles.

If that is how you feel, perhaps I can grant your wish.

Bolion, frowned, and for a split second, saw something in his peripheral vision. Then only pain, gradually a redness, and finally the light provided by the burning bodies of his family lit a figure, standing tall above him. She had kicked him! His left cheekbone felt broken, and he was sure it was beginning to swell. 'Who the fuck are you?!'
The woman above him pulled back a deep hood, to reveal whitish blue skin, and silver eyes. He realized now that she was not standing, but sitting on him, and extended a hand to his throat.

Why did you lie?

'What the hell are you talking about?!' He screamed at her, only panicking as her grip around his throat tightened, drawing blood where her clawed fingers dug into his skin. Like they had before.

She hurt you, and you lied to her. Do you actually care about her?

Bolton's eyes widened in fear, as he felt warm liquid drip down his right hand. His eyes flicked down,  to see a dagger in his hand, buried in Della's stomach. When had he stabbed her?! Why was she here?!, These thoughts raced through his head as her grip relaxed, and she slumped against him. He was earnestly panicking, his breath quickening and his eyes wider than they'd ever been. He began to hyper ventilate, when she lifted her head to look at him, pale, and accusing.

WHY?

Della's face began to turn black, flame creeping up to her eyes, climbing her hair, scorching her flesh. Then, she began to rot, decomposing rapidly all the while limp on top of him. Bolion, now in shock, began to sink, burning, wet sand swallowing them both whole. Blood. Blood and Sand, hotter than burning oil grabbed at him, filled his nose and mouth, suffocating him, the heat burning his lungs and the blood blinding him. He was almost completely submerged, and then... Nothing. Nothing but pure, unadulterated terror, in utter darkness.

Bolion's eyes snapped open, and he gasped in rattling breaths as he shakily got into a sitting position, the blanket sliding off of his chest. He sat there, like that, breathing deeply, staring at the wall opposite him for almost ten minutes, then curled into the fetal position and began to shiver; the blanket around his legs doing nothing to stave off the cold fingers of fear digging their way into him.

"Della." He called her name, but didn't look for her. She would come to him. He would wait. He had no choice. He was paralyzed with fear; All he wanted was an anchor, something to tie him here in reality, where it was safe.

Della's nightmares seemed unwilling to let her truly rest, but at least she was dozing. That is, until she felt movement at her back and her eyes opened blearily, confused. She twisted and sat up slightly in time to see him wake, sort of curled in on himself.

She frowned. "Wha' happened?" She sat up properly and rubbed at her eyes, blinking a bit more sleep away.

"Tea." His voice was halting, but he pushed out more words, "Black, in my bag. Grab it please?"

He refused to look at her. He didn't want to turn around and see the face in his nightmares, burnt and rotten, so he simply didn't look. He did however extend an arm and point vaguely at his bag.

"Please?"

She blinked, confused by his manner. "Um...sure." She slipped off the bed and rooted through his pack until she found the tea, the hesitantly moved around to stand in front of him, clasping the herbs in cupped palms.

"You, ah...want me to...make it?" Gods, it had been so long since she'd had to do this, to just be with another person and try to work around their personality, their quirks or struggles.

She was sort of afraid she'd lost the skill.

"I have a pot in my bag." His voice grew steadier as the conversation went on, but he still refused to meet her eyes, opting instead to stare at her hands and the dark leaves within them. His expression was grim, his lips in a tight frown and brow furrowed. He was trying to think clearly, but the dream had messed with his head, and all he could think of was her terrifying face. He shuddered unconsciously at even the thought of it. "Lassar should have water... downstairs."

"...Okay." Della returned to his pack and knelt to dig out the pot, then sprinkled some of the tea inside. She returned the small bag to its original place and stood, grabbing her cloak and pulling it on hastily. "I'll...be right back."

It wasn't until she was downstairs again that she realized she'd forgotten her gloves. Grumbling to herself, she looked around for Lassar, trying to hide as much of herself in the cloak as she could.

Lassar was wiping down the kitchen, humming to himself a fiddle tune from his younger days. He looked up when he heard steps coming down the stairs.

"You leaving now Bol?" he asked without looking up, then glanced at the person as they rounded the corner, "Oh. It's the little lady." He smiled, "What can I do for yeh?"

"Well, I-" She cleared her throat and shuffled her feet. "Do you have a pitcher of water?"

"Sure. You making tea before breakfast?" He made friendly conversation as he filled a large glass pitcher from a trough in the back. "Will you be needing that heated, as well?"

"Something like that." She shook her head. "No, I can take care of that part. Thanks." She took the pitcher and nodded, quickly withdrawing her hands and the pitcher into the cloak in an effort to hide her claws.

Another nod and she retreated back to the room. Her hands wrapped around the pitcher glowed blue-white as she shrugged out of her cloak and knelt in front of the pot.

The water heated quickly and she poured it into the pot. "Give that a minute," she muttered, keeping her eyes downcast.

Bolion remained silent at first, staring at the foot of the bed. He turned his head enough to see the pot on the ground, but not enough to see Della.

"Thank you." His voice was quiet, almost whispered.

Della nodded and backed away. "Look, you...just take your time. I'll...check on Orrin or something," she muttered.

"Mm." Bolion muttered under his breath. Then he called, "Wait a sec. Come over here first."

He flicked his eyes towards Della, searching for her eyes. His tone was stern, almost angry, "What happened in your dream? What happened after it?"

"In my-" She backed away another step, frowning. "What? Why do you want to know?" Her voice was hard, eyes flinty.

"How is it that the first time I sleep around you, I have a dream for the first time my life, about a woman I've never known and barely remember, and then the night after that, and pardon me if this is a regular occurrence for you, but have another dream that I'm not going to forget until the day I die." He got up and swung over the bed, taking a step towards Della. His tone was accusatory, and he was becoming more confident with each word, keeping solid eye contact, "And you definitely did not have a restful night. Whatever the hell you dreamt about was equally bad for you as mine were for me, and that seems a little too coincidental. Now, what happened in your dream?"

Della didn't realize she was backing up until her shoulders hit the wall. She hissed and straightened her back, lifting her chin defiantly.

"It's not my fault if you have bad dreams," she hissed, silver darkening in her eyes. "A nightmare is a nightmare, Bolion. Now get out of my face."

Her chest heaved slightly and she wrapped her arms tightly around her middle, still staring him down with her fangs bared, every line in her body tense and on the defensive.

"What are you afraid of?" He pushed, but didn't approach any more. His expression hardened into a scowl, but his eyes had fire in them. He was looking at Della, but he was seeing his nightmare. He was getting aggressive, in the same way a scared animal gets aggressive. Between the two of them, he wasn't much taller, but he was definitely heavier, and he was afraid. The girl was strange, antisocial, and things that Bolion couldn't explained happened when she was around. In the back of his mind he was shouting FREAK!, but he was also saying, Look who's talking. He didn't intend to fight her, but he tensed, subconsciously preparing for violence.

"What are you doing to me?" His desperation and fear crept into his voice, biting but defensive.

"I'm not doing anything!" Della brought her hands up and shoved at him, but he was too solid for the push to really move him.

Frustration, something approaching panic, and a grief so deep it felt like it had always resided in the center of her heart rose up in her throat and choked her voice. She clenched her eyes shut and whipped her head away from him, swallowing thickly.

"They're just dreams," she hissed. "He- it doesn't matter anymore..."

Bolion put his hands on her wrists and lifted them off of his chest, just barely. He was still very afraid, but determined.

"Just tell me what is happening," he pleaded, truly desperate. He craned down to try and see her face, which was hidden from him, "Who? Who doesn't matter?"

"No one!" She winced as magic started to crackle across her skin and sucked it back in an effort not to shock him. "I told you, it doesn't matter- it's just a gods damned dream!"

"You've gotta tell me what's going on. And it's not just your dreams. I'm getting..." he searched for the he word, unsure of anything at this point, "...fucking, mental backlash? Just tell me what's happening, please!"

"How the fuck should I know?!" She finally managed to jerk away from him, but he still had her pretty well pinned against the wall. "What makes you think these things are even related?" she demanded in frustrated exasperation. "You don't even know me."

She tried to slip around him, moving toward her pack that had once agin somehow found itself to a tumbled heap on the floor.

"That doesn't seem to matter!" He snapped, exasperated, "Two days, it's been, and this happens. And they seem pretty connected. Yesterday, on the horse, when I did that... thing with your hair, right afterward you got all huddled and weird. Then," now he was ranting, flinging his hands in random directions at every third word, "you sit right back up like you saw a fucking ghost!"

He wheeled on his heels, turning his back to her. His shoulders sagged, and he sighed, letting out the battle tension he didn't know he was holding. "You talk in your sleep. There was a him, the first time, and there is a him now. And both of mine have been about family." He faced her again, and rested his hands on his hips, "It's not normal!"

"You've lost people you love!" She was shouting now, not even trying to keep her voice down. "Can't you understand that I don't want to talk about it?!"

Her arms were wrapped tight around her middle, claws digging firmly into the skin of her upper arms. She clenched her eyes shut and ducked her head, raven hair falling to hide her face while her horns glinted in the dim light. She was biting her lip hard enough to draw blood.

"Why do you care?" she whispered, sounding almost defeated. "We'll do this job, get paid, and never see each other again. What do a couple dreams matter?"

"Why doesn't it matter?" He barked, retaliating to her yell, "What happens, if we get into a fight, or we're undercover in the target's apartments, or hiding, and one of use has a fucking spasm because of it?! We're dead!"

"And if it's coming from you," he said as he walked over, "you have to be resolved. It's not like the area is bringing back foul memories. I do this route all the time, and this is the first time in sixteen years that something like this has happened."

He paused, and pried her fingers out of her arms. "Stop cutting yourself."

He drew back a strand of hair, and peered in. He wore a grimace, but his brow also knotted in concern, and he said quietly, "I know what it's like. Certain things only time can heal, but others you have to work through yourself. What happened?"

"I'm not-" It was only after he'd pulled her hands away that she realized she was bleeding. She jerked her head away from him but really couldn't get too far.

She twisted her head, trying to keep from meeting his eyes. "Nothing like that is going to happen," she hissed through clenched teeth. "I've been dealing with this for years and I've managed just fine. It's not my fault that you're having nightmares too."

"I've had time, Bolion. There are pains that don't heal, you just figure out how to keep living with them." She tried again to pull away. "And why should I tell you anything? You're a merc, like me. I know your type, why in the name of all the gods should I trust you?"

"How long has it been for you?" Bolion asked, incredulous. "And what exactly is my type? You're telling me that you've met with and gotten to intimately know a person who reminds you of me? And I very much doubt we do this work for the same reasons."

He let her go, but twisted with her head. "Look at me damnit!"

"Three years." She hissed and jerked her head away from him. "It's been three years. And I know what people like us are like- we use information to survive any way we can."

Della kept her eyes downcast, but her stance was more of pain and anger than dejection or fear. "It's safer not to know anyone intimately. You should know that."

Bolion snorted, and said, "Safer? Harder, yes, but I don't know about safer."

He readjusted his stance, cornering her to the bed. He was tired of chasing her around the room, enough of this. He smiled, but it wasn't mirthful, "I've had twenty. There's a difference between forgetting your pain and healing it. You'll never forget whoever it is you lost, but you can move on with your life. Besides, we both need real sleep... and this issue isn't going away."

Della glared at him as she bumped up against the bed and braced a hand behind her to make sure she didn't fall.

"My husband, alright?" Her voice broke on the word and she looked away, taking a breath to compose herself. "I lost-" No, that wasn't right. "He was taken from me."

She straightened up until they were almost nose to nose, lips curled back in a snarl and eyes flashing sparks. Electricity danced between her claw tips and she curled her hands into shaking fists at her sides. "Now will you get the hell out of my face?"

"No." She stood very close to him, closer than he'd anticipated. The pointed tips of his ears began to heat up, and redden, but he matched her snarl with a tight lipped grimace, "How? Why? Was it because-" he gestured towards her horns, and then tail, "-of this?"

It felt like her heart was shattering all over again. "Yes," she hissed, fighting back tears. "Yes. Now will you please let it go?"

Once again her arms wrapped around herself and and bowed her head, determinedly not looking at him.

"Hey, no! Stop doing that!" Exasperated, Bolion grabbed at her hands, pulling them away from her reopening cuts. He let her pull her hands away, but moved her hair with one hand and lifted her chin firmly with the other, "Look at me! Just tell me, what happened?"

She tried to jerk her head away from him. "What does it matter? It happened, it's over, he's gone!"

Her hands dug into the bed behind her, claws ripping through the bedding as she fought desperately to control the magic welling up in her chest.

"It matters because you haven't dealt with this for three years. You haven't spoken to a single person about this, have you?" Bolion lessened his grip, but kept eye contact, "How did it happen Della? You've gotta tell someone, and I'm your best option right now. Hell, you said it earlier, we do this job and you never have to see me again, but you get it off of your chest. That's what you need, now come on. How did it happen?"

An instinct for self preservation warred with her sense of logic telling her that he might be right.

Her grip on the bedding behind her tightened and she kept her eyes tight shut. A face, a smile, flashed behind her eyes and she had to swallow a small, whimpering sob.

"Someone- where we lived...someone convinced the rest of the town that I was...unnatural. I was bringing a curse down on us," she whispered after several agonizingly long moments of silence. "The people were scared, they didn't know what to do. We tried to leave- we weren't fast enough."

She looked away. "They wanted me dead. Adrien fought back, and it cost him his life." Her eyes finally flicked to meet Bolion's, hard as steel. "The village is gone. I burnt it to the ground."

Maybe that would scare him off.

"Now, are we through? You feel better? Because I sure as hell don't," she spat.

Bolion felt a deep sympathy, for this woman who was little more than a girl when tragedy befell her. He knew that pain. He knew it well.

"Nope. I still feel like shit and I'm exhausted. But" He let her go and bent over his pack, grabbing the teapot in one hand and rustling around in the burlap with the other, "I know what you need. Step one is out of the way, but you're still emotionally repressed. I was for a long time."He stood again, and tossed a metal flask her way, and opened the top of the teapot. "I was saving it for tomorrow, but I'll refill. It's tequila."

He paused, and said, "I feel sorry for the animals," then drank straight from the opened pot.

Della stared, unsure how to react. She lifted the flask to her nose, sniffed, made a face, and held it away.

"So did I," she murmured when his comment registered. Her lips curved in a weary, painful smirk. "Now you know what unchecked magic can do."

"Oh trust me I know. I've blown up my fair share of buildings with the help of magicians. Now drink." He smiled at her face, but urged her anyway, "It gets better once you're drunk. Then it'll be worse for a while, but the end result is good. A drunk man's words are a sober man's thoughts, or so they say."

He sat on the bed beside her and sipped his tea, content to watch. In reality, he was bracing himself for what he was sure was a flood of emotions, that he as the sober one would have to deal with rationally. But Della needed this, so he was willing to assist in the ways he knew how.

Della held her breath and tilted the flask back for a swig.

Immediately she started coughing, eyes watering. Her hair spilled over her shoulders and she choked out, "Gods... you like this?!"

Still coughing, she sat on the edge of the bed, scooching away from him a bit.

"I hate it," he confessed, "But it gets the job done. I only drink once a year, but when I do, I do."

He watched her cough, and urged her again, "Keep going."

She glowered at him. "Why? What's the point?" She shifted a little further away, hunching her shoulders and letting her hair hide her face again.

"Because you need to confront the fact the he's gone, and that you have unresolved emotions. If you need to get drunk and break some shit to do that, so be it." Bolion stopped, and looked around. "Actually, let's not do that here. Lassar is going to kill me if we bust up his inn."

Bolion pushed himself to his feet, and walked over to the window. He shoved his fingers underneath the silk, and straining, as it was badly rusted, slid it open. He swung a foot outside of it, and gauged the drop, "Yeah, we'll be fine. Let's go."

Della scoffed. "Why on earth should I jump out the window?" she grumbled. "Maybe getting drunk and breaking things is how you deal." Obviously not very well, if he was still having dreams himself.

"I'm fine."

"You're not jumping, you're climbing, and I don't drink." He came back in through the window, and rolled up his bedroll, and gathered his bag. "You obviously don't deal at all. Besides, we're behind schedule. Get your things together, and hide the bed. If Lassar finds out before we leave we'll have to work it off."

"Hide- oh." She winced and blushed as she looked at the damage she'd done to the mattress and sheet. Muttering to herself, she did her best to hide it with the blanket and gathered up her pack.

"Don't drink," she scoffed as she turned to face him. She waggled the flask at him. "Someone who doesn't drink doesn't carry something like whatever the hell this is around."

"It's for tomorrow. Tomorrow is the only day I use that." He said, defensive, "And it's tequila, I told you." He slung his bedroll over his shoulder, and dug out a few silver coins before tossing them on the bed. He owed Lassar too much as friends not to reimburse him for the damages. "Out the window, let's go!"

Della genuflected sarcastically. "After you," she said wryly, making sure her own pack was secure on her back.

Bolion rolled his eyes, but smiled. He took a few steps back, and ran towards the window. He leapt at the last second, and dolphin dived out of it. Twisting in the air, he landed in a roll maybe twenty feet from the side of the building, and finished on one knee, ready to rise, like a racer waiting for the pistol. Listening intently for any sounds other than Della through the open window, he stood and walked around toward the main door. There, he saw Orrin, awake, but laying on the ground. Untying the stallion's reins, he mounted him, and trotted back over to the window.

"Come on, and pick a horse!" He called, but not too loudly. He didn't want to wake anyone who wasn't already up, thanks to their little screaming match.

Della rolled her eyes yet again and climbed demurely out of the window, once again muttering about dumb mercs and their incessant need to show off.

She frowned at his words, biting her lip. "I told you I didn't want to steal a horse," she hissed quietly.

"I didn't say steal it, I said pick it." Bolion didn't see the point in her moral code, "Just leave some coin where you took the horse, if it bugs you so much." 

Della grumbled to herself again and slipped into the stable. She reemerged with a large, placid gelding, deep brown with a white snip on his nose, and her purse significantly lighter.

"Come in, let's just get moving," she muttered as she swung up until the saddle.

"And a moving, we shall get. The next place we're going marks where Essyrni land begins." He told Della, but under his breath, he muttered, "'Inna qadim lilmanzil."

He lead the way, setting off at an easy walk, and called back to Della, "Where'd you put that flask?"

"Here." She tossed the flask back to him and gathered up her reins. Her head tilted to the side. "What does that mean? Enna kadem- whatever you just said."

"'Inna qadim lilmanzil," he repeated, now for her ears, "It's Essyrni. 'I'm coming home."

He rode on, seemingly confident in his explanation, then amended his statement, "I visit the farm where I grew up once a year. That's what the flask is for, and the bowl too. The one with the incense."

"Ah...right." She cleared her throat, feeling awkward, and fell silent, content for now to just follow him on horseback.

At least he wasn't telling her she needed to deal with her emotions anymore.

"So what exactly did you do?" Bolion asked, puzzled, "to burn down the town? How? Even a small town is hard to - if you're to be believed - totally decimate."

He stuffed the flask into his bag, switching it for a starmap. Consulting the map, Bolion raised a finger and matched the constellations to the page, adjusting their course accordingly.

Her shoulders tensed. "Lightning magic can be incredibly destructive if it's not contained," she answered shortly.

"So what's your catalyst?" He asked, ignoring the brevity of her answer. He knew she didn't like to talk about things pertaining to her past, but now his interest was professional. He needed to know certain things about her powers to be able to utilize them correctly. "What sets them off, in powerful bursts?"

"At the moment? Me." Her eyes were fixed ahead. "I have control over my magic, Bolion. Nothing like what happened back then is ever going to happen again." She'd make damn sure of it.

"In general." Bolion corrected, "I once knew a man who had to consume live insects in leu of larger live creatures, because that was the only way he could fuel his powers."

Bolion saw that his question may not have gotten across, at least not the way he wanted. Rephrasing, he asked again, "What drives your powers? What is the adrenaline?"

Della blinked at him. "Me," she repeated. "I'm a mage, not a sorcerer or warlock or...whatever. My powers come from within, not an external source."

"Well that kind of narrows it down." He said, still unsatisfied, "Do you access them more easily through calm collectedness? Like meditation magic? Or are they emotionally fueled? Do you use anger?"

She huffed and rolled her eyes. "Y'know, that isn't really how magic works. You don't just...pick one way of making it work. Sure, I could use strong emotion, but I c an also use calm and focus."

"Well sorry, but it's not really my forté." He defended his curiosity, "Besides it's good to know what might... ah, help you later on."

"I don't need help," Della grumbled. "I've gotten along just fine so far, thanks." She fell quiet, focusing her attention on the road ahead.

"That's not what I meant." He replied quietly, but said nothing more. The shifting scenery around them began to lose it's green mountain foliage in favour of low hanging trees and veldt grasses. The colour palette melted into browns and beiges, and Bolion looked right at home in the colours of his skin.

Before long, a small set of hits, and one barn, or the remnants thereof. Blackened and charred, though many years ago, all the huts but one had greenery lounging on their skeletons. The one that didn't was the central hut, or so it seemed, and was much more freshly burnt than the others.

"Well here we are," Bolion remarked, "Essyrn."

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