Beware Birds Of A Feather [M] {Sanctified!}

[HeartOfFlame]

A soft grunt escapes him as she shifts, invading his space, touching him again. He almost doesn't mind, but some petty, bitter part of him does, the part that proceeds the anger and bitter hatred of thirty years, the part that is quietly revolted at his weakness in letting her back in so easily. It's a near thing, stopping himself from leaning into her touch, almost a caress along the side of his face with lithe, slender fingers that he wants to take in his own rough, calloused ones and pull her close to him, bask in the feeling of her skin against his. He's enraptured in her eyes again, just for a moment, pulled in by how truly bottomless they are.

He never will find another to compare to her, another to love, for she has and always will have stolen his heart as surely as she broke it.

"Find him." He says, a slight incline of his head, hand brushing against the curve of her waist, settling above her hips. For a moment, he can remember the dream, the fantasy that never came to be, the life that was shattered as surely as his perception of her, of how deeply she had affected his life. Would such a thing truly be so unlikely? It's been thirty years, is she truly so incapable of change? He shuts those thoughts down as swiftly as he realises they are even there, distantly horrified that his mind would even stray to such length, forget the truth he has long known and earned only through pain. This isn't love between them, not by a long shot, and it certainly would not be enough to tie her to him, not properly, not enough for him to be happy, not even in some distant reality where she is not the taint he knows her to be, the curse.

They will never have that life, forever a dream, only to live in his nightmares and memories.

"We can fight over him after I can physically lay a hand on the brat."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

The angel considers when he tells her to find him. Her initial response is to tell him no. That she shouldn't bring him around her son at all, that it is likely a detriment to the plans she has for Kanimir.

Then his hand settles on her waist.

Offer up her son to continue this torrid affair with her husband? Fiachna considers as she teases her fingers along  his neck. Soft, exploratory touches. Re-familiarizing herself with the feel of him. As rough as he is changed. Almost an entirely different person. It's oddly fascinating to her. Though she can change her appearance at will, she quite enjoys how he's changed over time. No the soft, sweet man whose life she turned upside down but someone far sharper and angrier.

"That's not a fight you will win," she murmurs sweetly, her gaze returning to his. Matter-of-factly. But she smiles and leans a little closer, fingers skittering up his neck and into his hair. Lightly gripping at the nape of his neck. "I'll find him for you. For us. But there is some time before the sun rises proper... and I'm already on your lap."

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Her touch is like fire against his skin, burning and inciting that same mindless intimacy that drove them here in the first place. He leans into her, hand rising to rest over hers, catching in his tangled hair, while the other lifts to her back, tracing the skin of her bare shoulders. His eyes flutter shut, taking in her touch, the feel of her, the way her hand slides across his rough, scarred skin and her weight settles against him like it's meant to fit. Shifting forwards, he chases a hot breath across her cheek with a kiss that drags at her jawline. Her hair is soft against his temples as he leans into her and whispers, voice barely above a whisper. "No."

She's taken too much of him already, curled him around her finger like a pretty play thing. As much as he relishes her touch, as much as he wants her, wants to feel the heat of her against him, the way her body fits against his like a glove, he has a mission here. It's a relatively simply thing to shift out from underneath her, shifting his hips to the side and pulling her hand from his hair with his own over the top of her knuckles. In a brief moment, the overwhelming feel of her touch is gone, leaving only phantoms of it on his skin as he stands and reaches for his discarded attire. He has little doubt she will be petty about rejection, but he doesn't care, tells himself he doesn't need her anymore than to find their son. The reassuring weight of his scabbard back at his hip helps solidify that thought.

@SanctifiedSavage 

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna's laugh is like velvet when he frees himself from her. All soft sin and wicked delight. The denial burns, but it a way that leaves the angel watching him in a way he likely does not want her to. She remains on the bed long enough to watch him dress, breathy and amused, before she slides off and stands gracefully.

In the transition from the bed to standing, her clothes change. The leather top gives way a black gown and sleeves cover her pale skin. The clothes that had been left on the floor are nothing but glistening raven black feathers. Dressed like some well to do noble in sleek black fur and silk, trimmed in black feathers, she crosses her arms and coos, "Who knew you could be so much fun, my love?" Gone are the braids and silver clasps. Her hair falls straight to her waist in the same raven colors as her feathers. Purple-blue shine on ink black. "I suppose I can still help you... Or should we play 'who ever finds him first, keeps him'?"

Fiachna makes her way to the door and tugs it open, casting a glance in his direction. "It has been too long since we've done anything together. This should be fun."

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Having that layer of cloth and leather between them again is somehow comforting. A barrier between his traitorous lust and her...her. He collects his dagger from where it rests amongst a sea of feather near the window, sliding it home with perhaps more force than strictly necessary as she taunts him, still. He reminds himself he needs her, fingers caressing the tempting hilt of the dagger, still, and follows a pace behind as she lets herself out, all fluid movements and weightless steps. If he didn't know better, he would almost think her a creature of grace; her subtle beauty, her burden-less existence, the temptation of her flawless perfection.

She couldn't be much further from perfect, graceful, if she tried. He sighs, a sound that conveys how ready he is for this to be over, for her to be gone, be it to the afterlife, or simply away from him. "I would recommend not getting used to it." He tells her blandly, footsteps solid and even behind her as they traverse the short hall, uncaring of the closed doors and snuffed lights around them. "I assure you it won't happen again."

@SanctifiedSavage   

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna's passage is utterly quiet compared to his. Footfalls unnoticeable, her dress whisper quiet. She glances over her shoulder in his direction when he seems exasperated by the idea, which only amuses her. Poor man. If he hadn't wanted anything to do with her, he should've affected complete disinterest. But she knows better and it delights her that the words taste a lie even as he speaks them.

"Whatever you say, my love," she taunts playfully as they enter the inn proper. It's cleared out, leaving only the poor maid he'd scared before. The woman reflexively takes a step back while Fiachna waves, as though they'd not met on terrifying terms for the woman. "You should smile more," Fiachna absently remarks, steering Kyto toward the door by hooking her arm through his. "Scare people less."

The storm has passed and left them under freshly fallen snow and a steadily brightening sky. Still some hours from true morning. Fiachna sighs a little, wistful, before she steps out into the cold. Might as well go hunting for their son.



The small trade-waystation is settled in a protected valley of sorts, with tall hills surrounding and protecting the settlement from the worst of the winds that might otherwise blow through the open fields. There's the hint of a road through the snow that runs perpendicular to the game trail they walk out from, but it's hard to find in the snow. Despite how small the place is, there's a surprising amount of people bustling about a small open stall market and around the large warehouse.

People reflexively move out of Yukina's way as she guides her horse to the large, sliding doors of the warehouse. They're open now. One of the workers there recognizes her and rushes to greet her, ignoring Kanimir. Yukina slides off her horse and someone else takes it to the stable. She's offered some tea a place to sit to 'relax after her travel'.

Yukina accepts, then requests water for Kanimir.

The warehouse is a large stone, mortar, and clay tiled building. Much of the interior is rough cut wood with dirt floors. Meant to withstand rough weather but not be particularly elaborate or ornate. The room they're led to is just inside. A small sitting area with straw-stuffed furniture. Yukina doesn't sit, but she gestured that Kanimir can.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Kyto just sighs again, lets her lead him on. The sooner this is over, the better. He's almost surprised the maid is still here, working away behind her counter until she notices their entry and scurries back away. He doesn't care, let's Fiachna know as much with a short, irritated sound, before they step out into the early dawn and the scent of clean, fresh snow hits him.

He frowns a little, then, mulling over what he knows, little as that is, before speaking. "That maid said the boy was taken." He recalls, slipping his arm from hers in favour of pulling his heavy coat on, recollected from the side of the bat on their way out. "I don't suppose you know whom by."

It's an irritating thought, that someone else got to the boy before him. He hasn't the faintest idea who it might be, not because he doesn't know Kanimir's enemies, but because the boy has so goddamn many of them. He's collected quite a following of angry, slighted, grieving foes over the years, and the idea that one of them might have caught up to him makes Kyto's blood boil only for the fact that they are ruining his hunt. The boy is his, and his word still stands true. His death is not what Kyto desires, but a cleansing.

Gods help any fool who stands in his way.



Kanimir doesn't really notice they've arrived until the Blessed's horse stops moving. He back-pedals a step, blinking blearily as he drops out of the mindless haze of movement he'd fallen into for his own self preservation. Their surrounds are new, though the people seem as uncaring as most others at the Blessed's camp, and he takes a moment to look around, curious. Calculating. He's tired, more than he would like to admit, but the prospect of a chance to gain freedom is enough to add a little vigour to his veins as he trails the Blessed's inside the warehouse. It doesn't last long, the fact that he wouldn't be able to leave her side without being crippled coming second to the truth that he cannot abandon Keithia. Even were he to find freedom here, he would have to go back for her, an act that would most likely see him walking straight back into the Blessed's hold.

His chances are better if he waits it out, returns to Keithia, and tries to get them both free.

They enter a small room, walls barer than the interior of the Blessed's tent - before he destroyed it. The thought brings him a little smug satisfaction - and he eyes the sparse furniture warily, unsure if it could even hold his meagre weight. The urge to sit down hasn't swept over him yet, his body only aching in a way of overworked muscles, not the crippling pain and sensation of burning that has been his constant for the last few days. For now, he chooses to stand, arms folded over his chest and stance shuffled wide to hold his balance steady. He can't look the Blessed in the eye, head remaining bowed even as he falls into a position that is almost familiar to the way he used to be, and he quietly hopes that is enough for her to continue to ignore him.

@SanctifiedSavage 

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna smiles a little when he extracts himself from her. It was the little things.

The angel steps aside and shrugs her shoulders, creating the thick, black furred cloak she'd had the night before. Appearances, she supposed, and comfort. Even if she looked like nobility being attended by a trapper.

Her dark blue eyes sweep horizon, the dotting of trees, before she starts walking. It's faint, perhaps more than it would be usually, but Fiachna isn't overly concerned. "No. I've been tailing you for awhile, not Kanimir." One of her hands idly runs through her long hair. "If you had wings we could get there faster." Not to say she walks slow, even in the ankle deep drifts. She doesn't leave much by the way of foot prints. Rather, it's rare when she does. "Whomever has him though, I'm sure will be happy to hand him over when we ask oh so nicely." Fiachna laughs softly at the sheer idea anyone would keep their son from them.

Rather, it's more what happens after that that'll be the interesting part.

"I could always go on ahead..." she offers then, shooting him a small, sweet smile.



Drinks are brought and neither Kanimir nor Yukina bother with the seats. The dirty, scruffy man is nearly tripping over himself to keep her from being upset. Whatever that might mean. The people in the trade-waystation might not know exactly who or what she is, but she's dressed wealthily, looks impressive, and doesn't stand for any foolishness.

That and she has what appears to be a roughed up servant following her.

Yukina takes the cup of tea then glances over her shoulder, to Kanimir. "Stay put. Behave." At that, she leaves him in the barren room to inspect the goods she's come to collect.

[HeartOfFlame]

Of course she has no idea, because that would be helpful. Kyto sighs, combing a hand through his hair and frowning when the band holding it back almost comes out in his hold. He reaffixes it as they walk, tightening dark strands back out of his face. A soft humming sound, somewhere between dry amusement and a promise of violence, slips from his lips at her further words. Asking nicely hasn't been his way for quite some time. Whomever has Kanimir, they will hand over his son, or he will slay them where they stand. Fiachna's laughter is almost simultaneous with the thought.

He sends her a sideways look at her suggestion they split up, one brow lifting slightly in dry questioning. She knows he will refuse, as well as he knows she is simply egging him on. After everything they have discussed, he is hardly going to let her have her way with the boy that easily. For the moment, he needs her to help him find their son, but his conviction to keep her away from him, at least until his magic has been taken, is as strong as ever.

"We go together." He says firmly, shrugging his coat higher around his shoulders as a chilly breeze whistles softly over them, ruffling the fur of his collar. He picks up the pace, then, long legs taking longer strides, and forges an easy path through the loose, fresh snow. "How far?"



Kanimir blinks, surprised she would leave him so simply, but realises the effect of her words a moment later. Stay put, an order. One that will undoubtedly cause him pain should he try to disobey it. He sighs softly, moving forward to take the water that had been brought and drinking slowly. There's a small window in the side of the room, and he crosses over to it, looking out over the small settlement in a way that is almost wistful. The people are going about their lives, wary of the apparently wealthy stranger in their midst, but normal all the same. They look peaceful, happy, even. He hadn't expected it to hurt so much to see that, but it does. Something in his chest twists and burns with the knowledge of their freedom, seemingly so simple and inherent to them, but so far from what he has.

He sets the water down, ignores the way it had shimmered as his hand shook and trembled where he held it. He turns, back pressed into the wall, and slowly slides down to sit on the cold floor, legs drawn up to his chest. He feels helpless. It's crushing and foreign and something that hasn't even occurred to him since, since his childhood, since he escaped. A choked sound escapes him and he clamps his mouth shut with a snap, fingers twisting in his short, ragged hair as he drops his head into his hands. He's little more than a helpless, scared child, powerless and unable to even stand up for the one person he cares about in this whole sordid mess. The weight of the collar around his throat is crushing, pressing against his skin as he hunches over, and on impulse he reaches for it, fingers fighting against the stiff leather and the tremor in them.

It slides free after a long, suffocating moment, and he throws it across the room with as much strength as he can muster. It hits the opposing wall and plops onto the floor, out of sight. The feeling of air on his skin is like a godsend, fingers brushing over the rough, reddened skin where it sat and rubbed for days on end. He settles like that, curled into himself, one hand resting over the back of his neck, the other fisted in his hair. He doesn't know when the Blessed will return, but he will take the moment of solitude for what it is.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna doesn't have to go with him. She could easily take to the sky and leave him behind, but she's in a good mood and decides to humor his desire that they travel together. She's especially amicable to his company anyway.

Her smile is sweet when he says as much.

Given how quick the pair of them can cover distance, she muses a moment before shrugging. "I don't believe he's far. But it is hard to pinpoint." She takes a moment to look around, orientating herself since she's on the ground. "He's likely in one of the small towns or camps in this direction, unless the people holding him are hiding out. Or who would be able to do such a thing."

True to her word, though, she leads him through small clusters of trees and into a large snowy plain. They're able to see the trade-waystation long before they arrive. Her pace slows and she hooks her arm through his once more. Her voice drops to something more casual and conversational. "He's somewhere here."



Yukina is deep in the ware house, arranging transport for the camp's supplies. It's a large wagon of goods – food, leather, and necessities – that will make the trek back with her. Having to go through the steps to arrange it all is tedious, but part of the process. No one talks to her more than necessary.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Kyto immediately takes to scanning the area around the waystation, looking for likely positions for potential enemies to have holed themselves up inside. They won't be expecting him - them - at least, though it wouldn't have been a problem if they were, not for Kyto, anyway. There's a fair deal of movement around the small collection of houses and barns, particularly the large, stone and mortar warehouse that covers enough ground to fit most of the rest of the settlement inside it. His gaze narrows in on that, briefly, before flitting to the smaller buildings outside.

It's difficult to say where would be the more likely place for Kanimir to be being held, made more so by the fact they still don't know who - or what - took him. It doesn't matter to Kyto in how the outcome will eventuate, but the information would be helpful to make this whole thing that much easier, quicker.

He glances at Fiachna when she slides back into his space, not moving to brush her off immediately. The sword at his hip and the way he carries himself are fairly decent indications of his profession and skill, but, to a lesser man, a pretty woman hanging off his arm can be distracting, draw attention away from just how lethal he really is. He allows it, for the moment, and rests his free hand on the hilt of his sword, fingers drumming a slow pattern as they approach the outskirts of the settlement and the locals begin to pick up on their presence. They seem wary, exchanging uncertain looks the moment they catch sight of the pair entering their domain, and Koto's gaze narrows.

There's something off in the air, a faint taste of something crisp and clean in the air that has nothing to do with the fresh snow. A feeling of static hanging in the breeze. Magic.

One of the locals breaks away from the small group that has turned to watch their approach, sprinting for the large doors into the warehouse, and Kyto tracks his path until he disappears behind the solid walls. Ah, that would be the place.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna appears, for all the world, unconcerned. Like they're out for an afternoon stroll. Looking around at all the sights and people. She looks wildly out of place, if only because she looks overdressed for the small trade-waystation. Anyone's gaze she catches, she smiles. Not offputting, but politely.

Invariably, she ends up leading them to the warehouse too. Since that's the direction she seems to think Kanimir is in. At the large entrance, one of the workers approaches. It's easy to tell he's anxious, with dirt smeared on his right cheek. "C-can... can I help you?"

Fiachna smiles prettily. "I believe something of mine was dropped off here. I just need to take a look around." She nudges Kyto a little before she peels herself away from him. "Tip the boy for being so pleasant, my love, and let's see if our shipment was dropped off."

The worker blushes at being called a boy – given that he's likely in his upper twenties – but doesn't protest when she walks past him. Instead, the remark about being tipped seems to have snagged his attention and he looks at Kyto.

Fiachna is unhurried as she enters the shadowed warehouse, pausing to glance around. There's a lot of commotion inside, people flitting from various shipment stalls, market tables set up with merchants haggling prices, smaller donkeys pulling heavy boxes into place, and a couple of covered wagons being loaded toward the back. She doesn't pay any of it too much attention as she ends up walking toward the barren sitting room. No door. Plain furniture. And a very familiar figure sitting against one wall.

She crosses her arms and smiles a little. "Good afternoon."

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Kyto glares in her wake, caught, now, by the younger man's expectant gaze. He smothers a growl, digging in his coin pouch for a moment, a pouch that is even barer than usual, thanks to Fiachna and the commotion she caused at the tavern. He hadn't been intending to stay there at all. Dropping what little he has in the boy's hand, he sidesteps around him easily and moves in the same direction Fiachna had taken, darting between the movement of carts and supplies. He can't tell which way the. woman moved from here, and he turns about once before his eyes catch on something decidedly out of place.

His brows furrow, hand moving once again to his sword hilt as he takes a slow, measured step towards the figure at the other side of the warehouse. He can't see much of them, beyond the fact they're shadowed by a pair of large, glistening white wings. That, alone, is enough to make him wary, but that static feeling has only grown since he first noticed it, and something in his gut tells him this being is important.



Kanimir sits alone and silent, for how long he doesn't know. His mind is blank, eyes half lidded as he curls into himself and just, sits. He's expecting no one but the Blessed to walk back through that door and expect anything of him, and the footsteps that signify another are most assuredly not hers. Too light, too jovial. Once, his ability to read a person by the sound of their walk, the placement of weight and emotion behind each step, was a tool for his trade. Now, it's pointless for much but telling him he doesn't need to move yet.

Then she speaks to him.

His head lifts slowly, eyes darting about the small room to clarify that she is, in fact, addressing him. There's no one else within sight or earshot, and he focuses on her warily, hand in his hair dropping to his side and flattening against the floor uneasily. He's defenceless here, magic locked away behind the Blessed's control, not a weapon in sight, and where once he might have provoked a fight anyway, his first instinct is fear. He shudders slightly, drawing his legs closer to himself, unsure what to say.

She looks like a noble woman, the kind he's killed dozens of times, and the fact that she's even talking to him would be strange at his best, tidy in a rough kind of way, let alone when he's filthy and ragged and still bearing the stains of Keithia's blood on his skin. He swallows, eyes darting past her to the hall beyond. The Blessed had ordered him to stay put; even if he tries to run, he won't get far. His only option is to play this out and hope he still knows how to act tough, then.

He pulls himself to his feet slowly, back pressed into the wall and one hand still flat against it, ready to move, to run. His voice is raspy, still, weak and grating as it pulls out of him, "Hello."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

It's all about waiting now. The wagons are being loaded, slowly, by the worker that also live in the waystation. Yukina makes no effort to help but she's no overly rushed either. The way-station has been quiet all the other times they've visited and, while they are leery of Yukina, her wings are not entirely uncommon. They just earn her a wide berth.

Her arms are crossed but her stance is casual.



Fiachna makes a show of looking around the room, as if there was anything to look at. "Such a mess you seem to have gotten yourself in," she mutters, tone carrying the weight of familiarity and a dash of affection. After a moment, she shrugs out of her fine cloak and tosses it toward the doorway she walks from. It 'sticks' to the opening, granting them some privacy. It also adopts the appearance of plain brown cloth.

She takes a seat on one of the straw stuffed chairs and crosses her legs, leaning back and looking for all the world like it's the most comfortable place for her to be. "Now, we don't have a lot of time to ourselves. I need you to tell me as much of your situation as I can, quickly, so we can leave." Her dark blue eyes continue to look over him, taking stock of her son, but there doesn't seem to be a sense of urgency about her.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Kyto approaches cautiously, quietly, paces light. He has nothing to go on but the feeling in the air, but there is something definitely amiss here. The workers skirt around the winged being with a sort of respect, treating them as a figure of authority. He stops a short distance away, watching silently, wondering where Fiachna has gotten to; if she has found the boy. He half turns, looking back the way he had come. There is still little clue as to where the woman has gotten off to, and he huffs a breath quietly.

God, that woman is vexing.



He flinches when she tosses her cloak towards the door, watching it transform into something entirely different from the fine, decorative fabric. His eyes track back to her slowly, apprehensively. It takes a moment for her words to sink in. She's offering him help. Maybe. His eyes narrow, flitting over her again. For all he knows, this is a ploy on the Blessed's part. It seems...different, from her usual tactics, but he has no concept of normal anymore, not when he's been reduced to a pet, when pain is a constant and the only way to avoid is to beg and grovel. Still...he's desperate.

Time for a leap of faith, then.

"Th-there's a woman," He stammers, fighting the urge to just shut up and do as he was told. Stay put, behave. He shakes his head, shakes the vestige of her voice off, trying to rid himself of it like a physical presence, "they call her B-B-Blessed. She can trap my magic, rebound it." His hand clenches into a fist at his side, body hunching, expecting the pain to return at any moment, to be thrown back into a mindless void of agony and fire.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna watches him passively, giving him the time to explain. Someone who has trapped his magic? She's heard of various people who can, of course. The angel gets around. It takes her a moment to consider before she sighs a little and stands. "Now, that is quite a mess you've gotten into." She doesn't sound upset, but rather, faintly amused. "I suppose the only way we're going to be able break such a thing is to take your magic from this plane... For just a moment."

She slides to her feet in a smooth, graceful motion, and partially crosses the space between them. Her hand extends to him with a faint smile. "Come along, love. We'll need to do this quick. I suspect she'll know when it happens." Fiachna didn't bother to mention it would likely pain them both quite a bit. Unimportant details.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

There is no immediate rebound, and he has the sense of self to tilt his head in an almost quizzical expression when the strange woman barrels right on ahead. She seems entirely disaffected by by his state, just taking his words at face value and moving on. The thought that this is just another twisted test flits through his mind, but he's committed now. If she can help him, if she can free him from the Blessed...he's never accepted help in his life, not since he earned his freedom the first time, but now, he's desperate for it.

She rises to her feet and moves towards him, hand outstretched. He balks from it despite himself, trying to take a step back when his spine is already against a wall. He swallows, voice somehow, shockingly, steady as he speaks. "What does that mean?" He asks, fighting the urge to just take her hand and damn the consequences. What could be worse than this? Death? A sweet relief. "Wen what happens?"

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

A playful smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth. "Now, now. You're a smart boy." Her hand remains extended, palm up. It's a small, pale thing that clashes heavily with the dark clothes she's wearing. "As I said, we don't have a lot of time so we best do this quick though." Fiachna was betting the place was going to get quite... noisy... when she was done. "I promise to answer whatever questions you might have once we're out of this tiny town."

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

He shouldn't trust her, should be afraid of her in that small part of his mind that boasts few self preservation. But he does, and he's not. There's something almost familiar about her, a feeling that he's seen those dark, shimmering eyes before. He swallows, steadied himself with a breath. One way or another, this ends now. He nods, a small, nearly imperceptible thing, and lefts his hand to rest in hers.

"Okay."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

"Good boy." A smile spreads across her face before she pulls him close, against her. Into a hug. Her wings fan out before they, too, fold around him and they fall back. Rather than hitting the ground, though, Fiachna takes him home. To a plane of dark red skies and silent lighting and black clouds. He can't see the landscape beneath him, but the air burns acrid. The sensation of his magic being ripped from Yukina is like all his bones break and his lungs are squeezed, stealing his breath. Muscles spasm with the rough reintroduction of his gift in this new world.

They leave the plane in a breath. Hitting the floor hard, in a plume of black smoke and glittering embers in the air above them. Fiachna bears the brunt of the impact with Kanimir cradled against her, on top of her. Her wings having sheltered him from the harsh skies of her home. She's coughing some at the quick transition and everything about her has returned to normal. Her black hair, her leather gown trimmed in raven feathers.

She doesn't try to get up, just laying in place while orientating herself after the very quick planar shift.



One moment, Yukina is standing, watching supplies being loaded up. Stance alert but bored. Her attention wandering between the wagons and the workers. The next, she drops to her knees and a scream rips from her throat. The Blessed clutches her head and draw in her wings as Kanimir's magic is just gone. Like she's being gutted. Having something forcefully removed and she doesn't know how to stop the bleeding. Unprepared for it.

Those immediately around her shout in surprise and move away. Some draw old knives, looking around for trouble. The animals spook, causing handlers to fight to keep them from breaking free.

@HeartOfFlame