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

[HeartOfFlame]

She pulls him into her arms, an embrace of sorts, and he isn't prepared for how comforting it feels. He melts into it, eyes falling shut as his body shudders, the feel of contact, touch with another living being, almost overwhelming. The next moment, they are falling. His eyes snap open as the anticipation of a collision with the ground makes him tense, and then there is fire.

He can't breathe. There's fire and pain and when he thought there could be nothing worse than the Blessed wrath he was wrong. Where that had been his bones slowly breaking one by one this is instant. Every vein, muscle and bone in his body feels like it's disintegrating in one single moment, a moment that draws on and on and he can't breathe. He's aware of screaming like one is aware of the sun rising and setting; a fact that he cannot change. He doesn't even feel the tearing of his throat, the warmth of tears on his cheeks as it burns and burns and burns. He doesn't feel the impact of hitting the floor, lost in that constant, raging inferno that is somehow even worse than the white, mindless pain of the Blessed. He's sobbing and shaking, too breathless to even cry out anymore, and the touch of arms around him, a body beneath him, is barely even felt.

A little of the pain fades, enough for him to regain a small portion of thought and coherency, enough for him to shatter one last time. He coughs on the taste of blood in his mouth, gasping and heaving for breath he can't seem to keep. He's apologising before he can even think about it, begging, pleading cries that escape in mere whispers, all he can manage, and intermingled with the title of Blessed.



In an instant, chaos explodes through the warehouse. The winged one screams, high pitched and agonised, and Kyto draws his sword in the same moment he realises it's a woman. He's not the only one to go for his blade, though he is the quickest to get it free, and they all exchange a variety of gazes, wary and guarded, both. These are a people accustomed to being swindled and attacked, and the fact their first instinct is to go for their weapons is a testament to that. Kyto does his best not to aggravate them, though he will not hesitate to cut them down should they decide he is the enemy, and turns to approach the winged woman instead.

He has little idea what caused her sudden collapse, but he has a funny feeling Fiachna is involved.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna's embrace tightens when she feels her son shaking and sobbing. Holding him close while she awkwardly manuvers herself to stand. His weight isn't the issue so much as their positioning. She doesn't let him go, just holds him. "Alright, alright. Now... to get out." That was likely going to be the difficult part.

When he coughs and starts apologizing, begging... So much, Fiachna lets out a soft sigh. Such a mess. The angel doesn't bother adjusting her appearance. The cloak she'd previously put on the door to grant them privacy had disintegrated into feathers when she'd planar shifted with him. Fiachna knew there was commotion out in the warehouse – not just because she could hear it, but she knew because the one connected to him was probably having a rough time too.

When she walks out of the small sitting room, Fiachna immediately draws attention. It's hard not to with her large black wings. More weapons are drawn and, while there might've been confusion regarding what to do about the Blessed, there isn't concerning her. Fiachna's immediately identified as an enemy and her way out is blocked. "Kyto!" The angel can do a lot of things, but fighting...? A bit out of her wheelhouse. Her voice carries easily, though.



The pain is momentarily blinding. She can't think, can't process, beyond how searing it is. Like a fire that spreads through her mind and down her spine. It's debilitating, making it difficult to breathe, to process anything.

The men around her know Yukina isn't a danger, an enemy. They've worked with the Blessed, they've traded before, and she's the one on the ground in pain. Kyto, however, is a stranger and he's drawn his weapon too. So it is him that most turn their attention to and one man asks, "Who are you? What are you doing here?" while another shouts, "Drop your sword!"

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Kanimir lets her lead him, aware of her arms still around him, of his legs moving to stumble alongside her, but still in too much pain to do much to resist. Not that he would anyway, not now. His rambling apologies fade out, his chest hitching with the need for air, the fact that he's upright suddenly crashing down on his body and stealing his equilibrium away. He nearly crumples, the woman's arms still firmly around him the only thing keeping him upright, and the shouting, angry words of the men and women around them come to him faded, like whispers.

He hears the woman speak, a vibration through her chest more than the actual words themselves, and almost in the same moment, a soft, tingling warmth spreads through his veins. It's familiar and welcoming and covers him like a blanket. The pain is still there, throbbing and burning and ripping his flesh apart, but there is comfort. He knows this feeling, knows his power, and it's a sudden, subconscious realisation this this is his again. He gets his feet under him, opens his eyes to a close up of raven feathers and skin, and slowly turns. Steel catches in his still hazy vision, a dozen weapons drawn and ready for blood. He doesn't know why, doesn't care to know, all he's aware of is that they are in his way, blocking the path to freedom, and threatening the woman who cut his chains. There is power in his veins once again.

Sparks dance around his fingertips, hot and iridescent, fragmenting and splitting into crystalline shards that never seem to still.



Kyto takes a step back, lifting one hand in a placating gesture. He has no qualms about them attacking him, but he's not exactly dying for a pointless fight either. He breathes out slowly, a soft sound that is almost a sigh. "You don't want to fight me." He says simply, voice low and calm, blade still gripped firmly in hand. They take no heed, edging closer, almost moving around the winged woman, as if to protect her from him. It's almost amusing that they think they can even try.

There's a sudden commotion behind him, the shrill sound of more blades being drawn, shouting and confusion. He knows it's Fiachna before he even turns around. Her voice is still clear as a bell, even through the ruckus, and he rolls his eyes in a way that is both weary and resigned before moving off. A few try to get in his way, keep him from coming to her aid. He cuts them down like the fools they are, and before the first body hits the floor, absolute chaos unfolds. Where before there had been doubt,t confusion, now there is only a certainty. He is their enemy, however they want to perceive the reasonings, and he has just started a war.

He spins his sword in a flourish, catching sight of Fiachna up ahead, blanching slightly when he sees the wings attached to her back. Were it not for the obvious differences, the pitch black, ashen colour of hers, the ragged look to them, he might almost have mistaken her for the same breed as the woman still kneeling in pain at the other end of the warehouse. This...this is her true self, then. He shakes his head, focusing himself as a hopeful fool swings at him from the left. Kyto ducks under it and opens his chest with a single strike.

At the very least, their attention is on him now.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

There are a couple of test lunges her way, that she side steps and buffets away with a wing. One sword actually pierces through the black feathers, coming away red, but she doesn't pay it too much mind. She's been stabbed before. Besides, they suddenly have someone who is quite armed heading straight for them, and certainly knows how to fight.

When Kanimir seems to be coming to, she murmurs softly, "No magic now, love. It'd be a shame for you to be taken prisoner again." Fiachna doesn't know the specifications of how he was caught, only that the one who had caught him is still there. Somewhere.

Best to just get away.

Getting past those in the warehouse wasn't too difficult, now that they had Kyto to fight. Fiachna clearly wasn't presenting as a danger, so much as a stranger. So the one who was left to 'guard her' and keep her in place was really confused when he was certain he'd heard someone else call for him. Fiachna throwing sound to distract him enough to disarm and impale him with his own blade.

Without dropping Kanimir. My but he was heavier now than when he was a babe.

Before she leaves the wide opening of the warehouse, her form shifts. Her clothes change to that of those who live in the town – brown leather and faded cloth, her hair looks a bit shaggier, and her wings are gone. When she walks out with an arm under Kanimir, it looks like she's helping someone injured leave. With people rushing toward the commotion, they don't pay her too much mind.

All the better.

She's able to start off, away from the trade-waystation, and idly hopes that Kyto doesn't have to kill all of them to get out.



Awareness hits her hard. The knowledge of what's happened... While the rest of the world sounds muffled and far away, her heartbeat hammers in her ears. He's gone. Dead? She doesn't know. It's the only thing that makes sense. How else...

Yukina stands, a little unsteady on her feet, using her wings for balance, and tries to make sense of what she's seeing. A fight? Was the warehouse being attacked? She runs a gloved hand over her face, trying to shake off the disorientation, while reaching for one of her swords.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

He realises the folly of his actions a moment before his magic rents the air, the woman's voice following a second after that, and the realisation of what he had almost done, how swiftly he had almost thrown himself back into the Blessed's control, is enough to steal the the strength from him once again. He sags into his rescuer, too tired and in too much pain to even try and fight her as she turns and moves him in a direction his vision is too unreliable to properly identify. His power is still there, throbbing and thrumming beneath the surface, soothing away a little of the burning pain in his veins with it's own pleasant warmth. It's steady and grounding and undeniably his.

He's aware of the moment they step outside, boots sinking into the trampled snow, bodies rushing past them on both sides as the people of the way station rush to the commotion Kanimir is too hazy to have caught more than a glimpse of. His main focus now is just getting away, getting away from the Blessed and the torment she represents. It all feels surreal, like he will wake up any moment back in that cold, careless camp, collared and leashed and unable to defend himself from even a verbal beating. He clings tighter to the woman helping him, aware he should be wary of her, of why she is saving him at all, but at the same time too grateful to care.

He's free, his magic is his own again, and each shaking step puts more and more distance between him and the Blessed. For now, that is enough.



Unlike some, Kyto is aware of every moment of battle. He doesn't lose himself to the adrenaline of the fight, the rush of blood in his ears as he ducks and weaves sloppy strikes and halfhearted feints. This isn't a thrill for him, a test of warrior on warrior. These people hardly even qualify as thugs in his mind, and he cuts them down with cold, ruthless efficiency. There's no joy in it, no satisfaction, just a bothersome errand that must be completed for his own convenience.

Fiachna slips out sometime during the fight, and it's a stretch to even call it that, really. He huffs a growl at the realisation, spinning to parry an awkward attack by a man with no more than thirty winters under his belt and driving a boot through his knee. He crumples, like all those before him, and his scream is long and haunting. Kyto sniffs, turning to face those who are left. The mad rush has faded, the rush of blood in them draining away as they realise they are outclassed by far. He swings his sword once, red glistening on it's chipped surface, and raises his head back.

"You do not want to fight me." He repeats, calm, unruffled by the dozen or more men and women he just put to the ground. Most of them will survive, if they don't bleed out before a doctor can get to them. He saw no point in taking their lives, though the idea had seemed vaguely tempting when they refused to see that they held no chance and might as well back off for their own sakes. The remaining few hesitate, eyes wide and fearful, as they should be. Kyto takes a solid step forward and they flinch, backtracking away from them. He just nods, turns towards the open doors at the end of the warehouse. He needs to find Fiachna, see if she found the boy and, if so, prevent her from just absconding with him before he has a chance to stop her.

Something white and shimmering catches in the corner of his eye, and he turns his head towards the winged woman, now back on her feet. He doesn't slow his pace towards the exit, just watches her carefully from the edge of his vision. She is an unknown, here, but if she intends to pick a fight with him, he would much prefer to take the battleground outside, away from these other idiots who may try to assist her; get in his way.

@SanctifiedSavage 

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna doesn't believe she's going to actually slip away from Kyto for long. He'll likely track them down, but she makes some progress away from the trade-waystation and the mess. Cutting through a cluster of trees. Carrying Kanimir where needed. She decides to stop only after the sporadic trees around them are quiet save for the chittering of birds. By now, the sun has started to dip into evening.

She finds a fallen log for him to sit on and produces a thick cloak to wrap around his shoulders. It's the dark furred and feathered one from before. "Let's see about getting you a fire, hm?" she says, mostly to herself. While looking through the snowy underbrush, she sheds the form and resumes her base. Barefoot, leather dress, and black wings. The occasional droplets of blood tail her wake where her wing had been stabbed, but she mostly ignores it. Having her wings out will allow it to heal.

It doesn't take Fiachna long to make a small fire near Kanimir, where she crouches on the other side of it and warms her hands. Partially shielding its light with her wings and giving him some space. "If you need to sleep, it is safe to do so. I'll keep watch," she says, softly, while watching him.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Kanimir fades in and out of consciousness like a leaf on the breeze. He's aware of strong arms around him every time he stumbles back towards lucidity, the crunching sound of snow beneath his boots, the quiet chatter of birds and other woodland creatures. His head lolls against the shoulder of whoever it is helping him, all but carrying him. The woman. He can't remember if she ever told him her name, just knows that she helped him, is helping him. He's so tired...

In what seems like the very next moment, he's being lowered down to a log, something warm and fluffy draped over him. He clutches it instinctively, realising that he's shivering somewhat belatedly. The pain has faded to a quiet afterthought, leaving him with only the aches and pains of the torment from the last few days. It seems like longer than that, like this hell has been going on for an eternity, like he's aged at least a decade, but he knows, rationally, that it can't have been more than a week since that night at the tavern. Everything's changed.

Warmth flickers at the edge of his senses and he blinks his vision back into focus, turning his head to see a small fire crackling merrily, the woman crouched beside it. It takes a moment, but his eyes focus enough for him to catch sight of her wings, large and prominent and he swallows, uncertain. Nervous. He shuffles back a little, barely resisting the urge to curl his knees into his chest, make himself as small as possible. He coughs slightly, tastes the iron-y taint of blood in his mouth where he'd bitten his cheek some time earlier.

"Who are you?" He asks softly, wrapping his arms around his chest and hunching down into the cloak she had provided. "Why...why help me?"

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

She continues to flick her attention between the fire and her son, occasionally adding more sticks and twigs she had gathered. It isn't a large fire, but serviceable. Especially since she doesn't want to draw unwanted attention.

Kyto finding them is inevitable. She can do something about other people.

When he does come to, and remain aware, Fiachna doesn't move. She keeps her place across the fire from him. His question tugs a smile at the corner of her mouth. "I suppose you would be too young to remember how I look, let alone how I sound. I had thought the black feathers would jog your memory, if nothing else." She stretches her injured wing, frowning at the stiffness, but continues, "I have tried not to involve myself too much in your life, but you seemed to need a hand." Not exactly answering his question.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

He frowns at that, shifting a little to examine the cloak draped over him, becoming aware of the scent that clings to it. She does seem familiar, something I the back of his mind sparking brighter every time she speaks, every time his vision cooperates enough for him to look at her properly. It's why he chose to trust her in the first place, back in that warehouse, despite everything in him screaming 'trap trap trap'. Something flickers in his memory as he looks down at the dark feathers, a brief flash and then it's gone, and he shakes his head, lifting his gaze back to her.

She doesn't look that much older than him, though he's well aware appearances can be more than deceiving, and the wings on her back are as sure a sign as any that she isn't human. His frown deepens a little, lips pressing together as he gives in to the urge and pulls his feet up onto the log, hugging his knees to his chest.

"What does that mean?" He presses, voice hitching a notch. It feels like she's leading him on, evading the question, just like it feels as though he should know her, like his memory is filled with puzzle pieces he just needs to spot together. But, his brain is like soup, thoughts slow and muggy in his state of exhaustion, and the way that makes the pieces slip through his fingers is...irritating. "Who are you?"

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna watches him struggle to remember, and it is bittersweet. She smiles more so and tends the fire, letting his questions linger in the air between them. Accompanied only by the popping of firewood. When she seems satisfied with the fire, she brushes her hands off on her gown. "You should rest, love. I suspect you won't have much of an opportunity to do so later." It is spoken with insistent affection, but not a command. Rather, she then turns and gives a soft wing beat to claim a seat in a lower branch. Still quite visible, but giving her a view of their immediate area too. When he shows up she doesn't want to be surprised. Fiachna leaves her injured wing flared so it will continue to heal.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

She doesn't give him an answer, and he's too exhausted to push. He sighs softly, leaning his head on his knees and just basking in the warmth of the fire for a moment, taking comfort from the steady feeling of power curling through his core and the faint sense of homeliness that seems to come from the cloak draped over his shoulders. He knows the position he's taken will most probably be regretted in the morning, when his spine is aching and spiteful, but for now he's comfortable and warm and...well, he doesn't feel safe. He hasn't, and probably won't, for a while. But it's...something almost the same. He knows there's someone keeping an eye out for him. It's enough for him to begin to drift.

Time plods on. The sun settles below the horizon, taking the last of the day's warmth and light with it, and soon enough to crackling fire is the only illumination in their little campsite. The forest is silent, save for the occasional hoot of an owl or other nocturnal creature, and that silence makes the sudden presence of noise that much louder.

Kanimir isn't sure what wakes him, specifically, only that it does so suddenly. He comes back to himself with a bodily, jerking, motion, almost falling from his precarious perch on the log as his head snaps up and vision struggles to focus. The forest is completely dark around them, the light of the fire casting odd shadows amidst the trees, and his pulse thunders in his ears, aware something woke him, but with no actual idea what.

A crunching sound, sharp and out of place in the silence. He turns towards it, sparks flickering between his fingers before he even thinks about it, eyes blown wide, afraid and acting almost entirely on animalistic sort of instinct. A light bobs between the trees, a sight that makes some small part of his brain realise that this threat is most likely human, though that knowledge is hardly comforting. In some ways, a monster of the forest would be better. His breath is tight and rapid as he waits, eyes flitting from tree to tree, trying to find that source of light amidst the darkness again, tense muscles spasming every time a slow, crunching footstep meets his ears.

He shouldn't be afraid, should be facing this with confidence and power at his fingertips ready to destroy whatever walks through that tree line, but the sparks at his hand are fleeting and weak, barely casting light, and the only thing he feels is cold, suffocating fear.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Sleep isn't necessary for the angel. She reclines on the tree branch, back to the trunk, and enjoys the sights of the wintry forest. One leg dangles, the other is drawn up. The ache in her wing eventually subsides.

It takes him longer than she thought it would. Traveling by ground was always tiresome. The angel tracks the steadily approaching glow, unconcerned, until a sound from below catches her attention. Kanimir is awake, having heard, and apparently hadn't received the information well. Fiachna rolls to the side, dropping down, and losing her wings as she does so.

No reason to stand out so much amongst those that don't have them.

When she lands, she's wearing the same black dress they'd initially met in. Nice, dark fabric that catches the firelight like an oil slick. Dark, straight black hair falls to her waist. She makes a placating gesture to Kanimir with both hands, now gloved to the elbow in soft fabric. "Calm down, love. There's no reason to panic. I won't let anything bad happen to you tonight." It's the most the angel can promise.

She takes a couple of steps in his direction, but turns to face the approaching light. Putting herself between Kanimir and Kyto. Fiachna crosses her arms and smiles just a little. "Took you long enough."

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

The woman lands behind him with an almost inaudible crunch of snow, and he flinches, head turning to look at her and finding her appearance changed once again, though her face remains the same. She makes a calming gesture with her hands, but her voice is the thing that soothes his frazzled nerves more. It's strange, to have someone offering to protect him. He should snort and brush off the attempt, but it's far more comforting than it has any right to be, and a little of his panic ebbs as she places herself in front of him, a bodily shield.

The weak sparks die down, though his hands remain clenched, nails digging into his palms. The woman calls out, as if she knows who is approaching, and he has just enough time to shoot a confused look in her direction before a voice, a voice that is far too familiar and carries too many memories with it, rumbles back and a sharp, burning gasp escapes him.

"No."



"Am I to believe you were actually worried, Fiachna?" Kyto's voice is weary as he responds, as much so as the muscles in his lower legs. Snow and forest, a terrible combination, really. Following Fiachna's tracks would have been easy, she's never been the most stealthy of creatures, had he had another hour of daylight and a better torch. Nevertheless, he has found her now, and he steps into the light of her small fire with a tired sigh. She looks the same as ever, and he denies the quiet worry that dies when he sees she is unharmed. A soft sound behind her catches his attention before she can make whatever sly quip he's sure is brewing on her tongue, and his gaze shifts to the side only for a feeling like rocks on his chest to settle over him.

It's been two decades, but he still recognises his son in an instant. He shouldn't, not with how he has changed. His hair has been cropped short, ragged and uneven, shorter than it ever was even as a child. He looks gaunt, all bones and thin, pale skin, dark bruising ringing both eyes, eyes which are blown wide and...terrified. Kyto swallows the uncomfortable feeling in his throat, suddenly frozen on the spot. Kanimir's eyes are locked on him, one hand raised defensively before his chest, the other seeking a point of contact on his mother's arm. Kyto should be irritated by that, annoyed that Fiachna has gotten under his skin already, but the being before him is not a monster, not a killer, but a frightened, hurting child. His child, and all he can feel is a deep, painful wound in his chest that he had thought long healed.

"Kanimir." He murmurs, unable to formulate more than that around the lump in his throat and the overwhelming feeling of guilt that washes over him as the boy flinches, ducking his head to the side as if to hide behind a curtain of hair, only to realise that refuge is gone. Kyto remembers that movement, remembers a younger boy, half the height and twice as freighted, hunching himself into a corner and tilting his head to use his hair as a shield against a father too slighted and bitter to realise that boy was his son, his flesh and blood. Kyto doesn't care that Fiachna is watching, suddenly, doesn't care what she thinks or says in response to his actions.

He crouches slowly, lowers his torch to the ground, before reaching for his belt and unbuckling his scabbard, laying that down in the snow as well. He can feel Kanimir's eyes on him, even as the boy does a fairly good job of placing Fiachna between them, his sharp, rapid breaths the only sound in the sudden heavy silence that surrounds them. Kyto raises his hands in a gesture of peace, to show he holds no weapons. It's a small gesture, one he knows may be ineffectual. He knows the depth of the scars he caused, even as a smaller voice in his head argues that they were justified.

"I'm not going to hurt you, son."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

It hadn't occurred to her she should be worried, and it amuses her he says as much. Though he does look tired. Wings. The man needed to learn how to fly.

The sound that escapes her son, though, catches her by surprise. She glances over her shoulder, watching him a moment, before turning her attention back to Kyto. Her dark blue eyes track his movements, watch him disarm himself, and lower the sword to the snow. "He might not remember me, but it seems the memories he has of you are not fond ones." Her voice is soft and there's an odd sadness to it.

One of her arms gingerly wraps around Kanimir's shoulders and holds him close, guiding him out from behind her and into the shelter of her embrace. Fiachna lightly kisses the top of his head while watching Kyto. "I already told you I'd keep you safe tonight. You'll be ok..." she murmurs against his skin before idly messing with his ragged hair with her free hand. Fretting over him absently.

"It's been a long day. We should all relax, hm? My love, you mind fetching some more wood for the fire? Now that you're here, there's no reason to keep it so small." Her voice is light and sweet in the tense silence. Give him some space, was what she was really saying, though a larger fire would be welcomed.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Kanimir feels like his lungs might burst. He can barely see, blinded by the hot, blurry tears stinging his eyes, the way that that blurred vision sways as the lack of air gets to him. The woman - Fiachna, his fa-Kyto had called her - wraps an arm around him, pulling him into her arms. He's shaking again, finite tremors that race through him and make him feel like that helpless, defenceless child again. Kyto can't be here, he can't. He's dead, Kanimir saw him die, saw enough of his blood painting that dirty village street to know that he is dead and gone, two decades past. Yet, he can't deny what he sees, what he's hearing.

He wants this all to be a dream, a twisted, garish nightmare that he will awaken from any moment, gasping and cold but himself. His head hurts and there is a horrible warmth behind his eyes and he just wants it all to stop. He turns his face into Fiachna's shoulder, focuses on his breathing, on something he can at least try and control. Each breath he takes is sharp and ragged, whistling through him fruitlessly, and he grinds his teeth together, nostrils flaring as he tries to wrestle back some semblance of power over himself, something he can lay claim to and identify as his. Fiachna's voice washes over him, sweet and crystalline, but the words unintelligible, and he settles in the knowledge that she is still there, still defending him.

He still can't say why, say what possible reason he has for trusting her the way he does, but her presence is comforting and enough to make him feel safe in a way he never has. He can ignore Kyto, pretend he isn't there, pretend he isn't standing a mere ten feet away when he's supposed to be six feet under twenty years gone, and just focus on the feeling of a hand ruffling through his hair and the effort of controlling his uneven, rasping breaths.



Kyto watches his son melt into Fiachna's side and can't deny the cold feeling of shame that curls through his gut. There's anger there, too, even though the tone of her voice had almost resembled an emotion alike to sadness, there is accusation there too, slight and fleeting, but ever present. His eyes narrow, taking in the way she holds the boy against her, murmuring quiet reassurances into his hair. Making him hers. How swiftly he seems to have come to trust her hurts, in a way, but in another, he's well aware that the distrust, the fear in his boy's eyes, is not without cause. Far from it. He can blame Fiachna, can pour his bitter anger and hatred on her for leaving, for ruining him, but the guilt and pain and the gaping canyon of regret in his heart for what he did is ultimately his own to carry.

She broke his heart, but he was the one who laid that pain on his son rather than carrying it on his own shoulders.

He sighs softly, glancing towards the dwindling flames at her back and nodding in a resigned sort of way. He isn't going to achieve anything but upsetting the boy more if he stays, so he reaches for his scabbard and straps it back on before collecting his dying torch and moving back. He hesitates, glancing between Fiachna and the boy, taking in how frail he seems. He's shaking. The idea of finding some distance, some space to reassess his entire purpose for being here, sounds impossibly inviting and he turns away almost silently. Fiachna had waited for him, for whatever reason, he has to just assume she will stay there again.

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna smiles at Kyto when he looks their way. It's a self-satisfied smile. She'd always be Kanimir's mother, after all, and even if he didn't really remember her, he seemed to remember something about her. Only once Kyto vanishes off into the darkness, to collect firewood, does she gently guide Kanimir into sitting. Still holding him and lightly combing through his ragged hair. Fiachna makes soft, cooing sounds in an attempt to get him to calm. "You're safe, it's fine." Her voice is soft and soothing.

Obviously something had happened to him. She doesn't know, because she has no idea the sort of person who had taken his magic, but it still... bothers her... to see something of hers so shattered. "Ah, love..." she murmurs. As much as Fiachna hadn't wanted to get too involved, she can feel that isn't going to be the case this time. Not with Kyto here. Not with her son broken.

What a family reunion indeed. The mess of it all does entertain her in a broad sense. Only her family could come together in such a catastrophic way. What Kyto is going to do, now, she's unsure but her only out was used saving Kanimir. So unless she'd wanted to fly off with her son, and have Kyto hunting them, it was best to just... deal with it.

Besides, she didn't want to let her husband go so soon.

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Her voice is grounding, the hand in his hair, the touch of another being against him, moreso. He manages to slow his rapid breaths t something more manageable, enough for the air to actually stay in his lungs long enough to be worthwhile. He's clinging, one hand fisted into the fur and feathers around her shoulders, and as much as he knows he should be better, the comfort of having someone who at least seems to care is strange and new and almost as overwhelming as everything else. He leans into her, feels his horns pressing into her shoulder, solid and firm. He realises, belatedly, that they're sitting in the snow, cold and damp leeching through the fabric of his pants.

He swallows, runs his tongue over the back of his teeth, tries to figure out how to speak around the panic still clawing at his chest, angry and afraid. It takes a concentrated effort, but he manages to form words. "I'm s-sorry..." He murmurs first, that instinct ground in deep,"H-how...Kyto, he s-sh-should be dead. I watched-I saw him for."

He leans back, face an open book, as it has ever been, while damp eyes search her face, looking for answers, knowledge, anything that might resemble a rope for this precarious cliff he finds himself on. He's shivering again, cold seeping into him from the snow and the wind over the damp, cold sweat on his skin, both, but he doesn't care. He needs to know, needs to know he's not hallucinating, delirious, dreaming. That this, all of this, is real and present and something he wants nothing of but at least it's a reality where the Blessed's hold over him is gone.

The Blessed. Keithia.

He forgets how to breathe for a solid moment, face falling expressionless, before horror fills his eyes. He feels sick, a deep, churning hand of ice and daggers settling through his chest and squeezing. He struggles upwards, breaks from Fiachna's hold and stumbles a few steps towards the fire. His hands twist in his hair, one wrapping around a dirtied horn for nothing but the physical sensation of vague pain the tugging motion provides.

"Keithia." He whispers, pacing back and forth, breaths sharp, making a soft, distressed sound with every exhale. He has no idea where they are, how long it's been since the Blessed took him away from her. He doesn't even know what happened to the woman after their connection was broken, hopes sincerely she is dead. Gods, how could he forget about Keithia? He'd promised her, given his word he'd get them both out.

"I n-need to go back." He rushes, pausing in his tracks, gaze flitting up haltingly. "I need to go back. I need to go b-back for her."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

The cold and the snow, while uncomfortable, doesn't bother Fiachna beyond that. She'd wanted someplace nice to stay for the night, but until they could travel a bit farther, that wasn't going to happen either. Her ability to change things was likewise severely limited.

When he mentions that Kyto should be dead, though, she looks at him. Curious. He looks so young to her. Grown, certainly, but there's something broken and desperate about him now.

The horror that flits across his face makes her tense and look around, thinking there might be danger. Then he struggles away from her. What he then says doesn't make any sense to her.

"Go back?" She doesn't even hide how incredulous that sounds. "Love, I was only able to save you... this once. I will not be able to do so again. Going back is a terrible idea, no matter the reason." Fiachna stands, frowning more so. "I know the sight of your father must be... scary... but we'll figure something out. Leaving now isn't the answer."

@HeartOfFlame

[HeartOfFlame]

Kanimir shakes his head, even as she speaks, arms wrapping around his torso as his gaze continues to rake over the dark, shapeless forest around them, searching for anything that might give him a clue as to direction, how far they've come.

"You d-dont, I can't. I can't leave her there, no m-matter the danger to me." He shakes his head, vehemently, this time, and tries not to feel lightheaded by it. "I promised her." He doesn't expect her to understand, how can she when he doesn't even know her - though the knowledge that she might know him is mutedly present in the back of his mind. He doesn't know what the Blessed, the other one, the one he hadn't seen, might do to Keithia, but he knows that none of it will be anything she deserves.

"I don't c-care about Kyto." He says, and for the moment, that is true. He's too focused to care about his father, though the panic and fear and memories are still ever present in the back of his mind, stirred to life by the sight of a man who should be dead and rotting. He turns and reaches with shaking fingers for the cloak Fiachna had given him earlier, thrown off in his rapid movement to standing, and pulls it back around his shoulders, shivering. He knows, rationally, that there is probably nothing he can do to help her, that walking back into that camp is alike to signing his own death warrant, or worse. But, he can't think about that now, he made a promise, and he's godsdamned going to keep it.

"I need to save Keithia, before they break her too."

@SanctifiedSavage

[SanctifiedSavage]

Fiachna watches Kanimir in his... panic. That's really all she can say to describe it. A frown touches her expression and she stands when he grabs at the cloak she'd given him. Fiachna could, beyond a doubt, stop him from going. More than that, though, the angel is curious who this person is that her son is attached to.

He'd been alone last she'd checked in on him. Or as alone as he was in that house of his.

Seeing him stand there, shivering, though prompts her to stand and gingerly pull him into another loose embrace. Trying to help him warm up. "Ok, ok. I'll talk to your father when he gets back and we'll... see about getting this person back." If it comes to any sort of fight, she'd need him. "Tell me about this... Keithia? Who is she? What does she look like? Why is she important?" They were questions out of curiosity, not asking him to justify why she might need saved.

@HeartOfFlame