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All Good Things - Asher - 01-02-2024
Fortune must have been smiling upon him, this morning—little else would explain why he had managed to rediscover the doe’s trail so far from his shack, where most creatures dared not to tread, save for the occasional rabbit or squirrel. He’d thought that he had lost it for good, and cursed himself for being too slow to react to its presence, but here it was, well within his reach, promising him a hearty meal that would last him days.
As if spurring him on, his stomach growled at him. Roach waited for it to quiet down, not wanting it to give him away; then he resumed his hunt, focusing his heightened senses on the lingering scents in the air and what tracks had been left in the snow. It didn’t seem at all distressed, which meant that it likely hadn’t noticed that it was being followed, yet; that was good, affording him the element of surprise that he sorely needed, if he was to bring the creature down by himself. And perhaps it was stubborn of him, but he’d resolved to do it as he did many things—without relying on his accursed blood. A blade could be just as deadly as claws and fangs, when wielded properly.
Sometime later, he came upon his prey in a small clearing, where it stood and grazed with its back to him, wholly unaware of his presence. Watching it from behind the trunk of a tree, Roach thought about how best to go about attacking it—he had his dagger, but to get to its throat and kill it quickly, he’d have to abandon his current position, which would put him at risk of getting caught and it escaping. Did he have the energy to track it down again? Maybe it wouldn’t hurt to use some of that inhuman strength to wrestle it to the ground… so long as he didn’t get too carried away, he’d be fine, right?
It wasn’t until his eyes strayed from the doe that he realized that he wasn’t, in fact, alone. There was another creature half-hidden amongst the trees, and he found it hard to discern what exactly they were. Another hunter, perhaps? They seemed focused on the doe, and Roach frowned, wondering if they intended to make a meal of it, as well. Had they found it before him? He didn’t want to step on any toes, but he also wasn’t keen on the idea of returning home, empty-handed.
Ah. So much for Fortune. He should have known that he would lose her favor, sooner or later.
Unsure of what to do, Roach decided to simply wait and see what happened. That seemed the safest, smartest course of action for now… well, inaction.
RE: All Good Things - Leslie - 01-04-2024
Scarred flesh strained beneath binds of leather, even now he could feel the tension upon skin itself with each motion where the touch of magic and herbs had not been consistent enough to steal away the severity of her Majesty’s breath. The fallen draconian gone but hardly forgotten with all which had lain marred. At least it was sealed now, the fragmentation of bone no longer sent a bolt of agony with each step. No longer did anything hold risk of festering nor require a near constant shift of bandages to cloak searing mark of fang and flames.
Absentmindedly, metallic talons rose to trace what could not be seen yet was known to be there as if to soothe the lingering ache. Guilt still heavy upon his heart over the proclaimed Wendreda’s demise - her name glimpsed upon fluttering pages - but one good had come of it. Sights flickering toward the growling chirp of a hatchling. The scaled beast always pining, constantly beckoning for his focus in displays the crow had grown used to heeding over the passing moons.
Crown tilted, wild locks shifting as silent question laced a petal gaze yet before lyrics can rise in question Cricket turns away upon the flutter of wings. Just where did that one think they were going? There was no hesitance to chase after the draconic, unwilling to lose track of one so cherished; perhaps they had caught wind of some prey beast before he had. Senses were far stronger than his own after all, they stretched so much further over the lands. And as luck would have it another far quieter chitter ushered him in, boots scrapping to tree bark as Leslie perched within its canopies.
Peering through foliage, ever careful not to bring branches to creak. There. There amidst the clearing a decently sized doe, meat on her bones, no fawn trailing at her side nor those features searching for one; a mark that could be taken. Metal clicked lightly to an arrow’s shaft before it lay twined with the arch of a bow. However, rustling upon the grounds below brought him to falter, stall in case the deer had beheld the very same noise as he did. Thankfully the elegance of her crown merely raised to peer into her surroundings with the subtle twitch of an ear.
Not fearful enough to run just yet though there lingered no doubts that this unknown could so easily scare off foreseen prey. But a flicker of his gaze offered to the pale haired stranger before rapidly it returned to a shared desire. Aim carefully taken in hopes to send it straight through the heart, take it down in one so that it felt no pain. Quiet it without unnecessary struggle. Without a word crafted arrow flew with another swiftly knocked in its place yet this one held a different mark. Threat one would never follow through with as it lay pointed toward an assumed scavenger or worse competition for a meal.
Lyrics twisting beneath a beaked mask, “Wer tekir ui sini maulk, ehtah dout kurjh.” While none had found understanding in such tones in this realm they still echoed from his lips. If nothing else the possibility of barbed steel embedding into flesh would send his message well enough. And yet, he could not be certain that this one had not discovered the doe before him. Maybe, just maybe, it could be shared but the threat of not knowing - the fears harbored beneath the surface - bid him to keep aim as Cricket dropped from the branches to prance toward a fallen mark.
Only to halt upon the click of a tongue, askance for the babe to halt, “Tir ti xtirl coi Cricket. Paciscorh mrith bveckoilt irral.” Gesture of a crown directing the beast’s gaze toward the partially hidden man only for a pitched delighted trill to echo within Cricket’s throat as if discovering a lost friend. A path shifting yet never drawing close enough to touch the unknown for the beast could feel the tension radiating from a bonded soul. However, youth left them blinded to fear. “Svaust re wux?” Askance falling upon dual tongues though with a short click Leslie reluctantly grasped for understanding over this land’s perceived language, “Who you? What doing here?”
Absentmindedly, metallic talons rose to trace what could not be seen yet was known to be there as if to soothe the lingering ache. Guilt still heavy upon his heart over the proclaimed Wendreda’s demise - her name glimpsed upon fluttering pages - but one good had come of it. Sights flickering toward the growling chirp of a hatchling. The scaled beast always pining, constantly beckoning for his focus in displays the crow had grown used to heeding over the passing moons.
Crown tilted, wild locks shifting as silent question laced a petal gaze yet before lyrics can rise in question Cricket turns away upon the flutter of wings. Just where did that one think they were going? There was no hesitance to chase after the draconic, unwilling to lose track of one so cherished; perhaps they had caught wind of some prey beast before he had. Senses were far stronger than his own after all, they stretched so much further over the lands. And as luck would have it another far quieter chitter ushered him in, boots scrapping to tree bark as Leslie perched within its canopies.
Peering through foliage, ever careful not to bring branches to creak. There. There amidst the clearing a decently sized doe, meat on her bones, no fawn trailing at her side nor those features searching for one; a mark that could be taken. Metal clicked lightly to an arrow’s shaft before it lay twined with the arch of a bow. However, rustling upon the grounds below brought him to falter, stall in case the deer had beheld the very same noise as he did. Thankfully the elegance of her crown merely raised to peer into her surroundings with the subtle twitch of an ear.
Not fearful enough to run just yet though there lingered no doubts that this unknown could so easily scare off foreseen prey. But a flicker of his gaze offered to the pale haired stranger before rapidly it returned to a shared desire. Aim carefully taken in hopes to send it straight through the heart, take it down in one so that it felt no pain. Quiet it without unnecessary struggle. Without a word crafted arrow flew with another swiftly knocked in its place yet this one held a different mark. Threat one would never follow through with as it lay pointed toward an assumed scavenger or worse competition for a meal.
Lyrics twisting beneath a beaked mask, “Wer tekir ui sini maulk, ehtah dout kurjh.” While none had found understanding in such tones in this realm they still echoed from his lips. If nothing else the possibility of barbed steel embedding into flesh would send his message well enough. And yet, he could not be certain that this one had not discovered the doe before him. Maybe, just maybe, it could be shared but the threat of not knowing - the fears harbored beneath the surface - bid him to keep aim as Cricket dropped from the branches to prance toward a fallen mark.
Only to halt upon the click of a tongue, askance for the babe to halt, “Tir ti xtirl coi Cricket. Paciscorh mrith bveckoilt irral.” Gesture of a crown directing the beast’s gaze toward the partially hidden man only for a pitched delighted trill to echo within Cricket’s throat as if discovering a lost friend. A path shifting yet never drawing close enough to touch the unknown for the beast could feel the tension radiating from a bonded soul. However, youth left them blinded to fear. “Svaust re wux?” Askance falling upon dual tongues though with a short click Leslie reluctantly grasped for understanding over this land’s perceived language, “Who you? What doing here?”
RE: All Good Things - Asher - 01-05-2024
The stranger spared him the briefest glance, seeming to acknowledge his existence, before nocking an arrow in their bow and letting it fly. It hit the doe square in its chest, piercing its heart and killing it instantly. Roach watched it crumple to the ground with a muted cry, then looked up from its body and immediately tensed, finding another arrow aimed right at him. His instincts—those without which he never would have lived to see adulthood, much less eked out some semblance of a life for himself in these mountains—screamed for him to turn tail and run, but he fought them, all but physically restraining himself. After all, the stranger couldn’t be blamed for being wary of him; there weren’t many who chose the wilderness over the relative comforts of civilization, as he himself had come to learn with how rarely he crossed paths with others. It was better to be careful.
They spoke, then, and without moving their lips, though Roach was quick to realize that that was because of the mask they wore over their face. It made them harder to understand, muffling their voice as much as it did—not that removing it would be of any real help, as their language was unlike any that he’d heard, before. So, they were from some foreign land? That didn’t bode well for their rather tense meeting, and Roach wilted a bit, thoroughly disheartened. How was he ever to convince them that he meant them no harm, now…?
Suddenly, something fell from above them, as if it’d been hiding in the trees. Roach practically jumped, clinging a bit tighter to where he stood; unless he was seeing things, it looked to be an actual dragon, and it hurried toward the doe, stopping only when the stranger spoke to it. They were together, then? Where on earth had they found a dragon…?! Roach had only ever heard stories of them, told to him over crackling fires as travelers recounted their terrifying encounters, their eyes often wide with awe and fear. He’d been fortunate enough not to run into one himself, but, truth be told, he’d not been fully convinced that they were even real, until now. And this one seemed to be only a child, which brought to mind a few rather concerning questions, considering the whereabouts of its kin. That and he wasn’t quite sure whether to be afraid of it or not; it was small, yes, but he had seen the kinds of wounds that creatures roughly its size could leave on corpses he’d find half-buried in snow. There was no telling what it was capable of, and so he settled for a vague discomfort, eying it with no small amount of distrust.
When the stranger spoke again, Roach was caught off-guard. Their speech was choppy and heavily accented, but the words were recognizable, for once. “Who you? What doing here?” they asked, and he hesitated for a bit, unsure of how to answer them.
“I… uh,” Roach began, forcing himself to meet their gaze. “I live… here. W… w-well, no, not here here, I… ah…” And then he grimaced, hating how his voice fell away into a near-whisper. It had been a while since he had spoken to anyone. “In the mountains, I mean. N-not far from here. I was following that doe,” he explained, nodding toward the dead deer. Then he frowned and looked away from it and the stranger both. “You killed it, so… you can have it, if you want. I’ll find something else. I don’t want any trouble…”
words thoughts
They spoke, then, and without moving their lips, though Roach was quick to realize that that was because of the mask they wore over their face. It made them harder to understand, muffling their voice as much as it did—not that removing it would be of any real help, as their language was unlike any that he’d heard, before. So, they were from some foreign land? That didn’t bode well for their rather tense meeting, and Roach wilted a bit, thoroughly disheartened. How was he ever to convince them that he meant them no harm, now…?
Suddenly, something fell from above them, as if it’d been hiding in the trees. Roach practically jumped, clinging a bit tighter to where he stood; unless he was seeing things, it looked to be an actual dragon, and it hurried toward the doe, stopping only when the stranger spoke to it. They were together, then? Where on earth had they found a dragon…?! Roach had only ever heard stories of them, told to him over crackling fires as travelers recounted their terrifying encounters, their eyes often wide with awe and fear. He’d been fortunate enough not to run into one himself, but, truth be told, he’d not been fully convinced that they were even real, until now. And this one seemed to be only a child, which brought to mind a few rather concerning questions, considering the whereabouts of its kin. That and he wasn’t quite sure whether to be afraid of it or not; it was small, yes, but he had seen the kinds of wounds that creatures roughly its size could leave on corpses he’d find half-buried in snow. There was no telling what it was capable of, and so he settled for a vague discomfort, eying it with no small amount of distrust.
When the stranger spoke again, Roach was caught off-guard. Their speech was choppy and heavily accented, but the words were recognizable, for once. “Who you? What doing here?” they asked, and he hesitated for a bit, unsure of how to answer them.
“I… uh,” Roach began, forcing himself to meet their gaze. “I live… here. W… w-well, no, not here here, I… ah…” And then he grimaced, hating how his voice fell away into a near-whisper. It had been a while since he had spoken to anyone. “In the mountains, I mean. N-not far from here. I was following that doe,” he explained, nodding toward the dead deer. Then he frowned and looked away from it and the stranger both. “You killed it, so… you can have it, if you want. I’ll find something else. I don’t want any trouble…”
RE: All Good Things - Leslie - 01-07-2024
Suspicion and unease plagued every motion made. It echoed in the frantic beat pounding in his breast, it coursed thorugh his veins like a wildfire and brought pupils to dilate. A subdued fear still tinting the very gaze which peered down at this unknown. All while an arrow held steadfast upon his temporary target. One who froze in an instant and seemingly wilted beneath that silent promise of death. Good.
This one did not hold the savage heart of a Maekrix, if he did cowardice would not have been his initial reaction but rather threat of his own in the harshened snap of fangs or a blade swiftly driven against flesh. Instead he recoiled, cowered like one of the Fru - like him. Such displays coaxing the tension upon his bow to grow lax as weaponry’s promised path shifted more toward the grounds at the stranger’s feet rather than aimed straight for his throat.
But then those eyes fell upon Cricket as the beast foolishly pranced within an arm’s length and a new surge of terro filled the crow’s heart… yet the stranger did not reach for them. Distrust reflecting in that pale gaze now fixated upon the draconian, “Cricket, dost spical. Jaka.” All he could hope was one would retreat from outstretched fingers should they ever rise, move away from potential danger for even now it could still spark. Though whether the young reptilian would listen was another matter entirely for the beast was spirited.
It worried him though did not silence phrases recognizable from beckoning the other’s focus back to him. And while Leslie held little understanding over the explanation offered it came upon stammered breath. It was so familiar in the ways it grew quiet, hard to grasp as lyrics dipped into indiscernible volumes. Bidding a bow arm to relax further, the gentle twang of a string released before an arrow would slide back to its quiver. This one was no threat.
Not in these moments anyways, however, if assumptions were proven wrong then a weapon could always be at the ready in an instant once more. For now though he hoped to find understanding, to at least take in bits and pieces of all one said. Talk of mountains, of living, something of one slain judging by a nod toward the fallen doe, no… trouble? No trouble. If each were lucky neither of them would find trouble this evening.
Stillness enveloped him as carefully the crow regarded the unknown, still refusing to relinquish his perch within the canopies as he clung to a false sense of safety. Talons curling against the bark as if to anchor himself yet in truth it stemmed from growing anxieties for instead of finding quiet they drug lightly through the wood in self-soothing motion. It bid nerves to quiet, helped to steady the ways a heart fluttered, and breath wished to quicken. Little of what one said giving way to answers as it tangled upon speech.
No calling. No title. No terms of address heard, a part of him wanted something and yet another feared what it may trigger should it fall upon a more insistent tongue.
Those above, those like the Maekrix and Pliso, demanded upon their given titles rather than a calling glimpsed - a punishable offence within their eyes if one proclaimed as lesser addressed them as anything other. Would this one offer something so apparently cherished? Or would it fall from his lips as easily as Leslie’s own might? There was but one way to find out, one more broken phrase to try as it rose in off-kilter rhythm, “That where, tell who. Your… your.” Features scrunched behind beaked adornment as the crow fought for what it was he searched for only for it all to fall upon a native tongue, “Tisp ve dout ominak.” Hesitating for a moment before a final pleading phrase chased after it, “Petranas?”
This one did not hold the savage heart of a Maekrix, if he did cowardice would not have been his initial reaction but rather threat of his own in the harshened snap of fangs or a blade swiftly driven against flesh. Instead he recoiled, cowered like one of the Fru - like him. Such displays coaxing the tension upon his bow to grow lax as weaponry’s promised path shifted more toward the grounds at the stranger’s feet rather than aimed straight for his throat.
But then those eyes fell upon Cricket as the beast foolishly pranced within an arm’s length and a new surge of terro filled the crow’s heart… yet the stranger did not reach for them. Distrust reflecting in that pale gaze now fixated upon the draconian, “Cricket, dost spical. Jaka.” All he could hope was one would retreat from outstretched fingers should they ever rise, move away from potential danger for even now it could still spark. Though whether the young reptilian would listen was another matter entirely for the beast was spirited.
It worried him though did not silence phrases recognizable from beckoning the other’s focus back to him. And while Leslie held little understanding over the explanation offered it came upon stammered breath. It was so familiar in the ways it grew quiet, hard to grasp as lyrics dipped into indiscernible volumes. Bidding a bow arm to relax further, the gentle twang of a string released before an arrow would slide back to its quiver. This one was no threat.
Not in these moments anyways, however, if assumptions were proven wrong then a weapon could always be at the ready in an instant once more. For now though he hoped to find understanding, to at least take in bits and pieces of all one said. Talk of mountains, of living, something of one slain judging by a nod toward the fallen doe, no… trouble? No trouble. If each were lucky neither of them would find trouble this evening.
Stillness enveloped him as carefully the crow regarded the unknown, still refusing to relinquish his perch within the canopies as he clung to a false sense of safety. Talons curling against the bark as if to anchor himself yet in truth it stemmed from growing anxieties for instead of finding quiet they drug lightly through the wood in self-soothing motion. It bid nerves to quiet, helped to steady the ways a heart fluttered, and breath wished to quicken. Little of what one said giving way to answers as it tangled upon speech.
No calling. No title. No terms of address heard, a part of him wanted something and yet another feared what it may trigger should it fall upon a more insistent tongue.
Those above, those like the Maekrix and Pliso, demanded upon their given titles rather than a calling glimpsed - a punishable offence within their eyes if one proclaimed as lesser addressed them as anything other. Would this one offer something so apparently cherished? Or would it fall from his lips as easily as Leslie’s own might? There was but one way to find out, one more broken phrase to try as it rose in off-kilter rhythm, “That where, tell who. Your… your.” Features scrunched behind beaked adornment as the crow fought for what it was he searched for only for it all to fall upon a native tongue, “Tisp ve dout ominak.” Hesitating for a moment before a final pleading phrase chased after it, “Petranas?”
RE: All Good Things - Asher - 01-08-2024
Roach didn’t know how much of what he’d said had gotten through to the stranger, but the lowering of their weapon brought him no small amount of relief, and when they put away their arrow, he felt as though he could properly breathe again, his lungs no longer constricted by anxiety. Whether they had understood him or not, at the very least, he’d ceased to be much of a threat in their eyes. Or so he hoped.
Curious as to what they might do next, Roach remained half-hidden behind his tree and waited, pale gaze flitting between the stranger and their small winged pet. Would they try to claim their prize, or leave it where it lay? He had been serious when he’d said that they could take it; as hungry as he was, he wouldn’t dare try to stop them. But they made no moves toward it, seeming reluctant to leave the cover of their own tree, and Roach started to consider turning around and slinking off home to avoid any prolonged awkwardness. Then they were speaking, again, in the same broken speech as before. “That where, tell who. Your… your,” they said, only to slip back into their native tongue, and Roach frowned, brows furrowing in confusion as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. From the sound of it, they wanted something from him. Not that he had much to give, but... “tell who”… perhaps they were trying to ask him who he was. Did they want him to tell them his name…?
That seemed like a fair assumption to make. And he wasn’t uncomfortable sharing such a thing with a stranger; most would probably consider it to be a common courtesy when meeting someone new.
“Y-you want… my name?” he began, searching the stranger’s face for some sort of confirmation, then stood a bit straighter and placed a hand on his chest. “It’s, um… Asher. Asher White. But most people call me ‘Roach’.”
As far as nicknames went, it wasn’t a very nice one—he certainly wouldn’t have chosen it for himself—but he’d grown so used to hearing it as a child that it had simply stuck. Now, he was almost fond enough of it that he could say it without grimacing. And it wasn’t as if it hadn’t been fitting; he’d been a filthy little creature, prowling the streets, feeding on whatever scraps he could get his hands on. He should have died ten times over, but, much like his namesake, had found ways to cling stubbornly to life. And so he remained, to the surprise of many.
“Uh…” Roach pointed at the stranger, next, and gave them an expectant look. “Your… name?” He hoped that they understood. Perhaps it would be easier if he used less words, like they did. He didn’t want to overwhelm them any more than he already might’ve.
words thoughts
Curious as to what they might do next, Roach remained half-hidden behind his tree and waited, pale gaze flitting between the stranger and their small winged pet. Would they try to claim their prize, or leave it where it lay? He had been serious when he’d said that they could take it; as hungry as he was, he wouldn’t dare try to stop them. But they made no moves toward it, seeming reluctant to leave the cover of their own tree, and Roach started to consider turning around and slinking off home to avoid any prolonged awkwardness. Then they were speaking, again, in the same broken speech as before. “That where, tell who. Your… your,” they said, only to slip back into their native tongue, and Roach frowned, brows furrowing in confusion as he tried to make sense of what he was hearing. From the sound of it, they wanted something from him. Not that he had much to give, but... “tell who”… perhaps they were trying to ask him who he was. Did they want him to tell them his name…?
That seemed like a fair assumption to make. And he wasn’t uncomfortable sharing such a thing with a stranger; most would probably consider it to be a common courtesy when meeting someone new.
“Y-you want… my name?” he began, searching the stranger’s face for some sort of confirmation, then stood a bit straighter and placed a hand on his chest. “It’s, um… Asher. Asher White. But most people call me ‘Roach’.”
As far as nicknames went, it wasn’t a very nice one—he certainly wouldn’t have chosen it for himself—but he’d grown so used to hearing it as a child that it had simply stuck. Now, he was almost fond enough of it that he could say it without grimacing. And it wasn’t as if it hadn’t been fitting; he’d been a filthy little creature, prowling the streets, feeding on whatever scraps he could get his hands on. He should have died ten times over, but, much like his namesake, had found ways to cling stubbornly to life. And so he remained, to the surprise of many.
“Uh…” Roach pointed at the stranger, next, and gave them an expectant look. “Your… name?” He hoped that they understood. Perhaps it would be easier if he used less words, like they did. He didn’t want to overwhelm them any more than he already might’ve.
RE: All Good Things - Leslie - 01-09-2024
Wild eyes lay glued upon the unknown in silent expectation, in fear that something violatile may arise from a simple askance even as the man’s own gaze reflected his own unease. And then he was speaking in that hardly understood tongue. One which made the crow’s talons press more harshly against bark as he fought the urge to simply risk instructing Cricket to seize the deer and fly off with it, leave him to follow when it was safe to do so. Thought which played on repeat even as uncertainty seemingly laced those rising lyrics.
Ash - Asher? A phrase repeated twice and yet it was that final calling which he clung to Roach. That once terror stricken stare briefly lighting up in passing recognition, he knew what roaches were though this man hardly looked like such a creature. Leslie supposed the same could be said about Cricket though at least the draconian chirped and possessed wings - even if they were not like those of an insect. Teeth clicked lightly in his musings but then those fingers gestured toward him in turn, bringing the boy to freeze. Grow rigid against his perch despite knowing this may come when seeking the calling of another though the way one asked was strange.
Name. It brought a crown to tilt lightly, was that their phrase for one’s ominak? It had to be with the way he peered so expectantly though it may prove troublesome to remember such a word with all else one hoped to grasp from this strange realm.
Briefly the glimmer of false talons released their vice grip from the tree to instead thump lightly to his own chest in mimicry of this Asher Roach’s introduction. “Leslie di wer Drih'liri oli vis dask huena relgra ve Lily,” slight gesture then motioned to the hatchling, “Cricket ui hefoc wux Roach, majaktor wer ominak di vi drik.” Both hands rose then fluttering lightly in the air as if an insect taking flight before with some reluctance that slim frame dropped from the foliage’s embrace. Slipping from the very cover he so desperately wished to cling to, trying hard to mask a stagger upon landing as that residual pang echoed against once shattered bone.
The crow swiftly righting himself as the young dragon slid closer to his side, a head nudging lightly against marked ribs even as all of Leslie’s focus lay fixated upon White Roach. Steps slow, careful as one cautiously crept nearer as if to gain a better look at a near stranger. Yet his descent was an action almost instantly regretted as he stalked toward this taller man bug. A creature who stood at least a head taller than the lost if he had to guess judging with eyes alone. It wasn’t too late to turn back and yet an undying curiosity spurred him forward just enough to better see another who cowered.
Uncertainty unable to stop the way claws once more gestured between them, starting first with the treasured draconic and then moving between them in assumed importance, “Cricket, Roach, Leslie, yes?” Hardly a second ticking by for confirmation before insistence feel from behind that fanged mask, “You stay. No go. Share? Yth shilta kaoj wer tekir.” Leather bound digits gesturing toward the fallen doe before all focus returned to Asher Roach, “Udoka fru letoclo kiq lyrik.” The other’s continued demeanor only cementing a thought that he and this man were one and the same, if not they at least stood on similar standing with an exchange of names. No fancy titles, no lashing tongue nor talon to offer reprimand for seeking such a thing out. Merely a simple exchange. Nothing more, nothing less.
Ash - Asher? A phrase repeated twice and yet it was that final calling which he clung to Roach. That once terror stricken stare briefly lighting up in passing recognition, he knew what roaches were though this man hardly looked like such a creature. Leslie supposed the same could be said about Cricket though at least the draconian chirped and possessed wings - even if they were not like those of an insect. Teeth clicked lightly in his musings but then those fingers gestured toward him in turn, bringing the boy to freeze. Grow rigid against his perch despite knowing this may come when seeking the calling of another though the way one asked was strange.
Name. It brought a crown to tilt lightly, was that their phrase for one’s ominak? It had to be with the way he peered so expectantly though it may prove troublesome to remember such a word with all else one hoped to grasp from this strange realm.
Briefly the glimmer of false talons released their vice grip from the tree to instead thump lightly to his own chest in mimicry of this Asher Roach’s introduction. “Leslie di wer Drih'liri oli vis dask huena relgra ve Lily,” slight gesture then motioned to the hatchling, “Cricket ui hefoc wux Roach, majaktor wer ominak di vi drik.” Both hands rose then fluttering lightly in the air as if an insect taking flight before with some reluctance that slim frame dropped from the foliage’s embrace. Slipping from the very cover he so desperately wished to cling to, trying hard to mask a stagger upon landing as that residual pang echoed against once shattered bone.
The crow swiftly righting himself as the young dragon slid closer to his side, a head nudging lightly against marked ribs even as all of Leslie’s focus lay fixated upon White Roach. Steps slow, careful as one cautiously crept nearer as if to gain a better look at a near stranger. Yet his descent was an action almost instantly regretted as he stalked toward this taller man bug. A creature who stood at least a head taller than the lost if he had to guess judging with eyes alone. It wasn’t too late to turn back and yet an undying curiosity spurred him forward just enough to better see another who cowered.
Uncertainty unable to stop the way claws once more gestured between them, starting first with the treasured draconic and then moving between them in assumed importance, “Cricket, Roach, Leslie, yes?” Hardly a second ticking by for confirmation before insistence feel from behind that fanged mask, “You stay. No go. Share? Yth shilta kaoj wer tekir.” Leather bound digits gesturing toward the fallen doe before all focus returned to Asher Roach, “Udoka fru letoclo kiq lyrik.” The other’s continued demeanor only cementing a thought that he and this man were one and the same, if not they at least stood on similar standing with an exchange of names. No fancy titles, no lashing tongue nor talon to offer reprimand for seeking such a thing out. Merely a simple exchange. Nothing more, nothing less.
RE: All Good Things - Asher - 01-14-2024
Something like understanding seemed to flash across the stranger’s face. They tapped at their own chest, then, copying him as an unintelligible torrent of words came from their covered lips. But there was something that sounded an awful lot like a name among them—Leslie, was it? Short, simple, and easy enough to pronounce. Thank goodness for that.
Roach gave them a nod, and then another when they motioned toward the tiny dragon, calling it “Cricket” and flapping their arms, for some reason. Funny how it, of all things, had been named after an insect like he had; it was small now, but in a few months’ time, it would probably stand as tall as a tree, easily dwarfing its master. And if the word for “cricket” was no different in Leslie’s tongue, then who knew how many other words were shared between them? Maybe all this talking wasn’t such a pointless waste of time, after all.
He didn’t expect them to come down from their tree. They were cautious in their approach, and it was that which kept Roach from bolting away from them. He wasn’t afraid of them—no more than they were of him, anyway—but he couldn’t help his coward’s heart. Thankfully, they didn’t get too close. They were much shorter than he realized, and their mask seemed modeled after a bird’s beak. Beyond that, they were oddly similar, with their pale heads of hair and skin, but Leslie’s eyes were of a pinkish hue.
“Cricket, Roach, Leslie, yes?” They gestured between all three of them, and again, Roach nodded. Yes, they had all learned each others’ names. “You stay. No go. Share?” Another gesture was made toward the doe, yet more foreign words accompanying it, but Roach focused on what he could understand, his brows raising in surprise. They wanted to share their kill…? He wouldn’t have expected that from any hunter, much less one who had threatened him with a bow only moments ago, and whose guarded manner reminded him an awful lot of his own. But if he truly didn’t mind, then...
“Share…? O… okay,” Roach said, attempting to smile but only managing a slight twitch of his lips. “Yes, I mean. W-we can share.” It was a good idea—far better than fighting over the doe. What were they to do now, though? Cook and eat it where they stood? He supposed that that made more sense than dragging it all the way back to his shack. And as much as he loved a good, hearty stew, there was nothing wrong with a simple roast. Oh, but they would need a fire… and some herbs, if he could find them. Something to give it a bit more taste, in lieu of the salts he usually used with his meats. Should he skin the doe, first….?
“I… uh…” Roach stammered, staring at the other. “I can go and get some wood. For the fire. You know… fire?” With that, he wiggled his fingers together and pulled them apart with a soft “fwoosh” sound, not knowing how else to show what he meant. Then he grabbed his dagger and held it out to Leslie, waving it toward the doe. “You can, uh…. do that part? And I’ll—” He pointed at himself, then at the woods. “I’ll be right back. Okay? With the wood.” Whether he took the knife or not, Roach pushed it into his hands, then hurried off into the trees.
words thoughts
Roach gave them a nod, and then another when they motioned toward the tiny dragon, calling it “Cricket” and flapping their arms, for some reason. Funny how it, of all things, had been named after an insect like he had; it was small now, but in a few months’ time, it would probably stand as tall as a tree, easily dwarfing its master. And if the word for “cricket” was no different in Leslie’s tongue, then who knew how many other words were shared between them? Maybe all this talking wasn’t such a pointless waste of time, after all.
He didn’t expect them to come down from their tree. They were cautious in their approach, and it was that which kept Roach from bolting away from them. He wasn’t afraid of them—no more than they were of him, anyway—but he couldn’t help his coward’s heart. Thankfully, they didn’t get too close. They were much shorter than he realized, and their mask seemed modeled after a bird’s beak. Beyond that, they were oddly similar, with their pale heads of hair and skin, but Leslie’s eyes were of a pinkish hue.
“Cricket, Roach, Leslie, yes?” They gestured between all three of them, and again, Roach nodded. Yes, they had all learned each others’ names. “You stay. No go. Share?” Another gesture was made toward the doe, yet more foreign words accompanying it, but Roach focused on what he could understand, his brows raising in surprise. They wanted to share their kill…? He wouldn’t have expected that from any hunter, much less one who had threatened him with a bow only moments ago, and whose guarded manner reminded him an awful lot of his own. But if he truly didn’t mind, then...
“Share…? O… okay,” Roach said, attempting to smile but only managing a slight twitch of his lips. “Yes, I mean. W-we can share.” It was a good idea—far better than fighting over the doe. What were they to do now, though? Cook and eat it where they stood? He supposed that that made more sense than dragging it all the way back to his shack. And as much as he loved a good, hearty stew, there was nothing wrong with a simple roast. Oh, but they would need a fire… and some herbs, if he could find them. Something to give it a bit more taste, in lieu of the salts he usually used with his meats. Should he skin the doe, first….?
“I… uh…” Roach stammered, staring at the other. “I can go and get some wood. For the fire. You know… fire?” With that, he wiggled his fingers together and pulled them apart with a soft “fwoosh” sound, not knowing how else to show what he meant. Then he grabbed his dagger and held it out to Leslie, waving it toward the doe. “You can, uh…. do that part? And I’ll—” He pointed at himself, then at the woods. “I’ll be right back. Okay? With the wood.” Whether he took the knife or not, Roach pushed it into his hands, then hurried off into the trees.
RE: All Good Things - Leslie - 01-16-2024
There came reprieve when the other dared not venture forth after he’d found pause, content to merely look one another over in silent gauge of threats. Of just what one may be capable of with the figures bore and take in all that could be seen beyond the veil of clothing: pale skin, ever lighter hair, and eyes just as dull yet carrying the faintest shades of blue. Taller. Didn’t look much bulkier yet such a thing was hard to discern when a majority of the man lay behind the shield of that trimmed coat.
A frown creased his lips at this. So long as this one did not come for a fight it mattered not how he was built but that sense of not knowing hardly soothed the nerves. It haunted his thoughts though could not be the focus of his attention as eyes sought to capture the man’s own. Uncertainty plagued those hesitant tones, bringing a light click to the crow’s tongues, a voice falling sharply, “Yes. Share.” That was the offer being made. If this Asher Roach did not wish to accept an invitation that was on him. However, judging by the twitch of lips - that rather forced grin chased by lyrics Leslie held difficult grasping - perhaps he merely accepted out of politeness.
Of a desperation he cared not to admit.
It wasn’t hard to share but there were many the lost hated indulging.
So far this one did not fall into such categories. He was not like thieving masters nor beasts who saw themselves as more deserving to prey not felled by their own claw. He did not lurch for a kill nor the hunter. Rather lingered before him with the same unease which plagued his own unsteady heart, “Okay?” Inflection carrying the same tone issued as if parroting those stammered phrases for even with presumed acceptance the named stranger seemed even more reluctant, leaving Leslie to merely look to him in silent confusion.
Lips eventually parting in hopes to give some manner of direction only for no sound to rise as Roach found his voice in a slurry of stuttered phrase, in fingers motioning upon sound. Curiosity which brought a crown to lightly tilt, “Re wux ukrisir zahae docar? Grovisv for vi docar?” A tongue he knew the man would not understand but finding the right words proved to be rather difficult. Briefly an audible click of teeth resounded behind his mask at his own frustrations before twisting into heavily accented lyrics, “Fire? Kindl-”
Words abruptly cutting short as he froze up completely, eyes rapidly fixating upon brandished steel, effectively deafened to all else which fled the man’s lips. No matter how that glimmer gestured toward the doe a mind could not help but to run rampant. Metallic talons twitching, nearly making a grab for his own weaponry only for further confusion to settle in the place of mounting terror when a blade lay shoved into his grasps. Bidding a tinted gaze to cautiously flicker toward the other’s visage while a knife turned over in hand, catching a brief glimpse of Roach motioning between himself and the nearby trees before swiftly retreating into their embrace.
Whatever his plan may be, Leslie didn’t want this thing as attentions turned back to a blade. It was short, useless for it hardly looked properly sharpened, besides he had others that would serve a purpose far better. And glancing back to that vanishing frame Leslie could only think the ashen one a fool for no other weaponry visibly adorned him. If he was out here hunting just how did he intend to take down that deer? Not with this stupid thing that much was certain, he would have to practically be right on top of the prey beast to embed this and there was no way that one could out run an animal or evade its senses entirely to even get that close without triggering alert.
The crow couldn’t. Now, to top it all off, he’d left what seemed to be his only form of protection behind. Well… if he never saw that man again it would be easy enough to assume him dead. Consumed by the very forest he treat within. A crown shook in silent judgment before with a flick of the wrist the other’s weapon was tossed blade down into the earth and it was there it would remain lest Roach made a grand reappearance. For now Leslie would worry about getting started on the doe, he was not about to let meat suffer possible spoilage simply because another could not make up their mind on going or staying.
Casting a final glance to the surrounding territory fingers deftly unlatched the fastenings of gloves, pulling away the threat of false talons to avoid making an improper cut before remaining fabrics were rolled to the elbow. Digits flexing now that they lay free from their binds, testing range of motion beneath gnarled scars. “Tir wux tuor ekess letoclo Cricket? Wux shilta tepoha irral aclom di wer organs,” statement bringing a delighted trill to the beast’s throat as they pranced toward the fallen. Only to perch alongside it as if to guard from an unforeseen threat. He supposed that would be help enough for now, surely the scent of blood had already filtered upon the wind as a beacon to all else who prowled these lands.
He needed to work quickly.
Ripping the arrow from flesh it was tossed aside before his own knife was loosed from where it lay at his thigh to carve a path from the breast bone down. A free hand brazenly diving within the cavity to break membranes and delicately pull it from the fallen into a heap on the forest floor. Cricket’s muzzle shooed away as the draconian attempted to peer within the prey beast, “Ti sjerit, shoo.” An indignant huff fell from the young reptile though they were instruction heeded, at least for now, as they remained ever watchful for any sign they could steal away with a piece of flesh.
Eyes glued upon the way a knife cut between the leg bones and major tendons of a hind limb. How sturdy braided leather lay freed from around a quiver to lace through one of those inflicted holes and tied off before fingers brushed to the hatchling’s jaw, “Jilg wer hasskndath kagh wiap svern ekess batobot tsaik.” The solidity of the branch seeming enough to hold the deer’s weight and, at least temporarily, the draconian’s as well.
Chitters of confusion echoed from Cricket’s maw but still they would seize hold, hardly a struggle for the beast to hoist the fallen upon that low hanging bough where Leslie could tie off the other end. Using the deer’s weight against itself to hold it aloft and leaving both hands free to steal away a hide. Incisions made along the underside of the doe, attachments carved from the inner portions of each limb. A hide kept in one piece held more use whether it be sold or tended to further at a later time. However, for now, both his own blade and fingers steadily worked hide from meat.
His camp wasn’t far, it would be easy enough to bring whatever remained there after they were through it. Yet there was hardly any intention of leading a potentially returning unknown to even a temporary dwelling. That was a risk the crow was unwilling to take… if that Roach even showed up again that is. All he could really do was wait, continue with his own set tasks and see if anything broke the tree line once again.
A frown creased his lips at this. So long as this one did not come for a fight it mattered not how he was built but that sense of not knowing hardly soothed the nerves. It haunted his thoughts though could not be the focus of his attention as eyes sought to capture the man’s own. Uncertainty plagued those hesitant tones, bringing a light click to the crow’s tongues, a voice falling sharply, “Yes. Share.” That was the offer being made. If this Asher Roach did not wish to accept an invitation that was on him. However, judging by the twitch of lips - that rather forced grin chased by lyrics Leslie held difficult grasping - perhaps he merely accepted out of politeness.
Of a desperation he cared not to admit.
It wasn’t hard to share but there were many the lost hated indulging.
So far this one did not fall into such categories. He was not like thieving masters nor beasts who saw themselves as more deserving to prey not felled by their own claw. He did not lurch for a kill nor the hunter. Rather lingered before him with the same unease which plagued his own unsteady heart, “Okay?” Inflection carrying the same tone issued as if parroting those stammered phrases for even with presumed acceptance the named stranger seemed even more reluctant, leaving Leslie to merely look to him in silent confusion.
Lips eventually parting in hopes to give some manner of direction only for no sound to rise as Roach found his voice in a slurry of stuttered phrase, in fingers motioning upon sound. Curiosity which brought a crown to lightly tilt, “Re wux ukrisir zahae docar? Grovisv for vi docar?” A tongue he knew the man would not understand but finding the right words proved to be rather difficult. Briefly an audible click of teeth resounded behind his mask at his own frustrations before twisting into heavily accented lyrics, “Fire? Kindl-”
Words abruptly cutting short as he froze up completely, eyes rapidly fixating upon brandished steel, effectively deafened to all else which fled the man’s lips. No matter how that glimmer gestured toward the doe a mind could not help but to run rampant. Metallic talons twitching, nearly making a grab for his own weaponry only for further confusion to settle in the place of mounting terror when a blade lay shoved into his grasps. Bidding a tinted gaze to cautiously flicker toward the other’s visage while a knife turned over in hand, catching a brief glimpse of Roach motioning between himself and the nearby trees before swiftly retreating into their embrace.
Whatever his plan may be, Leslie didn’t want this thing as attentions turned back to a blade. It was short, useless for it hardly looked properly sharpened, besides he had others that would serve a purpose far better. And glancing back to that vanishing frame Leslie could only think the ashen one a fool for no other weaponry visibly adorned him. If he was out here hunting just how did he intend to take down that deer? Not with this stupid thing that much was certain, he would have to practically be right on top of the prey beast to embed this and there was no way that one could out run an animal or evade its senses entirely to even get that close without triggering alert.
The crow couldn’t. Now, to top it all off, he’d left what seemed to be his only form of protection behind. Well… if he never saw that man again it would be easy enough to assume him dead. Consumed by the very forest he treat within. A crown shook in silent judgment before with a flick of the wrist the other’s weapon was tossed blade down into the earth and it was there it would remain lest Roach made a grand reappearance. For now Leslie would worry about getting started on the doe, he was not about to let meat suffer possible spoilage simply because another could not make up their mind on going or staying.
Casting a final glance to the surrounding territory fingers deftly unlatched the fastenings of gloves, pulling away the threat of false talons to avoid making an improper cut before remaining fabrics were rolled to the elbow. Digits flexing now that they lay free from their binds, testing range of motion beneath gnarled scars. “Tir wux tuor ekess letoclo Cricket? Wux shilta tepoha irral aclom di wer organs,” statement bringing a delighted trill to the beast’s throat as they pranced toward the fallen. Only to perch alongside it as if to guard from an unforeseen threat. He supposed that would be help enough for now, surely the scent of blood had already filtered upon the wind as a beacon to all else who prowled these lands.
He needed to work quickly.
Ripping the arrow from flesh it was tossed aside before his own knife was loosed from where it lay at his thigh to carve a path from the breast bone down. A free hand brazenly diving within the cavity to break membranes and delicately pull it from the fallen into a heap on the forest floor. Cricket’s muzzle shooed away as the draconian attempted to peer within the prey beast, “Ti sjerit, shoo.” An indignant huff fell from the young reptile though they were instruction heeded, at least for now, as they remained ever watchful for any sign they could steal away with a piece of flesh.
Eyes glued upon the way a knife cut between the leg bones and major tendons of a hind limb. How sturdy braided leather lay freed from around a quiver to lace through one of those inflicted holes and tied off before fingers brushed to the hatchling’s jaw, “Jilg wer hasskndath kagh wiap svern ekess batobot tsaik.” The solidity of the branch seeming enough to hold the deer’s weight and, at least temporarily, the draconian’s as well.
Chitters of confusion echoed from Cricket’s maw but still they would seize hold, hardly a struggle for the beast to hoist the fallen upon that low hanging bough where Leslie could tie off the other end. Using the deer’s weight against itself to hold it aloft and leaving both hands free to steal away a hide. Incisions made along the underside of the doe, attachments carved from the inner portions of each limb. A hide kept in one piece held more use whether it be sold or tended to further at a later time. However, for now, both his own blade and fingers steadily worked hide from meat.
His camp wasn’t far, it would be easy enough to bring whatever remained there after they were through it. Yet there was hardly any intention of leading a potentially returning unknown to even a temporary dwelling. That was a risk the crow was unwilling to take… if that Roach even showed up again that is. All he could really do was wait, continue with his own set tasks and see if anything broke the tree line once again.
RE: All Good Things - Asher - 01-24-2024
Roach knew that there was no real need for him to rush. But he didn’t want to take too long, so he went around and gathered up as much wood as he could carry. Soon enough, his arms were full of sticks and tree branches; he’d even found a few fragrant plants that he knew to be edible herbs and stuffed them into the pockets of his coat. It was a decent haul, and he wasted no time in bringing it back to where the doe had been felled, somewhat grateful for the smell of fresh blood that made it all the easier for him to retrace his steps.
Would Leslie still be there…? He had asked him to stay and to share the doe with him, but that could’ve easily been a lie. Or maybe he’d been telling the truth, but then he’d changed his mind and decided to run off with the doe so that he could have it all to himself instead. Roach wanted to take him for his word, but a tiny, anxious voice in the back of his mind cautioned him against it; if he let himself get his hopes up, then he’d only be disappointed in the end, when things inevitably didn’t go the way that he wanted them to.
Having assumed the worst, Roach was genuinely surprised to see Leslie and his draconic friend still huddled around their kill. It had been skinned and tied to a branch, and after internally scolding himself for doubting the man, Roach went to set the wood down on the ground in front of him. “Thanks,” he said, squatting and fiddling with his gathered things to get a fire going. It wasn’t easy, even though he’d done it plenty of times before; there’d been countless nights where he’d eaten and slept out in the woods, with nothing but a fire to keep him company. When he finally got the kindling smoking, he cupped his hands around it and blew until he had a tiny flame; then he stacked more wood around it and fed it with some of the herbs. The rest he rubbed on the doe’s flesh, before taking his knife—what it was doing on the ground behind him, he had no idea—and cutting it into sizable chunks. They weren’t the cleanest cuts, and he wound up tearing some of the tougher bits apart with his hands, bones and all. With what was left of the wood, he speared each chunk and stuck them in the ground, angling them above the fire.
“There.” Now all that was left was to wait while it roasted. It wasn’t strictly necessary for him, as his stomach had no qualms with raw meat, but he much preferred it to be cooked—that and he didn’t want to look like some sort of starving animal in front of Leslie, who would surely question him for being so impatient that he’d risk making himself sick.
Roach watched the flames for a few moments, crossing his legs so that he could sit more comfortably. And then he became aware of the growing silence, and found himself struck with a sudden urge to fill it. Normally, he didn’t mind not talking—he preferred it, really, to pointless chatter—but his new acquaintance had him curious. If they were going to be eating together, they might as well get to know each other a bit better. Never mind the language barrier that had to be contended with; he liked to think that he’d managed pretty fine, thus far.
“So…” Roach somewhat slowly, hesitantly began, glancing over at Leslie. “I’m guessing you’re not from around these parts. Where do you come from…? Your, uh… home?”
words thoughts
Would Leslie still be there…? He had asked him to stay and to share the doe with him, but that could’ve easily been a lie. Or maybe he’d been telling the truth, but then he’d changed his mind and decided to run off with the doe so that he could have it all to himself instead. Roach wanted to take him for his word, but a tiny, anxious voice in the back of his mind cautioned him against it; if he let himself get his hopes up, then he’d only be disappointed in the end, when things inevitably didn’t go the way that he wanted them to.
Having assumed the worst, Roach was genuinely surprised to see Leslie and his draconic friend still huddled around their kill. It had been skinned and tied to a branch, and after internally scolding himself for doubting the man, Roach went to set the wood down on the ground in front of him. “Thanks,” he said, squatting and fiddling with his gathered things to get a fire going. It wasn’t easy, even though he’d done it plenty of times before; there’d been countless nights where he’d eaten and slept out in the woods, with nothing but a fire to keep him company. When he finally got the kindling smoking, he cupped his hands around it and blew until he had a tiny flame; then he stacked more wood around it and fed it with some of the herbs. The rest he rubbed on the doe’s flesh, before taking his knife—what it was doing on the ground behind him, he had no idea—and cutting it into sizable chunks. They weren’t the cleanest cuts, and he wound up tearing some of the tougher bits apart with his hands, bones and all. With what was left of the wood, he speared each chunk and stuck them in the ground, angling them above the fire.
“There.” Now all that was left was to wait while it roasted. It wasn’t strictly necessary for him, as his stomach had no qualms with raw meat, but he much preferred it to be cooked—that and he didn’t want to look like some sort of starving animal in front of Leslie, who would surely question him for being so impatient that he’d risk making himself sick.
Roach watched the flames for a few moments, crossing his legs so that he could sit more comfortably. And then he became aware of the growing silence, and found himself struck with a sudden urge to fill it. Normally, he didn’t mind not talking—he preferred it, really, to pointless chatter—but his new acquaintance had him curious. If they were going to be eating together, they might as well get to know each other a bit better. Never mind the language barrier that had to be contended with; he liked to think that he’d managed pretty fine, thus far.
“So…” Roach somewhat slowly, hesitantly began, glancing over at Leslie. “I’m guessing you’re not from around these parts. Where do you come from…? Your, uh… home?”
RE: All Good Things - Leslie - 01-26-2024
Attentions were quick to flicker toward the rustling foliage as it tugged at the senses. Eyes narrowing toward the sound while fingers pressed tighter to the hilt of a blade, unknowing of just what crept through the underbrush now. No telling what manner of beast may chase after the perfume of fresh blood. Only for that rising unease to dwindle as a presence became known in the faint familiarity of this White Roach. Bundles of wood cradled carefully in his arms leaving the crow’s gaze to scan the varying sticks and branches set before him.
“Vinxa?” A crown tilting as he looked to the man in growing confusion the moment an utterance sounded, “Kii vinxa?” What needed thanks? He only did what was natural after a hunt, had only kept to the promise made. But whether an answer rose or not to a question one knew the man would not understand, Leslie took a few steps back. Silently allowing the other to work, removing himself from potentially being in the way as a blade was wiped clean. Eying Roach in unasked question at how he struggled to build the flame, watchful until finally it ignited against kindling. Could this one not conjure it?
Fingers absentmindedly ran over seared flesh though no lyrics rose in offerance of assistance. There was no need. No reason to speak, at least until that useless blade lay wrenched from the earth once embedded in. Wordlessly his own slide back into the sheath strapped at his thigh before marked digits gestured first toward retrieved weaponry then back to the pale man himself. A tone sharper, near scolding when it rose, “Kii tira wux jaseve dout siyanc? Re wux pothoc?” There were all manners of dangerous beasts out in these woods and yet this one had chosen to abandon weaponry in favor of offering it another. One who did not use it.
Only for those next lyrics to fall upon soften breath, “Tir wux huven ekess qe sonetor ini fueryoni?” More worrying than upset even as he watched the way another hacked away at the doe now rubbed down in peculiar plants. It irked him to see the other tearing away at the meat in such a manner, the crow’s tongues clicking though his process was hardly of more concern than willfully forsaken safety. “Malai,” hand abruptly waving as if to shoo away each creeping notion with a near silent huff. Why should he bother issuing warnings to one who may not even listen? To one who could not understand?
The crow’s head shook though through it all he made no motion to get closer, nothing done to stop what Roach did in preparation. Merely watching how he jammed harpooned meat into the ground, stationing it how he liked around the fire before nestling alongside it. So easily did one seem to relax, perching fully against the ground as those legs crossed. Resting in a manner that would not allow him to spring up in an instant, one that would hinder escape. And it is this contentment which set Leslie on edge. The ashen one had claimed to live here surely he knew what lurked in these woods… maybe he really was stupid.
Yet so was he.
For despite how nerves flourished, paces slowly crept ever closer to the fire. Hesitance clear in each motion as attentions danced toward the tree line, paranoid glances drifting between the creeping shadows of the canopies. Focus placed more so to their surroundings even as he sat alongside the fire with arms wrapping lightly around his knees, Cricket taking pride of place at his side though the young draconian’s gaze clearly held upon the crackle of wood and dripping meat. A welcomed silence enveloping them in those moments.
It was something relished in. Something he’d grown used to both in these lands and outside of it. The quiet meant none pried, it meant none threatened with the click of fangs, and yet in an instant it could all be broken. Just as it was now. The sound startling at first as tinted gaze rapidly flickered, focusing solely upon the other man. Unmoving, merely staring until little by little that rigidity melted from his frame. Attempting to discern just what another seemed to ask upon steadied tones. His phrases easier to grasp than most with just how uncertain, how slowly this one spoke.
“Home?” Briefly eyes turned away, back to the flicker of flames, unknowing on just if he wished to talk with this named stranger over the lands hailed from nor a clan once known as ‘home’. Yet those who dwelt in ruin would never find out, they were all too far away… right? The crow shifted in place for a time but would eventually look back to the other as accented tones filled the air, “From Drih’liri. Clan, no home.” A land’s name unknown to him and yet he slips back to a native tongue for some matters he could not easily find the words for in a language this one would understand. “Wer clvin tiric ti waph tenpiswo, astahii ingellar grover boga wer qumado persvek wer ruins di Nelithral,” hopefully it would stay that way.
Though there were subtle efforts to shift the conversation away from himself. Keep one from attempting to delve too deep despite how easily curiosity reflected behind those eyes. Another quiet huff of frustration as off kiltered phrase rose once more, “You in… in… verthichai? Always here?”
“Vinxa?” A crown tilting as he looked to the man in growing confusion the moment an utterance sounded, “Kii vinxa?” What needed thanks? He only did what was natural after a hunt, had only kept to the promise made. But whether an answer rose or not to a question one knew the man would not understand, Leslie took a few steps back. Silently allowing the other to work, removing himself from potentially being in the way as a blade was wiped clean. Eying Roach in unasked question at how he struggled to build the flame, watchful until finally it ignited against kindling. Could this one not conjure it?
Fingers absentmindedly ran over seared flesh though no lyrics rose in offerance of assistance. There was no need. No reason to speak, at least until that useless blade lay wrenched from the earth once embedded in. Wordlessly his own slide back into the sheath strapped at his thigh before marked digits gestured first toward retrieved weaponry then back to the pale man himself. A tone sharper, near scolding when it rose, “Kii tira wux jaseve dout siyanc? Re wux pothoc?” There were all manners of dangerous beasts out in these woods and yet this one had chosen to abandon weaponry in favor of offering it another. One who did not use it.
Only for those next lyrics to fall upon soften breath, “Tir wux huven ekess qe sonetor ini fueryoni?” More worrying than upset even as he watched the way another hacked away at the doe now rubbed down in peculiar plants. It irked him to see the other tearing away at the meat in such a manner, the crow’s tongues clicking though his process was hardly of more concern than willfully forsaken safety. “Malai,” hand abruptly waving as if to shoo away each creeping notion with a near silent huff. Why should he bother issuing warnings to one who may not even listen? To one who could not understand?
The crow’s head shook though through it all he made no motion to get closer, nothing done to stop what Roach did in preparation. Merely watching how he jammed harpooned meat into the ground, stationing it how he liked around the fire before nestling alongside it. So easily did one seem to relax, perching fully against the ground as those legs crossed. Resting in a manner that would not allow him to spring up in an instant, one that would hinder escape. And it is this contentment which set Leslie on edge. The ashen one had claimed to live here surely he knew what lurked in these woods… maybe he really was stupid.
Yet so was he.
For despite how nerves flourished, paces slowly crept ever closer to the fire. Hesitance clear in each motion as attentions danced toward the tree line, paranoid glances drifting between the creeping shadows of the canopies. Focus placed more so to their surroundings even as he sat alongside the fire with arms wrapping lightly around his knees, Cricket taking pride of place at his side though the young draconian’s gaze clearly held upon the crackle of wood and dripping meat. A welcomed silence enveloping them in those moments.
It was something relished in. Something he’d grown used to both in these lands and outside of it. The quiet meant none pried, it meant none threatened with the click of fangs, and yet in an instant it could all be broken. Just as it was now. The sound startling at first as tinted gaze rapidly flickered, focusing solely upon the other man. Unmoving, merely staring until little by little that rigidity melted from his frame. Attempting to discern just what another seemed to ask upon steadied tones. His phrases easier to grasp than most with just how uncertain, how slowly this one spoke.
“Home?” Briefly eyes turned away, back to the flicker of flames, unknowing on just if he wished to talk with this named stranger over the lands hailed from nor a clan once known as ‘home’. Yet those who dwelt in ruin would never find out, they were all too far away… right? The crow shifted in place for a time but would eventually look back to the other as accented tones filled the air, “From Drih’liri. Clan, no home.” A land’s name unknown to him and yet he slips back to a native tongue for some matters he could not easily find the words for in a language this one would understand. “Wer clvin tiric ti waph tenpiswo, astahii ingellar grover boga wer qumado persvek wer ruins di Nelithral,” hopefully it would stay that way.
Though there were subtle efforts to shift the conversation away from himself. Keep one from attempting to delve too deep despite how easily curiosity reflected behind those eyes. Another quiet huff of frustration as off kiltered phrase rose once more, “You in… in… verthichai? Always here?”