Fantasy Gifts From A Moon God

[Malhyanth]

unais

Sleep was deep and comfortable, and barely a stir occurred in the giant of a man. No dreams penetrated this deep. Only as the sun started to heat him did he start to rise. It took a long time. His sleep was comforting, healing, regenerating; to wake would be to go back to that pain and soreness. But wake he would have to, and as he started to come around, the first thing he did was groan with discomfort. The cold night air had affected him little, but his exertion the night before had injured most, if not all his muscles, and to wake to those protesting each movement was unpleasant!!

Slowly, he rocked himself to a seated position. He realised then that his body was partially covered by a furred bed roll.
He sniffed, and realised that he was not alone, and he turned to look over his shoulder at the girl dressing herself. He smiled a moment, as she passed to him some semblance of a meal. He took it gratefully, and sat gingerly, covering himself a little now she had dressed herself, with the blanket he had been laid on, ensuring he wasn't completely on show. If she had clothed herself, he felt it right to cover himself a bit, even if he preferred to be nude. The food was bland, but warm, and filling. The tea was invigorating, with a peppery taste that he hummed at. As he ate silently, he watched her. In her clothes once more, she became an enigma, something he found alluring. They hid her, and he liked it. Odd to a human, maybe, but he did. He stopped his observation of her as she started to speak, and he averted his gaze, swallowing down more of the food.

He chuckled at how she said his name, mimicking his accent. "Vy'Ziot. Djou know. Vhere is Vy'ziot? Vhat is Vy'ziot doing and vhere is 'e?" He smiled up at her, taking the back of the cutlery, and scraping his name haphazardly into the earth in front of him; 'WY'ziOt'. "See. Vy'ziot. Panyin..." His mouth pulled up into more of a smirk, as he set his bowl and cup down, scratching his stubbled jaw. He contemplated her size, and again, a low chuckle. "Djou are indeed little, little Panyin." His cheeky grin was quickly replaced with a concerned frown as he tried to gain his feet. He growled as he forced himself up, all his muscles protesting, the foam in his wounds darker now, as it slowly worked its magic. He limped across to where his clothes were strewn to dry. He lowered gingerly, and took up his trousers, slowly stepping into them, and pulling the cold, clammy material over his legs. It was tough; they were tight fitting at the best of times, but right now they were cloying! Lacing up the sides, and the fly, he stood shirtless, rolling his head, shoulders and upper back, trying to get some movement into his body. He reached down, taking up his tunic. This was warmer, and dryer. He eyed Panyin, a coy smirk taking over his features as he breathed it in. Her scent soaked it, and he pulled it gingerly over his head.

"So djou decided to vear my tunic, eh?" As the material hugged his chest, her scent filled his nostrils. It was going to take a while to get used to that!! "Nice..." He brushed it down with his broad hands, noticing how sore his hands looked, and grimacing. He must look an absolute state! He raised his hands, and felt his dreadlocks. The fuzzy hair growth at the base of each dreadlock, the soft hair woven together. The bones that sat on the dreads in various places upon his head. What a mess. He reached down, and gathered up his hooded cloak, flaring it out, and wrapping it round his shoulders. The last of his items were on the ground, and he grit his teeth as he bent to collect them. The belts were easy to tie about his hips, the bandages that he would usually have around his ankles and wrists were tied in a knot about his blade handle.

He stood straight, looking about. The breeze brought scents across the plains to him, and he closed his eyes, trying to identify them; cooking smells, farmyard scents, hay, cows, dung, and was that bacon? His mouth watered at the thought. He offered a scabbed and cracked hand to Panyin, to help her up, and he pointed towards the windmill. "Let's 'ead zhat vay, 'Ot 'Ead." The albino couldn't exactly say that his decision was made on the scent of flesh searing in a pan making him drool; that a need for protein in a meat state was calling, to help him heal. He wrapped his arm around her shoulders, realising how small she really was, and chuckling, smirking down at her. "Or did djou 'ave a better zhought?" The werewolf knew he would need to head West soon, towards his bosses, but he wanted to take the long way, get to know the girl. He took up one of her bags, the larger of them, and slung it over his shoulder, wincing a little, but waving her off when she protested. "I can't be seen to allow a small zhing like djou carry Zhe bags! Even if I almost did lose my innards zhrough my side!" His laugh was deep and rolling, as he stood, waiting for her to break the camp, and roll up her bedding. He was pleased to see he hadn't oozed any further blood onto anything.

 

[unais]

He chuckled, his voice deep and guttural as usual, and she tried to understand. She watched him.

She leaned over at his writing, trying to see from his side.

WY'ziOt' it said.

Ah. "Wy'Ziot...?" He seemed to approve, and she tried it out, seeing how it felt in her mouth. Wy'Ziot.

Back again. "I'm--" He stood to his full height. Not small, she was saying. Even when she stood she had to look far up at him. So she thought. She thought again. Was she smaller than other women? As she moved north did that become the norm...?

She noted him, as he stood there, stretched. His muscles bulged and moved under his white skin, pale and translucent where there were no scars that thickened his hide. She thought something. He looked... good. The light fit him well. Morning light with soft pink and yellows. It added touched gold across the landscape just before it dissipated into neutral blues as the sun rose higher. It added a light that shone through the cloth in his hands, and the unbraided strands of his hair.

"So djou decided to vear my tunic, eh?" She hadn't expect him to not know but still it stopped her. He breathed her in his clothes. "Nice..."

What did that... mean?

She watched his hands going down his sides, smoothing the fabric around his chest. There was something in why she was watching him.

Had she been more aware, she would have picked up the left items on the ground, but he had to bend despite his sides. She remembered him unwrapping his bandages before bed. She understood now why he had had such things, despite no obvious form of injury at the time. He left them off, now.

The bones however, in their dull light, made her remember. He covered his form with his cloak, and she did the same. She wondered how many less yards of cloth her clothing had required than his.

His hand was dry, and rough, and she took it, flew to her feet as he helped her up with ease. A man covered in the remnants of others, who nipped off the heads of young men still offered her small acts of... courtesy. It made her feel... paperlike. That she were weak but... something valuable.

She was being... considered by him.

He called her that again.

Her breath came out in a hard sigh. "Panyin." Gods, was that nickname sticking with him now? She was hoping Hot Head would be dropped once he knew her name by now. It seemed like her name was only getting added to the list. Little Hot Head Panyin. She winced, not affectionate of it. The last of her things were packed together and she stood with them, ready to leave.

But he wrapped himself around her and she held up. She was unused to it. Unused to everything. This feeling of companionship. She didn't want to ruin it. To not reciprocate. But she didn't know what to do. His chest rumbled against her as he laughed. When it stopped, she leaned toward him. Hid herself from the breeze to allow herself room to think.

"...I've no complaints." Of their path. "The weather here is rather agreeable to me." A hand moved hair out of her face, the thin tresses windblown. She didn't mind staying longer. "But I know we should make tracks at least out of the area as soon as possible..." But she wasn't too worried. They could likely fend off any issues by themselves--so she thought at first. She reoriented herself, knowing his injuries. Remembering the slight stagger. Perhaps it'd be better to avoid staying long. His hand reached around her for her pack.

She supposed it was no effort to him even in his state, though she had prepared her usual carrying potions to help her shoulder the burden. She doubted he'd let her offer him the same, for now.

A short laugh fought its way out. He was a man as many men were others. It was funny.

And she felt comfortable. Here in the breeze, prepared to walk an untrod path with this man and beast she had met. It was a soft feeling. She wished she could capture it.

She felt... safe. It was not the type of happiness she feared where the something would soon make her pay retribution for feeling it.

She touched her chest, knowing where the glowing warmth had folded itself the other night.

And they walked.

"... Perhaps we should avoid having you fight in this state, though." Since he wouldn't let her heal him. "We should maybe... try run if we meet too much resistance."

She hadn't lost her things. She had many tricks left, but didn't know if he'd try them.

Speaking of walking. His long strides made easy work of the terrain, where her steps were smaller and the traversing was more difficult, she had to go more quickly in order to keep up.

There were small gashes in the land up here, which he stepped over like a giant would. But she stood for a second, having to hop over. He offered her his hand, and dragged her across easily.

Quiet. She didn't mind if he held onto her--she was worried to fall behind here if he didn't.

"Yesterday..." She thought. "Do you really think you owe me your life...?" She didn't know what she was saying. Perhaps just making conversation.

Part of her also feared he did whatever yesterday in jest--in a state of unknowing exhaustion. But he didn't seem the type to be unawares.

 

[Malhyanth]

The wolf grinned broadly as she corrected her pronunciation. To be honest, both worked; he had just known previous companions whom had been annoyed at him for not showing him the spelling. His name was the only thing he could write, and he simply spelt it as he said it, even with his accent. His eyebrow raised with his smirking grin, pulling on the scar that divided his face up, feeling a strong friendship building between the pair. It was like a kinship; he'd been alone too long, so perhaps it was the wolf in him desiring a companion, a friend, a pack mate. Was that how it felt? Like she was now a new member of his pack? He mused on this a moment as she repeated her name, and seemed to get exasperated that he insisted on the previous nickname. She certainly made him chuckle!!

He didn't fail to notice she leant in closer as he used her shoulders as a means to take some weight off his tired legs, trying to stay close, using his bulk to stave off the wind. He stayed quiet about it though; he'd sworn to protect her until his debt to her was paid, so if that included stopping her getting a chill from the wind, so be it! Hearing her suggestions of running over fighting, the laugh erupted suddenly, and he gently pushed her, though being so small, it was almost like he'd catapulted her!

"Seriously? Djou expect me to run? I can do far more damage stood still and fighting, even with a vindow to my liver in my side, zhan making a run for it." Jis face held a serious expression, and he focused on the directions they were to head. He lifted his legs, bent at the knees as high as he could towards his chest, then pushed them out to the sides he took a few steps like this, stretching and warming up his leg muscles in preparation for the long walk ahead of them. Though his legs were long, and ate the distance like the wolf inside, he was off kilter. His steps were strained, and the large amount of limping was taking its toll. He motioned for breaks to occur regularly, often after helping Panyin across the gullies and cracks in the heath, ensuring her safety. She seemed apprehensive of it at first, like she'd never been helped before. He hefted her pack higher on his back, his breathing tight, but he didn't say anything to the girl. She was adamant she was going to get a chance , and dose him. All he wanted to see was them not needing her potions; but he knew that wasn't going to happen. He lived a dangerous life.

It was during one of his moments he had stopped to catch his breath, Panyin questioned his promise. He stood straight, and took her shoulders in his hands and stood, looking at her. "Do not question zhe Vord of a verevolf." His features were set, and somewhat dark, his voice stoic. "My people; ve do not use vords lightly. If ve say somezhing, and especially if ve make a Promise, it is said from zhe Beast inside, and zhey vill check our Vords, and Seal zhem. Zhat is vhat djou saw, last night." He paused and considered his next words. "Vhat djou saw could be zhe deazh of me, so do not take lightly vhat I 'ave done. My Beast, my Volf. 'E accepted my Vord, and 'e as made it our Lore. For as long as 'e deems zhere is a debt, I am 'ere to serve djou. Keep djou safe."

The man released her shoulders, and gave a light hearted smirk, rubbing at his stubbled, strong jaw, before then rubbing the back of his neck. "To my Volf, djou are now essentially Kin, djou are 'is charge... djou are 'is. 'E vould shred my body to get to anyvone zhat tries to cause djou 'arm." He grinned sheepishly, before turning, and facing the farmstead they were creeping up on slowly, and he couldn't help but feel relief. A comfortable chair and a hot drink were just what he was needing right now. And another soul with which to converse so that the girl may stop asking him questions. He knew the part where he had said she was now the Wolf's was going to get a rise. She was so fiercely independent.

 

[unais]

He laughed, as had she feared, at the thought of him running. Her face pulled into its grimace after she regained her balance. He'd probably meant to nudge her but she almost had toppled into the ground. "I thought as much..."

There was no dishonor in fleeing... so she'd been told. But she lived most of her life as a coward; as she saw it. It gave her no greater satisfaction to either kill or run. But the story never ended, when she ran.

But she had plenty of drinks to help in that aspect. And as a wolf he could escape even more swiftly. Why did he have to make it so difficult?!

The thought pained her exacerbation as she imagined he could readily fend off more packs of soldiers--but at the price of another wound, another bout of acrid acid... Another sigh from her.

She welcomed the breaks, as they allowed her to get to her busywork of foraging. He would soon find out about her little behaviors that allowed to be an alchemist with no compare. She hoped not to bog them down with her slow traveling, but the pace was allowing her to fall back into her habits. She plucked and stripped and cut plants, and when he rested she pulled their roots up as well. She caught up when he walked, and when he stopped for breaks. She found herself coming to his side more often when he stopped than not.

Hers hands were full of dirt and other things when he stopped her with his hands.

His words had not been careless. She thought as much... He continued on to make sure she knew of his severity. How it came and went from the beast within and how both had taken into consideration what he had meant, and what it meant to speak these words.

"I thought... as much..." In a way. She assured herself of some suspicions. That he was not one caught off-guard.

"Vhat djou saw could be zhe deazh of me, so do not take lightly vhat I 'ave done. My Beast, my Volf. 'E accepted my Vord, and 'e as made it our Lore. For as long as 'e deems zhere is a debt, I am 'ere to serve djou. Keep djou safe."

What he said soothed her in one hand, stoked worries with the other. She felt she could be sure he had made a mistake. Yet it was already done. And said. And it was a word unbroken.

She willed herself not to think of it as a mistake.

But he would serve...? Protect her...? These words came very slowly. She knew them in theory, incentivized by coin in the exchange of hands and words and where a knife hid behind the back.

But something was different here. She knew it meant what he meant and... more than what she understood.

To protect her... to serve her...

She couldn't quite grasp it.

"To my Volf, djou are now essentially Kin, djou are 'is charge... djou are 'is. 'E vould shred my body to get to anyvone zhat tries to cause djou 'arm." He seems bashfully proud of this, and she's stuck there for a moment while he returns to walking. She has to catch up.

"He... really... doesn't need to do that." She couldn't strip the wince from her expression as she packed away the things she picked up, keeping up steadily. "The part where he'll shred you to pieces to protect me... I'd... rather have you both in tact." Both, she said. It was a word that had slipped out.

The Wolf. Had she a kinship or connection with him from their brief meeting?

Animals... they... typically scared her.

Badgers, bears, cats, dogs, horses, hares, rabbits. Anything alive that was not sentient, communicative and bipedal rankled a fear in her so strong it choked her. Only mice, spiders, and rats escaped this fear of hers.

But the beast she saw... was not such an animal. Who was it? Which one of them?

Her instincts of fear had only lasted until she had seen him. His being there eviscerated the things that caused her fear.

She realized this now.

She stumbled in her footing. "So the Wolf... likes... me...??" She felt like she hardly knew what she was saying. She had met them both for about a night, but she had thought... the beast... was Wy'Ziot himself.

Was it not? It spoke like him, behaved like him.

She was getting confused.

"...and he owns me?" Is that what he meant? Her head lilted very much. Suspicious. "You gave me to him." This last part was a joke, though bordered on seriousness at the sense of it.

They reach a path in the area with wooden slats like a dock out to water. Cows are grazing here, who look at them with mild curiosity before trodding heavily away from their path. She helps him up the step, and as they follow, eventually the slats became buried in a graveled road leading into town. The people there nodded in greeting, seeming kind.

She was not one for rest beyond the means of need, but she was tired. Sleeping through the day felt like such a waste, but she was wont to caffeinate herself with potions until nightfall. She wondered if Wy'Ziot planned to rest his wounds or if he'd be doing something else, curious as to what this quaint little area entailed.

 

[Malhyanth]

The coy look on the werewolf's face deepened, and he chuckled again, reaching out to finally ruffle the hair that had been tempting him for so long. She honestly thought that he owned her? Hardly!!! She owned the Wolf, but that was more difficult to explain. He may be wild, but his wolf often craved the companionship of a pack. Perhaps this was his wolf's way of getting that. He shrugged a shoulder, and kept walking, his body loosening each step as his blood pumped. The town wasn't really a town, so much as a farm stead with housing for its hands. The large windmill made a low thumping sound as it's blade spun lazily, but all around, sounds of a farm in motion rang out on the breeze that wafted around them. As they neared, the werewolf could feel eyes watching them.

"Zhe Volf is djour's to own." He said in a low voice, he face, suddenly stern, turning to look at her. His eyes held no malice, but the intensity of the look was as if to say there was no argument on whom was in charge in their new partnership. He looked up and away from her, taking in the size of the windmill. He pressed his shredded hand up to cover his eyes from the rising sun, and admired the quaint farm stead. He knew his scarred appearance, especially with the sore, red state of his hands, was going to make it tough for people to accept them, but they had to try. Wy'Ziot motioned for Panyin to follow, and they headed deeper, towards where there was a farm house, which seemed to be the hive of much of the activity.

As they neared, silence seemed to descend, a stillness. It was as they got to the pathways into the home that a man and woman stepped out, looking at them with a frown, the human holding up a hand. "Hoy, strangers. What be your reason to be comin' here? We're faaaar off any roads." The eyes were suspicious, the stances here, hostile. Wy'Ziot bowed his head, and looked side long at the girl in his shadow, bidding her do the same. He stepped forward, large hands up, and smiled in what he hoped was a jovial gesture.

"Please, apologies, ve are somevhat lost. I fell, in zhe dark last night. 'Urt myself. My friend 'ere, she patched me up. But I am still struggling. Vould djou 'ave space somevhere, vhere ve could rest?" The man looked them over, keeping his wife back. He motioned the girl.

"She a healer?" The werewolf looked at her, and shrugged a little, before lowering a hand to the hem of his tunic, and raising it, to show his side. Behind him, he heard her step forward to protest, but he hissed at her. The man nodded, crossing his arms over his barrel of a chest, as the wife stepped forward.

"If she is a healer, you can stay. We have space in the barn. No spare homes at the moment. We have some who are sick, some injured. Need the workforce back on their feet. She helps, you both get the space. Though you, big fella. We'll find a way for you to repay tomorrow." The albino bowed his head, placing his hands together in front of his face. The woman waved them, and they followed her shambling walk towards their barn. The werewolf looked about as they entered the large out building, and watched as the woman turned and indicated the place. "That up there has the softest hay, if you plan on stayin'. You." The woman pointed to the girl. "You get ready, whatever it is you use for healin'. I'll start sendin' 'em over."

The werewolf kept his head bowed, his hands pressed together in a thank you. As the old woman wobbled away, his mottled eyes captured Panyin's hard stare. He simply grinned. "Ve got in, didn't ve?"

 

[unais]

It was the other way around, it seemed.

The windmill buzzed over them like the shadow of a giant.

She said nothing.

As they closed on the main stead, Panyin released the tension in her shoulders, maintained a more common posture. Made herself more approachable in body, but couldn't quite shake the unamused expression, so she kept her head down somewhat.

She listened closely. She would corroborate whatever lie Wy'Ziot wanted to tell, and if he stumbled in it, she would catch the pieces and lie for him. But he seemed to have a plan. Panyin didn't bow at his leisure, but nodded with a soft smile in greeting as they were attended. The strings to pull trickled slowly clear in her head. Play her alchemist part easily. She lined up a few little scenarios to explain their appearance. Watched him play the role of a seemingly apologetic man.

He volunteered her as a healer, and she stepped to the side, wincing but having to display herself.

She watched his wound, hiding her disgruntled expression in one mistook for empathy at his pain, and blinked it away, having her eyes fall back to the doelike stance she took when looking wide-awake. Clueless and innocent. She couldn't muster a smile, not even slightly, so kept her face alert and neutral. It gave her a pleasant countenance, she found--made people approach her when she looked lost.

When they were not surrounded, her face lost this little lamb look, and she looked at him honestly. Hardly amused.

"At the price of you working tomorrow." She spoke whispered, sure he'd be the only one to hear her; but her tongue didn't lose its tone when hushed. But she didn't know what would happen; it could be work done by ten men that Wy'Ziot could easily do.

To the woman, as Panyin began to shed her furs. "You had better send them in quickly... if you don't want to lose the working hours of today." The woman was suspicious of what she meant, but it hurried her task just slightly. "Oh," Panyin called, stopping her, "And bring some water, would you? For their wounds." It was then she smiled.

If they really asked for a price for to pay, it would ask some extra exertion of him. Panyin hardly thought these people would overestimate the value of real labor. If it compounded to slow them down... she sighed. It was somewhat her fault. She cleared her mind of these scenarios to get to work. She climbed to the loft to throw down most of her things. She allowed herself to wear one of her linens, and felt down the faded stains covering most of the chest. Now she had an excuse for all the blood left like a faded wet mark on a parchment. She was a bonesaw. Of course. She pulled a table from the side, centered it in the barn.

Her work would be easy.

It would take her nothing.

Just time.

So she wanted it done quickly.

"Just go up there." She waved him without looking, trying to figure out how to dust off the table without dusting herself.

She lit candles, set them on a stool over the dirt, having cleared most hay away from the rest of the area. Ah well.

The old woman brought the water as she had asked. Panyin set out part of her alembic and began boiling water.

Young ranch hands soon brought in their day old wounds. Looked to be wrestling bulls in a bad way. She sanitized her knife. They weren't so tough as she cut them back open, but healed them thusly to reset things in a better way. They wavered between disbelief and whooping, cheering. She kicked them out.

They brought someone who had not gotten off as easily as wounds all over their arms. She made him drink. The gouge in his stomach hardened and healed, but she ordered him to continue massaging it out, loosening the fibers until they reoriented themselves.

She poured out potion into a mug and instructed each of them to take one sip; and one only.

Small wounds disappeared. Large wounds became past experiences. Then they brought their sick.

Harder. She gave them some hydrators which would restore them now, and then a drink of potion, giving it a half-chance in her head. For the most part, they seemed to heal, and she raised a brow at herself--now knowing it did heal some sicknesses.

Her results were perhaps going too well. After the cured were sent home, they brought their old. She made a face, feeling like her skills were certainly being over-asked for here.

She didn't know what Wy'Ziot was doing. The last she saw him was in the loft, and if he knew what was good for him, he would be resting up there. But she didn't entirely suspect he would.

She instructed their old of different methods, as their pains consisted of too many. She was not convinced her heals would keep their pains away unless nursed like a bottle. And she did not want them following after her in search of it. She gave them each a sip as well, mentioning it as some medicine and water. Some allowed her to make incisions--which she followed the musculature of and it seemed to cure their pained movements after she made the wounds and sewed them back with her liquid magic.

She couldn't have everyone eating up her work, but it was draining quickly.

But she was disbelieving as they sent her animals. Instead, she handed over a phial, having herself lean far away from the beasts.

Then after, small wounds trickled in. One of the same boys returned with a split of a fence embedded in his arm, and some of their children came for small aids of their scratches. She was halfway through sending them out, but gave them boiled water with a few drops in it.

By the time she found herself alone, without any clients, she saw by the light that the sun would set soon, and fall beyond the plateau. She washed her hands of the blood and climbed up to the loft to hide.

She found her bedroll already set out, and looked at Wy'Ziot with gratefulness before she flopped down on top of it, face down.

It was only quiet for a few moments, before a voice downstairs called her again.

"Ah, miss? Miss Healer?"

She waved to Wy'Ziot to take care of it.

It was the old farmhand. He seemed bashful now, and his wife walked slowly in from the door behind him.

"She restin'? Well ah... she performed quite a few miracles... can't say I quite believe the work you've done for us. Quite a magic touch she's got there. M'wife and I would like to thank her. We were just saying how you could join us for dinner..." Panyin rose up, but kept herself out of sight, looking at My'Ziot as the farmer spoke. "...seein' as how you patched up the Goebel boys n' cured my niece an' her mother, an'... even helped the old Mitters back on their feet." He paused. "We didn't expect to see them up and working today. Thought a sawbones was some'n who patched up small wounds and you wait for a week."

He chuckled, almost nervously, but seemed to have no ill intents of superstitions yet. He bowed his head out, awkward, as if unsure what to do with himself, and resumed his hat on his head as his wife nodded in the same gesture, leaving a pot of tea and a few mugs on the table Panyin was using for surgery before.

She could smell the warm herbs of old black tea... it would taste of a barley, wheaty warmth. She was not opposed to it. She laid back down on her side, propping her head on her arm, much like he had before. She stared at him.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot smirked at her, as she went anout preparing for the duties he had caused, as the water was brought, and she commanded he rest, he gave her small shoulder a squeeze, and walked toward the barn exit, wanting to get a feel for the place. He could see the hoards approaching, and he knew she was going to be busy. She was not going to miss him for a while. He nodded to the injured, the sick, the elderly, the beasts as they were walked towards the barn. As the farm animals were brought, Wy'Ziot made himself scarce. Animals picked up on what he was; his scent was enough to trigger stampedes. He turned away, and started to walk around the farm stead, watching the workers. As Panyin worked her miracles and word spread, Wy'Ziot found himself receiving more and more respect for bringing her. Initially, eyes held suspicion as he walked past, viewing their buildings, and especially the windmill, with awe. As he returned to the barn, where she was feeling the last few, he had bowed heads, doffed caps, and even a few whom came and shook his hand for bringing such a miracle worker to their town. He smiled at them, and waved them on.

He returned to the barn, Panyin clearly not aware he had been gone most of the day, looking about the farm, and he climbed the ladder, taking up a comfortable space in the loft, pretending like he had been there all day. He was already feeling better; moving, and keeping his Beast's blood flowing, meant to increase the speed of his healing; he wasn't human. The same wounds that would have laid a human up for weeks had knocked him down for a few hours. And now, he was free of the pain, and was just waiting on his own body to heal up around the wounds. The one between his shoulders he no longer felt. The one in his side was a dull ache as he felt his body closing around the gap where his muscles and flesh had once been. In his arm, the deep slice had left him with some depleted feeling to some of his fingers, but he was sure even that would return in a few days. His fingers were less red now, and as he lay in the soft green hay, he spent his time awaiting her return to carefully remove the nails he had torn, but not completely. Some fresh bleeding occurred, but it didn't take long to stop. At least now new nails that would grow in wouldn't have to push through the broken fragments. Peeking down, the werewolf saw her with her last client, so he took her bedroll from the kit she'd abandoned up here, and laid it out beside his own cloak, which he had undone to spread out over the hay and escape the itchiness.

She came up at last, her red hair frazzled. She looked quite cute, and he couldn't help but laugh a little at her. He smiled at her as she flopped down and patted her shoulders, his large hand staying between her shoulder blades to exude warmth into her tired body. "Rest. Djou 'ave vorked 'ard today, Little Panyin." The voice below made him frown, but as she waved at him to deal with it, he gave her a gentle nudge, and carefully lowered himself down the ladder. The small, rotund couple stepped back a little from him, fiddling with hat and apron as they spoke. Wy'Ziot was not bowing himself down any more, and he realised this must be where their apprehension now came; that, he figured, and their early mistrusting of the pair. The invite to food was extended, and Wy'Ziot looked up to the loft, but Panyin must have still been hiding in her bedroll. His smirking face split a little wider, as he turned back to the couple. He had noticed their staring at his scars, but it was a regular occurrence, and without his cloak, his arms and face were now bared for them to see in their entirety. He smiled down at the rotund pair.

"I am sure she vould be 'onoured to join djou for a meal." He chuckled, and watched as the mistress of the farm stead set down a hot kettle and mugs, and he bowed her head to her in thanks. "I vill be sure to send 'er along to zhe farm 'ouse, vonce I 'ave roused 'er." The farmer frowned, and indicated Wy'Ziot too.

"Hoy, you must join us too. The wife and me, see, you brought her to us, and she has done a lot of good for us. We decided we can't ask work of you as well; she has covered any debts with her workin' here today. Will you join us too, sir?" Wy'Ziot was a little taken aback, and he cast a backward glance at the girl up in the loft, wondering if she had mentioned something previous to them. He bowed his head in thanks, pressing his hands together and in turn steepling these against his forehead. The couple looked at him with slight confusion before backing up and out. "Food will be ready in about an hour. We'll send one of the kids to fetch you."

Wy'Ziot watched them leave, crossing his arms over his chest, before turning to the large metal kettle and pouring a cup. It was sweet, with a woody undertone and lovely herbal notes. He set the cup down, and found himself two stools, returning to the table with them. He realised quite quickly he was not going to fit on the footstools, so he returned to the barn's deeper sanctums. He returned with a large bale of straw, and set that beside the table, sitting more comfortably upon it. He took another sip of the tea, and hummed his appreciation.

"Come on Panyin. Djou 'ave earned a break, but zhis tea is very good." He called up, but didn't look; he could feel her staring at him through the slats in the loft, knew she was just being stubborn to have not come down yet. He could hear movement, but didn't turn his eye way from his task was watching the tendrils of steam rise from his cup. He felt a little cheated; he had wanted to assist as well, pay his way. But clearly, the magic Panyin was able to weave into her potions was more valuable to them than his strength. This was something unexpected to him; he always paid his dues. Perhaps there was something Panyin would request instead, to level the playing field. Inside, his wolf shifted. He felt it's words; that this incident had only deepened their debt to her. Meaning their time together, unless some incredible thing happened that meant it was wiped clear, was now slightly longer in the eyes of the wolf. Wy'Ziot couldn't say that disappointed him at all, and without even realising, his hand raised to the purposeful cut that sat above his heart. He rubbed back and forth, feeling the raised flesh, the slight tenderness of new skin, a new scar. His smile was absent-minded as he stared into nothingness. He shifted in his seat, his bone accessories clattering together like little musical instruments. He eyed the ladder. "'Ot 'Ead! Get down 'ere before I come up and carry djou down."

 

[unais]

"Mm..." There was a croon in her throat as his hand rubbed between her shoulders in an oddly soothing way. He heard her sigh as he left, going down to properly address the couple.

He touched her hair, her shoulders. Nudged her, held her, laughed with her. For a long time she had wondered if she were one of those who recoiled at contact, whose skin crawled at it. She had met such people many times, and had fit with them, seemed like them. But she never found touches to be either abhorrent or necessary, and had never found it to be any deal of comfort. Before.

She opened her eyes a little, seeing what she could see of Wy'Ziot between the planks.

The only thing she feared of him was retaliation that was not his fault. The same as when an animal kicks you when you're in the wrong place. When he touched her he was immediately warm, perhaps courtesy of his werewolf's blood, perhaps due to being a giant of musculature stature. She… enjoyed it... even when it annoyed her. She had never felt these small gestures of friendship. A feeling that he was open with himself. That he was almost not careful with her. It was an unknown feeling not to be treated like an outsider. She felt she would to do the same. Her hands weren't cold either.

She was barely listening to the conversation going on. She picked up the important details, and yawned silently.

They absolved him of tomorrow's work. Her lips pulled to the side. He wouldn't like that.

And they still don't know what to do with him. As he acts pious, and grateful, they excused themselves awkwardly. Wy'Ziot disappears for a bit. Alone, Panyin tried to roll over, somewhat trying to get comfortable, but her bag edged into her hip, the knife clacking under her leg. She still wore all the things of her trade, and for once, wished to be free of them. She reached down and untied the straps. Her fingers worked up through the laces on her torso, and she peeled off her vest to lay it amongst the hay.

She was ready to sleep. Only the linen covering her now, she felt the sweat settling and cooling along her. Breathed quietly the thick, straw air with its warm heaviness. And drifted.

But he was calling her.

Her head was propped back up, She eyed him again through the cracks. Stayed quiet, not feeling urgent. His fingers touched the scar she gave him, and her eyes became alert.

"'Ot 'Ead!" Was he always going to use that whenever he wanted to get a rise from her?

She tried not to make a noise, one that was going to be a huff, and settled her gaze to the side. Felt herself start to drift.

"Come and drag me."

The ladder rattled and she sat up immediately, too late. "I was j--" She yelped as he plucked her up, and hopped down the ladder with the one hand. And just like a doll that he had so easily picked up and moved to one place, he placed her down on her a seat.

He had his smirk. She looked at him flatly.

The stool made her sit what felt like two feet below him. She got up and sat next to him on the bale. It was more comfortable as well.

She leaned forward, seeming attentive, but the way her breath felt let her know she hadn't much the energy to sit up straight. But she summoned it, and poured herself tea, low from the kettle. The cup warmed her hands, and she blew the steam out from over the surface.

They let it be quiet.

They could hear the animals being taken in for the night, their low moans and bells signaling in the dusk.

She sighed. "There is hay. In my hair." There was not much of which they could speak now. Too many wandering ears could be passing by the barn. She swatted it out, not looking forward to extricating it. They'd be picking it out of their things for weeks. She didn't care much, the minor reminders would make this place hard to forget, however, and she did not enjoy it here. She didn't hate it. But it was not too different than other places. So she was ready to leave as soon as it were possible. The warmth of shelter was welcome to her, as was the quiet landscape when it stretched on all sides.

She had said the work was worth nothing, and took only her time, but she was worn. When there was work to do, she did it, and forgot other things.

It left her more bereft when she stopped.

And she noticed, in her vagueness, that in the wake of leaving her work finished, in a day being done… there was a missed emptiness that usually had welcomed her as things grew quiet. The fading light felt warm instead of something growing to coldness. The peaceful nature of the empty barn was a welcome break instead of a barely comfortable silence. The eroding feeling that sat with her when she had done her work, and everyone was gone … it hadn't come. She felt warm.

She looked sidelong to Wy'Ziot. Stared at him for a small time. Leaned sideways toward him, resting her arm and her head on him.

The sun sank lower. Her eyes closed.

A small voice appeared at the door, and Panyin opened her eyes to see the regarded niece from before. She shyly seemed as though she had stumbled on something, as she was giggling as she approached busily.

"Aunt Gossie says dinner is ready. You'n can come back to the house now." She seemed to admire their position, but Panyin was not embarrassed, and didn't move. She found no great intimacy in leaning on another person.

The girl took the kettle and tray, but Panyin kept her cup, and stood as the child was leaving. Downed her now cold tea.

Looked at Wy'Ziot, and held up her hand as if he were to give her something. "Shall we?"

She started off toward the main stead.

On the way. "You know, if I had had the option of you going to go eat while I stayed behind, I would have taken it." Not said in jest for appreciation. She was thoroughly unamused with their whole situation, kindness apparently be damned.

The house had busy lights and the noise of several people stuffed into it. But the smell was incredible, as they approached, and she was surprised to suspect them to be in for a treat.

 

[Malhyanth]

Challenges were something the werewolf was loathe to pass up, and as he sat, drinking his tea, and heard her challenge of dragging her down, his feet moved unbidden, his body powering up the ladder with ease. She was dressed down now, as he had seen her before, and a wicked grin spread across his face as he plucked her up with one arm and slung her over his shoulder, scurrying back down with her, ignoring her protests. He seated her abruptly upon one of the stools, his laugh echoing about the empty barn, as he returned to his own seat, and took up his tea cup. It was nothing extravagant; probably home made looking at its varying thicknesses. It held no handle, simply a clay pot, baked, and then coloured with this eggshell blue and green. Rather quaint really.

He poured more tea for himself once she had joined him on his bale. She sipped her tea, and slowly, leant into his body heat. Completely unthinking, his arm snaked around her and pulled her closer, rubbing at her upper arm and gently massaging tires muscles. Touch was not something he withheld. Wolves were social creatures, and giving affection, and companionable touches such as this were second nature. He didn't seem it odd to touch one he felt was a friend, or ally, in such a way; he felt less comfortable keeping them at arm's length, as it seemed humans did. He chuckled as she tried to pick hay out of her wild tresses. As she gave up, Wy'Ziot took over the task, and carefully extracted the needles of grass as he found them, running his fingers through her hair to reveal further ones that had gone unnoticed.

The giggling voice of a child made him turn in his seat, and he gave the child a smile. It was something to be said of children; rarely did they hold the same fear of him adults did. They did not yet know what scars like his could mean. They didn't yet realise that men whom looked like him were dangerous. Perhaps, though, it was the animal in him, the wild part, that made him alluring to children; they always seemed to pick up there was something else about him, something that made him fun, and it was more than just the fact he could lift two children on each arm and spin them round. She collected the kettle, and took off with it. Wy'Ziot mourned its loss; even cold, that tea would be stunning. He must ask for the collection of herbs and roots that made it, before they left.

As Panyin stood, he, too, found his feet. He smirked down at her, with a raised eyebrow. "And spoil zheir vish for zheir saviour to join zheir dinner table? I zhink not, little lady." He nudged her as they started in the footsteps of the girl. Wy'Ziot plonked his cup into Panyin's hand which she had offered, potentially, as an assistance to his standing up. His grin was mischevious as she glowered at him. "'Ad I come back, smelling of fine food, good ale, and may'ap some delicious dessert invention, djou vould 'ave strung me up for not getting djou to zhis meal." The smells they wafted around them were simply incredible, and Wy'Ziot could feel himself drooling. What smelt like lamb, as well as roasted vegetables. A gravy of some description spoke of notes of ale used in its creation. Wy'Ziot was in heaven just smelling it.

As they neared the house, the girl from before appeared, and motioned them follow. They stepped from street, directly into the large dining hall set up. A long table housing about 20 souls all sent up a cheer. Wy'Ziot smiled, and wrapped an arm about Panyin's shoulders. All this was for her! It was amazing! And looked and smelt delicious!!

 

[unais]

"I wouldn't do that to you..." She returned a smirk. She wasn't one to lay blame at the feet of others in her own doing. Everything else, however, that was purely of his own accord... certainly.

They stepped in to something she wasn't expecting, but should have been.

Panyin leaned against him for strength, smiling only so that she wouldn't be cringing. Yes, this kind of thing was what made her think she wasn't a fan of people. Unknowingly, her arm went around his. As she realized that, she held onto him tightly and dragged him with her to what seemed like the open seats.

A crown of lamb sat in a bed of butter-roasted sweet potatoes and carrots. They spilled out into the large bowl as the farmer's wife began slicing the ribs apart, and she gave Panyin and Wy'Ziot two or three ribs before the rest had gotten them. In front of Panyin sat a deep dish of casserole thick with mountain mushrooms, potatoes, and caramel onions. On Panyin's piece was dropped a spoon of heavy cream, rich and heavy on the tongue, and it left her brain swimming as she tasted. Long cuts of lamb shank were laid out with the meat falling off the bone into salad of cattail and beets. The meat crusted with decorated with spices and peppered with chopped pine nuts. Bones from the lamb cuts had stewed into a stock with aged ale, which created a dark, heavy broth that swam with boiled oxtail, sliced turnip and fennel. Butterflied slices of boneless lamb were piled on another plate in a heap next to a hot bowl of ladled gravy melted from the roasted meats.

Two legs of lamb sat in the center, slit and marinaded with wine, spiced oil with cloves, and fresh rosemary. It budded with sweet roasted garlic, fragrant and popped from the heat. It was a formidable cut of meat, but she imagined for a moment Wy'Ziot picking up the leg by the bone and tearing into it himself. In fact... she wondered if the meal were just big enough to feed him.

Sat along side them were honey-roasted parsnips and sweet yams with shallots and vinegar. It was a surprising treat, a dessert like a palette cleanser for between meats. Three loaves of sweet bread, freshly milled since morning, steamed beside the wines. Besides the wine and ale that joined the meal, there was some pine needle tea for the children, which Panyin gestured for her cup. It was a hot, spicy sour tea which woke her up.

Panyin did not eat food like an enjoyment. But her hunger tore her into the meat, and she felt the deep satisfaction settling as the juices fell upon her tongue. She ate heartily, her fill of meats, vegetables.

Halfway into her plate, something that was happening, and she had to raise her head. They were toasting her. She winced and reached for the glass being poured for her. She didn't drink wine normally. Alcohol burned. And eventually it made her slower, sluggish, swam her head in a mire. It was no condition for her to work in. But she wasn't going to blow their cover with an issue of politeness. So she drank. A sip. And continued.

The uncle to her left was urging her, as an uncle does to a favored, niece. She smiled, and drank the with the rest with her meal. They filled her cup twice after. Ale the third. She drank.

She was yawning by the time they brought dessert.

Sour berry tarts with a sweet compote. Honey roasted sweet potatoes and drizzled violets. Sweet breads and wine-poached fruits. Her wine was lined with wine-soaked berries and she drank them. Chewed them.

Finally they were released. She didn't stumble, and she could walk back without hanging onto him, but she did. An excuse to get away. He seemed fine.

Night had fallen and it was cold. The windmill shuddered over them in large thumps, the wind having picked up this night. She felt his arm around her, and she thought she nodded off for a moment.

He closed the door to the barn, shutting them away for the night while she helped herself to the last of the water.

Again, finally, she climbed the ladder again. She felt his hand graze her hip, stabling her if she were to topple off, and she swatted his hand without ire.

At last, she found herself face down in her bedroll again. Heard him climb up next to her and reached her hands up, rubbing her face. She was hot. She rolled over and, with her eyes closed, slipped off her shoes. She untied her chausses, and slipped the legs off. Then, after a pause, her shirt. She laid it somewhat over herself, as if it were her sheer blanket, though she still retained her underclothes.

He heard her groan as she laid down her head.

"Why." She flipped the blanket half over herself. She opened an eye, watching. She waited for him to lay down before moving close. Her skin felt like it steamed from the alcohol, though she knew the night was cold. She didn't know when she would get comfortable. He wrapped his arm around her. Somehow she knew he would. One of her hands came up and moved his necklace to the other side away from her.

"Does this have to touch me...?" She said, her eyes closed and her hand finding, pointing, at the bones on his arm. But she did nothing. It was unclear as to if she really cared.

He could feel her breaths, coming in huffs. Impatient... thinking... wanting to talk, but not finding the hold. One eye opened again. "How are your wounds?"

 

[Malhyanth]

The feast was incredible. Wy'ziot was shocked to find the girl attached to him as they entered, but he didn't dislodge her, allowed her some of his strength to get her through. They were separated by the family and the workers, but seated opposite each other. Wy'Ziot preferred it that way, anyway; he could keep an eye on the tiny thing as he sat opposite her. She launched into eating with gusto, the first time he'd really watched her savour food. He grinned, and bowed his head to those that filled his plate, and a tankard was passed to him.

The food was simply divine, with flavours rousing a cocophony of feelings and emotions in him as he ate. He had clearly been purposefully sat with the women whom had cooked the food, as they kept loading his plate with their various dishes they'd contributed to, wanting his opinion. He ate, amid groans of delight, shocked expression, genuine pleasure. The lamb, oh it just fell apart, and he barely chewed. The vegetables were steaming, hot, and supreme. His offered tankard must have been the largest in the farmstead, but it just about fit his hand, and when he had drained it, it was quickly refilled with dark, luxurious ales of malty flavours, some with additions, and a man opposite boasted of his experiments with his brewing process to make such flavourful drinks. This same man kept plying his small friend with more wines, and the flush that was rising up her neck, into her cheeks after so little made the werewolf realise she was not someone that drank much. She looked to be struggling now.

As the table was cleared of its groaning offerings, to be replaced with dessert, Wy'Ziot found himself surrounded by children, tugging in his tunic, especially the boys asking how he got his scars, and how they could get as big as he was. Wy'Ziot avoided best he could, stories of illegal activities that had caused his scars, and instead made up fantastical stories to entertain them; he had once been a pirate, with a vulture for a pet, and had travelled all over the world (a story based somewhat in truth, but certainly exaggerated for his crowd!); he had ridden with the Southern Horse-Tribes, in the deserts of Mi'tkena, and had had to wrestle with a rabid Sand Drake to gain his honorary place amongst these strange, alien looking people (again, not completely untrue). The children listened to him with wide eyes, mouths perfect round gapes of awe. As he regaled another tale, they jumped up, screaming with excitement, and ran off to wrestle and find sticks with which to use as swords to enact his tales.

Desserts were ladles onto them both, and soon, Wy'Ziot was so stuffed he had to decline. He shook the hands of the women around him, whom in their slightly inebriated states had forgotten their fear of this giant. Younger women whom had clearly chosen not to help in preference of dressing up to impress their guests clearly wished they'd stayed to learn the craft of their mothers and aunts. Wy'Ziot paid them such little heed, for they had yet to have stories or skills to show, and they sat pouting, as he stood wobbling a little on his feet, pointing to the raucous man whom had created the alcoholic beverages. They laughed, and slowly, Wy'Ziot rounded the table to take his companion up, her face rosy with all she had been given, in both food and drink. They were waved off with affection, and Wy'Ziot waved for both of them. Panyin didn't seem as bad as she pretended, holding on to his arm, but perhaps, as she was unused to alcohol in her system, she was struggling with her vision, even though her steps seemed relatively measured.

The smell and warmth of the barn was welcome, as was its darkness. It seemed someone had entered whilst they had been at the meal, and left a couple of oil lamps to burn gently, golden, on nooks and crags designed to hold them up and away from anything flammable; the oil seemed fragranced, as gently, the scent of sandlewood, sage, and juniper berries wafted, making the giant yawn wide. He sat upon his bale that he'd set by the table, and rubbed at his bloated belly. He felt his eyelids, heavy with satisfaction, struggling to stay open, with the scents wafting around the barn, as well as the food burning a happy fire in his belly. Panyin silently went about her business, washing her face with some of the water, before drinking the rest. He smiled happily, only a small expression, one unseen, so no need to exaggerate for other's attention.

The climb up the ladder was an experience. He tried to steady himself using her hip, but was swatted, and he chuckled, realising she'd thought him trying to help her. Reality was, he had probably drunk a little too much, and she was the first thing he'd been able to reach as he wobbled! As she settled herself, removing the day's clothes, Wy'Ziot actually couldn't really be bothered. And straw wasn't exactly his favourite thing to sleep on or near! He removed his tunic only, hanging it over the bannister of the loft. He lay himself down on his cloak, where it had been left previously. His feet stretched out their toes, and rubbed together for a moment as he got comfortable; one leg eventually came up to prop him a little higher on the hay pile he'd chosen, supporting him in the slightly raised position. Panyin surprised him again, nestling against his chest, batting like a cat at his bone accessories, which elicited a soft chest sound of amusement, which vibrated through them.

"Apologies. Zhey don't come off." Wy'ziot's mottled two-tone eyes looked to the ribcage around his upper arm, which was supporting her bare back against his side, the ribcage about the wrist of his other arm, which idly drew circles upon his own chest. At her request to know how his wounds were, he took her hand gently, that he had noticed she'd left against his chest, and lowered it to his side. The gaping wound she had tended to only one day ago was nought but a hardened scab, now mostly closed over. He allowed her time to assess, before wrapping her hand up again and placing both hands against his chest, above his beating heart, where the Wolf resided, beneath the scar she had caused. "Benefits of zhe Full Moon." He murmured, as his stubbled jaw split into a sudden yawn. "My kind 'eal quickly at zhis time. I, 'owever, 'eal even quicker vhen zhe New Moon. I stole zhe light of zhat Moon, on zhe day I vas born." His hand let go of hers to create the moon shape above them, circling his hand at the wrist. He didn't know if she was awake enough to appreciate one of his Clan's tales, but share he did any way.

"Djou see, to my People, most pups vere not born on a New Moon. Zhe rituals of my People 'appened to cause zhis strange phenomenon. Pups vere born on zhe Gibbous Moon, and on 'is Waning Moon brozher. Some vere even born on zhe Full Moon, Fazher to all zhe moons." As he said each type, a different hand gesture. The Full Moon got the same rounded movement, with splayed fingers; Waning a half circle, twice, with a curved hand; Gibbous, a half circle, with a straight slash down, with splayed fingers, to show the fattening state of the moon. As he held his arm up to tell his story, the hand suddenly clenched. "I vas zhe first, for many generations, to be born vhen no light touched us from above. Zhe New Moon had been sucked into my body; it's light shines in my skin, my 'air, in my eyes, my fur... I vas a creature zhat foretold good times, and of a decision, zhat could lead to zhe destruction of my People." The clenched fist lowered to settle over he hand at his heart once more. His scarred face looked up to the ceiling of the barn, thinking of the moon beyond it. His brow furrowed, his mouth set in a harsh line.

"Seems I did not make zhe right decisions, despite zheir preparations. I vas taken..." The large hand rose to the thick, constricting scar about his throat. "And zhey are gone. And I am left." His arm about her tiny body tightened a little, as if fearful she may too turn out to be something lost, but he could not tell if she still heard him or not; he peered down to her, his slightly smirking face set stoically once more. What was this little vixen doing to him? In no time at all she had gone from a creature he had wanted to break, and leave dead for intruding on his peace, to being saved and now, he owed a debt to for saving his life. He had been prepared to die that night, hadn't expected to leave the Keep below in the ravine; it had been, in his mind, the last contract. And yet here he was, alive, with only a hole in his side and a few more scars, to show he had ever been there. That, and the story. It will have reached the Contractors by now. And it will have been reported he lived; or at least, that he had gotten out of the Keep, and had taken someone with him. He needed to get East, and soon, so they didn't send someone with a Contract for him, to silence him, to ensure the tales of what he did for his money were not shared, their secret society rumbled. There were many that would have the Contractors killed, but there would always be Contractors. This organisation just held themselves above the common thief that tried his hand at a little espionage and murder. Wy'Ziot had been chosen for this task because of his powers, and the connection to the doomed soul in that internal chamber. Though Wy'Ziot was not the source of the infection in that child, there was clearly something going on in this Northern area. He wished to stay, for at least a week, and see what they could find out; and then, he would lead them East, back to the Capital, and to his bosses.

Her gentle breathing lulled him deeper into his thoughts, until thought, and dream, started to mould into one. His hands kept a gentle pressure on her body, her warmth enveloped by his own which she was curled into. He felt her leg throw itself over his own as she nestled in closer, and slowly, he allowed himself to enter a watchful sleep, light, but enough for him to rest; back to the usual state for himself. The night passed in relative silence; outside, some farm animals moved about, some of the farmhands were clearly inebriated and having fun with the dolled up girls whom had hoped to capture the eye of a foreigner to take them away from this life. The thump of the blades of that tall windmill. It was that repetitive sound that eventually lulled him a little deeper; that, and the warm body to his left, whom had snuggled her face into his pitted and welted skin. The werewolf smiled lightly, as a large sighed huff escaped him, as he allowed himself to relax a little more.

 

[unais]

Apologies.

She turned her head to look at him. They don't come off.

She hid her face somewhat. She knew she played with fire, but somehow when she brought herself to where she expected to anger him she did it anyway. She knew how to handle anger. Even if handling meant taking the blame, withstanding the blow. It rarely scared her except for the bodily threat itself. But he apologized. And she didn't know what to do with that.

He took her hand and she found herself feeling for his injuries. Panyin set upon the chance, and the flesh didn't feel to have as much of its bruised state as before. That and it weren't wet and bleeding. The scab seemed remarkably small for what it was--gaping the last time she remembered as she could get just all her fingers in.

Credits the full moon, he says. She looks flatly at him and wonders if they're not to be so lucky next when it's not.

But that doesn't seem the case. The New Moon, he says, gives him even more power than the full.

She turned herself to look up at what he was doing. His hands traced symbols she did not recognize, but he told her of the moons, of his birth. The superstition behind his albinism. If his gods were true, it explained why his skin was so pale it shone. After all these years his face was still as pale as the light. She was curious.

His hand clenched and she tightened within herself. His birth had been loaded with a premonition and a responsibility. And her hand on his chest closed as she heard the next words.

I did not make the right decisions.

Her heart sank in its beats. The words he spoke were too close, too familiar. She had hoped for a another ending, different from hers, but it had not changed.

And now everyone was gone. He'd had to make a right decision and lost.

It was painful. Whose regret and blame she felt, his, hers, looking back at the past stoically but thinking of the decisions that'd doomed them. She swallowed, wishing something else had befallen them.

He was young, then, when there was a rope around his neck. She felt powerless, as the past tended to make her feel.

"I… see…" The rote words she heard many times … she felt she couldn't offer more now. "I'm… sorry that happened…"

He was… truly all alone now?

She felt a shift and looked up at him. He was smiling at her. What had she done?

Her face was naught but concern, then, and he stroked a thumb across her cheek again, making her duck her head back to his chest.

It was quiet then. Just their breathing, the soft breeze which harmlessly rattled the barn and things outside. Her body pressed further against his, taking all her warmth from him. She breathed his skin, again, and her mind flashed to the inn, where he had pressed her, squeezed her, and the tones of his scent were harsh. Now they were not… though the smell of blood ached something within her, she was not opposed to his scented musk… the sweat and skin with pale water… and the faint acrid smell. She found his smell within sage and juniper, and was concentrating on her measured breaths, before she knew she was asleep.

Morning blinked her to light and she welcomed the thought that she had slept dreamless. The air had that crisp, dewy cold, a high sharp coldness that laid its hand down softly on her, and she groaned unnnowingly, closing further onto him if it were possible. She reached over herself to grab his hand around the small of her back, and dragged the large mass instead to cover the back of her shoulders. It was warm so much it practically burned.

She didn't want to move otherwise, but couldn't find herself falling asleep. She stared idly at him, not seeing him, as the ranch around them slowly gained its life. Cattle and sheep moaned and brayed as they were led out to pasture, their heavy footsteps tromping over the rocky scape in protest for the sudden move. Pails were clattered as they moved, from house to hand. There was several crowing from roosters, and she looked up at him, wondering if he were not truly awake.

The windmill thumped all the same, faintly heard over it all.

The door rolled with a creak and a voice much closer called out to them. One of the young ladies.

"Good mornin'!" She bid. Panyin couldn't find it in her to sit up, to move from here, so she imagined it. The girl's tone was bright and chipper, more so than for someone greeting them to breakfast. She imagined the girl still did her hair in fishtail braids, wore her nice blouse, and hoped to catch a glimpse of the stranger in his taut, morning form. Barely clothed, even? Perhaps another chance to impress as they headed out.

She pitied her greatly. It was not a life she could easily survive.

"Um… awake up there?" She ventured.

Panyin took a breath, trying not to be loud but letting her voice came out. "'Hoy."

"Oh, morning! Breakfast is ready in a few, so ya better get down here if ya wanna eat it hot!"

Panyin heard her idle there, perhaps for the reasons she suspected, before she left. Hearing no movement. Or answer, Panyin realized.

"Hey." She looked at him, at his broad form which was a landscape of itself. She had no idea what to do to wake him. She patted his chest, being that her hand was already there. That seemed to do it. "Let's go eat."

She drug her things from the loft and set them on the table from before, wrapping a few things, leaving the rest. She doubled up on her shirt this time, and slipped on her legs, but was wont to take furs to breakfast. Her vest was left behind, but she took one flask with her.

It was still cold out here. She held to her arms as the wind blew across her, and hurried toward the house.

Everyone looked ready and as if they'd been up for hours. She hadn't bothered to fix her hair, which was more mussed with hay than even before. They didn't seem to mind, and greeted them with the same familial hospitality as before.

She sat quickly, as they began to sit another pot of tea down.

There was another deep scent of broth, as it seemed they had taken many of the bones from yesterday and boiled it into another stock for morning. It made a hearty companion to the roast potatoes in rosemary and gave them a heavy sauce, like gravy. Bacon, deliciously crisp and salty, still sizzled in a black skillet and melted in their mouths. One of the same plates as yesterday were this time stacked high with eggs, cracked and scrambled with thick cream. More bread was baked since yesterday, cut into thick slices and sat next to golden yellow butter which was rich and salted.

Her tea was a sour, refreshing juniper mint, and she hardly had time to gulp it down to her food, but sat with the cup and tea after finishing her fill early.

She watched Wy'Ziot. It was rude, she knew, not to be the socialite of the hour, but she found her eyes only rested on him and then her brain could stop buzzing. At their leisure, some of the mothers brought their kids to ask her to patch some small wounds from yesterday, and she was justified in bringing one bottle. She mixed a few drops in their tea and handed it off to their thanks and apologies.

As breakfast wound down she stood, somewhat suddenly, needing to catch the ranch head before he became hidden. The plates and things were almost cleared, and the smallest children with no chores were again querying around him for stories. This time, without the crowded room, they had climbed all over him.

The wife dusted her hands, wiping them on her apron. "You'll be heading out now, I see?"

Panyin looked at her, suddenly given a segue. "No."

Some in the room gave pause, Wy'Ziot included. Her eyes found the husband as she spoke.

"We'd like to do some work. Give my companion an hour or two to repay your hospitality and then we'll feel right about heading out." It became apparent to Wy'Ziot why she hadn't packed her things.

The wife hemmed and hawed with a bit of a laugh, a bit of a blush at what she perceived to be the over generosity of these two guests, and the husband was almost the same. But he regained ahold of himself faster and slipped his hat on. "Well, Miss Healer I suppose we have some work the big fella could help us out with before he leaves…" he looked at Wy'Ziot, tipped his head at him respectfully. "Whenever you're ready, I'll be out by the windmill."

Panyin looked at Wy'Ziot before heading out after the man, though she didn't follow, and walked completely back to the barn.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot yawned deeply as Panyin spoke with the girl that had entered. He curved his spine, raising himself to a seated position, his sternum cracking loudly, his shoulders flexing; once seated, he cracked his neck from side to side, and sighed, watching her dress. He scratching at his stubbled chin, noting the white whiskers were becoming very long. He'd need to trim them down at some point; the pure white beard made him look far too old. She headed off by herself, leaving him to follow after. His eyes were frowned as he looked at her kit, still spread out. Surely it was time to be moving on? Why was her stuff still spread all over?

Yawning again, he stood, watching his companion leave the barn. He inspected his wounds, those he could see, and was impressed. Another night of sleep, and the scabs and damage had healed further. The werewolf reached his hand over his shoulder, feeling the new, raised scar in his shoulders; completely healed. The same could be seen in his forearm wound. He grinned to himself, impressed by his own standards; not using his giant meaty hands to cause more trauma to the wounds hand certainly proved a very beneficial addition to this new companion! Her dainty hands had worked wonders on keeping his wounds contained, and he had healed fast. Grabbing up his tunic, sniffing it, before slinging it over his shoulder, he lowered himself carefully down the ladder. Bruising was still evident, but at least he was not a gaping, walking wound.

Slipping the tunic over his head as he exited the barn, he followed the footsteps left by Panyin to the farmstead home. Inside, so much food was waiting, once again. Before sitting, he excused himself to the lavatory, and relieved himself, before washing up, enjoyed the warmed water that was stored on a little stove there. It felt great on his face, and he took a pair of beard shears he found there, and clipped as close as he dared to his skin. Looking at the changed face in the mirror, he rubbed the jaw with less white beard on it, and smiled happily. He returned to the table, and declined solid food, in preference for a few mug-fulls of the broth, with some of the warm, buttered bread to dip.

The children approached him happily, clinging to his arms and shoulders, but he generally stayed quieter today, not used to this much attention. They seemed to get the message, and started to back off a little as he quietly drank his broth. He didn't notice the eyes watching him from across the table, not really noticing Panyin at all until she stood and approached the farm stead's leader. Her demand was loud, and it raised Wy'ziot's eyebrows with interest. He couldn't really complain; he'd been relatively happy to accept they hadn't wanted his assistance, considering he was still healing, but she had obviously believed he needed to repay his debt to them too, so he allowed it, and simply nodded in agreement.

Whenever you're ready, I'll be out by the windmill.

Both left, and Wy'Ziot stayed for a moment, before downing his broth, and taking his mug of tea, shaking the hands of the few women left in the dining hall. He stood, and followed the smaller man toward the mill. Soon as he entered, he could see what was coming. The man indicated the two large mill stones laid in their sides at the bottom of a great spiralling slope to where they belonged, halfway up. "These take five of us at least a week to traverse up these slopes. I figure with some help, you could get these up quicker." He motioned to the door. "I'll go round up some of the la---" The giant raised a hand, and headed over to investigate the stones.

"Come back at noon, and bring vater." The werewolf gently lead the man out, and closed the mill door. He returned to the stones. There was an easy way to get these up, but he doubted anyone would want to know there was a monster in their farmstead, and it wasn't worth the danger. Wy'Ziot then walked the route up. It was a fair way, and was going to take some time. He identified the two different stones; a course one and a finer one. The finer looked like it would be the bottom one, and so he set to work. He crouched beside the stone, levering his fingers under the stone and getting a good grip on it. He jerked it up, straightening himself up and bringing the stone with him, setting on its rounded edge. He worked it away from the other, before getting behind it, and starting the arduous task of walking it up the wooden slope.

As he pushed, the werewolf grazed his arms on the stone's surface. There were a number of breaks taken as he walked it up the slope, his muscles bulging, his side straining, and starting to ache with an angry red glow. As he reached the lower level of the system of pulleys, crank arms and spinning poles, the stone was stopped, and he leant against it, face sweating, and cheeks rosy. He gently set the stone on its side, carefully lowering it; if he dropped it, it could take him out and crash through the wooden slats! Once on its side, he manoeuvred the giant stone into place, reattaching all the system arms. Only one arm wasn't connected, the one to start the spinning. First, he had one last stone to walk up!

He returned to the bottom, removing his tunic as he went, using it to wipe at his face and chest, where he had sweated in his exertions. He placed the tunic to the side, as he inspected the next stone. It was larger than the first, and was going to be far more difficult. He crouched beside it, again working his fingers below the edge to grip it tight. He heaved, and every muscle popped; his intercostal muscles pressed against the wound in his side, and the angry red edge of it started to lift, a dribble of blood starting to roll down his side as he forced himself up with the stone, finally getting it onto its edge. He leant against it for a moment, breathing deep. Blood dribbled down his side, and dropped into the flour dust. Slowly, he started to push the giant stone, and with every shove made muscles bulge, and scraped his skin raw against the coarse stone. The slope seemed so much steeper pushing this stone up, and it had to go further.

Getting to the top, his cheeks were red, his skin of his arms and chest her sore and scratched, his side had gaped again, though no where near as badly as its first injury. It took a long time to manoeuvre this giant stone, and it took a lot of effort to lower it. However, slowly, it was wedged into place, and the crank shafts, pole arms, and pulleys were all in place, so he engaged the lever, listening to the grinding roar that suddenly kicked up around him as the rotating blades started to turn the stones. Ambling down the slope, the werewolf dusted himself down, both dusty and sticky, where the flour had mixed with his sweat, though he was still as white as before.

At the bottom, the farm leader stood with a large jug of water. His eyes were wide as they stared at the giant, up to the slope, to the stones turning above, to the man before him who took the jug, and downed it in a number of gulps. "You didn't tell me you were injured." He managed after a number of attempts. He indicated Wy'ziot's side, but the man waved him off, taking the man's arm in a handshake.

"Provide us vizh one more night, and any food djou can spare. Ve vill be gone come morning." The albino grinned his sharp smile, and walked out, grabbing his tunic on the way through to the outside. People whom had gathered backed away at the sight of him, his scars shown in all their glory. He walked past all, and entered the barn. He wasn't sure where Panyin was, he hadn't seen her in the crowd, and wondered whether she had disappeared off to find more herbs and roots. He sat down at the table, and stared into the distance, ignoring the sting of his arms and chest, and the throbbing of his side.

 

[unais]

He heard the door open at some point, and if he took a cursory glance, would have seen red in white sunlight.

She closed the door behind her. It was oddly refreshing to close herself in here, it gave Panyin a reprieve from the feeling of intruding. Where their eyes and curiosity roamed rightfully all over their own lands, she took a minute to be unknown to where they thought she might be. She looked up the spiral innards of the monstrous machine. It deconstructed before her, and that pleased her. She could understand how it worked now. But there was only one person here. Alone.

Why alone? She watched him for a bit. Straining under an impossible weight. Of course he would be.

He looked almost illusory. That one man, albeit giant, was hefting a stone that an ox would feel the burden of pulling. It wasn't without effort. She could see the light pass over him and a glint, as a tightened bead of sweat released its hold and ran down his neck.

Still there was another stone here, at the bottom, and it would be a while.

She backed out of the door quietly, the white light shedding around her into the windmill for only a moment. Her dry hands brushed down the flour-dusted wood. She wanted to guard his back, lean on the door to watch over him, but if she stayed all would be left would be her leering at him. And probably harassing him after a point.

So she drifted for a few hours. Allowed herself to. Her things had been packed in a moment's notice after breakfast, leaving her free to wander the farmstead for the first time.

She took in the buildings, the land, the people together, not in the dark, in the dusk, or in the distance. Just as its melded mass of a serene little piece away from other parts of the world.

The wood of the buildings were new for their time... buffeted smooth by the wind, rendered pale and hollow. But they stood fast, unbroken by the constant breeze. She ran her hand over the sweeping wheat growing hardily in a golden sea at the top of this rock. The hard land was difficult to churn, making farming difficult up here. The rocks she could feel through her shoes could attribute to that. They were cold, and pitted hard into her feet. The few things that flourished up here did so strongly.. She bent to pluck the flowers that had worked their way out from a sheltered cause gouged in the earth. Exquisite purple and heart shaped leaves. Violets usually helped with most things. She held the powdery, milky smell to her lips, the wet velvety petals touching her, and felt its smell close off and fade as it did.

She was called. Some of the ladies touting their animal goods had stopped to take note of her enjoying the scenery, commenting politely.

"You like flowers, miss?"

"In a way... I'll be heading in soon, though."

"Oh, they're lovely this time of year. There's a little field out around the other side of the house."

"It's alright, please, don't worry about me. I'm more interested in food, rather," It occurred to her that she would like to buy from them to have some edibles in stock. She hadn't gotten a chance to restock back in Stonhelm, and there was no going back at right now. "Could I purchase produce from you to take with us?"

"Oh, sweetie, no, we can't have that. I'll make a little picnic for you to take with later. Would you like to come with us? We're makin' lunch. I'm sure there's some sweet tea Coraline is prepping."

She followed them back to the stead, more because she couldn't think of a decent way to get away. They were preparing the lunch and dinner meal again. She wasn't hungry. She sat with them, taking a tall stool on the outside of the half-door to the kitchen. The cold breeze blew over her back while the warmth inside gushed out with the smell of bread and meat baking.

With Panyin present, the conversation soon turned to Wy'Ziot. She turned instead to look out to the field behind her, leaning her arm on the half-door. The boys from earlier were in the distance, picking wheat into their scythes, mowing the distant gold down slowly and surely.

Polite man he was, they said. A gentle giant. Poor thing. Such a hard life. A gentleman.

They laughed, enjoying themselves.

She winced visibly, and they laughed when they caught her expression. She tried to think. Though she thought it true, she wondered if it were. He certainly was... some things... and then... other things. Chuckled to herself. Of course. Thinking like this... that he were simple, easy to describe... even if he was a beast... was an exercise in futility in the same as it was for most people.

Coraline handed her a small mug, tapping her on the shoulder about earlier.

"Honey, you have your hands full with that one?"

She paused. For a moment they thought she hadn't gotten the joke.

"...I think... it's the other way around..."

She left them churning butters, rolling fine flour in fine hands into crisp, cold water. It was a warm place, surprisingly welcome to her senses, but it was not where she belonged. She headed back to where she thought he was.

The cattle didn't seem to take notice of her, and let her walk on by close, only shifting uncomfortably just as she had passed.

She was reaching the edge of the farmstead. The thin air was cold and stung her nostrils. It swept from the north, and very faintly, she could smell the conifers in the forests surrounding. The cold made her tongue taste something that she couldn't smell.

It reminded her of the first time she tasted freedom after what had happened before. It was not what she would call happiness, the joy of being free, but it was something... always pleasant. Always freeing. Relieved to know a world spread out in front of her. Whether she could be there now or not.

There was a crowd dispersing by the windmill, and she surmised that he had already gone. He didn't tend to disperse crowds.

It'd been two or three hours.

Her footsteps turned towards the barn instead.

He was in there, quiet, oddly still. The sage and juniper was faded back to the warm, heavy smell of hay.

She noticed something stark against his skin. Red, on white. It dripped.

He heard her come over and drop a mug, a pitcher, and a slight bundle of flowers on the table, and she knelt by the bale. She ran a thumb across the torn scab, wiping the blood onto her fingers.

"Why."

She imagined his voice in response. It was you.

She didn't know whether to be mad or not.

She thought herself through the conversation. It could come back to blame her easily. But he didn't have to do it alone. And he had so proudly been touting the healing of his wounds. Was it her fault they were open again? Had she pushed him? She did force his hand, but hadn't expected the outcome to be so... grievous. That would be her fault.

She took the silver pitcher, and left the barn.

Had she expected too much? Presumed things that were not true?

Returning shortly, she sat with him, and took one of his arms numbly towards her, ran the cold water over his scratches. The pitcher was filled to the lip. Her hands were clean. She worked quietly to wash out the fragmented dust. The water ran over his skin, turning the white mess to a dark gray, silt of flour falling off into the hay and dirt below. Surely the werewolf could survive it, but she had to think that clean wounds were more palatable for healing powers.

She picked up his tunic from the table and ... sniffed it, turned it inside out where it seemed less dusty. She saw blood in small beads on his chest. She stood, close to him. Bundled the tunic in one hand and held it firm to his stomach, taking the pitcher and pouring thin rivets of water down his chest, across the bloodied marks she could find. She wipes some of the water off with her hands, turning the tunic, patting more dry. She dried his arms, if he stayed still for it.

Then she looked at his face fully, for the first time in hours, probably to say something, and noticed he had shaven. Lifting one of her hands, still damp with water, she ran a thumb over his cheek, curious. Only then she noticed the water, as it left trails on his face, powdered from flour. She tried to wipe that off too, then dried her hands on his tunic, before turning and sitting back on the bale.

She knew should be satisfied, trying to scale back and forth the definition of healing wounds for a werewolf with grievous injuries. But she didn't like to err on the side of complacency.

And it seemed like she had.

The guilt ate her. And she let it. Then she shut it in.

She let it be quiet, for a moment.

Her voice seemed stunted in the heavy air of the barn. "Should we leave by tonight?" Paused. "Are you in any condition to?"

 

[Malhyanth]

The werewolf had been in a daze, and hadn't heard her enter, his brain was slowly turning cogs, thinking through leaving this place, returning to the crazy world beyond; it saddened him, and his face had returned to its stoic smirk, lacking in the mirth that Panyin had brought with her as she joined him. It was the cold water on his skin that shocked him to the present with a squeal; a sound even he was shocked by, and he covered his mouth with his hand.

Why.

It wasn't even a question. Just what her mind had said as she tended his wounds. He looked down, guilty, and allowed her to manoeuvre him and clean away the white dust, the red blood, the grey sweat streaks she rubbed harshly at areas that were sore, to clean them, and he lifted his lip in a silent snarl, but allowed her to do it. He'd been foolish to do it alone, but now the farmstead had everything they needed, he'd been able to get stuff done, he had not been stared at as he had done work that he would not feel comfortable revealing himself doing to others, and all was well. When she picked up his tunic, he finally moved and went to protest, but it was too late, it had been pressed against his bleeding wound, and that was that. He huffed. He had no other tunic; he was now shirtless!! He couldn't be annoyed, she was doing him yet another service, looking after him, adding to the debt he already carried for her.

Shock again as she touched his still rough stubbled face, and he turned into it, looking at her with hard eyes, pursing his lips as she noticed the water dripping from his jaw, using his mess of a tunic to wipe down his face. His eyes sought her's to apologise, but then he realised; she felt as guilty as he did for this incident. Why was she feeling guilty? He had declined the help, and bust his own healing wound. He'd done it to himself, because he was too scared of what these people would think of him if they had witnessed the true extent of his strength for themselves. At least this way, having not seen, they would not question him specifically on how he had achieved the feat; instead it would become legend and myth of the giant albino man and his small companion whom could heal all ails visiting their town. It wasn't often Wy'Ziot was seen as a welcome thing in a town.

As she spoke, her words were laced with a small edge of sorrow, of guilt. He smiled, genuinely, the scar down the left side of his face tugging it into a slightly ugly version of what it should be. He cupped her face with his hand, and without thinking, leant in. He planted a gentle kiss to her forehead, before resting his chin on the top of her head. "I zhank djou vonce more for patching me up, 'Ot 'Ead. Are djou purposefully adding to my debt vizh djou?" Inside, he felt his wolf pushing against his skin, wanting to remove Wy'Ziot, and be there itself, wrapped around the girl that protected them in a way they could never protect her. He released her face and stood, taking the soiled tunic from her hands. He climbed up the ladder to the loft, grabbing the cloak and coming back down before he answered her question. "I 'ave asked for one more night. And it seems I need it to get zhis cleaned. Little lady, do djou see me valking vizh extra clozhing in a bag?" Wy'Ziot smiled at her bringing his cloak up around his shoulders, and wrapping it tight about his chest. He approached a final time, his fingers lacing in her fiery red hair, before he patted her on the head and turned about, exiting the barn. He headed towards the well, looking about as he went. The afternoon sun was warm, but any touch of it on his bared skin was soon whisked away by the breeze. As he strode towards his destination, he noticed the people were a little more wary of him again. Good. That needed to happen before he left, so they were once again wary of strangers in their midst. By the well, there were tubs and scrubbing boards, and boar bristle brushes to use for cleaning. He through his tunic into one, and dropped the bucket into the well. Pulling it up was tough going, his strength sapped from his morning exertion, but he managed to bring the bucket up two or three times before he felt there was enough water in the tub to wash with.

"Here, sir. Use this." Wy'Ziot looked over his shoulder and found one of the young girls of the farmstead watching him, with what appeared to be a homemade soap. She offered it carefully, and he smiled and greatfully accepted it. She didn't move as he started his business of cleaning out his tunic. He was slow, due to the tugging sensation in his side, and the rawness of his forearms. He didn't like being stared at as she was, and he stopped, to look up at her. She simply blinked, and leant a hip against the edge of the well, not at all phased by his frown and stopping due to her staring. He huffed, much like an annoyed dog, and went back to his tunic. He scrubbed it hard, the soap making things very much easier to remove the stains. The bristle brush made light work of the blood, as soon, his creamy white tunic was back to its former glory. One handed, he tipped the tub up, and walked it away from the well, dumping it along the edge of the field, where a ditch for such things had been dug. As he returned with the heavy wooden tub, the girl still stared.

"Vhat is it?" He grumbled. The girl, a demure thing, barely into her teens, flat chested and toned from the hard farm work, her hands calloused, her brown hair wild and frizzy, freckles peppering her face. Her skin was dark with tan and exposure, her nails dirty. It was her eyes, a powerful green, and hard as gemstones, that made the werewolf uncomfortable.

"You did what it takes our men over a week to achieve in a mornin'. They are talkin', and sayin' you ain't human." It was said matter of factly, and Wy'Ziot remained quiet, judging the girl. "They don't want you to go, see. 'Cos you're strong, and your witch is powerful." Wy'ziot's stoic face deepened into a frown as he stood. The girl stopped leaning too, and looked up at him defiantly. "The Master says you're to go in the mornin'. Others are petitionin' he not let you. Trap you in that barn."

Wy'Ziot crouched, and looked into the eyes of the girl, so honest, so honed in on him, seeing into his very soul. "Vhy are djou telling me zhis? Do djou not agree vizh zhem?" Her green eyes narrowed at him, and she took a step forward, bringing her hands up to his face, and holding him. Her eyes locked to his, and suddenly visions invaded his brain. Fire, and blood scents, assaulted his nose, but he couldn't move. His eyes showed him the farmstead ablaze, soldiers from the town below crashing through the houses, stomping down the crops, killing beasts, and then moving on to the women and children as the men refused to give up their prize. In the centre, a fiery red head lay, blood flowing around her, from herself and those bodies surrounding her. And over it all, a giant white beast, which roared to the night sky above.

When she released him, he fell, and scrambled back. His eyes were wide as he stared at the girl. "Vhat are djou?" His words were nearly a snarl, as the girl stood and dusted off her clothes, her long skirts. She smiled at him, before skipping off to rejoin the children playing not far from the well. Wy'Ziot sat there, a moment longer. The vision's smells still affected his nose, and he tried to dislodge it. No luck. He stood, stiffly, and walked back to the barn with haste. He grabbed Panyin from where she sat, lifting her by her arm, probably more roughly than he meant to.

"Get djour zhings. Zhis place is no longer safe."

 

[unais]

She truly didn't understand…

But the nook under his neck was warm, and she felt comfortable here. Falling easily, bizarrely into this warmth.

She stared dumbly after him as his form disappeared into the loft. Almost barely saw him as he returned, though her eyes seemed to follow him. She returned to life as he touched her hair again, with a cringe at being treated like a child. But she stared after him as he truly left this time. She had nothing to say. She couldn't.

And he was gone, leaving her in an awkward peace.

It was not wholly unpleasant.

If she had known she were smiling now she would have stopped it. She didn't yet understand things. She hadn't earned the right to smile of out of this strangeness and enjoy the feelings of ease that upon her. Not when there were questions that should be answered.

But she didn't, so there was a faint smile as she turned back to the table in front of her.

She thought of… nothing. Not knowing what to think. Waiting for the first thoughts to work themselves out of that gray matter of hers that was always a turmolic chaos that demanded it be fed, satiated. To consume.

Perhaps the patting of the head was not a childish gesture as she thought. Perhaps as a wolf…

She would have to try it. Is what she thought at the mug of tea, pitcher, and violet on the table. Her things lay ready to go in a heap just beyond them.

Would she be unpacking her things? She didn't want to. She'd prefer to sleep on her cloak at this point. She could pile up the hay. It probably wouldn't be the worst sleeping place she'd tried.

She chewed the flowers. The mountain air had made them less bitter. More watery. Their penchant for mild aspirin and soothing for throats was made stronger. If only she had more time to pluck a bundle.

She thought of dinner. She would probably let Wy'Ziot to it alone. Tell him to report she was feeling ill and just bring her a bread or two. Another dinner… her skin did not crawl as badly, but she was tired, she realized. So tired and they would be walking again by tomorrow.

Her square bag was slid over to her, the lid opened. The whole mighty collection of little things, and some random samples she had taken and not stored away properly let. At least twenty loops of vials hooked into the side, six larger bottles carried on the other sides and at the bottom. She picked out a vial and uncapped it, drinking the contents. It tasted like hollowed mushrooms, and a not-quite rotted wood smell. It didn't bother her.

She'd get through the next day plenty now. She washed it with water, capped it, and slipped it in among the others as the door opened behind her. The air sucked in a kind of rush, the kind she knew to search for immediately, but he was on her, and she yelped in pain.

Hurt. It was the kind of hold where he didn't know his own strength, so she forgave it, though she twisted her arm through a burn as the skin tugged through.

She looked at him, alarmed at his words, forgetting completely of her arm.

There was nothing else.

"Wh--" almost started. Foolish. She pulled herself free and tugged her vest on over her shirt. The laces would take some time. She tightened them quickly, needing them tight like the bodice of a corset.

He was impatient, but he watched the door and didn't rush her.

She pulled the rest of her things on, her bags, checked her knives, leather ties taut and secure. She slowed in these moments to make sure of this. Her other shirt was thrown on, her furs and cloak piled over her. It managed to fall over her form in a less haphazard way as she dusted herself of hay. Panyin looked for her other bag, but he already had it, and she pursued him, out the door, and managed to get ahead of him.

"I have to visit the home for food. Quickly." She knew that urgency. He said it was no longer safe. They would stay in the open. Never exposing their backs here now.

She felt consciously for eyes on them, but only felt it slightly. The stare he encountered. She didn't have time to look for it.

She approached the homestead, pretending to need to catch up with the werewolf's long strides. Her breathing was measured, trying not to look as rushed.

"Oh honey, lunch is--"

"I'm sorry." She let herself pause enough, "We'll be heading out now. Thank you so much for everything you've given us. I can only hope our stay repaid you as we needed." Panyin adjusted her cloak, tying it correctly as she waited for the woman to speak.

"Sweetie, you were a miracle worker. You can't stay a minute for lunch before you go? We were about to call the boys in with you."

"It'd be great to have something before we went, but... it'd be better to go. We have to make it to some places on time."

"Oh how 'bout I pack some'of it for you then? Let me do that."

She bustled off, and Panyin stepped closer to the door window, poking in to ask. "It's really alright. I just wanted to ask if I could buy some vegetables from you to take with us just as well. You don't need to give us lunch…"

"Oh, put that away, you," the stout wife waved at Panyin's coinpurse as she brought them some potatoes, radishes, and other hardy vegetables in a small sack. Panyin didn't know how she'd carry it for it's awkwardness but Wy'Ziot grabbed it for her. She gave Panyin a small cloth of dried meats and hard cheeses as well. Their thoughtfulness struck her somewhat. The other woman came back with the sandwiches intended for lunch, wrapped in some old, clean parchment, and loaded them into Panyin's arms as well.

"Thank you… really. It's a lot… are you sure we're to take all this?"

"You've given us a few more years, sweetie, we can at least give you more than a few days."

"…thank you. Truly."

"Come back anytime, ya'hear? You both are welcome to stay again."

Panyin smiled, nothing in her eyes. "I don't think we'll see you again. The world's a big place. But… thank you… Goodbye."

And all too quickly, they were out on the road.

Wy'Ziot's glances back aren't missed by her, and when she glances herself when the stead is quite faded from the distance, she takes a breath to finally ask.

"So what was it?"

The land curled here. The flat plains stretched out to their right but they headed towards where the land itself became more unruly. It wouldn't do to be able to be watched from such a distance.

They would take a break here, because she wanted to eat and lighten their load.

She waited for his answer. She had a few guesses but she wasn't quite sure.

They had rounded a large outcropping of stones that seemed to shield a sparse copse of trees, and the stead was out of sight. The wind was cold, but decidedly lessened here.

She sat, suddenly, dropping half the things down for a break. She unwrapped the sandwiches, a little soggy by now, as they had been shredded beef in sauce in the thick bread. Handed him his.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot itched to get moving, buckling his own satchels and pouches tight around his waist. His tunic was still sopping, so he tried to wring it out again, but it was just too heavy of a thread to loose water that easily. Seeing she was going to take some time, he tied his tunic to some of the spare straps of her rucksack, and shouldered it, seeing his tunic sit quite well upon the back of the sack, flapping a little as he moved; hopefully, with the wind and the sun, it would dry, and he'd be able to get it on over his bared chest soon. Had he not had a sore chest where the stones had rubbed him raw, he'd have just put it on, and cursed its horrid fabric when wet. He didn't feel like it today, however. Skin or no sore skin, he wasn't going to go rushing about in a sopping wet shirt!!

Finally she was ready, and they headed out, but she diverted them. The farmstead hadn't even begun to realise the vision he had seen from the girl. His eyes sought her, but she was no where to be seen. This concerned him. Had he imagined her? Surely not? The images were like memories, but of something not yet happened. The smells still cloyed in his nostrils! That girl was going to struggle here. But she seemed like a protector for them. He wished he could whisk her away, find her someone to train her in her skills, but nothing was going to come of stealing away their children, even with one so skilled with Wyld Magicks. The diversion Panyin took brought them right to the door of the large communal kitchen. They nattered, and Wy'Ziot shifted uneasily from foot to foot. They had to leave, before the men returned from the fields! He felt that in his very bones, those decorating him, and those in his own flesh! When the vegetable sack was offered, Wy'Ziot leant across and took it from Panyin, his eyes hard as he looked at her, clearly stating that they needed to move. The sack was stored in the top of the rucksack, soon followed by the dried meats and cheeses. He let Panyin carry the food that was already prepared. Bowing his head with one of his shining grins, he allowed Panyin to state they would not be returning, before he headed out on the South East road, his long strides carrying him speedily away from the town.

He knew he was probably being too quick for the girl, but he couldn't help it. The place was no longer a haven, and Wy'Ziot was not risking Panyin's life by staying there another second. He cast furtive glances back, ears focused on the task of pinpointing any indication they followed. His face was hard, as he raced on, head down, back laden with her bag. Soon enough, once enough ground was covered, they slowed, and he looked back one last time, the farmstead a mere streak on the horizon. Panyin slumped down on the stones close by, pulling the sandwiches they'd been given out of their parchment, and handed him one.

So... what was it?

The giant removed her rucksack, setting it down, leaning its tall expanse against the rock she sat on. He sat himself against another stone, breathing deeply, realising for nearly the full hour they had been walking, he'd been holding his breath intermittently, panic keeping him going. He looked at her now, reaching out to touch her shoulder, her bruised arm where he had grabbed her. His face pulled into a sneering apologetic expression, the scars of his features struggling with such a tight expression. "A girl..." He said, looking down at the sandwich, laden with meat and juices. "She... she 'ad powvers..." He took a large bite of food, and chewed for a moment, remembering all the details. He repeated what he had seen to Panyin, not looking at her all the while, choking on the words of her being dead at his feet; a crazed beast. It was either a case the wolf had broken his promise, or something had happened which caused him to be the death of her. He wasn't sure which it was, but neither option was something he wanted to test.

"Djou are too precious to my Volf to lose." The words were said quietly, face turned away. He wanted to say she was too precious to both of them; Wolf and Man. But he couldn't expect her, a human that preferred her own company to that of others, to understand his need for a companion, for someone whom he could call friend, or pack mate. They made an odd duo, but she fit him, and he liked to think, he to her. They were an odd family, but he would protect her with everything he had. And if some strange, supernatural girl with the ability to show him the future told him to get out, and take her with him, he sure as heck was doing that!!

 

[unais]

Panyin looked over when he touched her arm, bringing her attention to a now red, darkening mark which she balked at, not having expected it. She quickly shoveled a potion out of her bag and snuck down a sip. She wanted to remove the mark before that expression of guilt ran across his face at every instance that he saw it. It'd be gone now, soon.

She sat on the ground, as the dirt here is as softer than the rocks, but her body hardly held any of the tension of his. Instead of winding tightly in suspense, it aligned itself only with curiosity, calmness as she sought the answer.

She paused her chewing to hear him.

His recollection raised her brow, but the memory itself didn't seem phase her much. Rather, she quietly began to watch him, instead. How he was talking. How he was affected. Her leveled stare was not met, as his glance turned further and further away.

"Djou are too precious to my Volf to lose."

Her head lilted. The wolf...?

Again, she wondered... in fact, she wondered many things with him.

Her curiosity tended not to be cute wonderment. Her mind attacked questions in the bluntest way she could manage, and sought to dissect them from the core. There was no gentleness in her mind as it perused puzzles. Hardly ever did it treat conundrums and mysteries with a gentle wonder. Observation.

Yet he made her wonder.

The creak of distant trees moved its way to them along the rustle of needles overhead. Food dripped from her hand.

"The wolf..." Her gaze went into the copse, idled there, seeing nothing. She tried not to struggle with what she wanted to say. Knowing the feeling and not the words. "...I don't know what you felt from the vision..." Premonitions, she understood, tended to inject a feeling as well along with its senses and images, "...but had I seen it, my first conclusion… was that the wolf was there in retaliation... for my death." She saw him prick as she said that. "...by the soldiers." She exhaled, "but that is if I had seen and not felt it."

He was probably not comforted by this. Her lack of finesse with this struggled palpably inside her, and she stood up. She leaned close to him, resting her occupied hand on the rock.

She... placed her hand on his head. As he often did to her.

Perhaps he would snarl at being petted. Wolves were not dogs.

"...I'm not worried." She didn't know what to say, but she spoke steadily. Her heart beat painfully, in a sense of panic, afraid she couldn't find the right words. She leant closer, as her hand moved his hair out of the way so she could see him. His eyes quivered on her, as if they never focused. She closed her eyes as her forehead touched to his. "...And I'm not afraid of you..."

Barely, her eyes opened. Of all the things she was not afraid of. Beasts, and animals, and monsters. But the Wolf hadn't frightened her. Why hadn't it...?

"...I don't feel you killing me." She hadn't the words. He could feel her pulse through her skin, nervous and searching.

...A half-breath of a chuckle, and a wry smile. It was hopeless. The words were wrong. They would only ever be wrong.

But she remained.

"...I know this can't take away what you feel... what you worry will happen..." Her eyes flicked to his but she could not maintain the stare. Down again they went. "I wish… just… that this could ease you..." Her standing here. "My complacency... and my comfort..." She paused, ready to back off, to sit down. She swallowed. Stayed. "...being with you..." But she hesitated.

If it were shared.

 

[Malhyanth]

The werewolf wasn't sure he followed her, but she seems sad, dejected. It was like his own feelings of alarm and tension from the vision that had been shared with him were reacting in her too, but he knew he didn't have that power, to share feelings. His was solely a beast hidden within the visage of a human, which pushed through sometimes, and rampaged. The feeling that had been shared was not that his Wolf had reacted to her death bein brought about by others, and thus he kept it to himself. His feeling was that she had been killed by his claws, trying to protect those around them. Something had triggered the Wolf, probably the soldiers starting to attack, starting to burn the place down; and the Wolf was lost to its rage, still so close, as they were, to the Full Moon. Wy'Ziot had not let the beast loose; he had still been in control when they had killed the Lord and his son, had still been in control when he had killed the guards. That aggression, that raw murderous rage, had been all Wy'Ziot. Had the Wolf been in charge, those bodies would have also been devoured.

He turned his face away as she petted him, but allowed it. As she leaned into him and continued to mumble, his sandwich was forgotten as his arms raised, and he surrounded her in a huge, muscluar hug, pulling her tight into his bare chest, which she must have forgotten about to get this close. It bone crushing in its tightness, and he just grinned amicably, resting his chin on her fiery red head as she fought to escape the companionable gesture. He laughed as she beat against his broad chest, holding on as long as he dared, before releasing her and standing, turning away from her and darting behind the boulder, snatching up his sandwich and devouring it quickly.

"Come on, 'Ot 'Ead. No more soppiness!! Ve valk!! Get as far from zhat place as ve can before ve make camp!!" Checking his tunic, and finding it mostly dry now after their walking in this windy place, he tugged off his cloak, and threw the tunic over his head, taking the belt that was currently low slung on his hips off, and replacing it over the tunic in its usual place on his waist, pinching in his tunic, and keeping it taut over the areas of his body which worked; the arms free, the chest muscles, back ones too, pressed against the fabric so that it wouldn't get snagged or pull. He retied his cloak, and grabbed up her heaviest bag, before turning about heel, and heading off, leaving her behind if she wasn't ready, but not so fast she couldn't catch up.

What was this girl thinking, getting so cozy with a beast that could kill her? Surely she wasn't stupid enough to think anything could come of their companionship? She wasn't the kind of girl he'd chuck coin at; after all, he wasn't a looker, and most women were paid for over having a choice! He wasn't loathe to admit her body inspired him to crude thoughts; he was male, and had an animal with extremely base desires in him. He was also highly uncivilised by most standards, though he tried to keep himself well behaved to survive in human places. He glanced back at her. What was her end game? If she truly wanted a taste of werewolf, she had but to ask; it had happened to him previously in his life that he'd come across a human female in the most unlikely of places, and they had heard of him, especially in the Contractors Hall, and they had tempted him, coaxed him, and they had lay together. Apparently there was something wild about an albino werewolf, and not just in the fact he was part Beast.

He chuckled at the moments of his past as a young creature, making his way into the human world after his torture and enslavement. Were he to tell Panyin, he figured she would have a much lesser opinion of him than perhaps she did now. Mayhap she was as lewd and casual with her body as he had been, and to some degree, still was. Even scarred he wasn't bad looking, he knew. Women seemed to appreciate his muscles, even if they were grooved, damaged and knotted with a landscape of scars. But still, he wasn't sure he had understood Panyin's intentions; perhaps she didn't even know herself. He smiled at her as she caught up, and once again, ruffled her hair with a guffaw of laughter at her expression. If they could make it to the edge of the plateau, start their descent, Wy'ziot felt a camp could well be within grasp before nightfall. No fire to ensure they weren't spotted, but perhaps an overhang of rock to keep the worst of the weather off.

 

[unais]

He squeezed the air out of her. She made a strange noise, not knowing if it all was to shut her up from this. The slight stickiness noted it was their skin together, and though she didn't care of that, she raised a hand against his chest not knowing what to do.

Was she to… embrace him? It seemed as if they were in different places, and to reciprocate would say she understood… She stayed there… and it ended, then he disappeared, as if running from her. She stood there dumbfounded and uncertain.

And as a man tended to do sometimes, he laughed to shake off this heaviness. He hadn't wanted to talk about it.

She leaned her hip easily against the rock as he talked behind it, raising her meal numbly.

It had been hopeless. She couldn't find her way to communicate, and she'd missed her chance. He'd thought her soppy, like most women, and she'd probably seemed softer than she truly was.

She was hardly human, sometimes.

She would give up.

No. She took a bite. She would try again. It was not worth staying stagnant forever.

In that daydream, he'd already gotten ahead of her, and she had to grab her things to catch up. He tousled her hair as he did. He hadn't seemed to like her doing that, so why was it so amusing to him? …Was it that he hardly had to lift his hand to do it as she was so small?

Her sandwich was finished quickly after that, but her mouth wasn't then left vacant for words. Nothing really came.

She kept quiet. She was not depressed.

She let go of her minor emotions. Of which, all were by her concern, and felt the world for a time instead.

She noticed the spotted pale blue petals, long lilacs and fresh sapling leaves passing then. The tug was there, but it wasn't strong. Her mind hadn't started its buzz, and she didn't feel it's inkling to begin for now. It was the first time in a long time. It didn't press her to consume, create before it begin its screaming. It calmly watched the world passing by on both sides of her, without asking her to participate. She looked sidelong at Wy'Ziot. Had he done something to quiet her craziness? It would be only temporary, she knew, and it would come back, yet again. It always did. But either way was a reprieve.

"Your wound?" He practically ignored her. They had already stopped and she'd forgotten, chosen another question. She'd only cleaned it at the barn as well. They couldn't do it walking, and they had a long ways to go before nightfall. He would win this time, his injuries going unmolested by her.

Her body was free of aches, renewed. Such was the result of drinking her most expensive potion, and she felt no fatigue until nightfall, where they (Wy'Ziot) pulled some of the dead trees against a flat rock to sheltered them for the night.

She agreed with no fires, of setting beacons to guide others to them, but still groaned. It was not comfortable or new to her. But he was. And she had no qualms assuming a place to take his warmth again. In fact, she curled even more closely over him this night, as they had picked a spot that'd been shaded through most of the day, and the stones here emanated cold like a false ice. She draped her cloak over the rest him, over what her blanket would not cover. That way he had an… extremely miniature coverage on the other side.

As if she were someone else, she let herself bury into him. There was something in his smell, one more than familiar at this point. It still took her a moment before she could relax to sleep, but there something in it. The musk, the sweat, lye soap, and the faint old blood… shallowly enabled her to close her eyes, shut the world out. This scent would protect her from wolves, lions, and bandits.

But that thought drifted in and out and the faint paranoia, of knowing sleep, overestimating strength, the details of bad luck ebbed in from the sides. The survival that strangled her trust began its hold, but she felt a warm hand, heavy on her side, rub unknowingly against her, and the thoughts eased back enough for her to sleep.

They consumed the meat and cheeses and breads perhaps too soon, but wanted the energy to move quickly before they slowed. The trek was longer and faster the next day, as the opposite of the plateau had begun descending on all sides. The jutting cliffsides that had shielded them from the wind began to break away to a few more trees, and a crossroads began to become apparent way ahead of them. There was a structure a long ways down where the earth began to level out again.

Wy'Ziot stopped suddenly, tracing a distant, rhythmic thud behind them. He blocked her, but as he eased, she edged to the side to see. It was just one lone rider. He was loaded with bags, but his clothes were unarmored. Not shining the light with a glint that would have told them a fight was coming.

Seeing their startled behavior, he saluted and passed them, looking back at them with a grin she couldn't parse.

Panyin made a face, and continued. Following, apparently, as he turned into the building at the end of the decline.

A tradepost. No, the building was even more scarce than that, and seemed just to be a post office. Perhaps the tradeposts were nearby, then. But they'd seen it, certainly smelled the dust, horse droppings, and hay, and she ignored the first building to go around to see the stables. They were long stables. They sold horses.

"Ahoy there!" The same man walked out of the office and greeted her with unflinching joviality, freckles spread across his nose, his hair wind tousled from his job. "Come to send a letter?"

She couldn't even answer. He smiled still, and Wy'Ziot made himself known, though his grin had stretched with surprise at seeing him up close. He quietly saluted, joy minorly truncated, but at the receival of a nod he perked up again, seeming eager to talk to him too.

She had fifty-six sovereigns to her name right now. Would a small post like this even sell horses heavy enough to carry the beast that followed her? Certainly these mares were swift for what they were bred for.

Swifter than she would have asked.

But she feels the irony in starting negotiations, as she can feel even from this distance, how horses terrify her.

 

[Malhyanth]

He could tell she was disappointed in his reaction, and she seemed to punish him for it the rest of their quiet walk on. As the incline steepened, and the light faded, they found the kind of overhang he had hoped for. He settled their kit inside, and motioned for her to stay. He took a long perimeter walk, collecting tall saplings as he went. The area was clear, the road bare. And as he returned, he knotted the saplings together into a screen of leaves, and propped it up against the overhang. Inside, Panyin had organised their sleeping quarters, and it amused him to see her bed roll laid out next to his cloak. He smirked, and chuckled, ducking in, and taking his position upon his own cloak. He stayed sat upright, slowly chewing on the meal of bread, cheese, and dried meat. He peered between the knots of leafy branches.

As he settled back, and as she started to get comfortable, he propped his head up on his arm, and watched the night pass as she snoozed against his side. He didn't need to sleep that often. The last few days had been glorious, and he felt well rested. So he made the decision to keep watch for the night. He watched wild cats slowly wind their way through the stones. Deer skittered at the smell of wolf as they passed by. A lone stray dog of some description followed the smell of deer. Birds, rodents, a few bats. Lots of life, and lots of consciousness, but none interested in the two bodies hidden behind the leafy screen. The wind whistled, leafy debris sailed past, but they were protected, and warm in their little nest. Wy'Ziot rolled the bedding she had covered him with off, and refolded it over her slight frame. She was chilled, he could tell by the way she snuggled into him. He wrapped his spare arm around her, and kept her warm.

He rose before her in the morning, and did some stretches before she woke. He'd let himself get lax, and he could feel it in the straining against the poses he put himself through. As the sun started to hit the skyline proper, she rose, and they were ready within moments. Shouldering her pack, they headed down the frail road, watching the road get stronger and more defined, and become something they could follow definitively into the deciduous forest. As his eyes got used to the green shade that started to build the lower they travelled, there was a structure that appeared. The smell on the wind was a definite animal scent; his mind was made up when the sound of hooves behind them approached with speed. He raised an arm, and they stepped away as the man on his horse passed.

Nearing the long stable, Panyin seemed to lose her nerve, though Wy'Ziot peered around the corner with her. What an amazing idea. "Ahoy there! Come to send a letter?" Wy'Ziot smiled down at the freckled man, whom seemed to get more nervous the more he saw of Wy'Ziot.

"No, no letter. Vhich of zhese 'orses is for sale? And vhich is zhe largest?" The man looked at Wy'Ziot dubiously, and indicated they follow him. He took them down the line, to a giant fellow at the far end. His black body shone with health, a large white snip down his face, one dark eye, one blue. His mane was pale, with black streaks. Wy'Ziot held out a hand, and stroked down the beast's nose. He looked at Panyin. He smirked at her expression. "'Ow much?" Still the man looked dubious. Digging around in his pouches, he pulled out the three large chunks of silver that had been alongside the werewolf skull. He placed them into the man's hand. His face split into a huge grin, and indicated the tack to the side.

"Know how to use that stuff?"

"Just zhe bridle. 'E's a part of zhis team now." He pet his nose again, and the man nodded, taking the bridle down, handing it to Wy'Ziot. "Shall ve?" He grinned at Panyin.

 

[unais]

Her skin raked up. He nudged her stiffly closer and closer to the hulking thing. While he was talking, she took a breath, pretending calmness. Horses were sensitive to fear. Anxiousness unnerved them.

And this thing could kill her in... one sweep. One tiny kick.

It eyed her. Bored. Unimpressed. It breathed out. Hot, huffed air over her. Her skin prickled, the hair standing up after the heat.The muscles bulging and twitching just below the hot skin, taut just from holding this beast up.

Shook its head after Wy'Ziot bridled him. "Shall ve?"

Looked at him silently, feeling the screaming inside her. She unlatched her bags, untied her knives and stowed them.

"Please, let me," The young man held his hand out and she allowed him the bag. He ties and balances it with another filler bag across the back of the saddle. She grabs the saddle and the horn and steps into the stirrup.

Her weight teeters and moves as she lifts herself off the floor. The saddle shifted towards her upon gaining her weight and she stops, knowing it does this but fearing it falling off anyhow. It's on securely. She pauses... then can't get over the horse since she lost her momentum to mount. Struggles. Yelps particularly as Wy'Ziot helps her over. Even the horse takes notice.

She's stock still. Then forces herself calm, slouching even. Sitting up again to adjust her posture.

Stiffens as Wy'Ziot hops up behind her, the horse adjusting his feet, bearing his weight well. She's the one in the saddle. Was she really supposed to be in front?

He shifts, behind her, getting comfortable. Warm against her back. He takes the reigns from her.

Everything starts to move. She's joustled against his chest like she can't get her bearing for a moment. Holds onto the horn.

This thing is gargantuan. "Are you... sure this is a swift beast? He's large enough to tow caravans..." Her voice belied literally nothing of her condition, as because soon as she spoke, she'd practically forgotten about what was happening.

That she was trapped here between two giant animals. One below her, in her legs and one... behind her. Against her back. She realized all this again in the next second.

She could feel Wy'Ziot smile without looking at him.

One way to find out.

They took off.

The horse was strong, yet unreasonably swift for its size.

They galloped long, hard, before running down to a canter after they had practically crossed the fields. She looked back, the post office just a smudge on the horizon. The horse pressed hard. It seemed to enjoy the challenge, its hard muscles taking across the earth. Wy'Ziot willing, they pressed the trot and canter, riding quickly through some fading hills.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot found the whole feeling quite exhilarating!! The feel of this powerful beast below them was incredible. He could feel that Panyin was not at all comfortable, but he kept an arm around her waist, and guided the monstrosity of a horse with his knees, mostly, not liking the way the bridle pulled on his head. He was a very reaponsive creature, and though not the fastest, his endurance was incredible. He continued long after any other animal would have tired, even Wy'Ziot wasn't sure he'd of been able to keep up with the distance this beast went!!

They were nearing the base of a hillock, that rose to a coast line, high on the basalt cliffs. The air was getting sharp with the twang of coast, but it was at least another half day's ride. That he knew, as these parts were old haunts of his. He guided the giant beast to a gentle stop, and hopped off, patting the horse's giant flank, as well as Panyin's leg with a grin. "Come, no need to be so dubious. 'E is a fine beast. I shall leave it to djou to name 'im." He smiled broadly, and wrapped her hands securely around the horn of the saddle as he unclipped the side of the bridle, and turned the reigns into a lead line. The horse was obedient, and didn't seem to care, as others often did, that this man smelt like a predator. Perhaps he was used to wolves, and considering the size of him, may well have killed a few to protect himself in those Northern areas. The Eastern realm was far more 'civilised', apparently, though Wy'Ziot often felt the men here were more beast than he. And not the kind people enjoyed to view. No. They were men crossed with rats, and boars, and sly, slippery eel. And all would take the hand that fed it along with the food.

The albino walked the horse the last 30 minutes of their journey to a hut, buried deep into the woods, off the main road up to the city above. The Captial, as Wy'Ziot knew it, was not the place for such a sturdy beast. And the werewolf always needed time to garner his resolve before heading into the stone streets, walls, and roads of that place. The hut belonged to the Contractors, and was generally a safe haven for those travelling to the city, or heading out. Wy'Ziot found he was mostly given free use of it, as the largest of the Contractors' men, and being of his particular... persuasion. Sometimes getting out the the city on particular nights with some haste made this place ideal. The lights were all out, which meant no one was in. If you were using the hut, to warn others, a candle had to be kept burning in the outside lantern, day and night. Wy'Ziot entered, and rummaged around for one of the long burn candles now, placing it, and striking it alight, before returning to help Panyin off the giant horse. He used the reign to tie him off to the back of the hut, where a canopy jutted off the small building, to protect any such a beast from getting damp shouldnthe weather change. Taking hay from a store off to one side of this canopied area, where the other men stored the supplies for their animals, Wy'Ziot left him happily eating, and would return before he passed out for the night.

Reentering, he ignored the girl for the moment, going about his usual routine when he was staying here; he loaded firewood, and struck the tinders he gathered, and it sparked to life. He went to a rudimentary kitchen, and pumped the hand pump, waiting for the gurgling to stop, and then the brown water to pass until he dipped his mouth into the pure crystalline water that came forth, drinking deep. He then removed his cloak, and wrapped it around one of the chairs at the small table. He then spread his arms. "Velcome! Zhis, I suppose, is as much of a 'ome as I shall ever 'ave. Take zhe bedroom, zhrough zhat door." He grinned broadly, and pulled towards him the bag harbouring food, before turning and starting to prepare a meal; a simple stew would do.

 

[unais]

They traveled much farther than she thought they would, going another hour or two with her looking back and wondering if they had really crossed the distance they had. And wherever Wy'Ziot was taking her, he towed her on the horse for half an hour like a child toward it.They were nearing the capital, but she had come up from the south to Stonhelm and hadn't been to the city yet.

Their horse was an unusually calm thing. It seemed assured of itself. Unflinching as to what was going on. It hadn't even balked at Wy'Ziot, which she had expected upon approach. She simply assumed him to have a wolf spirit or smell that the attuned could pick up.

She was not attuned to wilds.

She was attuned to... evil. After spending so long in the midst of it, she always noted its absence if the world around her went long without it. If just a shred of evil showed itself, she could feel it. In man, demon, monster. In traces left on stones, ancient things. But with anything wild and chaotic rather than evil… she would have to see with her eyes. So animals scared her. Because she could not predict them.

The smell of seawater was rising on the horizon, something that comforted her, carrying with it the feeling of departure. They followed the nape of a forest until it became thick with live oaks and crape myrtles not yet near enough to the coast to be stripped by the wind. Spring was ending, and their magenta petals were a layer of wet marsh littered over the ground. Between the leaves and broken flowers she still found a trail they seemed to be following.

Wy'Ziot said something.

"Name him?!" Was she to form some kind of fondness to the thing were she to label it?

After a pause. "'Basalt'…?" She said, after seeing the rocks that'd been shoved out from the earth and their bellies exposed. She had some idea of where they were, recognized the cliffs, the region from mouth and maps. "… 'Where's Basalt?' … No…" she muttered to herself.

She thought about it on the ride.

He brought them to what seemed like a shared hideout, indicated by the lighting of torches, a candle hidden on all sides except the angle from the front. Certain people would know what to look for. It was interesting.

She teetered, trying to get herself off the beast. The saddle shifted to one side as she moved and she froze, scared again. She edged her shoe out to the tip and hopped out, caught by Wy'Ziot from behind as she stumbled back from the fall. Phew.

Her legs were aching. Riding always pulled muscles she didn't remember she had. She eased her knees into the walk as she let herself inside, Wy'Ziot buzzing here and there taking care of things. The hut is as cold and empty inside as it looks outside. She ran her hand along the laid wooden wall, letting the coldness pry to her fingers. The building had the slight stick of humidity. With the fireplace, it may become warm soon, but there were two of them and it already felt full in here.

She watched him drink from the sink and leaned forward to follow, her mouth dry for the hard taste of water after wind-swept journey. But she stopped. She was not a werewolf. The water could make her sick. She looked underneath the sink at the open cabinets to find a kettle. There's an iron pot, and she fills it with cold water and hangs it over the fresh fire, clasping the heavy lid over it. There's a scatter of hisses as stray drips fall down into the flames.

"Velcome!" She looked over. "Zhis, I suppose, is as much of a 'ome as I shall ever 'ave. Take zhe bedroom, zhrough zhat door.""

She stopped, wiping her hands. She was a much as a vagrant as another but... She looked around. To describe this as the only home he'd ever have.

It was a one-person home.

"Hm." She walked to the bedroom, taking her things.

His end view, he described as this?

She laid her things down by the bed oddly haphazard and searched for the mattress. The bottom of the bed was a full drawer, and she opened it to find the sewn canvas mattress buried in salt. She raised her brow. It seemed to be to keep it dry from the weather. How oddly smart. From how it pressed, it seemed to be a wool stuffed mattress, which she moved to the bed frame, and covered with what seemed to be a clean sheet from the chest at the foot of the bed. There were no painted skulls here.

A relief.

She knelt down on the bed and then laid there, untying the vest. The fire trickled from the other room.

Fire between her hair. His glinting, wet teeth breathing in her scent.

She fell asleep.

She woke, uncomfortably, half tangled in her vest. Wy'Ziot chuckled over her, moving away to give her some dignity.

The heavy smell of a thick vegetable stew wafted about, and she pulled herself up, a little belligerent she had napped. She stripped off her vest, tossing it aside.

They had slept long hours for a couple of days, but it had not been enough for her. She didn't recover. Her dreams, the hardness of the ground kept her awake. As much as travel was what she was used to, her frame still stuck out from her form of fat and muscle enough for her to feel the hardness of wood and ground. At this, thought she should start medicating with potions until they found a proper place to rest.

But the monetary value of her potions weighed heavily on her.

She could smell cracked pepper, olive oil, noticing them now on the small shelf over the sink. The stew was thick with chopped turnips, potatoes, carrots; and was fragrant with salt and rosemary. It seemed like the other inhabitants of this area left braids of dried garlic and herbs tied up in a curious touch of homespun longing.

He'd used the pot she'd left up--luckily so, as it would have overboiled without him.

She sat down to the bowl already set on the table, and burns herself on the first bite. Potatoes hold heat very well. She covered her mouth, feeling tingles on her tongue. "Thank you." She remembered to say, given this pause.

They ate in relative quiet, finishing every bit to fill their stomachs. Another vegetable meal. She wondered how well he could fare with that. She didn't mind vegetables, but ate meat when given the chance. She couldn't imagine the werewolf was happy with having only roots to eat.

Panyin stood immediately, noting they were both finished and washed the pot and plates without his input. She reboiled the pot and left back to the bedroom, unrolling her pack.

She pulls a pale muslin sheet from one of the pockets and tears it into a small piece. She goes through her jars and bottles quietly, and hears Wy'Ziot stretching, the wood beneath them shifting as she felt his great weight moving slightly.

She stuffed the sheet with dried rosehips and lavender, taking it back out and dropping it in the boiled water.

After a few moments she removed the pot, and poured the tea for both of them.

She sat heavily again into the seat adjacent to him.

She was exhausted.

Her hands folded under her chin, and she looked at him over the steam wisping up from their mugs. Catching in the light of the fire behind him.

They were here alone, isolated out in the woods.

A home, alone.

She stared at him over her hands, eyes almost half-lidded.

"...Why does the wolf like me so much...?" She sat back a bit, not expecting much of an answer. "Have I really met him...?" She thought back to the castle. Beneath the floor. "...Was that... him... that was there in the castle? ... I thought it was you..." Blows over her cup. Again. Taking a sip. The rosehips are sour, like tart little cranberries. The lavender's fragrance sweet, pretending sugar, tasting mild. "But you speak about him as if you are two separate beings." She raised her eyes. ...Then she made a face. "But he likes me so much..." It was hard for her to believe.

 

[Malhyanth]

Wy'Ziot hadn't noticed she had been gone so long until he had stopped setting up the homely comforts of the little cabin. As heat eked out into the wood of the hut, and he had laid out the vegetables they had been given back on the Northern Plateau, and started to dissect them. He found the kettle she had set to boil, and realised she'd forgotten her plan of a drink, and that was what sent him into the bedroom to find her. Her sleeping form was quiet, and barely unlaced, her fingers still locked into the strings to untie it. He was going to help her, but she seemed fitful; a sleep troubled by aches and pains. He turned away, and pulled the door to, deciding it best to let her snooze; the horse had been far too broad for her, and she was probably aching far more than he.

Entering the body of the hut again, he unattached his belt, and pumped more water into the sink. A rag was wet, with the small amount of soap on the side rubbed into it, and he let it soak for a bit. He went and stirred the pot on the fire, before removing his tunic and hanging this over the chair with his cloak. He took the cold, wet rag, and washed himself briefly. It felt good on his tacky, sweat stained skin, and he realised how badly he must smell. He wiped over himself, before ringing out the rag, and hanging it on the mantel over the fire to dry. He sat himself down at the table, and mulled the events of the last week over.

He'd received a job, like any other. He'd travelled to that job. He'd carried out that job. He had left. Where had it all seemed to go wrong and he'd collected this stray? Not to put a downer on her at all, she'd saved his life. She was an interesting companion to be seen with. She, a dainty, pretty little thing, travelling with this monstrosity of a giant. He chuckled to himself, wondering what kind of a crazy notions people thought when they saw them together. Were they friends, companions, family, lovers? Was he her slave, or butler, or hired mercenary? They were perhaps the most unusual combination of people you could see travelling.

Stretching himself in the chair, listening to its protests at being used to crack his aching spine. He scratched his bare chest, ears perking as he heard movement in the other room. He pulled the tunic over his head as she came to, and strolled into the room, looking somewhat deshevelled. He chuckled, and laid out their meals, eating in silence.

As they were relaxing in the after glow of their meal, her questions struck his thoughtful. His brows narrowed in a quiet contemplation, and he pursed his lips, chewing a little at the edge where it snarled up in a scar. "Zhe Volf and I are separate, but zhe same. 'E and I are togezher alvays, but 'e 'as 'is own zhoughts, separate to me." He mused for a moment, scratching at his head, the lack of clay dying his dreads annoying to him. He must sort that before he entered the Contractors' domain. "Vhy 'e likes djou is simple. Djou saw 'im, covered in the blood of ozhers, vizh giant vounds zhat most vould 'ave seen and run avay from, and instead of leaving us to die, djou 'elped us." It was said with such little expression, like it was the natural thing. Why wouldn't the Wolf like her? She'd seen him, and she'd helped him. And she hadn't feared him.

Wy'Ziot looked at her over the table, eyes drawn away from the fire at last. "Zhe Volf in a Verevolf is different in every case. In mine, ve are very similar; vhat 'e experiences and feels, I feel as my own. Ozhers don't 'ave such a connection; zhe boy bitten and cursed? 'Is Volf was eating 'im from zhe inside. I saved 'im from monzhs of torture at zhe 'ands of 'is Volf." Wy'Ziot turned, and looked back to the flames in the hearth, sipped the tea she brought him. It made his head drowsy with its scents.

"May'ap djou shall meet 'im again soon." It was a passing comment, but he knew if he was taking the animal pelt that was laid in front of the fire, he would be doing so in a way that felt comfortable to him; in a way that wouldn't make his bones ache, nor his muscles tire. He'd be natural, and he'd be curled up comfortably.