The wind was hot and dusty, and Ysia had to stop once more to rub her eyes and spit the grit out of her mouth. The wind gusted harder and threatened to blow away the wide-brimmed straw hat she wore to keep off the worst of the sun, but she held it in place with one hand. Not that it did much in the way of protection: the bridge of her nose was sunburned and her cheeks were tender. But she supposed it could have been worse.
"Dada used to call this the Demons' Wind," she thought, remembering how he would bustle her away from the window as a child, when she'd stand on an armchair or climb a bookshelf in order to get a better view of the hot winds gusting and overturning carts, ripping up trees, tearing off awnings and window shutters. The cattle dogs would howl and fight more, she remembered, and harrass the herds. The horses would spook and kick down fences, and her father's ostlers would have to chase them down later.
"A funny thing, the Demon Wind," she murmured, which was something else her dear father used to say. "'Ware of the things you see."
The unicorn filly walking at her side nuzzled her hand. She'd fashioned a hat for the baby, as well, with holes for its fuzzy white ears to poke through. Her golden hooves flashed and glinted in the merciless sun and hurt Ysia's eyes, but there was nothing for it save to continue walking.
Ahead of her, the boys seemed fresh and spry as if it were the first day of spring thaw. She used the term 'boys' in the loosest fashion possible, of course, for boys they were not. The broad desert elf was her elder, the demon at his side a legend that had been alive just this side of forever. But the demon had lived in the fires of the hells, had swum in rivers of molten rock and slept upon a bed of coals. And Leer?
Oh, Leer...
He was Lord and Master of the Dunes, those wild badlands of Neromba in which even the natives believed nothing could thrive. And yet his people, the Desert Elves, raised herds of goats where anyone else would die of thirst, and built cities where others would wither and die of the heat. The Demons' Wind must seem a gentle breeze compared to what he was used to.
It took them a span of heartbeats to realize Ysia and the unicorn were no longer right behind them. Leer turned around and the demon heeled at his side. The elf's direct stare made her glad her cheeks were already burned red. Though she had lost her maidenhead to him some weeks past, there had been no repeat of the pasttime and his directness still unnerved her.
She wondered if she had simply been convenient for him. He had been vulnerable, she remembered, dispairing for his people's souls, which were lost and wandering in that desolate land and unable to be reborn in the desert. Their blame had fallen upon his shoulders, their curse a weight which had nearly crushed him then. Had she simply been a refuge for him? A moment to forget the responsibility he now carried? He must find that sword for them, for its power alone could somehow free the souls of his people, but the sheer immensity of the task had overwhelmed even his unbreakable stoicism.
Leer was not a soft man by any stretch of the imagination, but as her master he had been kind in his own way. However, even understanding him as she thought she did, there had been no kind word, no acknowledgement of what they had done at all. There was only his task, the shock of escape from that horrible world by the power of that madman Reef le Fou.
Not that she had handled herself well, come to think of it. She had collapsed in a heap on the grass, lost all contents of her stomach --which wasn't saying much-- and dissolved into hysterical, horrified tears in reaction to all she'd seen --and done-- while in Hell. There had still been demon blood caked on her body, where she had painted it on herself in order to mask her own scent. The whip even now hung at her belt, the Balrog's firewhip, like an ugly canker she could neither rid herself of nor use.
They'd avoided any gathering of people for the main, eating whatever the Draw managed to kill and bring back to its master like a good hound. Their water was always fresh and sweet, purified as it was by the power of the unicorn's horn. But they wandered, staggering in a daze as they slowly, oh so slowly recovered from the horrors of their time in Hell. And from the task now awaiting them.
One moon, they'd said. They'd given Leer one moon in which to find the sword and bring it back to them...
...Or they would come for him, body and soul, to share in their torment forever as punishment.
Leer approached her. Ysia pushed back her hat in order to be able to look him in the eyes. She was average height for a Wood Elf, but even still he towered head and shoulders above her. Her forehead only came to the hollow at his throat. Memories of how that flesh there, at his throat, felt beneath her lips caused fire to rise to her face and she quickly hid behind the brim of her hat again.
"Your injury is healing well," she said, her voice slightly higher as she struggled to hide what Leer must surely think was a gross display of emotions. She knew his people cared little for such displays. "Perhaps when we make camp tonight, you'll permit me to look at it again."
If he felt anything but shame or hatred for the long gash on his face, given him by the Demon King, he didn't show it. Frankly, he didn't even show shame or hatred, but the way it was a sore subject whenever it was brought up let Ysia know that something was wrong. It would scar forever, she knew, even with her abilities tending it. He never permitted her any of the energy healing she'd inherited from her mother, either. In fact, she'd been lucky if she even got to change the dressing twice a day as it needed back when it had been fresh.
Elves of any breed were a vain lot, she knew. They'd been so back before the Great Divide, when her ancestors had all gone their separate ways to become the myriad of elven races that existed today. Even back when they'd been one people, she read, they'd guarded their beauty jealously. How must it feel to be Leer, beautiful and strong as he was, to carry such a scar for the world to see? Was that why they avoided other people? Other villages?
She paused, knowing his response to what she was planning to say yet going along anyway. Thus far she'd agreed, but lately her feelings had changed. Their little band was slowly growing desperate.
"Perhaps..." She took a breath. "Perhaps we might..." Even looking down at her feet, she could feel the hardness of those golden eyes on her like a bore through a bead. "That is, Leer, w-we might want to think about...y'know...stopping at a village soon? A city would be better. We need supplies." Once she got going, she began to find her momentum, and the caretaker in her came to the fore.
She pointed at his feet. "You need new shoes, for one. We can't have the King of the Desert Empire running 'round unshod like some goatherd. And our clothes are stained with blood of things I really don't like thinking of when I'm awake. The...the dreams are bad enough." She took a breath. It was no secret she still woke in the night choking on her own screams, gasping and sweating, but come morning she tried to adopt Leer's stoic endurance. His was the greater need, she knew, and it was unfair to slow him down with her silly nightmares.
In the middle of the night, however, they didn't seem so silly.
"The filly needs oats and feed, for if you couldn't tell, grazing is becoming sparse in this weather." She gestured around them to the browning grass and the cracked, dusty road beneath their feet. "She also needs a name, come to think of it, but she really needs good oats! And a good brushing. And you need--"
She made the mistake of looking up at him. He rooted her to the spot. A lump formed in her throat and she tried to swallow it down, but her voice came out thready and wavering. "You need a bed, Leer. At least one good night's sleep." She put her hand on his arm. "We can't do what we need to do to help your people if you just keep pushing yourself until you come apart."
The filly whickered and nibbled on the very tattered hem of her vest. She smiled down at her and patted the fuzzy neck, ran her fingers through its pure white mane. No matter how hard the wind blew or how dusty it got, no travel dust or grime seemed ever to mar that perfect white coat. "I know, baby," she said. "I know."
He was of the Moon clan, of the desert sands, and a thing thought lost to the world. The sand elf, Leer walked without care of his own tired limbs. In the gentle warm breeze he focused on one thing, recovering the sword that would place to rest, his ancestors. The small demon, known as the Draw raced ahead of them. Its sleek, doglike form vanishing in and out of view as it traversed the land with ease, only to quickly to return to his side after knowing the trail ahead was clear of dangers.
His link to the demon allowed him to feel it, and see through its eyes. Yet it was this very link that kept him from using his magic. To use the magic meant to fall into the mind of the demon, and become that which it was created to be, a killer.
Glancing over his shoulder he looked at Ysia, and took in her beauty. Beneath her frail form was a hidden strength that had saved him from the pits of Hades. She had run with demons, fought them, and had survived that which many could not have. He had met her in the northlands, during a time when he was lost, and in those dark days she had become a beacon of light, a voice of reason.
So when she confronted him on their travels, he listened. He had avoided the villages because ever since leaving the ghost lands, he felt as if they were being followed. Over the days he had sent the Draw to backtrack, but always it came up empty-handed. Was he just overreacting to the fact of what failure to bring the sword back would mean?
"O.k." he said, his hand involuntarily going to rub at the nearly healed wound on his cheek. It ran a jagged course downward from his eye to his lower jawbone. It had ceased in seeping nasty green fluids as it had for weeks, and was showing signs of healing into a mark which he would have to live with. "We will find a place to rest, but only for a short time." He looked back in the direction they had come, and searched the land again as he had over the days, it was empty. Turning to face her again, he found himself studying Ysias ever swirling eyes. "I will have the Draw to lead the way." She nodded in response and he gave her a small grin. It didnt feel right, to smile, it was something the sand people did not do, as was their way.
With a thought he sent the Draw off. It raced quickly out of view, and he motioned for her to follow. "When we find someplace, we stay to ourselves, no interacting. I am not sure where the mad-man has brought us, so we have to stay alert and trust no one." He said, and she smiled an agreement. He let his hand fall to the sword Cult on his side. The saber was a remarkable relic, and with it he was a true sword-master. However, it offered little comfort to the dread he was feeling.
Reaching out he took Ysias hand, feeling the warmth of it, and allowing his fingers to lace within hers. He then slowly led her in the direction the demon had taken; all the while trying to ward off the sense of wrongness that had been with him since coming to this land.
Leer slipped his hand into hers, lacing their fingers together. Her stomach knotted into itself. Her feet were rooted to the ground, otherwise she might have pulled away from the contact. But as it was, she couldn't move even if she'd truly wanted to and, to be quite honest with herself, she wanted so much more than to merely hold hands. But she wasn't a girl given to flights of any sort of fanciful imagination. The world was filled with enough to satisfy even the most insatiable of dreamers.
But also, she had lived too long and suffered to hard to concern herself with anything other than hard reality. Leer was what he was.
Please, desert elf, do not toy so with my heart! Can't you see I can hardly bear it? The thought came unbidden and Ysia did her best to squelch it before it would show on her face. Before he could hear it. She knew he could sometimes hear thoughts and it was all she could do to keep her discipline sharp enough to school her thoughts towards subjects that wouldn't humiliate her if he ever heard.
His instructions were clear and delivered in the hardened voice of the battle general she'd come to know well. It was easy to imagine legions of cloaked, golden-eyed desert warriors flowing over the dunes like one solid entity, guided by the unequivocal leadership in that voice.
The hardness in his voice hurt, too. Didn't he know he didn't need to use that tone of voice on her? He was still master here, and even if she were free to go her own way, didn't he know she would still follow him? Still help him save his people? ...Still be there, because she knew he had no one? Perhaps it was pathetic and he saw that much. She had no one, either, and though she would never stop searching for her siblings she forced herself to admit that even the company of a stony Emperor of Nothing and his demon hound were better company than the decades and decades of being alone.
"Very well," she said, bowing her head. "We stay to ourselves. I speak only when necessary to procure what we need. I won't forget," she added, by way of a promise.
[OOC: sorry it's taken so dang long. i only barely was able to get my computer hooked up. but things are finally back to normal! ...i like normal...]
Bodies moved slowly under the bright sun, many staying to shadows when they could, while others were forced into by labors needing to be done, into the bright light of the sun. Leer led the way as they entered the main street of the small village by the way of an alley. The homes were made of wood, and straw roofs displayed a brilliant yellow color.
The sand elf glanced at their faces and saw a hard people, made that way as they forged from the land a place to call their own. Many glanced at them; some stared as Leer with Ysia in tow made for a larger building he guessed was the inn, where a wooden sign dangled limply from pieces of wire over the front door. It was etched in a language he did not know.
Pushing the door open he stepped inside and stood for a moment to allow his eyes to adjust to the gloom. The Draw nuzzled against his leg and he reached down to stroke its small ears.
"My, my, what a worn out pair ye are!" Stated a woman's voice, to whom Leer turned to look at. She walked with a grace he would not expect in such a place, and looked as soft as a fleece blanket. Her eyes were a bright green, and her red hair was pulled back into a bun. "Martha Koone." She introduced, extending her hand to him. He shook it, and felt the firm grip. Again it was something that he would not have expected from the look of her. "This is my place, welcome." She said, and Leer nodded his gratitude. "A drink for you two?" She asked, turning from them to head for the bar. "But before ye get them, You need to take your animals outside." She informed them without looking back.
"Yes, of course...and yes a drink would be fine." He answered, and then let the Draw know to wait outside with the small unicorn.
Several of the other customers in the place watch them for a few moments before losing interest and going back to their own conversations. Leer took a stool at one end of the bar, and Ysia sat in the one next to him. He could tell from the way she watched the door that she did not like the idea of leaving the small pet outside. "She will be fine." Leer whispered and Ysia nodded.
"Here ye go." Martha said as she placed two beaming mugs of ale in front of them. "On the house, but ye pay for the next one." She said with a smile.
"Thank you" Leer said, and Ysia repeated his thanks.
"Will ye be staying? I have rooms available." Martha asked as she cleaned behind the bar.
"Yes we will be."
"One or two rooms sir?" She asked looking up at them.
"One will do fine thank you." He answered without looking at Ysia.
Ysia couldn't help staring back at where the Draw had led the foal; it was a place outside the inn, but right in view of both elves through the window. The Draw had waited until the foal had folded her legs beneath her and rested in the shade of a straggling-looking tree, then had perched itself nearby, standing guard. However, even with the demon protecting the unicorn, Ysia felt uneasy leaving the baby even somewhat alone.
"She will be fine," Leer whispered to her. He had to lean closer to her in order for his words to be heard.
She nodded absently, not wanting to argue with him, but she did not believe the foal would be 'just fine' where she was. The baby belonged beside her, where she could reach out a hand and make sure everything was fine. Where no one else could touch her, or take her away. How long had it taken the poor baby before she wasn't skittish around Leer? The foal was still somewhat uneasy around the Draw, but seeing Ysia with it had eased the baby's skittishness if only a little. If the demon moved too quickly, or came too close unexpectedly, the foal was still known to shy, or rear and whinny until Ysia could calm her down.
Ysia continued to stare out the window, letting Leer deal with the innkeeper. She heard the woman ask if they would need one room or two, and she managed not to blush when Leer replied they would need only one. Things were done differently in different towns, she knew, and where some would raise an eyebrow and even be rude to them in their disapproval, many other places wouldn't even bat an eyelash at two people sharing a room. How could anyone know whether or not they were wed, or perhaps brother and sister. Perhaps she would take the bed and Leer would sleep on the floor, and how was anyone to guess? Was it even anyone's business save their own?
However, knowing this didn't help Ysia in the least. She, at least, knew the truth, and while she might not have been completely raised loyal to the mores of her parents' societies --and where sex was concerned, she'd been deemed too young to be taught such anyway-- she knew what her people thought of such things. At least, she knew her mother's people and their views.
And while a man and woman may lie with whomever they wished where her mother was from and nothing was ever said about it, Ysia knew she didn't have it in her to be so complacent about that. She wasn't a complete stranger to...that. Alone in cities, Ysia had had to run from men who would have taken full advantage of her vulnerability. But she was half Wood Elf, and she'd used the gifts from her mother very well. Fast and agile and born with a natural ability to remain unseen when she wished to be, she'd escaped more than one would-be rapist. There had only been that one time with Leer, and she knew he would never try anything like that again. Though she might secretly hope, she kept that hope very deeply buried lest he hear her thoughts and be disgusted with her.
Sand Elves scorned emotions.
"We stay to ourselves," she said again after their food had been brought. She tucked an ear of sweet yellow corn into her bag, along with a few of the greens, and saved them for the unicorn. The Draw, she knew, could look after itself. Her stomach wrenched in upon itself, but she forced herself to keep impeccable manners. Let Leer think she was completely unfazed by their situation. But all the time, she kept her eyes fixed on the unicorn.
"If you wish," she said halfway through the meal, "I will go through town again and see if I can get a few things we need. We have no money, unless there is gold secreted somewhere on you that I don't know about, but I can trade my skills. Especially in small towns like this, someone like me can be very valuable."
