for @citer

[cashewlater]

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[citer]

[ he has, in fact, been dolled up before. you don't get very far as a valuka shuna without understanding the value of your own beauty. it's the very first lesson that tighnari learned as a pup in his mother's lap, hugging his tail while he listened to soft, sombre timbers of her voice relaying stories of a bygone past and a history as old as the eternal oasis was young: that with acknowledging your shackles come freedom. an older tighnari, alone and shackled within the decadent cage of the sanctuary of surasthana, remembered those lessons, and made effors to test out the length of his chain. a seven-year-old valuka shuna could only make his way to the very fringes of the beautiful, curved brass bars with its inlaid flowers and kalpana lotus vines. his chain only afforded so much slack. but a seventeen-year-old valuka shuna, one who knows the poisonous properties of every genus of plant tracing back to the age of stone, and who sharpened his mind against the grindstone of liyue's finest doctors on loan to the sages for a joint project on herbal treatments for eleazar, added enough links to his chain that allows him free roam of a corner of akademiya's campuses, of greenhouses laden with padisarahs blooming in the soft vissudha loam and trees laden with heavy knots of fragrant tamarind. he hasn't forgotten, nor forgiven, the weight of the golden collar heavy against the sharp jut of his collarbones, but when you've been collared long enough, you learn to use the weight of it for other things: doors to be opened, books to be loaned, favours to ask for and to collect on. a future bargained for with the tightest of margins underneath the ever-roaming gazes of the sages.

there will be, one day, he knows, a day where the leash draws taut. that day came a month ago, when word of the newest general mahamatra appointment reaches the valuka shuna houses. tighnari was called in from the greenhouses. they dug the mud out from between his nailbeds, wrestled stray leaves and petals from his hair, scrubbed the dirt from his bare feet, and lathered scented oils in the fur of his long, trailing tail. one day, his akademiya-issue robes were removed, replaced with silks from wild liyuen silkflowers imported from stone gate, dyed with mulberry harvest from the valleys of raiden shogun's domain. his dissection forceps and sample tubes were replaced by delicate things wrought in gold and silver, emeralds matched to the colour of his fur and the singular, spring-green strand of his hair. starsilver was bent and pressed and refined into pale, moonlight rings of glinting silver, pressed into the supple perk of his breasts. but he kept his books. they didn't take those away. he'd argued, and received acknowledgement, from the scribe of the akademiya that his materials were borrowed under good faith using the appropriate credentials and paperwork, and they were only to be returned on the date of expiry. the shelves within his cage burgeoned with them. he didn't know if he could take them with him, but if nothing else, this cage will remain here long after he's gone - he will make do, figure something out, or another valuka shuna would take up the mysteries of botany. there weren't a lot of them, but there will be more.

there always is. there always will be. but tighnari, a valuka shuna from a long line of valuka shuna, loyal in their services and bonded to their caste until death, knows with a certainty that it does not matter where he ends up, so long as he knows the weight of his collar and the length of his chain. this is a brief change, an adjustment in the order of things, but he is oak, and he is root, and the roots of trees are known to worm its way through stone, given time and opportunity. he misses his fieldkit, but objects can be replaced. your mind couldn't.

that does not mean, however, that he needs to stand for nonsense. he's not to attend the ceremony. the valuka shuna are not for the public to consume with their eyes. legends cease to be so if everyone were to see said legends running around with leaves in their hair. but the quarters that they've prepared for the general mahamatra go beyond ridiculous. thirty minutes into his wait, tighnari can no longer stand for it. he hitches up the sheer silks of his tonbai torki, ties it high up against the jut of a hipbone in a way that would have the women of his wardrobe go faint with the indecency of it, and knots his sleeves the way a common deckhand would just to get it all out of the way.

and so that's how cyno would find him: ears perked and fierce, a scandalous, silk-clad thing dragging the gigantic pot of a redcrest cactus ripe with henna berries over from its honour guard by the door all the way over to the decorative balcony across the room. the opening of the door coincides with the kick tighnari offers the wrought terrace doors, the thing shuddering under the force of it as the clattering noise reverberates through the high-vaulted ceilings all the way to where the general mahamatra stands, at ceremony, in his own bedroom. the terrace doors swing open with the furtive sheepishness of a child judged. tighnari straightens up, and finally deigns to spare the owner of the room a glance.

he shoves at the pot, and it moves another inch towards the light. ]

Oh, you're done? [ and then, with a quirk of his painted eyebrows: ] Are you going to just stand there, or are you going to lend me a hand? This redcrest cactus doesn't thrive in shade. Whoever decided to have it stand by the door had no training in basic botany. If this is the quality of education the Akademiya expects from its graduates, you should worry about the future of this country.

[cashewlater]

[ cyno was born in the desert. he is a simple man, of simple means, unused to and uninterested in the pomp and glamour that the higher echelons of society have on offer, and the fact that cyno has risen to the position of general mahamatra is due only to his tenacity and strength, his dedication and purpose. there were many who opposed his appointment - to think, that an orphaned desert dweller with questionable abilities could possibly hold such a powerful position was ludicrous. yet cyno earned it all the same. taj had trained him well, and without prejudice, and with cyrus as his benefactor, even the noisiest of naysayers was silenced. and so he took up his mantle.

.. and all that came with it.

cyno, of course, is also uninterested in the privileges of his rank. he wants to do his job, to work, to protect sumeru and its peoples, he has no need of a gilded mansion and sprawling gardens, of tapestries and silver forks. he certainly has no need of a concubine, the presence of which he has learned of all of ten minutes ago. only after being officially promoted was cyno told the full truth of the gifts afforded to him. he'd heard the stories, of course, about the valuka shuna, deshret's familiars and beloved by the dendro god, but they are just that - stories. legends. that it could possibly be true that the generals of sumeru were to be given what amounted to a beautiful pleasure slave.. well, it had seemed absurd.

yet here he is. here they are, and cyno is stone silent.

for several moments, he does not know what to make of the vision in front of him, wrapped in lovely silks, dragging a heavy pot across cyno's new balcony. he's real. the ears, the tail, his bi-colored eyes.. they'd told him what to expect, and yet seeing him with his own two eyes is another matter entirely. he's snapped from his reverie by the valuka shuna's curt voice. ]

I -

[ cyno is taciturn by nature, and more than a little awkward, surprising those few who dare to grow close to him, but in the moment he's entirely tongue tied. legends spoke of the valuka shuna as gentle, playful, demure, but the specimen before him seems anything but. after a tense few seconds of silence, cyno.. smiles, and it is a muted, quiet thing, but a smile nonetheless.

he starts forward, his ceremonial shendyt dragging on the floor behind him. like tighnari, he's been overdressed, his long hair plaited with rings of gold, his usual jackal-eared helm replaced with another. he feels suffocated by fabric, laden with jewelry, his scarlet eyes lined in kohl and shining gold, his nails painted a deep black. it's not his customary style, but he'd had an impression to make, and the sages naturally insisted upon high ceremony. thanks to taj's gentle coaxing, cyno had cooperated.

nevertheless, he approaches, leaning to grasp the edges of the pot, long, lean muscles tight beneath bronze skin as cyno hauls it effortlessly. ]

Where would you like it?

[citer]

[ expectations come from pre-assessed facts. tighnari isn't blind; the general mahamatra and his tale of single-handedly tromping through a desert to round up three hundred eremite scoundrels is one that they have already pressed into poem and song, a fun bit of entertainment in shisha parlours and during festivals. or so tighnari has heard. they've published the poem recently, bound by sumpterbeast hide, and he'd borrowed it from the house of daena when the rest of the akademiya got tired of hearing of the same story over and over again. it had painted a certain image of a man so set on bringing justice to the world that the song itself had forgotten that there was, in fact, a man behind the justice.

he'd wondered. he hadn't thought particularly hard about it. he hadn't thought about it at all, actually, until an amurta herbad within hearing mentioned about a potential case to do with the breach of doctrine, and tighnari hadn't been able to let it go.

expectations, then, come from fact. he wouldn't make the mistake of assumption without cause. the fact that the general mahamatra does not, in fact, take out his whip and teach him the ways that a valuka shuna should or should not act within the gilded halls of his palace is a risk calculated right. but the perk of tighnari's ears betray surprise when he finds help at his side, a pair of strong, lean arms to heft the pot over the threshold of the terrace doors and out into the open air. ]

The corner of the terrace will do. [ he says, the assessment coming quick at the heels of a glance across the stone and marble on display. it would be in direct line of the sun, and it would also be easy to drain, should there be rainfall this time of year. his gaze catches the tailend of the general mahamatra's regalia, dragged over the terrace like a bride's trailing veil, and then, making a proper judgment of it, perks his tail as he turns back to jab a finger back inside. ]

There's another pot of it next to the door. [ he explains, ] I'll get that one. There's another that some visionary beyond compare thought fit to put in your bathroom. Unless you'd like to have the scent of rotted henna berries accompany your business, General Mahamatra, I suggest that you move that one. Onto the balcony will do.

[cashewlater]

[ before earning his sharp new position, cyno had been a matra for many, many years. he's quite used to following orders without question, without argument, and despite the fact that he's now the one to be giving commands, he is not rankled by the fox's pointed demands. without another word, he carries the hefty pot to the corner of the terrace, and sets it gently down. ]

Cyno.

[ he says, as he straightens again, the gold bands in his hair jingling against one another, catching in the slanting, early-evening light. while his expression is stony, amusement flashes in his eyes. ]

My name is Cyno.

[ and he's brushing past his beautiful new acquisition, moving back into his chambers and toward the en suite washroom, presumably to fetch the pot. ]

[citer]

[ cyno. his ears prick. perhaps, he thinks, expectations can be surmounted after all. he watches the general mahamatra's retreating back, the set of his helmet against the stiff, sun-kissed span of his shoulders. he walks like a man used to carving through sandstorms, expecting the very wind to part for his path. the glint of jewel and gold alike catches the slant of the sun, and tighnari thinks back to that moment on the balcony when he had paused, and looked at him.

orange eyes, like spessartite garnet mined from the depths of liyue's bountiful chasm. no less beautiful, yet no less dangerous to source, or so he's heard from kshahrewar driyoshes within hearing. he had, he thought, been smiling.

together, tighnari and cyno move three redcrest cactus pots out into their new home on the balcony. the large, dirt-green pitch-fork-shaped plants look evidently out of place surrounded by kalpana lotus vines and the gentle sway of padisarahs, and they do something terrible to the view of the skyline. but tighnari's eyes glint in something like satisfaction looking at them; at the very least, if this is to be his world from now onwards, he has molded a small piece of it to his satisfaction.

he looks back to cyno. ]

I am Tighnari. I appreciate being called your Valuka Shuna concubine as much as you seem to appreciate being called General Mahamatra. Shall we agree to call each other by name?

[cashewlater]

[ the work is simple, quick. cyno is not a tall man, but he is certainly strong, well-muscled, compact, and the heavy pots are easily lifted and arranged to tighnari's satisfaction. still, the sun hangs low and heavy on the horizon by the time they've completed their task to the proper specifications. and all of this manual labor in their elegant clothing.. ]

Tighnari.

[ he moves the word across his tongue, cyno's sharp scarlet eyes thoughtful. a good name. delicate, but strong. it suits its bearer well, he thinks. with a brief glance cast toward the towering cacti, cyno turns to face him fully. his gaze is even, but sharp-edged, settling onto tighnari's face, and taking his measure. there are many who would shy away from the weight of the general mahamatra's eyes on them, for the songs that tell of his razor focus, his ability to take a person apart with his gaze. cyno would not be where he is were he not perceptive, capable of reading others easily, and ferreting out lies.

tighnari, he thinks, is marvelous. ]

By name it is. I learned of your existence an hour ago.

[citer]

[ he seems pleased, he thinks. the weight of cyno's gaze is like that of a desert storm - or so tighnari's heard. but based on his understanding of the world, he'd analogise it to that of the heat of the sun. plants thrive under such gazes, but only in amounts that they can tolerate. he knows people fear the general mahamatra. he thinks that they don't differentiate their fear based on the position, or based on the man. but cyno is up to his elbows in dirt, and his first task of the day after standing upright at his own promotion ceremony is to move around redcrest cactus pots. people ought to fear him, tighnari thinks, but not for the reasons they think they ought to.

still, he nods, because it doesn't surprise him that this is the case. he gestures for cyno to follow him into the suite once more, as comfortable in unfamiliar territory as lesser men would be in familiar ones, letting the knotted swathe of his dress down as he does so. it trails along the floor as his bare, painted feet glide against marble. ]

You have questions, then. Come, I'll answer them. Have you anything to eat today? I know those ceremonies go on for far too long, and the catering wasn't done with you in mind.

[cashewlater]

[ they've fallen into something easy. something simple. something.. nice, cyno thinks. despite his fierce reputation, cyno is actually a very easy man to get along with, so long as you aren't the target of his merciless justice, and so tighnari's prickly attitude and loud opinions roll off of him like water off a dusk bird's back. he finds tighnari endlessly amusing, smart, sharp as a whip and just as deadly. especially once cyno had gotten a bow into his hands.

as a matra, he was trained in the handling of many weapons, and though he favors a polearm, he's proficient in the use of swords, daggers, bows, and of course, ferocious hand to hand combat, among other things. he'd tried tighnari with a few different weapons, and together they had found that the bow suited him best, though he'd been sure to begin training him on dagger usage as well, should anyone make it in close enough that the bow is no longer useful.

cyno is, you see, a careful man, and a diligent matra. he has many enemies, and fond as he has grown of tighnari, he would rather his valuka shuna companion be armed and capable, should something occur while cyno is not around to protect him. it's important. it's mandatory, one of the few things that cyno had insisted upon. thankfully tighnari had taken to it well, and even begun work into developing traps and hand-thrown mines crafted with careful plant-based recipes, designed to disorient foes if the need to flee arose. all of this makes it much easier for cyno to work without always worrying that someone will harm tighnari in his absence, though thankfully he hasn't needed to put his newfound archery skills to the test. cyno hopes he never needs to.

nevertheless, over the next several weeks they build a comfortable life together. they chat often, and cyno finds himself far more talkative with tighnari than he is with any other. there's a natural trust building between them, and something else, the tender, springtime buds of something more that cyno has done his best to ignore. tighnari has been beautiful since the day they met, but the more time they spend in one another's presence, the more cyno is drawn to him. he finds himself looking forward to returning home after long days spent working, smiling easily when he lays eyes upon his companion, and tighnari's abrasive yet supportive presence has cyno's guarded heart opening up like the petals of the nilotpala lotus beneath the silvery moon. he's close to very few people. tighnari has become one of them.

it's been four days since cyno has returned to their sprawling estate, the longest he's spent away from tighnari since they've met, and when cyno returns at last he is bone-weary and aching, exhausted. it's late in the evening when he arrives, slipping into their shared quarters with a soft sigh, and when he slings his polearm off of his back to set it against the wall, it feels like dropping a heavy weight. he could have traveled in the morning, but.. he'd wanted to be home. to be with tighnari. ]

[citer]

[ the garden blooms profusely. springtime in sumeru is the time of rain and life. with the threat of overwatering and an overflowing swamp gone by the wayside, tighnari had begun the long process of transforming a garden that wasn't designed to be walked in into a garden that will provide shelter to the local creatures and benefits to the local community. the palace's location in vissudha field is one that intersects the main road. a valuka shuna cannot wander far, but pinned back ears and a proper cloak gets him far enough to barter for seeds that the household has no expertise in selecting for. he relocates plants, rearranges the the boundaries of the walkway, and directs the groundskeepers to line the back walls with trees. a month's time is enough for the transformation to be fierce: gone are the artistically trimmed plants, having been moved to suitable areas on the grounds to flourish in their natural shape. the sumeru roses have been planted alongside of local, less esoteric plants to help with water retention and local diversification. the fountain had been dug up and replaced with a medicinal herb patch. it will be months still before anything of use can be harvested, but tighnari is pleased with the progress made.

cyno is home more often than he had initially suspected. the palace is a large one. the sanctuary of surasthana had been larger; a seven-year-old valuka shuna with his leash pulled taut spent his days living on the sound of his own heartbeat, echoing within the great expanse. a seventeen-year-old valuka shuna wandered the halls of the akademiya because time was better spent outside of the sanctuary's walls. it passed faster, or so it seemed. tighnari isn't naturally inclined towards people and noise, but he has grown accustomed to life. cyno's journey back to the palace night after night is a surprise, but a welcome one, a reprieve at the end of the day with someone to speak to and for ideas to be exchanged.

he enjoys combat, he finds. the pull of a bow in his arms is an unfamiliar source of fatigue, but a satisfying one. he has his books moved from the sanctuary to one of the rooms not built to be lived in, bookshelves spanning wall to wall. the archives had taken back a sizable number of his collection; he intends on growing it once more, though he hasn't figured out how.

through it all, cyon's quiet encouragement is a constant. he likes cyno. this isn't a decision to be made lightly. in a valuka shuna's world, there isn't much in the way of choice, and the few decisions to be made don't seem much like choices at all. but this one is an easy one to make, one based on tighnari's understanding of people. there are those who instill trust and confidence because they are simply people worth trusting. tighnari hasn't not gotten so far by being a poor judge of character. cyno's quiet reassurance threads itself into the fabric of his life, as he makes a new one here in an unknown nest.

it's been four days since his last visit. logically, the timing between visits should spread itself as time passes for various reasons - the business of the season, the fading of a new acquaintanceship, the divergence of lives. cyno's warning regarding his own life had been timely in the beginning of their acquaintanceship: that his days are long, and nights are longer still, stake-outs and an ever-growing number of individuals to detain and question. four days passes with the shredding of new practice targets near the back gardens, and a new patch for the herb garden cleared out from decorative grasses. in the evening, tighnari is braiding a new string for the bow, when he hears the far door open with a click.

he emerges in his sleeping robes. cyno is a sight for sore eyes - sore, and visibly so. he looks tired. tighnari beckons him forward with a click of his tongue, and reaches to remove his helmet from his head. ]

A long four days, I take it. Come, I'll draw a bath.

Have you eaten?

[cashewlater]

[ tighnari removes his helm, and cyno leans his head forward to allow it, the tension in his shoulders slowly slackening. he's been on his feet with little enough sleep for four days, his back and legs ache, but that aside, he is none the worse for wear; cyno hasn't seen combat since he disappeared into his work. ]

No. [ and he's not hungry, either, but that's neither here nor there, he knows tighnari will insist, as he'll insist on taking care of him. ] I hope I didn't wake you.

[ he suspects he hasn't, tighnari looks alert. ]

[citer]

You have seen my sleeping patterns. We Valuka Shuna are crepuscular. You would need to expend significantly more effort to catch me unawares. [ but he's smiling as he says so, his critical gaze combing cyno's appearance for wounds - before he nods, satisfied.

the helm is set on a waiting table. he directs cyno forward with a hand to the small of his back. he runs warm when he's tired. cyno is like a miniature furnace. tighnari clicks his tongue once more. ]

Perhaps I won't need to ask the household to heat the water after all. Just your skin ought to make the bath boil. Did you walk here, or ride a horse?

[cashewlater]

Walked.

[ tighnari's hand at his back is light, but nice. cyno has grown accustomed to their easy, off-hand affections. together, they move to the bathroom where cyno begins to strip, lifting his heavy golden collar over his head. ]

[citer]

From Sumeru City? Or the desert? You realise transportation has been invented. It's quite a marvel; you ought to try it sometime.

[citer]

[ it's for charity, or so the invitation indicates. tighnari, who's seen the parade of riches the sages have gathered under their own banner and the luxurious opulence of grand sage azar's personal collection of treasures plundered from across teyvat, inwardly thinks that there is, in fact, enough mora in circulation in the economy to do away with the need for charity to begin with. his horse-riding lessons have gone well in the intervening days, however. eventually, after much discussion, they had settled upon a gray caspian, whom tighnari had dubbed 'dalir' without much hesitation on the matter. he'd enjoyed being able to ride as he saw fit on palace grounds, taking the smaller, winding roads through the jungle on days when the weather cooperated and the rain didn't drench the roads overly so.

he rides dalir now side-by-side with cyno's hanon, a pale and dark matching set down the road to sumeru city. the invitation had indicated appropriate dress, a show of force and power from those the city deems to be important enough, to physically showcase their support for the raising of mora for scholarships for those students of the akademiya who are less fortunate than others. the general mahamatra will both be in attendance as a guest, and as a show of security, the missive had written. it had not mentioned the valuka shuna, but cyno had noted that it did not exclude him the possibility of bringing with him a guest.

wrapped up in his cloak, tighnari is still not quite sure what to feel about the advent of the gala itself. he's never been to one, he doesn't see a need for one, and he doesn't enjoy crowds. but the lure of novelty has spread his wings these past two months, and cyno's cagey expression suggested that he enjoyed the gala about as much as tighnari thought he would - it was impetus, at least, to save cyno the tedium of attending himself. perhaps he could convince him to leave early, he thinks. a night walk along the bazaar and its swaying padisarahs would be a fine way to end the night.

still, he carefully adjusts his seat on dalir as they trot. the divine tree rises in the distance. ]

Cyno. [ he calls out, after a moment. ] Your helmet is askew.

[cashewlater]

[ cyno is stiff, distracted, and when tighnari calls to him he starts, a little, both brows lifting. ]

Hm? Oh.

[ unsurprisingly, galas are not cyno's idea of time well spent, but the general mahamatra's duties extend to more than simply keeping sumeru city safe; there had been no feasible way for him to escape this, save perhaps to feign illness, but cyno is not that sort of man. he'll fulfill this task whether he likes it or not. thankfully, tighnari had agreed to come along, which will surely make the night far more bearable. sumeru city is rapidly approaching, he can see the gates looming nearer. cyno sighs, and rights his helm. ]

Thank you, for agreeing to come with me.

[citer]

You have said that five times today. [ there's no censure in tighnari's tone, however - only gentle teasing as he shakes his head. ] There's no need to say it more. I am here because I wanted to come with you. Besides, it promises to be tedious. Was I supposed to let you suffer alone?

[cashewlater]

You certainly could have. You could be home, relaxed and reading on the terrace with a cup of tea, but instead, you're here, offering to attend a noisy, uncomfortable event simply to keep me company.

We'll make the most of it.

[citer]

I did suggest an evening walk along the padisarahs after. I'd like to see if they are growing well, and if I can bring some back with the roots intact.

[cashewlater]

[ cyno chuckles. in some ways, tighnari is very predictable, now that cyno has grown close with him. ]

It'll be a good way to unwind.

[ the noise of sumeru city heralds their arrival, much, he's sure, to tighnari's chagrin, and together they walk dalir and hanan toward the stable site nearest to the akademiya. the gala is being held in one of its many grand halls, a second floor area with marble terraces that overlook the city below, choked by clinging ivy and kalpalata lotuses. a familiar enough sight for both of them, as it were.

with the horses successfully stowed, cyno shrugs off his traveling cloak at last. beneath it he is swathed in black silks and shimmering gold, his nails lacquered black, his eyes lined in kohl, with flecks of gold leaf peppering his eyelids. his wild hair has been somewhat tamed, bound into a heavy, elaborate plait down his back, tied with a glinting golden clasp in the shape of a jackal's head. it's more muted than his ceremonial garb had been when he and tighnari had first met, and seems to fit him more comfortably, even if the golden collar and necklaces are a bit more opulent than is customary. plain golden rings glimmer from his half-gloved hands as he reaches to help tighnari with his own cloak. ]

Are you ready?

[citer]

[ it's silly to even mention it, but the desert is hot. sometime between the wavering of an oasis and a patch of cacti, tighnari suspects the fur on his tail has set itself on fire. he knows heat. he knows it well - you can't grow up in the rainforests and the well-kept, humid greenhouses of the akademiya without being resistant to, or at least used to it. you could not be a child of sumeru without an understanding of it. but understanding, it seems, has very little to do with reality. that the deserts of sumeru has challenged tighnari on such a matter is well-deserved, but no less harrowing. he thinks he's seen several thousand duskbirds pass overhead, congregated into the shape of clouds. when he had mentioned this to cyno, he had gotten a look so concerned that tighnari suspects he's being thought of as someone from another planet entirely.

at the very least, the roiling dunes of the desert no longer trembles against the horizon. he is sitting in the cornered shade of an old and crumbling temple while cyno goes to scout and clear their path. hanan and dalir congregate in a corner of shade not far from him, shaking their manes and nosing hopefully at the shade. he coaxes hanan over with a sunsettia he had brought in the morning, shares half with her as he sucks its juice and considers their heading. cyno is looking for the flame-mane. tighnari had never heard of such a character prior to embarking on a journey across half of sumeru to escape his former gaoler, but he has learned on horseback and he learns quickly. she is the defacto leader of an eremite band on this side of the wall, and she has information on the movement of azar's matra. tighnari has lost track of how far they have travelled from aaru village since, but the checking of the sun's position suggests that high-noon will soon pass.

that cyno has not complained a bit throughout their travels is both a point of pride and a point of comparison. tighnari pulls his veil from his head so that he can let his ears breathe. the sun and the sand stretches out as far as his eyes can see. the desert made cyno. he can see how. ]

The sun is going to unmake me. [ is what he announces. he does so when he hears the telltale shifting of footfalls against sand. even this far away from the rainforests, tighnari could not mistake cyno's footfalls for anything else. he leans against the wall, and rolls his eyes. ] If it does not, my tail will make excellent tinder. Perhaps it has caught on fire already, and I simply didn't notice, for the heat of a flame is nothing compared to what I'm already feeling.

[cashewlater]

[ the desert is as it always is. harsh. unforgiving. the days blister and the nights freeze, and tighnari.. well, he certainly could be taking to it better. from the first day he has struggled.

cyno cannot entirely blame him. the desert heat is oppressive and merciless, and tighnari is not used to it, not like cyno is, the boy who was forged by these sweltering sands. cyno is not unaffected, he feels the heat the same as any other, but his discipline is strong and unrelenting; he'll keep strong for the both of them, if he must.

as he approaches, cyno rolls his eyes, exhaling a snort. ]

If only your dramatics could cool you, you would be chillier than any Snezhnayan.

[ cyno steps into the shade, slinging his polearm over his back while unhooking his waterskin to take a long drink. ]

The way is clear. You'll be glad to hear there is an oasis halfway along.

[citer]

[ cyno approaches. the shade cast from his body alone is comforting. tighnari leans into it with just the barest hint of remaining grace. he breathes in the steady warmth of his scent, and then, because he is tighnari, casts an assessing glance up and down. injuries? signs of struggle? the prick of a cactus, or the bite of a scarab?

he relinquishes half of the sunsettia to hanan, then pulls himself up with a flick of an ear. ]

A real one, or another one of those sand ones?

[cashewlater]

[ no, no scarab bites or cactus pricks. he'd run into a handful of eremites, but they'd recognized him as the general mahamatra and fled, rather than engaging. sometimes his reputation is useful. ]

Yes, a proper one, with plenty of water and shade. [ a beat. ] Really, Tighnari, we can return you to Aaru Village and I can do this on my own. There's no need for you to torment yourself.

[citer]

Ugh. [ tighnari chances a glance out of the shade - and his entire head goes up in flames for it. the heat is stifling. he retreats with a shake of his head. ]

Normally, I would be happy to be stubborn - but I think reason and clear thinking needs to win out. Will you walk me back?

[cashewlater]

[ cyno half-expects that tighnari will be stubborn about it, but it's a testament to just how miserable this is for him that he instead relents. cyno releases a soft, sympathetic breath, and nods. ]

Yes. Ride with me on Hanan. It'll keep you better shaded, and you won't need to exert yourself.

[ unhooking his waterskin, he hands it down. tighnari has one of his own, of course, but cyno's is freshly refilled from the oasis, and the water is still cool. ]