[ cyno arcs like lightning. he pulls his spear back, the long lean set of his shoulders like that of a young god. tighnari draws his bow. the first shot goes wide as one of the assailant jumps from the trees. the second shot hands, the arrow striking off the side of a rock with expert precision, guiding the assailant to jump back just in time to catch the ricochet in his leg. he goes down with a grunt.
the last approaches from dalir's blindspot. the distance is suboptimal. tighnari jumps down from horseback and puts himself between dalir and the assailant. the flash of his jewels is a lure - the assailant darts forward to grab his arm (a grab, he notes, a grab and not a stab -) and tighnari lowers his centre of gravity the way cyno taught him. he knife goes in between the third and fourth ribs with astounding ease. the man stumbles, and tighnari withdraws, jumping back with a hissed breath. his own hand bleeds; an amateur's mistake. but he doesn't drop the knife until the man stumbles back into the underbrush from where he had come.
silence, resounding. tighnari wipes his hand on the sordid silks of his tunic, and grimaces at the still-bleeding cut where his thumb meets hand. ]
Cyno. [ he calls out with urgency. ] I don't hear anyone else coming. But we should go.
[ it's all over in a matter of brief minutes, and when the battlefield quiets and tighnari calls for him, cyno sprints back quickly, leaping deftly onto hanan's back. she dances beneath him, spooked by the scent of blood, but cyno quiets her with a few gentle pats and some soft words spoken in her preferred aaru. she's seen battle before, but she is not a warhorse.
he sees the flash of red on tighnari's palm, on his tunic; other's, or his own? right now it doesn't matter, he's whole enough to speak and ride, and they should not linger. ]
We cannot chance returning to the estate. To Caravan Ribat.
[ it's not ideal, they're still dressed in their finery and it would make their journey easier if they were able to pack a few things from home, but.. they cannot risk it. azar wants to keep this quiet, it's unlikely that he would send more men to the palace - housekeepers talk - but if the sage is desperate to quiet him..
well, they'll simply have to resupply at caravan ribat, and go from there. ]
[ dalir is less cooperative, but tighnari manages. a few solid clicks and a gentle hand gets tighnari back onto dalir's back. he shuffles both reins to his good hand, and carefully maneuvers his horse around to meet cyno and hanan. something thumps in his chest - he recognises it as excitement. they are going to caravan ribat. the circumstances may not be ideal, but the world spreads before tighnari - and he thinks, how marvelous it is, to be able to choose to go somewhere simply because you want to.
tighnari kicks dalir into a trot to keep pace, his eyes holding cyno's in the night. ]
A full day's ride, if we move quickly. It's across the span of the forests, to the southwest.
[ two days, if they're slowed down, and need to stop into villages along the way. riding that hard might be difficult for tighnari, who's not quite used to travel just yet. perhaps they ought to stop somewhere, if only to acquire some proper clothing.. water and food will be easy enough to find along the way. ]
[ tighnari considers this. he puts his pride aside. it's not as difficult as he's been led to believe. ]
I have a cut on my hand; I can't handle the reins properly for anything faster than a trot. I should ride with you on Hanan so we can pick up speed, and we can switch to Dalir when Hanan needs rest.
[ tighnari takes cyno's hand. mounting once more isn't a terrible experience. he seats himself, and immediately moves to tie dalir's reins to the back of hanan's saddle. then, he motions for cyno to join him. ]
[ with one hand in his own, and the other at tighnari's waist, they get him situated on the saddle before cyno is swinging up onto hanan's back again. it's been a bit since they first rode together, but tighnari's weight is nonetheless still comfortable against him. ]
If you need to stop for any reason, squeeze my wrist twice.
[ the night passes. tighnari's cut stings, but there's nothing for it. with cyno's reassuring presence pressed against his back, he carefully cuts away a swathe of his useless, ornamental silks so that he can properly wrap the wound. half-way through the night, they switch to dalir to give hanan a rest, and on the back of a fresh horse, traverse through the dense vissudha jungle.
the mountains are in the distance, as is the dry wind blowing in from the desert, when tighnari squeezes cyno's wrist twice. ]
[ they're making good time, moving swiftly. the forest is dense around them, but cyno knows these paths like the back of his hand, and he navigates them easily. their conversation is brief, when they speak at all, for it is difficult to hear over the pounding hooves, and none seem to be following them. they've moved swiftly enough to outpace azar's efforts.
still, when he feels that squeeze to his wrist, cyno reacts immediately, slowing hanan to a trot. ]
[ tighnari ought to. the day has been long. the morning seems ever so distant. the night seems longer still. yet tighnari feels wide away. the coolness of the forest night air is as a balm to his heart. what he hears, however, is not the gentle, lush silence of a forest at rest, but a song.
his ears swivel. he gestures for cyno to quiet as he listens to its melodic lilt. it, too, seems ever far away, but it seems a matter of volume than distance. it is not sung with a human tongue. ]
[ cyno not only quiets, but he slows hanan to a walk as well, and then to a full stop, to better allow them to listen.
the song is gentle, warm, almost playful, and heartbreakingly nostalgic. cyno has heard it before, deep in the forests and in open, endless fields. he nods, speaking quietly under his breath, a whisper, but he knows tighnari will hear him. ]
[ tighnari, who has never once spoken to a child, considers this in his imagination - cyno, patiently finding himself on one knee so that a child can whisper into his ear. it's a charming thought in itself. ]
We should follow the song, I think. It's telling us so.
[ oddly enough, children are one of the few that aren't afraid of cyno. they have no reason to be, and know no better, and he is always gentle with them. ]
As you wish.
[ cyno does not like the detour, this will delay their arrival in caravan ribat, but he trusts tighnari's instincts almost as deeply as his own, and really, he should probably rest. tighnari is strong and resilient, but he's not used to hard travel. not yet.
with a click of his tongue, cyno eases hanan off the road and between the trees, the clop of her hooves softened by the thick grass beneath. ]
[ hanan moves to cyno's orders, and tighnari moves with her. the night's chill is abated by the gentle press of cyno to his back, ever-present, ever-sure. the song continues, a faraway lilt made by an inhuman tongue. they never quite close their distance to it. yet tighnari is sure, so very sure, from the bottom-most dredges of the instincts of a valuka shuna that had yet to be beaten out of him - that they were meant to follow this song to its intended conclusion.
the forest grows deeper. the forest grows darker. darkness does not, however, mean the absence of light. bioluminescent flowers bloom along the wayside, unfurling their petals upon their approach like an evening's welcome. fantastical mushrooms scaffold off of ancient trees, casting their unearthly light upon the animal trail. tighnari hears rustling in the forests, little feet pattering along leaves and the trailing streams. he sees nothing. it evokes not fear, but curiosity. the song continues.
out of the forest rises a round, dome-like structure. it looks to be made of clay and stone, with a little round door and leaf-thatched rooves. it looks like nothing human hands would have built. tighnari looks to it, his ear cocked. the singing has stopped. ]
There. [ he's never been so uncertain. he's never been so certain. ] I think that's where we're supposed to go.
[ cyno does not love and cherish sumeru's flora the way that tighnari does, but that does not mean he does not appreciate the hushed beauty of this place, of this moment. the glow of flower and fungi alike light their path, and hanan seems to relax beneath him, her walk gentling, and he trusts an animal's instincts even more than he trusts his own. this place is safe. the movement in the brush is not threatening, but friendly, and the eyes he feels upon them are curious, gentle. familiar.
some of the tension fades from cyno's shoulders. ]
I trust you.
[ and his own instincts as well, as he always has, even if his mind is urging him to keep moving, to stay ahead of the danger, his spirit knows this is right. the song has put his heart at ease, for now, the sound of it still lingering in his ears even after it fades. pulling hanan to a halt, cyno slides out of the saddle to help tighnari down. ]
[ three simple words, but they carve through tighnari. it's not as if he didn't know. cyno had lain for him and allowed him to put his hands on him. he'd taught him to shoot a bow and to use a dagger. he allowed him to see sides of him that others likely wouldn't. how easy it is for cyno to trust him; how easy can the process be.
tighnari breathes in, and takes cyno's hand as he dismounts. his fingers slot into his so easily. ]
We're being allowed to. I suspect that if anyone were to follow our path here, they won't receive the same welcome, or the same guidance. Did you notice how only our path was lit by flowers?
[ the little round building is lit from the inside. luminescent moth and little leaf-lights that spark when tighnari reaches up to touch them. there's a loft were a few jars full of carrots and radishes sit, a little leaf rug decorating the floor, and a single, wooden bed beneath a small canopy.
[ while tighnari explores their little unexpected inn, cyno leads both horses to the nearby brook to drink; they've ridden hard. he is not out of earshot. cyno thinks on these words, and when the horses have had their fill cyno attaches their lead lines and lashes them to a tree to prevent them wandering. they of course have plenty of slack to graze, drink, and sleep comfortably. ]
Aranara, the children call them.
[ he feels a little foolish saying it aloud, for aranara have always been perceived (by adult minds) as faerie tales - exciting, wondrous, magical, but also entirely fantastical, a figment of a child's playful mind. still.. cyno can't help but remember a small desert boy, feral and afraid in a strange, tangled jungle, lulled to sleep by a gentle song. ]
Do you need help?
[ he's refilling their waterskins, and removing some rations from hanan's saddlebag. they're hardly delicious, but cyno is grateful to always have some packed, just in case. ]
[ the aranara, cyno says, and tighnari is enchanged. he recalls the annals of his studies, knows that he has never come across such a term, but somehow, somewhere, it resonates, like a single droplet of water on a familiar leaf, sliding from its precarious perch. tighnari knows it like his own name. the aranara, the children call them - therefore, there is no name that adults would call them by, no way of doing so without reaching back for a past they cannot return to.
he nods gratefully at cyno's return, and gestures with his good hand. ]
I found a mortar and pestle, though I don't know how long it's been here. It seems sturdy enough. Can you wash it, and see if you can pick one or two lotus heads? I'd like to make a salve for my hand.
And as for anything else... [ his ears swivel as he looks about, and then, tighnari shakes his head. ] No, we have all else we need. Are Hanan and Dalir alright?
[ and they'll need plenty, to ride hard tomorrow. cyno sets the rations down on a little rickety table, before he's off to the brook again to rinse the tools well, scrubbing them free of dust and debris before returning them to tighnari. ]
[ the mortar and pestle are cool to the touch when cyno returns. he takes them with a thankful nod, and begins to take fresh mint out from one of the jars so that he can begin the slow process of grinding it into paste. it's slow work with a single hand. he directs cyno to hold the mortar still as he does so.
tighnari glances up as cyno makes his remark. his ears flicker, pleased. ]
I have a good teacher.
[ ... ] I've never asked: when was the first time you held a weapon in hand?
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the last approaches from dalir's blindspot. the distance is suboptimal. tighnari jumps down from horseback and puts himself between dalir and the assailant. the flash of his jewels is a lure - the assailant darts forward to grab his arm (a grab, he notes, a grab and not a stab -) and tighnari lowers his centre of gravity the way cyno taught him. he knife goes in between the third and fourth ribs with astounding ease. the man stumbles, and tighnari withdraws, jumping back with a hissed breath. his own hand bleeds; an amateur's mistake. but he doesn't drop the knife until the man stumbles back into the underbrush from where he had come.
silence, resounding. tighnari wipes his hand on the sordid silks of his tunic, and grimaces at the still-bleeding cut where his thumb meets hand. ]
Cyno. [ he calls out with urgency. ] I don't hear anyone else coming. But we should go.
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he sees the flash of red on tighnari's palm, on his tunic; other's, or his own? right now it doesn't matter, he's whole enough to speak and ride, and they should not linger. ]
We cannot chance returning to the estate. To Caravan Ribat.
[ it's not ideal, they're still dressed in their finery and it would make their journey easier if they were able to pack a few things from home, but.. they cannot risk it. azar wants to keep this quiet, it's unlikely that he would send more men to the palace - housekeepers talk - but if the sage is desperate to quiet him..
well, they'll simply have to resupply at caravan ribat, and go from there. ]
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tighnari kicks dalir into a trot to keep pace, his eyes holding cyno's in the night. ]
How far away is Caravan Ribat?
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[ two days, if they're slowed down, and need to stop into villages along the way. riding that hard might be difficult for tighnari, who's not quite used to travel just yet. perhaps they ought to stop somewhere, if only to acquire some proper clothing.. water and food will be easy enough to find along the way. ]
Were you injured?
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[ it's not worth stopping for, not when tighnari has one other good hand to keep dalir steady. he won't be able to use his bow, but a knife will do. ]
You?
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No injuries.
[ he's the general mahamatra for a reason. a few mercenaries couldn't put a scratch on him. ]
Are you comfortable enough with Dalir to move more quickly?
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I have a cut on my hand; I can't handle the reins properly for anything faster than a trot. I should ride with you on Hanan so we can pick up speed, and we can switch to Dalir when Hanan needs rest.
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[ he'll stand by, to help tighnari up into the saddle, should his injured hand prove to make it too difficult to mount without assistance. ]
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[ tighnari takes cyno's hand. mounting once more isn't a terrible experience. he seats himself, and immediately moves to tie dalir's reins to the back of hanan's saddle. then, he motions for cyno to join him. ]
Dalir's secure. We'll be alright.
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If you need to stop for any reason, squeeze my wrist twice.
[ and with that, they're off. ]
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the mountains are in the distance, as is the dry wind blowing in from the desert, when tighnari squeezes cyno's wrist twice. ]
Wait.
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still, when he feels that squeeze to his wrist, cyno reacts immediately, slowing hanan to a trot. ]
Do you need to rest?
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his ears swivel. he gestures for cyno to quiet as he listens to its melodic lilt. it, too, seems ever far away, but it seems a matter of volume than distance. it is not sung with a human tongue. ]
... someone's singing. But it's not a person.
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the song is gentle, warm, almost playful, and heartbreakingly nostalgic. cyno has heard it before, deep in the forests and in open, endless fields. he nods, speaking quietly under his breath, a whisper, but he knows tighnari will hear him. ]
This is not the first time I have heard it.
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Do you know who, or what?
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[ yet he feels he knows them somehow, nevertheless, and it's a song that soothes his soul, makes him feel at ease, like.. going home. ]
I hear children talk about them often.
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We should follow the song, I think. It's telling us so.
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As you wish.
[ cyno does not like the detour, this will delay their arrival in caravan ribat, but he trusts tighnari's instincts almost as deeply as his own, and really, he should probably rest. tighnari is strong and resilient, but he's not used to hard travel. not yet.
with a click of his tongue, cyno eases hanan off the road and between the trees, the clop of her hooves softened by the thick grass beneath. ]
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the forest grows deeper. the forest grows darker. darkness does not, however, mean the absence of light. bioluminescent flowers bloom along the wayside, unfurling their petals upon their approach like an evening's welcome. fantastical mushrooms scaffold off of ancient trees, casting their unearthly light upon the animal trail. tighnari hears rustling in the forests, little feet pattering along leaves and the trailing streams. he sees nothing. it evokes not fear, but curiosity. the song continues.
out of the forest rises a round, dome-like structure. it looks to be made of clay and stone, with a little round door and leaf-thatched rooves. it looks like nothing human hands would have built. tighnari looks to it, his ear cocked. the singing has stopped. ]
There. [ he's never been so uncertain. he's never been so certain. ] I think that's where we're supposed to go.
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some of the tension fades from cyno's shoulders. ]
I trust you.
[ and his own instincts as well, as he always has, even if his mind is urging him to keep moving, to stay ahead of the danger, his spirit knows this is right. the song has put his heart at ease, for now, the sound of it still lingering in his ears even after it fades. pulling hanan to a halt, cyno slides out of the saddle to help tighnari down. ]
We'll rest here tonight, then.
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tighnari breathes in, and takes cyno's hand as he dismounts. his fingers slot into his so easily. ]
We're being allowed to. I suspect that if anyone were to follow our path here, they won't receive the same welcome, or the same guidance. Did you notice how only our path was lit by flowers?
[ the little round building is lit from the inside. luminescent moth and little leaf-lights that spark when tighnari reaches up to touch them. there's a loft were a few jars full of carrots and radishes sit, a little leaf rug decorating the floor, and a single, wooden bed beneath a small canopy.
tighnari explores, his tail trailing. ]
Oh, mint. [ excellent. ]
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Aranara, the children call them.
[ he feels a little foolish saying it aloud, for aranara have always been perceived (by adult minds) as faerie tales - exciting, wondrous, magical, but also entirely fantastical, a figment of a child's playful mind. still.. cyno can't help but remember a small desert boy, feral and afraid in a strange, tangled jungle, lulled to sleep by a gentle song. ]
Do you need help?
[ he's refilling their waterskins, and removing some rations from hanan's saddlebag. they're hardly delicious, but cyno is grateful to always have some packed, just in case. ]
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he nods gratefully at cyno's return, and gestures with his good hand. ]
I found a mortar and pestle, though I don't know how long it's been here. It seems sturdy enough. Can you wash it, and see if you can pick one or two lotus heads? I'd like to make a salve for my hand.
And as for anything else... [ his ears swivel as he looks about, and then, tighnari shakes his head. ] No, we have all else we need. Are Hanan and Dalir alright?
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They're good. Resting, now.
[ and they'll need plenty, to ride hard tomorrow. cyno sets the rations down on a little rickety table, before he's off to the brook again to rinse the tools well, scrubbing them free of dust and debris before returning them to tighnari. ]
You did very well.
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tighnari glances up as cyno makes his remark. his ears flicker, pleased. ]
I have a good teacher.
[ ... ] I've never asked: when was the first time you held a weapon in hand?
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imagining the aranari singing kiss the girl
LMAO
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it only took 500 comments... wheezes blood
IT WAS A GOOD 500 COMMENTS... YELLS INTO MY HANDS
YELLS WITH U
i love them..... sm....
idiots... but also babies...
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