Welcome to Gaia! ::

Detraeus sat perfectly still.

After the third and — he prayed — final arrical fell at the hands of the adult oblivionite, Detraeus had yet to say a word. Since he’d been promised a share of the meat, but had no concept of how to so much as skin a bouken, let alone something this size, he moved back, edging out of the way when the man moved in. Fortunately, nothing was asked of him for some time.

The hybrid boy sat more or less quietly, probably thanks only to his father, and didn’t bother badgering him with more questions, and Detraeus, for his part, was grateful. As the bright rays of the desert morning spilled in ever greater quantities across the small campsite, Detraeus edged back away from the family pair, propping himself against a nearby boulder and tugging loose the shredded and knotted ‘rope’ that was once his first traveling blanket. Unfastening one of the end knots, he worked his now partially-shredded tunic up just enough to eye the maul wound the arrical had given him. Half his attention still flickering warily towards the father-son pair, he made quick work of tying his pseudo-bandage around himself as efficiently as he could before jerking his clothes back into place.

Curling up, knees to his chest and chin propped there like a place setting, he rooted his attention on the older man’s actions as he drew out his skinning knife. The process took hours. As he worked, though, he spoke to his son, carefully explaining what he was doing and demonstrating as he worked. The hybrid boy looked as though he’d heard these explanations before, but Detra sat with rigid focus, trying to absorb as much of the information as his tired mind would take. He may never get the opportunity to have it explained again, and certainly not with this level of patience and detail.

By the time the man finished with the first beast, the rising sun was already hanging a quarter of the way up the sky, halfway to its midday peak, and Detraeus was finding it difficult to keep his eyes open. Had he not run into unexpected trouble, the coming of dawn would have been his signal to find shelter and sleep until close to sunset. As it was, though, Detra shook his head each time his eyelids tried to flutter shut.

He would not sleep now. Not with these strangers. Not before he’d gotten his meat and skins. Not without finding shelter. Not without…

Unfortunately, the more he thought of all the things he had left to wait for and prep for, the wearier he felt, and the more his side ached. Scowling at his own weakness, he rubbed his eyes quickly and shook his head again. Maybe, if this pair decided to make a breakfast of the arrical meat…

He bit his lip, propped his chin back on his knees, and waited.

When the man finished skinning and carving the first beast, Detraeus watched warily, on alert already, but then even more so when their attention seemed to turn to him. Afterwards, though, the man turned away, leaving the boy to start working up a fire and rummaging through their goods instead. Perhaps it hadn’t meant anything? Then, he started towards him.

Detraeus tensed, unconsciously pushing his back harder to the boulder he’d been leaning against. “Don't—”

“My name’s Kilian. Cas already introduced himself.” The man reached out and Detra’s fingers balled into fists, body wired and ready to bolt — but he held out only bandages and ointment, not a weapon, and nodded towards his side as he did. “Can I help you with that?”

Detra’s pulse hammered in his throat, brow pinching tight, and he shook his head. Clean bandages and some salve likely would have helped speed the healing process, but at just the thought of having the man’s hands on him, Detaeus shook. Again, he jerked his head ‘no’. “Don’t…touch me.” At the sound of the first healthy crack from the new fire, however, Detraeus' attention twitched briefly over towards the hybrid boy.

Fire. Food.

His stomach rumbled audibly, and he scowled, narrowing his eyes even as his cheeks burned with frustration, daring the man to comment.

Detraeus watched the food preparation like an emaciated animal. He stared, attention riveted to every twitch of movement the man — Kilian — made as he prepared it, only briefly breaking his focus several times to look down at the wound dressings he’d left at his side. When the meat first started to cook, its smell, rich, hot, and fresh, it was all he could do not to groan aloud, and he distracted himself by re-dressing his cut, pulling away the old, shredded blanket scraps he’d used as a makeshift wrap and using the materials left to him to clean it more properly, dab it with salve, and re-wrap it. He grit his teeth as he worked, not wanting to make a sound with anyone there to hear it, and breathed a quick sigh of relief when he finished, wiping his hands.

Just in time.

Almost as soon as he finished, the man began dishing out the food, and Detraeus observed his every movement, feeling his pulse pick up its pace anxiously. Would they include him? Or leave him out? Was he expected to make his own fire? Cook up a separate share? What if—

The man started towards him, and Detraeus worked hard not to swallow. Food. Fresh, cooked meat. Nothing had smelled better in his life. He waited, holding his ground. The instant the man set the food down, he was on it, snatching it up and drawing it to him. He plucked up chunks of the meat, heedlessly burning his mouth and fingers without pause before he even noticed the wooden utensil at the platter’s edge. Flushing, he frowned, but just barely slowed his pace to make use of it.

When the man offered more water, too, he looked up, freshly startled. Why were they offering him so much? Didn’t he have his own child to care for? At the thought of being ‘cared for’, Detraeus’ expression pinched tighter, but his pride wasn’t enough to stop him from gulping down more water. When he finally managed to convince his greedy throat to slow down and successfully drop the canteen from his lips, he nodded ‘yes’ to the man’s question.

Detraeus blinked, eyeing the man’s initial reaction warily. Had he angered him? Said the wrong thing? Unfortunately, it only occurred to him in retrospect that perhaps he ought to have lied. Pretended that he had those who would come after him — avenge him, if need be. Pretend that there was someone out there who would notice if he went missing. Too late, though. Now, if the man wanted, he could easily conclude Detraeus was worthless after all and that they’d already wasted too much meat and water on him.

The question surprised him — the gentle tone at least as much as the nature of it.

Why?

Did it matter?

Yviss had asked him his name once, but then she’d never called him by it. Detraeus frowned, watching the father-son pair for several long moments before he spoke. “Detraeus.”

Detraeus watched the pair’s actions closely, tensing briefly when the hybrid boy made to come for him but relaxing back against his boulder when the man stopped him. He licked the tips of his fingers, cleaning them, his food already long gone by the time the other pair finished. When the man asked if he wanted more, though, Detraeus could only stare for the first several seconds. More? He was offering—?

Detraeus’ attention darted from the offered meat to the man by the fire, back and forth. Part of him still wanted more, very much so, but another, more grounded part of him knew that his stomach was small — and further shrunken by his recent diet, or lack thereof. If he stuffed more down now, he might well lose it all to upchuck. That, and taking more would involve moving in towards the fire and the family pair that he wasn’t a part of.

Eventually, he shook his head. In answer to the man’s question, though, he said, figuring that it couldn't possibly get him into any extra trouble at this point: “Soudul.”

Detraeus blinked. “S-south?”

Was it possible? Had he already gone too far north? Was he that close? He’d been traveling due north every day since he’d started, and after this long of traveling alone, directionless but for that one single conviction with nothing but the sun as his guide, thinking about being that close — about being almost there — it felt almost surreal. Unbelievable. A port town, he thought, trying to absorb the information. So that if he just made it onto a boat, one ride and he would be there.

Could his trip truly be almost over?

Detraeus blinked, startled out of his reverie when the hybrid boy started speaking to him again. He frowned as he listened, confused. Why did the boy feel the need to talk so much? And how could he be sorry he’d gotten hurt? It hadn’t been his fault — if anything, he’d helped. Did he want acknowledgement? Thanks?

At the last bit of commentary, Detraeus’ frown turned from confused to uncertain. Why was he so bent on making it to Soudul? It was the furthest place he could think of from Seren’s poisonous continent, for one. But a part of him had been clinging to the hope that it was ‘home’. That, if anywhere in this world would take him in, Soudul would. That somehow, by just getting there, he would be with people who understood what it meant to be born monsters.

The further along he’d gotten on his trip, though, the more a creeping doubt had slipped under his skin. A doubt that said it didn’t matter how far he ran, no one was truly like him, and he would never be fully accepted. No one wanted him. Nowhere was home. Nor would it ever be.

Detraeus eyed the hybrid boy’s horns and scales. Distinct features that set him apart, making it clear that he would never be fully oblivionite or dovaa. That he would never fit in, either. Then, he eyed the boy’s face. His age. Young enough to be clumped together with any of the boys Detraeus had lived with. If something had gone wrong, he could have just as easily—

No.

Detraeus slammed the thought away, diverting his gaze. Maybe this boy was his age, and maybe he was a hybrid, but he was loved and protected. His father cared for him, and he probably had more family waiting somewhere else, worried about him. Multiple people in the world who would not only notice, but care if he disappeared from the world. People who would watch out for him, fight for him, work to keep him happy. No one would have let him be stolen away.

Something akin to jealousy tightened in Detra’s gut, and he drew the back of his hand across his lips. “Soudul is my homeland,” he said at length, attention on the earth beneath his feet. “I don’t belong anywhere else.”

Detraeus had fought sleep. He had fought it as the sun climbed, and then fought it as it started to sink again. But before a full hour had passed since midday, his eyelids had started to droop and then fall shut beyond his control, his concentration waning and his body swaying groggily. He didn’t know when precisely he passed out, but when he did, he dreamt fitfully.

When a hand first brushed his shoulder, Detraeus was out like a rock, propped against his boulder and still curled in on himself. He jerked at the touch, crying out and scrambling down and sidelong, hand already fumbling blindly for his dagger. “Don’t—!”

His breath came in short, panicked pants as he resituated himself in his surroundings. Kilian. The man was Kilian. What was he doing so close? Why was he touching him? And—

Detraeus blinked, confused at the rapidly darkening sky. When had it become dusk? When had he fallen asleep? He shuddered, frowning, and backed up another pace or so before pushing to a wobbly stand and letting his hand drop off the hilt of his dagger. A quick glance around the camp filled him in on what was going on.

“You’re leaving…”

Detraeus watched the procession and stifled a yawn, not wanting to look weak or unprepared. As he blinked, shaking the grogginess of sleep out of his vision, his attention darted from each of the two hastars to the khehora female. Unbeknownst to him, something eased in his formerly rigid stance as he looked at her. She’d probably saved his life as much as either of the other two had, and for reasons unknown to Detra, he simply felt more at ease with khehora than any Magescian he’d so far come across.

It helped, too, that his first personal experience with feral ones had also gone favorably despite his own ineptitude, making this the second time he owed his life to one of their species. Adjusting his bow on his back and several of the few other items he had strapped to his person, he moved cautiously over towards the traveling party. On the one hand, it felt strange to accept so much help from strangers, and half of him continued to expect that abruptly, everything would backfire on him at once. That things couldn’t possibly go this well for so long without repercussions.

But, on the other hand, he had no better options, and so far — other than moving in too close on occasion and touching too freely — he’d been given no reason to distrust them any more than he automatically distrusted everyone. In addition, he had no means to transport his ‘share’ himself, and the thought of eventually traveling to the very port town that would take him to his ultimate goal was too tempting to ignore completely.

As he came up next to the khehora female, he eyed her. She hadn’t sounded thrilled about being used as a mount by a stranger, though she hadn’t objected either. Maybe, though, that was because these were her bonded, and she was under an obligation to obey. At the thought of that, Detra stifled a grimace, any thought of riding her soiled by the new bad taste in his mouth. His feet were tired, but he shook his head.

“I'll walk.”