Welcome to Gaia! ::

“Woah, Rannah,” Ataya murmured, pulling his hastar’s reins short and slowing her to a stop as he narrowed his gaze assessingly, sweeping it over the surrounding area. After a pause, he swept a leg over her saddle and dropped to the earth at her side. Little as he had been interested at the time, tracking was a skill that his father insisted upon both he and his sister learning as they grew, and one of the few — thanks to his attention to detail and the skill’s lack of requirement for physical fitness — that he was actually fairly good at.

Not that it took much skill to track Dysarrin.

Big as he was, in addition to being heavy, quick, and careless, Ataya was fairly certain he could have tracked him blind. As it was, he followed the deep trail he’d left without much effort. Dysarrin had been late. Again. And after six years of knowing him and still being informed that he really oughtn’t ever go see where the other boy lived, Ataya was ready to take the matter into his own hands. If nothing else, he could fill in a few blanks, and — if he were lucky — he might even discover what was keeping Dysarrin so busy now that he was more grown.

After gaining his bearings, he remounted and guided Rannah on, following the clawed and abused earth that marked Dysarrin’s ‘footsteps’ — though they were, knowing him, likely grooves from his fingers as much as his feet. They didn’t travel far. Soon after remounting, the earth began to slope upwards at a slightly sharper rate before, as Ataya noticed on approach, dropping off dramatically. Pulling her up short again at the edge, he frowned, assessing the strange view critically even as his hastar snorted, pawing the earth restlessly.

“Shhhhh,” he murmured, though he nicked his heels in a fraction, guiding her back away from the edge and finding a more tucked away place to rein her in before dismounting. As he fastened her loosely to a tree — enough to signal that she oughtn’t leave, but not so tight that she couldn’t pull free if something pursued her and she needed to run — his eyes wandered back towards the precipice. After a long moment, he pat her flank gently. “Stay,” he said. “I’ll…be back shortly.”

From the lip of the crater, it looked massive. Deep, and rough, like a gouge cut out of the earth by a mammoth hand. Standing on the edge of it, hot desert wind licked up the rocky sides of the bowl to tease his hair and slip under the loose cloth of his clothes as he scanned what of it he could see. Not much. But Dysarrin’s tracks definitely lead here, over a shallower part of the lip and scrabbled claw marks down. Ataya debated only a moment before crouching, touching a palm to the earth, and shutting his eyes as he mentally pushed, sinking his energy into the small, scattered shadows that traced the earth.

He followed them down. Down, down, down. Over rock and between narrow, bone-like trees — and some thicker ones — until he reached well into the base of the crater. When he sensed, abruptly, more energies — many more energies, close and sudden — he pulled out of the shadows amidst a small outcropping of trees. One hand to Eurielle and the other to the trunk of one of the trees, Ataya held himself absolutely still. In his throat, his pulse beat — thmmp, thmmp, thmmp — with some combination of thrill, wariness, and abounding curiosity. This was where Dysarrin lived?

Well, somewhere inside what looked to be a camp, in any case.

Ataya wasn’t sure he dared go any closer. Not without Dysarrin having really told him anything about his…‘family’ other than that it was too dangerous and they wouldn’t like him. He swept his thumb up the notched bones of his staff absently, contemplative and indecisive. If Dysarrin had just informed him to begin with…

The fates favored him on this day.

Though Ataya couldn’t have said precisely how long he waited, carefully exploring the outer edges of the ‘camp’ as thoroughly as he dared — which wasn’t particularly thoroughly — he knew it wasn’t long by any stretch of the definition before other persons came into the vicinity. Two other persons. Immediately after taking note of their approach, though, Ataya found his attention suitably dominated by the first and only the first.

A woman. That much was obvious. So obvious, in fact, that Ataya found his eyes darting indecisively from one moving portion of her shape to the next, incapable of pinning his focus: wide, womanly hips, thick, padded thighs, a great mass of wild, dark hair — and breasts. Large. Heavy. Bare breasts that lifted and dropped with each of her leaps and bounds like weighted sacks of who knew what. Were breasts supposed to move like that? Were they not supposed to be…covered a vast majority of the time? Did it not hurt to have them sway and drop that way? Were they usually that size and shape and…?

Ataya noticed the overwhelming sweep of heat in his face belatedly, the blush having apparently crawled up the entirety of his neck, into his cheeks and out to his eartips. Fortunately, there was no one around to notice. Though perhaps it was rude to stare to begin with? Better to shut his eyes, maybe. But then, if she cared who saw, would she be hopping around with them out to begin with? Was it more comfortable to have them out like that? What if they got cold? Perhaps they were cold, given how—

Ataya shut his eyes.

Ayrala. He would recognize his mother’s magic anywhere. And a diabi mage, at that, though the magic there was a subtler undercurrent. He held himself close to the thin trunk that ‘shielded’ him from her vision, though he didn’t pretend that she couldn’t likely spot him if she were paying attention and if she did, well…

He hoped his control of magic was more finely honed than hers and that he could withdraw in a blink if need be.

And then, there was Dysarrin. Of all the persons that it could have been coming around the bend, fate brought Dysarrin, and that fact pleased Ataya immensely. Though, judging purely off of the way he froze in place and glowered at him before barking something at his female companion, Ataya suspected he wasn’t quite as pleased to see him in the area. He huffed, narrowing his eyes a fraction and attempting to decide whether stepping out into visibility would be acceptable.

Out of some combination of wariness — he wasn’t stupid enough to entirely trust his surroundings, after all, despite being bold enough (and perhaps stupid enough) to at least travel into them — and curiosity, Ataya held himself back and kept quiet, watching and observing in silence as Dysarrin conversed with his companion. For all the upset his friend expressed every time Ataya tried to get information about his family or — gods forbid — suggested coming to see where he lived, he suspected that at the very least, Dys wouldn’t be pleased at first with his arrival. This certainly seemed to be the case so far. But short of explanations for why oughtn’t visit, Ataya had to assume that some degree of Dys’ frustrations were unfair and irrational. Hence, when they had the space to themselves, he thought Dysarrin would calm some and perhaps even be pleased that he’d gone to the effort of finding him.

Not the case.

As Dysarrin snarled and leapt for him, Ataya took a half-step back in retreat, but too slow. Moments later, the wild boy was yanking him forward, claws digging into the cloth of his tunic-front and jerking him in like a rag doll — sharply enough to earn a brief, startled yip. A half second after, Ataya bristled, eyes narrowing and expression pinching into a terse scowl at the other’s reaction. While not strictly surprising — or unusual — he still didn’t appreciate such treatment, especially when his arrival was supposed to be a positive thing.

“I wanted to see you,” he insisted.

The truth, after all, though in retrospect, he wasn’t even sure he wanted to admit that much. If Dysarrin was going to have this sort of attitude towards what was meant to be a curious and friendly gesture, he clearly didn’t deserve Ataya’s efforts to go above and beyond the minimum range of what constituted a ‘friendship.’

“You didn’t come around today. And you haven’t been coming around as often. And you don’t tell me where you’ve gone or what you’re doing and I—” He squared his shoulders back as best his minimal frame could give effect to and narrowed his eyes further, attempting with mixed results to look stalwart and assertive in face of a boy who was now quite literally likely to be at least twice his size in most all respects. “I was bored, and you weren’t hard to track, you know. You didn’t tell me anything, so I came to see for myself. I thought you’d like seeing me…” He hesitated. “But if you don’t, it’s not as though I need your permission. I was just curious, is all. You shouldn’t bark. Your making a fuss is going to draw at least as much attention to me as anything I did. And you look a fool doing it.”

Ataya tensed, brow furrowing and pinching up in a tight frown as Dysarrin’s ‘ranting’ — or in this case, fussing in the form of hissing, spitting, snarling, and confrontational body language with only the occasional semi-coherent verbal thought to supplement it — persisted. He was used to it, fortunately. Had even anticipated a certain amount of it. But, admittedly, not quite this much, and it didn’t feel fair. Dysarrin was, so far as he was concerned, being even more unreasonable than usual — which was actually fairly impressive on the grand scale, considering the wild boy had a talent for being absolutely beyond reason on a daily basis — and Ataya felt wronged on principle.

Experience, though, dictated that Dysarrin’s habits were as they were, and when his lips drew back, sharp teeth flashing, posture shifting and muscles bunching, Ataya braced himself as much as the situation would permit, fully prepared to be tossed in some way, shape, or form like some over-talkative ragdoll. He opened his mouth, too, ready to counter Dysarrin’s terms as soon as he received the slightest opening.

But then, Dysarrin stilled instead. Eyed him. Glared. Grumbled. And then scooped and lifted him.

After an initial, briefly startled squeak of sound wherein Ataya’s arms darted up and looped over and around the larger boy’s shoulders to steady himself lest he fall, Ataya blinked and clung, narrowing his eyes suspiciously. He wasn’t wholly unused to being carted about. Quite the contrary, Dys actually tended towards making it a habit on certain occasions. But, just the same, he hadn’t in a while, and given the previous direction of their spat, it struck Ataya as a fairly abrupt turn in events. Not that he was complaining. Granted, in some ways, he thought that, perhaps, he ought to object purely based on being too old for such things, now: he was grown — sort of, almost? — and oughtn’t be carted around like an infant same as Dys had when he was seven.

But, there was no one to witness it, and it saved him the trouble of walking and was, from a practical perspective, far more appealing than being tossed about and shouted at more.

So, after little more than a single, muted huff of resignation, Ataya held close, tucked in, and sat tight. Once settled as comfortably and solidly as he could against his friend, he waited, holding his tongue and allowing Dysarrin to pick the way along until their ‘journey’ came to an end — or at least slowed down — before lifting his head to voice any further objections. When they did slow, though, he wasted no time.

“I’ve lived thirteen winters so far,” Ataya said — though most of the bite to his tone had subsided, and he made no effort to wriggle free of Dysarrin’s arms. “I don’t intend to die any time soon, and I can take of myself, you know…wouldn’t have been a great lot safer if I brought anyone else, either. Travelling alone lets me be quieter and not have anything else to concern myself with. Not to mention, I just wanted to see what you were up to for myself, is all. It’s not precisely fair, when you think about it: you met my family only some time after I first found you. I’ve never seen yours, and if they’re hybrids like you, they ought to at least understand…” After a pause, he hesitated, eyeing Dysarrin from under his lashes as his mind darted back towards the first person he had seen upon entering his friend’s apparent ‘territory.’ “Was the girl a friend of yours? And does she always go about with her, er…breasts bared and such?”

Ataya blinked, and then huffed, reaching up wordlessly to tame the hairs Dysarrin tousled with his nosing and snorting and pointedly ignoring the pinch of heat it stirred in his cheeks. He wasn’t a baby. Nor was he ‘stupid,’ but under the circumstances he didn’t suppose saying as much on either front would do him any good, so he let the matter lie. When, finally, they made it back to the lip of the crater — near to where Ataya had started, conveniently — and Dysarrin set him on his feet, Ataya hummed and stroked his hands down over his clothes to straighten them.

“I—” he began, but paused immediately, face twisting into an incredulously expression at Dysarrin’s first assertion regarding breasts. “I didn’t mean she ought to take them off, idiot. Of course she can’t take them off. They’re a body par—ack!”

Ataya stumbled at the first grip and tug, but didn’t resist much and by the second time Dysarrin tugged, insistent, Ataya cooperated, moving to sit beside him and folding his legs crossways beneath him.

“I know she can’t take them ‘off’,” he repeated once settled. “But you are wrong about the second bit. Most people keep such things covered. Mother does. And all the women and girls I’ve ever seen in Taliuma. I just…” Face warming again of its own accord, Ataya huffed, glancing sidelong as he tucked his fingers through his hair. “I’ve never once seen any girl or lady with them…out. They’re just generally more private than that, I think. Was she…?” He looked back, eyeing his prone friend skeptically and attempting to determine the likelihood that the wildboy had actually managed to form some sort of…relationship with the girl. Or any girl, for that matter. Or anyone.

It seemed so very unlikely. Counter-intuitive, really, when he — Ataya — had not even begun to make the slightest ‘progress’ in that regard, if there was progress to be made. But then, it wasn’t as though he had many other sources of information on the subject, so…

“Does she…like you?”

Ataya blinked, and then squinted, eyeing his friend skeptically even as heat blossomed up his face and out to his ears at the mention of touching—

Well.

He huffed, shifting his weight. “I don’t really know, I suppose. But I’m sure it’s fair to guess that they wouldn’t want just anyone coming by and…er…well, I wouldn’t want anyone staring or pawing at me for no reason and I don’t even have…”

He trailed off. Odd as the culture seemed, perhaps it really was just that: a culture difference. Dysarrin was far more animalistic than anyone else he knew — enough so that he hadn’t been entirely certain the boy was even fully Magescian when they’d first encountered one another — and on that train of logic it wasn’t a stretch to guess that his fellow ‘clan’ mates and family might be equally barbaric. Animals — and even more civilized khehora — did not wear clothing, and if the persons in Dysarrin’s clan got on well enough that way, Ataya didn’t suppose it was his place to judge. Much. He wasn’t precisely complaining after all.

For all her wildness, it had been an eye-opening view.

So, he turned his attention to the next topic: the miracle that was Dysarrin’s apparent ability to catch the attention of a female in the first place. Ataya opted for starting small and working his way up. Compliments always tided conversations over nicely, didn’t they?

“I’m sure you don’t need her to share anyway,” he said. “As, ah…fierce and capable of a warrior you are, you can probably catch at least as much prey on your own. Maybe better prey, unless she’s especially good.” Ataya tilted his head, debating and vacillating on the wording before finally voicing his primary curiosity: “How did you get a girl to notice you?”

Ataya squinted as Dysarrin spoke, curiosity progressively delving into increasing rates of incredulity.

If Dysarrin found something ‘wild’ and ‘unruly’, Ataya was almost beyond imagining what sort of girls his friend must be dealing with. Certainly not any of the sort he had ever encountered. Dyarrin far outclassed all the persons Ataya had any experience interacting with in terms of wildness and general disregard for societal norms or rules. By the end, though, Ataya’s expression had shifted into something else entirely: lips shaped into a tilted, half-bent line, barely parted, head cocked to one side, one eyebrow arched far above the other, and nose wrinkled with some indecipherable combination of confusion, disturbance, and curious disbelief.

“Squirm…y?” he repeated. “I don’t think I could pin a girl down,” he muttered. “And even if I did, I…” As Ataya’s mind processed through not just what Dysarrin was saying, but what he wasn’t saying outright — and helpfully provided him with a string of mental imagery involving Dysarrin and ‘Veritavi’ and pinning and squirming — his cheeks burned anew, the bride of his nose wrinkling back up more thoroughly than before and lips pinching into a grimace as he squeezed his eyes shut and shook his head sharply. “Ew, ew, ew — well, since I have you out here,” he said, curbing the urge to rub his hands over his face in an effort to wipe away the thought, “maybe we can do something together, yeah? She gets more time with you now anyhow, since she lives where you live, and I did come all the way out here to see you, after all…she can wait and have you after.”

Ataya blinked, stiffening briefly as Dys’ grip slipped around him, but soon after, he relaxed, allowing the repositioning without much of a fuss. He was fairly used to similar treatment, after all, and so it wasn’t especially new. At his friend’s first answering statement, though, his brow pinched, eartips heating as he huffed and squirmed in Dys’ hold. “What do you mean ‘even’ girls could pin me?” he objected. “Lots of girls are really strong, you know. My sister is stronger than I am, and my mother. I—”

When Dys’ weight shifted again, however, his forehead pressing to Ataya’s back and larger frame more or less swallowing him up otherwise, Ata’s words petered out, and the irritated blush from earlier sank and consolidated in his cheeks and neck.

“Dys…” Ataya hesitated, squinting forward at the dirt in front of him and wanting to twist around to ask what his friend thought he was up to, but simultaneously not really wanting to disturb the moment, either. It wasn’t a bad feeling, just sitting in his friend’s lap. Warm. Sheltered. The breath on his neck and down his back was a little odd, but it still reminded him of some combination of being held by his father when he was smaller and being tucked against the warmth of his hastar. Familiar, too. He shut his eyes, tucking his thoughts to himself and waiting out Dysarrin’s own thinking process — if the wildboy even had one.

When Dys actually did speak, it took Ata a moment to adjust to.

“I—what? Oh.” He blinked, and then gradually broke into a grin, wriggling and shifting around in Dysarrin’s grip to pin him with that look as it cracked into place across his lips. “Good. Good? Of course it will be good, you dunce. When have you ever not had fun with me? I always have the best ideas…”

And so, for better or for worse, an evening full of ‘best’ ideas was put into motion.