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Character: Janatheil
Stage: Apprentice
Luck: 11
Creature: Ayrala x 7
Success Rate: 6 - 100

Win x 7: 105/2 = 53exp

Total: 53exp, Levels to 19 with 8exp left over, +9 stat points to distribute, +7 LUK, + 5 Ayrala Dragon Orbs

Word Count Required: 2,100
Final Word Count: 2,553

Janatheil slept soundly.

Neither an early nor a late riser by habit, Jana tended to rise when he pleased and sleep as extensively or briefly as he pleased, subject to the whims and moods of the moment. In this instance, after an exhausting past several days and much on the mind going to bed, he slept heavily, his body gratefully drawing on the resource of much-needed rest and recuperation. Unfamiliar beds rarely gave him issue, and such was the case here, the presence of warmth and safety enough to facilitate a deep, comfortable slumber wherein nothing he did was by any conscious choice of his own, but instead the product of instinct.

Instinct, for Janatheil, happened to involve drawing warm things closer and tucking near to living bedpartners. When said warm thing very abruptly became a cold thing, he grunted his displeasure, shifting his position groggily without pulling into full consciousness and flick-shoving with his wing at the source of discomfort to put as much space between him and it as possible. Verbal complaints, followed by a weighty thud, registered only vaguely in his half-asleep mind, and he dismissed them for the most part, pulling his wing back in and tucking his face into the pillows beneath him.

Waking could wait a while yet, still. The want for sleep presently far outweighed the passive curiousness about what precisely the sources of disturbance were all about, and sleep was a siren. He mumbled, folded his wings at his back, and drifted back towards full unconsciousness.

In regards to sleeping arrangements, Janatheil was not terribly picky in the grand scheme of things. Still, he appreciated a select few cornerstone features. Warmth. Stability. Quiet. Modest, reasonable requests, really.

Ice, and pre-pubescent screeching was not on his list.

When it arrived, he jerked with a sharp outcry, wings stretching and beating in a moment’s notice like a startled gull and lifting him off the bed as his skin and muscles bunched at the shock. His skin prickled with upset, goosebumps rippling through him with an involuntary shudder before he alighted, bare feet first, on the frosted mattress. Standing now, his fully awake gaze jerked to and narrowed in on the source of his rude awakening.

“You,” he growled out. “Little. Brat.” The ice beneath his feet crunched as he stalked across the mattress and then stepped off to the floor, closing in on his smaller target like an irate predator until he stood, bare-chested, shoulders squared off, and so close to Asi’wi their skin was all but touching. “What,” he grit out, breath in the younger boy’s face, “was that.”

Janatheil grunted. “Heck if I know,” he said. “I was asleep. You were on the bed. Less picky when I’m unconscious, apparently…”

He tilted his head, stretching loosely and letting his gaze wander down his company. The look caught and lingered on the boy’s lips, staying long enough to be sure the other noticed before lifting to meet his stare. He flicked his tongue over his own bottom lip, winked, blew a ‘kiss’ and took a step back.

“Nice sleeping with you, sunshine. And good to see you’re just as bright and cheery in the mornings as you are at night. Catch ya for breakfast, yeah?”

Without waiting for a response, he turned, wings flitting lazily to loosen up the muscles and tidy down the feathers as he stepped over to begin the process of dressing. Regardless of his company’s opinion on the matter, he was famished, and the promise of breakfast was a golden light at the end of the tunnel. He wasted no time in donning appropriate attire and starting downstairs.

Janatheil loved food.

Food had never done him wrong. Food didn’t complain. It warmed his belly, went down easy, and provided him with all the energy he needed for the day. He was busily (and happily, he might add) engaged with said food, layering it down approximately as fast as his throat could handle — nevermind the furtive looks his aunt continued to shoot him — when something low to the ground began making wanting noises. One flick of a glance identified the youngest member of the Taos clan, and a second later, his attention was back on his food, quite content with—

“Nnnhgh—” He made an indistinct grunting noise as his morning process was interrupted by — he glanced down — the same, small creature—er, girl—as earlier, and his eyes darted up and around the table, seeking help. “What’s this? No, don’t—m’not a chair—there’s no room, donnn…nnn…t.” He pursed his lips, eyeing his new ‘companion’ who had managed to successfully wriggle her way into his lap, between his arms, each of his hands still on the table and one ladled up with what would have been his next bite.

Such nubby little horns, he observed. Were they always that small on dovaa infants? They reminded him a little of the tiny, puffy tufts of downy feathers that infant orderites called ‘wings’, though his experience was severely limited there, also.

“Yes, well,” he grunted at her, “hello. You have managed to make yourself known. Can I help you?” His gaze flit to her brother. “Or get a little help here? I seem to have been mounted.”

“Oi, woah, there,” Jana grunted. “Careful. Don’t wanna rip anything out or take any surprise…dives.”

He offered up an uncertain semblance of a smile in the mother’s direction, not completely comfortable with his new company but apparently saddled with it for the time being. He worked around her, sparing a hand on occasion to keep the none-too-steady toddler from falling anywhere she oughtn’t while juggling his own food and managing to get at least a bit more down before the breakfast hour was up.

Over the course of it, the subject of a hunt came up. A modest venture set to involve his aunt, the oldest sons and himself with the apparent goal of scoping out the landscape, seeing the ‘sights’ — though what there was to see but snow, Janatheil wasn’t entirely certain — and stretch their wings and legs while getting to know one another. While the prospect of delving back out into the frigid weather was not particularly promising, Jana was soon offered a better set of hunting clothes — hand-me-downs, he guessed, from the older son — and with that, the promise of at least getting out with a chance to do something was better than the concept of wasting his hours away in the house.

The specially-crafted gear did its work well. From the moment they left the city gates, he noted the difference, far less bitterly cold than last time, and even after some ways out, the air felt crisp, but bearable. It helped that the winds seemed to have died down from the previous day, nothing but a foggy gray to the far south indicating any stain on the otherwise clear, calm weather. Janatheil hummed, mood perking up nicely as his eyes darted about.

Hastar beneath him. Belly full. Body warm enough not to complain. Even the endless stretches of white looked somehow more appreciable this way: glimmering slopes and great open plains, almost crystalline in appearance and ethereal in their pristine state.

“It’s not so bad,” he noted aloud. “When the weather’s not trying to eat your ears off.”

Janatheil glanced over, surprised to actually have the other initiating conversation for once. And a challenge, at that. Immediately, his lips stretched into a dancing grin. “Not on this continent,” he said, “but I’ll bet you two feathers I can school you.” Turning, his gaze swept out over the open tundra, the snow shallow here and the ground hard, making for good racing conditions at that. After a brief search for something to mark as the ‘goal’ he gave up, and spoke aloud instead. “One…two…” He clipped the reins of his hastar, leaning forward and urging it into the start of a spring, “…three…race you to the edge of the continent!”

The wind, icy as it was, had never felt better in his hair. In moments, Janatheil was laughing.