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 Posted: Tue Jun 02, 2015 7:53 pm
WHEN THE JOURNEY SINKS DEEP TO YOUR BONES
I pack up my belongings and I head for the coast It might not be a lot but I feel like I'm making the most
(1542)
The journey had been long, often difficult and hardly finished. The days of Jauhar felt like they were long behind him, and in a sense they were. His body often felt like it was buzzing with the need to return to his homelands now that the war was over because he knew there was much to be done in the aftermath of all the destruction, even after five years. It would have to wait still though, as he couldn't chance the fact that Incanthis had been seen with the Oban last. So Oba was and had been his goal the entire time he travelled with V'Rin, though their trek was long and much of it out of the way. Mainly it had been due to the war, the forces moving, keeping safe. After the war was finished it just made more sense to continue the way they were going, rather than turn around. He'd heard the good news of slaves being freed left and right, moving back to their own home lands. Istanell could not trust in that information, that every single slave was actually free. Other whispers that showed more scorn because some now freed slaves had chosen to make Oba their home. He could not begin to believe that Incanthis would end up staying, that he had even been stuck in Oba… but he also had no other plan.
By the time they'd been able to move into the lands of Tale his wounds had mostly healed, though the gash that ran along his chest was delicate at best. He had been lucky to have V'Rin at his side, especially in such a strange new place. The trees had been a welcome site, at least. And a bitter reminder, for that matter. Istanell had been confined to the ground due to his wound and wouldn't have been climbing trees any time soon. He'd liked it little, not having at least the option to move through the tree tops. Tale had been… well, mostly a blur due to the constant worrying over his brothers' fates and the freshness of the war. Tension had been high in Tale, he and V'Rin had avoided many for quite a long leg of that trek. They'd spent days camping just the two of them… and once Istanell had been sure his wound wouldn't rip back open at the slightest of provocations they'd been able to acquire rope for making a hammock. The trip had finally begun to feel a little safer once they were able to sleep up high in the trees, he'd gotten lucky that V'Rin knew many knots and how to make a hammock in the first place. A skill Istanell lacked, though his father probably would have shamed him for it even if it was his father's fault with all of the heavy emphasis on sword training.
The illusion of safety was quickly yanked away when they'd made it to Sauti, so foreign from the environment they'd grown up in. It had been the first leg of their journey where they actually seaked out a settlement, in desperate need of supplies. Tind had not been the most welcoming… and it hadn't been the easiest place to actually gather supplies they needed. V'Rin and he had managed though, getting into only minimal troubles as they continued through the strange land. On top of that was the uncomfortable sleeping situation, especially with the unfamiliar cooler temperatures. Istanell believed, though, that it had lead to a much stronger bond with V'Rin. Before they had slept close, it was not uncommon in families of shifters (and what was V'Rin if not his family, at this point?), but nights spent in Sauti had been the two shifters entwined together. That had certainly awoken something deep within Istanell, though even know he could not put his finger on it and would not put his finger on it. What it meant, he told himself, was that V'Rin had become close as a brother to him. They'd faced all of the same struggles, been through all of the same hardships. V'Rin, too, had lost family in the battle.
More than the awkward sleeping arrangement had been all of the hostility they'd been met with in Sauti… hostility that had somehow escaped them on their journey through Tale. Perhaps they'd been less careful or perhaps they'd just kept running into the wrong sorts of earthlings, but that was where things had stood. It wasn't even just the residents of the land they were in, but other weary travelers who were also down on their luck. Istanell couldn't count how many times passer-bys had tried to pick pocket them. A few times they'd been full out attacked, luckily not much damage had been done. After the third encounter with bandits they'd kept to the natural borders of the territory, trying to find an easier way into Matori than the steep decent of the cliffs. Kesris had been a nightmare, one Istanell would just as soon forget. It was clear though, at the time, that no easy path would be made available to them. Their escape into Matori had been dangerous, neither Shifter coming away unscathed. V'Rin had broken his leg, which was perhaps the most devastating part of their journey. It had taken them much longer than needed to reach Setal once V'Rin's leg had been crudely splinted and a few days to find him a place to stay. Istanell had been torn, wanting to stay by V'Rin's side and keep him safe and make sure he healed right… but the other shifter had insisted. Istanell knew too, in the end, that he wouldn't have ended up staying anyhow. Maybe for a week, at most, but his brothers were more important. Oba was so close!
He'd parted from V'Rin with a heavy heart, and things turned from bad to worse. Istanell was no longer able to focus on self care and proper nutrition. He could only focus on how close the Oban borders were, how close he was to finding his brothers! He would not let himself think of any alternative where his brothers had not made it out of that battle alive. He would find them!
Matori was much nicer than Sauti, in Istanell's opinion. It was hot and sticky but almost daily the skies opened up and rain fell, providing fresh water for the focused shifter. And when he finally did break down to hunt after days of travel he found the prey much easier to find than in Sauti. Both of those things were good, and even better were the busy market places of Baun where fast fingers meant a quick meal, even if it was hardly ever substantial. Istanell did what he had to, having almost no money now. He was sure he would need at least some when he finally reached Oba… and now he could not even hunt for his own food since he lacked arrows. He could always devote some time to setting traps… but he couldn't gamble on that long process. He sat in the shade of a building, watching others as they passed by.
Soon he would cross the Oban borders, so soon. But he was tired more often now, and often dragged down from the pangs of hunger that resonated from his stomach and seemed to roll through to all of his limbs. His fingers curled around the hilt of his blade, again thoughts of selling it licking at his brain. He couldn't, he couldn't! He would just spend one day resting, then he would have the strength. His thoughts skittered around his imaginings of how his brothers were now, what sort of earthlings they'd become after five years time.. it was weird though, he could not picture them grown. He thought about V'Rin then, who he had seen grown in the five years they'd been together…. he wished that V'Rin was at his side now. V'Rin, somehow, had become the more sensible of the pair. Istanell chuckled feebly to himself, thinking that it was such a strange thing. Istanell was supposed to be sensible, smart. He shifted a bit and pushed himself from his spot, eyes opened as he swayed and moved to a sunnier section. He sat again, wrapping his arms both around his body and his weapons. Even in the heat of the day he felt cold, weary. His father would be ashamed to see him like this now, but he didn't think he cared so much. He only cared about one thing, and that was finding his brothers. He would find them and they would all return home together, they would live again together and all would be right in their world. V'Rin would catch up with him in Oba, at least that was the plan they had both agreed on. And if not in Oba, because Istanell had warned he would only spend as much time in that wretched place as needed, then they would meet again in their home settlement. He took a deep breath and sighed, tightening his grip around himself before drifting off into sleep, though he knew already it would be a rough sleep at best.
Soon he could go home, soon.
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Posted: Thu Jun 04, 2015 8:35 pm
WHISPERING TO A TREE
please let the kindness of forgetting set me free
(1501)
After spending so much time looking for his brothers and having one practically fall into his lap like that Istanell was sort of at a loss. Would finding the rest also be this easy? It couldn't be. He hoped though… and it had been a long time since he'd hoped for anything. Determination had long been the sole focus of his mind. Determination to find his brothers, to keep going. He supposed the determination to survive had been somewhere in there too, but little good it had done him. With Illian finally present Istanell had been able to finally take a moment and step back, to reall look at himself and what state he was in. It had crossed his mind multiple times since the street brawl that perhaps if he had kept going as he'd been that he might not have survived to see any of his brothers. A grim reminder that he would need to obtain some sort of balance in his own life once again… that he could not take care of his younger brothers if he could not even take care of himself.
Istanell sat some ways off from the sleeping form of Illian, his pale skin seemed to glow in the moonlight. Sleep evaded him now, he'd done so much resting since the fight. It had been good for the healing… but too much sleep and that too became unbalanced. At least he was getting more nourishment.. and at least now he was with family. A small fraction of it, but it made him feel that much better no less. He watched his brother for a long moment before his gaze slide back to the sword in his hands, glad he'd found it again. His gut knotted as he oiled the crude metal and polished it, having already sharpened it. He'd cared for his weapons just as well as he'd cared for himself in the last five years, and that shamed him right down to his bones. What had happened to him? He tried not to think about it. His gaze flicked to his brother again… one down and five more to find. When he was done with his sword he looked over his work and then ran the side of his hand along the blade, pulling away and checking it out. The blade wasn't as sharp as it once was… but it would do. Blood beaded at the small cut he'd made and he whipped it on his pants before sheathing the weapon and placing it carefully down beside him.
He couldn't help but feel slightly oily when he held that blade, like somehow he was betraying his brothers. But there was also an underlying pride that laced those feelings. Pride of being a capable swordsman… well, at one time he'd been capable. Now his skills with the sword were… laughable. He would need to train more often… long hours. He would need to push himself to do it, since his father couldn't. Illian had been through so much and he worked his weapon as though it was an extension of himself… How could Istanell live with himself by letting his younger brother take care of him. He leaned his head into his hands and groaned quietly before looking up at the moon. "Serin, what am I supposed to do?" He asked softly, his voice pained. It had been such a long time since he had tried to turn to the goddess for answers. She had been so quiet for so long that doubts filled him till they were overflowing… how could so many bad things happen to his family? But now it seemed like she was speaking to them again… hopefully bringing them together. That still did not help Istanell with his dilemma, of course.
He exhaled hard through his nostrils before standing and leaning down to grab the sword, moving further away before he took his weapon out and began to go through several stances that his father had spent so much time teaching him. It felt heavy in his hands, awkward. It'd been too long since he'd really[/]i practiced with it and that didn't sit well with him. His father would be ashamed… no. No, his father would have been livid with him. But what of his brothers?
Istanell was already breathing heavily as he spun and flowed from one stance to another, vaguely aware of his ribs crying out in protest. It was clear they were definitely broken, and not bruised which would have been the lesser of two evils. He made a sloppy change and then another mistake before he grunted, angrily throwing the sword down. He would have gotten a beating for such a brazen disregard for his weapon. He rubbed at his temples. "What do I do?" He growled out, louder than he meant to. His gaze jerked to the form of his sleeping brother and rested there for a few minutes. His outburst hadn't woken the other shifter, luckily.
He stalked to the discarded weapon and snatched it back up, moving back to their sleeping area. He was in deep trouble if this was how far he had fallen. He moved quietly, having brought his sleeping furs slightly away from his brothers from fear of waking him if exactly this sort of situation happened. Istanell missed sleeping in the trees. He secured his sword and then found his bow, moving back to the same rock as he looked it over for damage. He'd been able to restring it… the string was the only thing that looked good about it anymore. The wood had warped slightly and though he could still use the hunting weapon it was much harder. His fingers ran along the length of the wood in a gentle manner and Istanell frowned deeply. The bow was a coward's weapon… that was what his father had constantly told him. You hunted with a bow… but when you fought another man you wanted to be close enough to look him in the eye.
Istanell remembers what it was like to look a man in the eye when he was dying… the screaming… the blood. He pressed his palms to his eye sockets. He stood and took a walk until he could no longer see his and Illian's little camp. Once he felt he was far enough away he nocked his arrow, aiming at the tree. He took his time, he steadied his breathing and tried to empty his mind. When had it become such a hard thing to do? He let the arrow fly and quickly took out another, letting the second loose as well.
He heard only one tell tale thunk of an arrow hitting it's mark and his shoulders slumped. He could blame the poor quality of his bow, of course… but it was a number of things that attributed to the failure presented here tonight. He moved to the tree and began to maneuver the arrow from the bark, though after a moment he found himself leaning against it. He was fighting the urge to cry, and he was fighting it hard. "Serin… I'm so lost… to find my brothers… that is all I have ever wanted in the last five years time… and finally… finally it seems as though you are starting to answer my prayers… it was so long ago that I would ask that of you… every night… and then I thought… why? Why am I asking this? Serin has forsaken us… but that is proof if I've ever seen it.." He was pointing back towards his and Illian's camp, though for who's benefit he couldn't say. "And once I find them? What them? How am I to even protect them… I fear I've become useless in my blind urgency to just… to just get to them… to find them… but what use am I?" Self pity was a disgusting thing, that was one of the few points he whole heartedly agreed with his father about. "I can't keep… I can't keep just ignoring myself… I see that now… I see how far Illian has grown. What of the others? Please keep them safe… keep them alive."
He wasn't sure how he felt about praying to Serin again… well, talking to her. He figured that was as good of a prayer as any. But… but did he truly believe she was protecting them, watching over them? Had the doubts over the last five years simply evolved into disbelief? As he walked back he felt himself fingering the bow's wood again, his frown deep and unwavering. He set his weapon down and again watched his brother. Illian should not be the one to keep him safe… but Istanell feared he know longer was capable of keeping Illian safe. He could fix that though, he could start training again… just like his father's lessons. Grueling lessons that would get him back on track immediately… Yes, that was what he needed to do.
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Posted: Wed May 10, 2017 8:36 am
A PAST AND PRESENT TIME
Can't help but wonder if our grave was watered by the rain
(640)
Plip ... plip... plop... plip The faint sound of water dripping echoed through his ears, it felt like the first sound. The only sound he'd ever heard... but surely he'd heard the wonders of the world before. He knew this sound... so he must have known sounds like it before. Before when? The thought felt hollow and foreign, not quite his own. Darkness consumed him, was him. He was floating there... he was free there. It felt nice, cool and quiet... calm. Calm, he liked that... though he could not quite grasp that. Why was the calm nice? Suddenly the calm was invaded with shouts... metal on metal... screams... it was terrifying! The darkness was starting to spiral away and he desperately wanted to reach out and grab it- ah... that was right. He had a body, he had hands... he could just reach out... his fingers twitching as he tried.... The war! With a shuddering breath the darkness was gone, his body, his body! He felt himself lurch forward, the inky blackness had turned in a flash to buzzing bright white... the shouts gone and replaced with ringing. He gasped... yes breathing. Breathing, he did that... but how? How? He struggled in vain and suddenly he felt himself being forced back... everything hurt! Fire racing through his veins... it was terrifying... terrifying!
"Stay down, you're badly wounded."
The words echoed from a distant memory... they fluttered in sight but then were gone... the words were present, loud in his ears. Was someone talking to him?
Could he talk? He could hear... so talking... he thought perhaps he tried to say something, anything... a horrible groan escaped into the air around him. Was that him? Was that his voice? The bright and the dark seemed to mix in his vision for what felt like eternity before hazy shapes appeared. He was here...
he wasn't floating in some eternal darkness... he was... alive. Something moved in front of him and he felt himself try and sink lower and deeper into the soft warmth enveloping his body. He didn't like the hazy figure... ominous as it loomed above him.
"It's good that you are awake, I thought perhaps you would never wake again.
Drink this."
Drinking... yes he could drink things... but should he? Was he in trouble? Something cool was pressed against his lips and an odd sensation swayed up and splashed and he coughed and spluttered before the coolness was being taken away again.
""It's alright, it's medicine... slowly."
The voice was calming... soothing even if the figure was not. Were they the same? They belonged together? He felt something cradling his head, lifting it as the cool hard object was again placed against his lips and again the odd sensation of... that's right, it was liquid... it was touching his lips... resting there...
"Open your mouth."
Impulsively he did and the liquid washed over his tongue and he felt himself gulping... felt the voice commanding something else but he could only know that he wanted more, needed more of the precious liquid... he'd never known thirst like this before. Or perhaps... ah that was right... he must have had memories. He must have been somewhere before here, wherever here was.
Before he could figure that out though the liquid was being taken away again and his head was no longer being cradled... the pain licking at every bone in his body had subsided but a new sensation had overtaken him. It seemed to blanket him, pressing down in a way that made him want the delicate darkness again.
He was tired... exhausted.... Sleep.
Yes, he knew sleep. Sleep would be a good thing, sleep was his friend. The blurry world blinked into darkness slowly and carefully... and all at once he felt his breathing relax. Sleep, he needed to sleep.
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