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 Posted: Sat Apr 25, 2020 1:51 pm
Prentice Solo One
When elder Yngvild’s body was found frozen in her bed there was no more denying that the Ild’vann tribe were fighting a losing battle.
It was snowing when Sylvirah helped raise the corpse atop a funeral pyre. She was far too light in her arms, and with as often as the elder had hunted, even in her older years, Yngvild should have weighed so much more. The lines in her cheeks were far too sharp, giving the jovial woman a ghoulish appearance even before her final ride. Sylvirah wanted to remember the fullness that used to make her jowls swell, but now that Yngvild was truly well and gone, Sylvirah knew she would only remember the waif she'd become. There was no way she could forget the stiff, unfeeling lips or the tip of a nose so cold it would never rot. The image of that frozen skeleton stood so presently in her mind's eye that years from now it would still remain, buried deep into her subconscious.
”I told her to stay with us, but she wouldn’t hear it…”
“...I’ll have to go south tomorrow….send a letter to her son….”
Without any way to close her eyes, a scarf was wrapped about them, and hidden beneath Yngvild’s weathered head. It was tribal tradition that the entire village aid in the preparation of the dead, regardless of age or relation. Those that helped her with the body were a scattered area of bodies; some younger, some older, but none as old as Yngvild herself. She had been the oldest, and should have been treated with the utmost respect, and yet... Now, however, it was a luxury none of them could afford. In her youth Sylvi would have helped to cover the body with prized furs and some of their greatest treasures to send with the departed into the netherworld. Those assets were better left to the living now, which cemented the feeling of wrongness straight into her very being.
Even as they prepared the body for Yngvild’s final hunt Sylvirah could hear the sounds of the elder’s yurt being disassembled. Her belongings would be divided among the surviving members of their tribe in the hopes that no more would fall this season. This winter had already proven itself to be formidable enough. Even before the elder’s passing, the death toll had risen to five and the Ild’vann couldn’t afford to lose anymore.
An unforgiving wind howled at her back, bringing with it a furious rush of snow. Sylvirah turned her bright eyes to the murky sky, and cursed the gods. What more would her people be asked to endure? Over the course of her fifteen years Sylvi had buried so many of her friends, and all because of the winters their gods forced upon them. In her youth it was simply an inevitability; the colder months would always take someone, but who that was remained up to the gods. Now, however, she felt tested. The herds had been far too scarce during the warmer months for them to gather enough food, and now they would either starve or freeze. What members of the Ill’vann that could hunt, herself included, had scoured the woods on a daily basis for weeks, but what meager offerings they brought back didn’t last long. Her frozen fox had been gobbled up so fast that Sylvirah had already forgotten the taste. Soon enough she would be able to count the members of her tribe on two hands, and if the herds didn’t return soon more would abandon the tribe or worse…
...follow Yngvild into death.
Torval placed a thick, gnarled hand upon his grand-daughter’s shoulder, bringing her gaze from the skies back to reality. Sylvirah couldn’t remember a time where she had ever seen her grandfather so thin, and the lines that mapped his face spoke of an exhaustion so deep it burrowed into his soul. How many nights had they stayed up til morning in the trees waiting for prey that never came? She could still feel a stiffness around his fingers that spoke of the frostbite that had come so close to claiming him time and time again. Looking to Yngvild, she had to wonder; how long would it be until the frost claimed him too? The teenager stepped away from her work to stand at his side, leaning her body against his as the others took over.
“Your grandmother found mammu tracks on her scouting run. It’s risky; there aren’t enough of us to tackle the herd, and we’ll have to be fast.” Sylvirah nodded. A hunt like that would take days of tracking, let alone the effort it would take to isolate and bring down a beast of that size. There would be no way they could come out of it with enough meat to see them through, especially if the struggle drew attention from neighboring predators. Only five of them, at the most, could afford to be away from the village that long, and they would have to get back fast to avoid being hunted down themselves for the meat they carried. Still, watching Yngvild’s body being burned and carried up into the ether was enough to harden Sylvirah’s resolve. She wasn’t about to die in her bed, shriveled up and half starved; not if she could help it.
"When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow; tonight we drink."
He gave her shoulder a quick squeeze before moving away, presumably to speak with her grandmother or possibly to tend to their mounts. Years past when their hunters had been great Sylvirah was told they had enough raptrix for two packs, maybe three! These days however they only had two; a mated pair whose fur was beginning to grey, and yet to raise a litter of pups to adulthood. It was disappointing, to say the least. At a time when they needed them the most their only remaining female was barren. Some said that was a sign that the Ild'vann were no longer meant to ride with the raptrix, that their time was over, but some had taken to other methods. They were nothing if not an adaptable people, and thus, a Chiavi had been introduced into their ranks.
It was to her side that Sylvirah went now. Torval had come across the struggling chick when his granddaugther was just shy of ten years in age, and as a test, he'd tasked her with raising Ada. She'd been small, sickly, and with a broken wing the creature's chances were slim. He'd wanted to see if Sylvirah had the tenacity to do what was right. Of course, what he'd meant was to put the beast out of it's misery, but Sylvirah hadn't taken it that way. She'd seen something akin to a baby that needed her help, so she'd powered through with all the stubbornness of a roatl to see her to health. Sylvirah had sacrificed her own meals to feed Ada, stolen from their reserves to cure her infections, and in the end was rewarded with a mount so loyal Ada would take on an army to keep her girl safe.
Sound drifted out of the main hall, and Sylvirah knew that celebrations were already underway. They would drink to her memory and share stories of her finest moments, just as the Ild'vann did for all that passed. Tears would no doubt be shed, but Sylvirah couldn't find it in her to cry. She was proud to have known the older woman, and wouldn't besmirch her memory like that. The best she could do to honor Yngvild would be to get as much rest as she could for the hunt ahead, because it may very well be their last chance.
You can do this; you have to do this.
Ada met her before Sylvirah had even reached the 'stables'. In truth it was just a larger yurt, one just shy of disrepair, that had been used to house their mounts. The chiavi must have seen her through one of the various holes lining the exterior walls, because Sylvirah didn't even make it to the door before being swamped in feathers.
She may have chided Ada in the past for being too 'clingy', but she didn't do it today. The large avian chirped around her, pressing her large, fluffy body against Sylvirah's smaller frame as her dipped beak picked at the braids in Sylvirah's hair. It was a grooming practice so well practiced that Sylvirah found comfort in it. She could wrap her arms around Ada's stomach and hold her close without saying anything. The snow continued to fall around them, and somewhere in the back of her mind she knew they should go inside, and yet....why? They were both warm enough where they were.
Snow just smelled like bitter cold, and made it impossible to smell death. All of Zena smelled like snow, which was both a blessing and a curse. They had allowed elder Yngvild's body to stay in her yurt for two days simply because they thought she was too far into her drinks to be bothered. Even the raptrix hadn't been able to smell the decomposition because really, there hadn't been. She'd been far too cold for the body to even start breaking down.
She wouldn't allow her grandparents to die like that. Sylvirah was going to do her damndest to bring back a decent haul for her village tomorrow even if it killed her. At least then she would die doing what she loved with fresh blood in her veins.
(WC: 1590)
[5]
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Posted: Sat Apr 25, 2020 1:53 pm
Prentice Solo Two
Sylvirah couldn't remember the last time she'd been so tired.
The stiff mountain air left her breathless. She gasped, trying to draw what oxygen she could into her starving lungs with little success. The altitudes in which they flew had saved them from being spotted, but in doing so most of their hunters were weak. Ada and the raptrix were perfectly accustomed to it; the Ild'vann, however, were failing. Many a time they had to descend for a hunter to catch their breath, and Sylvirah had felt a deep seated nausea since the beginning. She knew it wasn't health for them to travel that far into the skies, especially not as long as they had been, but what other choice did they have? She looked to her grandfather, who was currently standing with his knees spread apart, head hunched so he could dry heave.
They'd ridden two hunters per mount, and while the added weight was normally of little concern the extended flight, coupled with the faster pace, left their mounts exhausted. Ada was pushing past her limits with each stroke of her wings. Sylvirah reached up to bring the Chiavi's head against her chest. She stroked the large avian's head feathers with soothing platitudes, taking her best friends exhaustion into her own soul. It hurt, knowing she had to push her like this, but they were so close to finding the herd. Just yesterday one of their hunters had spotted fresh tracks which was something they had been dreaming about for days. Fresh anything at this point was a miracle; but hope was terrifying. It was so fragile that the least little thing could snap it in half, and they didn't have that option.
They were close enough now that everyone felt it was best to set up camp, rest, and plan their attack for the morning. It would do little good if they were too exhausted to make critical decisions, so with that in mind the Ild'vann hunters scoured the area for a cave large enough to house them all. When it didn't work out they split up; half of their group in one, and the other in a smaller location, just a few ticks south. They were still close enough to readily contact one another, but at least this way half of their group wouldn't have to sleep exposed in the wilderness.
The cave Sylvirah chose was the smaller of the two simply because out of their hunters she was the smallest. She and Ada crammed into the space, the avian choosing to go as far back into the cave as her large body would allow while her grandfather and another took up residence near it's mouth. The boy was just shy of sixteen years, making him Sylvirah's elder, but they both knew she was the better hunter. Gunnar was zealous and full of life, but he lacked her dedication. They'd known each other for the entirety of their lives, which made them an excellent match, as far as the village was concerned. Their bloodlines didn't intermingle, they were both skilled, both were easy on the eyes...
The trouble with the match was that neither were remotely interested in each other in that way. No doubt the other hunters had sent Gunnar down to the smaller gave to push him closer to Sylvirah, and even her grandfather was taking great pains to remove himself as much as he could from the situation while still remaining under the protection of the cave. Sylvirah settled back against Ada's curled form, stretching her legs out to the meager fire Gunnar had managed to create. She watched as his hands slipped back into his well worn gloves, slipping away now that the dexterity of free, unobstructed hands were no longer needed. When he caught her staring the boy looked back, and smiled.
She scowled.
"That's why everyone wants us to have a baby."
Her grandfather choked on his spit, and Gunnar sat back, his eyes wide. "Who said that?"
"No one said it, but they're all thinkin' it. If we had a baby together that'd be one more hunter for the tribe. S'not like theres that many left that can even have kids so they're desperate."
It's not like she hadn't been keenly aware of their lack of members lately. Gunnar's own father had passed just last year, and while he'd left his partner with four strong kids, three chose to go south with their mother. Much to her displeasure Gunnar had refused to leave; he'd been born Ild'vann and he would die Ild'vann. Sylvirah felt the exact same way, which is why she'd first propositioned her grandfather to take him into their home. It wasn't that uncommon for two families to blend, especially during hard winters, so taking in one teenager was hardly out of the question. He stayed in small 'room' they'd sectioned off for him in the main room, helped out as much as possible, and was just as much a part of their family as if he'd been born into it.
It wasn't until the village started murmuring when the two passed that Sylvirah started regretting her decision. If she'd known they were going to waste time pushing the two together she would have asked someone else to take Gunnar in.
"....So you don't want a baby? Ever?"
Gunnar's edged question brought her attention back to him. He was normally so direct that the two would end up in shouting matches, but now he was choosing to be timid? She couldn't see his face properly in the near darkness, but she thought there was a color to his cheeks. Maybe he was just sick?
"Someday I want a whole house full. As many as I can have." Children meant security. If you could afford to feed them and train 'em up then they would be invaluable to the tribe. The Ild'vann didn't mate for life, but it wasn't uncommon for a pair to stick together simply for the sake of procreation. They needed children, and many had them, even if they didn't' necessarily want them. So of course she would have some....one day.
"But you don't...maybe want to have one with me...someday?"
Why the hell was he twitching all over? Had the fever finally gotten to him? Sylvirah edged a little closer to Gunnar and looked over him critically. For the first time in their lives he moved away from her, as if he couldn't stand to be that close. It was as infuriating as it was disheartening. "What's wrong with you? How come your asking about this- Stop squirming!" She snatched his arm and held him still before he could scoot any further away. For some reason his entire body still, not just his arm and she was beyond ready to yell at him when he inevitably would fight back-
-but what she wasn't ready for was a kiss.
Her first kiss.
The Ild'vann very rarely romanticized love, and so while the moment didn't carry much in the way of build up there was a ton of naivete about it. Neither was prepared, that much was evident by Gunnar's sloppy approach and Sylvirah's near paralyzed state. She didn't participate, didn't run, just...sat there until her brain was fired up enough to push him away.
"I-I'm sorry, I shouldn't have....I just thought that maybe if I did you might start to like me and I-"
"Well I don't, okay?" She spat a wad of saliva off to the side, momentarily more embarrassed than she'd ever been in her life. Her grandfather was just a handful of feet away, for Goddess' sake! Why would he even...? She thought he was stronger than the influences of others, but maybe over time Gunnar really had seen it as the better option; and in that she whole heartedly disagreed. "If I have to kiss you for the rest of my life I'd rather die."
Gunnar's face fell and with a murmured 'alright' he moved away from the fire, shuffling as close to the mouth of the cave as possible. Her grandfather's pursed lips told her she'd done something wrong, but Sylvirah couldn't figure out what. Whatever Gunnar thought was possible between them wasn't, and she'd just plainly let him know. What was so bad about that? They had a hunt to focus on too, so she couldn't figure out why he would bring up so much stupid stuff the night before.
With a huff she flopped back onto Ada, and snuggled up into the chiavi's feathers. Boys were so stupid! Why couldn't he just like someone else? ....maybe because there really wasn't anyone else, unless you counted a woman nearly twice his age. But she'd be a better match than Sylvirah was! She might even like him!
Sylvirah raised her hands and covered her face. Her cheeks were burning and her heartbeat was so erratic there was no possible way she could sleep, which was annoying. All she could do was hope to go unnoticed for the rest of the night, and pray that Gunnar would just let all of this go.
(WC: 1521)
[5]
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Posted: Sat Apr 25, 2020 1:54 pm
Class Affinity Solo - Sylvirah chooses Rider!
Despite what had happened last night, Gunnar stayed. Sylvirah had hoped to find him gone, mixing in with the residents of the larger cave, but he remained. When Sylvi opened her eyes to the morning light it was his hand that reached towards her, not her grandfather, and helped to pull her up. The older man had already moved outside, presumably to reconvene with the rest of their hunting party from the sounds of it. Ada aside, it was just the two of them in the cave and Sylvirah found a cold heat building just beneath her skin when she looked at him. Gunnar’s dimples were visibly absent from his smile, and there was a heavy weight that clung to him. He was saying something about apologizing, and she found herself nodding without even knowing what he was apologizing for. For picking the wrong person to confess to? Some part of her wanted to pester him, to dig deeper through his mind to find out just what was really bothering him about all this, but she hesitated. Whatever Gunnar was working on he didn’t want to talk about it...and she would do well to respect that.
“Sylvirah.” The pair turned their eyes to the mouth of the cave, where her grandfather waved them towards. “Bring Ada; we have enough meat for the mounts, and she’ll need her strength.”
Without so much as a passing glance to Gunnar, the huntress led her chiavi out of the warmth and into the bitter morning air. The wind was not so sharp this morning as it had been over the previous week, but the cold….it was enough to bring an instant ache to her exposed ears. Within hours they would be facing hypothermia if they remained outside, and the risks would only double once the weather turned sour again. As Sylvirah struggled to bundle herself tight she looked around to the faces of her fellow Ild’vann. The warriors were drawn and tight; exhausted down to their very souls, but without the ability to give up. As cold as it was, each member of her tribe burned with an inner flame bright enough to keep the mountain’s wrath at bay. If they could just harness that flame for one more hunt….
“Lakiza would be proud to see you, Sylvi.” In that moment she was aware of more than a few eyes turning her way, which was both embarrassing and...more than a little awkward. The speaker was an older huntress, and one of which had grown up with her mother. Isith, as she was called, moved closer to her with an almost wistful sigh, as if she were reliving old memories in her mind. It was strange enough to be compared to her dead mother when in the passing of her grandparents, but when the tribe turned their attention her way there was little Sylvirah could do to escape it.
As the mounts gobbled up what was left of their supplies, stories were passed around of her mother’s hunting prowess and her deadly resolve. Her own grandfather, Torval, boasted the loudest about his late daughter’s exploits that the very mountain itself shook. Gunnar had once recounted to her how proud it made him to hear the tribe speak of his father with such reverence, and Sylvi supposed that’s how she should have felt. Instead, she felt awkward; at one point she had actively asked questions about Lakiza in her youth, but that time was no more. Whatever sort of foul seed her father had planted inside Lakiza’s womb had killed her, and resulted in a legacy Sylvirah could never hope to live up to. Which, in turn, is why she’d started one of her very own.
“I may carry her spear, but I’m not my mother, nor will I ever be.” She said at length. “I can only hope that her spirit guides Ada’s wings, and helps me to do what must be done.”
Her grandfather’s hand fell upon her shoulder, drawing her closer to the warmth of his larger body. “Her spirit guides us all, love; as does the spirit of everyone we’ve lost. No matter where Ada’s wings carry you the Ild’vann will follow.” A row of nodding heads agreed with him, and among those bundled up forms Sylvirah could just make out Gunnar, looking on at her with those same fond eyes. “You’re your mother and more; so much more.”
Sylvirah had a legacy of her own to build. She took the warmth he offered, and carried it with her into preparations. Ada was saddled, her talons had been sharpened, and with her gear lightened, the chiavi was finally able to spread her wings to the fullest. Three hunters would attack from the sky on the remaining mounts, effectively herding a mammu into an isolated area where the others would act as a pack to take it down. There was so much riding on her performance today, but the pressure didn’t bother Slyvirah; rather, she thrived on it. When she took flight atop Ada, a lance held firmly in her hand, she felt strong. With the wind crying around her she flew headlong into a hunt that could very well save her people, and in that moment Sylvirah felt the most alive she’d felt in years.
She was Ild’vann; she would fight as they did, atop the back of a Zenan beast, and strike her opponents from the skies. She would fight, and conquer, just like her mother before her.
And nothing would ever take it away from her.
(WC: 939)
[3]
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Posted: Sat Apr 25, 2020 1:55 pm
Prentice Solo Four
In the end, their hunt could barely be classified as a 'success'.
A herd of mammu had been caught unaware by the howling raptrix, which was enough to send them in a panic. As underfed as they were the healthy few managed to outrun them by leagues, but the smallest of the herd, an adolescent by their standards, could not. The raptrix had descended on it with a ferocity Sylvirah had never seen, though the hunters that rode atop them were no less fierce. The Ild'vann may have made short work of the beast were it not for one, glaring oversight; the creature's mother.
At the time the hunter's had assumed the mammu to be old enough to be away from the fierce, eternal protection of the mother, but that wasn't so. As they laid upon the beast with spear after spear a loud, blaring wall of flesh came barreling out of the trees. In an instant she had snatched one of their riders in her trunk and squeezed so tight his screaming stopped in an instant. When the mammu flung the body to the side all Sylvi could make out was a crumpled, immobile form in the snow before forcing Ada into the sky.
Sylvirah had never been so scared in her life.
It didn't matter if their spears were buried to the hilt in her fatty flesh; she had still charged. Her massive steps were near soundless on that snow, and yet, Sylvirah could still feel the vibrations in her chest. She could remember her grandfather screaming for a retreat, but at that point there was no escape. The moment the great beast saw her offspring fall over, dead in the snow, she went into a blind rage and the Goddess herself couldn't protect them.
It was only when the raptrix pair dug their fangs into her ankle, viciously rending flesh from her, that the mammu fell. Wild from hunger the pair ripped tendon from bone, regardless of her cries. Only when the creature raised a foot to kick them away did they move...but the pair were quick to dodge the attack and move in for her throat. Sylvirah remembered running in with her grandfather to push a lance through her thickened hide, shoving it as far into the mammu's hide as possible straight to her heart. The double kill is the what secured their victory, but looking around, Sylvirah didn't see much to celebrate.
Isith was dead. Her body was mangled beyond recognition from the fall, and another, a huntsman named Triv, had a leg crushed so badly that the others were preparing an emergency amputation right there in the snow.
As was so often the norm after an even like this, Sylvirah stood silent and just tried to absorb it all. Her body shook, though not from the cold. Adrenaline still flowed so strongly through her veins that she felt as if she could handle another hunt, but logically she knew that once it faded she would be too sore to move. She needed to help with the wounded, she needed to field dress the mammu and get ready to move, she needed to do something....but even the most experienced Ild'vann had moments of weakness.
"-virah? Are you okay?"
Gunnar snapped his fingers in front of her face, and she moved, turning her confused gaze his way. When had he...? Wouldn't she have noticed if he'd managed to get that close? His hands moved to cup her face, eyes searching into hers for answers she was unable to give. When she moved to push him away he remained. "Can you hear me?"
"Yes, Gunnar, I can hear you."
"You're crying."
Was she? That might explain the warmth on her cheeks. Sylvirah raised one gloved hand to her face, absently patting away the drops of water she couldn't feel. She could feel her face scrunching, eyes burning as they did just before a good cry was about to come spilling out. Something about the whole ordeal must have triggered a protective response in Gunnar because without any word from her he enveloped her in his arms. Almost as soon as her face was buried against his chest she was sobbing.
At fifteen years old Sylvirah broke.
There had been so much pressure on them to succeed in this hunt, and yet, look at what happened? Another was dead and one was maimed beyond use. He would be shipped south to live the remainder of his days with family in Zidel. They could live for another day, but what about tomorrow? And the next day?
She vaguely heard her grandfather saying something to Gunnar, and the rumble in his chest let her know he was responding, but she didn't hear it. In her world all was silent, and finally, for once, there was peace.
(WC: 806)
[2]
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Posted: Fri May 08, 2020 8:33 am
Prentice Growth Solo
(In their heyday, the Ild'vann were a formidable tribe of mounted huntsman that lived in the bitter cold north of Zidel. Now, they were little more than a ghost of their former selves. Sylvirah has grown up in this atmosphere; it's shaped her, given her pride, and built a stalwart resolve to survive. However, determination alone isn't enough to keep a tribe going, especially in such an unforgiving environment, but she's hatched a plan. As much as she'd rather not, Sylvi will go 'South' to the capital and meet her birth father. If he has enough money to casually send to his daughter then surely he can help finance a 'revival'. It isn't what her grandparents wanted when they thought to send her away, but in her eyes, it's the best plan. Instead of simply succumbing to her end in the frigid north she's trying her best to do something about it.)
There was simply no denying that the Ild’vann tribe were fading.
The body of yet another hunter laid upon the funeral pyre, and this time, there was no family left to see her off. Every member of this soul’s family had either drifted down south or been killed keeping tradition alive. What members remained gathered round the growing flames with varying degrees of grief settling in their bones. The unspoken question laid heavy among the living; who would be next?
It was only a matter of time before someone joined her, and as determined as the Ild’vann were to keep their way of life alive most days felt as if they were fighting death itself. Sylvirah would be lying to say she wasn’t frightened; each day she saw the gaunt cheeks of her grandparents, saw the way sleep avoided Ada because of her empty stomach, and the hollowed noises of wind in empty yurts...At fifteen she had decided to take the mantle of lead huntress when no one else had the strength to fight, but now, as she entered her seventeenth year….Sylvirah grew scared.
A hand on her shoulder startled her, and all at once Sylvirah realized she’d been crying. The young huntress hurriedly whipped the offending tears away from her eyes, only to be brought into her grandfather’s broad chest. He rubbed her hand in soothing circles, and murmured nonsensical sounds to comfort her. Would it be him next? Would she have to drag his body across the snow because there weren't enough members to properly carry him, and would she have to set flame to the fire herself-?
“Sylvi, have you reconsidered?”
Something in his tone broke her heart. When she was fifteen her grandparents had begged their granddaughter to go South, to not waste her life fighting a pointless battle when it was clear their way of life was no longer sustainable, but Sylvirah held on. This was her home, why shouldn’t she fight for it? All they needed was a little boost….which was exactly what she planned to give them.
Pulling back just enough to see his face, Sylvirah nodded. For a moment a rush of relief colored his features, until next she spoke. “I’m going South to find my father, and when I do, he’ll send help.”
“Wha….Sylvirah, no, I forbid it. If you must go South to seek him out then stay. Take all of the gold he’s sent, and use it to buy yourself a warm home. You’ve enough skills to survive down there; don’t come back here-”
“Why wouldn’t I? You’ve seen the gold he sends. That man has the resources we need to rebuild the Ild’vann! Once we’ve rebuilt everything we can buy more raptrix, and then maybe even some of the tribe that left will come back.”
She’d thought about it for years, and it only made sense. They left because there was simply nothing here for them anymore, but if she could bring what they found in the capital back to the tribe….Well, then they wouldn’t want to leave anymore, right?
An unforgiving wind howled at her back, bringing with it her steadfast determination. If this is what it took to save her tribe from utter destruction then Sylvirah would do what she must. Not once in her entire life had she had any desire to leave, but now, it seemed like her only option. This man...she knew nothing about her father save for his name, but that wouldn’t stop her. If he had enough at his disposal to send that kind of coin northward then he would be able to give her what she needed. In return, she would give back all of the coin he’d sent, since her grandparents hadn’t touched an ounce of it. All of that worthless coin that had been taking up space would finally be put to use.
“Please, trust me. All I need is for the rest of you to hold on until I get back.” There wasn’t nearly as much hope in her grandfather’s eyes as her own, but Sylvirah hadn’t expected there to be. He was resigned to die in this cold, whereas she knew in her heart that the tides could turn. In the morning she would pack up her belongings, load the coin onto a cart, and leave for a new world with a different sort of prey in mind.
(WC: 750)
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Posted: Tue Nov 10, 2020 1:58 pm
Stage 2 Solo1
Sylvirah couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen Gunnar.
They had been a pair of fifteen year old children wrapped in fur far thicker than the fat underneath their skin. Just a pair of brats then, too young to really understand the world, but only enough to be scared by it. Even as thin as he was, Gunnar had always worn a certain amount of childlike roundness to his cheeks and when she’d looked at him it had been hard to see him as anything other than the boy he’d always been. They’d always been expected to come together; not in marriage, but in something far more basic. The tribe needed the next generation and through Sylvirah Gunnar’s line was supposed to have prospered.
But what now? If circumstances had been different then would it have been her hanging on his arm? Seeing Gunnar again after five years was a jolt in itself, but watching him with another was far more disarming. He was taller now and far more broad then he’d ever shown signs of being. Maybe it was the rich diet of Zidel that had helped to fill him out or maybe it was just the security of knowing death wasn’t nipping at his heels. It was enough of a change that Sylvirah didn’t automatically recognize the man, but he knew her. When she moved to pass the pair he reached out his hand to grab her shoulder and for a moment she prepared to hit him. It was those eyes, so deep and fractured, so much like her own that reminded her of the boy who had finally been pulled away from the Ild’vann. For a moment the two simply stared at one another, so transfixed that time seemed to slip away, until the woman at his side broke the silence.
“Gunnar?” Peering around him, she looked to Sylvirah before turning a quizzical look his way. “What’s wrong?”
“Sylvi,” Her nickname was nothing more than a breathless whisper on his tongue. His eyes never looked away from her own and she could have sworn they were glistening with unshed tears. “I thought...I never dreamed I would…”
He might have reached to pull her closer if she hadn’t taken a half-step back. There was something about the moment that felt undeniably personal that Sylvirah felt herself being drawn in. Too much remained unsaid between the pair for either to be trusted around one another and despite their lack of commitment back home she couldn’t deny the ache that had begun to thrum in her heart after seeing him again.
“I thought you had gone further South,” was all she managed to say. He may have been plainly ignoring his partner, but Sylvirah couldn’t. The woman looked just as confused as the pair of them, but far more worried than relieved. She held onto his arm a little tighter after seeing the way his hand hovered in the air just as contact was broken. “What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same. I never thought you would leave the mountain.”
“I wasn’t given a choice,” Sylvirah’s tone gained a bitter edge. What was she supposed to say? If you hadn’t left we might have stood a chance. If you had stayed then the two of us could have brought the tribe back together, we could have made a difference. Without him there weren’t enough hunters to make even the shortest trip worth it. Even if she had decided to lay with him there wouldn’t have been much point if he’d decided to take the babe south.
She tried to push away from him, but this time he grabbed both of her shoulders and spun Sylvirah until she had no choice but to look at him. “Why are you trying to run away? I just - “
“I’m not the one who ran away.” The huntress lifted her arms and tried to break his hold, but Gunnar was having none of it. With a snarl Sylvirah hocked her saliva and spat in his face. The action was so abrupt that he dropped his hold in the shock, giving her just enough of an opportunity to break away.
“Gunnar!” Finally, the other woman had had enough. “What are you doing?! Leave her alone!”
The shrillness of her voice was drawing attention from other passersby and a few started to slow down. If Sylvirah had wanted to avoid a scene that notion was gone now. How long would it take before this got back to Snowelle and Ergon? And why did she care so much? She had every right to be angry with him and it did no good to keep it hidden!
“Sorry, Sigrid,” Gunnar groused. He swiped a thick hand across his face in disgust, but the damage had been done. When his eyes found Sylvirah’s once more the initial shock was gone. Something more was in its place; something far deeper and far more volatile. At first she thought he meant to strike her, but when he reached for Sigrid instead Sylvirah was all the more confused. His touch was gentle, and yet everything about his expression spoke of an untold emotion he could barely contain. “She’s an old friend from the Ild’vann that I never expected to see again.”
“Oh,” Sigrid’s smile was cautious, but for her part the woman was trying. She patted his arm in sympathy. “Is that so? From the way Gunnar talked I thought everyone that was left would stay on the mountain. It’s nice to see that his friends from home are healthy and doing well.”
Friends? Is that what they were? Sylvirah couldn’t help noticing the false platitudes in Sigrid’s tones or the way she kept side eyeing her. The woman suspected more than was there and maybe in another life there would have been.
“My father lives in Zidel and I came South to get his help gathering supplies. I’ll be going back before winter hits.”
“Going back? To the mountain?” Sigrid’s eyes widened. “That’s suicide. If you were going back you should have started out in early summer, at the latest. To go now would mean you would be trapped in the squalls and without a proper team-”
“I don’t need a team.” If there was one thing Sylvirah understood it was that hiring a band of men to help move the goods was nearly impossible. Even under the best of circumstances no man wanted to travel that far North. The roads were simply too treacherous, the beasts too plentiful in number and the winds were so cold one bite could cost a man his ear. Grashni tried; he’d tried day in and day out for weeks with little avail. She didn’t look forward to making the journey alone, but Sylvirah could no longer afford to wait. “I’ll do it myself if I have to.”
“Sylvi, think it through. You know better than anyone what sort of risks there are in making a trip like that in this weather.” His eyes burned like liquid gold into hers. “At least stay in Zidel until Spring.”
“I can’t.” I won’t.. “Vér sjáumst.” Goodbye. Sylvirah turned from the pair and continued down the street without so much as a passing look back. It wasn’t until she was a good three blocks over that she stopped long enough to breath. There was no real way to explain why her heart hurt so much seeing him again. It wasn’t love, at least she thought, but maybe it was something more. Gunnar represented everything she’d cared about most in the Ild’vann and like her dreams of living in the skys back home he too had fled for a comfortable southern lifestyle. How long had he been in Zidel? Where was he staying? Obviously he hadn’t seen her yet if his reaction was anything to go by and yet...Would it have been better if she’d never seen him at all?
Her face was so warm that Sylvirah hadn’t even noticed she was crying. When a passing woman reached out to help she brushed her aside and ran, choking back a sob with each step. So what if it was a suicide mission; that didn’t mean she shouldn’t try! And out of everyone she thought he would be the one to understand that. Gunnar had always been in sync with her, always at her side and now...now he was just like everyone else! He was here, happy and healthy with someone new while everything that had raised them was falling apart...And honestly, she couldn’t pinpoint what hurt the most.
And it was only when she got to Ergon’s house that she stopped. Why...why did she run here? Who was going to understand her here, when she was nothing more than an outsider? Biting her bottom lip, Sylvirah looked up at the windows, as if someone might make themselves known but when they didn’t she took off once more.
(WC: 1510)
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Posted: Tue Nov 10, 2020 4:15 pm
Stage 2 Solo 2
At the end of the day Sylvirah ended up sleeping in the stable with Ada.
In fact, she stayed there for a few days and only managed to show her face when Ada couldn’t take another moment indoors. The chiavi was biting at the bit to get back out on the hunt even if her mistress was less than enthusiastic about it. It wouldn’t have mattered if she’d stayed there another week or two; it wasn’t as if Ergon’s family was her own and they likely wouldn’t miss her if she was gone. She had no friends in Zidel and had remained an outsider for the duration of her stay. The only one she actually spent any real length of time around was Snowelle though that was only because the woman was under the misconception that Sylvirah was her kin.
Laying on her back among the straw was the only real comfort Sylvirah had. She stretched her arms high above her head before arching her back just enough to burrow deeper into the scratchy bedding. It was far from the plush bedding she’d known at the inn and yet, somehow, this was more comforting. This was closer to the raptrix fur padding she’d grown up on and when she pulled her cloak up over her head Sylvirah could just imagine the smell of roasted mammu fat in the morning. Times like this were the hardest. Moments in time that seemed to stretch out for an eternity without any real meaning. When she was busy hunting or skinning fur it was easy to pretend that she hadn’t been gone that long. A few days, weeks at most, instead of the months she’d spent in Zidel. Seeing Gunnar again had only reminded her of the mission she was so clearly failing at, and with it came a world of heartache.
Ada’s sharp cry caused Sylvirah to turn her head upward. What now? Groaning, she pulled the cloak down and immediately wished she hadn’t.
There, at the mouth of Ada’s stall, stood Gunnar.
He approached the chiavi with nonsensical murmurs, but it wouldn’t have mattered what he said to her. The avian clearly recognized his scent. She made a low, rumbling coo before dipping her head for a quick rub. Gunnar needlessly slipped her a few pieces of dried fish as if she didn’t already love him enough before walking past the chiavi to Sylvirah.
She didn’t move to greet him; instead, Sylvirah simply settled back into the straw and gave him a rather pointed look. In the din of morning light he looked somehow older than his twenty years. There was a harder edge to his chin than there had been before and his shoulders seemed to push at the edges of the leather covering them.
“It wasn’t as hard to find you as I thought it would be. I didn’t realize you were so popular in Zidel.”
“Gossip travels fast.” Yawning, the young huntress managed to pull one of her legs underneath her and lazily sat up. “Why did you look for me?”
“Why wouldn’t I? The last time I saw you you were huddled over a dying flame and I thought for sure that would be the last.” Stepping forward, he lowered himself to a crouch beside her. When she looked back into his eyes they were as soft as they had been as a boy despite the hardness surrounding his features. Had he always been this scarred? There was a pull to his lip that hadn’t been there before; a scar that curled it just left of his nose and a line that bisected his eyebrow. It wasn’t enough to distract from his looks, but once he was close, too close, it was all one could see.
“Gunnar, I don’t-”
“Please, just....let me talk.” Instead of staying where he was Gunnar moved forward. His movements were slow with all the grace of a predatory feline, giving her just enough time to react if she’d wanted to. And yet….she didn’t. At first he placed his hands on either side of her atop the straw, then his knee edged it’s way between her legs and he was poised above her. Sylvirah was angled upward just enough so that their faces were a hair's breadth away from one another. There was no reason for him to be this close; no reason for her to allow him this intimacy. Molten gold locked into starlit yellow and the two couldn’t break away from one another. “I never wanted to leave you. It killed me to go away, but I couldn’t stay.” His voice was a husky murmur against her throat and when he nipped at her skin Sylvirah couldn’t help shuddering. A voice in the back of her head was screaming. She knew this wasn’t right, that she should push him away and run, but…
“What about Sigrid?” Her breath hitched with every kiss, but she didn’t stop him.
“What about her?” Gunnar reached his hand up to brush locks of braided hair and straw away from her face. “She wants more than I’ll ever be able to give her. I was planning on telling her anyway, but then I saw you.” His thumb caressed the flesh at the base of her ear and the feel of calluses against her flesh sent a flutter to Sylvirah’s heart.
“You could be happy with her.” Sylvirah her leg to hook onto his hip and pull him closer. Happier than you’ll be with me. “She could have loved you.” Unlike me. In that moment it was painfully clear. As much as Sylvirah wanted to be happy with him she knew that a life with Gunnar would be a life unfulfilled. She could give him everything he wanted in life, but without knowing true love herself. And maybe that was okay. The attraction was there now when it hadn’t been in their youth. The way he touched her, his every look….Maybe that was enough? You could make it enough.
“I can be happy with you.” He paused just long enough to look into her eyes and then she knew. The emotion that had been so foreign to her; the one that made his every look so painful and warm at the same time. It’s love. He loves you. The next time her breathing shuddered wasn’t out of excitement, but rather fear. Love was dangerous; it made people do stupid, stupid things. And if she didn’t love him in return then what right did she have to touch him? “Marry me, Sylvirah.”
“What?”
“Marry me.” He reached back into his pocket and pulled out a simple golden band. “I know the Ild’vann doesn’t put much emphasis on marriage, but it’s important down here. We could start a family and raise them the same way we were. And if you say yes-” In her shock, he managed to slip the ring onto her finger. “-I’ll do everything I can to make sure every winter the remaining members of the tribe have everything they need. I’ll go with you, twice a year or more if I have to. So long as we make our home here, in Zidel.”
When the shock of it all wore off Sylvirah placed her bare palms against his chest and pushed, trying her best to put distance between them. “Are you daft? You’ve seen me twice after five years and you-”
“-have never been more sure of anything in my life.” Taking one of her wrists in his hand, Gunnar turned her palm over to kiss it. “There’s no one I trust more. I know you don’t care for me, but maybe...maybe with time you could learn to.” Guiding her arm around his neck, the young hunter pressed himself closer to Sylvirah and when he didn’t meet anymore resistance went back to his menstrations.
Marriage? To Gunnar? It was hard to focus with his lips against her skin, but a pit had begun to grow within her. It’s not right; you don’t love him. But she hadn't been back in the tribe either, and she was still expected to bear his children then. So how bad would it be now, especially if she finally got the help she needed to save everyone she loved?
You’ll be able to go home and everyone can be taken care of. You’ll never have to worry about them again. With Grashni’s funds and Gunnar’s knowledge of the land it wouldn’t take any time at all to get the supplies back to her grandparents. If she couldn’t return home then surely this was the next best thing? And with Gunnar she wouldn’t have to worry about being a normal wife. He would let her hunt, would encourage it even, and their children would be raised with the same skill set that they had been.
Surely that was enough, right?
(WC: 1500)
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Posted: Mon Dec 07, 2020 5:06 pm
Stage 2 Growth Solo
[Not for the first time in her life Sylvirah is placed in a situation where she feels there is little choice for refusal. With the fate of her tribe riding on her marriage to Gunnar she chooses to marry him, knowing full well she doesn't love him, just to ensure he will help save them. She isn't happy about it, but has chosen to put her personal feelings aside for the fate of her people. It's a selfless act, one that leaves her troubled and will ultimately leave a huge impact on her life.]
Time before the ceremony seemed to disappear overnight. While Sylvirah had never once contemplated a formal event to celebrate their union Gunnar had all but insisted on it. His family was traveling up from Sauti to attend and after all the suffering they’d endured over the years an event of this scale could be just what they needed to feel some sense of peace. Still, Sylvirah was nervous.
She’d agreed to marry Gunnar out of a sense of duty. Without his help the Ild’vann wouldn’t have access to the supplies they severely needed to survive the winter. Through this union she could finally secure safety for her people and yet a part of her wanted nothing more than to run away. It was just a wedding; she’d been on hunts more strenuous than this! Night after night she would lay awake worrying over the same pointless details Gunnar had talked about from the day before with the same sense of unease as they had when food stores had run low. What sort of dress would she want? Should they invite her family? What kind of food should they serve? Since they were having the ceremony in the woods would it be appropriate to offer a carriage to take guests to and from the venue? Where did he learn this much about weddings? He may have grown up in the same village as her, but Gunnar’s time in Zidel had clearly changed him. He was far less minimalistic and seemed to get genuine joy out of planning things. It was nice, to see him so carefree and happy, even if it came at the cost of her freedom.
Stop saying it like that, you’re fine. You’re still free.
And yet, was she?
The wedding would last a full week, as was traditional for Zenan affairs. In this sense family and friends would have as much time as they needed to celebrate the new couple. That meant that for an entire week Sylvirah would have to play the part of a glowing, feminine bride in front of whoever happened to show up. What was he expecting in terms of attendance? Gunnar’s family was small and hers was...broken, at best, and unlikely to show. She had no friends, save for Iriyana, and with any luck the woman would make an appearance to support her. If she came would Ergon come too? Or would he try to avoid the whole thing?
Rather than focusing on elaborate costumes or a gown Sylvirah made her hair the focal point of her wedding day. Her braids were fluffed and lavished in scented oils before being decorated with silver. The style itself was kept high like a true lady. When she’d seen herself in a passing window Sylvirah couldn’t help thinking how very unlike herself she looked. For once she was beautiful; a true born spirit in feminine form. So why, with all of this attention, couldn’t she smile? The glamor that brought a shine to every ounce of her form failed to meet her eyes.
With mere moments until the ceremony began Sylvirah went over the details in her head one more time. A dowry would be passed to Gunnar from Grashni since her grandparents wouldn't be able to attend. Asking him had been awkward at best, but necessary to keep up appearances. After that a boar would be sacrificed to appease the Gods, with a sow immediately following in the hope of a fertile marriage. That’s why she was doing this, right? So that she could have children, carry on the Ild’vann and save tradition.
So why did it feel so bad? If this was so important then why did it make her feel sick?
Because you don’t love him. Not the way he loves you.
It didn’t matter. None of it mattered. Sylvirah was so determined to save her tribe that her own personal feelings were pushed aside. If this is what it took to make Gunnar help her then so be it. Of course she would rather have a partner out of love, but for some people that just didn’t happen. And if she were honest, Sylvirah had always known that wouldn’t be her.
Taking a deep breath the young warrior steeled her nerves and went out to make her way towards her new life.
[732]
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Posted: Sun Dec 05, 2021 6:00 pm
Stage 3 Solo 1
Sylvirah wasn’t sure when she’d decided to lay down, but as she came around she noticed that the sun outside had already started to fade. The huntress ross from her spot in the…stable? Looking around, she took in the fresh hay bale she’d scattered about and pitchfork leaning against the wall at her side. Her hair was scattered with bits of fresh straw sticking out of it, more so ruffled up the edges of her tunic and when she yawned it was all she could smell. Taking a nap in the middle of the day was so unlike her that the simple act itself took her by surprise. How odd that she would have napped, let alone been allowed to. Where were her children? Or Zyphire, for that matter? He hadn’t yet traveled south so he should have come looking for her….
And yet, it was possible that they’d simply let her lie. It wouldn’t be the first time. Sylvirah often worked herself to the point of physical exhaustion so if she was napping then her body must have really needed it. Still, so much of the day was already gone and she had so much more that needed tending too…
When Sylvirah gathered her supplies and stepped outside it was too an all-familiar sight. Members of the Ild’vann were turning in for the night and a few waved to her as they passed. Now that she was truly able to stand back and observe Sylvirah noticed a few new faces among the numbers. Some were sons and daughters that had decided to move back with their parents, bringing along their families as well, and more still were Zenans with no where else to go. Vagabonds and wastrels, those that lived on the fringes of Zidel with little to their name, but so much to give. When Torvil had first brought up the subject of allowing them to live with the clan Sylvirah had been skeptical. Some had criminal backgrounds and more were mankillers. To that he had calmly pointed out that they were all man killers at that point so who were they to judge? So, she’d agreed to a trial period and happily enough many of them were adjusting well.
The Ild’vann had taken in it’s fair share of orphans to bolster it’s numbers and among that group were a number of unwanted hybrids. Perhaps it was because of her own children that Sylvirah gave them special treatment, but many a night she would check in on the foundlings bunk to make sure they’d been properly cared for. Several of the older women in the tribe took care of them during the day, but it was hard keeping up with such spry little ones on a good day let alone during the harsher nights. Their presence gave Sylvirah’s own offspring someone to learn from, others to build trust with and together they would be future of the Ild’vann so it benefitted her to teach them just like her own.
As she walked, Sylvirah picked the straw off her attire and straightened herself up. It didn’t take long to cross the ‘estate’ and make her way to the foundlings bunk. It was a newer building, one that had been constructed by Zidel carpenters to withstand the worst of winters. Normally they would have crafted their own huts, but in the beginning the Ild’vann were still physically weakened so they’d taken what help they could get. When she knocked on the sturdy wooden door a pregnant woman answered the call.
Gisla was older than Sylvirah by ten moons and had originally left the Ild’vann when she was a girl. Her parents had stayed behind, as did her older brother, but when she’d heard of their move southward she’d come back to them with her family. Only her mother remained, but it was enough to bring the woman closure she’d never been able to get in the South.
“Oh, Sylvirah, good evening. We weren’t expecting you so most of the children are already tucked in for the night.”
“I won’t stay long; I just wanted to make sure you had enough supplies for the night. Plenty of wood? Fresh water?” She stepped inside and closed the door behind her, subconsciously shivering against the wind at her back.
“We’re fine; Ivor made sure we were set before he went back to the children.”
“Are you staying the night, then?” Usually Gisla would spend the day with the foundlings along with the elder women, as well as her kids, but at night she would return to her home with her husband.
“Mother thinks this little one might come early, so it’s best I stay with her.” She placed her hand atop her swollen womb with a soft smile. “Been making all kinds of fuss lately so I’d say she’s right.”
A few children passed through the room in front of them, stopping to greet Sylvirah and wave her way. Some of the younger ones even gave her a hug which she readily reciprocated, but one little one watched from the doorway. One of their newer residents was far shyer than the rest and with good reason. He’d come to them from the slums of Zidel, half-starved and traumatized to the point of muteness. One of his eyes had been so badly damaged that it had to be removed and the scarring carried down to his mouth, permanently pulling at the right edges. The boy walked with a pronounced limp, one that often left him at the end of their little pack, but he made up for it with sheer determination.
He’d made friends with Yngvara, much to Sylvirah’s surprise, and it was only through her daughter that she knew a name; Snow.
When she’d asked Yngvara if that was his real name her daughter had simply shrugged. He’d never given her one, so she gave one to him and now if she called he answered, even seemed to smile in his own weird way. As he hobbled away, presumably to go to bed, Sylvirah noticed the way Gisla watched him. There was no hiding the pity seeping out of her features and it made her a little irritated. He was a sad case, surely, but if the boy was trying then what was the point in pitying him?
“We found his parents, you know.”
“Really?” That was certainly news!
“Well, his mother. Rotting away in guard’s cell for theft. She’s had close to a dozen babies, has no clue where any of them are, and doesn’t much care if they’re dead. I’d reckon the poor thing ended up that way because of her…”
That just…made him all the more precious to Sylvirah. The other children tended to treat the hybrids with more kindness than those with physical ailments simply because they could keep up. Snow would need more care and a specialized training program that they could surely provide for him.
“He’s better off here, then” She answered tersely. “If he’s still keeping up with his training then he has the grit of the mountain in his bones and whatever rot she put into him has already seeped out like piss.”
Gisla laughed. “Ooo, you’re all fired up now, aren’t’cha? Can’t say I disagree. He’s an awkward boy, but they all started out that way and I’m sure with time he’ll come around. I’ve seen him playing with your girl; she’ll be the biggest help to him.”
And she would be, wouldn’t she? Yngvara wasn’t much of a talker anyway and she valued what one could do over what they looked like. If he could survive spending time around that sermal of hers then Sylvirah knew Snow would be alright. Maybe she could even talk to Zyphire about him potentially coming to stay with them? It would be a lot of work, but….well, he might be looked over in the foundlings home but in their home….
Before anything she would have to find out how Snow and Ziya acted around each other. She wouldn’t bring the boy around if her son was comfortable with it, and vice versa. Sylvirah didn’t think there would be issues, but with Snow she needed to be careful. He was fragile; mistrustful and hurt far worse than any of his physical injuries.
“Have you ever been tempted to take them home?” She broached innocently.
“Everyday.” Gisla sighed. “When there were only a few I talked to Ivor about doing just that! He could always build another room and if we needed feeding them I know the tribe would help. Then we just kept getting more and….well, I love the little ones, but I’ve got only got so much time, you know? Taking in foundling takes a lot of work and you have to make sure you really want it, no matter the cost.”
She spoke the truth. If Sylvirah really was going to take Snow under her wing then she would need to make sure she could actually handle the challenges he presented and give him the best life possible.
[1512]
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Posted: Sun Dec 05, 2021 6:24 pm
Stage 3 Growth Solo
[Sylvirah has never once set foot outside of Zena. For the majority of her life the survival of her clan has been at the forefront of her mind and after that it's restoration took so much out of her that she never pondered it. Now that life has calmed she's thinking of things she'd like to do for herself for once, and traveling with her partner sounds like a good place to start.]
Now that snows were upon them Sylvirah had settled in her winter routine. Life certainly was a little duller without her partner around. Zyphire was gone until the spring, much like a colorful bird who would freeze as her son so aptly described it. Parting with him now was just as hard as it was usually, perhaps even more so now that her children were questioning why. In the early days there were small enough that it was simple fact, but now they wanted to know where he went, why he was gone so long, why they weren’t with him, etc. and she didn’t have all the answers.
Last winter she had allowed the children to go with him and Yngvara had come back with a sermal. To say she was reluctant to allow that to happen again was an understatement.
Still, now that she was in the sky high above the village Sylvirah could see the grand scape of Zena and wondered about the world beyond. Zyphire spun so many tales that she half-wondered if they weren’t all falsehoods just to make the children smile. When she called him out on a few things he would either talk his way around them or insist he was right which made her wonder if he really was. More than once over the years she’d really given thought as to the world he was seeing beyond that of their little village. What sorts of adventures was he having in the South? How hot were the sands of Oba, what did the Ocean smell like, how did one walk on a vine bridge…? The questions were endless and so many of the answers were the same; she simply needed to experience it to know.
Not once in her youth did Sylvirah ever contemplate leaving Zena. She’d never wanted to, never needed to and as far as she was concerned anything outside of the Ild’vann was a pointless venture. Now? Now she was…challenging that mindset. Her children wanted to see the world their father spoke of and she would never keep them from that, but for herself she…was almost afraid of it.
In the mountains she was a predator. She had complete mastery of the world around her and the elements. Sylvirah had survived in the cruelest of environments long enough to raise a brood of her own so why should she seek to put herself on uneven ground again? Maybe because…she wanted to see it for herself.
Of course she wanted to spend more time with Zyphire; that much was a given. But she’d long since come to the conclusion that what he did away from her was his own business and she could only hope that he kept to himself or at the very least cared for the accidents he left behind. For her own growth Sylvirah wanted the freedom to go. Now that the Ild’vann wasn’t at risk of falling apart around her she could travel anywhere she wanted and the huntress was finally ready to try.
As soon as the winter was over and Zyphire returned to them she would talk to him about it. The trip wouldn’t be soon, they would need to prepare, but maybe next winter they could go on a trip to Jauhar. She’d always been curious about the kind of world he’d been born into and maybe now the children could see the other side of their heritage. It was terrifying to think about and oh so new, but she was more than ready to make that leap.
[593]
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