There's a shimmering figure in the distance, like sea foam on dry earth that dance between the trees and is gone again...
Tassos does a little double take, looking over from his gathering of berries for preserving and cooking. He's at his usual spot in the woods where the berries grow best and quite a distance from his home. He rubs at his eyes with the palms of his hands, maybe the overcast day is playing tricks with him.
Nacarile had spent the day alone. In fact, she had spent the past several days alone, going about her usual routine with all the mechanical diligence of a robot. Solitude did not often bother her-- after all, she had spent most of her life cut off from her own kind. But something, something inside of her lit up when she saw that tiny house sparrow alight a nearby tree just the day prior, so near to her home, so near to her that she threw a rock, crack!, just like that, so she could watch her uninvited guest die.
The palomino stuck her machete back into the leather thong fastened around her middle, holding the coconut under one arm. The image of the bird, broken feathers and tiny, bloody body, had yet to leave her. Go west, she had been told once upon a time. The woman laughed, pushing her way through the brush and towards a figure she did not see.
Tassos stopped to stretch his back out from where he was kneeling and hunched down sorting through berries and looked at his hands, nearly dyed completely in the deep purple hued juice of over-ripened berries. He wondered if they'd stay an off shade of reddish blue after he washed. It would be a long trek home and he'd lost track of time. The sun was threatening to set and so he slung the two baskets onto his lower half where they sat like saddlebags. His shoulders had to carry the burden of his traveling gear. He was glad he thought to bring his candles and lantern, by the time he returned home it would be almost too late for supper.
Her delicate ears flicked and curved, catching a rustle very unlike the fauna or fowl that frequented the area. It was softer, lighter. Nacarile was not exactly prepared for company, not right now, but she was unused to denying her curiosity once it was piqued. Pulling her machete free again, she pressed through undergrowth with the flat of the blade, cutting greens here only to see--
"Tassos of Tangles?"
Call it denial. She refused to admit it to herself, but the reality of the situation was that the last person the quick-footed palomino wanted to cross paths with was the first person she ran into. Her brows drew together, the usual smile she wore flickering, fading. She peered into the trees surrounding them, fully prepared to see Fate lounging in the boughs, laughing. Nacarile recovered quick enough to save face (at least in her own eyes), looking everywhere but Tassos until it was absolutely necessary.
"I thought I heard something else," she finally provided, laughing. She scratched at her brow with the blunt side of her machete. "I know your step, I-- well. Hm! How are you?"
Nacarile made a face as though she intended to laugh at her own expense, senses obviously rattled.
"How is it..." he said in resignation and not at all surprised, even his ears began to wither. "How is it that when even when I'm all the way out here, there you are? Are you a dryad or something? Warren's told me tales, but I didn't start wondering until I met you."
He tightened the straps on his pack and looked over his shoulders again, wondering if the strange light would return again.
Nacarile lifted the coconut to her lips with one hand as Tassos spoke, her other putting the blade away. This time she really did smile from around the large green seed, eyes crinkling into half moons out of wry amusement.
"I could say the same, Tassos, the only difference is that I say hello."
She pressed her finger against the white flesh on the inside of the coconut, lifting the skin and peeling at it. She seemed to hesitate before bringing it to her mouth as though she was not hungry, simply eating out of necessity.
"I've never been called a dryad before, but my mother used to tell me I was a duende born from the loins of the ocean." Nacarile's face grew thoughtful, "Sometimes paths cross for a reason, you know. Does my presence upset you that much?"
The petite taur did not appear hurt by the notion, but tickled.
"It's obvious we'll not see eye to eye any time soon," sighs as he turns to leave. "I'll just leave you to your musings, there's enough cheeriness to keep yourself out of my hair if your blathering is anything to be believed. And somehow the knowledge that you're holding a blade is of no real comfort."
Tassos had given up with her as he had with everyone else he'd come into contact with. They always went about their ways without his interference and others merely ignored him. To him, it was mere coincidence that she was there, but somewhere deep inside he felt as though some god somewhere had thought it'd be ever so amusing if she happened to be where he was at almost every turn. If there were gods, they had ignored him time and time again, he could swear by it by the number of those cold nights when he was a child and hadn't eaten in days.
"Are we even meant to see eye-to-eye?" Nacarile prompted, moving to Tassos's side as though he had not been fully prepared to go his own way. She gave him a sidelong glance, expression vague. A part of her, since she had gotten to the Isle, was wilting-- the more and more she spent time with others, the heavier the weight of her persistence was on her shoulders. She had never been aware of her own endurance until now, maybe until yesterday.
"So you'd rather be out here, going into evening by yourself, than have a little company?" She nudged his side with her own, brows up, "You're a funny person, Tassos of Tangles. Would you like some?"
She offered the coconut, ears swiveling; she watched a bird flit from a branch and into the air.
"Yes, I'm a funny person," he repeated loudly, birds flew or went quiet. "I'm a funny person, meant for prodding, pulling, poking, or teasing. Yes, I'm a funny 'old man' named what was it...? Mister Grumpy? It's a real lark amusing yourself with someone else, isn't it? There's nothing quite like the pleasure and feelings of superiority one can attain by simply pointing at another person and going 'oh, look what a funny person he is!' Yes... well, I'm glad you're happy... Everyone else on this damned island is so happy in their little bubbles of illusion. I hope they all drown from happiness... It doesn't matter where I am, out here or amongst a thousand people, I'm always alone. Perhaps it's high time I accepted it."
"We are having a cultural misunderstanding, I do believe," she said gently, raising the coconut again. "I don't feel superior in the least. My mother used to tell me I was the pudgiest filly she'd ever seen, but she meant no harm by it, nor do I. I do apologize, though."
Nacarile fell silent, holding the seed by its lip between fore, middle, and thumb, slowly rotating it round and round and listening to the coconut water lick the sides. He made it so hard to smile, she had to wonder why she kept trying. Or maybe she was only going through the motions of a long memorized dance. He didn't seem like the type that wanted to be figured out or questioned; she'd been rebuked so many times already. Sucking in a breath, she murmured a quiet prayer.
"What do you have against happiness anyway?" Nacarile's voice pitched from the benediction like a bird flitting from the underbrush. She had a difficult time controlling the level of her tone, "Are you that opposed to it?"
"I'm not talking about just you," he groaned, rolling his eyes and trying to trudge a little faster in hopes he'd arrive home a little sooner so he could slam the door on the rest of the world for a few moment's peace.
"And happiness is just a fleeting fancy, an idea that no one can agree on. It's often mistaken or replaced with instant gratification and the ones that have it don't deserve it. Fortune is fickle, but not so fickle that it doesn't pick favorites more often than not. What do I have against happiness? Like I'm the one in control... clearly, I am not. Nor have I ever been."
"Even if it's fleeting, shouldn't it be savored? Sometimes I-- people, all they have are these illusions. Sometimes it's just better, healthier, to find that one insignificant little thing in the day to smile at. It's how we cope. Fortune doesn't pick us, we just look for her and pick her for ourselves."
Nacarile scraped at the inside of her seed, peeling away at the soft, white meat. She did not pace herself to catch up with Tassos, content to walk the outline of the faint evening shadow he cast.
"I bet you were happy around you brother," she said, speaking more to the ground beneath her hooves than she was the black centaur walking before her. Nacarile smiled gently, "I've seen your smile before, I know you were. You care for people, at least one person, but you don't seem too keen on letting someone care for you."
It must have been involuntary, for he slowed down for the sheer primordial eagerness to speak his mind at someone. Nacarile seemed a willing victim.
"I don't need to be cared for, my one happiness is that my brother was raised in a home with four walls, a roof, a warm bed and blanket, and I kept his belly full with good food for all his childhood years. That's something I never had and I wouldn't wish it on anyone else. I'm happy he's free to roam the seas to his heart's content. Sometimes I envy him, but I don't think I could stand living in a swaying ship from day to day."
"Of course you don't," she agreed without argument. "But I do not mean just, mmm, care taking. The care that comes with the affection of friendship."
Nacarile smiled at him, resisting the urge to take his arm as she had once done, but not entirely: she touched his elbow lightly, hand dropping immediately afterward as if wary of his reaction. If there was one thing she missed about the constant presence of her mother, it was the physicality.
"But you would wish them, what was it, to drown in their happiness?" The palomino laughed and skipped forward, swinging around to walk backwards in front of Tassos, her free hand fluttering into the air, "Oh, ships are terrible! Well, when they get a leak, at least and you're out in the middle of the sea. I still need to fix mine, though I don't know where I will go when I do."
"Fair weather friends, you mean," he slowed to puzzle over Nacarile's change of emotions that seem so quick to come and go. "Wish who? My brother isn't on these isles, if that's who you mean. He's clever enough to get away and he deserves his happiness."
He sighed and stopped, wondering if she'd keep on just walking backwards. Despite his own knowing and will, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. She was like Warren was a young whelp, getting excited over strange ideas and then bouncing them off Tassos for his response. Part of him wondered if Nacarile was a Wolftaur pup in disguise. Little paws and a fluffy tail replaced with hard hooves and long hair.
She turned her head slightly with something like bruised amusement, ears flicking back, "I think you'd be too stubborn to share a proffered umbrella to stave off the deluge, Tassos. How come your brother gets to be happy, but we don't?"
Nacarile continued walking even as he slowed, stopping only when her hind hoof caught on the snarl of a root, body jerking back. A single fore hoof came up to kick the air in hopes of scraping at some balance before she simply gave in to her wobbling and hit the ground with her backside and an 'oomph!'
"Let's see it!"
"I've never even had the honor of saying 'go boil your head', no one's ever proffered so much as a-"
Tassos watched her go tail over teacup in what seemed to go slowly at first and then it went downhill rather quickly.
"What?! I'm not looking at your a** to see if it's bruised!" he points at her rear end almost with accusation. "You did that to yourself!"
Nacarile just sat there, fore hooves tucked neatly between her hind, which stuck up in the air with the gracelessness of a foal. A sitting horse is a very bizarre thing indeed! Tassos's outburst made her suck in her lips as though she had stuck a lemon in her mouth, eyes crinkling again. She mirrored his finger point, jabbing at the air and trying her hardest not to laugh.
"I never asked for you to! I can check my own backside, thank you! Take the blame-- I thought I saw a smile and fell in my surprise, mi madre! Give a girl a warning!"
She figured if she sat there for a few more minutes, it wouldn't be as embarrassing.
Tassos sighed and shook his head before coming closer to offer up his arms to help her up. He was hoping to get home before night set in, but at this rate he'd probably be home in the middle of the night.
"Do you stumble every time you think you see something there that isn't? This isn't getting us home any faster, you know."
"No," she said, dropping the coconut (the water had just spilt everywhere) to take his arms and haul herself up with a hop and skip, only to tease when her footing was sure: "But miracles just buckle my legs!"
Nacarile twisted around and patted off her flank, flicking away twigs and bits of dirt. Nothing was broken as far as she could tell. Her tail swept like a pendulum against her hocks, curls snapping open only to spring back into whorls of sand. There was debris caught in the strands, she felt the tug of their invasion, but she didn't bother fussing over it. She figured Tassos wouldn't have given her the time to.
"It isn't getting you home any faster," Nacarile corrected with a small laugh. "I don't have a home."
"You mean you haven't made one out of your cheery nature and little sticks yet? I'd've thought it would have three floors and a finished root cellar, at this point," he grinned and got to moving on again. "I'd ask where you found a knife, but I don't think I want to know. The less I know, the better, I think."
He thought about inviting her to his home, but what if she stayed the night? Would she even let him get any sleep if he invited her to stay in one of the other two spare bedrooms? Or would she climb into his and demand bedtime stories? If she was anything like Warren then all signs pointed to "Yes, you idiot!" and he wasn't sure if that's what he wanted. It was all a matter of how much of a gentleman he was willing to be and right now it could go either way.
"And yours hasn't been washed away by little rainclouds?" she quipped right back. "I don't need little sticks, I have my hair, see?" Nacarile gathered her thick mess of curls together and dragged it over her head like an awning. It fell every which way when she let it loose again, but a few head shakes tamed it back into some civility.
At the mention of her machete, Nacarile's hand fell almost instinctively upon it. She pushed it up by its hilt with her thumb. The blade was worn from overuse, the luster beaten out of it. Hand wrapping around the base, she tugged it free from its leather thong, shooting Tassos a playful look of warning as it came free.
"From home, of course! Well, not this one. My old one broke off in someone's ribs, so I had to get a new one," she said with the utmost sobriety, offering a sigh of lament for the lost blade. She reached over and pressed two fingers into Tassos's side, "Right here!"
She laughed.
There was a look of aversion in Tassos' eyes as he stepped away from Nacarile's touch. What sort of place did she live in before coming here? How could you have any kind of innocence when you talk about losing blades inside someone else's body? A cold chill ran down from the back of his neck to the tip of his tail. He flicked his tail and shook his head.
"And this is supposed to make me enjoy your company is it?" he shook his head. "Mine hasn't washed away because I built it uphill. Yours probably ran away in terror."
Nacarile snorted with amusement, head nearly lolling with the forced exaggeration of her eye roll; she busied her hands by putting the blade away.
"And you actually believed me? Ay, that would hurt," she said, making a moue as she massaged her own ribs. She was incapable of killing, at least like that; food didn't count. As though she had stepped in the puddle herself, the memory of the sparrow was kicked up from the silt of her mind. Nacarile's brow wrinkled, stomach writhing uncomfortably; her hand fled from the hilt of the machete, arms folding loosely across her abdomen. She did her best to avoid contact with the blade as though it had done the deed.
"Ah, clever. I've never really lived in a house myself, nothing sturdy by the looks of some of the habitations around here. My mother and I would make do with what nature provided. I suppose I should start building something before winter rolls in, yes?" She made a note of displeasure, thoughts elsewhere.
"With you, I can't tell what's truth and what isn't anymore," he said, fishing into his pack for the bit of cord he used to tie back his hair. "I built my house with mud and timbers, some of it is brick but bricks are hard work alone so I mixed it in with large stones for the fireplace. It took about three years to finish, I remember parts of it were exposed to some winter snow and there were walls made of only sack cloth. It was by some miracle that I was given an axe and whet stone by a kindly Minotaur on his way to build a village of his own."
"Guilty until proven innocent, then?"
Nacarile listened with a mixture of trepidation and shame, the latter because she felt exceptionally naive in that moment. And she had left for new lands all based on bird call and gut feeling? Her ears curved to the side, teeth worrying the inside of her cheek. She bit down to steady her jaw.
"Three years? Hm, well, I should get started as soon as possible!" she said. Her round shoulders bobbed up in a stiff shrug like it would throw off the worry gumming at the pit of her stomach. Nacarile absently pulled at the skin of her inner elbow, "It was just too warm to bother where I came from. The cover we needed was only ever against summer rains and the sun. ...I've never seen snow before."
She didn't sound too excited about it either.
Tassos does a little double take, looking over from his gathering of berries for preserving and cooking. He's at his usual spot in the woods where the berries grow best and quite a distance from his home. He rubs at his eyes with the palms of his hands, maybe the overcast day is playing tricks with him.
Nacarile had spent the day alone. In fact, she had spent the past several days alone, going about her usual routine with all the mechanical diligence of a robot. Solitude did not often bother her-- after all, she had spent most of her life cut off from her own kind. But something, something inside of her lit up when she saw that tiny house sparrow alight a nearby tree just the day prior, so near to her home, so near to her that she threw a rock, crack!, just like that, so she could watch her uninvited guest die.
The palomino stuck her machete back into the leather thong fastened around her middle, holding the coconut under one arm. The image of the bird, broken feathers and tiny, bloody body, had yet to leave her. Go west, she had been told once upon a time. The woman laughed, pushing her way through the brush and towards a figure she did not see.
Tassos stopped to stretch his back out from where he was kneeling and hunched down sorting through berries and looked at his hands, nearly dyed completely in the deep purple hued juice of over-ripened berries. He wondered if they'd stay an off shade of reddish blue after he washed. It would be a long trek home and he'd lost track of time. The sun was threatening to set and so he slung the two baskets onto his lower half where they sat like saddlebags. His shoulders had to carry the burden of his traveling gear. He was glad he thought to bring his candles and lantern, by the time he returned home it would be almost too late for supper.
Her delicate ears flicked and curved, catching a rustle very unlike the fauna or fowl that frequented the area. It was softer, lighter. Nacarile was not exactly prepared for company, not right now, but she was unused to denying her curiosity once it was piqued. Pulling her machete free again, she pressed through undergrowth with the flat of the blade, cutting greens here only to see--
"Tassos of Tangles?"
Call it denial. She refused to admit it to herself, but the reality of the situation was that the last person the quick-footed palomino wanted to cross paths with was the first person she ran into. Her brows drew together, the usual smile she wore flickering, fading. She peered into the trees surrounding them, fully prepared to see Fate lounging in the boughs, laughing. Nacarile recovered quick enough to save face (at least in her own eyes), looking everywhere but Tassos until it was absolutely necessary.
"I thought I heard something else," she finally provided, laughing. She scratched at her brow with the blunt side of her machete. "I know your step, I-- well. Hm! How are you?"
Nacarile made a face as though she intended to laugh at her own expense, senses obviously rattled.
"How is it..." he said in resignation and not at all surprised, even his ears began to wither. "How is it that when even when I'm all the way out here, there you are? Are you a dryad or something? Warren's told me tales, but I didn't start wondering until I met you."
He tightened the straps on his pack and looked over his shoulders again, wondering if the strange light would return again.
Nacarile lifted the coconut to her lips with one hand as Tassos spoke, her other putting the blade away. This time she really did smile from around the large green seed, eyes crinkling into half moons out of wry amusement.
"I could say the same, Tassos, the only difference is that I say hello."
She pressed her finger against the white flesh on the inside of the coconut, lifting the skin and peeling at it. She seemed to hesitate before bringing it to her mouth as though she was not hungry, simply eating out of necessity.
"I've never been called a dryad before, but my mother used to tell me I was a duende born from the loins of the ocean." Nacarile's face grew thoughtful, "Sometimes paths cross for a reason, you know. Does my presence upset you that much?"
The petite taur did not appear hurt by the notion, but tickled.
"It's obvious we'll not see eye to eye any time soon," sighs as he turns to leave. "I'll just leave you to your musings, there's enough cheeriness to keep yourself out of my hair if your blathering is anything to be believed. And somehow the knowledge that you're holding a blade is of no real comfort."
Tassos had given up with her as he had with everyone else he'd come into contact with. They always went about their ways without his interference and others merely ignored him. To him, it was mere coincidence that she was there, but somewhere deep inside he felt as though some god somewhere had thought it'd be ever so amusing if she happened to be where he was at almost every turn. If there were gods, they had ignored him time and time again, he could swear by it by the number of those cold nights when he was a child and hadn't eaten in days.
"Are we even meant to see eye-to-eye?" Nacarile prompted, moving to Tassos's side as though he had not been fully prepared to go his own way. She gave him a sidelong glance, expression vague. A part of her, since she had gotten to the Isle, was wilting-- the more and more she spent time with others, the heavier the weight of her persistence was on her shoulders. She had never been aware of her own endurance until now, maybe until yesterday.
"So you'd rather be out here, going into evening by yourself, than have a little company?" She nudged his side with her own, brows up, "You're a funny person, Tassos of Tangles. Would you like some?"
She offered the coconut, ears swiveling; she watched a bird flit from a branch and into the air.
"Yes, I'm a funny person," he repeated loudly, birds flew or went quiet. "I'm a funny person, meant for prodding, pulling, poking, or teasing. Yes, I'm a funny 'old man' named what was it...? Mister Grumpy? It's a real lark amusing yourself with someone else, isn't it? There's nothing quite like the pleasure and feelings of superiority one can attain by simply pointing at another person and going 'oh, look what a funny person he is!' Yes... well, I'm glad you're happy... Everyone else on this damned island is so happy in their little bubbles of illusion. I hope they all drown from happiness... It doesn't matter where I am, out here or amongst a thousand people, I'm always alone. Perhaps it's high time I accepted it."
"We are having a cultural misunderstanding, I do believe," she said gently, raising the coconut again. "I don't feel superior in the least. My mother used to tell me I was the pudgiest filly she'd ever seen, but she meant no harm by it, nor do I. I do apologize, though."
Nacarile fell silent, holding the seed by its lip between fore, middle, and thumb, slowly rotating it round and round and listening to the coconut water lick the sides. He made it so hard to smile, she had to wonder why she kept trying. Or maybe she was only going through the motions of a long memorized dance. He didn't seem like the type that wanted to be figured out or questioned; she'd been rebuked so many times already. Sucking in a breath, she murmured a quiet prayer.
"What do you have against happiness anyway?" Nacarile's voice pitched from the benediction like a bird flitting from the underbrush. She had a difficult time controlling the level of her tone, "Are you that opposed to it?"
"I'm not talking about just you," he groaned, rolling his eyes and trying to trudge a little faster in hopes he'd arrive home a little sooner so he could slam the door on the rest of the world for a few moment's peace.
"And happiness is just a fleeting fancy, an idea that no one can agree on. It's often mistaken or replaced with instant gratification and the ones that have it don't deserve it. Fortune is fickle, but not so fickle that it doesn't pick favorites more often than not. What do I have against happiness? Like I'm the one in control... clearly, I am not. Nor have I ever been."
"Even if it's fleeting, shouldn't it be savored? Sometimes I-- people, all they have are these illusions. Sometimes it's just better, healthier, to find that one insignificant little thing in the day to smile at. It's how we cope. Fortune doesn't pick us, we just look for her and pick her for ourselves."
Nacarile scraped at the inside of her seed, peeling away at the soft, white meat. She did not pace herself to catch up with Tassos, content to walk the outline of the faint evening shadow he cast.
"I bet you were happy around you brother," she said, speaking more to the ground beneath her hooves than she was the black centaur walking before her. Nacarile smiled gently, "I've seen your smile before, I know you were. You care for people, at least one person, but you don't seem too keen on letting someone care for you."
It must have been involuntary, for he slowed down for the sheer primordial eagerness to speak his mind at someone. Nacarile seemed a willing victim.
"I don't need to be cared for, my one happiness is that my brother was raised in a home with four walls, a roof, a warm bed and blanket, and I kept his belly full with good food for all his childhood years. That's something I never had and I wouldn't wish it on anyone else. I'm happy he's free to roam the seas to his heart's content. Sometimes I envy him, but I don't think I could stand living in a swaying ship from day to day."
"Of course you don't," she agreed without argument. "But I do not mean just, mmm, care taking. The care that comes with the affection of friendship."
Nacarile smiled at him, resisting the urge to take his arm as she had once done, but not entirely: she touched his elbow lightly, hand dropping immediately afterward as if wary of his reaction. If there was one thing she missed about the constant presence of her mother, it was the physicality.
"But you would wish them, what was it, to drown in their happiness?" The palomino laughed and skipped forward, swinging around to walk backwards in front of Tassos, her free hand fluttering into the air, "Oh, ships are terrible! Well, when they get a leak, at least and you're out in the middle of the sea. I still need to fix mine, though I don't know where I will go when I do."
"Fair weather friends, you mean," he slowed to puzzle over Nacarile's change of emotions that seem so quick to come and go. "Wish who? My brother isn't on these isles, if that's who you mean. He's clever enough to get away and he deserves his happiness."
He sighed and stopped, wondering if she'd keep on just walking backwards. Despite his own knowing and will, a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. She was like Warren was a young whelp, getting excited over strange ideas and then bouncing them off Tassos for his response. Part of him wondered if Nacarile was a Wolftaur pup in disguise. Little paws and a fluffy tail replaced with hard hooves and long hair.
She turned her head slightly with something like bruised amusement, ears flicking back, "I think you'd be too stubborn to share a proffered umbrella to stave off the deluge, Tassos. How come your brother gets to be happy, but we don't?"
Nacarile continued walking even as he slowed, stopping only when her hind hoof caught on the snarl of a root, body jerking back. A single fore hoof came up to kick the air in hopes of scraping at some balance before she simply gave in to her wobbling and hit the ground with her backside and an 'oomph!'
"Let's see it!"
"I've never even had the honor of saying 'go boil your head', no one's ever proffered so much as a-"
Tassos watched her go tail over teacup in what seemed to go slowly at first and then it went downhill rather quickly.
"What?! I'm not looking at your a** to see if it's bruised!" he points at her rear end almost with accusation. "You did that to yourself!"
Nacarile just sat there, fore hooves tucked neatly between her hind, which stuck up in the air with the gracelessness of a foal. A sitting horse is a very bizarre thing indeed! Tassos's outburst made her suck in her lips as though she had stuck a lemon in her mouth, eyes crinkling again. She mirrored his finger point, jabbing at the air and trying her hardest not to laugh.
"I never asked for you to! I can check my own backside, thank you! Take the blame-- I thought I saw a smile and fell in my surprise, mi madre! Give a girl a warning!"
She figured if she sat there for a few more minutes, it wouldn't be as embarrassing.
Tassos sighed and shook his head before coming closer to offer up his arms to help her up. He was hoping to get home before night set in, but at this rate he'd probably be home in the middle of the night.
"Do you stumble every time you think you see something there that isn't? This isn't getting us home any faster, you know."
"No," she said, dropping the coconut (the water had just spilt everywhere) to take his arms and haul herself up with a hop and skip, only to tease when her footing was sure: "But miracles just buckle my legs!"
Nacarile twisted around and patted off her flank, flicking away twigs and bits of dirt. Nothing was broken as far as she could tell. Her tail swept like a pendulum against her hocks, curls snapping open only to spring back into whorls of sand. There was debris caught in the strands, she felt the tug of their invasion, but she didn't bother fussing over it. She figured Tassos wouldn't have given her the time to.
"It isn't getting you home any faster," Nacarile corrected with a small laugh. "I don't have a home."
"You mean you haven't made one out of your cheery nature and little sticks yet? I'd've thought it would have three floors and a finished root cellar, at this point," he grinned and got to moving on again. "I'd ask where you found a knife, but I don't think I want to know. The less I know, the better, I think."
He thought about inviting her to his home, but what if she stayed the night? Would she even let him get any sleep if he invited her to stay in one of the other two spare bedrooms? Or would she climb into his and demand bedtime stories? If she was anything like Warren then all signs pointed to "Yes, you idiot!" and he wasn't sure if that's what he wanted. It was all a matter of how much of a gentleman he was willing to be and right now it could go either way.
"And yours hasn't been washed away by little rainclouds?" she quipped right back. "I don't need little sticks, I have my hair, see?" Nacarile gathered her thick mess of curls together and dragged it over her head like an awning. It fell every which way when she let it loose again, but a few head shakes tamed it back into some civility.
At the mention of her machete, Nacarile's hand fell almost instinctively upon it. She pushed it up by its hilt with her thumb. The blade was worn from overuse, the luster beaten out of it. Hand wrapping around the base, she tugged it free from its leather thong, shooting Tassos a playful look of warning as it came free.
"From home, of course! Well, not this one. My old one broke off in someone's ribs, so I had to get a new one," she said with the utmost sobriety, offering a sigh of lament for the lost blade. She reached over and pressed two fingers into Tassos's side, "Right here!"
She laughed.
There was a look of aversion in Tassos' eyes as he stepped away from Nacarile's touch. What sort of place did she live in before coming here? How could you have any kind of innocence when you talk about losing blades inside someone else's body? A cold chill ran down from the back of his neck to the tip of his tail. He flicked his tail and shook his head.
"And this is supposed to make me enjoy your company is it?" he shook his head. "Mine hasn't washed away because I built it uphill. Yours probably ran away in terror."
Nacarile snorted with amusement, head nearly lolling with the forced exaggeration of her eye roll; she busied her hands by putting the blade away.
"And you actually believed me? Ay, that would hurt," she said, making a moue as she massaged her own ribs. She was incapable of killing, at least like that; food didn't count. As though she had stepped in the puddle herself, the memory of the sparrow was kicked up from the silt of her mind. Nacarile's brow wrinkled, stomach writhing uncomfortably; her hand fled from the hilt of the machete, arms folding loosely across her abdomen. She did her best to avoid contact with the blade as though it had done the deed.
"Ah, clever. I've never really lived in a house myself, nothing sturdy by the looks of some of the habitations around here. My mother and I would make do with what nature provided. I suppose I should start building something before winter rolls in, yes?" She made a note of displeasure, thoughts elsewhere.
"With you, I can't tell what's truth and what isn't anymore," he said, fishing into his pack for the bit of cord he used to tie back his hair. "I built my house with mud and timbers, some of it is brick but bricks are hard work alone so I mixed it in with large stones for the fireplace. It took about three years to finish, I remember parts of it were exposed to some winter snow and there were walls made of only sack cloth. It was by some miracle that I was given an axe and whet stone by a kindly Minotaur on his way to build a village of his own."
"Guilty until proven innocent, then?"
Nacarile listened with a mixture of trepidation and shame, the latter because she felt exceptionally naive in that moment. And she had left for new lands all based on bird call and gut feeling? Her ears curved to the side, teeth worrying the inside of her cheek. She bit down to steady her jaw.
"Three years? Hm, well, I should get started as soon as possible!" she said. Her round shoulders bobbed up in a stiff shrug like it would throw off the worry gumming at the pit of her stomach. Nacarile absently pulled at the skin of her inner elbow, "It was just too warm to bother where I came from. The cover we needed was only ever against summer rains and the sun. ...I've never seen snow before."
She didn't sound too excited about it either.
