Welcome to Gaia! ::

The Slopes of Yellow Dawn look, from the base, to be all but endless: sweeping, upward-cutting plains of grasses ranging from ankle length to calf-high. Three weeks had passed since Detraeus and Araceli’s arrival on Ayr, and with each passing day, Detraeus found himself less inclined to ever return. It was so easy to live like this — free, on a whim, by the day, and with only one person to share his company — and he was loathe to return to a life of complications. Prejudices. Hurts. Bitterness. Eowyn, and the rest of the world at large, came with baggage, responsibilities, sins yet to be atoned for, and battles yet to be fought.

This continent was an escape, devoid of obligation, and he clung to it, dreading the moment his companion inevitably suggested they go back to the life from whence they’d come. For now, he relished in what he had.

Upon discovering the cradle and its rare bowl of fertility, the two of them had spent the better part of a day and a half relaxing there, doing a brief bit of hunting, and enjoying the respite from the howling winds. Approaching noon of the following day, they packed and began making their way up the slopes themselves, towards the plateau village at the far eastern edge of the range. Though they had enough meat, they were running low in other various supplies, and — if they were well-received — restocking would be a welcome boon.

As they neared it, the first notable sound to reach them was laughter. The incoming breezes brought with them giggles and squeals, spliced intermittently with playful shouts and teasing calls. The source, which became obvious when they drew closer, was a small herd of young children, five to seven in number and ranging in age — so far as Detraeus could tell — from four to twelve summers.

When their approach was spotted, a brief lull washed over the wind, the children stilling in their play and staring. Then, like a flock of leklan, they congregated inwards into a knit bundle, all bumping in against each other and exchanging more hushed words. After it, as Detraeus and Araceli came in close range, the full herd came amassing towards them. Detraeus stiffened. But, thankfully, they stilled a good fifteen paces away, the younger ones all gathering curiously behind the first, tallest, and likely oldest, who lead the blockade, hands on her hips.

“Are you here to kill us?” their leader demanded.

Detraeus frowned. After an extended pause, he shook his head.

“Can you talk?” a smaller one piped up, yelping indignantly when the first scolded him and pushed him back.

“…yes,” Detraeus answered.

“If you’re not here to kill us,” the girl at the front asked, “then why do you have so many weapons?”

Detraeus folded his arms. She folded hers and stuck out her tongue. He blinked. “Fighting,” he said. “And killing things.” A pause. “…animals. Killing animals.”

“Little animals?” one of the smaller ones wailed, and girl in front chastised her. Before Detraeus could answer, though, one — then two, then three — were darting out from behind the first, ignoring her objections and running up to him.

“How did you get a tail?”

“What are you?”

“You don’t have any eyes!”

“What happened to your eyes?”

“Did they get burnt out by a dragon!”

“Did someone stab them out?”

“Did it hurt?”

“Why don’t you have any horns?”

“Where are your scales?”

Detraeus tensed and blinked, flustered as, eventually, he ended up with virtually the whole school of them piled around him asking questions. All dovaa children, he realized, which explained some of the questions. “I—”

“He’s an oblivion eye,” one of the middle-aged children asserted, hands on their hips. “Oblivion eyes don’t have eyes. Or souls.”

“Then why are they called oblivion eyes?” another barked back. “And everybody has a soul.”

Detraeus frowned, and opened his mouth. Again, though, before he could get a word in edgewise, another was talking, this time directing their question at Ara.

“Is he yours, miss lady?”

“Your eyes are funny, too…”

“Are you a high bred?”

“Hybrid not high bred. Hybrids are low bred.”

“Then why are they called high breds?”

“Brid.”

“What’s a ‘brid?’”

Detraeus pinched the bridge of his nose, and gave up.

“Will your tail bite if I touch it?”

“I wanna touch it too!”

At a loss, he sent a pleading look in Ara’s direction.

“Mm. You may,” Detraeus said, though his attention was affixed on the group of adults, five in number, making their way rapidly over. He barely felt the touch of tentative fingers to his tail tip before a stiff voice interrupted.

“Lysra.”

The girl jerked her hand back, eyes wide. “Papa, he’s an oblivio—” She squeaked as she was gathered up into her father’s arms and withdrawn despite her fussing, several of the other adults similarly herding the children back, scolding, cautioning, and eyeing both him and Ara warily. Only after most of the children were ushered back, did a woman step forward to address them directly, her eyes on Ara.

“We get few visitors here and want no trouble. What business do you have here, this far out of your way? And who is your…companion? We’ve no need for soldiers or sellswords.”

Detraeus’ tail flicked, but he said nothing, and held himself still. If anyone made a violent move towards either of them, he would act in an instant, but until that moment, he saw no reason to provoke them unnecessarily, and clearly they preferred Ara’s word over his.

Thankfully, whether their testimony was believed in full or not, the villagers accepted Ara’s words at least enough to allow them entry. They traded with several of the locals, getting a fresh stock of dried fruits and some vegetables in particular, among other nonperishable supplies, and by that evening, when the overall wariness had worn down, they had amassed a replenished trail of children. This time, once assured the coast was clear, their curious followers filed in, and no parents came sweeping to immediately draw them away.

Detraeus’ tail was thoroughly inspected. Questions were asked. One even attempted to poke into his eye socket, though that was steered off before the assault succeeded. And finally, after much giggling, touching, quizzing, and story-telling, the children were ushered away, this time not by frightened parents, but abashed ones giving their offspring lectures on manners and when it was best to leave travelers (‘guests’) be.

Just before sun down, an older-looking, stout man who — with his mate — owned a sizeable barn in addition to their house and tract of farmland, came forward, offering them accommodations for the night, should they choose to stay.

“We’ve only one spare cot,” he said, shifting his weight and eyeing the pair of them critically. “But there’s room in the barn, too. We can dust off the mattress and provide you a clean blanket…” He directed that comment at Ara. “And him…” He nodded towards Detraeus. “We’ll clear a space under the rafters. Should be plenty warm, and not uncomfortable on the travel bedding you have.”

“The cot is private?” Detraeus asked, the tip of his tail twitching stiffly.

At first, the man blinked. Then, he seemed to understand. “Yes, yes. Of course. A room all to itself. Our daughter used to use it, ‘til she grew out of it and moved out. It locks, too. You’ve no concerns for privacy.”

Detraeus grunted, and before Araceli could object, he drew out and handed over a small share of coins, which was readily accepted. For a moment, he thought Ara would object aloud, but in the end, she only frowned, silently consenting as they followed after their new makeshift innkeeper. The man showed Detraeus to his ‘lodgings’ first, and — though intrinsically concerned about leaving Ara alone in the other’s company — he begrudgingly conceded to setting up his sleeping space as Ara was shown to hers.

Detraeus glowered at wooden pylons above him, his tail twitching down beneath the rafters like one of an oversized, irate cat. He didn’t like Ara alone in the house. It was his own fault, he supposed, for accepting so quickly. But he’d wanted Ara in as comfortable lodgings as they could find and who knew how the farming couple would have taken it if they’d broached the topic of sharing a bed. The more time passed since his decision, however, the more restless he became, imagining her alone up there, or worse, interacting with the man who’d opened his doors in the first place.

Detraeus narrowed his eyes further. What if something happened to her? He couldn’t see her from here, or even hear her. What if she needed his help? Or they reneged on their promise to give her privacy? What if—?

He grit his teeth and shut his eyes, stamping down the anxious stutter to his pulse. He’d grown so used to her beside him every night, he hadn’t realized how wrong it felt to have things any other way until this moment. When he opened his eyes, his gaze immediately honed in on the door. Perhaps, if he snuck just a peek, he could locate her and ascertain her safety without stirring up unnecessary trouble…

Moments away from leaping down from the rafters himself and going to locate her, the barn door opened. He blinked, stilling — tense — at the initial entry, but only a moment later, he relaxed: Ara. He tilted his head, eyeing the way the last light of late evening framed her in the doorway, the rest of the barn otherwise bathed in darkness. Not that it affected him. He wondered, for a moment, why she’d come. Was it possible she, too, was concerned…? Or—

He tensed at another thought and leapt down, landing in a poised crouch, wings buffering his fall, before he stalked over to her. “Did they touch you? Are you alright? What happened? We can leave if you’re dissatisfied…”

She looked unharmed, thankfully, though Detraeus supposed, if she’d looked injured, he would have already been out the door, and the village would have become less peaceful in a matter of minutes. His gaze scanned her repeatedly, just the same, double and triple checking for any signs of duress or hurt.

Detraeus grunted, cheeks still warm from the kiss as he eyed her. After a moment, he shrugged. “If you enjoy sleeping on grains…” He made a vague, broad gesture to the surrounding barn, “…you are welcome to share my ‘bed.’ I thought…” He shifted his weight, tail flicking, “…you would prefer a proper cot.” ‘And they will talk, if they find you stayed with me.’ That, though, he didn’t bother voicing aloud. She knew it as well as he, and the more he thought of her spending a night alone in a strange man’s house, the less he cared what any of the villagers thought. They could bring their issues with it to him personally if they so chose.

Detraeus blinked, half surprised she had actually taken him up on the offer. Watching her lay out on his bedding, though, sent a strange, warm, possessive thrill through his gut, and after a moment, he approached. He moved in and down, advancing until he was over her, looming, hands to either side of her head and wings outstretched and flicking.

“No,” he answered.

After holding the position for an extended pause, he rolled over, taking up the space beside her and tugging her wordlessly in against him until their bodies were fit together neatly as puzzle pieces. When he spoke again, the words were mumbled against her shoulder.

“You’re a strange woman…I like it.”

“Mm,” Detraeus murmured in confirmation to her original question. After her second comment, he grunted, but made no further response, his eyes closed.

“They enjoyed it a lot, I think,” Ara continued, prompting him gently.

“Mm.”

“Getting to ask all those questions and see an entirely new race to them, live and in person…”

“Mm…”

“Have you…had much experience with children?”

He opened one eye. Squinting it, he shrugged and shut it again, though wary now, wondering where exactly she was headed. “No.” ‘Only orphans, stowaways, and pick pockets.’ His tail coiled over her, clinging, almost — half in curiosity and half in dread of what question she might eventually pose.