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At least half the excitement of seeing Ataya on a daily basis, for several moons now, had to stem from the utter delight that Dys wasn't supposed to be. Ralekraes had confronted him about it once (only once; he didn't care enough to repeat himself) to politely remind his charge of what had happened the first time he'd found something interesting and hadn't seen fit to share. But, Dys ignored the warning. What was Kraes going to do? Leave the territory? Unlikely. His subtle threat was about as intimidating as a worm in the dirt.

Dysarrin trounced through the rocks and scraggly trees, now more familiar with this path than anything else, save for where he actually slept. He took the same path every day, patiently awaited new pet's arrival, then proceeded to enjoy the day's worth of activities with him. Ataya was interesting. he talked a lot (kind of annoying), but he knew a plethora of not-quite-clan magic that arose from the papery pages of his tomes. Weird speaking-writing magic that Dys wasn't capable of, but interesting. And new.

Today he perched on a nearby rock, a little down Ataya's side of the path from the gnarled tree. He crept a few inches closer each day, completely accidental as it may be. But the day wore on, Dys grew less enchanted with waiting. He scritched at a few bird droppings plastered to his rock, sagged down along the side of it, through pebbles at bushes... The sun rose higher.

He waited.

And waited.

And waited.

And when Ataya got here, Dys would delight in making him suffer for his crimes by shoving a fistful of dirt in his mouth. See how he liked that.

A little more waiting found Dys sulking in the shadow of the tree, crouched down and grumbling to himself about the utter wrongness of the situation. He was used to a little waiting. The pureblood city may be really far away, and Ataya was slow to begin with. But this was just obscene. Wasteful. He could be doing actual things with his time, rather than festering in the heat of early fall.

He stood with a huff, stalking back in the direction from which he'd come. Stupid Ataya. He could have at least said if he wasn't going to-

Unless he didn't know.

Dys paused, throwing a glance over his shoulder. Ataya was small and slow and yippy. Best kind of prey for large creatures out here. What if he'd been caught, eaten, killed? Those kind of things weren't supposed to happen to best pet here. Supposed to be safe. Er. Safer, anyway. Completely safe on his travels from pureblood city to rock nook. But he wasn't here. Hadn't said he wouldn't be here.

It was all very suspicious. And even though Dysarrin felt an unexpected sense of trepidation at straying too far from the rocky barrier of his clan, it was necessary. Ataya could need him, and Dys couldn't just abandon the things he liked.

The unfamiliar trail was still ridiculously easy to follow. Not a good sign, considering any beast with a halfway decent sense of smell could pick him right up. Ataya's peculiar pureblood scent (he'd described it as clean once, but Dys still insisted it was revolting) was practically ingrained in the rocks from so many daily, consistent travels, and Dys pranced along over it, dutifully traveling along the path through dirt and rock and dried grass...

Turning to green grass...

Abnormally soft green grass. And trees, with funny globes of sweet smelling color on them. Further inspection was necessary. But later. Must find Ataya. No sign of vicious predators or trails of blood or shredded remains of clothes. Just... sudden... green-ness.

He moved a little more slowly, hesitantly, warily skirting the outer shadow of the trees and growling at the tiny field creatures that rustled around in them. Not safe here. Very unfamiliar. Disgustingly unusual, pleasantly soft grass.

And the city.

Or what he assumed was the city. It didn't look like any natural caves he'd ever seen, even if it was half buried under... into? the mountain. The smells were stranger here, and mingled with the different type of "clean"-ness from other people. he might have recognized Akara's scent in there. Not surprising, since she had come from the same city. It was supposed to be really big, with many people, but it was eerily quiet.

Dys slunk closer, peering around edges suspiciously, but seeing nothing that he could accurately describe as a "threat." When there was a very geometrically straight break in the city walls, he slipped in. his claws clicked against smooth, cool wood, almost like they did against the rocks. But if felt... less sturdy somehow. Very strange. Lots of holes in the walls, he thought as he looked around. Not very conducive to keeping things out... Admittedly, he'd expected something bigger and brighter, with copious amounts of purebloods scampering about, so many that he couldn't even smell one from the other.

But Ataya was definitely here. If not now, then often, and others that Dys couldn't identify. It wasn't long before he found himself distracted by the array of new things. Books on shelves and figures on tables and clinking metal pots in wooden cubbies. And no visible purebloods to stop him from smelling or touching or inquisitively licking them.

Araceli sat down on the edge of Ata’s bed, hand seeking out her son’s forehead and frowning at the warmth she found there. “Even the strongest of warriors get sick Ataya.” She smiled warmly, leaning in to place a small, lingering kiss on his forehead. “Our bodies can handle being sick. They just need time to rest and fight off the illness.” She glanced over at Kara, thankful that her daughter had not caught whatever it was that Ata must have gotten. Despite insisting that her daughter stay away from her brother, Kara, herself, had insisted that she was going to help take care of Ataya. Now she sat, legs crossed, at the foot of Ata’s bed and read from a simple healing book that they had picked up some time back, when they’d been in town.

“Mama...what about this?” Kara held the book up, pointing to a drawing of a potion bottle with some kind of brown liquid in it.

Ara shook her head and smiled. “He just needs to rest, Kara. We already have the herbs and medicine he needs to get better. His body just needs to take care of the rest.” She ruffled her daughter’s curly hair and received a shove at her hand in return. Laughing quietly she returned her attentions back to Ata.

Kara watched Ataya closely, wondering how sick he was and if he’d be better in time for them to play more tomorrow or practice their magic. She was getting anxious and wanted to learn more magic like her brother. Though, in truth, she was mostly getting anxious to pick her clan. She knew what she wanted to pick but her mother insisted that she wait just a little longer. Kara bit her lip, fidgeting in her spot before climbing down from the bed and heading off to the bathroom. Despite not wanting to leave her brother’s side, there were some things that just couldn’t wait. No matter how hard you wished them to.

Kara paused as she reached for the handle of the door and frowned. Had something just moved outside of the bathroom? Her heart pounded as all kinds of possibilities ran through her head. Maybe daddy was home? That brought a huge smile to her face as she flung the door open and bounded out into the living room. “Daddyyy…” Her words were cut off. That was clearly not daddy. She made a sound, something between a squeak and a yell and half of it sounding like she’d meant to call for her mommy. Her eyes narrowed onto the intruder, it finally clicking with her on who it was.

She realized too late that it was just Dysarrin. Kara could already hear Mother and before she could say a word to Dys about leaving, Ara was coming out of Ata’s bedroom. “Kara? What’s the matt…” Ara tensed as her eyes fell onto the intruder and before she even realized it was just a child, the wind around her, despite being inside, picked up. The front door, left standing open, slammed shut and her eyes narrowed in on the boy. This realization caused Ara to pause as she focused in on the being closer. A boy? Was he alone or was someone using him to intrude on her home and take advantage? “Who are you?” Her words came out clipped, tense and at first she didn’t notice the tug on her arm.

“Mama…” Ara blinked and looked down at her daughter. “That’s Dysarrin...I uh...we...what I mean is…” Kara flushed as her words tumbled over each other, trying to explain Dys. “Ata and I know him. He’s...Ata’s friend.”

Ataya settled into the sheets with a soft, frustrated sound at his mother’s explanation. She hadn’t answered his question, just said that it happened to everyone. But why? Why did it happen to everyone? People built great temples for their gods and devoted hours to worship and prayer and devotion, but why if their all-powerful gods weren’t even bright enough to understand that people performed better when they were healthy?

Perhaps it was a means of punishment.

But then, Ataya hadn’t done anything wrong — other than be born to parents of two different races, something he was beginning to realize many considered a great crime — and that hadn’t gotten him sick before. Not to mention, if the gods truly were bright and efficient, surely they could come up with means of punishing their underlings that didn’t make them worse at the job they’d been designed for originally.

None of it made sense.

The one thing he didn’t mind about all of this, though, was the attention. Mother by his side. Sister on his bed. Affection all around. It felt good to be cared for, and much as he might have liked to be elsewhere, so long as he was stuck, he appreciated the company. When Akara moved up and off the bed, he eyed her book, but decided his head hurt too much to try to read.

“Mama—” he started to say, but never made it far.

A startled yelp from Akara sounded outside, and Ataya’s head jerked up. Immediately, his mother was up and moving out, and — suddenly alone — he fussed. Sounds. There were sounds. Something was going on—

“That’s Dysarrin—”

Ataya’s pulse picked up even as he felt the tug and ripple of his mother’s magic sweeping through the house. Dysarrin hadn’t abandoned him. He hadn’t left him to find someone else. He’d come here. The thrill of satisfaction that bubbled up in him was quickly tempered by concerns. What if Father came home? And what would Mother think of Dys? And what if no one else understood how to handle him? What if someone hurt him?

Not wanting his friend damaged (he only had one afterall, it wasn’t as though he could afford it), Ataya gave a frustrated whine and pushed back at the sheets. His fingers hurt. His skin hurt. His bones hurt.

He managed to stand. Shakily. His knees felt brittle, though, and immediately upon leaving the confines of the bed, everything was frigid. Shivering, he bit at his lip to muffle another high-pitched sound of pain and irritation before grabbing messily at the bed covers and dragging one of the top furs with him as he went. Donning it like a cloak, he stumbled towards the door and ignored — as best he could — the throbbing in his head, weakness in his limbs, and ever-present desire to simply curl back up on the floor right where he stood.

He made it to the edge of the living room where he could at least see the trio already present, and let his weight sag against the wall there. His voice when he spoke came out soft and scratchy.

“Dysarrin…Mama, don’t…hurt him…he—”

Ataya’s words cut off as the front door opened, and he glanced over. As his father’s dark frame filled the entryway, tail giving a slow side-to-side lash, Ataya winced. Of course Father picked this moment—

“What,” Detraeus growled, “is that.”

Dys muttered in discontent, restlessly shifting his weight as he glared (and grumbled) at the woman standing at Akara's side. He probably would've taken it as a sign of ill-will that the pale female didn't surrender Ataya's location to him, but the boy appeared in the entryway a moment later, looking even more pitiable than usual. And sounding more pitiable than usual, all soft and whispery, very unlike him. What was even more disconcerting was Ata's concern that 'Mama' could somehow hurt Dys.

He righted himself with a loud rumble, just so evil 'Mama' knew that he wasn't frightened of her, or-

Or...

Anyone else that came within spitting distance of him. The man that appeared in the doorway had the tone Dysarrin always expected of a pureblood. Condescending and demanding. He might have been offended, save for that this new stranger was even more mind-blowingly dissimilar to the other youngsters and particularly to the woman. None of them- No, that wasn't right. What were they? Why were they together when they were so different? That wasn't right. They couldn't be. A trick? A lie?

Dys scooted closer as Kara approached him. She was at least somewhat familiar and 'normal.' "Sick," he repeated, brows furrowing. His wings flicked, dipping so far down that the tips dusted the ground. Green orbs scanned the room, taking in each person before deciding that none of them were capable of healing magic. Dysarrin grabbed Kara's arm, tugging her close so that he could question in his softest, rumbling, perhaps even dismayed voice, "Gonna die...?"

He glanced around her to look at the lad in question. Ataya had always been skinny and wobbly and easy to carry. Dys never would've imagined he could get worse, but somehow, Ataya managed it. Without waiting for the younger girl's response, he prowled past her, giving a warning snarl to the woman as he slipped by her and over to Ataya.

"Mmm, look gross, Ataya. Really gross," he asserted with a little shake of his head.

Kara squeaked, surprised, as she was tugged close to Dysarrin. Her heart beat against her chest but, surprisingly enough, she wasn’t as scared of him as she had been that first day. Ataya had been spending time with him and her brother hadn’t been harmed and he seemed worried about Ata. Her eyes widened at his question and she began to shake her head but Dys was already distracted and moving towards Ataya.

Araceli’s eyebrows rose at the snarl from the child and she tilted her head as she watched him interact with her son. Her gaze jerked away from them when Detra moved. “Detraeus...he’s just a child.” She went to move over to her mate but stopped when her daughter shot between the two of them.

Kara took hold of Detra’s tail, tugging at it and frowning. “Daaadddyyy...His name’s Dysarrin. He’s our friend and he was worried about Ataya.” She huffed. Why wouldn’t anyone listen to her? It was the second time she’d explained who he was but it didn’t seem to be clear to anyone. “Please don’t hurt him.”

Detraeus observed the train of events critically, attention zeroed in predominantly on the intruding child but passively aware, too, of the reactions of his own children and mate. The child couldn’t have been very old. Filthy, but not likely much past a decade in years, and as his initial nerves calmed — noting that, despite his mannerisms, the boy seemed to have no malicious intentions towards Ataya or Akara — his mind began to ask questions.

Where was the boy from? How long had he been in the mountains? Who cared for him? Did he have family?

He might have been reminded, vaguely, of himself at a young age — attempting to survive on Eowyn, a feat which he still found relatively incomprehensible, looking back — except that this child was clearly well-nourished. Not well groomed, but fed and dressed (if shoddily). Wiry with the muscle born from activity and livelihood. Healthy, but for smelling like a day-old carcass. And not shy. Quite the opposite, he looked outright defiant, proud, and even — if Detraeus was not imagining it — defensive of his son.

“Dysarrin,” Detraeus repeated, weighing the name and attempting to determine if he had ever heard it before. He relaxed his posture as he did, and his tail pulled free of his daughter’s grip to coil in a loose, reassuring half-loop behind her. “Well,” he continued after a moment. “You succeeded. Ataya is unwell today and needs his rest, but you…” He hesitated, shifting his weight and glancing fleetingly towards his mate, “…may stay…briefly…if you have nowhere better to be. I am Detraeus, and this…” He gestured to Araceli, “…is my mate, Araceli. My son and daughter…neglected to inform me of your friendship with them.” He shot a meaningful look towards both children. “So I was not anticipating a guest.”

Ataya blinked up at his father from behind Dysarrin, wholly surprised by the reaction. He was letting Dys stay? “Dys can stay?” he repeated aloud, half clinging to, half leaning against Dysarrin’s weight for support despite the stench. “He—”

The bridge of Ataya’s nose wrinkled up, his words cutting off in light of an approaching sneeze. Coming, coming—

“—cchhhww!” The sound finished with a soft cross between a whine and a grunt, and Ataya gave up on saying anything more as he slouched against his source of support.

In front of them both, Detraeus frowned. “Mm. Briefly,” he repeated in a grunt. With a bath involved, perhaps; the child, from the look of him, might be the reason Ataya was sick. Who knew what variety of diseases a wild mountain child might carry? “And you…” He nudged Ataya with the tip of his tail, “ …need to return to bed. Come.” He crouched and motioned Ataya forward.

“Nnnhhg…” Ataya stumbled around Dys, clinging to his shoulder as support before reaching for his daddy. “When…will I be better?”

“Soon,” Detraeus said, gathering him up and lifting him effortlessly as Ataya wrapped his arms around his neck and tucked close. “But only if you rest. And behave yourself.”

“‘Mm…being good…” Ataya murmured, eyes already shut and head propped atop his father’s shoulder as they started towards the bedroom.

Dysarrin tilted his head, his eyes narrowing suspiciously on the dark-skinned male. He'd assumed Daddy- Detraeus, whatever his name was- to be the city's keeper due to his commanding, protective, and looming advances. That made him kind of like Zenith, only smaller and darker and definitely tenser, but with the same type of respect from Ataya and Akara as Zenith was rewarded from his tribe's youngsters. Dysarrin's wings dipped, gaze dropping to the floor in contemplation. If Detraeus was Zenith, Ataya must be him, bringing strange foreigners into the city. Sort of. Sort of bringing. Collaborating was probably better. And if Ataya was him... Did that make... Did that make Dys the Golden Pet of this city?

The older male moved, and Dys shot away from him, backing toward the wall and fanning his wings with a warning growl. His words didn't sound threatening, but as a pureblood, the last thing Dys would trust about him would be his words. He wasn't going to end up like Golden Pet. Not ever. He watched warily, posture stiff as Ataya bundled up in Detraeus' arms. That- Hey, no! That Ataya was his!

He took a step forward, grumbling out his discontent as he watched Ataya be taken through a doorway, deeper into the city. He didn't like it. Didn't trust it. When Akara touched him, he almost snapped at her before realizing who it was and how little a threat she posed.

She wasn't scared. That was reassuring. He'd been scared (rightfully so) for Golden Pet, so to see that Akara didn't have that same kind of fear... She tugged on him, and with a halfhearted rumble, he followed her, leaving behind the brighter and more open expanse of the city for a decisively less exciting, more enclosed and slightly darker area.

It was only by remembering that Ataya would be upset if his sister was injured that Dys controlled the urge to tighten his hold on her hand to something less than bone-shattering. But he did cling. Because while she wasn't as familiar as Ataya, it was still something he could hold onto as he slithered into the new space behind Detraeus, keeping a watchful eye on Ataya as he was set in a mound of furs and blankets and other soft things.

Dys hummed softly, not trying to stifle the sudden need he had to reclaim Ataya's attention, while simultaneously refusing to release Kara. He tugged her behind him, grumbling out muted warnings to the older male, who was still uncomfortably close by, as Dys slid around Detraeus to perch on the edge of Ataya's bed.

Araceli moved over to where Detra was standing and slipped an arm around his waist. She leaned into him, smiling as she watched Kara climb up onto the bed with Dysarrin and Ataya. Though she was still wary (though not as wary as Detra seemed), about the child, it warmed something in her heart to see her children interacting with another. Someone closer to their age. She made a note, however, to change the furs on Ata’s bed and try to wash out the smell, from Dysarrin, after he left. The boy needed a bath, and bad. For now, though, she kept her mouth shut as Kara began to talk.

Kara climbed into the bed, plopping down next to Ataya and instantly turning her attention to Dysarrin. She tilted her head as she took in his filthiness, curbing the urge to wrinkle her nose. Ata’s bed would stink once the boy was gone. Better his than hers. “Have you ever swam, Dysarrin?” She made swimming motions with her arms, just in case he didn’t understand what she was talking about. “I love to swim.” She grinned wide. “Maybe once Ata’s better...we can go swimming in our lake.” She glanced towards Ataya, expression hopeful. “Want to Aty?”