Welcome to Gaia! ::

After a hard night’s ride, Ataya and his sister arrived within the borders of Taliuma well before sunrise, the far edges of the horizon barely grey with hints of dawn. With both them and their hastars exhausted, Ataya felt an odd sort of energy rippling beneath his skin as they passed into the port city. Satisfaction. Excitement. Success. They had made it.

He sent a curious glance his sister’s way, debating as he edged Rannah lightly on. “We have two options now, as I see it…” he began. “One route is to head directly to our uncles…but if we do that, we will surely be caught by Mother and Father the instant they arrive here, which is unlikely to be terribly long, cutting our time to explore and enjoy ourselves down to nearly nothing. The other option…” His gaze flit out over the town, eyeing the sleepy buildings, nearly all ahush still with the early morning. “Is to find an inn. I brought a small stash of coin. With it we could afford a room easily enough, sleep the morning, rest Rannah and Erion, and rise early in the afternoon. It’ll give us all evening to explore, see if the fire festival is in town…and perhaps find your not-boyfriend pureblood ‘friend.’”

He hesitated only a moment before adding:

“I intend to find an inn…but if you would rather seek out our uncles, you are welcome to. I would prefer not to be caught immediately after the effort we’ve gone to.”

Ataya blinked, glancing briefly down to Lyari, and then up to his sister. A moment later, he was laughing, a brief but genuinely warm sound for once before he tossed her a grin. “Food does sound lovely,” he admitted. “I’m sure we can find somewhere willing to feed hybrids at four past midnight…”

And so they looked, eventually finding a bakery just opening near the edge of shore. After purchasing several fresh, sugar-glazed rolls and a large mesh bag of fresh berries, they moved off to savor the meal in peace as the bottom lip of the horizon warmed. As he popped another plump berry between his lips, already-purple fingertips stained a darker, redder color from the juices, he hummed, eyeing the gradually shifting colors over the sea. It wasn’t often Ataya was up early enough to see the dawn. Virtually never, given his sleeping preferences. And at least as rare, he realized, particularly as of late, that he felt so…happy. It was peaceful, and uplifting, to be in the company of his sister here, free from rules, enjoying a meal on their own terms without staring eyes or commentary.

“Perhaps there is something to the dawn after all,” he murmured allowed. “It is rather lovely, when the opportunity actually arises to see it.”

Ataya blinked, glancing over to his sister in surprise. It was easy to forget, sometimes, that she could not see things as he did. His brow pinched, thoughtful, as he eyed the horizon and its gradually melting swath of colors. How to describe such a thing, so abstract, to someone who had no experience with it?

“The night sky before dawn,” he said, “starts out cool and deep. It’s navy like the ocean, like the feeling of longing for something, emptiness, and mystery. When dawn starts to come,” he continued, “the sky warms. The deep, endless navy at the very edge of the horizon begins to soften into greys like winter and a stormy sky…like rain and the feeling of fine grit on your fingers. Grey is bland, or like a faint taste of bitterness on your tongue. After that, it warms further and grows richer in color to a thick, lush purple. Purple is sweet, but tangy…like these berries,” he said, holding one up. “Like wine, and like the darkest of spring flowers…purple is father’s skin, and mine. The color of bruises and royalty.”

Ataya shifted his weight atop the crate he was perched upon, leaning his back to the brick behind him and tearing off another small shred of glazed roll. He ate that and swallowed before continuing.

“Finally, after purple, dawn truly begins to reveal itself. Red, the color of victory — anger, passion, love, lust, and blood — bleeds into the mix…each of these colors are building into each other, you see. It’s like…layers in a cake, or wax from two different candles meeting and becoming indefinite in the middle ground so that you aren’t entirely sure where one ends and the next begins. The top of the sky is still navy, below that are the paler blues and grey, under that purples, and where all the action is, the first hints of orange show. Red and orange are like fire, but orange is more playful. It’s like dancing and citrus and festivals…it’s joined soon after by yellow, the lightest and brightest of all. Orange and yellow, but yellow in particular are the sun itself. They are day and the rolling desert. They are springtime, sand, song, and draught…it’s crisp, and full of possibility.”

He glanced to her.

“Does…it help?” he asked. “Colors are beautiful…sometimes, I forget how much so until I am reminded you cannot see them. I wish I could share my sight with you. One day, though…you will see all of them. And it will be all the more lovely.”

Ataya watched his sister, his expression softening at her yawn, and he shifted his position, tidying what remained of their eagerly ravished breakfast before leaning over. He pressed a kiss to her cheek. “Come,” he said. “Time we found somewhere to catch some sleep, I think…”

After passing over two inns clearly labelled with hand-painted signs of, ‘Hybrids need not enter…’ a third sported no such signal, and Ataya managed mostly to ignore the look they received on entry. They were allowed a room, at least, with a single cot — the ‘only one available’ — and Ata chose not to argue. It was a large enough bed, in any case, and after the night they had had, it was easy enough to sleep after simply removing boots, belts and travelling gear, leaving their tunics in place and collapsing on opposite sides of the mattress.

As the morning continued to brighten outside their single window, Ataya’s mind raced over recent events, giddy and excited. His body, though, made his lashes heavy and his eyes bleary. Eventually, they got the better of him, and he fell into a heavy sleep.