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It was not the first time Xilarn had slept on the forest floors of Jauhar. Though the first time had been fraught with such terror, dread, and uncertainty that even an almost paralytic injury, starvation, and exhaustion weren’t enough to merit a comfortable sleep. As Xil settled his back against the roots of a nearby tree in preparation for the night’s watch, he couldn’t help but wonder why in the name of the gods would he actually come here of his own volition and do this again? ‘For jollies’ couldn’t possibly be accurate, so Xilarn convinced himself that it wouldn’t be as bad because of the twenty years’ more worth of experience he had under his belt this time around.

And regardless of the very real threat nearly everything posed, he still didn’t dislike the jungle. But it was because of that threat that Xilarn opted not to just lay on the ground, shut his eyes, and leave them both unprotected. Which probably wouldn’t be as much of a concern if Gadot was around. The raptrix’s superior senses would detect intrusion long before Xil knew about it, himself. As it stood, Gadot was not here, and Xilarn didn’t fancy escaping the first wave of insects only to be eaten by the second in his sleep. Or stabbed by natives. Or strangled by curious, creeping vines. Death was everywhere, or so he assumed.

The night was long and full of absolutely nothing.

For all his concerns, there was nothing except the rustle of branches, the quiet chirping of insects, and the distant caw of forest birds to accompany him through the night. And at the outset, Xilarn was perfectly content with this. After a couple hours of intense watching- and then another of slightly less intense watching, and then another span of time dedicated to chores like boiling water for them to drink and flaying small forest critters that wandered too curiously close to the flames of their fire that looked like they were probably edible- Xilarn was bored.

Bored, combined with the dark of the woods and a healthy tiredness from the day’s travel and combat, did not lend itself to helping anyone stay awake through the night. Through no conscious decision of his own, Xilarn slid sidelong toward the ground and sleep.

Morning was not kind.

The very first thing Xilarn became aware of when his mind flitted toward wakefulness (at its own ambling pace, mind you), was a voice. Damissan’s voice. And though Xil had no idea what he was saying, the fact remained that Damis was awake, and Xil was not. The older man groaned stiffly and forced his eyes to open. He was met with darkness. “What time-” Nonsense, his companion wouldn’t know anymore about the time than he did. Instead, as Xilarn pushed himself to a sit, he focused on things that were ‘not far off.’ He rubbed the heel of his palm against an eye and squinted toward the direction of Damis’ voice. “Don’t go exploring without at least informing me,” he ordered in a gruff, scratching voice laced with morning and probably however much dirt and grit he’d managed to inhale with his face pressed to the ground.

Processing things was a bit of a chore, but since they were awake (or mostly so), Xilarn didn’t see a reason to linger. He couldn’t say with any degree of certainty exactly how far off their next destination was, but surely within a day’s travel. He was not interested in repeating the night’s sleeping arrangements.

He shook his head to clear it and rose to a creaking stand. Xilarn’s gaze hit the fire, Damissan’s still-unpacked tent, and then the younger man himself. There was probably an inordinate amount of time squinting in Damis’ direction before Xil summoned the wherewithal to move from his spot. He shouldn’t have fallen asleep. He’d have been fine if he hadn’t fallen asleep.

A moot point.

Xilarn plucked the remaining meat-creature from its place warming near the fire and shoved it at Damis. “Breakfast,” he informed the younger man. “Pack your s**t.” Mood. Temper it. Another head shake. “Pack your things,” Xil corrected himself as he strode off toward the direction his companion had appeared from. “And be ready to leave by the time I return.” He set off.

A splash of cool water did about as much good as he expected it to. While he wasn’t in any better a mood, he did feel slightly more alert, a touch more prepared to walk however many miles needed to be walked to bring them back to civilization, and there wasn’t dirt plastered to the side of his head. Always a plus. When Xilarn made it back to their campsite, he adopted the composure he generally tried to keep when in Damissan’s company. He helped finish storing their things in their bags, repacked the quhar and did manage to feel marginally better by the end of it all.

And now that he thought about it… “We shouldn’t even be that far from Neued. We made it out of Oba, and that’s half the distance alone. A handful of hours, at most. So, if there’s a very minimal amount of dawdling on your part, we can sleep in town tonight. Let’s go.”

It hadn’t been any part of the plan.

He oughtn’t have let it become any part of anything.

He knew, well and truly, that of course it was a goad specifically placed to get him to keep his mouth shut in the presence of Xilarn’s family.

And yet.

Damissan was never one to back out of a challenge. It sounded preposterous, at first. A silly thing, tossed between the two of them, ‘I bet you couldn’t…’ which of course only built from there and yet somehow—somehow by the end of it, Damissan wound up resolving to play the part of a charming mute. To douse Xilarn’s disbelief. To make a showing of it. To prove that he was likeable, even without constant verbiage, and that he could be creative. And, perhaps, because he was unlikely to ever meet this young woman again regardless. Why not push himself and see where it lead him? The nearer it came to time, however, the more he vacillated.

Was it truly necessary?

No, he concluded.

But then, what better reason to do anything when no harm could come of it than: Why not? He wasn’t sure exactly how long he expected it to take them to find the girl. He didn’t know precisely what she looked like, having never met her, beyond Xilarn’s unhelpful description. ‘She’s redheaded, dark…like a cuter, more intelligent, female and related-to-me version of you.’ But whatever he expected, ‘immediately’ upon nearing the outskirts of the village was not it.

Gadot, with his keen sense of smell Damissan supposed, had other plans in mind, and regardless of his lack of recognition of the mutt’s company, the dog was quite impossible to miss.

Ziari laughed as raptrix chased after seemingly random things, taking off into the air only to dive tackle at something on the ground. At one point Ziari had plucked a stick up from the ground and played fetch with the familiar. She was getting antsy and wondered when Xilarn would show up. It had been ages since she’d seen her cousin and the moment aht Gadot had arrived, she’d been anxious and on the edge of her seat. When the raptrix started whining and barking, Ziari raised an eyebrow and glanced to him. “What on Tendaji is wrong?” Her eyes widened when he took off and she stumbled over herself as she spun. “Gadot! What are you…” She watched as he bounded off towards a couple of people. A smile formed on Ziari’s face when she recognized her cousin.

“Xil!” Ziari moved, meeting her cousin halfway grinned wide when he tugged her in for a hug. Her arms snaked around his middle, hugging him close and tight. “Oh my gods, it’s great to see your face,” she said as she pulled away to give him a quick once over before moving in for another hug — she couldn’t help herself. When she finally let go of him, Ziari glanced over to the other man accompanying her cousin. “And who’s this?”

Xilarn could not actually remember the last time he'd hugged any of his own family. Besides Akiyal, of course. But it distinctly felt like it had been before everything, so basically an eternity ago. And since he hadn't seen his cousin in so long, he'd wondered if she'd changed, or if he'd changed, and if things would be different now. There was no telling at this point, but Ziari still certainly seemed chipper and excited enough. Xil sighed, relaxed, cinched his arms around her shoulders, and murmured, "I missed you." He did not feel especially inclined to release her, but when the younger woman stepped away, h righted himself and followed her gaze.

Ah, right.

His palm glided down her arms and slipped to grasp her hand before tugging gently and guiding her fingers to Damis' outstretched palm. "This is Damissan, the demented noble boy I've been charged with watching over as he... explores. I've made mention of him once or twice, I believe. And," He settled a hand on Ziari's back, never quite sure what the younger man would do, but always positive he wouldn't like it, and somehow the contact felt like it dissuaded any unsavory business. His gaze flicked back to Damissan. "Damis, this is my wonderful cousin, Ziari."

It was not his intent to say more than that, because really, there shouldn't have been much else to say while standing on the outskirts of a town that he'd much rather be in than out of. Unfortunately, an explanation for Damis' silence came without much thought required. "I'm afraid Damis here was sexually assaulted in his youth, and the trauma has rendered him speechless." He squinted skeptically in the younger man's direction. "His parents informed me that they often heard him speaking to himself, but I suppose he's just too impossibly anxious around anyone else to manage himself properly."

He shook his head somberly, gaze flitting down. "Truly tragic."

For all that Xilarn complained of or made abundantly clear that he didn’t want to speak of his family for the most part, Ziari was clearly an exception. Damis had anticipated as much, of course, given the way the man spoke of her. To see it, though, was a new experience, given that the only breathing thing Damis had ever witnessed the man show affection for was his animal. It was pleasant.

Encouraging.

Touching, eve—

Of course, the man couldn’t let the moment stay too positive, and Damis shot a flick of a pinched glance in his direction at the word ‘demented’—and all of the explanation that followed. Sexually assaulted. Incapable of managing himself properly, indeed. What sort of idiot, even if it were true, chose such an introduction of wildly private information to begin a conversation with? Damis only managed to look peeved for a moment, though, before Ziari chimed in, and he opted — in an abundance of caution in order that he not begin arguing with the older man about the raw implausibility of his ‘backstory’ — to focus on her instead.

Much easier to manage, as it happened.

Though her refusal to look much at him made things more difficult. The temptation sat there for several long moments to drop the improv. What good did it do him? And Xilarn clearly saw it as an open opportunity to mock him as much as possible. Her shyness, however, leant him ample opportunity to study her himself, and since she was lovely and he was unlikely to see her again anytime soon—but would, to the contrary, be burdened with Xilarn’s company and no doubt constant reminders if he failed in his ‘challenge—Damis held his tongue, mentally making note that the next time she looked his way, he would wink.

It wasn’t as though there was much more harm to be done, after all.

“Jauhar’s been...interesting,” Ziari said, folding her arms behind her back and glancing at Xil over her shoulder. “It was a rough start. I rescued a mammu from some poachers, got a nice little scar.” At these words, she reached a hand up and brushed her fingers over the scar on her shoulder. “After that, and a little racism at a small village, things have gone pretty smoothly. Especially with Lerin around. He’s been great. Has even stuck around here longer than I expected.” The small smile that formed on her lips belied that Ziari was a little more than just pleased that he had remained in the village with her.

“As for what I’m doing now… I want to practice beast taming. I’ve bought a whip and I’m looking for someone to train me. I figure I’ll be here for a few more weeks, maybe more. It just really depends. I just really needed to get away from Oba and my parents. And an old friend inspired me to travel to Jauhar first. I’d like to eventually make it to the other countries as well.”

Xilarn scoffed softly. 'Interesting,' she said, and somehow that seemed like one of the blandest words she could've used to describe the scenery, particularly after growing up in the desert. When he had first left Oba and traveled to Jauhar, Xil distinctly recalled feeling like he'd stepped into terrifying, horrible, sweaty, poisonous, diseased death, and everything was an enemy trying to kill him. Nothing was sacred. His eyes narrowed. Maybe it was for the best that things were just 'interesting.' He didn't especially want his cousin into anything worse than that.

He rolled his shoulders. "It sounds like it's getting easier already. You don't look to be terribly uncomfortable with your surroundings, so that's always a plus..." His gaze followed her fingers as they dusted over her shoulder. The whole escapade was probably terribly dangerous, and she probably really shouldn't be traveling and enduring alone.

It occurred to him to say as much.

But the commentary stayed trapped against the tip of his tongue. It wasn't his place to tell her what she needed to do or how she needed to do it. He was familiar enough with how many people handled such attempts. Instead, he sighed and shook his head. "Just be careful. If you do find that you need something- anything- feel free to call on me."

Any further commentary was cut off as his gaze pinned on Damissan. While he knew he shouldn't rationally be offended, a great wave of distrust and lack of want surfaced. Was it even worth glaring at him? Xilarn's first rational thought was, no, of course, because he was sure Damis would expect that. Rational or not, his face made the expression of its own accord, and he grunted disinterestedly.