Private Tales She Who Dares, Wins

There it was again – that far-off look she’d had yesterday. A pinch formed between Vaer’s brows in the moment she paused between his question and her answer. It reminded him of something, but he couldn’t quite put his finger on it. He brushed it off as Favashi daydreaming about gore and bloodshed.

“You’d look great with an axe." And she would. She'd look great with anything. He nodded approvingly and cast an appraising look at her shoulders, recalling the many times he had seen her bare back. Like many fae, her lithe form belied her strength.

"My teeth, chiefly," he said with a light laugh. "But if I must employ my thumbs, I'm quite fond of the sword. Hand and a half, to be specific." Big Man with a Big Sword. He liked it for its versatility – and because he liked doing the swirly-swoops with it. He wasn't going to say that part out loud.

Vaer ate the last half of his pastry and, licking his lips, eyed another in contemplation.

"How long will it take to get to the Steppes from here?" he asked.

She slid the pastries closer and he obliged, plucking another from the tray.

It depends on the leys.

Ah, what a mysterious reply. He wouldn’t indulge her by looking alarmed, even if he was slightly nervous. The duanann moved so damn quickly through the ley lines. Black shucks had a considerable wealth of power compared to lesser fae, but nothing compared to duanann. He’d traveled the leys with his father much as a pup and learned that repeated exposure did nothing to improve his tolerance for the speed at which they moved.

Thankfully, his father also taught him an herbal remedy for motion sickness. He made a mental note to take it before they departed. Vomiting on Favashi’s boots the moment they arrived at the battle was hardly the entrance he wanted to make.

Zavali preserve me today. Vaer made the Klehastic sign of the serpent across his person, then took a bite of the pastry. He tried not to think about puking it back up later as she reminisced.

“Thank you,” he said with a warm smile. He felt no such need, feeling more at home in his other forms than this one, but it mattered that she said it, that his comfort mattered – not just because he’d lost a bet and was being tortured with a good time. Vaer couldn’t say why it mattered, only that it made him feel appreciated, seen.

“Have you thought of dictation?” he asked, recalling back to her previous comments about the wars she had seen. “Not to be insulting, but you have lived a long life and witnessed many things. You remember events and people and places that are lost to time; it would be a tragedy to lose all of that history with you one day. Many duanann record their lives, even when they've cultivated the most mundane affinities. I can think of many who would value the tales the Lady of War has to tell.”

There was a brightness in his eyes, an earnest interest that wouldn’t be subdued.

If his tail was out, it would be wagging. He began to consider how brave he was, how often he dared ask to visit Favashi to read from her book collection.

He stood politely to bid her farewell, then sat back down to finish his breakfast. He made a short trip to the armory, as she suggested, and spent a few shameless minutes touching and trying out her very cool, very sharp toys. Thinking it would be rude to turn down such a remarkable offer, he selected a sword and tucked it away between for later. There was also armor, perfectly sized to fit him in the style of Steppes. Favashi (or her house) was a thoughtful hostess.

Padding up to Favashi in full black dog form, Vaer's shoulder was level with hers. He was timely, a few minutes before the appointed time.

"You look very fierce," he remarked with a wide grin. He had to admit she could have made anything look fierce.

But then she asked if he had traveled the leys, and Vaer sighed.

"Several times with your kind. I get motion sick, but this will help," he answered.

He sat back on his haunches and held up a paw. It had been a paw, but was now his hand, sleek and darker than his usual charcoal grey. A cup of tea appeared, pulled from between, and he lapped it up quickly. With the turn of his wrist the cup was gone again. He sat up to his full height, signed himself with his paw in a serpentine pattern in prayer to Zavali, and looked to Favashi.

"I am ready."

On the short list of things that fae were just as susceptible to as mortals was the urge to pet a dog. Being a dog, Vaer always welcomed it. He was, after all, totally and completely pettable. His deep ebony coat was silky and parted easily between her fingers.

They were off before he could amuse her with a reply, slipping between and becoming part of the leys. To Vaer, who felt most at home in shadow, the blinding flow of magick was an assault of color and light. He clung close to where he sensed Favashi in the current beside him, her power shielding him as they sped through the veins of the world.

When they returned to a corporeal state on the other side of the leys, the din of the physical world slammed into his senses. The battle was already underway.

Vaer took a step forward. His ears pricked up, his long nose lifted into the air, and his golden eyes swept over the battlefield. They were in the thick of it, but their position atop the hill permitted him the perfect view. He took in Favashi’s information with a curt nod. He gave her no humored reply this time.

As the Fury of War desired, so it would be.

His head lowered and the stoic and mannered Vaer slipped away as if tucked between. In his place stood the Penance of the Wild Hunt, a beast feared and renowned for his capability and willingness to wage a war such as this. They were there to sway the tide. He trusted in Favashi's greater plan and laid his mores aside. He could pick them up after their deed was done.

He waited for Favashi but left the hilltop at her side, loping down the slope and into the fray with his teeth bared. The black shuck broke into the melee and his great paws struck the first human with the furred helm, knocking him to the ground. His jaws closed around the man's throat and his cries were silenced as Vaer ripped. Blood squelched down Vaer's chin, hot and heavy, and he moved on to the next.