Private Tales Lost In Translation

A private roleplay only for those invited by the first writer
Chaeme

Chaeme

Cedar Dryad
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The elf stood at the edge of his vineyard looking out into the woods with a disapproving frown. His fists were propped on his hips, but not quite firm enough to crease his fine silk tunic the way his scowl had creased his features over time. He had not ventured beyond the well-manicured grass where the soil, dampened from last night’s rain, might smudge his soft leather boots.

There was an air of agitation about him as he continued to explain in far too much detail the nuisance the suspected vermin had been and the damage they had caused. A careful choice of words, but spoken very softly and only once in confidence. Outdoors, he wisely kept the slander to himself. After all, the forest had ears; even in the process of sending a man to drive them out and potentially kill them, he would not speak ill of the fae.

At last he huffed loudly and his complaints about his crops and gooda and property ended. He waved a hand toward the forest.

“I do not care what you do with them, as long as they are removed from my property and do not return.” He was paying the man for his discretion, but not paying too well. At the end of the day, he just wanted his problem solved. With nothing more to add, he pointed the bounty hunter on his way and turned back for his chateau.

Their trail was easy to follow. Three sets of humanoid footprints and discarded or dropped fruit. On their latest raid, they had also broken into one of the cellars, and a few empty bottles had also been left in their wake. The tracks grew more difficult to follow after an hour’s walk, some shifting into animals and all three of them meandering in a very crooked, very inebriated line.

At the end of the trail, the thick, muddy forest opened up and the underbrush grew more sparse, but there was no need to follow tracks any further. Merriment filtered through the trees, pinpointing their location: over a hill in a small clearing around a modest creek. A shallow pool had formed in the winding bend and on its shore, three figures were lounging and laughing. Two nymphs and a dryad, all clad in nothing or next to nothing. Set apart from the others and closer to his approach, a second dryad was crouched beside the creek. Midday sunlight caught the green glass of the wine bottles they had filched and strewn around them. None of them appeared to be expecting company, much less reprimand for their thieving.

 
Gunner had been down on his luck for some time now. Already he was beginning to think that leaving home had been a rather dimwitted plan; he wasn't suited for bounty work, if he was being honest. Swordplay? He'd ranked near the bottom of his class. Magic? He'd never cast a fireball that he'd meant to cast. Really, the only thing he was good at was heavy lifting, and riding a horse.

That had at least made the leaving part easy.

He was running out of money, and it was getting harder and harder to find bounties easy enough for him to tackle. He looked capable enough, sure; a well groomed beard and tidied brown locks spoke to somebody who could at least afford to groom himself, and the leather armor he wore wasn't cheap by any means. Of course, that armor had taken up a large portion of his initial funds. Eventually he'd had no choice but to take up some much more difficult tasks. This latest one was the least threatening one on the list: Hunting down a few thieves that had fled into the woods? He'd have to be careful, but he didn't think it was too much for him...

The snooty elf didn't think much of him, and Valentine supposed he didn't blame him. Still, he was helping out, so would it have killed him to be a bit more thankful, maybe? He'd hardly given him any info, or told him what the thieves even looked like! He'd set off in the direction the elf had pointed out to him anyways, figuring that if there was anything he truly needed to know, his employer would have told him. That's how it worked, right?

At the very least, the footprints looked human. So that was probably a good thing, right? That meant no bears, or trolls. He didn't like bears and trolls one bit. Then again, he figured a bear might not be stealing things, but who knew?

Dispelling the mental image of a bear with a mouth full of treasure, he looks forward on down the path. The trees were growing thicker, the path narrow. He couldn't take his horse in that far... He'd have to leave it. He slid off of his mount's back, taking some rope and tying it up to a particularly thick looking tree trunk. Securing his sword on his back, he headed further into the muddy thicket.

He felt relief when he heard the voices carrying through the trees, as he was rather clumsy when it came to tracking, and the shifting of the prints hadn't tipped him off to what it should have. Instead, he was utterly shocked by what he saw in the clearing through the thin layer of brush. These were the thieves? They were women... beautiful women to boot. They all laid upon the shore in little to no clothing, and the admittedly simple minded man found his thoughts becoming lost in the curves and swells on display for his eyes to feast on. His feet carried him forward, mind craving a closer look. He didn't notice the root sticking from the ground until he'd tripped on it, sending him falling from his cover and into the clearing with a thud.

Chaeme
 
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The group was unsuspecting. Mostly. Hearing a rustling in the underbrush, the closer dryad had turned toward the sound with a furrowed brow when the man emerged. She gasped and stumbled back with a strangled scream, then promptly fell as well. As soon as she could manage to get her feet under her, she bolted towards the others.

Startled by the commotion, the other three finally noticed and let out a chorus of shrill screams of their own. The nymphs clung to each other and the second dryad ran to a nearby tree. The nymphs squealed in their native tongue and elvish before one finally called out in his human language.

"Human no hurt us!" Even in fear, the nymph's voice was heavily accented. She clung to her sister while the dryads hid behind trees.
 
Gunner knew he'd screwed it all up before he'd even pulled himself from the soil, screams ringing out through the clearing as the thieves scattered and hid wherever possible from the strange man that had just stumbled onto their little soiree. He groaned, pulling himself up just in time to see one reaching a tree as they others calling to him in broken common.

He hadn't been expecting that creatures like these could be the thieves that had been so troublesome for his employer, but lo and behold, several empty bottles littered the shoreline they'd been basking on. He dusts his hands off on his armor, averting his eyes from the women with a nervous look. He'd been expecting bandits of the typical variety, not naked women. What's worse, these didn't look like ordinary women. Valentine wasn't the brightest lad, but he had an idea of what that might mean..

It didn't matter, he supposed. They already saw him, and he had a job to do. He reaches back and draws his sword, digging it's point down into the ground to indicate he had no intent to use it as of yet. He points at the bottles and responds to the Nymphs, his eyes doing their best to remain at eye level. "You stole it. Is there any left or have you drank it all?"

Chaeme
 
There was a renewed cacophony of squeals as he withdrew his sword. Whether or not he held it at rest with no intent of immediately using it, steel was steel. The nymphs clung to each other. The dryads shrank behind their respective trees.

When he asked if there was any left, the women all looked in unison toward the last bottle. In their fright it had been knocked over and the last of its contents stained the mossy bank. The nymphs were quiet for a moment before erupting into cries again.

"We are sorry we take wine!" the nymph called back in broken common. "The elf have so much -- we only take some! We only take the arms full of berries! No hurt us for taking! We make agreement!"
 
A long, drawn-out string of swears leave Gunner's bearded face when his attention is directed to the spilt bottle discarded as a result of his own clumsiness. This always seemed to happen! He felt like a goddamned idiot, tripping over his own feet at the sight of some bare flesh. What was he going to tell the guy who hired him? How was he going to eat next week?

The swirling doubts that came with such questions, the visage of the disapproving looks on the faces of his parents as he'd failed them time and time again sprung up into his mind. No. He wasn't stupid, he could do this. So what if the wine was gone? These creatures were pleading with him, offering him a deal! He could figure something out.

Putting on a brave face and stepping forward, he puffed out his chest and raised his blade to rest over his shoulder, he calls to the female beauties. "What can you offer me...Nymphs?" He finished as if asking them what was offered, but he was just as much asking if that's what they were? He really should have paid attention in class...

Chaeme
 
"We, uhhh…"

There was a long pause as the nymph watched him before the other, still clinging to the first, peeped in question. She answered in faerie, and another silence extended. Then, breaking the quiet, one of the dryads reached into the tree before her and withdrew a pale pink cube. She cocked her arm and chucked it toward the man. It bounced harmlessly on the bank beside a discarded bottle.

The group erupted. The nymphs and the dryad who had thrown the block bolted, scrambling for the forest in a garbled slew of voices, both faerie and common. The other dryad shrieked in fear and ran as if to follow, but only made it a few steps before stopping abruptly.

"Take exile! You keep her, give to elf!" the common-speaking nymph called back as she ran. They moved swiftly, unhindered by the thick underbrush as they made their escape.

The remaining dryad whirled around to look at the block, then the man. A trio of scars striped her face, distinguishing her from her beautiful peers. Her eyes -- the same amaranth as the wooden cube -- were as wide as a deer's, and she trembled much like that creature as well. It was all she could manage to pry her gaze from the hunter to look nervously down at the cube again.

It was closer to him than her. If she made a break for it, she had a chance of grabbing it before he did. She could scarcely breath, couldn't move.
 
Gunner would have taken anything; He didn't have it in him to try and take a swing at creatures like this. It was honestly a mix of their beauty and the sense that they hadn't done nearly enough wrong to warrant death. Hell... he'd stolen his fair share of ale as a teenager. Why should these forest dwellers be treated any differently than he was?

He held his tongue from any more words as they tossed the odd pink object at him, not really noticing it until the soft sound of it colliding with the bank drew his eyes downwards. Shit, had they been saying something? He'd been off in his own mind and missed whatever it was they'd been muttering. Something about an exile? Without really thinking, he stepped forward and leaned over to take the cube in his gloved hand.

It wasn't until he looked back up that he noticed the last dryad, staring at him with eyes as wide as the moon. No, she wasn't looking at him... she was looking at the cube that had been tossed at him. Those girls had mentioned exile, hadn't they? Was this girl... were they offering her in return for their freedom?

He supposed he'd already let them get away, a low groan threatening to leave his throat at his own incompetence. "Well, there goes my reward..." He looks from the remaining Dryad to the cube in his hand. "Are you... did they exile you?" Did she even understand him? If so... well, what was he supposed to do? He couldn't lead her back to that elf to let her be imprisoned, could he? He raises the cube up. "What is this?"

Chaeme
 
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Chaeme was frozen in place. No amount of will could make her move forward to take the heartwood sitting before him. Mortal men were no good. Especially ones with swords. She had never seen them before being exiled, and the sight of him filled her with an overwhelming fear.

Yet it was more than that which prevented her from taking back her autonomy. The nymph had given it to him. As he picked it up, she felt a shiver run through her. It was done. She had a new master.

The dryad didn’t understand a word he said. Far removed from mortal tongues, she had not yet learned the language he spoke in her years of exile. But he raised her heartwood and there was the universal sound of a question in his tone. Her lip trembled before she bit down on it and retreated several steps back. She could feel the invisible leash between herself and the dusky pink wooden cube as if it were a tangible thing. There was not much further she could distance herself.

Not knowing what he said, she pointed to the cube.

“It is yours,” she told him in faerie. The words were formed out of clipped syllables and a lilting emphasis that trembled with her voice.
 
Gunner was far more curious than he was angry. He'd likely be short on funding for a few days, but this strange wooden cube fascinated him more than it had any right to. He doubted it had any real value, but it was curious. A bittersweet prize, but the dark-haired fellow supposed it would have to do. It would at least make an interesting conversation starter; the time he found the beautiful maidens of the wood, and they left him with an odd block of wood as they fled.

His free hand raised up to stroke the stubble on his chin in thought. There was still this girl. He was really starting to think she couldn't understand him. Okay, so maybe that made sense, but it didn't explain why she wasn't running from him. Looking back down at her with an expression of bemusement, he could tell she wanted to; her eyes continuously flitted from his face to the blade on his back.

"Oh, are you worried about the sw--"

He paused, cursing his own thick-headedness. She couldn't understand him! He couldn't get it through his head, could he? Gunner brings his hands together, rubbing the gloved palms together as he tried to figure out some way of convincing this strange, yet captivating woman that he meant her no harm. Finally clapping his hands in revelation, he reaches back and unsheathes his cheap, yet reliable blade, dropping it onto the ground and stepping back with his hands raised.

Now, a smarter man would probably think twice about letting an obviously terrified person have a chance to swipe a weapon up and attack, but Gunner just didn't like being looked at like he was some monster. Hell, the blade was shoddy anyways. He had a much better one on his horse, but he'd been so gung ho that he'd pulled his backup instead.

Maybe he could just leave like this?

He took a few more steps back, clutching the wooden cube tightly. If him being unarmed stopped her from fearing for her life, he could stand to be without the backup, and he could come back for it later. "There's no need to fear!" He said with a grin. Gunner knew she couldn't understand him, but he'd always wanted to use that line.

Chaeme
 
Of course he didn't understand her. She felt like sitting down and sobbing, grieving the life she was surely going to lose when he realized what exactly he held in his hands. She felt the weight of her regrets and sorrows anew. Being passed between fae like a cheap vase had been fine. Horrible, but fine. To a mortal? A human?? It took every scrap of willpower she had to remain standing in front of him.

He started to say something, and she understood as much of it as what he must have understood from her statement: nothing. He looked conflicted for a moment before reaching for his sword.

Chaeme gasped and staggered back until her shoulder hit a tree. Tears flooded her eyes and she couldn't breathe past the lump in her throat. This was it! Her life was over!

Except he put the sword down and backed away. Chaeme clung to the tree behind her and watched him hold out his hands and smile. Confused and frightened, she looked between him and the blade, still not understanding the words but gathering enough from his gesture. He wasn't going to use it.

But there was nowhere for her to go. She couldn't run away like the others and she was still afraid of what happened when she took her eyes off him. The dryad felt her way around the tree, clung to it like a child to her mother's leg, and watched him, still wary. The invisible tether between herself and the heartwood cube tightened, at its very end.

 
This was getting them nowhere. The more he tried to communicate with this girl, the more frightened and terrified she seemed to become. He felt bad for her, incredibly so, but if she was so certain that Gunner wanted to kill her, then there wasn't much he could do for her, was there? He ran a hand through the mop of hair on his head, looking around the dense forest that surrounded them both. She was from here, right? She'd be okay if he left her here, wouldn't she? He couldn't think of anything else to do...

So with a final, defeated shrug, the young man turned on his heel to walk out of the clearing and see what this little bauble could fetch him in a trinket shop. Before he could even reach the line of trees that he'd stumbled from, something seemed to tug on the arm holding the wooden cube, pulling him into a stumble back towards the green-skinned woman. "What the--" He was barely able to catch himself, and as he looked up, he saw that Chaeme had also been pulled away from the tree.

"Is this... are you?" It was making a little more sense now, why she was cowering, why she seemed so upset when he'd been given the cube. That word they used... "Exile."

Wait were they giving him a woman?

That's awesome! Well, no he supposed it was actually quite sad. He wasn't much of a fan of the idea of taking a woman from her home against her will. What choice did he have though? If she was an exile, they didn't want her here. He'd leave her to be alone forever? Plus, the wooden cube thingy seemed to act like some sort of leash. He couldn't take it without her.

He bit his lip, weighing his options.

Minutes later he was trudging his way across the forest floor, grunting as he dragged the panicking dryad along with him. He'd tried to calm her down, but it was clear she wasn't going anywhere without a fight. Maybe he'd come back later and grab that old stump she'd been clinging to, if that made it easier on her. It was getting late though, and he'd need the tools to do it. For now, she'd have to come along. Even now she clung to a chunk of that tree that she'd clawed off as he pulled her away from it.

They were nearing the forest's edge, the moonlight beginning to peek through the treetops.

"Oh, would you calm down?"

Chaeme
 
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The invisible leash between her and her heartwood was still tangible. It pulled her forward, unforgiving and undeniable. Chaeme stumbled closer to relieve the pressure. Her new human captor looked confused, and she stood in the open wide-eyed and shaking like a newborn fawn. He spoke his strange language. One part she thought she had heard him say a few times -- one the nymph had said, too. It rolled strangely off of his tongue but the familiarity did not make it any easier to comprehend the foreign sounds. There was a question in his voice that she couldn't answer.

When he began walking, she kept to the very end of the leash. Every few steps the cube tugged back in his hands, and he would haul her forward. She was not exactly complacent and stopped periodically to stubbornly hang onto a tree to mourn her life. In the end, she followed.

As soon as she realized where they were going, however, any traces of composure and acceptance had fully dissolved. Chaeme clung to a tree and refused to budge. Her pale green arms and hands were scraped from the bark to trunks she desperately held like they might offer her sanctuary, but none opened for her. Her eyes burned and her lungs ached from crying.

She yearned for the safety of her grove. She wanted to feel the embrace of her tree. She wished that he had never passed under her boughs, that he had never smiled at her.

"Please! Please don't take me there!" she wailed in faerie. It didn't matter anymore that he couldn't understand her. "Don't take me to the elf! I didn't do it!"

 
The closer they got back to civilization, the harder his new 'companion' resisted him. It was frustrating but even more than that it was starting to get depressing. Gunner wanted his money, but he wasn't exactly taking joy in making this poor thing wail and moan as though he were killing her.

Every time she would pull back, her throat ripping with more foreign pleas, his expression would momentarily soften in sympathy. The overgrown path was hard enough to navigate with this extra weight. Eventually, he had to come to a stop, lest he hurt her with his pulling and tugging.

It was already dark, the moon now began to creep through the treetops, bathing them both in pale illumination. Under any other circumstances, Gunner would be marveling at her beauty, the way her pale skin glowed in the soft light of the moon. It would feel dirty to be admiring her as the glimmering tears streaked down her cheeks, though. Just... not right.

He couldn't take her into town like this, everybody would get the wrong idea! He looks quickly between her and the cube in his hand, before walking back to Chaeme and kneeling in front of her. If he couldn't talk to her with words...

He brings his hands up to his ears, extending his fingers to imitate the ears of an elf before shaking his head vehemently. then, he pockets the cube, puts his hands together, and places them under his head to imitate a pillow before pointing at the moon. "I'm not taking you to the elf. I just need to sleep." Oh hell, who was he kidding? She probably wouldn't feel much better.

He bites his tongue, deciding they could take the long route out of the forest. They were already near the edge, and he doubted his horse would miss him too much. He leads her off in a direction away from the smoke of civilization looming in the distance. Camp it was, then..."

Chaeme
 
The dryad backed away when he turned and walked toward her. It was not the response she had expected, and yet it was exactly what she had pleaded for. He stopped their progress to come talk to her. Her shoulder hit a tree and she finally stopped backing up, her body half-turned away from him as if she could bolt at any moment. The stranger stopped. He knelt in front of her.

And began gesturing as he spoke. Ears? Did he mean the dryads? Or the elf? No what? She tentatively glanced up at the moon, uncertain. She gathered he meant he needed sleep, at the very least.

Chaeme sniffled, her great amaranth eyes gleaming with tears in the moonlight as she glanced past him in the direction of the elf’s estate. Her dusky green complexion was flushed and her eyes were red and puffy from too much crying. She wiped the trail of salt and water from one of her cheeks and nodded.

She didn’t understand him much at all, but his eyes did not seem cruel. They were soft, green as oak leaves in late summer. He had a scar on his face, like hers yet not. Was he an exile among his people, too?

Chaeme looked away first. He stood and led them down a different path. She looked the way he had abandoned, looked at the moon. Was he… Was he saying he wasn’t taking her to the elf? She stopped crying, watching him curiously as they walked. The dryad no longer resisted his lead, following after with silent steps.

 
He had no way of telling if his little charades act had been effective at first. While he'd been flailing around like a nincompoop, she backed up against a tree and covered the way she'd been doing ever since the two of them had met. He hated, loathed that something of such beauty showed so much fear of him. He certainly didn't think himself worthy of terror. Hell, the only bounties he'd really ever successfully collected had been on small-time bandits and unruly little beasts eating crops.

Indeed, for all his efforts he'd really turned out to be a lousy hero once he'd left home. He was strong, could ride a horse with the best of them, and even looked somewhat dashing in the right light. It seemed that nothing he had been able to do with his life lead to any kind of success or happiness, however. This task seemed to be heading in that same direction. Lowering his hands as she looks away, he sighs. At the very least, she wasn't crying anymore. He rose up again, silently cursing himself at another failure, and unable to bear watching the beautiful olive-skinned creature cry and plead any longer. If she followed, she followed. If not, maybe he'd just drop the wooden chunk and go collect the empty bottles, see if he could get a few coins from the Elf for his trouble. He doubted it.

The path he took, thick with overgrowth and running along the edge of the forest, eventually would lead them both out. It startled him a bit when he felt no resistance and turned around to see his unwilling companion actually following him without so much as a peep. For what seemed the first time all night, Gunner felt a soft smile creep across his face as he looked back at her. It was as though she was not of this world, the way her skin seemed to glow in the light of the moon overhead, even though it was unusually pale. The scar she bore across her face brought memories back of his own, sported similarly on the opposite side of his visage. He would raise his hand, trailing the pads of his fingers along that old scar softly. Neither of them knew it, but they were alike in their isolation, their exodus from their own worlds.

Finally, they would emerge from the trees, a soft patch of grassy land nestled in the corner of a much greater expanse of tamed plain. In the distance, they could still see the smoke of civilization rising up into the sky, but they were far from in danger of being spotted. Gunner held up a hand to her, motioning for her to stop here, before raising the hand to his mouth and letting out a piercing whistle. At first, it seemed to be meaningless, but after about a minute the sound of hooves would be heard thundering towards the pair of them. A beautiful chocolate brown stallion neighed happily as it bounded to its owner, stowed on its back all they'd need to make camp.

Chaeme
 
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She wasn't sure how long they had gone before he stopped and whirled around to look at her. Chaeme froze and stared back like a startled doe on the verge of flight. She watched him with wide, curious dry eyes. She mirrored his gesture, touching her own scarred cheek. She felt a strange sense of camaraderie and wondered if he felt it, too, or if this was a ruse. Was he trying to say something again? She blinked and studied him harder.

The strange moment ended and he continued to lead the way. She lingered for a moment more, wondering what was happening to her and what confusion her future awaited her. Before her heartwood ventured to the end of its leash, she followed obediently once more. The pace was leisurely for her, unburdened by the thick underbrush that parted for her and whose branches brushed lovingly against her legs.

The path eventually gave up the forest for a sweeping meadow that fell away from the foot of the forest. The dryad hung at the eaves with one of her hands curled over her heart and the other resting against the cool, rought safety of a tree trunk.

Not a meadow. Plains. And not campfire smoke in the distance. Civilization. Her pink eyes were wide with awe and a little fear. She had never been this far out of the faewilds before. She had never been this far away from home. She had only heard of realms with no trees in stories. How far had she travelled now?

The man whistled and she startled. The dryad had no idea, because there weren't any birds out at night. Chaeme remained pinned awkwardly at the edge of the forest looking around in the silence that followed until she heard the distant thundering of hooves. Only then did she panic.

This was it! The awful betrayal she had suspected! Any moment the elf would appear to demand satisfaction and she would be blamed for the crimes of others. This was where her tragic story had its tragic end. Chaeme shrank back and pressed herself against the back of the furthest tree, several paces inside the forest once more.

She had seen plenty of horses before. Her beloved had oft traveled on one. His family had ridden them when they’d come to take her life away. She had been first given to a fae merchant who had ridden a fine horse. She had long since decided nothing good rode on their backs.

Except when the terrible beast appeared, it walked past her to its master. This was quite obviously just his horse. Her panic was for naught. She slouched against the tree, physically and emotionally exhausted.

Several moments later she sheepishly ventured out once more. She stepped to the edge of the forest, still afraid to walk beyond the trees. Her pale green arms were wrapped tightly around herself in a white-knuckled embrace of self-comfort as she looked anxiously at the horse and its rider, then at the plains and its billowing grasses.
 
Gunner was utterly exhausted, and even beyond that he was hungry. There wasn't much food left though; he had to hold onto the hope that he would have enough to sustain himself before his next payday came through. This little green girl sure wasn't going to pocket him any coin, and he doubted that snooty old elf would be willing to offer him any more jobs after this. It seemed that he would need to eat light for a few weeks, at least.

In his exhausted state, he'd stopped paying too much attention to the dramatically frightened woman. Gunner knew she couldn't go far, not as long as he had the wooden cube, and he'd at least managed to coax her out into a place where he could set up camp. No, he looked instead towards his beautiful stallion as it trotted up to him, lowering it's head so that Gunner could stroke it's mane slowly. "Good boy... That's a good boy..." He muttered under his breath to the horse. Taking care of horses was the only real talent Gunner had, aside from his strength. His horse had been his one and only companion ever since he had left his home.

After a moment, Gunner backs away and walks around to reach up and retrieve the supplies he'd stowed away on the saddle. Cloth and wire for a makeshift tent, his bag of food and clothes, a sleeping mat, and some extra materials to build a fire. It was everything they'd need for the night, and Gunner went about setting up a small tent, his scarred face twisting into a yawn as he looked back briefly at his companion, seeing her warily stepping away from her place of hiding amongst the forest edge. It made him crack a small smirk, at least.

Before long he had the shelter set up, and his sleeping mat spread out underneath it. There was only room for one, but his new friend wasn't keen on getting too close to him anyways. Shouldn't be a problem, he figured. Tugging his pack over beside the tent and flipping it open, he retrieves a few large crackers from a small sleeve. Wasn't much of a dinner, but it would keep his stomach from aching. He raises one to his mouth and takes a large bite, eyeing Chaeme again. She would have to eat eventually, wouldn't she? What did Dryads even eat? He didn't have the faintest clue...

Cautiously, he waves her closer. If she'd sit with him, maybe he could find something to keep her fed, or at least give her some water. All that screaming, she had to be parched..."

Chaeme
 
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Chaeme hung close to the trees as he built a camp. This, at least, she was more familiar with. Not that she offered to help. She watched the horse and man, never quite sure which she should be more concerned about. The horse frightened her, but it was just eating grass and milling around near the camp. Her new master appeared to be growing sleepy, yawning as he worked to set up his shelter.

By the time he had finished, Chaeme had settled enough to sit in the grass. She wasn’t relaxed, still ready to spring up at any given moment, but she also wasn’t cowering behind the trees.

She had been watching when he turned to look for her. There was no misunderstanding his gesture, as it was common across all languages and cultures. She rose and approached slowly, eyeing both him and the horse as she drew closer. She triangulated herself as best as she could between them and stood awkwardly. Chaeme’s eyes finally settled on the man, questioning and wary. Again, he did not look frightening. He looked young in spite of his scarred face and his road-worn attire.

Very slowly, she stepped closer. She sat down well out of his reach and bent her legs to curl her arms around them. The night was chilly, but she was not cold. She was, after all, a tree that thrived in the wintry months.
 
Well... she'd sat down at least. They were getting somewhere, slowly. Gunner could only imagine how she must have felt, being pulled from her home by some strange man who she couldn't understand. If he were in her place, Gunner figured he'd be handling it about the same way... Even so, now that things were settled and her wailing had died down it was becoming increasingly difficult to ignore the state she was in. Her beauty had caught his eyes the moment he'd seen her, but the circumstances had caused his mind to be elsewhere.

Now though, he had to fight to keep his eyes from wandering where they shouldn't. They didn't bother with clothes, did they? Gunner could see everything, and she wasn't exactly trying to hide herself. How long had it been since he'd seen a woman? Gods, he couldn't even remember. No, he needed to keep this decent. He'd never forgive himself if he went about being a creepy hooligan on a poor soul in her predicament. Rising to his feet, he scooped up his bag and dug out some old clothes that he rarely wore anymore; a simple green shirt and brown cloth pants, nothing special. Folding them up, Gunner tosses them lightly to the woman, nodding down to them with a smile before turning and lowering to his knees to work on the fire.

Tonight, they would eat, and get some sleep. Tomorrow they faced the daunting task of re-entering society, something Valentine was fairly certain was going to be one hell of an ordeal. What on earth was he supposed to do, cover her mouth up? He was certain she'd panic, and then they'd all think he was kidnapping her or something. His teeth ground in mild frustration as his calloused hands worked to light the fire, at last getting a spark big enough to engulf the paltry offering of wood aflame. "There we are!" He shouted with a grin.

Quickly scrambling back to his pack and retrieving several pieces of wrapped meat and some bread, he stuck one of the large chunks on a stick and held it over the blaze, holding out a chunk of bread with his other hand in offering to her. Food always put Valentine right to sleep, and sleep was what he needed after a day like this.

Chaeme
 
She kept an eye on the man as he moved. She didn’t budge. In fact, when Chaeme sat completely still, she didn’t even seem to breathe. Flyaways swayed in her dark hair and her eyes tracked his movements, but she was entirely motionless.

He stood and went to his bags, abandoning his meal. Her eyes tracked his movement and her head slowly turned to observe him easier. She didn’t squeal when he tossed them her direction, but she did gasp and recoil away from them. They landed within reach of her with a soft hiss as the folded garments settled in the grass. Wide, uncertain eyes moved quickly between the cloth and the man, now nodding and smiling at her. Then he went to start a fire, leaving her with the clothing.

Chaeme could only imagine two things he might want of her with them. Waiting until she was sure he wasn’t looking at her, she very slowly picked them up. He appeared preoccupied with his task of starting the fire, putting her more at ease.

The clothes were in what she assumed to be fair condition. There were no holes or tears -- things that even a dryad could recognize as damage. Which left her with only one conclusion: he intended for her to wear these strange new things.

Dressing proved much easier in theory than in practice. Or, more aptly, her lack thereof. She struggled with the sleeves of the shirt, lost inside the loose body of the garment, and then floundered a little as she attempted to pull it down over her head. Chaeme was breathless when she finally slipped the collar over her head. One more article to go. She fiddled with getting her slim green legs into the pants, which at first seemed much easier than the shirt. Except she couldn’t tell what was front or back. Guessing, she ended up with them on just in time for him to announce his success with the fire.

Fire. Chaeme frowned at it and definitely didn’t move any closer. She was not going to risk getting burnt or (just as bad) getting too dry. When he offered something to her, she looked up to him, then at the item, then back at him again. It looked like food. Did he want her to eat it? She obediently reached across the gap to accept it and, turning it over in the firelight, determined that it was some kind of bread.

"Ä a'badïfo nabïd," she said quietly. Thank you. When not wailing, Chaeme’s voice was as soft as a sigh of wind through evergreen beams, in a huskier timbre than the voices of the nymphs by the stream.

She braved a small bite and the bread crumbled in her mouth. It was dry and tasted like ash. Was this what mortal food tasted like? It was no wonder they didn’t live long. The dryad made a face as she chewed, but swallowed it anyway. She looked up at him again, seeing if that had satisfied him or if she was expected to eat the whole thing.
 
No matter how hard Gunner tried, it was quickly becoming apparent that he just wasn't going to understand Chaeme without a great deal of effort. If he were to spend any more time tonight trying to convince her that she was safe, that he had no intention of anything bad for her, he wouldn't get any sleep. Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd ride with her out to the next village over, away from that Elf. If he could get her to settle down in a place with people without acting like she had leaving the forest, he was sure she'd be fine.

It made him wonder though, as he took a bite of the lightly salted hunk of meat he'd seared over the fire, why exactly he was thinking of her in such a permanent sense? Sure she was with him right now, but why should he assume they'd be among one another for much longer? Assuming he figured out how that wooden cube worked, or sold it, their time together would be short.

On the other hand, some part of the messy-haired man did find the Dryad to be endearing. A nightmare at first, yes, but now she looked so peaceful, so beautiful... No, he'd been alone for too long, and his head was playing tricks on him. Certainly, he couldn't keep her around as company. That wouldn't be right, would it? Gunner leaned back on the ground with a groan of frustration. What had he done, pulling her out of the woods like that? He couldn't take care of a dryad! He could barely take care of himself!

"Ä a'badïfo nabïd,"

Gunner snapped out of his inner turmoil at the sound of a voice. One he had definitely never heard before. It carried through his ears like a beautiful melody, wavy and tempting to every sense. His head snapped back to the Dryad, dressed in the clothes he'd provided and nibbling quietly on the bread while sitting a good distance away from the fire. It was her!

"You talked!" The obvious words spilled from him before he could stop the exclamation. She'd spoken before, but they were broken wails of fear. This was the first time he could actually make out what she said, even if he didn't know the language. Leaning forward, a wide grin splits his face. "I know! How about this..." Taking one hand, he thrust his thumb at his own chest. "Gunner!" He introduced himself. The awkward silence that follows is only broken when the young man breaks into laughter at the absurdity of the situation and falls back onto his bedroll.

Tomorrow. Tomorrow he'd figure things out. Now though, he was just so tired...

Chaeme
 
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He seemed surprised to hear her speak, even though she’d been begging him all day. She supposed it was a little different than her shrieking pleas. Even if she was still frightened of him and had no idea where they were going, it was hard to be truly afraid of a young man that was so... so silly. She smiled thinly at his exclamation, mimicking his wide grin ever so slightly.

Speaking his own language, he said a string of words, pointing to himself, and Chaeme waited, trying to interpret what he was trying to say to her. When she stared at him in confusion, he abandoned the task with laughter and laid down.

A very strange man. Chaeme quietly took another bite of his dry, tasteless mortal food and watched him cautiously. He appeared to be going to sleep. Chewing idly, she kept her eyes on him until his breathing grew long and even before allowing her gaze to wander.

There were so many stars here. She had been to many places since leaving her glade, but never one where she could see so many stars. They swirled overhead in ancient patterns, scrolling across the vast dome of the sky like billions of birds migrating away.

After a very long time, Chaeme laid down and curled up to sleep. She dreamed of the stars in her glade... and the smiling face of a girl who had been brighter than all of them combined.


Chaeme slept sparingly and rose with nature. She felt the earth warming and heard the birds beginning to sing as she drifted gently away from her dreams and back into reality. She sat up and, looking around, saw the man still sleeping and his terrible beast still grazing nearby. The sun was a faint glow on the horizon and her limbs moved stiffly.

Waiting for the sun and the man to rise, she turned her feet toward the horizon to await whatever this first day of her new life would bring.
 
Valentine's sleep was the opposite of his Dryad friends. Somehow he'd slept more peacefully than he had in months, the dreams of failure and ridicule that haunted him so relentlessly every time he slipped from the conscious world had given him a sweet morsel of relief, and Gunner hadn't realized it until his eyes slowly opened to the sun beating down on his skin, devoid of the usual heaviness that filled them when he dragged himself from slumber.

Was it a result of just how exhausting the previous night had been? Perhaps it was the company laying across from him, another spirit close by offering a companionship that he so rarely enjoyed, even with the communication barrier present. There was no way to be certain, but no matter what it was it gave Gunner an extra spring as he climbed off of the bed mat and stumbled forward with a stretch and a yawn. "Mmh... Morning!" He called over to Chaeme, knowing full well she wouldn't understand him. Ah, didn't matter, they'd have to figure out some other way to speak to one another.

There seemed to have been a light drizzle of rain during the night, and the fire pit Valentine had constructed was thoroughly ruined. So much for a hot breakfast, not like he had any more food on him in the first place. Plus, he had two mouths to feed now! He sure hoped there was something about this strange dryad woman that would help him complete more bounties, or he was going to end up thinner than her!

Scooping up his belt to wrap it around his waist and pulling his gloves on, Gunner flashes a smile to her as she follows his lead and rises from her sleep, the clothing he'd given her having slid off of her to a degree in the night. When the morning sun bathes her bare flesh for the brief moment before it all falls back into place, Gunner finds himself sputtering and looking away. It had been somewhat muted in the dusk yesterday, but... damnation was she beautiful. "Busy day ahead of us. First thing's first, we need to get you some real clothes." He begins after clearing his throat. Whether she understood or not, it felt nice to talk to somebody. "We're gonna attract the wrong kind of attention with you like that."

He set about packing up his belongings into his pack, but he chose to leave the tent; Chaeme was going to be riding with him, and there wouldn't be any room for it on his horse, he could come back tonight if they didn't go too far. Ballacea was more than eager to get a move on once she felt Gunner climb on, but he offered some gentle pats to her neck and looked back to Chaeme, gesturing her closer and patting the rear of the horse before holding out his hand.

It was a bit bumpy getting her to trust him and the horse enough to climb on, but once she did, they were off. Ballacea galloping like thunder across the grass, they reached a dirt path in short order, headed to the small trading village east of the forest. With what little money he had left, they should be able to get some clothes and something to eat, at least until they find his next job. Maybe there would be somebody who could tell him more about the woman riding behind him.

Chaeme
 
Her companion awakened as well, color in his cheeks and looking… chipper? A feeling they both shared in the mornings, it would appear. Sunlight warmed her skin and sank into her limbs with soothing warmth. She felt the most invigorated in the dawn light.

She nervously mimicked his smile, even if the expression never reached the flat expression in her eyes. She stood when he stood, but did not speak when he spoke. She silently watched him from a safe distance as he packed up his camp, allowing the sun to dry her damp hair and clothes.

Getting her on the horse, however, took a while. The man got on it, and that was fine. But then he held out a hand and began to beckon her. Chaeme dug in her feet.

"Ü'un!" she called to him in her native tongue. No! "Ä klotọ'ret no'o! Bïl klusï ka äsh!" I do not want to! You can't make me! She pointed an accusational finger at his beast. "She aba iren!" It is evil!

None of it fell on understanding ears, and the more she stood there the more the hot tears of frustration mingled with a shortness of breath born in her fear of the animal. Chaeme felt a whole range of emotions: anger and indignation, pride and fear, grief and bitterness.

Eventually she edged closer. A slow process of a single step followed by a fearful look at the horse. Bit by bit, she finally reached the man, and then began the equally long process of staring at his hand, taking it, and then finally making her way up behind him.

When it was all said and done, all her pride and fear no longer mattered. The terrified dryad wrapped her long arms around the man’s waist and was plastered to his back, trembling and crying softly as she clung to him for dear life.
 
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