Private Tales Reunion of Wayward Winds

[Weylin Kyrel]

The job to make that orc wizard leave his home, or dungeon as some called it, hadn't ended well for Weylin. He found the mage at the end of the tunnel dead slumped over a table. Scrolls and paper beneath him. A quill in his hand. The ink in the pot was dry. The dead orc had no coins to pay what he owed the local town for staying there. The whole affair was pointless, and it had impacted his payment. The mayor only paid him enough to pay back the woman at the portal stone what he owed for the cloths and food. He yet again was lacking coin to take the stone back home.

But the woman knew of another job that would take him back to where he had come from. A caravan heading from Elbion to Bhathairk by way of the roads. A fool's run it was called for the dangers it posed, but they would be stopping many places along the way. If he would act as a scout and help with loading the wagons at the towns then they would take him with them. He also would be paid. It involved being around a lot of people. He didn't like that part, but it seemed he didn't have to interact with the large groups. So he agreed.

A letter was sent through the portal by the woman free of charge to inform Zeri Rekani of what was taking place. Thankfully she also wrote it for him as well. One day he needed to learn letters truly. So many uses for the skills of reading and writing had come up while around the large towns and cities of the arid Western grasslands and sands. Maybe the orcess could teach him when they were together once more?

=====================================

The caravan life was strange yet exciting for Weylin. He would run ahead of the wagons and inform them if any trees or boulders were in the way. Only once had it happened, but he had the tree removed by the time the wagons arrived. It was a shock to them that anyone would move a tree like that by themself. Wasn't it is job too?

Occasionally bandits would try to set up ambushes, but they were hardly experts at hiding. Compared to the orcs, goblins, and other beings back home who would ambush and raid others, these most human bandits were novices at the craft. So he would alert the caravan and the guards would run them off.

The whole trip was smooth in this way all the way to a city known as Oban. It frightened Weylin to his core. He wanted to avoid going in and rejoin the caravan outside of it, but that was not possible. This was the last major stop before Bhathairk and it was here they would cross the strait into the Taagi Baara Steppes. So he hide in a wagon full of goods to "protect it from thieves." He did not exit the wagon except to relieve himself until they were across the water and back onto the open road.

======================================

So far the trip had taken several weeks and they were over half way across the steppe to Bhathairk. They had stayed within a one to two days of a trip from the coast and followed it all the way to this bay that penetrated north up into the grasslands. They had rounded the tip and gotten themselves a couple days away from it when something happened.

Weylin was out scouting as usual. The open land bothered him, but that was not the course of his bad feelings. Something was telling him they needed to speed up their pace. He had no proof as to why outside of how he felt. So he returned back to the wagons and the next scout went out. They never returned that night when they should have. The scouts and guards were roused and gathered. They were about to head out to search for the missing member when shouts came from the wagons at the end of the caravan.

The hunter was one of the first to rush to the scene. Raiders had ambushed them on their horses. Blood had already been spilled and a wagon was set on fire. Screaming came from raider and caravan member alike. But one was filled with violence and glee while the other dread and terror. He notched his bow and began shooting at the hoofed butchers.

How long this went one for was unknown. All he knew was he was doing his best to defend the caravan and let people escape further into it. Then a sharp back struck the back of his head and everything went black. When he came to he was stripped down to just his pants and tied up so he couldn't move. He was slung across the back of a horse like a sack of grains. Wagons were being pulled in front of them. The people around him were not what he had expected. Some of them were men on horseback while others had the bodies of a horse yet the torso, arms, and head of a human where the horse's neck and head should have been.

=========================================

It was nearly a week late, but the caravan from Elbion finally arrived at Bhathairk. The people in it looked exhausted and hungry, but joy filled their eyes. Word had spread to them of the state that the great orc fortress city was in. The trip had almost killed them, but they had goods of all kinds that surely the rebuilding orcs wanted and could use. Goods that would make them a hefty profit.

Zeri would find that Weylin was missing from the caravan. When it had been attacked weeks ago by raiders, they had left nearly a quarter of their wagons and people behind as bait and escaped. The hunter was one of those they had abandoned to their fate, and none of them felt any regret for what they had done.

 

[Zeri Rekani]

BHATHAIRK​

Zeri stood by the mighty gates of Bhathairk, still being rebuilt and the effort going well. Behind her the great reconstruction of the city itself was underway too. The dead had been buried, the mourning had been done, and it was time for every tribesorc and tribesfolk of Bhathairk--Zeri included--to move on into the new dawn that they, the living, were all so blessed to see. And to that end, the Council of Elders had been working tirelessly. They were in constant communication with other cities, other nations, securing the monumental amount of raw supplies that would be required in the grand effort to rebuild a devastated city anew. A veritable army of merchants, both those who were of Bhathairk's tribe and those who saw opportunity and had come to the city, aided in this endeavor as well. Trade ships and caravans were arriving almost everyday, from places both near and far.

Many caravans. But this one, the one Zeri was waiting for, was special. Weylin Kyrel was supposed to be with it, having returned from a little Portal Stone mishap that had sent him elsewhere in the world. The letter noted what Zeri had surmised: that Weylin had had significant difficulty in simply using the Stone to return. Portal Stone Keys were aplenty...if you knew a mage from whom to buy them and had the coin. Sometimes things that were convenient in general were not so convenient for oneself specifically--for any number of reasons. Lack of a Key aside, he had found a way to return to Bhathairk after the mishap. And that was all that mattered. Zeri wasn't worried. Gosh, of course not. The caravan had made it here safe and sound.

She watched as the wagons and the pack animals and the entourage of caravan hands, merchants, laborers, and hired guards proceeded. Weary, of course, they'd come across the entire Steppe after all. And the Steppe was huge!

She kept looking, flicking her eyes from one wagon to the next. Occasionally greeting and waving to the people who initiated such greeting and waving with her. Normally she'd be doing so with everyone--just like she used to do before Neha's Rise. But today was different. Today Weylin would return and, maybe after a night's rest or so, then, at last, she would step forth from her home and into the world, taking her first steps on a journey that was truly her own.

But this was not exactly how it went.

The caravan came to its end, the last wagon entering through the gates. And Zeri stood there, stunned, even as one of the orcish guards who'd gotten to know her called out her name in concern.

Weylin wasn't with the caravan.

* * * * *​

It did not take long to ask about and find out why. Find out what had happened. Many caravans across Arethil made it to their destinations without so much as a hitch, yes, but there were most certainly some which did suffer attack, from bandits or raiders or monsters or any number of terrible things. And Weylin's caravan had been of this latter kind.

Though it hurt to hear, absolutely hurt to hear, Zeri kept her calm and did not judge the caravanners for what they did--for what they had to do. She wasn't there. She didn't know. She had been safe and comfortable here in Bhathairk, hundreds of miles away, when it had happened. It was a stark reminder that the world which awaited her was not all wonders and awe.

But she wasn't worried. Gosh, of course not. This was Weylin she was talking about. More than anything, he was a survivor. He lived in the rugged mountains of the Spine and had been through worse. Of course he was okay. Of course he was. All she had to do and was go out, backtrack the caravan's trail, and find him. And she would find him, and he would be alright. Of this she had firmly convinced herself and left no room for pessimism. The despair she had felt in the tragedies of Neha's Rise and the Black Tree was an awful coldness, icy skeletal fingers that had gripped her heart, and she never wanted to feel such a way again.

Zeri prepared to set out for the remainder of the day.

Though she was eager to go forth as her sister had, eager in fact to find her sister on this very journey she was embarking upon, she did not depart Bhathairk immediately after the tragedy of the Black Tree. She had stayed behind, helping in every and any way that she could with the reconstruction efforts--a sort of penance for what had happened with Urgish and the ambush at the Tree and her involvement with it all. A spiritual matter as well, to at least witness the beginnings of Bhathairk being reborn before she left for a great long while. A practical matter too, it needed to be said, for she desperately needed to re-equip herself with all of the necessary gear for traveling. No sooner than the day of the caravan's arrival did she complete her pack, having scraped together all of the basics that she would need.

And that pack when she donned it the following morning was a familiar, and welcome, weight upon her back.

Pa was with her outside of the communal hospice that was their temporary housing. He was crying, she was crying, but these were tears of pride for a daughter grown up and of joy for the start of a life always dreamed of. He held her after a long, long hug at arm's length. Gazed at her with all the love in the world.

And said, "May the Spirits guide your journey..."

She picked up where he faltered. "...and my safe return."

They embraced for a while longer, touched by the light of the arisen sun.

* * * * *

THE STEPPE​

The great sea of rolling grassland that was the Taagi Baara Steppes.

The farthest Zeri had ever been out this way, out west, was to the Bystra Portal Stone. But the attack on the caravan reportedly happened much farther west. Out into land that Zeri had never before seen with her eyes. And this was it, what she had been wanting ever since the great tales of old first graced her ears, ever since that night up on the Bhathairk ramparts where she and Paola talked about dreaming far and roaming farther. Oh gosh, oh spirits! It wasn't...it hadn't really dawned on her until she was past the Bystra Stone. So far past it that she could no longer see it.

She was out in the world. Set on her own adventure.

Great herds of beasts both familiar and unknown, both near enough to make out their shapes and distant enough to be but stark specks against the ocean of green, were sights among the vastness of the Steppe, where the eye could see as far as it pleased. Sometimes the land came out level, sometimes it became rough and undulating like a wave of water frozen and transmogrified into dirt and grass. Sometimes there were mountains to a horizon and sometimes there was naught but the flat emptiness that spanned into a ceaseless expanse. Zeri followed the well-worn path upon which the caravan had come, and towns were very few and far between, situated close to watering holes or the small streams and narrow rivers which came down from those sparse and occasional mountains. These towns all had a very similar look: as if they could packed up within a day, transported, and set up elsewhere, as if the towns had the very character of the nomads themselves who came to visit and trade.

Thus far she had made it without incident.

But, at a Steppe town simply called Arrow's End, some of the visiting nomads had seen her walking in. Alone. The rough horse-riding men, content only to speak with her long enough to give her a cordial and brief warning, said that she ought to be beware. Ahead on her current path was centaur territory. Going alone, and going without a horse, was to leave one's fate in the hands of a capricious god.

Zeri, a bit shaken, nevertheless thanked them.

And despite what efforts she had against it in Bhathairk, a touch of worry gripped her chest.

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

Weylin​

The weeks spent with these horse people weren't kind to the hunter. All of his precious belongings were stripped from him. The female raider who had knocked him out by striking him across the back of his head with the shaft of her spear had it all. His parents' rings. His father's sword. His bow and arrows. She was proudly prancing around her village with her new prizes. She knew little about how to properly use the sword (not that he knew much more than her), but she had taken to his bow like it had always been in her hand.

And as for Weylin, he was her prized slave. A collar made of bone and leather with strange scribbles had been strapped to his neck. It marked him as a slave and declared who his owner was. Seemed he was the first slave his young owner had claimed for herself.

At least he thought he must be. The language they spoke was different than the common tongue and the old speak. He couldn't understand any of what was being said between these horse people. All he knew was the commands and insults being thrown his way in the common. But she had no other slaves and often seemed to stand up for herself (and a little him by proxy) when someone made motions that seemed to suggest buying Weylin from her.

That wasn't the only things he had learned about her. She was very proud and very lazy. Every task she could make him do and every task she didn't want to do were his. So while she was showing off his things that she had stolen from him, he was having to carry around sacks, baskets, or urns around filled with whatever goods she purchased or was transporting. If he seemed slow, she beat him with her spear shaft. If he seemed to not be paying attention to her, she beat him with her spear shaft.

Why did she care so much if he was paying attention to her? That seemed to annoy her the most.

======================================

Steppes- Zeri
​

A cloth wrapped figure stumbled into Arrow's End. They swayed from side to side with each step. No direction. No purpose. All they could do was march forward uncertain with their balance.

Eventually they bumped into Zeri and crumbled to the ground. It was a woman. Her face both reddened by the sun yet paled from dehydration. Her breath haggard. She wouldn't make it if she did not get help soon.

Zeri Rekani

 

[Zeri Rekani]

ARROW'S END​

Zeri wasn't having the best of luck in procuring word of the attack on Weylin's caravan. She knew through simple deduction that it happened some distance further west than Arrow's End of course, but that didn't help. There was a lot of land further west, and apparently plenty of different centaur tribes. No one really knew which tribe was responsible, and furthermore, since the attack had happened so long ago, none of the Steppe people here remembered much of anything about it or the caravan itself once it had passed through town. Sure, a good number of them remembered that it did, in fact, pass through town, that there was indeed a caravan in rough shape, but anything else? No, not a lot to offer. Some people genuinely just didn't know or couldn't remember, some people implied that coin would help them remember, but of those latter offers Zeri was dubious--even if she had the coin to pay those folks.

At least these were the people who were willing to talk to her. Some of the Steppe nomads were wary or just openly contemptuous of her. Of orcs in general. This came as a quiet and thoroughly unpleasant shock. Zeri, having lived in Bhathairk all her life, never encountered any degree of vitriol simply on account of her being an orc. Not like this, where it was open, up front, and direct.

The sun was dipping down from its noon apex when Zeri, walking among the sea of tents and yurts, had a little encounter.

Someone bumped into her. Or she bumped into them, it was so fast and surprising that Zeri didn't really know. But the person just collapsed to the ground, as if it weren't Zeri they had run into but a mighty tree. And Zeri, upon seeing the person's--the woman's--face, could see why.

"Oh my gosh! I'm sorry! Are you okay?" Zeri said, taking a knee beside the woman and swinging her pack around so that she could rummage through it. She produced her waterskin, recently filled with the cool water of the lake to Arrow's End northeastern edge, and offered it to the woman. "Here. Have a drink. You look parched."

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

Weylin​

They were back in her yurt. The hunter was exhausted. She had made him carry sacks full of grains all day from a captured wagon to one yurt to the next all day. It had been her job to move it. He couldn't understand the orders when they were given to her, but he did understand the movements and motions. She wasn't part of the raid so her part was to do manual labor.

But she didn't. Instead she commanded him to and when he asked if she was going to help he got beat with her spear shaft. At each tent while he was placing the sack where it needed to go she stood there talking and showing off his precious possessions like a kid showing everyone a shiny stone they found in the river. It got a frown out of him every time and every time she would notice and beat him for it.

After the day of hard labor and beatings, he still wasn't done. No. Now it was time for him to heat up some water for her to bath with while he cooked. Time for more boiled grains and beans with some meat mixed in.

What did she do while he was so busy? She just laid there and watched.

"Why didn't they bring me along this time?"

After all that watching while he was in the middle of stirring the pot she had spoken to him. Great.

"Answer me. Why didn't they bring me along this time?"

A sigh escaped him. "Because you aren't ready."

She shot up back onto her hooves. An angry huff left her lips. "Not ready?! I beat and claimed you!"

"I'm a hunter not a warrior. Not impressive while I was fighting others and you hit me from behind."

He knew what she was about to do before she even moved to do it. He slide back away from the fire and then just covered his head as she grabbed her spear and began to beat him with the shaft as hard as she could.

Curses bellowed out of her mouth. She was furious with him and was determined to make sure he knew it.

All the while the pot continued to cook and the water continued to be brought to a boil.

=========================================

Arrow's End
​

The woman couldn't speak her reply. She could barely move to accept the offer of water. A shaky, weak hand took the skin. Slowly it was moved to her lips. She began to tip it slowly and drink it just slow. Trails of the cool liquid moved from each side of her mouth as her lips were too tired to fully close around it. But the movement of her neck showed she was getting some of it down.

When she was finished however she couldn't offer it back. Instead it just slide from her grip, slipping what she couldn't drink over her clothes. Her eyes fluttered for a moment and then stayed closed. She was unresponsive yet still somehow alive.

A passerby had noticed the situation and yelled they were getting the local healer.

Zeri Rekani

 

[Zeri Rekani]

"It'll be alright," Zeri said, briefly giving a half-turn of her head as she heard one of the nomad passersby shouting their intent to fetch a healer. "Help is coming. You'll be okay."

Zeri picked up the fallen waterskin and replaced it into her pack. She stayed by the woman's side, still afflicted with a light tremor of worry despite what should be an imminent arrival of help. Maybe it was more than dehydration. Maybe it was exhaustion. Exhaustion from having to flee from the captivity of a centaur tribe. That was the story as told by the caravan when it arrived in Bhathairk, and the nomads around Arrow's End did confirm that tenuous relationship, the "on again off again" hostilities between some notable centaur tribes and non-centaurs all over the Steppe.

So what if Weylin hadn't escaped, wasn't doing fine, as she had thought? What if he was in the same place this woman, possibly, had come from?

What if he had been captured?

Zeri shuddered. She didn't want to think beyond that, to fates worse than capture. She wouldn't allow herself.

And then of course, the question: if he hadn't escaped, if he was captured, how could she possibly get him out? Especially all by herself? Terrible to think about, but it was exactly as that one nomad had said: trying it would be like leaving her fate in the hands of a capricious god.

But...one thing at a time. One thing. Work forward from there.

And right, this woman needed some help. At least someone to be by her side until that help could arrive. So Zeri held her hand, stayed kneeling beside her, and waited.

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

Arrow's End​

The water seemed to help, but the woman was still unresponsive to most actions. She just laid there red and pale breathing in a ruggedly light way. Everything about her was slow. Rising and falling of her chest with each breath. Idle movement of a limb or twitch of a muscle. The rolled up paper falling out of her hand and tumbling between the orcess' legs.

Help had arrived as quickly as could be expected. The person brought was an older man dressed in colorful clothes and accessories of bone, copper, and gold all over. Tattoos depicting animals and natural scenes covered his aging body.

"Here is the woman." The local said as they approached. Their attention turned to Zeri. "I brought our shaman."

No words spoken the shaman just began to examine the woman over. A soft tap of her cheeks were made. Then words in the local tongue were finally spoken as the shaman pointed toward two passing by men. They had a confused look on their face at first, but after the shaman waved them over they did so in a rush.

The men lifted the woman up. As they did this the shaman turned to Zeri. A smile was offered and then the man bowed his head to her for a moment. All too soon the older shaman was guiding the men with the women where they needed to take her.

Spoiler: Content of Paper

Havari caravan crew enslaved by Sri'aht tribe. Send help.

 

[Zeri Rekani]

The short message written on the paper had sent chills of dread down Zeri's spine.

Enslaved? Oh no. Oh no, no, no. First she had tried to simply reason her way out of this, denying it, trying to convince herself that it was Weylin and he wouldn't have been caught or he would've gotten away somehow, and that just because she didn't know how did not therefore mean that he hadn't. But surely she would have run into him. Surely she would have seen him as she had been backtracking the caravan's trail.

The likely truth started to settle in as the sun began its downward descent: if Weylin was not dead (and this she steadfastly refused to believe) then he had been taken as a slave by this centaur tribe.

So the problem she originally had only got worse. Now she didn't just need to cross centaur territory. Gosh, she needed to free Weylin and the other slaves, which meant either fighting or trying to do so quietly. And with the Steppes as they were? The vast open expanse of land, where even the night offered little by way of concealment? "Quietly" wasn't much of an option at all.

But what was Zeri good at? Talking. And that's what she did. She went about Arrow's End, asking about the Sri'aht tribe and making her earnest pleas for any kind of help in the matter. She made no progress at first, and encountered more of that open contempt and some bouts of outright mockery. Oh, the little orc needs our help, huh? What's the matter, not strong enough? With time and persistence though, Zeri eventually did find some nomads who had stories to share about the Sri'aht, grievances that they wanted to pay back. There was a enough of a simmering undercurrent of vengeance against the centaurs for a fair number of the nomads to be rallied, and for them to in turn rally more. Zeri might have been the spark, but they were the fire.

She was reminded of doing the same with her fellow tribesorcs--rallying them against the Black Tree and the Meadow. And she had shivered once she'd made the connection in her mind. But this time it was for a good cause. And it would not end in tragedy.

A throng of nomads approached the elders of Arrow's End, with Zeri going with them. Her plea was not part of their discussion at all--they'd a mind for their vengeance and for the spoils of war. The elders were reluctant at first, but they assented. A battle against the Sri'aht would come. To this end, a plan was formed. One to perhaps even the odds, or perhaps turn them in their favor over the Sri'aht. For the elders knew that other centaur tribes had their own grievances against the Sri'aht, and this could be exploited--for outright allies to join with them, or for these rival centaurs to be provoked and to do battle with and weaken the Sri'aht before the nomads launched their own attack. Plans were made among the most strategic minds of the nomads. And Zeri could only watch, listen, and hope.

Upon the following day, the warband from Arrow's End departed. Zeri rode with one of the nomads, an old warrior who had no misgivings about orcs and who had been initially sympathetic to her plight.

It would be days while the strategy of contacting or exploiting the other centaur tribes was played out.

When the march into the Sri'aht lands finally began, Zeri clung to that initial assurance she had held. That, by the time she and the warband got there, Weylin would be alright.

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

Weylin​

The hunter was awoken by the sound of thrashing. Instinctively his hands went for knife and hatchet that weren't there. His owner was having a bad dream. The sun had yet to rise, but he could hear movement outside the yurt. No opportunity for an escape yet again.

Slowly, quietly he got himself off the pile of straw that was his bed. Moldy. Dusty. Flat. Animals wouldn't rest on it, but she refused to get new straw or proper bedding for him. No need to waste resources on a slave.

That word made him want to spit and growl every time he heard it now. He had seen the treatment of other slaves in the camp. It was not pleasant but it was not this bad. What was wrong with this female centaur?

Weylin looked at his arms. Bruised still after his comment a few days back. She hadn't beat him since then. A small miracle. News of a new raid on a different caravan had begun to spread. She was giddy and distracted by it. Put her into a perpetual good mood. She wouldn't be invited to it. He was sure of it. But she thought otherwise.

He shook the negative thoughts out of his head. Not good to dwell. It clouded his judgement and kept him from noticing the small things. He would need to do both every day if he planned to take back his heirlooms and freedom. For now he needed to get his owner's morning meal ready and try to cool his bruises with some cold morning water.

=============================================

The female centaur pranced along chatting on and on about the new raid towards the archery range. The hunter carried her quiver as he followed silently. His bow was held in her hand as if it was her own. She had been this level of energy and cheer all morning. Not even while they ate did she shut up. She just spoke as she chewed. It was getting frustrated.

But as they came to the range she suddenly did the impossible and stopped speaking. Then she galloped off towards an older centaur who was watching the shooters.

"Khur!" She said as she came up to him. Her arms were thrown around his neck and a kiss on his cheek.

The older centaur smiled at the actions. "Urri. How long since you last drew your bow?"

"Not long. Only a few days." Urri said with a smile. "Is it true there will be a raid?"

"I see word has spread. Yes. A caravan is coming. We will be claiming what we need from it." Khur responded.

The younger female began to step up and down in place giddily as she squealed a bit. "I can't wait to go on another raid!"

Khur frowned a bit in silence. "You won't be coming."

Urri froze in place. She scowled at the older male. "Why not?!"

"You aren't ready so you will stay here." Khur said flatly in an authoritative tone.

"Yes I am! I got this bow and claimed my slave in that last one!" Urri said in a loud voice.

Those practicing their shooting all slowed down a bit. An ear on each head was turned to listen in on the conversation behind them.

Khur motioned towards Weylin. "Can you shoot as well as your slave?"

"What does that matter?" Urri snapped back.

"Can you?" Khur asked again with extra firmness.

Urri seemed to be about to say something but stopped. It was clear she was racking her brain for an excuse to get around his question.

The older male sighed. "As I thought. When a slave is more capable than their owner only misfortune will follow. You will be staying here for this raid. Practice every day and show improvement if you wish to join the next one."

Urri's feelings at this didn't need to be stated. It was clear upon her face. But she didn't yell or throw a fit. Details that didn't go unnoticed by the older male.

"We will be leaving tomorrow. There will be extra work while we are gone. Make sure you do some of it yourself and not just make your slave do it all. You will break him if you don't and there will be no replacing him for some time." Khur said to her with a smile.

The younger female nodded. He turned his attention back to the shooters. She took her quiver and then her place in line.

Zeri Rekani

 

[Zeri Rekani]

Dawn.

The night was peeling back across the sky as a low brightness, orange and pink and blue, alighted in those early hours. Long shadows were cast by the warband, the coalition of the nomads from Arrow's End and convinced centaurs from two smaller, rival tribes of the Sri'aht. They had been riding and trotting all through the night and now they were on course to bear down on the Sri'aht encampment before the sun could peek over the sloping horizon.

Zeri had been tired while the warband had ridden in the darkness. She had dozed off several times, her cheek resting against the leather jerkin of the old warrior's back, arms either fallen limp at her sides or limp around his waist. He had not woken her when she had slipped into sleep, and, on the approach now, he did not need to. She was wide awake.

"What is the name of your father?" he asked her in the gloom.

"Th-Thandriel," she said, her nervous stutter coming back as she could feel the heavy anticipation of battle.

"He is the one who waits for you in Bhathairk. It is your mother who has died. That is right?"

Zeri nodded her head, not particularly aware that since she was riding behind him that he couldn't see it. During the journey about the Steppe in preparation, she had told him many stories of her life, and he had listened with a keen ear. "Yes. Y-yes, that's right."

The general speed of the warband was beginning to pick up. The horses and the centaurs transitioning slowly from trots into full gallops as the encampment was coming into view.

The old warrior spoke as if he had seen the future, such was his firm certainty. "You will see your friend rescued, and your father will be proud of you. You will not join your mother today. That is for another time. A time far from now, long after you have blessed her with many grandchildren, as she had with her mother."

Zeri's face went as red as freshly picked beets, and she stammered out, "R-Right." Then, with a little more self-assurance. "Right!"

"Good," said the old warrior. "If I fall, my horse is yours."

"I--" Zeri was about to say thank you, but somehow that didn't sound quite right. Instead she stopped herself and switched to, "B-Be careful."

The old warrior glanced back. "All is well, girl. I have already blessed my father with many grandchildren, and they have likewise blessed me. Should my time come, I am more than ready."

Zeri gulped. Her eyes big and worried. "Okay."

He just smiled, and then the galloping began in earnest. The assault was in motion.

* * * * *​

They rode upon the Sri-aht with a great fury and with the fire of vengeance and with the desire for plunder, fierce cries of war echoing up into the dawn air as their common foes had become certain of their presence, and through a hail of arrows was the battle joined. Through the camp did the assaulters ride and circling about the periphery did the assaulters ride and it was such that after the initial exchange of arrows did anything resembling a front for the battle did dissolve and, indeed, the fighting was general and widespread throughout the whole of the encampment, with neither side clearly knowing the full measure of their opponents, of which side had more warriors in the fight or if the tide had turned or if the tide was in such a process of turning, for the battle was fought in skirmishes of great speed and ferocity, lancers passing by one another and archers loosing their deadly payloads and none slowing down save only if they had fallen from their horses and, from all of this, chaos reigned supreme throughout.

And it was that while the battle was still well underway did the old warrior and Zeri fall from their horse. The old warrior had been victim to several loosed arrows finding deep homes in his chest, his light armor not enough to stop the powerful shots of the Sri'aht bows. The old warrior jerked back, falling onto Zeri and Zeri, with a loud yelp that was drowned among the cries of war and screams of horses and pounding of hooves, falling then to the ground amidst a whirlwind of dust that had all been kicked up from the enormity of the battle. The old warrior's horse disappeared somewhere in that obscuring haze.

Zeri, armed with only her shortbow, her quiver on her hip--all of her non-essential supplies kept in her pack back in Arrow's End--stood and glanced about feverishly, wildly, her disorientation extreme after the many passes the old warrior had taken through the encampment and after the spinning fall she and his body had endured. He lay there on the ground. She had no time to say goodbye, nor would he want her to if he could speak to her now as a newly passed spirit.

"WEYLIN!" Zeri cried out. Glancing here. Glancing there. Swirling dust. The flapping of a yurt's torn felt wall. A nomad rider charging past her and narrowly missing her and skewering a Sri'aht centaur through his chest with a lance before riding off.

"WEYLIIIIIIN!" She tried again.

Her hand, quivering from harshly burning adrenaline, found an arrow from her quiver and she nocked it in her shortbow and she went to a nearby yurt. Pressed her back against the felt wall and dropped down to one knee. She drew her bowstring back and kept glancing to her left, her right, worried sick that a Sri'aht centaur might come charging at her any second.

Oh spirits, spirits, spirits! How was she going to find Weylin in all of this? How?? They had--oh gosh, think--they had to keep the slaves somewhere, right? Maybe? Right?

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

The warriors had left. Another caravan to raid. Death to bring to some. Enslavement to others. Their hard earned goods stolen.

The female centaur was in a bad mood. She had been since they left the day before. It would be a couple of days before they returned. And Weylin knew she would take it all out on him. His words had been true and she resented him for it. Her own failings coming to haunt her.

Dawn had arrived and as usual she was still sleeping. That left all the morning chores to the hunter yet again. So he picked up his urn for getting water and headed out the yurt. As always instead of looking at a wall of leather and down trodden grass, his eyes went to look at the open sky. The only thing that reminded him of home. Slowly the sparse clouds floated by. Blue was mixed with the orange of the rising sun. Brown trails drifting off in the distance....

Weylin dropped the urn. A nearby centaur flicked an ear annoyed at the wasteful action of a slave, but soon enough they caught the look in his eyes and followed his gaze towards the sky. Their eyes took on the same expression as his: dread.

As the hunter quickly dipped into the yurt yelling already began around the camp. Calls of alarm were being made more and more. A general air of confusion and fear developed. Commands in the horse people's language was going out. He knew not what was being said. All he knew was now was a chance to escape.

But as his eyes settled on the female, he frowned deeply to him. She beat him every day and overworked him in her laziness. But he didn't particularly wish death on her. All he wanted was the last reminders of his parents back.

So he moved over to her and began shaking her to wake her up. An easy task thanks to the noise. She came awake and began to ask what was happening in that broken, incoherent way of those not fully awake.

"A raid. Wake or die." Weylin said to her before he moved away.

"A raid?" She said as she got to her hooves. "A raid!"

Her eyes darted around for her weapons. He packed away food and supplies into a pack as she did. A huff erupted from her when she noticed. "Trying to escape?!"

"With you, yes." Weylin responded not stopping what he was doing.

"You want to run away?!" Her face looked truly shocked and disgusted. "Coward! This is my chance to prove myself when uncle returns from his raid! Get me all my weapons!"

Weylin sighed. She was a fool. He knew how attacks like this turned out. He was the sole survivor of one. He didn't have the luck to survive twice. But he wasn't going to argue. He quickly grabbed his bow and her spear. Both were handed over to her. She looked at him and he knew why. But he didn't respond.

"My sword too."

"No." Weylin said flatly.

"Fine. I'll get it." She said with a huff before grabbing his father's sword and disrespectfully slinging it over her shoulder and head.

Then the two heard it. Not far from the yurt was someone yelling. They were yelling Weylin. This made him freeze up. He knew that voice. It was Zeri. She was here. She was here?! Without thinking he already had rushed out of the yurt to look for her. So had his owner.

The orcess was simple to spot. Not far away pressed up against the empty yurt of one of the young raiders was Zeri, bow in hand. Urri saw her and the look that was in Weylin's eyes. She huffed and drew his bow. An arrow flew towards the orcess but pierced through the leather above her head instead of hitting her. Instead of notching a second, she let out a loud battle cry and began to charge forward with her spear leveled at her intended target.

Weylin's mind went blank. His legs just began to move as he gave chase to stop a horrific event. But he didn't know what he would do, could do. No weapon was in hand, not even a rock. All he had was his hands, his feet, and his teeth. But he had to stop her even if it meant sinking his teeth into her.

He needed to stop her.

He needed to save Zeri.

He would sink his teeth into her....

Sink his teeth into her....

Sink his teeth....

=================================================

As the female centaur charged forward and was nearly at her target, a large shape rushed past her. It tackled the orcess, causing the tip of her spear to miss. She quickly spun herself around as she slowed down. Her eyes darted to see what had happened. At what had ruined her first glorious kill defending her home.

Standing over the orcess was a dog larger than anything she had before. Thick coat of dark brown fur and hazel eyes that glared back at her. A deep, aggressive growl directed her way. An unnatural intelligence was about it and a thirst for her blood. It sent a shiver down her spine.

What was this thing?

===================================================

After the arrow was shot and the battlecry yelled with the charge, if Zeri had looked towards her enemy she would be met with a different scene. A frantic Weylin chased after a young female centaur. In front of Zeri's eyes she would see that same hunter who had protected her from a troll when first they met and helped her save her dad from the ice wall go through a terrible transformation.

In the span of a second his entire body physically twisted from that of a man into that of a massive dog. His clothes and accessories made of cloth, leather, and bone seeming to be absorbed into his form and replaced by bare fur. A wince of pain more intense than the one she had seen when he had broken his ribs crossed his human face before being replaced by that of a canine.

And once it was done this dog that had replaced Weylin suddenly rushed forward to tackle her out of the way of the charge. He stood over her like she had no doubt seen a sheep dog do with a lamb and was growling at the predatory threatening its charge.

Zeri Rekani

 

[Zeri Rekani]

A gasp--all Zeri could manage through her accelerated breathing and hypervigilance in the moment--as the arrow sailed just over her head and penetrated the felt of the yurt to her back. And, with the sight of the charging centaur, her worst fear about this assault was ripping its way out of her nightmares and into reality: that she would be forced into a kill or be killed situation. Here was the dissolution of the clean tales of glory that Zeri so adored, muted and removed as they were to the bloody, dirty, sickening realities of battle. Here, she knew, was the crossing of a line from which she could never return, no matter the context.

Stop.

She lifted her bow up. Aimed. Her face full of fright.

Please stop!

This was not hunting. This was not even trying to slay a Risen back in Bhathairk.

This was war. Oh great spirits...this was war.

Her fingers slipped loose of the bowstring right as something tackled her. Her arrow went sailing high up into the sky, her aim thrown off by the tackle in just the right moment. And she was down on the ground, propping herself up onto her side with her free hand.

And there was a dog...a BIG dog...standing over her. Protectively.

Through her shock, her mind began to register everything. What her eyes had nonetheless seen while she had tunnel-visioned onto the charging centaur. There had been somebody behind the female centaur. Somebody who was not another centaur and who was not dressed as one of the Arrow's End nomads. Somebody...she knew. That somebody who had then transformed into this dog. It all came together. Impossible. Utterly impossible, her realization of what she had seen, but she had seen it. She had. Faintly and out of focus, but she had. But it just couldn't be true...could it?

"...Weylin?" Zeri said. Breathless. The quiet of her voice easy to be lost in the fierce clamor of the battle being waged all around the encampment.

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

Paws planted firmly into the grassy soil. The protector growled. Idly thoughts rushed about thick with emotion. Frightened, unsure of what had and was happening. Angry, the thief also wanted to take Zeri from him. Confusion, he knew not what was going on or why it was happening. Anxiety, his friend was in danger but there was so little he could do.

All of it stopped for a moment when he heard his name. Weylin. A hazel eye looked down to the orcess as the growling stopped. What looked down at her was not an animal but a man in animal skin.

"Sorceress!" The female centaur yelled from not far enough away.

The dog's face snapped back to being on the threat and the deep growl returned. Paws pressed even more into the ground ready to take action at any moment.

The thoughts returned. The human ones. But they were muted. More animallistic ones began to grow. Bite her. Growl to scare her away. Protect the orcess. Protect the orcess. Protect the orcess.....

========================

Urri was furious. This orc sorceress had used her foul magics to summon some kind of hell beast to protect her. She was sure to release it to hunt and devour the other members of her tribe if she failed. So she couldn't fail. Not here. Not now. She needed to kill that magic using bitch to stop her evil plans.

She took a nervous step to one side and then back. A pair of rings around her neck swung and jiggled as they touched along the way. They would be very familiar to Zeri. They were the ones that belonged to Weylin's parents. And the hilt of the sword he always carried with him stuck up from behind her back. Even the bow in her hand would be intimately familiar to the orcess as she had used it herself before. The only item seeming to belong to the female centaur was her spear, dented from obvious use in beating someone, and the clothes covering her torso.

"Face me sorceress! I will beat you like the bitch you are!" Urri yelled at Zeri. A small bit of pride rose up in her. Part of it that she was standing up to this sorceress and part of it for calling her a female dog in this situation.

Zeri Rekani

 

[Zeri Rekani]

The battle continued around them, throughout the whole of the Sri'aht encampment. Yet here was their tiny pocket in the thick of it. Zeri's, Weylin's, and Urri's.

Zeri was still in a moment of shock. She had no idea that Weylin was a...a...shapeshifter. Did Weylin have any idea that he was a shapeshifter? She knew that he was not a normal human, that he was of a kind known as the "Old Folk," and despite her incessant feasting on whatever knowledge of the vast lands and varieties of people all across Arethil that she could get her hands on or lend her ear to, well, she would've been a little embarrassed to say that she didn't know all too much of the Old Folk. Could they all do this? Or did this gift of magic fall on Weylin uniquely? She'd have so many questions for him later.

But here and now, they were a long way from such a later, a long way from any measure of peace at all. Both of them were caught right in the middle of the whirlwind of battle, and they had a foe staring them down.

Face me sorceress! I will beat you like the bitch you are!

Zeri's expression flashed indignant for a moment, just a moment, before she hardened up. Still she was nervous and queasy about the prospect of killing, not all that different from the very first time her Pa had taken her out hunting to earn her right arm's tattoo, but...oh gosh...sh-she had to be strong! Like the warriors in all of those grand tales and songs. Like Weylin himself--his very presence inspiring confidence in her. She had to be strong because they couldn't just leave, no. This centaur had taken some of Weylin's cherished keepsakes: those rings, that bow, that sword. Maybe this was even the very centaur that had come to claim Weylin as her slave.

Zeri pushed herself back to her feet. Pulled another arrow from her quiver.

"Those don't belong to you." She'd know what Zeri was talking about.

The arrow. Nocked to her shortbow.

"Give them back!"

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

The female centaur just made an amused snorting sound when the orcess declared something didn't belong to her and to give them back. A bit of a twisted smile mixed with a bit of anger and a lot of disdain crossed her lips. She dug her spear into the ground and got Weylin's bow into her hand once more. Then she also notched an arrow.

"What doesn't belong to me witch bitch? Everything is mine. I earned it by knocking out that human with my spear. Not my fault his back was turned. He should have been looking at me. Kept making that mistake after as well. A slave is suppose to keep their eyes on their master. Even more so when she is a beautiful warrior." Urri said to Zeri with an air of superiority. Then she looked the orcess up and down a bit. "Though I guess only one of us here could be called beautiful or a warrior."

Then without warning she drew and loosed her arrow at Zeri.

==========================================

The two were speaking and both ready to shoot an arrow at one another at any moment. He didn't know what he could do. Growling wasn't working. They ignored him. But he couldn't stop himself from growling and biting at the air with a bit of a bark every so often. Something tugged at his very core making him do it. Something he was having trouble controlling.

But then an arrow was sent flying towards the orcess and with it so to did he fly forward. He rushed towards the female centaur as swiftly as possible. The only thought allowed in his mind was to bite and bite and bite until she fled or was dead.

Zeri Rekani

 

[Zeri Rekani]

Zeri should have figured that it would not have been so easy. Even with the battle going on around them, some of it visible through the drifting dust and arrangement of yurts and most of it not, it was difficult to tell who was winning. So really, the female centaur could probably hold out hope for some unexpected reinforcements to turn the tide. Or, perhaps it was that she was just confident (or overconfident), seeking glory among her tribe.

What she definitely was, though, was mean.

Zeri barely had time to spare a thought about how, yes, this was the centaur who had enslaved Weylin, how the centaur kept calling her names (and thought she had magic?), or how she had felt personally denigrated by the centaur's allegation that she was not a warrior.

The centaur had her bow drawn before Zeri could even think to draw hers.

She yelped. Dived to one side. Felt what loose strands of hardy grass clung to life on the well-worn paths of camp tickling her arms, legs, chin. And then soon after came the white hot pain, radiating out from her left arm. Zeri's face twisted into a heavy, fearful grimace as she looked. Blood was running down her left arm, and she could see the trench of missing flesh where Urri's arrow had grazed deeply and carved it away. A shuddering gasp escaped her throat. Her grip on the shortbow turned from stone to water, and she worried that she wouldn't be able to wield the bow properly.

Weylin had charged, and Zeri snapped her gaze over to look, concern mounting.

Then her vision exploded into a burst of crackling white as the shin of a nomad's horse inadvertently clipped the back of her head as it went galloping past, having emerged from the swirling dust and it and the lance-carrying nomad upon it disappearing back into obscuration. Laying on her side as she was, her shoulder and forehead struck the ground, one of her legs flailing up into the air as her body spun with the force of the accidental kick.

Zeri, dazed, muttered some nonsensical things. Blinked rapidly. Then flopped over onto her stomach with the sole goal of trying to rise not quite to her feet but up to one knee. A crouched firing position. It was all she could think about, everything near literally having been knocked out of her mind.

Slowly.

She was up to one knee.

The numbing effect of the blow to the back of her head helped, but did not fully suppress the fiery stinging in her arm. She bit her lip. Lifted her bow up. Nocked the arrow once more.

And, heavily dazed with a wobbling head and eyes struggling to focus, she drew back on the bowstring and started to center her aim on what she thought was the female centaur.

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

Urri was delighted to see how her arrow cut the orcish witch bitch. Already she was reaching for her next arrow to take the next shot before her victim was off the ground. The smack to the back of the orcess' head would have brought more glee for the female centaur, but a couple things stopped it. The first was the one who had done it was a nomad, so one of the invaders. The second was she finally noticed how the beast was rushing her down and nearly upon her.

The female centaur dropped her bow and grabbed her spear. She fumbled with it a bit. Barely she managed to get it into position to block the first bite. A normal hound might latch on and attempt to pull it out of her hands, which would give her a chance to grab her back up axe and kill it. But this thing didn't fight her for it. Instead it let go and lunged for her legs.

She was forced to back up to avoid fangs sinking into her flesh. She swung the butt of the spear to smack the side of the thing's head, but it dodged by backing up. This frustrated her. But what frustrated her more was that she noticed that orcish witch bitch was getting to her knee. She couldn't have that, but she also couldn't charge forward. The beast was blocking her. If she attempted a charge then it would just bite her leg. A wound like that could cause her to topple and be at the mercy of the witch bitch and her foul beast.

A frown formed from her lips. What was she to do?

The beast began to leap forward attempting to bite her legs, only to jump back when she swung her spear shaft in defense. It was too close for her to do more than defend. And it would not stop trying!

A shine caught her eye. The bitch had an arrow notched and was drawing back as she aimed. What was Urri to do?!

Zeri Rekani

 

[Zeri Rekani]

Zeri blinked. Once, twice, both forcefully, and this followed by a strained furrowing of her brow as she made her beleaguered eyes focus. The minor blur brought on from the horse's kick dissipated, the twinned images of the centaur fusing back into one. Still the percussive throbbing was present on the back of her head, and her arm burned with an intensity that brought tears to the edges of her eyes, but she had to be strong. Weylin was fighting, she needed to help, and she couldn't miss--or worse, accidentally shoot him. The immediacy of the moment tossed to the wayside all of her troubling thoughts and trembling fears about the quandaries of violence. There was only the now, this moment, and the dire necessity of it.

Weylin was going for the centaur's legs. So Zeri went a little higher, aiming for the centaur's humanoid torso.

And, to the great relief of her arm, Zeri let go of the bowstring.

Her arrow was loosed at Urri.

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

The beast began to snarl and growl and bark louder and more often after Urri had looked towards the orcess sorceress. Clearly it was trying to distract her and it was right. If she looked away it would try to bite her. One slip in focus and it would cripple and kill her.

The familiar thwang of a bow string softly touched her ears. She had only a moment to glance over and see something shine in the dawn light before a severe pain erupted from her shoulder.

The orcess' arrow had got clean into her shoulder and was now sticking out the back. Her arm went slack and limp. She was permanently crippled as her tendon and nerves were severed.

Urri cried out in pain. As she did the beast lunged forth and tore at her leg. The jerking and pulling knocked her off her hooves and onto her side on the ground. The tendon and nerves for that leg suffered a similar fate as her arm.

"You beast fucking whore witch!"

That was all she could get out between cries of pain. Wildly she thrashed the spear around with her good arm trying to injure the beast that now had backed off just out of her reach. It stood there growling, taunting her weakness.

Zeri Rekani

 

[Zeri Rekani]

Here again. This feeling. Like when she had faced down the trapped Monster Bat, or stood up to the frightening and gargantuan image of the ugly kobold mage. It was the courage of the Spirit of Fire burning hot in her chest, through her veins, invigorating her body. The pain in her arm had vanished with it, the very awareness of it smothered under thundering adrenaline and that very--as her Ma might say--orcish rush of battle. Gone were her prior fears and misgivings, and only what was in the here and now remained.

Zeri pulled another arrow from her quiver. Nocked it and drew back the bowstring and approached as Weylin's fangs dug into the female centaur's legs. Weylin drew back in deft canine fashion, avoiding the flailing of the spear, and they stood side-by-side facing the heavily wounded centaur down.

She disregarded the centaur's foul words.

"Drop the spear," Zeri said, her voice forged with an uncharacteristic firmness. "We only want what rightfully belongs to Weylin."

The battle all about the Sri'aht encampment raged on, and time for both Urri and as well Zeri and Weylin was drawing thin, as chance was fickle in such a chaotic environment.

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

The half crippled centaur was furious at the words coming from that orcess bitch with an arrow already on her bow. She demanded she drop her spear. Humiliating! But what was worse was she mentioned the name of Urri's slave (who had disappeared and would need to be found later). His belongs? Hah! He didn't own anything! It all was her things that she let him use and keep!

She would show the green skinned whore. With what effort she could she tossed the spear at the orc woman. Instead of being any kind of danger though it just landed pitifully at the other woman's feet. The only thing she had shown was that she was now helpless. The sword on her back could only be drawn by her disabled arm and she had no other backup weapon.

Urri was now helpless.

But instead of giving in or crying or begging, the female centaur just flailed about throwing an endless trail of obscenities and curses at Zeri. The only way they would be getting her belongings would be if they knocked her out or killed her. And she made that fact well known between her insults.

====================================

Weylin looked over at Zeri while Urri flailed and acted pitifully. He had little respect for her before and even less seeing the tantrum she was throwing. She had lost and was crippled now for life. But she was too much of a coward to end it herself so she wanted them to end it for her. Or perhaps she hadn't even realized how dire her condition, which made her even more of a fool.

He had ended someone's life before. The day everything was stripped from him by those raiders. Even when the centaur had attacked the caravan his arrows had ended a few. Blood was on his hands. He was a hunter after all. But he knew that Zeri hadn't taken that step yet. She was still clean. She was still pure.

His mind was quickly made up.

He lunged forward and took the flailing female's neck into his jaws. Then he jerked roughly. A snap followed and she went completely limp, completely silent. He let go and looked down at her. Life had left her eyes.

He backed away and sat down. Then he just stared at her. A helpless woman slightly younger than he was. Lazy. Proud. Vain. Not much redeemable about her. But he had been taking care of her and now she lay there dead by him. Certainly he hated her but he never wished ill upon her. Was random chance she had managed to knock him out that day. Sad that it seemed to have also sealed her fate now. He pitied her.

A deep sorrow filled his eyes. An overwhelming urge to weep himself, yet he couldn't because he was currently a dog. No. He had become a beast because yet again he had taken a life.

Zeri Rekani

 

[Zeri Rekani]

Zeri eased the tension of her drawn bow. Slid the arrow forward and off of the string. Spun it around in her hand in a slow, controlled motion and inserted it back into her quiver. This all as she had watched Weylin slay the centaur, finishing off his would-be slavemaster. And that quickening rush of battle began to dissipate, little reminders of the world around coming back: murmurs of the stinging pain in her arm, the clamor of the battle still being fought amidst the yurts and around the camp, the smell of dust and things more unpleasant.

She was not glad that the centaur was dead, nor was she saddened. A grim acceptance in knowing that death was an inevitable part of life, and that it had been unavoidable here, as they were surrounded on all sides by it and their small pocket in the battle was no exception.

The warriors of those oft-told tales felt a myriad of things. Zeri did not know if what she felt now could be likened to what they--truly--felt then, when their worldly deeds inspired song and legend.

Zeri's eyes drifted from the centaur to Weylin. A small flutter of affection for what he had done to protect her, what pain he brought upon himself for her sake. But this pulse of endearment was squelched by the pressing demands of the moments. Chief among them, that the Weylin before her was not the Weylin that she knew--at least not in form. Could he...understand her? He seemed to know it was her. Oh, oh, oh gosh, what if this was like lycanthropy, and he was in danger of inadvertently lashing out? She didn't really know anything about this newfound trait of his. Maybe even he didn't.

"W-Weylin?" she said. A nervous hand she reached over toward him, stopping midway with her elbow still bent. "You can hear me, r-right? You know it's me, right? Are...are you okay?"

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

Thoughts of the human filled the mind of the dog. Deep, abstract thoughts. The complex twist of melancholy memories mixing with apathetic logic. Justifications for becoming a killer yet again. Berating for thinking the act was ever okay. It all felt far too human. As if it had all been collected together into a singular place. Condensed and concentrated to the point of maximum humanity.... How easy it would be then to pluck it away or for it all to be consumed and lost suddenly......

Eyes returned to the moment upon hearing his name.

Weylin looked over at Zeri. A wavering hand midair between them. She seemed nervous. Scared. Yet she was asking about his well being. Far too kind of her. Better she save some of that kindness for herself.

He moved to meet her hand with his head. No human voice and words would come from him (something she likely knew already) so he remained quiet. Instead he just tried to be gentle with her. A quick lick of her face the way White might do to him. Funny how he already understood all these ways a dog might be able to communicate with a human or orc because of her.

His shift had finally come. Best he not stay like this any longer. Something inside of him said to focus on that little ball of humanity within his head. So he did. And he felt it. His body began to revert back to his human form in that painful, twisting way it had become a dog.....

A loud cry of pain escaped. He couldn't change. His body rejected its original form, yet it wouldn't accept the form it had just been using. He was caught in a constant flux between human and dog. Like water slushing around in a bucket, his body seemed to flow between man and animal in that painful, twisting fashion.

Zeri Rekani

 

[Zeri Rekani]

His head touched her hand. He licked her face. An animalistic way of greeting and showing friendliness, but, as he was, what else was he to do? He seemed to have responded directly to her question with the gesture, yet she couldn't be entirely sure. She wanted to believe that she saw in his now canine eyes a spark of recognition. Wanted to. Ohhhh...but she just didn't know so much about this sort of thing, and it was terribly frustrating.

Nonetheless, whether he could understand her or not, she shared words of encouragement, "That's good. That's good, Weylin, we're going to be--" She pinched her eyes shut briefly and suppressed an outright wince from the sharp stinging in her arm, "--alright. Both of us. We're going to get out of here and everything's going to be fine. We'll talk and have a good meal and an even better rest back at Arrow's End. I know it."

She smiled, her genuine optimism clashing against the ongoing battle around the camp, and she was about to try and coax Weylin into attempting to shift back into human form. But he had beaten her to it. That disquieting process of transforming began again. Zeri took a step back, bringing her outstretched hand up to her chin.

And then came that loud cry of pain, and Zeri's hand jumped up from her chin to clap over her mouth in shock. No, no, no, spirits, no, something was wrong! Something was very, very wrong! She had only seen his prior transformation in her peripheral vision, but it was certainly nothing like this. It had been faster, smoother, cleaner in comparison. This...oh gosh...what she was witnessing now was a true horror of body and form. Her eyes were wide with fright and her face was going from green to ashen.

What could she even do??

Her tone, trembling with a rising panic. "Weylin! What's wrong? What's happening? W-Weylin!"

Weylin Kyrel

 

[Weylin Kyrel]

Weylin had experienced a rather impressive number of injuries in his short life already. Broken ribs. Nearly suffocating to death. Freezing cold. Burns. Beaten. Cut. Stabbed. Tearing his muscles. Broken and fractured bones. Injuries that would stop most other hunters in their tracks.

But this current pain.... His very being felt like it was being torn apart, twisted about, and reformed all at once. Pain. Relief. Pain. Relief. Pain. Relief. The longer it went on the greater the pain and the lesser the relief it all brought to him.

All thoughts had been pushed out of his mind. Nothing existed but the pain. Grunts, moans, and screams escaped him, and was the answer that the orcess was going to get from him. All the while his body continued to shift and twist between his twin states of being. The man and the dog.

A fear was slowly creeping over him. He wasn't sure what prompted it, but he was scared. He was scared that if he stopped trying to become human, stopped enduring the pain, then he would be stuck as a dog forever. The curse of his mixed blood. Half wild, half tame. Few could bring the two into harmony. The Old Folk were instinctively aware of what it meant to be human and beast. His awareness was there, he could feel it, but it was faint and difficult to grasp. Like a tiny leaf floating down the rapids of a river.

He had to grasp it or he could never go back to being his true self.

Zeri Rekani