Private Tales The Stars Are All We Have

[Neremyn Virvyre]

​

Somewhere deep in the Lost Isles​

The sounds of stepping came long after he felt the initial vibrations, coursing through the stony ice cavern like the thud of a troll's heavy gait. Silence, then the thump, then guttural words that once seemed so unfamiliar to him. But aided by magic, and the general inability to do much else with his time, he had grown quite capable of understanding the growls and groans of his captors.

It was not that different from the communications of wolves. A lifted lip, a show of teeth, the raise of hackles, the drop of tail - it was animalistic communication, presented from the mouth of things that were closer to beasts than humans. Part of him could relate.

<You’d be warm if you changed, little pup.>

The guard approached, brown piercing eyes looking through the carved rock bars that formed the prison cell. He was tall, taller than a normal human. By Ere’s estimation, he was over eight feet in height. His head was shaved on one side, adorned by ink in the shape of a mushroom, and grown out long and braided on the other. He wore furs and carried a small hatchet from a leather belt frog, carved with runes that symbolized connection to the dark ones. The elf had learned that his name was Feanor.

Ere didn’t respond. He sat on the cold floor, Emerald eyes lifted to the roof where a hole had formed in the cavern over untold millennia. He spotted a shooting star and then another. The Lost Isles, he had found, were famed for such a thing. With feet pressed firmly against the ground, knees at a comfortable angle, his fingers rested steepled at his center. A small ember stood between his fingers, rotating on an axis, as he felt the sensation of blood flow come back to him.

<Tricks and magics, pale in the view of Halch.>

Ere changed his attention, shifting down from the hole in the roof to the figure across the bars. His verdant gaze was unfocused, making it difficult to tell whether he was looking at the Nordwiir or simply the architecture of his imprisonment.

“Hunger, as fine an aspect as any other.”

Feanor lurched forward, smacking the stone bars with the butt of his hatchet. Fire grew in his expression, hunger even more so.

<You will die here, little wolf. Remember that.>

He backed away and moved on, running the wood handle of his hatchet across the rock columns to the rhythmic beating of a sporadic pulse. Ere assumed Feanor was right. Though, a raven had visited him some time ago and spoke of things that brought hope. Time was infallible and so was the will of the Gods. And now, more than ever, he rested on the mantle of their mercy.

Beckett ​

 

[Beckett]

Across the bitter tundra, there sat a large tiefling, camouflaged in nearly all white save for the color of his own dark-purple tail that whipped out every now and then with the pair of horns on his currently hooded head. Golden pupiless eyes gave a feline-blink as he waited in the dark and cold. An impatient shuffle of his boots as his gaze turned subtly toward the West.

A few hours after Ere's visit with his captor, a little swallow would swoop down through that hole above. A flutter of swift grey-blue wings. Tight maneuvering with a landing on the icy-floor. A little hop and then another, the swallow's gaze focused up at the elven prisoner.

One of the bird's eyes was a warm, vibrant gold. The other a chilling blue that nearly matched their surroundings. The bird tilted its head as if looking around before focusing back on the elf. With a shift of wings and a small hop, the swallow would land on one of the elf's popped-up knees as if it needed to get a closer look.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

The cold had burdened him with thoughts that he'd rather not have. He wished he could find comfort in memories of his laboratory, the way he had set a class room on fire to speak on the values of forest clearing, or the way he had flung his hand at the college when they thought to elevate him beyond his current Maester position. Those were happy thoughts, thoughts that helped him to forget the sort of cold that stuck to the clothes and dove into the bones. Instead, he was left thinking of his family.

The way they pressed on through tired traditions and old grievances. The Virvyre, never ones to forget.

The arrival of a visitor snapped him out of his momentary reprieve and he was immediately caught off guard. A bird like this was well beyond it's means in a place like that. He had not gathered enough information from his surrounding environment to know with all confidence, but he was fairly certain this creature lacked the plumage to survive this cold for long. He whispered as he cupped his hands around the bird, without thinking, to share a bit of his warmth.

"You are supposed to run from the cold, little one. Not dwell in it." Since the raven had left, he had not known a friend. He was thankful for the company but feared that this swallow had gotten lost and wasn't properly equipped to return to warmer climates. ​

 

[Beckett]

The elf would find the air unnaturally warm around the swallow. Feathers puffed up on the bird's chest and there was a little shake of its tail as his fingers closed around its smaller body. Head quirked to the side, its strange eyes taking him in. Its beak would nibble at his hand.

Another puff of its feathers.

Another nibble.

A twist and a hop and it was out of his grasp and back on the icy, cold ground. A couple more hops as it squeezed between the bars and looked back at the elf, quirking its head. As if to say: c'mon.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

He could see the nibble, or nibbles, but couldn't appropriately feel them. He had done his best to ward off frostbite and hypothermia and while he had been successful, for the most part, it still meant he swayed in and out of numbness on his extremities.

Standing up, he moved to follow the bird, though his gait was slow and awkward. He had not had reason, in some time, to get up and move around. And what food he had been given, more scraps than anything else, was reserved for producing pockets of heat. But he could still stand and stand he did.

"I...I can't." He admitted as he pressed his face between two rock columns, watching the creature with a verdant gaze. Wrapping his fingers around the columns, he smiled weakly. "Sadly I am not graced with your size or flight. But you should go before they come back."

If he had known this creature was something beyond its outward appearance, he gave no hint at it. His calorie deficit had left him wilted in the cold, striving to just survive. Even his grasp of magic, his mental acuity, had drifted into a place it had never been before. He found himself delirious at times, envious of the whistling wind that cut across his star window. He longed for the breeze.

"Go on now, little one. Before he comes back." A thought occurred to him that maybe this creature wasn't real but simply the imaginations of a deprived mind. And despite the implication, he was very much alright with that. He'd take a friend, even it wasn't real. ​

 

[Beckett]

The swallow puffed up its blue and grey feathered chest. One final huff. One click of its beak and it spread its wings and took flight. Just not back through the bars. Or back in the cell and up through the way it had entered. It swooped deeper and further into the tunnels, away from the elven prisoner, disappearing around the corner.

Passage of time would most likely be hard to tell for the prisoner.

But eventually, he'd perhaps notice that things were...different. Any consistency with a watch or round didn't come. There were no thudding steps or echoes of their strange guttural and clicking language. Or perhaps he wouldn't notice at all. But that swallow did return with something clutched between its taloned feet.

The bird seemed to waiver and limp in pain as it dropped the item between the bars for the elven prisoner.

It was an iron key.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

He was admittedly surprised, but the exhaustion and long term imprisonment abated any sort of physical response to the key dropping. Beyond him crouching to the ground and reaching through the columns. With a stretch and grunt, he pulled the iron key over and stood.

"I apologize for your pain little one. I'll make it up to you, I promise." Perhaps the Raven had been right, perhaps hope had been something worth having in this place. He had spent countless nights finding dreams and futures in the stars that crossed the black through his narrow cavern view. He had imagined a life somewhere else, always knowing that perhaps it would never come to be. He would have been content with that, even found a bit of release in letting go and letting Time dictate his fate.

The Virvyre had always had the power to derail fated events but in his place, magic felt so far away.

The iron key, after some clumsy struggling, clicked into the mechanism. Thinking hard about which way to turn, he found purchase against the pins and the door groaned. Pressing it open, he staggered and fell to the floor. Taking a moment, he stood and slowly closed the door behind him. Where he had sat, the rags and thin blanket remained, bunched up in the shape of a person sleeping.

"Thank you. But...I can't leave yet. Not without my items."​

 

[Beckett]

The songbird tittered a reply that nearly sounded like a whine as the elf fell. And for a moment, there was a preternatural stillness to the air. As if something could've happened. Some magical change. But as the elf rose back to his feet, that preternatural other quickly subsided.

A flap of wings and the swallow found itself perched on the elf's shoulder.

A low, gurgling grunt at the elf's proclamation. Ginger placement of singed talon's on his shoulder and a quick peck of the beak into his hair. It was hard to tell if the bird was happily eating some little critters that had found a home in the prisoner's tresses or if it was trying to hurry him along.

Perhaps both.

Or maybe neither and it was just trying to groom him.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

"Sorry..." He replied as he peered over his shoulder, trying to look at the creature on his shoulder. "Not much for insects and berries here but maybe we'll find something in the locker." He suspected not but he was suddenly brimming with hope, an alien feeling for his time spent in the cold.

As he moved, he became intimately aware with the state of his physical self. He had once been corded and sinewy, muscle layered in a physical and functional way. But now, he stood a husk of his former self. No fat pad, knees that were knobby, and his bones ached as he moved. He couldn't tell if that was from the starvation or the cold but by the stars, it didn't matter. He needed his equipment, he needed his wand and his armor.

If he could look in the mirror, he wondered what gaunt figure would stare back. It certainly was not the green wolf, not in this place and not in this sagging skin.

Placing his hand against the cold stone of the walls, he began to move forward with a slow gait. "Don't mind me, just finding my footing." He chuckled and winced as he moved forward, walking as quietly as possible to avoid detection or stirring the guards. But with his items, he could be himself again. He was certain of it.​

 

[Beckett]

Blue-feathered chest puffed up. Little taloned-feet tapped up and down on his shoulder impatiently. A waggle of its tail. Another tap of feet along the elf's shoulders as he took his painstakingly slow step forward.

Then...

One...

More...

And a wobble.

The swallow stretched its wings and took off. A flap and then another as it turned in the air and with no sound but a burst of magic, transformed into the fae she truly was, just in front of the struggling elf. Her hair matched the blue sheen of the swallow's feathers. A golden eye looked at him with concern while the blue sparked with impatience.

"C'mon," she'd approach him with, perhaps, too much familiarity and go to snake her arm around his waist, urging him to lean on her so they could pick of their pace. "I dunno how much time we have before they wakey-wakey."

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

He blinked slowly as he watched the entire ordeal with what might have appeared to be indifference. Far from it, but he was exhausted. Exhausted enough that even facial expressions felt like an expenditure of energy where he was on extremely limited reserves. For now.

"That's a neat trick." He admitted, as he began to move with her. Though her urgency did nothing for his pace as it was currently only surmounted by will alone. "You'll have to teach it to me sometime...ehhh..." He didn't know her name. Hard to introduce yourself when you're a bird one moment, an in a hurry the next.

"Oh..." He whispered, pointing a finger to the right as they approached a fork in the cavernous maze. "Citrus and mint..." He stated quietly. "It's that way. Just down the hall now."

It had been some time since he could smell the fireweed, far removed from it and shrouded in the cold. But it was not a thing he could easily forget.

 

[Beckett]

She frowned, her arm wrapped around his back as she supported his baggy-frame. It was like putting arms around a tall-sack of bones. A scarecrow of an elf left. How long had he been down here? Had others tried to get him out but failed? His family had never told her. And Beckett had never asked.

The right was not the direction they needed to go. It was not the way out.

A frown tugged on her lips. The fae was tempted just to sling him over one of her shoulders. She certainly had the strength to do so. But the tip of her heightened senses did pick up those smells. The tang of citrus and a waft of pungent mint.

Lips parted about to protest but curiosity got the best of her. It always did when it came to outsiders. Those not of fae. "If it's too far down the corridor we'll have to leave it behind," she warned even as she cradled him snugly to her side, aquesing to where he wanted to go.

For now.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

Ere had not known heat in what felt like an eternity, beyond the meager fire formed in his palms or the warmth of his fur when he had the energy to change. There was a calorie deficit here that was purposeful, given just enough scraps to sustain his own life while withering all the same. This strangers touch, even if it did feel unfamiliar, brought warmth and comfort. Despite his lack of fat and muscle, despite the fact that he could feel his own bones from her own touch, he seemed to not mind.

Hobbling forward, he winced with a smile. "It's not far, I promise...Dilthen er." He wasn't so far gone that he couldn't understand what she was. The idea of her being little or young, given her appearance, was likely inaccurate. Fae were generally elder, even to elves, but it was quickly becoming a habit now. Besides, he had no name to refer to her by. A moniker of his own native tongue seemed to make about as much sense as anything else.

"There..." He stated quietly, pointing again, to where the cavernous wall was recessed. "There's a door there, can you see it? Just there..." He nodded and hobbled forward. "I wonder if this is a master key. Might as well try..." He fit the key in, struggling to turn it, as the latch came free. His expression seemed to brighten as he turned to the Fae next to him, smirking. "A little luck goes a long way. Stars know I'm due..."

He leaned forward and pushed the door inward.​

 

[Beckett]

Lips twitched at the nickname. Others in her court would have struck the elf down for saying less. But in reality, they'd never be here in the first place. And luckily for Neremyn Vivyre, Beckett wasn't like other members in her court. Queen Titania would've lifted her perfectly-shaped nose at all of this.

But the elf had it all wrong about luck. It was never due. Wishes from leprechauns were a lot like bargains. There was always a cost. Luck was never free.

"Wait, the-," he pushed open the door.

There was a growl on the other side. With a blur of movement, she would body-check the elf out of the way as meaty-hands went to curl around her instead. Lifting her off her feet and tugging her inside the room that was apparently being guarded. Her feet left the ground as he lifted her up, his height nearly rivaling some of her kind. Unfortunately, Beckett was on the shorter side for a fae.

Hot, rank breath blew in her face as he smacked his lips. Strange tattoos and scars traveled across his skin like a painting gone wrong. His head was half-shaved. "Mmm, a new and yummy snack," he growled.

"Nope," was all she said as she kicked her foot up and forward toward a place that was sensitive to most males.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

He hit the wall without a single movement to block the blow, crumpling to the stony ground. In a flash, where the man had rolled up on the floor, a snarling wolf erupted in a flash of eerie green at nearly the size of a large dog. His fur, once the energy had diminished, was a mix of grey snow and verdant green. The undercoat was nearly glacial and the tips were frosted, as if his entire color scheme was the inverse of a hemlock tree covered in snow.

He dashed once and again, coming to a sliding stop behind Beckett. Taking a low stance, as she moved to kick the man in his groin, Ere dashed forward and jumped, attempting to take a moment of advantage against the guard. Kicking off the side wall, he darted in between them and pressed the full weight of his thrust against the guards chest. As he impacted, paws against chest and razer sharp teeth around one of his forearms, the Lythari felt the grip on the Fae loosen entirely.

The force of the attack sent both the lythari and guard backwards into the storage room, as Ere landed on top of the brute. Muzzle snapping and chomping, he aggressively searched for a weak spot but seemed to have no success. With one swing, Ere went tumbling across the floor as the Nordwiir smacked him in the ribs with the butt of his hatchet.

Coming up and wheezing, Ere took on another low stance and backed several paces away. An orange light seemed to grow from a nearby cubby as energy leaped out, like flames chasing after a wick. The energy struck the druid and suddenly he was wreathed in it, growing to nearly the size of a dire wolf.

<Little wolf, you show yourself here!> The man withdrew the other axe and held both akimbo. The gash on his arm was bleeding profusely but he seemed to not be bothered. ​

 

[Beckett]

There was a growl behind her and a flash out of the peripheral of her golden eyes. A fury of teeth and claws with the color of low snow clouds around the tops of bright pines as she felt those grubby fingers release from around her frame, leaving bruises behind. She knew the mars on her skin wouldn't last long. Not as long as the burns on her feet from carrying that blasted key. She landed in a low crouch.

Reaching into one of her inside jacket pockets, she drew out something that should never have fit. A medium-length spear. Pushing up to her feet, with hands spread along the base of the pole she paused as the Nordwiir spoke. Beckett knew and spoke a lot of languages but she'd never bothered to learn this one.

Another pause as the wolf...grew.

Electric-blue tinted brow arched. "Good...dog? Get what you came here for," she muttered under her breath, eyes flickering toward where that orange flare had come from before focusing back on Big Axe Man.

She lunged forward, the tip of her spear arching fast toward the guard. "Hey ugly," she tried to garner his attention. His axe moved quickly, chopping off the sharp end of her spear. Tickle her a little impressed. Didn't stop her from shifting the broken-point of wood and driving it into his left shoulder between the armor.

As if he didn't register pain, he didn't cry out. Or stumble or pause. No, his axes swiped and slashed at the air toward her shaft again.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

Long and sharp teeth bared in a snarl as he lowered his body, feeling the energy of the arcane fireweed flow through him. Decades of energy, stored within the flower, all leading up to a moment when he needed it most. His more frugal side was irritated with having to use that and his frustration would find a target in the guard who had antagonized him for months on end.

Where the second axe was swinging down to strike at the shaft again, it caught the body of the wolf instead. But where the blade should have dug into fur, it deflected off a wreath of orange energy, hardly visible and radiating around the wolf. As soon as the hatchet deflected off, like it had hit stone, the guards offending arm erupted in a blaze of fire that extended from hatchet head all the way up to his shoulder. Orange and red flames licked upwards and away and for the first time, the Nordwiir showed fear as he groaned and fell backwards, knocking into a table and sending dishes skittering across the floor.

Ere dashed forward, the wind nipping at his heels, as he sunk his teeth deep into the leg of the Nordwiir as he was distracted by the fire and still struggling to come up from his prone position. Feeling his teeth sink through leather wraps, through flesh, and against bone, he pivoted. Flexing and shifting weight to his back legs, Ere flung the Nordwiir across the room and sent him flying into the cubbies across the room. As he hit, equipment erupted out of boxes in the explosion of debris.

Including a staff, covered in vines and insect holes, and topped with a flower of orange and red - burning brightly against the stony floor. Ere didn't approach it, instead keeping his emerald feral gaze fixed on the guard to see if he rose from his position. By the smell of burning skin, the slow pooling of blood beneath the pile of storage bins, and the general lack of immediate movement - Ere assumed the guard was out for the count.​

 

[Beckett]

Beckett had seen a lot of strange magic in her millenia of life. But this was pretty high up there. The wolf's fur brushed against her skin and she released her makeshift spear as he did his thing. Head whipped around the room, wincing at the crashing sounds. Any she hadn't taken care of before would certainly hear there.

And those orange flames were already starting to catch on the shelving and surround walls that weren't stone. Beckett didn't hesitate as she scooped the strange staff up, 99% sure this was the one he'd mentioned he needed earlier. How many other glowy citrus-mint smelly staffs could there be?!

"C'mon-," a flurry of images and smells flooded her already very sensitive senses as her skin made contact with the fire-weed staff. She almost dropped it. Fingers curled a little more tightly around the hilt as her head shook, eyes squeezing closed for a moment before snapping open.

"Green wolf, let's go!" A chin tipped toward the door as she took off, heading to the right down a winding set of tunnels that would take them to the cold and frigid surface. The smoke and heat would be building behind them. And lucky for them the wind was howling above. It was a snowstorm near whiteout levels.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

It hadn't occurred to him that anything within this stone prison might be flammable. But if he had his way, the entire cavern would be turned into a coal fire that burned until the ends of time. He had been scorned in this prison and with the energy of the staff now coursing through him, he had no interest in departing quietly. But he understood that now, he was more than just himself.

With one lingering glance at the pile of debris that was catching on fire and absolutely no regrets regarding the potential death of his gate keeper, he turned to follow quickly behind the Fae. After all, she had used an appropriate moniker - one that had not been appropriate for some time.

Running up next to her, he paced to her step, which was far below his own speed. Now that he stood a great deal bigger than a common wolf, his gait was naturally difficult to keep when running in tandem with a biped.

<Hop on. I can run faster than you. Just tell me where to go.> If she didn't receive the message via telepathy, it would cross against the bark of the Wandor Staff. If time was of the essence, his pace was a better bet for escaping the cavern and making it out into the starry snowstorm.​

 

[Beckett]

For a moment, as his mind connected with her own through the staff, he'd get a jolting view of summery lands. A place where colors went beyond what any other than fae were used to seeing. A vibrancy that no words could describe. He would see a young fae-female with two-colored eyes but very different hair being scolded about getting her very regal-looking dress dirty.

Before the scene would abruptly cut off.

Beckett was not running as fast as she could. But she didn't think the point worth arguing or showing him, yet. When an opportunity presented itself to ride a giant wolf-dog, one took it. Always.

Slowing, she got a handful of his grey-green fur into one hand and jumped, scrambling up his side. Rear and legs found purchase. Leaning forward, she stayed low against him in case the ceiling lowered as they went. Her fingers dug against his fur with one hand, her other still held tightly to his staff.

Fumbling for mind-to-mind powers she clearly didn't have but relying on the staff to be the bridge for her thoughts to get to Ere, she said: 'Didn't realize I was dealing with a daemati. Right up here. Then left. Then go straight. There.'

The storm was howling. It would at least cover their tracks for their escape. Give them some time. The problem was, she wouldn't be able to navigate them to Akio. She just hoped they went straight enough for long enough to get far away from this place and not end up doubling back in a blind circle.

But as they escaped into the blizzard, Ere would find that it wasn't quite cold. In fact, the air around Beckett and where she was touching him was pleasantly warm. More than just the natural contact of body-heat provided.

'There's someone waiting for us with a boat on the coast. Can't show you where to go in this.' Her head was bowed against the wind. Eyes near-slits.

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

Though it wasn't yet apparent, he had regained most of what he had lost through the turning of time and moments spent beneath the rocks and ice. Starvation, famine, all swept away by the sacrifice of energy stored for decades in the Wandor Staff. He was capable of sustaining himself now, producing his own heat and fire, but that didn't change the way her presence brought him comfort as she jumped on him. The additional warmth, the firm hug, it was particularly noticeable as they breached out from the mouth of the cavern and into the howling snow storm above.

He lingered there for a moment, mouth opened wide and shooting out steam in the windy cold, as he lingered on the memory of a young girl amidst the sea of plenty. A young girl of different colored eyes, in a field of colors that went beyond what most could imagine.

<Lythari long ago mastered forms of communication beyond the spoken tongue.> He turned to spy her over his shoulders, shielding herself from the blizzard. <I cannot compete with the svalen of these beasts in the open, not when they invoke the Dark Ones.>

He had learned much of these people as he withered behind the bars of their prison. A play thing for them to starve and watch, petals falling from the stem. He knew of their powers and how monstrous they could be. The confines of the cavern had been to their advantage - if the guard would have changed, he might have brought the entire prison down on top of them. But out in the open, where they were born from permafrost and sodden moss, no such advantage existed.

<Hold on tight, Dilthen er...they're on our heels now.> His large ears twitched, moving to the direction of the sound as he perked up. There were many footsteps in the distance, crunching rocks back in the confines of the cavern. Shifting his weight, he took off into the blizzard, running with all he could muster. The blizzard was fierce but the snow drifts were frozen solid, creating a terrain of slippery white for as far as the eyes could see. The staff hummed as the light died down, though it seemed Ere was having no difficulties moving swiftly across the treacherous terrain.​

 

[Beckett]

The fae held on tightly, shifting her body so it synced with his movements as best she could. Her head turned against the wind, face all but buried into his fur. Pointed ears hearing many of the sounds behind them, beyond the howling wind and drifts. But they fell more and more behind as the Lythari went further and further ahead.

A lythari was interesting. She'd heard some stories about them but had never met one, personally. The irony of him carrying them away was not lost on her. She'd been hired to do a job. Find him and get him out. And here he was doing half of it.

She wasn't one to complain.

Saved her burned feet that were still healing. And it being the middle of the night didn't help things. Her alignment had always been the sun. Using magic was harder without it. Even fae had limits, though they were usually hard to see.

'I need to rest,' she finally admitted. Head lifted, eyes squinting against snow. It didn't seem as bad and she recognized the shadows of things around them. Rocks? Trees? 'Do you see a spot for a brief stay?'

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

<Yes.> He replied curtly, though whatever he was was likely was obscured in the distance. As they had been moving, he could discern that the environment was underlaid by a network of caverns and caves. Occasionally, a bit of limestone outcropping could even be seen ejecting from the snow drifts, like a hand waving at them through the near whiteout.

Darting passed another drift, he took a sharp turn and began a quick dash. Looking over his shoulder, he spotted the large pawprints and decided that due to the wind and cold, they were largely ephemeral. Small indications formed in the ice layer, overtaken by a persistent dusting. And over the howl of the wind, there was no indication of pursuit.

Cutting once more, he circled around a fairly impressively sized drift, finding what he assumed was a sizeable entry way into the large underground network. <This will have to do.>

He wasn't certain why the Fae needed to rest but given his recent condition, he wasn't one to judge. Padding in, he stood on all four legs and listened for a moment. There was an almost ethereal silence to the cave; the rocks seemed to muffle the howling gusts in a way that immediately made him feel a bit safer. Though he admitted, to himself, that it was likely unearned. There was no telling what lived in this place.​

 

[Beckett]

"Much better," she whispered, finally able to open her eyes fully without that biting wind and snow. She could see just as easily in the dark, not that it was much different between in here and out there with that storm raging on. And it being night.

With a swing of stiff legs, she slid down the lythari's furry-side landing gracefully and nimbly on her feet. She shifted his staff to her other hand. The glow at the top was certainly fading than when she first saw it. Fingers lifted to brush the snow that clung to her indigo hair from the journey. Head canted to the side, listening.

She had no idea how far back this cave went. But for now she didn't hear anything else taking shelter with them. Could be something a lot further back. Walking a little further in, she carefully placed the staff on the ground and plopped down herself. Crossing her legs, she began to peel off her boots, a light wince crossing her features. Wool socks were then peeled away to reveal angry welts along her arches.

Hands dug inside her jacket, rummaging around in one of her pockets.

"You hungry? Looked like you'd been in that prison for awhile. How'd you get mixed up with that lot anyhow?"

 

[Neremyn Virvyre]

As she slipped from his back and began to move away, the change took place. Taking to a standing position on his hind legs, slowly his shape shifted back to his more humanoid shape. But where a man of sagging skin had once been, he had filled out to his more lithe and toned body. However, it was now obscured in his natural armor. Plates formed from bark, leather of bearskin, and furs of a wolf. His face was no longer sunken, revealing a revived and sharpened green expression.

"Months by my count..." He recalled watching the movement of the stars, aligning it with his expectations of the planets movement, and extrapolating the changing of days. "Maybe a year or more. A misstep in my travels to Eretevja. I was mistaken for something I wasn't and traded to the things they thought I was." If he was saddened by the loss of time, it didn't show. In truth, isolation worked for him. He had rarely been a fan of others for any extended duration of time, preferring the company of wild things and whispers of the woods. But that fantasy of the quiet was often erupted by the key keepers, souring the experience.

Turning in front of her, he took to one knee on the cavernous floor, as he inspected the bottom of her feet with curious interest. "Your hurt." The mystery of her fatigue was now solved. Walking on them would have been enough but followed by the retreat, it was too much. "Will you allow me to heal you? The Wandor Staff has a bit left before I have to break it."​