Aeraesar Who Says Aerai Eyes are Blue

[Hilte]

Indeed, she had believed many impossible things were possible once she'd been allowed to broaden the horizons of her thoughts beyond that of the commune. There was never such a strong force of doubt as that of centuries of history and the stubborn beliefs of their aged superiors. Not that she begrudged long-learned wisdom, but it often got in the way of newer knowledge.

"Thirty-seven," Hilte replied after a beat of thought, then looked to the pearl in his palm, "thirty-eight."

 

[Erën]

His eyes lingered on the pearl for a time, and then he offered it back to her.

"Then you've staved off no small number of the beasts."

Erën was not as privy to the inner workings of the gwathui as Hilte seemed to be, but he could identify their outward distinctions well enough. There were many different broods it seemed, some quite unique, but among each of them their stature could be seen well enough.

It was just as she had said - most of them died young. For each of these pearls he could only guess at how many others had been slain.

He studied her for a moment.

"You likely have many questions,"

"Why are you here?"

There was a quietness in his voice. Obviously, he knew of her pledge, her commitment to this place - that was not his question, nor would he argue against it. The question was far deeper than that.

 

[Hilte]

She'd not kept an exact count of how many had died on the borders of her protection here, though Hilte wagered after so long it was likely into the hundreds. Seldom did they arrive alone, but hunted in packs, and despite their seeming intelligence, they never did learn to avoid or breach her wards. That fact alone had always struck her as rather curious.

Hilte accepted the pearl and felt its weight upon her hand and upon her soul, now something as familiar to her as the faces that lived under her vigil. The Aerai frowned faintly at his question, brow knitting in thought. She supposed she'd never truly boiled down the why of it all. Why she had come here to Crue. Why she had elected to stay and not return to her people. It never seemed to matter, the why.

What had mattered was what she did with the time she'd spent here.

"To unlearn a lifetime spent in denial," Hilte slowly nodded as the meaning came to her and with a blink looked back to her guest, "and learn to live a new life with my soul open."

Yes, that felt right. That felt like her truth. She smiled, a kindly and warm expression, before looking around at the place she had made her home with a new sort of appreciation. The words felt final to her, as if she had come to the end of a book she did not know she'd been writing, and had closed the pages with a sigh.

Sigh she did, deeply and fully.

Now it was his turn.

"Why are you here?" she asked curiously, a small hint of humor somewhere in her purple eyes. Did he know his own truth or was he living blindly as she once had?

 

[Erën]

Erën's demeanour was unwavering. His visage as still as it always was. He contemplated her as she took what short moments she needed to ponder his question, and then she did.

And he remained, for a moment.

And then she smiled, and he, too, smiled. His was cooler, it drew his eyes down in the quiet, but in the deepness of it within, there was an understanding. Of all Aerai to have come to this place... he thought. For while it was he could hear their song...

"Why are you here?"

Eyes upturned, and then leisurely slid away, the small smile on his lips remained. And he then, remained quiet for a moment. Often, he had found in his many years, the why was not as important as the when.

"Some things, it seems, are not so clear," he mused to her aloud, his eyes still elsewhere, "for many years I have fought in these lands since that old war. Arkhivom's pets have persisted when he grew silent," which she was of course already aware, "and yet... for much of that time all I have known is this song.

It is only after I too have heard the chaos that the quiet can bring... to step into waters where no others tread..."

He turned to her with an upturned brow.

"Why am I here? To meet you, I presume."

 

[Hilte]

Ah, so he, too, had been severed. Though she could not tell that he no longer was, Hilte could appreciate the other on a closer level now.

"Hm," she hummed in thought, finding that as always the Gods did indeed work in curious ways.

"Well," Hilte could not presume to know of what a hermit such as herself could offer him, but she would never be called a bad hostess, "meet me you have. Unless you are in need of healing, I'm afraid I have little else to offer. If you intend to stay, however, I will ask that you make yourself of use."

Her head then turned on a slow swivel to a path that lead out through the arched gateway covered in morning glory vines and into the wood beyond, "To start, follow that path to the clearing at the end. You will find two children there sleeping off their berry-binge. If you would be so kind as to take them home to their mother."

As for herself? Well, she had gardens to tend and remedies to make.

 

[Erën]

Indeed, meet her he had.

As it was, he was thankfully in need of no healing, but as for what else she had to offer...

With all that they had established, it was clear now that the two of them shared in something they had not expected - albeit in whatever short-lived regard on his part. As it was for him, had it not been for the likes of some of his closest comrades outside of his collective people, he would have quite likely have descended into a great chaos... one which he was curious to how she had managed to avoid.

But, if he was to make himself of use, it was the least he could do in return for such hospitality as hers.

"And so I shall," he said, placing his hand upon his heart and bowing his head, gently and subtly.

Leaving his sword-belt behind, he departed, on through the archway and down the spoken path.

He wound and weaved, but in gentle curves and only so many before it brought him to a clearing. There in the midst of it was an image, and upon seeing it his eyes became fixed. He noticed the children, he heard their gentle breath, but for the moment he would leave the undisturbed.

He drew near, and he beheld what he knew to be an Aerai, glorious in their posture, their purpose, their... weight.

As he looked upon the statue stood before him, it was not lost to him who it was he beheld.

"This is not you..." he uttered quietly as he drew near, and placed a hand upon it, "...not anymore."

While he dwelt there, there was another presence that ebbed at him... he felt it in his bones, as any Aerai would. And a sigh left him as an understanding, likely lost to another of his ilk - of this awareness - so acutely befell him. He'd not shared in such strength as the foregoing of such things...

He'd always clung to what was...

He turned, and looked down upon the children resting nearby, and in the blinking of his eyes he saw the flash of flaxen curls and little pointed ears.

A grin came over him as he was reminded of better times, and with this same vibrancy he roused the children. They were startled at first, but, given a moment and brief explanation, they recognized him as kin to Hilte, and they were quick to become comforted.

"Come along now, I needn't look bad on my first visit," he said, playing with an arc of lightning between his fingers to dazzle the little ones, promising future tricks with their co-operation.

With laughter, they did as he asked... mixed with a bit of harmless mischief along the way.

 

[Hilte]

The children, trained and reared under the gentle nature of the hermit, gave little trouble in following after this new friend of hers. They walked the path around the house and through the many gardens that seemed to pepper the grounds haphazardly, but really were placed strategically to catch the light of day when it filtered through the trees. Flowers and herbs. Vegetables and fruits. A variety of things both useful and simply pretty or aromatic.

Down the path from the house to the road, and then down the road back to Crue.

By the time he would return he'd smell the smoke of fire and see the plume rising from the chimney through the trees. Hilte had a large pan over the flames where she baked squash and other vegetables while she sat at the main table, carefully pouring the contents of various ingredients into small bottles. Potions for the town.

One for a persistent cough. Another for joint pain. One for headaches and fevers. Each with their own little hand-made parchment label.

"Would you mind checking on the roast?" Hilte asked of him when he stepped back inside. It was better not to shift her focus mid-apoethcary work. The last thing she wanted was to mislabel something.