UE: A New Dawn - Chryil 25th, Late MT

[Niamh Windwalker]

Chyril 24th, MT
When daylight finally glimmered over the horizon beyond the cave, Niamh drew herself to her feet, looking to Oni for instructions on what to do. The confidence with which she had begun her scouting assignment the previous day, had shattered somewhat. Now, all she wished was to return to her tent, find the comfort of her sleeping roll, and leave the damp chill of the cave.

Upon returning to the Village, she subjected herself to the ministrations of someone as they sewed up the gash in her arm, wincing with the minute pinpricks and the discomfort of thin, rough threads of gut twining through her flesh. When she finally found her bed, she fell into a deep sleep that lasted most of the day.

Chyril 24th, ET
Niamh sought out the Shaman, Gannas Hawkeye, upon awakening, her dreams haunted by Cryers, and some sense startling her from sleep as the daylight began to dim. Never before had she gone to seek out one of the Kanthan after foolish actions, but the previous days events weighed abnormally heavily on her. Seeking his advice, she asked if there could not be some way of defeating these, if his abilities as Shaman might have some means of calling down some manner of defense or attack that she might learn to emulate. Not wanting to injure herself further, and sensing the restless spirit within, she sought guidance as to whether or not shifting was possible with the stitches in her arm. While she was not incurious regarding the Intruders, she had had enough of them for the time being.

Chyril 24th, Late ET
Ready to aid in the defense of the village, Niamh joined in the ranks of those maintaining the fires, before returning to catch up on more sleep.

Chyril 25th, Late MT
The young Kanthrop woman struggled from sleep blearily, drawing the blankets from bare skin before carefully winding her Kanthar about her form. Burns later found her emerging from her tent, agile fingers sliding through brown, faintly dappled hair until it twitched into place. The vaguely irregular lengths that framed her face seemed to suit the wildness of her features, those dark eyes scanning the Village with something approaching alertness. A day's buffer between this moment and the Cryer battle had given her time to recover, and after her discussion with Hawkeye, and much needed sleep... I feel like almost a new creation...

After a moment's hesitation, she maneuvered her way down to one of the cook fires, volunteering to man the spit, twisting the meat laden stick so that it cooked properly. The familiar scents of the land mingled with that of roasting food, though - perhaps it was just her imagination - there was some strange addition, wafting through the air, that reminded her of the Intruders....

[Brytan]

The previous day had been the end of a dreadful gravetide. Ursa had been to dangerous for them to stay, something none of the kanthrop involved liked to be reminded about. With the new dawn, the exodised group of kanthrop and humans could return to the island, Oni invited the outlanders to at least return to their camp and look for and bury their dead.

As the group of kanthrop returned without company to Valley Village, the entire village turned up to nearly drag them back in. Kiare was rushed to the shaman's hut while Niamh and Xenovia were cared for by Kaila and other women of the tribe, though that was mostly a blur as many rushed the scouting party with questions. What had happened, who had they met, why were they injured?

Kaila had sent them packing. "Give them some room, let them breathe a moment for the Mother's sake. I'm sure they'll tell us everything when they get a chance to catch their breath."

-----

In the shaman's hut, Hawkeye took to tending to the heavily injured Kiare, not allowing anyone inside as Oni joined him to aid and to apprise him of the situation.

"So, the outlanders have faced off against the Cryers." Gannas was preparing a mixture of ointment for Kiare who had broken out into a burning fever.

"Yes." Oni sat by her charge, dapping her forehead with a damp cloth.

"And now they are back here again to bury their dead?"

"I invited them to do so, it is only common that they appease the souls of their fallen."

"True, but they will come here after surely. Do we know what motives they have? Anything besides what Niamh told us?"

Oni sighed as she dipped the cloth back into the bowl of water by her side. "No, but what I do know is that at least one gave his life to save ours. That is worth something at least."

Gannas nodded as he walked over and applied the ointment to Kiare's wounds, having to turn her slightly which made her groan in agony. "Indeed, we owe them a welcome. But we should be careful. They are still outlanders and they trespass against us. Their fighting may just have been to save their own skins."

They tended to the sick girl in silence for the rest of the day.

---

The gravetide of the 24th went by remarkably peaceful as no attempts were made on their lives, no cries were heard in the forest. Niamh was relieved from guard duty at the turning of the moon past it's highest point. After which she fell into restless slumber till the next morningtide.

At the fire, she was welcomed at the spit. Friendly voices went up as she sat down and started turning the large chunk of boar meat, taken by a hunting party the previous day. Life went on, even after the terrifying night of the 23rd.
No one for some reason dared to address her directly on the matter. As she sat with the ones by the fire, mostly children waiting eagerly for a day's lessons, they just stared at her in awe and whispered amongst themselves.

That was until Allaeya sat down beside Niamh. "So, what happened? Everyone's talking about it, do they have a flying canoe for real? Do they have sticks that make sound? Tell me everything Niamh, come on..." Eager looks and excited muttering went up around the fire. The children wanted to hear the story about these outlanders, the people who (nearly) moved in next door...

[Niamh Windwalker]

Niamh appreciated the understanding silence of those around her, after the initial welcome, though a vague worry congealed within her breast, as she wondered if it were from their general disappointment in her, or simple clannish courtesy. The burns slid by, unattended, as she stared into the flickering flames, rotating the meat on the spit with her injured arm, to slowly loosen muscles that had tightened overnight. The vague pain was almost a relief, in some strange manner, as it distracted her from thinking too much.

"So, what happened? Everyone's talking about it, do they have a flying canoe for real? Do they have sticks that make sound? Tell me everything Niamh, come on..."

Alleya's question jarred her free from an uncommon descent into ponderous thought, and despite her reserve, she grinned at the Kit, her good hand lifting to ruffle the girl's hair. This one knows my weakness, when have I ever said no to a good story? Even as Niamh's mind began framing the previous day's occurences into prose, she made a mock serious face. It would have, perhaps, been more effective if her yellow-rimmed eyes hadn't been glinting with amusement.

"A flying canoe? Sticks that make sound? Sounds more a tale to me..." She held her silence for a few moments, allowing the kits to plead and clamor, relaxing with their open curiosity. It wasn't long since she had been a kit herself, pleading for a tale of the adventures of her elders. Winking at Allaeya, she resettled herself, crossing legs comfortably in one of her muscle stretching positions, despite the heat so close to the fire. There was a long moment of silence, before her expressive, rich voice rolled out in the familiar patterns of the Kanthrop legends, yet this one was fresh-made. The tone she used at first was a touch deeper than her normal speaking, and it coiled with a sense of the unknown, of possible danger.

"The sky was clear, brisk, bright as a speck emerged on the horizon, skimming across clouds as a water-bug might across a pond. This speck grew, approaching an unknown mountain range, unheeding the warning of shadows cast against the land from the sun high above. At first glimpse it was a heaving, billowing thing, with huge wind-catchers rising above it... puffed full of the land's chill, hearty breath. Upon it's surface, there moved living, breathing Sleepers, unaware they sought to trespass and invade, unconcerned by the far drop from their..." she hesitated a moment, recalling words muttered in passing from the altercation days before. "skiff... to the ground, where living things crept like ants. This skiff is long and narrow, planks of wood much longer and larger than any canoe curving around each side. They call it... the Tal'Fea. They came seeking what lay beyond the mountains, they came with warriors but without a scouting party, not knowing what they would find. Instead of seeking entrance at our gate, this Tal'Fea flew onwards, while they plotted their arrival." Among her own youthful adventures and their retellings, Niamh had learned how to play with phrasing and words, building tension and expectations. As one arm tired, she moved and began turning the spit with another.

"Unaware of the sacrilege they were about to commit, the Outlanders began their descent over Ursa." Her voice shifted ever so slightly, making a distinction in setting, her expressive voice accumulating a vaguely light tenor. "Back in this very village, the Elders sat in Council, determining what to do about these Outland Invaders. Yet the talk continued, and the Kanthan's debated, wondering how to remove these strangers without bringing danger upon all of our land." Her free had gestured to the immediate village and beyond. "As the sun began a descent towards the far side of the mountains, it was clear the outlanders had no knowledge of our land's greatest terrors. And so, they made their descent, making their camp upon... the Ancestral Festival Grounds" She paused, momentously, allowing each child's imagination to take its course, without adding more descriptions of the terrors or the sacrilege of the Outlanders actions to frighten them. Kit she might no longer be, but she wasn't fancying a lecture from Hawkeye on what were appropriate tales. Her dark, pale-rimmed eyes sought and met each of the kits'. "So, instead of leaving them to their doom, a Scouting party set out, to warn them of their fate if they did not depart and return whence they came, to safety."

She paused for a breath and to arrange her thoughts, diminishing her role to suit the style of her tale. It was the adventure, and the tale-telling that sparked her pleasure in the words... not the fact that she played a part in it.

"And of course, the rest is history, isn't it?" Having barely begun the tale, she couldn't help teasing her listeners, waiting to continue until they convinced her she ought. With a yawn and a stretch, she licked her lips expressively. "Hmm... throat's dry..." She glanced at Allaeya suggestively, a mischievous grin twitching at the corners of her mouth.

Almost guiltily, her eyes darted up to see who else might be listening, suddenly wondering if she weren't supposed to talk about such matters until the Elders had already spoken to the Village.

[Brytan]

The younglings clung to Niamh's lips as she started her tale. Intermittant gasps of awe and outrage among the kit marked their vibrant imaginations as they embarked on the yourney with her. From other fires more kanthrop joined theirs, as word spread of the story Niamh was telling.

The art of storytelling was a proud tradition among the kanthrop, being their only way of preserving history, any way to do so was relished and admired. Even though Niamh's skill could do with some work, it was a good story none the less and the kit didn't mind the occasional searching for words.

As she came to the "end" of her story, a lot of moans and objection went up among her young audience.

"NOOOOO!"

"We want more!"

"Tell us more, we have to hear about the boom sticks!"

"And the canoe! Tell us about the canoe!"

"And the Cryers!"

"Get her some water!"

Goran, a young kit, barely seven yahren old rushed off to fetch a waterskin from a nearby tent and chucked it in Niamh's lap, even before Allaeya could move. All googly eyed, begging her to continue, he sat back in the semi circle which had formed in front of the young storyteller.

[Niamh Windwalker]

Leaving off the spit for a burn, Niamh slaked her thirst with a careful gulp from the waterskin, almost uncomfortably aware of all the eyes watching her do so, as they awaited the rest of the story. She passed it to the child next to her to hold, and grinned her thanks to the one who'd retrieved it.

"So, instead of leaving them to their doom, a Scouting party set out, to warn them of their fate if they did not depart and return whence they came, to safety." Refreshing the memory of her audience, and giving those who had newly appeared a hook to relate to tale, her voice deepened with imagined urgency, her words slowly building with speed as she continued. Aware that she was responsible for the food over this particular fire, she made certain not to stop the regular turning required to make the food cook evenly.

"The scouts slid through the forest towards the festival grounds, silent, padding on paws or flitting upon feet, leaving no trace of their passage. They watched, they listened, but no intruders sprung from the trees, no Cryers leaped from the shadows. All was quiet.... and then..." her voice became slightly quieter, though she sought to project the words to the audience surrounding. "voices, the scent of strangeness and campfires, the scent of winds that comes from the high places within the sky. Knowing they approached, we spread out, watchful, careful, as they laughed and joked unawares. They celebrated as the daylight began to fade, not knowing what doom was about to fall." This last phrase she spoke heavily, building the tension she could scent around the campfire. Thoroughly enjoying the attention, she forgot to be guilty and uncertain, and the temporary confidence lent flare and depth to her already expressive voice.

"Bound by honor, we decided they must be warned. Carefully, we sought to alert them without revealing ourselves, sought to put them on their guard. Tugal departed to chase game into their midst, to frighten them into awareness. Yet within burns, it was clear that shadow had fallen beneath the tree canopy, for with a sudden...," she approximated the sound Tugal had made, her previous words quiet, the sound of her roar an attempt to make her listeners jump. "he charged back to the scouting party, two Cryers in his wake. We lit torches, circled to defend ourselves around a building flame. One," she bowed her torso slightly, "struck out for the boundary of the encampment, ignoring the whispers of the cryers, fighting off the despair and chill that precedes their arrival." Her eyes flickered around, suddenly, looking for Xenovia.

"But as I approached the tree-line, something else lurked among the shadows, and who else should appear but Xenovia! Xenovia, who had scouted ahead, watching them align their encampment. With each to guard the other's back, we rushed into the clearing before time was spent. Their celebrations fell silent as they looked upon myself and Xen, pale as stone and planted as firmly as we took our stand."

"Several stood to face us at our arrival, the first, their commanding warrior, tall, garbed in sky blue, blonde hair trimmed close to his skin! The second, a stork-like man in a green neck-wrap, his bright eyes akin to the other's clothes. They were startled, but showed none of the fear some of their other warriors revealed as we spoke of danger, but they did not understand.." Her voice deepened as she sought to mimic Quinlan's baritone.

" 'Danger,' spoke the first, 'What do you mean danger?' So we spoke of the Cryers, the deathly shadows that approached, that only flame and light and their gods blessing might hold it at bay." Her voice flickered again as she sought Xenovia's distinctive tenor, " 'If you do not seek our animosity, you will leave as soon as the sun rises, should you live through this night. While you are in our lands ... kill no creature that eats meat.' For we feared, if they saw a shifted form, they might commit an act for which we must revenge ourselves upon." She paused for a breath, her voice charging forwards with the events of that night fresh in her mind.

"We could scent the doubt, as we fled to our kin to join in their defense. Duty accomplished, we hoped to hold off the Cryers that might try our barriers of torches and flame. But as the last daylight glimmered it's farewell rays, screams erupted from their other camp, perhaps where their skiff lay, shrouded in dusklight. Before we could decide otherwise, the Cryers emerged, a massive, writhing wave of darkness and chill that emerged from the surrounding forest! It was an army of shadow that would spurn our touch, defy our blades, commit the murder of these intruders despite all our warnings to them! Such a thing would leave us with threat of war, with dead bodies and poor explanation.

"There seemed no end to them, and we were quickly surrounded! As we fought, the rage of defiance building, it was clear that something must be done, for the flames at our back could not fend off such numbers! And so, with a battle cry on every lip, we formed a line and charged through the shadows, wielding flaming torches and weapons... towards the enemy of this darker, ghostly enemy. There was no turning back as darkness writhed about us. As we approached their encampment, we shouted our approach, and, wonder of wonders, they opened ranks to allow us within... with the moment of safety nearly within our grasp..." Her voice fell dramatically, the words emerging as if pried from reluctant lips. "Kiare... fell."

She paused to breathe once again, gnashing her teeth slightly as she remembered those moments, her muscles tensing and relaxing in turn as they too echoed her thoughts. It was a good place to pause, allowing those about her to recall their own moments with the Cryers, to imagine, instead of a single front, being accosted upon all sides. Even Niamh shuddered, briefly, though her eyes flashed with the heat of remembered rage that had filled her, dimming her senses, heightening her focus.

[Xenovia Canace]

Xenovia had blacked out upon reaching safety that horrible gravetide, but by the time the sun began to rise she's recovered enough strength to awaken and make the journey back to the village. She'd said nothing substantial since her outburst toward the intruders, instead remaining silent and brooding, bearing the treatment of her wounds without flinching, despite the pain and indignity of it all. All questions were met with a steely glare that soon brought silence and, once cared for, Xenovia returned to her tent to sleep away the weariness that went deeper than her bones.

Her slumber was at first filled with nightmares. She tossed and groaned on her bed roll, dreaming of the night when they would no longer have wood to make fires, the night they would no longer be able to hold the Cryers off. They would have to flee, to find a new home.

In her dream she was running, fleeing without thought, her feet pounding into the ground below her, but not loud enough to drown out the sound of her heart beating in her ears. Like drums. Like death. She called out for Niamh, for Oni, for anyone. Only Cryers answered, swirling after her. Then, a cliff, and she leapt from it without hesitation, stretching her arms out; and she fell, fell forever, into a darkness deeper and more complete than any other.

With a start she awoke, turning sleepily onto her stomach, for in her fervor she'd rolled onto her injured back. Once she had attained sleep again, she was dead to the world, unable to be awakened. Luckily she was not sorely needed for guard duty.

Chyril 25th, late MT

She'd slept for a full day, and as Xenovia opened her eyes she felt much better than she had in quite some time. Movement was accompanied by a groan as the pain of her wounds returned to her, but it was met with the determination of one of the most stubborn women in the world -- Kanthrop or no. Within burns she was out of her tent and into the forest, ignoring any waves or calls, catching up a spear on her way. She ran until she met with a body of water, plunging eagerly into it, submerging herself completely and splashing about like a young child. Water and air -- the two things that always healed her soul. Xenovia felt new again.

After she had contented herself with her bathing and dried enough to move quietly through the forest, Xenovia began to make her way back toward the village, her free arm swinging in a leisurely manner at her side. Idly, she wondered what had become of the intruders. Were they gone? Somehow she doubted it, sniffing at the air and heading back toward the smell of food and her own kin.

Niamh's deep voice was not hard to pick out between the familiar noises of the camp. Xenovia advanced on her from behind, remaining some distance away and leaning against a nearby tree, enjoying the tale almost as much as the children did. It took much discipline not to laugh as Niamh attempted to make her voice higher to match Xenovia's almost wispy way of speaking. In truth her voice was only a little bit lower than that of the children calling for more -- not the sort of tone one would expect to hear coming out of such a tall and almost imposing woman.

Seeming to pause for breath, Niamh grew quiet, and Xenovia watched the muscles in the smaller Kanthrop's frame tense and ripple in remembrance of that evening's tension. She too looked a little more somber, her arms crossing over her chest, spear left leaning against some nearby post. Her gaze dropped to the side as she shifted silently, looking with mild interest at the imprinted patterns the bark left pressed into the pale skin of her rounded shoulder. Xenovia remained this way as she waited for Niamh to continue her story, deciding not to offer her aid. She sensed, in a way, that this story meant something more for Niamh. Perhaps it was a release, in much the same way that Xenovia's splashing about like a mad woman had been.

[Brytan]

Had the fire not been between Niamh and most of the children, they'd all have been sitting in her lap right now. The story was cause for a lot of "ooh's" and "aah's" and as the pressure was mounting on the adventures of this troupe which had dared to brave the isle at eveningtide the jaws of the younger children dropped further, their eyes wide with anticipation.

"Kiare... fell."

"NOOOOO!"

"Get up Kiare, get up!"

Cries of horror went up as Niamh dropped her next cliffhanger on her audience. Two of the youngest kit started to cry, with others taking them into their arms to hold them and comfort them.

"But, you saved her right, you got her out?"

Allaeya asked her question knowing the answer. She had seen the group return to the village the previous day, as had many. She looked at the younger ones and then back at Niamh.

Xenovia felt someone walk up behind her. "Morning deary, feeling better this morningtide?" Kaila placed a gentle hand on Xenovia's shoulder. She looked at Niamh like a mother would at a child. Listened and waited for the story to continue.

[Niamh Windwalker]

Feeling perhaps that she had gone a little too far, she pushed ahead, darting a quietly apologetic look to those who had gathered the crying kits to them. Those nearest her had indeed clambered upon and around her, but the weight of all the kit pressed around her was comforting, in a way, and though Allaeya was perhaps too big to fit, she ruffled the kits hair with a grin and a wink, perhaps disrupting the flow of the story, but hoping it would break the intensity a little.

"Indeed! We would never leave Kiare to the Cryers! Jumping recklessly back into the fray, two of our kin jabbed torches, spinning and darting them, heedless of their own injuries. They stood over Kiare, defending their brave comrade who had guarded the rear of their charge, fending off shadow with spitting bits of flame! As one, they heaved her back into the fold. Some tended Kiare's wounds, others, Outlanders and Kanthrop, stood side by side, fending off the Cryers and distrust with every swing of their torches, every arrow spun into the darkness, and every swoop of every bloody ineffective weapon."

"We had the horn, but no rescue party could hope to make it through the dark swarm of creatures. As many would perish as they could hope to save, and so we stood, building the flames, flinging tents and wood and supplies to the greedy flames, the heat fierce against our backs. Many Outlanders fell, and the Cryers fed on their fear, growing stronger, until their whispers bent so coarsely on one Outlander, his mind snapped, and he fled into the darkness."

She bowed her head, allowing a moment of respect for the fallen dead. However much the Outlanders had offended, they had certainly fought fiercely... at least most of them.

"The fire blossomed, the Cryers slowly fell back, one by one, undefeated. They paced out of sight, but the icy whispers hovered at the back of every mind. With one enemy withdrawn, however briefly, Kin and Outlander formed their lines, all dripping with some mixture of blood and sweat.

"The fires would not hold long, the insatiable flames only temporarily sated, and with every flicker they began to slowly diminish. But now, what next? The Cryers still stalked the night, perhaps hoping to set us against each other once we were left to our own devices. Fuel was gone, but when Xenovia suggested torching their skiff, they rose up in arms! Their precious Tal'fea," she stumbled over the words. "Was not to be used! Before an argument could break out, though a few heated words were exchanged on both sides, a survivor stumbled bloodily into the clearing of light, the lone remnant from those which had stayed to guard the ship. A warrior, at the instruction of his leader, threw some strange powder upon the flames, even as the survivor stumbled and fell into a pool of light.

"The powder hit the flame, and night became day, ears were shattered briefly as the fire burst and spit high into the sky. It revealed the waves upon waves of Cryers, which scurried and melted away temporarily under the onslaught. This stranger gasped a word even as he died, and yet, with those strange words, inspiration hit Oni. Grasping her token, she cried " 'Come, we have no time to lose!' and as one, Outlander and Kanthrop, we fled in a furious retreat." Niamh licked her lips, her voice speeding.

"A ring of torches surrounded our party, Kiare heaved onwards in the middle supported by Kin, another fallen Outlander carted along by those who had first spoken to us, and heard our warning. And behind, the warrior with the powder, loaded his stick, and guarded our retreat, shooting streaks of lightning into the heaving mass of Cryers at our back." Her voice quickened, her tone choppy as she mimicked the cadence of flight.

"Our feet pelted the ground, our torches waved as we rushed ahead, all was Chaos as we shrieked our defiance, dashing to the safety of.. Ursa's Heart." Her voice was getting tired now, and though she sipped the water, this was the most she had spoken in quite some time. A cheek settled briefly on the tousled head of whichever child had conquered her lap, as if to comfort them, before she continued.

"With a final sudden, huge, blast - the lightening stick flared once more, and then was silent, all the powder must have caught at once and the warrior sacrificed his life in one final defense of our party. As one, we flowed into Ursa's Heart, standing for flickers, waiting tensely as Oni prayed passage for us all...." She took a deep breath, eyes darting around.

"With a flare of blue light, we were suddenly surrounded, and then..." she stage whispered. "Safety. The next morning, we returned, battered, but not defeated. Oni gave the strangers leave to gather their dead and belongings. We should pray that Ursa grant their souls rest..."

The story spent, Niamh fell silent, doing just that.

With the last of the words, a sort of peace settled in Niamh's soul, as if by sharing the experience, she had purged an infection from within, freeing the nastiness, fear and anger from where it had been entrapped.

She sighed, and continued to rotate the meat, which was starting to get nice and crispy, the fat sizzling juicily into the flames, but surrounded and encompassed by children as she was, she could neither stand or pull the meat free on her own. Glancing up, she sought another Kanthrop's face with mute appeal.

[Xenovia Canace]

A small smile sat contentedly on her lips as Xenovia watched and listened to Niamh. Her chin lifted thoughtfully as she felt someone approach behind her, but there was never any need to fear within the village walls. Xen turned to smile at Kaila, nodding her head gently.

"Aye, my body is no longer weary," she said in her soft, clear tones. But my mind... Turning her head, her golden orbs surveying the kits and those around the would-be storyteller, Xen allowed a sigh to escape her lips -- though it did so silently, with no shifting of her shoulders to betray it. No need to worry others with her concerns. On Niamh went, and Xen did not fail to notice that she spoke of two kin rushing to save Kiare, rather than Niamh and herself. She avoids recognition. She is humbled. A slight downward tilt and a narrowing of her eyes portrayed the sharpening of her thoughts. Niamh was not the humble type. She must feel shamed for her actions. Yet no one accuses her. "Hmh," came the breathy sound of consideration, her weight shifting gently from one bare foot to the other. She wore sandals sparingly.

As Niamh spoke Xen could almost feel herself reliving the night. Would that nothing like that ever occurs again. Yet had they even made a dent in the Cryers' army? Or were they truly born of shadow, created anew every sunset? And what had become of said Outlanders? Would they leave in peace? Somehow, she could not bring herself to trust that they would. Lost momentarily in deep thought, Xenovia returned to herself only when Niamh completed her tale.

"We should pray that Ursa grant their souls rest..."

Quietly, Xenovia bowed her head for a moment, long lashes lowering over her sharp eyes. Only a few flickers later, though, that casual, lop-sided smile found its way back onto her thin lips, and she turned back toward Kaila, a toss of her head sending a few wet strands of hair flying out of her face. "Thank you for your care, and your consideration. It is appreciated." Xen did have a habit of sounding much older than she was, despite her young voice. Yet she seemed more brooding, like Niamh had been only days before, despite her ever-present grin. "Is there anything new? I think I managed to sleep a whole day away."

[Brytan]

The kit around the fire sighed a breath of relief as Niamh concluded her tale. A wave of chatter then erupted, excited questions aswell as stories of their own were quickly exchanged around the fire where she sat. Kaila moved from Xenovia to Niamh, repeating the gentle pat on the shoulder to then take over the spit with ease and started to carve slices of meat from the roasting piece with a delicate but sharp bone knife.

The story had been heard by a great many kanthrop, and those who just now awoke from their tents were quickly imparted by their young charges with the wisdom they had gleaned from Niamh. Looking up she caught the rewarding and appreciative nods and glances from a number of elder kanthrop. A well told story was always appreciated.

"They're awake, they're awake! Come quick!"

Alli, a small boy who lived just a few tents from Niamh's, rushed into the main fire circle, sweating and all excited. His eyes wide and round, the feline within clearly present. A number of other kit roughly his age rushed to his side as careful eyes turned to the inn which rose at the west of the town on Threed hill. In the doorway of the inn, clearly visible from where both Niamh and Xenovia were, a woman had appeared, who seemed to be looking around curiously, some kind of square pad in her hand.

The landing party had been invited by the elders to stay at the inn during the gravetide, having arrived late the previous day only few had seen them before. Carlotta Serafini was the first to step outside.

[Quinlan Corodin]

Chyril 24th, MT
Though the cave had proven quite safe for tribal and outsider alike, Quinlan saw little rest. He dozed off and on of course, but the rock would've made a poor place to sleep under the best circumstances. As it was, his mind ground like a millstone over the events of the night, and what would happen next.

Upon exiting the cave, the tribals departed for their village, leaving the members of the expedition to pick up the pieces. With a flat tone and expressionless face, the lieutenant led the men back to the campsite to salvage what they might, and survey the damage to the Tal'Fea. Anticipating the carnage that might be revealed in the light of day, Quinlan urged Carlotta Serafini to remain close to the cave for the time being and record what she could about the events. He extended Guido the option of staying with her, otherwise leaving one of the soldiers to watch over her.

The Cryers had been frighteningly single-minded. A rational, mortal enemy might have sought to steal or destroy equipment and supplies. The monsters, however, had wanted only to kill, and the toll had been great. The soldiers who had died alongside him at the camp had been the least of it, for the entire airship's crew was dead. The Tal'Fea was whole in spite of everything, but Quinlan doubted that the people he had left could safely take her into the sky.

Chyril 24th, TT
Quinlan changed out of his blue and silver uniform for the gruesome work to follow. The dead had to be found and laid to rest. Each body that was recovered left him reliving the worst moments of the previous night. Of course, he told himself he had done his best, had made the only decisions he could. But, that didn't stop him from seeing it all again. The soldier he had knocked into. The sergeant, killed by accident when the hand cannon powder exploded. Would things had been different, would some of them lived if... if... if...

LeForestier had shown himself to be an expert skipper. Ardigo had appeared a capable and sharp soldier. The soldiers and crew, their skills, their lives, Quinlan despaired at the waste of it. And the emissary whom they were supposed to protect was lost, though his body was oddly not to be found. If they had only known about the Cryers before. Had the previous scouts the Condotierre had sent not seen any sign?

The enthusiasm he had felt for the expedition, the adventure, had been stamped out. Lieutenant Corodin worked alongside the other men in silence, finding, identifying, and moving the dead. Word was sent to the native people's village, inquiring where they might allow the final resting place to be.

Not wanting to exhaust the men any more than they already were, and wanting to find shelter well before night began to fall again, Quinlan decided that the bodies would be cremated in a funeral pyre. It felt appropriate, the fire guarding and cleansing against any claim of the beasts of shadow. It wouldn't be in the traditions of the One Church, but short-handed and unsure of their way home, he saw no other choice.

Listless and drained, his voice was low as he spoke a few short words of eulogy.

"Let it be known that these men died in valiant service to the Condotierre, and to World's Mouth. May we honor them in our words and deeds. May Dominicus smile upon them, and receive them with open arms."

Chyril 24th, ET
The members of the expedition had been invited to stay at a place called the Threed Fox Inn. Still in plain linen shirt and brown leggings, Quinlan carried all his belongings with him in his backpack. It made him feel just a little more secure, and he advised the others to leave anything they couldn't carry themselves in the airskiff's hold. Unwilling to even think of leaving anyone behind with the premise of guarding the ship, the lieutenant ordered it secured as best it could be, and left until such time as they might leave Terra Nova.

To Quinlan, the inn was rustic and comforting. It was a strange place with strange people, but he didn't feel the expedition was in danger from the natives for the time being. After the past few tides, he felt only great relief at the prospect of proper rest. He didn't even question the security of the inn against the Cryers. It was enough for him that the tribals seemed to feel safe there, just as they had in the cave the night before.

Leaving the others to their own devices, Quinlan lay himself down, even more exhausted than before.

Chyril 25th, Late MT
Quinlan had expected nightmares, but when he had slept, it had seemed free of dreams. He awoke early - at least, it felt early - but he laid without stirring for a long time. Formless thoughts - mostly images - passed through his mind. The faces of the dead, and how alive they had been marks earlier. Warrant Officer LeForestier and his affection for his airskiff. The Nashorne Institute where the ships were constructed. Quinlan's first voyage on board an airship. One thought was seemlessly linked to the next.

His face was still expressionless and his tone flat when he eventually rose, but in resting he had regained some of his resolve. Though it had begun in tragedy, there was still a mission to accomplish. Committing to it would be his temporary salvation.

He donned the blue and silver of the Condotierre uniform once again. Though it and he had both seen better days, he did his best to look sharp. Quinlan offered both Carlotta and Guido an escort of soldiers as they saw fit. As for the rest, the lieutenant made it clear that they were expected to remain at the inn, an assignment he anticipated few complaints over. The last thing he wanted was to appear provocative, or to have problems arise from soldiers blundering around the village.

As for the curator and the cartographer, Quinlan was content to give them carte blanche, only urging them to learn and record as much as they possibly could. Carlotta Serafini seemed to take it to heart, and was the first to step outisde.

Sure that the tribe's leaders would want to speak with him and vice versa, Quinlan followed soon after.

[Xenovia Canace]

As Kaila moved toward the fire, Xenovia shrugged faintly and moved away from the tree, stretching her willowy arms up toward the skies. The tenderness in her back made her wince, however, and the movement was cut short, her arms falling to her sides again. An intake of breath through her nose, however, revealed the scent of something she had not previously noticed. It was thinned, as if old, but she thought she could smell burnt hair and flesh. It made her shudder. I'm imagining things, surely. She didn't have long to think on it, however, for suddenly a small kit was rushing in, shouting about someone being awake. Her head tilted, ere turning toward the inn.

Apparently I did miss something.

What she first felt was bristling aggression, her arm swinging effortlessly to the side as her fingers curled around the smooth wood of her spear, lifting it from its resting place against the tree. Why were they in the village?! Why hadn't they left, like they'd been instructed? Who the hell did they think they were?? It took a few moments of fury for her seldom-heeded voice of reason to whisper shyly in defense of the strangers. Perhaps they couldn't leave. No doubt they weren't terribly keen on staying in a village surrounded by what they probably thought were savages. Xenovia's lip curled in a sneer at the thought. Regardless of excuses, she didn't like that they were here.

Soon the woman was followed by the man whom had seemed to be their leader. He was dressed in that garish blue uniform. It covered so much skin. How could he stand that? It almost made her pale flesh itch at the thought. The woman was mostly covered too. Xenovia couldn't imagine wearing something more substantial than her kanthar. Even in the cold she was reluctant to cover herself with furs, and only did so in the worst of weather.

Where was the other one? Guido had seemed more reasonable and respectful than that Quinlan fellow. Regardless, he was still an intruder. Yet hadn't there been more? Just how many had died that evening? Perhaps that explained what she had scented on the air flickers before.

Xenovia appeared to turn her back on the inn, but in reality she was keeping the intruders in her sight the whole time. She moved toward the fire with the grace of a huntress, ruffling the hair of a few kits on her way. Her young voice was stern as she spoke. "Remember. They cannot be trusted." This she said softly, but loud enough for everyone around the fire to hear. She gave a nod in particular to Niamh, though it was more in greeting than warning. A small smile even quirked the corner of her thin lips upward. It quickly vanished, however, as she settled down and went about fetching herself some food, casting short, hard-to-catch glances toward the in every few flickers.

[Guido Cercatoro]

Chyril 24th, MT

Despite the uncomfortable conditions, Guido slept soundly until the late morning. Exhaustion, both mental and physical, had taken their toll on the young curator. He was more used to the excitement of turning the next page of some historical treatise than flying through the night carrying a comatose woman over his shoulder.

Strangely, he recalled no nightmares, yet he awoke with a start as the natives departed the cave for their village. He nodded quietly in response to Quinlan’s request to remain close to the cave. He satisfied himself that Carlotta was recovered, asking if she had any injuries and answering any questions he had as best he could.

Chyril 24th, TT

Retrieving whatever writing materials he could find, Guido set about setting down his memories of the events of the previous night. He recorded the journey to the new land, the making of the camp, the first meeting with the natives, the coming of the cryers, the deaths, the flight and the escape. He described the natives, their dress, their speech, their customs and the other strange creatures he had seen. He recorded the names of those whom he knew had died, leaving space for those nameless ones he did not know. He continued relentlessly with this task, for he needed to spill out the memories to begin the process of healing.

Chyril 24th, ET

Retrieving his belongings, Guido then joined the others at the Threed Fox Inn. The building stood out – an imposing, elevated building in the midst of the tents and huts of the town. After helping himself to whatever food and drink was available, the curator determined to go to bed in one of the communal dormitories. Before he did so, however, he forced himself to inquire as to the name, rank and background of all who had died for entry into his record of the expedition.


Chyril 25th, Late MT

Guido awoke late in the morning, somewhat more refreshed after a second night’s sleep. After taking breakfast, he busied himself gathering more information and memories of recent events for recording in his history. He tried to gather the individual experiences of the soldiers and also asked the Lieutenant for his own impressions.

When Carlotta and Quinlan stepped outside, Guido followed suit.

[Niamh Windwalker]

Niamh's earlier unease had begun to lapse, and the approving glances, as well as the understanding brush of Kaila's fingers, were a heady salve. At least there is one thing, yet, I might do right...

At the kit's panting exclamation, she craned her head around, spying the woman, Guido and Quinlan from where she perched around the crackling and snapping flames, still somewhat surrounded by kit. The distraction of the strangers, gave her the means to extract herself from the writhing huddle of young listeners, and she found herself edging next to Xenovia as they each sated their hunger. She shredded the crisp but tender meat with agile fingers, as she ate, unconcerned with occasional dribble of juice down her fingers, though she promptly caught them with her lips, taking care not to ruin the new kanthar that was free of blood-stains. A quiet grunt was her response to her companion's comment.

In daylight, her exotic features were revealed to be of a slightly craggy nature, those oddly bird-like eyes set deeply above a long nose. Despite the strangeness of her features, suspicion and curiousity mingled clearly upon them, her own darting glances a counter-point to Xenovia's, though her thoughts, as usual, were perhaps meandering down a less practical ponderance. Now that there was no immediate danger, keeping Niamh's attention focused and serious was never an easy task.

They know nothing of us, what fun that might be... Pulling another strip of meat from the item roasting before her, she found herself assessing the cooking meat thoughtfully, her playful nature struggling to rise up against the awe and seriousness of those around her. With a breath that sounded suspiciously like a chuckle, she coughed twice, then nudged Xenovia, muttering quietly as she canted her head towards her friend.

"Wouldn't if be funny if..." her voice trailed off, eyes darting to note whether or not anyone else was listening. If a kit still hovered, she shooed them away, not quite looking at Kaila, but her senses suddenly seeking to make sure no one would listen in and steal her fun. The experience they had shared left Niamh feeling as close to Xen as ever, and she was eager to make good on what could be a useful coconspirator.

[Brytan]

Carlotta stepped outside of Threed Fox Inn. She had her pad and charcoal ready, rested well even though the accomodations weren't exactly what she was used to. It was still much better than the encampment and the potential Cryer attacks they would suffer there, and the innkeeper and his wife had been very pleasant and courteous, offering the entire party a room to their own. She had objected ofcourse, sleeping among men? Impossible. But they had quickly obliged her with a seperate space in the other part of the common rooms.

The weather was as it seemingly always was in this part of the world; bright and sunny. But this time without the added damp that came with the sticky climate of the Aveas subtropical forests. The mountains surrounding the valley seemed to have the pleasant side effect of creating a climate rather similar to that of the Western Kingdoms, but quite a bit more stable and warmer.

A short walk down the hill on which the two story building stood lay Valley Village. She had seen it only in twilight as they were rushed to the inn but a few tides prior. Now the village was waking and she could observe it and it's inhabitants in all their splendour. Several rings of tents and a few log cabins stood within a high wall made up of wooden poles. The wall seemed rather new, as opposed to the tents and the cabins which had been there seemingly forever, grass and plants sprouting up around them. The tents were made mostly out of roughly woven canvas and animal hides, perfectly tanned and embroidered or painted with flashing colours of red and blue, yellow. Fires were burning in the middle of each ring, with people gathered around them to start off their morning with breakfast, the smell betraying it to consist mostly of roasted meats and freshly baked bread.

Many eyes focussed on the visitors as the cartographer was joined by both Guido and Quinlan who were treated to the same view. A tribal village of tents in the early morning, it's inhabitants starting of their day by feeding themselves...and their companions.

As they stood there for some flickers longer, they might notice an abundance of poles and make shift perches were scattered throughout the entire village. Large, decorated totem poles were rare. But simple wooden sticks protruded from the ground everywhere, playing host to a wide variety of bird of prey which were flying in out of every direction, to land near to the fires where some received slabs of meat to gnaw on. People were watching them as they walked down to the first circle, where a mass of children was gathered around two familiar faces, who stood there amidst the children watching the outlanders with a rather discomforting glare in their eyes.

"They don't seem very friendly...I hope this wasn't a trick to get us into their village..." Carlotta Serafini spoke with a mildly concerned tone in her voice.

From one of the entrances to the village came a very peculiar pack of animals. A bear was followed closely by three wolves which all walked upto the fire nearest them, eyeing the visitors before one of the older women spoke to them. It was impossible to understand what she said to the large beast over the excited chatter of children scattering everywhere as the outlanders descended to the fire ring. No one seemed particularly concerned with four wild animals strolling into their middle. Some of the children went to pet the wolves and the bear, which did not at all seemed to mind.

"Oh look, Kaern is back from guard duty." Kaila exclaimed as the massive form of the bear shifter appeared in the village. He approached their fire, looking at the visitors. "Good Morningtide Kaila, Niamh, Xen...I see our guests are awake then?" The master warper looked tired, but the children always cheered him up after a long gravetide of watching out for Cryer activity.

"Oh yes dear, they are quite the spectacle."

"So it seems. Perri, go tell Hawkeye that our guests are traipsing around town. I think he would like to know."

One of the wolves, who was just being "tickledeathed" by some of the kit sprung up and nodded, sprinting off to the shaman's cabin.

"I need some rest, I'll be in my tent if anyone needs me. Let the council deal with them for now. And you two..." He turned to Niamh and Xen "They are guests of the Goldenback tribe. Remember that." After that he walked off and into his tent at the north end of the village.

[Xenovia Canace]

Xenovia had been busy filling her belly with the delicious meat, pausing occasionally to lick at the juices running down her chin before beginning again, tearing away at it as if she were an animal. She'd always been known for eating quite a lot when she did, and eating it fast. It was a snigger from Niamh that slowed her down, her attention split three ways now. Since the night before she had felt closer to Niamh, who was now less like a rival and more a companion.

"Wouldn't it be funny if..."

Her eyebrow raised and she almost shook her head. Now that the danger was past, it was like nothing had happened. Niamh was ready to play tricks again, and it was in this way that Xenovia often felt older than she. Xen was much less prone to pulling pranks -- lately, she brooded or went wandering off instead. But she still had a sense of humor, and Niamh was always able to spark mischief in her heart.

Yet before Niamh could continue there was a disturbance, and Xenovia looked up to see Kaern. Her back immediately straightened and she wiped her face on her arm. Obviously, she was used to being in trouble with him. A quick nod was given in greeting, her ears listening to the conversation with obvious curiosity.

She had just begun to slouch again upon hearing that he was departing to rest, yet as he turned to address her, her back snapped back to attention. She nearly winced.

"They are guests of the Goldenback tribe. Remember that."

So, he'd noticed. A humble nod was her response, and she glanced almost questioningly at Niamh. Her eyes seemed to say, Are you going to get us in trouble?

Xenovia looked back toward the inn. The third, Guido, had appeared as well. They were all awake, and no doubt soon they would be wandering among the camp. How long would it take them to figure out their secret? Could they afford that? What if they ran home, telling stories of people who could change into animals? Or of animals who could speak? It would be a disaster. Obviously discomforted, Xenovia turned back to her morning meal, bristling with worry, fear, and hatred for the strangers that were making her feel that way.

[Quinlan Corodin]

OOC: Hopefully we're all recovering from the holidays. :D

"I seriously doubt it's a trap, Miss Serafini. These people have had every opportunity to attack us." Quinlan scanned the scene, convincing himself of the statement as well. "We fought together," he added in a flat tone. "I would hope that's worth something."

Quinlan strode slowly from the inn door, taking in the sights of the village. There was something calming about the communal atmosphere that he perceived from the circles of tents and the villagers gathered around cooking fires. The idea of these people living in the tents was curious, and left him puzzling over, among other things, the reason why the Cryers didn't ravage the place. Is it really as simple as having bonfires to ward them away?

The animals hadn't gone unnoticed in the tumult of previous days, either. The natives had a special relationship with them, which was very clear as the lieutenant watched children play carelessly with the beasts. Predators that people would normally be wary, or even fearful of, the village seemed to claim as pets. No, not quite pets. Something... else...

Quinlan paused and watched the animals with growing interest. What was it that woman had said in the beginning? 'Kill no animal that eats meat,' wasn't that it? Do they have such a relationship with all the animals here?

"Mister Cercatoro, what do you make of... well, this? All of it?" he quietly asked the curator.

As he was thinking of the woman, so he recognized her among the clusters of natives. He couldn't help but look at her, remembering the way she had hissed and spat, acting more the animal than the bear or wolf that was strolling among the tents. It reminded Quinlan that he, too, was being watched by the villagers. All of the expedition were.

He didn't yet try to speak to any of the villagers, though he moved among them at a respectful distance. It could only be a matter of time before he was sent for. They'll want to ask when we'll be leaving again, I'm sure.

[Brytan]

OOC: Feel free to interact a bit among yourselves at this point. I'm hoping Guido will post soonish, if not you will have an NPC response tomorrow anyway.

[Xenovia Canace]

Niamh had fallen silent. Perhaps she was planning something different, something more covert that would keep them safe from detection through their pranks. Xenovia hoped so -- but she hoped still more that Niamh might give up the silly idea. She was morose this morning, and not in much of a mood for fun.

Xenovia's eyes followed the intruders' movements as they made their way further into the camp. She was filled simultaneously with revulsion and curiosity, wanting both to gouge their eyes out so that their secret might be protected, and to ask them the hundreds of questions crowding her thoughts. It was a hard choice.

She was watching Quinlan closely. He seemed to be the one in charge. He was the one who could make them leave. She was a hunched figure of controlled animosity at the moment, the kanthar she wore wrapped in such a way that the bandaging on her back could be partially seen. Her long, almost deathly white legs were tucked near her form, as if she were ready at any moment to spring up and attack, though in truth she simply felt more comfortable this way. Her eyes were alert, and in the daylight it was easy to see that those golden orbs were not at all human. Her iris shimmered beautifully as her large pupils dilated and contracted, shifting her focus wider, narrower. Every detail was absorbed about them.

As Quinlan looked toward her, Xenovia was tempted to bare her teeth at him, unimpressive as they were. Instead, Kaern's words echoing in her thoughts, she gestured toward the fire and the 'seats' around it. Though she doubted they wanted to be so closely surrounded by her tribe, no doubt they were hungry, and there was freshly cooked meat to be had. Her movements were obviously reluctant, though. Part of her clearly didn't want them there -- yet curiosity was also somewhat evident.

[Quinlan Corodin]

Quinlan almost missed the invitation. Is that really what it is? Invitation? His head tilted to the side as he looked over the fire and those around it, trying to decide. The pale woman was the last he would've looked to for any such gesture, but it seemed the opportunity was before him.

After a pause, Quinlan took slow, purposeful steps toward the fire and those around it. He neither smiled nor frowned, but his face was open as hazel eyes watched those of others. Xenovia's in particular were a fascination, but both diplomacy and general manners told him not to stare.

Moving up to one of the "seats," he stopped for one last hesitation. Quinlan had read enough to know that one tricky thing about the meeting of two cultures was the difference of customs. Something insignificant to one might be grave insult to another.

Was that it? Was this a form of trap? The ravages of the past two days, the unrelenting attitude of this same pale woman in tides past, it left the lieutenant suspicious. Was she looking for an insult to justify attack, as she seemed so near to in the midst of the Cryers?

Foolishness, he decided. We all were in the heat of it, yelling and fighting. This... is a new day. Quinlan crouched down with the villagers around the fire. He rested a knee on the ground, his scabbard making a "clink" on the ground behind him.

August but haggard was the Condotierre officer, like a fine bound book whose cover was over worn. The blue and silver, the lines and buttons of his uniform were a stark contrast to the villagers he joined around the fire. Yet, the night of the Cryers had left its impression on the officer's uniform same as the officer. A smudge of dirt, a misplaced crease, a small stain of blood from one of the men that had been overwhelmed.

Quinlan rubbed his chin as he began to notice the smell of the meat. Stubble had begun to grow out in the past day to match everything else. His dark blonde hair was similarly tousled, though he had ran his fingers through it when he got up for some semblance of neatness. No mirrors in the land of the beasts.

"Well," he said quietly, almost a murmur. "What kind of meat is it?"

He watched some of the villagers as they ate and watched him back. On the surface, they seemed a simple people. Tents and lodges, wrappings of fabric for clothing, eating food right from the fire. As much as he appreciated pageantry and refinement, the scene still gave him a little stir.

[Xenovia Canace]

She was curious about whether or not he would accept her invitation. He seemed confused at first, and Xenovia remembered how she had lashed out at him the night before; thusly, she took no offense to it. He was right to be wary of her, both because of the way she had acted and, as far as she believed, because she was a force to be reckoned with.

After what seemed to be a few moments of consideration, Quinlan moved toward the fire with the obvious intention of joining them. Xen was poised on the edge of a log, a nearly-finished hunk of meat in her hands. She had eaten messily, and she lifted her forearm to smear some of the juices away from her lips as Quinlan paused to consider his options. Her nostrils flared, her bird eyes watching him carefully, darting over his form so quickly that it was hard to tell where she was looking, for her eyes never settled for long. It was clear, however, that she was absorbing everything about him, right down to the tension behind his hesitation. Trust, it seemed, would not come quickly. It was just as well.

Once he had settled, Xenovia looked to Kaila, obviously expecting her to give some of the meat to Quinlan. There were no plates, no napkins, nothing of what the man might consider normal. There were only hands and mouths.

Quinlan's question brought Xenovia's head round again, and she looked at him with what almost seemed to be incredulity. It was not a normal question, to her. Meat was meat. It was food, energy, sustenance, so it mattered little what it was. Granted, there were favorites, but she could tell what kind of meat it was just from the scent. Her head cocked on that slender neck in a swift, birdlike motion. Now that she was more calm, her voice was much more pleasant to the ear -- a higher tone, one that did not necessarily match her age or her appearance. "Does it matter?"

That was the closest she gave to an answer, returning her attention to her breakfast and tearing into it with the same obvious appetite. After all, she hadn't eaten in a day.

OOC: Edited to fix name.

[Brytan]

Carlotta walked with the same caution as Quinlan did, but she too was intrigued by the scene in front of her. As they moved among the villagers, children scattering in front of them only to linger by elders and fires, watching them with their strange eyes they all noted the stark contrast they held with their own.

But all in all they seemed normal people. Tribal and somewhat savage mayhaps, but people none the less. Men and women moved around without an apparent ranking system or order. Greetings were exchanged in familiar language, Western Kingdoms a traveled man or woman might divulge from the accent and dialect, somewhere east of the great Mer perhaps? Men and women walked around greeting, preparing food for everyone. Children and adults alike moved between fires to share talk and food with no regard for boundaries or restraint. As if it was one big family.

"They seem so...friendly...so...simple and gentle." Carlotta mused as she followed Quinlan to the fire at the invitation of Xenovia. "That accent...it's so familiar..." She jotted a few things down on a piece of paper, a sketch of one of the tents she had been working on, with a few notes on village architecture and scribblings of a map. Her hand raced along the paper as if it had a will of it's own, drawing the attention of one of the kit close to her, which eyed the drawing with wild interest before rushing off to some of it's friends further away.

As Quinlan hunched down, the metal on his scabbard touched ground with an audible "clang", turning even more intrigued children's eyes and hands to the alien blade. One of the children dared to touch the scabbard but withdrew it's hand quickly after having fondled it for a few flickers. It started to cry.

"There, there Menti, no need to cry deary. Let me have a look." The elderly woman who had been cutting slices of meat from the roast on the fire got up and handed the bone knife over to Niamh who was still close by. She kneeled next to Quinlan and Carlotta, who had also taken a seat and looked at the hand of the little one, kissing it and ruffling the hair of the slender boy with the golden eyes, pupils all big and black with tears. "Tis nothing deary, here, have some water and it'll be ok."

She then turned to the visitors. "You must forgive the young one. He meant no offense." The woman gave a broad smile, as a grandmother would her grand children. "And it's boar meat dear, fresh from the woodland of Pan's Isle. Have some please, I insist. Niamh, carve our guests a slice will you? They must be famished."

Her entire air radiated friendlyness and motherhood. This was the kind of woman you could picture sitting at home, waiting for her children to come home from a hard days work or education with a pan in one hand and a spoon in the other to feed them.

"I'm Kaila by the way deary. Xen and Niamh you obviously know, from the wonderful story Niamh told the kit. What are you called?"

Behind Quinlan, Guido and Carlotta a few children were whispering frantically, just within earshot of Guido who was still standing and not surrounded by other people.

"They have white eyes..."

"Yeah, with blue and brown, it's weird. Like prey."

"Or monkeys. Think they're monkeys? They don't look like monkeys..."

"Dummy, monkeys are prey. Petran told you that yesterday."

"Ssst...I wanna hear what Kaila is saying."

[Guido Cercatoro]

(OOC: sorry for my dreadfully slow posting here but its taken me a long time to get back on track with my modding after two weeks off at xmas. I'll try to drop in a post tomorrow.)

[Niamh Windwalker]

Niamh's mischievous aura subsided abruptly, with Xenovia's cool response and Kaern's far-too-timely warning. Heaving a put-upon sigh, she sat and watched, a flicker of surprise blinking the eyes watching her companion's inviting gesture. She too crouched by the fire, uncharacteristically silent as she took in the strangeness of the newcomers. Quinlan, Carlotta and Guido, despite the recent days among her kind, were different. Their eyes were the least of the subtle oddities, for their movements seemed tense and controlled, their scent more distinct and foreign with the absence of the sweat and fear that had forged their common bond during the battle.

They seem so...friendly...so...simple and gentle."

Niamh's sharp ears perked at this comment, a quick glance darting to the woman, and wondered. Simple? Do they think us feeble-minded? Gentle? Have we not shown our worth in battle? As Xenovia, she too wondered at how the Elders would handle the knowledge they had gained. Too often she had been told of the Foxes and their greed, and something in her revolted against the thought of the woman scribbling things about them which they might not be able to understand, while they all watched! Head canting sharply, eyes glinting in the daylight as she strove to catch a glimpse of what the woman did, it took a few brief flickers for her to realize Kaila had spoken.

She accepted the knife gingerly, her nearly bare arms stretching over the fire, slight but well-defined muscles rippling under her tanned skin. One arm bore a bandage, but despite the twinges, she refused to show weakness, grasping the bone handle and deftly slicing finger-width strips of meat from the carcass. There was an assessing look in her eyes, the brightness of the day allowing her darker pupils to retract, leaving a tawny yellow gaze to level at Quinlan and Carlotta.

Offering each a few strips of meat in turn, her fingers indented the moist slices, careful not to let the pieces slip until she was sure the stranger had it in hand. To Guido she offered none, though she paused and cocked her head to one side with an abrupt flexibility that might remind one of a bird. If he asked, she would dig the knife into the flesh once more.

When finished, she lay the knife on the stones by the fire with care, nibbling on a piece of the flesh, her greatest hunger sated... and watched. So much among her kind was unspoken, merely sensed and reacted to.

[Guido Cercatoro]

The young curator remained quiet as he observed the scene that lay before him. The tents, cabins and fires that made up the village appeared relatively standard for a tribal village and yet….the walls appeared different, rather newer than he would have expected …and the animals…the bear and wolves were treated as if they were part of the village rather than wild animals. How strange…were they talking?

So caught up was he with wild speculations that Guido scarcely heard Carlotta’s comments and Quinlan’s query. Indeed, as they both set out to take up Xenovia’s invitation, the curator remained standing and suddenly found himself alone save for few children the whispers of whom suddenly tore him out of his reverie.

A monkey! They think I might be a monkey! Guido turned towards the children. His first inclination was to make a monkey noise, for he was rather adroit at imitating voices and noises. However, he thought better of it, for who knew what the reaction might be. Instead, he satisfied himself wiith a quiet chuckle and joined the others at the campfire. He arrived in time to see Niamh offering the meat to his companions.

Guido squatted down and addressed himself directly to Niamh. “I would be honoured to eat with you.” He said nothing more, mindful that is was wise to tread carefully given that he understood little of this alien culture.