Xenovia smiled as the flap fell shut behind her. Rubbing her mitts together, the Deva stomped some life back into her limbs as she took the opportunity to look around. Snow blanketed everything in sight. Deep and treacherous, it clogged the road down which they had rode the night before, their tracks little more than a memory blown away by nature's breath. Nearby, beneath dripping eaves crowded with icicles, Vyn's horse stood nuzzling at a frozen water trough.

'Morning,' she greeted the creature, approaching from an angle that placed her in its field of view. 'What's wrong? Would you like a drink?'

The ice was thick. Three inches or thereabouts. A blow from her elbow left it spiderwebbed, the one to follow breaking through clean. 'There you go,' she whispered, taking a step back. 'All good now.' Admiring the rouncey a moment, Xen ran a hand down the horse's neck, her breath misting as she smiled, teeth bared and bleeding light. It was then she heard it. The crunch of footsteps from behind. Vyn.

'I thought you were going to- oh!'

Turning, Xenovia drew up short as she spotted a figure crouched by the woodpile. Isn't that Vyn's friend? Why does he seem so- 'Odd.' Hmm. Eyes narrowed, the devahni watched as the man started to crabwalk away. 'Um, excuse me! Hello!' Waving, she started hurrying towards the figure, her steps unburdened by the thick snows that lay beyond the camp's boundaries. So shy, thought the Deva, her smile brightening as she grew close. So strange-looking, too. Is it his garb or-
 
The Pale froze mid step, one heal-forward foot hovering above the snow, with joints tight in angles no person should have. It didn’t tremble despite the cold, but something inside its white adjusted – soft mechanical clicks, like the winding of an old clock.
It had far too many teeth, small and perfect. Even enough for a beautiful smile, but unlikely to be useful. The rest of its face produced the idea of calm with mixed results. The hollows where the ears should be, soft fingerprints dips in the side of the head, gave it away.
A thing made to look like it listened, but the project abandoned half way.

As Xen’s cheerful footsteps crunched closer, the Pale moved just enough.
Lips moved without sound. A motion not of language, but mimicry – for it had seen someone speak like that once.

Vyn’s voice came next, from the safety of the tent:

“Not too close, Xen.” The Pale shifted slightly, joints clicking again. Its fingers twitching midair like a child caught guilty.
“That one doesn’t know how to lie yet.” The creature’s head twitched towards the voice, as if checking whether it’d done well. Then, still crouched, it returned to its crabwalk, slow as mist picking up. One heel caught onto something in the snow, and the whole leg rotated around it, changing direction without breaking stride.

If Xen looked close enough, she might catch it moving its lips again.

Still trying to remember.
 
The man was neither human nor devahni, though he did resemble both, up to a certain point. Crooked bones, lumpy flesh, and a face that only a mother could love. And even then, 'twould be a struggle, thought Xen, unsure of what she was staring at, even as her eyes grew wide, legs going weak at the knees as the Pale smiled back at her, like a predator sizing up its prey. Eight above! What is this thing? She wondered, tension pooling in her gut as her words were met with naught but silence.

Then, Vyn's voice issued from the tent, calm as the deepest of sleeps, though no less coherent for it.

'Not too close, a-aye.' No way was she going near that thing. Not now, not ever. Holding up her hands in what she believed a placating gesture, Xen backpedalled towards the tent, footsteps crumping as she went.

The man-thing moved with her. Away, fortunately. Xenovia found herself hurrying all the same, not wanting to be left outside on her own a moment longer. Feeling her tail brush against something leathery, she reached back, left hand fumbling around for the tent flap. It took her several seconds to work her way inside. The last she saw of the man was his leg rotating about itself, the sickening sight accompanied by nary a sound, save the continuous clicking of mechanisms hidden inside an organic shell.

Fastening the ties, Xen shrank away from the entrance, a chill working its way down her spine despite the warmth in the air.

'What in the Abyss was that thing?' She asked Vyn, breathless, as if she had just run a marathon in a matter of minutes. 'And what the Hel did you mean by "it doesn't know how to lie?" Is he- it with you?'
 
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The tent folded back in, and Xen complained, with a steady voice of someone who wasn’t giving Vyn another five minutes. She groaned into the furs, made a vague gesture that could’ve meant later, never, or bring coffee. But the words still made her sit up. She rubbed an eye with the back of her wrist, wondering if it was still possible to bargain for a bit more sleep.

“’s not a he.” Most of the time, anyway. “Not sure if you’d call ‘im mine.” The yawn split her jaw like an ax.
“But comes when I call.”

As she stretched, her joints kept reminding her how it was a bad idea.

“Doesn’t speak. Doesn’t lie. ’s all I meant.” She was quiet a moment, realizing how insane it all sounded. How insane she sounded. “Wouldn’t hurt you. Those are not its orders.”
She didn’t explain further. Xen seemed to have seen enough to know that Wagons weren’t the only thing the Road carried.

“’sides, if it wanted to hurt you, it wouldn’t crabwalk…” She didn’t have energy for ominous yet, but she tried. “It’d cartwheel.”
 
'Cartwheel? Are you out of your damned mind?' Disbelief coloured her words, made them sound angrier than she intended. Gritting her teeth, Xen took the fur covers and tossed them in Vyn's face. To help wake her up, maybe, or else just to sate her own anger, directionless as it was starting to become.

'You'll have to do better than that, Vyn. Come on, wakey wakey!'

She wanted an explanation. More, she wanted her day to be less weird than it already was. Her fellow devahni knew what the thing was, if not how it had come to exist in a world where monsters weren't allowed.

The only monsters Xen had met looked like her, walked and talked like her. Humans and dwarves. Regular people with dark hearts and souls of pitch.

Not... whatever the fuck that was. Shivering, the big Deva fixed her gaze on Vyn, let it linger like a threat between them. It felt wrong, after what she had done for her, but some questions needed answering, and a 'not now' just wouldn't cut it, not this time. 'How about we start from the beginning?' Legs folded, hands on knees, Xen watched Vyn rouse to wakefulness. 'All stories have to start somewhere, right? Otherwise, they wouldn't be stories.'
 
The furs hit her square in the face. Suppose that was fair.
She sighed before pulling herself free of the bedding.
“I’m a shroud, Xen.” Said as her shoulders moved, undecided between a shrug and stretch. She could see how unimpressed the other woman was. Guess there was no getting out of this one.
“But I’m guessin’ that won’t be enough.”

She clapped her hands as she got up, as if setting up for a performance. Truth always tasted better with a bit of theater.
“But first.” Her voice took on a practiced casual. Something normal to ground the unease between them. “Some coffee.”

Moved to her feet too quick, more effort than grace. Reached for the water first, the motion a ritual by this point. Because that’s how you began strange stories – not with confessions and tears, but with something bitter.

“’sides.” A small smile broke loose, and she hoped Xen wouldn’t be too mad. “If you’re gonna hear something mad, might as well be holding a warm mug when you do it.”

She would rather not tell it at all. But if she had to, she’d be well and comfortable first.
 
A mug of coffee to start the day with. Now, that she could get behind. 'This is true.' Nodding, Xen watched Vyn find her feet. 'At the very least, if I don't like what I hear, I can always douse you with it.' The temptation was there, nibbling away at the back of her mind, like a rat in the larder.

Closing the door on it, Xen took to her feet after Vyn, as if expecting her to take the tale outside. They would need a fire, after all. A small one. For brewing.

And maybe a spot of breakfast as well? The thought of food had her belly reminiscing of last night's broth. 'Your friend, he know to cook?' Cool air prickled her skin as she exited the tent. Head on a swivel, Xen approached the fire's remnants, her eyes drawn to the log pile behind which the creature had fled not so long ago. Too perfect teeth flashed before her mind's eye. A smile that seemed like a threat.

'Where'd you learn to Weave, anyway?' She asked Vyn, the creeping silence filling her with a deep sense of unease. 'The Elum teach you? Are all Elum shroudweavers?'
 
Vyn didn’t fight the smile. Getting assaulted by your own coffee seemed like a good Elum tale. There was something about being burned by what was meant to keep you warm. Sounded like life.

“My...friend cooked last night, actually.” She nodded, remembering how she had been surprised at the success of it.
“Still struggles with peeling, but it’s gotten better.” Calling it a friend felt dishonest, but anything else felt cruel.
“Last time I left it in charge of the fire, tried to cook the knife. Thought it was food, maybe a gift.” Kept her hands busy as she made it outside without grace. A fire wouldn’t take long with the coals dry and the kindling good. Setting the mugs, grounds, and kettle, she kept her hands moving. She eyed the giant pile of firewood and sighed. Wasteful, but the Pale never understood degree. Better to waste a few logs than come up short.

“Most of us don’t mess with the shroud.” She said, coaxing a stubborn spark. “But everyone learns what not to do.”
When it caught, she allowed herself a breath of satisfaction. Still got it.
“That’s what I did too. Learned it wrong first, then fixed it the hard way.” Looked to where they both knew the Pale hid.
“Still patchin’ at the seams.”
 
'Trial and error, huh?' Sounded about right. Magic was not something you messed with on a whim. One slip-up and your arse was grass. Sometimes literally. 'Do or die or don't bother. Guess you're lucky in that you're still here to fix your mistakes. I once saw a shroud fire-breather choke on his own flames. Wasn't his best performance, granted. A re-do was out of the question, alas.'

Glancing over at the log pile, Xenovia shrugged, the cocoon of her cloak smothering the gesture before it could take flight.

'My pa's pa was a shroudweaver, as was his grandpapa before him,' Xen continued, turning back to Vyn as she wove a more earthly kind of magic. 'Maybe it's a devahni thing? I'd ask around, but there aren't many in the Sink. Devahni, I mean.' Or Weavers for that matter. None that ran in the same social circles at least.

Poking at the ember-imbued ashes, Xen helped Vyn coax some life into the fire with a handful of kindling. Hungry, it accepted her gift, offering up a hint of warmth in return. 'Does your friend have a name?' She asked then, pleased with her contribution to the cause. 'Calling it "that thing" just don't sit right with me, and the last thing I want is to hurt its feelings.' Pausing, she sniffed, her expression growing thoughtful. 'Say, does it even have feelings?'
 
Vyn wasn’t sure how to answer that one, so she stirred the coals, searched for the right words.

“Feelings, aye. Not sure they’re the kind you want.” The fire caught better this time, scent of coffee starting to wind its way into the cold. She poured the water with careful precision, like it might spill truth if she moved too fast.
“They don’t cry or laugh. Don’t flinch from pain. Not like us.” She watched the steam rise. “But I’ve seen one pick up a broken cup and try to fix it for three hours.” A glance toward the woodpile. “Same one that made your broth.”

There was a shade of fondness in her voice. Guilt too. She wasn’t sure who took the credit.
“They don’t come with names, and I don’t give ‘em lightly.”
She paused, realizing it’s a trait all of the Pale shared. “But it wants one.”
Eyes narrowed. “Keeps watching people say theirs. Mimics the shape of it. Like it’s trying to…earn one.”

Wasn’t ready to say how that made her feel. So she shrugged.

“If you’ve one in mind… maybe try it.” A small smile. “See if it sticks.”
 
Xenovia did not even need to think about it. 'Onion,' she said, smiling. 'Simple, like the broth they made for us.' If they didn't like it, they could always change it, once they learnt how to. Only a matter of time, thought the Deva, head turned towards the city she'd left behind. So close, and yet oh-so far away, its spires and walls smothered the horizon from East to West, as if it had been smeared across the landscape by a god's careless hand.

How strange it looked from afar. No longer a home. Rather a monument to someone else's achievements.

Staring, lips drawn, Xen's gaze fell back to the busy form of Vyn. 'They don't come with names, you said. Was Onion the only one to heed your summons or are there more somewhere?' Moseying around, collecting firewood. Mimicking words and sounds they probably did not knowing the meanings of. Earning what they did not feel entitled to simply for existing.

'Can't wait for them to start calling you "Mama Vyn"' She grinned. 'Guess that would make me their auntie?'
 
She did her best not to laugh. Not out loud. But her hands shook just enough to give the silence shape. A soundless exercise. Because Onion, of all things, might actually stick.

“Alright.” She nodded in agreement. “Onion it is.” And she filed it away.
Like she was registering a ship under dubious ownership.
The fire flared higher, enough to catch the shape behind the woodpile – hunched, still, and listening. She didn’t need to look at it to know it was there. Just kept her voice soft.
“No. There’re others.” The kettle was nudged into place. “Some come when I call. Others when I bleed.”
And she remembered all the unsuccessful negotiations. “Not all stay.”
Vyn let it sit there a while longer. Let Xen fill in the rest if she felt the need to.
“This one’s different.” A nod over her shoulder. “Tries.”

She poked the fire again, finding a softer rhythm.

“And if it ever calls me Mama, I’m throwing your ass in the snow.” A grin tugged the edge of her lip.
“Auntie Onion’s got a ring to it, tho.”
 
Not all stayed. Xenovia didn't find the thought comforting, but what was she to do about it? Perhaps they had vanished as quickly as they'd appeared, returning to the nothingness from which they were drawn? Maybe they still wandered the land, confused, bereft of purpose and a guiding hand to keep them from ending up a monster's meal, or else monsters themselves.

Xen decided not to ask for more on the matter. Either they were gone for good or they weren't. But there was one who had yet to wander off, one that refused to disappear like their kin.

'How long do you reckon Onion's gonna go on hiding there?' She asked Vyn, finding the name fit the creature. Perhaps a little too well. 'Come on, Mama, tell your child to stop playing in the snow. I promise, I won't freak out.' Again. 'Hel. You got any more mugs? I'm sure they could use a coffee, too.' Now, wouldn't that be a sight to see.
 
Didn’t answer right away. Just gave Xen a long look, half lidded, unimpressed and entirely too still. Then she bent over, packed a snowball, and lobbed it at the other woman. No force. Just consequence.
“Warned you.” Like gravity, it was a fact.

Still, she poured another mug. Set it near the edge of the woodpile, not close enough to startle. Not far enough to ignore.
“Doubt it’ll drink it. But the offer matters.”

Behind the woodpile, Onion didn’t blink. Didn’t breathe. The snow on it didn’t fall – it settled, like it was asked to stay.

And in the shape of mind learning how, something whispered.


*​


Was a shelf once.
People left things on him. Never looked. Never thanked. Just weight. Just waiting.
He was good at stillness.

Then came the flood.
It knocked.
It lifted.
It took him away.

The flood was kind.
It made him go. Made him matter.
Like Vyn.

Now he stood.
Now he watched.
Now he tried.

The mug steamed. He leaned toward it, just slightly. Enough to feel seen.
 
The snowball disintegrated as it collided with Xenovia's palm. 'You did,' she agreed, shaking the snowy shrapnel from her woolly mitts. 'Though, I hasten to point out the fact that it was I who called you mama, and not "it."' Vyn had been very specific on the matter. So, to have a snowball lobbed at her left Xen feeling betrayed, if only a little.

'You're right, it does matter.'

Onion might not have been able to speak, but insofar as lessons went, learning the value of kindness and generosity wasn't such a bad place to start. Cruelty and greed could come later, though Xen would rather they didn't come at all.

Plenty enough of that in the world already, she mused, mug in hand, steam rising to fill her nostrils with some earthy goodness. 'Onions and coffee. Not the combination I would have chosen, but such is life.' Sipping, she sighed, happy and contented. As much as a runaway could be, anyway. Her gaze drifted back to the city, eyes narrowed against the glare. Such is life.
 
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