Open Opposites Attract: Friend or Foe?

[Cahir Omin]

A consistent, muffling cadence echoed through scattered trees, each step deliberate as hooves scuffed across the barely there trail amongst the woodland's undergrowth. Dew kissed every feasible surface it could cling to. Sunlight begged entrance beyond the low-hanging fog, eager to chase night's chill aside and bathe diurnal life in its presence. The path most likely belonged to local fauna. It felt far too private, too peaceful to be considered a common route for two-legged travelers. Like a breath before a whispered prayer to the gods or a brush of lips along trembling skin in reverence. There were no booming voices or scraping blades that often shattered an atmosphere while amongst civilization. No tainting reach of spilled blood. No egotistical agendas. Simply... peace.

The saddle groaned gently beneath them with each sway of the equine beast that meandered forward. Index and middle digits flipped a page in the worn leather journal, honey lazily glossing over one of the sketched pictures before moving on. Ink scrawled across parchment in a messy, cryptic handwriting befitting a madman. Cahir could still remember their mother indulging their silly little hobby. They once made such nonsense of a language during their adolescence for mere entertainment, finding foraging and nomadic ways mind-numbing. A child could only follow the same roaming circle of territory for so long before needing something new. That's how Cahir felt, anyway. Impatient. Agitated. Hungry. Ironic how they now spend most of their recent years wandering between provinces and continents. Perhaps that was why they returned to the old habit. Such innocent pleasures are found nowadays carrying one of the greatest gifts they cherished: privacy. Too many greedy eyes and obnoxious noses pushed for motives as if already owned by the opposing party. The shit was maddening.

At least this way, the young Omin knew no one else could decipher their research. If they could, then the knowledge very well may get them hanged. Or worse.

Left hip. Right hip. Back and forth. Their body swayed in gentle rhythm with the horse's waltz, trusting the creature well by now to follow nature's course. Cahir only intervened with a tug on the reins should the sun's hour shift too far in the sky away from their destination. Otherwise, they remained comfortably seated, or at the very least as comfortable as one could be after hours of riding. Their lower back ached, their body grew restless, and the Deva-kin was pretty sure their ass would be numb in the next hour or so if they didn't find a place to rest soon.

As if in answer to their internal thoughts, the beast rumbled. Its mane tossed from the agitated shake of its head that Cahir could feel between their thighs as the motion rippled from snout to shoulders.

"At ease, Eabha," came a chuckling hum. The journal shifted close, resting on the saddle's pommel as they lifted their gaze forward. "You've every right to find a watering hole. Nothing stops you."

A snort was the only reply, one that had Cahir failing to mask a smile while leaning forward, brushing fingers through the wiry, onyx hair they could reach at its crest. It figures they would find one nearly as stubborn as they were. Eabha found her way in their life what felt like ages ago during their extended time in the Silmorael Forests. A wandering soul, just as they were, and oddly unfrightened of the vile beast she came across. A beast of fur and scales, of ash and snow so much like her, yet not once carrying a speck of crimson amongst her coat. She was the first and only, as far as Cahir knew, who did not startle or cower or run from their promordial form after all that time stalking the land like the very boogeyman many told their young about the Devahni. And so... the two bonded.

A too-hard step jolted them from their thoughts. Blinking, Cahir returned to the morning light, hearing the avian songs greeting the forest and not the ominous silence from those times. Their clawed hand lifted to spear through ashen locks as a slow breath filled their lungs. They hadn't even realized the equine had stopped, stomping a hoof into the earth much as she always did to jar them free of yet another spiral.

Another inhale, steadier, before finally, Cahir dropped the tension from their shoulders. The exhale flared their nostrils, eventually lifting their gaze to find Eabha's head turned. A toffee stare eyed him. Inquiring. Curious. Gauging.

"I'm fine," they murmured, ignoring the phantom ache that bridged from the crest of their brow up into the branching dust of gold up charcoal horns. How long ago did that start? "Thank you..."

As much as they enjoyed the peace of these trails, it allowed their mind to drift into dangerous territories. The quiet was not always an ally. A change of route was needed if they were already being tempted to slip. The weight of horns felt heavier as Cahir shook their head in a vague effort to clear it.

Definitely a headache, came the begrudging thought. How positively wonderful.

Fingers untangled from their hair before dropping to the reins. There were still a few days out from the main border between the Free States and the Empire, if memory served correctly, but they would need to double-check their map. Despite how much they deigned to interact with other souls again, that was the whole point of their damn endeavor since undertaking the family house's role in politics.

Cahir gave a gentle tug toward the left, spotting a slightly wider trail that appeared more commonly traveled. "C'mon," they urged, and Eabha graciously followed their guidance. "Let us find a place to recuperate."

 

[Zalan]

There was only one good thing about being under the ass of a broken down windski, and that was the shade. Not that it did a damn thing about the heat. Sweltering as it was beneath the engine bay. Practically a tandoor. And he was the meat.

"Remind me again why you aren't the one down here, Ink," Zalan grunt, as he stuck a spanning tool up the gap between the piping. Felt the measured hook catch where he needed it to. Wiggled it one way, then pulled the makeshift lever the other until he felt the pin squeak loose. Worked the arm back and forth. "You're half the damn size." Felt the pin come out. It fell and smacked him on the forehead. He hissed. "You can probably just crawl up in there and change the shards yourself,"

Ink, who was sitting beneath the shadow of the wind sail, legs folded and eyes up as she kept watch, made an unimpressed sound. "Because I'm a Lady, Zalan," a grin too wicked in how pleased it was cut across her face. "Obviously,"

A laugh from under the leather and wood construction that housed the shroud engine. "How could I forget," what looked like bisected legs sticking out from under the ski shift.

Something down trail caught Inka's eye. The halfling smack smacked the wooden side of the two person shroud craft. "Company,"

"Shit," the sweatbag that was Zalan cursed. Wriggling himself out from under the windski.

They were an odd site. Two strangers on a windski. A long kayak hull, lifted off the ground by an interior luftbladder construction. A jerry-rigged hammerhead engine, all but strapped and bolted down onto the rear end of the ski. A tall sail, looked every bit the fin of some strange creature that belonged more in the sea than the frontier lands betwixt free states and the empire.

To be In such an isolated and far off place, with the high noon sun beating down on them. They were an odd site.

"Look dangerous?" Zalan asked, pealed out from under the ski. Dust caked on where his sweat had looked and dripped. Still twisting himself up off the ground.

"Hard to tell," Inka replied, shift into the cockpit of the craft. Dug around. Came up with a spyglass, she wasted no time in extending it and peering through its body. "Deva," she said sure. "Bigger than you,"

"Well,"

"Looks alone,"

"Guess we say hello," he said as he got up, and looked down the road. Hustled to the cockpit, pulled his sword and hid it behind the mass of the craft.

Inka collapsed the spyglass with a nod. "Sounds about right,"

 

[Cahir Omin]

A soft crunch of grass echoed as a boot hit the ground, the next slipping free from the stirrup to follow. Their lower back protested the movement. Yet, the need to stretch their legs became drastically apparent, as evidenced by the stiffened ache felt from heel to hip. Perhaps a rest was needed more than Cahir anticipated. The accompanying snort, if in answer to the thought, suggested agreement.

Fingers splayed with the traveling hand to follow the curve of Eabha's neck, settling back to her shoulder and offering a light pat. The reins were pulled free to drape across her crest, and they took the second needed to unbuckle the halter's strap before lifting over her ears, letting the harness slide naturally from her face. Freedom. Now hers for the taking.

"There we go," Cahir mused, rubbing the length of the monochromatic dappling her muzzle where some of the leather had once rested. "Better, yes?"

The equine gave a low nicker, nostrils flaring. The smile that edged their lips was the only answer in return. Many called them senseless or insane for giving what they saw as bare minimum standards. Horses were meant to be "bridled and bitted" according to many Cahir came across, only allowed to roam freely in a pasture or while cooped up in a stable's stall. Few understood the trust and respect these creatures demanded. Deserved. Such things could be said for other species, and yet they were the crazy one.

Control was an illusion created by those who felt powerless even with themselves. Communication earned understanding. Not commands. And who were they to impose themself on a soul that once roamed so freely, just as they did all those years ago?

A snort followed, pulling Cahir from the train of thought to which they merely hummed. They gave a subtle nudge toward the pond-sized source that the two stumbled across a few minutes ago. Hooves thumped across the earth at the invitation, and Cahir hung the halter across the saddle's pommel as Eabha stepped forward for a well-earned drink.

As she busied herself with fresh water, Cahir pulled a small tinderbox from a pocket of their slate-plum robes. Claws neatly plucked one of the rolled herbal mixes, settling it between their lips while snagging a match. A brief strike brought fire. And when satisfied with the cherry red they nursed to life, they gave a few flicks of their wrist to snuff the small flame out. With a slow inhale, lungs filled themselves with a mix of floral and citrus that caressed tastebuds like an old friend. Smoke lazily curled from their upper lip as the deva savored the flavor, then exhaled a small haze that faded alongside the morning fog. Eyes drifted shut the moment that brief relief ebbed its way through the ache in their skull. No longer pounding but numbing into a gradual pressure that would hopefully disappear soon after.

And for a moment—just a moment—Cahir felt some semblance of sanity again.

Unfortunately, they were unable to enjoy the welcomed reprieve fully. What bothered the young deva was the new silence that, somehow, went unnoticed until now. Not the kind they roamed through the past few hours since early dawn, where songs simmered through the canopies in gentle greeting... but a true, deadened quiet that lingered perhaps a breath too long before they finally noticed. The kind that suggested the pair were no longer alone in this vicinity of the woodlands. All except a distant hum. Unnatural in pitch.

Gold greeted the world again as Cahir opened their eyes, a slitted gaze flicking towards Eabha, whose ears swiveled in the source's direction. Closer. It took a second to lock in on the sound, but its approach was far too evident now that they were listening. Which usually meant...

"Seems we have some visitors en route," came the muttered sigh. Eabha lifted her head sharply, eyeing the distant shape of the contraption that had come into view. They couldn't make out any details just yet. Nor how many occupied the small craft. How annoying.

Cahir gave a subtle glance to the short sword sheathed amongst the saddlebag at her hip. It may now be needed, not when they had a dagger at their belt and a few other choices should things get... messy... but it was good to keep in line of sight.

A languid smile curved the corner of their lips, taking another drag from the joint before cradling it between index and middle fingers to pull away, flicking their thumb and dropping ashes aside that had gathered at the tip. Training never seemed far behind as Cahir strolled to a nearby tree, habits not letting them leave their back exposed even amongst supposed friends. All the while, they remained perfectly lax, body language open and inviting for company.

Let us hope these ones aren't incompetent in the realm of conversation. With another exhale of smoke, they let themself lean against the trunk now behind them, ignoring the light dig from its bark. Or... at the very least... be entertaining for once.

 

[Zalan]

"Alright, they seemed to have stopped off," Inka sighted.

"Then we can just ski our asses out of here,"

A click of teeth from the halfling's mouth. "What if they help us find the Unandi?"

"What if they sell us out to the Unandi?"

"Nothing ventured, nothing gained, Captain," Inka smiled wide and knowing.

A frown. "Just because you smile like that, doesn't mean you are right, you know,"

"Sure feels like I am right,"

A groan. "Whatever, get in the damned ski,"

"I'm already in the damned ski, captain," a nod and a wink.

A growl as he grabbed up his curved blade and jumped right in. Flipped the engine switch. Pulled the lever once, twice, set the thing to ignite. A sputter, pop, hiss, and the engine came to life. Propblades whirring and choppin slowly as the ski stirred forward.

A turn of the pilot's yoke, and the nose of the craft made pivot. More and more until it was right the way he wanted. A push against a pedal saw the prop blades spin the faster. Pushed it through the air with a huff and a zip. Set it moving forward. Just as fast as horse's trot.

Come closer to where the horse still hung about. Zalan eased on the power. Prop blade slowed. "Yo!" he called out. "Them smokes I smell?" he grinned wide.

"Zalan!" Inka scolded. "That's rude!"