"Even after all these years, it still gets me sometimes."
Ceren turned to look down at Karvil, eyebrow arching to show her confusion.
"Watching your bird, just now. Reminded me of when I first saw the sky... nearly lost my lunch, I was so dizzy."
Ceren's other eyebrow raised to join the first, understanding finally taking hold. She'd worked with some dwarves in the Brannorn, though not many. But she did remember one trader mention something to that effect. She looked back skyward, Andor's silhouette difficult to discern in the growing darkness. She herself imagined that venturing into the subterranean lands of Karvil's people would be equally disconcerting to her. Having spent nearly all her life with nothing but trees or a stretch of canvas above her head... She imagined the dwarven cities would feel much like the prison cell she and Esmé had shared; cramped, dark, and smelling too much of one's own stink.
Andor's screech pulled her mind back to the present, and she watched as he dove suddenly, shooting downward to intercept another shape and force it to the earth. When he cried out again, Ceren smiled, then gestured with her head in his direction, an invitation for Karvil to follow. It took a few moments to reach where Andor held his prey to the ground. It gave some resistance, but Andor had a good grip on its neck with his talons. He flared and flapped his wings for balance, but held the pheasant fast. "Well done, little brother." Ceren cooed as she approached, gripping the pheasant's neck to allow Andor to hop to the side. A quick twist and the pheasant was still. Ceren stood, fishing in a pouch for the bits of dried meat she kept for Andor and tossed him a few bites.
"He's a clever bird, I'll say that." Karvil said. Ceren need not be a reader of minds to see that he was genuine in his compliment. Though his tattooed visage was imposing, he seemed an amiable sort.
"He is." Ceren agreed, nodding her thanks.
After a moment Karvil excused himself to see to his own supper. Andor beat his wings a few time, lifting himself off the ground enough to perch on her arm and Ceren made her way to her own band's wagon and company, plucking feathers from the pheasant as she went. As the day had passed, she'd learned of Caro's suspicions. Or, rather, of the possible dangers they must need be prepared for. She could find no flaw in his warnings. Each was as possible as the other, as far as she could see. Though... maybe not the comet. And it was wise to consider the possibility that their mercenary counterparts might be wolves in, well, not sheep's clothing. Dogs clothing? In any case, better to be prepared than surprised. So then, how to know? Ceren had never been the best at reading others. Whatever a body presented to her, she took at face value. Her father had taught her that all people would try to get the best for themselves in any situation, so it was not that she was naive. She just usually found that people we by and large who they said they were. And she struggled to see Luca or Karvil for anything but mercenaries, not unlike herself. Alred too, though she could see him selling his own mother for a cask of strong drink, he didn't seem the scheming sort. That left Lelindin, whom Ceren had not actually met. She'd learned the woman's name from Luca and hadn't come within several carts of her as the caravan moved that day. She'd be the one Ceren would have to learn more about.
"Feeling alright?" Ceren asked when she saw Esmé sitting at the back of their wagon. She plopped the pheasant onto the space beside Emmi and continued to pluck away. "It's a clear night. Moon'll be up most of it. Decent light for watches, even beyond the fires. Not a bad start." she mused. "Where are the others?"
Ceren turned to look down at Karvil, eyebrow arching to show her confusion.
"Watching your bird, just now. Reminded me of when I first saw the sky... nearly lost my lunch, I was so dizzy."
Ceren's other eyebrow raised to join the first, understanding finally taking hold. She'd worked with some dwarves in the Brannorn, though not many. But she did remember one trader mention something to that effect. She looked back skyward, Andor's silhouette difficult to discern in the growing darkness. She herself imagined that venturing into the subterranean lands of Karvil's people would be equally disconcerting to her. Having spent nearly all her life with nothing but trees or a stretch of canvas above her head... She imagined the dwarven cities would feel much like the prison cell she and Esmé had shared; cramped, dark, and smelling too much of one's own stink.
Andor's screech pulled her mind back to the present, and she watched as he dove suddenly, shooting downward to intercept another shape and force it to the earth. When he cried out again, Ceren smiled, then gestured with her head in his direction, an invitation for Karvil to follow. It took a few moments to reach where Andor held his prey to the ground. It gave some resistance, but Andor had a good grip on its neck with his talons. He flared and flapped his wings for balance, but held the pheasant fast. "Well done, little brother." Ceren cooed as she approached, gripping the pheasant's neck to allow Andor to hop to the side. A quick twist and the pheasant was still. Ceren stood, fishing in a pouch for the bits of dried meat she kept for Andor and tossed him a few bites.
"He's a clever bird, I'll say that." Karvil said. Ceren need not be a reader of minds to see that he was genuine in his compliment. Though his tattooed visage was imposing, he seemed an amiable sort.
"He is." Ceren agreed, nodding her thanks.
After a moment Karvil excused himself to see to his own supper. Andor beat his wings a few time, lifting himself off the ground enough to perch on her arm and Ceren made her way to her own band's wagon and company, plucking feathers from the pheasant as she went. As the day had passed, she'd learned of Caro's suspicions. Or, rather, of the possible dangers they must need be prepared for. She could find no flaw in his warnings. Each was as possible as the other, as far as she could see. Though... maybe not the comet. And it was wise to consider the possibility that their mercenary counterparts might be wolves in, well, not sheep's clothing. Dogs clothing? In any case, better to be prepared than surprised. So then, how to know? Ceren had never been the best at reading others. Whatever a body presented to her, she took at face value. Her father had taught her that all people would try to get the best for themselves in any situation, so it was not that she was naive. She just usually found that people we by and large who they said they were. And she struggled to see Luca or Karvil for anything but mercenaries, not unlike herself. Alred too, though she could see him selling his own mother for a cask of strong drink, he didn't seem the scheming sort. That left Lelindin, whom Ceren had not actually met. She'd learned the woman's name from Luca and hadn't come within several carts of her as the caravan moved that day. She'd be the one Ceren would have to learn more about.
"Feeling alright?" Ceren asked when she saw Esmé sitting at the back of their wagon. She plopped the pheasant onto the space beside Emmi and continued to pluck away. "It's a clear night. Moon'll be up most of it. Decent light for watches, even beyond the fires. Not a bad start." she mused. "Where are the others?"
04-03-2024, 06:06 PM
