[ The journey from the land of Iorveth's fellows, somewhat abandoned in the wake of his two allies having left, seems near pointless. They each know why she stands at his side and it is not for his company nor his friendship; the ever present pull of his shard against her body is enough to make her want to move closer, to sink her fingers into his chest and drag out the shimmering power so that she can use it, claim it for her own.
It's not so easy, however, even as she settles and considers what the future may hold for them.
They travel back towards Treun, now, towards the population, and her nerves are alight with it. She knows how people react to her, to the colour of her hands and the scars around her ears, the darkness that seems to follow her like an unruly shadow. She moves back, hesitant as she walks behind Iorveth but unwilling to let him see her weakness; it's been weeks, now, that they have travelled together, but that does not mean there is any trust for them to share. They work together because it benefits them both, not because they see one another as friend.
She wants to Turn, but she is on edge, tired, and dares not. Wolves are hunted as much as witches. ]
He's down to the last handful of shardbearers that he needs to find. There's only a few that have refused any and all summons and hidden themselves away in the far corners of the Drabwurld and he's here, in this forest looking for one of them. The name on his list is Sumsi Punu and from what he's been able to gather from others who knew him, he's likely been turned into an animal of some sort. (Again.)
The last time it happened, he'd spent almost a decade as a fisher and Harry decides that's reason enough to look about where fishers might be found. He's no animal tracker, but over the past few months, he and Linn have worked out various ways to help guide a shardbearer towards other magic users. It doesn't always lead to a shardbearer, but it generally points him in a direction, if not the right one. Overhead on his broom, he spots a wolf and a rabbit in a clearing and as he descends, he hopes that it's the wolf he'd been coming to talk to.
The night is dark around her as she stalks through the forest, eyes flicking here and there as she hunts; food is not as important as it once was, not in the way it might be for others, but if she doesn't feed herself, her magic, then it twists inside of her and becomes something worse, sapping the life out of her body and using it against her. It's better to hunt and eat, even if she has to do it raw, often, than it is to ignore the urges that overcome her.
Her teeth have just snapped around the neck of a hare when she feels the pulse of shard magic, her head lifting as she lowers her ears. It's not Iorveth, that she can tell, and she takes a few cautious steps backwards as she regards him. If he approaches she might well have to turn back to herself - already she can feel the exhaustion coiling around her - but she has the upper hand like this, freer and with no consequences for attacking other people.
He's fairly sure that the wolf is sentient and after briefly berating himself for what is bound to be yet another Very Bad Idea, he flies down low to the ground and hops off his broom. Carefully, he puts it down on the ground and shows that his hands are empty.
"I don't want to be a bother, but I'm looking for Sumsi Punu and I've been told he might be in these parts. Likely as a fisher cat or maybe a marten?"
She pauses, for a long moment, examining him, before she tilts her head. With a nasty snap, letting her teeth sink in to the flesh before she twists and drops it to one side. Her snout is bloody, now, her jowls matted, and she takes a step back to sit. Watching Harry for a long moment she pauses, wondering how this man thought a wolf might respond to him, before she breathes out sharply, darting into the forests to the left.
There, she transforms, not willing to let a stranger see what she becomes; the elven creature that is her natural form. She moves out, making a soft whistle, as if she had called the wolf to her side, moving forward to bend and pick up the dead hare.
"I have not heard the name," is all she says at first, her eyes exploring Harry's face and turning to look at his broom before she lifts her head, acting as superior as she dares. "And I doubt trying to converse with beasts of nature will help your cause."
A talking wolf would hardly be the strangest thing he's seen in the Drabwurld. (That rather dubious honour goes to the Brucolac and Vol'jin shrieking like toddlers as they splashed about in the ocean during Samhain.)
"Thank you though, and I'm sorry to have bothered your hunting. I hope I haven't disturbed any other game?"
"I don't need more." Which is true enough. She's out here from stubbornness - there's only so much she will accept from Iorveth without a growl overtaking her, without him sneering at her, even with their uneasy and developing alliance. She's always keen to prove herself and if that means getting her own food for a few weeks then she will go out of her way to do it, to show him wrong if she can.
Turning her head, Lauralae lifts her hands to pull her hood lower, careful as she watches Harry.
"Probably, but I can't go back until I find Punu and this is the best place to look." He'll find somewhere out of the way to camp for the night and wait. It might be easier to apparate to somewhere warm and safe, but Harry has learned that he needs to make himself somewhat visible, somewhat vulnerable, for the older, more cautious shardbearers to risk approaching. They all know what he's come for, but they want to get a measure of him before relenting.
"You will not have much luck if you continue as you are. Do you think him capable of speaking if he were trapped as you think?" Lauralae watches him with dark, careful eyes, flicking here and there before she shakes her head. "It is too late for you to find anyone, save the people that need not be found. You would do better to find a place to keep yourself safe, mage." She isn't being kind, she is being practical; his travelling will bring more dangers to both herself and Iorveth and she doesn't have the energy to deal with that tonight.
"You're right, of course. I'd just ...well, I'm almost done a very long task and I'd hoped to get that much closer today." Harry shrugs and shaking off the thought, he reaches down to pick up his broom. "If you've a long way back home, I can offer you a lift, but I don't think I can fit your wolf as well."
"One night of rest will not put it off so much. It is better to complete a task with all your energy than give a bare amount to it." Lauralae moves, stepping forward, the light of the moon lighting up her face; she seems gaunt, for the moment, her hands, covered in light gloves, pushing her hair into her hood. "I would not ask for it. The wolf doesn't care for those other than myself."
"In that case, do you know of a good place to rest around here? I'm not much trouble and I can trade for the help." He tugs his own cloak up around his neck and as he fidgets with the clasp, the sense of his shard fades away so that it can't be spotted. "I don't have much to swap, but if you want some bread and dried fruit to go with the rabbit, I'll share what I've got."
"I don't need anything else." She shakes her head; it feels like charity, as if he pities her, and it makes her recoil in frustration. "There is a clearing north of here, by a river. I am sure that would suit you and, if not, a few miles south there is another, one without access to water." Her nose wrinkles as she loses grasp of his shard and she steps closer, her eyes boring into him. "How did you do that?"
[ The day is brighter, now, and Lauralae does little more than wrap herself deeper in her robe. Her hair hides her ears, what remains of them, and she tugs it deeper over her face, letting herself be buried in the shadows. The city is too large for her, too many people wandering around, whispering and calling out for friend and ally alike, and she shifts as she moves forward.
Iorveth is behind, examining knives and swords, she imagines, things that hold no interest for her, not with her scarred arms and the powerful force inside of her. She doesn't need nor require his alliance - she simply wants it, for what lies inside of him.
Still, she finds herself on the edge of the place, looking up at the fields that bustle around the outskirts, her face set and steeled before she twists, turning and moving out, walking down from the walls and back towards the markets. There are still things that she wants to find - vials, herbs, fabric and a belt, potions, perhaps, that she wants to take with her. If she is to go to Redgate then she must be prepared. ]
[Sua's happy to be in the market district of Treun. After March saw snow in Leathann, a sign that the Seven Star Oracle's prediction about the Drabwurld ending was right more than anything else, getting back to something even slightly more familiar is nothing short of a blessing. Sure, there's proper things she needs to see to in the city, like popping into the family company's business office, but she isn't inclined to rush. Not right now, and not when she wants to check in with old vendors to ensure they weathered the freak extended winter, as well as run a personal errand or two.
With her dog on his leash - the market's no place to let him run lose, he'll just end up causing the food stalls a headache - Sua takes her time walking, going through familiar thoroughfares and waving to faces that she knows.
The leather district's scent reaches her nose before she sees it. Hard not to, it's distinct as hell, and with a few more yards, a sea of brown and black hues greet her, broken up by occasional deep dark blues, reds, and purples. The wares have changed a little, she notes, walking past a few stalls that happily advertise new bags with complicated stitching. They're nice, but not needed. Sua knows exactly where she's heading, and it's for the same leathermaker who's sold her belts for over ten years.
Who, as Sua finds out, approaching the same spot that the stall is always at, is closed for lunch.]
Damn!
[The frustration is enough to keep her from noticing that her dog's sticking out in the middle of foot traffic, sniffing at everyone going past.]
[ Crowds bother her; there's a tension that coils around her body, that sinks into her and makes her spine stand as straight as a blade, as though someone has shoved a plank down the back of her dress in order to force her into a better posture. Everything about her screams the tension of who she is - of what she is - and it's as though she's a shark in the water, people moving out of her way as she edges through.
A new pouch. A new belt. A single place to put her potions and then she'll be free, free of the power of so many eyes pressing down on her, measuring her and finding her wanting.
The district is quieter than the stalls for food and for drink, than the ones for clothes, more specialised and unique. She walks through and ignores the people calling out for her, offering deals and sales and buy this, get another, knowing where she needs to go. It's easy for her to ignore the rest of the world - until she stumbles, stopping as a dog sits himself down, blinking up at her.
Lauralae's experience with animals is minimal at best and she wonders, absently, if he can tell that she's as much a wolf as he is a dog, her second shape ever present on the back of her mind. She moves, leaning down, not offering a hand for fear of what he might smell or sense in the blackened scabs of what used to be normal fingertips - instead, she smiles, ignoring the curse above her head. ]
[There's a happy little tailwag from the pile of tan fluff because of course he's handsome, and then immediately, His Majesty goes about sniffing Lauralae's offered hand. He's smelled a lot of shardbearers lately, and but this person isn't that at all. There's something there, and he tilts his head after a moment in confusion. There's something there - a big dog maybe?! - but he doesn't see anything.
But that confusion is forgotten in an instant, and he noses Lauralae's fingers gently, asking for permission to give them a good and friendly lick.
The straining on his leash finally pulls Sua out of her own deeply annoyed thoughts, and she brightens to see that her dog has found another friend. And then she realizes that he's impeding traffic, because of course His Majesty is. She claps her freehand to her face, embarrassed.]
Oh, gods below, I hope he's not being a bother to you.
[ She jerks back as soon as his little nose touches her hand, stumbling backwards and drawing her hands up to her chest, breathing hard as she reaches to run a hand along her palm. The gloves, thin things crafted from spider silk and weaved with love borne of magic, protects anyone that touches her from the magic that lies underneath (dark, black magic, crippling her and cursing her to a touch that literally burns the life from anyone that touches them) but she is still so careful, so panicked.
She can't handle being touched, her hands shaking and her eyes flickering wildly before she hears the voice, settling on Sua. It takes her a few moments to gather herself, to draw back on the image of the girl that she needed to be, the strong, outcast witch, and she drags the arms, the sleeves, of her robes down over herself to try and block her hands, her head ducking down as she tries to tug her hood lower.
She still manages to shake her head in a no, her breathing calming as she forces herself to relax, to calm down, to tame the wildness inside of her. ]
[Sua doesn't doubt that her dog wasn't being a bother, but it is damn hard to miss a reaction like that. Shaking hands, and head hidden in a hood. She's missed something, and for a beat, she looks down at His Majesty like he has the answer.
The dog gives his own approximation of a shrug, unsure himself. It doesn't stop him from wagging his tail up at Lauralae though, hoping that whatever it is, she'll move pass it in a few moments.
For her part, Sua's not entirely convinced that this something to walk away from.]
Bother are not, are you all right?
[She tilts her head slightly, certain that anything that sounds like yes of course is a big fat lie.]
[ She's careful from this point on; it would be easy to betray her weakness, to let the mistake unsettle her and leave her gasping and wanting more, but she forces herself into calm, forces herself to lift her head and look over at the stranger with a measured gaze, careful as she looks at her. She cannot let this show and yet she knows it's impossible, her fingers curling and uncurling as she shakes her head, pursing her lips and lifting her eyes back.
It's a lie, all of it, she hasn't been well in many, many years, but she doesn't care. ]
I am fine. I was startled, nothing more.
[ Which is true. She was terrified, which is a form of being startled. Her hand wipes down against her robe and she breathes out, her expression softening barely. ]
[That's a lot for startled, and Sua raises a single eyebrow to show exactly how much she really thinks that those words are true. But there's really no point in asking questions, not when it's probably a big personal thing.]
His Majesty here's always been well, save for that one time he was as sick as a dog after a very, very nasty bout of up in Briste. We still don't know what that was, but--
[Sua stops herself, before she launches into one of the long stories best suited for other sailors, rather than the general public. For his own part, her dog has decided to flop down at Lauralae's feet, great big brown eyes staring up at her.
And that would mean he's confused as to why you aren't rubbing his belly, and if you'd be willing to fix that.
[ It's no concern of Lauralae's as to what this stranger thinks of her - her only concern is herself, of course, and her expression is tight and measured, her eyes glancing here and there, up, down, careful as she watches the world around them before she shakes her head. Looking down at the dog, she feels her lips twitch - animals are easier. Simpler. ]
It seems he was quick to overcome his illnesses, then.
[ Or so she assumes. Instead, she tilts her head and looks over at Sua before she shifts, careful. Dogs are not people, she reminds herself, and even they were the magic in her hands is kept bound by the care of the gloves. All the same - ]
He seems it. Not many creatures could master sailing as well as he appears to have done.
[ Because he does look strong. Strong and brave, to say the least, seeing as he still appears to want to move closer to a woman as obviously daunting as Lauralae. Her eyes drop to her hands and she hesitates. ]
I can resist a pout. I think he must smell my... Friend.
[ Easier to lie about owning a wolf than being one. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
spring.
march. (treun).
tail end of april.
The last time it happened, he'd spent almost a decade as a fisher and Harry decides that's reason enough to look about where fishers might be found. He's no animal tracker, but over the past few months, he and Linn have worked out various ways to help guide a shardbearer towards other magic users. It doesn't always lead to a shardbearer, but it generally points him in a direction, if not the right one. Overhead on his broom, he spots a wolf and a rabbit in a clearing and as he descends, he hopes that it's the wolf he'd been coming to talk to.
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Her teeth have just snapped around the neck of a hare when she feels the pulse of shard magic, her head lifting as she lowers her ears. It's not Iorveth, that she can tell, and she takes a few cautious steps backwards as she regards him. If he approaches she might well have to turn back to herself - already she can feel the exhaustion coiling around her - but she has the upper hand like this, freer and with no consequences for attacking other people.
Who can blame a wolf for instinct, after all?
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"I don't want to be a bother, but I'm looking for Sumsi Punu and I've been told he might be in these parts. Likely as a fisher cat or maybe a marten?"
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There, she transforms, not willing to let a stranger see what she becomes; the elven creature that is her natural form. She moves out, making a soft whistle, as if she had called the wolf to her side, moving forward to bend and pick up the dead hare.
"I have not heard the name," is all she says at first, her eyes exploring Harry's face and turning to look at his broom before she lifts her head, acting as superior as she dares. "And I doubt trying to converse with beasts of nature will help your cause."
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"Thank you though, and I'm sorry to have bothered your hunting. I hope I haven't disturbed any other game?"
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Turning her head, Lauralae lifts her hands to pull her hood lower, careful as she watches Harry.
"You are too far from home."
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april. (treun).
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With her dog on his leash - the market's no place to let him run lose, he'll just end up causing the food stalls a headache - Sua takes her time walking, going through familiar thoroughfares and waving to faces that she knows.
The leather district's scent reaches her nose before she sees it. Hard not to, it's distinct as hell, and with a few more yards, a sea of brown and black hues greet her, broken up by occasional deep dark blues, reds, and purples. The wares have changed a little, she notes, walking past a few stalls that happily advertise new bags with complicated stitching. They're nice, but not needed. Sua knows exactly where she's heading, and it's for the same leathermaker who's sold her belts for over ten years.
Who, as Sua finds out, approaching the same spot that the stall is always at, is closed for lunch.]
Damn!
[The frustration is enough to keep her from noticing that her dog's sticking out in the middle of foot traffic, sniffing at everyone going past.]
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A new pouch. A new belt. A single place to put her potions and then she'll be free, free of the power of so many eyes pressing down on her, measuring her and finding her wanting.
The district is quieter than the stalls for food and for drink, than the ones for clothes, more specialised and unique. She walks through and ignores the people calling out for her, offering deals and sales and buy this, get another, knowing where she needs to go. It's easy for her to ignore the rest of the world - until she stumbles, stopping as a dog sits himself down, blinking up at her.
Lauralae's experience with animals is minimal at best and she wonders, absently, if he can tell that she's as much a wolf as he is a dog, her second shape ever present on the back of her mind. She moves, leaning down, not offering a hand for fear of what he might smell or sense in the blackened scabs of what used to be normal fingertips - instead, she smiles, ignoring the curse above her head. ]
Handsome, aren't you?
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But that confusion is forgotten in an instant, and he noses Lauralae's fingers gently, asking for permission to give them a good and friendly lick.
The straining on his leash finally pulls Sua out of her own deeply annoyed thoughts, and she brightens to see that her dog has found another friend. And then she realizes that he's impeding traffic, because of course His Majesty is. She claps her freehand to her face, embarrassed.]
Oh, gods below, I hope he's not being a bother to you.
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She can't handle being touched, her hands shaking and her eyes flickering wildly before she hears the voice, settling on Sua. It takes her a few moments to gather herself, to draw back on the image of the girl that she needed to be, the strong, outcast witch, and she drags the arms, the sleeves, of her robes down over herself to try and block her hands, her head ducking down as she tries to tug her hood lower.
She still manages to shake her head in a no, her breathing calming as she forces herself to relax, to calm down, to tame the wildness inside of her. ]
No. He was no bother, not to me.
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The dog gives his own approximation of a shrug, unsure himself. It doesn't stop him from wagging his tail up at Lauralae though, hoping that whatever it is, she'll move pass it in a few moments.
For her part, Sua's not entirely convinced that this something to walk away from.]
Bother are not, are you all right?
[She tilts her head slightly, certain that anything that sounds like yes of course is a big fat lie.]
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It's a lie, all of it, she hasn't been well in many, many years, but she doesn't care. ]
I am fine. I was startled, nothing more.
[ Which is true. She was terrified, which is a form of being startled. Her hand wipes down against her robe and she breathes out, her expression softening barely. ]
I hope he is well.
[ She nods at the hound. ]
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His Majesty here's always been well, save for that one time he was as sick as a dog after a very, very nasty bout of up in Briste. We still don't know what that was, but--
[Sua stops herself, before she launches into one of the long stories best suited for other sailors, rather than the general public. For his own part, her dog has decided to flop down at Lauralae's feet, great big brown eyes staring up at her.
And that would mean he's confused as to why you aren't rubbing his belly, and if you'd be willing to fix that.
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It seems he was quick to overcome his illnesses, then.
[ Or so she assumes. Instead, she tilts her head and looks over at Sua before she shifts, careful. Dogs are not people, she reminds herself, and even they were the magic in her hands is kept bound by the care of the gloves. All the same - ]
I do not think he would appreciate my touch.
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[There's a glow of pride in Sua's words, and she gives the dog a fond nudge with her boot. A lazy paw responds, resting atop it.]
Your call on that then, but he'll start pouting up at you in about, oh, two, three minutes tops if you stick around.
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[ Because he does look strong. Strong and brave, to say the least, seeing as he still appears to want to move closer to a woman as obviously daunting as Lauralae. Her eyes drop to her hands and she hesitates. ]
I can resist a pout. I think he must smell my... Friend.
[ Easier to lie about owning a wolf than being one. ]
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