There are several beautiful things about hay nests. For one, they are almost always warm and dry. They smell nice, not like mud or dirt holes, although as long as they’re fresh they can sometimes smell okay. They are easily dug and added onto if needs arise, and they keep their shape rather well. Unfortunately, hay is also a Used thing. it gets pulled out of the pile for feeding the big animals, and that makes the walls of the nest weak, and sometimes entire chunks of it get taken out in a day. So they are also always under construction. But Jasper doesn’t mind, because he has a helper today, which is good because said helper is also tired and cranky, and needs a nap in a hat nest as soon as possible. And if little old Jasper gets to curl up with him and also have a nap? Well maybe that’s just good planning.
Maddox eyes his master up and down, taking in the way he’s managed to stuff the sleeve of his coat into his sling. It’s clearly uncomfortable, if the way the wizard keeps trying to adjust it says anything. The words he uses are tinged with poison in their tone, meant to sting just a little bit.
“Are you planning to ride all the way into town with your arm in a sling, Master Eris?”
“Well it isn’t as if the sling was my idea.” The wizard snipes back with a scowl. It’s very clear that what he wants to be doing is untying the sling and using it to give his chief of staff a firm smack, but instead what he does is conjure up the phantom hand again so that he can get to work tacking up Frost. The hand mirrors his real one as he gives the redhead a petulant shrug. “I’m halfway tempted to let it down.”
“Don’t you bloody dare.” There is a fury in the redhead’s words that isn’t often seen, that causes his ears to burn almost as bright as his hair. “If those bones shift again, they’re going to take four times as long to heal!”
"And what would you have me do instead, Mr. Rex?" Jon's voice has lost most of the familiarity it usually carries when he speaks to his distant nephew. He doesn't want to pull rank with him if he doesn't have to, but he also does not like being mothered like this. "Wait another week and arrive at the next full moon unprepared? You know why we're going into town. I may not have been the one to tell you, but your eyes tell me you know."
"I do, Gable told me himself. I just, I don't..." He trails off, frustrated and unsure of how to get the stubborn wizard to see reason in what he's saying. In the end, yes, Jon will do whatever he wants. He's a bloody wizard. He could probably turn them all into toads if he wanted to. But there's still the drive in him to protect the beloved uncle who's gone to great lengths to provide for his family for generations, to make him recognize that his carelessness with his wellbeing affects more than just himself. "Send me. I'll go with him into town. You ought to stay here and rest."
Jon laughs.
"You? Whatever for, Maddox?" The wizard straightens from tightening the girth around Frost's belly. Even when he isn't tied, the stallion is smart enough to know when to stay still. "There's a decent chance Mordecai will ask him to turn so that measurements can be taken. What are you going to do if things go pear-shaped, hm? If something startles him? If he can't contain the wolf's instincts?"
"And what are you going to do? You've got one working arm and--"
Maddox doesn't finish his comment, cut off by the brisk flourish that summons Blackstaff to Jon's remaining hand. He raises an eyebrow at his nephew and the ensuing silence.
"... You were saying?"
For a moment, Maddox looks like he might just burst into tears of frustration, but he reigns the emotion back just as quickly and steels himself. He clears his throat and adjusts his footing with a nod. He's been defeated, at least for now.
"Fine. I'll be waiting here with Lee when you return. I... I hope that you'll take some time to rest once you're back. I can see in your shoulders that you're already tired, and probably sore, too..."
While the redhead's voice gets progressively quieter, Jon still rolls his eyes.
Maddox eyes his master up and down, taking in the way he’s managed to stuff the sleeve of his coat into his sling. It’s clearly uncomfortable, if the way the wizard keeps trying to adjust it says anything. The words he uses are tinged with poison in their tone, meant to sting just a little bit.
“Are you planning to ride all the way into town with your arm in a sling, Master Eris?”
“Well it isn’t as if the sling was my idea.” The wizard snipes back with a scowl. It’s very clear that what he wants to be doing is untying the sling and using it to give his chief of staff a firm smack, but instead what he does is conjure up the phantom hand again so that he can get to work tacking up Frost. The hand mirrors his real one as he gives the redhead a petulant shrug. “I’m halfway tempted to let it down.”
“Don’t you bloody dare.” There is a fury in the redhead’s words that isn’t often seen, that causes his ears to burn almost as bright as his hair. “If those bones shift again, they’re going to take four times as long to heal!”
"And what would you have me do instead, Mr. Rex?" Jon's voice has lost most of the familiarity it usually carries when he speaks to his distant nephew. He doesn't want to pull rank with him if he doesn't have to, but he also does not like being mothered like this. "Wait another week and arrive at the next full moon unprepared? You know why we're going into town. I may not have been the one to tell you, but your eyes tell me you know."
"I do, Gable told me himself. I just, I don't..." He trails off, frustrated and unsure of how to get the stubborn wizard to see reason in what he's saying. In the end, yes, Jon will do whatever he wants. He's a bloody wizard. He could probably turn them all into toads if he wanted to. But there's still the drive in him to protect the beloved uncle who's gone to great lengths to provide for his family for generations, to make him recognize that his carelessness with his wellbeing affects more than just himself. "Send me. I'll go with him into town. You ought to stay here and rest."
Jon laughs.
"You? Whatever for, Maddox?" The wizard straightens from tightening the girth around Frost's belly. Even when he isn't tied, the stallion is smart enough to know when to stay still. "There's a decent chance Mordecai will ask him to turn so that measurements can be taken. What are you going to do if things go pear-shaped, hm? If something startles him? If he can't contain the wolf's instincts?"
"And what are you going to do? You've got one working arm and--"
Maddox doesn't finish his comment, cut off by the brisk flourish that summons Blackstaff to Jon's remaining hand. He raises an eyebrow at his nephew and the ensuing silence.
"... You were saying?"
For a moment, Maddox looks like he might just burst into tears of frustration, but he reigns the emotion back just as quickly and steels himself. He clears his throat and adjusts his footing with a nod. He's been defeated, at least for now.
"Fine. I'll be waiting here with Lee when you return. I... I hope that you'll take some time to rest once you're back. I can see in your shoulders that you're already tired, and probably sore, too..."
While the redhead's voice gets progressively quieter, Jon still rolls his eyes.
Most cowpoke tiffs tend to happen at night in the bunkhouse after a particularly long, burdensome day; the drought persists, the steer have stampeded, every muscle aches, tongues are dry. The grumblings begin when the pokes file into a long, rectangular building not unlike the barn where they keep their animals and toss off their hats and slip out of their boots beside beds all lined up in two rows which face each other—not unlike barn stalls. No matter how simple and dirty their faces look, the crudeness of their living arrangements are not lost on these creatures, and the looming presence of some Man who regards them as a slightly advanced type of cattle gets their hackles in a ruffle. Homesickness for a home that may not exist or may not care to see them bothers them further, as it reminds them why they are here and why they cannot simply go there and sleep in the privacy and comfort of their own beds. Soon the contempt is misplaced onto their fellow man.
Blames and criticisms zip across the aisle, blades are gripped (never waved), and at least one insult involving a wife or mother tips the room into a tizzy ‘til someone on the sideline plays the part of lawmaker. This wise, intimidating senior suggests they put that waste of energy to better use. Youngins grumble, but settle. Yellowed playing cards crack like whips in the hands of those who shuffle them and pungent ale stains the air with an odor akin to over-ripened fruit; before long, the grumblings turn to brotherly teasing and the teasing fades out to snores. Most times, anyway.
The other kind of brawl happens outside. Open spaces. Lots of air to breathe. Room to practice your footwork. These end in a variety of ways that are almost never good or necessary. Thankfully, as tense as the air is now, Gable is confident that what he’s witnessing is only the first kind: the “I blame you” squabble. But it’s a shame their lawmaker is the one doing the blaming.
“Interfering in someone else’s argument is as foolish as yanking a dog’s ears,” a voice from Gable’s upbringing wisely reminds him. That probably goes double when the argument is at least partly about you.
The wizard’s derisive laugh sours the air. Although Jonathan Eris is speaking to his kin, Gable feels the sting of the contemptuous bluster, too; they wouldn’t be at each other’s throats if he hadn’t been the first to draw blood. As if launching him back to that night, that mistake, the hair on his arms and his neck—every fiber and muscle bristle. His gaze fixates on the black staff with the reverent fear of a dog at the sight of its master’s belt. At the same time, part of him remembers the voice he’d attributed to the robed man and cold hatred flashes to the surface. “Mongrel.” Could it be possible the stick had been the one to speak that night? The thrum of its unexerted power intensifies the static in his mind by at least double, and it takes a few seconds for the shock to pass and that nasty resentment to simmer down. Then he blinks, focusing on Maddox.
What he sees standing in the place of his administrator is a small child with facial hair. An older, ginger version of Lee who is in need of a kind word, if not a hug and a game of checkers and a cup of hot chocolate to boot. Once Master Eris seems to be finished with subjugating Maddox, Gable finds his own voice buried in the silent noise and is mindful to speak at what feels like a normal volume or a bit quieter: “Lee always naps better with someone beside him. And he's awful good at cuddles. ...We’ll go straight there and straight back.” After giving what he hopes is a look of solidarity and reassurance to Mr. Rex, it becomes a darker, inquisitive expression as he turns to the side and his gaze passes over the wizard.
The horse’s slim, muscular back is a pleasure to mount after so long spent on a swaying bovine. But Timber’s exact movements take some getting used to, and Gable is sure he’ll be feeling the difference the entire ride. He just hopes he won’t be feeling so uncertain and distrusting for the entire time, too.
-
Once the horses can be slowed to take the last stretch at an easier pace, Gable sidles Timber alongside Frost and gives the wizard a square look. He says nothing for a minute, just staring in concentrated neutrality, making it plain to see that he has an opinion and he’s waiting for permission to speak it. The moment he’s given any kind of indication to do so, he puts it bluntly:
“Sir, that stick of yours don’t like me and I don’t like it, either.” The word ‘like’ is spat with such uncharacteristic disdain that it surprises even its speaker. Which only helps to emphasize his point. “I’m concerned that you should not be holding it when I’ve got claws. And... I’m just as concerned that you should be.” After studying the wizard's arm sling, he sighs and looks forward again grimly. “I can’t go back to Black Pine and face Mr. Rex if I break my promise to him. There’s nothing in me right now that wants to hurt you, but I’m afraid it could happen again anyway. On purpose this time, and with witnesses.” Casualties.
He pulls Timber to a full stop. “I'm sorry for changing my mind when we're nearly there, but I don't want to do this. Give me the cure instead. I just want to be peaceable again even if I can't keep my fur. It doesn't matter. I like you, and I like Black Pine, and I wish to stay with you for as long as you'll have me. But I can see that it'll never work if I'm behavin' like an addled cur twelve times a year. Mr. Rex has got enough on his own plate and you're—” A brief pause to choose his words very carefully. “A man whose years of wisdom are wasted on puppysitting.”
Blames and criticisms zip across the aisle, blades are gripped (never waved), and at least one insult involving a wife or mother tips the room into a tizzy ‘til someone on the sideline plays the part of lawmaker. This wise, intimidating senior suggests they put that waste of energy to better use. Youngins grumble, but settle. Yellowed playing cards crack like whips in the hands of those who shuffle them and pungent ale stains the air with an odor akin to over-ripened fruit; before long, the grumblings turn to brotherly teasing and the teasing fades out to snores. Most times, anyway.
The other kind of brawl happens outside. Open spaces. Lots of air to breathe. Room to practice your footwork. These end in a variety of ways that are almost never good or necessary. Thankfully, as tense as the air is now, Gable is confident that what he’s witnessing is only the first kind: the “I blame you” squabble. But it’s a shame their lawmaker is the one doing the blaming.
“Interfering in someone else’s argument is as foolish as yanking a dog’s ears,” a voice from Gable’s upbringing wisely reminds him. That probably goes double when the argument is at least partly about you.
The wizard’s derisive laugh sours the air. Although Jonathan Eris is speaking to his kin, Gable feels the sting of the contemptuous bluster, too; they wouldn’t be at each other’s throats if he hadn’t been the first to draw blood. As if launching him back to that night, that mistake, the hair on his arms and his neck—every fiber and muscle bristle. His gaze fixates on the black staff with the reverent fear of a dog at the sight of its master’s belt. At the same time, part of him remembers the voice he’d attributed to the robed man and cold hatred flashes to the surface. “Mongrel.” Could it be possible the stick had been the one to speak that night? The thrum of its unexerted power intensifies the static in his mind by at least double, and it takes a few seconds for the shock to pass and that nasty resentment to simmer down. Then he blinks, focusing on Maddox.
What he sees standing in the place of his administrator is a small child with facial hair. An older, ginger version of Lee who is in need of a kind word, if not a hug and a game of checkers and a cup of hot chocolate to boot. Once Master Eris seems to be finished with subjugating Maddox, Gable finds his own voice buried in the silent noise and is mindful to speak at what feels like a normal volume or a bit quieter: “Lee always naps better with someone beside him. And he's awful good at cuddles. ...We’ll go straight there and straight back.” After giving what he hopes is a look of solidarity and reassurance to Mr. Rex, it becomes a darker, inquisitive expression as he turns to the side and his gaze passes over the wizard.
The horse’s slim, muscular back is a pleasure to mount after so long spent on a swaying bovine. But Timber’s exact movements take some getting used to, and Gable is sure he’ll be feeling the difference the entire ride. He just hopes he won’t be feeling so uncertain and distrusting for the entire time, too.
-
Once the horses can be slowed to take the last stretch at an easier pace, Gable sidles Timber alongside Frost and gives the wizard a square look. He says nothing for a minute, just staring in concentrated neutrality, making it plain to see that he has an opinion and he’s waiting for permission to speak it. The moment he’s given any kind of indication to do so, he puts it bluntly:
“Sir, that stick of yours don’t like me and I don’t like it, either.” The word ‘like’ is spat with such uncharacteristic disdain that it surprises even its speaker. Which only helps to emphasize his point. “I’m concerned that you should not be holding it when I’ve got claws. And... I’m just as concerned that you should be.” After studying the wizard's arm sling, he sighs and looks forward again grimly. “I can’t go back to Black Pine and face Mr. Rex if I break my promise to him. There’s nothing in me right now that wants to hurt you, but I’m afraid it could happen again anyway. On purpose this time, and with witnesses.” Casualties.
He pulls Timber to a full stop. “I'm sorry for changing my mind when we're nearly there, but I don't want to do this. Give me the cure instead. I just want to be peaceable again even if I can't keep my fur. It doesn't matter. I like you, and I like Black Pine, and I wish to stay with you for as long as you'll have me. But I can see that it'll never work if I'm behavin' like an addled cur twelve times a year. Mr. Rex has got enough on his own plate and you're—” A brief pause to choose his words very carefully. “A man whose years of wisdom are wasted on puppysitting.”
Maddox nods with a subdued noise of affirmation, barely looking up as the two men mount up and leave. The smile he spares for Gable at the last second is strained. Tired. It's been a long week and none of them have made it any easier on each other. But he can't stand in the barn aisle all afternoon while they're out, so he finds a curry comb and gets to work brushing the caked-in mud out of the gray mare's coat, and hopes that Jasper can keep Lee entertained enough that he doesn't notice his father's absence until he's had a nap in the hay pile with his little lizard.
But soon he's out of mud, and excuses to stay in the barn. Peeking out of the mare's stall reveals a tired and grumpy Lee sitting next to the haystack while little puffs of forage periodically fly out of a growing hole in the stack, Jasper's hard work, no doubt.
"Lee?" He asks softly, holding out his hand almost shyly in an effort to show the boy there's no criminal in this situation. "Do you want to go inside and have a nap? There's a very soft blanket on the sofa in the library. I'll even read you a story if you like."
-
With one hand holding Blackstaff and the other in a sling, it takes a lot of effort from Jon to not fall off of Frost once they start to trot down the mountain. He could possibly take a canter easier, but with a light snow now falling from overcast skies, he doesn't want to risk either horse tripping if the road gets slippery. The phantom hand, which hold's the stallion's reins, being completely detached from him, is absolutely no help at all with maintaining balance. He feels... off kilter. In more ways than just physically.
"Out with it." He says when Gable rides up beside him, clearly with something on his mind. The tone he uses isn't mean or short by any stretch of the imagination, just tired, and perhaps a bit resigned.
He nods slowly as he listens to the man's concerns. They're valid. More than valid, really. Justified. That Blackstaff's beef with the boy is so obvious, even to someone with barely any awareness of the nuances of her specific brand of communication, says more than a little about just how intense it is. But with his mental barriers in shambles since that horrible night, there hasn't been much between them to mute her open disgust of him. Once they're reconstructed tonight, that should be less noticeable, at least. Not that it will stop her from inflicting him with her opinions, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd borne such a burden. A little meditation and it just becomes part of the background noise. The wizard turns Frost to face the stable master when he pulls Timber to a stop.
"Gabe, I--"
The noise Jonathan makes is nothing short of embarrassing, as nearly all of the pressure that his precious black staff has been putting on him to end the man's life is suddenly lifted. The relief of it leaves him reeling for a good minute, and he has to lean forward and brace himself against Frost's neck not to list right out of the saddle. It feels like his head is about to float right off his shoulders. Her message is clear: She likes the idea of a cure.
Jon clears his throat and opens his hand to release Blackstaff, whereupon she disappears back to her stand in the house. He can summon her back if he needs to, but it will take considerably more energy at this distance. Her displeasure at being sent home is but a whisper in the flood of dizzying approval he still drifts in. When he looks down at his hand, it's shaking.
"I am unfortunately aware of the conflict between you and my most esteemed stick." The wizard reaches forward to take a handful of Frost's mane, partially in an attempt to steady himself and partially to hide the mild tremor. He'd grab the front of the saddle, if there was much to hang onto, but there isn't on this one. "She has been upset lately that I haven't appeared to be doing much about the threat you posed while you were under the moon's influence. Her perception of the world is... limited, though, and so she doesn't always understand that the most immediate solution might not be the most preferred."
"I also understand your trepidation about going into town." He continues slowly, because he wants to make sure Gable isn't rushing into this decision. "I am flattered that you've come to think of my home as such a favorable place to be, and if you truly want to pursue a cure instead of managing your condition, I understand that too. We can talk more about it when we get home, but right now, we do still need to continue into town. I have questions for the postmaster that pertain to the letter you want to send, and it will be best to have our answer tonight so that you can get your correspondence out before the snow locks us in the canyon. I... would prefer not to send you back alone, but if you need to wait outside the village bounds, you may."
But soon he's out of mud, and excuses to stay in the barn. Peeking out of the mare's stall reveals a tired and grumpy Lee sitting next to the haystack while little puffs of forage periodically fly out of a growing hole in the stack, Jasper's hard work, no doubt.
"Lee?" He asks softly, holding out his hand almost shyly in an effort to show the boy there's no criminal in this situation. "Do you want to go inside and have a nap? There's a very soft blanket on the sofa in the library. I'll even read you a story if you like."
-
With one hand holding Blackstaff and the other in a sling, it takes a lot of effort from Jon to not fall off of Frost once they start to trot down the mountain. He could possibly take a canter easier, but with a light snow now falling from overcast skies, he doesn't want to risk either horse tripping if the road gets slippery. The phantom hand, which hold's the stallion's reins, being completely detached from him, is absolutely no help at all with maintaining balance. He feels... off kilter. In more ways than just physically.
"Out with it." He says when Gable rides up beside him, clearly with something on his mind. The tone he uses isn't mean or short by any stretch of the imagination, just tired, and perhaps a bit resigned.
He nods slowly as he listens to the man's concerns. They're valid. More than valid, really. Justified. That Blackstaff's beef with the boy is so obvious, even to someone with barely any awareness of the nuances of her specific brand of communication, says more than a little about just how intense it is. But with his mental barriers in shambles since that horrible night, there hasn't been much between them to mute her open disgust of him. Once they're reconstructed tonight, that should be less noticeable, at least. Not that it will stop her from inflicting him with her opinions, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd borne such a burden. A little meditation and it just becomes part of the background noise. The wizard turns Frost to face the stable master when he pulls Timber to a stop.
"Gabe, I--"
The noise Jonathan makes is nothing short of embarrassing, as nearly all of the pressure that his precious black staff has been putting on him to end the man's life is suddenly lifted. The relief of it leaves him reeling for a good minute, and he has to lean forward and brace himself against Frost's neck not to list right out of the saddle. It feels like his head is about to float right off his shoulders. Her message is clear: She likes the idea of a cure.
Jon clears his throat and opens his hand to release Blackstaff, whereupon she disappears back to her stand in the house. He can summon her back if he needs to, but it will take considerably more energy at this distance. Her displeasure at being sent home is but a whisper in the flood of dizzying approval he still drifts in. When he looks down at his hand, it's shaking.
"I am unfortunately aware of the conflict between you and my most esteemed stick." The wizard reaches forward to take a handful of Frost's mane, partially in an attempt to steady himself and partially to hide the mild tremor. He'd grab the front of the saddle, if there was much to hang onto, but there isn't on this one. "She has been upset lately that I haven't appeared to be doing much about the threat you posed while you were under the moon's influence. Her perception of the world is... limited, though, and so she doesn't always understand that the most immediate solution might not be the most preferred."
"I also understand your trepidation about going into town." He continues slowly, because he wants to make sure Gable isn't rushing into this decision. "I am flattered that you've come to think of my home as such a favorable place to be, and if you truly want to pursue a cure instead of managing your condition, I understand that too. We can talk more about it when we get home, but right now, we do still need to continue into town. I have questions for the postmaster that pertain to the letter you want to send, and it will be best to have our answer tonight so that you can get your correspondence out before the snow locks us in the canyon. I... would prefer not to send you back alone, but if you need to wait outside the village bounds, you may."
No longer glancing over every few seconds to check that his father is nearby, Lee’s attention span has been completely devoured by staring fixedly into the haystack and rocking side to side like a short, furious pendulum. When he lifts his reddened eyes to the sound of his own name, it takes only a few seconds of deliberation to decide that sitting on the cold floor does not bring him any joy. Inside the house there is hot chocolate—and his toys. If he gets a story out of it, too, then fine. The man with the funny hair does do good voices... He stands, but replies most adamantly, “No nap. Splatters!”
Once he’s sure the little lizard has heard him and will follow, he takes the hand offered to him because hand-holding is an obligatory part of being little. But if he was Papa’s size, he wouldn’t let anybody hold his hand. He’d hold theirs.
About a dozen steps away from where they began, Lee’s legs stop working and he collapses to the floor in a useless heap. The raised arms and petulant lip make it clear that his situation can only be helped by uppies. He tucks his forehead against the side of Mr. Rex’s neck once he gets what he wants. His small hand pets and combs ginger bristles, then comes to rest on the man’s collarbone. A small yawn is carefully stifled.
-
That sound—pained, in his interpretation—shoots up a firebrand of alarm in Gable’s gut. The way the Master’s face relaxes so suddenly and his body sags suggests an issue with the heart. Gods, why does it have to happen all the way out here? Gable is out of his saddle in a blink.
“Sir!” His movements are unnaturally graceful and light for a body of that size as he dismounts and positions himself on the side which Master Eris is most likely to fall. He reaches up to grip as much fabric as possible close to the skin by the hip, and the other hand grabs a knee. The fact Blackstaff has been temporarily banished (and the extra noise along with her) doesn’t register with him so long as the gush of his own heart is pounding in his throat. He’s seconds away from dragging the man off his horse and laying him flat, but the calm nature of the wizard’s voice (although the words are barely comprehensible to him at first) startle him into standing there with widened eyes and white knuckles.
Confused, but recognizing his mistake, Gable slowly relinquishes his grip without moving away from being immediately ready to assist. He swallows, nods his understanding. “My head feels a lot better without the staff here.” And it’s dawning on him that the wizard must feel the same way. If Master Eris has a direct connection with that thing…
“No, I’d like to come.”
After giving Master Eris’s knee a pat (a friendly gesture, but it reassures him that the man is fine) he then turns and clicks his tongue at Timber. He mounts, then gives the wizard another square look. This time softer than the one before, and wordless, but just as easy to read: You scared me. He looks forward again quickly and gestures for the man to resume the lead.
Once he’s sure the little lizard has heard him and will follow, he takes the hand offered to him because hand-holding is an obligatory part of being little. But if he was Papa’s size, he wouldn’t let anybody hold his hand. He’d hold theirs.
About a dozen steps away from where they began, Lee’s legs stop working and he collapses to the floor in a useless heap. The raised arms and petulant lip make it clear that his situation can only be helped by uppies. He tucks his forehead against the side of Mr. Rex’s neck once he gets what he wants. His small hand pets and combs ginger bristles, then comes to rest on the man’s collarbone. A small yawn is carefully stifled.
-
That sound—pained, in his interpretation—shoots up a firebrand of alarm in Gable’s gut. The way the Master’s face relaxes so suddenly and his body sags suggests an issue with the heart. Gods, why does it have to happen all the way out here? Gable is out of his saddle in a blink.
“Sir!” His movements are unnaturally graceful and light for a body of that size as he dismounts and positions himself on the side which Master Eris is most likely to fall. He reaches up to grip as much fabric as possible close to the skin by the hip, and the other hand grabs a knee. The fact Blackstaff has been temporarily banished (and the extra noise along with her) doesn’t register with him so long as the gush of his own heart is pounding in his throat. He’s seconds away from dragging the man off his horse and laying him flat, but the calm nature of the wizard’s voice (although the words are barely comprehensible to him at first) startle him into standing there with widened eyes and white knuckles.
Confused, but recognizing his mistake, Gable slowly relinquishes his grip without moving away from being immediately ready to assist. He swallows, nods his understanding. “My head feels a lot better without the staff here.” And it’s dawning on him that the wizard must feel the same way. If Master Eris has a direct connection with that thing…
“No, I’d like to come.”
After giving Master Eris’s knee a pat (a friendly gesture, but it reassures him that the man is fine) he then turns and clicks his tongue at Timber. He mounts, then gives the wizard another square look. This time softer than the one before, and wordless, but just as easy to read: You scared me. He looks forward again quickly and gestures for the man to resume the lead.
“Alright, alright, no nap.” Maddox softly reassures his charge as he peels the boy off the floor and tucks him against his body. There’s something tight and uncomfortable in his chest that unwinds as he rubs Lee’s back and the three of them wander back inside. He shouldn’t find it surprising that Jasper follows them in, the two have been inseparable ever since that first night.
He makes a brief stop in the kitchen to ask Ari if she wouldn’t mind bringing some warm drinks to the library, which she happily agrees to. The look in her eye says there’ll be more than just drinks on the tray, but Maddox mentions nothing, figuring that the addition of sweets might be better off as a surprise. Unsurprisingly, Jasper finds a treat of his own to pilfer, coming away with a handful of savory chicken dumplings in his mouth that were probably supposed to be part of tonight’s dinner.
Upon entering the library, the redhead selects the same book of legends he had started reading to Lee from back when he first ended up as the boy’s babysitter. It doesn’t have the same simple illustrations a children’s book would, but it does at least have pictures in it. What with the significant lack of children on the estate in the past, their collection isn't exactly overflowing with children's literature, so he's had to make do with paraphrasing and simplifying the stories in this book. He promptly crosses the room, kicks his boots off, curls up on the sofa with Lee still held to his chest, and sets to reading. Jasper, predictably, settles practically in Maddox's lap so that he can keep an eye on his baby, although the effectiveness of which can be debated, as the little dragon doesn't stay awake long before dropping off into a nap himself.
"Let's see, where were we... ah, yes. The snow elves of the northern territories, and The Night of Tears..."
-
"I'll bet it does." The wizard says quietly as he straightens himself up with a shaky sigh. As much of an overreaction it was, Gable's sudden appearance at his side and the fists in his clothing cause a glow of warmth to spread through his chest. "She can be... insistent, even outside of the bond I share with her. I imagine it must be similar to how it feels for you when Lee overwhelms you with an outburst. With nothing between you and her right now, it's no wonder your head hurt."
He nods, once he feels a bit steadier and Gabe is back on Timber, then turns Frost back down the mountain. He lets the silence fall along with the wet, early snow, eventually wishing he had brought a cloak when the snowflakes start to melt into his hair, but he picks the conversation back up just before they cross the limits of Agate Pass.
"I'm quite sorry for the fright, earlier." He mentions, having caught the stable master's look. "The authority figure I spoke of some time ago... I was trying to be obtuse about it then, but there's no point in it now. It's Blackstaff. She's been putting quite a lot of pressure on me lately to get all of this figured out, and unfortunately our spirits are so intertwined that her emotions can sometimes have an effect on me."
They pass a few people in the streets, but most are indoors and out of the weather by now. A handful nod a greeting to Jonathan, but most turn their heads away and ignore him. It isn't anything he isn't used to. At least it means no one bars their path as they ride up to the post office. There's a post for hitching horses right in front of it and that's where he ties Frost, after a somewhat less than graceful dismount. Life with only one working hand is difficult, and the sooner he's out of this sling, the better.
A bell rings as he pushes the door open with his shoulder, and the postman behind the counter looks up with a frown.
"Master Eris. What can I do for you, sir?"
"Oleander." He nods his greeting, trying to remain civil even though it's clear the man isn't happy to have him in his shop. "Have Tehani and Arthur been through recently?"
He makes a brief stop in the kitchen to ask Ari if she wouldn’t mind bringing some warm drinks to the library, which she happily agrees to. The look in her eye says there’ll be more than just drinks on the tray, but Maddox mentions nothing, figuring that the addition of sweets might be better off as a surprise. Unsurprisingly, Jasper finds a treat of his own to pilfer, coming away with a handful of savory chicken dumplings in his mouth that were probably supposed to be part of tonight’s dinner.
Upon entering the library, the redhead selects the same book of legends he had started reading to Lee from back when he first ended up as the boy’s babysitter. It doesn’t have the same simple illustrations a children’s book would, but it does at least have pictures in it. What with the significant lack of children on the estate in the past, their collection isn't exactly overflowing with children's literature, so he's had to make do with paraphrasing and simplifying the stories in this book. He promptly crosses the room, kicks his boots off, curls up on the sofa with Lee still held to his chest, and sets to reading. Jasper, predictably, settles practically in Maddox's lap so that he can keep an eye on his baby, although the effectiveness of which can be debated, as the little dragon doesn't stay awake long before dropping off into a nap himself.
"Let's see, where were we... ah, yes. The snow elves of the northern territories, and The Night of Tears..."
-
"I'll bet it does." The wizard says quietly as he straightens himself up with a shaky sigh. As much of an overreaction it was, Gable's sudden appearance at his side and the fists in his clothing cause a glow of warmth to spread through his chest. "She can be... insistent, even outside of the bond I share with her. I imagine it must be similar to how it feels for you when Lee overwhelms you with an outburst. With nothing between you and her right now, it's no wonder your head hurt."
He nods, once he feels a bit steadier and Gabe is back on Timber, then turns Frost back down the mountain. He lets the silence fall along with the wet, early snow, eventually wishing he had brought a cloak when the snowflakes start to melt into his hair, but he picks the conversation back up just before they cross the limits of Agate Pass.
"I'm quite sorry for the fright, earlier." He mentions, having caught the stable master's look. "The authority figure I spoke of some time ago... I was trying to be obtuse about it then, but there's no point in it now. It's Blackstaff. She's been putting quite a lot of pressure on me lately to get all of this figured out, and unfortunately our spirits are so intertwined that her emotions can sometimes have an effect on me."
They pass a few people in the streets, but most are indoors and out of the weather by now. A handful nod a greeting to Jonathan, but most turn their heads away and ignore him. It isn't anything he isn't used to. At least it means no one bars their path as they ride up to the post office. There's a post for hitching horses right in front of it and that's where he ties Frost, after a somewhat less than graceful dismount. Life with only one working hand is difficult, and the sooner he's out of this sling, the better.
A bell rings as he pushes the door open with his shoulder, and the postman behind the counter looks up with a frown.
"Master Eris. What can I do for you, sir?"
"Oleander." He nods his greeting, trying to remain civil even though it's clear the man isn't happy to have him in his shop. "Have Tehani and Arthur been through recently?"
Unsurprising to anyone familiar with his upbringing, negative grownup expressions are not particularly difficult for Lee to read. The nuances of imminent generosity, however, although so blatant in sparkling eyes and smirking lips, remain a mystery to him. The treats that will arrive with hot drinks shall absolutely shock and amaze.
Like a baby bird, he responds to the sight of Jasper’s dumplings by extending an open hand and expecting his share of the bounty. But unlike a blind, greedy newborn animal, he takes only half of one and delights in feeding the rest back to the little lizard. His baby.
“Poor At-Morons,” Lee sighs, and settles into a position where he can cuddle his dragon while being cuddled himself. In the coming pages, he divides his attention almost equally between a close examination of each picture, petting whatever part of Jasper that’s closest to him, and looking up to watch the red man’s face while he speaks. Greater and greater amounts of his time are spent doing the latter until he stares almost unblinkingly in rapt silence. His rosebud lips part ever so slightly and once or twice he breathes a soft, “Wow.”
-
“It felt like you hated me,” Gable admits with a relieved chuckle. As much as it boggles his mind to know that a stick of wood could have such intense dislike for him, it makes him almost giddy that the conflicting communication was not from Master Eris after all. He glows inside and out with the confidence of restored amity. The wet landscape and damp air swell in majesty on every side.
To Master Eris’s apology, he makes a kind of noise that’s friendly, dismissive, and accepting all at once. Knowing how much it annoys and smothers the him, perhaps Gable owes an apology of his own for jumping to action the way Maddox does, but he can’t quite bring himself to cherish the wizard’s pride like that—and he can’t promise it won’t happen again. He does, however, feel it’s necessary and right to apologize for the pressure and burden that is clearly of his own making. He takes a moment to watch the snow, gathering his thoughts to put them into words with due gravity and respect.
“You’ve been awfully kind to me and my son, Master Eris. I’m a stranger who’d not been too honest with you to start out, but you’ve shown me nothing but hospitality and forgiveness and grace while I get my bearings. I’m glad if I can do something to return the consideration and… I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to do what’s right. I know better,” he promises a bit quieter. “I hope she treats you nicer from now on.”
Gable greets each brave soul they pass with a “How d’you do” and a gentlemanly nod. The ones who acknowledge Master Eris have the decency to look him in the face as well. Others don’t, but the pointedness of their shunning is lost on him. Some folks are just cold at heart no matter the weather.
After hitching up Timber, Gable wanders behind the Master at a small distance while taking in the sights of the neat little village street. Every glowing shop window seems to beckon, and he reads the signs of each with increasing interest. There is the tailor, a baker, and a shop entirely dedicated to spices. An apothecary, dry goods, and something called I.F.J’s Palace of Curiosities.
Accurate Weather Predictions Sold Here, the sign promises. That window is dark, however.
The post office bell rings a second time when Gable enters a moment later. With a smile that betrays just how glad he is to exist this afternoon (mindful to keep his chipped tooth covered lest he look like a brawler) he nods a hello to the man behind the counter, then browses a small display of postcards. His fingers have lost some of their sensitivity due to the cold, though, and the display soon lands on the floor in a spray. “Pardon me,” he mutters without losing his good humor, stooping to gather them up.
Like a baby bird, he responds to the sight of Jasper’s dumplings by extending an open hand and expecting his share of the bounty. But unlike a blind, greedy newborn animal, he takes only half of one and delights in feeding the rest back to the little lizard. His baby.
“Poor At-Morons,” Lee sighs, and settles into a position where he can cuddle his dragon while being cuddled himself. In the coming pages, he divides his attention almost equally between a close examination of each picture, petting whatever part of Jasper that’s closest to him, and looking up to watch the red man’s face while he speaks. Greater and greater amounts of his time are spent doing the latter until he stares almost unblinkingly in rapt silence. His rosebud lips part ever so slightly and once or twice he breathes a soft, “Wow.”
-
“It felt like you hated me,” Gable admits with a relieved chuckle. As much as it boggles his mind to know that a stick of wood could have such intense dislike for him, it makes him almost giddy that the conflicting communication was not from Master Eris after all. He glows inside and out with the confidence of restored amity. The wet landscape and damp air swell in majesty on every side.
To Master Eris’s apology, he makes a kind of noise that’s friendly, dismissive, and accepting all at once. Knowing how much it annoys and smothers the him, perhaps Gable owes an apology of his own for jumping to action the way Maddox does, but he can’t quite bring himself to cherish the wizard’s pride like that—and he can’t promise it won’t happen again. He does, however, feel it’s necessary and right to apologize for the pressure and burden that is clearly of his own making. He takes a moment to watch the snow, gathering his thoughts to put them into words with due gravity and respect.
“You’ve been awfully kind to me and my son, Master Eris. I’m a stranger who’d not been too honest with you to start out, but you’ve shown me nothing but hospitality and forgiveness and grace while I get my bearings. I’m glad if I can do something to return the consideration and… I’m sorry it’s taken me this long to do what’s right. I know better,” he promises a bit quieter. “I hope she treats you nicer from now on.”
Gable greets each brave soul they pass with a “How d’you do” and a gentlemanly nod. The ones who acknowledge Master Eris have the decency to look him in the face as well. Others don’t, but the pointedness of their shunning is lost on him. Some folks are just cold at heart no matter the weather.
After hitching up Timber, Gable wanders behind the Master at a small distance while taking in the sights of the neat little village street. Every glowing shop window seems to beckon, and he reads the signs of each with increasing interest. There is the tailor, a baker, and a shop entirely dedicated to spices. An apothecary, dry goods, and something called I.F.J’s Palace of Curiosities.
Accurate Weather Predictions Sold Here, the sign promises. That window is dark, however.
The post office bell rings a second time when Gable enters a moment later. With a smile that betrays just how glad he is to exist this afternoon (mindful to keep his chipped tooth covered lest he look like a brawler) he nods a hello to the man behind the counter, then browses a small display of postcards. His fingers have lost some of their sensitivity due to the cold, though, and the display soon lands on the floor in a spray. “Pardon me,” he mutters without losing his good humor, stooping to gather them up.
"Yeah, poor Atmorans." Maddox agrees with the toddler's assessment, at least for now. Once the boy is old enough to understand the entirety of the story in the context of history, he might not be so sympathetic to the northmen conquerors, or at least realize that the world is more complicated than clear-cut good guys and bad guys. For now, though, leaving the tale isolated works well enough to keep Lee entertained that it hardly matters.
He keeps reading, on through tales that grow ever more fantastic. A dragon who hoarded great mountains of gold in the world beneath, and ate the servants that displeased him until he grew so fat he couldn't leave his lair. A strong tiefling woman, whose fiery heart meant that she had to keep everyone at a distance lest they burn up in flames, until a kind blacksmith built her a shield to wear that would keep in the heat, and she could finally have a hug. A brave elven king who did battle with an evil mage while trapped in a dungeon, using only the magic in his voice, and nearly, nearly emerged victorious, but gave his friend the chance to escape imprisonment and marry the woman he loved. It is during this last story that Ari arrives with her tray of snacks.
"Having fun, boys?" she asks mischievously as she sets a tray on the table beside the sofa. There are three mugs of hot chocolate (warm, really, so that little tongues don't get burned), a bowl of sweet golden raisins, and a handful of shortbread cookies with jam baked into their centers.
-
The postman scowls vaguely in Gable's direction as the postcards are dropped, which only intensifies once he notices the familiar glance Jon throws his way.
"Training a new lackey?" The man asks, jerking his chin in the cowpoke's direction.
"No, Mr. Buck. Please just answer the question." Jon shakes his head, already tired of the conversation. It's the same hostility every time he comes down here. He's kinder to Maddox, whom he sees as somewhat more normal on account of the whole 'not being a wizard' part.
"What's it matter to you which couriers come past and when? Bloody wizards all think you get special treatment just coz you think you're above the rest of us normal folk." The dark-haired man points his finger accusatorially at Jon, though the only sign of agitation the wizard himself gives is a slight grinding of his teeth. "You come in here, you make your demands, and expect me to just roll over and do what you tell me to because you'll fry me like a roast chicken if I don't. If that ain't abuse of power, I don't know what is!"
"Oli, please," the tone Jon uses is practically begging at this point. "I never said I would do anything of the sort, I just need to know if Hani and Art have been through recently. There's a parcel with special instructions I need them to carry."
"Oh? Oh?! One of them 'handle with care or you blow up' kind of packages?" The postman pauses for a minute, eyebrow raised, and for a moment it almost seems like he'd be open to a counter argument, but then he opens his mouth again. "Deliver it yourself! I'll not be putting my couriers in danger for the likes of you, Jonathan Eris."
He keeps reading, on through tales that grow ever more fantastic. A dragon who hoarded great mountains of gold in the world beneath, and ate the servants that displeased him until he grew so fat he couldn't leave his lair. A strong tiefling woman, whose fiery heart meant that she had to keep everyone at a distance lest they burn up in flames, until a kind blacksmith built her a shield to wear that would keep in the heat, and she could finally have a hug. A brave elven king who did battle with an evil mage while trapped in a dungeon, using only the magic in his voice, and nearly, nearly emerged victorious, but gave his friend the chance to escape imprisonment and marry the woman he loved. It is during this last story that Ari arrives with her tray of snacks.
"Having fun, boys?" she asks mischievously as she sets a tray on the table beside the sofa. There are three mugs of hot chocolate (warm, really, so that little tongues don't get burned), a bowl of sweet golden raisins, and a handful of shortbread cookies with jam baked into their centers.
-
The postman scowls vaguely in Gable's direction as the postcards are dropped, which only intensifies once he notices the familiar glance Jon throws his way.
"Training a new lackey?" The man asks, jerking his chin in the cowpoke's direction.
"No, Mr. Buck. Please just answer the question." Jon shakes his head, already tired of the conversation. It's the same hostility every time he comes down here. He's kinder to Maddox, whom he sees as somewhat more normal on account of the whole 'not being a wizard' part.
"What's it matter to you which couriers come past and when? Bloody wizards all think you get special treatment just coz you think you're above the rest of us normal folk." The dark-haired man points his finger accusatorially at Jon, though the only sign of agitation the wizard himself gives is a slight grinding of his teeth. "You come in here, you make your demands, and expect me to just roll over and do what you tell me to because you'll fry me like a roast chicken if I don't. If that ain't abuse of power, I don't know what is!"
"Oli, please," the tone Jon uses is practically begging at this point. "I never said I would do anything of the sort, I just need to know if Hani and Art have been through recently. There's a parcel with special instructions I need them to carry."
"Oh? Oh?! One of them 'handle with care or you blow up' kind of packages?" The postman pauses for a minute, eyebrow raised, and for a moment it almost seems like he'd be open to a counter argument, but then he opens his mouth again. "Deliver it yourself! I'll not be putting my couriers in danger for the likes of you, Jonathan Eris."
Lee’s rapt and fixed gaze remains trained on Mr. Rex’s eyes, but slips ever slowly down to his lips. Then his cheek. His chin. Finally it sinks (with Lee himself) down closer to Splatters, where he lays his head against the man’s chest and listens to his heartbeat as well as his voice. It’s a shock to find this heart almost sounds like Papa’s. Do all hearts go woosh-goosh, woosh-goosh?
He makes very few remarks, except to disapprove openly when someone’s acting “not very nice” or to interrupt with a relevant anecdote about dragons and hugs. His toes wiggle at the most exciting parts in the first and second stories. By the third, his eyelids have drooped and the wiggling has ceased. His breathing is soft. The rattling of the tray, the scent of sweets, and the lady’s voice blend into his dreams.
-
It takes a moment for Gable to scrape the postcards off the floor. He listens to the... conversation while tapping them into a neat pile and setting them on the table where he found them, but does not go so far as to arrange them into their respective slots in the display.
Taking three of his favorites to the counter, he places them beside the bowl of candies, helps himself to one, then gently nudges the wizard two steps to the left in the most unobtrusive way so as not to interrupt him from replying to the postman. Running his hand along the countertop, Gable finds the seam of the bar flap and tips it upwards, allowing himself entry into the small space in which the postal worker stands and wags his finger. Here Gable's size can be felt as well as seen: the width of the space is almost not enough to accommodate him.
He doesn't see where the knife comes from, but he dispatches the weapon by plucking Oleander's hand from the air and slamming it once into the counter without a change of expression; he tosses the blade to Jon without glancing at him, then advances calmly on the man, still holding his wrist, backing him up one step at a time until the back of Oleander's knees hit the edge of his shopkeeper stool and he's forced to sit.
Bracing his hands on his own thighs, Gable leans forward to lower his eye level in the same way he would when speaking to Lee during a temper tantrum. But he doesn’t say anything yet. He studies the man first.
Pleasantly he asks, "Are you familiar with the meaning of the word 'liminal', Mr. Buck?" He pauses. The question is not rhetorical.
He makes very few remarks, except to disapprove openly when someone’s acting “not very nice” or to interrupt with a relevant anecdote about dragons and hugs. His toes wiggle at the most exciting parts in the first and second stories. By the third, his eyelids have drooped and the wiggling has ceased. His breathing is soft. The rattling of the tray, the scent of sweets, and the lady’s voice blend into his dreams.
-
It takes a moment for Gable to scrape the postcards off the floor. He listens to the... conversation while tapping them into a neat pile and setting them on the table where he found them, but does not go so far as to arrange them into their respective slots in the display.
Taking three of his favorites to the counter, he places them beside the bowl of candies, helps himself to one, then gently nudges the wizard two steps to the left in the most unobtrusive way so as not to interrupt him from replying to the postman. Running his hand along the countertop, Gable finds the seam of the bar flap and tips it upwards, allowing himself entry into the small space in which the postal worker stands and wags his finger. Here Gable's size can be felt as well as seen: the width of the space is almost not enough to accommodate him.
He doesn't see where the knife comes from, but he dispatches the weapon by plucking Oleander's hand from the air and slamming it once into the counter without a change of expression; he tosses the blade to Jon without glancing at him, then advances calmly on the man, still holding his wrist, backing him up one step at a time until the back of Oleander's knees hit the edge of his shopkeeper stool and he's forced to sit.
Bracing his hands on his own thighs, Gable leans forward to lower his eye level in the same way he would when speaking to Lee during a temper tantrum. But he doesn’t say anything yet. He studies the man first.
Pleasantly he asks, "Are you familiar with the meaning of the word 'liminal', Mr. Buck?" He pauses. The question is not rhetorical.
Maddox raises a finger to his lips, and Ari falls silent, now noticing that Lee seems to have nodded off against him. That doesn't stop the two adults from chatting softly over their own warm beverages, though they leave the snacks for when the dozy toddler wakes up.
"I was hoping he'd fall asleep at some point." The redhead sighs and sips on his cocoa while Ariathel settles in an armchair not too far away. "He put up quite the fuss when Gable and Jon left for town, and didn't really settle until we got up here and started reading."
"I can't say I really blame him. The last time those two were separated ended up being quite the traumatic experience."
The chief of staff stifles a quiet snort. "I'm surprised he even let me pick him up, but I suppose Gable was gone by then so he didn't really have anyone else to go to. Well, except for Jasper, but he's far too small to offer a ride indoors."
At the mention of his name, the little dragon's leg twitches in his sleep.
-
"It's nothing of the sort, Oleander." Jonathan grumbles as he scoots to the side at being nudged. Part of him wants to interfere with whatever Gable is up to, it being his authority the man is under after all, but decides to watch how things play out instead. He's seen a bit of the man's character already, but seeing how he handles this confrontation would be equally valuable. Of course, a small amount of magic pooling in his palm to summon Blackstaff at a moment's notice doesn't go amiss either.
"Hey!" The postman shouts as Gable throws back the bar flap and invites himself into a space he's not welcome in. Oleander reaches for the knife under the counter, but it doesn't get much further than that before he's forced to let the weapon drop when his hand is smashed into the unyielding wood. He doesn't make a sound other than a strangled gasp as his fingers release their grip, and stares disbelievingly at the monstrosity of a man that backs him gently into his seat. Jon, for his part, easily catches the blade and turns it over in his hands for a minute while he deliberates what to do with it. He considers driving it into the countertop, blunting the blade and ruining the wood, but destruction of property is not his prerogative. Neither is theft. As such, he merely holds onto it for the time being.
"I'm quite aware." Oleander holds his chin high, despite his vulnerable position. "I am not a stupid man, I'll have you know."
"I was hoping he'd fall asleep at some point." The redhead sighs and sips on his cocoa while Ariathel settles in an armchair not too far away. "He put up quite the fuss when Gable and Jon left for town, and didn't really settle until we got up here and started reading."
"I can't say I really blame him. The last time those two were separated ended up being quite the traumatic experience."
The chief of staff stifles a quiet snort. "I'm surprised he even let me pick him up, but I suppose Gable was gone by then so he didn't really have anyone else to go to. Well, except for Jasper, but he's far too small to offer a ride indoors."
At the mention of his name, the little dragon's leg twitches in his sleep.
-
"It's nothing of the sort, Oleander." Jonathan grumbles as he scoots to the side at being nudged. Part of him wants to interfere with whatever Gable is up to, it being his authority the man is under after all, but decides to watch how things play out instead. He's seen a bit of the man's character already, but seeing how he handles this confrontation would be equally valuable. Of course, a small amount of magic pooling in his palm to summon Blackstaff at a moment's notice doesn't go amiss either.
"Hey!" The postman shouts as Gable throws back the bar flap and invites himself into a space he's not welcome in. Oleander reaches for the knife under the counter, but it doesn't get much further than that before he's forced to let the weapon drop when his hand is smashed into the unyielding wood. He doesn't make a sound other than a strangled gasp as his fingers release their grip, and stares disbelievingly at the monstrosity of a man that backs him gently into his seat. Jon, for his part, easily catches the blade and turns it over in his hands for a minute while he deliberates what to do with it. He considers driving it into the countertop, blunting the blade and ruining the wood, but destruction of property is not his prerogative. Neither is theft. As such, he merely holds onto it for the time being.
"I'm quite aware." Oleander holds his chin high, despite his vulnerable position. "I am not a stupid man, I'll have you know."
The candy in Gable's mouth bulges in one cheek and his brows lift slightly as he considers whether the man only answers out of baffled pride or genuine indignation. To be honest, he's impressed by Oleander's composure. "One might argue that lack of education and downright foolish stupidness are different things. But I digress." Gable smiles at him gently, with all his teeth.
"I only just learned the meaning of liminal for myself the other day." He glances briefly at Master Eris to include him in the friendly conversation. "It appeared in a touching poem about coming to terms with the end of one's life; that time between where you've been and where you're going, a suspension of all future choices and desires and aspirations, which is usually when folks start to examine the value they contributed to the earth while they had the chance. Moments replay in their minds like waking dreams. The things they said. The things they did. Whether they treated others with patience, kindness, gentleness, good will, and respect. …Grace, too. And mercy.
"Sadly, I think most of us will die with more regrets than friendships." He pauses, looking as though he wants to add more, but then only nods thoughtfully. Gable won't insult the man's intelligence by robbing him of the chance to interpret his message. He straightens up and juts his chin to the postcards beside the candy dish.
"I'd like to purchase these if it's all right with you, Mr. Buck. And could you please answer Master Eris's question? I have something I need to mail and it's awful important." From the inside fold of his jacket he produces a humble money pouch and extracts some coin, then lays the (relatively) hefty donation in Oleander's hand. "Much obliged, friend."
He waits for the answer with his head at a tip. His jaw muscles flex and the hard candy cracks as he chews it prematurely. He helps himself to another.
"I only just learned the meaning of liminal for myself the other day." He glances briefly at Master Eris to include him in the friendly conversation. "It appeared in a touching poem about coming to terms with the end of one's life; that time between where you've been and where you're going, a suspension of all future choices and desires and aspirations, which is usually when folks start to examine the value they contributed to the earth while they had the chance. Moments replay in their minds like waking dreams. The things they said. The things they did. Whether they treated others with patience, kindness, gentleness, good will, and respect. …Grace, too. And mercy.
"Sadly, I think most of us will die with more regrets than friendships." He pauses, looking as though he wants to add more, but then only nods thoughtfully. Gable won't insult the man's intelligence by robbing him of the chance to interpret his message. He straightens up and juts his chin to the postcards beside the candy dish.
"I'd like to purchase these if it's all right with you, Mr. Buck. And could you please answer Master Eris's question? I have something I need to mail and it's awful important." From the inside fold of his jacket he produces a humble money pouch and extracts some coin, then lays the (relatively) hefty donation in Oleander's hand. "Much obliged, friend."
He waits for the answer with his head at a tip. His jaw muscles flex and the hard candy cracks as he chews it prematurely. He helps himself to another.
Oleander sneers up at Gabe with the look of someone who knows he’s being scolded and is doing the best he can to maintain what little dignity he has left while still believing that he’s in the right. He’s clearly only paying half as much attention as he should to the lecture he’s being given, his arms crossed over his chest indignantly. Only the slight tremor in his hands betrays how much of an effect the large man’s proximity is having on him, and the only answer he really gives at the conclusion of said lecture is a nod and a grunt, the bare minimum of cooperation required to feel like he isn’t in immediate danger of losing his life.
“If it pleases you, sirs.” He mutters irately, reluctantly accepting the stack of coin that’s passed his way.
“Now then, Oli.” Jon clears his throat, having summoned up the phantom hand and started using the man’s knife to clean the dirt out from under his fingernails. An ultimately harmless activity, but still annoying to witness. “Tehani and Arthur. Have they been through recently?”
“No.” He answers after some time, sounding more than a touch petulant as he pockets the coin. “They should be ‘round in the next two weeks or so. Or at least Hani will. Apparently Arthur’s taken issue with traveling with her over winter, so he’s planning to stay in Glimmertarn ‘til spring.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Jonathan’s smile as he lays the postman’s knife back on the counter is genuine and appreciative. His head is still pleasantly buzzing from the relief of the telepathic pressure Blackstaff’s been putting on him for the past few days, otherwise he probably would have lost patience before Gabe had a chance to intervene. It felt good not to have to be the one making the threats for once. He gives the counter a pat as he turns toward the door, motioning for Gable to follow.
The wizard says nothing about the interaction in the post office, at least not immediately, turning his focus to brushing the snow accumulation off of Frost’s back and climbing back up into the saddle.
“If it pleases you, sirs.” He mutters irately, reluctantly accepting the stack of coin that’s passed his way.
“Now then, Oli.” Jon clears his throat, having summoned up the phantom hand and started using the man’s knife to clean the dirt out from under his fingernails. An ultimately harmless activity, but still annoying to witness. “Tehani and Arthur. Have they been through recently?”
“No.” He answers after some time, sounding more than a touch petulant as he pockets the coin. “They should be ‘round in the next two weeks or so. Or at least Hani will. Apparently Arthur’s taken issue with traveling with her over winter, so he’s planning to stay in Glimmertarn ‘til spring.”
“Thank you, my friend.” Jonathan’s smile as he lays the postman’s knife back on the counter is genuine and appreciative. His head is still pleasantly buzzing from the relief of the telepathic pressure Blackstaff’s been putting on him for the past few days, otherwise he probably would have lost patience before Gabe had a chance to intervene. It felt good not to have to be the one making the threats for once. He gives the counter a pat as he turns toward the door, motioning for Gable to follow.
The wizard says nothing about the interaction in the post office, at least not immediately, turning his focus to brushing the snow accumulation off of Frost’s back and climbing back up into the saddle.
When it seems Master Eris is satisfied with the man's answer, Gable ambles out to the main floor again, closing the bar flap behind himself in a way that it hardly makes a sound. He tucks his postcards into his jacket, pockets a few more candies, then nods a polite farewell to the postman and follows the wizard back out into the cold. The fresh air clears away the rank odor of Oleander's fear and a new smell captures his imagination: the bakery.
Cakes, tarts, pastry puffs filled with pudding creme… There have been plenty of sweet delights back home from the kitchen, but his sweet tooth (the cracked one, probably) demands a taste of indulgence: Some extravagant dessert that might take more time and effort than Ari has on her hands for a typical meal. Maddox could surely use the comfort of a thoughtful treat as well, he thinks, and with that is easily convinced that a visit across the street is in order. His only hesitation is that Master Eris won't benefit from the shop except perhaps to feed his imagination, which in theory might fuel the spoon's power for his next meal…
"So does this mean we can send the letter, sir?" He asks while brushing off Timber, but his gaze is locked on the window beyond Master Eris's shoulder.
He wets his lips and tries to formulate a polite way of requesting to go somewhere without Master Eris's company. He believes there would be no pleasure in it for the wizard, although he doesn't want to presume as much, either… Bakeries are a nice, toasty place to be on a day like this.
"It would be awful nice to get something warm for the way back. If that bakery has any broth, would you like some?" He tips his head to the glowing storefront before Master Eris can mount Frost. "I told Mr. Rex that we'd do our errand and come straight back, but d'you think he might forgive us if we bring him a pie?" The stars of hopeful anticipation in his eyes might as well be a wagging tail.
Cakes, tarts, pastry puffs filled with pudding creme… There have been plenty of sweet delights back home from the kitchen, but his sweet tooth (the cracked one, probably) demands a taste of indulgence: Some extravagant dessert that might take more time and effort than Ari has on her hands for a typical meal. Maddox could surely use the comfort of a thoughtful treat as well, he thinks, and with that is easily convinced that a visit across the street is in order. His only hesitation is that Master Eris won't benefit from the shop except perhaps to feed his imagination, which in theory might fuel the spoon's power for his next meal…
"So does this mean we can send the letter, sir?" He asks while brushing off Timber, but his gaze is locked on the window beyond Master Eris's shoulder.
He wets his lips and tries to formulate a polite way of requesting to go somewhere without Master Eris's company. He believes there would be no pleasure in it for the wizard, although he doesn't want to presume as much, either… Bakeries are a nice, toasty place to be on a day like this.
"It would be awful nice to get something warm for the way back. If that bakery has any broth, would you like some?" He tips his head to the glowing storefront before Master Eris can mount Frost. "I told Mr. Rex that we'd do our errand and come straight back, but d'you think he might forgive us if we bring him a pie?" The stars of hopeful anticipation in his eyes might as well be a wagging tail.
“Yes.” Jon says, quite optimistically for what they’ve just been through to get that information. “Tehani is somewhat of a wanderer. She was born and raised eking out a living in the high desert steppes, if there’s anyone I trust to track your man down in the middle of nowhere, and be discrete about it, she’d be the one. I actually hire her quite frequently as a traveling companion on the occasions where I have to leave Black Pine Crossing for any considerable amount of time. She’s quiet, but stoic as they come and decent traveling company if you’re going through rough lands. I think the two of you would get along quite well, actually, given the right circumstances.”
He chuckles at the mention of broth, following the man’s gaze over his shoulder to the bakery across the way. The wizard leans forward, folding his arms casually on Frost’s rump and leaning his chin on them.
“Well, if there’s one thing I know about our dear chief of staff, it’s that he’ll never turn down a treat when it’s offered to him.” He says all of this with a knowing smirk, something that looks almost mischievous making an appearance in his expression as well. “Don’t worry about the broth, there’s every chance that even a clear liquid isn’t free from all the various ingredients that could cause me harm. I learned long ago that sometimes being happy with smells alone isn’t so bad.”
With that he pushes himself off of Frost and beckons for Gable to follow him across the road to the bakery. Even before they’ve entered the shop, the smell of freshly baked breads and pies and pastries fills the air. Even if he knows none of it will make it to his mouth, Jon finds it intoxicating, like sniffing some kind of forbidden fruit. The heady aroma of delicious treats combined with the bliss of seeing Oleander cowed and drifting through last remnants of Blackstaff’s almost-approval have him feeling… scattered. So when he steps into the shop itself he stops in his tracks, lost in the weird, wonderful feeling of not having to think about anything that isn’t the divine scents filling his nostrils right this second. He does move out of the way, after taking a minute to reorient himself. No sense in becoming a nuisance.
He chuckles at the mention of broth, following the man’s gaze over his shoulder to the bakery across the way. The wizard leans forward, folding his arms casually on Frost’s rump and leaning his chin on them.
“Well, if there’s one thing I know about our dear chief of staff, it’s that he’ll never turn down a treat when it’s offered to him.” He says all of this with a knowing smirk, something that looks almost mischievous making an appearance in his expression as well. “Don’t worry about the broth, there’s every chance that even a clear liquid isn’t free from all the various ingredients that could cause me harm. I learned long ago that sometimes being happy with smells alone isn’t so bad.”
With that he pushes himself off of Frost and beckons for Gable to follow him across the road to the bakery. Even before they’ve entered the shop, the smell of freshly baked breads and pies and pastries fills the air. Even if he knows none of it will make it to his mouth, Jon finds it intoxicating, like sniffing some kind of forbidden fruit. The heady aroma of delicious treats combined with the bliss of seeing Oleander cowed and drifting through last remnants of Blackstaff’s almost-approval have him feeling… scattered. So when he steps into the shop itself he stops in his tracks, lost in the weird, wonderful feeling of not having to think about anything that isn’t the divine scents filling his nostrils right this second. He does move out of the way, after taking a minute to reorient himself. No sense in becoming a nuisance.
Gable chuckles at hearing Little Hen being referred to as 'the middle of nowhere', although it might be apt, as Wes did seem to vanish into thin air while out on the prairie; he could have wound up leagues away from any settlements. If he's back in the heart of the Nest, then discretion will be vital for all parties involved; it's good to know they have a trustworthy and capable woman for the job.
"Oh?" he says when Master Eris explains said woman has been a good companion. It's a curious thing to imagine the wizard far away from his harbor, but a recent memory of leather brigandine and a sword makes it a little easier to try. He then smiles shyly, warmed by the familiarity in the Master's estimation that he would like this quiet, stoic, competent courier. "You would know, sir. Mr. Rex says you're an excellent judge of character. Except… is he aware of your condemnatory walking stick and soft spot for criminals?" Just teasing.
And speaking of the gentle ginger, whatever that mischief in Master Eris's expression is hinting at, it makes him a bit suspicious that there will be some prankish tampering with the treat. "All I know is, we all need a little comfort food from time to time." His tone would be tinged with caution and admonishment if he really thought the wizard would try something, but all traces of ill feelings seem to have disappeared from the man's mood: the barn fight forgiven, if not forgotten. So Gable hopes.
It feels like a shame that Master Eris has traveled all this way for one stubborn postman and no souvenir, but so long as he's all right with it, there's no reason not to enjoy the bakery together. Gable follows closely at his heel and must stop himself from plowing into the lithe man at the doorway. He nearly asks what's wrong before realizing Master Eris is having a moment of pure ecstasy.
Smirking to himself, Gabe closes his eyes for a moment and parts his lips to savor the wall of tantalizing aromas with him, imagining that he, too, can only experience the shop through a single sense. Individual spices, flaky crusts, butter, salt, drizzles, and cremes gradually lift and separate only to collide again in a dizzying splash. When Master Eris steps aside, Gable's eyes remain shut and his face is peaceful for a few more seconds. Yes, he can imagine being disciplined enough for this glorious intoxication to satisfy. But he won't exercise such control today if it isn't asked of him. He already practiced a great deal of restraint in the post office.
"Afternoon, darlin," he greets the shopkeeper (or a very young-looking master baker, one can never be sure) then compliments a display of unusually beautiful cookies and inquires about the day's specials. She's polite enough with him, but seems to regard Master Eris with the same distrust as the postman and the other villagers they'd passed; he pretends not to notice, though his mildly annoyed expression when he turns from her view and intensely examines a chocolate pie makes it clear enough how he feels.
"Oh?" he says when Master Eris explains said woman has been a good companion. It's a curious thing to imagine the wizard far away from his harbor, but a recent memory of leather brigandine and a sword makes it a little easier to try. He then smiles shyly, warmed by the familiarity in the Master's estimation that he would like this quiet, stoic, competent courier. "You would know, sir. Mr. Rex says you're an excellent judge of character. Except… is he aware of your condemnatory walking stick and soft spot for criminals?" Just teasing.
And speaking of the gentle ginger, whatever that mischief in Master Eris's expression is hinting at, it makes him a bit suspicious that there will be some prankish tampering with the treat. "All I know is, we all need a little comfort food from time to time." His tone would be tinged with caution and admonishment if he really thought the wizard would try something, but all traces of ill feelings seem to have disappeared from the man's mood: the barn fight forgiven, if not forgotten. So Gable hopes.
It feels like a shame that Master Eris has traveled all this way for one stubborn postman and no souvenir, but so long as he's all right with it, there's no reason not to enjoy the bakery together. Gable follows closely at his heel and must stop himself from plowing into the lithe man at the doorway. He nearly asks what's wrong before realizing Master Eris is having a moment of pure ecstasy.
Smirking to himself, Gabe closes his eyes for a moment and parts his lips to savor the wall of tantalizing aromas with him, imagining that he, too, can only experience the shop through a single sense. Individual spices, flaky crusts, butter, salt, drizzles, and cremes gradually lift and separate only to collide again in a dizzying splash. When Master Eris steps aside, Gable's eyes remain shut and his face is peaceful for a few more seconds. Yes, he can imagine being disciplined enough for this glorious intoxication to satisfy. But he won't exercise such control today if it isn't asked of him. He already practiced a great deal of restraint in the post office.
"Afternoon, darlin," he greets the shopkeeper (or a very young-looking master baker, one can never be sure) then compliments a display of unusually beautiful cookies and inquires about the day's specials. She's polite enough with him, but seems to regard Master Eris with the same distrust as the postman and the other villagers they'd passed; he pretends not to notice, though his mildly annoyed expression when he turns from her view and intensely examines a chocolate pie makes it clear enough how he feels.
"Maddox is well aware of my stick and my soft spots." The wizard sighs, continuing their conversation from outside, once his head has had a minute to float back to its rightful place on his shoulders. He folds his free arm around his middle and leans himself up against a vacant patch of wall while he watches Gabe browse the pastries, making sure to keep a decent amount of distance between himself and anyone else in the room while still being within earshot of his companion. "He's been the target of her ire on more than a few occasions, though luckily not to this extent. That is, unfortunately, a special honor she has accorded for you."
His tone is light and humorous as he says it, it's a friendly jab as opposed to an accusation. There aren't many he can take that attitude with, and he's hoping Gabe is one of them. Most immediately see such things as criticisms or snide reminder of his station, though it is seldom meant that way. True friends are hard to come by as a wizard, between the fear and distrust of most folk and the oft not-so-friendly competition of one's peers. It makes for a lonely life.
"I do hope Hani stops by while she's in town. She loves children, and I'm sure Lee would just find her absolutely fascinating." There's a knowing smirk that comes along with Jon's comment, the kind that says he's clearly hiding something. It's an innocent omission, for sure, but an omission nonetheless.
His tone is light and humorous as he says it, it's a friendly jab as opposed to an accusation. There aren't many he can take that attitude with, and he's hoping Gabe is one of them. Most immediately see such things as criticisms or snide reminder of his station, though it is seldom meant that way. True friends are hard to come by as a wizard, between the fear and distrust of most folk and the oft not-so-friendly competition of one's peers. It makes for a lonely life.
"I do hope Hani stops by while she's in town. She loves children, and I'm sure Lee would just find her absolutely fascinating." There's a knowing smirk that comes along with Jon's comment, the kind that says he's clearly hiding something. It's an innocent omission, for sure, but an omission nonetheless.
Gabe snorts and shoots a grin in the wizard's direction. Friendly sarcasm is a sign of trust where he comes from and he takes it as an indication that they've made progress since that morning. He responds with a shrug. "At least you like me." Things were looking much more bleak before discovering that Blackstaff's voice was the grim intimidation thrumming on his peripheral senses. So long as she doesn't squeeze the wizard's head into goop, he doesn't much care how she feels about him. And so long as he goes through with the cure, she won't have a reason to squeeze anyway... Hopefully.
For not the first time, he notices Master Eris looking like a smug cat wearing feathers. Gable narrows his eyes at him with playful suspicion and considers whether he should ask more questions about this mysterious woman the mage seems so fond of. In the end, though, he decides that might be what's expected of him. But his interest is certainly piqued.
He purchases four flaky, drizzled pastries the size of dinner plates, packs three away into a cloth gatherer's sack from his jacket, and begins to eat one on his way out the door. His eyelids flicker just before a noise not unlike the one Master Eris had made earlier slips through him. His head shakes in pleasant disbelief at this confectionery marvel's power to instantly transform the wet, cold day into a glimpse of summer.
It's a wonder their horses have not been hobbled by the postman in their absence and Gabe mentions as much.
"Do you find her fascinating?" he asks casually, and licks icing from his thumb. He transfers the pastry from his hand to his teeth while mounting Timber and takes another bite before adding: "Or is Blackstaff the only woman who's allowed to have your attention?"
-
Feet peddle and lips twitch as the toddler dreams of romping with Jasper through a wide, open plain of wildflowers. The sun is hot, the grasshoppers are big and friendly, and painted beetles float lazily through the air. For a little while, everything is exactly how a dream should be: a safe inner world full of limitless potential.
But in the waking world, Lee makes small noises and jerks a little now and then. The noises soon turn to whimpers. The jerks become more panicked.
Dark rain clouds have gathered in the plain. He looks around for his father, but there's nothing except an endless stretch of flat land in every direction. No place to hide, nothing to crawl under for cover. No house. No Papa. Not even a tent. And Splatters is suddenly gone, too, taken away by the wind. Thunder booms and lightning cracks the sky apart. The rain hurls its fury at him and huge pellets of water hit like a million bees stinging his skin.
Lee cries out in the waking world, but then he finds a hole in the floor of his dream. It's not much bigger than something a rabbit would make. Instinct urges him to stick his head in the opening, but his shoulders make it impossible to wiggle down. The thunder is getting closer, reaching down for him out of the clouds in the shape of a giant purple hand...
Lee's body knows exactly what to do in order to escape. In less time than it takes to lace one's boots, his tiny joints loosen, bones shift, fur sprouts, ears perk, claws lengthen, and very soon he is a puppy tangled in the puddle of a small boy's clothes. And still having a nightmare. The next noise he makes is a tiny, mournful yip.
For not the first time, he notices Master Eris looking like a smug cat wearing feathers. Gable narrows his eyes at him with playful suspicion and considers whether he should ask more questions about this mysterious woman the mage seems so fond of. In the end, though, he decides that might be what's expected of him. But his interest is certainly piqued.
He purchases four flaky, drizzled pastries the size of dinner plates, packs three away into a cloth gatherer's sack from his jacket, and begins to eat one on his way out the door. His eyelids flicker just before a noise not unlike the one Master Eris had made earlier slips through him. His head shakes in pleasant disbelief at this confectionery marvel's power to instantly transform the wet, cold day into a glimpse of summer.
It's a wonder their horses have not been hobbled by the postman in their absence and Gabe mentions as much.
"Do you find her fascinating?" he asks casually, and licks icing from his thumb. He transfers the pastry from his hand to his teeth while mounting Timber and takes another bite before adding: "Or is Blackstaff the only woman who's allowed to have your attention?"
-
Feet peddle and lips twitch as the toddler dreams of romping with Jasper through a wide, open plain of wildflowers. The sun is hot, the grasshoppers are big and friendly, and painted beetles float lazily through the air. For a little while, everything is exactly how a dream should be: a safe inner world full of limitless potential.
But in the waking world, Lee makes small noises and jerks a little now and then. The noises soon turn to whimpers. The jerks become more panicked.
Dark rain clouds have gathered in the plain. He looks around for his father, but there's nothing except an endless stretch of flat land in every direction. No place to hide, nothing to crawl under for cover. No house. No Papa. Not even a tent. And Splatters is suddenly gone, too, taken away by the wind. Thunder booms and lightning cracks the sky apart. The rain hurls its fury at him and huge pellets of water hit like a million bees stinging his skin.
Lee cries out in the waking world, but then he finds a hole in the floor of his dream. It's not much bigger than something a rabbit would make. Instinct urges him to stick his head in the opening, but his shoulders make it impossible to wiggle down. The thunder is getting closer, reaching down for him out of the clouds in the shape of a giant purple hand...
Lee's body knows exactly what to do in order to escape. In less time than it takes to lace one's boots, his tiny joints loosen, bones shift, fur sprouts, ears perk, claws lengthen, and very soon he is a puppy tangled in the puddle of a small boy's clothes. And still having a nightmare. The next noise he makes is a tiny, mournful yip.
Reluctantly, Jonathan follows Gable back out into the weather. Big, fluffy flakes cling to his jacket and hair, turning everything damp and white in less than half the time it takes for them to cross the street back to their horses. While he can't say it would surprise him to see Oleander hobble their horses, he knows it isn't likely. Like most of the townsfolk, his hatred is motivated by fear, and although refusing to answer a few questions is easy enough, touching the archmage's horse is an entirely different matter. He probably thinks there'll be a curse laid on him for even touching them. In fact he explains as much to Gable as they brush the snow off their saddles, adding that there's probably a good chance the postman won't dare touch that knife again either.
Superstition makes folks do funny things.
"I suppose you could say I find her fascinating." Jon chuckles as he draws himself up into Frost's saddle and turns toward the road they entered town through. Luckily he's familiar enough with the way home that he could find it in the dark, because the snow is starting to stick and obscure the road. "Though probably not in the way that you're implying. The culture she comes from is absolutely remarkable. They're nomadic people, moving their settlements several times a year with the seasons as they follow their food sources, and as such have had very little contact with outside civilizations. Their history is long and rich, but entirely oral with no written stories at all. They do have a written language, but it's rather crude, more alike to pictograms than any alphabet I've ever seen, and to record they've never been used outside of her tribe and those they've historically shared territory with. All of this makes her quite uniquely suited to acting as a covert courier."
The wizard doesn't bother conjuring up his phantasmal hand for the ride back. With Blackstaff brooding away at home, he doesn't need to spare a hand to carry her, and can devote his one and only functioning appendage to Frost's reins. The stallion knows the way home, of course, and so steering is not so much the issue as speed is. Uphill it may be, but if galloping up the mountain gets him to his warm, dry stall and a bucket of oats faster? By golly he'll do it. Unfortunately, Jon is less than enthused with the idea, and so has to continually pull him back down from his energetic prancing to a more regulated walk.
-
"Bad dream?"
"Probably." Maddox makes a soft shushing sound as he rubs Lee's back through his uncomfortable noises, seeing as Jasper is absolutely off duty at the moment, so deep asleep that he's turned himself upside-down and belly-up. He continues cooing at the toddler, though it doesn't seem to have any effect. "You're alright, Lee. You're okay."
But in the next instant, something remarkable happens that has both adults staring wide-eyed at where the boy lays: he changes shape. The redhead's hand snaps away the second it happens, and the two watch in disbelief and abject horror. Joints pop out of place, bones lengthen and shorten and fur grows from his previously baby-smooth skin, his face lengthens along with his ears, and then suddenly he isn't a boy anymore. He's a wolf pup. The adults sit frozen in time, unmoving and unspeaking until the puppy's yip seems to break them out of their trance.
"Holy--"
"Maddox!" Ariathel's whisper-shout keeps him from saying something crass. He might be an animal right now, but Lee is still a child and shouldn't hear such things.
"What do we do?"
The elven woman peers into the cocoon of blankets Lee had fallen asleep in, seeing that the pup is sort of oddly ensconced in the clothes he had been wearing previously.
"I... suppose we should undress him."
Maddox looks at her like she's grown a third arm.
"What?!" She whisper-shouts again, scowling at him. "That can't be comfortable. What if he changes back and his head is through an arms eye or something? He could choke."
"But what if you get bit?!" Now it's his turn to whisper-shout.
"Then I'll be the one to tell Jon when he gets back, seeing as you're being such a--"
"Ari!"
"Hmph. If you aren't going to help, at least move your arm so your weirdly long thumbs don't jab my eye out."
The chief of staff makes a noise that can only be interpreted as mild offense, but otherwise moves his arm and watches carefully while Ariathel undresses the wolf pup and loosely swaddles his sleeping form in the blanket.
Superstition makes folks do funny things.
"I suppose you could say I find her fascinating." Jon chuckles as he draws himself up into Frost's saddle and turns toward the road they entered town through. Luckily he's familiar enough with the way home that he could find it in the dark, because the snow is starting to stick and obscure the road. "Though probably not in the way that you're implying. The culture she comes from is absolutely remarkable. They're nomadic people, moving their settlements several times a year with the seasons as they follow their food sources, and as such have had very little contact with outside civilizations. Their history is long and rich, but entirely oral with no written stories at all. They do have a written language, but it's rather crude, more alike to pictograms than any alphabet I've ever seen, and to record they've never been used outside of her tribe and those they've historically shared territory with. All of this makes her quite uniquely suited to acting as a covert courier."
The wizard doesn't bother conjuring up his phantasmal hand for the ride back. With Blackstaff brooding away at home, he doesn't need to spare a hand to carry her, and can devote his one and only functioning appendage to Frost's reins. The stallion knows the way home, of course, and so steering is not so much the issue as speed is. Uphill it may be, but if galloping up the mountain gets him to his warm, dry stall and a bucket of oats faster? By golly he'll do it. Unfortunately, Jon is less than enthused with the idea, and so has to continually pull him back down from his energetic prancing to a more regulated walk.
-
"Bad dream?"
"Probably." Maddox makes a soft shushing sound as he rubs Lee's back through his uncomfortable noises, seeing as Jasper is absolutely off duty at the moment, so deep asleep that he's turned himself upside-down and belly-up. He continues cooing at the toddler, though it doesn't seem to have any effect. "You're alright, Lee. You're okay."
But in the next instant, something remarkable happens that has both adults staring wide-eyed at where the boy lays: he changes shape. The redhead's hand snaps away the second it happens, and the two watch in disbelief and abject horror. Joints pop out of place, bones lengthen and shorten and fur grows from his previously baby-smooth skin, his face lengthens along with his ears, and then suddenly he isn't a boy anymore. He's a wolf pup. The adults sit frozen in time, unmoving and unspeaking until the puppy's yip seems to break them out of their trance.
"Holy--"
"Maddox!" Ariathel's whisper-shout keeps him from saying something crass. He might be an animal right now, but Lee is still a child and shouldn't hear such things.
"What do we do?"
The elven woman peers into the cocoon of blankets Lee had fallen asleep in, seeing that the pup is sort of oddly ensconced in the clothes he had been wearing previously.
"I... suppose we should undress him."
Maddox looks at her like she's grown a third arm.
"What?!" She whisper-shouts again, scowling at him. "That can't be comfortable. What if he changes back and his head is through an arms eye or something? He could choke."
"But what if you get bit?!" Now it's his turn to whisper-shout.
"Then I'll be the one to tell Jon when he gets back, seeing as you're being such a--"
"Ari!"
"Hmph. If you aren't going to help, at least move your arm so your weirdly long thumbs don't jab my eye out."
The chief of staff makes a noise that can only be interpreted as mild offense, but otherwise moves his arm and watches carefully while Ariathel undresses the wolf pup and loosely swaddles his sleeping form in the blanket.
"Folks back home are mighty fond of superstitions, too," Gable grumbles knowingly. At least in Master Eris's case, the shroud of mystery around the wizard keeps him safe and unbothered. The effect is exactly the opposite in the Nest, he explains. "I know I got it worse than most, but not the worst. One young woman lost her child because it was born with a wine stain mark across half its face. I think it'd been a girl, but everyone called her 'it.' She was robbed from the cradle and found by some hounds a few days later. Long dead." He swallows and takes a brief moment of silence to honor the child's memory. "The lady's husband left her, too, saying she couldn't produce no 'pure stock.' Tch."
He shakes his head and casts his eyes over their surroundings. "We've got a lot of mutated animals running around, you see. When natural creatures breed with magical things like your dragons, they don't usually produce offspring, but it happens from time to time. For whatever reason, it occurs more often than usual in Little Hen. You might come across a heifer with five legs, cats with human voices, swine with useless half-developed wings that flap like mad when they get excited. Things like that. It's unsettling to some, so they're killed on sight even when they're not hurtin' anybody, on the excuse of trying to 'purify' the population. I know in my heart that somebody 'purified' that baby right into kingdom come 'cause they didn't like the look of her face. Bless her soul."
Listening to Master Eris's description of Hani and her people gives Gable a chance to finish his pastry and remove all evidence of its existence from his fingers. "Mm-hm. It's awful smart to move around like that. The land's got time to heal that way instead of being all squeezed of its resources. Sort of like how farmers let their fields rest. That was part of my last employment: Moving the herd around to keep them from picking a place dry." After a thoughtful pause he adds, "Storytelling's nice, but I'd be sad not to have books to read."
Gabe offers to guide Timber to the front in order to curb Frost's tugging, but otherwise becomes pensive and quiet on the ride back. The gladness and contentment he'd enjoyed so thoroughly slowly ebbs away into the dark coldness, and something else stirs in his mind. The farther away they get from the village, especially in the latter half of their trip, the more the peculiar feeling becomes increasingly uneasy. Maybe talking about that little baby, he thinks, or the conflicting feelings he gets from remembering home. But no, that isn't it, exactly. It's a disorienting emotion that he can't name for his life. Like he's been squashed into a little box and the landscape has grown and the world is overwhelming…
"Oh, heck." Two things happen at once. Sudden enlightenment as to what's causing this strange sensation, and blindness to his physical surroundings.
-
Although the hands which reposition him are gentle, the pup's eyes open in a startled jerk, as if he just fell from a great height. His first few moments in the waking world are dazed, slow to process, with sluggish and uncoordinated movements. His arms don't want to rotate the way he needs them to in order to sit himself upright and soon he's wiggling on his back and making frustrated noises akin to a baby fussing. At the height of his annoyance, he barks (a shout) and startles himself into silence.
What was that strange noise? Why does everything look too big? Where have all the colors gone? Is he still dreaming? His round face tips up to behold the apple tart lady hovering above him. And the man with funny hair, except… He isn't red anymore.
-
The angle of the communication is much lower than Gable's eye level, but he recognizes flashes of the library's looming shelves and oversized furniture all the same. The fact these images are seen in a very particular color spectrum does not register with him until he sees Maddox, whose hair looks very green (and face very worried.)
Despite Lee's despair and confusion, Gabe grins with discovery and caws triumphantly into the night air. "Sir, he's mine! That little waggly rascal, that perfect little angel boy, by the gods I've got a son like me! And he's freakin' out Mr. Rex," he adds with a laugh. "As a side point, sir, I can't see a blasted thing and I need your help, but—Lee's just had his first shift. We'd better hurry."
He shakes his head and casts his eyes over their surroundings. "We've got a lot of mutated animals running around, you see. When natural creatures breed with magical things like your dragons, they don't usually produce offspring, but it happens from time to time. For whatever reason, it occurs more often than usual in Little Hen. You might come across a heifer with five legs, cats with human voices, swine with useless half-developed wings that flap like mad when they get excited. Things like that. It's unsettling to some, so they're killed on sight even when they're not hurtin' anybody, on the excuse of trying to 'purify' the population. I know in my heart that somebody 'purified' that baby right into kingdom come 'cause they didn't like the look of her face. Bless her soul."
Listening to Master Eris's description of Hani and her people gives Gable a chance to finish his pastry and remove all evidence of its existence from his fingers. "Mm-hm. It's awful smart to move around like that. The land's got time to heal that way instead of being all squeezed of its resources. Sort of like how farmers let their fields rest. That was part of my last employment: Moving the herd around to keep them from picking a place dry." After a thoughtful pause he adds, "Storytelling's nice, but I'd be sad not to have books to read."
Gabe offers to guide Timber to the front in order to curb Frost's tugging, but otherwise becomes pensive and quiet on the ride back. The gladness and contentment he'd enjoyed so thoroughly slowly ebbs away into the dark coldness, and something else stirs in his mind. The farther away they get from the village, especially in the latter half of their trip, the more the peculiar feeling becomes increasingly uneasy. Maybe talking about that little baby, he thinks, or the conflicting feelings he gets from remembering home. But no, that isn't it, exactly. It's a disorienting emotion that he can't name for his life. Like he's been squashed into a little box and the landscape has grown and the world is overwhelming…
"Oh, heck." Two things happen at once. Sudden enlightenment as to what's causing this strange sensation, and blindness to his physical surroundings.
-
Although the hands which reposition him are gentle, the pup's eyes open in a startled jerk, as if he just fell from a great height. His first few moments in the waking world are dazed, slow to process, with sluggish and uncoordinated movements. His arms don't want to rotate the way he needs them to in order to sit himself upright and soon he's wiggling on his back and making frustrated noises akin to a baby fussing. At the height of his annoyance, he barks (a shout) and startles himself into silence.
What was that strange noise? Why does everything look too big? Where have all the colors gone? Is he still dreaming? His round face tips up to behold the apple tart lady hovering above him. And the man with funny hair, except… He isn't red anymore.
-
The angle of the communication is much lower than Gable's eye level, but he recognizes flashes of the library's looming shelves and oversized furniture all the same. The fact these images are seen in a very particular color spectrum does not register with him until he sees Maddox, whose hair looks very green (and face very worried.)
Despite Lee's despair and confusion, Gabe grins with discovery and caws triumphantly into the night air. "Sir, he's mine! That little waggly rascal, that perfect little angel boy, by the gods I've got a son like me! And he's freakin' out Mr. Rex," he adds with a laugh. "As a side point, sir, I can't see a blasted thing and I need your help, but—Lee's just had his first shift. We'd better hurry."
"That's a shame." John clicks his tongue and sighs, his disappointment in humanity evident in the tone of his voice. "In some cultures, a mark like that would be a sign of good luck, of a child blessed by the gods to live a prosperous life. I know of a few tribes of old-blooded elves that have used signs like that to pick their leaders for thousands of years, again seeing it as a mark of favor. Would that everyone could see differences in such a positive light, but I suppose someone has to be the scapegoat. At least around here I'm an easy target to blame when weird things like that happen. It sounds like things like that were a fair bit more common where you came from though."
The wizard thinks for a moment, debating if this is a good time for teaching or if that's better left to calmer times when they're both better rested and haven't been harassed by people who should know better. He decides it can't hurt to impart a little wisdom, even if it is in the form of an informal conversation and not a true lesson.
"There are places in this world where magic seems to congregate, for a variety of reasons. Ancient ritual sites. Places where rare and powerful spells have been cast. The homes of powerful mages long gone from this world. That sort of thing. It's possible that Little Hen was one such place, where the latent magic in the world just tended to collect and gather." He shrugs, leaving it up to Gable to interpret what he would of his home out of this information.
Timber jumps at his rider's sudden outburst, but luckily stays on the trail. Frost starts, but stays steadier, luckily. Both of them jerk to a sudden stop, though, and Jon is set on high alert the second they do. Arcane energy rushes to his fingertips and he rips his sling off while scanning the trees for any sign of a threat, ready to fight if he has to, and wishing he had a sword. Wolves, mountain cats, bears, the odd fallen branch, anything that could have startled the man in front of him, but the wizard sees none of it. Just a peaceful, snowy afternoon creeping on into evening.
“Gable?” Jon’s voice is barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a moment of silence, then a second outburst, this one far more excited than the first. It takes more than a few seconds before the wizard can finally relax, the magic in his hands fizzling out. A few more breaths, and he can finally respond to Gable’s request.
“Of course.” He brings Frost in front of Timber, collecting the gelding’s reins as he passes, forgetting the state of his injured arm entirely for the moment. All of the adrenaline flooding his body means he can’t even feel it anyway. “Hold onto the front of the saddle. I’ll try to keep him going steady, but this snow is up to their fetlocks already and the footing is starting to get questionable.”
Poor Maddox.
-
Poor Maddox indeed.
“Shh, shh, you’re alright.” The redhead tries uselessly to soothe the puppy beside him. He doesn’t know how dogs work. Part of him says to pick the puppy up, hold him the same as he would Lee, the human Lee, but the wary part of him says doing so is a horrible idea.
The wizard thinks for a moment, debating if this is a good time for teaching or if that's better left to calmer times when they're both better rested and haven't been harassed by people who should know better. He decides it can't hurt to impart a little wisdom, even if it is in the form of an informal conversation and not a true lesson.
"There are places in this world where magic seems to congregate, for a variety of reasons. Ancient ritual sites. Places where rare and powerful spells have been cast. The homes of powerful mages long gone from this world. That sort of thing. It's possible that Little Hen was one such place, where the latent magic in the world just tended to collect and gather." He shrugs, leaving it up to Gable to interpret what he would of his home out of this information.
Timber jumps at his rider's sudden outburst, but luckily stays on the trail. Frost starts, but stays steadier, luckily. Both of them jerk to a sudden stop, though, and Jon is set on high alert the second they do. Arcane energy rushes to his fingertips and he rips his sling off while scanning the trees for any sign of a threat, ready to fight if he has to, and wishing he had a sword. Wolves, mountain cats, bears, the odd fallen branch, anything that could have startled the man in front of him, but the wizard sees none of it. Just a peaceful, snowy afternoon creeping on into evening.
“Gable?” Jon’s voice is barely above a whisper. “What’s wrong?”
There’s a moment of silence, then a second outburst, this one far more excited than the first. It takes more than a few seconds before the wizard can finally relax, the magic in his hands fizzling out. A few more breaths, and he can finally respond to Gable’s request.
“Of course.” He brings Frost in front of Timber, collecting the gelding’s reins as he passes, forgetting the state of his injured arm entirely for the moment. All of the adrenaline flooding his body means he can’t even feel it anyway. “Hold onto the front of the saddle. I’ll try to keep him going steady, but this snow is up to their fetlocks already and the footing is starting to get questionable.”
Poor Maddox.
-
Poor Maddox indeed.
“Shh, shh, you’re alright.” The redhead tries uselessly to soothe the puppy beside him. He doesn’t know how dogs work. Part of him says to pick the puppy up, hold him the same as he would Lee, the human Lee, but the wary part of him says doing so is a horrible idea.
The mage's wisdom regarding his home town does give Gable pause for thought. He had lived there all his life, yet he knows very little of its history. Matter of fact, he has learned far more about the history of other cultures and regions than that of Little Hen (thought that's not to say he's superbly well-informed, either, given the town's scarcity of books written by outsiders) and he can't think of any elderly local who had talked much about the town's records, either. Has he ever tried to know more? As children, they had always been discouraged from asking questions more thought-provoking than "What's for dinner?" And minding your own business was an unspoken law to the adults. All that mattered was the crop, the herd, the weather—and to most, the gossip.
He can feel the instantaneous peal of magic thrum in the air, but without Blackstaff present, it tastes purely of Master Eris: a firestorm, rainwater, mountains. Power and stability and just a hint of something untameably wild. Perhaps more than a hint.
"I startled everybody, didn't I?" Gable's grin wilts to a meek smile. Turning his head in the Master's direction but staring blindly somewhere around Frost's neck he explains, "We're always whooping on the range and I forget myself once in a while. I'm sorry. Sir, do you think—well, I guess I shouldn't really be so happy about this after all?" His expression has become somewhat gloomy and he turns back to the road he can't see. He's quiet for a short time while watching Maddox through his son's eyes, feeling the boy's confusion overtake his own joy again. "Maybe it won't be so bad for him away from that place. He's not infected like me, so he's not dangerous. So long as he's smart, he'll be okay." Won't he?
The wizard probably can't offer much reassurance about the future, except to promise that Lee won't come to harm so long as he remains at Black Pine; Gable would believe as much with great confidence, but what will happen to Lee when he wants to make a life outside of the estate? A family? Darren and Al never settled down or had children. Maybe, in one very small way, they are the smart ones.
He can feel the instantaneous peal of magic thrum in the air, but without Blackstaff present, it tastes purely of Master Eris: a firestorm, rainwater, mountains. Power and stability and just a hint of something untameably wild. Perhaps more than a hint.
"I startled everybody, didn't I?" Gable's grin wilts to a meek smile. Turning his head in the Master's direction but staring blindly somewhere around Frost's neck he explains, "We're always whooping on the range and I forget myself once in a while. I'm sorry. Sir, do you think—well, I guess I shouldn't really be so happy about this after all?" His expression has become somewhat gloomy and he turns back to the road he can't see. He's quiet for a short time while watching Maddox through his son's eyes, feeling the boy's confusion overtake his own joy again. "Maybe it won't be so bad for him away from that place. He's not infected like me, so he's not dangerous. So long as he's smart, he'll be okay." Won't he?
The wizard probably can't offer much reassurance about the future, except to promise that Lee won't come to harm so long as he remains at Black Pine; Gable would believe as much with great confidence, but what will happen to Lee when he wants to make a life outside of the estate? A family? Darren and Al never settled down or had children. Maybe, in one very small way, they are the smart ones.
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