The Raen man's eyes didn't leave the wounded warrior for even a moment. His gaze remained firm and sharp, immovable like his presence. His voice still hidden, together with his thoughts, as the Xaela spoke-- no, spat on his hospitality. Nothing he wouldn't have expected. This Xaela wasn't a Kha, that much was evident by now.
Moments of silence passed between them, just mistrustful gazes and judging thoughts. When Unzan spoke again, his voice displayed the same confidence as before; respectful, yet commanding. He was a warrior, and this was his house.
"The dead have no need for such a sharp pride either," he stated. "We need nothing from you, nameless warrior; you may return to your people as soon as your legs find the strength."
There was another sound on the wood. A single step, soft like a bird's. From the door, the figure of a different female could be seen, opposite to the girl Nhogai had met as soon as his eyes opened. This one's hair was long and pale above a calm gaze. Like a lifeless, fragile doll, she barely moved. Only her eyes did, burning ice and cold flame on him, on the warrior she'd observed before. This time, however, he could see her as well.
"Do the dead have a home? I wonder..." She spoke from the doorway, her tone soft, calculatedly delicate.
The patriarch's frown deepened slightly, albeit it was barely noticeable.
"My daughter Yura is the one who tended to your wounds," he introduced her. "She is the one you must thank-- or perhaps blame, for you seem eager to leave this world."
Moments of silence passed between them, just mistrustful gazes and judging thoughts. When Unzan spoke again, his voice displayed the same confidence as before; respectful, yet commanding. He was a warrior, and this was his house.
"The dead have no need for such a sharp pride either," he stated. "We need nothing from you, nameless warrior; you may return to your people as soon as your legs find the strength."
There was another sound on the wood. A single step, soft like a bird's. From the door, the figure of a different female could be seen, opposite to the girl Nhogai had met as soon as his eyes opened. This one's hair was long and pale above a calm gaze. Like a lifeless, fragile doll, she barely moved. Only her eyes did, burning ice and cold flame on him, on the warrior she'd observed before. This time, however, he could see her as well.
"Do the dead have a home? I wonder..." She spoke from the doorway, her tone soft, calculatedly delicate.
The patriarch's frown deepened slightly, albeit it was barely noticeable.
"My daughter Yura is the one who tended to your wounds," he introduced her. "She is the one you must thank-- or perhaps blame, for you seem eager to leave this world."
Clover Blake (Hyur) /Â K'mih Yohko (Miqo'te)