The sun's setting rays filtered through the leaves, soft light hitting Azreyal's closed eyelids as he rested in the boughs of a particularly large tree. Â The rough bark was as good as any bed to him, inviting after almost two solid days of nothing but pure exhaustion. Â Even a thin layer of snow had accumulated on him in parts, blending him in with the rest of the arctic landscape of Coerthas. Â He did not even seem perturbed as the branch rustled and shook, the half-asleep male simply clutching harder around the the cylindrical wooden resting place.
A small figure, lithe and graceful, climbed her way down his branch and then carefully over the male. Â Anything else would have woken him, but not this woman. Â The female turned so that her face was staring directly into Azreyal's, and then slowly reached a finger out to offer a single stroke to one of the man's ears. Â Normally, Azreyal would lash out when woken, likely injuring whatever or whomever had dared to take him from the few precious hours of sleep he was able to get; however, this was different. Â The male lifted his head, disrupting a pile of snow, and stared straight into a very familiar pair of white-gold eyes only inches away.
"Mother..." he murmured, his own orbs of exactly the same shade coming to meet those of the woman who had birthed and raised him. Â S'hira Iivi, or later a self-proclaimed Dak'ma, could have been him if he were in his forties and female. Â Her long and angular features sculpted from caramel skin reflected his own and his brother's. Â The major difference was that her face was adorned with golden hoops and balls and bars, on her lips, nose, brows, everywhere. Â As the sun continued to set, it cast rays of illumination that made each individual piercing glint brilliantly. Â
"Hello, my Azreyal," S'hira replied, inching closer in her crouched position until her forehead was touching that of her son's, their ebon locks intertwining and her eyes closing. Â This was one of her many strange ways of greeting her boys, though Azreyal didn't find it unusual at all. Â He shifted his head a bit to rub against his mother's and then pulled back to be able to sit upright on his branch. Â
Snow toppled off of his form and into the lower boughs, upsetting a few birds nests on the way down. Â Their angered cries did little to dampen this rather peaceful reunion between mother and son. Â The last few times he'd seen her, it had been business. Â Other people had been around, the girls, the Company, but now it was just them. Â Azreyal preferred it this way, honestly; he enjoyed the one-on-one interaction with the only person who truly knew his ins and outs, even better than his brother.Â
"Hello, mother," the male replied, settling himself into an easier sit on the branch, his tail draping behind him. Â S'hira could see the tension building in her son's face, the fatigue lacing his features. Â Whilst Azreyal was often found hard-pressed to sleep regularly, plagued by restlessness, this was abnormal even for he. Â The mother does not reply, simply staring at one of her two biggest accomplishments in life for what seemed like hours.
In fact, it was hours.
The two Seekers sat side by side on their branch until the sun had sunk far behind the snowy ridges of the highlands. Â Not a word was exchanged between them, the two simply enjoying the silence and the company. Â Fleeting glances, shifts in posture and facial expressions could have appeared to the observant eye like a sub-vocal conversation. Â By the end of it all, they seemed to have come to some conclusion, noted by S'hira's sharp tones. Â
"She loves you."
"I know."
This short exchange lapses them into another extended silence. Â Their alert hunters' eyes following a pack of wolves scouting below. Â A howl in the distance catches their attention, and the small group trots off in the direction of an imposing cliff. Â The nightlife was beginning to wake, accompanied by all the peaceful sounds of nature's ambiance. Â Only the sway of a tail or the flick of an ear would indicate that the pair weren't simply Miqo'te statues perched in a tree.Â
Snow had begun to layer on the pair, inch upon inch. Â Neither Dak'ma seemed to mind the white covering, making no motion to disturb it. Â The powder settled into their hair, into the crevices of their leather armour, in their quivers, yet neither seemed cold. Â The warmth of the moment, alongside living in this atmosphere for years upon years, had made them immune to the physical chill of the Highlands. Â
Azreyal's tenor broke the silence, a smooth and practiced voice humming softly. Â The melody didn't seem to take away from the atmosphere, and S'hira did not even move to note that she'd heard it. Â The sound seemed to emanate from deep in his chest, likely from his very soul; all the emotional strain that had built up over the past few days, weeks, making itself present in one very cohesive improvised set of phrases.Â
Every note that the male hummed was saturated in sorrow and helplessness, yet also laced with tones of hope and joy. Â He, for all the stress, was very happy to be undertaking the strain if it meant sharing the burdens of his family. Â Azreyal did not mind compartmentalizing his own issues in order to take on more; in fact, he was rather good at it. Â S'hira listened to her son's musical confession in silence, allowing him to vent all of his suppressed emotion. Â He went for several minutes before his voice simply died out. Â
The branch shook as the elder woman began to lower herself from it, landing on her feet in the snow several feet down. Â Azreyal disrupted the pile of the white powder on his head to look in her direction. Â Mother and son traded knowing glances, the pair having conversed in great depth despite only two sentences being exchanged. Â S'hira's chin dipped slowly before she turned on heel and made her swift way into the comforting darkness of the Highlands. Â
Azreyal too began to dismount from the tree. Â He felt invigorated, renewed. Â This is what he loved and adored about his mother. Â Whilst she could have the most profound conversations with him and offer him the trickiest tests of skill and grace, she was also completely capable of sitting with him silently and just...feeling. Â Despite not having slept for days, save his nap in the boughs, the male took off toward Dragonhead at full tilt, kicking up snow in his wake. Â
He had someone to look forward to seeing, and a story to tell.
A story he hoped would never end.
A small figure, lithe and graceful, climbed her way down his branch and then carefully over the male. Â Anything else would have woken him, but not this woman. Â The female turned so that her face was staring directly into Azreyal's, and then slowly reached a finger out to offer a single stroke to one of the man's ears. Â Normally, Azreyal would lash out when woken, likely injuring whatever or whomever had dared to take him from the few precious hours of sleep he was able to get; however, this was different. Â The male lifted his head, disrupting a pile of snow, and stared straight into a very familiar pair of white-gold eyes only inches away.
"Mother..." he murmured, his own orbs of exactly the same shade coming to meet those of the woman who had birthed and raised him. Â S'hira Iivi, or later a self-proclaimed Dak'ma, could have been him if he were in his forties and female. Â Her long and angular features sculpted from caramel skin reflected his own and his brother's. Â The major difference was that her face was adorned with golden hoops and balls and bars, on her lips, nose, brows, everywhere. Â As the sun continued to set, it cast rays of illumination that made each individual piercing glint brilliantly. Â
"Hello, my Azreyal," S'hira replied, inching closer in her crouched position until her forehead was touching that of her son's, their ebon locks intertwining and her eyes closing. Â This was one of her many strange ways of greeting her boys, though Azreyal didn't find it unusual at all. Â He shifted his head a bit to rub against his mother's and then pulled back to be able to sit upright on his branch. Â
Snow toppled off of his form and into the lower boughs, upsetting a few birds nests on the way down. Â Their angered cries did little to dampen this rather peaceful reunion between mother and son. Â The last few times he'd seen her, it had been business. Â Other people had been around, the girls, the Company, but now it was just them. Â Azreyal preferred it this way, honestly; he enjoyed the one-on-one interaction with the only person who truly knew his ins and outs, even better than his brother.Â
"Hello, mother," the male replied, settling himself into an easier sit on the branch, his tail draping behind him. Â S'hira could see the tension building in her son's face, the fatigue lacing his features. Â Whilst Azreyal was often found hard-pressed to sleep regularly, plagued by restlessness, this was abnormal even for he. Â The mother does not reply, simply staring at one of her two biggest accomplishments in life for what seemed like hours.
In fact, it was hours.
The two Seekers sat side by side on their branch until the sun had sunk far behind the snowy ridges of the highlands. Â Not a word was exchanged between them, the two simply enjoying the silence and the company. Â Fleeting glances, shifts in posture and facial expressions could have appeared to the observant eye like a sub-vocal conversation. Â By the end of it all, they seemed to have come to some conclusion, noted by S'hira's sharp tones. Â
"She loves you."
"I know."
This short exchange lapses them into another extended silence. Â Their alert hunters' eyes following a pack of wolves scouting below. Â A howl in the distance catches their attention, and the small group trots off in the direction of an imposing cliff. Â The nightlife was beginning to wake, accompanied by all the peaceful sounds of nature's ambiance. Â Only the sway of a tail or the flick of an ear would indicate that the pair weren't simply Miqo'te statues perched in a tree.Â
Snow had begun to layer on the pair, inch upon inch. Â Neither Dak'ma seemed to mind the white covering, making no motion to disturb it. Â The powder settled into their hair, into the crevices of their leather armour, in their quivers, yet neither seemed cold. Â The warmth of the moment, alongside living in this atmosphere for years upon years, had made them immune to the physical chill of the Highlands. Â
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Azreyal's tenor broke the silence, a smooth and practiced voice humming softly. Â The melody didn't seem to take away from the atmosphere, and S'hira did not even move to note that she'd heard it. Â The sound seemed to emanate from deep in his chest, likely from his very soul; all the emotional strain that had built up over the past few days, weeks, making itself present in one very cohesive improvised set of phrases.Â
Every note that the male hummed was saturated in sorrow and helplessness, yet also laced with tones of hope and joy. Â He, for all the stress, was very happy to be undertaking the strain if it meant sharing the burdens of his family. Â Azreyal did not mind compartmentalizing his own issues in order to take on more; in fact, he was rather good at it. Â S'hira listened to her son's musical confession in silence, allowing him to vent all of his suppressed emotion. Â He went for several minutes before his voice simply died out. Â
The branch shook as the elder woman began to lower herself from it, landing on her feet in the snow several feet down. Â Azreyal disrupted the pile of the white powder on his head to look in her direction. Â Mother and son traded knowing glances, the pair having conversed in great depth despite only two sentences being exchanged. Â S'hira's chin dipped slowly before she turned on heel and made her swift way into the comforting darkness of the Highlands. Â
Azreyal too began to dismount from the tree. Â He felt invigorated, renewed. Â This is what he loved and adored about his mother. Â Whilst she could have the most profound conversations with him and offer him the trickiest tests of skill and grace, she was also completely capable of sitting with him silently and just...feeling. Â Despite not having slept for days, save his nap in the boughs, the male took off toward Dragonhead at full tilt, kicking up snow in his wake. Â
He had someone to look forward to seeing, and a story to tell.
A story he hoped would never end.
