Thar Shaddin

With the promise of food before her and no sign of withdrawal, Deilakrion took her time picking over the offerings. She eyed them, sniffed them, and finally stuffed them in her mouth. One by one, they were picked clean and cast aside. Even the vegetables were consumed with evident delight -- the woman did not often find enough vegetation to survive on, and the stuff she did find was often bitter or overripe.

Who was she? It was a question she automatically shied away from, and her grey eyes darted past Damion and away from him. Almost as if, like a child, she believed that if she didn't see him he wouldn't see her. Her head swung from side to side as she chewed, and a rough few noises (contentedness, perhaps?) squeaked out from her throat. She did not answer his question. She sat down, skinny limbs akimbo, and gorged herself on what surely was a feast.

Then, at the end of it, she grinned towards him even though her eyes were still darting away, sight confined to anywhere that was not flesh. "Food?" She asked, and in her pitiful state her stomach was bulging slightly -- testament to the amount of time she'd gone without. It was likely if she continued she'd be sick later, but like a thirsty horse led to water she didn't know when to stop.

Damion grimaced slightly. He had not seen one go through turnips and carrots like that. The lettuces lay in little shreds here and there - surprising since she had been merciless in her devouring.

And this creature had the audacity to ask for more food. He was half-scared that she would pounce on Belal next. Well, if the monster decided to go for his pony - magic or no magic - he would have to deal with her. He had had enough. The initial fear of the stranger had turned into revulsion and then plain irritation. Apart from the stab of wonder which was the cause of the whole predicament.

"Enough!" He didn't shout, but there was a firmness in his voice. He believed he was on equal footing now. There was no element of surprise. And she still was weak. It was time he was assertive.

"You have already eaten like a dirty pig! Either you tell me who you are, or I call you pig. How is that? You like that piggy?"

He found a crude humor in his statement. Such uncouthness was unbecoming of him. Especially now that he had decided not to be in the gutters of Marn anymore. Still, old habits die hard.

Deilakrion was visibly startled at the denial, plain and simple. She froze, and stared at him wide-eyed as his demeanor changed drastically. Yet, the one thing she focused upon more than anything was the strange wording that he used. True, she didn't particularly understand all of what he'd said, but that he was speaking at her, towards her. At first she shook her head, and shifted so her injured leg was given more lenience. She gave him several seconds of silence, and almost a full minute passed before she found the words to deliver her denunciation of his.

"This creature not beast. Stupid flesh." She shook her head; perhaps there was pity there as she picked at the fallen scraps of food, picking them up and eating them in a slower fashion. It would be a shame if the one who had given her food was slow-witted, but perhaps that was why he hadn't tried to kill her. Still, he seemed stubborn enough that he had no more food to give, and if that was the case then she should be moving before the ignorant flesh started prodding at her with sharp things.

Maybe after she slept. She wobbled to her feet with the full intention of finding a dry place to sleep. She started towards the cart, features serene beyond the occasional grimace of pain.

Damion hadn't realized he had been slowly getting angry. He hadn't realized that until the creature had stood up and walked away. Towards the cart. Belal!

The anger did it, this time. The fire that had been serenely cracking on the wood pile leaped into his hands like an eager pet jumping at a snack. It entwined around his fingers like creepers - swirling and extending several tongues - as if feeling the air around them.

"STOP!"

This time, he did shout.

Her movements did stop, and indeed she froze. She turned around slightly, baffled and beginning to field irritation of her own. She was achy, and bleeding, and tired and close to cranky. So she made a face -- a disapproving face -- towards Damion. Her lower lip was out thrust, and that particular pout lasted until she saw the fire. Deilakrion did not like fire. She had a use for it when it was in its own little pit, safe from catching onto her or anything else. Beyond that, forest fires were no fun to run away from. Less fun after animals caught on fire.

In her mind, Damion had inexplicably caught on fire.

She was no good-doer, nor was she of the mind to help in even a minor way. Confronted with someone whose hands were burning, the remaining option was to book it the hell out of there. So she did. Only, her current attempt at booking it meant a faster walk than what she'd previously used.

Damion knew what to do. The dull throbbing in his veins - he attributed to anger. But it throbbed with power - like heavy beats of drum.

THUD THUD

His heart beat in rhythm too. Nothing too loud. Just a dull ringing.

He extended his hand and made a throwing gesture. Fire leaped again - this time in a thin tendril. An almost undetectable line of fire extended from his fingers. Their destination - the bush right in front of the creature. The bush didn't catch fire immediately, and Damion wavered slightly. Suddenly, it erupted in a small ball of flame. Somewhere in the distant part of his mind, Damion was screaming at himself to stop - before some guards happen to chance that way.

"I SAID STOP!"

This was turning out to be a really bad night. She had to stop herself, muscles screaming in protest, and confusion blossomed into fear, which in turn bordered on panic. Fire was sprouting up like weeds in a field, and to make it worse some half-witted flesh was shouting at her repeatedly to stop. Why should she stop? Was this some new form of trap, to take her out? What was going on? She had a choice to make, and a really bad one. So far, two times out of two times fire had erupted after the man had said 'stop'. Maybe he was talking to the fire, and not to her. Was it alive somehow?

Her mind turned over on itself as thoughts warred with eachother in a degenerating slop, and Deilakrion found herself frozen with an uncertainty. Should she try to make a break for the forest? Or, looking at the bush, would it spread and devour her? Without the forest, where would she go? She muttered something to herself as she stared at the bush and the liquid tongues of flame that would threaten to spread unless rain stopped them.

She came to a decision. She turned to face Damion and sidled backwards, propping a smile upon her features in a manner not entirely natural.

"What stupid flesh want?" If it was supposed to be disarming she was failing quite dramatically.

The pulse that was beating through his being was slowly ebbing away. Like a wave of dizziness, it only left a vague memory, and a dull throbbing. Damion let go of whatever he was holding, and life itself seemed to drain out of him. His hands seared as he felt the heat of the flame from the bush escaping. It was a curiously painful feeling - as if he was drinking in the fire through his hands. The bush fire died down as the last of the heat was taken in, his hands twitching as he did so, involuntarily.

Something interesting was happening here. Damion had been practicing for months. And today, of all days, he was learning faster than he ever had. Where had the tiny tendril fire come from? What about that fiery sword? How was this all suddenly possible?

Was the presence of this detestable creature somehow important? Did the fact that she had magic flowing through her too accelerate his ability? He needed to know so much. Did the creature have enough experience in her to teach him this? Or, could he use her as a buffer, to augment his own strength?

"I know what you want. You want food." He was surprised to find his tone calm, if a bit tired. "You are hurt. I can give you food. Everyday. In return, you teach me what you know - about your magic. About the worlds you have seen."

He was thinking clearly, but he had very little to go on. Could she really tell him anything of importance? This low-life?

"I can very easily let a few guards know that a dirty, filthy, rabid beast is roaming the forest. Some maverick new recruit would only be too happy to hunt you down. You decide."

There was a pause in which Deilakrion did not deign move at all. Her mind was working overtime, as a flurry of words that had not been used in her presence for a very, very long time were suddenly cast at her with a wall of import that she truly didn't comprehend. Misunderstandings were often with her, but she didn't understand that enough for it to trouble her much. Well, not until she came under fire (ha ha). Not until blood was spilled. It was with this irksome history behind her that she regarded Damion warily; truly the creature had resorted to her fey and feral mindset. He was hunting her. She didn't like that. What's more, there was too much she didn't know, and too many words that were beyond her own knowledge.

For most humanoids, the unknown prevokes fear, distrust and hatred. Deilakrion, though locked behind years of wild behavior, felt that base emotion rumble within the pit of her stomach. She could hate Damion. There really was no reason not to. So she stared, and in the staring she didn't run away. She was locked in some inner struggle, and the revolving revulsion and panic that flickered over her face was enough to denote that to any canny oberver.

"F-food." She started, hesitant, drawing herself up in some unconsciously regal pose. No matter she was dirty, and bloody, and somewhat awkward due to her injuries. No matter at all. It was the single thread that tied her to him, that held her there despite the growing sense of danger.

The other words were slow to impact.

She did not repeat them -- they were too far out of her ken for her to do so -- and in that she quivered. She didn't much like the unknown when it came to fleshies. They had a nasty habit of tricking, and trapping, and bleeding in an attempt to end life. It wasn't particularly her idea of a good party.

"Ummmm. Mm. Umm. Ummmm." She visibly flinched at the other words, the other meanings. She didn't know, and that was a sin. A wrong she couldn't rectify. It was hurtful in its own way, unpleasant to deal with and confusing. She hurt, and that was more than enough to recognize this man as dangerous. She should kill him.

Yet, the urge to know, the urge to try to know and to ease into the familiar caught her in a way that few things did. Truth be told, the woman was lonely. It was the first time in many years that another had offered food without immediately sticking her with something shiny, and those bits of memories caught up in her head like scars puckering in her flesh were hard to be rid of. So, amidst all the words he said, beyond the chaff of fleshy threat, give and take, she found something of value, of worth.

"Hunt?" She'd brightened, flinched again, and tilted her head to the side. Her words were slow, almost shy. "Hunt with this creature?"

"Yes. Hunt."

If she was going to be monosyllabic, then there was no point in wasting too many words on her.

"I hunt with you. I run with you. You teach me your hunting style. I give you food."

Damion was not sure if it would reap any rewards - this joint hunting expedition that he was planning with her. But he realized one thing - her proximity was helping his magic. Even now, with the fireball extinguished, Damion could feel magic like inhaling the smell of an unseen lake in a forest. He could feel it like a beacon just out of sight. This had never happened before.

All the same, he desperately hoped the creature would trust him enough to use her magic in front of him.

"My name is Damion. You call me Damion. What is your name?"

The flesh spoke truly, and clearly, for the first time in her memory. She was dully impressed, in her own slow way, and it showed in the brightening of her demeanor. It came and went as he spoke, and her revolving expression was mostly open to a clear interpretation. Deilakrion's emotions were almost constantly on display; her own lack of contact with other people making her an open book to any savvy in that matter.

"Hunt." She chirped, though she tilted her head at the way he resorted to more fleshy names. "Flesh." She agreed to his naming of 'Damion.' She had no cause to acknowledge it, and wouldn't stoop to such a fleshy convention. "This creature is creature." There was a bit of a rebuke in her words. It was shadowed by her obvious pleasure at his capitulation to her own ways and demands. She was a simple woman, after all.

She took a step towards the trees, and regarded Damion with an almost animalistic intelligence. "Hurt. This creature hurt. Sleep, recover, hunt. Yes." She nodded as though the other had agreed with her, and as the sky persisted in its darkening melancholy she began to move slowly towards the trees.

She had much to learn in the ways of cooperation and teamwork.