In which Chay returns

It does not matter what the weather is like outside, not so far beneath the world. Nor does the one lone individual sitting in this cell at this very moment /care/. Everything inside the cell is perfectly in order. Everything is clean and neatly stacked. The only thing that is not in order is Zeke. The blue-scaled sith sits with his head hung low, his green eyes partially shut. He breathes shallowly, his robes and cloak in disarray. He doesn't seem to care that his artificial limbs are showing, or that there's an odor in the air of stale sith-makar. A scent like snakes gathered in too close a space. It's clear that Zeke hasn't slept. Not for... how long has it been? Zeke no longer can count the hours. Days?

Caste. From the earliest memories of a sith-makar's life. The first choice from their outreaching hand when the shaman's dreamsmoke clears. The first steps they take into what will become their adult life. Caste. The one thing that transcends the Charneth's damage.

Chay slinks into the room, a slinking hunter-stride on four limbs with loose limbs and lowgaze eyes. He slows at the sight of the other sith-makar. His breath comes quick and quicker, and the inner lids flicker. His gaze goes into himself, searching.

Zeke's eyes blink slowly. Very slowly. So much so that it's hardly one at all. More like he closes his eyes and then opens them again. But only that tiny amount. He doesn't seem to register Chay's arrival at first. In fact he simply sits there for a moment completely still. Then he blinks again and but there's no shift in his demeanor. "Chay." It's not a question, not an answer, more a tired reply. An acceptance. He watches, so still that it seems that he might never move. His voice is hoarse. "This one did not expect to have such visions so soon." <draconic>

Perhaps lost in the cleaning debris of Zeke's tidying-up is a small shape upon one of the cots. Ball-like, it remains unmoving under one of the thin blankets accorded them by the guards. It quivers at the sound of draconic being spoken in a hoarse tone, and there comes a very quiet yawn. The shape stretches out, which is followed by a few pops of joints and vertebrae.

"Hunter-caste is here, kin," the other responds. Chay lowers his muzzle and looks away as though ashamed. The tail hangs low, its tip near the earth. Yet...at length, he slides, walks towards the other and finds a place nearby. "...you have not sslept, kin. ...this one is ssorry."

"What visions, kin?" he asks the other. "What visions does your blood bring you?" The questions he asks sound like caste, they sound like tribe--more than the Charneth slave he'd been in more recent years, with its scarring and--

--with everything that entails. He looks to the small shape in the room, near moves as it stirs. The ears, had he had them, might perk.

<draconic>

The blue-scaled sith lifts his right claw and scrapes it over an eyeridge. The sound of claw against scale is grating in this small space. "Not sleeping has brought me visions of you. Visions with questions about visions. This one wishes you were here Chay." Zeke lets out a long sigh of breath and his eyes close at last completely. His shoulders hunch further. "This one wants no visions of what was lost." He makes a harsh noise, something deep in the chest. It hurts to hear and likely hurt to make. "What memories come next to haunt me?" <draconic>

There's a small crackle of static electricity, and Acedia's face appears at the top of the bed. Her hair is comically arranged, and her homespun sleeping clothes are rumpled and in need of washing. She yawns noisily, and looks around sleepily, her eyes gaining focus as she takes in Zeke and Chay. The Gobbo remains quiet though, as if not wanting to interrupt what might be an important conversation.

"...perhaps we ignore the badger-hole, kin. ...but the badger is there, sser. ...when one focuses on the badger-hole, one ssees its eyes," the hunter says, and his voice cracks some. He has to stop. Continues. "...one ssees its eyes, kin. Its black, black eyes. One knows its claws are there," he continues, his voice rising.

He has to stop again. The voice drops to a whisper, "Just beyond reach. Just beyond reach. ..."

Whatever Chay is saying, he appears to be having a hard time. The voice rises and falls at tense intervals. The word for wilderness appears in the phrasing--perhaps one overheard enough times to recall. His fingers curl underneath; the claws scrape faintly, the stone.

Zeke shudders, eyes still closed, and he seems to grow... resigned. This is when his eyes open. Open to narrow slits of green and look at Chay without understanding, without comprehension. He sees a dream. Hears a dream. He feels so weary that he lets his hand fall from his face without care. It thumps to his side and the cloak he wears shifts more. Zeke does not care. He says nothing because there are no words to say. Nothing which he can think of or offer to the shade he sees before himself.

Acedia's face is near. She stops close to where they are situated, leaving them plenty of room. "What has happened?", she asks quietly, her facial expression growing quite worried. "Is there anything I can do?", she wonders, pulling the blanket closer about herself.

"...the Hunter has helped, kin. ...but one has left one's kin, in the process. We..." the hunter says and grows quiet. A shudder runs down his form, and he looks to the gobber without seeing her. Without...

Blink.

Slow focus.

'...we cannot leave kin,' he says to her. 'We need ...we cannot leave kin.' He drops nearby to Zeke. Somewhat closer, but far enough, and lowers himself to his haunches. His head to his forearms, to lie there on the floor. 'One understands Fire, now. We need...' he says, and the words drift. Unsure, uncertain to state it aloud just yet. The sith-makar need caste and tribe--place and family. They need Fire--the coming-together and reaffirming of Memory, history, and place.

These things...the Memory of these things are there, on the trail. Cold, almost forgotten. But the hints of them--are there, now. Like faded footprints of a loved cousin.

<draconic>

Zeke hisses quietly at Acedia. A warning at her closeness, but he doesn't flinch away. Not at her or the approach of Chay. He is too resigned. "Chay talks to thisss one of kin. Of leaving one'ss kin. Thisss iss a sssin of mine. He sspeaks sssomething of fire and creaturess in the dark. He sspeaks to thisss one in riddless of the mind." Zeke can not seem to look away from Chay, watching him with a sense of longing and hopelessness. "Thisss one isss ssorry Ascedia, thisss one isss rambling."

The Gobbo looks alarmed at the hiss, and she flinches, stumbling back a few steps and pulling the blanket closer again. She looks between them and blinks. "Do you two need to go home?", she asks. "We can do that, you know."

"...we sshould rest. Then we..." We must visit Fire. Some things the blood says, some things it...tugs at. Calls. But now is not the time. "We must rest. Together, sser. One is ssorry, kin. One is ssorry." Chay lowers his muzzle again to his arms. The posture suits him and at once does not. The hunter is too lean, too long to curl so tightly. Has stood so long as a softskin, and learned the manners of a softskin, for too long.

Determinedly, he lies there. Quietly, he lies there.

The blue-scaled sith-makar watches Chay. Watches him lie down and blinks slowly. "Thiss one... isss tired." He knows he should sleep but... "Thisss one musst wait for Chay." It is an answer for both Acedia and for his vision. The vision of Chay sleeping. Sleeping like a softskin. He can not sleep while Chay is still... somewhere.

The Gobbo bounces up and begins making a lot of noise... dragging the cots closer to the two Sith. Acedia goes to Chay first. "Come. Get up. You must sleep." She pats the cot and its comfyness. "You must sleep so that your kin can sleep." To Zeke, she gestures to the other cot. "Your kin is here, safe and sound. You may sleep now. We will watch over you."

"One is here, kin. Hunter-caste is here. Chay is here," the rustscale adds, and swallows. Slowly, he stands. Then looks to Zeke. "Zeke."

"Chay is here. He iss going to lie down on hiss cot." The tail moves, because the tail will move. Hunter-caste. Longer, leaner than warrior. More movement, leaner muscles. Twitch.

"...there..." Chay says after a while, after quiet. "Acedia, you are keeper-casste, to uss. ..."

Zeke blinks. Blinks again. "Were you just... Talking to kin?" He does not believe it. He looks at Chay. Has been looking at him all along, but now he is... "Chay?" He is so tired that it does not seem possible.

Acedia blinks at Chay as they speak of her being keeper-caste, and she looks to Zeke. "You must rest now. Your kin is safe. And heading off to slumber as we speak. Sleep, Zeke, sleep." She fluffs the pillow slightly and pulls the blanket back. "You'll feel better later."

"One askes that you ssing of...words of ...words of tribute to the Hearth Dragon. Ssounds--do not use words. Pleasse," the hunter says to Acedia. This seems terribly important, and he does not look away for a time. Though eventually, the look quick-flicks back to Zeke. gives a quick flick of his tail--as a shake of the head--and looks to Zeke.

"It is time to ssleep. The Fire is low, kin. The keepers will ssing to us. We must go to bed."

Zeke lifts a claw to his head and nods. "Yesss perhapsss." He rises to his feet and then stops. Moves to the bed and lays down. Lays down and closes his eyes. Feels sleep tugging at him. He does not resist it.

The Gobbo peers into Chay's eyes for as long as he will bear it, and nods to him. She moves quietly to ensure both of them are covered properly by blankets, Acedia taking care to not touch either of them. As she is tending to Zeke, she begins to hum. It sounds like something one might hear their mother or aunt or caregiver hum, while whiling away the hours cleaning, cooking and tending to the little ones. She moves about slowly, so that the humming comes and goes, intertwining itself with their descent into sleep. They'd find her when they awake, completely wrapped in the blanket, curled up under the cot Chay slumbers in.

Chay finds the edge of his cot, and sits there. It's a while before he turns to his blankets, and to sleep. One would never have come to think of a dungeon as safe. Yet, here--

--with the People outside, as guards. With the song of keeper-caste. ...

There is something there. Perhaps.

-End