Looking Through Your Eyes

[Lady Alainn]

Pencaliel beamed triumphantly. Though Mala had put up a fight, she'd bested him, as was evident in his dripping wings and drenched hair. It wasn't just the rush of victory shining in her clear gaze, though. It was so much more than that-- a boost of confidence the Druid so desperately needed. She'd won. Her! A little elf against a dragonkin warrior! Well, Mala technically wasn't a warrior. Not yet at any rate. But he would be. In a few days, when his kin took him under their wings, he would be. He already had the heart of one. And she could hold her own against him.

That meant she stood a chance against Kontaro.

It was this quiet knowledge hovering in the back of her mind that gave the elf such joy in her accomplishment and in Mala's soggy defeat. Now that she knew the fundamentals, now that she could practice them and strengthen her magic correctly, Kontaro could not maker her cower in fear again. She was ready!

...or perhaps not.

Something in Mala's eyes and his returning smile made her breath catch sharply in the back of her throat. The glowing irises intensified in colour until they were anything but gold-- shining and shimmering to rival even the glossiest of opals. 'Well done,' they seemed to be saying, 'but you only won that round because I let you.' His next actions only confirmed her interpretation. As the water began to swell and churn beneath him, Pencaliel's breath dislodged itself and plummeted down to her toes, tearing her newly found confidence down with it. His raw power singed the air around them, drawing in so much energy it made her dizzy. True, Mala was only flinging a few stones together, but the sheer magnitude of it overwhelmed her. This was the kind of power a Sidhe had. A shudder rippled down her body and Pencaliel wrapped her arms around herself to try to keep them at bay. Without the aid of her bracers, there was no way she could stand against that kind of magic. She was far too weak.

Pencaliel noticed then that the hum had died down within the waters and the elf hesitantly raised her eyes to meet Mala's. He was standing there so innocently: smiling, proud, waiting for her to say something. Her gaze swept over to the small wall he'd constructed without much difficulty. The stream swelled just behind it and gurgled cheerfully over the newly placed stones before splashing down the other side to carry on its merry little way. Was it actually cheery, though? Or a mocking laughter? And was it just her imagination or were the stones leering at her?

They were! They knew she didn't have the control yet to complete such a task so effortlessly. What was a surging water serpent in comparison to a useful dam? What was dallying in moldable, bendable water compared to controlling the toughest, immovable element with ease? Pencaliel was nothing but pathetic! 'Pathetic, pathetic, pathetic!' the stones jeered. The babbling water joined in with harsh laughter. The longer she stared at them, the louder they cried. Surely even Mala could hear them--!

'You're slipping again!' her inner Voice shouted in alarm.

With great effort, the elf tore her gaze away. Her lips parted in an effort to deepen shallow breaths. Why were these feelings returning now? They'd been having so much fun! Pencaliel had felt so free! Besides which, no one was around to steady Mala if her anger surfaced. Control. Maybe she could tame the feelings the same way Kolmar had taught her to tame her energy? The Druid briefly closed her eyes and sought for that inner peace she'd recently felt: chasing it, finding it, putting her shoulder behind it to shove it back to the foreground once more.

It wasn't really working, but it did make her feel better. Brown eyes determinedly met golden once more.

"I suppose that will make it easier to bathe," she said at last, the consternation in her tone unmistakable. Other words started bubbling to the surface. "Of course you're much more skilled in magic. It's instinctual, isn't it? Instinctual in everyone but me. You weren't stupid enough to learn it the wrong way, were you? Not like me."

'Everybody cares about Mala much more than you. They're all looking out for him and eager to help him fight his demons. But who is looking out for you? Who notices your demons? Who wants to help you fight them? No one. Mala can't and the others don't care.'

Tears stung in the corners of her eyes. Her arms wrapped around herself a little tighter. Why didn't anybody care about her?

'The words, the words, the words!' the Voice warned.

But they were suddenly there, tempting her to unleash the frustrations inside. No! She wouldn't yell at Mala! Pencaliel drew in a deep breath and shook her head vehemently, as if the simple gesture could scatter the taunting little demons as well as droplets of water. Something to do, she needed something physical to vent her feelings. Her eyes fell on Mala's sorry clothes.

"You go ahead and bathe first," she told him, her voice trembling. "Let me scrub your clothes." The Druid didn't give Mala any room to protest. Instantly her feet were moving and she was at his side, her brown fingers deftly unsnapping the first of the clasps on his tunic.

 

[Kaisaan]

Mala knew something was wrong before Pencaliel even spoke.

The tension in her body was too easy to see for someone who had spent his life anticipating reactions that could harm him. Mala knew, of course, that Pencaliel didn't wish to hurt him, but all the same he noted the way she took too long to respond, the way her jaw moved, closed as if she wanted to speak, but didn't dare say the words and the dragonkin visibly flinched when she finally did voice her thoughts. But she wasn't doing that either, not truly, and he studied her features, absorbed her words with a growing nervousness that only Child could be producing. The situation was slowly, quietly escalating into something the younger persona of him couldn't handle and when Child made a hasty, scrambling retreat as the Druid approached, Man firmly slid into place.

The twinges of fear left then, completely, but something different, new took its place and Mala watched the elf come closer without a word. He'd heard the strain in her words, the tinge of bitterness and jealousy in her tone, and it settled within him like something foul and squirming. It wreaked of the Darkness he'd lived with for so long and rather than be numb to it after living with it inside for years, Mala was far more sensitive to the evil when it brushed too close. If Animal had been in control, he would have snarled at its presence, and as it was his wings grew tense and entirely too still, ready to lash out if provoked, but the Darkness faded away as soon as it had made itself known. It was nothing but a wisp, a breath lingering a little too long, but it had shown him that Pencaliel was harboring it and that thought brought both sympathy and anger into the dragonkin.

He knew what it was to be under the influence of shadow, to hear the whispers that twisted every thought and situation. He knew it too intimately to discard Pencaliel's swift mood changes as something to be passed over, a phase she'd come out of in time. She wouldn't, not if the Darkness was allowed to fester and grow within her. She wouldn't want it to, he knew that, but Mala also knew from experience that the only person who could ultimately decide to get rid of it, to allow the Light to see it gone, was Pencaliel herself. He could only try to keep her as far from the edge of Darkness as he could - just as she'd done for him.

It was a task he wasn't sure how to go about, but there was something about what she'd just said that he did know how to address and though there was a part of him, the scared, damaged part the Sidhe had conditioned, that wanted to simply avoid what had just happened, Mala chose not to, instead letting his mind mull over the bitter words spoken to him.

Learn? She thought he'd learned to do what he'd done? No! No one had taught him! No one had explained to the young, growing dragonkin why some nights he'd lay awake, aching, hurting for want of something he couldn't identify. No one had explained to him, comforted him when the Darkness had invaded his body, drawn in by his power. No one had told him how to block the energy he didn't want and accept what he did, nor had they made sure he understood that it was he in control, not the power. No one had held him when he'd exerted so much inner energy without knowing how to channel outward energy that he'd become sick, his body ravaged with cold and fever, feeling starved and brittle. Pencaliel thought instinctual power was better?

No.

Mala's jaw tightened, the words never breaking past his lips. They rarely did when he didn't want them to. He was good at keeping quiet, at keeping everything inside. He'd always been good at that. He'd HAD to be good at that.

Not anymore.

The words were nothing more than a bare whisper, but the warmth that occupied them was unmistakable, and the dragonkin stilled, listening and in that willingness to hear, the Voice spoke again, gentle, encouraging. Speak, and do not fear. Mala didn't hesitate and later he would only be able to reason with himself that it was the flood of courage that ignited within him that made his mouth work.

"It's not better." The words were quiet, but not soft. He'd never spoken to Pencaliel in such a way before, with just a bit of an edge, frustration lacing the tone. There was understanding, too, and no desire to harm her, but Mala wasn't happy and he was not making a great effort to hide that fact. It made Child nervous and it set Animal to pacing, but Man was sure and right now he was in charge. Mala let him be. Needed him to be. Gold eyes flickered to the Druid as she unfastened his tunic, making no effort to help as he couldn't reach the buttons anyway, but his wings shifted, agitated if not uncooperative with her efforts. His gaze caught her brown before looking away again. "Instinctual magic is not better. There is no control, no way to know if it's going to harm or help when it appears."

Gold orbs snapped to fawn-brown again, but Mala wasn't looking for assurance or a comforting word. He was stating fact....and perhaps making a point. More than one. "It is unpredictable and I never know what to expect. That's not better."

He moved away from her then, leaving nothing but the tunic in her hands and the sight of his back to look upon as he headed for the pool he'd created. His skin was caked in dirt, hiding most of the damage beneath, but still the black, purple and yellow marks visible beneath the layer of filth were clear in their existence. There were bruises marring a great deal of his torso, prominent around his ribs and abdomen. A good cleaning would reveal more on his arms and legs. Right now the most visible source of pain upon his form was between his shoulder blades and wings where the bandage Nekia had wrapped around him days ago still rested. They had leaked through, the blood now dry and the bandages themselves just as dirty as he was. Such was not Mala's focus right now, though, but rather moving away from the little elf who confused him far more than he was willing or able to figure out right now.

The dragonkin didn't know what he'd done wrong - and there would be no convincing him that Pencaliel's new dark mood was not his fault - but he was unwilling to try and discover how to fix it this time. He was tired of pretending everything was fine, that he was fine, that he understood or could handle something just because it helped everyone around him. He didn't understand what had made the elf so irritated once more and he wasn't going to make her believe that he did, or that he was sorry for doing it. He didn't like the Druid this way, didn't want to cause unhappiness within her, but....sometimes it seemed all he was good for anymore.

Somehow he always managed to get it wrong since Naazgard and whether that was truly his fault or something else, Mala was exhausted from running in circles, attempting to do things he didn't fully understand and be something he was not. He was learning - not learned. He was growing - not grown. He was strengthening - not strong. He was smart - not wise. He was adaptable - not steady. He could not be everything Pencaliel needed, every time she needed it and he was understanding that she could not do the same for him. Kolmar had come to help with that, to pick up the pieces Pencaliel could not carry herself and perhaps the dragonkin would gather what the dwarf could not. The Druid needed the same thing, but....but Mala could only do what he was able. Where the little elf would find her Kolmar.....he couldn't say.

And that....that was all right. That wasn't his fault.

Somehow that was important to know. Very important and Mala was able to breathe as he reached the water and sank into the pool. The water was cold, eliciting a shiver even as he stripped his pants off beneath the water and then tossed them toward Pencaliel. She had said she wanted his clothes, so she had them. The dragonkin didn't look toward her, but that was all right, too. It was fine that he was upset. It was....a new kind of thought, unexpected and challenging everything he'd grown up knowing, but the warmth from the Light inside told him it was not a bad thing to think. All his life he'd been expected to obey, to please those around him, to avoid angry reactions and to be submissive to avoid negative results from those around him. He'd done it with Kolmar upon meeting. With Nekia at times, with anyone he came in contact with, even Pencaliel. Especially Pencaliel. It was her he did it with most and it was from the desperate fear within him that she'd withdraw her affection if he upset her, if he challenged her in any way.

But that had happened last night, hadn't it? She'd been upset with him. Or just upset, but she'd taken some of that anger out on him. And he'd still had her affection in the end. The world had not come crashing down around him. Pencaliel had not left.

The lesson had not sunk in yet, not until this moment, seeing the Druid grow once more upset with him, but now that it had....there was a sense of surety where there had been none before. And that was a good thing. Everything was going to be all right, even if Pencaliel grew angry with him or he upset with her. Knowing that was more than a good thing and Mala could relax into that knowledge without fear, and he did, starting to scrub the dirt from his skin.

 

[Lady Alainn]

As soon as Pencaliel undid the last snap, Mala suddenly shrugged out of the tunic and she had to stoop quickly to snatch it from the current. She stared at the brown cloth in her hands in confusion. She was the one in a rotten mood, why was he the one stalking off? Was he... was he moping? The dragonkin didn't even bother looking to make sure she'd managed or not, merely slipping behind the privacy of the small wall to remove his trousers and fling them in her direction. Those she did manage to catch with a short lunge and a conscious blush to her cheeks at the realization she now had all of Mala's clothes in her possession.

What would he do if--

Her cheeks blazed even redder and she left the thought hanging unfinished, giggling sheepishly to herself. It was a terrible, bad, mischievous thought and she shouldn't have thought such a thought to begin with! But as wicked as it was, the strange tickling in her tummy put her in a slightly better mood and the elf found she could breathe again. Pencaliel kept her head down and turned her back completely on the dragonkin. Well, let him be in a mood, too, if he wanted. There was plenty of stream for the both of them. The important thing was being together. Whether they were speaking to each other or not was entirely inconsequential.

She knelt into the water and began scrubbing the dirt from his trousers, furiously at first to take the remaining aggression out on them, and then her strokes gradually mellowed into the steady pressure needed to get rid of mud stains. Her brows furrowed in concentration and her bottom lip tucked between her teeth. They were filthy. It was a good thing the fabric wasn't white. Then they'd never look clean again. Mala had enough white on his person. White wings, white hair, white teeth, white scars. Even his skin was pale enough to be considered white. Her fingers slipped into a gaping hole just above the knee. She paused in her work and frowned, holding them up by the waistband to look for more tears. There were three. Three! Two about the knees and one just above the ratty hemline, where he'd no doubt snagged it on a root or something last night. He'd only had these for a couple weeks and already they were starting to resemble his previous pair. She would have to teach him proper respect for clothes, especially when they were gifts. Hopefully these could be salvaged with patches. Had they kept Mala's old trousers? Those had been threadbare at best, but at least they could be cut up into suitable patches. She'd have to check when they got back to camp.

The elf arched her back in a stretch, shifted her weight, and bent over her work once more. Occasionally she stood up, stretched her legs, and repositioned herself to keep her feet from falling asleep on her. Each time she changed her posture, she found herself scooting closer and closer to the short stone wall blocking up the stream. Finally, the pants were done. Pencaliel tossed them onto a nearby boulder protruding from the water to let the sun start to dry them and pulled the tunic out from under her arm to start on it.

By this time her vision and mind had cleared enough to chance thinking about feelings and bad moods objectively. Naturally, they fell on Mala. Why was he mad at what she'd said? It hadn't been mean. She hadn't meant to make it sound bad. It was supposed to be an observation. An observation about her difficulty in retraining herself, in using magic to begin with; a slight on her talents. But Mala... his words... it was clear he'd taken hers personally even when they weren't meant for him. It'd struck a nerve somewhere within. But what? Pencaliel furrowed her brow again and silently worked out the puzzle.

Instincts didn't make magic better. His magic was unpredictable. He didn't understand how to use it. He was afraid of it. He was afraid of the unpredictable. It made him mad that she should be jealous of something that frightened him? That she didn't understand? If he didn't like not knowing if something was going to hurt or help in any given moment...and that made him mad and afraid...

'You are much like his power, are you not?'

Her eyes widened and she gasped. She was, wasn't she? Unpredictable. Given to flashes of anger, laughter, despondence, wisdom. He didn't like that and he was making it known in his own way. Was he afraid of her? Would his wings recoil and shut her out again at any given outburst from her? Her breath hitched. That was the worst thing in the world-- to be on the outside of his refuge. Worse than being chained underground all alone with nothing. Despite everything Kontaro had done to trample and abuse her, nothing had stung so much, had brought her so close to utter despair and darkness, as Mala's wings folding away from her.

Tears threatened just below the surface again, but these weren't the same kind as before. They were tears of empathy. Of regret. Not self-pity. She sniffed them back and wiped her nose with the back of her hand. Without looking up from her lap, the elven maiden ventured to speak. "Mala?" She knew he wasn't likely to look at her or answer; his concentration bent on his task. Her own gaze focused intently on the cloth in her hands, gently twisting it this way and that as she fought for the right words. "Thank you. For being yourself with me. And being honest."

He didn't say anything immediately. She hadn't expected him to, but it still pinched a little in the middle of her chest. Daring a glance in his direction, the elf was surprised to find him so close. She hadn't realized how far upstream she'd moved; he wasn't even an arm's length away! If she wanted to, she could reach out and touch him. The glance turned into a long look as her brown eyes softened and took in his condition for the first time. Mottled bruises peeked out from underneath the bloodied bandage. Dirt smudged across the linen strips. She tilted her head and studied him further: the slight stoop in his shoulders, the methodical movement of his arms as he scrubbed his skin clean, the quietness surrounding his person.

Why would she ever do or say anything that would cause him distress of any kind? How could she do anything but nurture, care, and love this man? Her best friend.

Before she knew what she was doing, Pencaliel was discarding the tunic alongside his trousers and reaching over the partition for the edge of Mala's bandage. Her heart thudded in her ears, the left one twitching out of habit to ring a non-existent bell. She loosened the strips of cloth so that they fell around his torso in bloody layers. They uncovered the ugliest, angriest looking wound the Druid had ever seen. Despite Nekia's constant cleaning these past couple of days, it hadn't been enough to ward off infection completely. The scabs were dark, outlined in red, and covering a yellowish tint. There was much more agony hidden beneath the surface than she had supposed. How had he survived wearing his tunic for so long? Surely every movement pained him! Slowly her fingers rose to brush away his hair and settled on the afflicted flesh. Her index finger gently traced the grooves, paying close attention to where her fingers trod and taking careful note of when Mala's breath drew in sharply and where it exhaled slowly in relief.

The slashes made a pattern-- a pattern she recognized. Dwarven. It was a dwarven rune.

 

[Kaisaan]

When he'd had the Darkness inside, so present, and so very determined to break him down, Mala had gotten very good at emptying his mind. He could think of nothing if he wished, complete tasks and perform actions with a methodical, unthinking mindset. It was rather surprising to find out that such a talent hadn't deserted him and had not been dependent upon whether the Darkness was present or not. Now he didn't do it to keep the whispers at bay, but rather to simply avoid thinking about everything he didn't want to face at the moment. He didn't push it down, but he did block it out for a time, purposefully ignoring its existence in favor of the strangely empty and yet calming feeling of just letting himself be. It wasn't an easy state of mind and few actually managed to achieve that level of stillness within, but the dragonkin didn't know that either. He just did what came naturally.

Just as the twitch in his wings upon hearing his name came naturally or the way his mind started to finally stir upon hearing more words, needing to process them because they came from an important source. The little Druid's voice was one of the few things that could break him out of such a deep state and he listened to the gentleness that had come back into her tone, that holding far more weight for him than her words alone. She sounded, once more and for the first time in a while, like the Pencaliel he had known - like the elf who had sat so close to him, snuggled into his side as she read a book he could not decipher, never having been taught to read the many languages she seemed to know. Her voice had taken on that softness, the quiet truth and soothing that had called him from dark thoughts and comforted him when he hurt, when he feared. He knew that voice. He loved that voice and the dragonkin slowly rose back into true consciousness in time to feel her hand make contact with his back, anything that had happened before said present moment dim, but this very much acknowledged. Every inch of his skin seemed to tighten with an electric charge, waiting, but he didn't fear.

Pencaliel would never hurt him. Not this way. Not intentionally.

Her fingers moved, feather-light against the ache of the injury and the large, white wings that had been so still, poised, waiting-- they relaxed, the tension easing out of muscle, out of each individual feather and Mala released a sound somewhere between a rumbling purr and a pained whimper. He wanted her contact, had missed the unique presence of her fingers, the way she always seemed to know where to touch, how long to linger to set his body at ease and his mind with it. Yes, he wanted her to stay, to continue like she had in the past, but the pain was a discomfort he couldn't entirely ignore, the wound beneath the scabs heated and tender. He could not begrudge such a thing, would wear Kolmar's mark proudly, but just because it was accepted did not make it any less of a hurt upon his flesh.

Mala supposed he should be used to it, to pain, but that didn't mean he was or that he wanted to be. His wings, so relaxed before, shifted in protest at a particularly sensitive spot as the elf's fingers passed over it and his smaller set of wings closed just a little, almost as if trying to brush the Druid's hand away before checking themselves and stilling again. He trusted Pencaliel. It was the only reason he was allowing this, the only reason his breathing was still steady, only hitched here and there when she came along a spot that hurt more than the rest, but there was no denying Mala was calm. There was no fear, only reaction, and he finally spoke, voice deep, rumbled with that very same purring kind of growl lodged deep in his chest. His head turned, tranquil gold eyes catching gentle fawn-brown just as surely as if his hand had reached back to take her chin, holding the little elf there with tenderness.

And love.

"This is better."

Her like this, the Pencaliel he knew so well, held such fierce affection and loyalty to. He liked her this way. Fierce and devoted, smart and strong, but tender. So very caring, knowing when to be soft and when to be firm. This was his little elf and he had missed her. So very much.

Yes, this was better.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Mala's eyes captivated her. There was something deep and secret in his golden gaze meant just for her. They spoke, intimately to her, of what he could not yet find the words to express. Pencaliel knew there was only one person who would ever see them look so-- herself. Realizing this melted her heart just a little more towards the dragonkin, sending tingles of pleasure and a little something more up and down her spine. At his words, though, the warm fuzzies that had been gathering in her tummy started to disperse. They brought attention back to his condition, reminding her that though the emotional pain was over for now the physical pain still lingered. Her gaze reluctantly left the rays of sunlight to fall back on the ragged lines under her fingers. Continuing on down his back were even more bruises and scrapes until they disappeared beneath the surface of the water.

Compassion flooded through her veins and the elf pressed a finger softly into the bruised flesh beneath his shoulder blades, enough to cause uncomfortable pressure but not nearly enough to hurt him. "This is better?" she teased lightly, softly, her foul mood from earlier now nothing more than an unhappy memory. Her hand passed over the bruise again in a brief caress before it fell away from the wound and retreated to her side of the wall. "Sometimes I think you continually hurt yourself on purpose for an excuse to be pampered. It would be a lot easier to throw my arms around you whenever I wanted to if I wasn't worried about holes in your side or spears in your feathers or broken wings or bruised ribs or infected gashes..."

All the while she'd been talking, her body leaned farther and farther over the partition until her chin rested on his shoulder and her head tucked against his. Her words trailed off as a gentle whisper in his ear and were followed by a long, contented sigh. The two of them sat like that for a few moments until her gaze happened to wander over a pale, skinned knee floating just out of the water. Mala's knee. She didn't know why, but it almost surprised her how much paler it was than, say, his shoulders and that it should be just as banged up as the rest of him. It was almost foreign to her, that knee. She'd never seen his legs before. His feet, yes, numerous times, but anything above them? The pale limb continued to plunge down into the stream's mud-tinted depths and her eyes involuntarily followed, curious, unthinking, until they suddenly widened with apprehension.

That was right, his trousers were still spread out on the boulder behind her!

Her tummy immediately executed a series of wild flip-flops and the elf drew back in the same, short gasp. Instantly Pencaliel's cheeks pinked and the blush spread to the tips of her ears. Her eyelids lowered and her gaze dropped to something, anything that wasn't pale flesh. It fell on the bandages. The bloodied strips slowly floated away from Mala's torso and threatened to tumble over the dam, but a few inches of the bandage snagged against the rough edges of the stones. They tugged and fought for freedom but to no avail. She stared intently at the stones ensnaring them, painfully aware of her erratically beating heart and the embarrassed heat radiating off her skin.

Mala was so close... so vulnerable... and wasn't it a good thing she was this distracted by the flutterings and somersaults in her stomach instead of cringing with memories of Kontaro? Wasn't it a good thing that she wanted nothing more than to--

The elven maid blinked rapidly and desperately tried to remember what she'd been thinking about before the pale legs. Ah, that's right. His wounds. In particular, the nasty one carved over the brand mark. She sat up straighter and forced her eyes to look at the wound and only the wound. It really needed better attention than it had been getting. And she... she could heal it. That was one thing she could do that Mala would never be able to do. That Kontaro certainly couldn't do. Everybody else's magic could cause as much damage as it wanted to, but only hers (and technically Nekia's but she didn't count) could bring healing and restoration. Her arm reached out again as her palm settled over the wound.

"Would you like me to--" Pencaliel broke off there, knowing the answer to that question wouldn't be the one she was looking for. Mala never liked it when she insisted on hurting herself to help him. He only grudgingly allowed it to please her. But now her curiosity piqued. Knowing how magic worked now, could she attempt a healing that wouldn't hurt so much? Pencaliel leaned closer once more, head tilting just so to let her tresses tumble over her shoulder, and tried again in her sweetest of pitches, "Will you let me heal it? Please."

 

[Kaisaan]

The repeat of the words back to him caused a slight smile in the dragonkin, his first since Pencaliel's shift in mood and it felt good to make the expression again, even just a little. He'd frowned and worn so many hard expressions in his life that to smile was a reward in and of itself if only for the emotions that came with it. He loved feeling happy, content, relaxed. Mala thought about saying as much to the Druid, denying what she was insinuating, but in the end he kept quiet. She was only teasing after all. Pencaliel knew very well that he had no desire to be hurt. Mala had gone through too much of that in his life already.

The little elf had as well and as she came closer his body shivered, but he didn't draw away, the feeling of her weight against him right somehow. His form relaxed, tension draining away from his wings entirely as they settled, feathers brushing against Pencaliel's arms on their way to sinking lower into the water and against his back. The muscles in his back where the pain originated loosened a bit, but Mala felt his stomach tighten in an odd way at the Druid's sigh and a flare of heat shot down his spine, flooding along his limbs until it reached even his fingertips. The sensation was hardly unpleasant, but...odd and curiosity arose within him to chase the feeling, to understand it and learn of its meaning. The desire was never realized - but neither was it banished - as Pencaliel drew back suddenly, perhaps sensing what he had, and Mala looked back at her once more. His eyes studied her closely, strangely not worried by her reaction, but rather patient, as if there was some innate knowledge within him that knew what was going on even as the conscious part of his mind wasn't sure how to puzzle it out.

So the dragonkin waited.

It didn't take long for the Druid to look up from the point she was so fixated on and he noted that her attention was back on his wounds when she did. It wasn't terribly hard for him to understand what she wanted then. It was what Pencaliel always wanted when she paid any kind of attention to his injuries - it was why he had not made them known to her sooner. She wanted to heal them and her words, shortly after his thought, confirmed it, chasing ease from the dragonkin's body. The Druid already knew what his instinctual answer would be - explaining the already soothing lilt in her voice, trying to allay his fears before they rose up to bring the word 'no' to his lips.

And it worked, causing Mala to hesitate even as his stomach clenched, this time not nearly in such a nice way like it had before. That had felt like nervousness, excitement even, but this was just unhappy tension, not fear per say, but close. He didn't want her to be in pain, to see his injuries affect her the way they did him...but to have the pain gone? White wings shifted just slightly, feathers brushing against Pencaliel's arms, shoulders, even a few against her back as they stretched and then withdrew, the dragonkin undecided and his words reflecting such when they came, gold eyes glancing to brown. "I don't want you to hurt."

It wasn't a 'yes'...but it wasn't a 'no', either.

Mala didn't want her in pain, but there was a very selfish part of him that didn't want to hurt anymore, too. Was that wrong? Was it wrong to let her do something that would bring her discomfort just so he wouldn't have to feel it anymore? Of course the dragonkin already knew the answer to that question, but...but that answer wasn't quite right either. It didn't take into account that Pencaliel WANTED to help. He wasn't asking, wasn't forcing or even expecting. She was offering. It still felt wrong, though, like he should be able to protect her from these things....and yet, it felt wrong in a way, too, for him to try and shield her from this. She had a power to help others and he never saw the Druid so happy as when she got to make a difference for someone else.

It wasn't really his fault - not every time anyway - that he was her most frequent patient and the one she got to help most often.

The thoughts circling and circling again in his mind, the dragonkin finally gave a sigh of his own and he looked back at the elf again, searching her gaze, meeting only resolve. He usually did when Pencaliel set her mind to something of this nature. Just another reason he adored her. Perhaps it was that affection more than true willingness for the procedure itself that decided Mala. "You may cure the infection and help it mend, but..." Mala hesitated, unsure how the words would sound, but in the end he continued, his gold eyes pleading for the elf to understand why it was he would ask such a thing.

"I want the scar. I...it's from Kolmar, from....from my Athair and I want it to stay. Can you do that?"

 

[Lady Alainn]

It took a painfully long time for Mala to reply to her request. She had to strain to keep her eyes firmly glued on his back, but even that proved distracting with the way his wings and muscle shifted together. One glimpse at his thoughtful face or his shoulder or the strength radiating from his arm muscle... the elf squeezed her eyes shut for a moment to chase that train of thought away. Pencaliel's leg bounced lightly with impatience, creating small waves that jiggled against the stones separating them. To be perfectly honest, she was a bit impatient with that, too, and tired of the boundaries keeping them apart. The maiden had given him her first kiss and now it was his turn to do something about it. That certain something had shifted within the dragonkin the morning she found him in the mountaintop garden. Was shifted the right word or had it awakened? Either way, it was becoming increasingly clear to the elf that her Mala was at a point now where he could think along the same lines she was. He could contemplate his future. Their future.

She would have to start prompting him.

Finally the dragonkin's eyes rose up to meet hers again and Pencaliel was relieved to find a quiet resignation settled within. He didn't want her to hurt, but he was willing to accept her assistance regardless. Oh, good, noble Mala! A soft smile worked its way across her features. "Mala, do you ever consider that it hurts me more to see you constantly in pain, knowing I can do something about it, than it does to suffer through a few moments of discomfort?" the Druid murmured. She wasn't sure if he heard her or not for when he next spoke it was of the unthinkable. Her smile faltered.

"You wish to keep the scar?" she echoed in some confusion. Mala had so many scars littering his body already. Pencaliel knew if she was ever given the chance to remove her scar, she'd say yes in a heartbeat. Scars were only trophies to those who had inflicted them. The mark of evil. So why didn't Mala feel the same way and want his gone? If it was from Kolmar that explained the dwarven influence, but why did he do it? What was the significance behind it? Why did Mala want it?

But if Mala wanted it, she would comply if she could. In any case, it would prove a challenge.

Pencaliel examined the wound with a renewed interest, her eyes almost crossing as her brow furrowed and lips pursed. To heal without removing the wound, could it be done? Could she do it? Her fingers passed lightly over the scabs again. She'd have to accelerate Mala's natural healing process instead of using her own energy to knit his skin together. That would hurt her less, but at what cost to the dragonkin? Though, the elf doubted it would hurt any more than his broken wing did. Mala survived that torturous healing, he could survive this one easily since it wouldn't take nearly as long. Then again, she'd been able to comfort him as Nekia forced the bone back into place and here she'd be the one inflicting the pain.

There was also the infection to consider. One wrong move and Pencaliel could accidentally lock it inside which would be even worse than not healing it at all! Hmm. But she could drain the infection without closing up the wound. The elf sat up straighter. Yes, yes she could do that! Then perhaps it would be easier to see what she needed to do to preserve the scar. And if draining the infection didn't work she'd know then not to attempt to heal and Mala could keep his scar. Another smile blossomed and lit up her eyes. Yes, this could work!

"I think I can!" Pencaliel exclaimed happily. "I will just have to drain the infection out first, which will hurt you but I think you'll be able to manage it, and then I'm fairly certain I can leave a scar. I promise, if it doesn't work I will stop immediately. Now, bend forward so I can soak some of the scab off and coax the infection out. Try not to brace against it, tightened muscle will only make it hurt worse. I can't talk and concentrate on this at the same time, so why don't you keep your mind occupied by telling me about the other morning and why you have a wound that says 'Liberty.' I...I never did stop to ask about what happened and I know it was special for you."

While she talked the elf scrambled over the wall, perched atop it with her knees pressing on either side of the dragonkin, and guided him to lean forward with a gentle push on his shoulder. Then she cupped her hands, scooped up a bit of water, and let it run down the scabs. This she repeated a couple more times and when they started to look softened, Pencaliel picked up a small rock from the bottom of the stream, gently pinched the end of it to make a knife point, and began scraping off part of the scab that looked the least inflamed for the exit point. Now came the hard part.

---

Somehow they made it through. It had been much slower to conduct the healing than Pencaliel had anticipated, and at times excruciating, but Mala had his scar and she'd only whimpered once. Thoroughly exhausted now, the elf breathed in a huge sigh of accomplishment and relief. The scar was beautiful. She'd taken care to smooth some of the rough edges and managed to convince the scar tissue to form a prominent ridge so Mala could run his fingers over it any time he wanted to and know it was still there.

The old mark, the scar of a slave, was nowhere to be seen.

Yes, Pencaliel was very proud of her handiwork indeed.

 

[Kaisaan]

She hadn't understood his reasoning, but Mala was relieved that Pencaliel had agreed to what he desired anyway and upon hearing what she would have to do to accomplish it, he had given a nod and resigned himself to the procedure. Somehow knowing what was coming, understanding the intent behind it and furthermore, that the Druid was the one performing the act made it all more bearable. It was the first time he'd experienced any kind of purposefully inflicted pain - whether meant in malice or not - since the Darkness had been cleansed from him and Mala found the experience, while nowhere near pleasant, was not as he remembered previous ones. There were no memories rising up to drag him into the pit, only the echo of their images, easily pushed away as he concentrated on breathing and keeping still.

And speaking.

Somehow talking helped, too, and once Mala found a point to begin the story came out with relative ease. In truth, the dragonkin had always possessed a knack for making others see what he had, experience what he'd felt, but always the stories had been painful, dark and hard to utter. This one was different, vastly so and the more Mala said, the more he fell into the rhythm of the telling itself and he found himself revealing things he'd not thought he would, but which now felt permissible.

He told Pencaliel of the desire to flee that had overtaken him in Naazgard, about his guilt over being an instrument for Kontaro to use to harm her and how Kolmar had broken the dam locked so tightly inside him that day. Telling her about the possession and the Light, about the pain and the hope that had overtaken him was a release Mala hadn't known he needed, but as he continued to relay the tale, informing the elf about how the Darkness had been banished and the meaning of the new wound had been made clear to him, the dragonkin found he wasn't so focused on what Pencaliel was doing to his back. Rather he was remembering those unique moments, feeling the warmth, the glow of the Light surrounding him again and the dragonkin was able to relax into such a thing even as his body was telling him it wasn't happy in the least right now.

By the time Pencaliel was done, she was very obviously weary and he was trembling, but not scared, not panicked and as she drew back, gold eyes finally met her brown again. Pain lingered in his eyes, but gratefulness as well and Mala spoke quietly, finishing the last of the story, hoping that now she might understand why he'd made his request at all. "I have many scars, reminders of what was done to me and if those would disappear, I would not miss them, but..." He shook his head just a little, ragged hair brushing different parts of his skin, clinging to the wetness, but unnoticed by the dragonkin. "This one is different. Kolmar made it to help me, because he cares for me and I would remember that."

It was the best he could do to explain and after he'd done so, Mala grew silent, flexing his shoulders and back carefully, testing the range of motion he had and the level of soreness that might still remain. His wings shifted, lifted, flared slightly and he was pleased to discover that while his body still ached due to the many bruises that marred it, the sharp pain and fire between his shoulders was completely gone and a smile spread across the dragonkin's face, an expression of true delight. The pain was gone from his gaze when it went back to Pencaliel, replaced by a glow of happiness that said more words than the dragonkin could properly convey, but he attempted to even still in his own humble way.

"Thank you."

Somehow nothing more needed to truly be said and Mala lifted his wings fully from the water as he turned to face the elf. He was careful not to rise fully, the water hitting just below his navel and muddied enough with his movement to still keep everything below discreet. Feathers dripped as he against tested the stretch of his wingspan, utterly pleased with the results, the grin not leaving his expression as he once again focused on Pencaliel.....to see that she was staring.

That something inside, the part that belonged not only to Man but Animal, too, a thing both seemed to share and kept firmly away from Child, stirred again. His skin flushed with heat, curling through his veins with languid slowness and Mala's muscles tightened at the sensation, his toes curling into the riverbed, eyes dilating just slightly as he watched Pencaliel. She was beautiful, standing there with hair dry in some places and still dripping in others, leaving trails down browned skin, making no difference to her wet clothes at all. They clung to her, revealing curves and a shape he had seen before without the hindrance of materials at all, but until now that memory hadn't visited him. Now it rose up in a different light than he'd ever taken notice of before and it wasn't the inclination to protect her or ease her pain that occurred to him then, but a different need entirely. He wanted to study that memory, study her and trace the bare expanse of her skin, discover the feel of it beneath his fingers, find out if she might react like he did when her hands traced his scars, sending bumps down flesh, heat and quivers through muscle. Mala nearly moved then, the desire unexpected and strong...and then a nudge from inside made him blink, as if someone had reminded him of where he was, and the heat dissipated slowly, not eager to leave, but willing to be patient.

For now.

As it left, Mala suddenly found himself in a more playful mood, as if one feeling could transform into the other on a whim - something else he found himself curious about - and he reached forward to the near-frozen Pencaliel and caught her hair, giving a teasing tug, the smile returning to his face. "So, little healer, am I ever going to get my pants back or shall I just stay here until I turn into a fish?"

 

[Lady Alainn]

Pencaliel watched Mala stretch his wings with rapt delight. Her feet kicked gaily against the stone partition as she continued to perch atop it. To see him happy only made her more so and she willingly responded to his smiles with a beaming one of her own. To his heartfelt gratitude she answered, "It was my pleasure" and earnestly meant every word. Then Mala began to move, to rise up out of the water, and the elven maid made the startling discovery that she was still invading his privacy. But for some reason, she couldn't move. Every muscle seemed frozen in place; even her eyes were bewitched by the tiny rivers glistening and trickling down the pale expanse of the dragonkin's torso.

As Mala's hand stretched towards her, Pencaliel knew that if he should snatch her to his chest in that moment, she would gladly surrender any amount of kisses he wished. Of course, the maiden should have known better than to suspect the dragonkin of such a movement. She had told him, in no uncertain terms, that her second kiss and subsequent kisses were off limits and regardless of her present sentiments or regrets of past decisions, Mala would honour that wish until his dying breath if need be. Even if she could not keep to her words, he would. He was that kind of man.

Which was why his hand did nothing more than curl a lock of hair around a finger and tug it gently to awaken her from her stupor. A few rapid blinks cleared the haze from her vision and the colour heightened in her cheeks that she should be caught so unaware! And audaciously staring! Her head ducked down to hide her embarrassment behind a curtain of damp, brown hair.

"Oh! Forgive me. I was... Your trousers, yes. I can get them for you," Pencaliel stammered, her voice somewhat muffled her chin was tucked so low against her chest. She swung one leg and then the other out of the makeshift pool to drop down on the other side of the barrier, tripped over herself in her haste to get away, and landed in a belly flop. Oomph! The elf floundered a bit in the shallow river until she regained her bearings and promptly splashed to her feet again before Mala could think of jumping after her to help her. She readjusted her skewed blouse and forged ahead. Determined strides parted the waters around her knees and carried her swiftly downstream to the boulder where Mala's clothes lay sunning. Pencaliel clambered atop and poked one leg of his trousers tentatively. They were still a bit damp, but not overly wet. However, they would be much worse once she gathered them up in her wet arms. The elf decided to fold them instead and the tunic was tucked underneath since it was not as dry. She gingerly held them out before her and slid down the smooth side of the rock to plink! lightly in the waters below. With steps a little more careful this time, the elf waded across the stream and brought the clothes safely to the bank where Mala could easily reach them and take shelter behind an overhanging tree branch. She had just set them down when a flurry of activity across the stream arrested her attention.

A few squirrels and flustered birds dashed madly out of the way of thudding footfalls. She froze in place and her heart momentarily stopped as an icy cold washed over her in trepidation. Her ears twitched. Boots. Heavy boots. And the stride, it was familiar. Kolmar's. She drew in a shallow breath and willed her limbs to stop their shaking, however her heart only hammered faster within her ears when she caught sight of his appearance.

The dwarf broke through the underbrush, his heaving chest suggesting he'd run all the way from the campsite. He was fully dressed in his armor with Ikspar wedged between his back and the large pack of provisions and supplies. Nekia's smaller pack was clutched in his hands. His blue eyes wildly scanned the river until he spotted them on the other side and he hurriedly waved them over.

"Goblins!" he barked between pants as soon as they were within earshot. "Nekia found traces of a large hunting party not too far away. She is tracking them now. We must move farther up the mountain to find better shelter before nightfall." The small pack was shoved into Pencaliel's hands. Stunned, and remembering vividly the first time she and Mala had encountered the vicious little creatures, the Druid absently accepted it and stood there with it dangling in her grip. It was all so sudden, so contrary to the languid peacefulness of the past hour. Blackness swam before her. Was this a dream? Had she fallen asleep on the riverbank?

The dwarf's voice droned on, falling on her ears like the lapping of the stream over the stones restricting its path. Goblins! She never wanted to see another one again. They were even worse this time of year: bold and frantic in their pursuit of food to last them through the winter. Spears aimed with clearer intent, ripping through flesh and feathers, falling like hail upon their small group, and in her ears rang the spine-tingling yelps and shrieks of goblins closing in for the kill... A pair of cold, cruel pale violet eyes peered out from the background, patient and unblinking, waiting...

"Druid! You must make haste!"

Kolmar's voice scattered the goblins momentarily and two large, strong hands jerked the straps of the pack up one arm and then the other until she could feel the weight on her back. Her hand was pressed into a warm, firm grip.

"Malachi, follow the stream until you reach the source. We will find you there. Go!"

 

[Kaisaan]

Going from chuckling at Pencaliel's floundering attempts to retrieve his trousers to watching Kolmar come charging out of the trees toward them was like moving from a dream and into reality for Mala. It was shocking, unwelcome, harsh, but unlike the little elf, he didn't associate this abrupt change as a nightmare coming with sleep, but rather like the peace of a dream leaving with the coming of morning. He was far too used to danger and fear being his life, his reality for the last two hundred years to think this was a slip from reality - if anything, the laughter and peace, the comfort and joy he found with Pencaliel, with Kolmar and Nekia sometimes still felt like the dream to him. This, however, the dwarf's words and the sudden, dangerous tension coiling in his middle, this was familiar.

This didn't scare the dragonkin and perhaps that alone was not a good sign, speaking of a past far too intimate with violence, but right now it was going to keep both himself and Pencaliel alive and safe. He would let it stay and deal with what it all meant later.

Mala put his pants on rather calmly for the situation, the wetness of his skin not making the task particularly easy, but he was far too focused on what was happening to care. The moment he ventured close to the two, Kolmar had placed the Druid's hand in his own and Mala's fingers closed around hers, secure, confident as he gave a sharp nod to the dwarf's directions. Their eyes had met for a moment, only a brief glance, but it was all that needed to be conveyed. The dragonkin knew Kolmar to be capable in a fight, Nekia as well even if he'd never seen her in action and his father had seen what he could do. It had made the dwarf uneasy at first, had made him wary, but there was no doubt as to whether or not Mala could protect Pencaliel. That at least didn't need to be in question and as the older warrior disappeared back into the trees, the younger immediately started to move, giving Pencaliel's hand a gentle but firm tug to get her walking.

"Come."

Calm. Sure. Steady. His voice was all these things as they started upstream and it was only when they came to a wider clearing that the dragonkin spread his wings wide and flapped hard. Once. Twice. Thrice. He shed sprays of water everywhere, but it needed to be done. If they tried to go through the forest with him dripping excessively, they'd only be leaving a trail. It was an instinctive knowledge, one he paid attention to - just as Mala did many other things. His ears were open, nose constantly seeking what shouldn't be there and his senses stretched out, ever on edge. He and Pencaliel worked their way along the river, venturing into the stream where it was shallow enough to walk whenever they could. Mala knew it was harder for them to be followed this way, despite the fact that it slowed them down some, but there came a time when the stream was too deep or too fast to safely traverse within it and they were forced back to the shore.

It was during those times that Mala almost felt the ground beneath them tremble with the impact of chasing feet and he felt his power stirring in a way it hadn't since the trolls. It was warning, whispering of the danger that approached and the dragonkin heeded it, never allowing himself to even consider the possibility that they were not being followed, that it was all in his head.

No. He knew what it was to be hunted. He knew the feeling of being tracked, of knowing you could look over your shoulder at any moment and discover your pursuer standing there. He'd met Pencaliel with an arrow in his flesh. He knew what it was to be prey, but this time there was no fear. Mala had not truly realized how much he had changed until this moment, hiking up the mountain with Pencaliel's hand still within his own, the sun rising higher and hotter above them. Sweat trickled down their skin, air came sharp into their lungs and exhaled too quickly, but while they were running, Mala was not afraid. He had a purpose, someone to protect and he was not the same scared, broken creature that had come into the Druid's forest.

The revelation was as powerful as it was sudden, and Mala didn't get to truly think about it too much as his hair suddenly rose on end, the warning ripple of knowing passing over his body like an electric current, forcing him to stop. He and Pencaliel had come across a patch of flatter ground where the foliage was thick but the trees more scarce and a snarl sounded low and savage from the dragonkin, a warning more than clear to the creatures that appeared from their cover, having caught up to their quarry. They were laughing to themselves as they circled around the dragonkin and the elf, taunting their prey with spear lunges that didn't make contact, but came far too close for comfort. Mala's body was rigid with tension, crouched, on the balls of his feet as he kept Pencaliel close to him, his left wing coming around to shield her as his eyes followed the movement of the goblins fanning out around them. They seemed entirely unaffected by his growls, probably having dealt with a dragonkin before, confident in their abilities and as more flooded into sight, the calm, logical part of his mind could understand why. And he could picture in his head, clearly, how they might hunt one of his kind. His wing nearly ached with the echo of pain the spear had brought to it and he remembered vividly crashing through the trees, making contact with the ground.

And then the laughter had come.

What would have happened next was easy to figure out. Crippled, alone, even a dragonkin would have been hard-pressed to fight back and with numbers the goblins could swarm, finishing off a more powerful enemy by sheer force. He could see it far too vividly in his mind's eye.....but it didn't scare the half-blood - because he was exactly that. Half dragonkin, and like the ones before them, these creatures had never met a Sidhe.

Mala could feel the power that roiled with him, just out of reach, waiting for a trigger he didn't know how to activate, not truly, but knew would come and he didn't have long to wait. All it took was the goblins starting to cackle again, their behavior growing excited and Mala didn't hear the whistle of movement through the air. The sudden pressure around his neck, the constriction of air as he was jerked backward and off his feet sent a flash of panic through the male and the second rope that wrapped around his wrist as he tried to reach for the one on his neck only heightened that terror as a mass of bodies surged toward him and he struggled to get away, vision blackening with the lack of oxygen.

It all changed with one distressed cry from Pencaliel.

Everything changed in that split second as Mala hovered somewhere between terror and rage, logical thought and feral instinct, calm and chaos, sound and silence. It was in that moment that what he had been disappeared and who he could be emerged. Gold eyes shimmered, changing and the air grew thick, seeming to slow time itself as pressure, energy gathered around the dragonkin who had gone still, his senses flooding him with information.

He smelled blood.

Mala felt fury flood him like fire and a roar flooded his mouth, releasing what had built up within. Like the ripples of a pond, the energy around the male exploded outward in a concussive blast, sending goblins flying. The dragonkin was back on his feet within a moment and wickedly sharp claws were rendering flesh from bone soon after as the goblins dragging Pencaliel away were overtaken. The rest shrieked their anger and fear, drawing back from the now furious dragonkin, his claws saturated with their kins' blood. Mala roared after them, scooping Pencaliel up and into his hold and with the elf safely back in his arms, cradled close to his chest, the white-haired male looked back up at the enemy, his eyes still glowing. As the sun caught against the colors there, it was hellfire the goblins saw, Mala himself a creature unlike any they'd encountered, death dancing through his gaze. They were startled, uncertain now, but far too stupid to run, too set in their ways to simply leave and as they started growing close again, snarling, threatening...

Mala chuckled.

It was a soft, low, positively gleeful sound as a smirk crossed his face, fangs baring as the heat within him built once more, scorching in its intensity as energy surged into his body like a flood, drawn from the forest itself. It stole the breath from lungs, thickening like humidity and the dragonkin's wings started to shimmer, glowing a brilliant golden-white. He could feel the pressure inside building, but it was not frightening, not unwanted. It was welcomed, like the ache of a muscle too long still and in that moment Mala understood something he had not before and by the time the goblins realized that they were in true trouble, it was too late. Mala drew his wings in around his body and Pencaliel's, encasing them, sheltering them within the inferno that burned nearly out of control within him and then he spread his wings again in a sweeping motion until they flared out from his back, a giant pair of hands declaring no more. This fight was finished.

The sheer intensity and power of the wave that flared out from his body was a death sentence and even as some goblins tried to flee, it hit them, turning every single one to nothing more than dust. And the dragonkin simply watched as the threat was obliterated in a matter of moments. He stayed quiet as the power around him finally died down, seeping back into his body where it belonged, content with its work. It had shown itself to protect Pencaliel and now it would hide away again, unsuspecting until called upon again by need, always a wild thing. As it seeped away, the dragonkin took a breath, his eyes fading to gold and his wings absent their glow as he looked down to Pencaliel, searching her body for injury, knowing she bled, but not heavily.

Reassured for the moment that she would be all right, his eyes then rose to meet her own and Mala waited. He waited in quiet, in calm for her reaction, knowing it could be bad like last time, but having more faith than he'd ever had before that she would surprise him.

 

[Lady Alainn]

The world gradually came back into focus for Pencaliel. Kolmar was long gone and the familiar scene of the stream had shifted into a small river with stronger currents. The ground sloped towards them and her leg muscles burned from the constant strain of hiking uphill the last day or two. What hadn't changed, though, was Mala's intensity. His mind was bent on one task alone: shaking off the goblins and seeing them safely... somewhere. The elf couldn't remember hearing any directions, but there must have been for Mala to flee like this without question. Unless Kolmar and Nekia were no longer planning to travel with them? The thought made her sad. The four of them had become family these past couple of weeks. And Hoomite and Yuubi. Pencaliel missed the talkative old housekeeper. She reminded her of Wryn.

Wryn...

Shutting her eyes briefly to squeeze the sparrow out of her thoughts, the Druid shook her head and reeled in her concentration. This was not the time nor the place to think about her lost loved ones. She couldn't afford being caught unaware. Mala was still injured, though not nearly as badly, and she had exhausted herself with her lessons. She needed to stay alert, stay on her feet, and keep up with the long, confident strides of the dragonkin.

And that's when the Druid felt them-- the footsteps. Tiny little feet pattering somewhere behind them, their energy vibrating through the earth under her feet. Pencaliel risked a glance up at Mala and a frown line formed across her brow at his set jaw. He knew they were following them, too. The goblins must have scented his wounds. They were expecting easy prey. Her grip tightened around Mala's fingers. Just because this was the same scenario as before did not mean the outcome would be the same. Just because Kontaro had manipulated the bloodthirsty savages once before did not mean he was behind this attack.

'Deep breaths. You are more prepared than you think. Have Faith.'

Yes, faith. Trust in the guidance of her friends. Pencaliel knew better than to run this time. She knew better than to cower in fear. This time, Pencaliel could and would stand up for herself. After all, she couldn't leave all the dirty work to Mala! With renewed purpose the Druid lengthened her stride to run with him instead of behind. Up they climbed, winding in and out of the mountain river as it wound in and out of their path, and the many footfalls continued to follow undeterred, growing ever closer. The tips of her ears quivered with the crunch of goblin feet through brush and fallen leaves and her growing dread sank lower and lower in the pits of her stomach. They couldn't outrun them.

Mala seemed to come to the same conclusion for he halted at the same time she did once they reached more stable ground. Almost immediately the entire area was swarming with short, squat, jeering creatures. There were scores of them, all varying shades of green, all grinning and cackling, pressing in with their crude spears and javelins. All desperate to tear the fresh meat from limb to limb and cart it back to their dark, dank caves to fatten themselves on. Their hunger echoed hollowly in their yellowed eyes. Pencaliel moved in closer behind the dragonkin, momentarily taking refuge in his confident stance. 'Deep breaths.'

Then all hell broke loose.

Energy roared all around her: underneath her feet, in the air surrounding her, running wildly in the creatures surrounding them, next to her in Mala as ropes flew out from the crowd and snagged him. He sagged under the strain of the ropes, clawing at them. "Mala!" Pencaliel cried out in alarm. If only she had her knife! Just beyond a group of goblins stretched a net of ropes out, readying them for the final assault upon the dragonkin. But they weren't considering her a major threat and that was their fatal mistake. The Druid held her hands loosely out to her sides and followed the advice of her quiet counselor. She breathed in. Instantly her body harmonized with the earth beneath her: sensing, listening, living through the stones jutting up to impale webbed green feet, through the eyes of the few trees quietly watching on, through the roots of the nearby shrubs as they struggled up through the rock to entangle still more. Her skin rippled and hummed with magic as an unseen wind blew her hair out behind her. This... this was what it was like to be a Druid!

Chaos ensued within the goblin ranks. The net was discarded in favour of spears. They rushed towards this new threat squealing and howling in outrage. Pencaliel's hands shot out and grabbed just below the tip of the nearest spear of an unsuspecting goblin. Her right heel pivoted and the momentum of her body forced the wooden shaft out of the goblin's hands as it tumbled forward. Pencaliel continued to turn, stepping back with her left foot to balance herself and widen her grip to bring the spear up diagonally to deflect two more spearheads thrusting towards her head. One of them scraped down the length of the spear shaft and sliced into her left bicep, eliciting a sharp cry of pain from the Druid. She dropped the spear. Green hands reached for her arms and tugged her forward. She stumbled and her connection to the earth strained in protest. The world dimmed as if all the colour was slowly draining away, sucking her energy along with it. Pencaliel panicked, but only for the briefest of moments until Mala roared behind her and the strength of his power overwhelmed her senses.

Everything went black.

When her eyes opened again she was clutched firmly against Mala's chest and the laughter of the goblins was but a faint echo on the wind. Puffs of dust swirled around them and coated the ground where the green creatures had crouched not moments before. The dragonkin's skin was hot with unleashed energy and Pencaliel glanced up to see Mala's eyes slowly change from an iridescent sheen back to their familiar gold. The air was thick with the same burnt odor she'd experienced at Dillon's house and again with the first goblin attack. But this time she wasn't scared. That didn't mean she liked it, but the Druid wasn't frightened of the raw power that singed nose hairs and obliterated enemies. It was Mala, she was on the right side of his wings, and it was Mala.

And Mala was trying to examine the marks on her wrist. That was her job! The Druid shooed the dragonkin's inquisitive hand away and rolled out of his arms to her feet again before he could protest. She wasn't a child who fell out of the tree, she was a Druid! THE Druid! And she would wear her battle wounds proudly for a little while because they showed she fought back. But only for a very little while because they smarted something fierce! Maybe there were roots or herbs she could find to help lessen the ache. She glanced down at the wound on her arm and grimaced. It did not look very nice.

Mala's eyes were still upon her. Waiting. Pencaliel looked up and stepped towards him hesitantly. Her hand clung to her left elbow to pull her arm close to her side, the red, angry slash wrapping around the bicep just above, more wide than deep and trickling blood. Her right wrist was sore, but not broken, most likely jarred from the goblin yanking on it. For once she came out more damaged than Mala. The thought brought a smile to her face and she took another step to close the short distance between them until they were almost toe to toe. Her head tilted up to meet Mala's gaze. She wasn't running this time.

"You were right," she chuckled shyly. "That is not controllable magic."

 

[Kaisaan]

Watching her approach, Mala had known in that moment that she would never run again. It was a simple truth, but a profound one that curled like warmth through his chest and he found himself smiling even as she did, the tension draining from his limbs the moment she opened her mouth to speak, somehow knowing that what would come out would not harm him and indeed he was right. Pencaliel's comment made him laugh, mirth rising as he felt both relief that she was accepting what he'd done, and simply true amusement at the entire situation, that such a thought would be the first to come to her mind right now. It was a good feeling and he reached out with familiar ease, brushing the elf's hair behind her ear, grazing the delicate point lightly before he cupped her cheek and leaned down, bringing his forehead to her own, breathing her in for just a moment before speaking.

"No, it's not."

He pulled back, giving a glance around and then a wry smirk, completely uncaring of the life lost around him. It had been seeking to take his and Pencaliel's. These creatures had deserved their end. "But it serves its purpose." With that he reached down and took her hand, giving a gentle pull toward the outside of the ring of death, back toward the stream they'd been following.

"Come on, Pen'neth. Let's stop your bleeding."

--

The events of the afternoon did not quite leave Mala's mind as he'd expected them to. He'd not given the goblins that had attacked him and Pencaliel the first time another passing interest after killing them, had barely even registered the bodies that had surrounded him, nor the stain it had left on his clothes, his skin. Of course, he'd been more concerned with finding Pencaliel, so perhaps it had been different then.....just like the trolls. Their demise had not bothered him, but Pencaliel had been his goal then, too. These deaths, however, while they'd not given rise to guilt or remorse, there HAD been something different about them, something he had felt in the killing that he'd not experienced before.

It had been....enjoyable?

Perhaps that was not the right word, but the dragonkin was struggling to come up with another way to describe the spike of giddy adrenaline and the rush of heat, of satisfaction in knowing that the moment he chose to release his power, the goblins would die. It hadn't been a question, not an 'if' but a certainty and he'd...enjoyed it. Had liked knowing that, had found pleasure in the security of realizing he was not helpless....that even without the Darkness inside, he could do as he had. There had been doubt, not quite a fear just yet as he'd not had time to dwell on it, to let it grow into such, but there had been question as to whether it had been the Darkness within giving him the power to defeat those around him. Or was it inherently his? Something that could not be taken away....something that was not evil? It had lingered in the back of his mind, the question, since that morning upon seeing Pencaliel training with Kolmar, but he'd not realized it until the question had been answered.

There had been no touch of shadow when he'd released the energy that had taken the goblins' lives, no touch of bitter cold to remind him that he belonged to the Void, no cruel words whispered to make him understand that it was only because the Deyes'Moro resided within him that he could have any strength or skill at all. It had not been the Darkness today that had kept Pencaliel safe and what he'd done...had not been evil.

It was that truth, perhaps, that lingered the clearest, the loudest in his thoughts. What he'd done, where the power had come from, it hadn't made the Light lessen, had not brought the Darkness back. It had just been....him. It had been his heritage showing itself and for the first time since he was a child, since having the innocence of selfless love for his father obliterated with the understanding that Nagoron only wished him harm, Mala had not shied away from what his Sidhe half could give him.

And he'd found confidence in that the likes of which he couldn't aptly describe. But he liked it. Very much so and as he and Pencaliel continued to climb through the mountain, his thoughts inevitably turned to the little elf. And oh, how they turned...

--

They'd come to the falls with perhaps an hour of daylight left to them and the sun glistened on the water, creating rainbows in the spray as they looked over the welcome sight. Heading down to the pool created by the constant flow of the waterfall before it turned into the stream, Mala and Pencaliel scouted out a good spot to make camp before anything else. Nekia and Kolmar would be arriving soon - neither had any doubt of that - and having a place to sleep, build a fire and take adequate shelter would be beneficial to them all. After some searching, the two stumbled upon a shallow cave in the rock formation that made up the falls and set about clearing the leaves and sticks from it before building a small fire, enough that the smoke wouldn't rise too high or grow too thick, but they could begin to dry shoes soaked with water and limbs in need of some heat after so long venturing in and out of the stream throughout the day.

Mala had been quiet since the attack, lost in thought and there was little difference now as he sat leaning against the back wall of the outcropping, Pencaliel nestled into his side where she'd been most the day, her hand no longer in his, her fingers instead inspecting some of the more ruffled feathers on the wing draped over her lap. She was very single-minded in her task, giving the dragonkin time to study her, gold eyes tracing the form of her face, reflecting on the decision he'd already come to.

He loved her.

Mala wasn't entirely sure when trust had formed into affection and that into love, but it had and even in his darkest moments he'd known that. It had been sure and true when everything else had been questionable, something even the shadow had not been able to touch and in truth it was all that had kept him going at times. Loving Pencaliel and knowing she held the same love for him in turn. Until now, however, he'd not known what to do with that, how to accept it. Such was no longer the case and Mala only hesitated now out of nervousness. He'd seen this done among his people more times than he could count, knew what to do, but somehow doing it himself....it was terrifying....but not in a bad way...he didn't think.

Gold eyes moved back to the Druid, catching her fawn-brown eyes for a moment, watching the flash of a smile she gave him before returning to her task and the dragonkin found he could breathe again, that the tight coil of nerves in his stomach eased. No, it wasn't in a bad way at all and it was that last thought that moved the dragonkin to action as he looked down to the Amaranth in his hand. It had been there nearly half the day as they'd hiked, kept from Pencaliel's sight and now he set it down on his knee, his fingers moving to one of the long feathers on his wing. It was with deft efficiency and no hesitation that he pulled the white plumage loose, a glisten of blood on the end the only testament of the pain the action had caused. Mala didn't focus on it, though, his fingers taking the flower from his knee and twining the stem around the feather. It was then, and only then, that the gold eyes moved back to Pencaliel and Mala slowly handed her both feather and flower, his heart beating rapidly and his stomach in a knot as he watched her.

Waiting for her to answer the wordless question he'd posed; would she be his?

 

[Lady Alainn]

Tucked against the southern side of the waterfall, lengthy shadows already invaded the gaping mouth of their shelter as the sun sank lower on the horizon. Brilliant oranges and golds blazed fiercely on the scrawny-limbed bushes decorating the area around the pool. Dense greens sprouting out of hardy evergreens stood in stark contrast to the autumn foliage but were by no means less impressive in the intense light of the evening sun. Far up above the rest of the world, the air was crisp and clear here even if it was a bit thin. The gentle, constant rush of water over the lip of the rocks overhead provided lulling, soothing background music after their strenuous climb and both the elf and dragonkin were all too willing to release the tensions of the day.

Today had proven to be such a stretching, learning experience for Pencaliel in many ways and now she was glad for a reprieve from excitement. Nothing calmed her like snuggling against Mala with his feathers in easy reach. Her fingers eagerly took up the task of preening the feathers in her lap and she soon found herself humming softly. Pencaliel was happy. Very happy. Not only had she successfully conquered a bad mood, but she'd been able to heal Mala's scar and had stood up to the goblins instead of cowering in fear! Yesterday that wouldn't have been possible. Well, maybe possible but not probable. Seeing Mala go down would have petrified her before. Being alone-- completely alone-- had always been one of her worst fears. Alone and helpless. But she wasn't alone and she certainly wasn't helpless! Not anymore. What a difference a little bit of confidence made! And control. Perhaps that's what Kolmar had meant when he said her temper could be a weapon or a curse. When the goblins made her mad, the Druid used that to fuel her desire to end the confrontation instead of shrinking back. And maybe, if she didn't panic again, Mala's power wouldn't so completely overwhelm her next time.

She glanced down at the strip of cloth around her arm and grinned. Oh, if only Mother could see her shy little home-bound elfling now! If only Mother knew she was beginning to put words into deeds and accept her full mantel as Druid! The power, the responsibility, all of it. Especially the scary parts. She wanted to embrace it all and continue to grow into the woman who commanded nature to rally against trespassing goblin feet and yearned to set things straight with a people who had wronged her. It wouldn't be an easy path to walk and there would be more tests she'd fail along the way, but maybe not. Maybe she would always know the right thing to say and the right thing to do if she only stopped, breathed in, and listened first!

Pencaliel's hands stilled as a vibrant bloom untouched by the harsh winds of autumn hovered into her sight. It was one of the prettiest flowers the elf had ever seen, so deeply pink and so many velvety-looking petals! But it wasn't just a flower. Her eyes wandered down the green stem as it wound around a single, sleek feather. There was a bit of blood on the end. Her jaw dropped in shock and confusion. Mala had plucked one of his feathers off! Why?! For what purpose? Did he accidentally pull it off and want her to put it back on? But then why would he hand her a flower with it? Where did he get the flower anyway? It was so pretty and delicate looking. If she touched it would the petals fall off? Oh! Is that what happened to Mala? Did he touch-- no...

The elf blinked at it in growing confusion and glanced questioningly up at him.

She could see by the expression in his eyes that he wanted her to take it. Pleaded with her to take it. She looked back down at the flower and mysterious feather. Then it dawned on her: maybe he was giving her a gift as a token of his affection? Just as she'd given him a kiss as a gift. That gift hadn't been wrapped in paper and strings like her new dress had been but was something special from her to him, just as his feathers were special. He was giving what he could. If that was the case, then she'd better stop tarrying or she would hurt his feelings! Every added second that passed would only make it seem like she was spurning it.

"Thank you for your gift," she said at last, gracefully accepting the strange parcel with a hesitant, unsure, yet determinedly bright smile. Now what should she do with it? Them. The flower she could tuck behind her ear, but the feather? She pressed a finger to the tip and saw that the blood had dried. It was too late to reattach it. The elf was too tired out from her earlier feats to try anyway. But maybe Mala wanted her to keep them together because they meant something like that. But what could she do with them? Pencaliel continued to sit there with the flower and feather held reverently in her hands, deliberating.

Oh, she wasn't good at this trying to figure things out on her own yet! With a defeated huff, the elf turned her eyes upon Mala once more and asked apologetically, "What would you like me to do with them?"

 

[Kaisaan]

She didn't.....understand.

The realization sent a sinking feeling to the pit of his stomach, the nerves fading in a wash of disappointment and yet, the dragonkin could not feel anger. Discouraged, yes, but not upset. In truth, and he should have expected such, how was Pencaliel to know of his own raising, the culture of his people? It hadn't been something he'd ever really discussed with her and any mention of the Sidhe had been in a negative light...and yet, he'd suddenly just known she'd make sense of his gesture? Mala's eyes dropped as embarrassment curled hot and unpleasant through him and he seemed to curl inward as if he could distance himself from it if he just refused to acknowledge its existence. He'd been stupid.

Again.

A foolish child expecting the world to comprehend the twists and turns his mind made without taking into account reality. Pencaliel lived in that world, though, the one he seemed to struggle so much in, and she was waiting for him to explain this to her in a way she could understand. Mala couldn't find the words. They were simple, he knew, so very simple, but they wouldn't come off his tongue, wouldn't even form. Gold eyes hid behind a ragged curtain of white, the dragonkin's expression troubled and while he didn't withdraw his wing from the little elf, it was restless in her hold, feathers shifting here and there, the muscles beneath tensing and relaxing in turns. The body once relaxed and pliable against Pencaliel was now quivering with nerves, abuzz with thoughts churning below his skin, his mind not enough to contain them.

Such simple words. Such a simple explanation. Why couldn't he say it?

Where had the confidence from only a moment ago gone? Like so many times before, it had vanished when he needed it most, a fleeting entity he even now did not fully understand and could not force to stay. That, more than anything was the greatest frustration. He didn't want to be a child anymore! He wanted--he was a man and today he'd felt like one, had felt....had known it was time to do what had been in his heart for awhile now. All the affectionate gestures Child did so innocently, they'd always meant something just a little more than they should have. Animal had known long before either Child or Man what was going on, but that part of him hadn't needed permission, hadn't needed thought or explanations to react as it had known was fit for any situation. To that side of himself, rituals meant nothing.

Pencaliel was Animal's mate and that was all that part of him needed to know or cared about.

Sometimes it was tempting to let everything be that simple. He'd been letting it be that simple until now. Seeing the complexities of Pencaliel's emotions, however, having seen the changes in her just from the night before and into today, Mala had come to realize something important; he wanted to change, too. He wanted....more. He wanted the Druid who currently sat at his side. He'd always known that, of course, but today, watching her, it had become not just an expected thought, but a true knowledge. If he could come to understand that his heritage was not evil, if he could start over with a new father, be washed clean by the Light, if he could himself start to see the man he could become - the one Hothrangrath had said he could be, the one Kolmar encouraged daily - then....maybe.....

He wanted Pencaliel at his side, always, to be his and his alone if she'd have him. Maybe, if he could be the man he was supposed to be, if he could change as much as he had.....just maybe he could have the little elf he loved more than life itself. Just maybe, if he could get this right, she would say yes. She would marry him.

Gold eyes flickered down to clawed hands, watching his fingers curl into his palms, but he didn't draw blood. Pain was not the answer here and Pencaliel would be distressed if he resorted to it. The fact that he wanted to at all, however, only discouraged him further and the dragonkin could imagine he felt a shadow brush at his mind, a reminder of what he'd been and could very well be again. A shudder passed through a lithe frame, felt all the way from head to wingtips and Mala bit back a soft whimper before it could form, feeling Animal draw closer, ready to intervene before it would let chaos to rule his mind. Fangs sank into a lower lip. Why couldn't he get this right?

Have you sought help?

The Voice and the gentle Light that came with it were unexpected, but not frightening and Mala stilled, relaxing a little despite himself in trust, in relief. He didn't have to answer in words for the Voice to continue, a faint chuckle in the words speaking to amusement. It is not so hard a thing to ask for that which has already been given. The words are in your heart to say, My son.

But he couldn't find them! Mala's eyes closed tight, feeling the burning sting of tears that he didn't want to fall. Pencaliel had to be worried enough for his silence, his reactions as it was. He didn't want to alarm her further, but his chest ached and his stomach was in knots, something lodged in the back of his throat, words perhaps, but he couldn't seem to untangle them enough to form sentences.

The Light understood. Without the dragonkin ever saying a word, inward or outward, it understood and Mala breathed a shaky inhale and the same kind of exhale as warmth sought to ease the anxiety twisting tight within him. You must speak.

I can't! I don't know what to say! He wanted to! He wanted to say so much, he always had, but the words wouldn't come. They never truly did. His silence was not always born of uncertainty, not always crippled by instinct, not even hindered by a lack of understanding, but for the simple reason that the words could not make it past his throat. They did not even attempt to touch his lips. The Sidhe had done their damage well and thoroughly, and though the Darkness could no longer be found in him, the scars still could. Inside and out. Some forms of conditioning would take far longer to die than others, and speech had never come easy to the dragonkin.

The Voice knew it too, of course, and the directions that came next were gentle but firm. Look to Pencaliel and the words will come.

Somehow Mala knew those would be the last pieces of guidance to come from the Light and now it was up to him to refuse or obey. The uncertainty and frustration within him balked at the idea of facing the little elf head on without any kind of plan....but then, he HAD possessed a plan...and it had failed. Completely. It had been a certain course of action, hatched throughout the day, carefully executed....and Pencaliel had not known what it meant in the least. He'd had a plan and it had gotten him nowhere. What more harm could acting without one do to the situation? Mala's wings shifted, feathers released of their stillness, fluttering against Pencaliel's body where they made contact with her skin and finally the dragonkin turned his head to her. Molten gold met soft brown and he felt the tightness within him ease, a breath steadier than the last flooding his lungs....and he understood.

Pencaliel was the words. She always had been. Somehow, throughout all their time together, she'd been able to put voice to the things he felt. The Creator had promise the words would be there when he looked at the Druid and they were. She was.

The uncertainty left, draining away as if it had never been and the dragonkin searched the brown eyes that watched him so attentively. His fingers reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear and then lingered against her cheek, the backs stroking her skin gently as he gave a sigh and tilted his head. It was a gesture rather familiar to them both, a way to communicate that he was stuck, unable to understand something....but it wasn't the Child who finally asked the question. It was Man drinking in her expression, awaiting her words, wanting her to understand what he was asking and what he was trying to say in the asking. She had always been his words.

"Pencaliel, how do Elves become mates?"

 

[Lady Alainn]

Pencaliel watched in horror as Mala's anxious countenance grew hopeful, froze, then crumpled into a mass of disappointments. Her eyes widened in surprise and dismay. What had she said this time? Had she offended him? She hadn't meant to! "Mala..." the whispered name barely left her lips before she dropped the flower to her lap and settled her hand on Mala's knee. "Mala, what is it?" But he wasn't listening to her. He wasn't even registering her touch. Mala always responded to her touch! The gold eyes blinked unseeingly and the dragonkin curled up into himself, his body convulsing in some emotional turmoil, just as he used to under the Darkness's influence.

No! This sudden turn was all her fault. Somehow. It had to be. He'd been different today: confident, happy, inquisitive, laughing. He'd been the Mala Pencaliel always knew was there hiding underneath the wounds and scars. The Mala she desperately wanted to know. And now... the elf maid had only asked a simple question and he'd reverted back. So far back. The struggle on Mala's face was undeniable. He was fighting and Pencaliel could do nothing to help him. Kolmar would be furious. She was furious! Tears burned just beneath the surface and her throat constricted, robbing her of her voice. Her hand pressed harder against his knee, hoping it would bring him back, worried she couldn't reach him this time, waiting for any sign that he was winning the battle.

At last, after a few painful moments, it came. The gold eyes rose to seek hers and the elf found herself releasing a long sigh of relief as his hand caressed her cheek. Her eyelids briefly fluttered closed and she leaned into his touch. Water leaked from the corner of her eye as the pressure to cry abated. He'd come back. But why had he gone in the first place? The answer came soon enough with his quiet question. Elves... mates? Light dawned within her eyes.

"Oh, Mala. Is that what this is?" Pencaliel scooped up the flower and feather once more and gazed down at them with a deeper appreciation than before. She pressed the blossom to her lips and kissed it lightly. Setting it aside, the elf rose to her knees and wrapped her arms around Mala's neck. A smile broadened across her features. How did elves become mates? She could go into great depth on that question and explain how parents arranged betrothals at birth. She could go on and describe the ceremony that takes place when the female comes of age and the male appears before her father to ask his blessing. When it is given, he then departs to make a home for his new bride and only comes back when it is finished to claim her. Another ceremony then takes place where the bride dresses in her best gown and makes a beautiful flower circlet and the whole town gathers around her parents' home where they escort her to the town center. Here the father passes off her hand to her new husband's under the approval of two witnesses. Then bride and groom rush off to the home the groom has prepared with all of the townsfolk following close on their heels. When they get to the house, both fathers say a blessing over the home, everyone celebrates with wine and special treats, then the bride tosses her flower circlet as the groom carries her into their house and---

Pencaliel could directly answer his question with all of these details, but they did not apply to her. Elflings born of unapproved marriages were no better than bastards and could not be betrothed even if they wanted to. But Pencaliel did not want to. Not anymore. She wanted Mala. And he wanted her. Her forehead lowered to meet Mala's and her nose nuzzled against his.

"When my mother and father chose each other," she murmured, "they didn't follow the tedious elven traditions and I'm a bastard child because of that. The elvish customs can't apply to me, so I suppose I am free to do whatever I want. I would like to have the consent of two witnesses, though. Out of respect for my parents. But in answer to your unasked question... yes, Mala. I want to be your wife."

With that said, what came next was only natural. Though her breath quickened and her heart raced, Pencaliel had no qualms in following her instincts and her lips found his as easily as a bird returning home.

 

[Kaisaan]

Mala knew the moment she understood what he was asking, what he was trying to say because it came through in Pencaliel's eyes. Someone had once said that the soul came through in the eyes and the dragonkin had found that no less than true where the little elf was concerned. She could express so much with her gaze and what Mala saw now stole his breath even before her words could, before even her touch, so gentle and affectionate. Oh, but what wondrous words they were once she'd uttered them, confirming what his heart had most longed for!

She wanted to be his! She wanted to be his mate! His wife!

The dragonkin could have soared into the heavens as she accepted his request, accepted him, and his wings still wouldn't have been able to carry him as high as his heart was in that moment. Even the sun's heat could not have compared to the warmth that enveloped him as the elf's lips touched his own and a brightness filled his head, drowning out anything but the sensation of Pencaliel and the taste of her against his mouth. Mala had imagined their last kiss to be unlike anything he'd ever felt before - and it had been - but this was something far different, awakening a pleasure that shuddered through his body, sending tingling ripples down to every last feather. Mala wasn't sure when his hands had risen, cradling Pencaliel's head, his fingers disappearing into her hair or why his wings had risen, half-wrapping around the elf, but he understood that his head was spinning and he didn't care.

He knew that Pencaliel tasted of herbs and smelled like fresh rain. He knew that her fingers were caught in the hair at the nape of his neck and he wanted to croon with the pleasant feeling, wanted to growl possessively into her caress and tell her how very much and how very long he'd wanted her. Mala knew her body was warm against his own, her lips like fire against his own and he knew that air was no longer necessary, not if it took him from her. It was unfortunate that the last was not true because the dragonkin found himself pulling back from Pencaliel reluctantly, much sooner than he wished, drawing in air that was heated between them, her scent intoxicating his senses as he breathed her in, forehead resting against her own.

Mala could feel her trembling just as he was, but for the first time it didn't feel like a bad thing and the dragonkin smiled, exhaling in a gust as soft laughter welled up within him, released in that exclamation of amusement. Gold eyes looked to fawn-brown then and Mala's gaze could not have been more adoring in that moment.

"I suppose I must marry you now." It was a tease in reference to what she'd told him on the day she'd given him her first kiss and he'd asked for another. Such things were for her husband, Pencaliel had said....and Mala had no problems with that idea. The thought brought desire back into his eyes, but when the dragonkin leaned forward and finally kissed the little elf of his own choice it was a slow action, far more tender than the last kiss, gently drinking her in, pouring all he felt into Pencaliel. Touch had always been the dragonkin's way of speaking. When Mala drew back again, his fingers moved to caress her cheek and he searched her eyes as if she were the most beautiful creature in the world and he'd never seen anything like her before.

To the dragonkin, she was far more than that.

"I love you, Pencaliel."

Such simple words, but Mala could not have meant them more as his wings wrapped more fully around the Druid and he nuzzled his nose against her own, content to simply hold her until she said otherwise. Forever if she would allow.

 

[Lady Alainn]

---

As soon as Malachi and Pencaliel trotted safely out of sight, Kolmar turned on his heel and rushed back to the campsite, intending to pick up the goblin trail and follow Nekia. He'd already trampled the coals and scuffed as many of their footprints as possible before heading out in search of the young ones in case the hunting party stumbled across their shelter before the Guide could successfully lead them away. Notorious scavengers and trackers as they were, such tactics wouldn't permanently deter them, but the mad scramble to make sense of the tracks and scents should at least buy enough time for Malachi and Pencaliel to get out of harm's way before the creatures picked up any kind of trail.

Kolmar frowned. He did not like the idea of leaving those two by themselves. Oh, it had nothing to do with whether he thought they were capable of surviving against a goblin raiding party-- Kolmar had been privy to Malachi's impressively lethal power when they had been waylaid by the trolls after all-- but if their relationship could withstand another test so soon. All it would take was one more dark turn of the elven maiden, one last flash of anger, to either send her running or Malachi or both. Both of them were fragile. Both of them were volatile. Neither one of them had a stable buffer to calm the tide if things got out of hand. He did not want to leave them by themselves. He did not want to chance losing his son so soon. But neither would he allow these goblins to hunt them down like animals. The dwarf could only trust and hope that the lass had learned enough this morning to regain her confidence and her wealth of compassion.

And so he trudged on.

He half-expected to find a healthy number of goblin scouts poking and prodding around the camp when he returned, but the air surrounding the place was as still as when he'd left it, though an involuntary clenching in his stomach told him something wasn't right. The dwarf's frown deepened into a scowl as he reached behind him to draw Ikspar off his back. Sharp blue eyes roved across the ground and picked up evidence of scrounging goblins here and there. Scattered coals suggested a scout had dug through the remains of the fire and thrown chunks aside after sniffing them. Four-toed prints danced across the spot where Malachi and Pencaliel had slept the night before. A shrub had been ripped off its roots on the outskirts of the clearing. Other minimal damage jumped out from the bark of trees and cried out from the trampled earth. Only a small search party had pulled off from the main group to investigate here, perhaps half a dozen goblins? Holding the war-hammer like a staff, Kolmar warily advanced upon the scene and stabbed at the clumps of debris at his feet, counting the number of prints he could see, determining where they had entered the camp and where they left. His blood chilled in apprehension.

They were still here.

Now he could see them as well as feel them. Yellow eyes glinted in the shadows of a tree to his left. He stared at them defiantly. They blinked, widened, then withdrew with a rustle of leaves. Then it came. The tell-tale laughter echoing... no. He was surrounded. Kolmar grit his teeth and glanced to his left and right. Yellow eyes blinked gleefully in all directions as fanged mouths opened wide with cackles. "Right, let us get this over with," he grunted, his eyes growing murderously dark. Not one of these yellow-bellied creatures would make it back to the main group to report their findings if he could help it. A particularly gangly goblin lumbered from his left with its spear raised, screeching at the top of its lungs. In response, the seven footmen following brandished their own weapons and charged with horrifying squeals. Ikspar firmly in his grasp, Kolmar swivelled to meet the quickly advancing goblin just as it reached striking range. The butt of the war-hammer connected with the goblin's gut in a sickening thump. Green limbs flailed as the limp body soared to the edge of the clearing.

Ikspar swung back, and with a powerful rippling of dwarven muscle, the mighty war-hammer barrelled through the air until it connected with the next five goblins, knocking one, two, three, four heads off of shoulders like golf balls. The fifth sailed back to join its kin, a gaping hole in its chest. Five down, one scrambling, two more... A spear hissed past his ear, almost grazing his shoulder. His eyes narrowed. The last two had taken positions for ranged attacks. Lifting Ikspar horizontally above his head, the shaft connected with a second spear aiming for his head just as the first goblin rallied its spirits and charged. Ikspar lowered to deflect the blow. The head of the spear caught on Ikspar's shaft and yanked. Kolmar grit his teeth. His foot shifted slightly to give him better balance. Another spear whizzed by dangerously close. Three against one, the odds fell in his favour. Down went Ikspar to throw the goblin off balance, the creature squealing and stumbling forward as Kolmar bashed it with his head. But he didn't stop there. The momentum of the hammer kept him going and the dwarf let it swing wide in only his left hand to spin him around as he grabbed a spear sticking up out of the dirt with his right. Hoisting the crude instrument high, Kolmar sought the first spear-thrower and lobbed the spear in its direction. It burrowed deep into its chest as it propelled the corpse back into the remaining goblin.

The dwarf took this opportunity to lower Ikspar and redirect his attacks. But he shouldn't have. Instead of attacking, the last goblin decided to run and the force of the other archer's body only propelled it forward.

"Oh no, ye don't!" Kolmar bellowed with rage. Without thinking, he raised Ikspar above his head, loosely aimed, and threw the war-hammer end-over-end to smack! into the retreating back. One last ghastly scream rent the air before quiet settled over the wood once more. Kolmar brushed his hands on his tunic and marched over to the goblin to reclaim Ikspar. He stepped on the bloody rump and yanked the hammer free from sickly green flesh in one fluid motion. The war-hammer quickly received a rub-down with a handkerchief before it was restored to its home on the dwarf's back.

Now to see what had become of the rest of the hunting party.

Not far out from the clearing Kolmar found hundreds of tiny goblin prints rushing in all different directions. Scorch marks marred several trees and one bush was completely shrivelled. He laughed. Nekia must have put on enough of a show to get their full attention. Good! Perhaps they would successfully divert the hunting party from the wounded dragonkin after all. The dwarf rolled his muscles in a brief stretch before locking them into place for a comfortable trundle to follow the wide path the goblins made across the mountainside in pursuit of the hound woman. When she doubled back to camp to throw them off completely, Kolmar would be ready to eliminate the stragglers.

But wait! What was this? Barely a quarter of a mile into his hike the prints veered off in different directions. Roughly a third to a half of hunting party's tracks broke off to head towards the stream while the rest continued away from it. Cold sweat began trickling down his neck and beaded across his forehead. Malachi! They must have scented his injuries! But how? When? Kolmar skidded to a stop, his heart thumping madly. Oh, curses, what a dilemma! To follow the angel as planned and help keep the majority of the party distracted or go after his son and the maiden? The whole point of this excursion had been to keep the goblins from scenting the wounded bird. Nekia, though alone, was resourceful. Beyond resourceful. Malachi could be... Kolmar did not want to think what Malachi could be. Especially if the Druid...

That settled it. Without a second thought, Kolmar took off down the secondary path towards the stream-- this time at a mad run.

---

Warmth curled from her toes to the quivering tips of her ears at Mala's words. Marry her. Yes, yes he must marry her and make sure she never ran again. And if she did, then he had to follow. Not even her temper could sever their bond after they uttered their binding vows. Together. Belonging. She would never be alone again. Never. The thought almost had her whimpering in relief. Or did she actually? She couldn't remember nor did she care, not as Mala's lips pressed against hers once more. Pencaliel melted into the dragonkin's second kiss, so sweet, so gentle, coaxing the millions of butterflies to stop their flutterings and squirmings long enough to savour each tingling sensation down her spine and the feel of Mala's body so firm and solid, so right, beneath her own. Despite the odd trills in her lower stomach and the faint wisps of pain and alarm echoing in her memories, Pencaliel desperately yearned to explore this new avenue to its fullest possibilities.

'If only...'

When Mala pulled back once more it was too soon and yet just in time. This time the Druid did whimper in protest, her fingers still caught in his hair at the nape of his neck and refusing to let go. Her eyes searched his face, pleading in their own subtle way for another kiss even while they drank in the love and adoration pouring out from his. As he spoke tenderly and gathered her in closer, the charged tension drained reluctantly from her body and she obediently relaxed into his hold. He loved her. With everything she'd done, with everything she was, Mala loved her with a dedication and an intensity the little elf had never been able to even dream off. It stole her breath away. And her voice. Her expression softened into one of pure contentment and bliss and she bumped Mala's nose affectionately, sneaking in an accidental kiss as her smiling lips brushed against his mouth.

With all of this kissing, today had best be her wedding day or she'd find herself breaking her word! Pencaliel giggled to herself and pulled back from Mala's embrace just enough to bring his face into focus again. Her eyes sparkled with mirth and a multitude of affections. "Mala? Do you think Kolmar and Nekia would stand witness for us tonight?"

"Not unless you clean yourselves up a bit first, I won't!" the dwarf lord's laughing voice rang out. Pencaliel shrieked and almost jumped out of her skin! Her heart hammered in her ears and pounded in her head, drowning out everything except the rush of adrenaline shooting ice all throughout her body. Reflexes took control and forced her to her feet, back to the wall of the shallow cave, eyes wide as saucers, and a scarlet blush descended upon her whole body. There, leaning ever so casually on the head of his war-hammer at the mouth of the cave, stood Kolmar. How long he'd been there she didn't know, but the relief and joy on his bearded face still lingered. "Forgive me," he said quickly with a low bow, "I did not mean to startle you so, lass. But after fearing... no, we will not speak of that. Please, carry on and when Malachi's hair is taken care of, then I will consider what I overheard, eh?" Another beaming smile broke through the thick beard and Kolmar backed away, still chuckling to himself, to unpack his supplies and set up camp.

Pencaliel trembled where she stood, her breath coming in short gasps as she tried to rein herself back in. As much as she had been frightened by Kolmar's sudden appearance, the logical side of herself had to admit his timing was impeccable and much needed. Mala wasn't her husband yet and she'd been feeling particularly curious ever since that knee... Her cheeks flared up again and she bit her lip before risking a glance in Mala's direction. Kolmar was right. Mala desperately needed a hair cut. How had she forgotten? Something about goblins and marriage proposals... The Druid sank down onto her knees once more to dig through the small pack leaning against the wall near her. Being able to set her mind on a single task helped immeasurably in regaining control of her racing heart and curious tinglings in curious places. It didn't take long for her to find the small knife and hold it up sheepishly for Mala to see.

"Shall we follow Kolmar's advice?"

Since trimming Mala's hair seemed to be in their way for getting married tonight, Pencaliel was determined to take care of it immediately.

 

[Kaisaan]

Her question was an important one and while it had surprised him even if it shouldn't have, Mala found he wanted to answer it, not shirking from the prospect. The opportunity, however, was stolen quite suddenly by an equally unexpected voice behind them. Somehow the dragonkin's senses had missed the dwarf, drowning as they'd been in Pencaliel, but now they reared up sharply, information flooding him in a nearly overwhelming wave that saw Animal rising and Man letting him do so, both taking up space in his head to meet this threat.

Only it wasn't-

Pencaliel's shriek caused Mala to jump rather violently, but with both Man and Animal so firmly working together, there was no room for Child as well and that side of him didn't rear up, didn't elicit a fear response but rather a protective one and he'd spun around on his heels in a crouch, a growl threatening his throat and a hum of energy in his palms, a pressure searing hot beneath his skin, the glow in his eyes barely kept in check as logic caught up with what instinct already knew; there was no threat.

There was only his Athair.

Powerful wings that had spread to shield Pencaliel from any possible attack, any projectile, slowly lowered, folding against his back and the ready tension in his limbs drained away, leaving a shaky adrenaline, but no fear as he took in the dwarf's words with a slightly sheepish feeling creeping over his skin. Gold eyes ducked down to the cave floor, somehow feeling like he'd overstepped somehow without being in trouble for the fault. It was a strange thing to comprehend, making him more nervous than Kolmar's actual words did and it was only Pencaliel's question, equally as hesitant and yet hopeful, that brought his gaze back up....and then a smile returning to his lips. She looked just as nervous as he suddenly felt and Mala found it instantly endearing, and somehow settling as he gave a nod and sat back down, watching her approach. It wasn't until Pencaliel was ready to move around behind him that the dragonkin suddenly reached out, his larger hand catching her small one, gently coaxing her down to his level wordlessly, confident that she'd do as he was asking because if there was anything the little elf understood it was him.

She understood even when she doubted that she could and he loved her all the more for it.

The moment she came level with him, Mala smiled, but didn't speak a word as he moved forward once more and his lips found hers in a gentle kiss, sweeter than the others, confident before he drew back again. It was only then that his cheeks flared with some color and the dragonkin searched the soft brown eyes that looked back at him with some embarrassment, but no small amount of happiness.

"Don't cut it too short. Please?"

Perhaps not the words he should have said, but that was what came out and Mala gave Pencaliel an almost shy smile, fully able to kiss her again just because he wished to, but suddenly unsure about a simple request. There was really no rhyme or reason to the way his mind worked at times and while normally the dragonkin found it confusing and frustrating, in that moment he didn't mind. He was calm, his thoughts lazy and his body reflecting it; wings demure against his back, only fluttering here and there with life of their own and his muscles lax after the scare Kolmar had given them, the dwarf's presence only confirming further that they were safe. There was nothing to be agitated about and the ever-shifting reactions within him as his healing mind tried to sort through all the fragments of who he'd been and who he was and who he could be didn't feel all that concerning right now.

With Pencaliel he was safe to be who he was, confident or shy, scared or bold, happy or sad, adult or child. She wanted him all the same and with that knowledge came a gentle freedom that saw the tension removed from his reactions, the subtle fear that he'd do something wrong to change her mind about him absent. With that weight lifted came different facets of the dragonkin, different from each other, but not shifting too abruptly, more in harmony than they'd ever been before....even if one moment it was confidence he radiated and the next it was hesitation over asking for his hair to be kept long.

"I know it needs to be cut. I just....I like when you....it's...." Now he was blushing, nearly as red as Pencaliel had gone a moment before and Mala looked down again, said ragged hair falling forward to hide some of his expression and the dragonkin made no effort to move it....though, he did give a slightly helpless, exasperated sigh aimed entirely at himself. And there went the surety he'd been feeling. Such a fickle thing it still was.

"Just do what you think is best." Better to trust her than to keep stumbling over himself trying to convey something he couldn't find the words to properly say.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Kissing was the best thing in the whole world, Pencaliel decided. And if she didn't have her dragonkin's hair to cut and a brief ceremony to talk a couple of friends into before bed time, the elf most certainly would have wrapped her arms around Mala's neck once more and slid into his lap to continue this game of who could give the most kisses in an evening. As it was, the sun still continued its downward path into the waiting arms of the horizon and she would lose her light soon if they didn't get on with it. Pencaliel reluctantly straightened up to carry on with her task, but the sudden flush across Mala's cheeks stayed her feet and she tilted her head curiously, a smile playing about her lips.

"Yes, Mala? What is it?" Her amusement only grew with his hesitancy to make his simple request. Not too short? The Druid bit back a laugh as he tried to stammer through an explanation, gave up, and huffed in frustration, the desire he was trying to express all too clear to her with the continuing reddening of his features. Stepping around his wings to his back, Pencaliel tucked the small knife into her waistband and gently wove her fingers into his hair.

"You like it when I do this?" she chuckled softly, running her fingertips along his scalp. On the second pass through, the elf curled her fingers to gently tug his head back and planted a light kiss on his forehead. "I think I can oblige. Does shoulder-length sound good?" She waited for Mala's approval before untangling her fingers from the clinging white strands. Then Pencaliel slowly worked through the matted areas in an effort to straighten them to see what she was working with. The shortest section fell just under his jaw but she could make do with the rest. She slipped the knife out again and tucked her bottom lip between her teeth as she concentrated on trimming off the hacked and slashed ends. Nervous though the elf was at conducting her first hair cut, she was equally determined, and the clumps of white hair fell to her feet at an impressive rate.

The elf stepped back to view her handiwork. Mala's hair looked even enough to her and certainly much better than his own attempt to slice it off. It just needed a bit of floofing to hide some of the snarls still remaining. She ruffled his hair affectionately. "There! All done!" She tiptoed around to view him from the front, positively beaming. "You look very handsome." And he did. Very, very handsome. Especially when he sat there gazing at her so... Pencaliel shyly lowered her eyes to stare down at the knife in her hands. Her toes curled and a light prickle of pleasure flushed down the back of her neck. "Very handsome," she repeated hoarsely. "I like it when you smile."

Just outside the cave entrance, Kolmar's heavy footfalls could be heard tromping around the fire Mala had built. Iron clashed against iron as the dwarf presumably extricated the small cauldron and its stand from his pack to set it up. Pencaliel's stomach growled. She hadn't eaten anything since midday and their meals had been noticeably sporadic since leaving Naazgard. Needless to say, she suddenly felt quite hungry. The elf dropped to her knees to put away the knife, spilling some of the leftover herbs and wild roots she'd collected for yesterday's stew onto the ground. "Oh!" She scrambled to capture them before they could escape. They couldn't afford to lose their seasonings for the next meal or two! They were high enough up the mountain now and autumn had settled so quickly upon the land that such vegetation was scarce. Vegetation, trees, flowers, plants of any description for that mat...

Wait!

"OH!" Pencaliel dropped the root in her hand as her eyes widened in horror. Flowers! They-- or she, rather-- needed to find enough for a flower circlet! How could she have forgotten such a crucial thing? An elf maiden wasn't a bride without one! Her limbs trembled with the rush of adrenaline and excitement. "Mala! We need flowers!" Pencaliel left the remaining leaves scattered on the cave floor and, without another word, skittered off into the woods in search of suitable blooms. She only hoped the settling autumn winds hadn't eradicated them all yet!

 

[Kaisaan]

There would have been a time when Pencaliel's movement toward his back, her ease in stepping between his wings would have been met with tension and uneasy observation if not outright avoidance by the dragonkin, but if Mala felt anything now it was an anticipatory shiver at the prospect of the little elf's touch. When her fingers came into his hair, not simply to start cutting, but in a caress, his eyes closed in immediate response and a soft, but clearly appreciative growl teased at his throat before his head was tilted back. Liquid gold eyes opened languidly to view Pencaliel, utter adoration swimming contentedly through their depths before she spoke and was rewarded with a smile from the dragonkin.

It was all the approval the Druid needed before Mala tilted his head forward again and sat compliantly while she worked. It was rather easy to stay still, feeling her work and it was only his eyes, watching the white pieces of mane fall to the cave floor, that flickered here and there, far more going on in his head than his body would have suggested, relaxed and peaceful under Pencaliel's hands.

By the time the little elf was done, there was more hair on the floor than currently adorned his head and Mala looked at it for a long moment as Pencaliel finished up, almost convinced he could see a dark memory in each individual strand of dirty white. They had been a part of him, and perhaps they still were, but now he had the choice to cast those memories aside....just as he'd done his hair and the symbolism was not lost on the dragonkin. He felt lighter and it was more than the lack of weight pulling at his head.

It was....relieving.

A hand ruffled his hair, a different motion than the careful preening from before and the dragonkin looked up just as Pencaliel came around, her very face bringing a smile to his own. She was so proud of her work, of what she'd done and she didn't even know the half of it, how much she'd really helped. It was little wonder he loved her so much and Mala didn't try to keep the emotion from shining through in his expression, smile widening at the compliment. He wanted to see Pencaliel's handiwork, but for now the way she looked at him.....that was more than enough.

And then his little Druid was dropping something, scrambling around on the ground to collect what had fallen, and the spell was broken, bringing amusement to Mala's face as he started forward to help - and then froze again. Gold eyes blinked in utter confusion, uncomprehending as the elf said perfectly clear words he knew, but in a context he did not understand.

"Flowers?"

The perplexed, quiet question was lost to the emptiness of the shallow cave because the female was already gone. Mala tilted his head, a frown crossing his features as he tried to figure out what Pencaliel could want with flowers. He'd given her the one to try and ask her for marriage in the fashion of his own people, but she hadn't understood. So how could she want flowers now if they hadn't meant anything to her before? What was he missing......and was he missing more besides? The thought settled uncomfortably in his head even as the dragonkin carefully picked up the forgotten herbs and it was a silent, contemplative dragonkin, his wings pulled close and still shedding a few pieces of hair here and there with movement that stepped out of the cover and approached Kolmar.

It was when he was nearly upon the smaller being that Mala finally looked up and a wisp of hair, much shorter than he was used to, brushed across his eyes. The reminder brought a sense of self-consciousness rather quickly to the dragonkin and in truth it was one of the rarer times he could remember feeling suddenly shy, but it hit all the same and Mala slowly met Kolmar's eyes, searching for something he couldn't even name, but very badly wanted to see.

Nothing he'd done had ever pleased Nagoron, but with Kolmar, Mala understood there was at least a chance of approval and he very much wanted it from his Athair in that moment....especially when he needed to talk to the dwarf about something more important, too.

Knowing Kolmar was happy with him....somehow it would make all of this easier.