Looking Through Your Eyes

[Lady Alainn]

"Bounty hunters?" she breathed in sharply. Though she was still willing to trust Malachi not to murder her in her sleep, the thought that he had attracted the attention of bounty hunters unsettled her. According to what she gathered from Rasha, bounties were only placed on the most nefarious of characters. The dangerous individual who needed a "professional" to capture them and bring them to justice. She shuddered, hoping it was Malachi's race alone that subjected him to the attention of not one, but multiple bounty hunters. The tiny voice inside whispered she was a fool if she really believed that. Whatever she was-- lonely, powerful, vulnerable, majestic-- the maiden was not a fool.

The last of the roots and vegetables she'd been slicing fell under her knife and with one swift motion, she lifted the cutting board out of the counter and slid the back of her knife across it to send the chopped pieces plunging into the little pot hanging above the fire. Malachi began speaking again, his words like little whispers crawling over her skin and sending tingles down her spine. One look down at her arms confirmed that the hairs were standing on end. Closing her eyes for a moment, she willed her heartbeat to slow and her breath to settle. Fear sought to enter into her thoughts again, but she quickly shut the door on it. "He is my guest," she whispered reassuringly.

A sudden scuffle of noise on her porch sent adrenaline pulsing through her veins as she about jumped out of her skin. The Druid held her knife firmly in one hand, returned the board into its slot on the counter with her other, and silently crept to the nearest window. What she found had her chuckling in relief. Wryn had found Lyle. The six-toed, duck-billed sloth was just rolling onto his paws again from crashing onto her deck. Wryn was furiously fluttering about the creature's head, pecking his ear and chirping something about the clumsiness of the large sloth. Wiping the few droplets of perspiration from her forehead with the back of her hand, the maiden returned her knife to her belt and narrated the scene for Malachi. The interruption was a welcome one. She wanted something, anything, to take her mind off of Malachi, the bounty hunters, and the way he spoke about the Darkness.

"Lyle must have gained a few pounds since his last visit," she mused in bemusement. "The Oak's branches don't hold him as well as they used to. I'm sure you can hear the scolding Wryn is giving him. He's a good creature, though. A truer heart you'll never find. Ah, there he goes with the water bucket. Hopefully he'll return by the time we've finished our meal."

After seeing Lyle off, Wryn flew back into the cottage and settled on her former perch, her beady little eyes never leaving Malachi for a moment.

 

[Kaisaan]

Pen'neth was not the only one who jumped.

Malachi, whether he'd had sight or not, would have been just as startled by the sudden noise as the elven female was. The fact that he couldn't investigate, was already on edge and his ears were hypersensitive were all factors against him as well as it took a bit longer for his heart to stop pounding than it did his host's. He hated the feeling of weakness that washed over him, unable to figure out what was going on, not until he heard Wryn outside about the same time Pen'neth started explaining what had occurred. The male relaxed once more then, but while he was grateful for information, he experienced a flare of bitterness that he needed it at all.

The white-haired dragonkin took a breath, though, and made himself push it away. It wasn't the time, nor the place for such a thing. The elf was jumpy enough around him anyway and he sensed that the sparrow would have loved nothing more than to peck at his eyes until he fled. He wasn't truly welcome here and while that feeling was nothing new - Malachi couldn't remember a time he'd been welcome ANYWHERE - he didn't want to aggravate the situation.

So he forced a closed-mouth smile at the elf's explanation about the sloth and he pretended he didn't feel Wryn's gaze boring little holes in his head and he made his wings lower from their slightly hunched, defensive positions. They quivered with unresolved tension, though, and Malachi knew there was no stopping that.

He'd be better once he was far from this place. It would be better for Pen'neth when he was, too. He'd not lied to her, not in the least, but he'd not spoken everything either, not even close to it. He was far more dangerous to her than she could know, than he wanted her to know, far more danger than he wanted to be.

The sooner he was away from her, the safer she'd be. Malachi knew all this without even truly knowing why he'd chosen to stay here the night. He knew what lurked here, that it had drawn him, but that didn't mean he had to do as it wanted and.....no. No, he shouldn't be thinking about.. It wouldn't make his tension lessen at all and so the dragonkin forced his mind to another topic, hopefully a lighter one.

"So, Pen'neth, have you recalled your name yet?"

 

[Lady Alainn]

The maiden stayed at the window until Lyle's bulk ambled out of view, clutching the wooden bucket's handle firmly between his teeth. By now, the soup in the pot over the fire bubbled merrily as the vegetables floated in and out of the broth. Not needing to occupy herself with anything else at the moment, she crossed the room and knelt down beside Malachi before answering his question. No, she hadn't recalled her name yet and it greatly saddened her. Was she really so lonely here as to forget such an important part of herself? The maiden sunk down onto her rump and pulled her knees up under her chin.

"No," she said in a dejected tone, "it still eludes me. But I have faith--"

Something triggered in the back of her mind. Faith. Why did that sound so familiar? Her eyes brightened. Her name! Of course! Laughing gleefully, she hugged her knees tighter to her chest.

"It's Pencaliel! My name is Pencaliel."

 

[Kaisaan]

Her proximity surprised him immediately. He'd not thought she'd come so close to him now that there was no reason to do so, but the elven maiden was full of surprises it would seem. Surely she'd baffled him with her willingness to help one of his kind at all. He was more than sure Wryn would have praised her for leaving him to bleed out on the forest floor.

Most elves would have and the same could have been said about a dragonkin, as well.

Among the many species of this continent, elves and dragonkin were the most hostile toward each other after The Great War. Perhaps that was because, in truth, they had been close allies and were two of the more powerful creatures upon this land both in numbers - or had been at one point, now the dragonkin were sorely diminished - and in skills. Both possessed power over nature, a strong tie to it and the earth. Dragonkin were masters of the sky, but elven-kind were far more attuned to that which was unseen, the energies of the world. Both species had incredible minds, intelligence that few could rival and among the Kingdoms and cities of their world, their architecture, laws, inventions and armies were beyond compare.

It had all ended with The Great War.

The dragonkin, in their pride, reached too far, flew too high and the elves, who'd once been their allies, their brothers, had shot them down - and rightfully so. But it had caused a bitterness and resentment that had grown to hatred as the years passed. Now the two species, once the greatest of friends, could not stand to be around each other.

The fact that Pencaliel was willing to call him her guest, much less come so near to him....it rather amazed Malachi, though, he tried not to show it. Instead, he smiled a little at her giddy enthusiasm, forgetting for just a moment to hide the edges of his fangs, just visible through his parted lips. "I know elves give meaning to their names, but I am afraid my elven is rather rusty. Would you mind telling me what yours means?"

 

[Lady Alainn]

"I don't mind at all!" Pencaliel beamed. "It means 'Faith Giver' or as I liked to say it, 'Bestower of Faith.'" Her eyes fell on the fang tips peeking from behind his lips and promptly dropped to the tops of her brown toes on her one bare foot. Smile softening, her thoughts drifted back to the first time she'd seen such teeth.

Decades ago, when her mother still lived, the young elfling stumbled across a deadly viper in the wood. It hissed at her, baring its fangs, and sent her crying to her mother. She begged for her mother to kill the wicked creature for it scared her, but the Druid instead took her by the hand and led her back to the serpent. Gently explaining that not all who had the appearance of evil were evil within, she sent her daughter to apologize to the creature for disturbing its rest. Terror had filled her veins as she stepped closer and closer. One step. Two steps. When she was within striking distance, her whole body trembled with fear, but still she pressed on as the viper rose from its coil. Pencaliel could still see the flickering tongue of the serpent in her mind's eye to this day, the blood red ribbon slithering in and out of its mouth. Then she'd noticed the eyes and recognized the fear within them. It was just as scared of her as she was of it! Dipping into an awkward curtsey, the elfling rehearsed the apology her mother had told her to say and found herself delighted as the viper responded with a bow and an assurance that it forgave her. To this day, Pencaliel visited the serpent's family several times a year out of respect for the lesson the old snake had taught her.

In more ways than his fangs, Malachi reminded her of the viper.

Things about him frightened her: his race for starters, the glimpse she'd had of his soul, the unnerving way he spoke of the Darkness, and the numerous reasons he could have attracted bounties. But somehow, even with these points against him, she felt drawn to him. Perhaps it was the sharing of the burden of pain as she had risked her own health to restore life to him. Perhaps it was the subtle pangs of pity that surfaced in the back of her mind when her eyes fell on his sightless gaze or the bleak resignation that sometimes crept into his tone. Perhaps it was his display of honour and his spoken wish to bring her no harm that swayed her to believe he had some goodness in his heart. And yet, perhaps it was all of these things together that counterbalanced her wariness of him and had her yearning to discover who Malachi truly was.

Friend? Or foe?

 

[Kaisaan]

The rest of the evening was pleasant, even as it was clearly cautious. They spoke of nothing truly personal, nothing of importance, carefully steering around from the subject of family on both ends, Pencaliel's reason for being here, why Malachi had been hunted, both topics of their species was clearly off-limits and neither spoke of the power in this woods - though, Malachi could feel it gaining more strength the darker it got outside.

No, they ate their meal - with sincere compliment from Malachi regarding its prep and flavor - and spoke of the forest, or the animals, of where Malachi had been heading before his detour here. That answer was simple enough, though the reasons behind it were not. He'd told the elf it was a mountain city called Havanik on the outskirts of Iruknel where he'd heard rumor a few dragonkin still lived. Malachi had simply voiced that he'd not had contact with his people in a long time and simply wished to know if they were well.

The dragonkin was constantly aware of Wryn's eyes throughout the whole dinner, but he strove to ignore it and felt some relief when Lyle came with the water, allowing the white-haired male to rinse some of the blood and grime off, though, he could not wash fully...and declined any help. There were some lines that Malachi was just not willing to cross. He was grateful for her healing and gently tolerant of her nearness, but the fact remained that the dragonkin did not like to be touched and did not like to be helpless. That wasn't going to change anytime soon.

By the time it came to sleep, there had been an arrangement - insisted on by Malachi - that Pencaliel keep her bed and he would stay a bit more near the fire, not minding the ground in the least. He'd slept on worse. It was perfectly all right with him and when the time came that they retired, the dragonkin fell off to sleep with surprising ease.

Even if he did have a sparrow boring holes into him. He'd slept through a great deal worse.

--

At first, for a few blessed moments, Malachi didn't know what had woken him. The room around him was warm, quiet but for the sound of Pencaliel's deep breathing and he could tell that it was just before dawn's light would creep over the horizon by the faint stirring of a few birds outside, but there was no threat. None that he could smell or hear, and certainly not see, but even so there was danger, such a heady, coiling danger that the hairs on his neck and arms stood on end.

He didn't fear it, though, wasn't even truly alarmed by it and that...that sent off warning bells within the dragonkin.

They didn't stop him from rising, though, with a fluid grace and moving toward the door. How he knew where it was, how he got there without hitting anything, without making a sound, Malachi could not have explained. Nor could he give reason as to how his wings took him to the ground without harm from the trees, letting him land solidly, soundlessly on the forest floor. He couldn't have explained any of it...at least not until the familiar caress traveled over his skin, the whispering brushed his ears, the coy touch of a Darkness so black wisped against his mind. It was then that the dragonkin understand and he found an involuntary sound somewhere between a growl and a purr coming to his throat.

It beckoned him to follow and he did, without thought, without hesitation....for about five steps.

There was a hiss in the whispers then, a warning sound, and Malachi shook his head as if that might rid him of the noise. What was he doing? He KNEW the road this led down! No. No, he didn't want-

He didn't want to see again?

It was a thought, a voice, an impression and the dragonkin stilled, true temptation curling through him, just as it always had since he'd lost his vision. He felt the coils of shadow that gathered around him then, drawn to him just as surely as he was drawn to them and that....Malachi could see. Darkness had never been difficult for him to see, to touch, to hear and losing his physical sight had not changed that. Its thick coils of black darker than midnight twined about him now, caressed his cheek as a lover might and the dragonkin, for a moment, leaned into it, shuddering at the promise it whispered into his ears.

He would not deny that he wanted what it offered, more than anything and the Darkness knew it, could sense its victory...and then just as suddenly, the male was pulling away. "No." One word, rasped and difficult, nearly growled past his teeth, but it was enough and the Darkness shrieked its fury, silencing the forest completely as it whirled around Malachi who stood and let it, knowing it could hurt him, but not fearing it.

No, he was a Son of Darkness. He held no fear of it and with sightless eyes that saw more then any could suspect, he watched the great writhing mass of shadow depart back into the depths of the forest, knowing it had risked a great deal coming here where the one who kept it prisoner resided. It had come for him and he'd denied it - the next time it touched him, it would not with such a friendly invitation.

 

[Lady Alainn]

The moment the dragonkin's feet left the deck of her cottage, icy tendrils probed into Pencaliel's subconscious. Slowly they snaked around her wrists, covering each elegant metal scroll within the design of her bracers with a layer of frost. They paused at the softly glowing gems and then one dark strand poked an emerald hesitantly. Pencaliel shivered in her sleep and felt about unconsciously for another fur. Sluggish thoughts formed as she neared waking. Had the smoldering coals finally gone out from the fire? Was winter already in the air? She should stoke it again to ward off this chill---

Sleep.

A heaviness settled on her eyelids, pressing her back into dreams of nothingness. The tendrils began moving more quickly, gathering in strength as they wrapped over and around the bracers until they finally bolstered enough courage to penetrate the emeralds nestled in the center. Instantly, Pencaliel was alert though not awake. Dark shapes huddled just out of awareness, but she knew they were there. She could hear their whispers.

She's here!

Sleep.

No.

This does not concern you.

Leave.

Sleeeeeeep.

Now.

Shhhhhh..... we just want to speak with the half-blood.

The half-blood? Only one name came to mind. Malachi. Dread filled her as she thrashed against the icy chains, willing herself to awaken. Though the tendrils enveloping the gems upon her arms stunted her connection with Magic, they were by no means strong enough to keep her from summoning it deep within herself. Heat radiated in her core and spread throughout her body, scorching the shadows that sought to distract her. Words burned on her mind, breaking the bonds over the emeralds and unleashing a torrent of flames across the icy strands.

Shadows birthed from Dark and Night,
Release thy grip and turn in flight!
Morning breaks to bring thy doom
Tarry here and it's he thee will lose!

Breaking free from the chains as they hastily retreated into their domain, Pencaliel jolted into wakefulness with the loud cry of "Malachi!" She looked about the grey-lighted cottage wildly for the familiar winged man but he was not there. Wryn, where was Wryn? Pencaliel threw off her blankets and wrapped her arms around her chest to ward off the lingering chill from her dream. Rolling onto the balls of her feet, she sprang up and darted to the opened door. Wryn perched at the edge of the porch, her eye obviously trained on something down below. The Druid joined the sparrow and peered into the misty woods below.

There he stood, almost as if he were in a trance. Again her lips formed his name, but this time no sound came out from them.

'Malachi?'

 

[Kaisaan]

He knew the Darkness had gone when the strange sight he'd been given faded away, leaving nothingness once more and the half-blood - for indeed that was what he was - drew in a breath...and then nearly released it in a scream as his head exploded in pain.

Malachi had been expecting it, had known it was coming but he'd not realized it would hit so soon this time and the feeling drove him to his knees, to his hands as his claws dug into the earth and his wings half-flared, his back arching upward as he tried to draw in ragged breaths, feeling as if every rib was cracking and his spine was breaking. Fire ran through his nerves, but it was nothing compared to the raw agony raking over his mind. Something was searching him and it was not finding what it sought.

The half-blood knew when that exact moment was, when the presence failed to find what it had sensed not just a few moments before, because the pain it sent over him made a choked scream tear itself from his throat and his entire body shuddered with the effort of just staying on his hands and knees, his wings sagging. Dark tendrils were spreading over every feather in rapid, intricate designs, but just as soon as it seemed they'd swamp his wings entirely in pitch black, a surge of white would come over the darkness, washing it away, only for the process to start over again as if there was some internal battle raging, only the symptoms witnessed outwardly.

It has touched you!

No.

I sensed it! Felt it! It is with you, near you!

No. It was firm denial even against the new wave of pain that came over him and the voice raged through his skull, both with blistering heat and scorching cold. WHERE IS IT!? WHERE IS THE POWER?!

The only answer was silence and the presence roared its fury at his defiance, causing Malachi to cry out again, blood dripping from his nose as the pressure, the pain finally departed and he was left shaking, drawing in ragged breaths both from the aftershocks of agony...and with the effort to hold back the sobs so painfully contained in his chest.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Something bad was happening down there, something really bad. Coldness enveloped her once again with an overwhelming dread. Pencaliel dropped to her knees, squinting into the pale morning light, trying to understand why Malachi was down there. Had he summoned the Darkness? Were her original fears to be confirmed? She sniffed the air timidly. The foul presence was no more, though the stench of it lingered in the air, but the sensation of something deadly still lurked nearby. And somehow, the Druid knew the source dwelt within Malachi.

Next thing she knew, the dragonkin was suddenly thrust onto his hands and knees as his body twisted unnaturally. Pencaliel drew back in terror, shielding her eyes from the traumatic sight with the back of a hand. Was the dark power of the forest consuming him? Or was he surrendering to the seductive but deadly whispers of an inner demon? Pencaliel was not sure if she should prepare to confront him or scale down the tree to help him. Help him from what, she did not know, but something inside her told her he was fighting a losing war. But if this was a lure? If he sought to prey upon her compassion to trap her?

'Go to him,' the voice inside prompted her. Unlike the first time the voice spoke to her regarding Malachi, she did not need to be told again. He needed her calming hand, she could hear it in his bloodcurdling cry. Despite Wryn's furious protests, Pencaliel looped the coiled vines around her arms and swung herself over the edge of the deck. A grunt surfaced from her throat as the vines grew taut and jerked her body inches from the ground. Pain seared in her right arm, but she ignored it, tearing her arms free from the entanglements of the vines. By now she was acting purely on instinct. There was no time to think through actions or words.

The dragonkin hunched not too far away, another shudder racked his body. Pencaliel launched herself at him and threw her arms around Malachi's neck without thinking, wedging her body tightly between his wings as one last scream erupted from his throat. She buried her face in his hair, her lips pressed against his ear as she murmured fiercely, "You are strong, Malachi! Take heart and persevere."

Then as suddenly as it had been shattered, silence fell save for Malachi's heaving breaths. For now, his demons had been vanquished. Pencaliel slackened her grip around him as her senses returned to her. The image of his arching back coupled with his screams sent shudders throughout her body. Oh, she wanted nothing more than to draw back, to flee and sleep and forget that horrendous sight! She slipped the rest of the way off his back and sat down on the ground behind him, her whole body shaking. Her arms wrapped around herself as her eyes opened and closed, opened and closed. Whether Malachi's wings or her eyelids floated in front of her eyes, the image was still there. Still vivid.

If only she could forget this morning, the dream, the touch when she first met the dragonkin. If she could erase all the fear, and go back to her innocence! Forget Malachi? Her expression softened. Could she forget the viper?

'You failed the first test,' the voice whispered within. 'Will you fail again?'

Though the raging battle within him subsided, another struggle took its place. His muscles knotted with the tension of unreleased emotion. Ah, the dragonkin. So proud in their strength, yet never seeing that stubborn bottle as the weakness it truly was. She couldn't leave him like this. She couldn't fail Malachi again. Crawling back to him, the Druid laid her head against his back.

"Let it out," she said quietly. "There is no one to see you here."

 

[Kaisaan]

Malachi was far from a stable state of mind, far from truly logical and perhaps that was the only reason that when he became aware of Pencaliel's presence, her touch, he didn't jerk away. Of course, given more thought, that explanation was as equally unsatisfying as it was likely for the half-blood had been subjected to far too many bouts of semi-delirious states and never had he accepted contact so graciously. And certainly never contact so invasive even as it was strangely intimate and encouraging.

His shaking stilled completely for a moment, a long enough moment to draw attention to the increased tension that came over his muscles, his back and shoulders especially where the elf's arms and face rested, and the quiver in his wings was not due to pain, but rather a very deep-rooted fear he couldn't accurately express or even give logic to. But the moment passed as something unnameable and stronger swept through him and Malachi found himself, little by little, starting to let his body relax, shudders wracking through him as Pencaliel's words reached his ears.

No.

He couldn't. He couldn't lose control. He had to keep the wall within him up, strong. If he didn't, if he let even one crack appear, then it would crumble and then....then... No. He couldn't cry.

But he was.

As if the female's words had created a niche within the wall, the tears were leaking through, slow at first, but as the pressure kept building within his chest, Malachi started to struggle more with holding it back....and then he started to forget his reasons for doing so. Pencaliel's presence at his back was comforting in a way he could not fathom, but some deep instinct, long dormant, stirred to feel such a thing, accepted it and finally the half-blood couldn't fight the overwhelming emotions anymore.

Fear and pain, hopelessness and anger were released within the first sob and then the rest as well as Malachi lost some of the fight within him. Just for now. Just here, where no one could see.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Though she had prompted him to let the tears fall, Pencaliel did not expect Malachi to take up her offer. She had expected to be thrown off. Growled at. Given a cold shoulder. Nothing prepared her for the great, heaving sobs that pushed their way from the depths of the dragonkin's person to escape the dungeon of his heart. "Oh, Malachi," she whispered, unable to say more as tears gathered in her own eyes. Pulling back from him, she crawled around to his front where she would not be in the way of his wings and lifted a hand to touch his cheek. It only succeeded in brushing back his white locks before she promptly withdrew her hand.

His face was wet, but tears were not the only reason. Thin streams of blood oozed from his nostrils, creeping around his mouth before snaking down his chin and dripping onto the ground. Pencaliel tore a fragment from the bottom of her blouse but held it in her hand hesitantly, unsure if stopping the flow of blood would halt the shedding of tears as well. Would she offend him, this strong, proud male? In no way did she wish to incite anger from him, but after his refusal of her help on multiple occasions yesterday, she couldn't help but think any attempt on her side to fuss over him might be taken ill.

Yet dragonkin did not weep, and here he was. Shedding tears before a stranger. The maiden folded the cloth in thirds and held a corner to his cheek to dampen it. Then, she carefully wiped away the dribbling blood and pressed the cloth under his nose, murmuring to the cause of the nosebleed in her mother tongue to ask it to stop. When the blood was all wiped up, she guided his head down to rest upon her shoulder, one hand cupped around the back of his head and the other holding the stained garment scrap in her lap. Then she sat still, very still, waiting for the sobs to subside. Even if it took the remainder of the day.

 

[Kaisaan]

Malachi registered Pencaliel's departing touch with something that was not quite panic as that implied a deep, emotional connection to someone, but neither was it calm; something between the two emotions, something yet unidentified. He realized, absently, in that moment that he didn't want her to leave, or rather for her touch to leave. It had been stabilizing, warm and heavy like a blanket, a shelter and despite every reason he had to pull away, the few and mysterious reasons that he had to accept the contact had won over.

Now it was leaving, though, and he felt coldness seep into him in its wake that had nothing to do with the temperature of the forest around them. It went deeper than that, caressing his bones before moving on, far deeper still into the depths of who he was. It started to gain speed, unchecked, until Malachi felt the brush against his face.

He started, surprised, a slight jolt of fear bringing his overwhelmed senses back into sharp focus. The tears and his own breathing had hindered his hearing and his nose was useless right now. The half-blood had not registered the elf's presence before him until he'd felt her touch again and now he stayed still, letting her stop the bleeding. His tears had slowed, threatening to stop altogether with the reappearance of the dark chill, but all it took was Pencaliel gently pulling his head down to bring the pressure of the sobs back. There was a moment's hesitation in releasing them again, but it broke away soon after and Malachi gave in once more to the emotional turmoil within him.

There was no one to see. No one but Pencaliel and somehow, in some way....that was all right.

--

Malachi rarely cried. He could count on one hand how many times he'd wept since becoming an adult. He didn't let tears flow often, but when they did they came hard and fast, though they did not last long. Twenty minutes saw him starting to calm, the ragged, harsh gulps of air starting to turn into shuddering, but smaller inhales, shaky exhales as the tears slowed.

The half-blood shook, his entire frame trembling, but he finally pulled back from the elf slowly. There was no revulsion in his actions, no regret of what he'd done, no urge to push her away to save face. He simply pulled back and took a deep breath, sightless eyes downcast, his expression mostly hidden by the curtain of white, dirty hair. His wings were closely drawn against his back again, perhaps a bit tenser, tighter than usual, but still no hostility in his body-language.

There was apology in his tone, however, when he finally spoke to the elven maiden before him, still not looking up, but not needing to. He wouldn't see her anyway. "It's not safe for you if I stay here any longer. I need to leave your woods, Guardian."

 

[Lady Alainn]

Pencaliel shifted her position without protest as the dragonkin's tears dried and he pulled back. Her feet tingled as life rushed into them again and she grimaced with the pain. She had just managed to maneuver her legs into a kneeling pose when Malachi spoke. Relief, disappointment, and panic all fought for dominance within her. She rejoiced that he wanted to remove his threat from her wood. She sighed that her time of fellowship had come to an end. But the strongest feeling of all was her fear of being alone. Pencaliel did not want to be abandoned. No, not when something unexplained and deadly had happened less than an hour ago. She shivered involuntarily at the memory of the chill that had crept into her dreams. Something had given the Darkness strength. Something had tempted it here. Something had awakened its desires and that something was within Malachi.

"I fear you leaving will not be enough to guarantee safety to the forest's inhabitants," she said quietly. "The Darkness tasted and has seen. It has an insatiable appetite and will stretch its fingers until it touches what it seeks, leaving death in its wake." Pencaliel looked down at her hands in her lap, noticing that her knuckles had turned white and her nails cut deeply into her palms. In fact, her whole body quivered in response to her words.

"I'm-I'm terrified," she whispered in a trembling voice. "What's inside you frightens me. Even now, if I close my eyes, I can still see... still see..." her words broke off as the image of the tormented Malachi played on the back of her eyelids. She inhaled sharply and forced her eyes open again. "I don't-- I don't understand the conflict within you, but its taint is strong. I want you gone. I wish you had never come!" Even as she said the words, she wondered the truth of them. Did she truly want to go back to the way she was yesterday, blissfully unaware of the Darkness' touch, and give up her meeting with Malachi? The memories, yes, if only one could burn memories! But these precious memories just now, of the feel of her skin against his, the sensation of companionship with another being, were they not worth more to her than any ignorant bliss?

In an even softer voice, she continued, "Yet I don't... I don't want you to leave. It's so selfish of me, but I don't want... to be alone... No... Not with the Darkness the way it is now, wandering about as a hungry lion seeking whom it may devour. Whatever it is that caused you to... to... I would be loathe to put you through that again. But I can't bear the thought.... Please, please... You must go, you must. But... I don't want... to be alone."

It was her turn to cry now. Folding down over her legs until she was practically in the fetal position, Pencaliel pressed her face between her thighs as silent tears welled in her eyes and caught in her throat. "I'm... I'm so... scared," came her muffled little whisper. Shame pulsed through her body. How could she dare to ask such a thing of Malachi? "Please, go. Go now!"

 

[Kaisaan]

Her first words could not have been truer if she'd looked directly into his thoughts, had the knowledge he carried and the half-blood brought his teeth together tightly within his mouth, forcing himself to remain silent, to not simply blurt the entire raw, horrid truth to her. The desire to do so struck him out of nowhere and he wondered at it, but couldn't analyze the reaction just yet as his ears stayed attuned to Pencaliel's voice, her words and the emotions within them.

Her admission of fear surprised him.

He'd not thought she would willingly admit that. She had been covering it up rather well since they'd met, but that had been before...all this. He couldn't blame her the fear and hearing he was the cause of it, already knowing that, hardly caused a reaction. Her exclamation at the end did, though, making the half-blood flinch, the motion nearly undetectable, controlled, but the ripple the words caused seeping far deeper, causing more damage than most ever realized.

Malachi was very used to being unwanted, though, and while the words hurt far more than he'd anticipated - he now regretted his breakdown - they were not unexpected and the male started to rise, intending to leave when the elf's words reached him once more. The male froze, uncertain, confused, wary, but he listened, sightless gold eyes eerily pinned to Pencaliel on the forest floor. He didn't know what to do, caught between rejection and a strange, instinctive urge to comfort that left him quivering, wings half raised as if to take off in flight - or maybe to shelter? - and his mind in a whirl of indecision.

She was right; this was his fault and he needed to go. To right it. He wasn't wanted here. But her shuddering breathing, the salt of tears that hit his nose, the vulnerability in her voice all made something lurch within him, and Malachi knew that even if this circumstance had come about in any other way, he would not have been able to move away. Every road would have led him to the moment he moved back down to the ground and without hesitation - astounding himself most of all - pulled the elf into a gentle, but secure embrace against his chest. He didn't have to see her. That same kind of sixth sense that had led him outside this morning now led him to her, though, two entirely separate purposes were involved. His clawed fingers took great care as they found her temple, moving back through her hair from there, his cheek and chin on the top of her skull.

"Shh...shh, Peni. You don't need to be scared. I'll fix it. The Darkness, what I did, I'll fix it. I promise."

 

[Lady Alainn]

Wryn managed to keep herself from flying down and interfering during Malachi's break down. That her Lady could even touch the dragonkin revolted Wryn, but a Druid must do what a Druid must do and she was willing to overlook that exchange. The bird dug her talons into the crevice between the boards on the deck and willed her wings not to spread when her Lady's trembling words reached her ears. This was not her affair. Her Lady was a Druid and a sparrow had no business getting herself involved, no matter how much she wanted to comfort her Lady. But when the dragonkin pulled her Lady into his arms in such an intimate gesture, like a mother spying a bold move from her daughter's date, she lost it. How could he play with her vulnerability like that!

Shrieking in outrage, Wryn hurtled herself toward the pair and pecked at Malachi's legs, his arms, and those horrid clawed fingers entwined in her Lady's hair. If he moved one way to dodge her beak, she would strike at another angle. It was not enough pressure to cause real damage, but enough to highly encourage him to back away.

Pencaliel, who had curled up within the dragonkin's arms and clung to his chest, now turned her tear-stained face upon the sparrow. "Wryn... it's all right. I am... all right." Wryn perched on the bone of one of Malachi's smaller wings and tilted her head as if to say 'I'm the mother and I know best' but the plea from her Lady stayed her beak from any more pecking. "I'm sorry, Malachi," the maiden whispered, gently pulling herself from him though her whole body screamed for her to return to his secure, warm embrace. The stained cloth tumbled from her grasp as her hand travelled up to her head to capture the clawed hand in her hair and brought it to her cheek. "It's not... It's not your fault. I'm... I'm such a failure. I shouldn't have burdened you like that, but... but..." fresh tears burst from her eyes.

Wryn hopped onto Pencaliel's shoulder-- the one opposite to Malachi's arm-- and cooed softly in her ear, telling her that she was merely incomplete, not a failure, that it was not her fault that she was so, that Malachi should be more ashamed of himself than she was of herself, and that the sooner he was gone she would be happy.

Pencaliel said nothing until that last comment, tightening her hold on Malachi, and replied in a low, almost inaudible whisper, "No..."

 

[Kaisaan]

For a brief moment, Malachi had started to feel something strange, something warm and....oh, he didn't even know how to describe it. Too faint to be love, too strong to be calm, it was something inbetween and just as fast it was gone, lost in the wake of the pinpricks of pain suddenly rained upon him. Rather than making him release Pencaliel, though, his hold on her stayed firm, secure and a growl built in this throat toward the Wryn. Logically he knew that she was doing what she thought right, he knew that her devotion and protection of the elf was a good thing, but in this moment he simply saw her intrusion and it angered him.

Such anger evaporated quickly, though, at the elf's movement and sequential departure.

Malachi's body coiled, prepared to spring away, confused by what had happened. To go from one extreme emotion to another - pain, grief, comfort, rejection, protective and now rejected again - was wreaking havoc with his mind and his natural reaction to that was to distance himself, to depart from the source of his turmoil. It was the only defense he had.

He wasn't allowed to do even that, though, as Pencaliel's hand took his own and Malachi felt a shudder ripple through his form, unprepared for the contact, unsure what to do with it. His thoughts were in a knot - to go or stay? To pull away or try again to comfort? Was he rejected or accepted? - but the half-blood didn't move, didn't pull away, not even when Wryn's words started, stinging, but nothing he didn't expect from the sparrow. She'd made it more than clear she did not trust or like him, was not willing to even give him a chance and Malachi could accept that, but it would not be the deciding factor in him leaving Pencaliel in this moment.

The ELF seemed to want him to stay, at least for the moment, despite her own words and the half-blood...found himself unable to resist the plea in her quiet, quiet whisper as his fingers moved just slightly against her cheek, afraid to accidentally cut her, but wanting to provide some kind of comfort to the distress female who'd saved his life.

He still owed her a debt.

The thought came to him suddenly, about the same time some of Wryn's tweets registered in his mind, and Malachi spoke carefully, softly, not wanting to incur the sparrow's wrath again or distress Pencaliel again. "What do you mean by 'incomplete'? Are you sick?"

 

[Lady Alainn]

One last shuddering breath signaled the end of her silent tears as she struggled to pull herself out of the spiral of fear that had consumed her. Blinking her eyes rapidly to clear her blurred vision, Pencaliel raised them to Malachi's face at his question. The conflict of emotion there surprised her, but in truth was not unexpected. Her honest confession of how she felt about his deadly dance with the Darkness had been harsh. More than anything she wished she could take what she said back, remove that look of rejection from Malachi's brow, but she'd felt like he deserved to know the truth. Even the painful parts of it. Honesty was the least she could offer him after the way he'd opened up to her.

She was still holding his hand.

Acutely aware now of the pressure on her cheek and the curious stir it was causing within her breast, Pencaliel lowered his hand to rest upon her lap, loosening her hold on it to allow him to withdraw it if he wished to but feeling the need to keep some sort of contact between them lest the dragonkin take her withdrawal amiss and run away. He did need to leave the forest, and soon. She knew that, yet was loathe to see him depart. Despite her fear of him, he also made her feel secure and safe in a way she had not felt in a long time and she wanted to hold onto that for as long as possible.

Was she sick? Her gaze searched his empty stare, trying to gauge just how much she should tell him. How much should she let the sleeping demon know about her weakness?

"Wryn is alluding to the fact that I didn't receive all of my Druidic gifts. I don't know how much you know about Druids. We're rather rare nowadays."

 

[Kaisaan]

"I know more than you might suspect."

The quiet words left his mouth before Malachi had fully thought them through and he immediately cursed himself inwardly, knowing it would cast even more suspicion upon him, especially in Wryn's point of view. Most wouldn't care what a sparrow thought, and Malachi wasn't really worried about it either, but he didn't want to upset Pencaliel and she was very attached to the sparrow. But that did truly beg another question, however.

Why did HE care so much about what Pencaliel thought when just the other night he'd wanted nothing to do with her, had been willing to bleed out instead of accept her help?

It didn't make sense. Nothing in this forest - hell, in his life - did, though.

"The Druids have faded out of many memories, their power and influence forgotten, nothing but a myth, but my kin hold on to the past far more diligently than most." Malachi was quick to clarify. She would assume he was speaking of Dragonkin, but nothing could have been further from the truth. No, it was the other side of his heritage he spoke of, but the half-blood was not about to explain that. Better that he not. Pencaliel knowing he was dragonkin was bad enough, scared her enough. Knowing he was something far darker and powerful....no.

The white-haired male looked away, not seeing her anyway, but the habit ingrained into him when speaking of a subject he was not all that comfortable with. His white hair fell forward, long, tangled strands shielding his face from the gazes he could feel upon him, both elven and sparrow, but he didn't take his hand from Pencaliel's own. Somehow, he couldn't. He didn't know why and didn't have the energy, nor the time to figure it out yet. He just knew that there was a heady instinct rising within him that he didn't understand and it wouldn't let him leave her, not yet.

"I don't know what the Druidic Gifts are, but I know you need one from every High Species." Malachi's voice had grown quieter and his wings quivered, drew in closer to his body as if to act as a shield against an oncoming attack. "You don't have the Dragonkin Gift, do you?"

 

[Lady Alainn]

"When I left the wood to seek the gifts, it wasn't safe then. Mother died before I could go in search of an Elder, and I have not departed from these trees since. It is possible the gift has passed on with its people." Then she quickly added, "That would sadden me," so as not to offend her guest. Two days ago she would not have been able to say that truthfully because of her ingrained distrust of the dragonkin. But after meeting Malachi, that was slowly beginning to change.

Pencaliel absentmindedly fiddled with his hand in her lap-- running a thumb over the talon-like ends of one of his fingers or lightly tracing along a rough patch of torn skin on his palm with a forefinger-- her thoughts caught up in remembering her three-year trek across the lands in search of an authority figure from each of the other species. First to be bestowed upon her was the Gift of Men, Camaraderie. It hadn't been hard to locate a practitioner of magic in the human settlements of Iruknel and she'd found that first gift to be extremely helpful in building ties with the other species. Sequentially she gathered Comprehension: the Gift of Shifters, Alchemy: the Gift of Halflings, Wisdom: the Gift of Elves, Healing: the Gift of Merfolk, Second Sight: the Gift of Giants, and lastly Earthen Magic: the Gift of Dwarves from the last of the dwarven druids.

Each gift symbolized the inherent strength of the corresponding race, allowing a Druid to be well-rounded and fair in governing his or her people as well as strengthening relationships with the other inhabitants of their world. Each Druid took these gifts and incorporated them into the culture of their people, using these gifts and the subsequent power for the betterment of all. Missing one gift did not render any of the others useless, nor did it strip one of the rank of Druid. It created an opening like a missing link in a chain and left a Druid dangerously susceptible to emotional or spiritual attack. Fear. Greed. Distrust. In the olden days it was taken as a slight not to receive a gift, for it meant that particular specie did not recognize the authority of the Druid, like a king refusing to admit the sovereignty of his neighbouring kingdom's monarch. Only once did a specie seek to revoke the blessing of their gift upon the Druids. The Great War swiftly followed.

But all of that had been in place before her birth. She only had stories, dreams, and the example of her mother to model her lifestyle after. Returning her attention to Malachi, the elf gave a short heave of a sigh and reached for a strand of his hair to tuck it behind his ear.

"You need a bath," she announced with a slight smirk.

 

[Kaisaan]

Malachi found it almost difficult to focus on Pencaliel's words so distracting was her touch. It was not a trait of his species - either of them - nor a symptom of his blindness (though, that added another element) that made the half-blood so incredibly sensitive to the sensation of contact from another person. It came from years upon years of circumstances beyond his control, a past as complicated as his heritage and it was the sole reason Malachi avoided contact with other people.

He didn't like to be touched. He didn't care what the reason was. It could be with intent to harm or warn him or guide or stop his actions, and it didn't matter, he'd react unpleasantly either way. He had for years, longer than he could even remember properly, not even truly knowing when it had begun. He didn't like to be touched. Such was a fact in his mind, something his body, actions, mind had confirmed over and over again. Malachi knew that. So then why was he letting Pencaliel do so? Why was he letting her fingers caress his own, sending tiny jolts of what felt like electricity up his arm with each gentle pattern or move she made? Why was he allowing something he'd always hated? The answer eluded him until something occurred to the half-blood and the simplicity of it was so startling that he almost froze completely.

When was the last time someone touched him to comfort him?

The male couldn't answer that question, not knowing, and that realization made him push the entire topic away, forcing himself to focus on the elf's words once more, processing them.

So he was right; she didn't have the Dragonkin Gift...but she needed it now...because he'd stirred up the Darkness here. And that was the least of what he'd done. Maybe....he'd been going to find Dragonkin...maybe... What? No! No, he couldn't take her with him! She wouldn't want to go anyway. She didn't trust him. It was only her compassionate nature making her behave as she was now, but she didn't like him. How could she? She didn't even know him and it was better, safer for her if she didn't!

But he owed her a debt. There was no denying that and now, he knew even if she didn't, that he'd brought danger upon her, making that debt even bigger.

A Druid without every gift was vulnerable.

Malachi shut his eyes, knowing they couldn't give away his emotions, but needing the action anyway as his mind spun in never-ending circles, unable to come to a decision. And then Pencaliel spoke and the half-blood's eyes flew open as he felt her fingers ghost against his ear, instantly realizing the futility of the gesture, but tilting his head nevertheless, completely taken off-guard.

His answer was almost hesitant. "I was going to bathe in the river once I left the forest. I-" Malachi stopped and closed his eyes again, a frown marring his features as he made himself come to a decision and finally spoke, bracing himself not only for Pencaliel's rejection, but Wryn's sharp words as well.

"You could come with me if you wanted. I'm trying to find the Dragonkin. Maybe you could find what you need, too."