Looking Through Your Eyes

[Lady Alainn]

Six bounty hunters? Six? Suddenly, Pencaliel was awake. Very awake. Terror which had been carefully repressed within her began to creep into her veins again and before she realized what she was doing, she found herself stepping backwards, away from Malachi, almost crouching in a defensive position, her hand trained on her knife hilt. Had this wicked man planned this all along? Awaken the Darkness, then persuade the gullible Druid to leave her realm so he could slay her? Mother had warned her, Wryn had seen it coming. How could she have been so foolish to think she could extend even an ounce of trust--

'Quiet. Calm yourself. Think.'

The force of the words inside her racing mind shocked her, but she obeyed and forced herself to stand still, balancing gingerly on the balls of her feet. As her breath slowed to a more normal pace, she took one step closer again, then another, but try as she might she could not stop the trembling. Then she noticed the hand to his side, the tension in his own muscles to hide what he was truly thinking. What he was truly feeling. Was he just as lost as she was? Caught in a web he could not undo?

'The viper.'

It was best to know, wasn't it? Otherwise, this distrust would continually escalate until eventually it would be beyond repair. Pencaliel swallowed hard and deliberately pulled herself upright to take another step toward the dragonkin.

"Malachi? How-- why--" she stumbled over her tongue, her mouth parched and words hoarse in her throat. "What did you do?"

 

[Kaisaan]

He smelled the fear more than anything else. It was an acrid kind of scent, the kind that lodged itself in the back of his throat and burned. It came so suddenly that Malachi nearly snarled, wanting to instantly look for a threat, but logically knowing there was none. None but himself. It was him that Pencaliel was so terrified of and while he'd expected nothing less, for some reason he could not understand fully, it hurt.

The male stayed right where he was, unmoving either to comfort or to flee, but he trembled. With the distance she'd put between them, it was too subtle for the elf to see quite yet, but if - when - she moved closer, it would become more apparent that Malachi shook, waves of tremors rippling through his frame, making his wings vibrate in spurts.

The emotions that made him do so were powerful even as they were complicated. Fear was the most prevelant with pain following closely behind. Bitterness and anger were mixed in there, too, but underneath all that, unknown and unseen even to Malachi himself, there was a plea. A cry for something he could not name, did not have, had never known. It was an utterance he could not give voice to, but it screamed to be heard anyway in every action he made. Whether it was to comfort or to push away, to flinch or to snarl, to speak or to remain silent, the undercurrent of need was there, only heard, seen, acknowledged by those who could fulfill it.

Always it had been ignored or ruthlessly pursued in the hopes of snuffing it out completely. And still it kept trying, reaching, begging.

The half-blood was aware, acutely so, of when Pencaliel drew closer, when the fear lowered a few levels, when her breathing evened out and her heart stopped pounding like a frantically trapped bird in her chest. He was aware of it all and her words hit him like a weighty dwarven hammer. His entire body jerked as if she'd struck him and it was Malachi who took a step back this time, unable to stop his wings from curling about him again. He didn't try to make them unfurl this time.

What could he tell her?

That he'd been born? That his very existence was an affront to some and a threat to others? That his own father wanted him useful or dead, and Malachi had refused to be useful? Could he tell her that his entire race had put a bounty on his head that would attract far more than humans? That five human hunters was the least of his worries?

Would she listen if he told her the tale of his birth, the course of his life, the curse set upon him, the purpose he'd been born and bred for, the same task that he refused to complete? Would she stay and listen, understand? Or would she run, terrified of the darkness around him, the darkness in him, the dark purpose he'd been born to?

Could he tell her the truth in all its detail or would the truth in a vaguer term be better? And why did it matter anyway? If she chose to leave him, she could. All she would have to do was command him to leave her alone and he'd never come back. He'd given his word. He would keep it and she would be glad to see him go. What was he to her anyway? Nothing but a threat, a hindrance, someone who had made her life far more complicated, forced her to leave her home, disturbed something that should have never been woken. He was nothing to her.

But, against everything he knew, she had, somehow, become something to him.

"I didn't...I didn't do anything...I.." The words were rasped, unsteady and Malachi forced himself to breathe, eyes closed. "My people gave me a job and I wouldn't do it. So now I am wanted and there is a price on my head."

 

[Lady Alainn]

She'd wounded him, she could see it now. The shuddering wings bent inward as if to ward off the blows from what she said, what she did. Both of them stood there trembling, afraid. Afraid of what? What could Malachi possibly be afraid of? Or was he afraid to lose...? Pencaliel gathered her courage about her and for every phrase the dragonkin uttered, she managed one full step closer to him. Her heart ached within her chest for him and the elf wanted nothing more than to run into his arms, smooth his wings, and murmur reassuringly in his ear. Well, a part of her wanted to follow the dictates of her heart. The other part reasoned itself into those determined steps.

She'd offered him friendship knowing that he could be capable of any kind of wickedness and though that meant she could not desert him on the first test of faithfulness, it didn't mean she couldn't be wary. He was still dangerous, a wild animal, and only a fool ran into the waiting jaws of a hungry lion.

His story, the told and untold, confused her. He was dragonkin, the race responsible for bringing deceit, death, and destruction into all of the lands, facing brother against brother and father against son. The dragonkin had dispersed after the Great War, their influence dwindling into nothing. If his people had placed this task upon him and he refused, why was it dangerous enough for human bounty hunters to get involved? Why would he then be seeking his people in the east if they had placed this bounty on him? How could a remnant wield such power? Or had they been rebuilding all this time? Waiting... waiting for what?

Half-blood.

The chilling words of the dream shadows from yesterday echoed in her mind. Half-blood, they had called him. Half-dragonkin, half-what? Something that had attracted the Darkness... Dismay filled her as realization crept over her. Evil man? Goblin? Dare she even think it--- demon?

Pencaliel now stood directly in front of the dragonkin, close enough to feel the air vibrate from his trembling wings, close enough for him to easily wrap his talons around her throat. But he'd promised, she was safe. As much as she wanted to end the interrogation-- the pain of honesty-- and seek to comfort him again, she had to know. She had to press.

"This... this job. Why did you refuse it? Are... are you..." the words wouldn't come. She didn't want to know, didn't want to be intimate with the presence inside of him. Licking her lips, she didn't finish that last sentence, but switched back to the first thought. "Was it an evil task? Did it involve the Darkness?"

 

[Kaisaan]

He didn't want to tell her.

She'd moved closer again, the warmth that was far more than just body heat radiating off her in waves, caressing him with a tempting comfort that he dare not lean into. He feared it would be nothing but an illusion, nothing but a wisp of smoke, there one second and gone just as quickly the next. Such warmth, such care, affection, comfort, love had never been his. He'd been born into an existence crueler than death and harsher than a child's life should have ever been. Everything Pencaliel knew by heart, everything she was, everything she represented were all things that Malachi had no experience with.

Holding her in the woods had surprised him just as much as it probably did her. He had never comforted someone before, had never been comforted and the unfamiliarity of it had yet to truly sink in even after a day. It was as if his mind couldn't wrap around it, a war of instincts and voices in his head that he couldn't stop.

She was sending his world into chaos, flipping his very perceptions around completely and Malachi didn't know to keep standing as the ground itself seemed to want to buck beneath him. Or so it felt.

Pencaliel questioned and Malachi didn't want to answer. Damn his weakness, but he didn't want her to move away, and that desire was swift even as it was sudden, startling. It wouldn't leave, though...and neither would the elf's gaze, waiting. Waiting for him to be truthful, to tell her what he'd not told anyone - everyone he knew had already known. Waiting for him to extend the same kind of trust she was daring to extend him...who deserved it least of all. He found he could not dismiss that trust, that query for answers and the half-blood began to speak, seeming to draw further in on himself, bracing for the rejection he knew would come.

How could it not when she was everything he was not? Light to his darkness?

"I am....I was created to...my job is evil, yes." He barely breathed the words, not knowing how to start, what to say, how to say it. Not wanting to say it, but now that it had been said, the rest of the words seemed to spill out more easily, but no less painfully. "The Darkness you guard, it belongs to my father's people. It was given to the Dragonkin for a price and they grew it, and now.... My father wants it back and I am meant to take it to him. I...I don't know why I have said no, why I don't do it. I just...keep saying no."

And that, to Malachi, was one great mystery he could not solve.

 

[Lady Alainn]

As the halting words left the dragonkin's mouth, all the foul images from yesterday morning-- the screaming, the blackness engulfing his wings, the cruel twisting of his body-- came rushing back into her head, flooding her senses with the stench of fear. Now the Druid could see that battle for what it really was-- his punishment for saying no.

Pencaliel gazed up at him with new understanding. Underneath that exterior of strength he was so fragile, so bruised. If no one stood by him, if no one encouraged him to keep doing what was right, how long would it take for him to give in to the agony? It was inevitable. No man, even one of dragonkin blood, could withstand that constant pressure forever. What was more incredible was his determination to face that torment despite having no valid reason not to give in. Why? What must he have gone through, this man?

He was alone, forever estranged-- rejected by his people for his failure to conform, despised by the rest for the burden he bore but never asked for. Truly, within his breast beat a noble heart worthy of the dragonkin warriors of old. Though darkness shrouded him so thickly even his eyes could not see, his heart... it alone shone pure.

If she could just reach it before the darkness snuffed it out.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," the maiden whispered, closing the final distance between them as she surrendered to her heart at last. Her hands rose hesitantly toward his face, trembling. Yes, she was afraid of him, aware that he had just admitted himself her enemy should he turn from his present course of denial, but stronger than that fear burned a desire deep within her core to shed light into his dark world. To bring peace to his troubled mind.

Slowly, her fingers entwined in his hair as a thumb stroked his cheek. Then, addressing his body language instead of his terrifying words, she continued in hushed tones, "I'm here now, Malachi. You don't have to be alone."

 

[Kaisaan]

A shudder wracked his body at her touch, a sound suspiciously like a breathless sob catching in his throat before it was subdued. Where one powerful shudder had appeared, however, more followed, beyond Malachi's control as each wave that wracked his already trembling body was just as strong as the last. Fear caused them, but more than that, relief and shock so profound he did not understand it.

He could not understand Pencaliel.

This...this wasn't possible. She should be pushing him away now, telling him to go, calling him monster, accusing. She feared him, didn't she? Yes, her scent still said there was fear there, but there was something else, too, something...something he couldn't even describe. Something gentle and fierce all at once.

Like her words. So softly spoken and yet tearing through every defense he had like they didn't even exist, striking a part of himself he hadn't known existed. Not consciously anyway. Her words wrapped around this part of him, protecting, sheltering, comforting and Malachi finally understood, for the first time in his life, just why he'd said no. It was a knowledge that would take time to truly process and now...now wasn't the time because far more than Pencaliel's words, her touch was the more powerful effect on his system.

At the hands of his own and with strangers as he'd traveled, touch had been a means to an end, impersonal or painful. Nothing more, nothing less. With the elf before him, though, touch was transformed into something strange, frightening and intoxicating all at once. He had always hated touch, avoided it for the messages it brought him, cruel facts and emotions he bore the scars of. Unloved. Failure. Disgrace. Unwanted. Weak. Obey. Submit. Break. He had known such messages and more from touch alone, and it was a powerful thing for Malachi. But Pencaliel's touch....it told him things he'd never known, had never dreamed of knowing, had never had the true opportunity to even contemplate.

Understanding. Sorrow. Compassion. Affection. Comfort.

It was that last one, above any other, that the dormant instinct inside him latched on to, knowing better than he what it was he could tolerate right now, what he needed. Everything else could come in time, be learned in time. Right now, comfort was enough and Malachi found himself, not even entirely aware he was doing it at first, leaning his head into the elf's palm as his sightless gold eyes slid shut. The shudders had not stopped, but their intensity had started to lessen little by little and the half-blood's ragged breathing started to even out as well. His wings were no longer folded so tightly around him, but rather they were now spread out around Pencaliel as well, a shield to protect her from the world.

A wordless, instinctive gesture of acceptance, of trust being risked as it was given to her. In a way, by enclosing her within his wings, Malachi was accepting what the elf was seeking to give...and declaring a promise of his own, far stronger than words; she had his loyalty. Not just his debt or his word, but something far beyond that. And it had taken nothing but a touch, a kind, gentle touch when Malachi had expected the worst kind of pain of rejection. She said he didn't have to be alone....and Malachi didn't want to be anymore, even as he was unsure how to go about not being that way. He knew nothing different.

As the half-blood leaned into Pencaliel's touch, though, the comfort she was giving, as his reactions started to mellow out just slightly, it was clear he was willing to try and learn another way to life.

 

[Lady Alainn]

How long they stood there-- her arms raised high to reach him, his wings curling low to encircle her-- Pencaliel knew not. At first she braced herself at the intense shudders, almost expecting the male to crumble against her and dissolve into another bout of tears. Indeed as the dry sob caught in his throat, the elf knew it for certain.

But he did not. The dragonkin, though vulnerable, was not weak.

His tremblings continued though, the only outward sign of the turmoil within, and the elf stood firm against the onslaught of the tremulous emotions. What was whirling around in that powerful cavity she could not even begin to guess. Just as everything she knew, everything she was composed of was foreign to the dragonkin, he was foreign to her. Pencaliel was at a loss to understand what had moved him so at her touch, at her words, why he was so affected by every little thing she did or said. His past, his scars, his pain, it was beyond her comprehension. But the one thing she did know, the one truth she clung to, was that understanding him was not necessary to comforting him. Simply being here for the proud but broken male, holding him, it was enough to establish the slender chain of trust and fellowship between them.

Eventually, her arms grew too heavy in their current position, but she was loathe to break contact with the dragonkin now. Within this white, feathery world-- her hands caressing his face even as he leaned into the touch-- she knew she had a foothold in this dark territory. A small beacon of light for Malachi to follow. If, even for a moment, she were to lose that connection, retreat from this crack in his defenses, would she be able to find it again? This was her greatest fear now. If she backed away, would she lose him?

But in keeping her arms around him, she was fighting a losing battle. The aching limbs lowered on their own accord, her fingers sliding across his jaw, trailing down his neck, to finally rest against his chest. As much as she wanted to stay here, in their own little world encased by feathers, it was time to move on. Time wasn't on their side.

"We need to start walking if we are going to reach the village before evening," the Druid stated reluctantly. "Are you ready to go? If not..." her voice trailed off as her hands applied a bit of pressure to let the dragonkin know the offer of comfort was still there if he needed it. If he wanted it.

 

[Kaisaan]

Even after the shaking had stilled into a calmness, Malachi had not moved away from the elf. It had grown quiet, complacent around them and he'd sank into that, not entirely understanding it, still afraid to trust it, but unable to break it. That seemed like the greatest crime imaginable and the half-blood didn't even think about moving away, about drawing back, not when the fingers that brushed over his skin were hypnotically soothing, steadying not just his bodily reactions, but the chaos that had been raging in his head since she'd healed him in the forest two days ago.

No, when the movement came, it was from Pencaliel and for a moment, just a fraction of a second, Malachi stiffened, instant and brutal training preparing him for a trick, for pain. It never came, though, and just as quickly as he'd anticipated it, he realized his error and instead focused on what was truly happening, on what the elf was truly doing. When his entire focus came back to the female, suddenly the movement of her fingers created shivers in their wake and faint goosebumps to rise on his skin. It was a sensation unlike any he'd ever felt, different from the warm comforting one from before, but so different from everything he knew that he had nothing to compare it to, no way to even start unraveling its meaning. All he knew was that warmth flushed through his body, something like a tingle following the path of her hands and Malachi released a quiet, but shaky breath when Pencaliel stopped at his chest.

His heart rate had accelerated just slightly, but as she spoke it calmed again and the pressure her palms exerted seemed to center him, stilling the buzzing in his head caused by her actions from before. He was strangely grateful for that and equally as disappointed....which only confused the white-haired male completely.

Focusing on her words was better than trying to make sense of his own reactions to the things she did.

Malachi found himself nodding slowly at her words and slowly his wings unfurled from their current position around her, stretching for a moment to relieve the new soreness in them from staying in one position for so long, before they came against his back again. Malachi ducked his head a little then, almost seeming to be slightly embarrassed by his actions - but he didn't move away from Pencaliel's touch even now, clearly showing he didn't regret what he'd done or what she'd done - and he nodded again, this time risking a voice slightly hoarse to respond.

"We can go. I...thank you, Peni."

 

[Lady Alainn]

Pencaliel's gaze broke from Malachi's face for only an instant, her wide eyes dropping down inquisitively to watch the magnificent wings shift and stretch as they retracted from around her and settled into their usual spot behind the dragonkin. But when she turned back to him, she found he'd ducked his head-- not drawing back from her but admitting some kind of... shyness? on his side at the delicate transaction that had just taken place between them. The elf, however, was not shy. Tilting her head up in response, she used the leverage of her hands against his chest to stand on her tiptoes to get a better view of his face. Was it really safe to let him go? Was he really all right? She hadn't unintentionally hurt him again, had she? These questions were important ones to answer and Pencaliel was determined to get them.

The elf searched his features earnestly, her eyes flitting to and fro to note the subtle crease of a brow or possibly a tightness in the corners of his lips. Perhaps a clenched jaw? But no, he seemed relaxed. Not quite at peace, for there were too many emotions and thoughts flowing around in that head and chest of his for true peace to be an option yet. Content. He was content with her.

Even if his facial features hadn't given her a definite answer, the words that followed declared her observations true. Nodding her head in satisfaction, the maiden finally pulled away, biting her lips together and half-leaping, half-dancing ahead of the dragonkin as giggles of relief and delight bubbled from within. He'd taken a step, that first step in deciding to break from the chains holding him hostage. It was a small victory, but a crucial one and Pencaliel felt all the joy of it.



It was well past dawn when the two finally set off for the village, the sun now bright and crawling steadily across the sky to reach noonday. A quick calculation from the sun's position and where they had come from pointed Pencaliel in the right direction. Constant chatter from the young elf was what the dragonkin could look forward to as his guide today. The fear that had bound her heart so tightly this morning released with each pirouette until her heart felt as light as a feather. Her feet were all too happy to oblige that feeling to make hand holding even remotely possible. She had Malachi's word of protection. They were going to find the cure to save her beloved forest, the earth, Malachi. Though dangerous, terrifying inside, he yearned for peace as much as she. To right wrongs. She had nothing to fear from him. How could the maiden not rejoice?

Stories from the forest spewed from her lips all that day until her voice grew hoarse and throat grew parched, but a wetting of her lips from her canteen and a few moments of silence was all she needed to replenish. The elf spun tales out of her childhood memories as well as ones regarding her animal companions. She spoke of learning to swim in the pond where she had taken Malachi when she was but a girl, meeting Lyle while picking berries one summer and establishing their friendship by throwing and catching said berries into each other's mouths, how eight years ago there had been a drought soon after her mother had died and a section of Rembark caught fire. Pencaliel found a sparrow strewn across a scorched nest, weeping over the boiled eggs it held. Wryn's first nest. She'd brought her home, coaxed the little bird back to life, and they had been inseparable ever since.

As the sun reached its height, her stories and steps grew more sombre. The viper and her failure there that turned into a life lesson. Her first meeting of the Darkness. Learning that her mother had attained a wound in the Great War and was slowly dying of poison. These stories, though painfully personal, seemed like ones she should share with the dragonkin. It felt... right after what he had revealed to her... though they were probably better to whisper in the shelter of his wings. That time of intimacy had passed, though, and she felt she could justify telling them here, now, since it was still only the two of them in the hilly plains.

---

The sun was on its descent as the faint puffs of smoke from smokestacks grew visible on the horizon. The village, which had been more of an outpost for trappers and lumberjacks when Pencaliel had last seen it, clustered in a tight little circle with a few houses dotting the outskirts. As they drew nearer, the elf grew quieter until the constant jingling of her earring was all the noise that issued from her. She clutched the makeshift cloak in her hands, casting a few anxious glances towards Malachi. Would he take it amiss if she asked him to don it to make his wings less noticeable? There was only one way to find out, wasn't there? She gulped.

"Malachi," she inquired hesitantly, holding the cloth out until it brushed his arm, "would you be offended if I gave you this cloak to put on before we enter the village?"

 

[Kaisaan]

He hadn't been used to the noise. Meaningful noise, yes, but still sound that was constant, rising and falling even as Pencaliel's emotions and passion did. It had provided immense help in some ways and yet was completely destructive to some of his habits in other ways. He always knew which way to go, where the elf was and therefore where he was supposed to walk, but on the other hand, every instinct that had gotten him to this point, that he'd learned to rely on in the three months he'd been traveling had been shot all to hell by her voice. He couldn't focus on the sounds around him, wouldn't know if there was danger or not over the pitch of her voice.

But then, she'd see the danger on the plains long before he would hear it, wouldn't she?

Just another reason to hate the people who'd done this to him, but Malachi tucked that anger away....just as he did with everything else painful and ugly. It was part of life for him, a constant he never escaped and he was used to it. When you didn't know anything different, it was rather easy to accept what others would find abhorrent.

And it was the fact that he HAD lived the existence he had that Pencaliel's stories of her life were like new miracles unfolding before his mind's eyes. Yes, there was sorrow in them, lessons hard learned, even fear, but more of what she told him was...unlike anything he'd ever known. He said nothing of his inner thoughts, though. Malachi simply listened with a respect and attentiveness that made up for anything he didn't say. If Pencaliel had looked back at any point, she would have seen his head inclined toward her, like a wolf might perk its ears and remain very still, looking to get every scrap of information. The half-blood was nothing if not an avid listener and what she told him...he knew it was important, that it was part of her, that she'd likely not told many and therefore he understood the value of the stories. And he appreciated them and would protect the sanctity of them.

He'd gotten rather used to the constant chatter so Malachi knew the moment Pencaliel saw the village. He had smelled the smoke long before such a point, but he knew when they'd arrived for the simple fact that his companion went quiet. He knew she was nervous, too, just by her scent and the silence, but he was hardly aware that HE was the cause of the nerves.

The feeling of cloth on his arm made the half-blood jerk back with an instinctive growl, low and warning, before it registered that the contact had come from Pencaliel in a fashion and he quieted again, listening with a slight furrow in his brow to her request. Anyone else and his answer would have been instant and harsh; no. He didn't like being restricted, to have things over his wings and he didn't want to be here in this human village anyway. But there was something about the little elf who'd gone above and beyond anything he could have ever expected, that softened the instant rejection within him into something more pliable under her gentle tone.

He wasn't happy about it and his wings gave clear testament to that, shifting, jittery as the feathers ruffled themselves and then once more, and then again. No, Malachi wasn't happy about the prospect of restricting his wings at all, hiding himself, but he eventually gave a stiff kind of nod and released the growl lodged in his throat in a low strum of noise before quieting. He folded his wings as tightly as he could against his back and then took the cloak, finding both ends supposed to go around his neck and then swinging the rest of the fabric over his shoulder and wings both. He couldn't tell if it settled properly or covered everything, but he knew Pencaliel would do something if it didn't and focused on making his clawed fingers tie the cloak at his throat.

The white-haired male knew this wouldn't work, not like Pencaliel wanted it to. The wings were not the problem. HE was the problem and she'd...see that soon enough.

 

[Lady Alainn]

At first Pencaliel did not think he would take it, that he found the notion as distasteful as she'd supposed he might, and was about to take back the fabric when Malachi reached for it. His wings protested the action, the look on his face clearly revolted the idea, but here he was tying the cloak around his neck just the same. Hadn't he said himself that he would be despised by the humans? The wings were the most visible thing on him to draw attention to himself as something other than human, at least in her opinion, and was it not attention that he sought to avoid? It was for his sake she offered it, but why did it feel like he was donning it for hers? She didn't understand.

The cloak rustled naturally into place around his shoulders, blanketing the majority of his wings in the light but sturdy cloth. Temptation crept into the elf's fingers once again to reach out and stroke the curious feathers with the intention of using the excuse of "straightening the cloak" to mask her true motives, but her fear of upsetting Malachi more kept all ten of her itching digits pinched in tight fists by her sides. She would not risk his wrath, she would not! And so she turned from the dragonkin toward the village, drawing in deep breaths to calm her nerves and prepare herself for entering a society as foreign to her as the man behind her.



Hills rose up along the southern and eastern boundaries of the village, sheltering the thatched-roof buildings from the brunt of the winds that sometimes howled over the plains. The pace of the two travellers slowed as they approached the town from the north. Pencaliel could now make out a wooden wall surrounding the main body of the village, before it had blended in with the log walls and dirty straw of the cabins peeking above the sharp-tipped palisade, and she easily located the small gate within the wall where a man sat in a chair with his feet propped up against the door frame. Directly behind the wall rose a short tower where a man rose to his feet and leaned over the wall to call down to his partner. The man below immediately got to his feet and met them halfway, his hand resting on the hilt of the long sword strapped to his waist.

"A strange pair you are, man and elf maiden," the sentence finished with a low, appreciative whistle. "What brings you out this way?" Pencaliel held up her hands, palms outward, as her pleading eyes nervously travelled between the wiry-framed guard and the lookout's drawn bow.

"Please, sir, we are weary travellers in need of shelter and food for the night. We come in peace."

The guard raised a hand to signal the sentry atop the short tower to lower his bow. His hard, distrusting eyes roved over the pair, stopping once to frown at the feathers peeking out from the male's cloak and a second time to raise a brow at the blood stain on Pencaliel's breeches. Though a rough man, the guard was not above showing kindness to a possibly wounded female and stepped aside to let them pass through. Pressing closer to Malachi, the elf instinctively reached for his hand.

Once inside, Pencaliel paused to gawk at the large number of houses, the trading posts, a stable, and the tavern in the center of the town-- the only two-storey building there. In truth, there were maybe two dozen structures total within the walls with a few houses settled on the hillside to the east, but it was so different from the few shacks and leather tents it had been when Pencaliel was last here that it seemed quite enormous indeed.

A few women clad in plain-looking dresses with long sleeves and even longer skirts sat beside wash bins or stood hanging wet clothes on long cords of rope that stretched from building to building. They too paused to gawk, several of them calling to children playing nearby to draw closer to the house. Multitudes of eyes followed the pair as the elf hesitantly started walking again; some of them curious, some of them afraid, some enamoured, some angry, some friendly, and some of them a look Pencaliel couldn't define but this last kind came exclusively from younger men. Their eyes seemed to feast on her while the corners of their lips pulled up in a leer, like they wanted to eat her. Suddenly, Pencaliel felt very bare, very exposed. Her free hand tugged her habitually lopsided blouse back onto her shoulder, but the stares continued. The elf wrapped both arms around the dragonkin's arm and held on tightly as shivers traversed up and down her spine.

"Humans haven't started eating elves.... have they?" she whispered tremulously.

 

[Kaisaan]

Malachi knew that humans saw him in a different way than other races did. Despite the fact that among the many species they were technically the weakest, it was their eyes and instincts that were the most open to uncovering what his kin were, seeing them for how they truly looked even through a glamour. It didn't happen right away, no, but it DID happen and Malachi, while he wore no glamour, knew it wouldn't take long for them to see past the dragonkin heritage and cloak to what else lay within him.

Some would see it quicker than others and it was always hard to judge just how or who would come about the realization first. Would it be a pure heart, seeing the threat he posed? Or would it be a dark heart, drawn to the coiling shadows that were a part of him just as surely as his blood and wings were?

Such a question was answered rather easily as Pencaliel abruptly clung on tighter and Malachi's senses went into overdrive not only at her words, but at the smell of fear around her and the trembles he could just sense coming from her smaller frame. He didn't answer her, not yet anyway, as a low growl sounded in his throat, unlike any she would have ever heard from him. It wasn't the startled warning growl or the unhappy, low sound he made when reluctant or frustrated. No, it was quiet - for now - but there was a bloodcurdling note in it, something that raised the hairs on the arm and sent a streak of chill down the spine as his gold eyes seemed to instantly find the culprits of the elf's unease.

It was pathetically easy for him to do.

Sight wasn't required, it never had been for this particular skill. Malachi could sense, feel, almost see in his own way, the darkness that radiated from the leering males. He identified the lust just by the taste of the evil surrounding them, every shadow having its own flavor, scent, feel about it. He understood instantly what Pencaliel meant by eating her then, knew just why she was so scared - probably without even knowing why she was - and carefully he made her let go of his arm, but only so he could wrap it around her back, his clawed hand coming to settle at her waist, drawing her just a little closer to his side in a gesture those watching would be unable to miss. It was a purposeful, possessive gesture and warning all at once...and then Malachi bared his fangs and for a moment, a blackness so complete it was darker than any starless night flashed through his gold eyes.

He felt the lustful darkness around the humans flinch back as they somehow sensed the deeper, far more powerful malice in him, most of them not even realizing why they felt so nervous all the sudden as they had the sudden urge to look away. Some even left, shaken and only when Malachi felt the majority of them back off in one fashion or another did he finally answer Pencaliel - keeping his hand exactly where it was as he let her lead the way - his voice still holding just a hinting threat of a growl, but it was clear it wasn't directed at her as his tone was soft toward her.

"No, elves are not a food source for humans, Peni. I assure you that is not what they wished to use you for, and what they did wish they now know better than to pursue."

 

[Lady Alainn]

A soft whimper escaped her throat as Malachi growled and carefully pried her fingers from his arm, panic starting to rise in her chest as she fought to keep her grip. The fact that he didn't answer her question right away neither negatively nor positively worried her. Did humans actually eat elves now? He'd promised to protect her! Why was he pushing her away? Pencaliel tightened her hold, but being the stronger of the two, the dragonkin succeeded in pulling himself away. Confusion and anguish sent the elf's body into a violent tremor, but the emotions were short-lived as the arm settled securely around her waist and pulled her closer to himself, the warmth of his hand against her skin soothing away the chills as she felt herself relax against him.

Then the frightening eyes dissipated until only the boldest of them slunk in the shadows to cast subtle glances her way. Pencaliel peeked out from underneath Malachi's arm, wanting to make sure they were all gone before moving forward again. She did not understand what he'd done to get them to back off, but knew it must have come from within the dragonkin. More than that she didn't want to know, feeling that answers to that question would involve the part of her protector that was best left a mystery for now. Just like his honest answer to her question. She did not understand and did not want to. Knowing that those eyes wouldn't hurt her was good enough for her.

"Thank you." Breathing in deeply with renewed courage, Pencaliel turned her head from side to side, assessing the different buildings and wondering why she had brought them here. Which way should they go? How was anyone here to know? Who should they talk to? Her ears unconsciously twitched as she took in the sights, smells, and sounds of their surroundings, the bell at the tip tinkling with each dip of her ear.

"Cairenn? Little Cairenn? Is that you?"

The elf jerked her head around at the familiar voice. Behind them hunched an elderly man, his shoulders stooped with many a year and heavy head bowed low. Hair had long abandoned his head and his eyes were cloudy with blindness. How had such a strong, youthful voice come from this decrepit figure? Why did she recognize it, the name he'd called her, but not the man?

"Who-who are you?" she asked hesitantly.

The man laughed softly as he trudged closer to them, leaning heavily on his gnarled cane. "Only one person I have ever met smelled so sweetly of the summer rain and warm earth. I would recognize that scent, that merry little bell anywhere I told myself, and I was right. I was right." He sighed contentedly and smiled in her general direction. "Sixty years have been much kinder to your appearance than mine, I am sure, Cairenn."

Suddenly, the name, the voice, the elapsed time, it all cilcked into place for Pencaliel and in her mind's eye she saw the blonde youth who had been the first to befriend her on her journey to receive her gifts. Cairenn, he had named her. Little Beloved. Her cheeks pinked and for the moment she was very thankful that her immediate audience could not see the embarrassment written all over her features. "Dillon?"

"Aye, the very one. It is good to... to hear your voice again."

"And yours," Pencaliel chuckled. "It aged much better than your body."

"I had a little songbird gracious enough to bless it and curse the body with long life," Dillon chortled. "But come, introduce me to your ma--" he was about to refer to the male pressing so close to her as her mate, but caught himself as a whiff of the dragonkin's scent furrowed his brow. "Companion," he amended cautiously. "Dragonkin, eh? It has been a long time since I have crossed paths with one of your kind."

 

[Kaisaan]

The sudden voice had set Malachi on edge - even as he didn't know if it was addressed to Pencaliel or not seeing as Cairenn wasn't her name as far as he knew - and the elf's sudden bodily reaction only made him more jittery. When Malachi got jittery, he usually got violent, but knowing that about himself and having no desire to scare the living daylights out of the young female at his side, the half-blood controlled the urge to lash out. He couldn't quite control the way his muscles refused to uncoil and the tension in his wings. There were just too many unknowns here and if he'd been alone, he wouldn't have come AND on the off-chance that he HAD come, he would have only been worried for himself.

With Pencaliel here, there was far more reason for him to be alert and distrusting of everything new and unknown. Being blind didn't help in that regard and it didn't help now as he listened to the two speaking. At first he DID think the person young as the voice certainly sounded that way, but as the conversation went on, the half-blood became aware of his error, and of other details besides.

The man was just as blind as he was.

This Dillon had said nothing of Pencaliel's appearance - not how she'd grown, changed, remained the same, more beautiful, nothing - but rather had said he recognized her by smell and sound. The only reference to how she might look had been more a question than a statement and he'd said it was good to hear her, not see her. Malachi was sure of it; Dillon was blind. The amusement factor in this situation was not lost to him; that Pencaliel should be accompanied by two blind people when she herself was virtually clueless as to what to do out here in the world.

The world was strange and full of even stranger humor.

Malachi was keenly aware that something was strange about Dillon, too. Not quite human, if the man even was that race at all, for to know Pencaliel by scent out of all the aromas floating around in this village AND to know that Malachi smelled of dragonkin, a scent not so distinct as some - and especially on him, who was only half-dragonkin - was not a human ability. Not without some kind of mixed heritage or magic. Either way, there was something to be wary of in Dillon. At least for someone like Malachi there was. Pencaliel was probably perfectly safe, especially since the other male seemed to have a fondness for her.

Malachi wasn't sure what he felt about that either, if anything at all. He had no right in telling Pencaliel who she might befriend or how she might behave. He simply owed her a debt and....and something far more he couldn't begin to explain to himself much less her. But it didn't make her his. Strangely enough, he was unsure how he felt about that fact, too, but he sensed that he didn't overly like it. Odd.

Gold eyes flickered to the general direction of the other male and Malachi debated answering at all, truly so. He wasn't looking to make friends and he didn't care for humans, no matter if they were mixed breed, magical or otherwise. Next to his own kin, he'd seen some of his worst suffering at human hands. Trust was not something he was inclined to share....with anyone, and for reasons he couldn't fathom, only the elf beside him was growing to be an exception, but even that was a work in progress. It was for said elf, though, that the half-blood finally spoke, realizing she'd probably be disappointed and hurt if he didn't. Even knowing that, however, could not change the nature with which Malachi spoke, though; bluntly honest, often times brutally so and with no effort to make nice with what he said.

"I am not sure whether to tell you if that is a good thing or a bad thing. I don't personally care for my own kind or their actions, but obviously I can't speak for how you feel on the matter."

 

[Lady Alainn]

If Dillon was offended at all at the dragonkin's tone, he did not show it. Instead, his head tilted slightly upwards to meet the voice of the male as his brow bent quizzically in wait for a proper introduction. Pencaliel took her cue and quickly stepped in, introducing Malachi as a friend she met while living in Rembark and Dillon as an aspiring scholar who had kept her thoroughly entertained during her few short months in the Southern Kingdom. Dillon laughed, a quick short-breathed cough tagged on at the end the only audible testimony of his age.

"It was an honour to entertain such a lady as you, I assure you," he said with a wrinkled smile. "And while I have not always felt privileged at meeting your kind, Master Malachi, I am sincerely honoured to make your acquaintance. Now, tell me Cairenn, what has brought you to our humble outpost here?" As if he could sense she was about to speak, the elderly man raised his hand to stop her and motioned toward the East Gate. "Speak with me as I walk. The children will worry if I tarry too long and I am not about to lose my daily walks as well as my horse. Do you have a place to stay for the night? No? We have room, we always have room as long as our guests have a tale or song to share around the fire. Both of you are welcome, of course."

Pencaliel readily followed the old man, though her words were not so swift in coming. What should she tell him? What could she tell him? Her thoughts were more caught up in understanding this strange meeting and how time had dealt very differently with the two of them. A whole lifetime had passed for Dillon while hers was just beginning. To know him and not know him, to witness the contrast between a budding young man full of vigour ready to take on the world to find his purpose in life and an old man satisfied, tired, and most concerned about his daily walks... the emotions such changes evoked struggled within her, trying to grasp the concept. Attempting to be as easy around him as he was with her.

In the end, she settled on a half truth. Malachi was taking her to the dragonkin in the east so she could receive her last gift, but they did not know any specifics as to where the dragonkin actually were. They had stopped here for rest and information. That seemed to satisfy her friend and Dillon began inquiring about her mother and other bits and pieces about her life. He seemed genuinely saddened at the news of Erequariel's death, murmuring his understanding and sympathies as his own wife, his beloved Jess, had departed from them two years before.

"She would have been overjoyed to meet you," Dillon said as they passed through the gate. He stopped, straightened his whole body, and waited for the smells and sounds of the plains to tell him which way his home lay. After a few moments' pause, he lowered himself over his cane again and continued his trudging pace. "Jess was always fond of elves, always. Elves and merfolk. I used to tease her that the only reason she married me was for my stories about you and your forest critters. Of course, they grew more embellished as time passed. You will have to forgive me for any impertinent questions the young ones may ask."

Pencaliel assured him they were already forgiven, warmth flushing her whole body with flattery and awkward embarrassment at being so idolized. Warm... Her eyes widened and flew to Malachi's face. How could she have allowed herself to become so caught up with Dillon as to forget the dragonkin? I'm here now, Malachi. You don't have to be alone. Her earlier words brought a richer red of shame to her cheeks and she laid her forehead against the half-blood's shoulder, letting him know in the easiest and subtlest way possible that he was still accepted. Still wanted.

 

[Kaisaan]

Master Malachi.

He didn't like that. At all.

The title caused his mind to bristle - even if he had adequate control over his body right now to remain calmer, though, he did tense - with a spitting fury that was not logical in the least, such Malachi could recognize, even as he knew why he didn't like hearing it. No matter that Dillon had meant nothing by it, most likely being polite, the half-blood still felt his skin crawl at the name. It was too closely associated with another name, a title he knew well, one he despised and one that had caused him nothing but pain. Telling himself they weren't the same thing didn't help and so Malachi remained quiet, eerily so as he did his best to contain the boiling, reactive anger within him as they began to walk, Pencaliel and Dillon filling the silence with their words.

He didn't need to speak anyway.

Perhaps that was a good thing for even after Malachi felt he'd calmed himself sufficiently, there was still nothing for him to say. What had to be explained had been said and what mystery remained, he was not inclined to share. He'd not even told Pencaliel anything. Oh, he'd told her his mission, something he'd never told anyone, but not why he had to do such a thing or how he was to do it. He'd not told her about his family or his people. She knew nothing of how he'd become blind - or did she assume he was born that way? She knew nothing about him and Malachi knew soon she'd realize it, grow nervous about it, but he would not be telling her anything with other people around to hear. Especially not people he held no kind of connection to.

Perhaps Pencaliel trusted this Dillon, but Malachi did not. It was for the elf's sake that he was being tolerant and it was for her sake that they'd stay the night, but the half-blood wasn't interested in socializing. One might say he didn't really know how - not in this kind of environment. Lies and schemes, politics, double-edged words, poisons and knives in the dark he understood.

This was nothing like that.

But as he once again felt Pencaliel's touch, sudden and a bit startling, but not so alarming this time as to make him jerk, Malachi acknowledged that this one part of his new kind of life was not something to be unhappy about. Pencaliel was truly the only ray of light in the darkness that had been his world for over a hundred years and right now, sometimes even she was a little too bright.

He didn't mind, though and the half-blood let his wing brush against her back, a subtle acknowledgement of her nearness. He didn't entirely understand the message she was trying to convey, but it was comforting nonetheless and he appreciated it.

 

[Lady Alainn]

Some of the feathers tickled across the bare section of her back as Malachi responded to her nudge, sending little shivers up and down her spine in a way that almost drove her mad. The cloak was now askew, showing a bit more of his wings than it had previously. Oh, just to lay a finger on the white fluffiness! Were they truly as soft and smooth as they looked? As they felt when barely brushing their tips against her skin? Would they quiver at her touch or remain stoic? Could Malachi actually feel through them? Just one touch, just a stroke of the finger. Tuck the wing under....

'No.'

That voice, that confounded voice! Why did it appear now, in the most insignificant of moments, and not when she was making life changing decisions like running off with a demon-possessed dragonkin? Pencaliel yanked her hands back from the cloak and huffed in frustration, realizing too late as she crossed her arms angrily over her chest that the huff was audible. And seeing as how her fellow travellers were blind, it was most likely very audible. She bit her lip and fervently concentrated on the patterns her bare toes made on the long grass. Perhaps if she tuned them out, they would assume she was lost in thought?

Much to her relief, the small company soon arrived at a moderately sized log cabin nestled snugly against the hillside. A small barn stood not too far from it, the door ajar enough for Pencaliel to peek inside and see two chestnut brown horses. Dillon called out, "I have brought stories tonight!" as they neared the cabin. Immediately, windows and doors swung open as children of all ages hung over the sills and piled at the doorway.

"An elf! It's an elf!" one of the littlest girls cried out in glee.

"He's got wings!" one of the older boys exclaimed with a tinge of jealousy. Dillon shooed them away with his cane to clear the doorway for his guests, whirling just in time to smack one of the other boys on the shoulder before he could touch a feather. Pencaliel jumped. Even she had not caught the boy's sly movements.

"Don't be rude-- which one are you?"
"Émile, sir," the dark-skinned boy mumbled.
"Émile," Dillon finished. "Now, make way. Let them sit down and rest their feet before you interrogate them. Mind your manners."

"You're late, Papa," a tall, dark-skinned man with greying hair reprimanded as he came into the room to see what all the commotion was about. He frowned when he saw just what kind of "stories" his father had brought in.

"Now, Proinsias, this is still my house and I can come and go as I please! I can also bring in whom I wish to share my meals and entertain my grandchildren, so stop giving them the stink eye. Ah me, why did you not inherit your mother's heart for hospitality? Pull out a chair for Malachi..." he turned with a smile to Pencaliel "unless he also prefers to sit on the floor?"

Pencaliel could feel her head spinning. Too many faces, too many words. If she was this sensitive, she could only imagine how much more so Malachi might be. Her ear twitched nervously, sending her bell tinkling. Suddenly, she was surrounded by the children, hands reaching out to touch her, faces upturned in rapturous delight. If only there had been one or two of these little darlings, she would not have minded so! But there were a good half dozen and that did not include the older ones standing back with equally eager faces.

"It's her! The elf with the bell!"
"Can you really use it to send messages under water?"
"Did you really use it to start a fire in the rain?"
"Was it really gifted to you by the gods of---"

The elf stammered a soft, "I think... I think we'll..."

"Children!" Proinsias commanded as Dillon stood thumping his cane against the wooden floor. "Line up against the wall. Sit down." With a haggard expression, the man gestured toward the four wooden chairs surrounding the table. "Would you like a seat?"

"No, no, I think we'll be fine... sitting... in the corner..." Pencaliel turned to where she supposed the dragonkin still stood behind her to grab his hand and rush over to the uncrowded corner.

 

[Kaisaan]

Malachi had never been more overwhelmed in his entire time being blind than he was now. Not even escaping the bounty hunters, running for his life, had been as bad as this. Perhaps that was because this wasn't something he could fight. There was no enemy to lash out at, no way to make the chaos stop. He simply had to endure it and while Malachi was used to enduring many things that most people wouldn't even dare have nightmares about, he had never in his life endured children.

Among his kin, children were seen and not heard. They were kept away from the general population and especially males until they were well into their teen years and only then had he interacted with them. But even the youngest of his kin were...well, nothing like the young ones that now surrounded him. They were not loud or inquisitive, not warm and playful. These human children - or whatever species they came from - were nothing like he'd ever known or encountered and Malachi didn't know what to do with them.

Or himself.

The noise alone was enough to drive him to bewilderment. Dillon might have been used to such things seeing as they were his grandchildren, accustomed to the volume and the quantity of the different voices and sounds around him, but Malachi was not. He couldn't focus, everyone was speaking at once and he could sense unease perhaps ready to verge on hostility from someone in the room but couldn't pinpoint the source. Small hands were getting too close, sudden touches, even accidental making him jerk, everything in him working at not snarling at everyone near him and simply bolting from the house.

Malachi was nothing less than a feral creature in the world he suddenly found himself - not knowing enough about it or its customs or ways to fit in and too abused to simply adapt as someone from another culture would.

He was wound so tight that even Pencaliel's hand coming into his own was more an intrusion than a life-line and it was with stiff steps, like that of an aggressive yet fearful wolf that he followed her to wherever she was leading him. He trusted her enough to do that, knowing that she was trying to help him even as she herself seemed at a loss for what to do for him OR herself. Unfortunately, sitting didn't ease his tension, his entire body radiating it, nearly trembling with it. His wings had come up defensively once again around him, not fully so, but enough that the cloak was no longer hiding them at all and Malachi didn't even care. What he cared about was that his ears were ringing, his senses were on overload from sound and scent, and he didn't know how to process any of it.

Quite simply, he was overwhelmed and could easily sense his companion was as well.

 

[Lady Alainn]

The children very reluctantly obeyed the man's orders, pressing against the outside wall with suppressed giggles and murmurs passing between them. Pencaliel had almost expected not to find Malachi still with her when she'd turned around, but was greatly surprised and very relieved to find him unmoved. Though he was as stiff as a statue and that was hardly better. The tension, the barely contained panic, she could feel it all coiling up within him as her hand sought his and for the first time since meeting the dragonkin she was beginning to realize it was much more than his inner darkness that made him a threat. Why he had had to specifically promise no harm would come to her. It wasn't his inner demons, but his hardened reflexes. His inability to guarantee that he would not strike at the unknown to protect himself and those he cared for. He was a viper.

And they were surrounded by inquisitive children. Bold, inquisitive children. She would have to protect them even as Malachi sought to protect her. The elf gently pulled Malachi to the opposite side of the room from them and sat him with his back to the corner, dropping down next to him on the floor and giving his wings enough space to breathe while withdrawing her hand from his to give him one less sense to process. Now that things had calmed down-- had returned into a somewhat orderly state-- she allowed herself time to process the scene and situation before her.

Eleven children crowded against the opposite wall, seven boys and four girls. The oldest-- a girl who seemed a bit older than herself but she knew that to be impossible because of their different races-- kept raising her eyes to stare at Malachi, blushing, and dropping her gaze to the fidgeting hands in her lap. The youngest, a female toddler, sat with her thumb in her mouth, amber eyes glued to Pencaliel. Several of the boys were puffing themselves up, jutting out their chests and squaring their shoulders to emulate Malachi's muscular build. The elf could not help but chuckle quietly at their antics.

Now, the adults. Her eyes swept across the room to familiarize herself with them. Dillon had shuffled over to the chair closest to them and turned it around to face his friend and her companion. His son had disappeared into the other room again, now that the chaos had been quieted, and a middle-aged woman had taken his place. Warmth flooded from the brown-skinned woman's smile, her eyes a golden amber that exuded mirth and mystery.

"Welcome to our home," her voice hummed. Dillon inclined his head in her direction and the softest of smiles creased his wrinkled face. It was easy to see that this daughter was a favourite.

"Ah, Anette, my dear, come and meet our guests. My Cairenn has crossed my path again at last after these many years, and this man is Malachi. They travel to his kinfolk in the east. And this, my honoured guests, is my daughter Anette. The spitting image of her mother and graced with only the good parts of us both."

Laughing, Anette crossed the room and planted a kiss on the old man's cheek. "You have spoiled me rotten and you know that. But speaking of spoiling, the evening meal will be ready soon and so it is time for everyone to wash up! Outside to the wash bin, let's go."

Pencaliel noted with relief that Anette at least was acutely aware of their discomfort. Turning to address them as the children filed outside, the woman opened her mouth and paused, a brief look of pity flashing across her face as she registered the dragonkin's sightless eyes. "Stay here and rest yourselves. I'll return shortly with water and a towel."

Quiet. Sweet, sweet quiet. The maiden felt her muscles relaxing in the stillness as she leaned wearily against the wall. "Thank you," she said at last, knowing that they were deeply indebted to her old friend's hospitality even if it was extremely tiring.

"Anything for you, Cairenn. Anything for you," Dillon said softly. Then silence filled the house once more with only the distant sounds of supper preparations wafting through from the next room. Pencaliel scooted closer to Malachi and laid her head on his shoulder, hoping to pass the tranquility from within herself to the dragonkin.

 

[Kaisaan]

The silence was a tangible relief for Malachi and it was obvious as his body slowly started to lose the rigidness it had gathered about itself so quickly. He seemed to breathe easier, the trembling dying down to subtle, intermittent shivers as he started to process everything at a much more even-keeled pace, able to start categorizing the sounds he heard and the scents he smelled. Dinner cooking in the kitchen. Dillon's breathing. Different and distinct voices of the children in the next room. Anette's strangely warm kind of aroma. Proinsias' movement in the other room. Pencaliel's shuffling right before her head came in contact with his shoulder again.

This time he accepted her touch, the comfort of it better received as Malachi's wings slowly unfurled, moving to his back once more as he took a deep breath and let it out slowly, controlled. Now that he knew who was around him and somewhat of the things going on, the noise would not be so panic-inducing. He still would not LIKE it, but it would be better expected now. So long as he didn't have children constantly touching him, he'd be all right.

He hoped.

The half-blood's heart having returned to a steadier rhythm, his voice was low and only carrying a hint of the growl he'd wanted to release earlier as he finally spoke again, addressing Dillon for the first time since they'd met back in the village. Malachi hadn't seen any need to speak before that point and as the night wore on, he'd probably find little reason to want to talk at all. The half-blood rarely did when he was unsure of a situation, but then again, where he was from and the way he'd grown up, speaking when he wasn't invited to do so had only earned him pain. Lessons learned over a hundred years stuck hard and fast, and were not so easily washed away.

"How many grandchildren do you have?"

Even his acute hearing had been unable to tell him just how many voices were speaking, though, the sheer multitude of them told Malachi it was far more than six or seven at least. That thought alone made him nervous, but at least now that he was calmer he was starting to logically recognize that children would hardly be a threat to Pencaliel or him. They'd just be....overwhelming and, for him, strange.