On the front step, he deeply inhaled the fresh outdoor air. Zarik tossed the wicker ball up, then caught it with a swipe of his hand. He repeated the playful motion as he started a nature walk. He didn’t plan on going far, or for long, just enough to get some space and explore the woods. There was so much here that didn’t exist in the city of Quacia. He went to a nearby tree, set his hand on the trunk, and smiled as the ether flowed to analyze and sort through the particles to familiarize himself with the bark and wood.
He identified it with ease, then smiled with recognition. As he drifted through the woods with light footwork, wandering away from the cabin. He felt reminded of when he was younger - before him and his father had a house or lived in towns. Those few spans of months spent in woods at the border of civilization, in which the pair of biqajs had scrambled to survive through drawing the attention of travelers and looting whatever was left behind in the wake of his father’s malice. But though such memories might’ve seemed bitter or sour to the objective mind, dappled with the sorrow of Zarik’s difficult adjustment to landlocked life, he didn’t view it this way.
Instead, Zarik smiled at the recollection of when he’d wander away from his father, in search for mushrooms or other things that could be found by natural means, rather than reminisce about the cruel plots of entrapment. The flora and fauna, certainly, had been his only friends and his only comfort in his acute loneliness. He treated the natural environment as he would the shipmates he'd once lived around. He felt this connection again on his walk, and he wondered why he’d ever left the calm forests that did not actively seek his death for Quacia… in retrospect, he supposed it'd been foolish of him. He had gotten lured by magnificent stories of strange cultures and great stone buildings taller than trees - lured to climb the edifices of a dying city and travel away from the stifling town life he’d become bored with toward his teen years.
How odd it was, where life had led him due to his choice to convince his father to move to the city. If he hadn’t gone to Quacia, he might’ve never met Alistair. He hesitated at the thought, leaned against a tree, and sighed. What a terrible path that might’ve been, he supposed, or if things were to - for whatever reason - return to how they’d been before… Zarik shook his head, dismissing his wayward, fearful thoughts. Again, the idea of loneliness: something he believed he had learned to get over, something he didn't believe for himself anymore for it was his lot in life to care for his father and be detached from general society in their laughter and conversations and fun. It was only now that he knew what an intimate bond felt like that he could reminiscence with such overarching logic. His isolation had simply been a matter of fact. There was no pity to be had, about it, or about any of his life. Most others had it so much worse, after all.
Zarik relaxed while he continued his walk in the woods. Alone and comforted by the forest, his mind processed his thoughts in gentle rhythm through much of what he'd been keeping to the side while with Alistair. He heard the faint sounds of water, and followed the babbling current to find a narrow river. He walked along the edge, tracking the ground for smaller items to pick up and identify. A few shells had somehow made their way, he picked them up and let the ether flow through. He paused, hearing the gallop of hooves. Something… or maybe someone… was traveling nearby. He waited, but then whatever it was passed with a rustle of leaves and faded from his sensory radius.
He continued on his way, picking up rocks, sticks, leaves, flowers, herbs, and other items. Eventually, he found his way to a pool of water, slightly wider than a fountain pond but much smaller than a lake. He sat down on a mossy rock to rest. Zarik surveyed the clearing. How far had he gone? He’d lost track of time… by now, Alistair probably noticed he was missing. He wondered if the man would ease or if he would look for him. Zarik felt a pang of guilt. He should have left a note at least, instead of just abandoning the bowl of stew on the table. Zarik rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of why he’d left like that.
Not figuring it out, he looked again to the still body of water. Zarik went to his knees and crawled to the edge. He drifted his hand through the surface, then raised it to look at his fingers. It seemed like fresh water. He licked it, not tasting any salt. Zarik gathered a handful, and took a long drink of the refreshing liquid. It soothed his sore throat some, but he didn’t take more than one sip.
Zarik sat back on the grass. He stretched his legs out and started to unwind the bandages that’d been on since last night. Surely the poultice had finished its job. His legs didn’t hurt anymore. He gathered the slimy bandages in a pile to the side. Most of the poultice had absorbed into his skin overnight, but a thin layer of leftover grime remained.
He took off his tunic, but left his shorts on. Zarik stood and made his way gradually into the water. He got to thigh-height, where his shorts cut off, and washed away the remaining poultice with the freshwater. The water turned green around him, spreading out over the chilly pool. His skin adjusted, then he returned to the shore. He shook his legs to dry them some and then removed the rest of his clothing.
Zarik returned to the water, this time going to the farthest dip in the pool that went to shoulder-height. He lingered, then lowered to look under the water’s surface. There wasn’t a lot to see. A school of tiny gray fish swam along the bottom, more interested in the algae than the visitor to their home. He swam in a circle, checking for any dangers before he rose up again and took a breath. It was a peaceful pool. He washed his hair, then lifted his feet. He floated near the surface, staring up at the slight opening in the tree canopy that afforded a view of the blue sky.
He listened to the water gently lapping against his pointed ears. Bird songs lilted on the air. Zarik stroked his hands, just enough to wade, and then he found a spot where his body balanced. He went still and closed his eyes. Zarik lowered himself under the surface. He sunk down to the bottom of the shallow pool and laid to rest against the algae and tiny rocks.
Ether hummed in his body, his bones vibrating as his new connection to reality wove out from his limbs. The cyan energy curled outward, as if many antenna feeling for understanding of his surroundings. He absorbed the muffled silence from under the water, tranquil in the moment. It seemed that the quiet of being underwater helped him concentrate and focus on the sensation of his new magic. He remained here, for a couple bits, before lifting and standing again in the water.
Zarik slicked his blond hair back, then left the pool to dry off. He didn’t know how long it’d been since he'd left the cabin, but he didn’t want to stay away much longer. His ether calmed and retracted from whence it came. He shook his limbs and head, then got dressed again. Zarik picked up the dirty bandages, not about to leave them, even if they were to only be thrown out later. He didn’t want to dirty the natural environment anymore than he already had by bathing.
He followed along the river. In his free hand, he tapped the wicker ball up and down in his palm. Zarik found himself drawn to the decor item. He promised himself to find something like it, for his new home, then he could have a whole bowl filled with wicker balls of different shapes and weaves; maybe even colors…
As he got closer to the cabin, he hoped that Alistair would not be too upset about his sudden and unannounced departure. It was unlikely that the man hadn’t noticed by now. He hesitated at a tree. Zarik lifted himself up onto a low branch and sat, watching the cabin for a few bits. A growing wind blew through the forest. He shook his head to help dry his hair. His feet had gotten muddy on the return, without the bandages to keep them protected.
Zarik hopped down from the branch and tested the strength of his legs. They felt rested and fully healed. He smiled, then headed to the cabin’s front door. He tried it… but the handle had been locked. Had he accidentally locked it when he snuck out? Zarik frowned, slightly dismayed, then he went around to the side and tried the kitchen door. It was similarly locked, though he saw Alistair inside - still cooking. He knocked on the window, though the man seemed to ignore him - until he heard a faint click at the door. He tried again and this time, the kitchen door was unlocked.
He walked inside, bashful from being so obviously caught. Zarik folded his hands behind him and muttered an apology. But Alistair didn’t seem to press the issue. He didn’t seem concerned at all, despite the locked doors that had forced Zarik to go through the kitchen. Instead, Zarik found himself accepting another bowl of stew from a pot that’d been kept warm. He blinked, then nodded when the magister explained that more spices had been added, but even if Zarik didn’t like it: he needed to eat all of it, now.
He identified it with ease, then smiled with recognition. As he drifted through the woods with light footwork, wandering away from the cabin. He felt reminded of when he was younger - before him and his father had a house or lived in towns. Those few spans of months spent in woods at the border of civilization, in which the pair of biqajs had scrambled to survive through drawing the attention of travelers and looting whatever was left behind in the wake of his father’s malice. But though such memories might’ve seemed bitter or sour to the objective mind, dappled with the sorrow of Zarik’s difficult adjustment to landlocked life, he didn’t view it this way.
Instead, Zarik smiled at the recollection of when he’d wander away from his father, in search for mushrooms or other things that could be found by natural means, rather than reminisce about the cruel plots of entrapment. The flora and fauna, certainly, had been his only friends and his only comfort in his acute loneliness. He treated the natural environment as he would the shipmates he'd once lived around. He felt this connection again on his walk, and he wondered why he’d ever left the calm forests that did not actively seek his death for Quacia… in retrospect, he supposed it'd been foolish of him. He had gotten lured by magnificent stories of strange cultures and great stone buildings taller than trees - lured to climb the edifices of a dying city and travel away from the stifling town life he’d become bored with toward his teen years.
How odd it was, where life had led him due to his choice to convince his father to move to the city. If he hadn’t gone to Quacia, he might’ve never met Alistair. He hesitated at the thought, leaned against a tree, and sighed. What a terrible path that might’ve been, he supposed, or if things were to - for whatever reason - return to how they’d been before… Zarik shook his head, dismissing his wayward, fearful thoughts. Again, the idea of loneliness: something he believed he had learned to get over, something he didn't believe for himself anymore for it was his lot in life to care for his father and be detached from general society in their laughter and conversations and fun. It was only now that he knew what an intimate bond felt like that he could reminiscence with such overarching logic. His isolation had simply been a matter of fact. There was no pity to be had, about it, or about any of his life. Most others had it so much worse, after all.
Zarik relaxed while he continued his walk in the woods. Alone and comforted by the forest, his mind processed his thoughts in gentle rhythm through much of what he'd been keeping to the side while with Alistair. He heard the faint sounds of water, and followed the babbling current to find a narrow river. He walked along the edge, tracking the ground for smaller items to pick up and identify. A few shells had somehow made their way, he picked them up and let the ether flow through. He paused, hearing the gallop of hooves. Something… or maybe someone… was traveling nearby. He waited, but then whatever it was passed with a rustle of leaves and faded from his sensory radius.
He continued on his way, picking up rocks, sticks, leaves, flowers, herbs, and other items. Eventually, he found his way to a pool of water, slightly wider than a fountain pond but much smaller than a lake. He sat down on a mossy rock to rest. Zarik surveyed the clearing. How far had he gone? He’d lost track of time… by now, Alistair probably noticed he was missing. He wondered if the man would ease or if he would look for him. Zarik felt a pang of guilt. He should have left a note at least, instead of just abandoning the bowl of stew on the table. Zarik rubbed his eyes, trying to make sense of why he’d left like that.
Not figuring it out, he looked again to the still body of water. Zarik went to his knees and crawled to the edge. He drifted his hand through the surface, then raised it to look at his fingers. It seemed like fresh water. He licked it, not tasting any salt. Zarik gathered a handful, and took a long drink of the refreshing liquid. It soothed his sore throat some, but he didn’t take more than one sip.
Zarik sat back on the grass. He stretched his legs out and started to unwind the bandages that’d been on since last night. Surely the poultice had finished its job. His legs didn’t hurt anymore. He gathered the slimy bandages in a pile to the side. Most of the poultice had absorbed into his skin overnight, but a thin layer of leftover grime remained.
He took off his tunic, but left his shorts on. Zarik stood and made his way gradually into the water. He got to thigh-height, where his shorts cut off, and washed away the remaining poultice with the freshwater. The water turned green around him, spreading out over the chilly pool. His skin adjusted, then he returned to the shore. He shook his legs to dry them some and then removed the rest of his clothing.
Zarik returned to the water, this time going to the farthest dip in the pool that went to shoulder-height. He lingered, then lowered to look under the water’s surface. There wasn’t a lot to see. A school of tiny gray fish swam along the bottom, more interested in the algae than the visitor to their home. He swam in a circle, checking for any dangers before he rose up again and took a breath. It was a peaceful pool. He washed his hair, then lifted his feet. He floated near the surface, staring up at the slight opening in the tree canopy that afforded a view of the blue sky.
He listened to the water gently lapping against his pointed ears. Bird songs lilted on the air. Zarik stroked his hands, just enough to wade, and then he found a spot where his body balanced. He went still and closed his eyes. Zarik lowered himself under the surface. He sunk down to the bottom of the shallow pool and laid to rest against the algae and tiny rocks.
Ether hummed in his body, his bones vibrating as his new connection to reality wove out from his limbs. The cyan energy curled outward, as if many antenna feeling for understanding of his surroundings. He absorbed the muffled silence from under the water, tranquil in the moment. It seemed that the quiet of being underwater helped him concentrate and focus on the sensation of his new magic. He remained here, for a couple bits, before lifting and standing again in the water.
Zarik slicked his blond hair back, then left the pool to dry off. He didn’t know how long it’d been since he'd left the cabin, but he didn’t want to stay away much longer. His ether calmed and retracted from whence it came. He shook his limbs and head, then got dressed again. Zarik picked up the dirty bandages, not about to leave them, even if they were to only be thrown out later. He didn’t want to dirty the natural environment anymore than he already had by bathing.
He followed along the river. In his free hand, he tapped the wicker ball up and down in his palm. Zarik found himself drawn to the decor item. He promised himself to find something like it, for his new home, then he could have a whole bowl filled with wicker balls of different shapes and weaves; maybe even colors…
As he got closer to the cabin, he hoped that Alistair would not be too upset about his sudden and unannounced departure. It was unlikely that the man hadn’t noticed by now. He hesitated at a tree. Zarik lifted himself up onto a low branch and sat, watching the cabin for a few bits. A growing wind blew through the forest. He shook his head to help dry his hair. His feet had gotten muddy on the return, without the bandages to keep them protected.
Zarik hopped down from the branch and tested the strength of his legs. They felt rested and fully healed. He smiled, then headed to the cabin’s front door. He tried it… but the handle had been locked. Had he accidentally locked it when he snuck out? Zarik frowned, slightly dismayed, then he went around to the side and tried the kitchen door. It was similarly locked, though he saw Alistair inside - still cooking. He knocked on the window, though the man seemed to ignore him - until he heard a faint click at the door. He tried again and this time, the kitchen door was unlocked.
He walked inside, bashful from being so obviously caught. Zarik folded his hands behind him and muttered an apology. But Alistair didn’t seem to press the issue. He didn’t seem concerned at all, despite the locked doors that had forced Zarik to go through the kitchen. Instead, Zarik found himself accepting another bowl of stew from a pot that’d been kept warm. He blinked, then nodded when the magister explained that more spices had been added, but even if Zarik didn’t like it: he needed to eat all of it, now.
