60 Glade, Year 123
[Closed - Æros, Rickter]
[Part I]
When the nameless man spoke in a tongue Hilana didn’t understand, the girl patiently waited for him to digest the situation, gently rubbing the back of the hand that she held now that he was awake and she didn’t need to keep applying pressure to his knee. Surely he was able to communicate in a tongue that they had familiar, otherwise she would likely need to ask her father. As frustrating as her male parent was, he was good with languages. He might know. But for the time being, Hilana did her best to just keep herself calm and relaxed, much like she would when approaching any wild animal - she didn’t want to startle a god; that couldn’t possibly end well for any of them if she did. The Stitchweaver had made it clear that if they departed this life for the next one without repaying the debt they owed to the Lord of the Frost, they would not be returning to the Sands. But since they owed him their lives… the Vastiana would see him taken care of. It was only right. The problem, however, was going to be what happened when they went home.
As he made to get up, Hilana rose up from where she had been kneeling beside him in order to help him up. Another woman, similar to the first thought certainly older, reached to him him up as well. Athalia couldn’t see the ghost, but she could feel his closeness, so she knew the spirit was nearby.
Hilana watched him as he straightened, looking up at the Lord of Frost. His pain was clear on his face and in his voice. It was deep-seated, not physical, and clearly he was confused and heartbroken. But when he asked her who he was, the Mistlord’s words were clear. His identity. And because he didn’t know that… she wondered if he had lost all memories of his pack. “You do not remember your name?” She asked him, her big brown eyes looking up to meet blue. She was emphatic, and she felt for him. Of all things, she knew who she was. She knew what she could do and couldn’t do, she knew who her family was, what lines she was descended from, who her kin were. She knew friend from foe, and those connections made her who she was. Maybe not completely, but they formed the basis for Hilana.
"My name is Hilana, and this is Athalia," she introduced him to her older sister that she had pulled from the Void, who gave the tall, blue-eyed man a small bow. She still could hardly believe that she was flesh and blood and here, and there were going to be endless complications when she took them back to Tertium. "There is a ghost here with us, but you need not be alarmed. His name is Æros, and he is a friend," she smiled at him. The way the wolves had looked at him and howled for the Lord of Frost so mournfully gave Hilana an idea. "May we call you Lykos?"
[Closed - Æros, Rickter]
[Part I]
When the nameless man spoke in a tongue Hilana didn’t understand, the girl patiently waited for him to digest the situation, gently rubbing the back of the hand that she held now that he was awake and she didn’t need to keep applying pressure to his knee. Surely he was able to communicate in a tongue that they had familiar, otherwise she would likely need to ask her father. As frustrating as her male parent was, he was good with languages. He might know. But for the time being, Hilana did her best to just keep herself calm and relaxed, much like she would when approaching any wild animal - she didn’t want to startle a god; that couldn’t possibly end well for any of them if she did. The Stitchweaver had made it clear that if they departed this life for the next one without repaying the debt they owed to the Lord of the Frost, they would not be returning to the Sands. But since they owed him their lives… the Vastiana would see him taken care of. It was only right. The problem, however, was going to be what happened when they went home.
As he made to get up, Hilana rose up from where she had been kneeling beside him in order to help him up. Another woman, similar to the first thought certainly older, reached to him him up as well. Athalia couldn’t see the ghost, but she could feel his closeness, so she knew the spirit was nearby.
Hilana watched him as he straightened, looking up at the Lord of Frost. His pain was clear on his face and in his voice. It was deep-seated, not physical, and clearly he was confused and heartbroken. But when he asked her who he was, the Mistlord’s words were clear. His identity. And because he didn’t know that… she wondered if he had lost all memories of his pack. “You do not remember your name?” She asked him, her big brown eyes looking up to meet blue. She was emphatic, and she felt for him. Of all things, she knew who she was. She knew what she could do and couldn’t do, she knew who her family was, what lines she was descended from, who her kin were. She knew friend from foe, and those connections made her who she was. Maybe not completely, but they formed the basis for Hilana.
"My name is Hilana, and this is Athalia," she introduced him to her older sister that she had pulled from the Void, who gave the tall, blue-eyed man a small bow. She still could hardly believe that she was flesh and blood and here, and there were going to be endless complications when she took them back to Tertium. "There is a ghost here with us, but you need not be alarmed. His name is Æros, and he is a friend," she smiled at him. The way the wolves had looked at him and howled for the Lord of Frost so mournfully gave Hilana an idea. "May we call you Lykos?"