[Hills of Deception] Say Hello to Sunshine

[Yeva]

5 Glade 124

Yeva laughed, tearing across the field that was slick with melted snow, the first rays of light having brought with it a promise of full health and shy greenery. She slipped and went toppling into the mud, shortly tackled by a group of ram-children, who were greedily snatching at a ball that she hugged to her stomach. They roared and tugged at her arms and legs to loosen the prize, each of them happily rolling in the filth in exchange for the chance to best her, but with elven speed and cunning, Yeva slipped free of their hold, one by one, and continued her wild dash up the hills, towards the tree line where she had once emerged so many nights ago. The bruises had faded, and her vibrancy had returned like the rising of the new season's sun. Walking had grown bearable, each day the sharp pains in her ankle easing, until she was spotted around the camp so regularly, grumblings of her permanency were beginning to come into question.

She knew she would be making a decision very soon. Until then, however, Yeva sought to enjoy the time he had, no longer cooped up or commanded to stay off her feet, embracing for the first time in so long, the pleasant enjoyment of the material plane.

"Get her!" they shouted, the distance between the gaggle of youth and the redhaired beauty growing, boys and girls screeching in her wake, "She's getting away!"

Yeva spun and taunted them, reminded of her own siblings back home, and darted just out of reach, as the shouting of mothers called across the clearing and in unison, the children turned in disappointment.

A group of women shouted for the children to come back, either because they were filthy and in need of washing, or to finish chores, or simply because they said so. Yeva could see the frowns of their faces, their crossed arms, the stern set of their chin. They eyed the elf warily, and among them, a dark haired woman with broad hips and a full figure stared her down in challenge.

Each day she had been among the herdsmen of the hills, more of the women seemed to be against her. Either they avoided her friendship and attempts at conversation, refusing her assistance with the chores, or judged her openly for a lack of action. Kanna, one of the rathari who had the ears of the others, spoke only to Yeva when she was forced to, and more often than naught, dismissed her existence altogether. As far as she was concerned, the sooner the elf was gone, the better.

Yeva pretended not to notice the disdain, and smiled, waving down the hill and encouraging the children to run along.

[Yeva]

Yeva watched the children step forward to form a wall before running down the grey hill and filing one by one beyond the edge of the camp's border, a muddy boundary flattened from the steady clomping of boots, hooves, and paws. They ducked under their mothers' swatting, jumping, and braying like baby goats. The composed formation of a docile line of bodies amused her, given the chaos mere moments ago. As they protested to their mothers, Yeva shifted her gaze to details that had emerged as the snow melted. Recently, the herd had begun to pack their things. There were fewer cooking pots now, and more footprints. A few had gathered their belongings and their families to scout pastures ahead, and in the process, had found others.

After such a long time isolated and bound to the land, new faces had been a welcome reprieve. Other herdsmen, different Rathari but wanderers all the same, had set up temporary residences to trade and share stories the last few nights - and from what she had been told - as long as goodwill maintained they would soon be celebrating a festival honoring the arrival of Spring. Before her disappearance, temporary merging as different tribes passed through the same lands, posing no immediate threat to one another, had been a fairly regular occurrence. That would be no different, and the excitement was palpable when more tents had arrived.

New supplies and extended news had done a lot for morale, and although the food was low all around, mirth lingered in the hills. Why did they still treat her as they did?

Yeva pondered this a while, her feet wandering of their own accord along the border of the woods, stopping so often to rustle snowy bushes in search of orange berries she had seen others share in camp. When her focus trailed off, she wove under the shade of the trees, and could feel her shadow slip around her shoulders like a veil, her vision darkening as it tried to guide her attention, leading her into the woods.

Someone shouted her name, and Yeva turned sharply at the sound. She was now beyond the tree line and was heading down a familiar pass towards the familiar clearing illuminated by moonlight of night's past and where she had stood at the start of her attack. She needed to go now. She was wandering too far, alone. The call of her name had been deep, commanding. It had shocked her into a little jump, reminded she was contained within her own skin, and Yeva backpedaled, bumping spiky bushes. Cold snow stuck to makeshift pants, drawing a shiver up her spine. With a small curse, she darted back to the hill, where at the bottom, Rydon dropped a wooden beam from his shoulders and scanned the perimeter for her. Puffs of hot air bloomed and vanished as he took a deep breath. He sought her shape, and when he spotted her, his second bellow never found its voice. Another cloud of air rushed from his lips and he met her gaze unflinchingly.

"Come here," the silence seemed to say.

Yeva gave one last look to the woods and ran towards the Bull-chief, who nodded and moved deeper into camp. His hulking frame wove between tents and supplies, vanishing from sight, but the Seer knew the path well. With snow kicking up from behind her, she slipped through the lodgings and past leather racks. Piles of unwashed, untreated wool were being laid out in preparation for treatment, and in the center of the livelihood, Rydon was standing expectantly. Without a word, he held back the door. Understanding what he wanted, Yeva avoided the eyes of each wife as she walked forward, and stepped into the intimate space. Rydon followed, bowing his great frame to fit. Looming above the elf, his hands seized her, and darkness filled the room.

[Yeva]

Glade 5 724

They stood there, unmoving as eyes adjusted to the sudden shift of light. Yeva blinked in quick succession, feeling the silky presence of her shadow embrace her, while Rydon produced a dragonshard from his pocket and touched it to a candleless lantern. The lantern immediately glowed, a glyph illuminated in its center, casting a warm light across the room and stretching their shadow. When Yeva looked up, Rydon was watching her, how she shimmered back to visibility, and grunted, "Still here," he rumbled, letting her go. Yeva suspected he didn't understand, or particularly enjoy her little party trick, and the suspicions in his eyes said as much, despite his kindness. Whenever night fell, or conditions dimmed, he had grown into a habit of reaching for her. Ensuring she did not vanish forever, or to simply ensure her invisibility didn't leave him more vulnerable than he was comfortable with, the bull-chief had come to accept her party trick, if reluctantly.

"Sit," he said, "We must talk."

She could see Kanna's face when she closed her eyes. Smirking. She would be leaving soon now. Yeva nodded, neither of them speaking as they took their positions. Items were laid out along a wool blanket - travelling supplies. A leather satchel, a wooden shepherd's crook, a dagger, a headdress with ram's horns and preserved wildflowers, "The sun has returned since your arrival," he began, "Spring is beginning."

"Yes," she said softly, preparing herself. She tried not to think of Norani, of what that might mean for the world, afraid by how much she missed her friend. Her lover, "I am fortunate to be here and enjoy it."

"Hm," he looked down at the items before them, "The snow is melting quickly," he was hesitating, she realized, "The roads will be ready soon for travel. The scouts report drops of lurker activity," shadow monsters, "and the herd has stayed her far too long. It is time we moved on."

There was a pause, "And... time for me to move on, as well?"

He didn't attempt to deny this, simply nodding, "Your injuries have faded, and you run the fields," Physically, she was strong enough, they both knew that, "You have stayed with us to heal, you have minded your manners. But you are not Rathari, nor do you hail from Karnor. You are different," Everything Rydon said was true, and over the course of her stay, she knew him to be a fair, stern man. She had known few of his kind before, and despite some of her own difficulties fitting in, she trusted the herd. Leaving would be a sweet sorrow.

"Soon, it will be rutting season. You have no mate among us; the men will be fighting more."

"I... see."

She had noticed the butting of heads and jostling of some when she passed, but had she realized what that might mean? "It would be best if I left."

He grunted in affirmation.

She needed supplies if she was going to make it back to Ecith, more than she had already consumed since her time with them. Without a means to repay them, she was in their debt. "I have no money,"

"You will work."

"I-Yes... of course. I want to." He saved her life, "Anything," she promised, offering a small smile. Her thoughts were swimming, and she exhaled. One day at a time, "Tell me what I can do."

[Yeva]

“There is a goblin encampment within the hills; beneath us.”

Underground?

Yeva could not recall the faces of any goblins since her time in the jungle, sitting before a mural claiming her a prophetess, before she had emerged. Before Vi’chuvi. Before…

Dead eyes before her, flies buzzing and crawling greedily across the tan skin of a red-haired woman. Her jaw had been broken, deep gashes caved in the right side of her skull as if repeatedly smashed by an object. Freckles had dotted her broken nose, and the cut severing the head from its body had been clean. The blade that had killed her had not been jagged, but pristine. Sharp, practiced, perfected.

Flashes of the weapon came next, strapped to an orc, larger than any she had seen before. His hair had been long and braided, pulled in a warrior’s knot that swung as he led his charge. As he whistled. He allowed himself to look down upon the mother protecting her clutch of eggs and mercilessly crush her skull, her brood, beneath his bare foot. He marched on.

Yeva’s hands were shaking, her eyes distant. Rydon grabbed her shoulder and gave her a shake, as a growing concern furrowed his brow and gave him every impression of a bull.

“I’m fine,” she gasped, coming back to the present all at once, the memory more like a vision, demanding in its presence, “I just got lost in thought- I-“

I’m fine! She was shouting, spinning on Vuka and Boraba, ceasing in her possessed dance to glare and deny. Someone else had taken over, someone else was playing with her. There had been a face in a reflection, a… a smile.

“You should rest,” he began, his frown deeper than before as if it had been carved into his very being. He did not believe her lie, and it was then Yeva realized she was lying. She was lying without hesitation.

“No, please,” her hands snatched at his arms as he was rising, “I don’t want to “

“You are not well.”

“I am!” this time, she winced at her words, “I can work, I swear it. Please, continue.”

Yeva’s fear of being dismissed was tied to the ire of the women in the village. They did not trust her, and she knew it was because of something undeniable, something that she had put everything on the line for, and yet still struggled to come to terms with now that it had been realized.

Whether on her skin or woven into clothing, Galetira’s mark demanded view. It demanded attention. It did not matter if the clothing she wore had been handmade, stitched with cotton, felt, or wool, it would be there. Laced, knitted, dyed. And if Yeva wore nothing? If there a better place to be displayed?

An image of a diviner’s eyes would find its way onto her skin, most commonly her chest, beneath or between her breasts, or stamped above her beating heart. Once before, the marking had been stamped across her throat, and when bundled in blankets, early on in her recovery, when her body fought the cold and admist the pain of healing, her own gaze had swirled silver and gold, like the sun and moon had been melted and poured into her eyes.

Her plea was silent, waiting. After a long pause, where Rydon said nothing, the tension in the elf’s body released and she resettled upon her seat, then he spoke, “The goblins have not emerged to trade since the dark winter. We’ve had to go to them, but now that we will be on the move soon, we haven’t been able to send anyone. With preparations and the sun returning, no one has been inclined to do so, but there is business to attend to.”

Yeva nodded. So they needed a messenger? A courier?

“Our herd has an agreement with the grackles underground. If they know you are with us, they will not bother you.” To this, he touched the headdress with ram horns, “Wear this and they will know the herdsmen sent you.”

“And... The weapons?” she noted, looking up from the crook and dagger to the Chieftan, “You trade freely with them without threat, yet I must be armed?”

He snorted, “Nothing is free, little one. This is for your protection. You will wear our colors but do not think you are safe. The goblins have few loyalties. What I am offering you is dangerous. Their city is cutthroat and chaotic, and you will need to keep your wits about you.”

All her life she had heard of the dangerous nature of goblins, their fickle loyalties, and their opportunistic natures. After Franky, after those in the jungle, would she finally come to realize these warnings? “I… understand.”

“As an elf, you will stand out,” he eyed her, running a hand along his beard, “You are dirty.”
This was a statement of fact, making the young woman look down at the mud that had dried from her playing with children, “Good.”

“Good?” her head tilted. Wouldn’t that reflect poorly on the herd, she wondered.

The prejudice that came next was unflinching, “Goblins embrace filth. You will be less…Hytori this way,” he touched his beard again, “We have prepared the transport. You will go down and find a grackle named Grub. You will follow his instructions, you will complete the trades, and you will return. Half of your payment will be given before you go, and the rest you will receive if you return.” Not when. If.

If she was offended by this, she did not reveal it. She knew she stood out, she knew she was different, and she knew some attention could be a dangerous thing, “When do I leave?”

He smirked.

“Today.”