Two Rivers Isle Last night I smoked a cigarette

@Goliad 

Ulrich was happy so far with the growing ranks of the Isle, which was a strange thing for him to even admit to himself. Strange that only weeks before he had wanted so desperately to hide from the world, and now he was quite content to share this little slice of heaven with whoever wandered by--provided they were kind, of course. He was wandering the snowy hills that day, an area of the Isle that he had been somewhat avoiding because it was so much windier, and therefore colder, outside the shelter of the trees. But if he was going to live here, he needed to know all of his own territory, so exploring he went.

This isle was vastly different from all that he knew. It was surprising that the world wasn't made up of sand and golden grass, as his father used to talk about; that there was more beyond the wasteland, and that he was fortunate enough to see it! It was not something Goliad had ever yearned for, this transition to greener pastures - but it had happened, and now he could not go back to the way things were before. To the place where he was meant to be, in truth.

He was fortunate also to have come across Ulrich when he had. Without the shadow man, Goliad would still be lost among those horrible trees. By now he had acclimated, slept, and eaten. His headache had worn off gradually, and he could spend his time exploring the land that Ulrich claimed as his own.

As he did so, he came across the familiar scent - then the trail of Ulrich, and then the man himself.

Ulrich! A good day to you, Goliad murmured as he swept close, his long limbs making short work of the distance. I had wondered about our deal. In a way, you promised me stories.

Goliad's voice called to him from behind, and he smiled and turned to greet the man. Good day, he said, and then blinked. Stories... Yes. Yes, he had implied stories, hadn't he? Well... if the man of the desert was going to be a proper historian, then he needed stories to memorize, didn't he? Yes, he murmured, thinking. Walk with me back to the trees, will you? It's freezing out here. He changed direction and began to aim himself back towards the forest to the south.

What sort of stories did you want? Ones about the Isle, I think we said. He sighed. Really, how the Isle came to be is more about mine and Adylaide's history, which goes back... years. How far back would you like me to go? It was then that he wondered whether his wife would even like the idea that he was sharing intimate details of her life with a stranger. He decided then to focus on himself as much as he could, and Adylaide could tell her side of it to Goliad if she wanted to later.

Ulrich recieved him. He had the bright idea to head for the trees, and while Goliad was leery of them for no proper reason, he disliked the brisk wind that picked up and was eager to follow; he skirted around Ulrich hastily, with high steps to try and avoid the wind and perhaps keep the dark man on the wind-swept side of himself, like buffer. Goliad gave one cursory look out at the grassy knoll and its hills, which were mentioned to him before, but then ducked and moved along.

The wind felt as if it pulsed at his backside and made him scurry faster.

How far back should the tale go? Well, stories have a natural beginning. Where would yours start? I presume when you met your wife - so a betrothal, I suspect. He had no idea how things worked in the northlands, nor how far off base he was in this assumption.

Whatever you are comfortable with as your beginning. It could be this place here - how it formed, why you chose it. I can pick up other stories and details later, too. He would be here a while, or that is what he hoped. The wintertime was not at all his cup of tea.

Ulrich could not help laughing in surprise at Goliad's assumption about himself and Adylaide. A betrothal? he repeated, incredulously. Hardly. No, Adylaide was... my charge. I was her bodyguard, sworn to protect her with my life from the moment she was born. I watched over her as she grew up and... He hesitated. This felt too much like spilling his wife's heart to a stranger.

Clearing his throat, he moved on. Well. Something... terrible happened, back where we came from, and we had to leave quickly or we would have been killed. We wandered the wilds for a month or so before coming upon this place. I... I wanted to be as far from others as possible. I did not trust other wolves--I still don't, entirely--so I moved us here, to the Isle. The two rivers around this land act as a natural barrier to anyone wishing us harm. And I thought it might look beautiful in the spring. He smiled gently. Adylaide likes pretty things.

The man burst with an uproar of laughter. Goliad could see no reason for it and was at first, taken aback. His ears slanted and he became small, stiff, and with a straight-spine; resembling a cat about to swat a mouse, maybe. The moment eased as Ulrich explained, and that only further addled what Goliad understood of the situation - but he eased with his posture, and shook out his shoulders as he listened. Diffusing the tension there as best he could.

A bodyguard turned husband? So had he stolen the woman from someone? That was the logical way to go about things - that was how the Sandsea worked. Ulrich could have been serving someone stronger and keeping that person's prized women safe, only to take his pick of them when the fool had his back turned! What a smart man, if that were the case.

The more Ulrich explained, the less likely these things became.

Tragedy had struck; they had to escape - a feeling Goliad could understand and to some extent, commisserate with. His confusion lessened. He listened raptly and with some solemn expression upon his face until the end, intent to saving the best parts deep in his mind.

Then that is your story, he murmured.

You began as her protector, and when your shared world ended, you continued with that duty. And now you are here - both survivors. It is a good story. He nods, although his expression remains stoic.

Ulrich noticed Goliad's stiffness at his laughter, as if he had offended the man. He felt bad. Goliad probably thought he'd been laughing at him, which was certainly not the case. However, the smaller man's body posture relaxed after a moment or two, so Ulrich let it go, not wanting to draw attention to anything that might be awkward.

Goliad listened with rapt attention--Ulrich could tell by the look on his face. And when he was done speaking, the red man summed the story up so well that Ulrich was genuinely surprised and pleased. I like that, he murmured. Both survivors. Yes. We are at that. He sighed. I would give anything to keep her safe. Smiling ruefully, he said, I suppose in your story you'd call me the hopeless romantic, but really that is Adylaide. She... apparently loved me for years, and... Well, I knew. Of course I knew. But our love was forbidden, and so I... shoved those feelings away, you see.

Why was he telling Goliad this? He had been such a private man before. But... he supposed he was not the man he had once been. As a soldier he had been private because it was not permitted of him to share his life with others. Maybe he had never wished to be so private. Maybe now that he could tell his story, he wanted nothing more than that. To tell someone something about himself so that he would not be lost to the sands of time. The sands of time. Considering who he was speaking to, that was ironic.

Being forced into a constant state of life or death brings people closer together, he went on. Once we were free of the constraints of our former life... it did not take me long to realize that I had loved Adylaide all this time. So. It is a love story, more than anything, I suppose. He glanced at Goliad out of the corner of his honey-brown eyes. But you mustn't let the others know how soft I am, or they'll walk all over me. And he winked.

The man gave praise and Goliad let that thin smile appear again upon his face, and he tipped his chin, letting his eyes slowly close so that they formed happy crescents. It was a good sign when leadership was happy; that was something his father often talked about, and pushed his sons to embody. He had wanted someone to take over as deputy eventually - although most of Goliad's siblings were less mental, and more physical, which made them ill-suited. Why he thought of them now as this man bore his soul so outwardly, he could not fathom.

Ulrich declared himself not a romantic; there was no word for such a thing according to Goliad, who did not understand it at first. As the man went on to speak of his wife being thus, he could at least figure out it was some feminine aspect, and not something men were meant to experience.

I will keep it secret, of course, he answered — his eyes flashing open again, and bright, almost mirthful. For my people, something such as love does not enter in to the equation of a betrothal - which, I know you said you did not have - he was quick to bring that up, and flashed his front teeth as a little smirk as he continued: But I do know what it is to be forbidden. You ended up taking what you wanted, whether directly or indirectly. That makes you powerful.

That was, somehow, a compliment.

Ulrich was disturbed by this information. So people do not marry for love where you come from, either? he asked, and tsked, shaking his head. That is a practice I plan to stop here and now. Any who wish to marry in this pack may do so, and I hope they marry for love. Being forced to marry someone you do not love--someone you probably do not even know is... despicable. He was thinking of Adylaide and all the nobles whose courtship had been forced upon her once she came of age. Knowing now with certainty that she had hated every one of those men made the whole thing just seem... disgusting. What if they had children one day? He could not imagine putting his own daughter through something like that, as if she were nothing but an object.

Goliad was speaking again, and distracted him from his thoughts. "But I do know what it is to be forbidden. You ended up taking what you wanted, whether directly or indirectly. That makes you powerful."

He smiled slowly, secretively. No, my friend, he said. I took nothing. It was Adylaide who did all the taking. She mistrusts her own judgment perhaps just as much as I do my own, but when she wants something, she goes and gets it. I tried to put off her advances, but she would have none of that.

Marrying for other reasons beyond betrothals for power? That sounded so foreign to Goliad, like a pipe dream. The thought was so hard to wrap his mind around! He had never felt strongly for anyone; not for his parents, not for his siblings, not for any of the women paraded through their camps, or for his own would-be wife. At the same time as feeling alienated by the concept, Goliad was surprised by how open he was to it. It felt freeing in a way he had never considered before - to marry for the sake of the marriage, or to seek a partner oneself, rather than having one arranged for you... It was worth looking at, and studying.

The man had lots to say about his wife. These little moments gave Goliad a lot more than one might think. He had learned the name of the wife through this conversation, and that she was meek-willed as any women, but that she was empowered by her attachment to Ulrich. And he saw no fault in this! That was the strangest part, thought Goliad.

You tell me not to share your romanticism with your people, yet you admit to doing the bidding of your wife? It was confusing!

Goliad did not know what to say, so he redirected things.

I was... betrothed. I was meant to marry a woman, but she did not care for it, and I did not either. That is why I am so far from the Sandsea - she wished for her freedom and I saw no reason to keep it from her. But it also served Goliad in that way, and he was able to distance himself from his father. They used one-another for their own gains and that was the end of their relationship.

But that is the past, now! I am here. My histories will be your histories.

So you do not care for forced marriage, either, Ulrich said. Well. He thanked the gods for that, because he wasn't sure if he had the energy to teach a man to rethink an idea like that. Ulrich wanted to comment on Goliad's words, ask about the woman he had meant to marry, but somehow the man's final words stopped him. They seemed to close a door between them, to indicate to Ulrich that Goliad did not wish to speak of his past. Perhaps that assumption was wrong; he did not know.

My histories will be your histories, he repeated. I like that, too. You have a way with words that this old soldier could never compete with. He paused in thought. Two Rivers Isle: Our histories are your histories. It seemed fitting, considering the ragtag group that had gathered here, who all seemed to have dark pasts, or at least pasts they were attempting to escape. Now they had banded together to form this... strange family.

Ulrich smiled at Goliad. I have enjoyed speaking with you. I am... not normally so open, but... perhaps you found a door I did not know I had. He shrugged, a little shyly.

I am glad! He answered, though his demeanor remained stalwart and his mood unaltered by outside cues. To be truthful he was happy to have had the conversation and begin repaying the man for his hospitality, as well as put his skills to use - but, he was also terribly cold and his face muscles were not wanting to move as freely as usual. It would take time for the summer wolf to adapt to this strange new world.

I would like to come to you again for stories. I think I will take my leave now, and mull over what I have learned. And perhaps in his time apart from Ulrich, Goliad would find himself in the company of the wife, or another piece of the Isle, and gather more information.

He bade his farewell with a low nod of his head, and sidled along the tree line; when the wind picked up, he hurried to avoid it.