Silverlight Terrace [M] Left and Leaving

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It was time again.

Seven years of a self destructive pattern of behavior later, and what had changed? Very little, Whip supposed. The prodigal son of the great Redhawk family might have once thought his return triumphant -- now, it was a shallow whimper. He was older now, in a tired, haggard sort of way. Though, he still did not bend. Despite himself, Whip survived. 

His father had been a younger man when he had passed. Whip no longer saw the great Peregrine Redhawk or his elder brother Nightjar when he stared in the reflecting pools of fresh rainwater. They were men of strength, products of a bygone day, and he was something else. Sad eyes, longing for something that had never been stared blankly back, punctuating a scarred face of dappled grey.

Overhead, a raven cawed and gave flight.

Sialuk withdrew from Moonspear, following a familiar path down the mountain toward Moonglow, but veering north instead of further east. The heavy scent of her season still upon her, she made no attempt to conceal it. Her lovers had been attentive to her, and she did not seek out new ones today. Sixsix—having been on his own for some time—cawed nearby, and Sialuk spotted him just as he took off from a nearby tree, landing swiftly on her shoulder.

What have you seen, old friend? she asked, though no answer came from the bird except a tight squeeze of her shoulder and another raspy sound. Sialuk pursed her lips, curious.

And then, she saw the hunter—seasoned. One who had seen many winters. Ittuk she promptly named him. This woman greets you, she said, slipping into view and landing her eyes upon him.

He looked up, eyes following the bird's path. All things had use, even small creatures like this. Whip felt a certain kinship to birds, having not only been his namesake, but for the simple fact that they often led the way toward an easy meal. Carrion. Corpses. Anything that could be scavenged. Oftentimes, he marveled at their intelligence, preferring their company to that of his own kind. 

Instinctively, he readied himself to follow, but the bird arced down -- perching itself curiously on the shoulder of a stranger. A coat of stark white with a severe, but youthful face stared back. Whip stood alert, uncertain. The heady scent of season radiated from this one, but her dared not move before he could read her intentions.

He cleared his throat, gruff from disuse. 

"This uh -- this one greets you too, I guess," Whip spoke brusquely. He canted his head curiously, careful to keep his own body language neutral. "The bird. It yours?"

The way he spoke tickled something in her memory, but she brushed it aside. He was older, yet handsome. Worn, but in the way an old skin might be tattered from years of being walked upon. There was a sense of haunting in his eyes, and she felt her heart reach for Glaukos in that moment. He asked of Sixsix, and the bird ruffled his feather's at the mention. The raindrop did wonder if he could understand the words they spoke.

Sixsix is friend, Sialuk replied, laughing gently. She stepped forward, emboldened by her recent apparent power over men and women alike. You are...—Sialuk struggled to find the right word in their shared language—silatukuk. Knowing many things from many winters. Another step forward. She tested the air, drawing in his scent. He did not smell of a village.

He nodded, a low hum of approval rested in the depths of his throat. 

"They're useful, birds," Whip spoke then; his voice was rough like weathered stone as he regarded the stranger's companion with veiled interest. "I'm fond of them." Their company was easy -- they did not pry or ask burdensome questions. They simply were. Unbound and free. 

She moved first, approaching with some unknown word on her tongue. Rooting himself to the spot, Whip bore the weight of her scrutiny as her scent intensified with proximity. He sought some form of distraction, so he watched the little feathered creature perched upon her shoulder and ignored the quickening rhythm of his heart.

"I've seen my share," Whip answered, brow furrowing. All questions were pointed, hiding intentions. 

A beat followed.

"Is there something you want?" 

She knew well the usefulness of birds. It was Sixsix who had led her to many meals after the strange storm. It was Sixsix who had brought to her the small bones which told her things she needed to know. It was Sixsix who watched over her when the large cat prowled the land between her own village and that of anaa's. Her bond with Sixsix was a sacred one, and it went far beyond fondness and usefulness.

Ittuk asked directly then, no longer speaking of birds.

Unnerved by the wolf who stared, the black bird took off from her shoulder, ripping away with him any easy distraction. Whether or not the bird spirit-talker knew this was unknown to her.

You are a hunter who has known many summers, too. Sialuk smiled, a glimmer in her eye. I seek the comfort of men and women.

There it went, that last tether to civility slipped away so easily, fleeing out of reach -- out of sight. Whip had made mistakes. He knew them well and held them close. The inevitable disappointment, the pain inflicted on those whom he had once held dear; he had sown a vast garden and had reaped its bitter harvest. Solitude being his only reward. 

Impulse, however, was nothing to fight. This invisible hand had guided him here.

"I survive," he hummed, noting the mischievous smile that spread along the stranger's face. There was a hunger in her gaze. Something natural. Instinctual. Taking a tentative step forward, Whip made his choice.

He took in her scent, nose trailing along the length of the stranger's neck. She carried the scent of others. 

"You don't even know my name," he whispered.

The touch of a stranger was exhilarating. So much of her tenderness had been spent with those whom she already knew intimately in other ways. Her skin prickled along the back of her neck, and the starwoman pulled away from him gently. I have given you the name of ittuk. It is meaning king of—Sialuk stalled, trying to think of the proper word, but none quite fit—king of game pieces. The translation wasn't quite correct, but it would do.

I am called Sialuk Ostrega, head of village Moonspear. She had many names, but that was the one he was most likely to understand. There was hesitation then, thinking of what might come if she did take pleasure in his company. But again, it washed away when she moved in to touch her nose to his shoulder. The prospect of "new" and "old" wrapped into one package was too much for her to resist. She let instinct guide her now.

thanks for being patient; past week has been nuts at work! we can time skip / fade with your next post. >:)

Ittuk. Whip indulged in this fantasy eagerly enough -- he could be Ittuk if this stranger desired him to be whoever that was to her. It was sometimes easier to become someone else, to shed one's name -- one's baggage -- and begin again. It always ended the same though, yet Whip, or rather, the newly minted Ittuk, held his tongue.

"Ittuk it is then," he hummed, will breaking as he leaned into this instinctual pull.

***

Heart thrumming and on the crest of a stuttering breath, bodies disentangled. He rode the high for a moment before thinking of the burden that he had laid on her back. A moment of clarity. A familiar guilt creeped along Whip's spine, but he hid it well enough.

Perhaps, it was best to see this through.

"Sialuk, head of Moonspear," Whip spoke as he pulled away with an odd question on his mind -- especially given the circumstance. "Does this woman seek recruits?"

A sense of relief and relaxation came over her when they were through, and she found a comfortable prone position. He asked of recruits, and she tilted her head. Does this hunter seek a village? she volleyed back. He was handsome and a man of many winters. She would be glad to have him along the slopes of her home, but Sialuk would not force him where he did not wish to go.

There was a moment where Whip hesitated. A thoughtful pause followed in the silence, with it came a worrisome realization. It was not the first time he had had this thought, but it was a keen reminder. This solitary lifestyle -- the way he was living, it simply wasn't sustainable. He was getting older and this life would only become more difficult with time.

Was it selfish? Maybe. All things were in the end though.

"I do," he answered then, his doubts unvoiced. He cleared his throat. "I'll earn all I take." A reassurance, spoken not only for Sialuk, but for himself as well. He needed to hear it. To prove he could be of use.

A village for a man of many winters. Ittuk would do well among them, Sialuk thought. She wondered too if Towhee sought a lover. They were closer in age than Sialuk and Ittuk, and the starwoman would not object to sharing him if he wished to.

There are things to know of village Moonspear... and of this woman. I share my ulaq—this means 'den'—with many lovers. It is peaceful this way. You may find that you seek more than my warmth, she said, grinning. She kissed his nose, then led him toward the spear, excited by the prospect of having another older, wiser villager among them.

fade/archive here? we can have another one soon!