Storm Watch Butte Melbourne

Hoping to join Verapaz, @Kemal! Other members of Verapaz welcome, too.

the world unfurls in ochre and umber, sand-bitten and sunburnt, where the sky yawns too wide for a woman so slight. storm watch butte looms as a titan above the lowlands, its jagged face cut raw against the heavens, and margarida feels very small upon its shadowed skirts.

she comes soft-footed, as if she might be swallowed whole by the desert’s patience; her ribs whisper beneath her skin, her virile shape marked by travel and hunger, yet still she holds her head as if it were wreathed in silk and laurels.

here the air tastes of grit and salt and distant lightning. she inhales it sharply, for among the scents of fox and vulture, snake and hare, another thread weaves through — the musk of wolves, the ancient musk of hearth and den. a home, perhaps. a pack.

her heart is a small bird rattling in its cage. to be caught, to be welcomed, to be turned away — which will it be?

she presses herself into the wind, nose lifted, her long limbs tremoring as she studies the butte’s stoneface. green things do not grow here, and yet, she wonders if she might.

Kemal plans to keep his promises. He needs to form a new purpose for Verapaz, and announce it soon.

It had brought him away from the pass today, southwards to avoid the current territory and the territory to-be. With the lowlands so empty he thought it would give him room to think, fresh air to breathe. Maybe that was why the scent of wolf had him so unsettled.

It sent him stalking into the butte, posture low and neutral gaze searching for a figure. He's mentally exhausted, not in the mood for a fight, but he still worries that who approaches could be a follower of Soto. Someone new and unpredictable.

Yet when he spots them, he can't quite maintain his anxieties. She's thin, delicate, like his princess sisters of home. Kemal settles into a frown, straightening his posture.

margarida had not expected to find another here. her pale limbs carried her softly through the butte, dark eyes sweeping each ridge and shadow with quiet curiosity. the air smelled of dust and vulture, but also of him—rich musk, heavy, like stormclouds rolling over stone.

she paused when her gaze caught him. broad, red hide marked by cream and black, a man who seemed to carry the weight of mountains upon his shoulders. there was something tired in the way he held himself, though his frame was anything but weak.

with a gentle bow of her narrow head, magui let her voice come smooth, polite, touched with her lilting tongue.

boa tarde, senhor, she greeted softly, her plume-tail lowering in courtesy. i did not mean to intrude. i only came to see these lands.

dark lashes lifted once, studying him—this wall of a man—and then away again, modest and careful. they are beautiful, não?

She spots him, speaking a language that Kemal cannot quite understand between her common words. Body language is universal however, and she seems compliant enough for him to approach. He keeps his distance, respectful while feeding his own curiosity. He needs to find out if she is healthy, who she has been with, how long she has been here.

You are not intruding, packlands are north. He responds, blunt and honest. Kemal isn't the type to punish someone for being near a territory.

He considers her words, looking past her to the walls of the butte. Yes, the lowlands are beautiful, but quiet. Verapaz could no longer live in the quiet.

I am Kemal, of Verapaz. He offers his own name first, eyeing her with the expectation that his gesture will be returned.

her lashes lowered, some soft shyness woven into the curve of her cheek as she dipped her head toward him. a greeting given not in words at first but in posture; the gentle tilt of her slim frame, the pliancy of a maiden’s manner.

margarida, she offered at last, the syllables spun in the lilting music of her tongue. magui, if you prefer. a hush of voice, threaded through with an accent that made the common words stumble and sway.

she looked to the butte then, its jagged face cut against sky, and thought of how he had said it— beautiful, but quiet. the quiet was not what she sought. her own body thinned from travel, her hearth still unmade.

i have no pack, her admission fell light, though the truth pressed heavier in her breast. green eyes flickered back to him, a ripple of something curious, wistful. perhaps… your verapaz. you will tell me?

He knows that the Verapaz of before would have destroyed this woman, the same way it surely destroyed Leto. The thought alone brings some sadness to his eyes.

Margarida. He repeats, tail twitching as he aims to etch the name into his memory. It's a habit he had kept throughout the years, memorising the names of each he comes across. Once, it had been a necessary skill.

She is alone, as Kemal could have guessed. He doubted that if she had company, they would have left her to wander. It was far too close to the season for that. Verapaz would welcome you. He promises, turning his head northwards to the pass. We live for family, and our members are well fed. From her thin body, he can guess she would benefit from this. But our members are sworn to silence. That is our loyalty to each other.

He eyes her, searching for a reaction. Would you be able to handle that?

her ears tipped gently forward, catching the weight in his tone— silence, sworn like blood, like oath.

silêncio… she repeated, the word soft on her tongue, rolling with the lilt of her people. her head bowed, a curtain of pale fur slipping loose as if to veil the spark in her eyes. it has always been my companion. eu sei guardar, sempre. secrets were bone and marrow to her— she carried them as other women carried pearls, hidden but heavy.

her gaze lifted again, shy, a ghost of a smile shaping her thin mouth. if this is the preço, senhor, then i will not falter.

a breath curled from her lips, green eyes lowering once more to the dust at his feet. family… comida… loyalty. these are coisas i have longed for. her tail brushed the earth behind her, a quiet emphasis.

yes, magui said simply, her voice low but certain. i can handle that.

He chooses to trust her response. If she were to lie, it would be dealt with swiftly.

Verapaz needs members now. For that, he has no more questions. Then come, we will find something for you to eat. Get some more meat on those bones. Our caches will have been filled today. What with, he wasn't sure. Maybe Dracarys had taken one of the sheep, or Panacea a den of rabbits. He takes a step to see if she will follow.

We can have you sworn to the omerta tonight, he decides, so long as you accept. She could be a true Verapaz member come the morning.

Just in time, too. New tasks would be given out tomorrow. Her promotion could come quickly.

margarida, thin-boned dove, felt the pull of his promise like a rosary bead turned between teeth; each word of verapaz rolling through her ribs with the weight of incense. the husk of hunger in her belly quieted for a fleeting breath, replaced by the tremor of something else—purpose, perhaps.

her head dipped, lashes low over the dark of her eyes, a bow of maidenly consent. sim, senhor… the murmur was soft, carried half in her native tongue, half in the hush of desert wind. i accept.

the name of silence—omertà—clung foreign and fragrant on her tongue. she thought of secrets tucked like relics beneath cathedral stone, thought of her own heart, which had always been good at keeping them. good at being veiled, concealed, compliant.

thin plume of her tail shifted once, a tremble of resolve, and she stepped to follow him. the butte stretched long behind her, an empty nave abandoned; ahead lay meat, and marrow, and a family of vow.

she would not wither into nothing. not here. not under his storm-red shadow.

fade here? feel free to tag me in a new one!