54th of Vhalar, 679
“Stupid. Fucking. Bitch.” Every punch that landed upon the dummy was sound, the Naer’s full force thrown behind each attack. Navyri Vy’pyjr felt something more than anger. It was a rage, boiling over and visceral in its manifestation. She could taste its bitterness, a flow of flavor with every thundering pound of her heart.
“Fucking. CUNT! I hate you!” Her breathing was coming in short, painful gulps as she kept her bandaged hands up and launched herself in a flurry of high kicks and the imaginary breaking of bones. In retrospect the dummy was nowhere near as satisfying to her passions as a real person. She couldn’t hear them cry out or smell their sweat. She wasn’t able to taste their blood.
And blood was what she craved.
It was the only thing that could satisfy her now.
“I hate you. I hate you. I hate you!” She leapt, tackling her opponent beneath her and ruining its face with knuckles and claws. Exhaustion began to build up within her limbs, the red haze that often went hand and hand with her anger slowly lifting. Where she had seen the woman’s face was now a faceless mannequin, its canvas covering warped and shredded. Bits of straw fell out and she sat upon it, lungs begging for respite, “Stupid… Stupid…”
Her chest began ache, her throat tightened. The lingering feeling of helplessness weighed upon her. (Don’t cry… Don’t cry.)
Nearby, someone began to clap.
Navyri tried to jump up, her foot getting caught on a stuffed hand and sending her back into the dirt. The rich voice laughed from beyond the trees, somewhere among its branches, “You know,” his voice was cool and crisp, a soothing undertone, “You will continue to suffer if you have an emotional reaction to everything that is said to you.”
Yellow eyes, like two golden discs peered at her from behind the cover of leaves, pinning the young woman in place. He seemed amused, the rest of his form hidden, “True power,” he said this wistfully, lovingly, “is sitting back and observing things with logic. True power is restraint.”
He pushed his face forward, exposing his identity. Navyri felt her stomach clench and she stood up quickly; ready to run. A natural reaction any prey felt in the presence of a predator. He smiled, turning his head to admire her violent handiwork. Where hair should have been was instead a great plumage, beautiful and brilliant. Iridescent blue. She knew, somewhere out of sight, there would be wings.
“If words control you that means everyone else can control you. Breathe, and allow things to pass…” He hummed in thought, watching her again with that observant gaze. He seemed transfixed upon the few exposed tattoos upon her leg, “Unless… You were looking for a master?”
Navyri hardened her expression, puffing out her chest in indignation, “I’m not. And I never will.”
“Are you sure?” The Avriel laughed, pushing further from his perch, his wings opening to push back his cover. He was tall and lithe, his skin the color of smoke, “Never say never, little Naer.”
She was scared, burying that fear beneath crossed arms and closed fists. Very rarely had she seen an Avriel, but she knew of them. The bird people. Created by Delroth himself. Was this… was this a test?
“How do you know I’m Naerikk?” she demanded, straightening to her feet and rising to her full height. He was taller still, and his wingspan easily dwarfed her.
“Why, you just told me.” He grinned, nodding to the dark ink upon her skin, “Tell me, little one,” he leapt from his spot and the wind seemed to carry him forward, “What does he see in you?”
Navyri stepped back, not expecting him to close the distance with such ease. His head turned at an odd angle, his talons as sharp as daggers in the dying light of the day, “What? Who?”
“Whoo whooo,” the Avriel mocked reaching out to take her arm. Navyri was quick and jumped back, pulling her hand to her chest, swallowing at his words, “You know the one I speak of.”
“I don’t,” As the words left her mouth, the earthy wind of Desnind blew, carrying with it the scent of flowers and rich soil. In response the feathered blessing upon her arm danced. The Avriel smiled.
Pain seared through her skull, a hard slap to sending her to the ground. Blood pooled where his claws had cut her and he scoffed in disdain, "Don't you dare lie to me," the Avriel glared and then smiled, "Now," crouching down, he looked her in the eye, "Let's try that again."
