First Time for Everything

[Carver]

Third break, Fourth of Cylus, Arc 720

Past the Bridge, Wilderness between Egilrun and Beacon, Scalvoris

it's all going to be okay!

“-and what would you know, he had hidden an entire bow-staff right in this little velvet pouch on his belt. Well, so, I asked him, what’s that you got there and- hold up, one trill.” Quint the lizardman leaned up against one of the large smooth rocks that served as shelter from the cold wind that cut across the grassy knolls where they’d settled camp, breaks ago. The large humanoid reptile stretched out his legs, yawned, then drifted back to sleep just like that.

Sleep hadn’t come… at all, for Carver. He couldn’t sleep like this. Not when there were no buildings in any visible sight. He’d tried to pretend for the first couple of breaks, and he’d cuddled Laures close to him to help keep his husband warm until he felt the gentle familiar breaths of the older man having fallen asleep. It'd only been due to Quint's generosity that they even had a mat to lay on and a blanket to keep warm with. Carver had never traveled like this before, he didn't know that he was meant to bring such things. And for himself, he couldn’t even catch the slightest hint of slumber. Every crack of wood or crunch of a leaf, every bird call or indiscernible animal in the distance made him lift to look around. Until finally, he gave up, and leaned against one of the rocks to keep a drowsy eye on everything for the other two. Because that was a thing. Someone keeping an eye out in case Something came hunting as Quint had put it.

Carver had always thought the wilderness would be quiet, without all the noises of a city or business of people going about their lives, but he found it to be the opposite. Constant sounds that he couldn’t identify filled their surroundings, just underneath the whistled howling of the Cylus winds. Cylus, he had come to learn through Quint (who proved far more talkative than he expected), was a season. A short one, too, but one in which the darkness persisted until the next season (Ashan, which was also the name of an Immortal) brought sunlight back to the world.

Quint insisted they didn’t need to set up a tent either. It wasn’t raining or snowing, so apparently that was the only reason to set up something like that. They had put together a very small fire for the warmth of it, the light hidden by the tall enclosure of rocks around them.

Yet it wasn’t as dark as it had been during the first stretch of their travel. Above, in the night sky, streaks of stars could be seen every now and then. Shooting stars and Carver watched their paths while the lizardman yawned, then laid back down and snored. It seemed Quint had a habit of waking up every break or so, just to chat or tell a story before he laid back down in mid-sentence and crashed out without the slightest care about the interruption.

So, Carver found himself listening to the noises beyond the crackled pops of the dwindled fire and the hissed snores of the lizardman. He felt around, then realized they were out of kindling sticks. No leaves in the grassy space either. Quietly, he got to his feet, then climbed over the top of one of the rocks to peek out at the long vast expanse of shadowed hills with dappled specks of clustered trees and bushes in spots. Certainly, there had to be some branches nearby.

Around his sleeve, he had wrapped a thin scarf to cover up the torn fabric. It didn’t matter. The second he stepped out and away from the rocks, he felt the cold bite through his layered clothes. Carver crossed his arms tightly, glanced at the campsite with the other two still asleep in the glow of the dying fire. He wouldn’t have to go far, he assumed, and if he needed a light, he’d just use magic.

Into the dimly lit night, Carver walked along the hill’s ridge, then down the slope towards the nearest copse of trees. Taken by the beauty of the shooting stars, he watched them move across the sky, and listened to the buzz of insects and gentle song of crickets, and the call of nocturnal birds. He forgot to watch exactly where he was going, gaze fixed upward, and startled when he heard a squeak. Carver quickly stepped backward to avoid whatever rustled in the frost-tinted grass. He squinted through the shadows, then crouched down when he saw it was some sort of animal. Small, but distinct with its dark hide among the pale grasses.

Carver glanced around and looked to a tree that loomed nearby. Through the branches, he saw a pair of glowing yellow eyes. He returned his attention below, and gingerly hovered a hand near the creature that drowsily kicked its tiny clawed paws and squeaked again. “Hey, don’t scratch me. Are you cold?”

Careful, he scooped the critter up into his gloved palm. It wasn’t much bigger than that, anyway. He glanced around, then grabbed a few twigs that he found among the grasses and didn’t dare get any closer to whatever seemed to be guarding the tree itself. Turned back on heel, he paused and realized… where were the rocks? Hadn’t they been right there? Carver climbed to the top of the hill and looked through the darkness… all the hills looked alike, and now he realized that there were rocks on all of them, along with trees, and which was the one he’d come from? He turned around a few times, glanced at a few shooting stars, then felt a tiny paw scratch against the sleeve of his coat.

“It’s okay,” he told the shivering creature while he placed his other hand gently over it to gather warmth between the palms like a blanket for the critter. “Hm…

Inlumino

.”

Nothing happened. He frowned, then tried to remember (though his recollection of the words he'd once used to bring about magic in his previous life were quickly slipping from his mind). He said, “

Incaendo.

”

Again, nothing. He didn’t know many more words than that to try and coax magical aid to provide light. Carver frowned, then he started in a direction that he hoped was the right gathering of rocks. Sticks and twigs gathered in the pockets of his coat and cradled in the crook of his arm, he kept his hands careful to gently cradle the freezing little creature he’d found.

When he reached the rocks to find them cold and empty, he swore and turned a few more times around. He had gotten completely lost in the dark wilderness. Carver gnawed on his lower lip, then he called out, “…Laures? Quint?”

Bellowed hoots responded from the sky and a bird flew overhead. Carver tried to listen for the fire through all the various night noises, and he breathed in deeply for the scent of smoke no matter how light it might be. Neither were found, though. He started in another direction and shouted in a reluctant growl of his raspy voice, “Oy, Quint? …Laures? I can’t find the rocks, it’s too damn dark... and everything looks the same.”

He felt a small bite to his finger. Sharp pointed teeth dug into the fabric of his fur-lined glove but were too small to reach his skin. Carver lifted his hand slightly and murmured, “I’m sorry, I’m not yelling at you. It’s okay.”

[Lars]

Third Break, Cylus 4, Arc 720

Between Egilrun and Beacon, Scalvoris

aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhh!!!!!!! AAAAAAAAAHHHH!!!

This kind of travel was not entirely new to Laures. While he doubted that he would ever find anything close to true comfort whilst out in (what he considered) the wilderness, and he would still take a warm bed and running water over this any trial, he was not entirely lost when it came to surviving outside. His first opportunity to escape continued, lifelong slavery had not come easily, after all. In truth, the details of those long, weary trials spent traveling through the woods were beginning to blur, and he was almost beginning to forget how he had managed such difficulties on his own… but at the very least, the knowledge that he had made it through them at all was enough. It was a reminder that he could do this, no matter how sore his muscles were, and no matter how cold he was beneath his thin sweater and coat, and no matter how much he wanted to turn around and run back to anywhere familiar and warm. He could do this, because he had done it before. This time, he at least had the advantage of having Carver around.

So, weary and exhausted though he was, Laures managed well enough to keep himself afloat. It was easier to keep his mind off of things like the emptiness he felt when Carver looked away from him cold when he had a destination in mind, and easier, too, not to focus on the crushing weight of loneliness cold when he was too busy forcing his aching legs to keep moving. He learned that he rather enjoyed the strange lizardman’s company (or he enjoyed it enough not to fantasize about removing that big scaly head from his shoulders), and found that his chattering mouth at least provided a way out of conversation for himself. He asked questions when he could, but otherwise kept quiet, leaving the brunt of the socialization to his perhaps better-suited husband. Laures thought that he had improved, somewhat, when it came to speaking with others casually, but it was hard. When he did not have strict rules and expectations to fall back on, he floundered, and he did not yet feel comfortable enough in his new form to risk weaving elaborate lies - perhaps once he had better control of his fists, he might.

The night was cold, and the chill was biting. It mattered not that he had a mat to lie down on and a blanket to cover up with, when he did not have his Carver to curl up to - where had he gone? Laures could have sworn that the younger blond had been right there with him, held close so as not to let the cold sink too deeply into their bones. Yet when he reached out to pull him closer, eyes closed to the darkness, his hand found nothing but grass and dirt. A small frown twisted his lips. Surely he had been there before, but it was so cold… and where was the blanket? The one Quint had been kind enough to let them use? And the mat, where was it? He felt nothing but the cold ground beneath his head. Even the sounds of crackling fire and hissed snores had faded away, drowned in the cacophony of distant caws and chirps and croaks. His heart skipped in his chest, and his outstretched hand was drawn in, cold fingers curling into a fist.

He couldn’t have imagined it. It was impossible. He couldn’t have dreamed it all, and woken now to the shadowed woods between one city and the next, one master traded for another. And if he had, he could not do it again. Not after knowing what it was like to be free, to not be expected somewhere, to not be touched and grabbed and bruised and bitten and fu-

A loud snort disturbed him from his panicked thoughts, and Laures rolled to lie on his other side. With shallow breaths and widened blue eyes, he gazed across the fire to the sleeping ithecal. All at once, the sounds returned to him: the clicks and pops of the fire as it burned through the last of the wood, the quiet swish of Quint’s tail as it swatted at a pesky bug, the contented snores hissed through rows of pointed teeth. He had rolled away from the blanket and mat at some point, and with a weary sigh, he crawled closer. Quint slumbered on, peaceful as could be, but… where was Carver? He sat up properly then, looking about their little camp with growing concern as he noted that the young blond was nowhere to be seen. While he knew that there was no reason to panic just yet, he could not help but worry.

Laures grabbed the blanket and stood, wrapping it around his shoulders like a cloak. Quint seemed fine enough where he was… so he did not bother him, leaving the resting lizardman alone as he moved to climb the tall rocks. Perhaps if he stood up there, he could get a better look around and spot his husband somewhere close. Right? Right. He told himself that, anyway. The rocks were cold, even through his gloves, but he managed to make it up soon enough. A narrowed blue gaze swept over the surrounding area, but it was difficult to make much out beyond the shapes of trees and rocks and bushes and whatever else there might’ve been out there in the dark. Holding tightly to his makeshift cloak, Laures stepped down, and did his best to look around while he descended the hill.

Only, he wasn’t looking down, and perhaps he should not have brought along a long blanket to walk through uncertain terrain. The edge of the blanket caught beneath his pointed shoe, and that was all it took - he slipped, falling forward a few feet to the bottom of the hill. Gracefully, he and his trusty blanket landed in a smaller bush, and the blond hissed in frustration as he felt a sharp pain shoot through his right ankle. Wasting no time to look at it or recover, Laures pushed himself up (grumbling quietly along the way) and kept his weight on his left foot while he shook out the blanket. Fine then. It was returned to his shoulders, pulled up higher this time, and he shivered as he gathered the will to keep on. It was by some miracle that he heard another sound, almost lost within all the rest, and recognized his husband’s raspy voice coming from somewhere at the top of the… hill that he had just come down. Because luck was truly on his side tonight.

“Yep,” was all he managed, called out so that his dear lover might know that he’d heard, and Laures was on the move again. Up the hill, the clumsy blond took care to mind where he put his feet, and did his best to ignore the pain in his ankle as he walked on it. It did not feel like anything serious; he could not see it in the dark, but it hardly felt disastrous. He could still walk, sore though it was. He did not look up again until he had made it to the top, and though the silhouette nearly blended into those of the trees beyond, he thought he could see Carver nearby. He continued on, stepping carefully over and around the rocks until he approached the familiar shadow.

Out of breath, Laures was glad, in that moment, that it was dark enough that his lover might not see the absolute mess he’d made of his hair. Blanket wrapped tightly around his shoulders, he came closer, and said, “how’d you get out here? And - what is that?”

Was Carver holding something? Laures stepped closer, and held an arm out, as if wanting for the younger to join him in the blanket.

[Carver]

3rd Break, Cylus 4, Arc 720

Yep.

The fuck was that? Carver glanced around when he heard the… oh, it’d been a voice. His mind, driven primal by the dark wilderness around him, calmed as it processed that it’d just been the familiar voice of his lover. But from where? He hadn’t been paying enough attention, too concerned with the critter that shivered against his hands. At least until he caught the shadows moving on the slope, and his heart skipped a beat, and then he calmed when he realized it was just Laures.

“Oh, Laures! Thank the gods,” he gasped, though he wasn’t anywhere close to out of breath. He exhaled though, like he had been. “There’s so much fucking land… how does anyone find their way anywhere like this? Everything looks the damn same.”

Carver missed the city and its buildings, already. He missed the narrow alleys with mud-caked stones and the way that the sky could barely even be seen between the dangerous bend of tenements that leaned toward each other. He liked the grid-patterned streets, and the winding paths through abandoned homes, and knowing that one could go up and down stairs to get even farther into the urban madness. This, though, this wilderness – this countryside – it felt suffocating for how vast and expansive it was. How could anyone escape anything here? Even with the trees, it felt far too open. He didn’t like it and he didn't like how big the sky felt either… but he did like the stars.

From his hands, squeaks sounded. A bit less pathetic as when he’d first found the critter, but tiny and mewling all the same. He stepped toward his soulmate, to meet the approach, and easily ducked to join him under the blanket. Carver nestled up close, shoulder against shoulder, and then he lifted his hands. He carefully moved one to show the creature he’d picked up.

“I found him in the grass, he looked so cold,” he said. Through the shadows, and on the dark color of his glove, it was difficult to make out what it was. Small, whatever it was, and shadowed color, with clawed pads that slowly curled as if in gesture toward Laures’ face while Carver lifted it up to be seen easier. The critter blearily blinked through barely open eyes. Large floppy ears hung over its pointed rodent-like face. It squeaked again.

“I- oh, I was getting wood so the fire wouldn’t die,” he explained. The critter rolled over in his palm, a thin tail twitched, and it almost fell right off the edge. He caught it with his other hand. “Let’s get back so this little fellah can warm up too.”

Carver stepped away, and looked around, then turned his gaze back to his lover with a slight smile. He asked, “Which way is the camp?”

[Lars]

Third Break, Cylus 4, Arc 720

Was that squeaking he heard? From within Carver’s hands, something voiced its distress, and Laures’ brows drew together in confusion. He was grateful when his lover joined him beneath the blanket, if not for Carver’s sake then for his own cold body, and for the comfort it brought him to once again be close. He leaned in closer as his husband’s gloved hands were raised in front of them, and one of them was moved back to reveal the creature hidden inside. Laures’ tongue clicked for how quickly he opened his mouth, and he looked over the little thing, shadowed and mewling and cold. Where in the world had Carver found it? And… why had he picked it up? He supposed he had never seen his husband around animals. He had mentioned a dog, once, or rather the idea that Laures should get one, but he had not ever seen him interact with any such creatures.

“I found him in the grass, he looked so cold,” and the little thing was held up higher, floppy ears framing its tiny face. Laures hummed in consideration, continuing to watch the (presumed) rodent while his lover continued on, speaking of gathering wood for the fire. Did Carver like animals, then? He would not have guessed that about him. But he held the poor little thing like he cared, and wanted to bring him back just to warm him. For as brutal and cruel as Carver could be, he was fascinated by the notion of such kindness. Eyebrows raised, Laures gave a nod, and turned to look around as well.

“Oh, uh…” that was… a good question. The older blond was quiet for a trill or two, blue gaze sweeping over the darkness and the unfamiliar landscape. He had fallen right over there, so he must have walked up from over there, which meant that they were at least nearby, right? The blanket was pulled a little tighter as a shiver raked through him. Carver was right; it all just looked the same.

With a small shrug, he stepped closer, slipping an arm around the other man’s waist. Laures started towards the direction he thought he had come from before, and said, “this way, I think. ...Yeah, there’s the smoke.”

But with the way it’d made itself so much more visible as it filtered up and into the night sky, that had to mean it was burning out. They would need to hurry, then, before the light faded entirely and made their little campsite even harder to find. Laures picked up the pace a bit, limping ever-so-slightly when he did, and rubbed his hand up and down Carver’s side in some attempt to keep him warm. The younger might not have as much of an issue with the frigid temperatures as he did, but again, it was partly for himself that he did it.

“Can’t sleep, then?” asked Laures, keeping his eyes down on the ground ahead of them so that he might not make the same mistake twice, “I could, uh… I could read to you, if you want. If you think that might help. I’ve got all those letters from Iver’s place.”

Laures did not think that he had ever read out loud to anyone before, but he could certainly try, if Carver wished. He had not exactly gotten to ramble on and on to him as he had grown accustomed to doing each night, and though he doubted that the other man could truly miss such a thing, he was more than willing to stay awake with him, or at the very least, hand the letters over to keep him occupied.

"Or you can just read them on your own, of course," he added then, as if made insecure by his own suggestion that his voice might somehow help.

[Carver]

4th Break, Cylus 4, Arc 720

While his lover looked around, Carver brought his hands closer and he considered that maybe the critter might fit in his coat pocket. Would it be warmer there? He didn’t know. Then he remembered he’d put all the twigs and sticks in there. So, he kept hold instead, making the little nest of his gloved hands again. The warmth seemed to be waking the critter up some, as it tried to crawl out of his hands but stopped half-way to just shiver.

Shiver like he felt Laures shiver when the older wrapped an arm around his waist. He looked forward in the direction they headed and squinted toward the faint vision of smoke. Carver felt grateful that his husband had somehow woken up and went looking for him… he didn’t know if he would have been able to find the campsite on his own. In fact, he doubted he would have. Careful of their steps, he followed the other’s lead but noticed the limping.

Before he could ask about it, though, Laures inquired about his sleep (or lack thereof). Carver shrugged. A slight smile hinted at his lips when he thought about the idea of Laures reading the love letters to him. Quint might think it odd, but so far, the lizardman seemed greatly accommodating to the couple’s romantic side. He supposed for a lizard, maybe it didn’t matter that they were both men since they were both fleshy human creatures anyway. Whatever the case, he felt grateful for that too.

In fact, Carver felt so immensely grateful for so many things in that very moment as his thoughts turned over the reminders. He held the little critter in his hands close to his chest. His steps slowed, slowed, then he paused to look up at the starry sky. The younger blond sighed, in a content manner, then he said, “Have you seen them?”

His dark eyes glanced at Laures, as dark as the night around them, then he looked back up to the sky with a nod. A few tails of light streaked across the expanse above them. “They’ve been doing that all night. I don’t know if I’ve ever seen such a thing, so much, all at once like that. So many stars… I wonder if they’re the same stars we used to look at before.”

He lowered his gaze and started walking again, only to help Laures along. Carver looked at the critter that he held up against his chest. It’d stopped squirming and seemed to have settled in his hands with tiny sleepy squeaks. He adjusted his coat some, then carefully settled the critter to lay between the lapels for the added warmth. One hand stayed to make sure that it wouldn’t fall out, but his other hand was now freed. He reached under the blanket and wrapped his own arm around Laures’ waist. With a quiet huff, he lifted the other’s weight to lean more on him and he asked, “Did you hurt your leg or something?”

They approached the rocks, which weren’t that far away, just a little closer… and he added in a slightly lowered tone, “I’d like it. If you read the letters to me. I like hearing your voice, Laures… Thanks for finding me, again.”

Once they got to the rocks, and this time it had to be the campsite because Quint’s snores were obvious and the smoldering crackles suggested the fire had reached its last embers. He carefully held the sleeping critter close, and then asked his newlywed husband, “Did you need some help over?”

There was a section of rocks that wasn’t so difficult to climb, more stepping stones than anything, but Carver held out his hand in offer for Laures to take it for the added balance while he made his way over and back into the protected ring of stone. Whether needed for the entire time, or just part of it, he made sure Laures followed without any additional harm.

To the fireside, he dug out the various twigs, leaves, and sticks from his pockets and tossed them down. Carver settled onto his knees, one hand still occupied with keeping the critter tucked away in his coat, and he started to try and rekindle the fire with some of the gathered nature. He frowned slightly, though, not sure if he was doing it right. He was far more familiar with actual firewood in hearths with matches to help things along.

A squeaking distracted him as the critter woke up, then started to squirm in his coat.

“Ah, wa-wait a-,” he whispered, but it was too late. The creature squeaked some more, then burrowed away from his hand and further down his coat. Out of reach, a shiver ran up his spine as he felt its claws tap their way across the woolen sweater and the critter climbed past his ribs. Carver paled somewhat, while he tried to figure out how to catch the wayward critter inside his coat. “Do-don’t scratch- ah, ouch- okay, okay. Damnit.”

Carver quickly unfastened his coat and opened it up. He reached around his waist, to grab at the critter but it went a little too quick and out of reach. It was so tiny, after all, and he visibly shivered again before the thinly furred gray animal poked out from the back collar of his coat. It started to dig its long claws to try and get underneath the sweater instead. Carver stopped moving, as he didn’t want to spook the critter to go faster or to bite or anything while it was at the nape of his neck.

“La-laures, can you… help? I can’t see ‘im.”

[Lars]

Fourth Break, Cylus 4, Arc 720

Laures looked startled, at first, when Carver’s steps began to slow. Did he not want to get back to the camp? It would be warmer there, though admittedly not by much, but the older knew that he would certainly feel better about it himself once they made it back to the dying fire. Back to a section of land that was at least somewhat familiar to them, after settling down there breaks ago, and back to the relative safety provided by a big lizardman’s presence nearby. He was not foolish enough to think that Quint would go out of his way to protect them from anything, but he did not think that many things would come after them anyway, if they saw the scaly behemoth first. Had Carver dropped something, then, or decided against bringing the cold little critter back to camp with them?

But as his own steps came to a stop and he allowed himself the moment to focus on his husband, he realized that he did not seem bothered at all. In fact, Carver looked… happy. Gazing up at the night sky, his eyes as dark as the world around them, glittering in reflection of the expanse of stars above. Laures was confused, at first, about what he meant. They were only stars, he thought, and they wouldn’t look any different than they had any other night. As he directed his gaze upwards, though, and his eyes were graced with the heavenly vision of shooting stars, glimmering and bright, he understood.

“I wonder if they’re the same stars we used to look at before.”

You ever wonder how many stars are in the sky?

“Something tells me they’re not,” he murmured in quiet response, “these are prettier.”

Carver started walking again, and Laures leaned a little against him. Not out of the need to do so (though he would admit that it helped there too), but because it all just felt so… so damn romantic, in spite of the cold. He could not help that the redness of his sharp features was no longer only from the chill, but from the warmth that’d blossomed so easily within his chest and spread through his limbs like adrenaline, jittery and light.

(He wondered how the garden fared, that had been so carefully planted and dutifully tended to. He wondered if the flowers had wilted, if they had been starved when the last of his blood left his throat. Perhaps they had finally pierced through his sternum and found their way out, to wrap their hearty stems around Carver and keep him close forever. Carver said that he had tried to kiss him one last time, and he wondered if his mouth had been left open, if his perfect, scarred lips had parted in death to provide shelter to the petals that would surely find their way inside. He wondered if nature might link them forever, if the flowers would grow until no witness might tell the difference between rotted limbs and stems. It would be beautiful, in time, as all things were.)

He was shifted to lean further on his husband, and Laures smiled bashfully, dipping his head when questioned about his leg. If Carver had not seen his fall, then did he really need to tell him of the embarrassing tumble at all? “I twisted my ankle,” he admitted, but followed with, “it’s alright, though. Or - it will be.”

It hurt, and he was expecting to find it swollen and bruised, but it was nothing he could not push through. Besides, when Carver was being so affectionate and kind, he could not spare the energy to focus on the disarray. His next smile was involuntary, small though it was, as his husband claimed to enjoy hearing his voice. It was a silly thing to give value, he knew, but hearing it from Carver meant a lot. His only response came in the form of a little nod, and he forced his eyes forward again as they approached the tall rocks surrounding their shared camp.

Creature still cradled close in his coat, Carver offered him a hand, and Laures accepted it wordlessly. Careful not to let his makeshift cloak tangle beneath his feet again, he made his way back over the rocks with his husband’s assistance, and did not release the gloved hand until the younger retreated to the fire. He was left to return to the mat, then, and seated himself with a quiet huff. If he did not check his ankle, did he have to acknowledge that it was hurt? That it was best not used, for a while? It mattered little that it was injured, when they had ground to cover still in the morning. He adjusted his blanket, pulling it away from his shoulders to cover his legs instead. He heard the little squeaks of his lover’s animal companion, but did not glance over again until he heard a whispering voice, pleading with said companion not to scratch at him.

It was hard to quiet the laugh that bubbled up and out of his throat, but he managed, covering his mouth with his hand and practically giggling against his cold, gloved fingers. Carver’s coat was hastily removed, and Laures was already pushing himself up again, just enough to crawl closer on his hands and knees. He saw the floppy-eared creature dart over his husband’s sweater and out of his reach, and then climb over his back to claw at his collar. Laures silenced himself, though he was unable to wipe the smile from his face.

A quiet hum, and Laures came to a stop beside Carver, sitting on his knees. Hesitant and slow, he extended both gloved hands toward the rodent, pausing in his approach anytime the pesky thing looked as if it might dart away. After a few long trills of staring at his fingers, the gray-furred critter gave them a sniff, and then stepped onto them to reluctantly crawl into his hands.

As slowly as they’d went in his approach, his hands were lowered and brought away from Carver’s neck. He held the squeaking creature between them, one hand raised slightly to shelter it from the light breeze that made it through the rocks.

“Lucky it didn’t jump on Quint,” joked Laures, voice hushed, “are you alright? It didn’t scratch you too badly, did it?”

Already the rodent was wanting to move again, crawling over the edge of his hand and forcing him to catch it with the other. It continued this again, and again, and Laures watched it with an obvious concern. It did not understand that they were trying to help it, apparently. Holding it a little tighter within his hands, he moved to sit down properly, with his injured leg laid out before him and his head turned to the side, to watch the dying fire. Even now, Quint snored on, though from the lizardman’s record he was not sure how much longer that would stay true.

“What even is this thing?” he questioned first, glancing down at the wiggly rodent in his hands for a moment, before his eyes were drawn back up to the other man. He did not expect much of an answer out of him, of course, as he figured Carver knew about as much as he did when it came to the differences in their world and this one.

So instead of waiting for a real answer, Laures nodded towards Carver, and said, “come here, love. Lie down with me, and I’ll read to you and… this little guy.” The aforementioned little guy gave another squeak, and pushed at his gloved fingers until his pointed face peeked out between them.

[Carver]

4th Break, Cylus 4, Arc 720

I used to. I used to wonder if they would fall, one day. They still haven’t.

The stars were prettier than the stars where they came from, and Carver agreed with his lover’s sentiment. If it weren’t for the little freezing critter in his coat, he might have stayed out longer despite the cold. Just to spend intimate time with Laures, and to hold him even closer than he did now, and to watch the stars while he summoned the older man’s breath to gather in visible clouds around reddened lips.

Distracted by the twisted ankle, though, and the critter, he continued toward the campsite though he took care to offer even more support now that he knew the other had gotten hurt. Together, they made their way back to the safety of the familiar rocks.

The secure warmth woke the gray-furred critter as it skittered under his coat and then up to where he couldn’t easily grab at it. He held perfectly motionless but glanced up to see that Laures had come to help – with an obvious smile on his lover’s handsome face. Carver snorted, then he chuckled while he waited for Laures to get ahold of the creature. Teasing with an amused tone, he asked, “Is this funny to you? Hm? He’s got me by the neck and you smile.”

He smiled, as well, especially when Laures safely got a hold of the squeaking animal. Carver fixed his sweater, then put his coat back on to help. He subtly waved a hand in dismissal of the concern.

“Nothing I can’t handle, even in this flower of a bod-” he paused and didn’t voice the complete thought when he glanced over at the sleeping lizardman. Sleeping or not, it probably was best not to say such things while in company of others. “I’m fine.”

Carver placed some twigs on the fire, then shuffled on his knees to get closer and sit near Laures. He faced his sweetheart, one leg bent at the knee and crossed over the other’s injured leg but not placing any weight on it. His other leg folded in, so he could get closer and sit right up against Laures’ thigh. The critter wiggled about, seemingly restless now that it had warmed up. Carver could understand that. In the fire’s ambient glow, he took a closer look at the critter and then guessed with little pause, “A… mouse or rat of some kind?”

Mice and rats were common things in the city, though he’d never seen one like this before. At the insistence to come closer, he moved back onto his knees. He crawled over, but instead of lay down, Carver straddled Laures’ lap. He brought his hands up to help with the critter, though all he did was set a finger against the top of the rodent’s head to gently pet the spot. The younger blond leaned down and peered at the bulging yellow eyes, then said, “Very mice to meet you.”

“Here, I’ll hold him in a blanket,” offered Carver. He undid the scarf around his torn coat sleeve, then folded it a few times before holding it like a nest in the cup of his palms. As soon as the critter got exchanged, he swaddled it in the soft fabric so that its head poked out, but it couldn’t scratch its way free. Regardless, it didn’t seem to have any interest in doing so, other than to lift its front claws out to hold onto the scarf. The softness seemed to calm the mousey critter, as its ears folded heavier down, and its eyes drowsily shut while it nuzzled into the makeshift nest.

Carver smiled slightly, then leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Laures’ lips. Quick, fleeting, and far too short but then he moved away. The fire had gotten revitalized by the various kindling he’d put into it, so he settled on the mat. He kept to the edge, to make room for Laures, and laid on his side. Once a certain degree of comfort was found (which wasn’t much, and Carver didn’t understand how Quint could just sleep like that against uneven terrain), he settled the nested critter in the crook of his arm and one hand kept close in case it would wake and attempt another climbing expedition over his body.

A small yawn sounded from him. He drifted aside to lay on his back, and stared past the glow of the fire to look at the stars. Exhaustion reminded him that he hadn’t slept for over a trial, and his muscles ached with immense soreness. He waited for Laures to settle and he hoped it would be close to him.

[Lars]

Fourth Break, Cylus 4, Arc 720

It was always a delight to see his lover in such good humor. Teasing and light, his voice carried the subtleties of the man underneath, the one inclined to play and make the most horrible of jokes, and to turn his head in search of a reaction each time. The man that had taught him how to dance, and that had twirled him around their apartment in nothing but their underclothes, entirely willing to make fools of them both if only they could laugh at themselves in the process. The one that whistled and hummed and stepped in time, and pulled him along all the way. He loved him then, as he had loved him before, as he would love him again - but it felt like new, like an uncovering of the truth, like a discovery that might change their lives forever. He loved him and knew nothing else but loving him, in pain and comfort and pleasure.

Laures held the little critter to his chest as Carver came closer, hoping not to let the movements spook the poor thing. It wiggled in his hands and poked through his fingers, pointed nose sniffing the air. He angled his body to lean closer to his husband, and held up the creature to offer him a better look. A mouse or a rat, he said… and Laures supposed either could have been true, but even in the dim light of the fire, he could tell that it was not any regular mouse or rat. Not of the sort that he had seen. Cute, though, if he let himself stare… and the thought was only confirmed as the floppy-eared creature wiggled through his hands to get closer to Carver. The little thing had good taste then, too. It clung to the edge of his hand with its feet, but reached out with its little padded claws in an attempt to reach Carver.

An amused little huff escaped him at his lover’s joke, and he held the mouse-rat-rodent-thing a little tighter while a makeshift nest was made. As soon as the scarf was bundled appropriately, he allowed the critter to step into Carver’s hands, and observed in obvious adoration as it was swaddled in the scarf. So careful and doting was Carver, as if the creature could have housed his very heart. Tiny claws clutched at the fabric as it settled in to sleep, and Laures smiled, his own heart warmed by the sight.

Easily he met the kiss, and though he would have preferred it to last longer, he did not push for more. It would have been unwise to do so anyway, what with the lizardman slumbering nearby and the couple's… occasional lack of restraint, and he did not wish to make an enemy of Quint. Not when he had been so kind to them thus far, and especially not when he towered over them so dramatically. He could only imagine how frightful a beast he would have been beside his previous form, fragile and skinny and small, and how easily those sharp reptilian teeth could have pierced through his thin, pale skin and shattered his hollow bones.

Carver settled down on the mat, body kept close to the edge of it while he cradled the creature and its nest in his arm. Laures did not hesitate to lie down with him, scooting closer until his shoulder was pressed against him, and he took a moment to enjoy the calm. The world was far from quiet, but he found that he did not mind, not when the sound made up for the lack of it in his head. And it was cold - it was really fucking cold, but the fire burned anew, and the blanket was pulled over them and their rodent companion. His ankle still ached terribly, but the pain was easy enough to ignore, and he crossed it over his uninjured ankle to prop it up some. With a quiet, contented sigh, he reached into the pockets of his coat, and retrieved the folded letters he had taken from Iver’s house.

He cuddled up a little closer, and then set a few of the crumpled papers to the side. Not all of them were worth reading, he thought, and he was not certain that he was the best of readers in the first place… but he wanted to try. Anything he could do to assist Carver in finding rest, or at the very least, keep him entertained - he would do. So, rather than ramble on about the panic that had so frequently filled him since they had arrived in this new, strange world, he read through the little letters and notes, his soft voice a steady hum against the crackling of the fire. Laures slipped his arm around the other man’s shoulders to hold him close, and rested his head against Carver’s, sleepy and for a moment, at peace.

[Carver]

4th Break, Cylus 4, Arc 720

Though his body ached, his muscles hurt, and he felt exhausted; though he hadn’t eaten much in any recent time, his stomach felt hollow and his mind hazy; though his clothes barely kept out the cold, and the mat was too thin, and he had little-to-no idea what to expect when they did arrive to Scalvoris Town… though all of this remained true, Carver felt happy. His gratitude for his soulmate, for the air they breathed and the blood that pumped through their veins, and the stars that sent trails of light in the inky black dome of the sky, he felt a sort of tranquility that he’d never felt in his previous life.

Blissful and true, he laid with Laures and the little critter that he kept warm between their bodies. Carver had noticed the expression on the other man’s face, an adoration that he catalogued to recall later as he learned the different subtle changes on his lover’s reincarnated features. Did Laures like the mouse-like animal too? He supposed he did. He had picked it up because he considered it a terrible thing for a tiny vulnerable creature to be left to freeze to death in the wilderness. There’d been little thought otherwise about that. When it came to such things, Carver tended to believe that he encountered them for the opportunity to help. Didn’t matter if it was a human or a tiny rat baby. It had needed immediate aid when he found it, so he would do what he could.

Warm under the blanket with his sweetheart, he nestled as close as they could get while making sure he didn’t squish the slumbering critter that’d conked out against the soft fabric of the nested scarf. Carver glanced at the stars a little bit more, then eventually, he wanted to look at Laures instead. He admired the other man while he listened – and realized that his lover had acquired (reacquired?) the capability to read. It made him smile slightly, along with the satisfaction he derived from hearing the soft voice. Able to focus on Laures’ features and voice, all else faded to the background.

His smile disappeared when he regarded the actual contents of the letters, though. Sorrow hinted through his dark eyes, as they welled with tears, but this time he blinked them away so they wouldn’t fall. He wondered if Antoni had hidden other letters somewhere else in that room… ones not meant to be found. Ones from Iver. It made him want to return to Egilrun and search closer for such things. But that was a life past, souls gone, and he needed to focus on him and Laures. Still, he felt a sad appreciation and tragic gratitude for the men who’d abandoned their lives yet had given the space needed for him and his own soulmate to enter their world.

Carver nuzzled and breathed in deep to inhale the scent of Laures. He closed his eyes, while he listened to Iver's Laures' voice, and gradually drifted to a shallow sleep.

6th Break, Cylus 4, Arc 720

“Wake up, lovebirds!”

It was cold, and dark. The fire had gone out. It’d been covered with fresh dirt. A familiar rattle of the various tools and items that hung from Quint’s travel pack sounded like unusual chimes and bells. The lizardman had drawn the blanket away from the couple, faster than it could be grabbed, and folded it up before he settled it on the top part of his pack.

“Get on up of- what’s that, you got there?” asked the Ithecal as he leaned over, and if there’d been any sun to cast light, his hulking figure would have sent a looming shadow over the humans.

Carver finally sat up, and he quickly looked to the scarf. The mouse-rat-thing was still there. It squeaked though, also abruptly woken up by the sudden activity, and scampered to hide in the cloth. He felt glad that it hadn’t tried to run instead. With ease, he scooped up the scarf and cradled the bundled sanctuary in his arm while he gathered his bearings. How long had he been asleep for? However long it’d been, he felt groggy and like it hadn’t been enough time for decent recovery.

“A squeaker? Where’d you find that?” Quint picked at one of his pointed teeth with his claw.

“He was freezing,” answered Carver in a sharp and blatantly defensive tone. He scrambled to his feet, then tucked the scarf-hidden rodent in the inside of his coat. “He’s not for food!”

“Fo-… what…” Quint hissed in a laugh. His mouth curled back while the lizardman grinned. “I don’t eat vermin, you crazy kid. Now finish up, faster we get going, faster we’ll arrive.”

Carver rolled his eyes, as if he didn’t believe that the lizardman wouldn’t eat the mouse with the first chance. He turned to check on Laures, though, then glanced at the older blond’s ankle. A moment, while he recalled the other limping and how he’d tried to keep it up while laying down… and he knew that Laures wouldn’t say anything about it even if it hurt. He knew his sweetheart wouldn’t want to bother them with the idea that they might need to slow down or attend to something that could be feasibly ignored until later.

“How’s the ankle?” he asked, while he knelt beside Laures (no matter which posture the other man had, even if he were already standing). Carver lifted the pants’ hem and glanced at the sock before he gingerly pinched his thumb and fingers against the ankle. He eyed Laures’ face, gauging any reaction given from the pressure on the limb. He lowered the sock enough, then took off his glove and wrapped his bare hand around the spot.

This was different than the scratches, or dagger cut. He found that it didn’t require knitting of the flesh, but he felt a pulse underneath his hand regardless. Carver was no stranger to hurt joints and limbs, the twisting of ankles especially. In his previous life, he had seen underneath the skin, through the flesh, slicing away the layers to find what lay underneath. He recalled those memories now, though they felt hazy and fading, and he tried to sink… something into Laures. He didn’t know exactly what, other than that it had to do with his newly discovered magic.

While he focused, grasp tight on the ankle while his ether meddled with his lover’s enervations, from the collar of his coat, the mouse-rat stuck its head out. The critter opened its mouth wide for a breath of air. It squeaked some, then saw the lizardman and quickly burrowed back into the nest of scarf kept in place by the coat.

“What’s taking you so long, now?” asked Quint, after a few bits. He marched over, tail swished behind him, then paused. He glanced at Carver’s obvious concentration, reptilian eyes flicked between the ankle and then looked up at Laures. He considered for a moment, then looked down at Carver and said, “You’re a grafter? Wouldn’t have guessed that!”

Carver finished with the ankle, hoping he’d helped the twist inside of it. He glanced at Laures, then looked up at the tall lizardman and asked, “What the fuck is a grafter?”

[Lars]

Sixth Break, Cylus 4, Arc 720

The short breaks that passed between the moment in which Laures fell asleep and the one in which the blanket was pulled from their slumbering forms - they were not enough. Not nearly enough for the older blond, who grumbled in his sleep but did not otherwise stir. A dissatisfied huff pushed from his nose in a warm puff of air, and he turned away from Carver when the younger man moved. A hand reached for a blanket that was not there, and ended up wrapping over his own waist instead, hugging himself and drawing his knees inward and closer to his chest. A small shiver, but still, he did not wake; he was fortunate that Quint was not a threat, for the beast could have lingered over him for breaks longer and the sleeping blond would not have noticed. Even the voices of his husband and the ithecal did little to disturb his heavy rest, their conversation going entirely unnoticed - until the man beside him got to his feet, pushing the mat beneath them in the process.

Laures drew in a deep breath, sudden and cold, and his dark brows drew together in wordless, instinctual frustration as he woke. The first thing he heard was a hissed laugh from somewhere above, and then the familiar voices of his traveling companions, though they curved around words he could not yet decipher in his dream-like state. It took a few trills longer for him to open his eyes, and a tired blue gaze was fixed at first on the sky, on the darkness and the stars scattered within. Then, after he did not find what he was looking for up there, he looked to the side - and there it was, staring back at him. He pushed his unpracticed features into a smile, and it was exhausted and small, but it was there. Now where had the blanket gone? He’d just pull that right back up and over them, and they could just go back to sleep…

...his eyes flicked open again as he heard a question about his ankle, the blond having already started falling asleep again despite the cold. Fuck, what? His ankle? His ankle was fine, wasn’t it? He was tired. His ankle could wait, but they needed to get some more sleep before Quint woke up… in fact, he was already… falling… a...s...

“Oh,” Laures sat up with a start, so quickly that his fluffy hair bounced and fell over his face. The touch to his ankle had startled him, and his eyes were opened wide, a momentary wakefulness aiding him in his task to find the source of his pain. As soon as he realized that it was only Carver again, touching his ankle to check the state of it, he seemed to relax. Deeper breaths calmed him down, and Laures swallowed against a dry throat, offering a nod. The ankle was swollen and bruised, but not terribly so, and he moved his other leg away from it to give his husband a bit more space. He could not hide the grimace that soured his angular features, reddened from the cold, but he did not resist the hold on the injured joint.

His tall sock was pulled down, and he told himself to focus on the sensation of that instead - of fabric sliding against his cool, ivory skin, revealing the patterned scars over his shins. With an involuntary frown, he answered, “it - ah, it hurts, but it’s alright.”

There was no use in lying about it, after the little display he’d unwillingly put on moments before. Laures forced himself to take another deep breath as the hold on his ankle tightened, gritting his teeth in spite of the air that was pulled into his lungs. He could handle this, sure. He had gotten through far worse than a bit of pain in his ankle. He had died, he’d been stabbed through the neck and had his throat torn out, and this body wanted to complain to him about a twisted ankle? When it was being healed? No, he would not give in to that weakness; he leaned back on his elbows as Carver concentrated on the task, and shut his eyes to the darkness that surrounded them. Darker again, without the fire. He wondered, first, if Quint had let the fire burn out on its own, but then realized that he did not know if a lizardman needed light to see at all. Did those… reptilian eyes work any differently? Gods, he didn’t know. Didn’t honestly care that much either, but it was something to think about that wasn’t the hand gripping his ankle.

He did not open his eyes again until the mouse-rat’s little squeaks and Quint’s inquisitive voice broke through the silence. Laures turned his head, squinting slightly as he looked up at the ithecal’s approach. Could a lizard do magic? Curious, curious… he considered it as he stared up at their scaly companion, but did not ask.

“You’re a grafter? Wouldn’t have guessed that!”

Carver’s hand released his ankle.

Near simultaneously, Laures asked, “what the fuck is a grafter?”

Blue eyes darted back down to his husband in clear confusion, but Quint’s response came in the form of another hissed laugh, as if it must have been some shared joke between the silly humans. Laures was still for another long moment, but soon enough he was moving, lifting himself up and moving to help Carver do the same, both ankles standing steady beneath him.