(Untitled)

[aut_augur]

It has been something slightly more than fifteen years since he finally buried Gregor. It had been difficult between them since he'd begun edging up to fifty, had only gotten worse over time. Petty fights about worthlessness and age and beauty and, mundanely enough, money and infidelities, things that... simply did not concern Jast. His lack of

Comments

[gerfaucon]

The prince is resting in a large, gnarled oak, roots locked into the ground like winding, twisted fingers hooked into something solid, something to keep still. Dawn is coming, he feels it creep along the horizon in tendrils of pale pink that push away the gray of night, but that isn't what wakens him. It's the presence of a friend at his close peripheral; that familiar twitch of recognition, and Niarkhos feels the boy soon as he's nearby, senses the company and it rouses him from a light slumber

you cannot hide from me

[gerfaucon]

Maneuvering the network of tree limbs is no small feat without the graceful shortcut of flight, but Niarkhos manages with all the dexterity of his abilities as though he'd been born feline instead of bird. He's not angry at Jast for keeping his name, shows it in the flash of amused mirth on fine narrow features, the small curve of that mouth and lifted brow. A part of him senses the intention and plays into silence easily, lets it wash between them and marinate like that, a suitable cliffhang.

Niarkhos is too old to wonder at simple trivialities, hadn't asked and hadn't received until the opportunity presented itself accidentally, and he won't pick over why his cat companion unlocked the mystery of the little thing's name before he could. He instead shushes Jast with a quiet, lilting sound at that apology and leads him to a fork of bark. The branch extends over land, long and open, choked with wildflowers and the occasional dusky scent of ground animal. Field grass burns gold under the rising sun.

"I never minded. Your voice made

[aut_augur]

Jast wanders after him. He wonders if this grace and balance came naturally to the prince and this fleshy form, or if it had taken many years to understand. Jast has always had it, almost preternaturally. He watches his sneakers as they pad along from limb to limb with no fear that they'll slip, not while he's paying attention.

He isn't sure he appreciates the bird's diffidence, not fully. He is no glutton for reprimand, but it was a lie by omission no matter how the lack was filled. He can't make himself protest it though. Niarkhos' enthusiasm for the world around them is too pleasant to want to ruin with complaints. Dangerous, charming creature that he is, Jast is responsive to the falcon's dismissive little chirp. He flushes with pleasure at such blatant flattery. His sensibility is distracted at the moment, still riding the euphoria from that beautiful memory. It makes him too happy to stand next Niarkhos and listen.

"More than one seems excessive," Jast observes, smiling quietly to himself.

[gerfaucon]

"It was impossible to settle on one," he answers frankly, the bird tossing its head in an elegant gesture that throws feathery hair out of those eyes, dimpled at the corners in his humor. "And I've had enough time to pick and choose at my leisure."

He's never been distracted during flight, it isn't something that happens even to an animal that has been through the motions for so many years, but the pull of wind on his flank is a lulling purgatory he gives himself to, lets his mind wander within. Often unaccompanied on his longer journeys where even other birds tire and hang back, Niarkhos is left to his solitary thoughts.

Their shoulders touch where they stand side by side on the branch, a graze of fabric as Niarkhos steps forward, momentum thrown, steps off and into open air.

o3o

[aut_augur]

Jast's expression thins around the eyes and mouth, as if the sentiment pleases him, but he wishes it didn't. He nearly wishes to claim they have no need of names so long as they know who they are, but he is fond of his own, fond of the prince's too, and he'll accept what he's been given. Epithets, bright shared dreams, indescribable memories, warm contact, sweet songs. A shell is being broken as Jast admits to wanting all those things, admits to owing something to this proud beast now.

Niarkhos' movement startles him a moment, he doesn't actually think the bird will fall, but he is used to the fluid push from man and beast and back again. He had expected to see him catch wing and drift immediately. The wind stirs under him uncertainly as he snatches an upper branch to hold onto as he leans out.

/nibbles that face

[gerfaucon]

He doesn't take wing as soon as wind touches his feet, lets the plunge go further toward the threat of solid earth before changing in a ripple of golden color and fluid movement that leaves a beast in the place of the man, stretched out proudly in display. Niarkhos is low to the grass, close enough to breathe in its bitter morning-dew flavor, steaks out across, wings beating in the air at a methodical rhythm.

Trilling laughter follows in the bird's wake in his fast, horizontal soar toward the distant end of the rolling meadow, wildflowers fluttering with the breeze kicked up by powerful gusts of flight.

[aut_augur]

Jast smiles out after him, eyes tracing after the bright dart. The air calls back to him how dynamically those winds slice through, how each strong flap pushes, the sleekness of the ride. The flowers giggle over the tickle, and while they may be amused, the low flight of birds has always been a unfortunate auspice. The level path is a long struggle, never surging upwards towards its goals. Jast purses his lips. He does not know yet if Niarkhos will find his kin, but he sees it there that it will not come easily, and it will come no time soon.

He drops down out of the oak quietly. His heart goes out to the poor lonesome creature. For all his isolation, Jast still has his chains to those like him, can feel them at their work all across the earth. He can hardly fathom the lack of it. He pulls his sneakers off so that he can feel the ground under him, has always hated socks, so that leaves him with bare feet. He dangles the shoes lazily from his fingertips as he wades out into the tall, brittle grass.

[gerfaucon]

The predator's keen eye picks up on that approach, the soft treading disruption of ground and wildflower under feet, the displacement of motion and presence, but Jast smells of earth, sweet and clean and part of the very land itself. It draws him closer not in hunt but in adulation, turning back to sweep across open field grass. A slow, lazy return, until the bird is circling overhead, affectionately calling out in that same musical language. It's an odd sight, a revered beast of the wild tundra fluttering close in eager amity toward this young immortal boy, a warden of the gods with those empyrean blue eyes.

Niarkhos drops down, gold against the flushed morning sky, joins him in graceful landing. Smiling proud and majestic, settles to walk alongside Jast, shoulder to shoulder. "Do you have a favorite place, little one? I'm sure you've discovered countless spots hidden by nature, seeing how its taken to you."

[aut_augur]

It is humbling that the bird returns to him. Jast wonders if that urge to lower his eyes and flush every time it happens will ease with time, or if the flattery will always affect him. It isn't an unpleasant feeling, and yet... His eyes dip, he watches their feet as they move. It touches him that Niarkhos chooses to walk with him instead of remaining overhead.

The question itself is less pleasant, as it brings to mind old memories that make his heart ache terribly. He did have a favorite place, a long long time ago and he hasn't gone back since. He and Gregor had just never gotten around to it. He thinks it would end in nothing but tears if he went back now.

"No," he answers, shaking his head, he pushes up a smile. "It's all too beautiful to pick only one."

[gerfaucon]

Coaxed by that, Niarkhos winds their hands together in a loose fold, the callused skin of his palm and fingertips rubbing soft skin in quiet comfort. His eyes never lower when the watch the little thing beside him, steadfast and leveled with a gleam of fascination and faint mischief, even now. He does agree that the world is too beautiful to play favorites, but he's certain there must be somewhere, although he won't push even with the curiosity that builds. Curiosity never was confined to felines.

"I might agree," the bird twitters ambiguously, lets it go at that, offering a small secretive smile at the corners. He gently tugs Jast to a stop, presses that smile to the little one's cheek where the flush lingers, touches with a faint flicker of tongue before gracefully moving apart and pulling Jast with him. The grass crinkles under their bare feet, flowers giggling.

-flutters over pretty new icons.-

[aut_augur]

Jast roots back down after a moment, tugs, looking over at him with wide eyes. For all the hurt he's suffered, things he's seen and done, he is untainted, gleaming and pure at the center. It is why he was trusted with the auspices. It is why he wrestles with humans and their sins and destruction so earnestly. His eyes are the color of bird dreams, his songs the old truths. What comes spilling from his lips is the same.

"A lake. North, a long ways. I... caught the stars there. Once." What he's confessing with that is uncomfortable for him, but he knows it isn't obvious to the prince, who hardly knows him. His heart throbs thinking of those who would understand, but it just isn't fair to hold that dream of old Europe and then stay so quiet. Balance is important to him, is written into everything he is, everything he does.

such a pretty boy (also oops fell asleep before i could tag earlierrr)

[gerfaucon]

He's intrigued, has always looked toward the stars as a distant sparkling landscape of his home between space and earth. The stars are a heavenly guide, a map in his domain used to navigate and illuminate the path forward or backward, a beautiful jewel necklace around the throat of the sky. Uncertain but intuitive of what the confession means to the little one, Niarkhos hums with lilting encouragement, feels a genuine surge of compassion for such an innocent immortal. It is hard to stay so pure after experiencing decades of life with this world, looking upon its faults and its flaws, its ugly scars and secrets.

But he searches for beauty and the stars are an embellishment of his territory in their own right, a stunning adornment of uncut diamonds. The gyrfalcon hangs back, loose hand pushing up through feathery hair to see the endless pure cerulean of those eyes. "Catch them again," he urges, does not clarify what exactly he means before touching their foreheads together, warm reassurance, then drawing back a step to give Jast his

-fell asleep before I could mourn the lack.- (ΘεΘ)

[aut_augur]

He is drawn back into gold eyes, warm breath. Quells the trembling urge to beg it linger longer, he's a smarter boy than that. He says nothing at all, in fact.

Yet, Jast considers this. The memory of the moon high overhead, framed on all sides by the dark silhouettes of the forest. It had been high summer, warm with clear skies and he had gazed up from the sandy shore and listened to all the moon's lonely arias. She had been so near the Earth, he could have touched her, dipped his hand beneath her quicksilver surface and felt the slow drip of time on his skin. He had begged a boon instead. Had wanted to show Gregor the stars as he saw them, glittering living things with voices and beauties unique to each and she had consented to send her cousins down. He'd caught them in the smooth mirror of the lake, thanked them with long-forgotten prayers, musical apotheosis that set them dancing along the glistening fins of tiny flitting fish.

He had given someone his heart there amongst the concurrence of captured stars. He shouldn't have

=3=

[gerfaucon]

Perhaps sensitive to the little thing's thoughts, Niarkhos allows him to lead, does not mind this forfeit if only because he's offered the rare opportunity to observe from behind. The soft slope of narrow shoulders, long spine from nape to lower hips, the way the earth curls under each forward step in warm opening to their treasured warden. Always a creature of movement, of future and progress and home, the bird finds the change enthralling, finds Jast's silence less intimidating or uncomfortable and rather sufficient, all that has to be said already spoken or patient enough to wait. Words aren't nearly necessary where they have wind and sky and dreams to communicate

jesus. LAST ONE, I SWEAR.

[aut_augur]

Jast turns and smiles back at him brightly. The image of Niarkhos following Polaris across the skies is a comforting one to him. Perhaps the bird will always come back. A nice thought, but a bit silly. There are more things than just losing one's way that can keep someone away. Jast should know that best of all. He doesn't feel it is worth the effort to brood on that subject though.

He can smell a rogue seaberry bush nearby and pulls his friend along to it, plucking up a handful of small orange berries. They're delicious citrusy little things that survive long into the winter. He picks out a juicy one carefully and pushes it straight past Niarkhos' lips, pausing there with an amused expression to see if he will object.

/pats affecionately

[gerfaucon]

Gilded eyes go wide at the press of the berry against his mouth and he opens to it, grazing teeth over those fingertips, a little furrow of bewilderment along the high arch of brow. It crunches between pearl eyeteeth and Niarkhos swallows after a moment, tastes the tart juice on his tongue. As a carnivore, it's not something he is accustomed to eating and the perplexity is almost comical on the prince's face.

"A treat of yours?" he asks, reaching to pluck a few more from the branch and rolling them curiosily over the dips and grooves of a cupped palm.