Illybae

                 Presence betrayed by the bumbling of the infant manticore that clumsily gambols in
his wake, leaping and clawing at the burden he carries over one immense shoulder, Rhalkyr prowls
into the clearing, soundless. Blood slicks the right hand of his bare torso, seeping down form the
carcass of the cow that hangs limply from where he holds it. Without preamble, he thumps the thing
down before Illyria, and sinks into a crouch, balanced upon his heels, and waits, head turned aside,
eyes flicking to Illyria and away, with each new sound or motion.

Sheltered beneath an elder pine, leaned against the trunk in the deep shadows around the clearing,
Illyria looks up at the sound of the manticore, letting her journal rest in her lap as she watches
the other approach. Noting both the clumsy manticore colt and the carcass with equally curious eyes,
a faint smile teases at her lips. When the cow is presented, she blinks, slitted pupils tightening
further as she considers it for a moment in surprise. The sounds of the wyrden forest filter around
them, as she considers it, then withdraws a wickedly sharp athame from within her sleeve. Rolling
forward onto her knees, she flashes you a bright and warm grin and carefully makes a slice along the
flank exposed to them. Parting and peeling away the flesh with a slurping slick sound, she cuts
further in, neatly removing two long, thin strips of bloody tenderloin. She extends one silently to
you.

                 Watching Illyria throughout, his eyes both inconstant and consistent in their
flitting, curious regard of her, Rhalkyr waits with silent patience, as comfortable in the quiet as
a tiger in its den. The manticore, however, bounds forward, dashing at Illyria and the corpse with a
high pitched growl in a thoroughly unconvincing threat display. Rhalkyr's massive paw bats at the
cub, sending it rolling over onto its back, where it extends its paws out past its head, pupils
dilated. Flexing his thick digits above the babe, he slowly lowers his hand down, in the manner of a
menacing spider, while he uses his free hand to accept the slick strip from Illyria. Turning his
head away so that his face is hidden from Illyria, he uses the back of his forearm to nudge the mask
up enough so that its base juts out over his shaded mouth. Snapping the meat up between his teeth,
he chews even as he engages in play with the manticore, fending off the swatting paws effortlessly.

When the strip is accepted, Illyria sits back against the tree, shaking the excess blood from her
own before further slicing off a bite-sized piece and popping it into her mouth, eyes on the frankly
adorable young creature as she chews. The smile grows, and she distractedly sets her journal to the
side with her things and flows carefully to the other side of the carcass, sitting down on the
deceased bovine's shoulder to observe the play. After a while, she tilts her head to look over at
you. "Thank you for the cow," she says quietly. "Why, though?" Pausing as the darkness filters more
fully over the forest, the shadowed faeling takes a moment to look up and smile at Mother Night with
a deep fondness, eyes bright. Pulling the shadows around herself, she reaches out almost reflexively
to bond her spirit with the Night's, her face briefly exultant.

                 Swiftly done with the chewing of his own morsel, Rhalkyr swallows, running the back
of his hand over his chin, smearing the rivulets of blood into a swathe of glistening red, before he
slips his mask back into place. Turning back to face Illyria, he mimics the angle of Illyria's head,
blinking languidly at the faeling, before his eyes slip down to the cub, which is currently engaged
in attempting to chew off one of Rhalkyr's fingers. Prising the cub's gem-like teeth apart gently,
the human grabs it by the chest and wiggles it back and forth, causing the infant to wrap its limbs
about his thick wrist and cling there, claws piercing the striped bronze and black skin. Lifting a
single, immensely muscled shoulder in a slow shrug, his own voice is pitched to match his
companion's, though at a much lower register, and far more ragged. "Feed, family."

Startled at the brief eye contact, Illyria closes her own eyes equally slowly, though it takes
longer for hers to reopen as she gathers her impressions. Looking back down at the baby beast, she
nods silently, the curve of her lips remaining and growing. "Family," she murmurs to no one
particularly, nodding in acceptance. A warm, hazy flush of pleasure comes and goes, leaving behind
the simple contentment and rightness of being surrounded by Wyrd and Night. Looking at the cub a
moment longer, she lifts two bloody fingers to her lips and breaks the quiet of the night with a
brief whistle. After a minute, a graceful but clearly youthful winged filly trots in, lovely and
delicate. Despite her fragile, flighty appearance, though, the horse approaches the carcass and
those surrounding it fearlessly, giving the manticore a dismissive snort. The faeling pulls out a
feedbag and fills it, patting the young horse's neck. "Reminded me," she notes with a hint of a
smile.

                 The whistle jerks Rhalkyr's head about so fast that the motion is a blur, his eyes
widening into huge discs of gleaming, predatory green - though upon seeing the source of the sound,
he immediately relaxes, and returns to wrestling with the manticore. The horse is given a brief,
curious glance, but afforded no greater attention from the human. The cub, on the other hand,
strives to win free from the immovable cage of his father's fingers, scrabbling at the dirt and
growling in an attempt to menace the delicate equine. Head angling to one side at this, Rhalkyr
abruptly releases the babe, allowing it to bolt over to the horse in a rush, bristling, while the
hulking human simply watches, impassive.

Watching the cub unconcernedly as it approaches its inevitable fate, Rhalkyr makes
no move whatsoever to deter the manticore infant from its course. Even as the yowling thing goes
hurtling through the air, his glittering eyes merely track the trajectory, impassive. Softly, in a
husky, honeyed voice that is distinctly not his own, he says, "Pain is a teacher." Upon the arrival
of Acosris, the giant scorpion, he cocks his head at the creature, snapping his hands together to
mimic the sharp rhythm the scorpion clacks out. In his usual, torn tones, he says, amiably,
"Warden."

Irilara arches a brow as she watches the soaring manticore cub. She glances toward you before
commenting, "It can be. Hail, Initiate." Then she turns her eyes toward Illyria. "So this is the one
you were speaking of, formerly of Serenwilde and Celest, now of the Glomdoring. Always good to see
someone come to their senses about such things."

Acosris, the giant scorpion skitters over toward the young manticore upon it's landing. The scorpion
stares down at the young thing, before nudging it with a segmented leg.

Illyria nods a quiet agreement to the sentiment, eyes lifting to track the entry of scorpion and
sileni alike. She says nothing in reply to the words, simply meeting Irilara's eyes levelly as she
continues stoking the neck of the young winged horse.

Uttering a guttural sound of indiscernible sentiment, Rhalkyr rises slowly to his
feet, before following Acosris, the giant scorpion's path to pad over to the pitiable mewling cub.
The infant yowls and hisses at the nudge, fleeing in a limping, lopsided gait to the presumed safety
of Rhalkyr's feet. He looms over it for a moment, before lowering himself into a crouch, examining
the distressed babe at length, which trembles. "Long, and winding, path may be. Matters, not.
Destination, was, correct." Tenderly, he runs his fingers along the manticore's head, uttering a
low, soothing series of rumbling sounds which soon serve to quieten the babe. "Missed, presence,
Warden. Will be, waking, more?"

Acosris, the giant scorpion turns toward Irilara, his pincers clicking together before one leg
stomps the ground.

Irilara tilts her head at Illyria's scrutiny before looking toward the giant scorpion. "No,
Acosris." She then turns her attention toward you. "I would argue that the path does matter. Yes,
the end destination is more important, but one can learn much from observing the path." The sileni
pauses then, head tilting to one side before she moves her shoulders in a small shrug. "I wake as
often as I can. Given that I do so I cannot make any promises about waking more."

Illyria watches the conversation silently, polite neutrality on her face as she listens from her
perch atop the cow's carcass. Her wings wave slowly, idly, the only source of motion from the
faeling save for the tiny motions of fingers against the horse's dove grey fur. Not being addressed,
she seems content to remain wordless and observe.

Rhalkyr's eyes slip from the cub, to study Acosris, the giant scorpion for a long,
silent moment, gleaming within the depths of his mask. At Irilara's command, however, they slide
away once more, shifting to rest upon Irilara for a beat, and then over to Illyria, and away again.
"Yes. Is, fair." Lifting his free hand, he makes a circular motion over his heart, and then jerks a
finger aside, as if pulling something out. "Not, censure. Just, miss, whole. Same, for all."


Reaching up to pluck off her spectacles, absently using a bit of the mantle she wears to clean them
Irilara inclines her head slightly to one side as she examines you. "Regardless, have things been
going well for you?" The sileni then turns to regard Illyria. "And I suppose that formal
introductions are in order as, whilst I know of you from having kept an eye on those of the
Serenwilde, if only to know of those I may end up facing in battle, we have never formally met. So,
names. I am Irilara."

Illyria lets her hand fall away from the horse's neck finally, leaving her to finish her meal in
peace. Standing up from her seat atop the cow, she places a foot back behind the other and dips a
small, graceful curtsey, keeping her eyes on Irilara. "I am Illyria," she replies quietly, her voice
low in volume but pitched to carry easily. She says nothing more, simply moving her cloak out of the
way and sitting back down on the carcass.

Rhalkyr tilts his head from side to side, lifting a hand to mirror the motion, in
response to Irilara's query. "Yes, no. Have, task, for Blackpetal. Is, difficult." Gaze sliding over
to Illyria, he utters a low, amused rumble, raising the same hand to brush his fingertips across the
painted teeth of his mask in a soft rasp. "Quiet, one."

Irilara lets out a soft thoughtful, and melodic, hum. Slipping her spectacles back on the sileni
says, "A pleasure, I am sure, Illyria." Looking to you she continues, "There is nothing wrong with
silence. Some might say there is something wrong about the staring, but I am fairly well used to
such." The sileni moves over to Acosris, the giant scorpion, and hops up to settle in a seated
position on his back, prompting the scorpion to move his curled tail away to avoid stinging her.
"What sort of task were you given, and is there aught you need help with in regards to it?"

Illyria glances in between you and Irilara, giving the former a small smile before turning and
slipping away into the shadows of the forest once more, trailed by a mildly irritated horse.