louder than a dream [search; Cy~]

[Kilnarak]

No hounds to guide me, no army at my back.

Azaria walked out into the cold evening air, drawing up the collar of his heavy woolen jacket and squinting against the gloom of the coming night. The day had faded without his noticing, near all of his time today spent inside the somewhat cramped confines of his mentor's engineering workshop, looking over designs and scrawling out measurements on a blank pad of paper. Somewhere in the process, he must have dozed off - but it couldn't have been for too long. He had started awake again abruptly, the dream that had awakened him fading fast, and while he had noticed the light slowly fading in the sooty windows of the building, it always seemed darker inside than it was out with all of the oil lamps lit at near all hours, and so he hadn't realized that the time had drawn so late. He was a bit annoyed with himself for not noticing - while the days were growing a bit warmer as winter faded into spring, the nights were still particularly frigid.

Still, there wasn't much he could do, aside from draw his coat tightly about himself and set a brisk pace back toward home. It was a long walk, made to seem longer still by the hour - but there were worse parts of the city, he should at the very least remain unmolested by thieves and nightwalkers. Sighing a bit to himself and muttering a quiet curse, Azaria set out for home, shoving his hands into his pockets. There were more pressing things to worry about, aside from thieves in the night - his father or brother, for instance. They would surely have things to say when he finally returned home - perhaps about his choice in profession, as their own work would rarely keep them away so late; or perhaps they would accuse him of being out with immoral characters, chastising him on his romantic choices. Perhaps... perhaps if he was very quiet, he might sneak past them to the room he shared with his younger siblings; avoid the problem for now, and perhaps in the morning their tempers may have cooled. He doubted it, really, but it seemed like a good idea at the moment.

While he was considering it, perhaps it would also be a good idea to think about finding his own lodgings, closer to the workshop. It would do away with the problem of angry relatives, and there was nothing to stop him from going home to visit, when he was able, during the day. There were apartments nearby that would be cheap enough that he could afford them on his meager salary - of course, for the amount of diasks he could afford to spend, they would likely be rather small and perhaps unsavory. That wouldn't be very pleasant, especially if there were bugs. But still, the more he thought on it, the more appealing the idea seemed; even if not to avoid Leif and Farrian, there was also the fact that their home was getting rather crowded: in particular, the room he shared with Alden and Lily. Lily took up little enough room on herself, but Alden was growing quickly and was already near as tall as Azaria himself - it was clear enough the boy would continue growing, as he was young yet, and would more likely than not end up towering over his slighter-built elder brother.

Azaria paused for a moment as he reached one of the main roads through Sayaie - one carts laden with goods from the farmland surrounding the city often traveled on their way to market. There was a boy not so much younger than himself tending the lamps - a vaguely familiar face, but not one he knew so well as to put a name to. He smiled and waved anyway, and was rewarded with a broad grin and a wave in return before the youth went on about his job. "Yer out later 'n usual," the boy pointed out as he lit one lamp and moved on to another, just across the road.

"Mm. I didn't realize it was getting so late," Azaria continued to smile, however he looked away from the boy - in the direction of his parents' house. "It'll probably be black as pitch, by the time I get back." He frowned a bit to himself as he said this, worried still about the welcome he would receive, although he didn't set out again.

"It's that way, yeh?" Az looked back to the boy again in time to see him nod in the direction he had been looking. "Think I got mosta th' lights back that way already, so it won't be that dark." The boy favored him with another grin, then nodded. "I've got t' get goin', stay safe, yeh?" And then he was moving, off down the road to the next set of light-posts before Azaria could say a word of farewell. He smiled a bit after the lamplighter, shaking his head, before resuming the long walk home.

I'm gonna stand up.

[Cy]

[/i].

Ze'el was no longer entirely certain if the decision to visit his home city was his own or Dareph's, though he supposed he was the only one to blame for following through on such an idea. Going to the farm that he'd suffered and struggled with for years on end before his Searching was, however, entirely his own choice and there was no doubt of that. Dareph knew him better than anyone in the world; the red wouldn't be so cruel as to prompt him to visit family, to visit home, but he would be so cruel to himself. Curiosity was eating him alive though. It had been more than two years since he'd left Sayaie. It was beyond the limitations of even his own apathy to not wonder about what had changed. Such a visit had not been on the agenda when he'd been dropped off and Dareph had retreated to stand guard on one of the platforms, the warmth of his mind a perpetual presence on the edges of the new Lieutenant's mind, but the red said nothing as His left the city along the familiar roads that he'd not been able to tread in so long. He remembered the way as if he'd walked it only yesterday though.

He found his father on the porch, sitting in a rotting chair and smoking, a habit that he'd not had two years ago. By the way he coughed and hacked, it seemed like he'd been smoking religiously in that time. He had more gray in his hair. He kept the ankle that he'd broken two years ago propped up, still favouring it. It probably hadn't healed entirely right. The man said nothing as his only son settled down beside him. He probably wouldn't have said anything at all if Ze'el didn't strike up the nerve to question. Yeah, that one kid was still helping out about the farm. He did fine. Roriel had gone, left weeks ago and still not returned to cook supper like she always used to. Nah, it was fine, it was quieter. A simple grunt was all that was offered when the riding leathers creaked as the younger man got up to leave, heading for the barn to look over all the chores that were now being done by someone else.

There were new animals and there were old. All of them seemed happy enough, well fed and well groomed. Marla was gone. She'd been an old girl, but he could only hope that she'd been sold off to another family rather than the more likely alternative. Zelig had been right, his assistant did fine. Everything was in order. Everything was clean. A jealous weight settled vaguely on his chest. He'd been the one to order and clean everything once upon a time. It had all been his responsibility and he'd killed himself over making sure it was all done perfectly. He'd never been told that he'd done fine. Fueled by this irritation, he insisted on looking over everything, occasionally re-doing things that had been finished differently from how he'd have finished it two years ago, and he ignored Dareph's prodding for him to move on. They had a job to do in Sayaie, but Ze'el had a job to do at home. He refused to let it go until the sky was growing darker and Zelig was no longer on the porch.

'Ze'elMine?' The rider didn't respond to the voice creeping into his head, simply watching the dust of the path as he made his way steadily back into the city. 'You did fine.' 'Shut up.' He still felt angry, still felt hurt, and he still felt frustrated for feeling the way he did in the first place.

Dareph honoured the sentiment more than the snapping itself, silent as the man trudged his way back into the city, leaving Ze'el to his simmering thoughts and yet remaining like a gentle pressure slowly pushing them out of his warrior's head. His was always so unhappy. He would grow used to such shadows plaguing His after visits home, but, for the now, he felt saddened and concerned for it. However, bad mood or not, they did still have a job to do. He'd work on cheering His once all was done. 'There is someone here, Mine; someone for the Eyrie. Find him.' The words alone held command, but the voice held careful suggestion, urging without pushing. Ze'el bent more willingly to such tones than he did to authoritive demands. He'd known this from the beginning. There was a distinct sense of hesitation and spiked anxiety in his rider, but, after a lengthy pause and without fail, the man veered off his original course, falling in line to the path highlighted in his head by the red perched above.

So used to watching the ground as he walked, Ze'el had to actively remind himself to pick his head up in order to look ahead, his light eyes lingering on passing and distant figures for mere moments before looking back to the ground and then forcefully back ahead again. The colours of sunset had begun to fade away now, leaving the sky dark with the pitchest blacks and the deepest blues. Stars twinkled and streetlamps burned, lighting the way and warding off shadows from their respective circles of safety. He was just on the verge of giving up, of pleading to Dareph that perhaps they should try again tomorrow when the sun was high, when the red cut across his thoughts. 'There! Him, Mine, that one.' He'd been looking down, so caught up in figuring how he'd compromise with his bonded, and he'd not noticed the blonde lad passing him by with quick strides. He was probably returning home, or wherever he spent his nights. Instinct kicked in before his mind could truly register the words, acting upon his Dareph's strong urgings to whirl around, blue eyes focusing on the back of the boy's head. “'Scuse me?” He prompted, gruff voice raised just enough to call for attention, clearing his throat a moment afterwards, his brain already crawling ahead to try to find the words to get across what he needed to get across. [/ul][/size]

[Kilnarak]

Azaria walked with his head down and his shoulders hunched against the cold of the evening, his hands shoved in his pockets. While he passed a handful of others traveling the lamp-lit streets of Sayaie, none really acknowledged him beyond, in a few cases, picking up their pace as they passed - they were wrapped up in their own thoughts and concerns, and another soul walking the roads was just another obstacle to avoid. But the blonde boy didn't let that trouble him; he didn't recognize any other faces as they passed, and it was best to shy away from strangers after night had fallen, anyway.

He would have continued on and thought nothing of it, if a rough sounding voice hadn't sounded behind him. Azaria didn't exactly stop, but he did slow enough to look behind him. The face matched the voice, rough-looking to complement the gruff tone - and it wasn't a face Azaria recognized. The boy slowed to a stop and turned about only after he had assured himself that the strange man was, indeed, addressing him and not some other passerby - it was a clear thing, as there wasn't anyone else within sight. Backing down a pace, he offered the man an uncertain smile - a bit nervous, but given the situation, he was sure no one would begrudge him that.

"Ah, hello. Do you need something?" His voice held a faint sense of confusion to it, and his posture was reminiscent a bit, perhaps, of a wary deer - ready to bolt should the scenario take a turn for the worst - but still, his smile was friendly enough. Perhaps this stranger was only lost? This section of the city wasn't one usually haunted by cut-purses and ruffians... "I, ah, was on my way home. But if you need directions or... or something?"

[Cy]

[/b] He answered shortly, the default frown of his lips apparent in the furrow of his brow as he looked back to the boy, absorbing the fair and androgynous features without recognizing them in the slightest. It wasn't so unusual. Not only was Sayaie a big city in and of itself, but he'd never really been the most social of individuals in all of his time there. He could have passed the lad by in the market a million times over in the twenty-one years he'd resided there before being plucked up for the Eyrie, and he still wouldn't recognize him. So he shrugged it off, and whet his focus on the matter at hand. This boy had something, a potential that had been found in at least four generations of riders. A friendlier person could have jumped right into charming the kid. He could inform him that he used to live there before he'd been chosen to fulfill a higher calling, and that would be the perfect segue to his reason for stopping him in the middle of a dark street.

Unfortunately, Ze'el was anything but a friendly person and he felt himself straining beneath the pressure of the responsibility expected of him, to persuade this complete stranger to abandon his home to fly to a world outside of the one he'd been raised in. His own Search from years ago wasn't anything to take inspiration from. He had been difficult and he'd tried Sa'nia's patience too easily. Her temper had ignited his own, and he might have never left the farm if Altaph hadn't plunged her presence so briefly into his head to make him aware of an emptiness he'd spent years ignoring. He didn't want Dareph to repeat that sort of intrusion on someone so pretty, so naïve. But he had no other form to look up to, to mimick in this situation.

A gentle pressure leaned firmly against the edges of his mind, a soft voice cooing to the anxious shadows and guiding him. Introduce himself, make clear who he is. Riders were trusted, the knots worn with a pride that he didn't quite feel in his marrow yet would validate him. The blade decorated with a deep red feather at his side would ground him. “My name is Ze'el... of red Dareph. I'm a Lieutenant at the Eyrie.” It might not have been his exact title. It was his first time wrapping his lips around the words and pushing it from his tongue. He was a rider; more than that, he was a Lieutenant. “What's your name?” His transition from one thing to the other, while sensical, felt stiff and disjointed, but he was trying. [/ul][/size]