Feels like Light

It is a pleasant day to be sith-makar. The rays of Daeus are warm, the skies are clear and azure in the best and most pleasant of ways, and the occasional breeze that dances through Alexandria is a little blessing all on its own, a cool and light thing that reminds one that autumn is just around the corner.

But for now, the warmth sees a certain fire druid in the Memorial Gardens. Cuemoni is delicately painting symbols in the style of the ones that adorn her turquoise scales onto a stick she's found somewhere, if not necessarily here. It's a red paint that clings to the fine horse-hairs of the brush, a tool purchased from a shop here in Alexandria and not self-made. It's one of the couple of ways that the Shaman has adapted to her surroundings, but she still wears the hide armor that does nothing for her ability to blend in.

Then there comes a snap in the tree above where Cuemoni sits and paints. It results in her brush stroke going quite wide as her golden eyes dart up to observe the bird, a substantially large dark-feathered thing. "Ay! Dark One, do not disturb this one's work!"

The bird regards her with deep brown eyes before it scolds her with a caw and flies off. Cuemoni makes a series of 'tsks' before she looks back down to her painted stick. She grumbles. "Ay ay. This one will have to start over again..."

It is a pleasant day to be a sith-makar. The rays of the Dragonfather are warm, the skies are clear and azure... In short, it is the sort of day that welcomes one to come out and take a pleasant stroll. Zeke might have been inclined to take a walk through the woods, but his occupation in the temple keeps him closer to the city, and so on his prescribed break he finds himself roaming through the Gardens which are in their way a decent replacement for the forest; if not an entirely perfect one.

Though, on hearing a familiar voice in the garden and starting toward it, Zeke realizes that there are in fact some benefits to being in the city; at least at this time. He finds his tail swishing behind him in low pleasure as he spots the shaman at work painting her sticks and bemoaning that she will have to start again. "Peasssce on your nessst. Thisss one hopess that thiss one isss not intruding."

There is a slight scent of surprise and... even something like panic that comes from Cuemoni as she looks up at Zeke. Her golden eyes nictate. "Shaman Zeke!" she exclaims, before a rumble comes from within her chest, and she rises up from her sitting spot in the grass and offers him a greeting bow with the sweep of her arms and tail--something she did not offer him the last time that they met. But doing the motion appears to calm her, as the scent of surprise and panic disappears, and she gives a little nod at Zeke once she finishes.

"Peace on your nest. This one would never consider your presence an intrusion, Shaman Zeke." Her tail flits in a happy, if somewhat nervous, manner. "This one was... Trying to make a divination stick in the customs of this one's tribe. Hoping to learn an answer from the spirits."

Admittedly curious, Zeke peers at the stick in question; imperfect as it might be and looks at Cuemoni with a trace of concern. Not concern about her, but rather concern that he has in fact obviously interrupted her goings-on. In particular her greeting is so... much. He finds himself tilting his head slightly to the side. "Are you ssssure that thisss one isss not interrupting? Thisss one may be able to offer... a way for you to ssspeak with sssuch thingsss. To make up for the interruption?"

There is another moment of hesitation before Cuemoni nods, taking a seat back down in the grass underneath the tree. "This one--perhaps this one needs to speak with others of the Blood first before the spirits," Cuemoni admits. "This one is used to speaking with the spirits for many things, but matters of the heart, as this one's mentor said, may be better helped by kin."

She puts her paintbrush back into her little pot of paint, a thing that looks like lavastone with a ground-up liquid pigment inside--and indeed, a smaller stone of lavastone sits in the grass next to the pot, adorned with red pigment that suggests this was what was used to produce the paint. "This one has... new feelings for a friend," she says gently. Golden eyes looking down at the pot. "This one is unsure how to approach the matter."

Zeke blinks and then swishes his tail. "Thisss one would be honored if you would ssshare wordss with thisss one." He would in fact, be very honored to be taken into her confidence, and it seems that she does intend to do just that. He moves to join her in the grass. The blue-scale takes his time lowering himself into the grass, listening to her words.

"Ssssa." He makes the soft sound with a trace of warmth. "Thisss one advissesss that you be honessst. Thiss one doess not know what feelingsss you ssspeak of, or the friend that you have made, but honesssty isss the language of our heartsss. If you can not be honessst with a friend, then they are not a friend."

Zeke's very last sentence makes Cuemoni visibly taken aback. Her shoulders raise a little, and she almost shrinks like she is trying to defend herself. Her tail twitches in an anticipatory, nervous manner.

"This one..."

Cuemoni looks up at Zeke with those golden eyes of hers. A little gust of breath leaves her nostrils, like she's pushing herself to the task she has before her. "Then this one will be honest. As you are a friend of this one's, and this one cannot stand being dishonest to this one's friend. This one has feelings of warmth and kindness for you. This one... enjoys being in your presence. But--this one does not wish to be a traditional nesting-mate. This one was... pressured into choosing a mate to save the tribe, and this one declined every year. This one is... not ready, and may not ever be ready."

She looks down to the grass with her red pigments in the lavastone pot again. "This one is aware such an arrangement is odd. And that this one's feelings may also not be returned. It is okay if they are not."

Of all things that Cuemoni could have said. Of all things that he might have imagined that she might say. This was not among them. When she said she had feelings for someone who was a friend, he imagined that Cuemoni had many friends. That she had some young male in her heart that she was longing to be close to. He listens to her words and he blinks at her, his eyes nictating. "Thisss one... Thisss one will be honesst asss well. Thisss one... Thisss one hasss feelingsss of warmth and kindness for you asss well Cuemoni."

She was a kind person, a generous person. One who he had felt a sort of attachment to growing over the time that they've known one another. "Thisss one hass had clossse relationssshipsss in the passt, but thiss one isss... not whole. Not a good mate. Thisss one hass little to offer a female like you. If you are not looking for a nessst, but a companion... Thisss one isss willing."

He looks at her and offers her his flesh-and-blood claw. He's grown so much over the years to be able to do this, but he knows that it's such a small gesture. "We sshould ssshare wordss Cuemoni. Thisss one hass little to offer; you may find it too little."

Cuemoni's golden eyes nictate as Zeke responds favorably. It's clear she wasn't expecting him to reciprocate. Her tail goes deathly still as she listens to his words, her golden eyes regarding him as though he has revealed a secret of the Dragonfather to her. Something beautiful. Something blessed.

And then he offers the claw out to her. Without hesitation, she reaches out--slowly, gently--and takes it in her own. The golden eyes shine just a little brighter. Her turquoise scales are warm, warm like the fire she wields and warm like the sun that has warmed them all of today.

"This one does not, and has never, felt you were not whole," Cuemoni says gently. "This one feels you are wholly good. A kind friend. A beloved healer. A known and respected Shaman. These are the measures of wholeness that matter. These are how this one... came to regard you with these feelings of companionship. This one does not believe you will ever be too little. You are enough. More than enough."

Her tail begins to move again in a gentle bit of excitement. "This one has never felt this way for anyone else," she admits. "This one feels... if anything, _this one_ may offer too little? But this one has to know. This one has to try. Otherwise this one will never know."

His own claw is warm as well, sun-warmed and his tail like hers moves, though his is a more languid happiness. Her words are a kind balm for the truthful pain that lies inside his heart, but he knows that they have not known one another long or well. This offer of companionship might well fade if she knows the truth. Still, to hear her speak of him is a warmth that he can not ignore, it makes him feel as though he might be all the things that she says that he is. That he might at long last be enough.

"Thisss one hasss timesss, where thisss one can not be touched. Timesss of great ssadness from the memory in thisss onesss blood. Thisss one hasss fearsss of food. Thisss one iss lacking limbs." He lists his flaws more easily than he once had. He looks at her earnestly. "You have a right to know thessse thingsss; when offering thissss one what companionsssship you have. Thisss one hass no tribe, no People, even thiss oness cassste is at a disstance from thisss one."

He has been alone for so long, he looks at her hand in his. "Thiss one hass been accussed of being the product of Forgotten matingsss." A small wince. "Othersss may look at you in oddsss for being the companion of one ssso old."

Yet he can not deny her feelings. "If thisss one isss the firsst that you have felt sssuch thingsss for; then if it were for a young, ssstrong male... thisss one would call it a blessing. That you feel sssuch for thisss one... Isss..." He trails off. It is a blessing only to him, and likely to be an unkindness to her.

There's a rumble in Cuemoni's chest at the notion that Zeke has been accused of being the child of Forgotten matings. It's an unhappy rumble, not at Zeke but at those who have thrown such hateful words in his direction. "To be accused of such false words--this is unforgivable on the parts of those who speak such evil," Cuemoni responds, in a way that entirely befits a druid of fire. Confidently, yet with the flame of compassion for the man that she cares so much for.

Her golden eyes fix onto Zeke's, so that he knows what she says are her feelings in full. "This one does not care much for the opinion of others. That is part of why this one left the Tribe. This one's fate is beyond nests and hatchlings. This one's mentor saw such in a vision. The others of the Xiuhcoatl did not--and do not--understand. This one has a mission to follow. A purpose. And this one does not believe that it was a coincidence that you were among the first of the People that this one met in this city."

Then her voice turns compassionate. Her golden eyes gentle. "This one has warm feelings for you," Cuemoni reminds Zeke gently. "This one does not want a nest, does not wish for a nest--and may never wish for a nest. This one sees you as whole, as you are that before this one: wholly yourself. This one understands--that you have your struggles and challenges. This one will endeavor fully to be an understanding companion, a kind companion worthy of your kindness. This one may falter--but will only ever strive to learn, as this one believes you deserve a companion who will learn for your sake."

Zeke is so touched by her words that he feels his chest tighten. Never has one spoken quite so kindly to him. Promised him that they would fail, but that they would _try_. Try to be a good companion for his sake. His heart burns with that ache and he tilts his head toward her, pulled by an invisible force toward this female. He has never wanted to touch another so greatly in his life. "Would you permit thisss one, the kindnesss, of ssssharing your ssscent?"

For him, it is a bold request, to touch her and share his scent with her; and to have that returned. It means touching, but more than that, it requires sharing, and that is a thing which is if not intimate; as intimate a thing as he has ever had the courage to ask for of his own volition.

He knows that he will never ask her for a nest. That is a thing she will never need fear from him. Yet for once in his life he does dare ask for _something_.

Cuemoni's tail is moving so rapidly in excitement now, a happy little thing, as he tilts his head to her. She knows the meaning of this. To share scents is a powerful thing. It is, in turn, a thing that she has never asked of anyone else.

"This one will," she responds so softly, so gently, "if you give this one the kindness of your scent in turn."

She leans in, still holding that claw of his, still so warm for their shared contact. For the light of the Dragonfather that Zeke serves and that Cuemoni respects. "Please tell this one if you want to stop at any time," she murmurs. And then she goes to rub his cheek against his, so carefully. So slowly. But not hesitantly--for she desires his companionship so wholly and completely.

His heart almost stops in his chest, feels like it skips a beat, when she asks to share his scent also. To have others know - other makari - that they are in this way belonging to one another. He's honored beyond words. "Yesss." He says softly, accepting; welcoming.

He tilts his head to her, rubs his cheek over her cheek. Zeke's eyes close, and it comes so naturally. An instinct guides him through, marking her cheek with his scent. A low rumble echoes in his chest and out his throat. For the first time he doesn't hesitate, or feel the need to withdraw. Only that burgeoning warmth in his chest.

It feels like touching the Dragonfather's light.

For Cuemoni, it is like the world is right. She is aware of all around her. The wind as it whistles through the leaves in the tree above her. The grass that her taloned feet are touching. The earth, the wind, the tree--it feels for her like they rejoice just as she is rejoicing at his touch, his scent. They are close and the spirits are their witnesses. The Dragonfather is their witness.

It is a thing she will never forget, this first of scent-sharing. She stays close to him there as long as he permits, pulling away only just a little as she regards him again with those golden eyes flecked with red lines, painted on with a pigment that announce herself as a part of the tribe she left behind, a Shaman of the spirits that she still listens to, still venerates as easily as she breathes.

As easily as she breathes his scent.

She lets out a happy rumble as she looks at him, so affectionate and warm. "This one would like to spend a little time with you," she says. "To be close and spend time in the Dragonfather's light, until you need to tend to your duties. This one will never keep you from His work."

It is a warmth that lingers in her, too. A warmth that feeds the ever-burning fire that is within her. Cuemoni finds herself thanking the spirits once again for their happy meeting later, leaving them an offering underneath the tree before she departs.

It's only the right thing to do--by herself, by him, and this happy companionship that is blossoming at the turn of seasons, a late summer bloom to revel in the opening days of the autumn harvest.

-End