A Bitter Soul -- {Lakeside Ponderings}

[Doronlas]

Gabriel knew the Drow probably thought him a fool for bothering with the herbs. Many people of various races did but it was a comfort to him. His mother and father had often smudged herbs though Gable hadn't done a proper smudging in at least a year. He seldom felt the need since he kept a healthy distance between himself and the places dark spirits often chose to haunt. Glancing over at Rywin at Adrastos' mention of her poor directional choice, Gabriel chuckled. He could feel the nights growing cooler and knew well enough that the rain would soon turn to snow and trees would become bare. Hunting would be useless and the fishing places would become empty or frozen over. It would be a fool's hope to survive while moving northward.

"Oh never fear, Rywin will change her mind when she feels the time is right" Gable said, quite happy for a person who's horse was planning a suicide trek north. "I often trust her instincts more than my own and I'm still alive. If I find a village soon I will be set for the winter anyway, enough ailing children will at least keep me in good will for a while."

Grimacing at the thought, Gable snuffed the smoking end of the braided herbs with his thumb and forefinger. He barely even noticed the light burn he felt. Tapping off the ashes of the burnt herbs, Gable left the herbs in the bowl. Burning them through the night would just mean he'd be going longer without them farther into the winter. The lingering scent of smudged white sage should be enough to keep off any dark spirits for now, in any case.

"It may seem a fool's trick to let a horse choose where to go but my choices never turn out very well. Winding up in a snowstorm would be light compared to some of the troubles I get myself into."

Chuckling again, Gable leaned on a small boulder watching the embers. He hummed softly, an old elvish lullaby but did not sing the words. Yes, to him even with a Drow across the fire and winter hot, or cold, on his heels the world seemed just right for Gable. He had learned long ago to simply value what came because eventually he would die some way or another. Might as well make mistakes and make things interesting while he still had time to screw up.

[Adrastos Morandir]

"Hmph." Adrastos grunted, taking to glaring at the sky for the time-being, trying to pick out the ancient constellations he had learned of from the star-charts closeted in the archives of the Deeps. The Drows had never been a scholarly race, but they knew well enough to keep records of their history. The damned thing repeating itself, and whatever it was Surface-dwellers said. He could not recognize a single one, however; the stars seemed to have shifted in the past thousands of years. He could only spot a single pinprick of light that he readily knew the name of.

A bright, bullion flicker, shining solemnly, almost defiantly against the velvet curtain of night. Lloth Tel'Dagnir, or Lloth's Bane it had been called by his people. It seemed strange to recognize something from this world, but he promptly brushed the feeling away.

His saffron eyes had just begun to browse the dark canvas of oblivion once more when he sensed something, or more felt something. It was so faint that he might never have noticed it, had he not been leaning back on his hands, palms pressed flat to the earth. It was inexorably there, however; the faintest thrumming vibration, out of sync with the natural movements of the earth. He made a non-commital sound of curiosity, seating himself on his knees and pressing his ear to the ground, closing his eyes and furrowing his brows.

Several long moments passed, and then his eyes shot wide, flaring with recognition, and the wish not to have. These were the sounds of a travelling company. Ten or more, obviously on horse-back. They were distant yet, but obviously heading in the direction of their little camp.

Adrastos proceeded to curse fluently under his breath in Drow-tongue, face contorted in a bewildering mixture of hate, annoyance, confusion and the faintest flicker of something distantly related to fear. How could they have known?! He had not left a single track! Not a one!

Rising abruptly to his feet, the Drow deftly brushed the dirt from his cloak, kicking dust hastily over the embers of the fire, smothering them.

"They have horses now, do they?" He muttered under his breath to himself as he cast about, frantically attempting to find something with which to douse the remaining heat without causing a hiss of steam or smoke. "Perfect. Just perfect. Lovely. By Lloth! Would that they had given up at the last crossing. Damn!" He clicked his teeth, flicking his hair from his eyes irritably. He seemed to have forgotten Gable altogether for the moment.

Clawing at his scalp, he turned to the healer abruptly.

"If you want to keep your head, I suggest you follow me. Get your creature," he shot Rywin a hateful glare. "-to run and hide. There is a cave behind yon waterfall, but there is neither room nor right of way for it to conceal itself within. I would also suggest that you keep up; if you cannot make the climb I will not lose a minute of sleep when they scent you out."

Without further explanation Adrastos turned on his heel and set out at a sprint along the water's side. He supposed he had perhaps ten minutes yet before the heady gallop of his pursuers brought them too near, but he would rather be safely hidden long beforehand, if he could help it.

He covered about two furlong's distance with ease, reaching the high rock face, and without a moment's pause coiled the sinews of his bandy legs, easily springing several feet into the air, slamming into the cliff-side, spider-like fingers seeking out crevices that seemed impossible to grip, lithe toes seeking even the smallest and most perilous of ledges upon which to balance.

His joints popped out of place, allowing him to skitter along the stone like some huge, freakish insect, limbs stretching in ways no limbs were supposed to do. He covered several yards up and sideways in this manner, then stopped, cracking his joints back into their sockets and tensing his muscles, taking a flying leap towards the crashing cascade a few feet to his right. His spindly digits curled precisely about the contours of a thick ledge, which happened to outline the entrance of a small outlet, meters into the air and only about a fathom in depth, and half as much in diameter.

For a perilous moment he simply hung there, for the rock face had been worn sheer by the crashing water, offering not even the slightest foothold for his scrabbling boots, slick with moisture. He actually gulped as he attempted to guess the depth of the pool beneath him, not liking what he came up with. Swimming was not his forte; in fact, he had never even learned how, and drowning was one of his few fears, for such a death was but un-honorable, and entirely possible when one thought about it.

Taking a deep breath, he hoisted himself up via his powerful arms, rolling into the small grotto with a sigh of relief. It felt good to experience stone under his skin again. Solid stone.

Shaking his dripping hair, he peered darkly from behind the sheet of plummeting water, wondering disinterestedly if Gable would somehow be able to make the climb. He supposed if the man got close enough, he might be willing to lend a hand in his ascension, but if he did not, or could not make it in time...well, he had several throwing knives hidden on his person that could easily make sure his hiding place was not exposed by a loose tongue or mind...

[Doronlas]

Considering how many times he had been accused of witchcraft, it was amazing how much of a slow mover and laid back person Gable was. He let the silence roll between himself and the Drow simply because silence seemed to suit the unusual creature better than the normal banter of men. His gaze absentmindedly roamed the skies, picking out constellations and remembering their various tales and legends. Under his cloak, Gable kept his hand around the pendant his mother had given him, a gift from a dwarf that had passed the village where Gable had lived with his family. It was only through his mother's healing knowledge that the dwarf had survived an orc attack near the mountain pass just beyond the village.

Musing absently about the unusual dwarven traveler, Gable didn't notice Adrastos even move until the Drow started muttering and cursing in what Gable assumed was his native tongue. Wondering if perhaps Rywin had been offensive yet again, the druid pulled himself out of his thoughts. Turning his head toward the white-haired dark elf, Gable raised a brow as the elf started kicking out the embers of the fire but made no move to stop him. If the Drow was to be in a foul mood than that was no fault of Gable's nor was he going to try to detour the creature's mood.

Surprisingly however, Gable found himself raising an eyebrow yet again as the Drow spoke. "Ah the life of a wanted man, or Drow in this case, is an interesting one" Gable mused idly.

He remained seated where he was as the Drow turned and disappeared into the night, fleeing persuers that Gable had no notion of. Idly running a hand along the smooth wood of his staff, Gable looked over at Rywin. The dark mare's head was up, ears flicked toward the shadowy woods. Her unease had not abated at Adrastos' departure but had seemed to escalate. Yes, the Drow's threat was not a light one but Gable was a man that took his time despite his youth.

Rising, Gable sighed and dusted off his cloak. Clicking his tongue, the man brought Rywin briskly to his side and saddled the mare. Strapping the saddle bags to her haunches, Gable swung himself up onto the tall mare's back, his staff in hand just in case. Clicking his tongue again, Gable let the mare set off at a fast paced canter through the shadowy woodland along the shore toward the waterfall the Drow had mentioned. Rywin was far from silent, her hooves heavy but she moved like a shadow in the nighttime darkness. Gable didn't look back for whatever happened to be chasing his darkling companion.

Remembering the climb the Drow had mentioned, Gable faultered slightly. He wouldn't leave Rywin at the base of a cliff. Seeing the cliff up ahead, waterfall thundering down into the lake, Gable sighed. There was no helping it.

Jerking the reins sharply to convey his urgency, Gable directed the mare off the path the Drow had chosen. Being a rather high-class mare, Rywin didn't like going off the beaten path but the sharp motions conveyed that there was no room for argument. Thus, the mare went, springing off the path into the darker undergrowth that grew densely along the base of the cliff. By now, Gable could hear horse hooves. Swinging off of Rywin's back, mare in mid-stride, Gable threw himself to the ground and rolled under prickly plants to hide with his back against the cliff base. His staff in hand, Gable glimpsed only a flicker of movement as Rywin disappeared into the deeper gloom, riderless but he knew she would return and not go far.

Laying on the ground, Gable pressed his ear against the ground. Though he lacked the excellant hearing of a Drow, Gable had roughly the hearing of a dog because of his mother's elven senses. Far from the elven standard but enough for him to hear horses growing quite close. Taking a deep breath, Gable forced himself to slow down, pull back. His heartbeat, pounding by now, slowed to that of a sleeping man, breathing measured and carefully quiet. It was something similar to a healer's trance but he was still aware, just a bit withdrawn.

[Adrastos Morandir]

Adrastos watched from his hiding place, scrutinizing the place where he had seen Gable dissapear. He could no longer see the man, nor smell or hear him over the din of the falls, but he knew he was there. This close to crashing water, he reasoned the healer might have a chance of going unnoticed.

Noting this, he looked up sharply through a gap in the sheet of icy liquid, caused by a boulder lodged in the cliff face a few yards further up, seeing the shadows of his thought-to-be-lost pursuers emerge from the darkness, the foremost of which swinging to the ground with a thump! perhaps inches from where he had once sat. Anxiety thrumming in his head, he could easily see the bright orange and red shades of heat at the center of the mens' bodies, faintly pulsing with their heartbeats, even at this distance. There was just short of a dozen of them, all riding. Their mounts did not have the war-like strength and size of Rywin, but rather, were smaller, made to be swift and hardy. Much like himself, he thought with no small amount of disdain.

The man who had dismounted (Adrastos seemed to remember the name Chagra) crouched low to the ground, running a hand, feather-light over the earth where his tracks were sure to be. The Drow hissed in scorn when the man noted to remaining heat of the dashed fire, and turned to speak to a few of the other men. He could not hear this over the falls, but he doubted he would have heard more than a murmur under normal circumstances anyway. At any rate, Chagra appeared to be giving orders, as several more men dismounted.

Three of them followed Rywin's deep tracks at a crouching trot, but Chagra did not join them; Adrastos remembered the man becoming informed of his mistrust for equines.

Mere yards from the foot of the cliff the trio halted, then two broke off to follow the horse's tracks into the night, the third falling onto hand and knee to examine the ground where Rywin's hoof-marks abruptly swerved. He, like his company, was of tall stature; fair of hair and face, and in the dim Adrastos could just make out the twinkle of sharp hazel eyes, though he mightn't have recognized it had he not known beforehand.

Abruptly, the man stood, and gave a sharp shout back to his companions, who had been poking about the recently-occupied campsite; looking for a sign of which direction he had fled, no doubt. Chagra lifted his head, then made his way at a surprisingly graceful lope towards his scout. The two began to converse in hushed tones, making gestures towards the ground at their feet. Adrastos could just pick out a few snippets of their exchange.

"-tracks are too large. 'Twas no demon which made these." The scout was saying. "-not a man either...-tracks fade too lightly-" Adrastos clenched his fists as the conversation continued, then gave a feral snarl, much like that of a cornered beast, when Chagra held up his hand for silence, trotting to the face of the cliff and running his gloved hands over its surface.

"-chipped stone-" he heard as the man bent, picking up something from the springy grass and holding it aloft. "-might have climbed.-" The scout nodded, looking thoughtful.

It was at this point that the two others scouts reemerged, saluting Chagra before speaking.

"-warhorse, if ever I saw one-...could not catch it a'foot, 'twas far too swift-...equipped with full travel gear-...saw no rider-." Adrastos bit his blue tongue, clawing at the rock beneath his palms in irritation, but otherwise staying utterly still, not daring to breathe with his pursuers but yards below him, and so close to where Gable hid.

[Doronlas]

Keeping himself semi-sedated in a healer's trance, Gable listened but heard from a distance as things moved around him. It seemed their persuers had caught their trail but he was not surprised. Rywin had been bred as a warhorse, large hooves and musuclar bulk meant for power, not stealth and silence. He merely hoped that if anyone did see her, the fact she lacked a rider would protect her. If nothing else, she was a formidable foe on her own with all that power and big hooves. Confident his equine companion would fair well enough on her own, Gable kept his ear on the company not but a few yards from where he hid at the base of the cliff.

They were tall men, formidible at best and quite dangerous in appearance. They had tracked Rywin from the campsite that Gabriel and Adrastos had recently abandoned but seemed uncertain about whether to follow Rywin further or try scaling the cliff. If they scaled the cliff, Adrastos would be given away and something in his gut told Gable that was a bad thing. Though aggressive, the Drow had given him no impression of being a monster, simply different like the difference between a dwarf and an elf. Still, Adrastos was being hunted by what Gable could only assume was a scouting party of men for they seemed on the tall side for being Drows.

Bitterly, Gable wondered how many times he had been in a similar situation, cornered by unfriendly men that meant the stake for him. Well, perhaps it was that aspect that made them alike despite vast differences that were both physical and mental. Either way, Gable would later say it made him an idiot but he firmly decided he needed to get the men distracted, away from the Drow's hiding place.

Easing backward was impossible in the brush he hid in. The men would notice the movement and hear the sound but Gable knew he needed to distract them, get their attention even if that meant he was going to be at swordpoint for the next year and a half, chased by men he didn't even know. Ah the fun times of being a healer. Wait...healer...that was it!

Moving slowly and very quietly, Gable pulled open a pouch on his belt. A light blue-green powder tipped into his palm. It was a herb mixture meant to explode if heated. It was dangerous but handy since all it really did was make light enough to daze someone if it was the dead of night like it was now. Of course Gable was a man that was often prepared which meant he had a flint in his pocket. Careful not to spill the powder, he tapped the flint on a stone and caught a spark. Lashing out with the hand holding the powder, he flung it at the people as it burned and then...

BOOM!

The powder lit up the night if only for a moment. Low hanging tree branches around the men caught fire but Gable wasn't around long enough to watch. Using the noise to cover his own, Gable rolled down the embankment he had sent Rywin along, ignoring the rocks digging into his sides as he went until he lay at the bottom, still hidden but this time on his stomach, winded and half deaf.

[Adrastos Morandir]

When he concentrated hard enough, Adrastos was finally able to pick out Gable's heat signaiture, which had dropped drastically, most probably due to a subdued heart-rate. The man was still, almost utterly so, and that at least was worth some praise, with hostile men so close. He himself was having a bit of trouble, his every instinct baying for him to fight, to attack, to kill. These men wanted him dead, and regardless of how foolish the endeavor would be, his body begged for him to fight, to show them what it meant to be on the bade side of a Drow.

He was leaned forward, almost far enough out of the cave for his head to be under the falls, holding himself up only by his hands as he battled mentally, fighting the feral urge to leap, to hurt. So wrapped up in this inner scuffle was he that he failed to notice Gable's faint movements as he made for something on his person. In fact, he did not notice at all until it was far too late.

The brush rustled, causing the men to snap their gazes that way, only to be blinded by a brilliant flash of light right before them...where Adrastos, unfortunately, just happened to be looking.

An ear-splitting, blood-chilling, harpy-like primal scream tore from the Drow's throat as his pupils contracted so far as to be nonexistent, though it was not enough. His body seized spasmodically, letting go of the ledge to claw at his eyes in utter agony, unimaginable pain throbbing throughout his head, as if he had been bludgeoned by a large stone, over and over again.

His supporting limbs occupied elsewhere, Adrastos toppled from the grotto, still shrieking, only to have his mouth filled with chill liquid as he broke the surface of the water, the roiling impact of the falls buffeting him farther out into the lake, thrashing as he sunk farther from the sky that was now invisible to him. Utterly blinded, with no air, and no sense of which way was up, the Drow attempted to scream in fear and panic, only to find water rushing into his mouth, choking him. He clawed at the dreaded substance, attempting to move in any direction in the hopes that it would lead him to air, though to no avail.

[Doronlas]

The men nearest the blast such as Gable himself and several of Adrastos' persuers had been thrown backward and struck stone. Many were unconsious and some dazed beyond movement which was more or less the point of Gable's special little herb mixture. Though he himself felt dazed, Gable didn't miss the splash that meant someone had hit the water. Abrubtly remembering Adrastos' dislike of light and heat, Gable cursed under his breath, scrambling up the embankment he had tumbled down. He heard Rywin coming toward him, drawn by the blast but didn't turn to look for her. Breaking out of the undergrowth, the tall man saw the dazed and unconcious hunters and ripples in the lake.

Blue eyes widened and Gable stumbled toward the lakeshore. It was a fear of his, to die by drowning but he had learned to swim. He feared drowning by someone else's hand. His own saving a life, well, in all honesty he thought of it as a relatively fair trade. Tossing his cloak, Gable waded into the water. Winter was close and the water was like ice, instantly piercing his clothing and latching onto his skin like freezing leeches.

Taking a deep breath, Gable threw himself forward into deeper water, hoping he would have enough time to get to the Drow before the men roused themselves. He dove down, searching frantically for the drowning Drow. Catching a faint glimmer from Adrastos' white hair, Gable aimed for it, kicking out to push himself downward. His lungs ached but he was a healer, a protector by nature if not differently from an archer or swordsman. He couldn't leave somebody to drown just like he'd never leave a man to burn.

Reaching out, Gable reached out to grab the Drow's flailing forearm as tightly as he could manage, hauling the lightweight Drow so he was angled upward since it looked like he had no sense of direction. Pulling, Gable righted himself as well and started hauling the Drow toward the surface, thanking the gods that he was light and relatively small as well as glad he had dumped his cloak. It would be nothing but added weight and he would need to wrap up Adrastos' in something warm when they got to the surface.

Adjusting his grip despite the Drow's protests, Gable had an arm around the Drow's waist and kicked upward until his head broke the surface. Pulling Adrastos' with him, Gable inhaled sharp, cold air that stung his face and made him shiver. Because of the waterfall, they had been pushed down the bank by the lake current, now well away from the men or at least enough that if they woke up, it would be a bit before the men caught their trail. If they were very lucky, the men might think they had drowned.

Grunting with effort, Gable hauled Adrastos' toward the shallows, trembling from cold and exertion, heart racing and more than glad to see Rywin standing at the bank, swishing her tail and snorting softly.

[Adrastos Morandir]

Just as he was beginning to fade out, Adrastos was grounded by a solid grip on his arm, and the awareness that he was being pulled. He instintively thrashed harder despite his waning energy, attempting to bite and scratch and tear, though the water slowed his movements, depleting their force.

He barely had the presence of mind to flinch when an arm hoisted him up by the waist, then everything seemed to rush to meet him as his head broke the surface, and he let out a strangled cry of utter relief, coughing and hacking as he clawed out for the bank. As soon as his fingers met muddy earth he dug them in deep, gasping gratefully, eyes clamped shut as he hauled himself as close as he could to dry land.

He collapsed after mere feet, water still submerging a fourth or so of his face, though that did not seem to matter. When the coughing had subsided he spat the liquid from his mouth, chest heaving as he dragged in great lungfuls of air, fists clenched in the muck.

When he had gathered himself enough to think, he opened his eyes; he could see nothing. The abrupt flash had scorched his retinas, rendering his eyes useless, at least until the burns healed. He could already feel a clear, sticky serum excreteing from his tear ducts.

"I-I can't...can't see...." he gasped through chattering teeth, lying limp in the shallows, looking for all the world like a drowned cat. Seconds later the thought seemed to register, and he said more loudly; "I can't see!"

He pushed himself up, but his arms gave way, and he collapsed again, trembling terribly. Unrelenting, he failed once more before managing to get up, reeling. "I can't see!" he shrieked, casting his gaze left and right, unseeing.

Like most warriors of House D'Artes, he had been taught blind-fighting when he was young; it was tradition to prepare Drowlings for Surface battle, though never in thousands of years had the Drows made good on their threats to reclaim the sun-lit world. In his panic, all he was aware of the were the two sources of heat nearest him; the first was animal, the second human.

"I can't see!" he was nearing hysteria now, chest heaving terribly fast as he began to hyperventilate. The faint detection of heat was the only thing he had to concentrate on beside the soaking wet clinging to him, and he struck at it blindly. He staggered in its general direction, pouncing like a wildcat and forcing Gable to the ground, seeking his throat.

His lips drew back in a feral snarl, his breathing so quick that he felt dizzy, licking his teeth frenetically as his face contorted in a panicked rage, blind eyes rolling in their sockets.

[Doronlas]

Trembling from cold and exertion, Gable barely registered Adrastos moving toward the land though he was glad for it. That meant the Drow would be relatively alright. He himself was still half in the water, on his hands and knees, soaking wet and shaking almost too hard to move properly. Humans suffered from the cold, it was a fact of life. Part elf or not, Gabriel did not escape that factor of mortality. Coughing up some water, Gable resisted the urge to drop off to sleep. The last thing he needed was for his heart rate to slow. If it did, he would most certainly not wake up again.

Either way, it took Adrastos' shrieking to get Gable to pull his foggy thoughts together. Raising his head, Gable stumbled to his feet still standing in the freezing cold lake. The Drow was crawling around, clawing at nothing and shrieking the same thing again and again. Gable's eyes widened. The Drow couldn't see. Damn! He was going hysterical!

"Adrastos! Stop!" Gable said, moving toward the Drow but having to stop to hack up more water.

Before he could move again toward the Drow, Adrastos was rushing at him. Caught off balance and already shaky from diving and freezing, Gable overbalanced and fell backward into the water. He managed to fling his arms up to protect his throat and face but he could feel the Drow's claws raking through the sleeves on his traveling clothes. Rywin shrieked and galloped into the water, splashing everywhere and nearly giving Gable a heart attack.

"Rywin stop!" Gable spluttered, still trying to fend off the Drow's hysterics. "Adrastos stop it! Get a grip, I can not help you if you kill me!"

Shifting weight forced Gable's head down under the water for a second before he could jerk his head back up, sucking in a deep breath again. Mustering all the strength he could at the moment, Gable lashed out to hit the Drow, instinct more than anything. The Drow needed to get off of him or he was going to drown, whether by accident or design. From nearby Rywin shrieked again, wanting to help Gable but not knowing how without kicking the Drow's head in. Gable's hands were going numb, if he stayed in the water he was going to freeze and a blind Adrastos would be all on his own.

[Adrastos Morandir]

Adrastos clawed and lashed, hissing shrilly in fear when his nails became ensnared by soaking cloth, slowing his exhausted, frantic efforts further. He made to slam his head into the other form's own in a desperate bid for victory, only to be met with a swinging fist.

A sharp CRACK! resounded as knuckles made contact with his high cheekbone, snapping his head to the side. His unseeing eyes widened, becoming round as saucers, and he gasped in surprise, abruptly ceasing all movement.

A few moments passed as his hysteria subsided, then he yanked one hand free of his 'assailant's' sleeves, smelling the drip of blood from the tips of his nails. Raising the digits to his mouth, his azure tongue flicked out to taste it, noting the highly metallic tang of Drow blood; his own, but also a more earthy cocktail of man and elf.

The healer! He thought with a jolt, feeling about wildly until his free hand met skin. Indeed, that sharp nose, and those defined features did not belong to a powerful warrior. He was silent for several long moments, staring down at something he couldn't see, and then;

"Water!" he hissed, rolling off of Gable's chest, and scuttling back, crab-like, seeking solid earth. He cried out when he sensed the massive pool of heat that was Rywin, swerving about in time to avoid her and scrambling onto the shore, seeking something tangible.

When his slender fingers met the wood of a tree he clung to it tightly, carving long furrows in the bark and drawing his knees to his chest, looking frighteningly wild and feral.

"What...what did you do to me...?" he gasped, shuddering with cold. In the Deeps there was no sun, so Drows had to rely on their own body heat, which much exceeded that of any Surface-dweller, but should their body heat be lowered, they were extremely suceptible to cold, unable to maintain a healthy equilibrium.

"Gahhaa!" He groaned loudly, pressing his palms into his face. "My eyes! They burn! Aggh!" His fingernails left long gouges down the sides of his face as he curled into himself, moaning and shaking his head.

[Doronlas]

Coughing, Gabriel struggled upright as Adrastos scrambled to the bank, moaning and growling. Using Rywin as a sort of unusal crutch, Gable managed to make it to the shore as well, trembling and sopping wet. He felt horrible about what had happened when he'd used the exploding powder. Originally it had been half a last resort and half hoping Adrastos had still been hiding in the cave. Apparently Gable had been wrong and caught the Drow looking which meant his eyes were burned and probably scarred. He had to fix this quickly before the Drow really went crazy or died from the cold.

Without time to start a fire, Gable fumbled with the saddle bag on Rywin's back. Pulling out a spare cloak lined with fur for winter, Gable tossed it over Adrastos though he felt the cold sharply. Hopefully if he could get close enough, he would be able to help the unfortunate Drow.

"I meant no harm to you, mellon nin" Gable said though he knew the words were wasted. "I had thought you would be farther back in the cave, safe at least from the light. Be still, I will heal your eyes."

Normally, Gable didn't like relying on his healing abilities that he inherited from his mother. Still, right now herbs would do Adrastos no good and he seriously doubted the Drow would let him get close enough to administer them. So, instead, he had to use his "craft" to heal his unfortunate companion. Kneeling as close as he dared to get, Gable closed his eyes, chanting softly in elvish. His heartbeat slowed and behind closed eyelids the druid saw Adrastos' body thrumming weakly with life, the mapwork of veins and organs, the flow of life, all Gable could see now.

Reaching out with his own energy, Gable used the magical energy to encompass the Drow's trembling form which had curled in on itself, seeking warmth. Gable offered energy which brought heat and healing, though he himself was probably too weak to even hold on to his own heat. Finding his way to the Drow's wounded eyes, Gable caressed the wounds with the magic, soothing away the burns and torn muscles. The process was more complex for Adrastos' eyes since they differed from the eyes of humans and elves but Gable managed, shooing away the pain.

At last, unable to hold the connection any longer, Gable felt the magic healing connection snap like a rope pulled too far. The part elf's magic snapped back to him but his energy was depleted. Loosing balance from his kneeling position, Gable toppled sideways but couldn't find the energy to sit up or even stay awake. Letting himself drop into unconsciousness, Gable could only hope the healing had been complete.

[Adrastos Morandir]

Adrastos shuddered as the heavy fur startled him, then relaxed slightly as he detected its warmth, clinging to it desperately. He snapped angrily as Gable's words reached him, though he could not maintain it for long. His mind began to feel slightly hazy, and a sort of tingling warmth flooded his face, concentrated around his eyes, causing him to blink in surprise.

It was only when he regained enough sense to pay attention to his Awareness that he detected the swirling, spring green aura that was emanating from Gable, channeling between their bodies. At the sound of the Elvish chant, his first instinct was to lash out again, but it was quickly quelled as the pain continued to subside from his eyes.

Slowly, his own aura began to calm from a frenetic gray-white, laced with lashes of angry crimson and hateful black to a more calm, mellow royal blue. He found his perpetually tense muscles relaxing as the healing energy flowed into him, and he was surprised that when he cautiously opened his eyes, the stabbing sensation was gone, and his vision was beginning to return. It was hazy and unclear, but he could detect the pulsing shades of orange and red, that represented life, and the paler shades of blue and violet for things that were innanimate.

When the magic flow abruptly stopped, he found himself sitting up quickly, shuddering as the chill invaded his warm haven. His vision was not perfect; some burns remained within his eyes that would take time to heal, but he could see again, and that was a welcome relief.

What wasn't, however, was the collapsed form he could now see just next to him. The healer had worn himself out.

Fool... he thought bitterly, and then he paused, cocking his head. Why? Why would he have allowed himself to slip into this vulnerable state in the presence of someone who was openly hostile? Why would he heal him at all? Surely he would have been glad to be rid of him? Not only that, but those trackers must still be close by...

He cut off his idle ponderings at the last thought, knowing that he needed to get out of here, quickly. He rose to his feet, stumbled until he met the support of a tree and held his head in his hands, dizzy and plagued with nausea. Giving himself a few moments to recover, he righted himself shakily, wrapping the fur cloak securely about his shoulders.

He was about to simply move as quickly as he could into the brush, but something seemed to stop him. He turned back to look at the unconcious healer, his silver brows furrowing in a mix of thought and frustration, as if he were battling internally over something.

In the end he let out a bitter snarl, rolled his eyes angrily, and rounded on Rywin.

"All right, horse; listen up. I don't like you, you don't like me; but I owe this buffoon a favor or two, and he's your master. Here's how this is going to go down; you don't try to trample me, and I won't rip your throat out with my bare hands. A temporary truce, we'll call it." He felt rather foolish, conversing with a horse, but it made him feel a bit better. He turned around and pulled Gable's arm over his shoulder, securing a hand about his waist and hoisting the man up, grunting with effort. Normally he would have been able to carry the man like so much a kitten, but his muscles were weak and weary, and he was trembling with cold.

He warily approached the massive warhorse, and with some difficulty managed to get the prone man onto her back, leaning him against her neck. He gripped the man's wrist hard to keep him from slipping off the other side, and grabbed Rywin's reigns, leading her off into the forest as quickly as he could.

He continued for roughly half an hour in this fashion, legs wobbling, breathing ragged, until he reached a small vale that seemed to please him. Pulling Gabriel off Rywin's back, he caught him roughly and slung him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, hauling him to a sheltered gap between the protruding roots of a great tree, placing him where he was least likely to be noticeable.

Gasping and taking a few steps back, he ran his fingers through his hair in irritation, then placed the fur cloak over the man, taking to removing his own wet clothing. When his Piwafwi, jerkin and Drow-chain shirt were hung out among the mass of thick roots he turned and sat down, back against the tree, and removed his pack and weapons, setting them aside, growling at the uncomfortable sensation of his leggings clinging to his skin.

"Just a normal day, wandering about in the wilds, avoiding unwanted eyes, and then bang!, I'm stuck nursing a fool of a healer until I-don't-know-when, nigh blind, got a terrible headache, nearly drowned...oh yes, a wonderful time; absolutely stellar..." He grumbled to himself, stretching his back so that the livid scars that criss-crossed his toned arms, chest, back and shoulders stood out even more, his spine popping loudly, then settled forward, rubbing at his eyes with his palms. "Don't know how I get myself into these things..."

[Doronlas]

Before Rywin could go closer to her collapsed master, the strange creature that gave her the chills sat up abruptly, his manner rude and all too quick and violent for Rywin's liking. A warhorse she may be but barbarian she was not. Snorting angrily and frustrated with her master's choice of company, Rywin hung back reluctantly as the thing poked around her master, grumbling what sounded like insults. Her ears twitched when the thing spoke but Rywin didn't understand human speech. She did understand tones but that was about the extent of her communication with the two-legged creatures.

Still, when it came toward her with Gable, Rywin made herself stay still. It wasn't the first time a helpful stranger had put Gable on her back and set her off toward the mountains to hide him from unhappy villagers after the glowing thing he did. Still, when it was the violent little midget elf, Rywin didn't like it. Forcing herself to stay still like the well-trained mare she was, Rywin allowed the Drow, however clumsily, to put Gable on her back. Before she could set off in search of a safe place to hide her master however, the little elf grabbed her reins!

Snorting loudly, Rywin jerked her head to try and get loose but the grip was firm. Reluctantly the midnight black mare followed the Drow, hanging back as far as his grip on her reins would allow. She kept her stride steady, lest she accidentally drop her master if he overbalanced. Not once did the silly druid stir as the Drow led Rywin through the woodland toward a small glade.

Happy when it finally let go of her, Rywin tried to make her escape with Gable. Again the Drow cut her off by pulling Gable clumsily from her back. Snorting and stomping a big hoof unhappily, Rywin whinnied in protest to its handling her master. It radiated aggression and darkness, smelled like the underground and she didn't like its eyes. Why Gable had chosen company with such a thing was beyond Rywin's sturdy horse sense.

Gable for his part, woke as the sun was beginning to sink for a second time. He felt full of aches and cold to his very core. He was laying somewhere, shaded and instantly as his awareness swam around, he began to tremble. Blinking slowly, Gable tried to drag together the remains of his memory. He remembered the Drow and an explosion, diving into the lake and then, healing. He hated his powers because they drained him so much. Someday, Gable had no doubt they would kill him. Reaching out clumsily with his magic again, the part elf found Rywin's warm and sturdy life force nearby and began to cycle a small amount of her amber colored energy to meld with his own green energy. Subtly the healer glowed dully, not the full glow of a healing trance but a dim energy feed as he pulled enough energy from Rywin to bring himself fully to an aware state and stop shivering. Rywin, used to it when Gable "glowed", was a willing giver, laying down and situating herself so that she could either sleep or graze when Gable finished.

Forcing his eyes open, Gable found himself in a small hollow, the sky darkening again and Rywin laying among nearby trees, feeling the effects of Gable's energy pull and grazing to replace lost energy. Trying to ignore his aches, Gable shifted a little, making sure everything was still attached. Too tired to move, Gable stared upward, resisting the urge to curl in on himself because he knew the resounding pains and aches that would awake in him.

[Adrastos Morandir]

Adrastos grunted sleepily as his Awareness picked up a faint use of magic nearby. He groaned in protest, but it was too late to go back to sleep, his eyes already sliding open. He had stayed up the rest of the night, despite his weariness (it wasn't in his nature to sleep while there was dark yet), and had done the best he could to find something to eat, leaving the horse to care for her master, but as soon as the dawn began to tinge the horizon he had collapsed within the hollow of roots, curling in tightly on himself for warmth.

He squinted against the remaining rays of sunlight, wondering if his Piwafwi was dry yet, that he might put its hood to the proper purpose. He closed his eyes again, using his other senses to ascertain the time and his condition; it appeared that he had slept all day, and that both Gable and the horse were still close, and at least relatively healthy. He himself felt alright, for his part; his eyes still ached and stung, but it was tolerable, and his muscles were sore and knotted, but he could deal with that.

The use of magic had petered out now, but he could still sense traces of it in the air; it felt like Gable's, so he reasoned the man must be awake.

Rising to his feet reluctantly, he bent backwards, hands rested on his hips, sighing as his back popped again and his lats stretched. He cast about for his gatherings from last night, then picked up a few cup-fungi he had deemed edible, taking a few bites before moving to Gable.

"Awake?" He asked gruffly, mouth still half-full. He nudged the man in the side with his toe, then leaned over him, scrutinizing him. "C'mon, lazy whelp. The moon's rising, time to wake up. You need food." He sniffed at a few mushrooms, picking out the ones he figured Gable could eat, then dropped them by his head. "Those ones shouldn't poison you, but I wouldn't trust me if I were you." For the first time in a long while he actually managed a smirk, showing a hint of his strange, morbid humor.

He sat himself down a few feet from his 'patient', munching on the more poisonous of his finds, glad of the returned heat to his body.

[Doronlas]

Groaning when the Drow poked him, Gable fought not to flinch away. His stomach rolled at the mere thought of food making him want to vomit but, yet again he fought the impulse. Because he wasn't fully elven, the healing method he had used for Adrastos had an undesired effect on his mortal body. He didn't have endless energy reserves to pool from like the elder, all of his energy going to fuel his mortal body and trying to keep it alive. Giving his energy to something else usually ended with him being unconcious for days or instantly ill. It wasn't something Gable enjoyed but at least he could give something to those that needed it, right a few wrongs in the world when he knew he could.

Mumbling an elven chant, Gable tried to induce a healer's trance but it wouldn't come to him. His heart rate spiked when he tried to slow it, his body too cold for his body to be willing to slow down further. Giving up on the trance, Gable opened his eyes again, Gable took a deep breath, trying to pull warmth from the waning sunlight. So far it wasn't working too well but he would have to manage before the Drow got testy again.

Raywin, rising from her place, thudded toward her master. Lowering her bridled head, the mare snuffled softly, breath warm on Gable's cheek. Raising a pale hand, Gable took her reins. Slowly the mare raised her head and with his free hand, Gable pushed himself to sitting with the mare's help.

"Le hannon mellon nin" Gable murmured to the mare, her head still lowered to him.

Snorting, Rywin lipped softly at Gable's sleeve, slashed by Adrastos' claws and red lines still marking the skin.

Fearing his strength would give out again, Gable reached out to Rywin again. The mare had been well rested since Gable had been sleeping and offered again willingly but Gable took little, only enough to fend off his exhaustion a bit longer. Looking toward the Drow, Gable's blue eyes checked Adrastos quickly. He seemed better though Gable was sure his eyes were probably still achy. His healing on them had been incomplete but hopefully it had fended off permanent damage.

"You're eyes are healed?" Gable asked, his voice quiet and tired. "Good." Gable glanced around, noticing Rywin settling herself to lay near him, her familiar bulk and warmth welcome. He had lost a cloak and his staff but hopefully most of his herbs had survived the rough night, safe in Rywin's saddle bags. He also noted she was still tacked but couldn't blame Adrastos for that. The Drow disliked horses, Gable had never bothered to think Adrastos would try to take her saddle and bridle off.

Reaching over, Gable unbuckled the bridle from the mare's elegant head, sliding it off and taking the bit from her mouth before laying the bridle aside. Rywin snuffled her thanks, munching more comfortably on nearby grass, still within easy reach of her master if he took a turn for the worst.