RP:Cabin Fever
Part of the Lies Within Us Arc
Part of the Weave Your Own Fate Arc
Summary: Odhranos, in his troubled flight from Xalious, is given shelter by Iintahquohae, who offers her cabin home in the wilds of Frostmaw for the terramancer to stay and conduct his research free from the pernicious influence of Brenwyn's Guild. Though their initial reunion is joyful, not even the remote cabin is free from the turmoil that plagues the Guild.
The Refurbished Cabin
It appears that Iintahquohae has fully settled in to living in the cabin again, having traveled north a few days prior. Apart from the items she usually left behind, the cabin space looks much more lived in. Books are stacked along the walls in no particular order, with a particular set tucked away in the corner that usually kept her spinning wheel. One book at the top of that pile is opened, however, to a seemingly random page. There are a few bottles of ink and quills strewn across the table as well, along with a journal and a book propped open she had been studying from. She brought plants into the cabin, oddly – Various flora that a certain dryad occasionally dropped off when she noticed that the seamstress was making an extended stay. “To liven up the place,” she'd say, giving Iintahquohae a pointed look. She didn't understand the joke at first, but then remembered vampire and snickered. With the sun having already set a while ago, the fireplace has been lit, along with a multitude of candles and lanterns to illuminate the interior – likely an excessive amount, but she viewed the effort as practice with fire magic. A tea kettle boils away on the wood burning stove with an empty mug at the table, waiting for her guest. Oddly the front door is open, letting all of the heat out, as Iintahquohae leans against the door frame with a mug of tea in hand. She's waiting for Odhranos, and also keeping an eye out for her overly curious couatl. Even after years of visiting Frostmaw's wilderness, the brightly scaled and ruby-winged creature liked to see what she could dredge up from the snow and bring back to her. Like a cat perhaps, but on a larger scale. She hoped a dead frostmare wouldn't appear at her doorstep again.
A warm happy laugh echoes between the trees, accompanied by the tips of sled dogs and the hiss of skiis on snow. From the darkness of the east, a pair of dogs come bounding into the aura of light that the door lays out onto the crisp white snow, soon followed by another pair, and another and finally, a wooden sled skids into view, while Odhranos, beaming from ear to ear, holds on for dear life, tucked down into the seat of the sled while a pair of large bags are strapped behind him. The terramancer is in gales of bright laughter, and as he flops out of the sled, the dogs cluster around him, cold noses prodding and snuffling for a treat or other reward for a mission well done. This only prompts further giggles from the mage, as he picks himself up from the snow, wiping a year from his eye as he chuckles heartily, ruffling the ears of the closest canine fondly. Looking ahead, the mage makes out Iintahquohae's silhouette in the open doorway and he clambers out of the snow to greet her. Brushing snow from his rear as residual laughter bubbles up from his chest, Odhranos stands before Iintahquohae with a childlike grin on his face as he catches his breath. "Hi!" A simple greeting, but sufficient for the purpose. "Should I take the dogs out of their harnesses? Germain's team handled all the gear for me, so I wasn't sure what the protocol was a this end. Phew." Odhranos doubles over and holds his knees, laughing warmly as he catches his breath. "Y'know, people keep going on about how wonderful flying is, but I never really got to enjoy it because of the heights thing. But that!" Odhranos straightens and places his hands on his hips, grinning eagerly. "That was exceptional! I think I get it now!"
Iintahquohae starts at the sound of laughter, nearly jostling the remains of tea in her mug onto the floor. The sound and sight of her dogs and the terramancer quickly settle her nerves. Bending down to set the empty mug on the floor just inside the cabin and out of the doorway, she steps out into the snow, grinning similarly to Odhranos. “Aren't they great? I used to drive them around here all the time before I was given Pin. They make it easier to travel further out west. Oh! And yes, we should. I'll help you bring your things in too. Welcome, by the way.” One of the lead dogs, a black and brown rottweiler, barks. The seamstress hurries over to the sled to start removing the harnesses, face screwed up in a mixture of laughter and concentration while trying to combat being licked and pawed at for treats. “The rott is Ootsa. Father gave him to me when I was a girl,” she explains. “The others...goodness,” as a new dog is removed from its harness, she bounds off toward the willow tree, oddly giving it a wide enough berth to not disturb its low branches, playing in the snow while another joins her. Another goes for Odh, sniffing at his robes and pawing playfully at him. Wrangling the dogs is going to take a while, but she tries her best to point out each one by name. Ootsa sticks out the most, considering he is clearly not a husky like the other five, who look to be all related in varying shades of grey, white and brown. “The bigger two over there, those are Bax and Sadie. That white one is Snow – because I was about seven when I named him and it sounded clever. Marley is the guy sniffing you and Sarah likes to think she can swim in the snow, I guess.” The seamstress snickers at the brown dog diving into the snow, her head popping up moments later covered in snowflakes. She turns to Odhranos, beaming. “If you'd like for them to stay with us, I don't mind at all. Usually if I don't think I'll need them to carry anything back home we'll all rest here for the night and I send them and the sled on their way back to Germain. But! Let's get you inside, you must be freezing!” She offers to take one of his bags before turning to head in. “How was your travel up here? Can I get you some tea or anything?” The seamstress stops short of bombarding Odhranos with a thousand more questions, instead moving to close the door to a crack behind him once they have entered in case the dogs want to nudge their way in for the night. “It's a bit cozy here, so there isn't much as far as a grand tour goes. Beds are up stairs.”
Odhranos greets each snuffling nose with a smile, ruffling floppy ears as he helps unshackle the team of dogs, watching with a pemused smile as they cavort in the snow. “I’d be delighted if they stay, but if they’d be better off back at the Eyrie, then maybe that would be the more responsible decision. I didn’t think to pick up any dog food… What say we send them back in the morning? They deserve the rest after lugging my sorry arse the whole way here from the Eyrie.” Odhranos laughs as he straightens, wiping snow from his knees as he shoulders the larger of the two bags, reluctantly handing one across for Inks to carry. “A cup of tea would be delightful. And the hike was quite enjoyable, the first time in a long time that I’ve had the chance to travel under my own speed. My responsibilities have had me on a schedule for… well for far too long.” Once in the cabin, Odhranos turns slowly on the spot and takes in his surroundings, a gentle smile on his face. “It’s gorgeous. Reminds me of…” Odhranos trails off, his smile faltering a bit, before he turns back to Inks, picking up his smile as if it had never fallen. “Of somewhere dear. Did you furnish it yourself?” The terramancer reaches out to trail his fingertips over the cover of the nearest book, admiring the stacks upon stacks of literature and failing dismally to hide his immense approval. The terramancer looks about, trying to spy a free spot to place his bag down. “Where would you recommend I drop this?”
Iintahquohae shoulders the lighter bag while her free hand slips into a pants pocket, feeling for a bit of folded paper that she knew must be addressed immediately. Once the two are inside and out of the cold, she carefully sets his bag down on one of the armchairs and busies herself with pouring the terramancer some tea. “You can unpack your things and put them wherever you'd like. Really, I don't mind you shuffling around my mess.” She grins, though it is a bit strained as her eyes travel to the journals in the far corner. Perhaps he could make something of them? Shelving the thought for later, she waits for the terramancer to set his bag wherever he chooses, then hands him the mug of tea she poured for him. “It must be freeing not having a schedule anymore. As much as I enjoy structure, I'd prefer to do what I want more often than not. Hence this place,” her eyes sweep the cabin's interior. “I was sired here long ago. Liked the place so much that I fixed it up so it could be my home away from home.” Now came the hopefully not so abrupt shift in her tone. Her steps are carefully placed to position herself between Odhranos and the door out of the cabin, leaning against the door's frame just so with the heel of her boot pressed against the door itself to snap it shut if needed. Her hand fishes the letter from Queen Josleen from her pocket, and with reluctance, she presents it to him to take and read himself. The expression upon her face is mixed – she doesn't want to broach this topic for fear of what she may discover, and the thought of souring what should be a good time isn't great. However, it's better to deal with matters now than later. Once Odhranos has taken the letter from her, she speaks. “You are welcome here and I'm not going to kick you out , but with generally being out of the loop of most current politics I guess you could say, I went to someone that I trust.” The seamstress looks downward, fiddling with her fingers while she mulls over how to continue and importantly, remain calm. “I want to know if there is any truth to this. Does the Guild really do things like this, Odhranos? Is that what all of that posturing in Xalious with King Macon and the Council was for? A child?”
My darling Iintahquohae,
It has been far too long. You should visit Fort Freedom soon for tea. I'd be delighted to hear tales of where you've been and see how your fashion talents have progressed. I'll need a new dress for The Hero of Freedom Tournament's Commencement Rally on August 1st. I would be thrilled to wear one of your enchanted designs.
As for the trouble with the Mages Guild, it saddens me to see Larket and the Guild at odds. As you know, my father Kyl'oriel is on the council and I grew up making fond memories in the tower's halls. Unfortunately, some leaders in the guild, in particular Administrator Brenwyn, believed a Larketian child, Peter Ealhstan, should study magic in the Mages Guild. The boy's father, Mr. Donald Ealhstan, preferred for his son to study at the Larketian Academy of Magick, at which point members of the Mages Guild kidnapped Peter. It is a baffling and upsetting sequence of events, but nonetheless war is quite easy to avoid. My husband, King Macon's demands are simple. Return Peter to Larket, and demote Brenwyn from the Council so that he may never issue such foolhardy orders again.
Feel free to relay this to whoever you like within the guild, but don't put yourself in harm's way. And of course, the Larketian Academy of Magick would welcome you with open arms if you (quite understandably) decide the Mages Guild is no longer a good fit for you. I would certainly want to distance myself from child kidnappers.
Do visit for tea. Come soon.
Your friend,
Queen Josleen Jauzon
Odhranos places his bag aside, sinking into the armchair with a blissful sigh. "Ahh, blessed comfort. A hammock is fine and all, but there is just something about cushions that can't be replicated on the road." Odhranos' body relaxes, moulding itself to the contours of the chair as he lets the tension that has built for weeks to slowly disappate. He accepts the tea with a grateful smile and as he lifts it to his lips, he accepts the piece of paper from Inksx thinking to peruse it idly as he sipped. However, when the fanciful writing immediately drags his attention to the sender's name, curious to know who possessed such beautiful penmanship, his blood runs cold. The mouthful of tea catches in his throat, and the terramancer doubles over coughing, his eyes wide and his body now taught as a bowstring. Odhranos' eyes snap upwards towards Inks, full of fear and mistrust. Had she poisoned him? Was this an attempt of Larket to deal with him quietly, exacting revenge beyond the public eye? Odhranos heart races, and he jumps to his feet with a clatter, the tea sloshing from its mug and pebbledashing his robes in its descent to the floor as he rears back from the apprentice, clutching his throat in one hand while the other holds the letter as if it were a deadly snake. Odhranos casts about with the gaze of a caged animal, now realising that Inks is blocking the only exit from the cabin. In his panic, Odhranos retreats from the apprentice, but his he catches his own heel, stumbling and collapsing to the ground as he fixes Inks with a face of pure unadulterated fear. "No! No! I… I didn't mean for the child to… I swear!" Odhranos crawls backwards to escape Inks, colliding with a stack of journals, the open book atop the stack toppling into his lap as he presses himself against the wall in his desperate flight. "Brenwyn… no… I… oh gods!" Odhranos drops the crumpled sheet of paper and collapses inwards, dragging his knees towards him as he crumples into a ball of cloth and tears, shoulders shuddering with each desperate sob.
Clearly not prepared for how Odhranos would react to her confrontation, her heel involuntarily pushes back and does snap the door behind her shut. She steps toward the terramancer with a frown, first reaching to retrieve the mug, but slows in her steps upon realizing that her attempt to appear non-threatening completely failed. With Odhranos now on the floor, she cautiously approaches, hands held up to hopefully indicate she isn't going to hurt him. She only wanted answers. “...Didn't mean for the child to wh- Oh no, Odhranos..” Unfortunately, she thinks she is able to deduce what happened to the child once she hears him sob. Now at a crouch and gradually inching closer to her teacher, she comes to a stop, head tilted while looking upon him. She is clearly angry, but trying her best to keep that anger anchored down in order to be civil. To prevent herself from losing her balance, the seamstress shifts her position so is on her knees before the terramancer, and reaches to grab either side of his face and lift his head up so their eyes could meet. “Please...please, Odhranos – Quit it.” Her hands move down to his shoulders in an effort to try sitting him upright if he needed the help, before falling to her lap. One hand reaches into her pocket again, retrieving a handkerchief that she offers to him. “I want you to explain everything you can to me from the beginning. I'm angry, but I need to know what happened, why it was done.” Who to direct her anger toward, she thought, but kept that bit to herself. He could probably guess that unspoken bit. “If I had known that setting foot in that tower would put me in the midst of a group of a bunch of magic-wielding folk having a pissing contest on who can teach better to the point that they would -steal- a child,” she pauses, fixing her gaze down to the floor for a moment to compose herself before focusing on Odhranos again. “Are there more children that have been taken? Because if there are, I'll go back and try to return them to their parents myself. You don't...you don't just rip children from their parents.”
Odhranos meets Iintahquohae's gaze and it is apparent in his eyes that something integral in the mage's soul is broken. Fundementally shattered, which in turn has broken the mage down from within. The source of this spiritual decay?
Simple.
Self loathing.
"You think I don't know that?" Odhranos whispers, new tears burgeoning at the edge of his eyes. "You think I haven't regretted what I did every second since the moment I stepped into that carriage with Quintessa and the boy? You think I haven't been plagued every night since I left that gods forsaken tower, by the knowledge that a child has died because I was too much of a coward to speak up and protest?" Odhranos cheeks are now streaked with tears as he stares up at Inks, eyes pleading and yet pushing away at the same time. "The child asked to come with us, and I thought for a little while that perhaps if he wanted it, then it was the right decision. But then he changed his mind, and Quintessa panicked and drugged him, and I was in such a shambles even before any of this began, I couldn't do a thing." The mage's hand reach up to tangle in his hair, clenching fistfuls as the terramancer stares at his knees in blind anguish. "And when I finally gathered enough courage to do something about it, I was too late, he was dead." Odhranos screws up his eyes and grits his teeth as if desperately trying to push the images away, as they flooded back into his minds eye. "I failed that child, and when I tried to speak out, I was told to silence my whimpering and hide the body." Odhranos shakes his head, scattering teardrops as he does so. "Brenwyn suffers no dissidents and no missteps. You obey or you are silenced." Opening his eyes once more, Odhranos stares through the watery film at the indistinct scene beyond, staring through Inks at whatever lies in the void behind. "I left. I'd rather spend the rest of my life a tortured vagrant than bury my feelings and commit further crimes for that monster." Odhranos' head drops to his knees, and it seems he has simply shut down. He remains so for a handful of seconds, before a quiet, raw voice whispers from it's muffled hiding spot. "There were no others. Gods willing, there won't be any others. But that doesn't excuse what we did. What I did. Doesn't make it any easier to live with myself."
Iintahquohae is visibly tense and upset the more Odhranos explains despite her efforts to try to soften her expression, especially when he explains that not only did the child ask to come along, but he eventually did try to return Peter to his home. As much as she wanted to flatly dismiss his words as excuses, to her surprise, she can't do it. He seemed genuinely remorseful. As someone who rarely gets angry enough that it sticks, whatever anger that is still present is less noticeable. A flash in the pan and nothing more. Besides, to her it now appeared that the anger should be directed at Brenwyn and Quintessa for -drugging- Peter. That made her stomach turn, but it could be addressed later. Or not at all. The seamstress didn't intend on returning to the Mage's Tower any time soon. She is silent for a time, before whispering, “Thank you for telling me the truth. ...And for doing what you could to protect Peter.” She rakes a hand through her curls before standing, offering a hand to the terramancer to help him up. “You aren't going to spend the remainder of your life as a tortured vagrant. You're going to get up, rest a bit, and live here for now. Study magic. Research. Teach me something. Play with the dogs.” Her eyes flit about the living space, eyeing Odhranos' bags momentarily before settling upon him once more. A wave of worry passes over her. Could anyone from the Guild have followed him here? The last thing she wanted was anyone disturbing her haven. Shaking the thought away, she lets her shoulders fall and exhale a breath. “Unfortunately, we can't change what you did, but I think what would be best for you is to pull yourself together a bit here, get some rest, and when the time comes...” She trails off, arms crossing over her chest. “You and I will go to Larket. You're going to apologize to his parents for what happened. - It's the right thing to do. Whether they forgive you or not, you'll at least have started building the bridge to fix all of this. After that,” the seamstress continues with a wry smile, “If you want to come back here, you can. Like I said, I'm not kicking you out. I just wanted to know the truth.”
Odhranos' head remains bowed, and though he accepts Inks' hand of assistance in getting to his feet, his humour remains as dark, unchanged. "There's no apologies I can make that will be enough for Master Ealhstan to forgive me. The man despised me before, and likely uses my name as a curse now. But I'll do it anyway. I'm fit for little else." Odhranos eyes are hooded, and it is apparent, though the man was in high spirits just earlier, that he is drained and haggard. He looks around the cabin, what was so cosy and welcoming now looks nearly as forboding as anywhere else he has been recently. "I… really think I should leave. Your generosity is… wasted on me." Odhranos trudges towards the armchair where his bag is, and as he bends to lift it, his legs give out beneath him. Odhranos crumples to the ground without so much as a sound, just a simple curse as his shoulder crunches into the floorboards. It would seem that nearly a week without so much as a full meal, compounded with a brutal hike and everything else that the mage has gone through recently has finally decided to settle its heavy weight on the terramancer. "Oh." He mumbles into the floor, as he tries to push himself back upright, but his hands shake even as he tries to lift his face from the ground and he barely manages to lift an arm. "Oh." The terramancer repeats plaintively.
“Absolutely not,” Iintahquohae objects. “You don't have to leave if you don't wa- Odh!” When he starts to fall, she starts, moving a little too late to catch him. Once she does reach his side, she slips an arm underneath his to carefully hoist him back up to his feet. Taking a good look at his face, she can tell at the very least that the terramancer must be exhausted. One of the few gifts she can thank Kasyr for is her still unusual (to her) strength that she definitely did not have before being sired, and decides it might be best to carry him upstairs to one of the beds. Once again her eyes fall to one of the terramancer's bags, wondering out loud of his golden cage is within one of them. “S'erok? If you're there and able to, could you help me out here?” To Odhranos again, whether he frets or not, she moves to lift him up, bridal style, to start taking him upstairs. While walking up the steps, she says, “If you really do want to leave, you aren't going until you're at least well rested and fed. Understand? I'm not letting you go out there to die in the snow.” Once at the top of the stairs and between the pair of beds, she nudges the furs back of one of them with the heel of her boot, and carefully lowers the terramancer onto it. She produces a wry smile, recalling a similar situation in which she was the one being carried by a different terramancer. Where the hell was Dami, anyway? “Listen. I'm going to go make you something to eat and get you some more tea. You do not leave this bed unless you absolutely need to, okay? If you aren't asleep by the time I'm back up, then you'll eat tomorrow. I'll bring up some of your things if you want. A book?”
Odhranos' eyes are dull and flat, as he is rolled over and hoisted back to his feet again. The terramancer makes no move to protest, or anything, as he is lifted into Iintahquohae's arms and carried up the stairs. However, at mention of S'erok's name, something stirs in the recesses of the terramancer's mind, and a sudden life returns to his eyes as he looks around himself, then spying Inks. "Well, hello Runeweaver. Am I interrupting?" S'erok, in Odhranos' body, takes stock of the situation and pulls a pemused expression. "I mean, I won't say he's not a catch, but at least let me give him a shower first, gods above." S'erok grins, baring Odhranos' canines as he settles into Inks' arms, closing his eyes as he sifts through the backlog of memories that Odhranos has accumulated while the dragon slept. "Gods above, Old Grey's a mess. He should have had me take over; Sven blast it, had I been awake, I'd have taken over anyway. Old Grey never had the steel in him for this kind of business." S'erok's gravelly tone grows sad, almost gentle, as he unearths what Odhranos has been through in the past month. "Oh Odhranos. You soft hearted fool." The dragon murmurs as Inks deposits the terramancer's body onto the bed. "Aye, don't worry, Weaver, I'll eat enough for the both of us. Odh's resting right now. For the best, if I do say so. Thank you for waking me." S'erok folds the terramancer's hands behind his head with much effort, staring up at the wooden boards of the ceiling. "Sven above, the fool should have turned to me sooner." S'erok sighs, exasperated by the weakened form that Odhranos has left for him.
Iintahquohae forgot that her first encounter with S'erok occurred with him possessing Odhranos' body, so the sudden change from the terramancer's voice to his is a bit jarring. Thankfully she doesn't drop him, though her brow raises at his question. “Interrupting wha-” She blinks. House is filled with candlelight and flowers, she's carrying him upstairs to bed. Gods above, the implications. Warmth creeping up her face, she rolls her eyes and pointedly avoids Odhranos' eyes. “This is not what it looks like. I'm just making sure he's comfortable- I mean. I'm trying to make sure he's-” This isn't like her, stumbling over trying to explain herself. “He isn't well,” she flatly states, looking over him with a frown. “I don't know what all you can see in there, but...he was honest with me before, wasn't he?” Uncertain as to how S'erok's presence within Odhranos' mind actually works, she wonders if she should explain. “What can I do to help him? Food and rest now, obviously – I'll run downstairs and bring something up for you, but what else? I can imagine a bit of what might be floating around in his head, but...” She sighs, pulls the furs she nudged out of the way to cover him up a bit, forgetting that S'erok could likely do that for the both of them. “If the two of you are going to be staying with me, I'd like to do something to help. There's good in him that I'd like to see not get swallowed up by,” she makes a vague gesture with her hand in the air. “All the nonsense.”
S'erok chuckles heartily, though it ends up racking Odhranos' body with a deep chesty cough. "Aye, I'm only teasing, Weaver. I've caught myself up on his memories, You made the right call, bed is what he needs the most. Dumb fools gone and caught a cold, on too of everything else." S'erok stares up at the ceiling as he peruses their shared thoughts and memories, reliving the recent happenings, causing a frown to crease the terramancer's brow. "Aye, he was honest all right. Even though it terrified him to lay it straight with you. Poor Grey doesn't know where he can turn anymore, doesn't know who's left to trust, so he rightly feared you'd just as soon turf him into the snow on his arse when he told you the truth." S'erok chews his lower lip in thought as he weakly lifts a hand to pass it over Odhranos' brow, which now hums with heat from the fever, now uncoiling itself from the mage's core. "Fluids, blankets, this is going to be one hell of a fever, and the sooner it burns us clean, the better. The b*****d, leaving me to deal with this. Even a child knows not to sleep in the open in High Xalious. Odhranos used to camp in the Sage, which is entirely different." A exasperated growl rumbles from Odhranos' chest as the dragon shuffles under the covers. Once successfully burrowed, S'erok peeps out from the hem of the covers, one golden eye gleaming in the dim candlelight. "As for the other nonsense… well… I'm no healer. Old Grey has a lot to sort out up here, some of it dating back long before he even came to Lithrydel. Stuff that still bothers him even now. Stuff that I can't sort out for him." S'erok grumbles, closing his eyes as he hides under the furs. "Ever the sacrificial lamb, our Odh."
Iintahquohae frowns. Time to play nurse. At least this didn't involve attaching a severed limb. Visibly relieved to hear that Odh had been honest with her, she smiles. “Well, I hope he'll trust me when he wakes up. I'd understand if he didn't, considering how I approached him about it.” She turns to head down the stairs, talking along the way. The cabin's small enough that she wouldn't need to project her voice as much to carry on a conversation with S'erok while she whipped up something for them to eat. “I've found that untangling all the knots in my head is best done in a journal, or just staying up here. Like I said to him, you're both more than welcome to stay. I don't mind the company, really. The white woman outside likely wouldn't mind either, if she's back yet,” she says, shoving the mammoth pelt on the floor away just a bit to reveal the trapdoor beneath. Swinging it open, she walks down a few steps to retrieve some food off of the shelves while calling up, depositing what she's grabbing into a basket on the floor to make it easier to carry back. “It's quiet usually. Time passes differently so you can really sit and think. Also- what do you like? Soup seems appropriate, but I can't say I've ever fed two people in one body before so I'm not sure. This is probably offensive, forgive me, but would you prefer meat? I think there might be some stuff further back here if so.” Forgetting how chilly the space beneath the cabin could get, her head pops up above the floorboards again while she winces. “Ooof. Chilly.”
S'erok grins beneath the furs. "I'll put in a good word for ya, don't worry." The sound of Odhranos' chuckling with S'erok's distinctive tone rumbles around the small cabin, before it is followed by a nasty cough. "Gah, Sven blast it. All jokes apart, I hope he trusts you also. What with the Guild going belly up, he's got too few people he really can trust. Or at least, it feels that way to him." The dragon muses as he tries to get Odhranos' breathing settled, swaddling himself in the furs. "I can't entirely comment on how best to sort Old Grey's head out, but if our time together is any indicator, he functions best with someone else to bounce his thoughts off of. Mental validation, if you will. Makes me wonder why he didn't just wake me up when he needed someone, but anyway." The dragon's tone is somewhat hurt, it seems that Odhranos decision not to consult him has struck an unhappy chord in the other soul that shares his mind. "Ahh, anything will do, really. Odh's partial to fish, but right now, something hot and simple to eat will do the job. Don't go out of your way fixing something fancy, Odh's not around to appreciate it and I'm more of a "eat my prey while it's still wriggling" kind of dragon." S'erok grins ferally beneath the furs, though he hasn't hunted in over a thousand years, he still remembers the thrill of the hunt, sailing over the desert plains, casting a rain of sand in his wake. "Don't think too hard about it. I've no need for sustenance. Treat it like you're feeding Old Grey, and you'll be mostly right. There's not enough brain-power in this corpse right now for me to explain the intricacies of it. Not to mention Grey would probably word it better."
“Thanks, S'erok.” Iintahquohae smiles. Since she hadn't had a real need to cook anything for herself in a long time, she made a run into town earlier in the day to buy cooking utensils that weren't just mugs and a tea kettle. There's a bit of racket below with her tossing together vegetables and chunks of rabbit jerky into pot at the stove that would hopefully turn into an edible soup eventually. Given she hasn't cooked food in so long, she assumes the end result may be questionable. Edible, but...probably not very good. She runs outside to fetch one of the buckets on the side of the cabin for catching snow for water, and the dogs come in with her, shaking snow from themselves before all getting comfortable by the fireplace for the night. She'd wipe up the mess in the morning. Snow melted in the pot, she stirs with a wooden spoon while glancing upward, roughly where S'erok and Odhranos were resting. “I never thought I'd agree with a dragon about food preferences,” she laughs. “Since I was sired, I've never touched humans. Before I was sired a vampire bit me and it felt unpleasant, and I'd rather not put others in that situation.” Iintahquohae shrugs. She was in it for the extended lifespan. She'd suffer through pretending to be some kind of predator for that. For now. She still detested the taste of blood. “I'll go for the frostmares outside when I'm up here, usually. They're easy to come by.” After covering the pot with a lid so it could boil, she turns, approaching the terramancer's bags with lofted brow. “Do you think I should unpack his stuff to help him get settled? I'll guess your cage is in the bigger one,” as curious as she was, Iintahquohae would refrain from touching it, “but the other? Maybe it'll help him feel more at home if everything's tucked away when he wakes up. Less to worry about.” She could easily ask him a thousand more questions, particularly about his and the terramancer's relationship. How did all of that work? Could this be how she eventually behaves, once the serpent in her awakens? Before her thoughts can wander too far, she turns back around at the sound of a pot just starting to boil over. “Ah! Dammit,” hurrying over to the stove again, she busies herself with ladling a portion of it into a bowl, and with spoon in hand, carries the soup upstairs to Odhranos and S'erok. “It's hot,” she warns, though given the steam drifting up from the bowl the warning isn't really necessary. Once it's in his hands, she sits down on the other bed, “It might not be very good, but it's something. I haven't cooked in a long time.” Falling silent, she studies Odhranos' form with S'erok controlling it for a time. Given her profession, she tended to really only focus on clothes and less on a person's face or how they carried themselves. Before long she sent her gaze elsewhere, realizing it might not be the best time to be caught staring. The last thing she wanted to hear from S'erok was another misinterpretation.
S’erok emerges from the furs enough to peep towards the edge of the loft as he mulls over Inks’ question. “Aye, let me recall for a moment...hmm… yep, it’s mainly notes, writing materials… Oh, do be careful of the inkwell, the stopper is a bit loose. Actually, hold on a moment.” S’erok lies back against the bed and closes his eyes. Below, the larger of the two bags wriggles a bit, before a tendril of sand peeps through the knotted end of the cloth sack. Like some strange sort of insectoid appendage, the sand forms a claw that deftly unties the knot, opening the bag to allow three more appendages to crawl out, planting themselves on the floor and lifting the golden cage clear of the bag. Like some sort of odd round-bellied spider, the cage produces a further few arms, which begin unpacking the bag, drawing a number of sand-coated objects out. “Rightio, that’s everything. Now…” The cage turns around, as if trying to get it’s bearings. “Emm… Weaver, where are you?” Serok calls down. Without a good spread of terramantic material, S’erok couldn’t make out the layout of the room downstairs, so a final ponderous strand of sand spirals out of the top of the cage, questing about to find the vampire. Once Inks’ is located, by her help or otherwise, Serok chimes in again. “Right, I’m going to have to make what will look like a huge mess, but rest assured, it can and will be cleaned up quickl-ACHOO!” S’erok sneezes with a force that rocks Odhranos’s body, and in perfectly synchronization, a huge cloud of sand explodes from the cage, thinly coating everything downstairs with a fine coating of sand, that in defiance of gravity, sticks to every surface as if magnetized there. The cage shakes itself as if rattling the last of the sneeze from its brain, then jiggles happily. “Aha! I can see! Blessed sight.” S’erok cries jovially, before surveying the scene. “Oh, that’s the stove. Okay, noted.” With a pulse of focus, the sand on the stove is whisked back into the cage, leaving nary a speck behind, as the cage-spider turns its attention to the rest of the room. “Right, plenty of space over here. Any preference as to where I put his stuff?”
Iintahquohae's eyes widen considerably as she observes S'erok's cage pop out of the bag but also...unpack itself. Thankfully she is frightened of snakes and not spiders, but the dogs simultaneously lift their heads at the cage's appearance. Is this a new toy to play with? Just as she is about to tell the dogs to stay where they are by the fireplace, she freezes in place, wondering if that may help S'erok locate her. “By the bags still,” she calls out. “Near the couch!” The sneeze is something to be expected if Odhranos is sick, but the sand...Why didn't it dawn on her that her cabin would likely get incredibly sandy with the two of them staying with her? Making a note to grab the broom tucked away beneath the stairs at some point, she composes a wry smile and tries very hard not to curse out loud. “I -Well, great! Great. You can see.” It's...everywhere. Gods above. The dogs are shaking it off of their fur everywhere now-! Ugh. She wipes at the front of her blouse, batting away some of the sand that stuck to her, observing S'erok's cage as it jiggles about. “No preference at all – just...There's a stack of journals in the corner of there,” she points to the pile, one journal at the top opened to a random page. “As long as you don't disturb those, anywhere is fine.” Speaking of the journals, she walks over to them, wondering if the sand may have disturbed the opened book's pages. She tries wiping some of the sand from the pages and turns to the next page, noting that there was a fair bit more sand there than what should have been, judging from the layer covering everything else. Blinking confusedly, she lifts the journal up and gives it a bit of a shake before setting it back down. Turning to the cage as it moves about, she asks, “Do you...do you want some help? Also, forgive me for sounding rude,” she looks down at her feet, noting that she's creating sandy footprints everywhere and spreading more of the sand around. “Is it going to be sandy like this whenever you need to see something or is there a less messier way to do it? I didn't expect so much could come out of your cage.”
S’erok surveys the scene, only realising that the dogs are inside now, and liberally coated in sand. “Oh, apologies little ones. I didn’t know you were there.” Five of the appendages grow bulbous protrusions at the end, which each shape themselves into perfect replicas of a human hand (Odhranos’, if anyone paid enough attention to detail). Each of the dogs is greeted with a ruffle of the ears, while simultaneously, the sand covering their fur is swept up into the air and tucked away. Likewise, most of the sand in the room, upon granting S’erok a snapshot of the layout, is whisked away and deposited back into the swirling heart of the cage. Before long, the room is all but devoid of sand, with only a few choice grains scattered evenly around to help S’erok navigate. “Sorry about that. I was only planning on scattering a little around, but, well… blame Grey, it’s his cold.” S’erok’s voice is weak and nasal from up in the loft as the cage proceeds to unpack the terramancer’s bags, tucking sheafs of loosely bound notes, a number of quills, the aforementioned inkwell, and a very small bundle of clothes into appropriate spots around the room. “Nah, not too much to unpack anyway. I took up most of the bag-space. Just the hammock left in there, but that can stay.” The cage spins around on its many legs, and with a quiet hissing noise, the last of the sand is hoovered away, leaving the cabin spick and span. “If Old Grey was a bit more considerate with leaving me with a body that can actually move, I wouldn’t have to resort to such… messy means. But, don’t worry. Whatever sand I spread, I can just as easily clean up.” S’erok tilts the cage to the side, as he scouts around for Inks’ voice. He had removed the sand covering her as he had done with the room, but she’s moved! “Hold on a moment there, Weaver.” The cage straightens itself, and two sandy hands reach upwards, drawing a spiral of sand from the cage and weaving it into the air between the sandy palms. The spiral twists and shrinks, sand coagulating to form a thin band of stone, which compacts with a silvery crunch, leaving behind a dense but thin circlet of sandstone, so delicate that one would expect it to break with so much as a gentle bump, but strong enough that it could resist such an impact ten times over. “A dual-purposed gift.” S’erok chuckles raspily, as the cage holds the circlet out to Inks.
Seeing how quickly the sand was swept away from the dogs by S'erok reassured her. It's easy to clean, at least. Just as the thought crosses her mind, the sand is gone and Iintahquohae grins. Much better. “It's alright,” she replies. “You would think I'd be used to the stuff. I grew up underground on the coast for the most part. My house and shop are still there, but..I've never particularly cared for the sand. It gets everywhere and doesn't feel great.” Her head turns toward the loft, frowning in the general direction of Odhranos' body. “I hope he feels better soon,” she murmurs. When she looks around the cabin again, she wonders if perhaps picking up a bit of terramancy might be worth trying once Odhranos is feeling better. Magik helped her out with fire at the tower, but apart from lighting candles and getting the fireplace going, she couldn't think of much else she wanted to do with it. Same with terramancy, really, but with her goal to make wands eventually, it would be wise to have some understanding of all the elements. Her thoughts are interrupted when she notices S'erok roll her way. Puzzled, but curious as to what exactly he had created, she carefully takes the circlet from his hands. She doesn't place it on her head right away, instead carefully turning it to examine it. “Dual purposed?” she asks, before reaching a hand up to her lips. She bites down on her index finger, catching the glove on her hand to give it a tug and remove it while holding the circlet with the other. If there was something particularly special about the circlet's construction, she wouldn't be able to sense it without putting her bare hands on it. Touching it, Iintahquohae's head tilts, then looks to the cage with uncertainty. “Is this supposed to help you see me better? I don't think I understand.” Deciding that simply touching it probably isn't enough to understand its purposes, she carefully lifts the circlet over her head and puts it on,flattening her curls a bit to try keeping it in place.
S’erok grins above in the loft. “Well, if you’re planning on having this sand-for-brains waster around for any amount of time, you’ll be pretty inured to sand after a few days. Running joke around the Guild Tower was that Odhranos’ office was secretly a sand-pit for Old Grey to host tea-parties with his friends. They weren’t far off, to be fair.” The cage bows towards Inks, before meandering over to the stove to fetch the bowl that Inks had prepared, waving her up before it clambers into the loft by extended sand-limbs alone. The cage squats beside Odhranos and stirs the bowl with a spoon clamped in a sandy claw, as S’erok struggles to get the terramancer’s body into a vaguely seated position. “Indeed, dual purposed. If I ever should need to bumble around while Old Grey’s body is bed-bound again, I’ll be able to roughly see where you are with that.” Odhranos’ gold-grey eyes twinkle with S’erok’s mischievous grin. “Oh, and it compliments your features delightfully. I had a feeling you were a circlet kind of person. Keep it on for when Odh wakes up, his confusion seeing you wearing an Oileanian circlet will be priceless.” S’erok cackles as he leans towards the bowl, accepting a piping hot spoonful from his sand-cage nurse. “Mmm, not bad at all. Little chewy, but given the circumstances, I have no grounds to complain. My compliments to the chef.” S’erok nods towards Inks, smiling cheekily. The bowl is swiftly cleared, and the sand-cage disappears over the edge of the loft space to return it downstairs. “Ah, delightful. Bed and dinner. You spoil us, Weaver.” S’erok stretches Odhranos out under the furs, every joint cracking with the long cat-like stretch. “I didn’t answer your question earlier, by the way. My cage, if you’ll call it that, holds an extraordinary amount of sand and lithic material, to the point that neither Odhranos nor I have managed to find its limit. Where it all goes, I have no idea, and equally where it all comes from. It can absorb any material it comes across and regurgitate it at a later period.” S’erok glances across at the golden cage, his corporeal vessel and he flicks a knuckle against it’s burnished surface, eliciting a delightfully round-sounding chime. “This thing is as much a mystery to me as it is to Old Grey. Almost two years we’ve spent researching it, and to little gain.”
Pleased to hear that the soup she slapped together was at least edible, Iintahquohae smiles a bit. She had never cooked for anybody before. It was nice. Domestic. Normal. Maybe she had a recipe book downstairs somewhere among the stacks of books along the walls. Her ungloved hand runs across the circlet she wore, feeling out the design on it. “Oileaniean?” she asks, removing it momentarily to get a better look. The pattern seemed familiar, but she must be wrong. Placing the circlet back on her head, she reaches a hand into her pocket and fishes out a ring she found there a few mornings after her arrival to the cabin. Apparently having forgotten that S'erok and Odhranos were seated just across from her on the other bed, she examines her ring for a time, turning it over in her fingers with a puzzled look – a band whose make she cannot discern with a similar design to the circlet. “Huh. That's what it's called.” Pocketing the ring, she looks to S'erok again. “I'm just glad it's edible. I'll do better next time, hopefully.” Looking to the golden cage, she considers reaching out to touch it. She decides not to, just like before, and instead looks to S'erok possessing Odhranos' body. “I imagine all of the questions I want to ask you are things Odhranos has probably asked, but I can't help but wonder. What was the world like when you had your own body? Are the two of you going to figure out a way to create a new one for yourself?” The thought of...she guessed, a dragon-shaped shell with the soul of a real dragon within it, seemed intriguing at least. Whether or not it would actually work was an entirely different matter. “I'll admit, I don't know much about dragons apart from a few books and the blue ones I've seen at sea with Father. I suppose I've befriended one, but that was long ago. A black dragon. He liked to collect jewels just as much if not more so than I do. I don't think he made jewelry with them like I do. Just...kept them. Never showed me where, but he let me look at one of his diamonds.”
S'erok is too focused on navigating the cage as it deposits the bowl back downstairs to catch Iintahquohae's quiet murmur, nor does he notice the ring that she toys with, though the dragon likely wouldn't recognize what he was looking at even if he had spotted it. Odhranos, however, would be a different story, but the terramancer still slumbers in the deep reaches of his own mind, curled up in the safe embrace of the unconscious. Once the cage has returned, however, S'erok does notice Inks eyeing the relic with the sort of gaze that belays an academic's thirst for knowledge. A look this face has expressed far too many times. With a chuckle, S'erok waves a hand towards the cage as he settles back down into the bed. "Go on, I can see you're dying to. Old Grey kept it out of your reach as much out of consideration to me as he did to protect you, but I have no such qualms. Giv'er a whirl. So long as you don't try drawing on the power inside it, your mind will remain yours alone." S'erok grins slyly and winks up at Iintahquohae. "That is, if you wouldn't prefer yours truly taking a peek. I've met a lot of Old Grey's strange colleages, some of them have rather odd tastes." Once Inks' has decided to cradle the cage or not, S'erok snuggles down into the furs and unleashes a long, jaw cracking yawn. "Sven above, you mages and your questions. You're lucky your cooking was adequate, I'll answer a few. That and you've been good to myself and Grey. That puts you squarely in my good books." A snort of laughter and the dragon continues. "What was the world like? Much the same as it is now, at least the part of it that I used to roam. The Nameless Desert was as nameless then as it is now. I staked my territory, drove off would-be usurpers, hunted, ate, slept. Not a particularly enlightened life, I'll admit. The desert was large enough that when I did come across humans or elves, they were a novelty, one I felt inclined to study from a distance, or even on the odd occasion, to approach, square up against, then leave to their devices." S'erok smirks as he recalls memories long since forgotten. "I was always curious, and I suppose that curiosity was what got the better of me. Which is why we're chatting the way we are now." S'erok snorts again, this time more out of derision than anything. "As for our plans… well, Old Grey is preoccupied with trying to figure out a way to make a new body for me. You ask me, there's a simple solution to this whole matter and it involves a large smelter, a hasty ascension and a lot less trouble." S'erok shrugs bleakly as he stares at the ceiling. "But, Odhranos is a sentimental human and has a way with words. He's managed to have me stick around this long, at this point I feel responsible for him." S'erok can't help the grin that peeps across Odhranos' face. "Humans and their need for social attachment. Always fascinated me, then I got to experience it myself. Terribly convoluted lot, you all are." The dragon muses bemusedly, though not without a hint of affection. It would seem that the dragon's age old fascination with the smaller folk persists even now.
“I don't think I have anything to hide. I suppose we'll find out if whatever you see is embarrassing to me,” Iintahquohae replies, reaching hand now hovering over the cage. There was the whole smuggling thing her family did, but otherwise she supposes she's an open book to an ancient dragon. Given that he's likely seen it all, the thought of her mind being read doesn't seem too embarrassing. Palm presses flat against the cage's top, taking care to not allow her fingers to slip into the swirling sands encased within. Face scrunched up with a look of concentration, she attempts to understand what exactly she's feeling from the cage but finds herself at a loss for the most part. Its purpose. Containing something, obviously – the sand, S'erok's...spirit? Ghost? Soul? The ideas that flitted through her head on possible reasons for such a thing were just ideas, and to her, likely wrong. Hand still resting upon the cage, her head turns to S'erok while he discusses his past. “Sounds a bit lonely,” Iintahquohae frowns. But maybe dragons didn't experience loneliness the way smaller folk did. Considering how long they could live, maybe solitude was normal. If S'erok did sift through her head, he'd very likely see how utterly lonely the seamstress was, hidden under layers upon layers of thoughts regarding her job, her family, learning just about anything, the journals, her odd familial relationship with the Coterie, her biological parents, and unhealthy fear of snakes. Just a whole lot of baggage to unpack. Otherwise, if S'erok's perception of other's thoughts was visible, he'd likely see the sea or the sky – the two places she felt most at ease apart from this cabin. “We're convoluted?” She snorts. “I suppose...I would have thought the bigger the creature, the more complex they'd be. Then I met Kasyr. The The things he, the rest of our..”family”, I guess, and I have dealt with have seemed, to me anyway, very large and very dangerous because they weren't as complex.” The Chitterling in particular sprung to mind, and she shudders. “Couldn't you...I don't know if it's considered disguising or transforming, but change into a human or an elf's body if you wanted to? I've met dragons that can. If I was a dragon and could do that, I think it would be fun to just walk among people for a bit, see what the tiny people are like before flying off to the next place.”
S'erok raises Odhranos' eyebrow, surprised at Iintahquohae's readiness to expose her innermost thoughts, but he accepts the gesture with a gentle smile, that softens the terramancer's features. "You trust too easily. You and Odhranos both." At the edges of Inks' mind, she will feel a strange sort of presence, like the sort of feeling one has, catching a glimpse of movement out of the corner of one's eye. This presence grows slowly, tentatively, growing definition and identity until S'erok's mind can be felt at the fringes of her mind. <"But it demonstrates a kindness that I have come to appreciate from your kind.> As the contact is made, Inks will suddenly see a maelstrom of imagery flicker before her minds eye. A sea of sand, as far as the eye can see, undulating in cresting waves, that hum with the deep baritone of a choir as a single winged shadow crosses the sand beneath her viewpoint. Suddenly, a vast sandstorm fills her view, sand whipped into a frenzy of cataclysmic proportion, swirling around her in a funnel that climbs to the blue sky above. Far above her, saurian roars rend the air, as beige and sandstone wings break the air with their passage, a brood of sand dragons on the wing, raising Inks' blood in glorious adulation, the joy of the pack. Next, low to the ground, as a full moon illuminates the night sky above, a lone elf sneaks out of the circle of tents pitched in the leeside of the dunes. She bows deeply before Inks, then reaches up to drape a necklace of bleached bones on a flaxen cord over the pointed ridge of Inks' snout. The elf laughs as Inks' warm breath ruffles her hair, before she steals away back to the camp. A wave of nostalgia and affection waft across the bond from the dragon, even if the elf's name is forgotten to the mists of time, a brief flicker of a hundred similar meetings have left a deep impression on the dragon. However, as Inks sinks further into the dragon's memories, a large black blotch rises from the abyss. A void, memories lost, tampered, torn. Memories of pain, of darkness, of agony. S'erok flinches back from these memories, and they recede, the darkness parting like thick fog, revealing a face familiar to both seamstress and dragon. Odhranos, his cheeks dimpled with smiles, an air of simple glee floating around the terramancer like a rosy aura. The feelings of affection that drift across from S'erok are tender and kind; in Odhranos, the hundred smiles of those who came before him are mirrored to the dragon's eyes. The happiness of discovery, the honesty of fascination. "I never felt the need to hide myself, not with those like him. To hide who I am would diminish the relationship that we shared; is it not more wonderful to be accepted for who you are, than to put on a mask better befitting the eye of the observer?" S'erok's tone is soft, uncharacteristic of the brash dragon. "I tease you for your trusting nature, but in truth, it is a testimony to your kind that you are willing to trust. That is what always drew me to you and your kin." S'erok's presence nudges Inks' with the nuzzle of a kindly mare, revelling in the feeling, and at that touch, something in Inks' memory resonates, pulling to wakefulness, the slumbering mind of the weary terramancer. In his bed, Odhranos stirs, his eyes blinking fitfully, before he sits up, slowly and groggily. Turning to find Inks, the terramancer's face softens, and he reaches out with a gentle hand, to touch the seamstress' cheek lightly, a tender touch. "My dear..." Odh murmurs affectionately, smiling a secret happy smile, before he retreats back into the quiet of his mind, leaving only a dumbfounded S'erok in his place. "Um…" the dragon is bewildered, even he is surprised by the actions of the mage's subconscious. "That was… bizarre."
Iintahquohae shrugs. “The way I see it, honesty is the path of least resistance in the sense that it gets you where you're supposed to be in the en-” Her speech cuts off as her vision changes and the sounds that surround her become entirely unfamiliar. She feels weightless, not unlike flying high upon Pinquettki's back, and struggles to place where the feeling is coming from. A similar feeling is recalled, but instead of being airborne she remembers swimming in the depths of the sea. An octopus instead of that dragon she now sees through the eyes of. Having never set foot in the Nameless Desert, she is awestruck by how vast it seems to be. And the sand – while in her home or shop she detests it, here it it seems like water. This brings about more questions that she is unable to voice, being caught up in the images S'erok has given her, and her hands grip the bed's edge in a similar manner she would to her couatl's back. The waves of emotion that reach her elicit a fond smile that soon fade once a darkness seems to wash over her eyes, only to resurface again as a light, then Odhranos' face appears into view. What S'erok receives in return for his memories is also a sea of sorts, a vast rippling surface that doesn't appear to have an end, its color ever shifting from various blues, greys, black and white. It appears to be solid yet not, for as he is able to see through Inks' eyes and take footsteps across the strange landscape's surface, she takes a single step forward an immediately sinks. There is a rustling sound muffled by water. Journal pages turn – words written upon the pages leap into the air? Or is it water - and disappear in a dizzying swirl. Within these depths, her hand reaches for something. A thread, shimmering but mercurial in its color, and like a fish caught upon its line she is pulled further down – further forward. The seamstress sitting before S'erok and Odhranos briefly ripples – her clothes change from her often worn black button up and leggings to a loose, wrapped blouse that is a pale purple, dusted with tiny but carefully embroidered silver and gold eyes and tan leggings. Tucked within her belt is a wand. Her glasses have been replaced with half of a pair – a golden monocle of sorts on her left eye, its lens tinted pale blue. Strange fabric wrappings twine up her oddly ungloved hands from knuckle to forearms. The ring hidden in her pocket seems to have jumped of its own accord, the band reappearing upon her finger. As the warmth of Odhranos' hand is felt against her cheek, her head tilts into his palm while her hand reaches to rest against his. Something within Iintahquohae is awakened, though it appears to be occurring out of place. “Odhie, dearest. I missed yo-” In the instant Odh retreats, she snaps to the present. The ring fades, along with the monocle and wrappings on her arms, leaving behind a squinting, thoroughly confused woman who quickly lowers her hands and begins searching for her backup pair of spectacles. The way she moves indicates that this isn't the first time she has...hallucinated? Gotten ahead of herself? In this cabin before. However, her head is purposely turned away from where S'erok may see it while she scrambles between trying to gather her thoughts about what just happened to create some excuse that she warned Odh beforehand that this cabin causes strange behavior and to slow her heart back down. In essence, she looks a bit frantic. That...Was this why the journal said to remember his name? Is he...she pats her pocket where the ring is. Were the fond notations on one of the journals' pages because of him? Hidden among the furs she found her back up glasses, having left them there after drifting off from reading the night before, she quickly puts them on and turns to S'erok, crossing her fingers that Odh hadn't woken up as well. “I...What happened this time?” Her eyes look anywhere but S'erok then, silently cursing the cabin for causing this before she could give Odh a better explanation than the brief 'This house behaves funny' note in her letter to him. “Is Odh,” she stops herself before finishing the sweeter sounding nickname, blinking at herself. “Is he okay? Are you okay, S'erok?"
S'erok is befuddled, and as Odhranos' brow furrows in confusion, a sudden pulse of pain lance's through the terramancer's head, causing S'erok and Odhranos to cry out in pain, a strange pairing of spoken voice and mental voice, unified in pain. "Sven above, my head-" S'erok groans, falling back to the bed, where he pinches the terramancer's nose, gritting his teeth as the pounding pain of the fever rears its ugly head once more. "Sorry, our head is a bit scrambled from this fever. The food helped but… rest, is-" the terramancer winces with pain "-a necessity right now." S'erok screws up Odhranos' dichromate eyes in pain, as a thumping pain drums the inside of his skull with an incessant pressure. "I… we, we'll be fine. We just need to rest this body before it collapses again." S'erok looks up at Inks, but it is unclear how well he sees her, through the bleary haze of pain, but he does quirk up the edge of the terramancer's mouth in a smirk. "Don't worry about him. He's confused right now, I'm sure he mistook you for someone close to him. Don't worry too much about it." The dragon makes no comment on Inks' brief change of attire, perhaps he wrote it off as a feverish hallucination, or perhaps seems it not worth commenting at this time. Whatever the dragon's decision, he winks at Inks roguishly. "I think we'll sleep for a while. Give a shout if you need us for something. Either the Grey fella or I will answer, so fingers crossed he stays snoozing."
Iintahquohae initially mistakes the strange combination of voices as something terribly wrong with the pair, but S'eroks reassurance that it's just the fever relieves her just a bit. Her smile falters at the notion that she has been mistaken for someone else, but due to this revelation being so sudden and her tendency to bury strange occurrances in the cabin as simply the fault of the cabin, it doesn't fade terribly so. The flush of emotion that washed over her didn't seem to be receding however, as she looked upon Odhranos and S'erok. Affection wasn't unfamiliar to her, but it was something that very rarely made its way to the surface. Shaking the thoughts away, she fusses with her new clothes and considers adding them to the pile of strangely acquired clothing she kept piled up in a closet at home. It all looked too bright on her. “Get some rest. I'm going to go for a walk – get something to eat.” Try to make sense of what just happened as well. “I'll see you in the morning,” she calls over her shoulder as she heads down the stairs and out the cabin's door into the snow. Her hand instinctively reaches for the ring in her pocket, hooking it with her ring finger to partially slip it on before deciding it may be for the best if it is kept off for now. She heads for the treeline, cursing herself for forgetting to fetch her jacket, and looks for something to make a meal out of.