Tristen sulked darkly in a far corner, secluded from warmth and friendship. His clothes still smelled of charred flesh and ashes and his hair was a blackened mess. Not a speck on his body was clean, not even his angry eyes. He watched the adults talking in hushed voices, afraid that he would hear. He knew they were talking about him, about what had happened and where he would go. He was only a child, not fit to care for himself. Tristen clenched his jaw angrily, promising himself to make these peoples' lives living hell.
Mystic glanced at the boy out of the corner of her eye, sighing inwardly. He'd cramped himself in that corner ever since Justinian and the rescue team had brought him in. He was the only survivor of Inobi that had actually been in the village at the time of the attack.
"Where can we put him?" Myia whispered, clasping her hands nervously in front of her. Even she felt the icy glare Tristen had fixed on them. Mystic returned her attention to her Advisors and Seconds.
"He needs a parent, someone to take care of him. Both of his parents are dead."
"Who, in their right mind, would take care of that kid? He's snapped at anyone who comes close." S'ron instinctively move closer to Melodia, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. For a child, he certainly knew how to gain respect, Mystic thought ruefully.
"Mystic." A new, deeper voice startled all the adults gathered in a small circle. Mystic turned and gazed at the tall, dark figure standing in her doorway. Rugan moved forward slowly, her steps soft and unheard as she navigated the dark with feline grace. A new thought entertained her mind.
"Yes Rugan?" Mystic replied, complete calm hiding her thoughts. The circle broke to allow Rugan entrance. Tristen's amber gaze continued to bore into their minds.
The dark skinned woman cast a furitave glance around the many faces looking her way. She stood at least two inches taller then the tallest person in the room. "The search team's finished. No more survivors." Her voice was a low, silky growl, betraying her Liron ancestry.
Mystic nodded slowly, again glancing swiftly at Tristen who still huddled in the corner. "Have the Wings return for the night. There's nothing more we can do."
Rugan nodded and turned to leave. Before the metal smith could get far, Mystic cast a meaningful look at her Advisors then stopped the woman with a light touch on her shoulder. "Rugan, we'd like to talk to you."
The 1/4 Liron turned, one dark brow crawling up her forehead. Her black eyes swept across the group, quickly assessing their nervousness. She tensed slightly, looking directly at Mystic.
"Do you see that boy in the corner?" Mystic began, nodding towards Tristen lest the boy notice. Rugan glanced shortly over her shoulder then looked back at the mage.
"What about him?" She asked, noting that the boy looked to be no more then 11 years old and had little muscle tone.
"He is one of the sole survivors from the Inobi razing." Mystic locked her golden gaze with Rugan's onyx one. "Both his parents are dead. He has no other family that we know about and he needs a home."
Rugan remained silent, her eyes narrowing dangerously. She was powerful enough to snap a man in two with her gaze alone. Yet she would not attack anyone she respected as much as Mystic. "I don't get along with children."
"You will with this one." Mystic rarely took the role of Caretaker, prefering more to be seen as a friend. Now she fixed Rugan with a look that left no argument. She watched Rugan's jaw work as she tried to retain her pride without losing her temper. Finally, the tall, moody woman turned and walked towards the corner.
Rugan looked down at Tristen with the same gaze she had given Mystic. For a moment, it seemed as if she would just walk away. Instead, Rugan jerked her head towards the door and began leaving without another word. Mystic held her breath as she watched Tristen's eyes flare angrily. Slowly though, as if hesitant about being left behind, he got to his feet and followed her out. Mystic let out her long held breath.
"Why her?" Myia asked in the sudden silence. Mystic caught herself before showing her surprise and looked back at the men and women gathered around her.
"Because she is the only one who knows what he's been through." She answered softly. The Advisors were dismissed for an uneasy night's rest and tomorrow, they would deal with the remaining business of Inobi's survivors.
* * * So Mystic just gave him to you? Porth asked in bewilderment as his bond scrounged through her room for adequate bedding.
Aye. She expects me to take care of him until she can find a better family. Rugan returned mentally, scraping the bottem of her dresser drawers. She had no outfit small enough for the scrawny child to wear as a night shirt. She doubted he would wear it anyway, even if she did find one.
What if she wants him to stay with you? The large brown spoke from the adjoining room, a small smile touching his draconic lips.
Rugan paused in her work and glanced out the door with a dangerous glare. Because I'm not taking care of him.
Porth sighed and shook his head. He listened for a moment as Rugan cursed fluently, unable to find anything suiting Tristen. Turning his large, sharply pointed head, he snagged the edge of a clean blanket from his bedding on single talon and brought it over to the door.
Rugan looked up as a soft thump sounded from the doorway. Turning, she saw Porth's large, dark head peering at her through the curtain and a rumpled, cream coloured blanket laying on the floor beside him. Porth smiled and removed his bulk from her room. Cursing again, Rugan grabbed the blanket and spread it out on the bed. She turned and tossed one of her older shirts at Tristen. The boy caught it without moving his gaze from her face. Rugan looked down on him with a disapproving frown touching her mouth.
"You'll sleep here tonight. I'll be out with Porth." She waiting for a reaction but when Tristen didn't so much as blink an eye, turned to leave.
Tristen glared at her broad back until the dark, mixed heritage woman had disappeared behind the red curtain separating the human bedroom from the main weyr. He hated this place. He hated her. Grinding his teeth together angrily, Tristen sniffed tentitavely at the black shirt in his hands.
He wrinkled his nose, smelling the strong odor of coal and metal and the foul smells of a smithy. His young senses also picked up on her strong scent, musky and overpowering. Tristen threw the unused shirt behind the bed then crawled under the covers in his own clothes.
As his head hit the pillow, he listened to the soft noises of Porth's breathing and the silence of night. His nostrils filled with the reek of his burned home. His hands felt the callouses of burns on his fingers; and his eyes filled with tears as memories flooded back to him after being supressed for hours.
* * * Rugan woke to the sounds of sobbing from her chamber. It took her a moment to remember that the large, warm bulk behind her was Porth and the sob came from Tristen, sleeping in her bed. Rugan swore under her breath, hurriedly pulling her long, black hair away from her face and scrambling to her feet. Porth woke with a snort a moment later, watching his rider stumble towards the side room.
Rugan flung aside the curtain, her eyes scanning the room for enemies or dangers of any kind. Seeing none, she walked silently to the bed side and gazed down on Tristen's sleeping form.
He shifted uneasily beneath the covers, only half covered since he had kicked most of them off. His face was contorted in fear of some hellish nightmare and an outbreak of sweat covered his small forehead. Rugan sat lightly on the bed, hesitantly brushing his golden-brown bangs away from his face. When he didn't wake at the light touch, she gripped his shoulder gently and shook him lightly.
Tristen woke with a start, gasping for breath and staring at the ceiling with a wild gaze. Slowly, he began to recognize his surroundings and calmed his ragged breathing. His amber eyes fell on Rugan and once again, his gaze smouldered with anger.
"What happened?" Rugan asked gruffly, ignoring the boy's annoyed stare.
"Nothing." Tristen muttered after a time, tearing his eyes away from her black gaze. He couldn't bring himself to admit he'd been dreaming about the attack. Horrid images that danced across his vision and blazed into his eyelids so that he would see nothing else when he slept.
"You didn't scream for nothing." Rugan raised a brow inquizatively. Part of her mind reminded her that she wasn't going to be caring for the kid for long so she shouldn't care about his nightmares. Another part, one long lost to her, insisted she find out.
"I didn't scream." He snapped. His eyes flared with wounded pride. Yet when Rugan shrugged and stood to leave, his heart seemed to cry out for solace. "It was a nightmare." He said quickly. When Rugan paused, he looked down at the floor and pouted in defeat. "The hydras attacking my village."
Rugan stood, halfway to the doorway, in silence. She gazed at Tristen searchingly, trying to see if this was a trick or not. The gods knew she'd been tricked many times in her life. When the only other noise the young boy made was a strangled sob, the tall metal smith hesitantly made her way back to the bed. She looked down at him curiously, still doubting her actions.
"It was just a dream. There're no hydras here." She stated firmly. Her dark eyes locked with his fearful, amber gaze. "No beast alive can penetrate this place."
Tristen sniffled once, the images fading from his mind. He looked into the proud, knowledged face of his 'foster mother' and believed her. More then that, he trusted her. The orphaned boy nodded resolutely and lay back down without another word. He didn't hear Rugan's soft foot steps as she carefully left the room again.
Porth waited for her when she emerged in the main weyr again. His eyes whirled a soft, understanding blue. Gee, Rugan- He began. Rugan raised a hand and growled under her breath.
"Not a word." She said in a low hiss, returning to her bed furs.
The large brown sighed deeply and lowered his head back to his forepaws, dark lids covering the bright flame of his eyes. That was almost human of you.
* * * Tristen woke slowly the next morning, stiff and sore from the other day's activities. He rolled over in the bed, tangled quite securely in the blankets, and nearly fell off the edge. It would take a while to get used to these new surroundings.
Rugan strode into the room then, carrying an armful of clean clothes and a towel. She tossed the items onto the the end of the bed and glanced at the semi-awake Tristen. "Get up." Was all she said before leaving again. Tristen thought briefly of ignoring her orders but an urge to be clean again got him moving.
Deciding to change after a bath, Tristen gathered up the selected items and tentitavely peered out from behind the parting curtain. "Where's the bathroom?" He asked in his normal, sulky voice. Rugan raised one dark brow and pointed to the hallway. Her firelizard, a little gray thing that was overly excitable, landed on Tristen's shoulder and cooed happily. Obviously, the flit was meant to lead him to the bathing chambers.
Muttering to himself, Tristen batted the creature into the air and began following him down the long twist of hallways. Every now and then, Gray would stop to greet a friend or coo a good morning to a passing rider. Tristen kept his eyes lowered and his mouth shut.
When they finally reached the bathing chambers, Tristen ordered Gray firmly to go back to Rugan. He had made sure to memorize the way here and would find his own way back. The firelizard chirped happily once again then disappeared in the blink of an eye, leaving Tristen to his bath.
Tristen slipped out of his clothes and slide into the small pool in the men's side of the chamber. The other half was separated by a thick, stone wall. He gasped with shock as the cold grip of the water hit him, quickly numbing his body's protest to losing warmth. Closing his eyes, he slid deeper until the gentle ripples caused by his movements lapped at his chin.
Dirt and the clinging smell of fire washed from his skin, carrying with it the bad memories of the day before. He let the calming smells of earth and fragrent flowers fill his mind, putting him into an almost sleep-like state.
A inquizative chirp broke his daydreams. THe water splashed over the edges of the pool as he sat up suddenly, his sharp gaze scanning the room. Gray sat next to his elbow, head cocked to the side in a perfect image of curiousity. The small, gray flit cooed delightedly as he caught Tristen's attention, his eyes whirling various shades of blue.
Tristen scowled, flicking a shower of drops at the flit before dunking his head underwater. Maybe, if Gray couldn't see him, he wouldn't bother staying. The boy stayed under there for a few seconds, his hair becoming a mass of dark gold seaweed.
As he lungs began to burn and his chest ached from holding his breath so long, he prayed that the firelizard had taken the hint and left. Tristen surfaced, gulping down a long breath of air. The spicy scents of wild flowers clung to his throat, but such smells were normal to one living in this climate. He wiped the back of his hand across his eyes and blinked to clear his dark lashes of any remaing droplets of water. The orphan cursed quietly as a happy chirp sounded from the same place Gray had been sitting before.
He cast the creature a dark glare out of the corner of his eye and picked up a sponge that had been left at the side of the pool. Proceeding to scrub his body clean, he tried to ignore the flit. A cut-off chirp and small splash alerted him to the fact that Gray had joined him in the water. Tristen snarled and turned to throw the flit out again when he noticed Gray surface again, wings spread and legs paddling like a dog.
The odd scene gave him pause for a minute, forcing him to watch the firelizard as he paddled in circles before him. His head was held high with pride and eyes closed in contentment. Short, snake-like ripples followed his tail as it dragged behind his kicking legs. Tristen cracked a small smile and flicked a spray of water at the flit. Gray squeaked and paddled over to him as fast as his stubby legs would carry him.
"How'd you get stuck with a witch like Rugan?" Tristen said as he lifted the small creature in his hands. Gray chittered and purred, flashing warm images of Rugan into his mind. The orphaned boy frowned lightly and set Gray down again, handing him the sponge to see what he would do. "I don't think she's so nice." He scowled, but the look was quickly washed away by Gray's playful antics of grasping the sponge. When the flit finally got hold of the rebellious, water-logged object, he began scrubbing at Tristen's arm with all his might. Tristen laughed, helping Gray finished the job of washing his dirty self clean.
When all was done, Gray flitted back to the edge of the pool and shook himself off. The small flit let off a series of happy coos and sent more images of Rugan. Tristen sighed, heaving himself out of the water reluctantly. "I bet she's got work for me." He muttered, grabbing a towel out of his pile of clean clothes.
As he dried off, a mirror set into the wall caught his attention. The rim was made of wood with gold inlaid, blending it to the rocky walls of the room. It hung low enough to see his face but ended by his shoulders. Shrugging lightly, the boy stood before the reflective surface and studied himself with a critical eye.
The face that stared back at him was sharp and squared, showing a set jaw and small, beakish nose. Thin lips were pursed with resolve and his amber eyes sloped slightly. Wet, dripping bangs concealed his forehead and overcast his eyes. The rest of his golden brown hair slicked back against his head and ended close to his ears. His shoulders were small and supported no more then a fine line of muscle. Long limbs spoke of great height in his adulthood, but for now he would remain small and wiry. Tristen lifted a slender hand and gently traced the one defining mark on his smooth face. A long, jagged scar that ran from above his left eye to his chin. At the moment, it was still red and wide from yesterday's attack. Soon it would be no more then a prominent line.
Gray chirped again, startling Tristen out of his thoughts. The boy jumped, scowled at the happy-go-lucky flit and quickly squirmed into his clothes. The pants were made of toughened leather and hung a bit low on his thin hips. The shirt was a deep scarlet colour, scents of dragons and flowers mingled into the fabric. He liked it much more then Rugan's strong, charcoal smell. A pair of knee-high riding boots completed the outfit, giving his feet a much needed rest from walking the hard ground.
Leaving his discarded clothing in a corner, Tristen slipped out the door and began retracing his steps to the smithy. Once again, he didn't look up at the people that passed him. Gray flew ahead, warbling a meaningless song that seemed to express his constantly joyous mood.
Only once did Tristen take a wrong turn. The air filled with Gray's scolding chirps while the flit tried to herd his companion back to the right path. Tristen swatted at Gray half-heartedly, already taking a liking to the small thing... even if he was annoying. They made it back to the smithy and Gray took off to land on his owner's shoulder. Tristen stood in the doorway, feet planted determinedly.
Rugan stood at the opposite end of the room. Her deft hands lashed a leather belt around her waist and the hilt of a steel sword gleamed in the low torch light. Porth had left, making the room seem twice as big without his presence. For a moment, it seemed Rugan wouldn't notice her charge. Gray's insistant chirping finally pulled her eyes towards the figure in the doorway.
She crossed the distance between them in a few long strides, her booted feet making no more then a whisper over the hard ground. Her long, black hair was pulled back from her face, revealing slanted, accusing eyes. Black pupils washed over his slight form with the same scrutiny he'd shown his reflection. A black, sleeve-less shirt and dark, leather pants were barely seen beneath her grease stained smithy's apron. With a curt nod, she turned and motioned for him to follow.
"I've got some work for you." Her gruff voice called back to him. Tristen gave her back a mocking smirk, following a few steps behind. She didn't catch his gaze, nor would she have cared. Instead, she stopped before a large, stone door and pushed it open.
The heat of the actual smithy blasted over Tristen like a suffocating wave. He gasped in shock, feeling his mind swimming from the impact. Rugan walked ahead, unphased by the change of temperature. The fostered boy growled under his breath and forced his way forward, determined not to let her see a moment of weakness.
The tall metal smith stopped again beside a giant anvil and lifted an equally gigantic hammer in her skilled hands. She set the head of the hammer on the anvil with a dull crash and looked back at Tristen. "Pump the bellows."
Tristen crossed his arms defiantly over his chest and smirked at her, as if knowing some way to out smart her. "Why should I? Maybe I want to use the hammer instead." He spoke with the sharp acidity of youth.
Rugan kept a dry, emotionless gaze on him for a moment before shrugging lightly. She swung the hammer down and held it so that most of the handle was turned towards Tristen. "Go for it."
Tristen eagerly wrapped his small hands around the wooden handle. The smoothed wood felt good in his grasp, worn down from years of use. He tensed his muscles and set his stance then, with a nod to Rugan, prepared to lift the tool. Rugan let the head drop.
It crashed to the ground with a jarring force that sent needles through Tristen's fingers. He strained against the dead weight, dragging the hammer over the ground where it made a revibrating grinding noise. A low, throaty laugh worked its way out of Rugan's mouth. She waited a moment longer, watching his struggles, then reclaimed the hammer and swung it up to her shoulder with ease. In her hands, the metal working tool seemed to weigh no more then a feather. Tristen scowled.
"The day you can wield this hammer with as much ease as I do, is the day I let you work the metal." Rugan said, a small smirk flitting across her dark lips. "For now, you work the bellows."
Tristen glared at her with a look that should have rightly turned her to stone. Instead, it washed over her as if she'd seen the gaze hundreds of times before. She probably had anyway. With a reluctant step, Tristen made his way over to the bellows pump and set himself to his task. One day, he would take her up on that offer and prove to her that he was better. For now, he would do everything in his power to make himself strong, tall and twice the warrior she was. He would prove her wrong in everything.
Tristen is a candidate at: The Healing Den