Together, they traverse far into the mountains, beyond what might be wise if one were not as familiar with the forest as he. Around them, the silence of the woods seems ominous; Ira prefers to hunt during the day, trapping and laying snares. The hot summer weather, however, prevents Ira from performing many of his tasks during the day. The animals simply aren’t out until dusk or dawn, and he has become more comfortable with living through the night, beneath the stars. For Ira, the slopes and deer-trails are more familiar to him than most friends. The scent of the woods itself, with moss and ivy bursting underfoot, always reminds Ira of life. 

Ira had invited another with him for the first time in—well, in longer than he could remember. The knight, traveling through Denocte, had captured not only Ira’s attention, but his curiosity. The questions arose nearly unbidden. What do you love about being a knight? Where do you go? Tell me of your order? Some answers were forthcoming, and given freely; other questions took on a note of severity, and Ira made certain to ask them with more tact in the future.

When the conversation changed to Ira, he had been abashed—and perhaps a little ashamed—to admit he was merely a hunter. He provided Denocte and other Courts with fur cloaks for winter, deerskin, and valuable commodities of bone, sinew, fat, and more. The meat went to companion animals or the rare meat-eating horse, kelpies and the like. Ira had always believed it a necessary service, if not the most ideal—and, anyways, it kept him out of the city and instead in the woods, which he loved. 

Ira had been surprised at Tristan’s enthusiasm over the matter and when he offered—or dared, he thinks—for Tristan to accompany him, the knight had not shied from the opportunity.

“You hear how quiet it is?” Ira whispers, into the night. He stands abreast Tristan in the opening of a small clearing, where the stars are fully visible. They are sprinkled there, far from light pollution, and shine with a brightness that is not just silver, but a multitude of colors. Ira does not look, however; he only listens, his ears flicked forward. “Usually when the forest is this quiet, even at night, it means there is something else happening—either predators nearby, or a storm rolling in. It was abnormally hot today…” Ira muses, before silencing himself.

He would not be surprised if the knight has realized, by now, that Ira speaks of hard facts to keep from flirting (impulsively, brashly, surprising Tristan as much as himself). Not that they have spoken particularly often, or seen one another nearly as much as Ira would like—

The hunter’s thoughts break off suddenly when a bright meteor streaks across the sky. He would have thought nothing of it, if not for the roaring of the rock overhead, or the way that he pushes Tristan down behind a large rock and hunkers there. The light of the meteor is so bright the clearing blazes with it; Ira can see it blazing even with his lids tightly closed. Once it passes, his ears ring and his eyes burn. He finds himself nearer to Tristan than he would have been otherwise and he pulls back shyly once the danger has passed. “I—“ Ira begins, as if to comment on something else. Then his eyes flash, and he follows the trajectory of the meteor. “I have never seen anything like that. Let’s go investigate it?” 

That fearless daring returns to the hard, moonstone cut of his eyes. Ira challenges the knight and then darts ahead, across the singed clearing. He can see, in the near distance, just how close they had come to the meteor. In the distance, a tree cracks and, on fire, falls to the forest below. 

@Tristan / speaks / notes