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.
I'll come to thee by the moonlight,
though hell should bar the way
O
ver the years since the Omnium fell, Tristan was not used to distraction.
He was resolute and steadfast in his fluctuating beliefs. He knew what things he wanted and what things he did not. He was factual, punctual, and aloof. He could not afford to be distracted, not with a heart as troubled, damaged, and severed as his own. There were many things he needed to work through and even more that Tristan was fairly sure he never could. Such things deserved the entirety of his attention, he did not have time for such frivolous dalliances, never had he even entertained the thought, and yet…
… And yet, there was Ira.
Young, new, brash, exciting, damnably distracting, Ira. Ira was not the suffocating darkness that Tristan had known for so many years. He was not the cloying, scraping, painfuls shadows that clawed up the buckskin’s throat and made it hard to breathe, clenching a fist so mercilessly around his heart when his anxiety and terror became too much. He was not danger, guilt, and self-loathing.
He was bright. He held promise. He was the future, and Tristan found himself helpless but to fall into the man’s shining, alluring orbit.
There was a look that Tristan had cast him one morn, equal parts exasperated yet intrigued, as Ira prattled on with questions about ‘knighthood’ and his ‘duty’ and so on. It spoke of fondness, of warmth, of acceptance, of intrigue, a richness of wanting in the stallion’s wisened turquoise depths. The battlemage answered each question honestly enough, but Ira was keen enough to pinpoint when the inquiries became too personal and with an insight that defied his years, backed down whenever he needed.
Wisdom, it seemed, did not always come with age, for Ira was wise beyond his years.
Merlin dubbed Ira ‘a tall glass of water, refreshing and welcome’ and honestly, Tristan didn’t know what to think of that metaphor yet he didn’t have the heart to dispute it.
Regardless, whenever Ira came knocking upon the creaky door of his secluded cabin in the mountains, Tristan always welcomed him inside with either tea or coffee and a warm greeting. Their meetings were few but pleasant, their debates deep yet unintrusive, and Tristan was growing fond. Ira was a friend. A friend? He warmed the man’s old, hardened heart and made him feel alive in a way he had not for so very long. Excitement bubbled in his breast whenever he caught Ira’s striking moonstone eyes, whenever the lilt of his moonsong vocals said his name...
So, yes. Tristan was distracted, but he was helpless to it, and maybe, in the depths of his dark and troubled heart, he did not want to fight the pull of such a powerful draw. Maybe he was tired of fighting.
Maybe it would not be such a bad idea to let Ira take the lead, and so that was why when the young man came to him and asked if he would like to join his hunting trip, his moonstone eyes a galaxy that the knight could so readily drown in, Tristan accepted.
Donning his mantle, the Genesis blade at his hip, Tristan followed Ira into the night. Side by side they traveled the depths of the forest, picking paths long worn and some less traveled, the conversation between them sparse as the creatures they seemed to be hunting. There, pausing in the heart of a clearing, the battlemage let his eyes scan the horizon and lift to the star-kissed sky above them.
It was a beautiful night, yes, the beacons of light speckled in the heavens above them, but Tristan found himself drawn inevitably back to Ira as the younger fellow spoke. He listened intently, an ear cocking forward. ”Indeed it is.” It was quiet. Even the nocturnal insects seemed to be subdued. No creatures lurked about in the dense woods, no manner of beast, save for them...
The forest itself seemed to be holding its very breath as though waiting for something, an element of tension yet excitement so palpable in the night air that he could nearly taste it. Tristan’s heartbeat increased unbidden, keen turquoise eyes scanning the scene around them, and just as he opened his mouth to make a comment (one perhaps inappropriate, mind you, but as he already stressed Tristan was captivated by this intriguing man and as such his tongue was foolishly loosened), the sky above lit up like a flare.
A meteor passed overhead, igniting the sky with fire and booming roar as it passed overhead. Tension filled the knight’s frame, a reaction to war, to years of battle, but Ira - wise, sensible, capable beyond his years Ira- pushes him down behind the cover provided by a large stone. It does not stop the magic from igniting, Tristan’s turquoise eyes slightly aglow as he kneels and regards Ira with a cautionary look before the brightness becomes too much and he is forced to close his eyes from the intensity of it all. The very earth seemed to tremble beneath their legs, the sound roaring overhead, but just as soon as it comes does it pass, and he blinks a few times to try and clear the sudden bright spots from his vision.
It is, once again, Ira’s words that snap Tristan from his mental reverie. He gives a nod and straightens, bumping into the darkly colored man as he does so but does not try to hide the touch. “Let’s. Before it gets too far." He had seen many meteors in his time, but rarely had they ever been so close, and the ones that had been... Well. It definitely warranted some sort of investigation.
Catching that striking cut of moonstone depths, Tristan smirks, his own magic brimming just beneath the skin as turquoise eyes remain aglow. There is a current between them, hot and festering and ignited by the arrival of the meteor, and without giving much pause or hesitation he leaps after Ira to give chase.
