[P] Alte Füchse gehen schwer in die Falle [CALLIOPE]

[Turhan]

“ bone to rune ”

In the darkening night the universe within seemed to expand itself endlessly from horizon to horizon.  Lightning drew lines of white and blue forever into the distance but it was the thunder which punctuated its position for Turhan's finely tuned ears.  It rolled right over his head and when the lightning struck again, his ears perked to pick up the dissatisfied growl the thunder gave in response.  His alertness and high accuracy for pinpointing the bolts in the sky could be considered supernatural for how blind he was but it was just very intuitive listening.  Even at the bright and golden age of sixteen, some parts (not all) still functioned well beyond their intended purposes.  

.. most of the time.  I digress,


Calliope's body moved with all the felinity of a cat when she decided to make Turhan's business her own.  Her approach was sly and secretive and so carefully choreographed that only when the unicorn flicked dirt and other nonesutch into the flames, he knew he was no longer alone. The crackling fire seemed to be Calliope's way of acknowledging her presence, and that was enough to rouse the old horse's attention.


Turhan took a moment to dip his head down and drop the horned mask into the dirt by his feet out of an Ilati custom when acknowledging an equal.  His senses tingled, his mind seemed to wake up, Turhan willingly stepped back from the roar of the flames as a cool and refreshing air rushed up upon them.  With it - it brought the scent of the many lands Calliope had traveled through to get here.  She brought with her the greetings of Terrastella without having (or wanting) to do so.


Whether the unicorn respected his fire or not, the mystic appreciated the calm and even silence between them regardless of the nature of her visit.  Had he known she had a wicked horn trained on him, perhaps he would have readied a poisonous quill hiding deep in the jungle of stuff his hair was made out of.  Instead Ilati smiled a friendly smile, and that was his hello.  With Calliope, he simply lost his common language for greeting her like so many other times and opted for body language.


The stranger didn't try to yell-talk at him like so many other Mlendo often did - because of the beads, braids, feathers, and paint, they simply assumed that talking louder would help him understand better.  Calliope didn't need any language to communicate her intentions (she didn't seem to have any despite her wary approach) -- And so, Turhan threw more wood into the fire to bring more warmth and light to them both to encourage the visitor to stay longer.


She smelled like ozone, or was that the lightning hitting somewhere near by?   Turhan convinced himself the sharp ion taste in the air was from her.  The thunder rattled his heart against his chest and only then did he give a deep, throaty laugh - overjoyed by the tempestuous presence. The 'Otherness' that he felt when standing next to her was very different than so many other Mlendo he had encountered.


Perhaps it was the Rift which clung like a second skin to her - a cologne of chaos and constant disruption - consistent of its own madness and no longer immune to corruption now that it was beyond its own parameters.  He wouldn't know anything about that personally, but being this close to the veil had its own telling secrets to the Elder.  


Turhan could do nothing but think of absurd realities (perhaps he was channeling something, someone, or just moonmad) -- which, being sixteen and having one foot already in the grave spoke out of its own nature.  But here, next to Calliope, Turhan weirdly wondered to himself, if Vespera had found a way to finally reach him.


"Vespera?  Vespera? Is that you?  I am Turhan - have you come for me at last?" Turhan curiously questioned.  He did not want to die, he wanted to die.  He did not want to see, but he wanted to see.  But most of all, Turhan wanted to reach out and feel Vespera for himself, to see if what he felt was real, even though he knew it most likely was not.  


Brave enough to consider the consequences of his trespassing and unafraid of those consequences, Turhan reached out into the dark with his painted white nose and hoped to feel flesh and not a blade against his curious lips.

T U R H A N
skull to dust

@Calliope  Feel free to inflict a wound if she feels compelled to.  No restrictions.  He's old and pitiful.