[AW] bone to rune; skull to dust [AW]

[Turhan]

“ bone to rune ”

Something itched, Atreus was talking about how the trip to Veneror needed to be more worthwhile for him, Turhan only heard him partially as his skin ticked and flicked with increasing itchy irritation.  Some kind of insect persevered through the jungle of his matted, clumpy hair and it had far too many legs for the old man to not notice it.  Like something feral he sank his teeth into the clotted muddy mess on his leg and started to pull the dirt (and paint? -- yeah paint) off.  Whatever it was looked like a centipede as it squirmed between his lips in the firelight -- then he ate it. 


"Veneror no more, Great Spirits are angry.  What these Mlendo doing to make this so?"  Turhan's heart thumped particularly hard against his bony chest, somehow none of what he had experienced in the past few days were  things he cared to remember.  Try as he might to forget it -- he wanted so desperately to blame the newer civilizations for the entire upset.  All of it.  He worried the Ilati would be made to suffer the same fates of the Mlendo.  Thankfully combined efforts between the other Ilati members kept him somewhat centered.  Usually when he got sleepy he lost his focus more easily.   That, and the heat felt good against his sore achy bones.  


"Collecting blue blooms at a time like this is-- no."  Then to Indra, he shook his head at her.  Firelight traced the lines of things drifting off his rat's nest of a mane (bugs? wishes?).  "Nobody go, not yet." No to them both.  He couldn't remember asking Atreus a favor for it, just moments ago.


 His mind was already snoring about the idea of Indra -- when did she get here? -- how come he did not notice this? (or had he?).  She smelled pretty.  Sounded pretty.  But something she said made him think she might be as old as he -- and that is when he chose to stop thinking about it entirely.  Regardless of his senior moment he was quite relaxed in the dirt, too relaxed, the old man let his gas go, shamelessly honking a fart out in the dead of night.  The rippling sound then echoed off the edge of the cliff and carried on like a sick bird growing more and more ill by each reverb.  


Or was it an actual bird?  He wondered.  

And then,


"Who again?" 
"Me?"

"Oh, I am Turhan -- he is Atreus."  The clumps of non-information, information came out altogether and were hardly understandable but out it came nonetheless. 


"You will know Atatu -- in time." He could remember everything about Atatu -- he liked to think he knew exactly where all the bobcat dots were in her hair.  If asked about the weather that very same day, he wouldn't know if it rained or shined even if he had been standing in it.  If he was asked to explain just who she was - he couldn't, not with words anyway. He felt it was best if one were to experience his witch doctor first hand rather than anticipate Atatu based off of a blind sketch artist's opinions.


"O' Traveler, you have been gone far too long."  Turhan then says at long last, head shaking again to release more crumbs of himself into the rising heat of the fire.  "You are new again." Resurrection, he seems to suggest by the intrigue in his voice.

T U R H A N  ~ 
skull to dust

@Atreus  @Indra  <____>  I don't even know anymore...he isn't good at direction.