[AW] [ASTERION] One year later -- Almost.

[Turhan]

“ bone to rune ”

The evening was cool as it exhaled into all the cracks and holes of his mask, the horns whistled at the tips, and his wild mane of prayers and spells rattled superstitiously as the prairie winds billowed through.  Every dusk was like this, and Turhan came often to do exactly as he was doing right now.  Basking under the twilight stars, following the various grazers until they led him home, to the swamp.  Turhan had adapted to his surroundings and had come to rely very heavily upon them in his old age.  With his mind slipping and his eyesight already gone, there was no betrayal in trusting the other animals that co-existed with him in the same plains and swamps. 


The wanderer rested patiently while buffalo grazed beneath the bright stars and sleepy dusk evening.  The grass moved like airy silk even in the dim light -- and Turhan did not need his eyes to see to know how beautiful all of it looked.  He had been doing loops for several seasons now and his habits were like that of a very senile dog who simply followed its master and waited for the next prompt.  Calves wrestled and cavorted about, their young voices making Turhan ache for a younger age when the Ilati had been circled together more tightly.  The old man shifted in the cool grass and gazed out over the open plains, but saw nothing but darkness and empty thought.


Another approached carefully from his left, in the pale glow of twilight Turhan seemed to be bioluminescent with a salve he mashed out of dank cave weeds.  Swirls, dips, and dots sprinkled an otherwise deep cinnamon-black body that dissolved into the ebbing darkness.  There was ritual pained onto his face with bone-white powders, striped most curiously with red and black slashes over his nose.  When he turned to glance over at the stranger, it appeared that the Elder had dipped his nose in bright blue and yellow paint.  Why?  


He couldn't remember.  


Lowani, Mlendo. He greeted in his own way, pirahna teeth sharp and bright and so terrible looking with the smile he offered.  The dead bird tied around his neck was interesting enough, but the deep, musty smell of copal and myrrh made breathing feel gritty with dust.  Or maybe he was simply that dusty with all the dustings of dry paint all over his body.  The wind shook at the strings of prayer bells and bird bones that were tied onto either side of his face, ribbons slapped and flittered and trilled whenever the breeze turned steady against them.  


"How can Ntaji envy us -- they are the ones that are free."  Turhan croaks, he pays more attention to them than he does himself or this stranger who stands beside him.  He is too old to be hostile.  Too close to the end to be afraid.  He is Vespera's now, there is no contempt within him to bother with his hidden prejudice against the Outsiders coming to him.   He sucks and chews and messes with his lips, his old decaying teeth hurt and are incredibly itchy and sore all the time.  The whiskered fool gives a rattling sigh and steps closer to the other horse, his resin powders almost suffocatingly thick between them even if it is just for a moment to ask him something strange, 


"Tell me about the sky -- won't you son?" 

T U R H A N
skull to dust

@Asterion    I belieeeve Asterion asked 'Giaccomo' if the buffalo envied them...