Drakien nodded thoughtfully, jerking his head to dodge a sudden lunge to bite his ears from Breixo--the horse hadn't appreciated being thumped with his tail, and he made an effort to make sure it wouldn't happen again, lifting himself up a little and tucking the appendage under him so that it rested between his legs rather than behind him. Breixo snorted and made another agressive snap, but a short slap to the side of his face made the horse simply turn his head away and settle down, most probably grumbling in whatever lowly tongue he could speak in.
At Terra's speculation, a sort of sly, somewhat offended but still pleased look crossed his face. "Ah, and what makes think Gypsy do not take to their own? We are more loyal than some." He pointed out, feeling somewhat offended by the assumption she seemed to have made but remembering how the Romani young had lain together often before mateship. They were more loyal than some, yes, but not, perhaps, monogamous. At least among those of his old home; he couldn't say for himself which lifestyle he preferred, but they'd raised him, and remembering that now--and seeing that she'd drawn a connection that was, perhaps, best left erased--hurt him.
She suggested a song, and he nodded agreeably, letting the bone pass un-picked, as it were, before reaching for his lute, bringing the oddly shaped bundle into his lap and unwrapping the several lengths of cloth that kept it protected. The lute was his most precious instrument, one he'd not made himself but been gifted to him by the family who'd taken him in; they'd had naught but daughters, and felt only a son could take up the hierloom. He'd been proud to be that son, and even now, miles away, he was careful as he unwrapped the smooth, polished wood and set its bandages aside. "You will lead?" He asked curiously, wondering if she would perhaps ask for his pipe, or simply sing; and even as he waited, his fingers began gently strumming a little tune, one that caused his left paw to tap to an unheard beat as he played the melody.
Terra shrugged her shoulders at his reply. It was normal for her to have reached that conclusion. After all, coyotes weren't particularly picky about their mates, and she knew nothing of gypsies. They might indeed be more loyal, but Terra thought it likely they still followed their hearts and laid with whoever they loved. To not have that choice would be very sad. Her ears perked up as he agreed to a song, and drew out another instrument she'd never seen before. Coming to this land was just flooding her with new things.
The wolf began to pluck at the strings, and gently Terra began to sing. Her voice was rough, too long and wolven for a coyote's trill, and too short and jumpy for a wolf's croon. Her voice laid somewhere in the middle as it began to ring through the cavern, wordless but full of spirit. It sang of the rain, and the company she kept. It sang of long days and nights, swallowing her whole and days of wonder without end. It sang of Coyote, and the tricks that always followed. It sang to the moon, the one thing that was always constant even when hidden behind clouds, every canine's mistress.
She began to sing as he strummed, and not as he'd expected; there had always been words to accompany their songs on the road, but this wordless howl said all it needed to on a single note. He played around it, plucking notes to counter-point whenever her voice rose and fell, and joined in with his own low croon, unsteady and hesitant at first but slowly growing stronger and more confidant as their duet went on. He realized then how humanized he'd become, and felt a bit disgusted with himself, but he couldn't change that now; he could simply try to be better in the future.
His howl, deeper and stronger and more rough even than her hybrid voice, sang of darkness, of fire, of dances beneath the moonlight; it sang of the high sun, and the ram-headed god, and the Empress who cradled mother Moon in her arms each day as they both rested in wait for nightfall. He sang of life as he'd seen it, on the road with secrets as your best friend and your worst enemy; he sang of waking with the knife of silence at your throat each morn you were without your pack. His song, slowly, began to ache of his loneliness, and even he himself did not realize the depths of the emotion until the howl curled about them, and his fingers played accompaniment, alone on an instrument that should have in-sighted all the the sindhi to play.
In the end, his voice became too choked with emotion to sing any longer, and he cut off his howl abruptly, bowing his head to hide his face and allow himself a moment of composure as his fingers plucked a few more strings and then stilled.
The notes wove around Terra, echoing and supporting her unequal voice. It transformed it into something more, creating a beauty that rose through the cavern. The stranger's wolf joined in, rough and hesitant at first. Terra encouraged it, wrapping her own voice around his song. Soon the duet rang loud and clear, a tribute to their ancestry. Separate neither of them had truly beautiful voices. Together the flaws disappeared, creating a new sound that warmed their hearts and celebrated what was around them.
After a while the wolf's howl fell away, diverging from the art they had created into the depth of his own loneliness. Hearing the sorrow in his voice Terra petered out, allowing the song to find it's own ending in the pounding of the rain and the silence that followed. Whining softly she nudged him. You're not alone. I'm here. Two keepers of secrets. Not sure that he would be comforted by just that, Terra stretched her mind to find some way to give him more comfort. At last an idea struck. You want to be family? She watched him uncertainly, wondering if he'd even listen to her idea or dismiss it as nonsense, something that only someone as young and foolish as her could create.
Drakien's head didn't lift even after her gentle nudge, and he ran his hands down the neck of his lute and fingered another song, but did not yet begin to play. He smiled somewhat bitterly as she tried to comfort him, and nodded in agreement, though his thoughts did not follow. She was here, for now, and they'd shared some secrets, but it was not what he was accustomed to, not what he'd grown to love; soon enough she would be gone, back to wherever it was she'd come from, and he would be on his own again. He knew already she wouldn't stay.
At her hesitant question, he at last unbent his neck, meeting her gaze with a raised brow and a curious twist to his mouth. "How is it we would be family, then?" He asked, amused by her offer. He appreciated her trying to cheer him up, really, but there was little to nothing she could do, at least that he knew of, to make good on her offer. He was not yet ready to settle, if she were thinking of getting him to join her pack; and she seemed only a mite too young to mate. Still, he tilted his head and swiveled his ears toward her, giving her the benefit of the doubt. She was old enough to have her voice be heard, and listened to; he could give her that much, this stranger who'd danced into his life and would more than likely dance out of it again soon enough.
Her first attempt gained her nothing, sad notes continuing to hang in the air. The music struck her, letting Terra feel the sorrow that she wouldn't have otherwise. She'd spent six months living on her own, six months fighting to survive with no other canine to keep her company. Her wild instincts had served her well then, turning off everything but the basic drive to survive. Under normal circumstances she would have pined for company, for someone to play with. Spending each day courting death had curbed that though. The wolf's song let her feel what she should have felt then, and she connected.
He replied to her query, and Terra's tail wagged lightly. Where I come from, pack is very fluid. We all love to travel, and often split into smaller sections to wander. We're not always together. Terra paused, looking to see if he understood. She started again, more hesitant now. This was something she'd never seen anyone outside her birth pack do. We have ways to find each other though. Markings, designed to tell where someone's been, and where they're going. We know each other's scent, and each other's true names. I can share mine, if you like. Then whenever you need me, you only need to ask, and I'll find you. It was a hefty promise, but one Terra determined to accomplish.
Her explanation made him pause in his fingering, looking at her curiously. After a moment, however, he began again, soon losing himself in thought. He did not play, but went through the practice motions he'd learned long ago, simply moving his pads across the neck and resting his hand against the strings over the sound hole. As she explained what she would have to do in order to make them 'family', he felt a frown cross his face. What she described didn't seem like a process you would go through with a complete stranger, and that was what they were; though his name meant little to him, he'd learned enough about different cultures to realize what a giant step she would be taking, simply because he'd expressed his loneliness.
It was heartwarming, but at the same time he shook his head, lifting a hand to place it gently on her knee. "This thing you wish to do," He said, trying to decide how best to word what he wanted to say, "It seems...much. We are strangers, have only just met." He looked at her frankly, a small frown pulling at his maw. "I imagine you do not need such hefty weight on your shoulders. I am wanderer, it is only natural that I get lonely." He explained as delicately as he could. "Perhaps, on next meeting, when we more easily refer each other as friend, we do this thing. But now," He shrugged, lifting his hand to throw it in the air and indicate just how flighty everything was at the moment, "We not knowing when see each other again. I am possibly not returning, and you are living here. It is not...sensible." He paused, and then looked at her, a smile crossing his face to soften his refusal. "But I am appreciative, yes? You have kind heart."
It was a rare moment of forethought on his part, and perhaps some empathy as well; he could see how important it would be to mark each other as family in some way, but after only a single meeting, no matter how meaningful it was, they couldn't really know each other. He didn't want the thought that she had some family out there--some member of her caravan, to put it in terms he understood better--wandering who-knew-where, and with the ability to call on her from wherever he was, no matter how far that might be. It was like a debt, one he wasn't ready to put her in, no matter how much he might like her.
He continued to run his hands over the instrument, though no noise was made this time. Terra waited for him to speak, confident that he understood her offer. Being together would mean much to her, as separate as she was from others of her kind. Terra had friends, ones that ran on four legs like her and ones that played games. For other coyotes though, and even the chance of another trickster, there was none. This gypsy was the closest she'd found to another of her kind.
A rejection followed though. Terra's ears flattened slightly. Yes, it had been an impulsive action, one not needed in such a situation. After all, she didn't need him as family. It had only been a passing thought, one to lift him from his loneliness. She understood his words, though the weight of family passed her by. For her it wasn't a burden, but a treasure. She would never view it otherwise. The thought that one might not see it that way didn't occur. It never struck her the situations it might put her in, or the cost of answering. It was simply what one did.
She smiled back at him as he said that he liked the offer, and she had a kind heart. Many would refute otherwise, but she accepted the small comfort. Satisfied that his needs had been met Terra stretched, yawning. The night had grown late, with the singing and story telling. Nestling down she leaned into him, and closed her eyes to sleep.
She understood, he saw, though was, perhaps, still somewhat hurt by his rejection. He wondered for a moment if he'd made a mistake, but no; power was a wondrous thing, and handing it off willingly to a stranger was not something to be done without careful thought. As she nestled down close to him and began to drift off into sleep, he plucked gently at the strings of the lute again, leaning back against Breixo and lifting his gaze to the rain pouring outside. Quietly, he sang again, to help carry her to sweeter dreams; not the sort of song they'd done together, but the one he was used to, the humanized versions of his own vocalizations.
He watched the rain pour and sang his sad songs, and by the time the rain finally slowed to a drizzle, Drakien had soothed himself into a more comfortably numb sort of loneliness. He had no caravan, no pack, no family; but he had himself, he had his heritage, and he had the spirits and the hearts of all those who loved him to guide him down the path that was his, if not by birthright, by choice. He looked at the young woman who slept beside him with a quiet sort of affection. They'd met only today, and already he felt somewhat better--and worse--about his own situation. It was a wonder what people could do to your mindset.
At last, he carefully shifted the lute back into its usual place leaned against his bags, promising himself somewhat sleepily that he would wrap it tomorrow, and settled down beside her, crossing his arms over his chest and letting troubled thoughts throw him out onto the stormy seas of his own nightmares.
