Disclaimer: I own nothing. Tyria is a world belonging to Arenanet and NCSOFT in the form of the Guild Wars franchise.
I also only in part own the Foundation-Hub (. org) unofficial universe, in which this story coincides.
Chapter 4: Parting Fates
The next morning, Srykar bustled around the farmhouse as a mother hen would whose chicks were run amuck. He fussed endlessly with Orla's pack, making certain she had everything she needed.
"You remembered to grab a knife from the shed?"
Orla nodded, ignoring the fact that it was the fourth time he had asked. "Yes, and I have a proper whetstone because," she lowered her voice in an attempt to mimic his baritone, even adding in guttural snarls for effect, "'Norns and humans are incompetent at sharpening tools properly.' 'Use a shallow angle but not too shallow.' I know Srykar, I sharpened your knives every week."
He looked perplexed a moment. "Huh, that's right, I did teach you. How about your hands, are they better?"
She resisted the immense temptation to roll her eyes. She had learned to sharpen knives under a previous owner, a blacksmith of the Flame Citadel. Slinging on the pack, she backed away to avoid further inspection. "Yes Srykar, my hands are fine. Seven's elixir worked wonders. Don't we need to get going? Your friend will want us to be punctual, right?"
Srykar laughed through his huge canines. "Ha! Limmock? The day he's on time is the day the sun shines in The Mists! But you're right. No reason for us to tarnish the legions' reputation of timeliness."
Spinning on her heel, Orla stretched, enjoying the feel of her warm trousers and lined leather jacket against her skin. They even made the ugly, bumpy scars on her shoulder feel smooth. She had dressed in anticipation for the mountain climb, where spring had not yet woken. Seven stood in the doorway, his bulk only leaving barely enough room for her to pass.
She avoided eye-contact, not wishing him to see the excitement behind her eyes. In all honesty, she did not want to leave any more than he wanted to see her go. She loved this place as her home, but at the same time, she felt eager to go on this journey. Guilt welled up in her chest as she made the last few steps to the door. She held her breath as she passed Seven into the cool morning.
A thick leathery paw grasped her uninjured shoulder, stopping her.
"Orla," he choked out, "Don't forget us, please."
Even though she had not seen his face, the emotion in his voice hit her like a storm. She turned and flung her arms around his neck, squeezing as tightly as she could and burying her face in his pale leather tunic. Her teeth bit her lip lest she speak and start crying so she hoped the hug would convey her feelings. She would never forget him; the charr who never treated her like a servant, but as his dearest friend, even to the point of risking his own life for her. No matter where the road took her, she silently swore that nothing could make her forget the most beautiful years in a life of few joys.
The hug lasted a little too long, so Seven patted her shoulder and nudged her away. "You need to get going."
Orla sighed in relief at the sight of his shy grin. She stood up straight, the top of her head equal with his jaw and gave her orders, "Now Seven, remember to take care of your teeth, don't get in the habit of drinking hard, and," despite her efforts, her eyes started to water. "Know that you are the most important person in the world to me. Stop muttering about how useless you are when you think I can't hear. You are more than just that bent leg!" She stomped her foot angrily. "Drats! I didn't want to cry, look what you made me do!" she scolded.
Seven touched both her cheeks with the back of a claw, wiping up the tears into his fur. "Sorry, I've kept you long enough."
"Right you have!" Srykar bellowed shoving his way past the youths. He turned and gave his orders. "Seven, feed the cattle. I'll take them out to the pasture when I get back. Don't overexert yourself. Take things slow."
"Yes sir."
Seven watched the human girl and the elder charr walk towards the distant mountains until they disappeared behind a low rise. When they were gone, he raised his muzzle to the jagged horizon and roared in anger, sadness, and shame.
—–
The temperature changed far faster than Orla had expected. Less than an hour before she had been tempted to shed the warm, wool-lined leather jacket and just continue on in her adequately covering skivvies. However, now that she was above the lowest clouds her breath froze in the air just after it left her mouth. She shivered as they turned a corner on the narrow mountain path where she saw snow clinging to the sides of the trail. A cold gust blew down the mountain, stinging her face and pushing at her frame. The fear of falling backwards off the path and down the nearby cliff suddenly gripped her.
Srykar must have sensed her fear, or heard her teeth rattle, because he wrapped his burly arm around her and held her close, enveloping her in his cloak that smelt heavily of cattle and charcoal. Together they slowed their pace, in no hurry to arrive at their destination, even stopping several times to admire the view, or catch their breath in the thinning air.
Orla was concerned about her aging friend. The climb was not easy, and she never remembered seeing Srykar exert himself this much, for this long. For a moment she pressed closer to him and closed her eyes. His heart was beating hard, but at a regular pace. She sighed in relief.
"Something wrong?" he asked
"Oh, no, it's nothing."
"Good, 'cause here we are!" Srykar declared as he backed away from her.
Orla looked up to see a crescent of five coloured wagons, pulled by a dolyak each. Colour drained from her face and she felt her heart skip a beat and then race. There were at least a dozen people milling about, human people. It was then she realised that she was scared, scared of what they would think of her, scared of forgetting how to act, but most of all, gripped by an ingrained mistrust. These people had lived amongst themselves and for themselves all their lives. And here she was, practically raised by charr, uncertain even of how one greets another human from Kryta. She wondered if free humans said 'greetings' to each other as well, or were there rules? She knew charr etiquette, but would she offend these people? Would they like her?
A couple of the women looked her way. They were wearing such pretty dresses, as if they were walking flowers tasselled with fur. A grey haired man, presumably Limmock, waved and cantered towards her.
Without thinking she dashed behind Srykar and clung to his coat.
"Srykar! You old warcat, it's been too long!" Limmock cried out in cheer as he gave the retired warrior a firm handshake.
"Indeed it has, bonebag, still as slight as ever I see."
"At least I haven't been putting on pounds in my old age." the man replied giving a playful backhanded smack to the Charr's broad abdomen. He shook his hand in pain. "Or not, is that wide girth of yours actually muscle?"
Srykar laughed. "Hardly!" He gestured at his gut, "I just make sure to package my reserves right with religious training. But I have cows to feed, so that conversation needs to wait for another day I fear. In the meantime–," he turned around, bringing Orla into view. "She is the reason I came."
Limmock acted as if this was the first time he had noticed her. "Well, is this the scrawny little bug you 'acquired' a couple years back? My, has she become a rather comely young lady if I do say so. What's your name, dear?"
After giving an uncertain glance Srykar's way Orla answered the strange man. "My name is Orla. I assume you're Limmock, or should I call you 'bonebag?'"
"Oh! I like her old chum, she's got spice! You teach her that?"
He very lightly cuffed her while chuckling, "No, she's just being shy."
She indignantly stepped forward from cowering behind Srykar and stood straight, trying to seem bold.
"So why did you trek all the way up here to see me and bring along this lovely specimen? I'm afraid she is far too young for me, thank you for the thought."
Before Orla could make a scathing remark, Srykar tugged down her collar and replied, "Ever seen one of these before."
Limmock's mirthful face immediately turned grave at the sight of the scars on the side of her neck and the ring shaped mark surrounded by permanent tooth marks. "I see. So she's supposed to come back to Kryta with me then?"
Srykar nodded. "It was dormant for around three years but just activated yesterday."
"Why didn't you examine her body when you got her?" Limmock questioned.
"I did, thoroughly, there were no marks." Srykar replied with a meaningful glare.
"But how do you know how long it's… wait—, you mean the wretch did this again?!"
Srykar's silence confirmed Limmock's accusation; the latter's face turning red in fury, and strangely enough, shame. He muttered just loud enough for Orla to hear, "We could have stopped this."
Her curiosity was peaked, but before she found the words to ask, the aged charr bent down from his eight foot height to look at her eye to eye. "Listen kit, Limmock here is a good man who I've known most of his life. He will take care of you and find you a home. Do what he says; although I warn you, he jokes too much."
Orla looked between the two elders, wondering how long they knew about Caelmurg, and how long they knew each other. Their relationship only seemed stranger. With a gentle pat, she felt Srykar corral her towards Limmock and the wagons. She turned her head as he began to back away. He nodded a salute to her and left.
She kept her eyes on him until the last possible moment when he disappeared behind the mountain bend, after which she turned and looked at Limmock and the rest of the caravan. She considered running back to chase after Srykar, tell him that she could handle the pain, find a way to heal herself. But that would be the coward's path. She was being given a new life, one that she could not disgrace. Letting out a deep sigh, which somehow abated her fears for the moment, she walked towards the travellers.
As Orla neared the wagons, she noted how she was alone among strangers. It was not the first time in her life this had happened, but somehow during the time she lived with Seven and Srykar, she felt a sense of permanence.
She blinked away the tears threatening to fall, telling herself that there was no sense in crying.
As members of the caravan hurried about, preparing to depart, she tried to make eye contact with them, trying to confirm for herself that she had not been thrown among bad people. She trusted Srykar, but that trust was wearing thin now that he was gone. Nothing alarmed her about their stares or smiles, none of them had eyes like the ones from her past. These were good people.
A few minutes later, the caravan started towards the mountains. The axel wheels groaned and the dolyaks bellowed amongst themselves, bemoaning their woes. Orla found herself rocking back and forth on a bench inside one of the wagons. Two brightly dressed, beautiful women sat across from her. Silver and copper ear and nose-rings adorned their faces. They smiled at her, though did not speak, not as if any speech would have been possible without shouting over the rattling wheels and mooing cattle. She gave her best smile back.
She wondered at their skin too, so much darker than even her brownest tan after a long summer in the fields. They had no blemishes, however, as if their faces were made of the smoothest satin worn by a general. Orla felt rather bland in comparison, not that she ever felt a need to compete in beauty, but it was still humbling for her to be around them.
Noticing their eyes drift to the lower left side of her face she realised her scars were showing. In a moment of vanity, she untied her bangs and forelocks from behind her neck, and allowed the ruddy hair to conceal what she could.
She huddled into the thick quilts, allowing herself to be lulled into a fitful sleep. The caravan continued on through the narrow pass, as covetous eyes watched from above.
Thoughts?
And so ends the first sub-arc, and the beginning of the second sub-arc actually. Seven is going to be back in the story later, but first there needs to be be some Orla development.
Also, my main character in GW2 is Seven Steelwolf, so friend me if you happen to be in game. I'm up to almost anything (Fractals, SAB, WvW, Dungeons, guild missions, roleplay, general exploring etc.) so don't be afraid to ask me if you need a party member.