It was hard to keep her steps from dragging as she moved toward the small clearing at the center of a birch copse that she had came to call home. The exhaustion weighed at her hollowed bones and gave life to aches and bruises that she didn't know she had. It wasn't enough to be tired and sore, though; no, here in Helovia it was never enough for one to be exhausted.

Here in Helovia, insult was always added to injury. Here in Helovia, Orithia had to drag both her tired bones and the sorry carcass of a Plainswalker to her bed.

As if he could hear her thoughts, the stallion's rough baritone broke the fragile silence, though there was a marked change in the way he spoke her name. Glancing back to pin him beneath a single, heavily hooded eye, Orithia simply gave a half hearted grunt in response; there would be time enough for chatting when she was nestled in her little home. As the pair came upon the thick gathering of birch trees, one could see the elaborate series woven branches and vines that acted as walls to the mare's private quarters.

She had been welcome to stay with the other denizens of the World's Edge, a large gathering nearer to the heart of the terrotiy, but for the first time in her short life, Orithia had been free to choose where she lay her head. So she had chosen privacy, wandering about the land until she had discovered the copse, digging up roots and vines, working and sweating tirelessly over those woven walls - she had even collected some of the shattered remnants of the glass wall to string up into the braches and create chiming constellations of her own.

Stepping through the arched entryway (her most recent addition to her quarters, a wide space accented with woven ivy and bone-pale roots that had taken days to finish), Orithia moved gratefully to the plush pile of wilted wildflowers and mosses that served as her bed. Turning, she faced the doorway and waited for her guest to enter, suddenly aware of the wood shavings strewn over the grassy floor and the scatterings of glass and flowers that lay across the wide trunk that served as both her nightstand and workbench.

Eyeing the garish stallion with dim resentment, the mare heaved a sigh before filling the space with her reply, "If I were more inclined to banter, I would tell you that I'm only tired from kicking the asses of idiot brutes like you, but alas, honesty seems to be more tempting." She paused, eyes wandering up up up into the branches strung with glass shards, the light of the sun filtering down from the uppermost branches to cast lattice-like shadows over her creations.

"Truthfully, you detestable son of a hag," Her voice was surprisingly casual, a sharp contrast to her words, "I'm exhausted from guarding the King's son from the many cruelties that Helovia has to offer. The child..." She sighed, gaze drifting back to the earth, exhaustion etched into the lines of her body, "He is kind and intelligent, but prone to wandering off alone. I can't quite remember the last time I rested fully."

Another sigh, another glance about her quarters, eyes finally landing upon the amber of Graasvoel's, "I would apologize for the mess, but I'm not exactly sorry. If you like, I have a small store of sweetgrass from the Heavenly Meadows in the hollow of that trunk - you can help yourself."

Something stirred within the mares chest as the garishly colored stallion's eyes roved her quarters, gaze alight with something that looked like awe. Against her will, the pale mare cocked her head as she studied Graasvoel's reaction to her makeshift home. It was not at all how she had assumed, not in the slightest how she had predicted that the bawdy rogue would take in her tireless efforts to have something of her own. It seemed to her, from his body language and his sudden change in attitude that maybe, just maybe, the towering Korofi was respectfully admiring her handiwork.

Eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the sudden shift in mannerism, suspicion springing to the forefront of her mind as she considered how little she knew of the merchant's son. Orithia felt her ears tilt back ever so slightly, her confusion mounting and sparking a faint level of annoyance within her belly - though she was far too exhausted to act upon it. Rose gaze remained locked upon the Aurelian eyes of her guest as he spoke, one ear swiveling curiously toward him.

Invisible brow cocking sardonically, the winged lass had to physically bite at her tongue to prevent an insult from slipping out. She instead opted for a pointed glance toward his belly; it seemed like a rare occurrence for the stallion to forego a meal. Despite her mistrust and budding suspicion, though, the blushed warrior remained where she was as Graasvoel moved to her side, lifting his wing in a silent offer for warmth and contact. Lips pursing, Orithia thought on the possible repercussions of accepting such an offer from a Korofi; would he expect her to slip back into her old skin so easily? Was his goal only to watch her become that empty shell once again?

She swallowed, the silence stretching out and highlighting the space between their skin.

Yet...


While his body was roped with muscles and laden with strength, though he practically had oozed a primal craving upon meeting any of the gentler sex, the towering Korofi hadn't given Orithia any true reason to distrust him. Another moment passed in silence as the warrior weighed her options alongside her desires. It had been months, maybe years, since the woman had allowed another creature to comfort her emotionally, let alone physically; what harm could come of allowing this stallion to hold her?

What real consequence would come of letting herself pretend she wasn't alone?

Coral lips curled into a hesitant smile as her gaze travelled to the flower-strewn floor, suddenly and unexpectedly shy in the face of such intimacy. She swallowed again as she sidestepped toward Gaal, breath hitching as her pale skin was pressed against his warm scarlet hide. It was then that she dared to look up into the face of the raptor, pastel eyes searching his expression for any sign of a farce or betrayal, but all that she found was the selfsame weariness that she was sure coated each of her actions. So she nodded, more to herself than to Graasvoel, as she pressed more comfortably into his soothing bulk.

It was an effort to let her guard down enough to lower her head, to relax her muscles and present herself as vulnerable to him, but at last Orithia heaved a contented sigh.

"If you tell anyone that we cuddle," her voice had taken on a wry note, lips twisting into an uncharacteristically droll grin, "It'll be your cured pelt that I sleep on." A breath, another bout of adjusting, squirming closer to the delicious warmth of the Korofi, "And it would be such a shame to not have your big mouth for company, panya."