[Folkmore IC Inbox][un: forestwatcher]

From:

[ settling into this place has been.. interesting. and far less easy than one might expect.

on the outside, it's quite simple. tighnari tells him what he needs to know about surviving here, how to earn currency (not ideal, for him, but doable), how to acquire food, he even supplies a roof over his head. things couldn't be going more smoothly, for cyno. and yet..

he can't get comfortable. it feels like stepping into ill-fitting clothes that cling in all the wrong places. cyno finds himself treading water, unable to find his footing, his entire life's purpose pulled out from under his feet like a rug. he simply does not know what to do with himself here, he does not know who he is when he is not the general mahamatra. it's frustrating, and while cyno does not complain aloud, he's sure that tighnari has noticed his nervous energy, his distraction, his brooding. cyno has been a matra for so long that he has forgotten how to simply be cyno, if he ever really knew to begin with. his training began so young.

nevertheless, his sleep is fitful. he'd had a scant few days at home to grow used to dreaming before arriving here, and he has not taken terribly well to that, either. cyno's dreams are disjointed, confusing, occasionally unpleasant, but tonight -

tonight his dreams reek of blood and gore and ichor. angry, vengeful voices hiss in his ear. bloody hands tear at him, pulling at his arms, his legs, yanking, ripping, tugging, threatening to pull him apart. he recognizes the voices, each and every one, for cyno has never forgotten the people that he has passed judgment upon, never forgotten a single face, never forgotten their voices as they cursed him. they're angry, they're furious, aching for revenge. there's only blackness around him, a yawning abyss beneath him, but he can feel the moisture on the soles of his feet, thick and clinging, drying, gelatinous blood, its scent clinging to him. cyno looks down, and his hands are slick with it, with old blood, brownish black and sticky. his skin cracks, oozes, falling away until he can see the pink-white of his bones.

they won't stop screaming.

or is that his own voice in his ears, ringing in his head? is he shouting?

cyno wakes with a start, his body slick with sweat, sticking his hair to his face and neck. his heart pounds like a fist against his ribs, and reflexively, he looks to his hands. ]

From:

forestwatcher

[Tighnari has had time to grow used to being here and though he still wouldn't say he's entirely settled his personality and interests have translated fairly well into this new environment. Cyno, on the other hand...

From the moment he arrived Tighnari knew he would have difficulty settling in. He had given the other man as much information as he could, provided him with somewhere to rest his head should he wish it (being quite glad when he took him up on that offer, of course) and between the two of them they have been managing well enough for basic comforts. Their needs are simple, after all.

But more than that, the forest watcher has grown used to dreaming. His arrival in Folkmore to begin with had heralded the onset of them and as the weeks have passed he has found them less startling. Mostly, they're peaceful things, if sometimes disjointed and confusing. He enjoys mulling them over while he has tea in the mornings. His friend's nights have been more unsettled, though. He has heard him tossing and turning, the sounds rousing him from his own sleep even as soft as they are, but he has not mentioned it. Cyno would, in his own time, bring it up himself if he wished to.

This night is different. This night, Tighnari is startled awake by the sound of hoarse yelling, far enough away that no normal ears would have been bothered by it while deeply asleep but sounding like thunder to his own. He props himself up on his elbow and frowns in the direction of the sound, then finally sighs and slips out of bed. Wrapped up in a warm, soft robe he pads to the door of the room Cyno has been using and hesitates, just for a moment, before he lifts his hand and raps gently on the door with his knuckles.]

Cyno..? [His voice is soft, his head close to the door and one ear slightly turned against it.] Are you all right?

From:

cashewlater

[ cyno is usually quite perceptive, quite aware of his surroundings, but his blood is pounding in his ears, and he's so distracted that he does not note tighnari's approaching footsteps, does not know he's there until his knuckles rap on the door. he hates how the sound startles him, how it shoots a shiver down his spine, how he reaches reflexively for the polearm that isn't there.

it's fine. it's tighnari. it's fine. it was only a dream. it's fine.

cyno sits up, the sheets damp with sweat, pooling around his hips as he runs both hands over his face, callused fingers trembling. that something so intangible as a dream could cut him so deeply has him shaken. dreams can't hurt him. dreams pose no threat. so why does his stomach feel tight with panic? ]

Yes, I'm.. yes.

[ his voice sounds raw in his own ears. cyno takes a deep breath, exhales slowly, deliberately, attempting to bring himself down, to find calm, but those vivid images swim in his mind's eye. he can still hear their voices condemning him. ]

You can come in.

From:

forestwatcher

['You can come in.'

Words he was waiting for, as difficult as it would have been to turn around and leave had they not been spoken. Tighnari pushes the door open and enters, his hair and fur in faint disarray from sleep and a pillow crease still evident on his cheek, but he crosses the room without hesitation and sits down on the edge of Cyno's bed with his eyes full of concern.]

I heard you shouting.

[Obviously. Cyno could never fool his ears, and certainly not when they're in the same house. He reaches out to curl one hand around the back of the other man's knuckles and gives his fingers a gentle squeeze.

No guesses needed for what all the noise had been about.]

Bad dreams?