Fever Dream [P]

[Ira Baranov]

He was awake before the sun, the air damp yet crisp. He could smell the dew on the blades of grass as they crunched under his heavy boots, feel the leaves in the trees above him tremble in the whispering breeze. This was his time before even the birds began their morning chorus. It was his time to be at peace. It came and went so quickly that oftentimes Ira would be left feeling listless, aimless – desperate. But then he would only think that there would be another dawn tomorrow. Most likely. But in these odd twilight hours, he found himself staring up at the dome-shrouded sky. He could just make out the dull flicker of stars beyond the haze of clouds. Usually, he would ponder if they were real, or just a projection created by the Keepers. But as he stared at the stars and breathed in the quiet, he felt suddenly, simply, very far away. It was an odd-feeling distance, one he didn’t often allow himself to experience. His thoughts were not on the stars, or the farm, or the endless responsibilities. No, his thoughts were separate, so far and away and with someone else. But he had work to do. He fed the animals with his waning supplies. That had to be seen to, of course, so he would have to schedule a meeting with whoever was in charge of the Hunters these days. He patted the cow on her head as she greeted him, murmuring to the creature and wondering if he’d be able to get milk out of her before the Ring tried to butcher her. It had taken him long enough to find a cow and a hell of a lot of bargaining. He’d probably have to sell his soul to find a bull. With a soft exhale through his nose, Ira continued on his rounds. He limped through the neat rows of vegetables, leaning down every now and then to grasp at a leaf or bud. He’d been working on a series of trellises constructed from a mix of wire and dried bamboo, and set about completing the structure. His fingers worked quickly, deftly, almost mechanically, as he wove the wire between the bamboo stalks. Every part of him, except his hands, was still as he worked. But then he was smiling, his thoughts drifting again, reaching far to the East. He thought of her eyes, commanding and unwavering, yet kind, glinting with humor and ... understanding. He shook his head clear, brow furrowing as he looked down at the trellis, not realizing he’d finished it and started on the next. He finished the last two and went to work setting them up, gingerly wrapping some small, green sprouts around the trellis, tying them with a precious bit of string. As he worked in the burgeoning dawn, he kept picturing her lips as they had frowned, then smiled; then set in concentration as she laid her hands on him and healed him. It was alien even as he remembered it, part of him unsure if it had happened, wondering if she were not some hazy memory from a fever dream. He’d heard that the Keepers had ways of making you see things that weren’t real. Maybe he had dreamed her. Zephyr, who he had been so wary of, who had saved him, who had healed him and made his body feel whole, as it had not felt in 15 years since he’d lost his leg. He was still, quiet, immovable, only his hands moving as he went about his business, conserving every last ounce of strength and energy for the long day ahead, and grinning to himself like a buffoon. ooc| WHEEEZE i did it!!

[Zephyr Woodwind]

He plagued her mind. When she made her rounds, she saw him there still in the medic’s quarters. She saw the spot where he and his horse were waylaid by rogues and it was like she and Pax were saving the day all over again; her heart raced in her chest just thinking about it and she clutched her bow in her hands. She had so much work to do, and yet she found her mind wandering to the strange pair and wondering if they were alright. Today was the day her self-control and better judgment lost out to her curiosity. Zephyr prowled along the roofs, near-crawling as she made her way carefully through enemy territory. This was, of course, extremely unwise. She knew that. Though they had a tentative sort of understanding between the Fulsi and Nakoma, she knew too well that it didn’t mean that she was welcome here. The leader of another group caught uninvited on Fulsi territory would likely be an act of war; she could, in her foolishness, doom her group to destruction by the Rings with one false step. Zephyr paused and glanced behind her, wondering if she should turn back. But she wanted to see him, and she put her faith in her stealth. Just to be sure, she pulled her hood over her head and tucked her long, white hair into the jacket. The less of her that caught the now-peeking morning light, the better, she thought. After another hour of gingerly bouncing between buildings and dodging the dawn patrol, her eyes came across a patch of green among all the grey concrete. That has to be the place, she thought. Her intel had proven trustworthy, and she couldn’t help her tail swishing excitedly behind her. She carefully made her way down the side of the last building before the cemetery-farm, and crept closer, still keeping low. There he was, diligently working of course. She waited until she was only a few yards away from him before she stood up straight and lowered her hood. “Hard at work, I see.”

[Ira Baranov]

His hands were deft, sure, gentle as he attached the vines to the trellis, brow knit in concentration with the delicate task. He'd just finished wrapping the last of the new sprouts when a voice cut through the relative quiet of the dawn. He flinched, hard, every inch of his skin crawling and prickling with a fiery heat, brain trying to process where the voice had come from, who it was, whether they were a threat. The voice was warm, familiar, and he knew it instantly, though moments ago it had been a distant memory that whispered to him as he slept, as he worked. How? How was it possible that she was here? It took half a second more for him to register her figure through the woven holes of the trellis, and he swore she had not been there just a moment before. "Ona pokhozha na dukh." She is like a spirit, he whispered under his breath in Russian, unsure if this was some trick of the light or the scientists. As she lowered her hood and her stark white hair seemed to glow in the blooming dawn light, it was clear then that she was here. She was not some dream, though he almost wished she was. It was easier to talk to a dream. All this had tumbled through his mind in the few seconds since she had appeared, scaring him witless. His heart still hammering in his chest, he felt his face flush with heat. "What are you doing?" he asked, trying to keep his voice soft, low so as not to draw attention. Casting glances around the farm, stretching to see the roads for any patrols. They were not due for a while yet, but their schedules were as irregular as Cow's bowels. "Why are you here?" It came out harsher than he'd intended, but the hard edge of surprise was still tense in his voice. ooc| he shook