13 - Clan Life #2
He patted the grass beside him, a gentler smile stretching across his lips, inviting the elf to take a seat in the circle.
“You wanted answers? Come, Tariel. “
As the elf took his seat, still feeling a little uncomfortable in his new attire, Cassian conjured two dragons of smoke in his palm: one yellowish, the other bluish.
“Dragons are divided into two families. The classic dragons, who exist only in their animal form—intelligent beings drawn to gold. And then there are the shape-shifting dragons, beings capable of taking human form. They are significantly more powerful, as they can rally other dragons to their cause. The Drakensyl lineage was the only one capable of such power. They are considered outcasts on the island they share with the Malveth.”
Whispers rose. A young girl exclaimed, “But they’re all dead! The elves killed them all during the Great War!”
“It seems they missed one target—and probably the most important one,” Cassian replied.
He cast a furtive glance at Tariel before concluding.
“He’s a shape-shifting dragon, which means…”
Seris, who had approached with a quiet step, finished his sentence, staring Cassian straight in the eyes, “Which means that the dragon in question is a Drakensyl, a member of the royal family.”
Tariel
The elf slowly emerged from sleep, letting himself wake up rather peacefully as he replayed the conversation the two men had had the day before. At first, nothing seemed out of the ordinary…
Until he realized that the presence he sensed beside him was not Cassian’s.
He allowed himself only a moment to consider the idea that he could now distinguish the mercenary’s presence among so many others before taking a deep breath and opening his eyes.
“Oh—by the Stars!” He exclaimed as he sat up abruptly, pressing a hand to his heart in a futile attempt to calm it. Just a few centimeters from his face were three pairs of almond-shaped eyes watching him with unsettling interest.
Three young women—including a child and a teenager—were there. The one in the middle turned to the oldest with a disappointed pout.
“I told you he’d get scared!”
“Nonsense, he was just surprised,” retorted the youngest.
Tariel, for his part, was confused. He vaguely recognized the eldest woman, who had taken care of Cassian the day before. As for the other two, he had no idea who he was dealing with.
The elf cleared his throat to get the three strangers’ attention before looking around.
“Um… Is there a problem? Where’s Cassian?”
The youngest rolled her eyes, protesting to the middle one while pouting in turn. “That elf only has eyes for Cassian. He’s outside with Father! We wanted to take advantage of his absence to see you, Mr. Elf.”
The elf wanted to protest, but he decided against it, massaging his temples and closing his eyes instead. He had absolutely no idea what was going on.
It took him a good while to gather his energy to flash a slight, friendly smile, doing his best to appear more… welcoming. After all, these people were taking him in without asking any questions.
“Of course. To see me, yes. What do you need?”
The teenage girl pointed her index finger at the elf’s white hair before the older woman grabbed her finger and brought her arm back down to her side with a sigh.
Tariel empathized with her; the two younger girls seemed to be bursting with energy.
It was she who spoke up next, more composed than her younger sisters, an almost pleading look on her face, “What my sisters are trying to say is that they’d really love to be able to braid your hair.
It’s a very unusual color around here, so naturally, they were curious. ”
Caught off guard, the elf pursed his full lips as his gaze shifted from one girl to the next.
Usually, he hated letting anyone other than himself—or his familiars—touch his hair.
One of the few forms of touch he willingly accepted was the mercenary’s gentle caresses; so he hesitated, clearly uncomfortable.
However, he acknowledged once again that their clan had welcomed him onto their land without a moment’s hesitation.
Tariel eventually sighed softly and nodded. “Of course, why not. But please be careful—my scalp is rather sensitive.”
After a cry of joy from the younger one and a shy thank-you from the older one, the two younger girls set to work. They brushed and styled the white hair into a complex network of braids.
While they were busy with their task, the older sister brought some food to Tariel, who—despite the porridge’s unappetizing appearance—gave absolutely nothing away and ate politely while chatting.
He learned, in broad terms, about the mercenary’s relationship with the tribe as well as their nomadic way of life.
The elf thought to himself, he could never lead such a life.
He loved collecting and accumulating possessions, piling book upon book, crystal upon crystal, until he had to expand his living space. Moving everything so often would be a real nightmare… But would he have the chance to return to his old ways after this perilous expedition?
Could he call any place “home,” if he survived that quest?
After a long preparation, his hair was tightly braided, a wide plait falling gracefully down his back. He stood up, thanking the two young women with a gentle smile that only he knew how to give, making them blush: elven beauty had many uses.
Once alone, Tariel finally summoned Brynjar to him. The golem appeared before his master with his usual heaviness, while the small flying creature—the Sifrelin—fluttered down and perched on the elf’s shoulder.