Cyran let out a silent laugh, the corners of his eyes crinkling at her provocation. Rarely did he get to see her competitive side, which usually shone through when they played these little games. Though there was some mote of truth to the fact that her superior strength would most likely make it so that she would need such a handicap. Cyran was fast, though not a climber. He hesitated before signing back, ‘I think I’d relish the sight of you scale a cliff with one hand, competition or no.’

He stopped, hands still. Face flushed. Now why in the world had he said that? It was certainly true he found her, and her strength, attractive, but that didn’t mean he had to be so… lecherous about it. Goodness. By now Cyran expected it was hardly a secret he found her alluring, though that was no excuse for such brazen words. He averted his eyes, focusing on the sound of the yeti and the impending doom of the anti-poachers who had no idea of the storm on the horizon.

The smell of death lingered in the air - blood and decay. The yeti made quick work of the camp’s outer defenses and traps, ripping through it as easy as one tore through paper. Men swarmed it, some holding nets and others weaving mana in the air to form some kind of trap, but it became rapidly evident that the price of survival would not come at the yeti’s capture, but his death. A bitter pill to swallow for the society that so firmly stood against the hunting of Frostgale’s creatures, but they would not have time to linger on those regrets for long before they, too, were on the receiving end of the yeti’s claws and vicious maw.

And then Hoffstefferson entered the fray.

Cyran noticed the odious man out of the corner of his eye, immediately grabbing a javelin from a nearby barrel and whipping it at the beast. The blow had about as much impact as a mosquito bite. Cyran crossed his arms, that familiar anger bubbling to the surface. This was the man who’d so callously intruded upon their peace, the one vacation that they’d allowed themselves to take. He’d scared Del, then subsequently marked her as important for the bounty. So, no… he did not feel particularly guilty for the series of events unfolding below. He couldn’t speak for Del, but she seemed to feel the same way, if the nonchalant expression on her face was anything to go by.

Cyran shrugged in response, though his expression was lighter as he did so. The campers were fighting a losing battle, one whose futility they did not quite comprehend yet.

Then again, perhaps the tides of battle might turn in their favor, after all.

After the yeti was struck with the arrow, it let out a frightening roar, a surge of animalistic strength allowing it to rip off the nets and trap a handful of anti-poachers underneath. Hoffstefferson took a step back, pulling an unusually large crossbow from his hip and lining the shot up with the creature.

“I WON’T BE FELLED T’ SOME BEAST!”

Gloved finger on the trigger, he let loose an arrow with enough force behind it to pierce through the thick hide along the creature’s stomach.^[1] The yeti staggered, this blow having enough effect to actually cause pause. The creature’s face whipped around to the biggest threat, one eye red with blood and the other with hatred. It took a few steps back, closer to one of the rocky outcroppings surrounding the camp. Hoffstefferson’s mouth parted, perhaps a shout of celebration that they’d managed to drive the beast off - though an entirely premature one, as seconds later one of the yeti’s large hands wrapped around a chunk of stone bigger than Cyran himself, and lobbed it at the headhunter.

CRUNCH! The stone impacted square in his chest, shattering bone and organs and flesh upon impact. Hoffstefferson crumpled to the ground. If he’d not been killed upon impact, then he would surely be dead within the next few minutes. And Cyran, still watching from where he and Del were hidden, still felt nothing. Only a sense of relief that knowledge of Del’s location here would die with him.

Only the yeti remained. Injured, but still standing. Their true target.

Cyran turned to Del, trusting she would know what he was thinking when he nodded towards the remains of the camp, hand resting on Wraithsbane by his side. The symbol of her protection, crafted from her desire to keep him safe. And now, he would use it to kill, in order to keep her safe, too.

---

1. Piercing Shot (Sharpshooter III) - Hoffstefferson

She can practically feel the blood rushing to her face at Cyran's little flirtatious comment; that he would relish seeing her climb with one arm. Relish, like he would watch her ascend, taking her in attentively as muscles bunched and stretched as she climbed. --Was that flirting? Come to think of it, had she ever been flirted with before? Not any time that she had noticed, she thought. In any case, he was... enjoying watching her. Though her skin still prickled with heat, even after they were distracted by the yeti's rampage through camp. Perhaps she would have to... show off more often. Del knew that she would certainly relish him relishing her.

While the back of her mind plays with what other tasks she could do with one arm to impress Cyran, Del watches as the Yeti makes short work of the unprepared campers. Hoffstefferson was still up and about, somehow, either very lucky or more skilled than they had assumed-- though, watching the Yeti, Del's money was on the man being entirely out of his league. He clearly wasn't here to hunt monsters. As Cyran had surmised earlier, it cemented the fact that she was one of their targets. Their potential prey.

A little ironic now that Hoffstefferson should be prey to the yeti, hoisted by his own petard.

Still, the wicked looking crossbow in his hands Catches Del's eye, one moment before the Yeli dislodges a rock and nearly caves their potential captors' chest in, sending him to the ground, beathing shallow and not for much longer. The yeti had withstood so much from every single member of camp, but at the end, it wa the Yeti still standing-- as much as it could. It was quite badly damaged, Del notes; blows to vita areas. Still, it could survive on its own, were it lucky. Hoffstefferson wasn't granted such luck, but despite Del's worry that sh deserved this pursuit and not wishing anyone any direct harm-- her mind was made up lon ago.

Mercy, or even ambivalence-- they weren't luxuries they could afford.

Del reaches out, silently squeezing Cyran's forearm as her head dips in a slow nod of assent. This was his job-- his vocation. Cyran had let her work in Shades Valley to make fixes and repairs and changes, trusting her to do her job to the best of her ability; this was his job. She would help him see it through, but she trusted him to take the lead on handling this the way he was best at. Despite the grim task ahead, Del's lips curve upwards in a hopeful, apologetic little smile; she trusted him with her life and then some. She would not falter, and would remain at his side. She signs quickly. Let's take it down before it recovers, and find a place to set up camp. I don't want you to be cold.

She pauses in her quick fumbling, more heat lifting to her cheeks. Indeed, she did not want him to be cold. Very quietly, Del clears her throat, and waits to follow Cyran's lead.[/i][/i]

There was no more time to wait around. Before Cyran’s own eyes, the man that had threatened his - well, Del - was killed by the very beasts he sought to protect. There was no further sentiments, no one to mourn him. Cyran had seen into his memories, gazed upon his very soul. Perhaps ironic of an assassin of his caliber, with the blood staining his hands so red that it may as well have been black, but there was nothing worth mourning there. Just another life given so that they could continue theirs.

And even that thought was fleeting in the face of the monster rampaging down below.

Cyran faltered only briefly as Del signed to him what she was thinking, even now still concerned about his wellbeing. The hunt was afoot, and she was still worried about his temperature. He hesitated, fingers stilled as if even his hands were tongue-tied by the sweet sentiment, before he attempted to assuage her worries. I’ll be fine, he replied. Though even his fingers were wobbling as he conveyed that, as if he couldn’t bring himself to believe that she was still worried about him -

No, he had to stop this line of thinking.

Rather than continue this back-and-forth, Cyran concentrated, coalescing the shadows to his will. The scar on his back ached briefly - the dark magic festering in the wound flaring up before a pair of spectral wings burst from his shoulder blades, as black as pitch.^[1] Cyran barely waited a moment before taking to the skies, blotting out what little remained of the sun for the briefest of seconds. With eyes in the sky, he had a view of the entire campsite. His darkness covered the yeti, who looked up, attention grabbed by the new intrusion. Cyran would not give him a moment to retaliate.

Suspended in the sky, Cyran raised both hands in the air, grabbing hold of his shimmering shadow on the ground - the large, yawning silhouette cast from rays above - and forced it upwards. The shadow was all too eager to respond, forming shackles that wrapped around the yeti’s legs, all the way from his ankles up to his thigh.^[2]

“Stay still!” Cyran commanded. The yeti writhed, struggling to break free of his trappings, tearing through Cyran’s trap like paper - the more he resisted, the more Cyran drew from the surrounding darkness, sweat trickling down his brow in concentration. To give Del an opening, he’d command the shadows against the very gods if need be. A yeti was nothing. He just needed to hold it long enough to let her do some serious damage. His blades and his shadows would support her from behind.

---

1. Bat Wings (1/3)
2. Shadow Bind (Shadow Dancer III)

She watched his hands carefully as he signed that he was alright. There was a little hesitation there, which was... suspicious. Perhaps he was cold after all and simply dismissing his comfort in lieu of her own, or perhaps... he did not wish to be warmed at her touch again?

Though there isn't much time to dwell on it, she doesn't sense any thing negative through their connection, even as Cyran quickly unfurls wings of sable shadow and takes to the sky. She watches him go up, faintly smiling to herself, almost envious of the grace and elegance he exuded as he soared into the clear Frost Gale sky.

She gives her head a shake, blushing furiously at her own expense. There wasn't time to think about... all of that. She had to focus on getting this Yeti taken out, and fight at Cyran's side.

Del would be lying if she said the thought didn't excite her.

She moves toward the cusp of the ledge, hovering in a low crouch as she watches Cyran, waiting for their unspoken cue; they hadn't discussed how these next steps would go, but as always, the pair of shadows were ever in sync. She could feel their connection, through the rings and deeper still, through the shadows themselves, a preternatural sense that was wholly Cyran's energy. She would recognize his shadow wherever he was, she thought; it was a comforting one.

As his winged shadow bends and latches on to the yeti, ordering it to hold still (goodness, but his commander's voice was just as alluring as his softness). On cue, she launches, leaping off the edge of the stone overhang with apparent abandon, using her momentum to carry her down toward their target.

While the Yeti growned and snarled, Del let the momentum carry her in a flip, extending one leg out so as to drop her heel with a resounding, sickening crunch directly on the yeti's right shoulder on its blind side[1]. There's an agonized howl of rage and pain as the creature's shoulder is shattered, the joint destroyed as it hangs loose in it's socket. It lashes out again for Del with its free hand, claws seeking to rend her flesh; she snatches its wrist as she continues her downward descent to the ground, her arm coiling around the giant limb as she torques it, reversing the momentum of the yeti's swing into an arm bar[2], driving the creature's upper half to the ground, where she stomped on the joint of its elbow.

She didn't need to call out for him, to give him the ready opportunity, but dust and ash, his name was already on her lips anyway. "Cyran!"

---

[1] Fighter III - Stunning Blow
[2] Fighter IV - Reverse of Momentum

It was no surprise that Del immediately leapt into the fray after him - they’d fought side by side enough times at this point for him to get a good idea for her style, the ferocity and raw strength that she moved with, precision in no way diminished by the power of her blows. Though he was focused, there was still enough time for him to be awestruck by the sheer power of her kick, taking advantage of the Yeti’s blind spot. She’d effectively grounded the creature, crunching and snapping bone as the Yeti’s powerful arm was reduced to a mash of muscle and ivory fragments.

Cyran had already tucked his wings in to drop to the ground at Del’s cry.

Tuck and roll. Cyran pulled himself to his feet, not even pausing once as he smoothly moved into a flank, both fighters on either side of the creature.^[1] Though he’d never made use of the weapon in combat, it felt smooth in his hand. Natural. The weight was something he’d need to get accustomed to, but the Specter moved as swiftly and smoothly as always, slicing the dagger right through the thick pelt of the yeti’s back at the vulnerable part of the small of its spine - the point on a human that would paralyze them if they’d had the right biology.^[2]

The yeti roared, blindsided by the surprise attack against its hind while Del held it down. But as the shadows around its legs dissolved, its feet were still free to deliver a powerful kick to the little bug buzzing around its back. Cyran twisted out of the way, using the momentum to whip his free hand back around, fingers held together like a knife, jabbing right at a point in the yeti’s thigh.^[3] The sudden jab punctured skin, forcing the yeti’s leg to spasm. Cyran rolled away, dark magic curling at the edges of his hand as the shadows stirred. The yeti was crippled - arms and legs taken out. If there was any time for a final strike, it was now.

---

1. Cat’s Grace
2. Back Stab
3. Del’s Eternity Ring - Sting like a Bee
Bat wings (post 2/3)

A special sort of thrill coursed through her, watching Cyran weild her blade as he used it to slice through the yeti's thick hide. The way he evaded the beast was nothing short of a dance, elegant and practiced, shadows seething around him as he made a fluid escape off to the side. Another cue, one where Del quickly took his place for the next phase of attack while he got into position if she was unable to finish the creature here. Though, given the little gift Cyran leaves for her-- the perfect advantage-- the writing seems to be on the wall.

The shadows she cast began to fray and dissipate as the yeti writhed on the ground, the wound in its thigh deep and immobilizing. With its arm destroyed, a wound in its spine that paralyzed parts of its body, a missing eye, and now a leg that refused to work (an ability she was very familiar with), it was time to put an end to the Yeti's misery. It was very kind of Cyran to give her the finishing blow, setting her up perfectly with the prone, struggling position of the beast. She would do her best to make it worth their while.

...and maybe still show off, a little.

With how big and how thick the hide of the Yeti was, Del wastes no time with gentler blows. Never one to underestimate her enemy, as Cyran pulls away, Del launches at the yeti, the magic around her ring surging as she draws on one of the ablities within Cyran's aresenal. With a burst of haunting speed[1,2], she strikes hard and fast for those vulnerable areas, expanded and easier to see with the sheer size of the creature. The first hit, to the back of its head, a sharp knee that strikes with a heavy thud as she drives bone against bone, stunning it further[3]. The next attack, as it slumps forward, is on its back; the first blow filling the air wth a series of cracks and pops as her fist drives into the ribs of the yeti, shattering them and removing some of the creature's natural armor, followed by a third and final strike that sends one of the broen pieces of the yeti's rib right into its heart.

The sheer force from the blow sends the yeti tumbling through the snow, limp and, blessedly, lifeless. Del takes a reflexive hop backwards, breathing heavily from the sudden exertion, pupils dialated and a flush of combat high on her cheeks as she looks to Cyran. "T-there. I think we got it." she comes over to him through the snow, a little worried, wanting to check in. Be close. "You're alright? You weren't hurt?"

---

[1] Cyran's Eternity Ring - Cyran's Haunting Blade
[2] Back stab
[3] Stunning Blows - Fighter III
[4] Two Piece - Fighter II
[5] Resonating Strike - Fighter IV

In truth, Del didn’t really need to show off much at all to impress Cyran; every one of her movements was purposeful and powerful, with the grace of a dancer and the light feet and purposeful punches of fighter’s he’d seen in the Gazablaak pits. Training and discipline and raw strength personified, and it was a marvel to see it brought to life. The moment Cyran retreated, Del was quick to cover him. Using a technique that was more than familiar to him.

One-two-three. Powerful and precise, just the way he’d once guided her against a training dummy, with a fluidity and ease as if she’d practiced a thousand times since then. A piece of Cyran’s soul felt… tugged in her direction, almost as if he could tangibly feel the bond that had been forged and molded between the two. Del was not just practicing a move she’d seen. She was tapping into Cyran’s own muscle memory, his technique in tandem with her sheer skill, perfection granted by a fighter’s poise. The two, in unison.

It was beautiful to see.

The fight was finally finished with the landing blows against the prone creature’s back. Weakened, effectively disabled, and taken down before it could even pose a threat to them. Cyran exhaled as the yeti collapsed into the snow, red intermingling with white, a blooming crimson rosegarden. Cyran sheathed Wraithsbane, the weight settling naturally against his hip as he made his way over to Del; who’d had the same idea. They met in the middle, both exhausted from the adrenaline fade, both reeling from the fact that they’d just accomplished the mission. The secret of Del’s location, dead with the mercenaries scattered around them. And the yeti, no longer able to terrorize the people of Frostgale.

The mission was complete.

“I’m fine.” Cyran moved to brush a stray curl away from her face, assessing for more injuries or scars. She’d been far closer to the battle than he, had far more of a risk of getting hurt by powerful fists and indomitable anger. She was strong, oh, she was so strong. But Del was not immortal.

“What about you?” He breathed, a combination of fear and anxiety and worry and concern, all flooding back to him now that there was no longer a threat to take care of. “It didn’t graze you, did it? Even one of its punches…”

He shook his head, pursing his lips. Gods, he was an incorrigible worrywart.

Hand still lingering in the air after he’d readjusted her hair, Cyran curled his fingers into a ball, reluctantly lowering his hand to his side. Cleared his throat, which felt dry, not from the lack of water. “You fight capably… you handled it quickly and efficiently before it could become a problem. And I must say I’m quite, um, happy, to see you use my technique. You picked it up quickly - though I’m utterly unsurprised that the student surpassed the master.”

The flattery felt thick and halting on his tongue, but… Cyran did not feel particularly mortified at being tongue-tied. The earnest compliment was one he wanted to give, even if he was not particularly sure how to go about it. But Del would be able to feel it, nonetheless - the glowing pride and awe at watching her, not because he thought she was an untouchable warrior, but because he saw the years of effort and mindfulness that had gone into it all. He saw her love poured into every movement. Perhaps she thought that the mysterious bounty on her head was deserved, or perhaps she thought that she would find horrid things contained in those past memories. But no matter what the past held for her, there was one thing Cyran was certain of. That Delaela Asiliari, the whole of her, had put a lot of effort into using those fists for protection and good. That she’d followed in the footsteps of her mentor, the mindfulness he’d imparted on her - all of it taken to heart to create someone beautiful just for the sake of being better.

And Cyran couldn’t wait to marry her… if that was what she wanted.

“Well,” He cleared his throat again, out of lack of anything smoother to do with his hands, “That was a job well done, was it not? Another mission gone smoothly - thanks to you, partner.”

The word carried far more weight than perhaps either of them knew.

“I think we should skin the pelt to bring it back to the guild as proof that we finished the mission. The animals can feast on the yeti carcass. And then… we could stargaze tonight?” He offered, a touch hopeful. He’d not forgotten Del’s description of the aurora borealis. “Enjoy one last night of vacation before we have to go back home?”

Her heart quivers as Cyran's hand brushes a curl out of her face, cool fingers touching skin that never seemed to lose heat. How could it possibly, when he looked at her with such earnest concern for her well-being. "I'm alright, my Moonlight." Del assures, catching the way he pursed his lips with a soft smile. Her fingers at her side twitch, for a moment wanting to trace the path to his mouth and brush away his consternation with the pad of her thumb. Instead, she settles for taking his hand as he lowers it in a fist, squeezing a little. "We,ah-- I always marvel at what a wonderful team we make."

Cyran had gone out of his way to ensure her safety. As the adrenaline left and the sharp wind grew cold once more, that sobering reality hit her like a run-away carriage; she had been in danger, being pursued, and not once did Cyran leave her side. He had wanted nothing but to protect her. Her of all people. --and she knew she did, because when he cared for her in these little ways, they made her feel unbelievably happy.

And so do the compliments he pays her, with all the sincerty and admiration that existed in and endless font he seemed to pour from. He... liked her fighting. He liked that she used his technique.

Gods, how she adored this man.

"Oh, um," little gold flowers start to burst in her hair again, and she gives Cyran a shy smile. He did notice. The spotlight of his compliment felt intense, but not uncomfortable-- odd, as Del usually eschewed most forms of attention out of habit. But to hear "Well, you know... I did have a rather wonderful and brilliant instructor." Finally managing to get the words out, she finds her verbal footing. "You kept us both safe and well, and set me up perfectly for my attack. There's no one else I would rather have for my partner."

Gods, was that ever the truth.

Smiling with gentle excitement at the idea of doing a little stargazing tonight, Del nods with enthusiasm. How could she deny him that, when he asked so sweetly, with such tentative hope? "You remembered! I-- yes of course, that sounds wonderful. Lets make camp quickly so we can do just that, shall we?"

That was a little flutter between her lungs at the thought as she sets to her tasks; they could skin the carcass and carry the heavy hide with them off to a safe distance for their new camp, and then get ready for a night of star-gazing. That had been a little gift as well, from herself to Cyran. A new experience, a reprieve from the world. A blessed, sorely needed break. It also just... felt good to be around him. The pride, the admiration, the awe she could feel between their connection. Cherish the moments like this, where he could relax. It was a paltry thing, but a thing nontheless.

Although, Cyran had already accepted her gift of a blade... perhaps, then, he would accept future gifts? Perhaps a gift where she could... oh, gods, how did one even do that-- invite courtship? Did they write a letter to a parent? Speak poetry or compose a song? What were the customs of Moon elves? Her eyes drop to the dagger at his hip for a moment, considering it with a hint of pride. Wouldn't that be something if the cultural norm was a gift of steel? Wouldn't that be funny?

Ha Ha.

Such would not be her luck, however; she would have to look to other methods and find out how this was supposed to work. They wanted to get to know one better, so surely that could lead to a conversation, yes? Regardless, there was time.

Cyran did not relax until Del assured him that she was fine, and was certain that her words were the honest truth and not an attempt to assuage his worries. He let out a small sigh, closing his eyes while she took his hands, as if to reassure him with physical touch that the yeti had not harmed her, that she had not been stolen away by fanatics, she was here. She was fine. She was… well, he hoped. He could feel fluttering happiness through their bond, happy about what a team they made, that he cared about her.

It was a funny thing, he thought. He’d once been afraid that being soulbound would mean that his own feelings and Del’s would blend into one another’s, making it difficult for him to tell exactly who was feeling what. But he’d come to learn, in moments like this where their sentiments were in complete synchronization, that it was not a blend. Not two entities melded into one, but two souls in complete harmony that sang to one another. For he, too, was unused to being treated like he was something that could break; something that was worthy of being fixed when it did.

Inexplicably, it only made him want to be more careful with himself, if only so he would not feel her consternation if he was hurt. That aching, horrible anxiety he’d felt the other day back in the tavern. He could not bear to be the cause of that.

He couldn’t imagine how utterly horrible it would feel if he was.

Despite himself, Cyran blushed at the compliment directed back at him. He didn’t think he was an especially great teacher, just the kind that was capable of imparting information he’d learned over the course of his years. The rest was entirely on the student, and Del had executed it flawlessly. Nevertheless, he shrugged the complement away, flattered but still as unsure as ever how he ought to reply. “Nor is there anyone else I would rather work with.” He replied, awkward, but sincere. “I’ve never worked with one before. I’ve found that is a pleasant experience whenever it’s with you.”

Er. He hoped that was not too overly sentimental and sappy. He did not want her to think he was desperate for companionship - really, he had been quite content being on his own before he met her. But every experience by her side felt like it was a new one, even fighting yetis in the frostbitten forests of the north and standing in the bloody remains of their enemies.

“Right. Camp!” He said, taking the opportunity to dash off and start setting things up. It would not take too long. They had an entire settlement set out here by the group that had been slaughtered only minutes ago. Hell, the embers of their campfire were still smouldering, smoke curling lazily through the air. Cyran sidestepped the elk and yeti carcass, hoping that Del would be able to move those out of the way with her superior strength. First, repair one of these tents. Second, get the fire going. Then there was skinning the yeti for its pelt, a trophy for the guild, a wedding to dream about - wait, no, dinner to make, and an evening to enjoy.

The work was intensive, but the hours passed by quickly in good company. It did not take long for the sun to begin its easy descent to the horizon.

It's difficult not to fidget, even though she feels the strain of the fight beginning to pull her muscles. The compliments he paid her were genuine, she knew, and perhaps that's what made her heart feel like a bird trapped in a cage, fluttering rapidly against her ribs. It was a terribly sweet sentiment, to be considered... special. Among the few. "I've found the same." Del replies, her tone shy. There was a moment of silence that hung between them, awkward and heavy with things not said. Things they didn't quite have words for yet.

The tension breaks the moment they mutually declare the need to set up camp, and both go about beginning the process. She takes to moving the remains of the elk and the yeti, carrying the far off into the woods so no other opportunistic predators would come close to where they were sleeping. The Yeti carcass would likely be a good enough warning itself for any of those said predators, as soon as they made headway on gathering the pelt to take with them. It would need to be cleaned and dried and all of that procedure over the next few days so it wouldn't rot while they were on the road, but for the most part, their task was over, and the wounds the creature sustained made it easier to remove the pelt, fangs and teeth. The pelt wouldn't be intact, but with this much heavy material, there would be more than enough to make use of.

The other bodies... those were buried unceremoniously at the other side of the cliff at the base, beneath the snow. A discoverable morsel for hungry creatures, should they be so inclined. That was handled first, before the other, more pleasant task of dealing with the elk and skinned, defanged and declawed yeti. Now, they were secure. They had enough for their trouble, too.

Washing her hands of blood from her task in the snow, Del comes back to the fire Cyran had constructed, giving him a bright smile as she sat down next to him, exhaling a light sigh of relief. Whatever was cooking over the fire smelled divine. "There we are. We should be good to return in the morning. Thank you for dinner." As she starts to lean over the fire to prod a couple of logs into better position, something catches her eye above her head.

She looks up; it hasn't started in earnest yet, but with the temperature quickly plummeting and the night sky being in full view and moonless, Del has a feeling it might do just that tonight. Quickly, she moves to the tent to grab one of the fur blankets from her pack, returning to Cyran's side to sit a little closer and wrap the warmth around both of their shoulders. "I think we have a good chance of seeing something tonight." she says, trying to suppress how excited she was.

It was months ago now, during their first meeting, that she mentioned the aurora and how much she had liked watching it in the cold lands of Frost Gale while she camped on the road. He had seemed taken with the idea at the time, if a little wary of the cold. Though she had suggested he visit the aurora some time... and that she had privately thought it would be interesting to go with him... Del would have never expected to be here, now, with this care and trust between them, sharing a fire, and watching the night sky for the explosive ripples of colour she had come to love.

That wasn't all she had come to love. She couldn't wait to share this experience with him, too.

Cyran wasn’t necessarily certain that their assailants deserved a burial. Such a kindness felt far too respectful for those who had threatened to steal Del’s life with such little regard for the sanctity of it; the moment they’d found her their eyes had only been on the prize. But perhaps it was because of this vitriol that Cyran knew it was necessary to give them this final funerary rite. A shallow burial, the length of compromise he was willing to go for these criminals. He would not treat the lives he took, whether through steel or machinations, so callously. They, too, in their own way, deserved some sort of respect as their bodies returned to nature and became elk-feed, until there was no memory left of them but the story their bones might tell.

Burying them in the snow was quick work. Once that was done, Cyran closed his eyes, exhaling. It was not quite a prayer to Lunala, what he might have offered if he were a pious man. Nor was it the whispered promise that would put their souls at rest. But it was the last kindness they would ever be granted. More than they deserved.

Cyran stood, brushing dirt and snow off his trousers to set to work, helping Del with their other missive. Now that it was no longer rampaging with an unquenchable bloodlust, any fear Cyran might have felt gazing upon it was lost. He merely saw the tedium of another job to be taken care of, made easier while side by side with Del. She was easy to be around, when they worked in tandem, clockwork. Taking care of everything that needed to be mended.

Idly, he wondered what it might be like if he’d met her all those years ago, back when survival was a daunting task, and he was nothing more than a scorned lord’s son with cold steel to keep him company, and enemies lurking in every dark shadow. Perhaps he would have been different. Kinder than he was now. There was no way of knowing for certain what might have happened if they’d met sooner than they had, and there was likely no point toying with this stray thought. But there was one thing he knew for certain. If every day back then could have felt as this one had, then Cyran would never have doubted his place in the world.

There was cruelty, and hardship, but there was one constant. A constant he’d not had, back then; the reassurance he was not alone. Cyran would never be alone.

He could almost bring himself to trust that completely.

A blanket was gently draped over his shoulders with the softness and reverence of a king’s cloak. Cyran startled, turning to glance at the woman by his side. The dusk was beginning to infect the sky, turning it from a pale, cloudless blue to a soft, pearlescent gray, that would eventually turn black as pitch. Cyran nodded his silent agreement. There was little in the sky to obstruct their view. And if he understood how the lights worked, then they were in for a show tonight. And coupled with Del’s own excitement, muffled by her tone but betrayed by the sparks of forgelight that danced in his chest, Cyran couldn’t wait for the sky to change before their very eyes, to bathe them in warmth, a dance for their eyes only.

“I’ve been looking forward to this.” He replied, a teasing lilt to his tone. “With any luck it will be as beautiful as promised.” Though he doubted that it would fail to meet expectations - how could it, when he felt truly at peace in this moment, moreso than he had in decades, centuries, staring at the darkening sky that was slowly beginning to alight with threads of bright colors? How could he not feel content when he could simply lean over and rest his head against Del’s shoulder, feel her warmth against him while they gazed at the same holy light? When he could merely turn and see the lavenders and greens in the amber of her eyes and be struck with the realization that he truly was glad he’d survived his old home if it meant having this now?

No. His expectations would not fail him. Because Cyran was in love, and that made all the dangers worth it, and the beautiful things even more stunning.

"I hope it lives up to the expectation I've given it," she agrees, tucking close to his side-- a little nervous about that, still, given how close they had been before-- but this was to see the full scope of teh show above them, and how effortlessly the sky unfolded her hues of wonder.

It begins as a few twinkles of light, shimmers along the blanket of the night sky that could almost be mistaken for the reflective glow of the fire at their feet catching the eye in just such a way. But it becomes no trick-- ribbons, walls of shimmering light begins to emerge from the black, cresting like waves and creating paths in the night sky. The light seems to trickle, sparkling as the rivers fluctuate slowly, transitioning through vibrant greens, bright pinks, and vivid purples. If magic had a visual representation, if ever there was anything so deeply spiritual that could convince anyone of the existence of a higher being, surely it was this. It is beautiful in a way that seemed almost impossible, too lovely to exist on their plane.

Del watches, her breath held in her chest, at the quiet resplendence of the nature unwinding above them. She didn't really understand how and why the lights came to be-- she knew it had to do with the cold and the North, but beyond that, there was no explanation she knew of that explained why they were like this. Why they were here. And perhaps such things, in the face of vast unknowable phenomenon, did not need explaining or understanding. Some things could simply be as they were. Moments that were scant and precious and fleeting, but had a resonance within her soul like nothing else-- save for the man next to her.

"It's more vibrant than I remember," Del whispers, her awed voice hushed as she watches the dance of light above their heads. She turns to look at Cyran, watching the colours play over his face, sparkling in his single silver eye, and the unbridled wonder on his expression as he took it all in. The armor on her heart cracked a little more, then, and some of that heavenly light felt as though it flooded into her.

Never more certain of her place in the world, or whom she wished to share it with.