All who would share in their bravery and their custom are welcome among the Mol. It has been some days since Cirina last held sight of Felih; she heard word of his appearance through one of the others, who had dispatched him already in the task of bringing home wayward sheep. She laughed, then, because she understands some great warriors from the Far West would be offended, but the ones she knows personally have always fallen to the needs of the tribe they befriended.
Now he brushes her tail with his and flattens the grass about him in his sprawl. Cirina's fingers tap the scales at the side of her neck over his question, and she smiles at her half-finished evening meal.
"Do your kind not dwell in permanent cities of such magnificence as to cover the very sky?" She has heard the stories; unwary merchants love and long to tell of their distant homes. "How do you find your way, without sight of Nhaama and Her stars to guide you? How do you learn anything of your people, hidden among thick walls of wood and stone?"
"And here I am, hardly able to keep track of which sheep are yours," Felih laughs to himself, amused, before he nods. "Though, you're right... we do live in cities that can be quite massive. Once you live somewhere long enough, finding your way around probably seems a simple task..."
He's at ease, here. Cirina and the Mol have his trust, and he only hopes he's earned the same in return. "One of these days, we should take you to Eorzea to sight-see, if you'd like it. There's so much to see and do- I hope you would enjoy it. After all you've done to make us welcome here- well, it only seems fair that I show you our home, too."
"The Steppe is beautiful, though. All the clans, all this together... it's nice. There's a grand community here, diverse and incredible. I keep trying to learn, but I'm still an outsider, in the end."
Her? To Eorzea? Cirina's eyes grow wide, and she glances between the visible moon and Felih, barely hiding amusement.
"I do not think the gods would have me journey so far from the Steppe without cause, but perhaps they would grant a request. I would enjoy seeing your home." Even if it is closed-in and the wind barely touches hair or scales, as the rumors say. Cirina is fond of her foreign friends and she could learn much of them if she saw the world that raised them into women and men. Into warriors.
Then she shakes her head, pulling another piece of meat from the bone beside her.
"Our people are not quick to trust, as I am sure you remember." Not the Mol, who listen for the whispers of the gods for guidance and act accordingly, but the people of the Steppe together. Some years they can hardly keep one another at bay, much less come to an understanding with outsiders beyond the borders of Reunion. "But you have proven yourself more than worthy of respect, even to Magnai and his brothers."
Felih hums, chirping, "It wouldn't hurt to make the request. After all, the worst they can do is say no, right?" He chirps it optimistically, before he reaches out, still half-sprawled on the grass, taking one of the leftover bits of roast from the evening meal and starting to dine. He purrs and rolls onto his back as he eats, looking up at the sky.
"There's so much to show you. The crystal landscapes of Mor Dhona, the tropical seas of La Noscea, the vast Thanalan deserts and the beautiful and grand Twelveswood... even icy Ishgard has incredible sights, and that's not even getting into Dravania or the Sea of CLouds. And in every place, all kinds of smaller delights abound," Felih enthuses, smiling softly to himself. "There's so much to see, if only you know where to look."
Felih is a wanderer at heart, one who has always strayed and gone to and fro at his heart's desire, vanishing for days at a time in his explorations and wanderings. He's found so many lovely things, found pretty secret places to make his own little hideaways for when his world-weary heart needs a place to rest. There's a love of life in him, of experiencing new things- though it's muffled, buried under layers of pain and mourning, of burdens and aches that leave his once-bright eyes dull.
"...I'm glad," Felih says softly. "At the very least, it's nice to know I at least have leave to wander about among the tribes. Twelve preserve, though- Magnai was... certainly a trial to overcome. He is not very fond of me, despite everything that's happened. I grate on his nerve," he laughs. "Perhaps I am too forward."
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valoirs
no subject
Now he brushes her tail with his and flattens the grass about him in his sprawl. Cirina's fingers tap the scales at the side of her neck over his question, and she smiles at her half-finished evening meal.
"Do your kind not dwell in permanent cities of such magnificence as to cover the very sky?" She has heard the stories; unwary merchants love and long to tell of their distant homes. "How do you find your way, without sight of Nhaama and Her stars to guide you? How do you learn anything of your people, hidden among thick walls of wood and stone?"
The Mol, the Xaela - they adapt.
no subject
He's at ease, here. Cirina and the Mol have his trust, and he only hopes he's earned the same in return. "One of these days, we should take you to Eorzea to sight-see, if you'd like it. There's so much to see and do- I hope you would enjoy it. After all you've done to make us welcome here- well, it only seems fair that I show you our home, too."
"The Steppe is beautiful, though. All the clans, all this together... it's nice. There's a grand community here, diverse and incredible. I keep trying to learn, but I'm still an outsider, in the end."
no subject
"I do not think the gods would have me journey so far from the Steppe without cause, but perhaps they would grant a request. I would enjoy seeing your home." Even if it is closed-in and the wind barely touches hair or scales, as the rumors say. Cirina is fond of her foreign friends and she could learn much of them if she saw the world that raised them into women and men. Into warriors.
Then she shakes her head, pulling another piece of meat from the bone beside her.
"Our people are not quick to trust, as I am sure you remember." Not the Mol, who listen for the whispers of the gods for guidance and act accordingly, but the people of the Steppe together. Some years they can hardly keep one another at bay, much less come to an understanding with outsiders beyond the borders of Reunion. "But you have proven yourself more than worthy of respect, even to Magnai and his brothers."
no subject
"There's so much to show you. The crystal landscapes of Mor Dhona, the tropical seas of La Noscea, the vast Thanalan deserts and the beautiful and grand Twelveswood... even icy Ishgard has incredible sights, and that's not even getting into Dravania or the Sea of CLouds. And in every place, all kinds of smaller delights abound," Felih enthuses, smiling softly to himself. "There's so much to see, if only you know where to look."
Felih is a wanderer at heart, one who has always strayed and gone to and fro at his heart's desire, vanishing for days at a time in his explorations and wanderings. He's found so many lovely things, found pretty secret places to make his own little hideaways for when his world-weary heart needs a place to rest. There's a love of life in him, of experiencing new things- though it's muffled, buried under layers of pain and mourning, of burdens and aches that leave his once-bright eyes dull.
"...I'm glad," Felih says softly. "At the very least, it's nice to know I at least have leave to wander about among the tribes. Twelve preserve, though- Magnai was... certainly a trial to overcome. He is not very fond of me, despite everything that's happened. I grate on his nerve," he laughs. "Perhaps I am too forward."