Sarinah found herself wandering, almost utterly shattered by her parents response to her 'homecoming'. She'd known they would be upset, but not this upset. What did it matter Tristaan was a Crow? Under all that tribal mumbo jumbo he was still just flesh and blood. Looking up, she found her feet taking her over to the Crow side of the festival. It made her a little nervous, having her tattoo and armband displaying proudly what she was. Reaching up, she turned the band around so it wasn't visible, and hoped her long hair was enough to cover her back. Walking upto the nearest person, she asked quietly.

"Hesta, can you tell me where to find Guaril?"

The young woman Sarinah found first looked up from her sewing. It might have been a quilt or a banner, perhaps for the memorial service. It was obvious more than one member of the tribe had been working on it - many styles and colors had been patched in with particular care. The dancer couldn't have been much older than this witch, but as she looked up, it was very hard to miss the pink burn scar that marred the left side of her otherwise pretty face.

The witch smiled anyway, reaching up to tuck her maroon bangs out of her yellow eyes, "Hesta! That old bird? Oes, he's here." She pointed toward a semi-circle of kints and tents arranged around a communal fire, "You can't miss his kint, chip. It's the one with all the sharp objects. There's prolly a bunch of bochi sittin' around hopin' t'hear stories at this hour."

She shook her head a little, studying Sarinah curiously, as if wondering who she was. Who'd want to visit ol' Guaril anyway? The witch decided it wasn't any of her business; it was the festival and people wanted to catch up with old friends.

Sarinah noticed the scar on the womans face and smiled sort of sadly. How many more people did that awful event affect? Pausing, she hoped that Tristaan would be around for the memorial. The dancer didn't think she could handle it alone. Looking up in the direction the woman indicated, Sarinah nodded.

"Mujo ma rosh." She said softly, beginning to walk towards the group of kints, easily identifying the one the maroon haired wick spoke of. It was a little daunting really seeing all those weapons hanging there. The woman felt little comfort from the sai in her skirt or the knife up her glove. Tucking her black and red hair behind her ears, she looked around for Guaril.

"Hesta?" She called out hesitantly, unsure if he was there or whether he was already at the fire.

Sarinah could hear muffled talking from inside.

Then a brief silence.

Then a loud, terrible growl.

Finally, a wave of terrified, childish screams arose from inside the kint, followed by a steady stream of bochi of varying ages scrambling from inside, scattering with a strange mixture of laughter and whining. A broad-shouldered, muscular old wick was fast on their heels, leaning out of the door to his home with a laugh. His smile revealed a few missing teeth, but he still had a full head of short, grey and white hair. He might have been in his sixties, but his physique seemed in bazaar contradiction to his age. Hints of a fantastic and sweeping tattoo across his back were visible from underneath his sleeveless shirt.

He noticed the witch standing alone and nervous. Guaril's fuzzy old-man eyebrows came together, blue eyes disappearing into a sea of friendly wrinkles as his smile widened, " 'Esta!"

Surely the lovely brunette was not looking for him, "I 'ope that weren't onna yer bochi I just scared th'daylights outta. If not, 'ow can I 'elp ya?"

Sarinah had her sai in each hand and a shocked expression on her face. Looking at the man for a moment, she quickly put them away and laughed.

"Ne, ent a daoa yet kov, but you certainly scared the life outta me!" He was a nice looking man, friendly and about family it seemed, and she had to smile. It was obvious where the passive got his accent from.

"Actually, I was looking for Guaril. I was sent here by Tristaan, he's told me to tell him I am his 'benny trouble'." She faltered for a moment, looking down. Oh, she missed him so much now, even more so after the awful reunion with her parents. Shaking it off, she smiled at the man, waiting.

The old wick just about fell out of his kint. He looked around suddenly, as if there was about to be a joke played on him or a surprise attack from some unstudied angle, blue eyes wide, barrel chest tightening. He waited, but realized soon enough that Sarinah was alone. His anxious excitement quickly faded into worry and he stepped down in her direction, "That's me, an' that's m'boy's name ya be throwin'round ... But ..."

He blinked, concerned he sounded gruff and unfriendly. Guaril offered a cautious smile, studying the dancer curiously. Benny trouble indeed. The passive apparently never could shake his genetic disposition for the finer things, the old man mused to himself. Why would Tristaan send her by herself?

"Is 'e 'ere? It's been a few maw, but 'e should know 'e ent gotta be shy tae come'n'see me."

Sarinah bit her lip, worried. Was he like her father? Had he seen her markings?



She smiled with relief, shaking her head.

"Ne kov, he ent here yet. Away on business. But he will be here...soon." Her voice was steady, like she was convincing herself everytime she said it. Resting her hands lightly on her hips, she grinned.

"So your his da? Junta!" The dancer said as a proper greeting.

Guaril tried not to continue to look concerned. This witch seemed lovely and kind enough, and it did sound like she knew the man. How could he be away somewhere else? Her answer implied that the passive was actually coming, which was, in itself, rather thrilling. The old wick's smile broadened at the thought.

"Junta yerself!" He laughed, suddenly embarrassed, "I ent 'is real d– did 'e tell you tae call me that?"

Cheeky bastard; he called me da?

His blue eyes looked the dancer over again, but his tanned, wrinkled face gave no outside indication whether he recognized her tribal markings or had particularly strong feelings about them. He was perhaps still a little too surprised by the whole nature of her visit to be paying enough attention to the details.

The muscular man stepped closer, sticking out a large, meaty sort of hand, "An' you are?"

Sarinah's grin became mischevious on Tristaan's behalf, noticing the man's embarassment. It was fun.



She took the offered hand and gave it a firm shake, nodding her head.

"Sarinah Lissden." The dancer said simply.

Guaril's hand was calloused and warm; it was obvious that he was consciously careful to be gentle when shaking Sarinah's hand. He looked thoughtful for a moment, having realized that in all his travels and visits to the festival, he couldn't place the dancer's family name.

Shrugging it off, he let his smile broaden, releasing her hand and nodding his head towards his kint, "Ye got time? Will ye drink some tea or somethin' an' tell me more 'bout yerself an' 'ow ye know m'boy?"

The old wick was very excited, and his blue eyes were warm, "If'n ye wanna sit outside tae enjoy th'day, I'll bring somethin' out for ye."

Sarinah smiled widely, finally feeling happier since her fallout with her parents.

"Oes, that sounds benny. If you have any chamomile tea in there, I'd be very greatful." With that, she made her way over to a shady spot by the fire, sitting gracefully, tucking her legs under her. She should have felt like this at 'home', with the Yellow Eye. How ironic.

The old wick laughed, "I dunno if'n I've got anythin' that fancy, but I'll see what I can do." He disappeared briefly into his kint, returning momentarily with a couple of hand-thrown clay mugs, an old metal teapot, and whatever tea he had. Guaril really didn't know. It was probably a gift from someone for something he did.

It was on his way back to the fire that he noticed the dancer's tattoos. He might have sighed, and his smile might have faded a few shades. He couldn't help it. He'd lost a few friends in the riot, and he'd had several more wounded by Yellow Eye as much as by mung galdori. He was a fighter, and such injustice did stir up more than a few thoughts of violence.

As he sat down near Sarinah, he tucked his thoughts away. He hadn't heard from Tristaan since he left, and he wasn't about to chase away the pretty witch who claimed to come in his name. Guaril claimed the passive as his own, but he had an inkling of understanding that not all of his rules could necessarily apply. It took him a moment to collect himself, and it showed as deeper creases on his weathered old face.

"I ent sure what kind'o'tea this is, but I 'ope ye don't mind." The wick leaned back on his big hands. He let his smile return, placing the kettle on a stone near the fire to get hot, "So, 'ow d'y'know Tristaan, Sarinah? 'E must 'ave quite th'reason t'call y'is benny trouble, oes?"

The older man looked troubled as he sat down, and Sarinah wondered if she had said something wrong. Did he worry about Tristaan? Did she make him worry.




Chuckling, she looked at the fire, hoping this wasn't going to be the sudden end of their talk.

"I met him in Vienda, drowning my sorrows. He offered friendship and an ear. And he was shy. I ent really used to men treating me so politely. A gentleman." She looked at Guaril with a little apprehension.

"Then we had trouble. A fight with some overtly attentive ex-patrons. Tristaan was right there, standing between me an' this mung kov, no fear. We got away, thanks to him." Pausing, she unsure of whether to say anything about Tristaans spell going off. Deciding against it, she continued.

"I have no idea what he see's in someone like me, but I am glad for it. I don't think I would have lasted much longer the on path I was heading down."

Guaril listened. Then he smiled, warm and slow. He liked what he heard. He liked the young witch's hesitant honesty. The weathered lines in his face creased deeply in a mixture of personal pride at the dancer's description of the passive and fatherly concern for the witch who seemed to doubt her own worth. He didn't think it was an issue of her tribe, of course; the old wick wasn't so thick-headed as some.

"That's m'boy. Always a fighter, even when it ent 'is. 'E's got 'im a big 'eart 'spite all 'em mung folks who told 'im it was wrong tae 'ave one or whatnot." He frowned, obviously not wanting to ever bother and understand galdori and their rules, especially after Vienda.

"I tell ye, in all 'is time 'ere, that boy weren't interested in chasin' th'roshes. An' I can tell y'know 'e could've had 'em." Guaril laughed, shaking his head with a teasing smile.

"Maybe 'e would've stayed if'n'e did, but I s'pose Tristaan's done some growin' since 'e took'a'mind tae drift. Ye must 'ave somethin' benny indeed 'e sees if'n ye got 'im tae slow down a pitch. It ent like 'e knows much else other'n runnin', ye chen?"

His face softened, as if he was sharing something that he hadn't with anyone else. The old wick turned away to reach the kettle from the fire with a bare hand, filling the two mugs with the steaming water and letting the tea steep.

Sarinah listened to the man speak with a smirk. Everything he said was so true, about Tristaan having a big heart. She almost laughed when he spoke about the roshes. It was true, the man was heart breakingly attractive, but she'd not known he'd ignored their advances. Somehow, it made the dancer feel special.



The brunette thought about the watch she had in her coin purse. Looking at the man with furrowed eyebrows, she spoke.

"We both know what its like to be misunderstood. How did he end up with you, can I ask? I know a little bit of his past, he's told me some things. But, not a lot. Not yet."

Guaril passed Sarinah her mug of tea, regarding her as if he was making sure he caught onto her implications. The old wick knew that some things weren't his to share, aware that there was probably much that sounded better from the mouth of the man who experienced them first hand.

He chuckled, "So y'know'e ent a wick then, eh, rosh? Not all th'ways, that is, of course." His blue eyes studied Sarinah's face for confirmation before continuing, "That boy made it 'alf way back t'Muffey 'fore we found 'im all hungry, confused, 'n'lost on th'road. 'E had definitely not been out in th'world much ... if at all. We took 'im in an' kept 'im. It ent like 'e 'ad anywhere tae go, but it took a long time for 'im tae see that. 'E ended up with me 'cause none else wanted 'im, angry an' all as 'e was. 'E was a bit rough 'round th'edges, but so am I. I didn't 'ave family, but somehow I kept 'im in line."

"It worked out for both of us," The old wick smiled wistfully, looking away from Sarinah with a sigh, "We both got what we didn't 'ave, an' teachin' 'im what I could gave 'im somethin't'do with what 'e had tae deal with. But 'e ent one tae sit 'round."

"Or wasn't." He returned his gaze to the witch with a laugh, "It ent fair tae meet ye 'fore 'e's 'ere." Shaking his head, he looked at her carefully from over his mug, "Are yer folks 'ere? Or didja jus' look for me first?"

The witches chocolate eyes looked sad. Tristaan was so level headed and sweet and kind and...she wondered what he must have been like back then. It made her want to hug him in sympathy, and again she wished he was here already. It was the eighth, surely he'd be getting ready to come back soon.



Pausing with her tea almost to her mouth, the woman wondered if thats why he'd agreed to help the doctor. Had the travel bug gotten him? She sipped, thinking. She didn't want to be a drifter, but right now, she would follow him to the belly of the underworld.



Her face fell and she looked into the tea, happy mood evaporated. Sarinah sighed.

"Oes, they are here. I saw them two days ago and it wasn't pretty." Putting the mug down, she moved to hug her knees.

"I'm gonna be honest with you here kov, so everything is out in the open. I am a dancer in a tumblehut, but I ent a tumble. Tristaan helped me get out of there, in more than just the physical sense. I thought that would upset my folks, but it turns out, they are more concerned with the fact he is a Crow." Looking into his blue eyes, she shrugged.

"If it ent already obvious, I'm an Eye."

"Oes, I might be old, but I ent blind."

He laughed. It wasn't awkward; it just was. If he was uncomfortable with her tribal affiliation, the old wick did not let it show on his face. Much. There was a bit of sadness that crept across his weathered, wrinkled features, but his blue eyes were still warm and his voice was kind, "If it ent obvious, I'ma fightin' sort. It's what I be made for. I'm also loyal. What m'Durg says, I do. We've all lost friends, family, an' now freedom in Vienda."

He sighed.

"But it ent m'place tae speak for Tristaan. 'E's m'family, kin by blood or ne. What time o' 'is was mine, I tried tae teach 'im tae 'ave 'is own thoughts. 'E's got 'is own mind an' 'is own 'eart. Not everyone's gonna'pprove of 'is choices 'ere once they know – like yer folks an' prolly some o' 'is friends 'ere once 'e comes – but I'm old'nuff tae know that if it really matters, there ent anyone what can tell either of ye what t'do with yer lives, ye chen?"

Guaril looked at Sarinah, reaching up to rub the lower half of his face with a big, meaty hand. It probably would've covered her whole head, it was so large. He chewed the inside of his cheek, obviously thinking long and hard. Whatever moved in his mind was apparently a challenge. He shook his head, eyes moist, and spoke with great care,

"If that mung boy sees somethin' in ye that 'olds 'im long 'nuff tae stay still an' be 'imself, then I 'onestly don't care if yer an Eye'r'a witch'r'a'whatever at all. I mean it, but I can promise ye, there ent many 'tween our two tribes that'll feel th'same."

The dancer nodded, picking up the mug again to sip on the tea. The freedom lost for some, the freedom found for others.



She watched him rub his face with a giant hand, thankful immediately that he seemed to like her. Well. It appeared that way. His mind seemed to way heavy on him and the witch kept her tongue, letting him think.



Sarinah felt tears sting her eyes. It was like a dark cloud followed her, sometimes it got a little left behind, but soon or later it caught up with her. Smiling, eyes sparkling with the start of tears, she reached out and gently touched his arm.

"Mujo ma kov. It means a lot that at least his Da can be happy for us." Taking her hand away, she drank the rest of the tea pensively.

Guaril prodded the fire, "Oi now, y'never know. Yer folks might come 'round, rosh. It might jus' be a bit'o too much too soon, eh?" He looked at the dancer encouragingly, " 'Sides it's easy tae dislike a kov ye 'aven't met. Some things're 'arder in person."

The old wick's face folded into worry, "Ye did say 'e was comin', eh? Ye just dunno when?"

The look of worry on his face only served to make her own twist in her gut. She nodded, trying to put on a brave face.

"Oes, he is definitly coming. It should be really soon. I mean, maybe the next few days?" Her chocolate eyes were determined, it was what she believed and she stuck by it. She had to.