The more that she heard of Kallo, the more that he spoke of himself, the more Levani saw the soft, feathered edges hidden beneath a hardened warrior. She had seen it, felt it in the basest sense, the day prior when he’d spoken of his loss, and she’d witnessed pieces of the perceived wall crumble down. So different from the moment that they’d met, when she’d heard the cold edge to his voice, one that she could hardly now imagine him using with her. Odd, the familiarity that had built so quickly, the rapport that had formed between them as fast as the orb weaver formed her web. Levani herself had never been slow to share anything other than her original form, marred as it was, with those that she had met, but she had never been open to feeling kindred before. It almost returned her to earlier days, to youthful days, when she’d felt the sense of loose understandings with the other creations of the Watchers, of the gods of the wood. She had wanted to feel kin then, but that want had been more than what the others could give, and she’d lapsed back into loneliness.<br/><br/>Kallo, however, was not as distant as they, and he spoke in the same voice as her own, shared a bond to a god that the others did not. Their drive from pain, from past, for their destiny, aligned, despite the differences of their journey, of their way.<br/><br/>For all this, the day before, Levani would have scarcely imagined Kallo beneath the rain, chest bare as she’d seen him when she’d woken, the water in rivulets over his skin, enjoying one of the smallest simplicities of life. The things that most humans could no longer see for its beauty, for its natural artistry. Now, however, knowing him more, having seen the gentleness, the vivacity hidden beneath blood and agony, she could see it, and she knew him more for it.<br/><br/>The storm of the dream flashed in her mind, reminding her of the rain upon fur, the thunderheads screaming her name, clouds engulfing the world and Asdenni and sweeping it up in a primal maelstrom. Had remembered how the simple pleasure, the normalcy, had been terribly fleeting, parting way to a sea of darkness and glass. A black that would consume, that would steal away the small moments left of pleasure, of reprieve. She shuddered slightly at its remembrance, and shrugged off its imposition.<br/><br/>As Levani had readied her lips to thank him for retrieving more water from the fresh creek, appreciating his adaptive resourcefulness that would limit the chores, she paused at the notion that he’d caught fish. It wasn’t an outlandish thing, as she caught them as well during morning swims, but the spawn of the rivers in Asdenni were fast and slick. It took even her time to learn their clever directions, time to garner the patience required for them, as a large beast or as a human figure. Moving closer to her outdoor kitchen area, she noted the several fish bodies hanging from the root on a vine, their scales glimmering in the warm touch of the sun, the meat glutted and fat from the lack of predators in the area.<br/><br/>“I am impressed,<i>sul’ima</i>,” Levani said plainly, nodding her approval and glancing at him with a soft tilt to her lips. It would be enough for the both of them for now, better than the rabbit that she had caught in a sudden moment the day prior. She mentally appraised him for filling his time, keeping hands from being idle, filling the moments of the night with purpose while she took the time to rest. She was learning, quickly, that his competency extended beyond battle alone.<br/><br/>As Levani had done the day before, she filled the fireplace with kindling and offered the wood a seed of her energy, which sparked and cackled excitedly beneath the clay construct. She filled the pan with the white, oily substance and listened to it pop, then pulled the fish down and cut the filets from their otherwise cleaned bodies. “You’ve done this before, then?” She acknowledged, laying the slabs of meat onto the pan, the skin crackling and protesting. She used a wooden utensil to press them down, seasoning them with herbs and spices from the jars in the trunk. “I seem to forget on occasion that you are not<i>only</i>a warrior,” she admitted with a snort of humor, shaking her head.<br/><br/>“Tell me of your life before the black, Kallo,” Levani requested, taking leave of the oven to slip back into her burrow. She emerged with her arms full of a bundle of things, which she placed unceremoniously on a low-leaning root. The sliced fur was one such item, as seen by its reddish-brown coloring and its elegant stripe from near-center to corner. A fine, bone needle was pressed between her lips, more decorated and detailed in its creation than the one she had used to stitch wounds. She shoved it into the corner of the fur, piercing it to keep it from disappearing.<br/><br/>Of the accumulation of things she had brought, she wrangled free several leather articles of clothing, a hooded cloak, and two small cloths that each held a small jar in their depths. One of the latter items, she handed to Kallo. Then, she gently tossed the rest to the other side of the large root that the clay fireplace stood by, one that towered over her. She grasped one of the buckets of clean water that Kallo had fetched in one hand and her staff in the other, and she artfully climbed over, to where the other things had been thrown, with hardly a drop of water spilled.<br/><br/>“I’m going to wash up. You should probably do the same. Just don’t let the fish burn,” Levani informed, tone casual, but a pointed finger playful. Dropping down to the seeming isolation, the first time in a day that the man had been truly out of her sight save for when she slept, she began to strip, listening should he chose to talk. Once bare, she opened the jar, filling the air with chrysanthemum and honeysuckle and sage, the herbs infused in a cake. She plunged this cake into the bucket of water and rubbed it vigorously until the water was soapy, then she washed herself with the cloth, teeth grit at the chill of the water. Skin prickled, bumped, but refreshing nonetheless. A peaceful moment, clearing dirt and grime and blood from overworked muscles, but despite the day prior, she could feel her energy prickle against her fingers through the cloth. The gift of the Watchers, her salvation. “Don’t forget the fish,” she reminded, parting his words if they were there, listening intently to the other side of the root.