InsaneJournal

Xanthus & Lysander: The road through hell is long.
Who: Xanthus and Lysander
When: May-ish 2007?
Where: Near the Bulgarian/Macedonian border
What: Xanthus and Lysander regroup after their mishap in crossing the border.


The darkness that was descending didn't frighten Lysander - he had spent a lifetime under the stars that, even in this impossible hour, humming their soothing song.

He didn't feel comforted. He felt alone.

Lysander had buried himself in bushes, body crouched among the low weaving of branches and under the thicket of green leaves and unrecognisable berries. It was uncomfortable since he'd had to break a number of branches before he could squiggle on his belly through to stay hidden and now the ragged ends attempted to find their way through his thick skin.

He couldn't stay here forever, his internal voice reminded him as it had done for the six hours that had passed since he had run from the fighting.

"You have to get to Elysium," he whispered to himself encouragingly, nodding even to substantiate his declaration. Yet, Lysander stayed still, chin planted on his hands folded tightly to his body.

We're all in this together, the stars sang. He tried to take comfort in that, but all he felt (and what kept him rooted in his spot) was alone.

Xanthus disliked the pace he was moving at. This wasn't a new feeling though as it was one of the many aggravations that were piling up over the past few hours. However, the source of this aggravation was directly linked to what he was trying to focus his mind on. At this pace, there was no telling when he'd find the Kytherion. The colt after all was young and even if he wasn't in top physical condition, he could certainly run fast and for a long time, so there was no telling how far off he could have gotten by now. At least the fast pace meant the tracking his trail was easy enough.

Stopping to rest, he picked his right hind foot up, trying to stretch out the stiffness that was settling into it from the bullets that riddled his flank, before he propped it on the ground. Breathing in deeply, he surveyed the landscape as his fingers clenched around the bow
and arrow that he had kept at the ready since the battle. His eyes falling on the trail a few feet in front of him, he frowned as it seemed to disappear twenty feet away. Snorting out a breath, he shook his head before scanning the surrounding area again and then taking a wary step
forward.

"Kytherion," he called out softly, ready to fire off an arrow if there were any sign of danger.

Lysander found his breath catch despite his intention to stay quiet. He exhaled slowly, blood pounding in his ears with such force that the voice was indistinguishable.

Trying to shift as quietly as he could, he attempted to get a glimpse of what he hoped was hooves to his left.

Hearing noises from the bushes, Xanthus took a step back out of habit to not only give himself better room to fire an arrow if need be, but also so he could better focus on the possible threat. Bringing his bow up to aim at the bush, he stamped a hoof before circling about. Spotting the broken branches, he huffed out a breath even though he didn't relax any.

"If that is you, Kytherion, you better come out now before my arm gets tired."

Lysander swallowed hard.

"Oh... okay," he said quietly, with an unfamiliar timidness. It took a few moments - there was no way he could squiggle out as deftly and quickly as he'd dove in - but he backed his way out on his knees, then rose up to face Xanthus.

"Can you put that down, please?" he asked, eyes searching not Xanthus, but around Xanthus. Wet dripped down his temple; when Lysander went to touch it, he was surprised to trace it to a cut across his bare skull. He hadn't noticed the sting at all. There were a few marks on the more
delicate skin of his upper body from the broken branches. He needed some water.

Xanthus kept the bow trained on the bush until Lysander was fully out and looked to be alone. In other circumstances, he would have rolled his eyes at the question, but now he just obeyed, lowering the bow so that it pointed at the ground, but was still at ready. His eyes racking
over Lysander's body, he frowned in annoyance at the scratches on the young centaur's body, unsure whether they were more annoying or less because they seemed to be from when he was hiding and not from the actual battle.

"Are you injured?" he asked softly before nodding his head at the cut across Lysander's head. "Other than the scratches that is."

Lysander looked behind him, cantering around in a circle to check. He hadn't thought to check.

"No. No," he repeated, eyebrows furrowing as he searched the clearing again. "Where..." Lysander asked gently with a deep hesitance. He knew the answer and looked down.

"Are you injured?" Lysander asked with more fortitude than he felt, stepping forward to check.

Xanthus watched Lysander carefully as he moved, relaxing just a little bit when he saw no injury or stiffness in the young centaur. The relaxation was short lived though as the half asked question made his skin twitch and his jaw tense. He shook his head, although it wasn't
clear which question that answer was to, if it even was meant as an answer. Stepping forward past Lysander, he grunted softly in surprise at how his leg had stiffened up from just standing still for such a short time, but kept walking as his eyes warily swept over the landscape.

"We need to get to safety," he said in a gruff voice that didn't ask for any argument on the matter.

Lysander's eyes fell downwards along Xanthus's body, catching the few bloody tears in his flank. They scanned back up.

"We aren't safe yet?" he asked, walking over to where the bush had tore his satchel off his shoulder. Lysander couldn't sling it over his shoulder anymore, but the contents were too valuable to leave, particularly if Xanthus had come alone because he was the only one to survive. He simply hugged the rope-woven bag in his arms.

"Okay." He was solemn, wary and hesitant - three things he'd never been in combination before. When he found the older, stronger centaur's eyes again, they were unequivocally obedient.

The tone of Lysander's voice made Xanthus pause and glance back at the younger centaur. Seeing the look in the other centaur's eyes, his heart constricted and for a very quick moment, a pained expression that was a mix of sadness, loss, and shame crossed his face before he pushed
through the emotion. There would be time to grief later when they could be sure that they were safe. Closing the distance between the two of them, he shifted his grip so that he could hold the bow and arrow in one hand and reached his other hand out to place it firmly on Lysander's
shoulder. "We'll be safe once we're in Elysium," he said in a deep, firm but soothing voice before turning his body so that the small leather bags hanging around where his human half met the horse half were within reach of the boy. "There is some room in my packs if you need it."

Lysander shook his head, then looked inquisitively at the wounds.
"I'll take those," he gestured, the tone of his voice firm, demanding to help.

Xanthus' expression hardened again. Stamping his foot, his posture changed, his back straightening and shoulders and legs squaring off to make himself look as big as possible. "They're fine," he snapped.

"If you have nothing to put in the packs, we need to start moving again."

Lysander stood his ground. "You are bleeding from several wounds. I'm not blind," he retorted, taking a more solid posture.

"Besides," he added, trying to give the proud centaur a way out, "if we meet with opposition again, you have items that shouldn't be damaged."

Raising his chin higher at the challenge, Xanthus' jaw tightened as his tail swished in irritation. "It hardly makes me incapable of carrying a few packs," he ground out through bared teeth, his eyes locked with Lysander's, unwilling to back down from the challenge.

"But it's better for both of us if I do," he returned, the more commonplace pride coming back into his voice. Lysander wasn't an argumentative person, but he defended his position when he knew himself to be right.

He didn't want to pull out his trump card, but he would.

"The less weight you carry, the faster you can run if the need arises again," Xanthus countered as he reached out and pushed at Lysander's shoulder to get him moving. "We should be on our way."

Lysander's cheeks paled a little and he closed his mouth. He looked up at the sky, just starting towards twilight, then looked ahead.

"This way," he replied, giving Xanthus halfway between a hurt look and a glare as he walked past him due south.

Xanthus kept his head high and body tense, his eyes devoid of emotion as he watched the younger centaur pass. It wasn't until Lysander's back was completely to him that he relaxed, his eyes closing and head dipping down a moment tiredly. Puffing out a heavy breath, he reached down to
draw his bow again before following after Lysander, glad that the boy had taken the initiative in finding the direction they should travel. With the light in the sky quickly disappearing, so was his method of telling proper directions.

There were a few stars who seemed to know how Lysander felt. Or at least felt the same as he did this moment. For all of the spinning harmony and prevalent togetherness, some of them were cold with fear and emptiness. It rose in his stomach as he poured a little of his own feelings into the collective song, lips pursed together in a silent hum.

He was afraid. When he'd been told to run (by whom he couldn't say, the chaos of the moment just so overwhelming), he'd done so without much hesitance at all, as if his feet had been waiting for the word and his mind could stay very well out of it. He'd tore through the guards and there had been explosions behind him but he just ran and ran through the brush until he couldn't hear the bright bursts of sound and fire and metal anymore.

It wasn't very brave. Or grown-up. He looked behind him at Xanthus - tall, striking, muscled, brave - then looked back up to the sky. One of the stars winked in and out and Lysander found that it wasn't much of a comfort. Either he wanted to be more grown up or more childish - where he was right now wasn't ever comfortable, no matter the stars or his mother's encouragement.

Xanthus plodded along after Lysander, paying more attention to the surrounding environment rather than to where they were going, unknowingly trusting the younger centaur to lead them true. It wasn't surprising that he didn't realize this though as his mind was tightly focused on the task at hand. To keep the Kytherion safe. To make sure he reached Elysium unscathed. To keep pace with the younger centaur, which shouldn't be that hard a task except for the growing discomfort of his hind leg. But he had pushed through pain before and this pain was better than the pain he would feel later. The emotional pain, the blow to his confidence of such a great loss. Because he had never suffered such a crippling loss. For the herd under his charge to have gone from seven to just two. Centaurs who had come to be good friends over their travels. One in particular a very, very good friend. He knew nightmares would come too. Not the first night when pure exhaustion would chase any sorts of dreams away, but the night after...

His hoof catching a rock the wrong way, he let out a grunted swear as he stumbled slightly, twisting his body to avoid his full weight crashing down onto his wounded leg. Kicking out in aggravation, he shook his head before falling back into step behind Lysander again.

Lysander halted and turned about at the sudden sound, then frowned.

He pursed his lips and looked at Xanthus.

"I don't think we can make it there, even if we walked all night," he offered. It was true, which kept it from showing on his face, but he said it more for the discomfort he knew that the older man must feel.

"We should keep moving," Xanthus said firmly, even as he pulled up in front of Lysander. "The farther away we are from those two leggers the better." His face wrinkled in disgust as he mentioned them, his tail swishing in irritation. Looking around, he sighed. "We should find
food and water though..."

"You've got the arrow," Lysander said neatly, figuring that was about as good a surrender he was going to get.

He didn't have to reach too high to pluck a heavily diverted branch from a tree. He set about stripping the leaves from it, then the extraneous limbs to make a divining rod.

Xanthus snorted in amusement at Lysander's tone before a wry smirk quirked one side of his mouth. "I suppose we have some luck with that simple fact. If you were the one with the arrow, we may be waiting all night for food," he joked before scanning around and then heading off in a direction he thought would be good to find a bit of game.

Lysander glared sharply at the trailing figure.

"If I were the one with the arrow, maybe there would be more than two of us," he murmured to himself as he set the stick downwards and began to clear his mind. Lysander started walking along where the spirit of the wood led him, fairly sure that wherever he went, he'd be found. Unfortunately. Ass.

It took Xanthus much longer than he liked to catch game, his leg making it harder for him to move silently. Eventually though he followed Lysander's trail back with two rabbits dangling from his hand.

When he found Lysander, camp had been set. Scholar that he was, he had been given the basic training of most boys: a fire had been set and was burning in a neat pile marked off by a pile of stones formed into a ring. However, water was curiously contained in a large plastic bucket.

"We're near a farm. It's empty and the plots are lost. I can go back and refill the white... thing. If we need to." Lysander was rinsing his arm of drying blood.

Looking over the camp with a critical eye, Xanthus made a very wary circle around the white thing before glaring at Lysander. "You shouldn't have gone to there alone," he said gruffly as he settled down very gingerly down on the ground by the fire and pulled out his knife to start preparing the rabbits. "There was no guarantee that it would be empty."

"There was no guarantee that if it wasn't, they would be hostile," he replied evenly, the cool water even cooler now that the wind skimmed over his wet skin.

Lysander went into his satchel and pulled out a light shawl of woven wool against the chilling night. "You can't let one incident color your entire experience," he said, and though it sounded as if it was something he was reciting, it also sounded like he believed it.

Xanthus blew out a breath in a snort as he shot a withering look at Lysander. "You also shouldn't ignore your experiences completely. It'll get you killed," he pointed out. "While there may be no guarantee that they would be hostile, there is no guarantee that they wouldn't react just like those others. Not taking that into consideration in your actions puts your life in danger."

Lysander rose up in a smooth, graceful motion. "You're supposed to plan for the worst. I'm supposed to hope for the best," he said firmly, walking over and standing before Xanthus, glad of the height difference with Xanthus on the ground.

"I understand how you feel right now. But don't take it out on me," he said, rather hypocritically if he thought about it.

Looking up from the rabbits he was trussing up, Xanthus straightened as much as he could while lying on the ground, puffing himself up to look big. "Hoping for the best doesn't mean you can't also plan and know what dangers you'll face," he countered before narrowing his eyes. "And how am I feeling right now?"

Lysander paused, but he had started this conversation and he had to finish it. It was always better to get things in the open and truth was, well, truth. It was an important sentiment the universe over.

"You're angry. I don't know what happened there, in the moment, but I can guess. You're an alpha. You're a protector. And they died." Lysander was solemn, but not hesitant. "You're sad, and you'll be more sad later, but right now you're mainly angry and you need to prove that you're still you and still in charge and still powerful."

"Just don't take it out on me," he ended with knitted eyebrows as he went back to his bag and sat down again. "I'm not challenging you."

Watching Lysander carefully with a guarded expression, Xanthus stayed still, his posture still trying to intimidate the younger centaur into submitting. He often forgot how perceptive the boy was, his mind usually figuring that someone who blathered on so much couldn't possibly
be paying attention to the world around him. Or at least giving it more attention than the sound of his own voice. When Lysander lowered himself to the ground again, he relaxed as he exhaled a great whoosh of breath and focused back down on the rabbits. "I'm not taking it out on you," he murmured softly. "Your safety is paramount. Maybe even more so now."

"You've been injured and you're ignoring it - how is that going to keep me safe?" he volleyed back.

Lysander shook his head. "This is more about protecting your pride than it is protecting me and you know it. And I know it. And that's fine. I can understand it. But I'm not going to let you treat me like I'm some sort of idiot because it makes you feel powerful." Or like an idiot because he wasn't as powerful as Xanthus. Lysander looked down at a knot in his mane, frowning sternly at it, fingers working at the hairs to free them.

"It isn't that bad," Xanthus countered. "Injuries are a part of my profession. It can be tended when we're at Elysium." Frowning, his brow drew down over his dark eyes as he looked up from what he was doing to inspect Lysander. "How have I treated you like an idiot?" he asked
in confusion.

"I know what humans look like; I didn't just run blindly into an inhabited area. I also know how to use a bow and arrow, thank you very much," he answered.

Xanthus blinked slowly at Lysander before shaking his head and focusing back down on the rabbits. "Threats can hide," he pointed out before putting one of the rabbits over the fire to cook. Quirking an eyebrow, he glanced over at Lysander. "When was the last time you actually killed something with a bow and arrow?"

Lysander had to think about that, which was probably an answer in and of itself. "When last we were home," he replied with a frown. And before then? Younger still. His shoulders smoothed out from their previous broad position.

Instead of pressing, he descended into sullenness, going into his bag and pulling out the smooth oblong of citrine, rubbing his thumb over it. It made him think of Travin, with his rainbow of rocks. They hadn't gone back to get them. Or bury him. Or any of them.

Xanthus nodded slightly, feeling that Lysander's answer proved his point as he went to preparing the other rabbit. He worked in silence, not looking up from the job until he had the rabbit cooking over the fire alongside the other one. Glancing around the camp to see if anything else needed to be done, his eyes finally focused on the white thing that held the water. After debating a moment if his thirst was worth attempting to walk over to the bucket, he hefted himself up onto his feet with a grunt. Hobbling over to the water, he knelt down beside it, pouring a bit onto his hands to wash them off before dipping them into the container to scoop water out to drink.

Lowering himself the rest of the way down onto the ground, he looked over at Lysander as he thought of how he should tend the wound. Puffing out a sigh at the expression on the young centaur's face, he shook his head slightly before turning and stretching to prod at the tears in his flank. "I don't mean to make you feel as if you're an idiot," he said softly. "You are still young and I am in charge of your safety. That is not to say that I think you dumb or incapable. It means that you may not have the experience to do something as well as others. Just like anyone else your age."

Lysander palmed the stone hard, the lack of edges making the effort unsatisfying.

"That doesn't help," he replied succinctly. "But I'm not sure anything does at this point," Lysander added honestly.

Xanthus let out a deep breath as he shook his head. "No, nothing does," he murmured quietly in agreement as he was at a loss of whether to attempt to pry the metal pellets out of his wounds or not right this moment. Pushing that thought away, he instead reached out farther, feeling down the bone of his tail. Coming to the end, he measured three fingers past it before starting to saw off handfuls of the thick, black tail hairs with the knife he had used to prepare the rabbits.

Lysander looked upwards suddenly at the thick sound of cutting, examining what Xanthus was doing with a measure of surprise and curiosity.

"What...?" he began.

Glancing over at Lysander in between cuts, Xanthus raised an eyebrow at the boy's curious look. For a moment, he considered ignoring the other centaur's unfinished question. But then what harm would it do to educate the boy. He'd likely just sit about squirming and looking for opportunities later to bring the topic up if it was dodged now. Puffing out a breath, he cut a few more handfuls before carefully bundling it up to put into his pack. "To mourn the fallen," he answered in a gruff voice. "It is tradition."

"To keep it?" he asked, mouth a light frown.

Xanthus chuckled deep in his throat in amusement as he shook his head slightly. "Keeping a bit is my tradition," he murmured softly, tapping the braided bands tied about his upper arm before going back to finishing cutting his tail hair.

Lysander looked at the band with a mixture of disappointment and interest.

"Are they really all dead?" he asked timidly, eyes not moving from the length of hair-braided cord. How many had Xanthus seen die before?

Xanthus closed his eyes, breathing out a long sigh as he let his chin bow down to rest against his chest. "Yes," he said very softly and tiredly.

Lysander didn't know if the plunging tone of voice from Xanthus was a comfort or worrying. He bit his bottom lip. "Shouldn't... shouldn't we go back? We. We can't just leave them."

"No," Xanthus said firmly as he raised his head and gave Lysander a stony look. "We keep going forward to Elysium. There's nothing back there for us."

"There is," Lysander replied, but he didn't have the petulant force behind his words. It was true and he stated it as if it was no more of a declaration than a comment on the weather might be.

His tail flipped over and he looked at it, wondering if he should be doing the same thing - clipping a chunk of it in mourning. His mouth twisted up as he thought about it, finally concluding that it didn't mean anything to him to do that, that it was a warrior thing and he was a scholar. Lysander just wanted to bury them.

A sneaky voice whispered in his ear that this could be the end he'd hoped for, the end of his training, the end of the expectations, the end of all of it. Lysander's eyes looked sullenly off to the right, silently agreeing with it and feeling immediately guilty for doing it. The stars seemed to grow louder in his head, as if trying to drown out the thought.

"I don't know what I want," he murmured to himself, an explanation and an apology.

Straightening up, Xanthus ran a hand through his hair, detangling it a bit before starting the same process he had done to his tail to his hair. "There isn't," he said softly and soothingly. "Nothing good at least. The weapons they have... the two of us could not defeat them if we encountered them again..."

Smiling softly, he looked over at Lysander with understanding. "That comes often in life." Pausing in his motions of chopping off his hair, he nodded towards the fire. "Could you check on the rabbits?"

Lysander looked slightly startled at being addressed, but nodded and scrambled up to go look at the rabbits strewn against the heating rocks. They smelled meaty and he found himself salivating. He picked up a piece delicately and quickly turned it over on the rock before it burned his fingers, delighting in the new sizzle and pleased to see that they were nicely roasted on the up-side now. He turned the rest over with pinched thumb and forefinger, the way his mother had, not bothering with splayed branches or metal utensils.

Xanthus kept half an eye on Lysander as he continued to sheer off his hair. While he knew that colt could likely handle himself in the task, he still also knew that he led a sheltered life considering his status. Or at least sheltered in their society. He couldn't help tensing a bit when Lysander picked the meat up with his fingers, even though he would have done the same thing if he had been checking on the meat, although his hands and fingers were likely more grizzled and tough than the young centaur's. He knew it was stupid, but he could also imagine the yelling that may occur if he returned Lysander with calloused finger tips because he badly burned himself while cooking. Not that they may even have a place to return to...

Pushing that thought out of his head, he finished up task, shifting enough so that he was a bit closer to the outer circle of their 'camp'. He glanced up at Lysander again before setting to work at scooping aside dirt to make a hole. "A warm meal will be nice today..." he murmured softly.

"Yes. A warm meal with meat." That had been something Hakkelar had been trying to impress upon him recently; that he should eschew meat as some sort of statement regarding his position outside of the food chain. Or just the predatory cycle. Something. It was one of those political things that he thought was stupid, or at least couldn't yet see the importance of. In his own head, it seemed counter intuitive - if the great message of the universe was a sort of harmonious interplay, it was stupid to try and exist outside of it, even figuratively. But, at Lysander had learned over the years, sometimes what he learned and what he knew were at odds with each other.

And now Hakkelar was dead. Maybe he shouldn't eat the meat in a symbolic gesture, like the one that Xanthus was doing, in honour of Hakkelar's teaching. Except that it smelled fantastic and he couldn't imagine anything being so good for his numb limbs and muddled mind than a gamy-juicy rabbit and sleep.

Balling the hair he wasn't keeping up into a ball, Xanthus put it into the hole he had scooped out before pushing the dirt back on top of it. Wiping the dirt from his hands off on his barrel, he nodded as he huffed out a sigh. "The meat will do us good... Especially with the journey we have..." he murmured softly.