Journey in a city

The City

Winds of Autumn have begun to change in Nubraxis. The moon was out in full, providing a soft blue light to the city. Clouds roll over from the western mountains like a river split before the moon's presence, as if the moon was a stone dividing a stream, in the valley. Lights that adorn its streets glow a warmer tone against the smooth grays of the cobbled avenue.

People were everywhere, their faces carry the visage of the days' experiences, while their feet lead them to whatever vice meets their fancy. Yet, there was an exception to this, as pedestrians pass this family of three, their heads turn to take in the sight of the girl with granular lilac horns set on her head to part her night blue hair, from her pale face, stained with tears. Yet her eyes, like the pearl sea, dance in the lights with child-like love. Her body worn down from the day's conflict, but each step she took was like a spirited dance. This dichotomy puzzles onlookers: nonetheless, they continued their nightly routine.

Walking along, knowing every step to her dance, maintaining order, was the father with whom she held onto to guide her path. When compared to the wife and daughter, he was the epitome of your average Northern man. Scars from combat across his forearm contrast with his tanned skin earned from his toils on his farm among the northern plains. His brown hair and beard reflected the warm light, while hints of gray within provided texture to the otherwise smooth blending of hair, presenting the man's face. Wrinkles from labor and scars add texture to an otherwise well-maintained appearance. Each step the man takes leaves a small cloud of dust escaping from the seams of his worn leather armor, while his sword with silver and black handle returns any light it catches back to the chilling winds. Besides the daughter clinging onto his right arm for support, his wife assured him with a slight squeeze on his left hand.

The woman's hand's adorn royal blue nails, red-pigmented skin, blending into pale near the forearm. Her outfit came from a foreign land. Garnished with dark purples, intricate details with ties, and a red accent on the hem. A bow around her midriff accentuated oppressive curves that led the wandering eye to more of her flawless skin. Upon this skin above her collarbones stretched a tattoo of an overturned blood-red crescent moon for all to witness. Plump wine-stained lips balance her ethereal blue eyes that tracked their surroundings, leading to large matte sapphire horns with a subtle curve originating from the side of the forehead, all pulled together with shoulder-length maroon-colored hair. Sinful, yet predatory, was the strut of the wife. Unified, the family walked with purpose further into the belly of the Nubraxis.

Cobble became brick, Brick became dirt, and Dirt became mud. The road mirrored the change in the environment. Buildings became progressively decrepit, lanterns were on the edge of vision in between each other, and guards were replaced with lepers. Winds picked up, for there were no high buildings that provided shelter to the lower roads. It punched the family as they turned down the last alley, any loose fabric pulled on their limbs, straining the next few steps. But, this did not break their stride, each stepped as an individual but took on their share of the abrasive wind.

Rounding a corner, the daughter abruptly stopped, boots sunk into the mud as she caught sight of the destination, the only building with lights shining through windows in the square. A pull back from their daughter, the parents turned to face her. The father freed his arm from her strained grip, gazing back while the mother's face appeared from around his chest with an inquisitive expression. The daughter rubbed her puffy eyes to break the trance that had come over her. She reopened her eyes, parents stood where the tavern once was. Her eyes bounced to avoid gazing back into her parents' eyes until they rested on the father's lips. Those lips read blank and began to separate. The father's voice broke the silence.

"Come on, we'll take care of it." He uttered with low reassurance.

He turned to face the tavern as the mud beneath his boot began to slosh and there came a tug upon his sleeve. With a light exhale, and one flowing motion, he turned to face the pull. His eyes were not met with lilac horns or with deep ocean blue hair, however, they met the daughter's white pupils. Her eyes no longer danced, nor were they full of tears. They mirrored the father's, sharing a stare that lasted no longer than a moment.

The father smirks, blowing air from his nose. His posture loosens, and he got to eye level with the daughter, laying the weight of his forearm on her shoulder and moving his hand through her hair to place it on the nape of her neck. Her posture did not shift and her eyes focus on her father's. Breaking the connection was the father, closing his eyes and bowing so that their foreheads would touch.

The moment passes and their eyes connect. He leans in and places a kiss where their heads touch, giving her a warm smile and sliding his hand from the nape to between her shoulder blades. He provides comfort through this touch, leaving with one last pat, he retook his place by his wife.

The daughter glanced at the tavern. Her lips form a smug demeanor like her mother and her stride matches that of the father. Each step was deliberate, walking on the mud as if it were bedrock. This determination would carry her past the looming swinging door of the building and out of her parent's sight.

The father's skin was tense, his heart sunk below the mud, and a twitch developed in his right palm. Warmth sneaked its way past his cloak, under his left arm, and against his shoulder. His wife found her place where none dared to enter. Her warmth is felt through his body, yet her stare was like a siren's call. Answering the call, his head turns ever so slightly and his amber eyes glide and diffuse into her ethereal blue.

"That's not fair," he states with a slight shake of the head.

"I know," she replies

Their eyes stay locked until the wife relinquishes her position and places herself between the father and the Tavern. Placing her hands on his leather armor, feeling the texture of patches intermixed with original padding, she finds what she was looking for, his heartbeat.

"You're doing good," she said reassuringly.

"I'm worried" he responds

"It's written on that poker face of yours", she whispers while looking up to match his eyes. "You, and I have raised our girl. She has had you wrapped around her fingers since she was born, it's natural to be worried. Remember she has my looks", a smirk formed over her lips, "and your heart,"

"I just... I guess... It's just everything over that year and now Amira", he exhaled. He moves his twitching hand to meet hers on his chest, entangling their hands, and his thumb tickling her palm. The twitch came to a stop as they shared this touch. "I don't know if she's ready." As he breathed in the wife interrupted:

"She will never be ready, at least not for you, however, your grey hairs are coming through no matter your attempts to hide them", running her free hand through his straight hair. "You have done so much for her... breathe Tobi."

A smile develops on his face and his eyes look towards the tavern. He utters the words "You're right."

"I know, '' she snaps back. "Tonight we will compromise. You can wait in the barroom while she gathers her stuff and only step in if necessary," she said as she swayed back under his arm as they walked in tandem to the tavern.

As they close the distance to the tavern the wife let out a sigh, "I won't go in."

The husband looked at her with a raised eyebrow.

Tapping her horn with her nail she uttered: "They might catch on if two of our kind are in the same place." He nodded in agreement. "I will watch from that abandoned building across the way, making sure no one interferes."

"Alright, don't make yourself the center of attention Eve."

Her eyes roll as she slips away from his side leaving with a touch on his rear, skipping a meter away to avoid any retaliation. Anything but innocence comes from a smile across her face as the man's eyes narrow and posture settle to remain neutral to her deed. With one last playful gesture, she waves with each finger, turning around and walking with an elegant sway. The father turns, looking at the door his daughter walked in, one last deep breath, and the wind takes him to the door.