Wayfinding | Aaravos x Reader |

⚜ NEBULA ⚜

CHAPTER 1 : PILOT

After the umpteenth time of inhaling animal feces, you imagined your lungs would have grown accustomed to its fetid scent. But this time around there was a whisper of acidity in the vessel - much like the Rutherberries you were given to eat the evening before. It took you awhile - perhaps a few hours - to finally wonder whether those same berries you secretly fed Merlin the Horsey was what made him ill and gone.

At a point - when your own innards felt like they were contorting into ungodly positions - you wondered if you would share the same fate. That you would be ill and gone too.

But you mustered enough strength to push away your speculations and anxiety. Afterall, ma and pa made it very clear that there was nothing to be afraid of. You were probably just sick from all the travelling. And as for your fellow four-legged companion - it was probably the end of the line for him. There was really no one to blame.

Once you convinced yourself that there was nothing left to fret, it was easier to concentrate on finding a solution to the stool-smell problem. You pressed your nose against the wooden stagecoach, breathing in the musky scent embedded in the structure to replace the putrid aroma that enveloped you. After some time, it helped with the nausea, but you had your lightheadedness to thank too. The grogginess proliferated through you like a bubonic plague - beginning the process of contamination from your soggy little feet to the nerves embedded in your scalp. Even your stubborn, inquisitive eyes - which consumed the world outside through the cavity of the trailer - was sealed shut by its ugly exertion.

And soon enough, you went limp.

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"Hmp . . . took long enough," the female withdrew from the barred feed-door, returning her gaze back ahead. "I suppose they were right though. The moon reflects the sun, as death reflects life."

Hearing the mantra, the delinquent's partner pursed his lips into a thin line. He stared woefully at the dirt path, clutching the horses' reins so tightly that his knuckles paled. He found it impossible to keep his gaze steady and focused on anything other than the unheard news. The young man avoided inquiring at first. Instead, he relied on deciphering what what was written on the female's face. But of course, she was a listless shrew. He imagined that the woman's heart could be impaled by an arrow and she'd still look as is.

But suddenly, she turned to him. He felt his heart hit the acids of his stomach at the sight of her glare. "What do you want?" She snapped sourly, catching onto his stare quicker than he had hoped.

"Is . . . is it --"

"It's done."

There was a beat.

A silence.

A void of ease.

This news - this completion of a mission - it was precisely what the man needed to hear. But there was not a living cell in his body that found peace with what was said. In fact, hearing those words made his skin crawl, leaving an excuritating sting of shame and guilt to embrace him. "This is wrong . . ."

The ruffian heaved sighed. "And here we go again. I'm starting to feel like a broken music player with you--"

"We've never had to kill before. This is just beyond wrong!"

"Oh, glory me! Don't act like this is unnatural for our line of work. You know better than anyone else what Enox would do if we disobey him!"

"But Inyah - we're not talking about banther skin or gryphon wings. We're talking about an entire child, for dragons' sake!" The young man's heightened emotions tained the way he directed the vehicle. With every exchange, the cavities in the pavement became more and more obvious. And the longer and harder that Gliden pleaded for his companion to help the girl in the stagecoach, the more the wheels glided away from the straight road.