His name was Beamol, one of Savos's little brothers that happened to be a couple years older than Erlan. Roughly a year had passed since that day in the mountains, when Erlan first met the man destined to marry her sister.
Over time, the girl learned to accept the young soldier. He travelled between Durn and Gredgeworth, his home village that stood about a day's ride out, to spend time with Hida and help the people of Durn build and repair boats. He seemed nice, even if he wasn't all that bright where social awareness was concerned. It was his brothers - Beamol, specifically - that Erlan had a difficult time accustoming to.
She sat on the outskirts of the harbor, cradling a thick, heavy tome of a book in her lap, listening to the sounds of the waves and the yelling of her neighbors as her eyes skimmed over the ancient drawings and words before her.
Frenza, the runkist, stood beside her, back straight and arms relaxed at her sides. The people were getting slight more comfortable with her around after all this time, although rarely did they ever willingly come up to speak with her. Although Erlan got the impression that Frenza didn't mind the cautious fear people held in regard for her, she still couldn't help but think how lonely such a life would be - to have people fear you because of ignorance.
"You're distracted today," the odd woman noted.
Erlan paused, realizing that she had read over the same section of words multiple times over.
"Sorry," she muttered. Frenza shook her head.
"It's not me you need to apologize to," she reminded. "When the snakran invades your home, it would be your fellow neighbors you'd owe forgiveness to."
Erlan scowled.
"Snakran don't lurk in salt waters," she reminded. A ghost of a smile fitted the woman's lips.
"No," she agreed. "Can you tell me why?"
"Too toxic. They'd need to come to land more often - and they'd die of dehydration."
"What else?"
Erlan hesitated, wracking her brain.
"Their eggs wouldn't survive," she finally said.
"And?" When Erlan didn't respond, the woman turned her gaze from the rushing waves down on the girl.
"Hey, Pipsqueak!" a familiar voice called out from the docks before Erlan could reply. The girl glanced over her shoulder to see a the black haired, bronze-skinned boy waving at her, not at all caring about the white-cloaked figure standing next to her.
"What else, Erlan?" Frenza reminded gently. Erlan barely heard her, struggling to come up with a witty reply.
"Uh . . ."
"Girl!"
Erlan shook herself, tossing the runkist a sheepish smile.
"Salt forces their venom out from their fangs. They'd drive themselves mad with too much entering their bloodstream."
Frenza scoffed lightly, her eyes trailing above Erlan and landing on the boy now running up the docks to meet her.
"Do you intend to marry into his family, as well?" She asked suddenly. Erlan startled, closing her book before rising to her feet.
"W-what?"
Frenza raised one of those perfect dark eyebrows.
"Your sister is set to marry the older Gredgeworth boy, is she not?"
"She is, but what does that have to do with me?"
The runkist briefly raised her eyes towards the advancing boy.
"You two spend more time quarreling than you do with your studies."
Erlan scrunched her nose.
"And you think I want to marry him?"
"Do you?"
"No!" Erlan quickly glanced back to see if anyone else heard her outburst. "He put fish eyes in my stockings."
"Yes, and you put ink in his waterskin."
Erlan rolled her eyes, but opted not to comment. Frenza's lips finally curved into a small smile.
"You know, his blood carries the Sixth Source. Truly, it wouldn't be so horrible if you-"
"You said I wouldn't be allowed to marry," the girl snapped.
"Only if you pledge your life to the Circle," the runkist reminded. "You still have a year to decide."
"There you are," Beamol gasped as he neared them. Erlan, who had been ready insist she'd already decided, whirled on the boy.
"What do you want?" She sneered as way of greeting. Beamol reached out to grab her arm.
"I gotta show you something," he insisted. Erlan yanked her arm from his grasp.
"Last time I followed you, you pushed me into a stream."
Beamol shook his head.
"It's not warm enough for that, yet."
As if that would make the situation any better.
Erlan scowled. "Go away, Beamol."
The lad sighed, exasperated.
"C'mon, Pipsqueak. You'll love it."
The girl shook her head. "I won't."
"You will."
"I won't-"
"Okay, if this is what our afternoon has come to, then I shall retire for the day," Frenza announced. Erlan turned to face the woman, heat rising to her cheeks. She'd forgotten about the runkist standing next to her.
"No, wait," Erlan insisted before facing the boy. She pressed a hand against his chest in an attempt to shove him back. He barely budged. "Go away, Beamol. You're interrupting my lessons."
The boy grabbed the hand she had pressed on his chest.
"Your lessons can wait," he urged. "Believe me, you don't wanna miss this."
"Actually, whatever you decide to do with your time, Erlan, I'm afraid our meeting will be drawn to an end," Frenza said suddenly. Again, the girl turned to see what the woman was looking at to see a familiar figure approaching them - another woman clad in simple dark furs, just like any other person fighting the spring chill.
Only, she wasn't any ordinary woman. She was a fighter, a warrior. A long, brutal sword was sheathed at her belt, and she walked with the confidence that showed she knew how to use it.
She was there, all those years ago, when Frenza had executed one of Erlan's neighbors.
Subconsciously, Erlan shifted to the side, feeling her skin crawl as the woman neared. Even though Erlan knew Frenza was by far the more powerful of the two, there was a particular look in that woman's dark eyes that scared her, a type of haunting acceptance that told her this warrior had been through some of the worst terrors imaginable, and more.
"Good afternoon, Erla Shoen," Erlan muttered with a bow of her head.
Shoen barely glanced at the girl.
"I come with Zendir," she said lowly. Erlan didn't know who or what that was, but judging from the way Frenza pulled her hood to cover her head, it must have been something important.
"Lead the way," she prompted, without so much as bidding the girl farewell.
Beamol and Erlan watched the retreating women, frozen, and momentarily forgetting each other. That was, until Beamol shuddered.
"And you want to join that?" He pointed to the strange figures. Erlan scowled.
"I wouldn't be fighting anyone," she reminded. "I would be providing people with knowledge."
Beamol snorted.
"Everyone knows you'd have to fight."
"But it wouldn't be my main line of duties."
He peered down at her, standing a full head taller. Erlan glared up into those blue-green eyes, wishing greatly that she could just break a rotting egg over his jet-black hair. There was a sort of light that shone about him, a carefree humor that lingered around his very being.
Erlan didn't have much time to deal with his childish antics. Scoffing, the girl held her book to her chest.
"I wouldn't expect you to understand," she continued. "All you like to do is bash people's heads in with sticks and sneak fish eyes into unsuspecting stockings."
"Actually, there are very few people I do the latter to," Beamol pointed out.
"What do you want?" She asked, unable to keep the snark from her tone. The boy shrugged.
"I just saw ya reading next to the old hag. Figured you'd like a means to escape."
Erlan was unable to help but feel offended for her friend. She didn't know how old Frenza was - with her smooth skin and soft voice, she'd almost give the impression that she was a young woman. However, there was a peculiar aura that surrounded the runkist, a cunning wisdom that hid beneath her eyes that only graying women would get.
For Beamol to refer to the Circle officiant as an old hag was reckless and extremely foolish.
"Oh, go suck a whale's tit, Beamol," she snapped, then turned to walked down the harbor.
"Do whales have tits?" Beamol asked, walking behind her.
Erlan shook her head. She didn't know much about whale anatomy. Every now and then, one would wash up on the shore after getting caught up in the tides. Sometimes, her people would kill it for its blubber and meat. Other times, if it was feasible, they'd work to set it free. As this had only happened twice in Erlan's lifetime, she'd never made it much of a goal to study the giant water animal.
"That was code for 'go away'."
Behind her, she heard the boy's footsteps come to a halt.
"You know, I've never met anyone that wouldn't jump at the chance to get their noses out of dusty old tomes."
Erlan scowled, wishing she could come up with some sort of witty reply. Unable to think of something, she promptly set her attention on ignoring him, instead.
Thunk!
Erlan came to a sudden halt, her legs stiffening as she comprehended something wet and gooey sliding down the back of her head, matting its way into her braid. Slowly, she shifted her book in one arm, reaching behind herself to touch the strange substance only for her fingers to come back thick and wet with mud.
Turning around, she saw Beamol grinning at her, a single hand dirty at his side from where he'd scooped up a chunk of the wet dirt beside him.
"Oh, that's it," she declared, setting her book down on a flat rock. Without another word, she stormed up to the mischievous boy, ready to . . . To do what? She wasn't sure, but she was ready to do something. And when he broke off into a run, she was quick to follow - but not before Erlan stopped to scoop up a handful of mud of her own.
"Come back here, you piece of fly scat," she yelled after him. They were running down familiar dirt paved roads, passing neighbors and curious onlookers as Beamol was quick to shove past, Erlan closing up on his heels. In fact, the girl was so focused on her need for revenge that she didn't realize where they were going until they were all but on the door that lead to her home. They past the ominous structure still stained with blood in the open clearing, then-
Beamol skidded to a halt, and Erlan crashed right into him. She had long dropped the mud she'd scooped, but when the boy stumbled and reached out to catch her, she was quick to swipe the contents on her hand across his face.
He didn't react, however. His attention was focused on the tall, willowy woman leaning against the doorpost to her home, her lips pulled into a gentle smile as she examined the two youths. Her hair, which was once full and light blond, now cupped her face and shoulders in dull, graying strands, her skin a sickly pale from a disease her body's struggled to fight over the past several years. Her simple dress hung from her boney shoulders, ending just above her bare ankles, which were spotted with dark, purpling bruises that matched the marks on her arms.
Still, nothing seemed to stop the woman from expressing her amusement.
"Good evening, Gretal Etchasdauther," Beamol stammered. Erlan jumped away from the boy, shocked to see the woman up and about. When was the last time she went outside?
"Ma?" Erlan startled. "What are you doing up?"
Gretal laughed softly, her voice too weak to handle any louder of a sound.
"I asked Beamol to get you," she said, eying the mud that clung to them both. "I want to make your dress for Hida's wedding."
Erlan frowned, tossing a quick glare in the boy's direction before focusing on her mother. Why didn't the dumb oaf just tell her that her mother needed her instead of throwing a mud ball at her hair?
Boys!
"Do you feel . . . Are you okay-" Erlan began, but at the curious raise of her mother's brow, she stopped.
"The gods strike me if I'm not strong enough to make my daughter a dress," she replied. "Come along, Erlan. And thank-you, Beamol, for your help. Even if it could have been done without making a mess."
Another grin was fitted on his lips before the last of her words were spoken.
"I'll try better next time, Miss."
~ 2132 Words ~
Heh, so what do you think about Hida and Erlan and their family? Frenza? Honestly, this is a different writing style than what I'm used to - I usually stick to 3rd person or 1st in a story, so it's been fun going back and forth between Wrenva, Erlan, and Hida.