Snippets and Stories: (BP) Beneath the Storm (Pt. 1)

Zeal had at first believed it to provide some modicum of warmth in this harsh climate, but the severed Shol proved to be perfectly adapted to the icy terrain and the cold ineffectual, hindering them little, if at all it did.

Shols did not deem it necessary to garb themselves in cloth, for such modesty was all but absent, and the intricate weaves they did craft formed tapestries and comforts to line the den or carry water. Such things as modesty were were hardly a concern to the floral children, pertaining little to either their lifestyle or culture.

And it was for the same, that Zeal found it off that their Alpione host would not remove their shawl.

A sentimental keepsake or odd quirk, perhaps? Or mayhaps the Bluepine had learned modesty during their Time in the Sanctum.

But he dismissed it as an eccentricity, there was no need to pursue the minor characteristics, for it mattered little to their ventures, and so he left it be, this oddity of the Shol's quirk.

Whatever it may be, it was also none of his concern. And certainly such a trait, though not particularly alarming, was odd if nothing else. What the Highland Shol did was their business and so long as it didn't interfered with his mission, Zeal could care less.

But what he presumed to be a simple quirk went so far as to have the severed Shol whip around in defensive aggression, fronds flaring and teeth bared in a snarled warning.

On that particular occasion, Vye had in his fervor, unwittingly tugged on the cloth and near dislodged the article in the process. An honest mistake, and his young charge had been suitably abashed, slinking off to sulk alone after the shock had worn off.

Though it seemed to be mutual.

Not long after, Lockes followed, and when they failed to reappear within the hour, Zeal did the same.

What the Seeker found were the two Shols holed up in a nest in one of the branching niche hollows, the Highland Shol grooming Vye's plumes in a gesture he had come to understand to signify one's close bonds. In this instance, it held some semblance to remorse, and with the intentions of comfort. 

Though apologetic in intent, their Alpione host would give no such apology. For though a touch harsh in its severity, the scolding lay down boundaries the Bluepine would not have crossed.

A line they would later discover to have been drawn not by mere whim.

An eccentric quirk, Zeal had dismissed it as, nothing more. And certainly none of his concern.

At least until one evening when they had partaken, perhaps a bit too generously, of the casks hidden within the vast stores of the Alpione Ring.

That was another thing. Shols could become inebriated, but the sheer amount of alcohol consumption necessary was a huge limiting factor.

Zeal remembered it well, for it was midst conversation and all too suddenly, that the severed Shol groaned and tugged at the cuff of the thick fabric with unusually clumsy hands.

"It's much too warm." was their complaint, biting at the woven cloth in frustration when the garment proved difficult and refused to budge. After tugging at it some, the clips gave, and the shawl slipped over the Bluepine's needles.

The reaction was nigh instantaneous.

Vye lurched back from where he had been, cozy by the fireside. Though it was rude to stare, the young vale Shol couldn't wrench his gaze away from the grotesque sight.

With the exception of their hand, the left limb was shorn down to a spindly, gnarled, skeletal structure of discolored cellulose, the fibers irregular, lumpy, and misaligned, from presumed trauma and poor mending. 

It certainly explained why Lockes seemed to favor a side despite the marked prevalence of ambidexterity in their kind.

Zeal being no stranger to the scars of war was much more accustomed to the macabre, and took it in a stride with but the quirk of a brow. Still he couldn't claim, to have been completely dulled the shock. 

Shols boasted the highest of regenerative properties and were not known to bear scars, let alone such a lasting mutilation, even from the most messy of traumatic injuries. Really though, he shouldn't have expected otherwise. It would be of greater surprise if the Bluepine had left the Sanctum unscathed. Even if, or perhaps because they were a Shol.

After the ice had melted, Lockes's character proved to be a merry individual. Ironically, such merriment may have stemmed from the prolonged isolation, spent in the belief that they were but the last of their kind. The unlikely duo being the first company in over a century of solitude. Like an oasis in a desert. It was just that the Bluepine was so casual, and normal, and oh so very Shol-like in their curious and carefree nature, that it was easy to simply forget what had transpired. Forget what it was that kept them at odds when the cork yet remained in the bottle.

Ignorant to the gawking of their audience, the Bluepine lay down, favoring their weak side and sighing contentedly as their eyes slipped shut. "Much better."

They hummed absently, the relaxed smile on their face a handsome curl of the lips.

"Wh--" Vye started aghast by the unnatural sight, but a finger shushed him and he in turn snuck Zeal a horrified yet undeniably piqued look, to which the other simply shook his head.

Don't.

More for his own sake than for the young Shol's.

"What were you saying?" 

The two started and swiveled around to see the Bluepine smiling lazily at them, "I didn't quite catch that last bit."

They waited patiently as Vye gaped, before looking over to Zeal, practically brimming with simultaneous horror and curiosity.