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Heavy rain mixed with the stench of mud and the metallic tang that marked the territories of various beasts. The air was charged with the disturbing energy emanating from the living wades of black mountain that were the Vicha.
Midnight ran, a living shadow against the violent backdrop. As a Midnight Stalker pathera, she wielded great speed and agility, which allowed her to traverse swiftly across the treacherous terrain. Her senses were attuned to the unseen, discerning the subtle movements that occurred beneath the surface of the desolation, where myriad beasts of all sizes stirred and scattered in the aftermath of the Vicha’s emergence.
Her wizard would face it. Without her. Midnight’s purpose was to run and to deliver two messages. Yet, her thoughts remained entwined in the bond she shared with Yves. In the midst of the ferocious storm and the gruesome landscape and the lurking beasts surrounding her, her feelings began to weave their own challenges. They unravelled discerning observations about how different her wizard had become since she had sought him out, and how difficult it had been for her to recognise him when he had sent her away.
Of course, Midnight had been different back then, too. While she did not remember that there had ever been a time when she had not been all that she was, with all her strength and all her senses, she understood from observation that this all expanded with every day. It had been obvious when they had lived amongst many other familiars and wizards. The longer they had been at Emery Thurm, the smaller and weaker the new familiars that arrived every year had seemed in comparison to her. Back when Yves first entered as a novice, Midnight’s all had been smaller and weaker, too. With every day of her life, she had grown, and she had grown stronger.
But regardless of how much she had grown, Midnight had always been herself, while Yves had not. When they had first formed their bond, he had shared all his feelings with her outright. He had used his body to communicate. He had used his voice, too, but it was always to underline what his body said, not to contradict it. His body had told her when he was hungry, and when he was tired, and when he was cold, and when he was afraid. He had different ways of screaming for each of these messages, and with that, his voice had always clearly underlined what his body said.
Gradually, this had shifted to a phase where the screaming had stopped and the voice had become more complex. He had given Midnight her first name, Sina, and had learned to call out for her with it. He had learned words. He had learned the language of the wizard people, and Midnight had learned that each word meant a different thing, and that she needed to combine the meaning of the word with what the voice itself said to understand him.
During the time when he still acquired words, the language of the body, the message of the voice and the meaning of the word almost always supported each other. They built upon each other. Midnight and Yves would be out in the fields where Midnight could run, and when he wanted her to come back, he would wave at her, and shout “Come back!” and convey with his voice whether he was afraid or tired or simply wanted her at his side to explore another place. When training, his body would tell her “I cannot realise my full strength anymore and my senses are dulling,” and his voice would say “I am in pain,” and his words would say “I need a break.” This was the time where he told her everything outright. The time where he and their bond had still been whole.
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The more he grew, the more his body and voice and words started to contradict each other. While his body would tell her “I am exhausted and afraid,” and his voice would say “I am angry,” his words would say “I am fine.” In some regard, Midnight understood the purpose of this. When she faced an overpowering enemy and felt many things at once, she selected to show pride and fearlessness and the conviction to fight with all she had, even if she, within herself, recognised the other fighter‘s superiority. It was a decision borne from will and necessity.
But Midnight often felt that Yves did not consciously decide “I want to be fine because I need to,” but that his words did not notice or understand or trust his body and his voice. It was a disturbing realisation, because it felt like he was not one wizard, but three parts. He was the body, the voice and the words, but as soon as these split, her wizard that was the whole broke. It agitated Midnight. When he was split, the three parts did not correlate, but contradicted each other. A decision was made when one part took over. But with Yves, there were moments when none of the three parts decided. There was something else that directed, the something that Midnight dreaded so much.
Midnight had first encountered the something after they crossed the Sastomian Swamplands. Yves had isolated himself in their tower quarters for over six months. His body had said “I'° .a'.m,s`ick'´°.;:fro,m°,.;´wa.,sti`°ng-a,way`|in':,the-,.DARK,._and´°f,rom~`'NO,T,-._movi,ng',^°;.and-,.from'\,.:eatin´g´´|>too,.mUCH/´ever'.y°;..day,” and his voice had said “I am sad and ashamed and I do not want this,” and his words had said “We WILL go soon” for months. That was when the something had first emerged and acted, but not upon the body or the voice or the words that were the different parts of Yves, but upon itself, which was not Yves, which had never before been Yves. The something had immobilised him. It had acted against the body and the voice and the words. It had made him weak and fat and sick.
Even after he eventually regained himself, the something never left. It had thrived again with the feathers. And even when Yves did not use them for months, Midnight felt it. It lingered. And she believed that it had infested the bond between the body and the voice and the words. It had infested the bond she shared with the whole that was her wizard.
Because now, when his body had tried to tell her “I w̤anͭ̏̂t ṱ̶ò touͬcḧ́̏ y̖͐ͥo̪̱u aͦ͒nd̠̋͜ p̴̘rͦ͑̚e̡s̹͌s m̴ͣỹ͙̺ f͙͞͝a̷cé ag̾a̓in̘s͐t̎ͫ͡ ýo͓̕urs̼͝ b͇͂eͪc̵̴aus̢͒͝e̬_̆ ḯ̗͍t̨ g͊iv̀es̟ m̗̌e c̹ǫ̺m͚f̥̖o̘r͐t̖̰͂," the something had frozen his body. And when his voice had tried to explain “I rẹ͖ͣc̅̓og̻n͟is̟̺ͤȇ̥͞ t̵̻͛h̯̝ͣa̶t thͅi̢s̄͞ i̔s̫ a͖͢n e͒ͥnͪe͌mͩy͂ m̹o̴͖͖r̅e_ p̵͡͡o̲̟w̖͕̖e̟r͔̀̕f̜̞̎u̪l̋ t͆h̕a̟͝n̡̥ I̔ a͈͐̿m̍,̥͗” the something had distorted and fractured the voice into heavy breathing that had been nothing but fear and shame and weakness and defeat. It had emerged in its full strength. It had been in his eyes, covering what was Yves like the veil of Teharun covered the world to make darkness. It had called out to Midnight, beckoning, speaking her name, demanding recognition and acceptance that she refused to give it. She had refused to look at it.
Still, when his body had said “I will die,” and his voice had said “I͎ w̮an̼̐t͌ y̶̓̕o͡u͆ to̘ͤ̎ s̍ta̧͌̊yͧ̑͡ wit̆h̗ m̨͍e͐͊ b͓e͔͇͘cau̞̩sͦ̃e̮͐́ I̷ am̡̛ mͦ͑͗o̧r͚ͯ̿e̙͌ a̶̧͙frai̽ͯͤd̻̾ w̨͕̍iͥ̍ͅt͇̻́h̭̏͗ou͈̽̿t͍ y͔oͫu͐̈́ͮ,̼̐̓ bͧ͡u̞̕t̐ͤ I ȁm̟͡ al̈́ͩ͊s͗́o af̡rͪā̏ͦi͖d͊̆ fͣor͍̀ yo̱͝u,” and the words had said “I WANT YOU TO GO,” Midnight had left. She had understood that not the demand to go and leave him, but the command for her to go ahead had been his final decision. In that instance, she had understood that the part that was the words had taken over the broken whole to make a decision without the body and the voice, and without the something. A decision borne from will and necessity to show pride and fearlessness and the conviction to fight with all he had.
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