The Slums of Euridayl

28: Oculos

(tw: gore, injury, violence)

It was not until the second sunrise crept over the horizon that the two of them started to worry. The base of the potion was completed, kept at a low boil and a soft yellow in colour. Still, there was no sign of either Enid or Arius whatsoever.

Kieran had started to pace back and forth, his bottom half wrecking more than its fair share of bookstacks and trinkets in the old man's home. As soon as Thokre caught wind of the other man's worry, he ushered the guest into his plush armchair and settled a firm hand on his shoulder. Kieran looked up, dark blue eyes swirling with regret.

"Sit here dear, I'm going to put some tea on."

The younger man nodded, though his head hardly moved at all. His eyes were cloudy and faraway. Enid had become very important to him and the idea of being the reason she died at the bottom of a cave, never to be found again... It was safe to say his state of mind was unwell.

Thokre scanned the aisles of tea somewhat nervously. For himself and Arius, he used inexpensive teas of all sorts of flavour. Upon realising the apprentice had never tried tea of any kind up until his living with Thokre, the old man took it upon himself to immerse the boy in the experience of tea fully. Tea was an artform, a lifestyle even. To think of what it would be to live a life without it was unspeakable to Thokre. He shuddered at the thought as his wrinkled, wise fingers dug about in the cabinet.

Eventually he decided on a calming mint and chamomile, with just a dash of elderberry flavour to help soothe his guest's growing nerves. Thokre himself was every bit as worried but not for the same reasons. He was uncertain of how Enid might react, were she to uncover that the boy was a lycan. It unsettled him to think of how the fight may go if the two had turned on one another. Still, in his old age he'd come to accept that worry never solved anything and that patience was the key to overcoming it.

He muttered the usual incantation and set the kettle over it. Then he shuffled, robes shifting, back over to the sitting area where Kieran was planted. The man was still as a statue and unreadable in expression. Thokre settled himself in a cross legged position on the floor. Something about the movement shook Kieran from his daze as his face quickly contorted to one of complete horror.

"Sir, please, you can take the chair, I'll do the floor."

Thokre waved a hand to dismiss him as he let his eyelids fall shut calmly.

Kieran shuffled nervously and made to protest again. To let an elder take an uncomfortable position was unspeakable by any means in Dillac, and Kieran felt he betrayed his very ancestors by doing such a thing.

"Sir, I can't imagine that's any good for you. Here, let me-"

"Boy, let me be. I'm old, not dying. Anyhow I'll have to get up when the kettle hisses anyways and it's easier to meditate on the floor."

Kieran sighed acceptance and begrudgingly allowed the man to continue sitting on the floor. It was Thokre's home after all, and he was in no position to tell a man what to do inside of his own home. The man sat with his eyelids drawn shut, taking long and slow breaths in through his nose. Kieran had only ever heard of Druids practising meditation back home in Drumwe, but then, how different were Druids from wizards really?

Soon enough, the kettle started to hiss loudly and Thokre stretched his desert tan arms up over him before grumbling and pulling himself from the floor. Kieran watched the man with empty eyes as he pondered what sort of elder he might be down the line. The worry in his chest had settled some but it still crept about in the back of his mind like a dark shadow. What would he do if Enid was hurt? How would she ever forgive him?