The Starlit Soul

Over the Mountains

For once, no time was wasted in getting ready to leave. The elders were notorious for taking a long time to get anything ready, spending dozens of seasons to deliberate over nearly anything. Not this time. Early the next morning Lysander found himself standing just outside of town with Alaric and his mother, the sun just starting to lighten the sky. A few people gave the little group glances as they went about their day-to-day lives, and Lysander took a moment to stretch, using his spear to keep his shoulders straight as he popped his back.

With a yawn – he hadn't gotten much sleep last night – he double checked his supplies.

His pack was strapped across his back, his knife, sling, and stone pouch hanging at his side. All essentials, and really all he needed. The only change to his ensemble was a brand-new, green-colored spider-silk shirt that he'd traded some furs with the Xi for – after seeing how much people liked them, he needed to try it for himself. So far it was very light and breathable, not at all restricting like the traditional leathers he usually wore.

Though the shirt could use a bit more...color. He didn't know how the Xi dyed the silk that color, but maybe some tassels or something to break up the color would be nice.

Alaric watched him with some amusement from the side, the red-haired elf equipped for a serious hunt rather than the simple excursion Lysander thought it would be. He gripped his good hunting spear in one hand, decorated heavily with leather grips dyed red, puffy fur, and feathers hanging from just below the head, and had a bow slung across his back right beside his own travel pack. Like everything else he wore, the pack was covered in bits of fur, this one from a large storm wolf, supposedly. He loved displaying the fruits of his hunts this way, though Lysander found his eyes drifting back to the bow over and over again.

Bows weren't a very common weapon. For most elves a sling or atlatl worked just fine; the bow was a weapon favored by hunters, particularly of the variety that enjoyed going after dangerous beasts. Of whom Alaric was easily the most skilled. Did he really think he would need that, or was he just being cautious?

"Don't worry, we'll match your pace," he teased. Lysander snorted and shot the man a look, cracking his neck.

"I'll be able to keep up just fine, thank you very much," he said, rolling his shoulders. "I may not be able to match you in terms of magic yet, but I can run."

"It's fine, Lysander. You don't have anything to prove," his mother said from where she stood, clearly amused. Unlike Alaric, she didn't carry any weapons. In fact, she didn't have many supplies at all – not even a proper bag from what he could see – just a simple flint knife in a leather sheathe hanging from her waist. It was unlikely she would need even that. She was scary like that. "But you have everything you need? It could be a long trip."

"Of course I do. I've taken longer and further trips than this with less supplies." Lysander assured her, rolling his eyes. He wasn't a child anymore and hadn't been for a long time, no matter how much she still treated him like one. "Besides, it's only about a week or two away as the crow flies. It took longer to get there in a canoe." His mother frowned at him.

"You never know what could happen." She said, but didn't push the issue any further.

"We're not waiting for anyone else, right?" Lysander asked, changing the subject and making sure nothing had changed in the past few hours. Both Alaric and his mother nodded. Despite his interest Old Man Xi hadn't had any desire to actually go, and despite her desire to come, Sybella had not been allowed. Geovrick had, of course, tried to weasel his way into coming despite not knowing what was going on – but unlike Lysander he had an innate, and largely rational, fear of both his mother Fyra and Alaric. All it had taken was one good glare to get him to let it drop, much to Lysander's amusement.