Ly'in and the Swan
Pyra had presence, and she had certitude, but she did not have Rogan Banthor. The barbarian said the notion of surrounding himself once more with “fey” made him sick to his guts. Kenthelag knew this statement was sincere, if hyperbolic, but he thought his friend was also shaken more than he wanted to admit by Pyra's growing fixation. Only the monk and bard, therefore, trod through the forest toward Degannwy – at least in the beginning.
It had become more difficult for the two of them to talk as Pyra only half-listened nowadays to what the Elf said, and when she deigned to speak to him, he found that sometimes he did not understand her one-sided conversation. It was too allusive. Her imagination seemed to travel exotic planes while her body remained in the Southern Forest, trudging beside him and oblivious that the monk knew nothing of where her obsessed mind ventured.
Somewhere along the path they acquired a new traveling companion, although Kenthelag could not remember when or where they had the “good fortune” of Alyssa Tillan's attaching herself to them. Physically, the lass was nearly as attractive as Pyra, but she exhibited an immediate hostility toward Kenthelag that over time he began to return, quite out of his normal character. It was not only her constant insults that irritated him, but that she was clearly dependent on the other two for her safety in these woods, yet never evidenced the slightest gratitude or deference. She took their food, protection, and other aide without even a thank you.
Had Pyra been more attentive – the “old” Pyra – Kenthelag knew she would have not allowed another female to show such temerity without putting the upstart in her place with a biting composition on the bard's now seldom-used lyre. It was not, of course, that Pyra had turned meeker or more complacent, but that she was indifferent to Alyssa's behavior as long as it did not affect Pyra's over-arching goal. Kenthelag alone grew more and more exasperated by the useless parasite's presumption. He could not vent his crankiness on its true source, and Alyssa, therefore, became a caltrop in his boot that goaded his every step.
When the discordant three reached the Elvish settlement, little had changed other than – surprisingly – the contingent of Elves seemed more numerous than ever. So often Kenthelag had visited until he felt he recognized most of the permanent population, but during the last few weeks it was clear the Mists had for whatever reason made more and more quessir their prisoner. More pleasing to him than the increasing numbers, however, was he found Ly'in was now dwelling in Degannwy. He had not seen her again since that dark night in the Drain, but he remembered hers as the gentlest spirit in Barovia Mielikki had blessed his with meeting. Because of her blindness, she had not judged him based on his physical appearance, instead seeing with eyes that used a different light.
To his delight, she remembered him as well, and she encouraged his longing for knowledge and welcomed what to others of their kind were questions so elementary as to be frustrating to answer. Whether it was his unattractive face, appalling ignorance of things Elvish, or clumsy directness, Kenthelag had only once before been able to establish any sort of bond with someone of his own kind...and that had ended disastrously for them both.
With Ly'in, he dared to hope. As with all brightness in Barovia, however, something seemed to conspire almost immediately toward smothering this spark of light with shadow. One evening soon after Alyssa, Pyra, and the monk arrived in Degannwy, he saw Ly'in walk away from the bawdy Elvish talk at the campfire with a demeanor that caused him to sense a sadness was troubling her. Concerned about her mood and also her safety – even with the fierce Ocala – because she could not see, the monk followed her into a thicket.
“Is anything wrong?” he asked.
“It's nothing you can help, mellonamin.”
“I would wish for the chance to try.”
The Elf maiden paused and then said, “A deed unfortunate happened to me today.”
Pain creased her always serene face momentarily before she recovered, and the monk doubted whether he should press her but said, “What was it?”
“Like you, Kenthelag, I have been in the Mists a wayfarer. I was alone in the Drain when you first met me, but since that time there has been someone who – a man – who has helped me progress in my druidic arts.”
The monk waited, uneasily, for her to go on.
“He is strong in the ways of shifters and can assume as many shapes as a god.”
“I see. He sounds...impressive.” Kenthelag pulled his worn cloak close against the Barovian chill.
“With his tutelage, I have progressed until I can now take my first form. But today...”
The admiration that vexed Kenthelag was at once gone from her voice.
“Today, when we were practicing alone together, he said we needed to try a new technique with me before I could advance further.” A cooshee bounded near them, stared, then vanished back into the trees. The night air turned still.
“A technique?”
“It was his ruse. Instead, he put his hands on me a certain way, and...then he tried to....” She broke off.
Looking at her vulnerable face as she related the event without being able to see his reaction, Kenthelag felt his expression contort into anger. He tried to keep the emotion out of his voice. “What does this blackguard call himself?”
She told him, and the monk – whose inability to remember names did not help his efforts at making friends – promised inwardly he would not forget the three syllables that passed from her lips. For the first time, he felt another man in these lands was a personal enemy and, from her description of the shifter's powers, one he could scarcely aspire to confront. If Pyra grew in might as Eb and Arthmael had prophesied, however, then Pyra could....Kenthelag pushed that craven thought from him with a shudder.
Telling the other Elf about what had happened seem to relieve some of the tension in the composure of Ly'in. She said, “Here, come sit by me, Kenth. I don't bite...at least not often.” The half-hearted smile she made at her own joke evidenced that regardless of her frightening assault, she was still able to tolerate his company.
He sat at her feet, not aware of how cold the ground was beneath him, as she began to tell him of more pleasant fare, what she had found in the Mists that made her life enjoyable and gave her some measure of happiness. Kenthelag listened, mentally contrasting her experiences with his own. He hoped talking to him was helping take her mind off her former tutor as much as her reminiscences were to him a relief from Pyra's ambition and Alyssa's carping. Their conversation turned to the ways of Elves, and Ly'in reiterated her promise to answer all his questions and otherwise assist him in reclaiming his racial identity.
This amity went on until the first rays of sunlight told the monk that they had talked together throughout the night. Their exchanges kindled warmer and warmer, his usual requests for belonging not being met with the usual rebuffs, so that when Kenthelag saw the dawn he felt the urge to embrace Ly'in in his enthusiasm and gratitude. He rose from her feet and threw his arms around her. But in response, she started, slipped without a sound away from him, and fled into the woods.
For an instant, he thought he saw her and called out, but discovered the lurking female figure was only Alyssa, Had the pest been spying on the two of them and for how long? Alyssa answered his unspoken question with a smirk: “Well played, Hatchet Face. By the gods, but I know that had to hurt.”