[PRP] Drums [Leila Naaki & Gravoir Mament]

[Huroggmeten]

The drums echoed through the gentle valley, summoning the two-legged villagers to the funeral ceremony. Their solemn sound was so resonating, so pure, that the tone itself carried farther than perhaps intended- and lured other beings as well.
After all, as was the case with most rituals, any creature observant enough to recognize the pattern could connect that specific sound with... lamentation.

For Leila, that sound meant a fire tended carefully and then left to burn out. Sometimes: A flame, meant not to provide warmth rather to escort the flesh to whatever lay next- she appreciated the symbolism, but it did not concern her overmuch. The dead were honored, and the flame itself was left to burn through most of the night, while stories and songs of the dead rang out until even the most stoic of watch-keepers faded into quiet sleep... even when the body itself was not burned, as some tribes of these lands preferred to bury their dead, the fire was there.
And it called to her.

She was always the last to tend the coals.
Long after others had abandoned their once-beloved (or, at least appreciated for its warmth) fire, she was there. Uncovering the last little ember, letting it flicker and flare while appreciation of its very being radiated from her quiet gaze. Everything deserved quiet, and peace, and respect, in the end. Someone there, to honor it, in its last, and remember it as it was. Even the fire that was used only to keep the grievers warm as they wailed about life lost. Even a campfire. Even ash.

She was there, where others were not. When others had left, moved on, fallen into grief-stricken sleep. She was there.
Because... no one else was.

And, sometimes, those who should have lingered on called their quiet replacement themselves, even when they were unaware that they did.
She was not there for the first tendrils of flame, but she had always been there for the last flicker. Every one.
The drums echoed, and Leila's hoofbeats turned north.
 

[Summer Raaven]

The night was calm, short of the soft beating of a beautiful swan song in the distance. The sound was clear to those who bothered to listen - as a dance of the final farewell.

After a two-legger passed on, the ones they left behind carried out a ritual to honor the life they shared. Chanting and drums were the usual songs of the ritual, calling out all sorts of creatures of the night. It was....peaceful. It meant honor, love, reassurance, hope - all of which rang through the night as the ritual continued. The living alike all gathered to hear the beautiful music, paying their quiet respects to whomever had passed. Except for one. The music meant different things to all whom it called to - and in this case, it called to one who waited in the darkest part of the forest, starving.

He grinned, his mouth ripping apart to expose a set of sharp, vicious teeth. This music was the key to his heart; the trumpet blasting in his slowly decaying heart. Death, it meant. He may have been among the living, but his heart belonged to the dead. He served as the one who picked up all the pieces once the loved ones moved on. They did their ritual of mourning, picked up, and left - returning eventually to an empty grave. It was due, of course, to creatures of the night - creatures no one ever really saw with their own eyes. He lurked, peacefully, waiting until it was his turn to respect and honor the dead.

In his own way, of course. The drums called to him, telling his soul it was time do his duty to the way things were on earth. Everything had a purpose, and his called to him in the music of the night.

The foolish two-leggers did do something right, however - they chose to believe in what they called, 'the afterlife': the spirit living on past the final moment of the body on earth. The two-leggers used this belief as a way to sooth their sorrow when a loved one passed on; they were not gone, not really, just in...a better place. They left the body of their death either buried or burned to ash, and moved on with their beliefs in a happier place. And they were right in this ritual. The spirit leaves the body the moment the creature dies, no longer having ties to the living world. What good was it then, to have a burial ground, or a funeral pyre?

Except for the feast of the carnivorous.

He lived with the belief that he did the death a favor - he cut them from the living world completely - picking away at their bodies until there was nothing left but bone, and then discarded the bones in a way he thought fit. There was nothing clean about the deed that he did every night, but he never left a mess. The stallion would clean up his dirty work, and make it appear as though the grave had never been touched, therefore going unnoticed by the living.

And it worked.

As the drums continued their siren song, and slipped deeper and deeper into the night, waiting until the two-leggers were gone. He would be alone then, finally letting the thirst subside.  

[Huroggmeten]

A different kind of lurker in the night waited at the edges of the village, having made her way there with her golden eyes shining out from the darkness. She waited at a respectful distance, for her was not needed yet; the fire was still tended by the Mother of the deceased, her wails turning quiet as her voice began to crack as night wore on.
Soon, her remaining son encouraged her off into the night- Though Leila did not know their relationship for certain, she made the quiet assumption from observing scenes like these in times long past... after all, a son to comfort a grieving mother would certainly keep her bundled indoors, clinging to what remains while wrapped in black mourning-cloths, and thus the final two-legged observers of the fire would move on.
And she would move forth.

These were the larger fires, those that burned brightest and longest. Longer even than forest fires, like those that had stolen her family from the world.
An eerie sort of calm settled about her as she strode forth, golden hooves flashing in the pale moonlight as she approached the flickering flames as if in a trance. The son had scooped some dirt over the fire, but he had left it still simmering quietly- confident in the ability of the clearing to keep the flames away from the brush, he had only partially suffocated it, perhaps thinking that a two-legged would return in the night to say a final farewell.
Even if so, it did not matter to Leila; she did not mind being seen overmuch, she had merely waited out of respect for the grief of those who had been left behind.

She walked as if in a trance, and lowered her head to watch as the flames slowly trailed off into smoke.
Circling the fire once, she breathed on the embers, withdrawing only to avoid being singed as the flickers brightened on borrowed time.

When it was time, the fire would turn to naught but smoke and the crackles and pops would slowly fade until they were so few and far between that it was time to say goodbye.
She would tend the flame as long as it was willing, and when it was time, she would move on... but not before it had turned entirely to ash. And not while the ash still held warmth.
Perhaps her obsession was one that started with the fire that she had missed- or that had missed her- so many years ago. She hadn't been there, so she must always be here now.
But, the truth was... she'd always like flames.
They soothed her and invigorated her, and yet she did not watch for her own pleasure; she watched because she found that no one else appreciated the very last light, no one else honored those without voices.
Only she.
The body in its final resting place.
And the occasional night-owl.
 

[Summer Raaven]

Time had passed as Gravoir made his way over to the sound of the drums, listening as they proceeded to die, along with the wails of those who were left behind. This had meant, of course, that it was coming closer to the moment when nothing would left but the body of the deceased, and with that - dinner. He grinned a toothy, bloody grin and crept slowly out of the shadows, waiting.

Respecting the dead, no. Not respecting. Just...knowing when the appropriate time was, is all. Gravoir had never been one for conversation so he roamed the earth alone, every night searching for the next meal. Whomever it had been who had passed mattered not to him, for they were no longer alive - why did it matter? The living mourned for their soul, not their body, so they were no longer of this earth. All he saw was the flesh, the meal that had been laid out for him, time and time again.

He saw her, then, making her way over to the dying embers. Had...someone else come to do the same as he? Had someone else beaten him at his own game? Gravoir growled under his breath, glaring at the creature that moved without hesitation. But, she made no move toward the body, he noted. She...she had been looking at the embers? What was her purpose? Was she the protector of the dead, from creatures like him? Another growl. The brightest of her had struck him, as clear as the tiny embers she was guarding. Unlike his own dark, death-ridden look, she looked full of life. What in the world was she doing out here, all alone? Didn't she know of the dangers that lurked in the night?

He'd just have to show her.

"Why, hello," he snarled from the shadows that surrounded the area. Out of the way of the light given off by the dying flame, he was certain he could not yet be seen. Only his eyes, glowing yellow in the blackness of the earth, were plainly visible to an onlooker. He had wondered, for a moment, whether that would frighten the mare off, or if he'd be able to watch her for a few more minutes before forcing his way over to his dinner. He quite liked the sight before him, admiring how the bright golden yellow colors of her body mixed with the light from the flame. Whatever it was she had been planning on doing, or however long she had been planning on staying was going to be short lived, however.

For she was the only thing standing before him and his duties, and he doubted she'd allow him to do so without a fight. So, he'd force her to leave.  

[Huroggmeten]

That night owl had a rather deep voice.
Leila paused in her silent revelry, her spirit languidly detaching itself from the dying embers as the voice that hinted of dark things broke through the silence. The voice penetrated her peaceful observation, the tradition of her own making; the snarl pierced her calm, though it did not disturb her core.
A simple greeting, nothing more.

She was rarely.... greeted. Most often, those she was near were no longer in any state to speak. After all, their bodies lacked the vitality of life- and without life, what was there?
Honoring it.

She turned slowly, twin embers seeking the source of such a voice- and finding glowing yellow orbs surrounded by blackness. Lanterns in the night.
A beacon... but for what?

She found her mind plodding slowly towards a response; she felt... somehow out of practice, with the living. For, that voice... it was not the quiet whisper of a last breath released from a stiffening body, nor was it the mental vibration of what she assumed those who heard them considered 'voices from beyond the grave.' This was no grave-dweller.
Perhaps...

Her heart ached as she considered the possibilities. Oh, not often, but sometimes... a four-legged friend lingered beyond the last breath. Longer even than the two-leggeds with their concepts of appropriate time and grieving- oh, Soquili had their own, as varied and diverse as the colors of their coats and shades of their hearts, but those few...
Perhaps that explained the quiet promise of menace.
And, yet, if he were a friend... why did he linger in shadow?

"Hello." she echoed, considering the darkness of mind that might cause one to linger in the absence of light, and then simply: stopped. She stopped thinking, stopped assuming, stopped presuming, and .... listened.
Whatever he wanted, it would come to light in time.

She glanced back at the embers, growing ever-colder.
Sending a gentle stream of breath towards the waiting flickers of flame, she paused as she considered what had spurned her to tend the fire once more. She normally breathed once, no more, sharing breath and life before watching it fade somberly into darkness.
But, perhaps, now... she breathed for two?

She looked back towards the Voice.
"Come."
 

[Summer Raaven]

Her presence with the fire hadn't changed as she noticed the presence of another, and for whatever reason, it took Gravoir for a surprise. Typically, he had experienced, that when someone - or something - said hello, without a body visible, it would cause for alarm. But this mare...she...seemed moved by his words. He snorted, shaking off the shock of her reaction with as much swiftness as he could muster and decided this was going to be a game. Attack her he would never, but toy with her....absolutely. He had always had the upper hand in the past, for his looks provided him solitude (no one wanted to spend time with a creature who looked as though he was rotting like the bodies of those he ate), and he would slowly come out of the shadows, revealing himself inch by inch. Yes. If she didn't run by the time she saw the markings of bone and blood, she was simply...foolish.

Eyes still glowed a bright yellow as he crept forward, revealing his bone-ridden face, complete with the decaying flesh that seemed to keep his mouth stuck in a permanent grin. With sharp fangs showing, inviting the little mare into the blackness of his soul, he grumbled, "you are very brave, commanding a creature such as I to 'come'. Or is it foolishness? We are alone, dearie...don't you know what happens to things like you when you are alone in the night?" He hadn't meant it as a direct threat, but more of a game - like a predator toying with it's prey. A smile, as twisted as his mouth could form, crept onto his face as he stared at the mare before him, still half-way covered in the shadows of the night.

It didn't appear that she would leave without provocation, and although he'd never admit it, someplace deep within himself, he was mildly impressed. Oh, but she had to be foolish, had she not? Or perhaps, perhaps the dead had been someone she had held close to her heart and would not move for any reason other than her own death. A shrug passed through his body before he continued forward, the ground beneath his hooves shaking with every step.

"Move, dearie. Your time with the fire is over," he snapped his fangs together, mimicking biting into something and didn't take his gaze off the mare once.  

[Huroggmeten]

Leila sighed.
Oh, it would be one of those nights.

She glanced at the face emerging from shadow, seeming to rot before her very eyes even as the creature crept forward. Oh, yes, that would please one such as he, wouldn't it? Being called "Creature". A creature of the night.
She had seen her fair share of... night-dwelling predators. Being mostly nocturnal, by choice, meant that she crossed paths with those who were more comfortable in the night.
Sometimes she wondered if it was personal preference, comfort for big eyes meant to see in the dark such as those owls she had once mistaken him (oh, yes, this one was masculine), or because most beings were more tense at night- easier to scare.
And easier to catch.

She watched him stalking forward as he showed his fangs, and as he began to speak she felt herself more curious than afraid. How did his flesh stay on his form, when it seemed such an unhealthy color? Oh, she had seen greens before, earthy colors and vibrant hues reminiscent of new life and fresh things, but his unique hue of pea-green... oh, no, that was not a shade normally found among the living.
She did not believe in the un-dead. Once a body was in the ground, there it stayed. To be visited by loved ones, perhaps, nothing more.

But she did believe in egotistical creatures whose visions of themselves caused them to do horrid things in the name of their claimed identity.
Her voice came out weary, as if she were already tired of his games "A creature such as you?" Oh, yes, he would like that.
"Things like me?" What was she? Pretty, delicate, a graceful little flower... they did not respect the strength that lay within. Her silent vigil, her ceaseless task. Her form may be slight, but it was well-muscled if a little slender; she was not unaccustomed to long hauls and sleepless nights, and those had lent her strength of body and spirit rather than made her over-lean. Nonetheless, she knew her limits, and a large stallion.. well.
"My name is Leila, and I would thank you not to call me your dear... "

Oh, no, her time was not over.
The last ember still glowed.
 

[Summer Raaven]

As he approached the mare, he notices the way her dark coat acted as a stark contrast against the bright colors that speckled her body. It was almost poetic, the way she stood there, guarding the dying flame as darkness swallowed the night; she was the ember, he mused, the last bit of light before it all went out and the creatures took over. Creatures like him. He grinned, admiring her figure as they stood there staring at each other. He, the rotting flesh, the dead, the dying, and she, the last bit of light on the earth. Yes, poetic indeed.

However dark he may be, he would openly admit to being wooed by a good story. Maybe her story was worth listening to, and maybe it wasn't. All he could do to was toy with her until it wove itself, the dark vs. the light, as it should be.

Ohohohoho, he laughed whole-heartedly, allowing the deep rumbling with his vocal chords to disrupt the quietness of the air around them. She was not a mare to be taken easily, was she? He liked that - a mare that spoke her mind, but oh, was she foolish. It did no one any good to bite the enemy before understanding it's weakness, and she....she seemed to be full of venom. In a figure of speech, of course. Ohohoho, calling him out on his words, like some tough little gazelle against a big, dangerous lion?

But Gravoir, too, was no fool. She was good at the games she played, and she was no gazelle. Never underestimate your opponent, dangerous or not - looks were not always what they seemed. He smiled, nodding his head as if to tell her he understood what she was playing at - a worthy friend in the night.

Or foe. She wouldn't be able to tell, would she?

"Things like you, creatures like me, it all means the same, does it not? Words are just words, after all," he sneered, matching her sarcastic wits with a bit of his own. Was she truly that bothered by a few simple choice words? What would she do then, when the real danger came? Sure, she thought herself more than the pretty face & the smaller stature, and true as they may be, she was no match for him - or anyone - physically. If words made her that uncomfortable, how would she wiggle her way out of a full on attack? Oh, he'd like to know.

But she was too much fun to do anything about it - and it would break his code. He did not attack unless provoked, and she didn't provoke him. Yet.

"Ah, Leila, dearie is what I call everyone, don't think you're special. I am Gravoir Mament, and I believe your job here is done, Leila, fortunately. Let the night do what it does," he didn't bother finishing his sentence as his glowing orbs watched the embers as they crackled on their last breath, willing it to quit so she'd be forced to leave without him having to take further action.

His stomach betrayed him as it grumbled loudly, and he grimaced.  

[Huroggmeten]

He clearly was not here to mourn.
Some, even, might think he may rejoice... in death. Or, at least, in living things passing on to let their corpse be... her eyes flickered over his form... used.

It was not her business. She was here to tend the last flickers of the coal, to watch the dying flame- to give it peace in its last moments, nothing more.
There were no mourners here.

His words, punctuated by the growl of his stomach, turned her slightly.

"Not yet."

She said quietly, watching the last crackles of the ember's warm orange glow slowly fading away.
She breathed, though kept this breath to herself- one meant to calm the soul, not kindle one last moment of warmth.

She believed that the last were the most special moments.
Before the end, before everything that was fades away and all that is left is what physicality remains.
Even fire.

To share it with this creature... well.
He, too, would someday have an end.

"The night may have what the last light leaves behind." She glanced towards him, wondering if he would be so insecure as to take her words as a challenge or see what lay beneath. "I am here 'til then."
Her vigil would not be interrupted by his urgency, though she understood that if she lingered too long... did his tastes run purely towards decayed flesh? Or would he ever prefer something... fresh?

She remembered the snap of his fangs, just as the darkness came for the fire.

Go in peace.

A look of such serenity came over her face, she could not suppress a small sigh of wistful pleasure at knowing that all those who mourned, including the vigilant fire, were gone.
This, now... peace.

Or.

She moved back, giving way to the creature she had 'invited'- he had not needed any more time here, that was now clear, she had beckoned him merely to show that she did not covet solitude- if he came to say last goodbyes, let him come undisturbed by her- but he came for reasons his own.

And she would not stay to watch.

"I know that I am not special. But these moments are sacred."

She moved to leave.

"Enjoy your meal."

Summer Raaven