An Elder's Wisdom
Log Info
- Title: An Elder's Wisdom
- Place: Am'shere - Cottage near the Portal
- Summary: Harkashan goes to find the elder Deathsinger known as Miquitlani in search of guidance.
It isn't hard for Harkashan to find Miquitlani in Am'shere. The elder sith-makar is described as a member of the Shaman caste, but she has been around for so long and is spoken of in such venerated words that it sounds like she can help Harkashan in his journey for answers. Directions and the guessing-game of where the Elder happens to be leads to a small cottage in a village that's close to the portal, the structure wrought in a mixture of beautiful volcanic stones and limestone that typically construct the houses and buildings of the makari.
A small sith-makar sits on a stool, her eyes closed as she seems to just enjoy the temperate evening that has fallen on the jungle. The smell of slow-simmering meat, generously spiced and seasoned with peppers and more, wafts out from her humble adobe. Her dark-green scales are not as polished and as shiny as they once were, but her dark robes and the symbol of the Death-singing Goddess announce her for who she is: the Deathsinger Miquitlani. A content, rumbling melody leaves her.
Where Harkashan goes, it is not uncommon to see Rune not far behind. As of late, the Deathsinger's strange behavior has been a concern, enough have dragged her all the way here from Alexandros to aid him in his quest to find answers. Their relationship was a fledgling thing, and one that was made that was stretched thin due to the uncertainty that comes with never really knowing when he might lose himself to whatever force has changed his form.
As the lava-scaled Makari steps forward to offer his greeting, Rune repeats it, but she uses the Draconic tongue. "Peace on your Nest, and Ancestors blessing on the eggs, your mate, and offspring." Though it is obvious she is no native speaker, there is a comfort of long use with the growls, hisses, and clicks that come with it. Her head is bowed forward, showing obvious respect to the elder.
"I am the Deathsinger's companion, Leirune." She continues. Unusually, there is a hint of scales on her skin. They are a dusky gray-blue color that clings along her forehead, jawline, and are scattered in a few other places. It's not from any sort of draconic blood, and more likely the result of magic. "If my presence is at all a bother, I'd be glad to step away so you two can speak." <draconic>
The elderly sith-makar opens her eyes to regard the two new arrivals in front of her. One of them is a brilliant orange, and the other is a silvered one that seems to be the result of age or maybe an old wound that has left a scar. Her tail sways back and forth as she regards Rune and Harkashan both, the pleased hum still continuing in her throat.
"Aya, children, children. This one welcomes you to the home." Her Draconic is affectionate and warm, especially as she gestures to Rune, before switching into tradespeak--adopting a startlingly direct way of speaking, even if there is a Draconic accent to it and a rasp from years of work and talking. This suggests quite some extended contact with 'softskins'. "You speak the language so well, my girl. You both come inside. I feed the both of you."
Miquitlani--as it very much appears this is her--toddles into her house, waving off any complaints or refusals that might come her way. There's not much room to sit down, but once inside, the smell of the food is simply overwhelming and divine in its own way. "Did you travel far?" she asks, already assembling warmed discs of ground corn to wrap around this wonderful-smelling meat. "Tell me of your troubles."
It would be most impolite to refuse an offered meal. Harkashan bows his head in respect and appreciation. "I thank you for your welcome, and your food." He answers her, shifting from common to Draconic to Tradespeak with semi-relative ease. He isn't so fluent as Rune is with the quantity of languages she knows, but the ones he does know, he's had some years to ingrain himself into.
"My recent travels take me from Akochilistli Kuauhtla." A nearby community around a Zigurat - a spice market that sees trade from the Portal. "It was not too far." He adds, as he finds a comfortable spot on the floor itself, and kneels down. Taking up as little room as he can with his big lizard tail coiling around him.
He then takes a moment to take in the smells. The warmth. The welcome. The Elder is a stranger, yet, here in Am'shere, she is as much family as his mother would be. Shamans both. Deathsingers both.
"Thank you." He starts, bowing his head once more. "I come to you speaking of memories not my own. Or... moments of Deja Vu, yet of knowledge that I do not recall obtaining." Harkashan begins with that. He then touches a few of his scales. "They seem to come with a heat upon my scales that reminds me of my own Awakening, a long time ago."
The warmth and affection offered by the older Makari seems to set Rune somewhat at ease. As a child of two-worlds, she often never felt welcomed among any, so it is a rare time when warmth is so openly given. "I had a very good teacher." Her blue eyes look towards the taller Makari beside her. "One that was far too patient with my failing attempts in the early days." This is followed by a small lift of one side of her mouth in a show of affection.
Never one to turn down an offer of food, Rune doesn't so much as raise a peep at the offer, accepting the invitation gratefully. "Before that, we had come from Alexandros." She seamlessly adds to Harkashan's explination of their recent travels.
As the lava-scaled one settles, Rune takes a moment to let him find his place before doing the same next to him. She easily tucks her legs beneath herself with a practice that may very well have been trained into her. "It's not only that." Just as before, Rune seems to continue where Harkashan had left off, "He's been changing, physically. The brighter portions of his scales have grown more extensive." She explains, "And he sometimes seems to lose himself. When he does, it's almost as if someone else is there behind his eyes."
This is what worries Rune, and it shows in the set of her brow and the expression she casts towards the Makari male.
"Ay! I know the market. There are many good things there. I visit often when I am here in Am'shere." Miquitlani continues to speak in tradespeak, perhaps out of regard for Rune. She plates the warmed wraps of corn filled with the simmered meat onto two plates that she distributes first to Rune, then to Harkashan, before she returns to the pot to make a plate for herself.
A concerned noise leaves her. "Aaah. Memories that are not your own. Changing scales and knowledge. Your friend seeing your eyes go far away. These are signs of many things."
She finishes her plate and takes a seat by her guests. It's a slow and careful shuffle. Clearly she doesn't get around as easily as she once did, but that also doesn't stop her. "What do the memories and the knowledges say? If they speak about the same thing or similar things, it is easier to determine what is happening to you."
There is a sweet touch of Harkashan's, reaching out and laying his hand to Rune's arm, when she mentions her patient teacher. "And an even more patient student - as she had to teach her teacher in some matters as well." He reminds her. Sildanyari is not an easy language for the Draconic male to wrap his head around. Lacking the harsher natured tones of Draconic.
There's a nod that follows from him, before he releases his clawed fingers from Rune's arm as she mentions that he's been changing. Losing himself. A long thoughful hrrm escaping him, before he looks to the Shaman.
"I have spoken to others. But they have not seen such matters before. A friend, Telamon, believes some of it may be something of an Aspect granted by Ea's magics. But others, he doesn't know."
But then the memories. Harkashan isn't aware of some of what Rune has seen. Not in detail. So he can only speak to the memories themselves. He takes the wrap around meat and easily bites a big chunk. Heat doesn't bother him, so he forgets to tell Rune to be careful - it's hot.
"That's the thing... they speak of many things. Like, flashes of places I've not traveled. But ever when it's relevant. One will mention a place such as Dran to me, and I recall the fields of Dran, as if I once visited them myself. One will mention The Vast, and I see the warping fields..." He explains. "If it were Am'shere, or perhaps a single land, I would say my ancestors had seen them. But they are too varied." He explains. Harkashan had not gone into this great detail yet in describing this to Rune before.
The slight touch to her arm is met with a soft smile from Rune. It seems likely that some measure of their relationship began with that simple act of teaching each other their native tongues.
She doesn't dwell there for long, especially as food is offered. Taking a deep breath of the scent from the the food. "By the gods, I've really missed Makari cooking. You just can't get the right spices in Alexandros." Rune had traveled with a group of Makari for over two years, so developing a spice tolerance had likely been quite important to her survival. "Of course, Harkashan could probably tell stories about how much I used to hack and cough at nearly everything they fed me."
She then digs in, allowing Harkashan to explain a bit more about his experiences. Oh, she still reacts, but it's that soft 'woo' of someone appreciating something spicy rather than the 'oh my gods I am dying' sound that most softskins might have.
A little bit of sweat shows on her forehead, but Rune fans herself before she adds a bit of detail just as she had before. "It may or may not be related but... in a dream-vision that we shared, I saw a strange after-image around him. As if there were another being there."
Miquitlani rumbles softly. It's a contemplative sound, especially as she takes a generous bite of her own cooking. "Another one with him. Ancestor-visions."
She peers between Harkashan and Rune for a long moment as she continues to eat, and then she concludes, after finishing one of her tlahcos--as that is what these are--"This sounds like something more than the Memory."
That one good orange eye regards Rune for a moment, before she looks back to Harkashan. "I think there is something within you. Something that has laid claim to you. Someone who wants to speak to you. I can help you establish a connection. But first, you eat." That's an order.
There's this little appreciative sound from Harkashan as well. The spice for him goes easy. But he appreciates Rune's appreciation for Sith-makar cooking. The intense heat mixed with intense flavor. There's this little joyful look in his eyes as he watches Rune dig in, sweat coming down her forehead already.
"Do you need water?" Harkashan inquires with Rune, before she remarks on the after-image. There's a little surprised 'ruh' from the male, followed by a few clicking clacks of his teeth as he open and closes his jaw in a quick manner. Clack-clack-clack-clack-clack.
He continues to eat, devouring the food. While thinking of what Miquitlani is saying. "Someone who has... laid claim to me?" He asks, looking to Rune in that moment with a bit of pale on his gaze. After all... it would appear both of these travelers have a claim laid upon them. Is it something that has to do with the Golden Fate? He doesn't know, of course. But it is enough to worry him.
"If someone wishes to speak to me, why do they not speak to me..." He rumbles. "Or... am I not understanding how to listen?" One of the first things that a Speaker learns, is how to listen. Much is the same with a Deathsinger when it comes to the dear departed. But it also means he is more aware of the concept of failing to listen.
"Probably." Is Rune's response, not feeling at all ashamed about it. Even after all this time, she isn't completely immune to the impact of the spices. She wipes a hand across her forehead, but it doesn't seem to stop her from continuing to eat.
The surprised look from Harkashan is met with a pause, though, as she raises a brow, "Did I forget to mention that?" Oops. "I... sort of saw something like it when I was trying to wake you up, too." That would have been outside of the dream, though.
Her blue eyes look between the two, brows furrowing. She doesn't directly raise her own strange connection to some unknown creature and all the confusion that goes with that. It seems like Harkashan's issues are far beyond what she's experienced. "Maybe it isn't quite that simple? I mean... the one vision I had of the 'Golden Fate' was vague and left me with more questions than I started with."
"Things that come from beyond our world struggle with talking like we would," Miquitlani replies carefully. "Not all things, but some do."
She finishes her meal and rises from her seat. "Visions are one way that they speak. It is one of the easiest ways for those beyond the world to communicate. And so..."
Miquitlani looks at Harkashan in particular. "I am able to give you something that will open your mind. A tea. It will enable you to speak with this entity more openly. It is used in some rituals to commune with spirits and things of that nature."
"Hrrm..." Harkashan listens and hears what Miquitlani says. "I understand. I think." He has experience with the dead having trouble reaching out the way one would expect. Oft filled with confusion.
He nods to Rune. Indeed, it will not be simple. It rarely is, is it?
He then opens his both hands into a bowl-like manner, and nods. "I will receive your tea, Shaman." Harkashan answers her. "I must learn how to listen and speak to this entity, so I can ensure I do not risk myself and my allies." And his friends.
"Thank you." Ever reverant.
He then looks to Rune. "What did you see? Just... you know, to give me a heads up. Just in case I want to not look shocked at something with dead flesh falling from its cheeks or something."
It isn't long before Rune, too, finishes with the meal. She isn't quite as fast at it as the Makari, but the fact that all she has managed was a bit of sweat, it's still remarkable. Taking a moment, she unslings a waterskin and drinks deeply, then seems to shift her attention back to Harkashan.
She knows little about such rituals, but if Harkashan is willing, Rune accepts this. "I'll be right here." It's offered as support, her hand reaching out to lay across one scaled forearm.
With him asking what she had seen, Rune's lip quirks, "Nothing like that. It... was almost like seeing a double-image of you. Like two of you overlaid ontop of each other. It was really subtle so... I'm not sure if it wasn't just my fool brain being in panic mode."
Miquitlani goes back into the kitchen part of her humble adobe. She busies herself with the act of preparing the tea. It takes some time.
But eventually she waddles back to Harkashan and hands him a stone mug, wide-brimmed enough to make sense for a sith-makar snout. "Your friend and I will be here," she says. "You don't need to fear the being from beyond."
"A double-image of me?" Harkashan asks. Indeed, that does sound like one's mind is just playing tricks on her. He still furrows his brow a bit, considering what he is about to step into. A tea that connects him to the spirits... it's worth steeling his mind for.
When Miquitlani returns with the stone mug, he accepts it into both hands and bows his head once more. "I will steel myself, and persuade myself not to fear." He croons bemusedly. "Thank you, Shaman Miquitlani." Before bringing the tea to his nose, taking a looong sniff. Fumes of warmth entering his nose, before he drinks it up. Long, patient gulps. Not taking time to savor it, but also not just 'gulping it down'. The kind of serene patient swallowing of someone who has perhaps learned how to accept drinks such as these.
Once the drink is down, he lets out a long breath, and closes his eyes, lowering his head, and laying his hands to his legs. One hand up, one hand down. The up hand on Rune's side. After all... she gives him strength.
"I saw what I saw." Rune replies, knowing how strange it might sound. Her head tilts, far too willing to accept that she doesn't understand much about the magic that flows within the world and just how it can impact people.
Once the Shaman returns with her strange brew, Rune settles herself facing towards Harkashan. It makes it an easy position for his hand to rest against her side. She leaves her own hand laying across his forearm, fingers just at the crook of the elbow. "Good luck."
The tea washes down. It's not exactly the most pleasant taste in the world, but... it's also not exactly the worst, and that's a small mercy. What it does induce quickly is a trance, an experience that is, for Harkashan, like floating...
- Floating...
- Floating...
- Floating--!
And then there is heat. Oppressive heat, searing heat, but held away from the body just enough that it isn't really painful so much as it is a reminder that there is a presence here. Something beyond Harkashan. Something... All around Harkashan.
No. Something within Harkashan. The heat is coming from within him--
Finally there is vision in front of Harkashan. They're images that come quickly, impossibly quickly and in front of his eyes. They slip away before he can firmly register them. Scales. Lava. Teeth. Pools of blood. Scales. Lava. Teeth. Blood. Scales. Lava. Teeth. Blood.
"Child."
It's a deep and rumbling voice that overpowers Harkashan's every thought. "Speak."
One hand in his. A tetter to the real world, in case he needs it. Holding, as the tea spreads through his veins. Tracing into his mind...
There's a little grimace. That sensation of floating, his head getting fuzzy. Harkashan rarely imbibes in alcohol or anything that might put him in a state where he's not fully in control. So relinquishing control is a bit difficult for him at first. But, he relinquishes it all the same.
Letting that sense come. Like he's moving behind himself. Like his body is being drawn away from...
Floating back... before... heat!
Flame and heat are kin to Harkashan. But there's a certain amount where even 'Lava', as some call him, has to ward it off. Within the trance, he tries to lift his hand, guarding from the flame, so he can see beyond him.
Opening his eyes to the vision itself, without opening his eyes in the material plane. Burning. His scales are burning. His head tilts down, looking, hands touching to his chest as the heat continues to burst from within. A Child of Flame is no stranger to heat within themselves. But this is different.
He lets out a panting huff in the real world.
In the vision, visions begin to come. Sharp, quick. Each one captured into the Memories of the Sith-makar's flaming blood. Lava. Teeth. Blood! Whose blood?
Then, a voice. A voice that demands him to speak...
What do you say to someone, to an entity within him?
As a Speaker, he has learned one thing. And though it is at risk of something, he still gives it.
"I am Harkashan, Sith-Makar, Death Singer to the Death Singing Dragon." A voice that reaches back to that rumbling voice that makes his bones tremble. His voice, tremble. "Whom is it, whose memories I see?" Believing them to be sourced to this being within him.
The images. Feathers. Scales. The tail of a great serpent coiled around a stone that oozes magma like ichorous blood. Crystals that are bright red, blood-red. The heat continues from within Harkashan and outside of Harkashan. It is himself and yet it is something besides himself. Something that is housed within him, within his soul, within his body, and it is not only him. It's a frightening thing to realize that one is not alone in their own body, but that's the quickest conclusion to be drawn from a voice that is so much louder than his own.
There is a chuckle, a thing that sounds more like the grinding of stones, the sound of a volcano that is sending the small shocks that ripple through the earth before it sends its fire up into the air. "All of them," the voice responds, rattling within Harkashan's head. No. He heard/interpreted it wrong. All of Them.
"Your Tribe, you hatched under my care. You were formed in my protection. You may not know your kin of blood but you know now that you are mine. Yes?" It isn't said in an unfriendly way. It would be comforting if it wasn't so intense.
The images. Feathers. Scales. The tail of a great serpent coiled around a stone that oozes magma like ichorous blood. Crystals that are bright red, blood-red. The heat continues from within Harkashan and outside of Harkashan. It is himself and yet it is something besides himself. Something that is housed within him, within his soul, within his body, and it is not only him. It's a frightening thing to realize that one is not alone in their own body, but that's the quickest conclusion to be drawn from a voice that is so much louder than his own.
There is a chuckle, a thing that sounds more like the grinding of stones, the sound of a volcano that is sending the small shocks that ripple through the earth before it sends its fire up into the air. "All of them," the voice responds, rattling within Harkashan's head. No. He heard/interpreted it wrong. All of Them.
"Your Tribe, you hatched under my care. You were formed in my protection. You may not know your kin of blood but you know now that you are mine. Yes?" It isn't said in an unfriendly way. It would be comforting if it wasn't so intense.
It is in fact, greatly discomforting to know there is something else within him. Were he in a more even mind, perhaps there would be some comfort in the realization that this means he is never alone. That he is always walking beside another. But in this moment, in the shock of the new, it is something that shakes him to the very core. A tremmor in his body that resonates outside of the vision as well. A fearful shuddering breath, that then gets shaken. Steeled.
Do not fear the being from beyond.
Yet, it is not beyond, not truly. It is Within as well as Beyond.
At the chuckle, the visions of a being. A vision that doesn't come from one's eyes so easily, but so many directions. One does not usually view oneself from without, without a mirror. Yet this is different. A being revealing itself to him. Feathers, scales, magma.
His fingers close within and without. A heat burning along his scales as the being chuckles and answers 'All of them' as if this were to explain something. Is it not one being? Is that its name?
His Tribe? He remembers his tribe. They are his oldest memories after all. He knows his Father, his Mother. His Sisters. But his duties took him beyond them, for they were not Shaman. Beyond his Mother, practically all of his Tribe are Warriors. A few of those who take up the Hunter role, of course.
But to be told he was formed in the protection of this being within him...
"How can that be?" He asks at first, trying so hard to recall his village in that moment. A half-Zigurat like structure, hewn into a mountainside. Black rocks expanded around a village of stone. It would be easy to assume this being is some kind of Spirit of the Volcano...
"I understand that you say I am yours. But... I do not understand what that means." He admits.
Suddenly Harkashan's oldest memories play out before them, bits and pieces here and there. Mother. Father. His sisters. All clearer than he can remember them now, like someone had restored the painting and hung it up in its proper frame--like someone had turned back the time and he was there again.
"Now you remember better." The voice seems amused again. "I have chosen you. I will show you."
The memories fade. Once again the intense heat returns, and there's a feeling of something within Harkashan's mind like... chanting. It's a chorus of voices that feels familiar and yet he cannot place them from anywhere.
(Coaxincayotl-scale-tetla-lava-coatlantli-teeth-eztlitlapalli-blood)
"Behold."
The visage that Harkashan sees is something that's awe-inspiring. A massive serpentine form, slumbering in a chamber filled with crystals and roiling magma. He cannot see its head and yet he knows it for what it is:
Dragon.
Memories. The Sith-Makar have a rather particular and peculiar way of interacting with them. Looking forward, they rarely write things down. Yet, the worried Harkashan had, on Rune's behest, written down some of the things he was experiencing from day to day. Letting the current become the past.
Yet he'd never really looked 'back' back. Not so far, as to see his parents. It's not that he was okay with letting them fade to nothing, but... they were not at the forefront of his mind. Yet, when his parents suddenly come so clearly to the forefront, rushing to him as if he'd just met them within Am'shere. As if he just said hello to them and walked into their home, there they are. Within his memories. Within his blood. Mother, tiny little Shaman, Father, a hulking Warrior that would make Skielstregar look small, Sisters, many of them taller than him, or at head-height.
"Memories." Harkashan rumbles. That word had become such a peculiarly important theme as of late.
Chosen.
Heat, blazing, chats. A chorus of voices. He tries to look towards them, to recognize the voices as he listens to the chanting. But the memories keep being torn by the constant barrage of TEETH. He closes his eyes for a moment. LAVA. But it's still there. Like a sharp scratch on a record.
But, he must learn to Listen.
So, opens open again. And... there. Beyond him now, and within, that massive serpentine form. A Dragon that makes Harkashan's eyes widen, and his irises turn to slits. Slowly turning his vision, following the massive coiling long body - while taking in crystals and magma.
"I See You." Harkashan answers.
(Coaxincayotl-scale-tetla-lava-coatlantli-teeth-eztlitlapalli-blood)
The chorus doesn't stop. It grows louder as the dragon raises itself up from where it slumbers. Its head lifts up from under its wings and Harkashan realizes, right as the heat grows stronger, like it could overwhelm him, like everything in his world is about to turn to cinders--
(Coaxincayotl-scale-tetla-lava-coatlantli-teeth-eztlitlapalli-blood)
The dragon has no eyes.
(Coaxincayotl-scale-tetla-lava-coatlantli-teeth-eztlitlapalli-blood)
The dragon has crystals there instead. And yet he is Seen and Harkashan knows, _knows_, deep down to his core, that It Sees Him--
(COAXINCAYOTL-SCALE-TETLA-LAVA-COATLANTLI-TEETH-EZTLITLAPALLI-BLOOD)
It's a scream on the last syllable that sends Harkashan back to the waking world with a startled breath. A name in his mouth. Something comforting and frightening all at once--
Harkashan's head lifts, as the being's head lifts. Wings shifting, opening. Feathers, embers, obsidian and flame. Magma dripping like blood. Flame overwhelming around him, as he feels like he's being watched...
Yet, he can see that it has no eyes. Scars that show that once perhaps, it held them. A body that speaks of a long and fought past. A terror trembles in Harkashan's heart, in equal amounts as awe at the being before him. As a Sith-makar, as a Child of Flame, as a being named...
He understood it now. The name he was given. Harkashan. Inferno.
The chanting gets louder. The Chorus more and more intense. The visions keep interceding with the being he sees before himself. He still doesn't understand. He still doesn't understand what it wants. His heart is practically beating out of his chest.
In the real world, a red flaming pattern tracing across his skin, illuminating the scales across his body - not individually - but in a pattern that shows the immense lines of lava-flow across him.
Then, his maw opens, coming back, gasping for air. A little 'flash' of flame escaping his muzzle right before he 'gasps' the name; "Thirku!" It isn't exclaimed. It isn't spoken outwards. But rather, a part of him breathing in as if he'd been holding a breath for far too long.
As the glow across his body fades once more. The lava coming to rest.
Then, finally, he releases that breath that had carried its name. Taking a few more, before his eyes finally open. A little wobbly, leaning suddenly towards Rune with all of that weight of his. "Its name... Thirku."
In the time that Harkashan's mind had been elsewhere, Rune's hands had moved down to where they were protected by his armor. Likely, that flaring of the strange elemental power had caused that defensive movement. She had her hands burnt before, so it is a matter of precaution.
A similar wariness has her flinch back from the bit of flame escaping from him. "Easy... we don't want to light the place on fire, big-guy." She warns.
However, the name has her ear twitching, watching as the Makari seems to return to himself. The heavy weight of Harkashan leans against her and Rune does her best to support him, "Okay..." She doesn't quite understand what is happening, that much is clear.
Miquitlani looks startled at Harkashan starting back to life, the small flash of flame. But aside from the lash of her own tail on the floor and a rumbling noise like a sigh from within her, she voices nothing more than that.
"Now you know the name," Miquitlani says, "and that is progress. Should you meditate on the name and what you have seen--you will find more."
She looks between the two children in her home--because that is what they are to her, even if they are grown--and she makes a noise that's the makari version of a clicking noise. "You must eat to regain your strength after such an ordeal."
Back to the point she goes, that Miquitlani, to serve Harkashan food, and she won't take no for an answer.
At Rune's behest, he shuts his muzzle for a bit. Black fumes coming form his nose. There's a quickness to his breath. Like Rune might, after one of her nightmares. Heart beating fast. Memories - still seeing them play out in his mind. The signs...
"Yeah... okay." He stops leaning on Rune quite as much, and instead leans the top of his muzzle up against the side of Rune's face for a moment. A simple show of affection, before he sits up and is being given more food.
"Right." He croons, accepting what is given. "I will... in time. I need some time to recover from that. And... honestly, figure out what I wish to ask it." He admits. He then explains to Rune; "It's a Dragon. I... am its. I don't know how that happened, but I think my family is involved somehow. I was formed in 'its protection'. I don't know what that means yet..."
He then looks to Miquitlani, taking the food, taking a bite. Savoring it. Feeling incredibly hungry all of the sudden. Eating more quickly. "Thank you, Shaman." He croons. "It appears I will remain here for a little longer. Before I get up." No doubt something she will not mind.
"It appears I have much to learn still... about myself." Harkashan then notes.