Ichor Redemption - Trial of Survival

[Remyy 952]

Day 0,

 

“I think the real trial is leaving you for a year.” The Seer would say sleepily, curled up against the side of his mate. 

Lysanthir only hummed in response, thin fingers running through Cecil’s hair. He paused for a moment and allowed his hand to lace with Cecil’s own, giving a small squeeze. “It will be fine.” The Elf says in a low rumble.

Cecil responded with a small noise in the back of his throat, neither agreeing nor disagreeing with his mate’s words.

 

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Day 1, Month 1

 

Cecil immediately began to regret his decision. He let out a small wheeze as he collapsed backwards against a tree, silently praying that whatever had been chasing him would scurry on. The ‘Ame let out a small breath, attempting to regulate his breathing. There was a ‘thunk’ as his head hit the back of the tree, ears twitching as the sounds of the forest began to grow louder. 

 

The sun began to set. ****.

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Day 6, Month 1

 

To say he was starving would be an understatement. Cecil had found a small river to set camp up by, but he had yet to catch anything from it. Ignoring the weakness in his arms and the rumble in his gut, the ‘ame was nearly done with the makeshift wooden spear in his lap. Placing his sharpening rock to the side, his hand curls around the stick. Grinning widely, he rises smoothly - approaching the river.

 

He would be eating tonight.

 

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Month 2

 

If asked later on, Cecil would have said the second month was the most difficult. The ‘ame was unaccustomed to the silence, the loneliness that came with complete solitude. For the first time in many moons he was completely and wholly alone with only his thoughts to keep him company. Outside of hunts and short breaks to get water, he remained mostly in the makeshift hut he had assembled with loose branches and twigs.

 

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Month 3

 

When the third month rolled around, Cecil had come to rely wholly on Amura. The massive vulture took it’s time to find out where it’s master resided, but refused to leave after it landed on his makeshift hut. Amura would loudly demand his attention when his thoughts strayed too far, keeping his sanity and wellbeing in check. Although she could hunt fine on her own, he made it a point to fetch an extra rabbit or fish for her. 

 

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Month 4

 

It was in the middle of his fourth month of the trial did everything truly go belly-side up. When asked, Cecil would have no clue how it happened, just that he had been in the middle of a hunt. One moment he was rushing towards a rabbit and the next he found himself on his back with nothing but black filling his vision. Despite the panic that filled his veins - he managed to assemble a crown of bramble and vines to then wear around his eyes, granting vision once more. This time, however, Cecil ensured it would be more difficult to remove.

 

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Month 5

 

“Get the goods, we only need the furs. Leave everythin’ else.” Hissed a Human man, completely oblivious to the ‘Ame crouched in the nearby bushes. 

 

Cecil’s knuckles went white, clutching the spear at his side. Anger, red and hot ignited in his veins. Without the thought he would normally wield, he sprung forward - spear arcing dangerously in an unwieldy manner. He wouldn’t be able to beat them, but Aspects, he could at least scare them off.

 

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Month 6

 

The Sixth Month was one of healing and contemplation. Rewarded from a new scar on his side from his behavior the previous month, Cecil spent most of the Sixth high with fever from the poorly treated wound. Cecil’s reserve of food and water went quickly. He spent days delirious, pleading for someone - Lysanthir, Quillian, Hareven, to come - to speak with him after months of silence. Amura attempted to aid in what little way she could, fetching small animals and attempting to feed her companion. 

 

When the fever finally broke, Cecil was on the cusp of starvation. Only the blessing of the Aspects allowed my survival, He thought.

 

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Month 7

Despite the near conclusion of the Trial, Cecil resumed the near daily routine. There was a calmness to the man as he worked throughout the day, filling his time with wood carving and daydreams. It wasn’t until mid-way into the month that it dawned on him that his trial was nearing its end. 

 

The rest of the month was spent in silent celebration. His cheeks ached from smiling so much, but that did not deter him. From then on, his time was spent working on a single piece. Made from collected vines, sticks, branches, and thorns - Cecil was content with his creation.

 

An Engagement ring.

 

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Day 1, Month 8

 

Arriving at the agreed upon meeting spot was surreal. Cecil was several days early, as he was unaware of the exact date of the end of the Trial, but that did not keep his attitude in check. 

 

It wasn’t the dawn that rose him form his slumber, but two firm hands on his shoulder. Gasping, he fung himself into the chest of his partner, clinging to Lysanthir as if the other would vanish should he not hold him down.

 

“Mayilu,” He breathed out, voice raw and hoarse from disuse. 

 

Finally, it was over.