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He leaned onto the hard scales, his energy ever so dwindling and his vision blurred. Yet, he could feel that Sotarj was losing energy as well, it was only a matter of time before they would crash into the ocean and disappear into its vast and unknown depths.
No one knew what lied beneath in the darkness, he could not see it but he heard it. The roar the ocean emitted, or was it a sea creature? It did not matter, as it would mean certain death no matter what if they ended up in the water.
A part of him wanted to just slide down from Sotarj's massive back and fall into the ocean, he was severely wounded as it was and he had no hopes of recovering. Not with the poison that slowly made its way around in his body.
Do not even dare.
Even in his current state, it was not difficult for him to understand that it had been Sotarj who had spoken to him through their mental link. A hoarse laugh escaped him, before it turned into a pained coughing. He winced.
Death was near, he could feel it. It was as though it was circling around the three of them, but he was not sure if Pimeyvs was still with them. He had not heard anything from her in a long while, not since his hearing seemed to have began to fail him. He could not look around, he could barely even make out his very own hand in front of his face. The roar of the ocean seemed to be the only thing he still could easily hear, not even the sound of Sotarj's massive wings could be heard.
Land!
Tuljmyrsky was not sure if he could believe Sotarj's words to be true, or if he had started to hallucinate from exhaustion. It did not matter, however, as he would not survive unless he got help. Who would even help him? An outcast from his own family and clan, even from his own race. A race that was not welcome anywhere else than on Hielvet'ja. If even there.
His mind wished to slip into the darkness that awaited it, he was not sure for how long he would last.
He was at the verge of losing consciousness when Sotarj landed heavily on a beach, accidentally throwing off his rider – knocking him unconscious in the process.
Tuljmyrsky did not remember it, his brain had not have enough time to process it, nor did he know what happened afterward...
He only remembered darkness and pain, time was at a stand still. Was he dead?
No, he had to be alive, it was the only reason that he would be able to feel the pain originating from his left shoulder. Death was supposed to be painless.
At least he thought it was from there, it was difficult to tell as he could not sense his limbs or anything. Only a burning feeling of immense pain.
Was he being burned by whoever might have found him? No, he could not sense the smell of burnt flesh that he had grown to know far too well in his life.
No, it was a sweet scent. He could not tell what it was as he had never sensed anything like it before, it did not exist on Hielvet'ja. The only land he had ever known.
That meant that he had indeed managed to do the impossible, he had managed to cross the vast ocean that had killed so many others before him. It had either been to be killed in the attempt, or to be brutally killed by his own kin – the decision had not been difficult.
Then again, he was not even sure if he actually could smell anything, it could merely be his own imagination after all.
He made attempts at moving, at simply waking up, but nothing happened. The darkness still surrounded him, not even attempting to reach out with his mind to Sotarj or even Pimeyvs worked.
He was trapped in his own body, in his own mind. It made him wonder if he would remain in limbo for eternity, or if he would be able to regain control over himself again.
The time after that were a mere blur to him, but he remembered someone having spoken to him via a mind link. Someone calling themself Cindawyn, or at least that was what he believed her to be named. She spoke an Elvish language, a language that he did not speak and he was not sure if he had misinterpreted her.
How he had communicated with her in the first place with the language barrier, was something he simply could not remember.
Darkness was the only thing that he could remember, it was the only thing that he could see during the times he seemed to have some form of consciousness. He had, however, been unable to fully wake up.
He had been far too weakened, still drifting between life and death.
He winced, he had moved.
For the first time in an unknown amount of time, he had managed to regain control over himself. He opened his eyes, only to close them again with another pained wince.
He had grown so used to the darkness that this sudden light became too much for him and he automatically moved his hand over his eyes as a form of protection against the brightness. He noticed that his arm might just as well have been weighted down by something as his movements had been slow and sluggish.
He could hear a sound of someone quickly jumping up from a wooden chair, scraping against stone floor. A voice spoke, it was in the same language that Cindawyn had originally attempted to speak to him with. He was not certain what they said, before he heard them quickly leave.
A part of him simply knew that this person had been ordered to inform someone in case of him waking up. A healer maybe.
It felt like an eternity as he tried to adjust to the light, he wanted to see his surroundings. Judging by the brightness, it had to be midday.
A silhouette appeared in the doorway, but he could at the most only make out colours.
“Tuljmyrsky.”
He heard his name, it was terribly mispronounced, but he knew who had spoken. He had recognized the voice, it belonged to...
“Cindawyn...” His voice was weak, it was more like a hoarse whisper than anything.
Cindawyn spoke to whoever was with her, he did not understand what was said until he noticed that the door closed and the windows were covered to make it easier for him to see.
He could finally see his surroundings and he could see the person that had spoken to him so many times. He noted her light blonde hair, bright green eyes and tan skin.
She smiled kindly at him, relieved to finally see him awaken.
She opened her mouth to speak to him, only to slowly close it again as she remembered that he did not speak the Elvish language. There were so many thing that she wanted to ask him, but was unable to and she knew that he had to have things he wanted to know.
She bit her lower lip in thought as she sat down, before she decided to try a different language. It was a long shot, but she had nothing to lose. She spoke slowly;
“Do you understand me?”
She had chosen a human language, in the hopes that he might know it, and watched him narrow his eyes ever so slightly.
“Yes...” he finally answered, his voice still weak. To him, it had sounded as if she spoke a wildly different dialect of a human language that he knew and he had needed to repeat her words in his mind to be able to understand the meaning of them.
It was, by all means, a mere miracle that the humans on Hielvet'ja and the humans of Merjma had a somewhat similar language – or at least they had to be originating from the same root.
Cindawyn was delighted and relieved, before her expression turned serious.
“We feared that you would not wake up” she said, still speaking slowly. “You were unconscious for so long.”
She saw him frown and something about the look on his face, made her wonder if he had wondered something similar himself. His chances of survival had been deemed very low by the healers, especially before they managed to fully contain the poison that was trying to kill him.
Extracting it had been unsuccessful.
“You should rest.”
She rose up from the chair she had been sitting on. It had not been difficult to see that her visit had exhausted what little energy he had and she did not wish to bother him further. Not that day.
Tuljmyrsky had simply nodded, ready to return to the darkness that had become so familiar to him.
He did not even remember Cindawyn leaving the room.
Days passed and he remembered having had more short conversations with the Elven woman, but he was unable to remember what had been said. His mind having difficulties memorizing anything.
The elves had to have helped him eat and drink, for he did not feel hungry nor thirsty. Yet, he had no recollection of it whatsoever.
He was in such a weakened and vulnerable state. If anyone found out what he was, he feared he would be unable to do anything in case someone would wish him harm.
He was utterly defenceless.
Maybe it had been more merciful if he had been allowed to die, he had no hopes of ever fully recovering. As far as he knew, he might always be under the care of the Elvish healers, unless... unless they found out.
He had a period where he seemed to turn for the worse, he did not know how long it lasted. Pain, discomfort and the feeling of ever present death overwhelmed him for what felt like forever, before it finally started to subside.
The scent was there again, the sweet unknown scent. He felt a hand softly holding his own and when he managed to force his eyes open, he first thought he saw Cindawyn.
It was not her, this elf had blue eyes and her hair was lighter and not so straight. She was younger as well, a young adult as far as he could tell and she smiled kindly at him.
She had flowers woven decoratively into her hair.
No such flowers existed on Hielvet'ja and it was most likely from them which the scent came from.
“I was the one who found you” she said, speaking slowly. Evidently she knew that he understood a certain human language, at least to an extent. “I feared you would not make it here, you were so weak.”
He watched her for the longest time, long enough for her to wonder if he had understood her at all. Finally he offered her the smallest of smiles.
“Thank you” he whispered.
How long had it been since he last had seen her? Millennia.
Yet, there she was. Sitting on a white and black horse, staring at him in disbelief. Her previously pale blonde hair had turned silvery during the many years that had passed and she had began showing other signs of age. Her eyes, those blue eyes, were still the same.
“Lady Mirwen” Tuljmyrsky inclined his head, but did no attempt at approaching the elves.
Mirwen was not alone, she had her assigned bodyguards with her.
“Tuljmyrsky...”
Lady Mirwen could not help but move closer, as though wanting to get close enough to tell that she was indeed not dreaming.
She was not. It was indeed the Kaerm'jinho that she had met so long ago. The one that she had not only saved once, but twice.
Saved him from certain death; from the poisoned arrow and from being executed for what he was.
She had believed him to be dead after all these years, yet he was very much alive in front of her. Sitting on that black and white mare that he had left on, when she had saved him the second time.