𝙸𝚃 𝚃𝙰𝙺𝙴𝚂 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙰 𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝙿𝚁𝙾𝙲𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙲𝚈𝙱𝙴𝙻’𝚂 𝙲𝙷𝙾𝚂𝙴𝙽 𝙻𝙰𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙰𝙶𝙴 , & 𝙰𝙽𝙾𝚃𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙼𝙾𝙼𝙴𝙽𝚃 𝚃𝙾 𝚁𝙴𝙶𝙸𝚂𝚃𝙴𝚁 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚂𝚄𝙳𝙳𝙴𝙽𝙽𝙴𝚂𝚂 𝙾𝙵 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝙳𝙴𝙿𝙰𝚁𝚃𝚄𝚁𝙴 & 𝚃𝙷𝙴 𝚆𝙰𝚈 𝚂𝙷𝙴’𝚂 𝙻𝙴𝙵𝚃 𝙵𝙴𝙴𝙻𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙻𝙸𝙺𝙴 𝙰 𝙿𝚄𝙿 𝙿𝙻𝙰𝚈𝙸𝙽𝙶 𝙷𝙴𝙴𝙻 𝙷𝙴𝚁 𝙱𝙴𝚃𝚃𝙴𝚁𝚂 . she frowns at his back , instinct to follow an elder battling with stubborn pride battling with her own damned curiosity , the way his light responds to hers & how old it feels . how familiar . ( sometimes aches in her chest . a hole shaped like warmth that left / was lost , like old loves & old friends turned to ashes & dust & empty spaces that she speaks to in the silence . ) sol’s frown deepens into a scowl .
curiosity wins out as it always does . her hunter heart could no more deny the promise of adventure as the wolf in her could turn away from the wisdom of an elder . the strength of the pack is the wolf & the strength of the wolf is the pack , & wolves like cybel - 8 haven’t lived this long without more than a few tricks up their sleeves . besides , sol’s hatred of the fallen doesn’t blind her to the suffering her kind have endured . cybel is old older than shiro , so her boss has said , & there are many hardships he’s survived . wisdom comes from pain , & sol can’t help but wonder how wise the dark ages & wars that came with it , have made her mentor .
she catches up , quick job slowly to a brisk walk to keep up with cybel’s stride . gaze is trained on the forest , her mentor filling her peripherals as she eyes him with certain suspicion & grudging curiosity .
“ where we goin’ ? ” reluctant curiosity bleeds from the words , as does wariness , paranoia whispering at the edges of her mind . it’s helpful to a point , has kept her standing where others have fallen , but among allies which cybel , bug hugger though he is , counts as its usefulness fall short . sol tries to keep the suspicion from her voice . she tries to banish the whispers from her mind .
“ what’s with the ” she taps at her throat , nods at cybel’s . in the back of her mind , ghosty sighs long & laboured . it’s a tactless question , she knows , but her curiosity is genuine & her paranoia recedes so slightly . small victory , but a victory nonetheless .
He keeps his strides in check, a nice halfway point between his usual rhythm and what the woman nearly two feet shorter than him could reasonably keep pace with without breaking into a trot. Brisk, but comfortable. His lower arms hold his rifle ready, top arms keep him balanced, carefully brushing branches and vines out of their way where the deer path grows too close, so as to leave fewer signs of their passage. That’s something she can be better at than me, he notes to himself. His metal frame, while relatively light for all that it can endure, is still hundreds of pounds heavy, sinks into dirt and mud with ease. He doesn’t have to glance back to know that her trail is lighter than his, and with a little bit of guidance he’s sure he can get her to make it damn near invisible.
Before he can answer her first question, she asks a second one. His face creases into a thin exo smile, one that strangers unaccustomed to exo facial expression find menacing. His Light susurrates warm and gentle from him, to make up for that. No matter her impetuousness, it still feels good to have a new mentee. It feels good to have a pack again.
P̶̧̢̛̙̥̹̀̓̆̎̌͗̽A̵͇̽S̴͓͉͉̾̄̀̉́͝A̵̱̘̣̖̺̍K̷̨̯̮̪̮̅̍̌̈́Y̴̘̖̍̔̃̿̚͘͠Ķ̶̛̙̦̖̒̋͛͘ ̶̡̢̛͔̇̂̌̄̇̅̚͝J̴̡̹̄̐͛́͒̀͠A̸̩̗͌̍̀̓̐̔̉͂͋͒I̶̲̩̲̲͎̿ ̶̛͇͈̣͎̽Ữ̶̢̭̹͔̗̊̒̾͠͠Ž̵̺̺̒̆̈̇̾̌ ̷͔̜̤͓͓̈́̈́̽͂M̵̖̯̏̈́̎ͅA̴̯̓̐̇̆̎̆̽̚N̵̛̬͚̪̍̂͋̍̂̕Ę̸̱̙̳͆̓̈́̽̈́́̍̈́̿
The words come out as harsh as they ever do, exospeak equal parts the clangor of metal against metal and the hiss of static, of radiowaves bouncing eerily off of inorganic materials. Cetus unfolds in the air in front of Sol, swims through it backwards so that he can face her while he speaks.
“I found him not long after he died. His throat was still glowing around the edges of the cut. Someone must have killed him with a Dawn Blade. Back then, that wasn’t so uncommon. I couldn’t fix the damage. Exos are...” His cogs swivel, expand and shrink as he searches for the right word. Cybel makes a noise like the punch of steel through steel and Cetus nods. “Yeah. Complicated.”
He swoops in closer, into the little cavity Sol’s hood makes just beneath her ear, and whispers: “There’s a scar, if you get a chance to look closer. He won’t mind, not really.”
Cybel pauses then, turns to face the little hunter. Vermillion optics shine strangely in the dimness of the thick forest. His top arms and hands move to sign. To answer your first question, we’re checking on an old friend’s cache. If we can find it. A wink then, before he drops to one knee and gestures towards the ground.
Tell me what the tracks are telling you.