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Silence was one of the many things Shepherd missed from Avantris. True silence. Barovia may have been quiet, but it never slept. Something was always watching. In this hellhole, silence was not peace, it was not respite. Storms were not a gift, but a warning. Even the smallest of birds had their gaze fixed on his every movement, an ever-present threat. The expedition’s hope, their chances of escaping, were slim and getting slimmer. But he had to try, to keep trying. He had to go back to his home, to his people.
Shepherd looked around the small forest clearing they made camp in, his senses — trained to track, to hunt, to seek out the most insignificant of disturbances — heightened, not letting a single detail slip past. It was safe. Only for that moment, but momentary safety was better than none at all. Still, he made a point to remind himself that they were still under constant danger. Lowering his guard would be the death of him — and of those he swore to protect, casting coin and greed aside for survival without a second thought as he did.
Soft winds blew past, rustling the leaves and blades of grass that reached up towards the sky, failing to achieve greatness. Shepherd sat down on the edge of the hill — where it began to descend, along with the forest, providing a wider view of the night. He took his hat off carefully, so as to not rip the material with the tip of his horns, and ran a hand through his hair. It had grown long, extending beyond the base of his neck, and began to curl. Tangible evidence of the time he had lost to this place, all likely leading up to his eventual demise.
Shepherd sighed and leaned on his other arm, propping a knee up. With each passing day, the more their future — his reality — grew muddier. At first, he was convinced they would make it out alive. It’d be difficult, but by no means impossible. He was no longer so sure. They’d witnessed so much in a few days that each felt like months, years. Every so often, they were given a little bit of tranquility, of happiness, only for it to be snatched away. As much as he’d prefer it, Barovia was not an unfeeling hellscape: it toyed with its inhabitants’ feelings, gave them everything before taking it — and more — back. In a way, it reflected its ruler, the woman pulling the strings behind it all, her dainty hands wrapped tightly around the land’s neck, her venom long poisoning it. Shepherd still had hope, but it and that knowledge clawed at his heart, making for a worse condition than simple acceptance of his doom.
How cruel.
He looked up at the inky void of a sky above him, dotted with bright, twinkling stars, far and near…
Shepherd shot upwards and whipped around in a split second, drawing Judgement and Redemption from their holsters, his fingers on both triggers. Something was there. Footsteps. Something was approaching. Louder. Closer.
His sight snapped from place to place, searching for whatever creature was near. Judgement followed where he looked, guiding him.
The sounds stopped.
There was a faint outline on the dark silhouette before him. He narrowed his eyes and pointed his gun at it, attempting to get a closer look. His grip tightened.
Red eyes.
Both stared down the barrel of the gun, emotionless, cold. Familiar.
Shepherd exhaled in equal parts relief and exasperation. He returned his pistols to their respective holsters. “Dammit, Sarnax. Scared the livin’ shit out of me.”
Sarnax cleared his throat. “Apologies, Shepherd. It was not my intention.”
“Yeah, alright.” He sat back down. Sarnax never went anywhere without his lantern, yet there he stood, not basking in the light of his god for the very first time. “What’s the matter? Y’already had your watch.”
“I could not sleep. I figured I would not waste the opportunity to be of use.”
“Rest is rest. Even if you’re not sleepin’, layin’ still is better than stayin’ up more than necessary. Especially here, of all places.”
“I do agree. My mind is…unwilling, however.”
Shepherd huffed out a laugh. “Can’t blame you there.”
Sarnax walked forward and slowly sat on the grass next to Shepherd. While he had one leg folded and the other laid out, a casual position, Sarnax folded his legs over one another and kept his back straight.
“Forgot your lantern?”
“Such a prized possession would never slip by. Leaving it behind where I slept was an intentional choice. Though the fire of Gherix does much, it is ever-burning, and its warmth can be unpleasant at times. Today is a hot day, even after sunset.”
A brief pause.
“I must admit that there is another reason as well. Though it is much more…foolish, I’m afraid.”
“Oh? Well, color me intrigued.”
Sarnax turned his snout upwards, no longer looking at Shepherd. His eyes nearly shined in the moonlight, reflecting the view. “The cover of Edelwood trees is impermeable. This,” he gestured vaguely, “the night sky, the bright crescent moon, the stars dotting the horizon…it is a novel sight for me, still. I wish, as childish as I now realize it sounds, to experience it without distraction.”
Shepherd scoffed. “‘S not foolish at all, Sarnax.”
“You need not coat your words with sweetness, Shepherd. I am well able to handle the truth, harsh as it may be.” If he was still in Stryga, the Elders would’ve chastised him for allowing himself even a fleeting moment of appreciation for anything besides fire and Gherix. Especially for letting that take priority over devotion. He shook his head slightly and looked down at the hill in front of them, shrugging off his impulsive whims. This land made him stray from his path time and time again. Sarnax began to think a prayer to Gherix, apologizing for this brief disruption and promising to follow his word, but it was interrupted by Shepherd placing a hand on his thigh, just above his knee.
“I mean it, I really do. Y’gotta appreciate whatever beauty you can find. If that’s the stars, if that’s whatever, you cling on to it.”
“A holy man has no time for such things. I apologize for interrupting your duties, Shepherd.” He stood upright, brows furrowed, clutching the emblem of the fire lord that he always carries around his neck.
Sarnax glanced at Shepherd, who seemed taken aback.
“You’re never interruptin’, Sarnax, I like your company.”
“That is kind of you. I enjoy your company as well.”
“Well— now, I ain’t gonna tell you what to do, but if you want to stay with me for a bit, you’re welcome to, a’right?”
Sarnax stopped. He paid attention to his body for any protest, any urge or reaction that is not of his own but of Gherix communicating his will. Nothing. “I suppose I can allow for a…passing instance of relaxation.”
“Whatever you say, Sarnax.”
Sarnax traced the gem in his symbol with a claw before letting go and sitting next to Shepherd once more, in the same manner — as a hatchling, it had hurt his ankles, to have them at such an angle for a prolonged amount of time, but, at that point, he had grown used to it — with both his hands clasped in his lap. It was the proper way, especially for prayer. Sarnax pulled down his hood. He looked at Shepherd, following his line of sight to the moon floating up above. It shone brilliantly, despite its many patches and craters. Its illuminated sliver was near-perfect white: lit by untainted, pure, holy light.
The pair stared at the sky, entranced.
Shepherd found it strange. How could wonder be foolish, childish, something to neglect and not nurture? He supposed it must have been something to do with his religion, as did much of Sarnax. Odd as he was, Sarnax was not a bad man. Shepherd had come to find himself caring for the lizardfolk more than expected — of course, he promised him and the rest of the expedition his protection, but this was…different. Perhaps because he didn’t think he would come to trust Sarnax at all, considering his faith and apparent need to convert those around him, as well as his unfortunate first impression. He was kind. Strange, but kind, thoughtful.
Shepherd shifted his weight and started to sling his arm around Sarnax’s shoulders, but stopped out of reflex — before touching — when Sarnax stiffened. Shit, he thought to himself, what the hell was that, Silas? Shepherd didn’t usually get distracted and give in to random impulses like that.
When Sarnax felt the presence of something approaching, he was snapped out of his trance, immediately on high alert. He then realized it was just Shepherd.
Both of them kept looking straight ahead, unsure of what to do next.
Sarnax slowly laid his head on Shepherd, his tail twisting behind him. His heart was loud, strong against his ribcage, threatening to jump out. Shepherd’s poncho was softer than he expected it to be. It smelled vaguely earthy, of jasmine and salt.
Shepherd hesitated but, when Sarnax sank further into him, a smile crept up his lips and he rested his hand on Sarnax’s shoulder, holding him gently. Shepherd’s tail reached out to touch Sarnax’s, lying atop it.
The lizardfolk’s eyelids soon closed, fast asleep. Shepherd couldn’t help but chuckle.
If only they could have stayed in that moment forever. Shepherd caressed Sarnax’s arm, rubbing small circles absentmindedly as he watched the sun rise, waiting until the very last moment to wake Sarnax.