Orym follows that gesture to the wind in the sails above them and the water stretching out in front of them, further than the horizon. He might not have spent much time on ships, but the relationship is obvious. To a sailor, the wind and the waves are inseparable.
"Maybe I can help with that," he says with a wry curl of his lips, mostly joking. He doesn't expect his presence to have much of an impact, but it'd be nice if he could foster some good will. Though he's indirect about it, Ro has all but confirmed he's Water Ashari. He can start here, then.
As he gets used to the motions and his confidence with the task grows, his needle slides through the sail more quickly, and he glances up at the other halfling more often. He can't deny his own curiosity, and there's plenty about him to find curious.
"They're how we get around," he says, somehow unsurprised that Ro would be a thrill-seeker. His apparently regular solo sailing on that little craft of his is a strong indicator. "The village is spread out over the Summit Peaks. There are bridges, so you can walk, but..." His head tilts in an approximation of a shrug, smile tugging a little wider. "Skysails are a lot faster. And a lot more fun, if you have the skill and the stomach for it. I probably don't have to say how dangerous it is if you don't." Orym glances down as he pulls a stitch tight, bracing the other hand against the sail, then back up again. "If you're not afraid of heights, you'd be good at it. You already know how to read the wind."
As Orym gets more comfortable with his task, he's able to look at Ro more; Ro, for his part, pays equal attention. He knows how the sail should feel, and he only has to look now and then to ensure the tension is where he wants it, or that the pieces are still overlapped just so.
He smiles as Orym describes the skysails.
"Why walk when you can fly?" he says with a grin, finishing the thought that Orym ends with a shrug. They might be dangerous, but Ro imagines they could be in the same way a sailboard is, though the fall is farther and the landing harder if a skysailor gets it wrong.
"Depending on the weather, I'll send a good third of my time in the rigging," he admits. "There's less of me to catch the wind."
He might not be quite as fast as climber as someone with longer limbs, but he's also a smaller target and can hide against the masts and arms better to avoid getting swept off.
"Did the Tempest say what you're meant to be helping with?"
Orym looks up again, eyeing the rigging above them. He could probably make himself useful doing something like that, too, if Ro is willing to teach him. Heights definitely aren't a problem for him either, and like every Tempest Blade, he has exceptionally good balance. His small smile lingers as he looks back to Ro, still very curious. But they have a whole voyage ahead of them for Orym to suss him out. It's been a little while since he stayed somewhere long enough to make a friend.
"Hard to give a lot of details in 25 words," he shrugs. "She said someone will fill me in when I arrive."
The Tempest knows his skillset, and Orym is a fast learner who works hard. He isn't concerned about what task he might be assigned in Vesrah, but about being out of place there. According to the Tempest, Vesrah was largely isolated even from the other Ashari tribes until fairly recently.
"What's it like there for outsiders?" he asks, glad for the opportunity to learn more before he actually arrives. Meeting Ro now really is a lucky break. "I'd guess that there probably aren't a lot."
"I'd say someone found you before you arrived," he says with a little grin. The bright look fades when Orym asks about outsiders. Ro shifts, moving higher up the sail to leave more room for Orym to catch up. He keeps the fabric taut.
"Not unkind," he answers. "And it depends on the outsider. The waveriders pick up people lost at sea, especially after storms or after a wreck. Some choose to stay, but it's a matter of proving themselves if they do. I don't know how long it takes any of those who stay to feel like they really belong. I never got the hang of it."
He glances up with another smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I hear things are better than they were when the Tempest was doing her aramente." Which was before his time there, so he doesn't really have anything to compare it to.
Ro's shift in mood is palpable. Orym doesn't stop his work, but he does pay close attention, serious and sympathetic. He regrets having unwittingly brought up a sore subject. His new friend has such a bright smile, and it's a shame to see it dim.
It does answer some questions, though. Ro wasn't born in Vesrah, yet it seems like he lives there now when not at sea. He doesn't feel like he belongs. Orym can relate to at least part of that, though he can't even begin to guess at Ro's circumstances.
"That's something," he sighs. "I've heard it was pretty closed off back then."
He does pause then, setting the needle down and sitting back on his heels to look at the other halfling, returning Ro's thin smile with an apologetic grimace.
"Sorry if that was the wrong thing to ask." Extending a hand between them, Orym concentrates, drawing on what little nature magic Nel and Maeve had been able to teach him. A small cluster of pale blue and red pulmonarias grow from nothing between his fingers, and he offers them to Ro. Giving him soldiers and sailors seems appropriate for this meeting. "You sure seem like you belong out here, though." With a nod, he indicates the sea itself.
"How would you have known?" he says with a small, forgiving shrug. Orym might have hit a bruise, but he didn't aim for it. He couldn't have even known it was there until he hit it.
He blinks when suddenly there's little flowers growing from Orym's fingers. It takes him a few seconds too long to realize they're being offered for him - were made for him - and that earns a faint blush and a shy, warm smile. Ro lets go of the sail so he can take the flowers. He looks at them, not sure he's ever seen them before. Then, without hesitation, he slides them into his hair, making sure to tuck the stems beneath the leather tying it back. The blue, red, and green are bright against his dark hair. Ro meets Orym's gaze again, then gets back to the sail.
"The sea is possibilities," he says by way of an answer. "I've always wanted the horizon."
It might not have been his intent to cause any pain, but even doing so accidentally is worth an apology. Thankfully, the flowers have the intended effect; Ro smiles again, and Orym returns it, flushing lightly himself. Ro tucks them so readily into his dark hair, where the vibrant colors make a statement. He gives an approving when their eyes meet. The magic is hardly anything special, but Orym is glad it could cheer him up.
Ro takes up the sail again, and Orym follows his lead. This could become meditative if he let it. Another time, maybe.
"Not content to be in one place for long, huh?" Within an hour of meeting him, Orym feels like he's come to understand some fundamental things about Ro. Daring and wanderlust go well together, he supposes. "I expected to stay in Zephrah my whole life until a couple years ago. This seeing the world thing is still pretty new to me."
"Maybe if things had been different I could've been content in one place."
Ro wonders that sometimes. Would he have been happy fishing for the rest of his life if he hadn't known he had people out in the wide world? Would he have been content to stay in Vesrah if he'd been raised there? There's no way of knowing now, but sometimes the thoughts still creep in.
"Too pulled by the tides to have roots, I guess." And even when he starts in one direction, he knows the tide will change eventually, as sure as the winds and as sure as Catha.
He glances up at Orym, studying him for a moment as the other man continues his stitching. It sounds like Orym did have roots... and there's something in the way he speaks of Zephrah that makes Ro wonder if they got yanked up.
"And how are you finding it? The world." he asks with a grin.
Orym glances up and back down again, wondering what different looks like for Ro. Why he decided to let the tide pull him--if it was easier, or if he just had to.
Feeling a little guilty because he knows his answer won't match that grin, Orym briefly considers fibbing. But Ro had been willing to let him see some of his bruises around the topic, and it'd be a disservice to do less. Orym's expression softens with a rueful smile, and he looks at his stitching rather than Ro.
"Honestly? Lonely." It's not something he'd admit to most people. He wants to seem okay. He wants to be okay. "I mean, not always. I've seen amazing things and met some good people." Like you, the nod toward Ro himself says. He'll go with his instinct on that one. "I like helping out where I can. But I don't have a reason to belong anywhere. I miss my family, and it's not as simple as going home."
What he really misses is his life. The soft, constant breeze he'd always taken for granted became a violent whirlwind that day, and he's drifted aimlessly ever since. The future he expected to have died that day with Will and Derrig. There's no staying in Zephrah. They are woven into the fabric of the place. He would forever be listening for a second set of footfalls beside him on familiar paths, forever waiting for a sword-calloused hand to clap his shoulder approvingly in training, forever enduring pitying looks from faces who have known WillAndOrym as one inseparable entity since they were children, and have no idea what to do with the sundered half remaining.
There is no going home. The home he knew no longer exists.
"It's never as simple as going home. Not when you had a reason to leave in the first place." Ro understands that, even if he doesn't know what might have put Orym's feet to the road in the first place. "But I miss my family, too."
He reaches the end of the sail and holds the edges tight so that Orym can finish without the heavy canvas pulling. He thinks of the chances of meeting a man from Zephrah fresh out of Emon on a ship he's served before. The weight of the pendant beneath his shirt reminds him that chance and luck are what one makes of them.
Ro looks at Orym, waiting for the other man to lift his gaze so he can catch it.
"May you find friends on the sea, Orym of the Air Ashari, with good currents and fair winds." His smile brightens. He can't take away whatever pain has turned Orym away from his home, but he can try to make the next leg of his journey more bearable.
When Ro smiles at him this time, it's the first time in months that Orym doesn't feel alone. He's not the only one missing people, who doesn't know where he belongs. Who's searching for something unknown. For this leg of his journey, at least, he has a companion. And so does Ro. His smile is uneven, but grateful. "Might've found one already."
He learns a few other things from Ro that day. He doesn't have to work, but he likes to. If he's going to be in Vesrah for any length of time, he figures he should know a few things about sailing, anyway. And it's especially helpful to learn from someone his own size, because they often have to do things a little differently from bigger folk. It's nice not to have to figure out the workarounds himself, for once.
That night, he's just settled into his hammock--human-sized, so practically big enough to swallow him--when he spots Ro trying to find a place for his, the rest of his things in tow. He'd come aboard well after the rest of the crew (and their two passengers), so space is limited. Making a quick decision, Orym leans out and waves to catch his attention.
"We can share, if you want," he offers quietly when he comes nearer, keeping his voice low so they don't disturb anyone already sleeping. "There's enough room for at least two of me up here." His smile reaches his eyes, gently amused. The idea of not sleeping alone for once is also just...nice. He'll leave it at that.
Ro glances up when Orym appears and waves him down. A wry smile tugs at his mouth and he nods. No sense in putting up a fight when he knows room is tight. He stows his things near Orym's - including a small shield (or rather, a halfling-sized one) and a staff.
"Usually it's not a problem finding somewhere that'll fit me," he says quietly. "But it's a full crew."
And a few extra. Ro undresses down to his tunic and trousers, leaving everything else carefully put away and his shoes next to the post holding one end of the hammock.
"Give me a hand so I don't land on you." Ro reaches up, and as soon as Orym has a hold of him, he hops the rest of the way with the ease of practice. The hammock says with the extra momentum, but they don't go flying and they don't flip, so Ro will consider that a little victory.
Orym reaches down and their hands lock, steadying Ro as he leaps up. They don't tumble into each other, and while the hammock sways, it remains otherwise steady. Two halflings with good balance seems an easy load to bear.
Smiling, Orym releases Ro's hand to clap his shoulder instead with a smile. "You know, I wasn't totally sure that would work, but I'm glad it did."
He's dressed--or undressed, really--for bed already, armor and extra clothing shed to leave him in just a pair of linen pants, flared and roomy until they tie around the ankle. Customarily, he doesn't tend to wear a shirt to bed, but he might have to amend that if it gets any colder during the night. At the moment, he's more conscious of the way it leaves his tattoo on display than his torso; body-shy isn't a thing he's been in years, but the ink is personal.
The hammock naturally sags toward the middle where they kneel facing each other over the blankets Orym's piled on. "I figured it'd balance out if I take this side and you take that one," he says. The extra body heat will also be nice, and even if it isn't the same, sleeping next to someone does help to ease the lonely ache he inevitably feels each night.
Though Ro still wears a tunic, the sleeves are short and they reveal almost the full length of the waves tattooed on his right arm, climbing high to disappear beneath the short sleeve. There's the flash of a smaller tattoo on the inside of his left wrist, perhaps a compass or guiding star. Peeking out from beneath his left sleeve are intricate knots and swirls in a deep blue ink.
Ro tries very hard not to stare too much when he realizes that Orym is shirtless. He's grateful for the dim light from a single low lamp, hoping it effectively hides the warmth in his face.
"Yeah, should keep us from sliding into each other," he says with a little grin. He moves back to give Orym some space. "Thanks," he adds. "I appreciate not having to find some rope to curl up in."
Shaking his head to brush off Ro's thanks, Orym insists, "It's nothing. There's plenty of room to spare. And it can't hurt to look out for the only sailor aboard who's my size, right?" he jokes.
As he moves back himself to start getting beneath the blankets, he adds, "I should be thanking you, anyway, for today. I learned a lot." About ways he can be useful on a ship like this, and about what he might be able to expect in Vesrah. Knowing that he's heading there with someone who's fast becoming a friend is really invaluable, too.
He also can't help noticing the ink on Ro's body now that he has a clearer view. He'd caught glimpses earlier, but now it's clear that the piece covering his right arm is in traditional Ashari style, like his. Water, fittingly, instead of air. But there's an echo of a shared identity there that really speaks to him. This artwork means enough to Ro that he would have it cover a whole limb, enduring the time and the pain of that process. Orym would know; he's done the same thing with the same limb, for a piece that means everything to him.
"No, it certainly can't hurt." Ro smiles as he settles, resting his head against the hammock. He looks at Orym looking at him, realizes the other man is taking in the more visible tattoos.
"I already had a couple before I made it to the Ashari," he admits. "And I was there a little while before I got the big one done." He moves his right arm to indicate which big one he means, given that the other shoulder is impressive, though not as far-reaching.
"Are there a lot of halflings in Vesrah?" he asks curiously and quietly. They're close together now, no need to speak louder than necessary.
It isn't like he was being very covert about looking, so he shouldn't be surprised when Ro mentions his tattoos directly. But all he manages at first as an understanding nod when he elaborates. Inching under the blankets, Orym feels their ankles brush, then his foot nudge the side of Ro's knee where they meet in the middle. There's no real point to shying away when laying in a hammock means they're always going to get pushed together in the middle, so he lets the contact remain.
"Some, but not a lot. Zephrah is a majority half-elven, with a scattering of others," he answers, speaking just as softly. "My blood-related family was always just me and my mom, so I've spent most of my time with bigger folks."
With a nod of his head he indicates the hold of the ship around them, and the people filling the hammocks strung up throughout. "I guess that's part of why I was surprised to see you today. I don't actually know many halflings."
"Most of the Water Ashari are elves and humans and half-elves," he says with a wry smile. He sinks in more, content to let their legs rest together. There's no avoiding it. "There's some dwarves. A handful of half-orcs. Not many halflings, either. And the only family I know is human."
So, he spends most of his time around tall folk, too.
"I didn't meet many other halflings until I started sailing. I did meet the ones in Vesrah, but..." He trails off and looks away with a half shrug. "I didn't grow up there. Even if I was born Ashari, I think it took a while for anyone to see me that way when I came back."
It's a thing that's stuck with him, difficult to shake and difficult to forget.
One thing Orym has learned while traveling in the last couple of years is that it's easy to tell when someone their size, halfling or gnome or otherwise, was raised in a community of their own versus being one of a few in a community of mostly taller peoples. For those like him, most of the world being too big is just a fact of life, something they've long since adapted to. For others, it's an adjustment that doesn't always come easily. So it's not surprising at all, after learning from Ro today, that he's also one of the former, used to being half the size of everyone else in the room.
Ro's struggle with belonging is clearly more than that, though. A disconnect from a people that are his, but who didn't have a place for him when he returned to be with them. Orym's brow knits down as he considers.
"New faces are rare in Zephrah, like they probably are in Vesrah. It's hard to get to, and not a place most people choose to live without existing ties. People are mostly kind and well-meaning, I think, but Ashari culture is...guarded. There's a tendency to treat anyone who wasn't raised among us like they're just passing through, which can be the opposite of welcoming. No one wants to be a guest forever."
"Some of the people there now are sailors that've been rescued over the years. They decide to stay, but it takes a long time until any of them are treated like Ashari. Everyone just waiting to see if or when they move on."
Ro absently fidgets with a small pendant he still wears, turning it over between his fingers. He glances up to meet Orym's gaze and there's something a little sad in his smile.
"I guess I'm proving them right. I lived there exclusively for years, then--I couldn't anymore. I've been going back and forth across the Ozmit Sea ever since."
Orym nods, encouraging, though his heart stings at the melancholy slant of Ro's lips, and the much deeper hurt that must be behind it. Their circumstances are very different, but...he knows what it's like for home to not feel like home. How isolating that feels, and how painful it is to realize that leaving is the only choice left. He knows.
"Sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy. If people are always treated like outsiders, they'll eventually decide to try somewhere else."
Beneath the blankets, his foot nudges Ro's knee more deliberately this time.
"It's not on you to prove or disprove anything, regardless of what they'll believe. You're just doing what's right for you."
His smile grows a bit when he feels Orym's foot against his knee.
"Are you joking? I was the smallest in a family of six, I'm always proving something." There, he breaks into a brighter grin and he nudges Orym back. "Thanks."
It's not a story he tells often, not one he cares to share, but. Orym understands in ways others won't, he thinks. Not just being a little fellow in a big person's world, but--well. He's Ashari. Even if he's not experienced when Ro has, he knows what the culture is like and can imagine.
"I'll have to get you on a sailboard before you leave Vesrah."
That Ro's smile is so bright and infectious makes it that much harder to see his sadness dimming it. While Orym is certain he's not said or done anything important, he's glad that it's enough for Ro to feel a little better for tonight, at least.
"I'll have to find someone to complain to if you don't," he threatens playfully. "None of my sisters would forgive me if I didn't at least try it." Lita especially. "I have three older sisters. Triplets," he explains. He can relate to having something to prove. "Not blood, like I said, but I grew up with them. I was the smallest too, of course, but that just made me more determined to do everything the girls and Will did."
Sometimes he doesn't even think about it, conditioned by a lifetime spent together. His name just slips out in conversation like he's still here, like he could wander in at any moment. The joy of his existence, of remembering him, outweighs the sorrow of his passing for at least a little while. Though they are rare, these are Orym's favorite moments. He feels closer to him, somehow. His smile has a bittersweet edge, but it's still warm, and his eyes are soft, lids lowering to focus on the blankets between them.
"He loved skysailing. So if I don't leave Vesrah at least a decent sailboarder, he'd really never let me hear the end of it."
"I was the middle. Two older siblings, three younger." And him still the smallest of all of them once the younger ones hit three or four years old. "Don't need blood to be family."
He doesn't miss the more fragile look to Orym's smile at the mention of Will, and Ro wonders who he is - or was - and why Orym speaks of him in the past tense. But he doesn't need to ask now, because the other man looks happy otherwise and that's nothing to spoil with a darker cloud.
"Well, the advantage of sailboarding is it's not as far to fall," he quips. "Can you swim?"
Orym relaxes back into the hammock's hold, hands folded behind his head. Looking at Ro across from him, feeling their legs brush under the blanket, it really does feel like he's known him longer than a day. He's never this comfortable with people right away. But there's something disarming about Ro, and plenty in both their history and circumstances he finds relatable.
They'll have a few weeks at sea for him to decide if his first impression was right.
"Yeah, I can swim. By Air Ashari standards, I'm pretty good. But I've never done it in the ocean." Which has to be a lot different than the ponds and streams where he learned, and even the bigger lakes he's jumped into since. "I should probably give that a try before I jump on a sailboard."
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"Maybe I can help with that," he says with a wry curl of his lips, mostly joking. He doesn't expect his presence to have much of an impact, but it'd be nice if he could foster some good will. Though he's indirect about it, Ro has all but confirmed he's Water Ashari. He can start here, then.
As he gets used to the motions and his confidence with the task grows, his needle slides through the sail more quickly, and he glances up at the other halfling more often. He can't deny his own curiosity, and there's plenty about him to find curious.
"They're how we get around," he says, somehow unsurprised that Ro would be a thrill-seeker. His apparently regular solo sailing on that little craft of his is a strong indicator. "The village is spread out over the Summit Peaks. There are bridges, so you can walk, but..." His head tilts in an approximation of a shrug, smile tugging a little wider. "Skysails are a lot faster. And a lot more fun, if you have the skill and the stomach for it. I probably don't have to say how dangerous it is if you don't." Orym glances down as he pulls a stitch tight, bracing the other hand against the sail, then back up again. "If you're not afraid of heights, you'd be good at it. You already know how to read the wind."
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He smiles as Orym describes the skysails.
"Why walk when you can fly?" he says with a grin, finishing the thought that Orym ends with a shrug. They might be dangerous, but Ro imagines they could be in the same way a sailboard is, though the fall is farther and the landing harder if a skysailor gets it wrong.
"Depending on the weather, I'll send a good third of my time in the rigging," he admits. "There's less of me to catch the wind."
He might not be quite as fast as climber as someone with longer limbs, but he's also a smaller target and can hide against the masts and arms better to avoid getting swept off.
"Did the Tempest say what you're meant to be helping with?"
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"Hard to give a lot of details in 25 words," he shrugs. "She said someone will fill me in when I arrive."
The Tempest knows his skillset, and Orym is a fast learner who works hard. He isn't concerned about what task he might be assigned in Vesrah, but about being out of place there. According to the Tempest, Vesrah was largely isolated even from the other Ashari tribes until fairly recently.
"What's it like there for outsiders?" he asks, glad for the opportunity to learn more before he actually arrives. Meeting Ro now really is a lucky break. "I'd guess that there probably aren't a lot."
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"Not unkind," he answers. "And it depends on the outsider. The waveriders pick up people lost at sea, especially after storms or after a wreck. Some choose to stay, but it's a matter of proving themselves if they do. I don't know how long it takes any of those who stay to feel like they really belong. I never got the hang of it."
He glances up with another smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"I hear things are better than they were when the Tempest was doing her aramente." Which was before his time there, so he doesn't really have anything to compare it to.
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It does answer some questions, though. Ro wasn't born in Vesrah, yet it seems like he lives there now when not at sea. He doesn't feel like he belongs. Orym can relate to at least part of that, though he can't even begin to guess at Ro's circumstances.
"That's something," he sighs. "I've heard it was pretty closed off back then."
He does pause then, setting the needle down and sitting back on his heels to look at the other halfling, returning Ro's thin smile with an apologetic grimace.
"Sorry if that was the wrong thing to ask." Extending a hand between them, Orym concentrates, drawing on what little nature magic Nel and Maeve had been able to teach him. A small cluster of pale blue and red pulmonarias grow from nothing between his fingers, and he offers them to Ro. Giving him soldiers and sailors seems appropriate for this meeting. "You sure seem like you belong out here, though." With a nod, he indicates the sea itself.
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He blinks when suddenly there's little flowers growing from Orym's fingers. It takes him a few seconds too long to realize they're being offered for him - were made for him - and that earns a faint blush and a shy, warm smile. Ro lets go of the sail so he can take the flowers. He looks at them, not sure he's ever seen them before. Then, without hesitation, he slides them into his hair, making sure to tuck the stems beneath the leather tying it back. The blue, red, and green are bright against his dark hair. Ro meets Orym's gaze again, then gets back to the sail.
"The sea is possibilities," he says by way of an answer. "I've always wanted the horizon."
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Ro takes up the sail again, and Orym follows his lead. This could become meditative if he let it. Another time, maybe.
"Not content to be in one place for long, huh?" Within an hour of meeting him, Orym feels like he's come to understand some fundamental things about Ro. Daring and wanderlust go well together, he supposes. "I expected to stay in Zephrah my whole life until a couple years ago. This seeing the world thing is still pretty new to me."
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Ro wonders that sometimes. Would he have been happy fishing for the rest of his life if he hadn't known he had people out in the wide world? Would he have been content to stay in Vesrah if he'd been raised there? There's no way of knowing now, but sometimes the thoughts still creep in.
"Too pulled by the tides to have roots, I guess." And even when he starts in one direction, he knows the tide will change eventually, as sure as the winds and as sure as Catha.
He glances up at Orym, studying him for a moment as the other man continues his stitching. It sounds like Orym did have roots... and there's something in the way he speaks of Zephrah that makes Ro wonder if they got yanked up.
"And how are you finding it? The world." he asks with a grin.
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Feeling a little guilty because he knows his answer won't match that grin, Orym briefly considers fibbing. But Ro had been willing to let him see some of his bruises around the topic, and it'd be a disservice to do less. Orym's expression softens with a rueful smile, and he looks at his stitching rather than Ro.
"Honestly? Lonely." It's not something he'd admit to most people. He wants to seem okay. He wants to be okay. "I mean, not always. I've seen amazing things and met some good people." Like you, the nod toward Ro himself says. He'll go with his instinct on that one. "I like helping out where I can. But I don't have a reason to belong anywhere. I miss my family, and it's not as simple as going home."
What he really misses is his life. The soft, constant breeze he'd always taken for granted became a violent whirlwind that day, and he's drifted aimlessly ever since. The future he expected to have died that day with Will and Derrig. There's no staying in Zephrah. They are woven into the fabric of the place. He would forever be listening for a second set of footfalls beside him on familiar paths, forever waiting for a sword-calloused hand to clap his shoulder approvingly in training, forever enduring pitying looks from faces who have known WillAndOrym as one inseparable entity since they were children, and have no idea what to do with the sundered half remaining.
There is no going home. The home he knew no longer exists.
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He reaches the end of the sail and holds the edges tight so that Orym can finish without the heavy canvas pulling. He thinks of the chances of meeting a man from Zephrah fresh out of Emon on a ship he's served before. The weight of the pendant beneath his shirt reminds him that chance and luck are what one makes of them.
Ro looks at Orym, waiting for the other man to lift his gaze so he can catch it.
"May you find friends on the sea, Orym of the Air Ashari, with good currents and fair winds." His smile brightens. He can't take away whatever pain has turned Orym away from his home, but he can try to make the next leg of his journey more bearable.
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He learns a few other things from Ro that day. He doesn't have to work, but he likes to. If he's going to be in Vesrah for any length of time, he figures he should know a few things about sailing, anyway. And it's especially helpful to learn from someone his own size, because they often have to do things a little differently from bigger folk. It's nice not to have to figure out the workarounds himself, for once.
That night, he's just settled into his hammock--human-sized, so practically big enough to swallow him--when he spots Ro trying to find a place for his, the rest of his things in tow. He'd come aboard well after the rest of the crew (and their two passengers), so space is limited. Making a quick decision, Orym leans out and waves to catch his attention.
"We can share, if you want," he offers quietly when he comes nearer, keeping his voice low so they don't disturb anyone already sleeping. "There's enough room for at least two of me up here." His smile reaches his eyes, gently amused. The idea of not sleeping alone for once is also just...nice. He'll leave it at that.
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"Usually it's not a problem finding somewhere that'll fit me," he says quietly. "But it's a full crew."
And a few extra. Ro undresses down to his tunic and trousers, leaving everything else carefully put away and his shoes next to the post holding one end of the hammock.
"Give me a hand so I don't land on you." Ro reaches up, and as soon as Orym has a hold of him, he hops the rest of the way with the ease of practice. The hammock says with the extra momentum, but they don't go flying and they don't flip, so Ro will consider that a little victory.
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Smiling, Orym releases Ro's hand to clap his shoulder instead with a smile. "You know, I wasn't totally sure that would work, but I'm glad it did."
He's dressed--or undressed, really--for bed already, armor and extra clothing shed to leave him in just a pair of linen pants, flared and roomy until they tie around the ankle. Customarily, he doesn't tend to wear a shirt to bed, but he might have to amend that if it gets any colder during the night. At the moment, he's more conscious of the way it leaves his tattoo on display than his torso; body-shy isn't a thing he's been in years, but the ink is personal.
The hammock naturally sags toward the middle where they kneel facing each other over the blankets Orym's piled on. "I figured it'd balance out if I take this side and you take that one," he says. The extra body heat will also be nice, and even if it isn't the same, sleeping next to someone does help to ease the lonely ache he inevitably feels each night.
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Ro tries very hard not to stare too much when he realizes that Orym is shirtless. He's grateful for the dim light from a single low lamp, hoping it effectively hides the warmth in his face.
"Yeah, should keep us from sliding into each other," he says with a little grin. He moves back to give Orym some space. "Thanks," he adds. "I appreciate not having to find some rope to curl up in."
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As he moves back himself to start getting beneath the blankets, he adds, "I should be thanking you, anyway, for today. I learned a lot." About ways he can be useful on a ship like this, and about what he might be able to expect in Vesrah. Knowing that he's heading there with someone who's fast becoming a friend is really invaluable, too.
He also can't help noticing the ink on Ro's body now that he has a clearer view. He'd caught glimpses earlier, but now it's clear that the piece covering his right arm is in traditional Ashari style, like his. Water, fittingly, instead of air. But there's an echo of a shared identity there that really speaks to him. This artwork means enough to Ro that he would have it cover a whole limb, enduring the time and the pain of that process. Orym would know; he's done the same thing with the same limb, for a piece that means everything to him.
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"I already had a couple before I made it to the Ashari," he admits. "And I was there a little while before I got the big one done." He moves his right arm to indicate which big one he means, given that the other shoulder is impressive, though not as far-reaching.
"Are there a lot of halflings in Vesrah?" he asks curiously and quietly. They're close together now, no need to speak louder than necessary.
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"Some, but not a lot. Zephrah is a majority half-elven, with a scattering of others," he answers, speaking just as softly. "My blood-related family was always just me and my mom, so I've spent most of my time with bigger folks."
With a nod of his head he indicates the hold of the ship around them, and the people filling the hammocks strung up throughout. "I guess that's part of why I was surprised to see you today. I don't actually know many halflings."
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So, he spends most of his time around tall folk, too.
"I didn't meet many other halflings until I started sailing. I did meet the ones in Vesrah, but..." He trails off and looks away with a half shrug. "I didn't grow up there. Even if I was born Ashari, I think it took a while for anyone to see me that way when I came back."
It's a thing that's stuck with him, difficult to shake and difficult to forget.
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Ro's struggle with belonging is clearly more than that, though. A disconnect from a people that are his, but who didn't have a place for him when he returned to be with them. Orym's brow knits down as he considers.
"New faces are rare in Zephrah, like they probably are in Vesrah. It's hard to get to, and not a place most people choose to live without existing ties. People are mostly kind and well-meaning, I think, but Ashari culture is...guarded. There's a tendency to treat anyone who wasn't raised among us like they're just passing through, which can be the opposite of welcoming. No one wants to be a guest forever."
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Ro absently fidgets with a small pendant he still wears, turning it over between his fingers. He glances up to meet Orym's gaze and there's something a little sad in his smile.
"I guess I'm proving them right. I lived there exclusively for years, then--I couldn't anymore. I've been going back and forth across the Ozmit Sea ever since."
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"Sounds like a self-fulfilling prophecy. If people are always treated like outsiders, they'll eventually decide to try somewhere else."
Beneath the blankets, his foot nudges Ro's knee more deliberately this time.
"It's not on you to prove or disprove anything, regardless of what they'll believe. You're just doing what's right for you."
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"Are you joking? I was the smallest in a family of six, I'm always proving something." There, he breaks into a brighter grin and he nudges Orym back. "Thanks."
It's not a story he tells often, not one he cares to share, but. Orym understands in ways others won't, he thinks. Not just being a little fellow in a big person's world, but--well. He's Ashari. Even if he's not experienced when Ro has, he knows what the culture is like and can imagine.
"I'll have to get you on a sailboard before you leave Vesrah."
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"I'll have to find someone to complain to if you don't," he threatens playfully. "None of my sisters would forgive me if I didn't at least try it." Lita especially. "I have three older sisters. Triplets," he explains. He can relate to having something to prove. "Not blood, like I said, but I grew up with them. I was the smallest too, of course, but that just made me more determined to do everything the girls and Will did."
Sometimes he doesn't even think about it, conditioned by a lifetime spent together. His name just slips out in conversation like he's still here, like he could wander in at any moment. The joy of his existence, of remembering him, outweighs the sorrow of his passing for at least a little while. Though they are rare, these are Orym's favorite moments. He feels closer to him, somehow. His smile has a bittersweet edge, but it's still warm, and his eyes are soft, lids lowering to focus on the blankets between them.
"He loved skysailing. So if I don't leave Vesrah at least a decent sailboarder, he'd really never let me hear the end of it."
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He doesn't miss the more fragile look to Orym's smile at the mention of Will, and Ro wonders who he is - or was - and why Orym speaks of him in the past tense. But he doesn't need to ask now, because the other man looks happy otherwise and that's nothing to spoil with a darker cloud.
"Well, the advantage of sailboarding is it's not as far to fall," he quips. "Can you swim?"
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They'll have a few weeks at sea for him to decide if his first impression was right.
"Yeah, I can swim. By Air Ashari standards, I'm pretty good. But I've never done it in the ocean." Which has to be a lot different than the ponds and streams where he learned, and even the bigger lakes he's jumped into since. "I should probably give that a try before I jump on a sailboard."
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