Aelia felt Fenrir bristle, looming behind her with predacious menace. She could always count on him to be her wingman in sketchy situations and, as an artemian whose second form was a Wolf, he was one hell of a force to have at her back.
Aelia’s eyes narrowed at the vendor, her anger making it hard to think of anything other than grabbing the woman and smashing her face into the poster until it was illegible beneath the bitch’s blood. She settled for reaching over to pull the offensive notice free from its pins one by one, locking eyes with the armourer and slowly screwing it into a ball. The woman jerked back as Aelia threw it straight at her head with a dramatic flick of her wrist, but it still bounced off her forehead as she floundered to catch it.
Aelia placed both hands on the table and leant in close, her lips curling as she spoke.
“If I see that back up before you leave, I’ll make sure you become closely acquainted with that pretty little knife of yours.”
It was a complete bluff. The armourer undoubtedly had far more experience wielding any kind of weapon than Aelia did, but anger could be a weapon too, and right then it blazed so threateningly in her eyes that the woman gritted her teeth and dropped the crumpled paper to the floor behind the table.
“What world do you think you’re living in? You don’t have a fucking clue what is going on outside your precious little treehouses,” she hissed, before jerking her head towards Mirra. “Just get her away from me. Now.”
Fenrir snarled and the woman flinched back, her hand reaching for the blade hanging at her hip.
"The acts have already started; we should head over anyway." Mirra grabbed his arm and tried to pull him away from the stall. “Aelia?” Mirra pleaded.
Aelia pushed off the table, her eyes boring into the armourer for a second or two more, until Mirra called her again and she turned to follow. Before they delved too deeply into the crowd, Aelia stood on her toes to cast her eyes over the other stalls, straining to see any other posters of a similar nature. Relieved not to see any, she dropped down and caught up with the others.
“You alright, Mirra?” Fenrir frowned back at the stall, now barely visible through the throngs of people. Mirra nodded emphatically, seeming more worried that he might try to head back over to the armourer than anything else.
“More than alright, we need to hurry though or we’re not going to see everything.”
“You two go on without me, I’m more interested in the food than the performances anyway. I’ll find you later.”
“The food… or the ale?” Mirra raised an eyebrow. Fenrir laughed, splaying his hands guiltily as he backed away from them, quickly disappearing in the direction of the tavern.
“I’m sorry, Mirra,” Aelia called over the bustle around them, but Mirra just shrugged.
“Nothing I’m not used to.” She brushed it off, as though Aelia couldn’t see the hurt behind the brave façade. They’d been friends for far too long for Aelia to not know just how deeply that kind of comment cut her, but the Peregrinian’s visits were too few and far between for them to let one miserable vendor ruin their fun.
Aelia linked her arm through Mirra’s and gave a gentle squeeze, and Mirra returned it with a smile.
It looked like most of the villagers had arrived to enjoy the first night and, judging by the low pounding of drums bouncing off the trees, the celebrations had begun. Excitement pushed aside any residual anger, and they slipped through the crush of people towards the beat.
Aelia let Mirra guide her to a crowd surrounding a pair of artemian dancers; they flowed with the music, soaring around each other, their movements simultaneously graceful and passionate. They moved with perfect harmony; the woman spun wildly around her partner, but he caught her with a gentle strength. Each touch was a caress, their bodies parting and whirling around each other, and yet somehow constantly connected. It was sensual and mesmerising, and Aelia couldn’t tear her eyes away. The dance ended as the pair leapt towards each other and, at the last moment, Shifted to form two Doves that flew towards the stars, winding interlacing circles in perfect synchronisation. The crowd erupted into applause, whooping and cheering as the Doves disappeared into the stars.
The spaces between the trees had become a kaleidoscope of natural stages, performers scattered in the flickering firelight. All of the Peregrinians were artemians, and they flitted between their two forms in their performances, weaving their second natures into their craft.
Aelia and Mirra walked between the artists spread out beneath the trees, seeing as many as they could. They oohedand aahed along with the other onlookers at tightrope walkers that swung precariously before flipping back onto the rope; storytellers; Horses that pirouetted; singers that had people crying with laughter, and women who could bend and contort their bodies into the most unnatural positions.
They were nearing the end of the acts when a burst of flame caught Aelia's attention, with subdued cheers and claps emanating from the spectators around it. A drum resonated in the darkness, hitting a low, carnal rhythm. Curious, Aelia started pushing her way to the front until she could see, but when she did, she froze.
The audience stood unnaturally far back, and not because of the bursts of fire. No, it was the man himself that no one wanted to get close to, seeming to share the same ancient instinct to fear him that ricocheted through her. He stood alone in the ring but towered above them all, wearing only a pair of loose trousers, and Aelia struggled not to gawk at the defined ridges of muscle bunching over his bare torso. When she managed to peel her gaze away from the delicious arrowing v of muscle disappearing below his waistband, her eyes trailed up his body to finally land on his face, and she swallowed. Hard.
His features were made of harsh lines; his nose angular, his cheekbones carved into the tanned skin, whilst the sharp line of his jaw clenched in extreme concentration. A slight frown added to the severe image. But it wasn't just his size or blatant strength that made him so threatening; it was the way he controlled the fire he whirled around him. Both ends of the staff he wielded burned fiercely as he moved in time to the drum, his hulking figure agile as he lunged and spun within the circle of onlookers. The way he moved reminded her of the stories of warriors they had been told as children, his form imposing and precise, and yet he wasn’t at war with the flames. It seemed to Aelia as though they danced for him, whirling around him in a torrent,surrounding him in a blaze so ferocious the air crackled. He played with it, exciting it until it raged before him, angry and scorching, before calming it again.
Something about it, about him, had her mesmerised.
They watched him, the man the fire dared not disobey, the man the fire dared not burn. His bare torso glistened with a sheen of sweat; the dancing flames reflected in his dark eyes.
Eyes that flicked up to meet hers.
It was like a punch to the chest. Or more like a fist had punchedintoher chest and squeezed. She took a step back, her hand flying to her sternum, unable to take her eyes off his. The stranger’s concentration seemed to falter, the flaming staff falling from its arc for a fraction of a second before he corrected it, his dark eyes wide as he tore them away from hers.
The sensation passed as quickly as it had arrived, and Aelia took in a shaky breath, rubbing her chest distractedly as she continued to watch him. What the hell was that about?
“Here.” Mirra wafted a hanky at her.
“What?” Aelia looked at it, confused and resentful of having to look away from the stranger.
