Eyes of Mist

The voice had stopped right in the middle of the tale.
Ayala glance towards Jorcan but he seemed to be as perplexed as her. They waited for a moment, then the Falamar asked tentatively: “What happened then to the prince and the-”
“You really believe this story?” Jorcan interrupted her. He snorted and turned away but she had already seen the anxiety in his eyes and posture.
On one hand she could understand him well. The whole situation bordered on being absurd. If someone had told her just a few months ago that she'd one day sit down with a Shakaree soldier in an enchanted subterranean city and listen to an absurd story about two rivaling princes whose names sounded a bit too much like those of their respective peoples – she'd have called it absolutely crazy.
But there was another side to it. What if this story was true? What if theses two princes had really existed? What if there had been a kingdom called Illian instead of two nations that were warring for survival?
This last thought made her gulp.
Jorcan turned back to her and she could do nothing but stare at him. How could something like this be true? How could Illian be real when this man was so very different from her?
The ground below her feet seemed to lurch and her stomach grumbled. Before she realized what was happening she had tumbled forward. Jorcan wrapped an arm around her waist to keep her upright. She closed her eyes and rested her head against his shoulder, hoping that the dizziness would pass soon.
“You've been up for too long.” She heard his voice near her ear. “I'll take you back and you can rest a bit.”
She wanted to protest but he wouldn't have any of that. “You are deathly pale. If you collapse here you can find someone else to drag you back through the city. We'll go back to our camp and you'll do as I tell you and get some sleep.”
Ayala had to smile in spite of herself. For Jorcan, that had sounded almost caring.
The dizziness abated slowly but she had to admit that he was right. She felt so very tired; she didn't give it much thought when he offered his arm and she made her way back leaning against him.
Only when she settled on her make shift bed did she realize something: she was no longer afraid of Jorcan. She couldn't say if it happened during her recovery, or if the thoughts this strange story had awoken in her were the cause, but something had definitely changed.
Though she was still far from seeing him as a friend, she nevertheless found herself unable to reconcile her opinion of him with the tales of monsters from the north she had been told as a child.
With this thought she fell asleep, a curious smile on her lips.

Ayala awoke to a strange gasping sound and, with an effort, got herself up. The blue stones' light was muted yet she could discern Jorcan tossing and turning in his sleep.
Without much ado, she shuffled over to him and grasped his shoulder. He didn't wake up immediately which made his behavior even stranger to her but when he finally snapped into a sitting position his wide eyes looked almost panicky. Then he focused on her, and his breathing began to calm down a bit.
“Did you have a bad dream?” She worried.
He brushed her hand aside. “This is none of your business. Or do you really think you could even begin to understand what I'm going through, Falamar?”
She did her best to not take his anger personally. “Well, if this story is true we may be much more similar than we thought. Maybe I really can learn to understand you, if--”
Before she could finish her sentence Jorcan's hand shot forward and grabbed her collar. The other hand reached up and pulled down his mask. Up close as she was she got an even better look at his grotesque face and she had to fight the urge to retch.
“We are nothing alike, Falamar!” He hissed. “Just look at me. We do look very different from your kind. By birth. We don't act like you. We don't think like you. Whatever this voice was talking about, was nothing but a silly fairy tale about a kingdom that never was.”
She lowered her eyes and placed her hand on the hand of his, that was still holding her. “I'm not sure what to think of that but I know we haven't heard the full story yet. Even if none of those events really happened, maybe there's still something useful to find in that story. At the very least it has something to do with this city and I really want to know what happened here. We may even get a hint how to get out of here.”
Her calm reply seemed to make him think because a moment later he let go of her and pulled up the mask again. Still, his eyes kept looking past her into emptiness as if he was struggling with an answer. At last gave a barely visible nod. “I assume it's worth a try,” he said in a low voice.
She did her best not to appear triumphant but inside she was overjoyed with her success. It was actually possible to convince him of something just using arguments.
In spite of her impatience they took the time for having breakfast – Jorcan with his back to her – before setting out to the silver woods again. The Shakaree was in no rush to get there but as long as he was willing to open the doors for her, she took it in stride.
When they finally arrived it was her who sat down on the ground near the trees that formed a barrier and asked the voice: “Please, tell us more about Illian and the Mencun.”