The mists cleared and left behind a man sitting with his back against a mossy stone wall. His eyes open but his limbs unmoving he stared silently ahead, only his chest slowly rising and falling. Only after several minutes did he stir, lifting a hand to his face to wipe away a tear. A few sniffles and a cough, and then he stood up from the dewy ground to take in his surroundings. Careful eyes examined the ruins penetrating the dim light of the cloud covered skies, noting every color of every leaf, and the splatter of rain in every puddle on the ground.

"This is not home," he murmured softly. The heavy air softened it further so only a low rumble could be heard. 

He exhaled sharply, and took one last look around him. With a shrug he picked a direction and began walking.

These ruins were old, full of dust, and quiet. Plants had overtaken the the stone, animals had made their homes in the nooks and crannies. With trees left undisturbed for decades their boughs were thick and laden with leaves. Their trunks were full of ridges, knots, and burls. In other words, this was a cat's playground. The rain however meant it was time to go, and from a tree the nimble fluffy figure of a large housecat landed on its four paws. Grey with light striping on her face and a chest of white fluffy fur, Zaya shook her paws as she looked about, then took off. She liked to watch the rain, to hear the drip-drip-drip of water dropping from a roof onto metal buckets. But she didn't like being in the rain, or walking in mud. There was no time to groom herself–the rain would come down harder and soon it would be hard to find the way back. It would wash away all the familiar smells leading back to her human's tent. Hearing footsteps, she stopped and twitched her ears to listen. Darting off towards the sound, the cat poked a head out of the bushes to see someone shuffling along. The skies were darker and it was hard to see who it was from the back. She couldn't smell anything with the rain, so she let out a plaintive meow. Maybe they would hear her and stop to turn around? If they weren't scary, then she would see if they knew how to get back to the warm tent. 

Somewhere else on the mountain, there was a lone tent tucked away in the trees. One flap was open while a hearth brightly burned inside. A bearded man with dark hair was sitting in front of it, warming his hands. Every now and then he threw a glance outside, making low whistling sounds as if to call an animal. When he received no reply, he sighed and continued to watch the fire. There was a black iron pot bubbling away something above which he would stir with a wooden spoon carved out of a dried gourd. "Still not back yet. She normally comes back by now." Now that it was raining the man was worried. Flooding was a danger no matter where you were, and he hoped the feline would find somewhere safe and dry if she wasn't able to come back right away.

Dry clothes were swiftly dampening but there was little reaction from the lone stranger. He plodded on unconcerned comfort or rest, eyes flickering back and forth among the ruins despite his relaxed gait. By all appearances this was a confidant man who had walked these paths before, by all appearances but his eyes. Those eyes carefully scrutinized every shadow, every crevice in rocky ruins, until they were satisfied no threat lingered there. Rapidly they followed any rustle of leaves, or tumbling of small stones. A scraping on rock and -flick- his eyes dashed to the left. A skitter on grass and -flick- his eyes dashed to the right. Easy strides betrayed no confusion, steady breaths hinted no anxiety, but the eyes were aware of everything.

A sound cut through the heavy air like the shriek of iron on iron. The man whipped around with practice speed, his long dirk in hand before he could even home in on the source. A penetrating stare glared out into the rain as he scrutinized every stone and blade of grass behind him. Then he saw it. A small head, mewling dismally into the air, fur matted down by the rain to make it look almost ratlike in appearance. With a sigh the man put away the dirk.

"At least there are cat's here," he muttered before turning around.

Solemnly he began his trek again, following the mossy sides of trees and stones, eyes again flickering through the rain.

Ah, it wasn't him. That wasn't the voice or face of her human. Crestfallen, Zaya shook water from her coat as she watched the man walk on. The rain was seeping through the layers of her fur, and she wanted to go back to the tent. There she would be picked up, her head and ears would be rubbed, and she would be set by the fire to dry. Her human would have noticed she was running late. There was an invisible tug, faint but like something pulling gently at her whiskers. Zaya's human was worried and was thinking of her–she was sure of it. They shared an unbreakable bond, the two of them. And so she raised her tail and nose into the air before bounding out of the undergrowth. Though there was no trail of scent or sound, she could follow that tug at her whiskers until it led her back. Until it led her 'home'. The cat ran past the stranger without a glance, as if chasing after an invisible mouse. Should his curiosity encourage him to follow, he would soon see the light of a fire glowing warmly from a tent.

Zaya let out a long, drawn-out call to which Naram immediately turned to see the water-logged feline running at full speed towards shelter. He quickly took out a clean cloth and put it down before she came in, and she stepped on it like a doormat. Wiping her paws, she then laid down and began rolling trying to get rid of the excess water from her fur. "Wait–no, no!" The nomad reached down and lifted the cat up from its midsection, legs dangling. "No shaking your fur like a dog. Let me dry you off and then you can sit by the fire, alright? You'll get everything wet!" Rubbing her down, when the man was satisfied he allowed the cat to go. She laid down at a safe distance from the fire and began grooming herself, her paws having been given a second thorough cleaning by Naram to ensure there wouldn't be cat tracks on the tent come next morning. The man leaned his head on an arm, watching Zaya with amusement. "Where'd you run off to this time Zaya? See a flying beetle that you wanted to catch? Tsk tsk." Clicking his tongue, he stood up to stir the aromatic pot full of stew. The fragrant smell drifted on the wind, slightly dampened by the rain.

He took out two dishes, one smaller than the other. One was for him, the other was for the cat. He scooped out a ladle full of stew into the latter, setting it aside for it to cool out of her reach. Zaya's eyes followed her human's movements and saw where her food was, but decided to finish up her bath. She could easily leap up to reach it, but he would grab her before he started eating. Even so, she never complained. He always let her eat first. 

As he continued on his way the man heard a light rustle and a splash as the cat shot out ahead of him and ran off into the rain. His first instinct was to continue on his way, but a cat of that size was rarely far from a farm or village. If he just walked on to what looked like north it could be weeks before he found somewhere with a real roof but if he followed a cat he might get lucky in just a day. With one last look along his intended path and then sighed and followed his four legged guide through the damp.

He did not have far to walk, a distant fire flickered warmly ahead of him but he stopped before he entered the camp. There was one tent and and it appeared only one person inside. A cursory look around him showed no obvious signs of other travelers. With a sigh and a careful releasing of his grip around the dirk he strode forward, hoping for at the very least directions to the nearest settlement. Long strides took him to the very edge of what could be called the campsite and he called out in a loud voice.

"Permission to enter the camp?"

Naram looked up to see a stranger approach, and Zaya's ears twitched as she turned her head to see the face she had mistook as her human. Deciding that it was about time for her to start eating, she got up from her spot and jumped onto the table, eating gingerly at the food in her bowl. It was only warm now, and safe for her to eat. Too hot and it would burn her mouth and insides. "The Sky-father welcomes you. Where have you come from?" The nomad gave a brief glance to the grey sky as he replied, listening to what the stranger would say. "You are welcome to come in out of the rain. We will be leaving soon." By 'we', he meant himself and Zaya. The stranger would see the same cat he had followed busily eating and its owner with a bowl of food that still had wisps of steam from it. Hospitality on the plains was a custom. The lands were harsh and they were taught to never deny a stranger food and shelter; one could never know if it was a spirit in disguise. Offending the spirits would cause calamity to befall their house, while honoring them would turn away potential wrath. Whether it was good or evil, this ceremonial act of hospitality for the first night's stay of a stranger gave no grounds for retaliation.

If a person acted with ill-will after the first night's stay, then the tribe would judge them by their rules. Their people were hospitable, but not foolish. Naram took out a third bowl and filled it, then set it down on a smaller makeshift table formed from a large naturally flat rock he had pitched the tent over. A crude wooden spoon was provided, though Naram himself rarely used it for stews as thick as this. 

Invited in, the stranger nodded quietly before entering the camp. He lowered his head and ducked under the tent flap to enjoy the warmth of fire and dry off. He was silent for several moments as he assessed his surroundings. The laws of hospitality were well known in his home but who could say what the laws were here? A wary eye and a quick hand had saved more than one clansman in a foreign land, and had saved this man more than once in his strange life. When he was satisfied of his relative safety he spoke.

"Greetings to you also good man. I have traveled a long way from what was home, I doubt you'd know the land. You may call me Daniel."

He sat again in silence for some minutes as the fire warmed his damp skin and dried his clothes. Suspicion still crept at the edges of his mind, but long and careful teaching of the duties of a guest kept his hands a healthy distance from the hilts of both sword or dirk. A slow and steady melancholy practically emanated from him, whatever trials had led this Daniel into these ruins weighed heavily on him, but his shoulders were squared and his eyes still flickered about him. Nothing about his surroundings seemed to make him comfortable, and his eyes suggested nothing ever could.

"Tis well you will not stay long," He spoke finally in a clear baritone that belied his size, "I intend to be moving along myself. As soon as I can get my bearings as a sea-dog might say. Tell me, what are the nearest towns about here?"

"Naram, and this is Zaya." He pointed to himself, then motioned to the cat who was busily cleaning out all the last scraps of food from her bowl. When Daniel claimed the nomad wouldn't have heard of his homeland, the dark-haired man cocked an eyebrow. "Try me. Maybe I might be lucky and happen to have heard of it somewhere." Daniel was weary, tense, like he hadn't really slept well for months the way Naram saw it. It was as if the man were carrying an entire oxen's load upon himself like a pack mule. A soul who was unable to find rest; a sorry sight indeed. Naram was quite fortunate in that sense, then. Daniel had no plans to stay long. He seemed like a person who was unable to settle down, constantly on the move. Not in a nomadic sense, but more akin to a deep-rooted uneasiness. He then asked Naram what he knew of any settlements nearby. 

"I doubt you'll find any within these woods. These mountains are wild, I suggest taking your chances once you descend. Where there are plains there are people. Sooner or later you will find a village or house somewhere." He and Zaya had traveled here on foot, having left behind his prized stallion when he crossed the sea. Finding a good horse was costly, and he had little time to break in a new one. Most of the horses he saw in markets were no good, only able to pull wagons. They jumped at every sound, balked at the sign of rustling in the grass, and were too slow. If something caught them by surprise they would die of fright. A dead horse was no use to anyone. Maybe a merchant might be able to make use of them, but not him. He needed a mount that had a heart strong enough to be reliable. When the days grew long, allowing someone to do the walking for you was a great relief off your shoulders. Zaya couldn't always stay slung around his neck forever. 

In truth, he was choosing to move on after the rain stopped to see if fate would be kind and allow him to obtain a hardy horse for travel. There was plenty to hunt here, but he felt it was time to go. That was the nomad's way of life. Scraping his bowl clean, he set it down in a bucket filled with rainwater. He took away the cat's bowl too to soak before washing. Zaya watched her human take it away, eyes following it until she laid down to resume bathing. A low rumble came from above as the pattering of raindrops turned into a shower. Naram lowered the open flap halfway to keep the water out while allowing air to come in from below.  "Looks like it'll be a cold night." 

Daniel nodded at the introduction and glanced briefly at the cat before returning his gaze to the man before him. With slow steady breaths he held his hands over the fire to warm them, tight muscles could ruin a sword-grip as sure as any injury, and squatted down gently beside it. A slow tingle arched down his back but he quashed it before it could become a shudder. There was time for weakness among friends but never among strangers.

"Perhaps if we meet again I will," He replied to the challenge to reveal his homeland. Not even knowing where he was did not make Daniel any less careful with his words. He'd made a few enemies in more than a few places, the slightest clue of his origin could give him away to any one of them. That he gave his name away was enough of a risk, and all the risk he'd take tonight.

It was made clear that there were no settlements in the area, which seemed odd given the ruins. Someone had built a city here once, what led the region to be so fully abandoned was not explained and left one more reason for Daniel to be wary. The man pointed him loosely in the direction he had been planning to go however, which was somewhat of a comfort. Whether an honest direction or a trap his instincts had been correct, there were people to the north. 

The man cared for his cat while Daniel warmed himself by the fire. He could feel the cool air beyond the canvass of the tent, but he had little desire to stay much longer. He had been raised on cold mountain rains and lived through blizzards blowing in from inland seas. An autumn rain would not stop him, not today.

"Aye but I've seen colder," was his brief comment on the weather. It would not be much longer before he was ready to move on.

The man's reclusive attitude continued to persist, and Naram chose not to press him further. He was too tightly wound up like a braided rope to relax. The nomad wondered if Daniel might happen to be a wanted man in his homeland. Why else would a man look like a scared rabbit? He exchanged an offhand remark about the growing storm outside, to which Naram clicked his tongue when the winds picked up. "Spirits are raging tonight. With the winds howling like wolves, it makes a man wonder if this place might be haunted." The nomad had meant it as a joke, though he couldn't tell if Daniel would feel the same. Zaya yawned and chattered at him following that, then started walking over. Leaping down from the table she then leaped onto his lap and settled in. Using her front paws she took hold of his arm and began grooming it with her rough tongue while he did his best to keep a straight face. Every time she did this it felt as if his aunts were scouring his skin with a coarse brush while he was in the tub. It wasn't painful, but by now this was something he'd gotten used to. 

The fire crackled in silence as the cat went to work, and there wasn't much else he could do while this took place. If he moved, she would start all over again. If he allowed her to finish without interruptions it would be over sooner. It was one of the cat's odd habits which he could never figure out. She seemed to be quite taken with him. The wind and rain began to quiet down, now returning to the pattering drip from before. Now having climbed up onto his shoulders, Zaya was running her brush-like tongue through his hair. Naram was holding still, expression mildly displeased. She was almost done. Satisfied, the cat groomed her own paw before sitting back in his lap. Tucking her legs beneath her body and flicking her tail back and forth, she began to purr. The sound was low, unobtrusive. Yet to all who could hear it, they would feel the tension in their bodies gradually disappear. Little did the men know, the cat was weaving her magic.