Blue Scale Blues

A cold wind blows across the temple square, carrying snow on its invisible wings. The cold is intense enough to make even the most stalwart of individuals clutch at a cloak, and Zeke is no exception. In fact, he is one of those clinging his cloak around him extra-firmly. It's a long blue affair, covering most of his body with it tucked around him like it is. The chill wind keeps trying to pull it off of him as he walks from the edge of the plaza toward the temple of Daeus.

Cold is not so kind to scales, but there is no risk they will flutter about nor blow away. From the north another scaled one enters the temple plaza, hunched forward over spear-as-walking-stave. He is more bronze than blue with much of scale covered by splint that rustles in the wind and with his movement. His stride is purposesful, yet snout and eyes wander: the wide plaza; the temples within it; the people moving between. Searching as he rustleclattertaps along. Until they spot the large swatch of blue; could be blue in the dim. Peering. Bah. Is only cloth?

Zeke speaks more loudly than he intends to when suddenly a massive gust of wind pulls his cloak out of his claws and the cloth... tears. He stares at the edge of his cloak in mild horror, blinking at it and then at his claws as if looking for a solution to the bit of cloth that is already being carried away on the wind. He lets out a huff and a shiver, but to those watching, he certainly looks different without the cloak shielding him. A outfit made of white covers most of him, but his blue scales and crystal limbs glimmering in the torchlight are clear indicators of who he is. He lets the cloak fall away, carried backwards by the forceful wind, and grips his quarterstaff more tightly, click-tap, click-tap, he makes his way forward.

Tlanexhuani is startled some by the sudden cry and the sudden flying away of cloth. The distress is enough to have him approach the other briskly with a rattle-tap, rattle-tap of metal-on-scale-on-wood-on-stone. "Are you alright?" is asked in words of the dragon. There is concern, though it is quickly followed by eager inquiry. "Which temple is the DragonFather's? This one seeks a shaman..."

Then there is ... confusion. Apprehension. Cuiriosity in scent and tail as words are halted in favor of, well, staring.

As Zeke makes his way to the temple, he is stopped by an eager voice which draws his attention. At first, he can not smell the other blue-scale male, but he drops his head politely to the inquiry just the same. "Peasssce on your nessst. Thisss one isss fine. The temple you ssseek isss..." He starts to point toward the proper temple and the wind dies down just enough for him to catch a vaguely familiar scent. One that makes him shudder in memory, and then he eyes the male. Definitely a male. One who is _not_ his mother. "There."

Tlanexhuani's snout turns to follow the pointing, though eyes do not fully leave the other in the moment before snout returns. "Peace on your nest." That is easy, the rest... There is spark, yet... A pause. "This one seeks shaman of the Dragonfather. Called ...Zeke." Yes, that was the name shared. The not-wrong one. "This one is Tlanexhuani, Crafter. This one seeks his kin, would share words."

Zeke blinks. "Thisss one issss called Zeke." There's a subtle shift in posture. The cloak falls over his left side, and he seems perhaps shorter than he had been before? It's hard to tell though. "Thisss one... Did not know that thissss one _had_ kin." The word 'kin' seems awkward in his mouth at the moment.

"Zeke!" Eyes widen at the admission and scattered energy becomes more focused. Coiled. First in the exclamation and then as a shift of weight and adjusting wiggle of tail; as Hunter might prepare to pounce... that is instead vented in a loud hiss of amusement and delight. "You would not know this one," he admits, bringing unoccupied claws up between them as if clutching something small, yet precious. "When last met, you were in shell."

Zeke shifts uncomfortably, uncertain what to say. His tail remains close to his body, wrapped around his legs. "Thisss one isss glad to meet you then... Uhm..." He looks down. "Do you wisssh to ssshare wordssss? In the Dragonfather'sss temple perhapsss?"

"Ssa!" The exuberance and/or elation are prevalent in Telanexlhuani a moment more before manners return. "Please." A moment more and further aspects finally catch up, such as awareness of Zeke's posture. The formerly-cupped claws now click and flick in uncertainty. "If words would not interfere with your duties, Shaman."

"Thisss one hass no dutiesss at the moment Tlanexhuani." Zeke offers formally, motioning for the other male to follow him, begins to lead the way to the temple. "Thisss one returnsss to the temple to await... kin." His scent is determined. "Thisss one hasss not known blood-kin, but thisss one hass found kin among the sssoft-ssskinsss. He isss the bessst of them."

Tlanexhuani moves along with in stride. Listening. Thinking. Considering. "Is-" Reconsidering. "Is good to know kin. This one knows little of softskins. Met only clawful, most in past days. This one only just left the jungle." Further stepping, tapping, thought.

They reach the temple, and Zeke stops, glad of the warmth of the near-interior and to simply be out of the wind and snow. "Thisss one welcomess you to Alexandria then." Zeke doesn't seem to know what to say really, his caution and uncertainty radiating from him.

Tlanexhuani exhales a pleasant breath at the shelter, though perhaps for the pause, as well. He straighten up, stretching sinew, back, and knees. "The People here, even the soft-skins, were most welcoming of this one in ... Mictlan. On the path here." There is a pause, and color of scale is not the only common trait shared between them at the moment.

"Nona- Nonantzine never shared words of kin...?" It is part inquiry and part confirmation of what was implied before.

Zeke actually flinches at the name. One he hasn't heard in... "No." He replies simply. "Thisss one apologizesss, thisss one never even thought to look. Ssshe... never ssspoke of any-one. Not even thisss onesss nesst-father. Thisss one did not know of any othersss sssave ssshe."

So many seasons waiting for a return. Then others with thoughts of actively making this moment occur. How it might be. Words to share. None of which were anything like what is here and now. The flinch is contagious. More thought. "You did not know what you did not know, Zeke..." The name is now used tentatively rather than eager exaltation from before. So many words to sift. "This one was first clutch of our nest-mother. Your nest-mother was her second clutch, many seasons later."

Zeke shifts his tail subtly. Just one little flicker of the tail tip. "It ssseemsss then that sssmall clutchess run in the family." He says this lightly, and without judgement then looks at the other male. "Doesss our... matron ssstill live?" She would have been very old by now, but it was not unheard of.

Facts are the easiest: they merely are. That it is also a sharing makes Tlanexhuani's response some easier. "Ssa. This one. Her." He noticed enough to avoid the name for now. "You. All cluches of one." And then that ease is gone.

"No. The matron does not," the elder bluescale hunches further upon his spear and his tail curls between his feet around one ankle. His eyes are at the butt of Zeke's staff, or the others toeclaws. "We... we are the last." With the wind blocked, and maybe even if it were not, the sense of sadness, of shame, becomes thick.

Zeke blinks at this news, but it doesn't mean the same thing to him as it clearly means to the other male. He had never known his tribe. His people. Only mother. Now though they were gone and he reaches out, because the healer in him sees the other's pain and can not ignore it. He offers his flesh-and-blood claw to the other male. "Thisss one doess not know your lossss, but the losss of any isss a sssadness. It isss not your fault that they are gone; but ssshare wordss with thisss one; what happened?"

Tlanexhuani does not shy from the reaching, though neither does he move to meet it. He is quite still, eyes upon the floor and also far away. "Raiders. Butchers. This one knows not what to call them. Knows not who. Why. From where. The appeared without warning. They were many. Tribe was small, we did not war; we had few warriors. They fell. The Hunters fell. The Shamans' magics were not enough. Too many to heal. Too many to fight..." His words trail off here, if for the moment.

Zeke's hand remains outstretched. Offered but not forced. "Ssssa." He offers softly, feeling a tinge of pain for the other male who he knows not. "Ssso you came to find thisss one." He glances at his crystal limbs but does not draw attention to them, but his green-eyed gaze was darkening. "No, you looked for... Nessst-mother. You did not know of thisss one ssave asss an egg."

"Ssa," Tlanexhuani exhales after a few moments as he finally lifts his gaze to Zeke. The claws are now sought by his own. "This one sought you both," he makes clear. "She is in Mictlan. Shared words. Her words were as if you were in danger, so this one left to search..." Tongue clicks to fill an otherwise pregnant pause. "This one knows, between you both, there is..." Well, he doesn't know all that much. "Her naming... This one does not approve."

The smaller blue-scale looks at Tlanexhuani's claw and sighs. Now he turns, so that the crystal limbs are apparent. "Thisss one wasss born with-out limbsss, what elssse would ssshe have called thisss one but broken?" Zeke is now the one studying toe-claws. "Thisss one hasss not ssspoken to her in sssome time... Thisss one hasss no dessire. Ssshe is... unwell."

Tlanexhuani watches the other's turn to display; notes eyes lower. In this he sees much of what he, himself, displayed a moment ago. But they are not the same; pain shifts to something else. He straightens up with aid, nearly to full upright. "No!" is a sharp hiss.

"She could have called you Flawless. No name was forced upon her to place upon you. This one tended many eggs; hatchlings; younglings. This one helped rear your nest-mother from own egg! She did not rear as she was reared. She..." The flush of vigor sputters out and his claws click at the air as if they might pull more words from it. "She ... left. This one does not know why. She... could be unwell." His tone with that is not one of fact, or anger, but of sadness.

Zeke smells of embarrassment now. He shakes his head. "It isss not your fault Tlanexhuani. Ssshe did what ssshe wasss driven to do." He shrugs with his right shoulder and continues. "Thiss one isss due home. But we sshould sshare wordsss again ssoon." He takes his claw back and seems to slowly regather himself. "Peasssce and light upon you." For all that Zeke should be younger than him, should be the one in need of comfort, he is the one who seems older. The one that is offering comfort. He wags his tail once at his uncle, and then makes his way away. Back into the driving cold. Alone.