Nyxthorn 3 - Varrick/Zanril/Draven

Blue light illuminated the tunnel as Draven, Varrick, and Zanril, were leading the prickle of Nyxthorn back to the Matriarch. The scene was all too monogamous for Varrick’s tastes, and he did not miss being back down here for such a prolonged period of time. Rock, rock, crystals, more rock, such was the territory of most, with the Tranquil and Druids being the odd ones out in the whole scene down here. Even they, though, were a boring sight compared to the hustle and bustle of the surface. How come the Nyxthorn hadn’t found their way from the Matriarch’s chambers sooner to color in the landscape, Varrick could only wonder. Perhaps the Caregivers had taken better care of keeping them in one place, but after the path opened down, they found their ways out.

The prikcle’s shuffling pace was hasty, with the occasional pause to be urged forward again. They knew their way well enough, though with nothing but rock and crystal in sight, they did not feel too inclined to rush forward. Draven would herd them down the path, keeping a close eye on the Matriarch’s pets. Perhaps too close, like he didn’t care to pay any mind to the other Haedians for their surface-life.

“You hail from the Watchers?” Varrick finally spoke up. An absent and simple question, but if Draven proved any kind of conversationalist, Varrick could work with that. “Are you familiar with the Matriarch’s peculiar pets, living closer to her chamber as you are?”

___

Draven was certainly more focused on the Matriarch’s precious pets than his makeshift companions, the haedian keeping a sharp eye on the prickle to make sure they weren’t spooking again. The monotony of the tunnel being borderline unpleasant for Varrick was the opposite for Draven. This was everything he’d ever known, and was something that was unlikely to change no matter the outcome of the events with freeing the Matriarch.

“Yes.” Draven answered, not elaborating in the slightest or even bothering to look at Varrick as he responded. He was of the Watchers, and he was familiar with the Matriarch’s precious nyxthorn. His duty was to her first and foremost- making conversation with these two to pass the time was not amongst his list of priorities.

“Not much for conversation, are you?” Zanril mused dryly, using her wing to reach out and herd one of the nyxthorn back when it started to veer off from the prickle. “The Watchers know all of the info on everything, right?”

Draven didn’t respond- not immediately, that is. 

“I know the cause of your banishment from the Druids, as well as the details surrounding your parents and yourself, to put it simply.” Draven said, casting a glance over at Zanril who was visibly tensing up by the second at the mention of her parents. “I have seen and heard of many things, not all of which make for good conversation. I prefer to observe, rather than talk.”

—

It was a good thing Varrick’s shawl covered his hackles, lest he’d have made for poor looking company when Draven brought up Zanril’s past unprovoked. His eyes lingered on the Watcher while he tended to the Nyxthorn, before looking over to Zanril. How she grew more uncomfortable by the moment took all pleasantry from Varrick's face. Fence seemed to avert her attention and cozy down on his back at that. Whether she said anything, Varrick did not respond with words. 

"My, what a conversationalist," he added curtly, voice feigning an almost surprised tone. "I knew your lot were impertinent, but to this degree, I believed better. Or is it simply... you?" The older Haedian looked down his nose at Draven, though not with anger as much as disappointment, before his attention was brought to the cave ahead.

The open chamber of the Matriarch came to view, with the noise of the workers filling the air. The Nyxthorn quickened their pace as the end of the road was near, with their quills jingling enthusiastically. 

“How time flies,” Varrick sighed at the sight, though they still had the home stretch, so-to-speak. Nevertheless Draven must be pleased, and Varrick needs to keep an eye on Zanril’s mood for the remainder of the time. She’s come far since everything was brought to light for her, but Varrick is ever bristled at the topic, let alone from a stranger to throw about so lightly to jab at them. 

How civil of you. Fence eyed him from his back, stretching her legs out over the shawl, claws curling into the fabric. I could have bitten him, if only a bit.

That would be the last thing this situation needs. We are on thin ice down here, you will not be breaking it further.

What a bore, but fine. If the spotted one speaks again I make no promises.

__

“You will not linger to find out.” Draven mused flatly, his own expression unchanging with Varrick’s words or tone. He wanted all of the topsiders to leave the moment they were done. He wouldn’t make enemies, but he certainly wasn’t about to get buddy buddy with them.

Least of all these two. He’d witnessed the explosive confrontation between kin in the Druids, and the subsequent banishment that followed. They did not want to be here, and he did not want them to stay. It was as simple as that, really.

“I’m fine,” Zanril assured her father when he looked at her, the younger haedian still stiff and staring at Draven as her mind buzzed unpleasantly. Made her feel tingly and unpleasant. But she forced herself to let out a heavy breath, even giving herself a bit of a shake to try to work the tension out. 

As soon as the Matriarch was within view and the nyxthorn started hurrying towards her, Zanril slowed her pace to let Draven deal with the last of the journey. It wasn’t far, and the Caregivers were already approaching to help encourage the prickle to get situated where they belonged once more.

“… Watchers are weird.”