kanni & sinensys

[kanni]

x
arlow let out a slow breath through his nose, shifting his weight against the tree as the last of the tension drained from his skull. his head didn’t feel like it was caught between a blacksmith’s hammer and an anvil anymore, and that alone was enough to make him feel a hell of a lot better. clearer, at least. clear enough to start making sense of things again. the sheriff's hat was back on his head, settled where it belonged, but there was no shaking the way conrad had looked at him right before handing it back. the man had been searching for something on arlow's face, something beyond sunbleached scruff and dusty skin. the intensity with which conrad seemed to always stare at him should have had arlow's hackles perpetually raised, and they had been for a time. but it was hard to be anything other than mildly intrigued and greatly puzzled following the events of the past few hours. he could only wonder just what it was conrad was looking for.
x
arlow pushed himself to his feet following conrad's own rise, but took the same amount of time gertie would have when her knees were acting up. he wouldn't admit it out loud, but the sheriff was almost fearful that moving too quickly would shake the sudden relief he'd found from a usually day-long affair. maybe even shake loose the odd air that had built between himself and conrad. arlow adjusted the brim of his hat to sit proper, flicking fluff that wasn't there from the corner before glancing at his companion.
x
"i'm fine to move, but you have the book," arlow gestured with one hand at the tome still tucked at conrad's side. "like i said, all's i got is northwest. you and grandmammy were speakin' in all kinds of riddles, surely you got the answer for one of them."
x
examining the odd connection that his own blood and someone so far removed from the town's roots had developed would only hurt arlow's feelings, and he refused to look closer at it than that quip. his relationship with his grandmammy was closer than that with his own parents, and not being the one who knew everything about the quirky old bat anymore was like telling the sharpest shooter they'd never actually once hit a target.
x

[sinensys]

he bit his tongue, containing it, lest he slip up: how do you explain innate understanding to someone who lacks that intrinsic knowledge? or worse, to someone who cannot know you have it? in his exhaustion, conrad struggled to put together his thoughts to present them eloquently, ornately. before, he took on the vague figure of a doctor, though skinwalkers would laugh at him for thinking that that cover was a form of shapeshifting. that disguise would have worked, had the humans been less stubborn. now he had to alter the script and work with the new plan of finding that water himself. the fae wracked his brain for a solution: what doctor could be well-versed in hydrological maps? and more importantly, how could he twist the half-truth to explain it?

conrad realized he hadn't spoken for a few moments, still churning thoughts until a solid plan formed. he opened the book again to look at the page he'd seen earlier, in the elder cassidy's home, and find the name of his first destination --- their first destination. for better or for worse. from the tome, conrad pulled the first name: "a good starting point is... a place called meadowlark stretch, which was a spring-formed lake once." he move to stand where both he and the sheriff could look at the book simultaneously. "it shrank pretty far from where it used to be, but there might be some trace of those springs. unless you've already looked there, in which case the sagebrush ridge is just as good, for the same reasons as before," the kelpie concluded before glancing over to the human to his left.

what a strange day it had been, but there was the infinitesimal amount of relief from the fact that things were moving finally. no more sitting and waiting from behind doctor hector creed's back --- just a stumbling, humiliating forwards. no longer would conrad fear the noxious need to feign niceties all week long. ataraxy approached, accelerating ever so slightly.

"unless you think somewhere else would be preferable, or most likely to lead us to water, or whatever," he lifted his hand up, gesturing with his whole hand rather than point with two fingers.

[kanni]

x
arlow tucked his chin as conrad moved closer into his space, blinking against the few rays that managed to sneak beyond the guard his hat provided him. the name meadowlark stretch was plenty familiar to him, there'd been an old tire swing strung up on a willow tree on the banks when arlow was young. he hadn't been back there since his own comings and goings, but he recalled how to get there as well as he recalled to get to the grocer. the alternative, sagebrush ridge, was little more than an itch in the back of the sheriff's mind. arlow was not afraid to admit that he was prone to remembering landmarks rather than street or town names. the likelyhood of him knowing the second option conrad had provided was high, but until they actually got there he wouldn't be too much help.
x
arlow'd barely more than opened his mouth to respond before conrad continued, giving the sheriff pause as he listened to the other man speak with something close to a note of finality. as if they were closing a chapter in a book, one that arlow feared had been written without his knowledge of collaboration. if conrad was that ready to move forward, clearly something had resonated with him and arlow had made the right choice bringing him to his family home.
x
arlow rolled his shoulders, squaring himself, as he thought for a moment longer. his headache was gone, but the clarity the sheriff needed to really see the bigger picture hadn't returned to him. not that he'd ever had much to begin with. his stomach still spoke its frustrations in silent churnings, the taste of smoke and dirt the only remnants of flavor in arlow's mouth. the things he would do for a sandwich the size of his face served up by missus charleston, even with the unfavorable side of rampaging children.
x
"i'm more familiar with meadowlark, we called it the waterin' hole. not sure what's left there, haven't been in a long while, but it's probably worth a shot," arlow finally replied, tone steadier than he felt as if to spite the rollercoaster of the past few minutes. he reached out with one finger to trace the poorly illustrated woodlands surrounding the western edge of the map. "prairie ends right where these guys start, shouldn't be hard to spot once we get movin'. somethin' like a twenty minute walk, i reckon." he tapped his finger against the map again before retreating, the catch of old paper against the callouses on the pad of his finger sending a light shiver down arlow's spine.
x
he didn't allow himself to linger in conrad's space for much longer, eager to take the tension of the day and put it behind him. emotional vulnerability was not arlow's strong suit, his gruff nature as much a shield as the hair on his face and the dirt on his clothes. he wasn't sure how to approach what had just happened, refused to acknowledge that part of himself that craved to make an attempt. not only would trying be like poking a sleeping bear with a stick, but he was making an active effort to save his town and his reasoning screamed that it was neither the time nor the place. and if it was up to the logical side of himself it never would be. arlow and conrad would resolve the water issue, conrad would hightail it out of there, and arlow could go back to his normal routine - sans drought.
x
arlow waved a hand, dispersing his thoughts as if nothing more than a cloud of gnats. "c'mon, let's head out," the sheriff was careful to not trip over the sprawled roots of the tree he had been taking refuge against as he began to move back down to the gate at the edge of the property. "if the waterin' hole's a bust, we'll try the other one."

[sinensys]

...twenty minutes?

conrad lowered the book as the sheriff simultaneously backed off. confusion replaced the space arlow stood in.

dunhaven was a town drowning beneath the heavy, unyielding weight of dust, mere moments away from being conquered by that relentless silicon scourge. every day now, it seemed, was another battle lost to the endless onslaught, another quanta of time dissipated before doomsday arrived. the humans --- and hidden nonhumans, he supposed --- teetered on the edge of life and death, the precipice taunting, alluring. demise stalked after them, lying in wait yet wholly visible. it appeared to conrad that the town was on borrowed time, on the verge of becoming an empty husk. the realization dawned on him slowly, creeping in like the dusty tides consuming dust- dunhaven. had the kelpie had no stakes, the irony would be amusing, delightful even. he would have been entertained by the imminent ruin brought by the humans' own hands; he would have cheered for their silenced states. the vacancy would have filled some righteousness within conrad, feeding into the idea that they had it coming. no longer could conrad wish death upon them, not when they were in the same desert boat.

...but a potential solution lied twenty minutes away. unbelievable.

arlow headed for meadowlark, it seemed, but conrad stood there, book open but by his side as he stared at arlow. before conrad could stop himself, the words escaped, dry, nearly accusatory: "reason must truly evade you and your people if no one ever bothered to check a place called the watering hole for water in your desperate time of need." he snapped the book shut, bewildered, and followed the sheriff, tripping on a root yet catching himself with a short burst of exasperated cursing. conrad gestured loosely to arlow. "lead the way, then."

what strange, strange creatures, the fae thought to himself.

[kanni]

x
twenty minutes wasn't that far, not in comparison to the miles arlow'd walked to retrieve a calf that wandered too far from the herd or to examine a barn that'd been broken into. as easy as the traveling was made by horse, arlow's "trusty" steed was a dramatic mare and liked to play lame more often than not. it was frustrating how often he'd had to replace his boots from wearing through the soles. conrad implying they were traveling to the edge of the world was just another reminder that the man was a city-slicker, cooperation and mild compassion aside, and he wasn't bound to change anytime soon. arlow didn't stop walking, though the snark of the other man's words only added to the weight that the townsfolk's doubts and worries had already accumulated on his shoulders. it wasn't just the barebones mattress that had the sheriff waking up with perpetual aches and pains every morning. though his face was turned away from conrad, his feet putting him several yards away from the other man already, there was no disguising the exasperated sigh that slipped from arlow's mouth.
x
"ya think we ain't desperate? that we haven't already dug trenches in the bottoms of every dry bed we can think of?" arlow muttered, voice unable to carry the bite he wanted to put behind his response. "i sleep like trash 'cuz i stay up late tryin' to think of new places to check, new things i can do. so i missed one, but it ain't all on me alone. so don't go actin' all high and mighty on me. you're in it now too." arlow didn't wait for a response, lengthening his stride to put more distance between conrad and himself. the copse of trees where the watering hole resided were a long way off, and the flat prairie between here and there would make it easy for conrad to track him despite the separation.
x
the sun beat down with no real mercy as it began reaching the peak of noon, and the hollow ache left behind by the resolved migraine only added to the fatigue arlow had to sit with. his boots thudded against the dirt in a steady, shuffling rhythm as he passed the old fence that marked the edge of cassidy property, gate creaking in protest as it was pushed out. grandmammy never left the property unless she had to, a mixture of called-in favors and self-sustanability keeping the old woman stocked with food and supplies without stepping foot past her own garden. this visit was likely the most the gate had been pushed in pulled in over a week, before that, close to a month.

[sinensys]

"you're in it now too," he had said. conrad hated that he was right. he refrained from responding with the lie of self-respect and not because the grim reminder conjured a bleak future.

twenty minutes was less daunting as the two moved along in silence. the kelpie hadn't walked on humanoid feet that far in a long time, usually either stuck in courts or in a more equine form traversing temperate forests and, on occasion, the more mild taigas as it were in scotland. the fae realm encompassed a wide variety of biomes littered with settlements, which included lochsides conrad preferred to spend his time in. the overwhelming heat of the southwest states was decidedly not his ideal environment. but like it or not, without that ancient well to bring him back to the feywilds, the town's problems had become his own. unlucky.

conrad allowed a one-meter distance between himself and the sheriff, silent as he endured the relatively plain and flat terrain. the sun, as it had been the last week and a half, was relentless with its uncaring radiance, hostile in the way that reminded him of a defensive snake. it waited in warning but simultaneously it waited for a time to strike. aggressive and yet not. two weeks ago the fae would have thought himself to be the same way. how suddenly gradual changes could occur. he briefly wondered just how many actual snakes were in the area; he decided to save the question for a later time, even if the silence now was unbearable.

and yet he felt compelled to say something, to break the heavy silence. only when alone was the silence relieving; in the presence of others, silence felt oppressing. he wasn't quite sure why.

"...where else have you checked? just to minimize the discovery of more bleak omens, i mean."

[kanni]

x
arlow fiddled absently with the fraying edge of his leather belt as they walked, content to retreat into his own head for entertainment. the quiet had never bothered arlow, the man the type to rely on actions over words unless necessary. not only did it allow him to avoid unwanted social interaction, but it also allowed arlow to be all the more observant. while being sheriff in dusthaven was mostly handling paperwork, lost pets, and breaking up the occasional scuffle at the saloon, it was also collecting intel on the townsfolk to better build a portfolio for each individual. not only did it scratch at some deep-seated itch in arlow's brain that didn't quite fit into the rest of his very-much-so-type-b-persona, but it made handling a cranky old bat with specific aches and pains or a troubled teenager who had just recently lost a long-time friend much simpler. the way arlow saw it, being excessively methodical - paranoid even - about never letting a slip of information escape his grasp only made it easier to be lazy about finding a solution later on. if only it had worked out that way with the drought. if only he'd had more time before everything had fallen apart.
x
conrad's words not only broke the heavy silence that had descended between the two, but broke arlow away from a quickly spiraling train of thought. if he didn't feel a low gurgle of annoyance for having to, once again, explain his failings as a person of authority in dusthaven, he'd almost be grateful for the distraction. arlow kept his eyes forward as he responded, uncomfortably aware of the way the sun made his shirt stick to the line of his shoulders, and of the puffs of dried dirt that ascended with every thud of his boots upon the trails.
x
"every damn place you coulda' thought to," arlow grimaced, dragging up the memories of failed search after failed search as pleasent as tearing a scab that wasn't quite ready to let go of a not-yet-healed wound.
x
"old wells, runoff ditches, ponds. dug along every bend of the dryhorn crick, even though that thing's been as barren as it's name would suggest since my grandpappy was our age. hell, we even tried settin' dynamite in the walls of the canyon that used to feed into it. cost us a hand, a leg, a dead mule and someone's wagon. got nothin' but more dirt and rocks to show for it," arlow snorted bitterly. "at this point, it ain't about checkin' every spot. it's about findin' more when there's none left."