On the Road Again

[midori]

With the mild weather and her cozy sheets, Midori found that she feel asleep with little difficulty. Or perhaps her swift slumber was induced by the sudden mental stress that had burdened her only moments before. Of course, most would assume the lengthiness of her present journey would have been the cause of her exhaustion, but the thought was simply laughable to Midori; rarely did she feel such physical fatigue. She was accustomed to these kinds of journeys.

Nevertheless, Midori accepted this easy sleep – such a lovely gift from the spirits – with gratefulness; perhaps, she thought, things would suddenly be brighter in the morning. However, even she recognized the naivety of this hope…

Only moments after closing her eyes, Midori was consumed in that heavy, black nothingness that most humans associated with sleep. Though, after what seemed like several hours, Midori found herself amidst a blurry dream. Its flashing scenes whooshed by her – at first – in a blinding speed; she could not distinguish the nature of it - happy or sad, insightful or insignificant. All she understood was that she felt a heaving, overwhelming, and, rather nauseating sensation. It was then that the dream came, to the most part, into focus.

The dream was not detailed – an oil painting rather than an expert sketch – but Midori found she comprehended the scenes with a strange vibrancy. She was placed on a marred ground of bland rock, but she was not unaccompanied. Men among ostrich-horses were lined beside her, and they were dressed for war; helmets gleamed and armor clinked, and each face wore that of a grim seriousness.

Suddenly, Midori gasped, for she saw a familiar face among these warriors: Mesheiko. However, he was not simply standing in line with the others. He was out among the wasteland that protracted in front of her; a wasteland, she acknowledged with a gasp, that was littered with debris: red armor, spears, and an occasional figure, sprawled out in an unnatural position. Mesheiko himself, poised atop a similarly familiar ostrich horse, was in combat with a masked, Fire Nation soldier. Metal clashed, earth rumbled… It was fierce; Midori could somehow sense the exhaustion that was consuming her friend…

In one breathtaking moment, Mesheiko’s eyes suddenly locked on to hers and widened in widespread horror. Of course he would wonder what she was doing here. What was she doing here?

Now, however, as she watched, Midori could see Mesheiko’s intentions had changed; given a second wind, he now fought with renewed gusto and determination. He moved to defend her, and – yes, yes! – he was now overtaking that enemy. Finally, the masked enemy was struck down, and Midori cheered and jumped forward to meet him.

However, before they could touch, though she could see Mesheiko struggling toward her with desperation, Midori was swarmed by the cavalry that had surrounded her, and Mesheiko could no longer reach her. He called, but his voice was masked by the clink of the surrounding soldiers. He reached for her, but their hands could not touch.

He could not overcome the obstacles that separated them…

And no matter how hard she screamed, or how hard her heart ached, she could not reach him. Her cries were masked but a sudden, deafening screech…

Midori jerked awake with a soft gasp, though, as soon as she was aware of her surroundings, her body relaxed and she moaned tiredly. Lazily her hand reached out and patted the ground, and she turned when it found nothing there.

“Mesheiko?” she asked groggily with her eyes still closed.

Slowly then, she shifted into a sitting position, blinking, and looking around. It was then that she finally saw Mesheiko… and his hand, sprouting blood.

“Mesheiko!” She called, this time in alarm. “Are you okay?”

[atalanta]

Mesheiko scowled at the ostrich-horse, surprised that Banshee would lash out at him so readily. He had thought that they were far beyond those stages. But, then again, Banshee was unpredictable. He knew that, and would have to accept it at some point. The blood was bubbling from within him quickly, he had to put a stop to it. Shaking his head at Banshee, Mesheiko reached into his pack. He was used to dealing with minor injuries such as this before, as he had acquired those more major. He felt the rough texture of the bandages, and took out the roll. The nurses had been kind enough to provide him with a kit of sorts for the road. His injuries had been severe, but they hadn't given him too much extra trouble lately, besides the obvious difficulties. In the infirmary the nurses had constantly battled infection to keep his foot intact, and they had provided him with herbs and salves just in case the problem came up again, with a stern warning to visit a hospital as soon as possible if it gave him trouble again.

He found the canteen of water, and then looked to what had been their fire last night and groaned. Only a tiny tendril of smoke trailed out from the ashes. He was going to clean it out with hot water, as the nurses had advised him in such a situation, but it looked as if there was very little of that possible. Oh well, he had boiled the water yesterday and so Mesheiko poured it on to clean the blood that was beginning to dry on his skin. He could see the jagged tears of skin left by Banshee’s ferocious beak, sighing. Could he go even a few days without injuring himself? He heard Midori’s words, but his hands were intent upon cleaning his slight wound. Mesheiko felt as if he was in a trancelike state, his only focus healing that which had been damaged.

He found the roll of bandages again, and took an end and began wrapping the clothing around his hand, over his thumb, around his wrist to hold it secure. Kazakh heard the screech of Banshee, something he was soon becoming accustomed to, and got dressed. He heard Mesheiko grunt, and wondered at the strange sound. He poked his head out of the tent, and at the sight of his son with even more bandages, quickly hurried out. “Mesheiko?” he inquired with concerned. His arms folded against his chest at the brisk morning air. “Yeah, don’t worry, Midori, Dad,” he said to her kindly, trying to make up for his behavior last night. But he couldn’t change his insecurities; he was afraid they were there to stay. “It will be,” he responded to Midori, though not specifically referring to himself. “Banshee just got a little agitated, Dad, nothing new,” he informed his father. However, something would have to change if Mesheiko was going to make a life for himself, and possibly Midori.

[midori]

Despite Mesheiko’s reassurances, Midori eyed his wound critically. It seemed a little gruesome at first sight, but it had been cleaned and bandaged with swift efficiency, so she silently deduced that he would not die; however, she felt a little guilty that she had not somehow assisted in this healing. It would have been another way to show Mesheiko that she truly cared for him, and she wouldn’t have minded simply having some physical contact either. Midori was a physical person; energetic races, arm wrestling competitions, pats on the shoulder, and hugs were her ways of feeling and expressing affection, and this could be an obstacle with Mesheiko. Especially now with his mass load of insecurities, she knew her touch was not comforting to him, and it made her feel helpless… and sometimes a little lonely.

With this thought, Midori decided to decipher Mesheiko’s mental health as well, for she knew that it was the true issue; to do this, she quietly inspected his expression, finding little there. However, because he seemed distracted and had yet to smile at her or even glance much in her direction, she decided he was still facing those same problems of yesterday. At this she sighed and tiredly stumbled to her feet, figuring she would face those obstacles when they confronted her.

As Banshee’s name was mentioned, Midori naturally glanced to the apparently grouchy creature. While most would be hesitant of a beast that had just bitten a comrade moments ago, Midori felt no hesitancy; Banshee was her friend, and she would always do her best to understand and comfort him.

In a lazy stroll, Midori strode up to the ostrich horse, then placing both hands on her hips, which, with teasing attitude, jutted to the left. She leaned forward, grinning.

“Now, just because you’re not a morning person, that doesn’t mean you can go out and bite whoever you want.” With this, she took a step closer, reaching out her hand. “Come on now, I just want to pet ‘cha. No biting.”

Midori then glanced at the other two males in her company, smiling at them as well, as if they were in on the little joke.

[atalanta]

Banshee succumbed to the gentle touch of Midori's hand quite easily, nuzzling her fingers. He was rather used to bearing the full load of Mesheiko, and often times some of the humans' belongings as well, so Midori's caring nature was a respite. Banshee rolled his eyes, but not at all towards Midori. The victim knew who they were.

Mesheiko did indeed catch Banshee's exasperated look and glanced back at the beast with mistrust. They had been through so much together, built such a bond, and Mesheiko hoped now it wasn't crumbling. Banshee had saved him from the expense of a crutch so far, but perhaps it was time. While the ostrich-horse was invaluable to him and their group as a whole, perhaps part of the healing process was to learn to do things on his own. Perhaps just what he needed was not to lean on others anymore, both physically and metaphorically.

And how could he ever present himself to Midori's parents with self-respect if his arm thrown over Banshee's back? The great war hero. He scorned the thought. The army had taught him many things, but perseverance and honor were not. Those he possessed on his own.

And with that thought, he smiled back at Midori. "Behold, the great man-eating ostrich-horse," he said, maintaining that same slight smile as Kazakh helped him to Banshee. Mesheiko reached one hand across the ostrich-horse's back, and the other to his head. Then, the tips of his fingers brushed against hers, uniting them for a moment.

Perhaps what he needed, also, was to stop fighting her. She was certainly not the enemy. Midori was not the one to scar his leg and his life. She was trying to help him. And with that thought, he realized they had a very common enemy. On a simple level, it was the Fire Nation. It had wreaked havoc on both of their lives', and the lives of many others as well. But on a deeper level, he and Midori shared an even more common enemy: himself.