19 That Subtle Ache

Though Mingan squelched it as soon as the low rumble had begun, it had been enough for John to catch. The older Mythic glanced in his direction, laughing. "Don't worry, my friend. I don't devour young women anymore."

"He'd better not," Sarah called from the kitchen. "Or I'd tan his hide."

With that, John turned his attention back to Elloreah. "You are a child of both the Light and of the dark woods. Not a bad combination."

Elloreah nodded, looking down into her bowl. "You are the first to see it that way," she said softly.

"Things have not changed much, then," he said, shaking his head sadly. "At least you are well acquainted with hiding your true nature. It will serve you well here among the mortals." He patted her on the head then, in a fatherly gesture. "Eat up, we'll speak again later."

John took Mingan by the arm and guided him to the counter. "I'm afraid it's vegetarian fare. Many of our new guests don't believe in eating animals." John explained. He gave Mingan a toothy grin. "Doesn't mean we can't go for a hunt later tonight."

Mingan raised a brow. "You sure you're up for it?"

John's expression hardened and nodded at Elloreah. "Two women were attacked outside my woods and a man was killed. I cannae stand to think, what if it had been my Sarah?" His voice was soft with menace.

Mingan nodded, the thought of Sarah suffering at the hands of those hunters or Wakinu was a chilling thought. He'd grown fond of John's companion, as foolish of an endeavor he thought the old kelpie's infatuation with the mortal woman was.

John read his expression easily. "I thought you'd feel that way," he turned away and paused before turning back to Mingan, speaking softly, conspiratorially. "You got the rune wrong, you know," he said with a grin. "I read her, as you asked. She's not simply a nymph. She's an empath. You, or at least the pack mentality of your nature, is easily persuaded by this empathic pull of hers."

Anger flashed in the look Mingan shot the kelpie.

"She means no harm by it," John soothed. "I'll fix the runes tonight. Don't give into anger out of some misguided fear."

"I wouldn't hurt the girl," Mingan muttered, insulted by John's implication. "But I don't have to like her either."

John shook his head wearily. "There isn't much you do like these days."

"I like you and Sarah, on occasion," Mingan chuckled. "Moderation and plenty of time away from human and Mythic kind is what I find works best." Despite his attempt at humor, the revelation that the Ethereal girl was pulling at him willfully grated on him. "And that being said, I believe I need some time away. Now."

Mingan slipped past the pot smoking, lounging tangle of hippies and made his way out into the forest's edge and shifted. He didn't normally like to shift during daylight hours, but he knew that within the confines of John's lands, he was safe. Hunting was not allowed on Zephyr grounds, and John had protections that kept even the most innocent of wayward wanders from finding his lands unless they'd been invited through the front gates.

In the form of a gray wolf, he ran through the brush, the undergrowth and meadows delighting in the way he startled birds into flight, the cool squish of mud between his toes, the way the wind pulled at his fur. It wasn't until he'd run the length of the northern woods and made his way to the creek, panting, his lungs burning, that he felt calm enough to return to the old ranch house. He sucked in a few mouthfuls of ice cold spring water before starting off on a leisurely lope down to the main house.

Lights were flickering in the windows, the daylight fading as he shifted back into his human form in the shadow of the trees. A few hippies called out to him as he walked. He ignored them. Though he was considerably calmer, there were still matters to be attended to. He would have to make sure that the girl's runes were fixed. Then travel arrangements would be made.

He found Elloreah and John in the study, bent over a book, talking softly. His hackles rose again despite himself. The companionable way the two fae sat, the young woman so near the old, yet still dangerous Kelpie rubbed him wrong despite all he knew. Despite his fondness for John.

"I take it you've not yet adjusted her runes?" Mingan asked as he made his way into the room. He could feel the tension growing in his shoulders, the benefits of his run fading fast.

"Just going over a few options," John told him, tapping on the old, hand written book.

Mingan pulled up a stool and leaned in to take a look. The runes in it were the sort he despised, calligraphic and ornate. "You're not teaching her those, are you?"

"The basics are the same. Just because you like the simplistic, barbaric versions..."

"Barbaric?" Mingan scoffed. "Simple means less room for mistakes. All those swooshes and swirls mean more ways in which a spell can turn..."

John sighed and snapped the book closed. "On the less skilled perhaps. Because you are unable to appreciate the subtleties of these more complex variations does not discredit them. It is in these 'swooshes and swirls' that we may find the solution to Elloreah's errant abilities."

Mingan put his hands up and leaned back. "You are far more versed on such matters. I just thought the girl should know there is more than one school of thought on the matter."

"Well, now she knows," John said shortly. "As it was, we were discussing the best option to contain her abilities and still give her the freedom to use her senses as needed."

Mingan could feel Elloreah's pull as they spoke, and his irritation grew. Not only was he annoyed that he felt any sort of ownership over her, but that being around her only caused the feeling to grow. He took a breath and looked to John, his mind set.

"John, I know you'd like to teach her, but if you've not come to a decision yet, I need my marks touched up."

"I'll get out the equipment," John replied, all business now. The mood had shifted, and Mingan was thankful for it. He wished to be back in full control once more. Mingan went to the older man's side, helping to sort through the tattooing supplies. The needle was a surprise to Mingan. He'd only been inked with traditional methods, slow and monotonous as it was. He'd heard of the new equipment, but had yet to see it in action.

"You've got some nice gear here. Who have you been inking? I thought you were the only Mythic at the ranch."

The older fae only shrugged. "You are not my only guest, my friend. Besides, we Mythics are not the only ones who enjoy a good bit of inking, you know." John told him. "You'd be surprised how popular the art is."

"I'm not sure if I'd be quite so fond of them if they were truly permanent," he said, considering those mortals he'd seen inked. "Still, I appreciate the push for the advancement of the skill. Benefits us."

Once the equipment had been sorted, John pulled out several of his books, and the two men talked over the runes in question. After much discussion, John finally had enough. "Either you can trust me, or you can deal with the consequences of having your stubborn way." He rifled through his tools, found a bit of charcoal, made a quick few marks on the back of Mingan's hand and muttered a few words. "So, how's that?" The old Kelpie snapped.

Mingan stepped back from him, strangely numb. There had been a growing tension, and ache in him, but once the runes flared to life, it was gone.

He looked to Elloreah. She sat, tensely upright, hands folded in her lap. Yet despite her attempt to hold her composure, even with the runes blocking her influence on him, he could see it written clearly on her face. She was hurt. Hurt by his need to block her out. There was something more than an errant ability behind his budding affection for her. He felt the faintest twinge of guilt.

He was fully in control of himself, fully ble to evaluate the situation without her influence. And yet, he found himself missing that subtle ache, because it was at least something. Something more than the emptiness, the anger, the desire for escape into the wilderness and never be drawn into the modern world again.

Mingan shook his head, frustrated by this line of thinking. "It works," he muttered. "It works quite well."