[crow]

Maelstrom was running.

He didn't know why he ran anymore. Back when he first made his escape, he was always running, his heart pounding and strained in his chest, his breath heaving in a harsh guttering sound. His limbs were always burning then, aching for him to relent, but his fear had been stronger. Now that he'd been free for some time, there was no need to run, and yet he found himself doing so anyways. His feet, now had and calloused against rocks and branches, made a soft patter against the ground as he shot through the plain in his accustomed lope. He was used to it now, able to control his breath and regulate his pace. He could probably carry on for another hour or so like this. The wind was his friend when he ran, combing gentle fingers through his hair and dragging at him playfully. He let out a low peal of laughter and, on a whim, spread his arms to catch the air, letting it drag him up and up and up.

Flying didn't feel at all like he'd imagined at first, watching the birds with their wings. He felt more like a kite, his whole body catching some wayward breeze, having only to think himself light to be carried away. He could, of course, control where he was going if only he directed the wind, but it was much more fun to be tossed around. If he wanted to just go, he would have run. He was used enough to it by now.

It was a good day for him, all in all. He was well fed on a dump raid, and food, once swallowed, was more or less the same no matter the origin. He was far enough away from the towns that he could do whatever he liked without the fear of being seen. The winds over the plain were deliciously strong, having miles and miles of empty air in which to gather momentum, and there was soft grass to lie in when he was tired. For him, no more was necessary.

[crow]

Qual had taken to wandering lately. It was the only way he could think of to avoid Alain, despite the other man's insistence that he would bother Qual no more 'until such a time arrives when his assistance was needed'. Ever since the incident in the swamp, even this method was not a sure thing, but at least it appeared to put some strain on the therapist to have to move his abode such far distances.

He was not precisely surprised to see someone else in these parts. Wanderers were common enough, and as there was enough space for him to avoid them if needed, he didn't care one way or the other. The fact that the figure was flying was somewhat more unusual, but still no cause for too much surprise. It was the way he flew, rather, that was upsetting: buffeted about like the dry leaves of autumn, pushed higher and higher by the winds, as if he had no control. Even amateurs seldom flew like that.

Qual had no desire to be a good Samaritan. There was nothing to be gained by it, and it was more trouble than it was worth to catch some bumbling mage or a fledgeling fae-creature. But he was compelled to look once more, and as he did he could see clouds accumulating around the figure (small though it was on the horizon)... At last, he could no longer ignore it, and approached despite his initial misgivings. He had to do something about it, certainly... But what? His own dominion was over shadows, and clearly that was to be of no use to him here. He could only look up and say, "Are you alright up there?"

[crow]

Maelstrom was momentarily startled by the sound of a voice. Shit, he'd been spotted... And the man below didn't seem to be frightened of him either, despite his obvious display of power. Shit, shit, shit. It was far too showy not to notice, and any half-wit capable of putting two and two together could tell that he was its source. Which meant that this guy had some sort of plan.

As he saw it, Maelstrom had two possible courses of action. he could, on the one hand, run for his life. That was a nice one because it was familiar and appealed to him. Nice and simple. The other, more foolish idea would be to stick around and find out whatever it was this whack-job had in mind, but there were all sorts of problems with that. Unfortunately, the simplicity of the first choice was somewhat compromised when the stranger, not having gotten the answer he wanted (which was to say, any whatsoever) promptly leapt twenty meters into the air.

"Shit," Maelstrom said, throwing himself backwards in the air and drawing his clouds in to close the gap between them. He needed to calm down. His agitation was making him lose control, and he could feel the winds whipping out of his grasp and getting stronger, tugging his hair this way and that in a wild frenzy. With the cover of clouds, he was certain that the stranger couldn't see him, but that meant his own visibility was next to zero.

Still, he was in his own domain. Whatever strange powers the newcomer had, Maelstrom was sure he could win.