āThat is does, indeed. Iāve comes to know these mountains and forests well over my long years. I consider them home.ā With that said, Decaeneus rose from his seat, a mere piece of wood, and placed his sculpture and knife on the windowsill of his small house. After dusting off any remaining wood chips from his clothes, he grabbed a coat heād kept outside with him, in case the weather planned on changing soon, and headed towards the other.Ā
āI donāt think Iāve properly introduced myself. I am Decaeneus.ā He stretched out his hand for the other to shake. The Dacian mustered up a small smile as well, as to seem friendly. Others would sometimes find him intimidating, scary even. And often, Decaeneus would be glad of this. Heād used it as a defense mechanism for so long, and had managed to keep himself and others safe by being this way. But now his curiosity of the other overpowered his need to be defensive.Ā
Some time. Horia was right, he really had known these lands for some time. An immense amount of time, really. Decaeneus picked up on the otherās tone, brow raised as he continued to speak.Ā āIs that so? Dragobete is already sending birds out with messages, I see.ā Decaeneus chuckled lightly.Ā āBut the little bird is right. I grew and lived within these places and traveled throughout these lands often.āĀ
I also died in these places, he thought to himself. But of course, to suddenly say such a thing to Horia would be a foolish thing to do, regardless of the otherās nature. Besides, he still had to study green-eyed man and decipher what he truly was, know if he could be trusted, before revealing anything too personal.
Heād watch him as at last he stood, two meters of a man, heād estimate, from just one scrutinising look. Straight-backed, confident he was and built like grizzled warriors, Horia stared then remembering the stories his elders told him all his youth, of Dacians older than the forests who worshipped once the gods of storm wizards back when the Christians hadnāt come yet, before their faith had turned to legend. Something sparked then in his gaze, maybe, an understanding; irrational and deeply primal, an ancient feeling like an instinct fluttering wild within his chest much like the sorcery that summoned whirlwinds crackling across the very air, when he would call the lightning down prying it from the howling storm clouds.
That was when he found himself taking a step closer, suffocating almost in his unnatural intensity for just a single, silent moment before he suddenly remembered this was supposed to be his secret. It faded right as wizardās courteous smile began to grow across his face anew; a casual pretence, humanlike facade as he answered the otherās handshake grinning now wider upon hearing his name:
āDecaeneus,ā he repeated, head tilting amusedly.Ā āLike the great priest of our king Burebista,ā he raised a brow, too tongue-in-cheek perhaps even for his own taste and yet finding this terribly funny, after allāwhat were the odds?Ā āLead the way, then, my friend. Thereās not a hope in the world for vineyards to grow up where Iāve come from, as you can imagine Iām in dire need of some good wine to bring back home.ā