#changed ones

No this is not from the next chapter of ISYIAD. I'm getting ahead of myself. But I AM working on that one, it's just fighting me.

Anyway I like this bit and I wanted to share

A shadow at the edge of the treeline draws his attention. Elys stiffens, elation fading as a spike of unease strikes him. A figure - a man, standing among the slender trunks of the aspen trees as though he is a part of them, watching Elys without a care. Though he stands nearly in the open, Elys would not have noticed him were it not for the feeling of unease that had sparked his alarm. He doesn't seem startled as Elys’ eyes find his. He doesn't seem much of anything, unmoving amidst the aspens as leaves drift down around him.

The stranger stands casually, a hand on an axe in his belt, his shoulders at a slope, head dropped as he regards Elys the way one does a particularly curious sculpture. His eyes, the same color as the yellow leaves clustered on the branches, are fixed on Elys, unblinking as Elys skids to a halt. For a moment, Elys thinks he's stumbled upon a statue carved with startling accuracy, the way he holds himself so still. Something niggles in the back of his mind - a strange sense of familiarity that Elys can't place his finger on. On instinct, Elys’s hand drops to the knife Luthen had given him.

Yellow eyes flick down to the motion of his hand before returning to his face. The motion is so startling that Elys nearly jumps. He shifts, ignoring the odd pitch of nervousness in his gut. He wants to shy away from the stranger, an instinct Elys has never had before in his life. It's an uncomfortable emotion. He steadies himself with a breath, squaring his shoulders and returning the stranger’s gaze, trying to determine what it is that makes him seem so wrong. The longer Elys looks, the greater his unease becomes, goosebumps rising on his arms despite the temperate warmth of the aspen forest.

Something in the proportion of him is off. The bones of the stranger’s face jut strangely, his eyes just a bit too large. His skin seems not to fit right, as though it were not made for the flesh it sits on. An overwhelming sense of wrongness surrounds the man as his heavy, bright gaze bores into Elys. A deeply thoughtless, animal instinct arises in Elys that screams at him that this man is not human. A shiver of revulsion crawls up Elys’ back.

Leaves rustle behind him as Luthen pushes his way forward. He too halts abruptly, spine straightening at the sight of the stranger. Finally, the man’s yellow gaze flicks away from Elys and fixes itself on Luthen. Elys lets out a quiet sigh of relief.

No longer pinned by that unnatural gaze, he takes a moment to observe the stranger. His dress seems normal; in more or less the same style as Luthen’s loose linen shirt and overcoat, a wide belt strapped around his hips from which hangs an axe and a knife. His hair is shaved on the sides, the long length of it braided into a swinging tail down his back. He’s big too, almost rivalling Luthen for height and width.

Luthen hasn't moved. He holds himself still, watching the man with the same intensity, an unspoken conversation passing between them in the subtle shift of their bodies. At once, Elys realizes what it is about the stranger that seems so familiar. Luthen holds himself the same way. Still, like a predator waiting to strike, almost frozen until the moment he chooses to act. Every movement is purposeful and decisive, so very rarely purely reactive. It's not just confidence, Elys is realizing, but something of an inborn nature.

Elys glances at the stranger's hands and spies them sporting a similar set of claws to Luthen’s own. The eyes, too, are almost the same, but where Luthen’s are a warm amber flecked with green, this stranger's are flat and yellow like the aspen leaves drifting from overhead.

Cūvenatí, Elys realizes. A man of changed blood, changed by a magic that no longer exists. For all intents and purposes, an abomination.

Elys loosens the knife in its sheath, fighting back the discomfort at the sight of the other man. It would be useless against the size and strength of this man, but the feeling of a blade in his hand is better than nothing. Where Elys finds Luthen’s more bestial nature magnetic and alluring, on this man it seems wrong. A prickle of sweat forms on the back of Elys’ neck.

As if Luthen can sense Elys’ unease, he places a hand on his shoulder. “Felorukaad,” he murmurs, his voice barely more than a whisper. “Direbeast kin. His kind is much rarer than mine.”

Elys feels a chill race up his spine. His eyes widen a fraction. Without even noticing, he edges closer to Luthen. “Why does he feel so… wrong?”

Luthen chuffs softly. “It is the nature of our kind. We are creatures who are not meant to be. Wrongness is in our being.”

“I never got that sense from you.”

“You are just accustomed to it.”