Tired as he was, the continued help the man offered him suited Isha well. His pride berated him for being stuck in this mess to begin with, but it did not say he must refuse the offer. Indeed, he was far too aware of his circumstances for that. Refuse and he might well insult the man who’d helped him. Not to mention lose a chance at an easy transport. Notably absent then, was his disgruntled mien and preference for idle insults. He could be polite when he wished to be, and this one had certainly earned his respect, even if Isha couldn’t help thinking he still looked a little like a beetle, but perhaps that was a good thing. So long as he didn’t turn into the aggressive sort.
The miskin had never been so near to a human before, certainly, not in contact with one. It was generally frowned upon, save in dire situations, to ask for or offer aid to a human if they could see you. For the safety of all the little races, though he did have kin who lived in their houses, and he’d spent some time in a barn. Cohabitation, however, was usually made easier when one did not know the other existed. Still, he had to admit that he had been in dire straits, and while this one was amazed, the others seemed less so, or more interested in other aspects of their surroundings. He could live with that, if the alternative was not living at all.
Once on his feet, and he couldn’t help noticing how the hand held out to him would have fit his whole length neatly laying down, he made his own way to the harder mud of the road. Its surface already drained of most of the dangerous wet. He was a little unsteady getting over a few stones, and narrowly avoided tripping on an arched blade of grass, but it did not take him long at all to gain the relatively flat surface he’d been heading towards. There had not been much in his path besides the mud, and he’d gone around that. By which time his arm had gone from sleeping to tingling as though he’d nicked it on a thistle. It felt raw and his fingers thick; they didn’t want to bend when he asked them to. But they did, he was watching to make sure. And soon enough the tingling got worse, itchy and swollen and uncomfortable.
Isha shook it out, thinking perhaps to climb the cloak, but his plans were interrupted by a large piece of white flaring into his vision. He’d been staring too intently at his hand… Unused to company, most especially company that didn’t fit into his immediate view, as he was. He frowned at the thing being offered, and then realised that he was hardly a welcome rider, being covered in mud as he was. And this cloth was a worn bit of linen, like he’d seen women use to clean their children’s faces. It might have covered him handily if he slit a hole through the middle and pulled it on over his head, but as it was not being discarded, merely handed to him, he refrained from any such act. Although, as he accepted it and rubbed the slime from his face and out of his hair, he couldn’t help feeling rather mournful about dirtying the simple whiteness. Well, he supposed, at least it didn’t seem to be completely new, just clean. And soon enough, he’d fix that too.
After a quick blotting of hair, face, hands and feet, he also wiped at his clothes, a simple vest and trousers, as best he could and then handed it back and was happily settled on a shoulder. “Give me your blindside, beetle, I would be useful, at the least.”He’d noticed the pale eye while they were staring at each other, it had been hard to miss, and once his new friend complied, he clung on to one of the charms hanging from the man’s turban and gave the surrounding area a good sightseeing. It felt like he was sitting on the branch of some breathing tree, he was so high up and steady. Continuing to listen to the conversation with only half an ear, he paid more attention to the other sounds around them, sniffing the air too, and squinting to see as far as he could ahead. The smoke was drifting in, he could catch a small bit in each breath now that he was higher. But it was the silence that surprised him. He’d not even noticed it before, too focused on winning free of his entrapment.
“Here now, beetle, catch yon north man ‘fore he does a foolish thing.” Rushing towards fire should always be considered foolish, even if one did so with the intention of offering aid. Isha spoke low and for Arlyne’s ears alone, preferring not to strain his throat too much. “Smoke’s too black t’just be wood burnin’. And the world’s gone quiet. S’a bad fire as manages that. Won’t do t’be rushing in nowhere. But I say we look closer. En’t no fog should be standin’ up to this sun.”