The 'bunker', as Clarke called it, was massive. That had become rapidly apparent the more the two of them had moved through it, passing cul-de-sac after cul-de-sac and room after room. If Niylah had to guess, there was comfortable living space for nearly one hundred people across the complex, which (according to the mental map of the surface) spread most of the way across the cluster of ruins that had sustained her father and herself for years.
And they had never known it was here, had never even dreamed that the one door they had never been able to open had hidden something like this. A vast treasury, untouched and unspoiled.
Niylah couldn't believe some of the relics that they had found so far. Things that she and her father had found, weather-worn or broken, and sold for great profit were laying about like they were nothing, pristine. Wristwatches, porcelain dishes, paintings and tapestries, carved wooden furniture and stone sculptures finer than she had seen even in Polis itself. An entire room was dedicated to shelves upon shelves of pristine texts that would have firmly had her attention if not for the fact that the entire bunker was equally enthralling.
It was filled with things she had never seen before, technological relics of the old world that were beyond her understanding, but from the excited gasps and darting movements that Clarke occasionally made, she knew what they were and was thrilled beyond belief.
"Oh my God!" the blonde suddenly squealed from further down the hallway, causing Niylah to flinch away from the glass-fronted, carved wood cabinet (and its stock of beautifully painted dishes and gleaming silverware) that she had been admiring. She looked over to see the strange blonde practically dancing around, staring at something small she was cradling in her hands. Immensely curious, the shopkeep made her way over to the other girl, and raised her eyebrow as she beheld the object that had caused such delight.
It was small, triangular, and a flat matte-white, though it gleamed slightly in the light, as Old World objects were wont to do. A thin band of material nearly bisected the side, parting the white like a blade parting meat, but despite her best efforts Niylah couldn't for the life of her imagine what about this small, plain object had so thrilled Clarke.
Some of her confusion must have shown on her face, because the younger girl's cheeks pinkened slightly. She composed herself, clearing her throat lightly and adopting a stoic mien, trying rather hard to look as though she hadn't just been acting like a gleeful child.
"This, Niylah, is what the Old World would have called a 'Focus'. They got the name and the idea from a game, of all things, and adapted it to real life. It…well, I'm not quite sure how to describe it to you, given how much knowledge was lost during the Final War. It's useful, really useful, especially when I pair it with something else that I already have." She explained with a calm that was thin at best. Anyone with eyes or ears, and half a brain, could see how excited she was, and Niylah couldn't help the small upturn of her lips at the corners.
"So this is a good thing for you, then?" she asked, somewhat rhetorically, and Clarke nodded rapidly.
"More than you can imagine. This is priceless, Niylah. This is worth more than everything else in this bunker put together." She stated firmly, expression unwavering despite the disbelief that Niylah couldn't keep from sweeping over her face. "Something like this could mean the difference between life and death for my people."
That sounded rather dramatic, but Niylah had the feeling that Clarke wasn't lying or exaggerating. She could be wrong, but it couldn't be more obvious that she truly believed what she was saying, and Niylah actually found that somewhat humbling. She had been looking at all these incredible treasures and seen nothing but wealth. The idea that anything here could improve the lives of her people as a whole had never occurred to her for even a moment, and why would it have? The Old World had destroyed itself so brutally, so horrifically, that storms and enormous beasts still roamed the land laying waste even after so many years. The idea that anything of theirs could be more than a trinket to barter with was one that never would have occurred to her without outside impetuous, but…well, why wouldn't these things be able to prove useful? Aleksia Pramheda had always stressed that the fall of the Old World had been no simple thing, caused by a single villain or weakness, but countless factors both large and small.
"Try explaining it to me anyway, I'm curious." She finally said, wondering if similar tools could be useful to her family or to Heda. Clarke regarded her for a long moment, long enough for Niylah to feel awkward about the situation, before the younger girl nodded in agreement.
"Okay. Okay, so you know that there was a lot of technology in the old world, a lot of ways of doing things that helped the people who lived then do things, or did it for them, or whatever. Generally, it just made their lives easier, right?" she started, and Niylah nodded in agreement, lips quirking slightly in distaste. Easy meant lazy, and the clans had definitive opinions about those who were lazy without first earning their rest. "So, one of them was being able to get information faster, or talk to people far away instantly, that sort of thing. It was all about keeping things simple and efficient."
Niylah nodded again. She could understand why something like that would be useful, for both civilian and military applications. Not having to wait for runners, or messengers, or post riders would obviously help keep families and friends in touch and let generals coordinate their gonas better. She didn't know exactly what Clarke meant by 'getting information faster', but since it had been verbally distanced from talking to people, maybe she meant something other than getting reports or letters?
"So, they designed a whole series of technologies across a couple of centuries or so, making them smaller and more versatile, more useful. This," she gestured to the bracer-like device fitted to her slender wrist. "Was the final iteration of that series. The Micro-Electronic Radial Computer System, or MERCS. If it wasn't for the storms, I could talk to someone on the moon with this thing. When I link it to this Focus, it gets even better. I can pick up weapons people might be hiding, detect heat signatures, track people or animals, you name it. It will show me how to repair damaged Old World technology too, which is the most important part."
"Well, I don't really get it, but it sounds very impressive, and I'm glad it's so useful to you." Niylah told her warmly, getting another bright smile, and she watched as Clarke brushed her hair back on one side and put the Focus on the side of her head just in front of her right ear. She made a slight flicking motion with her left wrist, light blooming around the arm. The fingers of her right hand danced on air over the glow, and a corresponding circle of light sprung into existence around the Focus as well. She looked around slowly, and Niylah watched with interest as her eyes focused on things that only she could see. After a full circuit of the room, Clarke looked back at her with a small grin of relief and joy.
"Well, Niylah, do you see anything that you really like? I want to look through this place far more carefully, make sure there isn't anything else like this, but my people and I don't really care about fine china like what you were looking at earlier." She asked, and Niylah hummed in thought with a furrowed brow.
"I might want to come back later, I have no ability to get the…china, did you call it?" she responded after a moment of contemplation. "The china back to my trading post safely, I was really just looking for scrap today so I don't have any sort of case or wagon to move things like that. I'll grab some texts from the library and a few of the candelabra. The books are all pristine and the candelabra are gorgeous, so I'm pleased enough with that for the day."
"Good. Grab what you like and put it over by the door, then let's try to get some sleep. That storm probably isn't going to be over any time soon, and God only knows how much work we're going to have to do to clear the other side of the door when it does end." Clarke told her, looking at another hallway, thus missing the way Niylah's throat bobbed slightly at the firm tone the younger girl had taken. "I'm going to look around for the showers and the bedrooms, so just follow the lights when you're done okay? I'll leave everything else off to help."
The pair split up, Clarke heading deeper into the facility while Niylah grabbed a pair of candelabra and headed back to the vault door. They weren't the most impressive items she had seen by a long shot, which was an astonishing thought given that they were probably worth more than everything else she had ever salvaged combined, but they were the most portable besides the books. She already knew that everything she collected today would be heading straight to Polis for The Conclave. It was all far too valuable to sell out of her little trading post, here on the fringes of Trikru territory.
She wandered through the library, wondering what texts to pick. The last thing she wanted to do was strain Clarke's generosity (and it was generosity, without Clarke she never would have gotten into this place, not in a thousand years) by taking anything too valuable. Aleksia Pramheda's Wisdoms had always been quite clear, repeatedly, that knowledge and the written word were far more valuable in the long run than treasures of silver and gold. If Clarke's people revered her so much as Clarke implied, such a Wisdom would be closely followed, and such texts as these might be jealously guarded.
So, she ignored the thick, embossed texts with the elegant script and took a handful of the plainer, soft- covered books with the colorful art. She didn't know a damn thing about them, but the art was of stars, metal cylinders, and explosions, which meant they were probably exciting books about war. She was sure she could find a buyer for them, and if not…well, she could always give them a shot herself. She liked to read just as much as the next girl, after all!
Carefully putting the books away into her small bag, she straightened up and looked around once more. One by one, lights were turning off or dimming heavily, leaving only enough visibility for basic safety. Frankly, she was glad for it. She had found the lights (both in volume and intensity) to be bordering on the uncomfortable. Too bright, too artificial. Hard, unshifting, unyielding. None of the gentle, flickering, shifting beauty of a flame. None of its warmth.
Firmly putting aside her abrupt foray into the poetic, she headed towards the brightest portion of the complex, which just so happened to be the deepest. She supposed that that made sense, putting the sleeping quarters deepest within what amounted to a fortified shelter. Safest in case of partial collapse or some sort of attack from outside the door, both of which obviously would have been vital concerns under the circumstances this place was built for.
She set off again, following the lights deeper and deeper, passing hallways and rooms until she arrived to another door, a large and significant one. Beside the door was a small hand-shaped pad, and she frowned. Clarke was on the other side of this door, she knew that much from both the status of the lights and the absence of Clarke on this side, but how was she to get through it?
On a whim, more curious than sure it would work, she placed her hand on the small pad. It sank beneath her palm, bright blue light shining around its perimeter, and she yipped as there was a slight prick to the very tip of each finger, immediately followed by a cool, buttery sensation on the afflicted areas. She yanked the appendage out and inspected it, scrutinized it even, but there was nothing there. No injury, no sign of whatever had caused the smooth, creamy feel either. Even as she did, however, there were three high-pitched beeps and a loud metallic clunk as the door opened itself a handful of inches.
"Telomere sample processed. Subject Age Confirmed: Nineteen Years. Access to Adult Wing, Granted." A pleasant-sounding female voice remarked from…somewhere, and Niylah shuddered slightly in discomfort. She didn't quite know why, but there was something about that voice that bordered on the disturbing. It didn't sound natural, that was probably the issue, no human sounded that pleasant while simultaneously sounding that passive. The fact that it had been able to figure out her age was profoundly disturbing as well, but she was sure she could move past that.
She stepped through the portal, closing it firmly behind herself, and as she turned back towards the newly-entered hallway, her eyes caught sight of something on the wall. She froze instantly, eyes widening and a blush sweeping over her cheeks.
It was a…tasteful image, to say the least, of a beautiful and nude ravenette lying on white silken sheets, arms bound behind her back by artfully arranged and knotted rope. She was blindfolded, but that did nothing to hide the immense pleasure she was feeling when the image was created, her full lips parted in what was quite clearly abject pleasure. Her breasts, nipples pebbled, had been caught mid-sway, her legs partially spread.
Now, Niylah had attended plenty of feast days, Conclaves, and other events that tended to inspire the sort of Polis-wide (Coalition wide, on occasion) debauchery that resulted in a great many hangovers and pregnancies. So nudity, whether in the flesh or on a canvas, was nothing new to her. Though she had to admit that she had never seen such a lifelike image before, she would really have to ask Clarke how that had been done. Maker, even seeing someone bound was hardly a shock. It was more common than not amongst the clans, and Niylah herself had been tied up and driven mad with pleasure plenty of times. Honestly, the number of times she had had sex without at least some bondage could be counted on one hand.
So, it wasn't the art that was shocking to her, at least insofar as its contents. No, what was shocking to her was its presence here. Just casually placed on a public hallway wall, not in someone's private chambers. There had been nothing like this on the far side of the room, only landscapes or portraits that wouldn't have been out of place anywhere amongst the clans. At least, the areas where the clans were actually able to work on and display art, which honestly amounted to Baltim, Gaithers, and Polis itself.
It wasn't the only one of its kind, either, the entire hallway was lined with equally tasteful images, and more than a few statues or busts for that matter. When she finally reached the end, she found a blushing and thoroughly bemused Clarke looking around at a room filled with further art and a vast array of furniture and implements. It wasn't a small room, either, with obvious sections to it that were never-the-less part of the whole.
"I suppose I should have said something to you about the door. Sorry about that. I just got…" Clarke said a little absently, eyes locked onto an elaborate black leather harness hanging from the ceiling towards the middle of one of the sections, a horseshoe-shaped area that seemed mostly seating, all facing towards the harness. "A little bit distracted."
"I can see why. The people who lived here would have fit in well amongst the clans." Niylah responded, contemplating the other girl for a moment. If she didn't know better, she would think that Clarke had never seen anything like this before, but that was crazy. There was not a single clan in the whole of the Coalition, great or small, that was unfamiliar with such things. A great deal of their society was related in someway to the balanced dichotomy between those who dominated and those who submitted, even if it wasn't perhaps as blatantly important as the balance between warriors and civilians. "Surely your people have such things as well? Your clan cannot be so different from ours, after all."
"Ah…well…probably not, if given the choice. But where my people live, its dying. Soon it will start killing us as well, so we had to make some very strict rules about, well, everything really. There wasn't a lot of privacy, either, so stuff like this didn't really happen." She stammered, blushing brighter still, and Niylah stared at her in blatant surprise. Noticing the look, Clarke scowled lightly at her with something that very closely resembled a pout. "Don't look at me like that, Niylah! My people have more important things to worry about than having wildly kinky sex! Besides, that isn't important, tell me what you meant about these people fitting in with the clans!"
"Well, I don't understand how you can't know about it, but Pramheda was truly wise when she forged the Coalition and wrote her Wisdoms, which act as the basis for our laws and customs even now. Naturally, the existence and protection of thralls and thrallinas was a central feature." Niylah explained, taking on a slightly lecturing tone as she quoted well-remembered lessons from childhood.
"Thralls?" Clarke just blinked at her, before her eyes flew open and she nearly reeled back, looking appalled. "Slaves?!"
"They are not slaves!" Niylah barked angrily, drawing herself up and glowering, before deflating slightly. "Well, not like the Old World slaves, anyway. We don't kidnap people and make them work for us, or sell our family members to pay of debts. Actually, doing either will have you and anyone else involved in the crime executed."
Pulling Clarke over to one of the absurdly luxurious couches, she pushed the girl down to sit on it and knelt in front of her, making sure that Clarke was paying attention.
"There are two kinds of thralls in the Coalition: Companions and Indentured. In basic terms, Indentured thralls are working off some kind of debt. The debt has to be a personal debt, and only the person who earned it can work it off. A contract must be written up and agreed on before a Clan Head or a Magistrate of Polis before the service is legal, and there are a whole bunch of laws about it all too. Limitations and other such things that prevent the debtee from having too much power over the debtor, or stretching out the debt to keep the debtor around permanently."
"That doesn't sound too bad, I guess." Clarke mumbled, flushing slightly at the sight of a pretty older girl kneeling before her. It was bringing to mind her fantasies from the other night, especially with the fetishes that the people of the neighborhood above had (apparently) been universally supportive of. She couldn't imagine why the entire adult wing would look like this rather than someone's personal room if that wasn't the case.
"No, no it doesn't. Aleksia Pramheda knew that, human nature being what it was, people would abuse their strength over one another. She knew that slavery was inevitable after Praimfaya, and eradicating it would have been impossible, so she regulated it instead." Niylah agreed, heartfelt, before continuing. "Companions are sexual submissives. Some of them might also be Indentured, but illegally trying to make someone a Companion is also an offense punishable by death."
"So, what, people who like to be on the bottom during sex are just…automatically less than tops?" Clarke didn't seem very happy about the idea, and Niylah had no qualms whatsoever about puncturing a rather large hole in that belief.
"Not at all. Indra of the Thousand Cuts, Clan Leader of the Tree Clan, my clan, is a Companion. She is also the most famous gladiatrix alive and, as I said, a Clan Leader. There are very few people that are equal to her in the whole of the Coalition, and a bare handful that outrank her. The fact that she enjoys being tied up or flogged during sex is irrelevant to anyone that isn't a brainless moron like the blunt instrument running the Blue Cliff Clan." She assured the younger girl, and felt gratified to see the expression of relief on Clarke's face. She rather liked this strange wanderer, she would hate to have her turn out to be a Maldommus. An 'Evil Master', a sexual dominant with a reputation for breaching the social contract towards their thralls.
And she was sure that Clarke was a dominant. She had the air about her. Niylah had met many thralls and dominas, and she had long since learned to tell one from the other, and to recognize the experienced from the inexperienced. Clarke was without a doubt a pure dominant, and one with experience. She was used to leading, used to being heard and respected. It was obvious from the little things, and unconscious gestures and body language. The casual way that she had given Niylah instructions, the way she clearly (if subtly) enjoyed the sight of Niylah kneeling at her feet, the way she eyed the scattered implements of pain and control with a hunger.
"Good. Good." Clarke sighed, before getting to her feet and offering Niylah her hand. "Come on, let's get cleaned up and ready for bed. I'm exhausted."
Niylah accepted the hand and allowed herself to be pulled to her feet. Feeling abruptly flirtatious, she 'stumbled' and pressed herself against Clarke, their breasts squishing together and faces mere inches away from one another. Clarke wrapped her arms around her automatically, helping her keep her balance, and Niylah couldn't help the small grin that spread across her lips.
"My hero." She purred, squeezing Clarke's upper arms softly before stepping back, giving her breathing space. "Now, you said something about a shower?"
Clarke cleared her throat, loudly, visibly trying to fight down the blood in her cheeks, before gesturing for Niylah to follow. As she watched her strange new friend walk away, Niylah came to a decision: she was going to get herself into Clarke's bed before the two of them inevitably parted. She didn't know how, she didn't know when, but she knew she wouldn't let a partner like this go to waste.
#################################################################
Costia kom Trikru was known by many names or epithets, some more flattering than others, and most were related to in some way to her relationship with Lexa. 'Commander's Whore' and 'The Submissive Shadow' were two of the most popular, the second being a play off of an equally, ambiguously complimentary title: The Commander's Shadow.
That was probably her favorite, if she was going to be honest. People had been calling her Lexa's shadow since they were children. Always following behind her, always mirroring her actions, and never to be found without her. Lexa and Costia had defined one another, helped shape one another as much as their parents and the circumstances of their lives.
When Costia had gotten lost on a hunt, it was Lexa who had found her and helped her bring her kill home. When Lexa had injured herself during training, it had been Costia who had helped her recover. When raiders had come to their home, it was the two of them that had fought together, the flashing steel of Lexa's blades that had kept the enemy from drawing too near even as Costia's arrows whistled and struck and slew.
Yet defending their home had never been enough for Lexa. No, that orphaned girl dreamed of rising to greater heights, of being so much more than a simple village girl. She had trained until she couldn't stand, run until she collapsed, worked until she fell asleep on her feet. She had risen in prominence until Anya, Second to Clan Head Indra, had taken her as sekon. She had been their Little Blade, the fierce child that had earned their attention and affection through her skill and determination. And still, Costia had been at her side, still Costia had been her dearest companion. And Costia's heart had turned from the love of a deep friendship to the love of a young woman.
Then Lexa had done the impossible: she had won a Conclave on her first attempt, earning her place amongst The Chosen. One of the most desired positions any member of the clans could dream of achieving, and Costia had been as terrified as she had been elated and proud. Oh, the heights her beloved would reach now. How far Lexa would rise from their simple childhood amongst the trees of their homeland…but would she need her shadow, upon that pedestal? What need would she have of her childhood playmate and partner as she rose to prominence in the heart of Polis itself?
Fearful of what pain it would cause her heart, Costia had prepared to leave that very night. To spare them both the conversation that she was sure to come, to spare Lexa the pain of sending her away and herself from having to hear those words. And if she were to stay, to try and cling to the girl she loved more than life itself…oh, she could only imagine the pain she would feel, watching and listening and suffering as Lexa inevitably slipped further and further from her grasp. Watching and listening and suffering as her new duties, her new ranks and privileges, slowly and surely broke ground between them until the smallest crack grew into a gulf that could never be crossed.
No, better to make a clean break of things. Let them remember one another fondly, let them separate as they were, and not after bitter arguments of tears and rage, of love turned to hate. She left a note, wishing her beloved well. Telling her how proud she was, and how she dreamed of the day Lexa won a Greater Conclave and sat upon the throne of the Commander. At the end, she had written the three words that she had never had the courage to say, the three words that would have separated them long ago (she was sure) …the three words that, in the end, ensured they would never be separated again.
She had been a day out of Polis, morosely making her way back home, when Lexa and Anya had caught up to her, horses huffing and soaked with sweat. Anya had cut her off, Lexa practically throwing herself from her saddle to hug her tight, begging for forgiveness. Swearing to give everything up, to return home to their village and never raise a sword again, if only Costia would stay with her.
Costia had refused, of course, even rebuked her. Lexa was meant for more, that had never been clearer. She couldn't abandon those goals, those achievements, for a shadow from her past. To do so would make everything that they had struggled for and dreamed of pointless. She had tried to leave, then, even as her heart broke at the sight of tears in Lexa's beautiful, moss green eyes. Tried to do what was needed while she still had the strength.
She shook her head as she rounded the curve to her goal, the trading post run by Niylah and her Father Joffri, putting the memories aside. She often thought about the past she shared with her Commander, when she was roaming the Coalition's lands in her service. It helped to remind her where she had come from, and what she had to return to. Those thoughts kept her going when things got hard, or dangerous.
The trading post looked the same as it always had: simple and well-kept. A little bit battered, but that wasn't a surprise given the storm that had blown through the night before. Swinging out of her saddle, she tied her reins to the post and moved to the door.
"Hei, Niylah! It's Costia!" she said, pushing on the thick wooden panel as she had so many times before. She frowned when it remained shut, possessing the immobility of a door that was locked and barred. In fact, it looked like the windows had been sealed as well. Something Niylah only did if she was leaving the post uninhabited for a time, but she wouldn't have done that yet. It wasn't time for her to start making her way to Polis for the Conclave, not unless she decided to go days earlier than she had every other time, and Costia doubted that was the case.
Curious now, she went around to the far side, passing the small stable the usually held Niylah's horses, only to grimace and swallow back bile at the carnage before her. The animals, prized by her friend who had so carefully scrimped and saved to buy them, were dead. Killed by flying debris whipped up by the storm, if she were to guess, unable to get themselves into the safety of the stable without their mistress. Niylah would be heartbroken, and Costia decided instantly to help replace them.
But for now, she had greater concerns. Niylah never would have let that happen to her horses, never in a thousand years, which meant something had to have happened to Niylah to keep her from intervening.
Worries aroused, Costia circled the entire post, inspecting it carefully. There was no sign of forced entry, nor exit. No sign of violence, nor did it look like any such signs had been removed. That was all good, of course, it meant that no one had attacked her friend. However, that also meant that something else had to have happened for the post to be locked up like this.
The most obvious option, of course, was that she was out on a scavenging run. She did them all the time, especially in the lead-up to a trip to Polis. It would have had to be a short and close one, though, because Niylah had left her horses behind and in their paddock. Which meant she hadn't intended to be out overnight. Which meant she had likely been caught in the storm.
Heart in her throat, Costa rushed around the building towards her horse, mounting swiftly and wheeling in the direction of the Old World ruins Niylah so often visited. Kicking her horse into a gallop, she thundered down the trail. Her eyes roamed the path, seeking out evidence of the missing young woman, fearing that every yard, every twist or turn would reveal the broken body of a good friend.
Ironically enough, it was her very haste to find and (possibly) rescue Niylah that almost resulted in her hurting the poor girl. Coming around a blind corner far too fast, she barely had time to notice two blonde forms before they were diving out of her way with cries of panic and surprise. Pulling her mount to a halt and wheeling it around (wincing in guilt as the horse voiced its discomfort and displeasure), she found herself being glared at by two very angry young women. One of whom she recognized, and she leapt from her saddle and threw her arms around Niylah, exclaiming in relief.
"Tester, Costia! Haven't you ever heard of taking a corner slowly?! You could have killed us both!" Niylah wheezed through the crushing pressure now squeezing her ribs. "And your poor horse, too!"
"I thought you were dead, I thought the storm had killed you! Damn the corner, and damn my horse while I'm at it!" the Shadow responded, tightening her hold for another brief moment, before releasing it and stepping back. "What happened?"
"I was caught in the storm, up at my usual place. If it wasn't for Clarke, here, I never would have made it. She saved me." Was the response, head bobbing in the stranger's direction, and Costia looked over. Her breath caught in a way it hadn't since the first time she had looked at Lexa and seen a woman rather than a friend.
She was gorgeous. Hair like spun gold, eyes like the sky, and dimples. She was dressed in form-fitting black clothing, and even with what looked like some manner of padded armor and equipment pouches over it, the form that the clothing fit was mouth-watering. Long legs, slender hands, full lips, and (if Costia was guessing right through the armor) a bust that one could happily bury their face in.
Shaking her thoughts away for the moment (she was, after all, the Commander's Whore, and she shouldn't even be admiring another woman without speaking to Lexa), she smiled warmly and genuinely.
"Thank you for saving my dear friend. I had feared I would be burying what was left of her, after that storm, but thanks to you she is hale and hearty." She said, and the other girl blushed faintly and bobbed her head in acknowledgement.
"I couldn't just let her die, especially when she was friendly to me. I was raised better than that." She mumbled, clearly nonplussed by Costia's reaction and appreciation. She blinked after a moment and smiled slightly. "Ah, but I was also raised to introduce myself properly. My name is Clarke, it's a pleasure to meet you."
"Clarke is from far away, travelling to Polis on a pilgrimage. After the storm was over, we agreed that she would travel with me. I'll introduce her to the area and such as a thank you for the rescue." Niylah added, and Costia gave a soft noise of understanding as she gathered her horse's reins in her hand. "Clarke, this is Costia. The Commander's lover, closest friend and confidant, and a good friend of my own. She's also the best damn scout in the whole Coalition. Speaking of which, why are you out here, Cos?"
"I was checking in with the outposts when the relay brought word of an sky-metal meteor falling near here. I thought that I would check it out before starting my return circuit." The aforementioned scout responded, not seeing the way Clarke stiffened and paled slightly. "I'll escort you back to your trading post, check out the sky-metal, and we can all leave for Polis together. Agreed?"
"Sounds fine to me! I need to pack up my things for the market anyway!" Niylah agreed happily, and Clarke could only smile a bit shakily and give a tight nod when they looked at her. She must have still been shaken up from the close call with her mount, Costia decided with a tinge of guilt. She would have to make it up to her sometime.