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It is nigh impossible to beeline through the Astera tradeyard. A body, adult or child, wyverian or felyne, will always slice through the chosen path at precisely the wrong moment. It is of equal difficulty to stroll, as Novus did, but he’d learned to sway from careening workers instinctively, giving his emerald gaze ample opportunity to hunt his desired stock. 

Boxes full of ambitious seeds and barrels of crystal clear water from the Coral Highlands swept by. Nourishing meats preserved via snow herbs were rolled to the canteen. Hard scale and soft fur lay in enticing bundles while his neck craned every so often to peruse materials as they passed him by. Upon spotting a pile of wood that resembled corkwood, his vision flared wide. In one decisive and predatory stride of four steps, he put himself on path to intercept. 

No escaping now. 

Not even a scoutfly flutters its wings faster than circumstance strikes. As he marched briskly after his prey, a ghost walked right by him, one single eye peering through a curtain of hair. With a startled expression, Novus turns sharply on his heels to double-take. His breath catches. Never mind the shipping crew member vanishing into the crowd. 

“Katya?" 

The name spilled out of his mouth with a harsh breath before his mind could properly reason. When it all became clear, when he could see that this girl was not his old friend, his expression eased, creases on his forehead flattening throughout and his naturally half lidded gaze reclaiming its place. Then he raised both hands, showing her his open palms to ask forgiveness. 

”My apologies. You resemble someone I … know.” 

Someone I knew. A haunting thing about living long enough to outlive many others; those that pass begin to manifest in complete strangers. The mind plays its cruel tricks. Always. 

Aaaaaaaaah, the tradeyard. The center, the beating heart of Astera, the place where everything came and went at least once, and the connecting point of a variety of offices, the docks, and the rest of town, containing hastily set up shops and, well, a small half-ton of wares. This was where, on the docks that crept up towards the sea, any shipments from the mainland were unloaded, sorted, cataloged and then sent out to the appropriate facilities, under the dutiful eye of the provisions head honchos.

Astera, though rather large and well equipped, was unfortunately not... completely self-reliant. It could reasonably go a long time without outside help, which was by design as the stormy seas could often make shipments from the mainland impossible. And so, for those who never left the outpost, some items could only be acquired through the tradeyard. Items that weren’t always necessary, but very loved by the comission staff.

Like, for example, pears!

Alright. You’re probably wondering how that’s any degree of relevant. Well, to Cornelia, it was. Worming her way through the crowd, the young girl was doing her best to slip between the compact sea of people drifting to and from the stockpiles, distributing goods and generally, going about their business. She most definitely preferred to this chaotic mess the navigation of wilder areas. At least, the dense undergrowth of the Ancient forest had the politeness to sit still.

Officially, she was supposed to help transmit a crumpled up note from the kitchens to the provisions. Truthfully, she was there because she’d been promised a fruit from the stack of wares for her efforts. And Cornelia really liked pears. So there she was, pushing, squeezing, trying her darndest to get through. Eventually, she had reached the stacked pile of goods the note’s recipient had been standing on, and had, naturally, climbed it. The note had been thrust towards them in a clenched fist, and the youngling had hopped onto her feet nervously, shooting them a piercing, expecting look until she was allowed to take a fruit for herself.

Upon which she’d near tumbled off the pile, prize in hand. She had excitedly begun munching on it as she squeezed herself back towards the kitchens to signify the proper delivery of the message, finding the sweet, juicy treat to be worth the claustrophobic crawl through the crowd.

Unfortunately, it seemed that fate had other plans for her. Despite the ambient noise, she could easily tell that the sharp call that pierced the humdrum was directed towards her. The name - wrong, but the tone had something piercing, that felt equally wrong. Surprise? Anguish? It was too loud. Cornelia spun around swiftly, stance wide and eyes blown wide open towards the source of the call, ready to run - no, fight? Neither. A moment of floating uncertainty passed as she scanned carefully the green-eyed stranger - hunter, well equipped, definitely unknown, before she relaxed as they both came to the realization they had the wrong person.

The youngling shrugged and huffed quietly, taking the apology with a nod and a rapidly calming demanor. Astera was small. Mistakes were honest. Now, where was that darned’ pear? Cornelia frowned, realizing it had flown out of her hand from the surprise, and immediately directed her gaze to the boards of the docks, looking for her half-eaten snack. She eventually found it... and crossed eyes with its new owner. A poogie in striped pajamas, with a twitching snout, and her pear in its mouth.

A moment of silence, before the animal turned around, pear in mouth and grunting happily, the sound covered by the loud, inarticular cry of protest and indignation from Cornelia, who threw her arms up as the small swine seamlessly disappeared into the sea of people.

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With his apology accepted, he took a moment to subtly peruse the young girl’s facial features further. Upon seeing her turn her attention elsewhere, to an object she lost track of, his breath nearly became stuck in his throat again. The resemblance is uncanny. Even a feeling of Deja-vu rattled him, certain he had once lived through this exact moment in time with his friend from childhood. What was the possibility of blood relation?

Cornelia’s cry is what ultimately jostled him free of his contemplation. Searching quickly for the reason of her outburst and figuring it out after watching Poogie escape with a pilfered pear, he began to rapidly pat himself down. Then he stepped towards her, angling himself so that he would enter her peripheral view and draw her attention to a parchment in his hand.

Upon it was the emblem of the canteen. A muscular felyne stood with thick arms folded over its broad chest. His fierce one-eyed gaze peered directly into the soul of those who held it. One brief glance high overhead and she would see it; the smoke rising from the ovens, the fresh fruit suspended above it in baskets … all of it enticing the palette.

After presenting her with the meal voucher, he placed that hand on his hip and allowed himself to view things about her beyond her resemblance to Katya. Beyond her wordless nature, which was also so strangely familiar. Her leather armor was weathered from her journeys, the slinger on her arm marked by residue … and he could smell the Ancient Forest upon her. No weapon, however, at least none of the fourteen conventional wyvern-slaying implements.

“I can tell you venture outside of Astera frequently. Are you a hunter?”

At her age, most in the Commission wouldn’t even fathom the thought. She should be far too young to be putting her life in danger. Novus was cut from different cloth. His upbringing had been more savage, having seen children her age hunt and slay and survive by taking life without question. Having seen himself do it. 

Staring fruitlessly at the shifting crowd, Cornelia let her arms fall back to her sides with a muted grumble, knowing full well that pursuit in such an environnment would only lead to sweat and unsatisfaction. Poogies were... adept, at squirming through thick crowds with strange ease. They had adapted to life in Astera, much like the rest of the Comission crew. Plus, much as she disliked the fact she hadn’t been able to clean up the sweet fruit to its core... hating the little things was over her abilities.

They were a hunter’s most favourite mascot, and were deserving of the title, though how the relationship came to be was more than a little lost on most people. If she had to hazard a guess, Cornelia would have simply gone with “emergency ration turned cute and cuddly”. As much as most hunters were repulsed at the thought of eating their adorable, pink companion, she was half-certain it had been their primary purpose. That, and sniffing up mushrooms.

Detaching herself from the pondering of the pilfering pig’s usefulness, the young girl caught sight of the square, yellowed piece of parchment - known by all, loved by all, bearing the sigil of the canteen. A meal voucher! Chores at the canteen had let her see plenty of those come and go, and, she knew what those meant, usually. Though, what a strange compensation - if it was even meant as one. What WAS he thinking about? Cornelia tilted her head, inquisitive copper eyes staring at the stranger, scanning him carefully, taking in every detail with a small, half-smile.

Scars, not too unlike hers, though deeper - signs of sharpened fangs and claws. There’s wear and tear on that person’s body, and when she holds their sight, she can tell, there are the same marks deeper than the skin. She’s seen a few hunters come over from the mainland, plucky and fresh, only to grow and gain that spark, that strange feeling to them, though not quite the same. She reached to scratch her cheek, over the scar there, pensively. The question was met with raised eyebrows, before the young one shook her head... before nodding, only to grimace softly, reaching to scratch her chin.

How to explain worldlessly the concept of apprenticeship? She reached, tapping her armor’s chest with a finger, gaze jumping from stranger to armor. It was not a perfect replica of the armor that an adult, fully-fledged hunter would wear, lacking an extra layer of toughened skin on some parts of the outfit. Fitting for an apprentice. Not so much for a fully fledged hunter.

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It was about then that he began to wonder if Cornelia lacked the ability to speak. At the very least, the youth could listen. As she began her attempt to gesticulate a concept to him, Novus angled his head attentively. His eyes moved from article to article, from grimace to finger on chin. Then to finger on armor, which eventually led him to expand his attention out to the rest of her outfit. Didn’t take him long to note the simplicity of it and the settling of his expression indicated that he might have reached an understanding.

An approving smile tugged at the right corner of his lip. A soft nod followed and he could be seen preparing to speak. The words, however, only welled up in his chest before being restrained. Next, he took a breath and shifted his weight onto his other foot, peering into her youthful expression. He had chased after countless mysteries as a hunter. Discovered truths that belonged in fables, yet the potential that comes with blooming youth still filled him with anticipation. What might she discover after his own time has passed?

“You are to be a hunter. Then if you will grant me the audience, I have a concept that may consume you in hours of introspection. You may have already discovered it but I wish to tell you for certain.” Because you remind me of family. “If you would listen.”  

As in all professions, there were those who looked upon the role of hunter as a career and others who looked at it as so much more. Novus was very firmly the latter and there were few like him. Inevitably, she would begin to see it as well. See hunters who lived as hunters and hunters who worked as hunters. One day she would find herself tilting in one direction or the other and then she would start to apply that understanding to her closest friends, identify which was which. It could make her feel alone. It could fill her with arrogance. It could resolve her.

“Never use materials that you haven’t earned. That is a hunter’s pride.”

A hunter should understand what he meant by that, even an apprentice. One day she would slay her first wyvern and earn the right to wield weapons made from its bones, wear armor made from its scales, receive gifts bearing its fangs … but never before the hunt is complete.

For a few moments, he watched her closely, looking to see if whether she had just been told about a philosophy she was born with an understanding of or if she had been given something new to contemplate. Regardless of the outcome, he quickly digressed, hoping not to come off as intrusive on her development as a hunter. Given the history of his squad, many may hope she regards him as transient wind. 

“Oh,” he remembered, “My name is Novus.” Turning his gaze skyward and to his left, he continued, “The fresher ingredients will not last long at the canteen. Shall we?” 

The young one smiled in return as the other considered her apprenticeship, and gave it his quiet sceal of approval. It probably was funny to see a young one taking the same path as him. He caught himself before he could comment on it, and Cornelia felt herself press her lips together. She wished she could squeeze out a question on what in the world was swimming in the hunter’s mind, but... well, the fault wasn’t exactly on her not trying to. The young apprentice had never quite figured out how to get her tongue and jaw to cooperate with her wishes at all times.

It wasn’t that she was incapable of speech, far from it. But... time and time again, amongst strangers, words found themselves trapped in her chest, squirming like snakes in a basket, unable to fly free. The best she could summon were grunts, whistles, whines and every sort of inarticulate wail that could be produced by a human voice. And then some. It was... frustrating.

Especially when her interlocutor would weave a rather flowery verbal tapestry. That much flourish in a hunter’s vocabulary was... okay, not THAT uncommon. Cornelia had heard fleeting tales of hunters amassing such fortunes that families dealing with the craft for several generations would gain some... aristocratic qualities, to say the least. A lot of useless fluff, if Cornelia was to be honest. She shot the stranger an odd look, as if questionning the delivery of his nugget of wisdom, before letting her traits relax, as she nodded.

The delivery was perhaps odd, but the content was worth minding. She shot a small look at herself, at the hunting knife strapped to her back, before returning her attention to the stranger, giving a quiet hum of understanding and an appreciative smile. To earn your place in the world, to struggle, to call things your own from sheer effort... Every creature, from the high and mighty wyverns that flew the skies, to the bugs crawling in the soil, had to go through that struggle. It was just how things were. A good piece of advice, really.

The greeting was met with the small apprentice fishing into her collar, pulling out a small iron tag, onto which was engraved her name, holding it up so Novus could read it properly... until he made the comment that fresh food wouldn’t wait forever. That much decided her quickly to nod, grin, and shuffle ahead, knowing the way to the canteen... but, finding herself squirming a little as she had to navigate the crowd to get there.

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The brief period of confusion that took hold of Cornelia’s expression worried him. Thoughts flashed immediately through his head, wondering if he had come off in some unintended way. For now, he was unable to secure a moment to explain himself before lowering his head to peer into her name tag. Again, a smile traced his lips, followed by a nod. By now, he was certain that she couldn’t speak, or wouldn’t. There weren’t enough clues in hand to know exactly what her story was. One day.

Watching her hurry for the canteen, he turned and began to follow, struggling to squeeze through the same pathways. She eventually lost him in the sea of people but in the end, their destinations were one in the same. Upon arriving at the canteen, stepping off the chain escalator, he laid eyes on her again and made his way, lifting his hand to greet. Seasoned meat cooked and when platters were revealed, the appetizing scents emanated towards them in waves. Even Novus felt a growing hunger.

After taking a seat, he turned his attention to the young one and held one hand out to stop her from using her voucher. How would it have looked if he partook freely from the meal he had given to her as compensation for the lost pear? Reaching into a pouch, he procured another and handed it over before ordering. She was free to follow suit, a vault of dishes awaiting her favor.

For him, it was all meats. Different dishes of aptonoth and apceros. A plate of steak still sizzling in a bed of vegetable sauce greeted him surrounded with red and yellow peppers and touched lightly with ground kut-ku beans for a bit of spiciness. A bowl of cheesy apceros casserole sat in gooey anticipation and a basket filled with ground beef and cudgel onion braided in a crispy golden layer of bread followed close behind. Today, he was in no rush to head out on an expedition or hunt so when his hands extended, it was calmly.

Spending another moment glancing into Cornelia’s face at a angle as she ate, again reminded of his friend, he spoke, “I wanted to apologize if I came off the wrong way earlier about my advice. I didn’t mean to say you haven’t earned your gear. I meant after you’ve completed your first hunt.”

When the thought that it might not be her way to think as he did crossed his mind, only peace seized his features, rather than displeasure.

“But truthfully, every hunter may make their own way. I certainly didn’t take all the advice I was given. Perhaps your way would reject mine and that is something admirable as well. To forge your own code. I do believe, however, that pride tempers anything we choose to spend our lives endeavoring upon.”

Having a... thing or two to take care of, anyways, Cornelia didn’t mind much that she promptly lost the hunter in the crowd, which most rudely spat her out at the bottom of the large, winding stairway that lead to the upper levels of Astera. The outpost wasn’t big, and unless you went out of your way to visit the facilities that weren’t settled for hunters, your chances of getting lost were slim. So, she figured, she’d find him again eventually.

Plus, t’wasn’t like they weren’t headed for the same destination. The young apprentice practically shot up the stairs, bounding happily along the way before coming to a stop at the canteen. The signal that the message regarding the provisions had been sent was quickly conveyed by a wave of the hand towards one of the felyne cooks, who waved back promptly. Novus was, expectedly, not too long after found stepping off the faster elevator.

Cornelia waved right back, somewhat unphased by the delicious smells wafting about, much unlike Novus. Blame running errands for the kitchen, eventually, your nose was bound to grow accustomed to the smell of cooking food. But, there was a bit of a grumble as she remembered her half-eaten snack. The sugar buzz from the fruit hadn’t really done much to give her energy reserves any replenishing. Cornelia perched herself on a seat at one of the tables surrounding the canteen, bringing a knee to her chest, not seemingly caring much this could have been interpreted as poor table manners.

She let him order first, fishing out of her pocket the ticket that she promptly handed to the felyne taking their orders, rocking slightly on her seat as she tried to think of something to eat, and how to pantomine it properly. Admittedly, her imitation of a fish was probably rather funny to look at, though it did get a few raised eyebrows from the felyne that was jutting their orders down.

There honestly wasn’t as much flourish in her plate as in Novus’, but the grilled sushifish she had managed to order, with steamed veggies to the side, was plenty to her liking. Blame hanging out with felynes too much, their tastes were rubbing off of her. She might not have been that hungry, but she scarfed down the fish with much less peace and calm than her interlocutor, eating fast and only leaving sparce crumbs of meat hanging off the otherwise well cleaned fish bones. Not really out of hunger, more out of a sense of... urgency of sorts, pausing in her wolfing down to nod quietly every few words she found truthful.

She might not have been able to respond to his words, but listen she did. Until the shrill voice of one of the kitchen’s furry cooks reached her ears, causing her to grumble. “Young missy, did you deliver the message, or did you just sit down to have a snack?”

Cornelia raised empty hands, pouting a little at the nagging of the Felyne cook, only to sink a little onto her seat as the apron-wearing, bandana-bearing lynian came trotting over to eye her plate with a disapproving look. “Did you just wolf that down?” The young girl tried to shake her head no, but...

Hiccup!