Nyell stood beside his father, observing Allen as he presided over the funeral rites for Dangu and the souls tragically lost in the ordeal. The White Moon tribe's chief's usual languid smile was gone, replaced by a solemn expression. The stern look looming over Allen's face stirred up an unpleasant feeling in the pit of Nyell's stomach. Unease washed over him at the unfamiliar sight, agitating him. It was as if Allen had transformed into a stranger, someone distant he knew nothing about. It was troubling.
But it wasn't as if he knew much about the shaman to begin with… They couldn't grow close after a mere few days spent together and understand everything about each other like an old couple. A relationship was something that needed time to nurture, but it didn't mean Nyell didn't have a clear image and impression of the man already.
'How annoying,' Nyell thought, resistinpg the urge to click his tongue. 'I hate how he's turning my mind upside-down just by existing. I'm not sure I'll ever get used to that feeling.'
And most of all, how come the somber expression didn't lessen Allen's beauty one bit?! Although Nyell would never admit it aloud, this sort of serious look enhanced the man's delicate but sharp facial features, and his eyes appeared even more mesmerizing, becoming the focus point. The strikes of red amid the blue flickered, seemingly following along the dancing flames of the purifying fire that burned bright in the middle of the central place. Those eyes were entrancing, though not as much as his voice.
Unlike usual, Allen's voice was low and soft as he chanted blessings for the deceased's last voyages in a forgotten language. Nyell could not understand what was said, putting him a little ill at ease. The Black Moon tribe had grown accustomed to shamans who were unfamiliar with old rites and traditions and spoke in the common language. They knew it wasn't the best, but they did with what they had. The Black Moon tribe had always been a tribe of warriors, for shamans weren't suited to survive in the jungle. It was a dangerous place, and only the strong survived. They must have had talented and respectful shamans in the past, but that time was long gone. They died out as years passed, and only a few remnants of their knowledge were left. To make matters worse, a little more was lost every generation.
Hence, participating in a ritual as it should be led felt strange, if not otherworldly. The atmosphere was vastly different. It inspired awe, even.
Nyell, along with the other members of the Black Moon tribe, were left speechless, and a deep sense of gratitude flooded their hearts. They knew the ordeal had damaged the victims' souls, and without proper shamans such as Allen and Lapis, they might never have found peace. They needed to be guided to the afterlife more than any other departed souls, and the White Moon tribe's shamans took upon the task without demanding anything in exchange. It might have been because Nyell was Allen's destined mate, but everyone knew the White Moon tribe's chief and his beta had no obligation to help their dead pass on. Every time shamans tapped into their spiritual energy, it was hard on their bodies. That was why it was tacitly understood that shamans shouldn't meddle in other tribe's affairs.
Although, since Lapis was to stay behind, this one might have had that obligation. And seeing his prowess in person reassured and calmed even the most skeptical ones. His abilities could no longer be questioned.
Once the ceremony concluded, people closed their eyes and prayed in silence for half an hour. They stayed still until the purifying fire dwindled and its bright color turned dull. That signaled the end of the purifying rite. Only then did people open their eyes and focus on their chief, waiting for directives.
"This is a sad day," Corriel spoke. "We are mourning the loss of loved ones and friends, but we shouldn't let ourselves be swallowed by sorrows. Dangers have always accompanied life in the jungle, and we have to bid farewell more often than we'd like. However, we all know that crying won't bring back the dead. It never did and never will. Instead of letting despair loom over the night, we shall honor the deceased as we have always done: with a feast and resounding laughter. I want us to share our happiest memories of the deceased with each other. The tears will be there, but we shall remember them for the happiness they brought us, not the pain they left by departing. Let them know that we stand strong and will never forget them. Let's allow them to leave with a light heart."
Sobs mixed with deafening cheers echoed throughout the tribe. A few weeks ago, they did not follow this tradition for the White Moon tribe's member who had died in the jungle as she wasn't part of their tribe, but they certainly would for their dead. Tonight was the time to remember all the moments they shared with the newly departed so that years later, they wouldn't only remember the pain of losing them. Certainly, talking about them hurt just as much as having their hearts pierced by an arrow. It was painful to bring up happy memories when they could never happen again. Regardless, those were the memories they did not want to bury deep into their hearts out of grief. If they were to forget the deceased, then that would truly mean death. As long as they remembered them, they lived on. That was the Black Moon tribe's belief.
"This is an interesting tradition," Allen commented as he took place beside Nyell, his usual languid look back on his face.
"For as long as I can remember," Nyell shrugged, "we have always honored the dead with stories of when they were alive. My tribe believes that talking about them keeps them alive, if only in our hearts."
To this, the White Moon tribe's chief nodded. Nyell noticed his eyes grew somewhat softer as he contemplated the Black Moon tribe laughing and crying as they brought up memorable moments of the deceased. It was a peaceful sight where people of all ages sat together, eating, drinking, and chatting. They had so much to say that even the night wouldn't be long enough.
"By the way," Allen said, earning him a 'hm' from Nyell. "Are you sure you want to bail out at dawn? Wouldn't it be better to tell them your goodbyes before leaving?"
Nyell let out a small chuckle.
"Trust me, it's better that way."
If they attempted to leave in good form, Nyell knew it would take days before the tribe let him go. They were still trying to wrap their heads around the news of his upcoming departure. And he didn't want to even talk about Isa, who was sure to throw a fit. Layla had to leave while she had to stay - at least for the time being. Things would be different once Isa reached adulthood. Until then, she had to stay in the Black Moon tribe. Needless to say, she was sure to cling to Layla and refuse to let her go. Who cared if she was the White Moon tribe's chief's important aide? He was leaving behind his beta, so why not Layla?!
It was better to flee than to deal with this brat and all the other brats that made up the tribe. Allen couldn't wait that long. Although the ceremony the White Moon tribe had been pushing onto him was past due, it didn't change the fact that his tribe was currently in jeopardy. They had problems to deal with, too. And from what Lapis had told Nyell, it seemed to be urgent. Now that everything was in order in his tribe, it was time to leave.
"What are you doing over there?" Cloe waved at Nyell and Allen, visibly intoxicated. Her cheeks were flushed red as she held her mate with an arm lock around the poor lad's neck. "Come and drink! Syuru has so many stories to tell about your uncle! Come listen!"
"...Are you sure you'll be in a good enough state to leave by dawn?" Allen tilted his head to whisper in Nyell's ear.
"Don't worry, I have the highest tolerance to alcohol in the whole tribe, and I have never once gotten drunk before the others," Nyell shrugged, throwing a playful look at the shaman. That was more or less a lie, but Allen didn't point it out. "And if by any chance I do faint, you can always carry me."
"You would make a weak shaman carry you?"
Nyell cocked an eyebrow, seemingly telling the man to stop with the bullshit. His physical constitution obviously wasn't limited by his spiritual energy. He had shown off too much prowess these past few weeks for Nyell to be fooled, and the man's naked body was still fresh in his memories. The muscles were well-defined and toned, a clear sign of frequent exercise. His destined mate might not be a mighty warrior, although that was up for debate, but he certainly wasn't weak like a shaman should be. Because he hadn't seen him fight yet, Nyell couldn't fathom how strong the White Moon tribe's chief truly was, but it didn't bother him. He had all the time in the world to figure it out, and the road ahead was sure to be paved with dangers. He'd see soon enough.
"Nyell! Stop being lovey-dovey and come already! The food is getting cold."
"Yes, yes," Nyell rolled his eyes before walking up to the group of unruly warriors, restraining himself from saying he was not being lovey-dovey. For now, he decided to push aside Allen from his mind. It was the last night he would spend with his brethren, and he had to make the most of it so that he had no regrets. He wanted to gather as much knowledge about the tribe as possible and bring it to the White Moon tribe. It'd be mere comfort, but it'd help him not to feel too lonely. Tonight, he'd roam around, sit with various groups of people, and eat and drink with them. Every time he joined a new group, he'd ask the same thing:
"So, what about those stories? I'm all ears."
And that would be the last thing his people would remember of him for years to come.