Some months before Serendipity ended up in Haven, and the morning after Fellow Travellers:

It is, in fact, still dark when Ren starts gently shaking Sandro awake; the faintest hint of dawn is filtering through the cracks of the barn, but just barely. There's sound, though -- the sound of people going out their business, pitchers and buckets clanking, livestock shuffling about, and Serendipity rather cheerfully ordering, "Wakey wakey! Rise 'n' shine, cutie, we got some walking to do."

Sandro grumbles, moving away from the shaking, but he wakes reasonably promptly, sitting up and eyes opening, sharp and bright in the dim light. There is a look of confusion on his face, a momentary recount of the events that have led him to this place, concluding in him shifting around to look at Ren, blinking a few times. His sweater is liberally strewn with hay, as is his hair. His face is a shade darker for the dust it has collected, but disheveled as he is, he's fairly alert. With a curt nod, he says not a word but instead crawls out of the blanket to collect his rucksack and guitar case.

Serendipity grins brightly at the wakening, teeth oddly white in the near-dark, and gathers the blanket back up, shoving it somewhere in his coat before grabbing the edge of the ladder to the loft and virtually vaulting over it, swinging once or twice before dropping to his feet on the floor of the place. There's a pump-tap near the door of the barn, and he heads toward it, humming something to himself

Sandro scrambles down the ladder after Ren, not nearly as daring, but nimble enough that even a guitar case and backpack don't encumber him terribly much. He must have traveled so long with them he's come to wear them as a second skin. He lands lightly on the floor, following along to the pump. "We should head out immediately," he opines in a low, soft tone. "Avoid more of your 'friends' -- then we can break our fast on the road."

Serendipity tilts his head skyward, eyes narrowed, judging the ambient light. "We got a little time left," he decides, "No need to run =yet=." He reaches into his coat for a small cloth, and strips off the coat and shirt, dropping them on a nearby hay bale while he takes advantage of the handy water. His skin does not get noticeably lighter for the removal of whatever dirt had settled there. "...got anything to break our fast =with=?" he inquires, arching a brow very slightly at Sandro.

Sandro shrugs, standing back to watch Ren in his morning ministrations. "It's not yet winter," he says reasonably. "There is wilderness in our path. The forest will provide what civilization doesn't." He unshoulders his guitar and rucksack, setting them carefully upon a bale. "I've some dried stores in my pack. It isn't much, but it will stave off hunger until we can scrounge from the land."

Serendipity takes care in his ablutions, and seems to enjoy them, though the water must be cold. It's difficult to be positive whether he's playing to the audience or not, but it's far from impossible to imagine it the case. It's a decent show, if one likes that sort of thing. He doesn't take too terribly long, and soon enough shrugs back into his clothes, finding a second cloth to offer to Sandro. "...or we can grab something here and take it with," he suggests.

Sandro watches, a brow arched, but he has a poker face that could break a gambler. His hair hides his eyes, the windows to the soul so they say. Coyote only knows what he's thinking. He comes forward to take the cloth, turning his back to Ren as he peels off his sweater. There is a flannel shirt beneath, and he shucks that as well, reducing himself to a threadbare tunic-style shirt of undyed cotton. This he keeps on as he soaks the cloth and begins to wash away the worst of the dust and dirt. Beneath, his skin is golden-toned, smooth and soft. "When you say grab something," he replies sardonically, "I can't help but thinking we will end up fleeing for our lives. Better we be patient and take what the land offers freely."

"I'd pay for it," Ren protests, the picture of wrongfully accused indignance, and pulls the leather thong from his hair, holding the end of it between his teeth as the strands fall free and he finds a brush somewhere in that coat. "...or at least," he grants, talking around it, "I'd see if Lucy didn't feel like keepin' the meat on our bones this morning..." He watches Sandro with mild interest.

Sandro washes clean his arms and neck, ducking under the shirt to wash the rest. Then he rinses out the cloth for another go at his face, vigorously scrubbing away the previous days' travel. He keeps a shoulder turned slightly toward Ren, an absent gesture of distancing, maybe some illusion of privacy. He unties the thong from his hair, working it out of its knot carefully before he tilts his head into the water and dunks, using his fingers to work out the worst of the tangles, hay, and dirt. "I think you just want more trouble," he opines.

Serendipity finishes and sets the brush atop the pump, another offer, as he ties his hair back into the customary tail. "I don't =look= for trouble," he insists. "I just go innocently about my business, and every so often trouble drops by for coffee..." He adjusts his shirt and coat, glancing down at them critically, and apparently deciding they'll do. "Anyway, don't worry so much. Been out here --" he pauses, considering, "near five winters, now, and I haven't gotten anyone killed yet. Who didn't deserve it." Wide grin.

Sandro takes up the brush and sets about the task of untangling his hair. It's long hair, past his shoulders anyway, sleek and straight. With a quiet 'hmph' he sidles around to face Ren, so that the sharpness of his dubious regard doesn't go wasted. "We take what the forest has to offer, Coyote's child. And save those wide-eyed looks. I wasn't born yesterday."

"Too bad, I woulda gotcha a birthday gift," Ren replies regretfully, reclaiming the cloth and, when available, brush. "And fine, fine, we'll go with the nuts and berries if it makes you happy. ...you're no fun, y'know that?" It's only a mild complaint. He straightens up from where he'd leant against the edge of the barn, spotting a girl crossing the garden with a bucket in the gradually brightening dawn. "...be right back. Gotta give my regards."

Sandro sighs, relinquishing the brush, then heading over to his clothing to draw it back on, dusting it off as best he can. "Be quick about it," he insists. "I'm eager to get where I'm going." While Ren makes his rounds, Sandro sits on a bale and sorts through his pack, taking inventory with all due seriousness. No fun at all.

Serendipity and his quarry -- er, friend -- are too far away to make out the exact conversation, but after a minute or two she drops the pail and throws her arms around him in an enthusiastic hug, which he returns, with a kiss for interest. He dips her a bit, and she looks vaguely swoonish. When he trots back, he's swinging a few carrots by their leaves from one hand, idly. "A'ight," he announces brightly when he gets in range of Sandro, "let's hit the road."

Sandro has, in this time, redonned his guitar and rucksack, and he regards Ren blandly as he returns. "You are a rake," he informs, then shifts his pack on his back before heading toward the door. "I don't suppose you could kiss a few stable-boys for a pair of nags, could you? No, no. Don't even think about it. I'll be happier walking."

"And a libertine and an all-'round bad influence, rumour has it," Serendipity agrees in tones of scandalized gossip, and crunches on a carrot, offering one to Sandro as well. "...and I could, but I only kiss people I wanna. If they freely wanna give me carrots -- or whatever -- 's hardly polite to refuse, is it?" He tosses the leafy bit of the carrot over his shoulder and adds, "...anyway, the stableboys here're all either slovenly or depressingly straight."

Sandro reaches for the carrot, biting the end off and crunching it down. "How horrible for you," he laments dryly. Once outside the barn, he glances around the area, frowning up at the sky. "Do you know the paths around here?" he asks. "I don't mind traveling through wilderness, but all the same, I'd rather stay close to a road."

Serendipity sticks another of the carrots between his teeth, and shoves the last few into his pocket, leaves hanging out the top. "Terrible," he agrees solemnly, "Stableboys are hot." He starts off in what looks like a random direction, although he claims not, "...over this way there's a path 'cross the next farm that'll get us to the main road in 'bout half the time. And the road's fine with me, once we get there."

Sandro follows after, alert at the mention of a farm. It's not that he thinks Ren would lead him toward trouble... well, okay. That is exactly what he would think. He keeps an eye out for trouble in the form of axes and outraged farmers. "I thought they were slovenly," he comments around bites of carrot.

Serendipity leads the way through what looks like a well-traveled gap in the blackberry brambles and into a meadow. "Somea the ones =here= are," Ren corrects, gesturing with his carrot. "...but the one who aren't -- nice. Fresh air 'n' hard work do a body good, or whatever that cliche was." He shrugs. "But, y'know. Slovenly doesn't work on anyone."

Sandro replies reasonably, "Hence its determination as slovenly." He munches, walking along at a steady pace, looking about as easy-going as a brooding youth with a far-away gaze can. "I've never really paid attention," he admits. "I haven't seen many stable-boys. I was traveling with the scavenging ships until last winter."

"Well," Ren replies, almost consolingly, "good numbera sailors aren't bad either." He grins again, easily, and matches pace; there's a very slight bounce in it, a kind of joy. "What'd you do with the scavenging ships? Should I assume 'scavenge'?"

Sandro wrinkles his nose and says uncertainly, "I must have missed the good ones." He rolls his eyes, almost amiably as he adds, "It's different when you're with them all the time, and yes, scavenging is what we tended to do. Actually, most of what he did was transport. The scavenging skiffs go into the submerged cities proper, and we sit out in the bay waiting for the cargo. Then it's up and down the coast to the traders who'll turn all that junk into something someone can use. It's not a bad living, but you want to be in port before the winter hits."

Serendipity considers this, munching on the carrot as they go. "Sounds like fun, actually. Gotta remember to try that sometime." The carrot top gets discarded, tossed randomly aside again. "Ever find anything particularly interesting? How come you left?"

Sandro shrugs diffidently, polishing off his carrot and tossing the greens into the brambles. "Lots of stuff. I never saw cities like that before I started working with the ships. It was all pretty new and curious." He walks along, quiet a moment before he replies, "We hit a bad storm. The ship sank."

Serendipity wrinkles his nose what appears to be sympathetically. "Lucky you got out okay," he remarks, leading the way through a copse of trees and toward a low white-washed fence, absently picking a couple apples on the way.

Sandro shakes his head and replies, "Luck had little to do with it." He hesitates, studying Ren a moment. Then he shrugs and looks away. "I flew away," he adds simply.

Serendipity bites into one of the apples with a crunch, dropping the others into his pocket without really seeming to think about it, and studies Sandro again, thoughtfully, while he chews. "Raven's, then?" he asks casually, as he swings over the fence, "...or onea his buddies'? Not Cyanara, obviously," he adds, glancing meaningfully at Sandro's hair.

Sandro smooths his fingers over his hair self-consciously, darting a faint frown at Ren on general principle. "Raven's," he confirms with an indignant sniff. He climbs over the fence, nimble on his feet. "But I was adopted. I could've been anyone's."

"Aren't your lot all adopted, far's that goes?" Serendipity asks, ducking through a hedgerow to end up on the side of a rather dilapidated but once well-paved road. It might once have been a local highway. "That's what a Yncas told me once, anyway..."

Sandro follows after, maneuvering the various ducks and twists as one of slight build and agile reflexes might be expected to. "Exactly," he says. "So I could have been anyone's. I was told my birth parents were nomads from the south."

Serendipity spreads his arms expansively to present the road to Sandro, "...et voila. The road more travelled. And hey, if it makes you feel more comfortable or anything, I got no idea who my dad was," he replies brightly. "...and I don't even get to fly."

Sandro replies sardonically, "Why am I not surprised? I'm sure you've left a trail of little ones wondering who their da is." Not even any credit for finding the road is given. Some people have no sense of gratitude. "My parents were killed by raiders," he adds without much tragedy in his tone. "Grandmother found me in some rubble. She said I must have slept through the whole thing."

"You make it sound like a bad thing," Serendipity replies reproachfully, going back to gnawing on his apple. He eyes the road up and down, then picks one of the directions and starts down it. "...'m sorry 'bout your folks. What kinda raiders? You're not by any chance on some kinda quest to track 'em down and pay 'em back, are you?"

Sandro shakes his head ruefully. "I'm sure their mothers are overjoyed," he mutters under his breath. Then he says more clearly, "No, nothing like that. I don't even know who they are. There are raiders all along the valley of the old Carolinas. They wait for the nomads to come south to winter. It's a hard life, so I'm told."

Serendipity may not've caught just exactly what that mutter was, but either he's got a good intuition or this isn't the first time he's had a similar conversation. "Hey," he defends, a touch quieter and much more serious than he's previously shown himself capable of, "I never let any of 'em think I wasn't leaving sooner or later." A shrug, another bite of the apple, and it's gone again, the sympathy back. "Anyway, still sorry t' hear that, man. Sounds like you've got a knack for not dying, though. 's always good."

Sandro replies peaceably, "I'm not saying you don't. I'm just saying... well. I suppose the important thing is that they have something to remember you by. Personally, I think if a woman is dumb enough to let some stranger tumble her without the proper precautions, she deserves a souvenir." He smiles fleetingly, then shrugs again. "I don't mind death so much, but I do like to stay ahead of it."

"Anyway, never know, eventually maybe onea 'em'll turn out trueblood..." Serendipity sounds -- not sad, precisely, but a hint melancholy for a moment. He shakes it off, and nods, tossing his apple core away. "I'm with you on that. Death can wait. Forever, if I'm lucky..."

Sandro is quiet a moment, then Ren might notice the soft touch on his arm as Sandro gives a nigh sympathetic squeeze. "We can always hope," he says, and he actually sounds sincere. But then he's right back to nagging. "Though they won't know what to do if they are. It's not like anyone around them will know, to teach them the ways or the lore."

"Sure someone will. Coyote would know," Ren points out, unconcerned. "He'd send whatever was needed." The squeeze gets a small smile, much rarer than the grin. "Coyote doesn't leave his children hanging." He considers a second and adds, "...unless it's really funny."

Sandro throws his hands up in the air, laughing despite himself. "I should wonder why I even try," he laments. "Raiders, shipwrecks, and now one of Coyote's own as a traveling companion. I marvel that I'm still alive."

Serendipity grins again, and thrusts his hands comfortably into his coat pockets. "Obviously, someone's lookin' out for you. And he has a sense of humour." He hums something randomly, a snatch of a folk song. "...anyway, if those kinda things never happened, how would you know you =were= alive?"

Sandro points out, "Breathing is usually a good hint." He bundles his hands in the loose sleeves of his sweater for warmth, keeping a good pace beside Ren, reasonably amiable if not for that distant look he gets so easily. "So why are you here anyway?" he asks. "Just making the rounds? You said you've been out five winters. Where from?"

"Oh, from everywhere," Ren replies, with a shrug, "...it's just before then I was travelling with my people 'stead of on my own. Even when your home never stays in one place, you still gotta leave it eventually, even if it's only for a while, yeah? Anyway, I gotta mission." And yes, there's a little pride there.

Sandro sighs softly, dropping his gaze to the broken pavement, as though Ren might have struck a nerve. Sandro doesn't elaborate, instead asking, "Oh? What is your mission? Are there stable boys in desperate need of companionship?"

Serendipity snirks. "Nah, that's more of a SUB-mission," he muses, and stretches a bit. "See, my grandpa, he was the last trueblood we saw, just before the sun came back, and he left a couple things with my mom, and told her to give 'em to her son, which of course she didn't have since she was, like, ten. So she grows up and has a buncha daughters, and just 'bout when she's gettin' past breeding, pop, there's me. And by then they'd figured out the truebloods weren't droppin' by anymore, so they were kinda hoping I'd be one -- but, y'know." He indicates himself wryly. "But one thing grandpa left me was a note. In code. When I worked it out, it was... well, it's about how I got a destiny to fulfill and all. And it could be a joke, but we figured hell, he was right about me existing eventually, so maybe I'm s'posta find where they bogged off to. So, yeah. That's my mission."

Sandro nods slowly. "Your mission is to find the last of your people," he summarizes. Then, "I can understand that. Though, what if they don't want to be found? I guess that's part of what you've got to figure out, huh." While he walks, he unslings his satchel, rummaging until he draws out a couple strips of jerky wrapped in thin cloth. He unwraps them and offers one over, keeping a strip for himself to gnaw on. "That's a pretty noble destiny," he surmises as an afterthought.

Serendipity accepts the jerky, and shrugs again, looking faintly embarrassed. "'spose so... though, hell, for all I know my actual destiny's more prosaic. Might as well try though, yeah?" The jerky requires gnawing. This cuts down on talk. "...I figure," he adds eventually, "if they don't wanna be found, I won't find 'em."

Sandro gnaws in reasonable quiet, pausing to comment, "At least you're having fun along the way." He seems to have an appetite for the stuff, sawing right through it, but there is still some effort involved. By the flavor, one hopes it's beef, or at least venison. "If I had a destiny, I'd want to have fun along the way."

Serendipity doesn't seem too concerned what the meat is -- he's trusting enough, or at least assumes if Sandro's willing to eat it, he is as well. "How d'you know you =don't= have a destiny? I say, best t'be safe and have fun along the way regardless," he declaims mock-solemnly, with a firm nod.

Sandro rolls his eyes and explains, "I'm one of Raven's. Don't you think if there was destiny involved, I'd know? Destiny is what Raven is all about." He shakes his head firmly. "I don't want a destiny. I've seen destiny, and it's no fun at all."

Serendipity fffts. "Just about anything's fun if you make it fun," he replies. "Anyway, maybe part of your destiny's not knowing about it ahead of time. But either way you might as well have fun. Yeah?"

Sandro says thoughtfully, "I guess. Though mostly, I'd rather just not be hungry, broke, and tired all the time." He smiles weakly. "And being better company would probably be an added bonus."

Serendipity hehs. "You're not bad company. Had a hell of a lot worse -- not even =counting= people tryin' to kill me. Anyway, best thing for tired is sleep, best thing for hungry is eat. Best thing for broke..." he hesitates. "Well, BEST thing for broke is don't be, but 'convince people to give you money' is a pretty decent second."

Sandro says reasonably, "Oh, I'll get work up north. I've been working my way along, but times are tough, and not a lot of people are hiring. Sure, small jobs for a meal and a place to crash in, but nothing permanent." With all due authority, he adds, "The docks are different. There's always work on the docks."

"What do you want permanent for?" Serendipity asks, tipping his head at Sandro, "Food 'n' shelter's all you need. Other stuff just weighs you down, y'know?" He manages to polish off his jerky, and offers another of the carrots in return.

Sandro shrugs and takes the carrot with a murmured, "Thank you." Then he replies, "I don't know. I just want somewhere to belong. You know, people I belong with, and a place that's home." He crunches the carrot, munching before he adds, "I'm not like you, Coyote's son. Wandering is well and good, so long as there is a destination at the end of it.'

Serendipity studies Sandro thoughtfully again. "Never knew a Corvix who wasn't a traveller to the bone," he remarks, curiously. "...Don't you have a home, y'know, where you came from and all?"

Sandro says hurriedly, "I love to travel. I grew up traveling, all the time." He munches more, then adds in a quieter tone, "It's just that I traveled with my people, you know? It's different when you're telling stories around the campfire, and you're bedding down with your family, and you know that come winter you've got a warm place and feed to see you through. That's when traveling is the best thing ever. Half-starved, half-frozen, and no one in the world to notice if you make it through the night? That's not traveling." At the mention of home, he munches dolefully again, then mumbles around a mouthful of carrot, "Had to leave."

Serendipity nods, looking a bit nostalgic at the description, but not so far as wistful. "Yeah... it's nice traveling with your people, too, but it's not so bad yourself, either. I mean, freedom, yeah?" He sighs, though glancing over at Sandro. "So... what'd you have to leave?"

Sandro nods curtly, then says, "It's freedom, sure. But I was free when I was with my people, you know?" Then, with a slight toss of his head, which would have more effect of his hair wasn't damp and clinging to him, "Ravens are very social, you know."

Serendipity can't help grinning. "Yeah, I can tell you're the life of the party," he replies with just enough solemnity that it's not clear whether he's teasing or not. "Why can'tcha go back, though? I mean, I can go home any time Coyote sees fit to cross our paths..."

Sandro shoots Ren a withering look, and those sharp, dark eyes are good for giving looks like that. "I mean we're not solitary," he clarifies patiently, like one might for the terminally slow. "I just can't. You know, you grow up, and you have to stretch your wings, leave the nest and find another group. If we all stayed in the mountains, we'd end up as inbred as the people who do just that."

Serendipity snorts lightly. "Well, =yeah=," he grants, "...if you only fucked your cousins. I mean, nothing stopping you from heading out, sowing a couple oats, maybe bringing a few of 'em back to your mountains, is there?"

Sandro eyes Ren sidelong and shakes his head. "You just don't get it," he says in a nigh theatrically mysterious tone. "Besides, I can't just show up empty-handed. What will they think? That I went forth and did nothing at all? To show up hungry and desperate is the same as admitting I couldn't cut it in the world."

Serendipity shrugs. "So show up triumphant and resplendent in shiny things, leading your harem behind you. I'm just sayin', nothing keeping you from going back some day. ....'cept your pride, maybe." He grins at Sandro, toothy and quite possibly a bit disconcerting, "Sure it can't be =that= overwhelming, though, 'cause y'know what they say about it."

Sandro shakes his head slowly and says, "Truly, I do not. Or rather, I can't wait to hear your take on an old classic." He sidles away a few paces, putting some space between him and that disconcerting smile.

"Oh, just that it cometh before a fall," Serendipity replies with airy innocence. "...and I don't think they meant Aum, either." He hums a snippet of something again, not the same song as earlier, but something similar. A drinking song, probably.

Sandro's brows lift faintly. "What's that? That you're, and I use the term lightly, singing?" He sets aside matters of pride for now, responding thoughtfully by polishing off the carrot and tossing the greens to the roadside.

Speaking of pride. Serendipity sticks his tongue out at Sandro, and breaks into song aloud. His voice is actually not bad -- not likely to hypnotize listeners with its beauty or anything, but warm and full and definitely enthusiastic. "I saw a maid milk a bull -- fie, man fie! I saw a maid milk a bull -- who's the fool now? I saw a maid milk a bull, every stroke a bucketful... thou hast well drunken, man, who's the fool now?"

Sandro looks politely pained. He even applauds, though it is a slow and unenthusiastic clapping. "Once more, I'm grateful to have been raised far away from what I loosely term civilization."

"Aw, c'mon. It's a good song," Ren returns, rolling his eyes slightly. "...Admittedly it's even better after a couple tankards of anything, but. You oughta hang out in taverns more. Play a few songs once people're sloshed and most of 'em'll happily toss you coin."

Sandro seems to consider this seriously, at least. But then he sighs woefully and gets that far-away look again. Maudlin. Definitely maudlin. "I don't know," he says uncertainly. "If they're not hiring at the docks, it'll be something to hold me over, I guess. I can play alright."

Serendipity grins and pulls out a couple apples from his pocket. He looks vaguely surprised to see them, but shrugs faintly and offers one over. "Hey, by the time they're feeling generous, they don't care how well you play," he points out. "...you'll prolly hafta deal with a couple offers of a place t' crash for the night, though."

Sandro takes the apple unquestioningly and bites into it, after a quick check-over for wormholes. "Well, isn't that a good thing?" he asks. "To have somewhere to sleep at night?" He pauses, then comes over all suspicious as he says, "Or do you mean someone might try to get a tumble?"

"He's a quick one," Serendipity remarks approvingly to no one in particular. "Yeah, that's what I mean. Somehow you don't strike me as the sort t' consider that a bonus."

Sandro shrugs and replies, "So I tell them no thanks." He munches more, a veritable eating machine. Then again, as thin as he is, there's probably a good reason for eating like it might well be the last meal he sees for days. He doesn't stand on formality either, quite happy to speak with his mouth full. "There's no reason to get all traumatic about it."

Serendipity nods once, approvingly. "'s what I say. I mean hey, it's a compliment really, yeah?" He munches his apple as well, but in no particular hurry. He doesn't seem to expect that it'll be his last food and might disappear at any moment, and his build implies he's no reason to think so most of the time, though certainly it's not a life of feasts and banquets.

Sandro strips the core bare, then tosses it into the dirt along the roadside, not breaking his stride. "Well, compliments are relative," he comments dryly. "What it is is someone wanting to get laid, and that pretty much describes the human condition, so there's nothing to get excited about."

"Yeah," Serendipity grants, "but they wanna get laid by =you=. There's a lotta other people out there they could be trying to fuck instead, y'know." He gets down to the core of his own apple and chucks it high and hard into the crown of a tree, eliciting an outraged squeak from some denizen of the branches. "Sorry!" he calls up to it, trying (and largely failing) not to laugh.

Sandro rolls his eyes, watching the outraged flutter of wings. No retribution is forthcoming, and as at least one crow takes indignant flight, he smiles slightly. "Yeah, well. People get desperate. I'm not saying I've never had any good offers. I'd just like to think there's more to me than my layability."

"....mm. Yeah, desperate isn't sexy," Ren agrees, "...and 'course there is, but just 'cause they appreciate your style doesn't mean they can't also enjoy the substance."

Sandro shrugs dismissively. "I guess," he replies, the very spirit of noncommitment. "So are you headed anywhere in particular? Got any leads on your quest? I can tell you this much, from the direction I've come, I haven't heard anything that would help."

Serendipity shrugs as well, though not dismissively. "Sure -- up to the next town. 'side from that, nah. I just go where Coyote wills. No good leads, yet..." He trails off, and then, after a moment, continues, "...But at least I've been able t' ascertain no one =else= seems to've run into any of 'em since the sun, either.

Sandro says lightly, "Once you've narrowed down this continent, you only have a couple more to tick off your list. What about your coyote kin. Have they heard anything?"

Serendipity makes a face. "I can't speak beast speech. Workin' on it. Human languages, no problem, but." He glances skyward. "Somea the time I was a kid, we were goin' through Europe... no one remembers any signsa them there, either.

Sandro nods, murmuring, "Oh, right. You don't have any translators. That's kind of the crux of the problem, isn't it." He shoves his hands in his pockets, pacing his gait to a lazy amble. No hurry to get where he's going, apparently. "Maybe they've gone to the shadow lands."

For all that his departure was precipitated by an angry guy with an axe, Serendipity doesn't seem to be in much of a hurry either. "'s possible. I figure I'll check out the lands I can get to easily first, though... I mean, I don't exactly visit other planes every day."

Sandro nods again, absently. "Sure, sure. It's just a thought. I mean, if I wanted to go to ground and hide out where none of my kin could find me, I'd go there. But I imagine it must get boring after awhile. I mean... well, how much is there to do there, really?"

"It's a =good= thought," Ren replies, "...and from the stories, they know the place better'n anyone, 'cept =maybe= your lot. I still think it's weird, though -- everyone says you don't get two 'wisha in the same place much, so, all of them...?"

Sandro waves a hand vaguely. "The shadow lands are vast," he explains. "Maybe they're all spread out. Except you'd think someone would've seen them. I'm sure someone in my unkindness would've said something."

Serendipity nods. "You'd think," he agrees, looking thoughtful. "I dunno. It's all very strange, et cetera. I'll figure it out, though. Eventually."

Sandro muses, "It'll give you something to do." He pauses as he sees the silhouette of a black bird flying against the pale sky, and his expression grows intent. His steps flag as he sidles to the roadside and paws around for a broken chunk of ancient asphalt. "Scuse me a minute," he comments as he takes careful aim and chucks the clod of tar and rock at the crow wheeling overhead. He mutters a curse as it misses, but the bird does squawk unhappily and circles further aloft.

Serendipity hehs. "Not very nice t' the distant relations, are we?" he remarks idly, watching the crow rise higher. "...and yeah, it keeps me busy. Good t' have some kinda purpose, somethin' to keep the mind occupied. Keeps other people outta trouble."

Sandro watches the crow rise higher, frowning. "Idiots," he mutters. "Talk about your evolutionary dead ends." He shrugs in a gesture that is reminiscent of ruffling one's feathers, then takes up his stride again. "Especially people you're nowhere near," he adds as an afterthought.

Serendipity smirks. "Well, I was thinkin' more about the ones I =am= near," he clarifies. "You ever heard what happens when Nuwisha get bored?" He arches a eyebrow, looking as though he expects the question to have been rhetorical; of =course= a Corax would have heard stories. "I may just be kin, but I'm 'bout the closest thing to 'em anyone can find, after all."

Sandro arches a brow in turn. "I can outfly you," he informs curtly. "Besides, you should be able to entertain yourself. You could shoot at crows, for example. Plenty of stuff to do out here on the road."

Serendipity laughs. It's an exuberant sound. "It wasn't a =threat=," he remarks with obvious amusement. "And I =can= entertain myself; that's why it's just better for everyone that I've got something in particular to do and I'm not spendin' all my time avoiding boredom. ...anyway, I'm not much of a shooting at things guy, usually."

Sandro snaps his fingers, eyeing the crow overhead again. "That's a shame. I haven't had much practice with a gun, myself." Maybe there is something in the way the crow dips in the sky that offends him, because he frowns and calls up, "Yes, you heard me! A gun!"

"He insulting your parentage or something?" Ren inquires, glancing up as well. "...anyway, you got any particular destination aside from away from where you started?"

Sandro says calmly, "Spend four years on a ship with nothing but crows in the crows nest, and you'd understand." With an indignant sniff, he smooths his sweater some, not that it helps the look of the tattered garment any. "I don't know where I'm going. I went inland hoping to find somewhere to be, but I must've gotten too used to the ocean, because it's calling me back."

Serendipity grins. "Sea's nice. Everything else ain't bad either, though. Places with water beat places without, if you ask me...." He stops to study a wooden sign someone's planted by the roadside, ages ago. The text is worn to near illegibility.

Sandro spies the side and sidles closer as well to get a look. "I miss the mountains," he says quietly. "There ain't enough places on this rock that'll make me forget the way the air smells when the snowmelt starts, and how if you listen real close, you can hear the wind talkin' to you."

Serendipity considers this a moment. "That's poetic. I like it," he decides. "...what's it say?" A pause. "The wind, I mean, not the sign. Though if you can make =that= out..."

Sandro shakes his head and shrugs. "I dunno what it says," he admits, though he continues peering at it, as though he might just make it out if he studies it long enough. "It says all kind of things, the wind I mean. It'll tell you if it's gonna rain or shine, and what the weather's like in the valley. It'll tell you all about the comin' rain, and if there's been a death in the woods." Sadly, his accent does start to twang a little.

"Well, if it's important we'll find out pretty soon," Ren decides, with a shrug, and starts strolling along again. "...careful, though. You're startin' to get past poetic and into folk music."

Sandro darts a sour look at Ren. "So what if I am?" he says, just a touch defensive. "There ain't nothin' wrong with folk music. S'what I first learned how to play."

Serendipity grins. "Oh, nothin'... nothin' at all. Not a thing wrong with folk music. I mean, you get a good drunk on, nothin' better in the world..."

Sandro continues to regard Ren sourly. "Well maybe I ain't got fancy roots, but that don't mean nothin'. There's lots to be proud of comin' from the mountains." Then he looks away, airily as he says, "I'm sure you wouldn't understand."

"Who said anything 'bout fancy roots?" Serendipity asks. "...methinks the lady doth protest too much. I didn't say a word against the mountains. Touchy." He seems entirely cheerful about this.

Sandro is touchy, too. The =look= he gives Ren... something about if looks could kill and cold-hearted murder. He doesn't say a word, though. Instead, he turns his attention to the road ahead and walks, just a little quicker than before.

Serendipity grins a little, and shakes his head, sauntering along with only a bit of a change of speed. "Chill, birdie. I'm just tweaking your feathers. Don't get so ruffled, you'll get high blood pressure and fall off a branch dead someday."

Sandro mutters, "I'll peck your eyes out before that'll happen, scavenger." He stops then, glancing toward a copse of trees a little way off the road. Without so much as a how-do-you-do, he leaps the ditch and starts to climb up the embankment, explaining as an afterthought, "I'm ready to take a rest."

"Be a shame, they're nice eyes," Ren murmurs, and follows along, hands in his coat pockets. "Fair 'nough. Wouldn't mind one either." He hums something to himself as he follows -- it's almost certainly a folk song. Whether he means anything by it, and what, is anyone's guess.

Sandro shoots Ren a dirty look for good measure, just in case. Then he trots toward the copse, the guitar case bouncing lightly against his back. It isn't long before he disappears into the trees. Not permanently, alas. It isn't a big copse, just a few straggly oaks clustered together in a field.

Serendipity follows, still innocently humming, and in no particular hurry. He eyes the oaks as he approaches, and heads toward the biggest of them, such as it is. It gives plenty of shade, at least, and it's fairly sturdy-looking.

Sandro sits upon the ground, his guitar case beside him, and his satchel nestled between his crossed legs as he rummages through it. "I have more food," he comments, as if there had been no hard feelings at all a moment ago. "Spices. It would be nicer if we had some meat."

Serendipity drops down crosslegged beside Sandro, and glances over, watching him rummage. "...it matter what kind of meat? I mean -- I s'pect you're thinking fresh meat, yeah?"

Sandro nods and says, "Yeah, fresh. I got more jerky. It just ain't very good with spices. I mean aside from the ones it's already got." He draws out a small leather pouch, and from that he takes a few strips of the dried meat. "Got some dried apples, too. Don't think I got any apricots left. Got tea, but we'd need a fire. Reckon we can make one tonight."

"I got..." Ren reaches into his coat, thoughtfully. "...what would you like me to have?"

Sandro arches a brow, giving Ren another 'look' to add to the collection he's building up. "When is the last time you had any decent food in you?" he asks. "And while you're at it, you can make yourself useful. Gather me up some acorns."

"Had carrots and apples just this morning," Ren points out. "Anyway, what d'you want me to have? I can do drinks, or a jar of somethin'... sometimes tinned stuff."

Sandro says irritably, "I just want you to get me some acorns." He unfolds what looks like it might have been a bali scarf once, but it has since been moonlighting as a tablecloth or blanket. It's faded, with bits of leaf litter still clinging to it. It was probably pretty once, red and black with a lacy fringe. He spreads it out on the ground before him, setting down the jerky, and then diving into the satchel again.

Serendipity rolls his eyes. "...c'n lead a horticulture," he mutters to himself, and gets up, withdrawing his hand from his coat with a fair-sized, half-empty bottle of something golden and almost certainly alcoholic. It's a sight better than the kind of stuff the tavern last night sold. He samples it idly while hunting acorns.

Sandro has some acorns already, or at least one. It pings off the tree near Ren's head. While he hunts, Sandro drags out a truly daunting amount of junk from the satchel, putting most of it back after sorting through it, tossing very little aside. There are the requisite shiny things, but those would be the mess kit. There are pieces of clothing, cloth wrapped things, and when the hunt for food is done with, he's laid out a half-cheese and most of a loaf of bread that's only a little stale.

Serendipity returns with a good handful and a half of acorns, and presents them with all due -- well, about twice as much as due -- ceremony, then sets the bottle and the remaining bounty of his pockets (two small apples, three carrots, and some kind of bun) down as well.

Sandro eyes the acorns dubiously. "That's not nearly enough," he comments, but he scoops them up and wraps them in a bit of cloth before tucking them away all the same. "We'll get more wherever we stop for the night. Here." Half the loaf of bread is broken off and offered over. "Do you have a knife for the cheese? It could stand to have some of the mold cut off it.'

After the stop for lunch, it's back on the road. Sandro keeps a steady, unhurried pace, taking in the landscape as it passes by. When acorns can be seen, he collects them, nagging Ren to help his share. He also has a keen eye for edible roots and herbs -- he collects some of those along the way, clutching a stalk of wild fennel in one hand, which he uses to shoo flies when they buzz curiously around the pair. As afternoon heads into evening, he finds another copse of trees a little way from the road, and he suggests taking their sleep there. Never mind that it gets cold at night, and there's bound to be another inn somewhere along the road if the pair keeps walking.

Serendipity, in fact, points out these eventualities, though he doesn't seem unduly set on continuing until they find such a shelter. He seems content to let Sandro have the lead throughout the afternoon, following his pace and direction.

Sandro grunts, "Don't want an inn." This as he wades the wild grasses toward the copse. "Why don't you collect firewood? I'll make us a camp." Without waiting to see if Ren agrees, he unshoulders his pack and guitar case, setting them gently on the woodland floor. "Doesn't look like rain, but we can build a shelter all the same."

Serendipity obediently disappears into the depths of the copse, returning after a bit with a good armload of wood for the fire, and a selection of kindling as well. For all that he might prefer haylofts and featherbeds, he does have plenty of experience with this.

Sandro has cleared out a bit of ground and ringed it with stones in the meantime. He smiles thinly, absently as he reaches for the wood, the better to build up the fire before he digs out the box of matches from his satchel. "If we roast the acorns," he explains as he fusses and rummages, "It makes a fine tea in the morning. Nice and bitter, good for waking a body up."

"Mm," Ren replies noncommittally, and empties his pockets of acorns beside the fire ring, making a good-sized pile of them. He watches Sandro for a few moments, then, before asking, "...you want me to go see if there's something I can make dead for dinner, or somethin'?"

Sandro gets the fire going, then gathers up the acorns, his expression terribly serious, as if this camping out beneath the stars was something grave indeed. "If you want, but you better clean it away from camp. I don't want to smell rabbit guts all night."

Serendipity grins toothily. "I could distract you," he offers, and saunters away into the trees without waiting for an acceptance or (more likely) demurral. It takes longer to come up with meat than wood, but he does in fact return with two rabbits, both gutted and cleaned but not skinned, dangling limply by their ears from one hand.

Sandro snorts noncommittally, leaving Ren to it. In the time he spends hunting, Sandro has managed to gather up enough fallen twigs and saplings to build a lean-to, with leaf litter for a roof. It's not a sturdy thing, and it wouldn't keep out a heavy rain for love nor money, but it's enough to stave off breezes and drizzle. Plus, it's cover located near the fire, carpeted with a thin, twig-cluttered blanket from the satchel. Sandro sits cross-legged to one side of it, sharpening a long stick with a knife. "Here, we can skewer 'em on this if you wanna," he says after glancing up to see the rabbits. "Got some spices that'll cook 'em up real nice."

Serendipity salutes with the hand that =isn't= full of dead rabbit, and drops down beside Sandro, indian-style himself, taking a knife from his coat to separate meat from bone and skin. "Sounds like a plan to me. You want a couple rabbit skins?"

Sandro eyes the pelts sidelong. "Reckon there ain't a good way to tan those if we're on the move, but maybe we can trade 'em in the next town come morning, you think? Wouldn't be worth much, but it might buy us some bread for breakfast." He finishes stripping the stick, then holds out a hand to collect the meat and skewer it while the fire snaps and crackles cheerily.

Serendipity nods, handing the meat over and spreading the skins out on a rock by the fire to dry them a bit. "Yeah -- worst case we can always give 'em to someone and buy some good will." He finishes his work and sprawls a bit, getting comfortable. It looks insouciant.

Sandro drags his satchel a little closer, taking out a smaller cloth bag where his herbs dwell in pouches and corked ceramic containers. Yep, they sure do smell like dried pungent plants, and he rubs a few broken brownish leaves onto the meat, following it up with a few pearls of black pepper, crushing the corns in his fingers and taking care not to lose any. "Traded a song for these," he says with something that comes dangerously close to a smile. "Don't have meat often enough to use 'em much, but they're worth keepin' just in case."

Serendipity grins, watching the preparations idly. "...so what should I trade you for a song?" he inquires, with only a touch of innuendo. "Don't have a whole lot of options..."

Sandro eyes Ren sidelong, his lips pursed in dubious assessment. He looks so damned serious. "I don't mind playing for free," he confides reluctantly before turning his attention back to the fire. He sets the rabbit to roasting, turning the stick carefully in the flames. "I reckon it's safer traveling in twos than one by one, so I figure if you keep an eye on me, I can trade you a song for that."

"More fun, too," Ren opines cheerfully. "...and sure, works for me. I'll even keep =both= eyes on you, mosta the time. No extra charge."

Sandro points out, "I ain't that much trouble." His tone, and the glance he shoots Ren, is something one could take as an accusation, or at the very least an implication. "After supper," he decides. "Will you look my pack for the rest of that bread and cheese? It should be near the top."

"You're just not applyin' yourself," Ren replies sympathetically, as if Sandro had been apologising for his lack of troublesomeness. All the same, he twists and stretches over to reach into the pack, hunting down the requested morsels.

It's an overloaded pack, but one might recognize the cheesecloth Sandro wrapped the leftovers of lunch in, nestled amidst a change of clothes that isn't any cleaner than what he's got on, another blanket, and something that jingles faintly when it's rustled. "You don't wanna see me gettin' troublesome," Sandro warns as he keeps an eye on the dinner-in-progress. The smell of roasted meat touches the air, along with the herbs and the nose-tickling pepper. From Sandro's direction, there is the conspicuous grumbling of his underfed stomach.

Serendipity grins widely, offering the cheesecloth over. "Oh, yeah? Why not, then?" he inquires lightly.

Sandro eyes Ren again, putting a wealth of scolding into a mere glance. He offers over the spitted meat in exchange for the wrapped leftovers. "I've heard it said," he replies, "that I got me a mean streak a mile wide."

Serendipity makes the trade, and replies to Sandro with exaggerated innocence: "You don't say! Wouldn'ta thunkit. But hey, you should hear somea the things I've heard said about =me=."

Sandro supplies blandly, "Troublemaker? Thief? Rake? Scoundrel? Ruffian? Don't ask me to venture a guess at what people who really don't like you have to say." He breaks off a bit of the bread, then takes up his knife to slice off pieces of cheese to tuck inside the torn open pieces. These he sets near the fire on one of the stones to warm up a little. "'Sides," he adds, "I don't go lookin' for trouble. I ain't all that mean, neither. It's just that when I get pushed, I push back." He shrugs, all innocence.

"Well, not =ruffian=," Serendipity replies, with just the faintest air of wounded pride, "I don't mug little old ladies or anything. Geez." He reaches over and gives Sandro a light, playful push on the arm. Just testing.

Sandro nudges back, putting some shoulder into it, by way of demonstration. It would be more impressive if he had more weight to him. As it is, he's got a rather bony shoulder, good for a jab but not terribly strong. "I'm just sayin'. Here, you reckon these are done?" he asks, gesturing to the roasting rabbit bits.

Serendipity grins and nudges back, definitely more friendly and playful than actually challenging, and then leans forward slightly to examine the meat. "...yeah, smells about right. We can always cook it more if we gotta."

Sandro nods agreeably and reaches for the skewer, taking up some of the warmed bread and cheese in his other hand, a homemade pot-holder for handling the roasted meat, plus it makes a sandwich all in one go. Resourceful little bird, this one. He offers over one of the concoctions to Ren before grabbing up another piece of cheesy bread to repeat the process for himself. "Nothing like fresh meat after eatin' nothin' but jerky and apples," he comments hungrily.

Serendipity accepts, and nods firmly. "Damn straight. Though, gotta say, they weren't bad apples. Shoulda kept a couple, we could've baked 'em for dessert," he muses, and digs in to his hot sandwich. It appears to meet with is approval.

Sandro digs into his own sandwich, replying with a muffled grumble that sounds more or less agreeing, but he definitely has a 'can't talk stuffing face' air to his reply. No dainty eater, this one. He bolts down the first sandwich before reaching for another bread-cheese pocket. Admittedly, the next sandwich he makes he sets near Ren, but the one after he tucks into, less fervently than the last.

Serendipity takes his time eating, by comparison, though no one could call it dainty either. He enjoys his food, certainly. There's just no rush to get through it in case it might go away. Conversation ceases for a while, though companionably on his part.

Sandro relaxes some after the first onslaught of warm food. He even finds himself leaning shoulder to shoulder against Ren as he slows down to savor the last bit. The pepper and herbs really do cook up nice, it turns out. It's not just a warm meal after a day's travel, but a warm meal that tastes -good- to boot. Once he's down to licking his fingers and picking at the last bits of his second sandwich, Sandro comments, "Could get used to this."

Serendipity grins, and pauses before the last couple bites to inquire, "The meat, or the travelling?"

Sandro smiles crookedly, ducking his head as he says, "The meat. I got used to the travel a long time ago. Don't get fresh rabbit too often, though." There is a little bit left, but he must've eaten his fill, because he prepares the last half-sandwich or so for Ren, offering it over without ado.

Serendipity takes hold of each edge of it, arching a brow slightly in offering: would Sandro like him to split it between them? "'s always nice, having fresh meat at a meal. I was lucky this time."

Sandro shakes his head, waving off the offer politely, albeit wordlessly. "I'd say that's worth a song, bringin' meat to the table," he says, licking his fingers clean of any remnants of rabbit that might've escaped the initial scarfing.

Serendipity polishes off the last of the sandwiches, and settles back. "Glad t' hear it. Whatcha gonna play for me?" He looks absurdly comfortable.

Sandro wipes off his hands on his sweater, then reaches for his guitar case, easing away from the fire a bit to make some room. "I dunno," he says. "Just start playin', I guess." Then he gives Ren a pointedly pleasant smile. "Maybe folk music."

Serendipity smirks, amused. That's a button well-pushed, all right. "I'm up for anything," he replies mildly, discovering a flask of something or other somewhere within his coat.

Sandro huffs a breath, not loud enough to be a grunt, and he takes out the battered old guitar, fussing over it mildly as he checks its strings, then tunes it by ear. This takes a little while, since there is no such thing as packing a guitar all over creation and not having it go out of tune. Eventually, he works it out, then starts to play a meandering melody with nimble fingers made somewhat stiff from the evening chill settling in. He hums a little, soft harmony swallowed by the sad, minor chords, but he doesn't sing.

Serendipity shifts positions, resting his elbow on his knee and his jaw on his hand, and watches while he listens, silent for once and decidedly paying attention.

Sandro ducks his head, letting the loose strands of his hair fall over his face, veiling in part the smile that plays upon his lips as he continues the mellow, meandering tune. His playing is skilled if not formal. He seems to listen while he plays, so that the rustling of the breeze through the branches and the crackling of the fire are all somehow taken into consideration, worked into the song somehow. It's elusive, but it's there. The tune comes slowly and in its own time, and in the same way it fades, with the last few notes lingering in the air as he lifts his head and gives a modest little shrug.

Serendipity reaches over and flicks away one of those veiling strands, and smiles -- it's not quite the ubiquitous grin; something somewhat softer. "Gorgeous," he murmurs, "....thanks. Thank you."

Sandro smiles, swift and bright, and shy, and then he's looking away, drawing away to look for a guitar pick somewhere in the case as he says, muffled and quiet, "S'no problem. Passes the time, huh?"

Serendipity smiles brighter at the return smile. It briefly makes him look like a little boy delighted by the first snow of the season or something similar... instead of one plotting to dip braids in inkwells or put tacks on chairs, as is more usual. "...yeah, it does. Def'nitely worth spending some time on." He stretches, then, glancing up at the sky.

Sandro ducks his head again, letting his hair fall over his face as he strums a few experimental chords. "I'll bank the fire," he offers quietly. "If you wanna sleep." The tune he starts to play definitely has the tone of a lullaby, all soft notes and a lulling melody.

Serendipity finds a blanket somewhere in his coat -- not, Sandro might notice, the same one as in the loft the night before -- and assembles something of a bed, definitely wide enough to accommodate them both. "Mm... a'ight. Wake me if you need me. Or need distracting." He grins, then, just a little, and wriggles into place for the night.

Sandro snorts quietly, but it almost betrays humor rather than annoyance. He continues to play, soft and steady. "Good night, Ren." For now, he seems content to play soothingly while the fire dies down.