Trees. Why does it have to more and more trees, day after bloody day? It's been a few weeks since the small caravan has seen any real signs of civilization out in this wilderness. They lost sight of it after they had to make a rapid detour off the main roads because of stories that some brigands were on the march and raiding along the more commonly used roads. Ah, if only they had a map. Heck, if they had a good bath! Many of the caravan members could certainly use one by now. It's among this battered and stinky crew that Axel finds himself. Currently, he's riding upfront with the lead driver. The wagons are rather worse for wear and he's been stuck having to repair them now and then. "Eh, look at that. This road has been used. Good sign," the driver named Horase, a rather smelly and disgruntled Skreek grunts at Axel. "Bet yer glad, eh? It's not like we were your first class travel service, har!"

Axel glances around nervously as the driver speaks. Why do all the forests have to look the same? And so spooky? He'd been walking these forests a while before meeting the caravan and even having traveled so far they still look creepy. He shudders, then blinks when he realizes he's being addressed. "Oh, yes." He nods, mutters something – to himself? – and nods again. "Maybe we'll see more people?"

The Skreek laughs, then breaks into a coughing fit. "Well, that would depend on what you classify as 'people'," he manages to stammer once the coughing subsides. "Out in these parts … things grow strangely. Twisted. Better to just hope they're friendly."

"Strange … and twisted?" Axel blinks at the man several times, then cocks his head to the side as he seems to think about that. "That … that would explain a lot. Maybe."

"Heh," Horase mutters and glances toward Axel. "Come to think of it, you might fit in. Out here you humans are a rarity. Better hope they don't think yer some freaky monster," he comments jokingly and grins with yellowed teeth.

"Wouldn't want that," Axel agrees readily. He reaches up and rubs his shoulders with his hands, then shifts a bit. "No, wouldn't want that at all. Just trying to … to … " He trails off and shakes his head.

"To never finish a sentence, that's what," the Skreek laughs and elbows him. "Yer an odd one … " he starts to say, then pulls on the reins, halting the wagon. Ahead of them is another battered wagon. It's halfway off the road and one of the wheels seems to have come loose. A couple people mill about around it, all dressed in bright and garish colors. The species vary. One is a black Korv. The other is a rough and athletic looking Skreek. He seems to be cursing at the wheel and kicking it.

"Sorry," Axel apologizes and sounds like he really means it. "I'm just thinking. It's noisy in here." He taps his head, then rubs his side where he was elbowed.

As the two wagon teams approach each other Axel first glances, then turns his head fully to watch the downed wagon and it's people. "You're right," he says. Then he mouths something, nods, and points, "I should help them."

"Oy, great, he hears voices," the Skreek comments. The Skreek looks to where Axel points, then back at Axel, dumbfounded. "You want to help them? Those are gypsies, boy. They'll rob ya blind and insult yer mudder."

"I don't hear voices," Axel insists nervously. "I was just thinking? Talking to myself? It's a habit? A habit. Maybe I was agreeing with you, too." He gives the Skreek a worried glance and then taps his non-pointing hand to the gypsies. "I've heard of gypsies. Don't they steal children? I should … help them though right? It's what I should do? Isn't it?"

One of the Skreeks eyebrows goes up and his nose twitches. "Kid, I think the trip's getting to you. You're babbling," he mutters. With a sigh, the Skreek then shrugs and adds, "Your neck and pocket book … and your mudders honor. If you want to help them, go for it. I ain't going near them."

"Urgh," Axel grumbles as he looks between the safety the Skreek represents and the dangerous mystery that is the gypsies. "I have a choice right? I mean, it's dangerous. It's not like … " He tosses his hands in the air suddenly and moves to climb down. "I'm going! I'm going."

After climbing down Axel raises a hand as he approaches the broken down caravan and shouts, "Hello there! I seem to want to help you!"

The cursing Skreek stops cursing and then both him and the Korv turn to look at him. Both of them stare, dumbfounded, for a moment. "Okay, what de' heck are you?" they both ask in unison.

"Human?" The "human" says. He holds his hands out for inspection.

The two gypsies confer with each other for a moment. "Where's yer horns?" the Korv asks, skeptical. The Skreek looks at the Korv and comments, "Horns? I heard dey have scales. An' really, really, big feet."

Axel reaches up and runs a hand across his forehead as if he were looking for horns. "No horns." He sounds relived. Maybe he was beginning to buy all those stories the Skreek was telling him. Then he looks at his feet and wiggles his toes in his boot. "They're sort of … " His head suddenly jerks up and peers at the Korv as if just seeing him for the first time, head tilting to the side. "Do you … know me?"

"No, but I know yer mudder, Saw her just last veek," the Korv says, then breaks out in a cackling laugh. He nudges the Skreek and says, "Th' lad is addled, Djivan. Prolly isn't even a real human. Maybe someone's lost pet, no? Djivan raises his eyebrows and comments, "Addled or no, pet or no, if he can help ve can use it. Stupid vheel. All right creature, ve accept yer offer."

The human begins towards the broken wheel as soon as the two agree. On the way he frowns as he eyes the Korv, muttering under his breath. Bits and pieces of the muttering filter out as he raises his voice. "-know me-" "-maybe I'll" and "-bad idea-"

Axel kneels beside the wheel and gives it the once over. "Tools?"

Djivan holds out a hammer. That's all, a hammer. "Er, ve have a hammer," he says pathetically. He then glares at the Korv. The Korv says, “Hey, not my fault ve had to leave the rest behind!"

The hammer gets stared at. "It's a hammer," he says. It sounds like an explanation. "Used to, um, hammer nails in." he taps the frame to demonstrate. "The wheel is just loose, not broken – or else we'd really have a problem – and I think it can be fixed." He stands up and shoulders the hammer as he looks around, then points. "The wagon needs to have some of the weight taken off this wheel so I can fix it properly. Otherwise it'll be set wrong and that won't fix anything."

The Korv and Djivan look at each other. "Oh no, I von't be the one disturbin' her," the say in unison at each other. Then they both scowl. "I did it last time," the Korv insists. "So vhat?" Djivan retorts, then grimaces. Glowering, he turns and goes behind the wagon. A knocking is heard a moment later.

"The axels sometimes shrink or distort due to the weather," Axel further explains as he returns his gaze to the wheel. "It's bad in Sylvania due to all the rain. Rots the wooden axels something fierce." He pauses, blinks, then looks up towards the sound of knocking. He wonders belatedly who they don't want to wake up. He thinks about gypsies. He wonders if perhaps now he should run back to the Skreek and forget this idea all together.

Djivan slinks back away from the door and says, "Sorry, Madame, but we need to remove some veight from the wagon … not that vou're heavy! Ve just don't vant you hu… " A soft, melodic voice says, "Calm vourself, Mr. Vash. I understand. I vill help in any vay I can." Djivan nods his head, and from around the wagon steps a tall, lithe, black Khatta. She's probably in her early thirties, and is completely black. Her clothing is flowing and concealing and ask she walks, it's like she's gliding. The air around her hands seem to shimmer slightly. She notices the human and says, "Vell, who do we have here?"

Axel says, "Axel," Axel says automatically, adding "Nadyenka" after a brief pause, as well as a nervous grin. He drops the hammer to clutch it with both hands against his chest rather like someone might hold a hat. "I'm human. Unless I'm a Korv." He laughs as if he had made a very funny joke."

"Vou may call me Madame Natasha," The Khatta says in that melodic voice. She raises her flickering hands. With a snap of them, the light around them seems to spray off, then dissipate. "And vou are quite human." she watches the man, expression curious and relaxed. "Aladar, Djivan," she then says, "Why don't vou both lift the vagon corner for our friend?"

"I'm human," Axel agrees. "Quite human." He laughs again, then frowns as if it wasn't quite as funny this time. "Thanks you for helping me. I can fix your wheel I think. The rot might have soaked in and distorted it, or … well I think I can fix it. But you should have it repaired by someone with better tools as soon as possible."

Yes, Madame," the two say quickly. The both go to the cornet of the wagon near the broken wheel and grip. With a grunt, they both lift and the wagon corner goes up. The Khatta says, "Ve were told a town is up the vey. Hopefully dey have a good shop dere."

"Well, kid," comes a call from Horase, "Yer on yer own now. We're out of here. No way we gonna associate with this group. They are the Shadowswalk tribe. I recognise that Khatta. They are trouble, big trouble." He snaps the reins and the wagon starts turning around.

Axel watches the woman a moment more before drawing his attention towards the wheel with some reluctance. "Don't know what that was," he whispers to himself. "Best not to ask." He looks up as the Skreek says his goodbyes – or rather good riddens – and adds, "Definitely best not to ask." After waving to the departing caravan he focuses on the wheel.

"The axel's fine, but the mounting has some wood rot here," he points, "and that's causing the tapered end of the axel to fit improperly. Hm." He shoves the wheel hard against the axel and keeps it there as he begins hammering. "I've heard metal is so much better for wheels." More hammering, a twist, then he holds out a hand, "Anyone have a belt knife?"

The two holding the wagon look at each other with a 'is this guy totally bonkers? We're holding up a wagon!' look. Madame Natasha slips her hand into her flowing clothing. Her hand slips out and she offers an ornate and well made metal knife with a curved blade. "Will t'is serve?" she asks.

"Are you sure you want to use your knife? It's probably worth more than the wheel," explains the human honestly. He also seems to realize the two men are, in fact, holding up the wagon while he talks and so he shoulders part of the load himself while he waits for an answer.

"It is a t'ing and is inconsequential. Far more important items in life, yes?" the Khatta asks in her melodic voice. "Vhy have a knife if it is never used, hmm?" She continues to hold it out.

Axel accepts the knife after stepping away from the wagon. "Life is important," he agrees. "And sacrifice is a part of life." His smile is melancholy as he turns back to the wheel.

A few minutes later Axel has scrapped some of the rot away and adjusts the tapering of the axel to accept the new fitting. The wheel sits about half an inch further inward than it used to but it spins straight. "You can set it down now."

The Khatta stands there watching in silence. The other two grunt and lower the wagon, looking relieved. Djivan, then runs up the road a bit after the Skreek who left. The wagon can just barely be seen in the distance. "May vour mudder get boils on her bottom!" he curses loudly after the wagon. A moment later, Horase calls back, "Hah! My mudder already has boils on her bottom. Your curses can't touch me!"

Axel watches the exchange with a mix of amusement and horror. "Curses," he mutters to himself loudly enough for the woman to hear, and yet seems to have totally forgot her presence. He pauses, shakes his head, then looks downward. "Curses are wrong." Idly he rubs the hand that holds the knife as if it were sore.

The Khatta extends her hand and her fingers uncurl with slow, deliberate, movement. "If you are finished, sir, may I have my knife back?" she asks, watching him with green eyes.

"What?!" Axel jumps a foot away from the woman as if she popped out of thin air. "You! You. You … are standing beside me." His grin looks sick. "Which you were. All the time?" He offers the knife and rubs his hand further after it's accepted. "I, I … was thinking. Too long on the road." He laughs uncomfortably.

The knife disappears back under her robes. The Korv, Aladar, and Djivan, seem to keep their distance from the Khatta and are rather quiet in her presence. She rolls her neck slightly, watching the human. "Yes. Yes, I am standing right 'ere," she says in her melodic tone. "T'inking does not usually involve speaking, young man," she says, though it's not admonishment. "Are vou not vell?"

Axel pauses in mid back step, then abandons it. "Well," he rubs his neck, "I feel fine. I feel wonderful. Really good. I've just been thinking a lot. It's very distracting." He frowns and gives the others a worried look. "I'm not crazy. And I'm human."

The Khatta's eyebrows go up. Her hand comes up and she holds it in front of her muzzle gently. The Khatta then starts chanting softly. The two other gypsies look at each other … then back up.

Beyond the clothes and the flesh Axel's aura smolders. Reminiscent of needlework wrought in flames, purples, oranges, yellows and reds spiral and infuse the torn gray aura of the underlying being. When Axel begins to back up in distress the flames ripple changing from a peaceful flame – warm, like a hearth fire – to an agitated ripple of the forest fire.

Madame Natasha chanting stops. "I … see," she says, her accent wavering very slightly. He fingers flex and she offers a light smile. "Glad to hear vou are well," she says, her accent back. "Vell, thank you for vour help. We ha little to offer as payment, t'ough."

"I'm not cursed am I? I mean, I don't mean to be rude, I'm sure you're very nice people and don't curse people who fix wheels for you. Yes?" He pats himself as he seems to search for signs of cursing. Being a toad for example. "Um, reward? I … should help you." He sounds very certain of that. "It's what I do. Now. Because I think it's … what I should do. An epiphany. I had an epiphany. That's the word. Epiphany." He clutches the hammer to his chest as he continues rather like a ward. "I'm just tired and not crazy and … I could use a rest."

"Vou … "the Khatta says, seemingly choosing her words carefully, "Vou are in turmoil." She then turns and walks towards the back of the wagon again. "I can' say more wifout a proper readin'. I need time to consul' the spirits, yes."

"No," Axel insists as he looks to the Korv for support. "I'm fine. I'm together, and alive." He takes a step backwards and forces a pleasant smile. "Could we just go to town?"

The Khatta doesn't reply; she just goes back into the wagon. The other two come closer again and relax visibly. "She means she needs to consul' them. Not that she's gon' examin' you more," Djivane says in an attempt to calm the man. She … she's differen'."

Axel follows the woman with his gaze as she enters the cabin. "I think I'm different," he admits, and he winces as he admits it. Like a man admitting to something he would have forgotten completely. "Am I a bird?" He aims that at the Korv. "Don't you know?" His gaze shifts to the avian and lingers woundedly. It makes him look lost.

"No," Aladar the Korv says. "Birds haf feathers. Vou're a human, I guess. Vithout horns." Djivan adds, "Or scales! Or big feet! Must've thrown vou out for bein' weird."

"I have feathers," Axel admits glumly. He lifts an arm, pushes his coat back, and points at them.

Small, bright feathers dot Axel's outter arm. They'd be easily overlooked if not for their vivid flame coloring. Self consciously Axel pushes his coat arm back down and then folds his arms. He mutters to himself. Something about being sure he's human and, perhaps disturbingly, that the bird was not right.

The Korv looks at the Skeek. "Glue?" Djivan offers. "Must be," the Korv agrees. The Korv looks back to Axel and says, "Nope, kid, yer not a bird. No beak." He snaps his in demonstration.

Axel touches his face. "No beak," he agrees, and smiles a bit. "Maybe I'm right. And wrong."

"If they bother you, why no' rip em off?" Djivan asks, his pink tail flicking about. "Not like vou haf fur its stuck to."

"There's an idea!" Axel reaches in to his coat to do that, then pauses. He frowns and shakes his head. "No, that won't work. I have a lot of them. They're itchy, but, I kind of … like … them." He finishes with such grudging acceptance – and it sounds honest – that it's almost comical. It isn't helped by the way he shoots the Korv a simultaneously apologetic and embarrassed look. His expression changes so much it's like he can't decide which it is. "And it won't help the other thing.

"Then why ya complainin' about em, kid?" Aladar inquires. "An' I wouldn' call that a lot." He spreads his own wings and adds, "Dis is a lot."

Djivan shakes his head and says, "Dis kid's a tarot deck sort a few cards. We shoul' send him on his way to the town. He' weird."

Axel snorts. "Well they're new," he insists with a vaguely insulted air. "Not that I like them," he says, grins crookedly, and adds, "which I do. Not. Dislike them." His grin becomes plain twisted, and his hands flex frustratedly.

"Den pull them out!" both the Korv and the Skreek shout at him at once. Djivan eyes Axel, then asks, "Wha' happens if you try to pull one out?"

"Well it hurts," answers Axel as if it were obvious. He pulls his hands in, shrugs his coat back, and lets it fall. Leathery, partially feathered wings unfurl from where they had been wrapped around his back and shoulders. He points at them. "And there's a lot."

Djivan looks at the Korv. The Korv looks right back. They start backing away. "I don' know just wha' that is. But, it ain' natural," Djivan says nervously. Djivan whistles loudly. The brush rustles a moment later and a crowd of gypsies pile out into the roadway … armed. They surround Axel, watching him warily. They're all dressed garishly, and the species seem to be completely random. Several more Korvs, a few more Skreeks, a couple Eeee … and even a really big and black Jupani. "Jus no sudden' moves. Not dat I t'ink you're adanger but' better t'be sure you ain' contagious, no?" Djivan says. "Madame Natasha!"