OAKS
you look well suited
like you came to win
The tree stands before them, separate from the others and somewhat unique in its vibrance. Oaks can only admire it, feeling a lightness in his heart that is not very common for him.
He does not wish to harm it.
But this lesson is meant to help him explore his unfortunate power and Oaks regretfully pushes away the touch of awe.
He wants answers, after all.
He wants control.
When the first attempt fails, Zain guides him to a different approach. Oaks’ hope had faltered for a moment, uncertainty bleeding into his mind as he’d wondered why this time, unlike all the rest, his curse had not shown itself. Would his companion think him a liar, boasting of some sort of ability he actually does not have?
(Not that it’s anything to flaunt, in Oaks’ mind.)
Luckily, that does not seem to be the case. Oaks closes his eyes when instructed, taking another deep breath to try and steady himself. He does not see the grim, shadowy manifestation of Zain’s own blight reaching toward the tree’s nearest branch, but he listens to the other’s words intently. Bowing his head, he imagines something like a tree branch of his own, stretching from the middle of his chest and out toward the tree.
This visualization is not the true key for his magic to appear – it had been the introduction of sickness that opened the door for the true plague to surface. But when he opens his eyes again to see the tree rapidly withering, its flowers wrinkling and their petals falling like vivid tears, he can only imagine that he had been the sole cause.
His next exhale is heavy; his spectral wings droop slightly. In mere moments, the tree has faded to a dismal gray corpse of itself, its leaves easily snapping away and rattling across the ground below.
At least now he couldn’t be called dishonest.
He wonders aloud after Zain’s next words, “what else should we try?” His tone is rather morose, but then his eyes light upon a solitary cluster of the tree’s flowers that has not faded just yet. While the petals have begun to wilt, they seem to be visibly struggling against their impending fate.
The blooms fade slowly and then stop. Although they do not seem to regain their health, they waver against the sickness within them and almost shudder as if captured by an invisible gust. The leaves around them have already fallen and their stems are beginning to grow dimmer, but at a much slower rate than had just affected all their kin. “Look,” he says softly with a hint of hope, but the moment he steps closer to investigate, whatever spell of suppression they had been captured by is broken.
Their struggle for life finally fails and they dry out just as rapidly as the rest had a few moments before. He has hardly had the chance to lift his nose to them before they, too, succumb and fall away. Another sigh, another saddened shrug of his wings.
He looks back at Zain with a small, sad smile and awaits his next instructions. Still, that very brief glimpse of the struggle to survive had left him curious… what had changed?
He does not wish to harm it.
But this lesson is meant to help him explore his unfortunate power and Oaks regretfully pushes away the touch of awe.
He wants answers, after all.
He wants control.
When the first attempt fails, Zain guides him to a different approach. Oaks’ hope had faltered for a moment, uncertainty bleeding into his mind as he’d wondered why this time, unlike all the rest, his curse had not shown itself. Would his companion think him a liar, boasting of some sort of ability he actually does not have?
(Not that it’s anything to flaunt, in Oaks’ mind.)
Luckily, that does not seem to be the case. Oaks closes his eyes when instructed, taking another deep breath to try and steady himself. He does not see the grim, shadowy manifestation of Zain’s own blight reaching toward the tree’s nearest branch, but he listens to the other’s words intently. Bowing his head, he imagines something like a tree branch of his own, stretching from the middle of his chest and out toward the tree.
This visualization is not the true key for his magic to appear – it had been the introduction of sickness that opened the door for the true plague to surface. But when he opens his eyes again to see the tree rapidly withering, its flowers wrinkling and their petals falling like vivid tears, he can only imagine that he had been the sole cause.
His next exhale is heavy; his spectral wings droop slightly. In mere moments, the tree has faded to a dismal gray corpse of itself, its leaves easily snapping away and rattling across the ground below.
At least now he couldn’t be called dishonest.
He wonders aloud after Zain’s next words, “what else should we try?” His tone is rather morose, but then his eyes light upon a solitary cluster of the tree’s flowers that has not faded just yet. While the petals have begun to wilt, they seem to be visibly struggling against their impending fate.
The blooms fade slowly and then stop. Although they do not seem to regain their health, they waver against the sickness within them and almost shudder as if captured by an invisible gust. The leaves around them have already fallen and their stems are beginning to grow dimmer, but at a much slower rate than had just affected all their kin. “Look,” he says softly with a hint of hope, but the moment he steps closer to investigate, whatever spell of suppression they had been captured by is broken.
Their struggle for life finally fails and they dry out just as rapidly as the rest had a few moments before. He has hardly had the chance to lift his nose to them before they, too, succumb and fall away. Another sigh, another saddened shrug of his wings.
He looks back at Zain with a small, sad smile and awaits his next instructions. Still, that very brief glimpse of the struggle to survive had left him curious… what had changed?
@
Zain