"But the dream, the echo, slips from him as quickly as he had found it and as consciousness comes to him (a slap and not the gentle waves of oceanic tides), it dissolves entirely. His muscles relax as the cold claims him again, as the numbness sets in, and when his grey eyes open, there’s nothing but the faint after burn of a dream often trod and never remembered." --Brigade, written by Laura
10-27-2025, 08:23 PM (This post was last modified: 10-27-2025, 08:28 PM by Aeife.)
YOU BELONG AMONG THE WILDFLOWERS YOU BELONG SOMEWHERE YOU FEEL FREE
The forest had softened under days of steady rain and the smell of wet earth hung thick in the air. Aeife loved it this way. She loved the thick smell of rain and the way the world seemed to come alive when it stopped. She idly flicked raindrops off her wings as she walked, mud sucking at her legs as she went.
She startled as a streak of red darted through the underbrush ahead. She narrowed her eyes as recognition struck. “You again!” She said, her voice lilting and filled with mirth. She could hear the fox’s laughter tangled in the rustling of leaves. Her emerald gaze narrowed at the hollow log that she knew was a favorite lair of the creature.
“Oh come on, the storm’s since passed,” she said, trying to coax her friend from his dry den. A soft snort was the only reply she received. All of the flora and fauna of this forest were her friend. Her family.
Undeterred, she dropped to her knees right there in the mud and ferns, sending a splatter of mud against the edge of the fox’s den. That was enough to get the fox’s attention. Finally the fox appeared, eyes bright with mischief, and with the flick of its bushy tail leapt into the ferns. Without hesitation, Aeife leapt forward in pursuit - sending mud flying and laughter both equine and canine ringing through the trees.
By the time the game had ended, she was soaked to her knees in mud. Her mane was tangled with leaves and bracken. Her wings splattered in moss and earth. The fox circled her once and disappeared back into its den. Aeife could only stand to catch her breath, smiling at the mess she’d made.
There is only silence, only sound. There is all too much and all too little. An existence of nothing while everything happens loudly, surprisingly, shockingly around her. How there can be so much existing while she has little to support her escapes her. What is the little mare to do? Stumble upon the joys of another?
And what of that simplicity? What of the sweetness, the delight, the sheer decadence of knowing life is small and short and what you make of it?
Frey is neither simple, nor short in breath. She does not know of how to make a life, how to find joy in those veins of a leaf or the chittering of bird or the laughter of a fox. She is a snake in the grass, not venomous but ominous—constantly on guard but never threatened, merely existing within what might happen and not what is actually happening around her.
What happens around her is beautiful: lost and careless, dangerous and delicious and entirely without reason. Such is nature. The tides and the waves, the foam on the crest of the sea and the rustle of trees in the breeze. Frey knows not of those easy flutterings, the collapsing and rising of a butterfly’s wings. She is all tight muscle and red scale . . . hot, harmless, seeking. The grass snake of her imagination slithers and writhes, desperate for the tight coil of a viny plant or the poison of a deadly flower.
The play of the druid and her fox is at its tail-end when the snake finds them. Frey watches, pupils dilating to fascinated slits. There is no anger, no elation—not even the racing of a heart as she sees the last moves of their dance.
But she is madly curious.
Too muted by the sadness, the neglect.
“You must have seen so much, to know life in the way that you do,” she says as she makes her approach obvious.
Frey feels a desperation suddenly, to know that life between them—but mostly she feels embarrassment. Her chin draws close to her chest, tucking her vulnerability tight into herself before closing her eyes.
“I mean—“ broken, perhaps lost, “I think you must love that fox.”
YOU BELONG AMONG THE WILDFLOWERS YOU BELONG SOMEWHERE YOU FEEL FREE
She felt the shift in the forest before she heard it. Felt the slight tension in the air that made the birds hesitate. She could hear the grass bending with the rhythm of movement unlike any forest creature she knew. It was certainly not the light-footed fox, nor the cautious step of a deer. It was something older, heavy with thought. So when Frey emerged from the the trees, Aeife did not turn in surprise, she merely turned as if she had expected her all along.
The druid’s eyes softened and a smile tugged at the edges of her mouth. “Oh, I do,” she said simply in reply, her tone as warm as the sunlight peeking through the branches. “But not only the fox.” Aeife loved the fox in his den and the mud that clung to her legs. She loved the rain and the ground it seeps into and the worms beneath the surface. She loved the silence and the birdsong. She loved everything that made this place feel so rich with life.
So for a moment, Aeife said nothing, trying to piece together the words for this stranger. Silence was a language she knew well. She simply looked at the girl, studying the coil of muscle and the shine of scales and the brightness of her eyes. Aeife had noticed the way her voice wavered between curiosity and sorrow.
The druid tilted her head, eyes soft, wings catching a flicker of amber light. “It’s not so much what I’ve seen,” she began, the words hanging in the damp air. “It’s what I’ve heard.” Her gaze drifted to the forest around them. To the ferns swaying underfoot and the water dripping from the canopy of trees. “I love because I can hear them,” she said, perhaps in a manner too matter of fact given the nature of the topic, “All of them. Even when they have no words for me.”
To Aeife, the world was never really still. It simply wanted to be heard.
The druid looked back at Frey, her expressiom warm. There was no pity in her eyes, only invitation. “I’m Aeife,” she offers, with a grin, “Born of mud and mischief, mostly. And you?” She asks, with another gentle incline of her head.
11-04-2025, 03:36 PM (This post was last modified: 11-04-2025, 03:37 PM by frey.)
frey—
There’s an errant fluttering in Frey’s chest, stuttering yet persistent. She remembers this feeling. As if dying embers reside in her heart and a strong breeze just passed, kicking up sparks and ash and perhaps a lonely flame. She shies from the hopeful sensation as the wracking embarrassment from before reminds her of who she is: small, quiet, solitary.
“Oh, uh . . .” Frey says in the lingering silence.
It never occurred to her that the seemingly carefree woman would have endless and serious feelings for all that surrounds her. Frey often breaks her life into two weaving parts: abandonment and isolation. The first and perhaps most damning decision involving the little snake was delivered by her mother. Galadriel cleaved Frey from her side without so much as a parting glance. The idea of offering her heart, her love, her vulnerability nearly repulses her.
But there is a sweetness in the air, now—the kind voice of Aeife, her watchful yet easy gaze, the careless mud splattered on her legs—and Frey feels her muscles loosen just a bit. She turns her head to catch more of the druid with her good eye, and even offers a small smile.
“Aeife,” Frey answers back, testing the name on her tongue before offering her own. “My name is Frey,” she pauses now, “and I don’t know what I was born from.” She cocks her head—looking particularly serpentine as she does—then drops her gaze to the ground.
“I’ve never tried to listen to everything,” Frey admits, allowing her smile to lengthen just a tad. “What do you think they’re saying . . . when they have no words for you?” She’s desperate to know, to discover what countless tiny yet important voices sound like. The loneliness engrained in her pangs now, tearing through her entire body like the rush of an icy river. Once again she draws her chin in, embarrassed by the simplest display of curiosity.
YOU BELONG AMONG THE WILDFLOWERS YOU BELONG SOMEWHERE YOU FEEL FREE
A slow smile touched her lips. She recognized that guarded tone, the uncertainty in the way Frey’s name had almost been a question. “Frey,” she repeated, the name lilting like a note of music. “It’s a good name. Strong.” She knows that the girl won’t believe her, but she says in a way that makes it seem unquestionable.
She lowered her head slightly and let her eyes flutter shut, as though she was listening to something deep within the earth. “The land speaks to me in different ways. When I walk, the green stirs. I speak the language of foxes and sparrows and deer. Every leaf, every stone, every creature has a story to tell if you open yourself to hearing it.” Her eyes open once more, and drift from the girl to the forest and back again. Aeife was lucky that, unlike Frey, she’s never felt alone. For she calls everything in the forest and the river and the meadow friend. Perhaps Frey could learn to ground herself in the world, too. One doesn’t need to be a Druid to learn to hear the forest.
“When they have no words,” Aeife said gently, “They speak in feeling. In actions. The fox tells me when he is wary when he hides in the ferns. The sparrow’s song changes when the storm is close. And the wind certainly isn’t subtle with her moods.” As if in response, the wind gently shook the water from the leaves above them.
As she spoke, small shoots of clover and fern began to unfurl around her hooves slowly, almost shyly. Aeife did not seem to notice, or perhaps she did but had no need to show it. The plants simply reached for her as if they agreed with her.
The plants at her hooves continued to climb, weaving tiny tendrils over her fetlocks, at which point she did notice and dropped her muzzle towards the shoots as if they were friends. Aeife smiled at them fondly, then looked back up to Frey. Then, with a small smile that carried both invitation and patience, she added, “If you’d like… I can show you.” She had a suspicion that Frey would take her up on her offer.
