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  • Beqanna


    None -- Year 218


    "He watches her, noticing first the way she moves beneath moonlight, and he is reminded of a time before magic ran rampant as it does now. How back then there were some that simply seemed to be magic without actually having it, the kind that could capture your attention and keep it." --Eadoin, written by Colby

    [open]  i've no language left to say it, any
    ‘Quiet, now,’ the deer murmurs, gentle, lyrical.
    The sound makes Glean’s eyes heavy because every word the deer speaks is soft as a poem. She shuffles her feet, her mouth shut against the urge to unleash all of the words dammed up in her throat.

    ‘Look,’ the deer says and nods its fine head toward the clearing. Two fawns, their legs tangled, spotted in the filtered sunlight. Glean gasps softly, every inch of her humming with excitement as she watches them sleep.

    ‘They are mine,’ the deer tells her and smiles. And Glean smiles, too, because the fawns are small just as she is small and the deer has kept close to her for as long as she can remember. (A thing that had watched from the forest as the sprite had emerged from her mother’s womb, looking immediately to the densely wooded forest just beyond her line of sight, as if drawn there by magnets. A forest sprite, then.)

    The deer had shown her these things, these forest things, laughing quietly as she’d learned the languages there. 

    She trembles with excitement, grinning wildly. And a branch snaps nearby and the deer looks around wildly, eyes rolling and there is nothing the sprite can say to settle the thrumming nerves. So she passes the deer a look and turns away from the clearing where the fawns still sleep, her purple flesh shifting to match the dense underbrush around her as she seeks out the source of the sound. She will head them off, she will protect the deer and her fawns.

    When she spots them, she returns to her own flesh, visible as she steps out into the open. “Hello,” she says, head tilted, smiling with her secret caught between her teeth. 

    she moved with shameless wonder


    i am the mace, the map, the fall and the high

    There is a sharpness to him that hadn’t existed before, a hollowness that always seems to follow in the footsteps of life. It’s nearly inevitable, yet one always hopes they will be among the lucky few. Reave knew better. Has known for so long now, though the how has long been something of a mystery. Too many choices. So many that even for a creature with his peculiar talents, he hadn’t been able to discern them.

    There is a stillness here in the midst of the forest. Though, upon reflection, perhaps it is merely his heart that is still. Birds trill from their perches amongst the branches and small animals scurry about in the dens as they prepare for the season to come. Yet that stillness lingers.

    Until it is interrupted by a soft step and gentle voice that intrudes so loudly on his milling thoughts. His blue eyes fall until they find a small jewel-bright filly peering up at him with vibrant innocence. Possibilities stretch before her, innumerable and enticing, yet Reave doesn’t bother to pluck at them. Instead he merely stares, feeling ancient beneath her youthful gaze.

    Strange, that. He is not truly so old when the years are tallied, yet he feels it anyway. Perhaps it is the marks now carved so deeply into bone that had brought it. Or perhaps it is merely a life lived so much in excess.

    He’s not feeling terribly philosophical today, so he does not bother to dwell on it. Tipping his head, he peers at the girl much the same way she peers at him. The corners of his own lips twitch, threatening a smile that never quite reaches his face. There is a wryness to his expression, a dry humor in his voice when he speaks that almost begs her to reconsider their newfound acquaintance. “Has no one ever warned you away from strangers?”



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