Lucian sat without moving, ignoring the rain that slicked off of his face and pattered against his clothing. With unwavering eyes he 'listened' to her story, caught slightly off-guard at first by the subtle change of how she shaped her words, but then realizing that this was how she talked when she was flowing, so to speak. When she had a story to tell.
It almost made him smile a little. Fascinating.
He made no motion to interrupt or offer any kind of sympathy, by expression or otherwise until she had concluded, despair and resignation taking turns effecting the lines on her face.
For several long moments, Lucian said nothing. Just sat, absorbing what he had been told, mulling it over in his head in his thorough, quiet way.
At length, he spoke, "Justice would not be achieved by your paying for the girl's death." The words were spoken quietly, the tone low. "Justice is never served by empty satisfaction of rampant emotion. Her parents want a reason for their daughter being dead- they want someone to blame."
Lucian shrugged. "There is no one to blame for this but the possessed instrument itself. No raised a hand against the girl. No one aided the guitar in her execution."
He looked Lanya in the eye and held it for a moment before saying, "The doe may not be able to prevent the wolf from attacking and killing who he may. That does not make her liable for his killing."
"As for the man-" His eyebrows furrowed momentarily before returning to their normal place, "I saw him fall. I saw him in agony. I saw him bleeding."
"Whatever his powers, he can die just like you or me."
Lucian had sensed her frustration earlier, when she had attempted to remove the knife from her little carving. Looking at it now, he extended his right hand and looked first and her and then indicated the carving with his eyes.
"May I?"
Scamper
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
"Not justice, then. Perhaps vengeance instead. That doesn't have the connotation of fairness to it, after all."
She laid her head back against the tree, weighing Lucian's words. He was right about the assassin. Hadn't the man even offered a bribe up to her in exchange for his life? If only she had something worth offering, anything at all, perhaps when they met again she could offer that instead, to save her own life. But she had no money, no power, only the gift of gab and song, and not even an instrument to her name now. Greenfyre would return, of course. It always did. But in the meantime, she was stuck with no change of clothes, no weapons, nothing at all. Except for a new companion.
One in a long list, she mused. I wonder what magical properties he has?
He held out his hand, and she stared at it for a moment, then looked down at her dead little robin. She still wanted to bury him properly, in the roots of an older tree, an elm or an oak. There were enough to choose from, out here. She would find one she liked, and bury him inside the root system, and leave no marks to his location so that only the bugs and worms would find his little wooden corpse.
She raised her hand and gave him over to the man. She would never stop feeling guilty for the girl's death, but she would keep that to herself. It was just as well she did. Such talk only made it easier for the man who wanted to kill her to find her.
She laid her head back against the tree, weighing Lucian's words. He was right about the assassin. Hadn't the man even offered a bribe up to her in exchange for his life? If only she had something worth offering, anything at all, perhaps when they met again she could offer that instead, to save her own life. But she had no money, no power, only the gift of gab and song, and not even an instrument to her name now. Greenfyre would return, of course. It always did. But in the meantime, she was stuck with no change of clothes, no weapons, nothing at all. Except for a new companion.
One in a long list, she mused. I wonder what magical properties he has?
He held out his hand, and she stared at it for a moment, then looked down at her dead little robin. She still wanted to bury him properly, in the roots of an older tree, an elm or an oak. There were enough to choose from, out here. She would find one she liked, and bury him inside the root system, and leave no marks to his location so that only the bugs and worms would find his little wooden corpse.
She raised her hand and gave him over to the man. She would never stop feeling guilty for the girl's death, but she would keep that to herself. It was just as well she did. Such talk only made it easier for the man who wanted to kill her to find her.
Lucian took the bird with slightly exaggerated care, emphasizing for her his intent to demonstrate caution. As he briefly examined the manner in which the blade was stuck, he commented,
"Revenge is the brother of hate, and just as senseless." Lucian glanced up from the bird just long enough to catch her eye, "Do not feel bad for their inability to deal with the evils of life. We all must learn to change with fate."
There was a short pause where he regarded her, observing how she reacted to this statement, with just the rain and silence between them. Then he proceeded to take the handle of the knife in his left hand and the body of the bird in his right.
While his left hand was not capable of holding a great deal of weight, it was capable of gripping well enough and at certain angles dealing with a normal amount of stress. So establishing his grip, he pulled, using a slight wiggling motion on the knife. For a brief moment, no results, lean muscle and sinew visibly tightening. Then the knife abruptly wrenched free, leaving the carving unharmed except for a slot all the way through it, left in the knife's wake.
Unthinkingly putting the knife into his pack, Lucian extend the little carving back to Lanya. "Must be a very special carving."
"Revenge is the brother of hate, and just as senseless." Lucian glanced up from the bird just long enough to catch her eye, "Do not feel bad for their inability to deal with the evils of life. We all must learn to change with fate."
There was a short pause where he regarded her, observing how she reacted to this statement, with just the rain and silence between them. Then he proceeded to take the handle of the knife in his left hand and the body of the bird in his right.
While his left hand was not capable of holding a great deal of weight, it was capable of gripping well enough and at certain angles dealing with a normal amount of stress. So establishing his grip, he pulled, using a slight wiggling motion on the knife. For a brief moment, no results, lean muscle and sinew visibly tightening. Then the knife abruptly wrenched free, leaving the carving unharmed except for a slot all the way through it, left in the knife's wake.
Unthinkingly putting the knife into his pack, Lucian extend the little carving back to Lanya. "Must be a very special carving."
Yar, says I.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
"Their inability to deal is what's gotten us here, in the soaking rain."
She said this with no malice, just an observation tossed out for inspection. But sitting here moping over her woes wasn't helping. And then, as she watched, Lucian tugged the knife from her little robin's body, and handed the wooden bird to her. She took it gently, cradling it in her hands. Something she'd once loved, and she couldn't have done what this stranger did. That stupid knife...
"You should have heard him sing."
As she plopped the robin into her lap, she felt useless and stupid, and worse, aimless. Now that her leg was fixed, to a degree, and bound, she could see the long line of nothing stretching ahead of her. No goals, no ambitions. She just wanted to live.
Then live, she scolded herself. There's nothing whatsoever wrong with wanting to stay alive another day. Think about the rest some other time.
Her face tightened, just a bit, but the spark of intent flashed in her mind and shaped her with newfound purpose. To live. Just one more day. One more day at a time.
It was time to move.
She shoved Flame into her shirt for safe keeping, an odd little bump against the fabric tucked into her pants, then braced one hand on the ground and began pushing, bracing her good leg and using the tree behind her for leverage. Inch by inch, she shifted, ever upward. It didn't occur to her to ask the male for aid. She could only think of getting up and leaving this place, putting more distance between herself and the assassin.
And what about the wolf? Her mind hissed the word, a reminder of her new responsibility. Just going to leave him, are you?
She ignored that voice, for now. There was nothing she could do for Wolfhound, until she at least felt better. And now there was Lucian to consider. She doubted he would want to go save a wolf-like man in their current condition. He wasn't a fool, either. So thoughts of saving him were best left in the background of her mind.
She said this with no malice, just an observation tossed out for inspection. But sitting here moping over her woes wasn't helping. And then, as she watched, Lucian tugged the knife from her little robin's body, and handed the wooden bird to her. She took it gently, cradling it in her hands. Something she'd once loved, and she couldn't have done what this stranger did. That stupid knife...
"You should have heard him sing."
As she plopped the robin into her lap, she felt useless and stupid, and worse, aimless. Now that her leg was fixed, to a degree, and bound, she could see the long line of nothing stretching ahead of her. No goals, no ambitions. She just wanted to live.
Then live, she scolded herself. There's nothing whatsoever wrong with wanting to stay alive another day. Think about the rest some other time.
Her face tightened, just a bit, but the spark of intent flashed in her mind and shaped her with newfound purpose. To live. Just one more day. One more day at a time.
It was time to move.
She shoved Flame into her shirt for safe keeping, an odd little bump against the fabric tucked into her pants, then braced one hand on the ground and began pushing, bracing her good leg and using the tree behind her for leverage. Inch by inch, she shifted, ever upward. It didn't occur to her to ask the male for aid. She could only think of getting up and leaving this place, putting more distance between herself and the assassin.
And what about the wolf? Her mind hissed the word, a reminder of her new responsibility. Just going to leave him, are you?
She ignored that voice, for now. There was nothing she could do for Wolfhound, until she at least felt better. And now there was Lucian to consider. She doubted he would want to go save a wolf-like man in their current condition. He wasn't a fool, either. So thoughts of saving him were best left in the background of her mind.
Lucian smiled a little and thought to himself, better the woods with the rain than a reeking city with murderers.
But he kept that to himself, not sure how if she would appreciate his view on it. Glancing about, Lucian knew he would far rather suffer the cold and wet out here than the stench and filth in the city streets. At least out here, there was an honesty, even about the killing. When something killed, it did it to eat or to defend itself.
There was honor and dignity in that.
"You should have heard him sing," he saw her say.
Lucian thought about that for just a moment. It had not occurred to him that the carving had perhaps at one time held some kind of enchantment. But he had just seen a guitar attempt to strangle a man, and didn't he himself carry a drum that could carry its own rhythm?
He thought about hearing a bird's song. Though deaf, he could tell when a songbird was singing, if he was close enough. There was a tangible element to the act. But he had not heard a quiet bird's song in... well. Since his childhood. But thinking of it, the memory of it, sweetened like mead by time, made him smile softly, his eye vaguely distant.
"I would have liked that."
After a moment, she obviously felt like it was time to move again, and began the labor of rising. Lucian watched for just a moment, still sitting. The instinct to offer his assistance was present, but after a brief moment of indecision he chose not to intrude or offer help that she might possibly interrupt as unwanted pity. So he sat for a moment as she struggled upright, bracing against the tree.
When she had at last succeeded at the painful chore, Lucian also stood, adjusting the sling across his shoulder, momentarily regarding her.
"I'll try to find something you can use as a walking stick," he rasped, glancing in the direction they had been walking, his sense of direction entirely unconfused by their stop.
A brief pause. Then, "If you can, we should make at least a mile between stops." He turned his eyes back to look at her. "But if you need to rest before then, tell me."
There was a distant thunderclap, and the rain continued its unrelenting fall. It occurred to Lucian then that she still was holding the blanket around her shoulders, which was currently letting the rain run off of her, and that it was going to be a problem keeping it on as they walked unless-
Quickly, deftly, Lucian reached into his pack one more time and took the little dagger from its confines. Then without any explanation whatsoever, pulled out a little extra length from the excess drawstring that held his trousers up, and cut off a three inch length of it.
Looking up at Lanya, he inquired, "May I see the blanket, for a moment?"
But he kept that to himself, not sure how if she would appreciate his view on it. Glancing about, Lucian knew he would far rather suffer the cold and wet out here than the stench and filth in the city streets. At least out here, there was an honesty, even about the killing. When something killed, it did it to eat or to defend itself.
There was honor and dignity in that.
"You should have heard him sing," he saw her say.
Lucian thought about that for just a moment. It had not occurred to him that the carving had perhaps at one time held some kind of enchantment. But he had just seen a guitar attempt to strangle a man, and didn't he himself carry a drum that could carry its own rhythm?
He thought about hearing a bird's song. Though deaf, he could tell when a songbird was singing, if he was close enough. There was a tangible element to the act. But he had not heard a quiet bird's song in... well. Since his childhood. But thinking of it, the memory of it, sweetened like mead by time, made him smile softly, his eye vaguely distant.
"I would have liked that."
After a moment, she obviously felt like it was time to move again, and began the labor of rising. Lucian watched for just a moment, still sitting. The instinct to offer his assistance was present, but after a brief moment of indecision he chose not to intrude or offer help that she might possibly interrupt as unwanted pity. So he sat for a moment as she struggled upright, bracing against the tree.
When she had at last succeeded at the painful chore, Lucian also stood, adjusting the sling across his shoulder, momentarily regarding her.
"I'll try to find something you can use as a walking stick," he rasped, glancing in the direction they had been walking, his sense of direction entirely unconfused by their stop.
A brief pause. Then, "If you can, we should make at least a mile between stops." He turned his eyes back to look at her. "But if you need to rest before then, tell me."
There was a distant thunderclap, and the rain continued its unrelenting fall. It occurred to Lucian then that she still was holding the blanket around her shoulders, which was currently letting the rain run off of her, and that it was going to be a problem keeping it on as they walked unless-
Quickly, deftly, Lucian reached into his pack one more time and took the little dagger from its confines. Then without any explanation whatsoever, pulled out a little extra length from the excess drawstring that held his trousers up, and cut off a three inch length of it.
Looking up at Lanya, he inquired, "May I see the blanket, for a moment?"
Yar, says I.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Under normal circumstances, she loved to walk, and long distances at that. But the jolts of pain rolling up her leg reminded her that this was not normal circumstances, and she doubted she could manage a full mile before she would need to stop. She pressed her lips tightly together, thinking to herself and judging her own abilities. She decided that she would strive for as long as she could, and if she made it a mile, would congratulate herself and then proceed to pass out from exhaustion.
They needed to find somewhere to stop soon. She couldn't continue; she was already demanding more of her body than it was willing to give. The act of standing had left her with a powerful dizzy spell that even now way still dwindling. She refused to move further until the dizziness passed, and it wasn't passing easily. She sighed. Just another headache to add to the list.
While she listed, focusing on staying upright, he mentioned a walking stick. She'd had one, back in the tavern, and a cursed useful one too. She wondered if she'd ever find it again, or one half as convenient. Ah, well, whatever the gypsy found would have to do.
When she could see straight again, she blinked and focused until she saw only one Lucian, instead of three. A moment later, he asked for the blanket, and it took another painful moment for her brain to catch up with the request. She slid the thing from her shoulders and handed it over, then hugged herself and shivered at the sudden rush of cold air and wet against her upper body. She hadn't realized how well the blanket was working until it was gone.
Soggy and miserable, she remained silent, waiting. She knew they wouldn't get half as far as he seemed to hope they would, but she didn't want to ruin his day just yet. She would keep her pessimism to herself until she couldn't move any farther. Even now, though the kneecap was set, she felt her leg seizing up, tightening and hardening naturally to help itself heal. It would be rough for the next few days. She longed for a healer's touch, but knew none was coming. Still, she could dream.
They needed to find somewhere to stop soon. She couldn't continue; she was already demanding more of her body than it was willing to give. The act of standing had left her with a powerful dizzy spell that even now way still dwindling. She refused to move further until the dizziness passed, and it wasn't passing easily. She sighed. Just another headache to add to the list.
While she listed, focusing on staying upright, he mentioned a walking stick. She'd had one, back in the tavern, and a cursed useful one too. She wondered if she'd ever find it again, or one half as convenient. Ah, well, whatever the gypsy found would have to do.
When she could see straight again, she blinked and focused until she saw only one Lucian, instead of three. A moment later, he asked for the blanket, and it took another painful moment for her brain to catch up with the request. She slid the thing from her shoulders and handed it over, then hugged herself and shivered at the sudden rush of cold air and wet against her upper body. She hadn't realized how well the blanket was working until it was gone.
Soggy and miserable, she remained silent, waiting. She knew they wouldn't get half as far as he seemed to hope they would, but she didn't want to ruin his day just yet. She would keep her pessimism to herself until she couldn't move any farther. Even now, though the kneecap was set, she felt her leg seizing up, tightening and hardening naturally to help itself heal. It would be rough for the next few days. She longed for a healer's touch, but knew none was coming. Still, she could dream.
((OOC: *coughhisnamesluciannotlucascoughcough*))
He took the blanket from her gingerly, observing her shiver out of the corner of his eye. He was a little cold, yes, but this was his life. Always. Cold was less of something that bothered him and more of something that he noticed and accepted without chagrin.
Bringing two of the corners of the blanket together, Lucian used the dagger to cut a small hole in them both. Returning the dagger to his shoulder-sling, he went to offer the blanket back to Lanya before he noticed how... unsteady she was, her eyes appearing fogged over.
So he stepped a trifle nearer and re-slung the blanket over her shoulders himself. He hesitated for a brief second before bringing the former two corners together beneath her chin and, holding them there with one hand, threaded the small length of string through the holes he had cut and deftly tied it.
He stepped back, and the blanket now draped around her not unlike an ill-fitting cloak. The gypsy nodded once, and looked on ahead.
The light was dim, even moreso than before, but his accustomed eyes spied some hundred meters ahead what looked like a grouping of large trees that might offer passable shelter.
"We should go a little farther. There's no good place to stop here." He didn't say anything about the trees, as if they did not offer good shelter he would try to keep going. He glanced back at Lanya again- she looked miserable, wet tangles of her red clinging to her face, futility seeping from her.
Lucian had no words of comfort this time as he turned and continued walking.
He took the blanket from her gingerly, observing her shiver out of the corner of his eye. He was a little cold, yes, but this was his life. Always. Cold was less of something that bothered him and more of something that he noticed and accepted without chagrin.
Bringing two of the corners of the blanket together, Lucian used the dagger to cut a small hole in them both. Returning the dagger to his shoulder-sling, he went to offer the blanket back to Lanya before he noticed how... unsteady she was, her eyes appearing fogged over.
So he stepped a trifle nearer and re-slung the blanket over her shoulders himself. He hesitated for a brief second before bringing the former two corners together beneath her chin and, holding them there with one hand, threaded the small length of string through the holes he had cut and deftly tied it.
He stepped back, and the blanket now draped around her not unlike an ill-fitting cloak. The gypsy nodded once, and looked on ahead.
The light was dim, even moreso than before, but his accustomed eyes spied some hundred meters ahead what looked like a grouping of large trees that might offer passable shelter.
"We should go a little farther. There's no good place to stop here." He didn't say anything about the trees, as if they did not offer good shelter he would try to keep going. He glanced back at Lanya again- she looked miserable, wet tangles of her red clinging to her face, futility seeping from her.
Lucian had no words of comfort this time as he turned and continued walking.
Yar, says I.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
((I have no idea what you're talking about...
))
She tilted her head back slightly to clear the space under her throat. Once he'd finished, she glanced down at her makeshift cloak, then looked at Lucian and raised her eyebrows in surprise. She couldn't help but be astonished with each clever or logical move he made. It'd been years since she'd had a companion with a fully functioning head.
"Thank you. This is very convenient."
He seemed to know what he was doing, and even if he didn't, he had a better chance of knowing their surroundings. She decided to follow without complaint, and keep any suggestions to herself. Most times they only served to annoy others.
"Lead the way,
There was a moment's pause, when she faded away and he studied her. She refocused a bit later to see him examining her, and blinked in surprise. Her feminine vanity kicked into surging overload, and she realized she must look like an absolute mess.
Immediately her rational mind chided her for such thoughts. Injured and on an assassin's black list was not the time to worry about messy hair and subpar wardrobe. Although, this part of her mind mused, she did look like a drowned rat.
As they began moving again, her mind left her with this last tidbit to torment her female brain with. Lucian did always sound confident, but it might be the raspiness in his voice that gave her that impression. She decided to try and puzzle out his accent, figure out why it sounded so irregular. While she refocused her mind on this new task, she absently commented:
"I hope not too far. I honestly can't go for very long. This leg is pretty bad."
))She tilted her head back slightly to clear the space under her throat. Once he'd finished, she glanced down at her makeshift cloak, then looked at Lucian and raised her eyebrows in surprise. She couldn't help but be astonished with each clever or logical move he made. It'd been years since she'd had a companion with a fully functioning head.
"Thank you. This is very convenient."
He seemed to know what he was doing, and even if he didn't, he had a better chance of knowing their surroundings. She decided to follow without complaint, and keep any suggestions to herself. Most times they only served to annoy others.
"Lead the way,
There was a moment's pause, when she faded away and he studied her. She refocused a bit later to see him examining her, and blinked in surprise. Her feminine vanity kicked into surging overload, and she realized she must look like an absolute mess.
Immediately her rational mind chided her for such thoughts. Injured and on an assassin's black list was not the time to worry about messy hair and subpar wardrobe. Although, this part of her mind mused, she did look like a drowned rat.
As they began moving again, her mind left her with this last tidbit to torment her female brain with. Lucian did always sound confident, but it might be the raspiness in his voice that gave her that impression. She decided to try and puzzle out his accent, figure out why it sounded so irregular. While she refocused her mind on this new task, she absently commented:
"I hope not too far. I honestly can't go for very long. This leg is pretty bad."
Lucian didn't respond.
He might not have because, had he heard, he had no words of comfort to offer her. They had to reach some cover before the really rested. He might not have responded because the statement really brokered no answer.
But he truthfully, was oblivious to what she said because his ears had been destroyed more than twenty years ago.
The ground squished and was soft under his bare feet, thickly calloused enough to protect him the various twigs and rocks that he walked over. The air shuddered as another thunderclap cracked through the heavens, and the rain fell harder. Glancing behind him just briefly enough to see that she was still walking, he kept his pace toward the grove of trees, which were slightly more distinct now.
Lucian nearly said something, but nature won over and he kept his mouth closed. He had nothing to say that was not mere idleness. And chatter without purpose was waste.
He shook his head once to toss some of the water from his eyes, and continued walking.
He might not have because, had he heard, he had no words of comfort to offer her. They had to reach some cover before the really rested. He might not have responded because the statement really brokered no answer.
But he truthfully, was oblivious to what she said because his ears had been destroyed more than twenty years ago.
The ground squished and was soft under his bare feet, thickly calloused enough to protect him the various twigs and rocks that he walked over. The air shuddered as another thunderclap cracked through the heavens, and the rain fell harder. Glancing behind him just briefly enough to see that she was still walking, he kept his pace toward the grove of trees, which were slightly more distinct now.
Lucian nearly said something, but nature won over and he kept his mouth closed. He had nothing to say that was not mere idleness. And chatter without purpose was waste.
He shook his head once to toss some of the water from his eyes, and continued walking.
Yar, says I.
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Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
It was slow and steady goings, with her fighting to ignore her painful steps every moment. It was an all-encompassing effort, and she used her time to ponder over Lucian's odd speaking habits. She couldn't figure out what affected his speech in that manner - she felt that there was some glaring clue that she should take note of, but she couldn't place it. Something vital, and painfully obvious.
She had to stop several times. It was inevitable, with such an extensive, and thus far untreated, injury. She would rest her body against a tree trunk and close her eyes, focusing on an elaborate lake scene she'd constructed in her head to calm herself. A placid, ripply lake, with gentle lapping waves against a sandy shore. She drew the calm scene into herself, let the gentleness fill her core. It was hard, and time-consuming, but best of all, distracting.
And then, she could go no further. The pain was overwhelming to the point of delirium, and another two steps would send her tumbling down to the cold, muddy ground. They'd stopped in something of a clearing, roomy enough for the two of them, with a spongy layer of moss and leaves to cover the mud. Sort of.
No matter. She was down for the count, regardless of the state of their surroundings. Tomorrow, she was determined to find a healer and take care of her leg, even if not by legal means. She even considered turning herself over to the authorities in the hopes that they would offer treatment, but she was too unsure and unfamiliar with this city. She had no way to predict their actions - only the scrambled rush of terror from before. Even one as level-headed as herself couldn't see past terror.
She settled on the ground, so wet and miserable that she hardly felt the rush of cold against her bottom and legs. Her back was against a tree - not the most comfortable position, but she was supported from behind, and would sleep with her head above the sopping ground. Not that her hair could dampen any further, but she still had some pride left.
She was silent for the trip, and throughout her settling, concentrating alternately on the serene lake in her mind and Lucian's strange accent to distract herself from her knee. Once settled and relaxed, fatigue made her instantly drowsy, and despite her discomfort she found herself fighting to keep her eyes open. The rims under her eyelids looked bruised due to sleep deprivation, and the after-effects of shock caught up to her in seconds. She lowered her head, still fighting sleep, but was losing. In a few more minutes, she'd be fast asleep.
She had to stop several times. It was inevitable, with such an extensive, and thus far untreated, injury. She would rest her body against a tree trunk and close her eyes, focusing on an elaborate lake scene she'd constructed in her head to calm herself. A placid, ripply lake, with gentle lapping waves against a sandy shore. She drew the calm scene into herself, let the gentleness fill her core. It was hard, and time-consuming, but best of all, distracting.
And then, she could go no further. The pain was overwhelming to the point of delirium, and another two steps would send her tumbling down to the cold, muddy ground. They'd stopped in something of a clearing, roomy enough for the two of them, with a spongy layer of moss and leaves to cover the mud. Sort of.
No matter. She was down for the count, regardless of the state of their surroundings. Tomorrow, she was determined to find a healer and take care of her leg, even if not by legal means. She even considered turning herself over to the authorities in the hopes that they would offer treatment, but she was too unsure and unfamiliar with this city. She had no way to predict their actions - only the scrambled rush of terror from before. Even one as level-headed as herself couldn't see past terror.
She settled on the ground, so wet and miserable that she hardly felt the rush of cold against her bottom and legs. Her back was against a tree - not the most comfortable position, but she was supported from behind, and would sleep with her head above the sopping ground. Not that her hair could dampen any further, but she still had some pride left.
She was silent for the trip, and throughout her settling, concentrating alternately on the serene lake in her mind and Lucian's strange accent to distract herself from her knee. Once settled and relaxed, fatigue made her instantly drowsy, and despite her discomfort she found herself fighting to keep her eyes open. The rims under her eyelids looked bruised due to sleep deprivation, and the after-effects of shock caught up to her in seconds. She lowered her head, still fighting sleep, but was losing. In a few more minutes, she'd be fast asleep.
They made it. Slowly, much more slowly than Lucian was used to traveling, even in poor weather. More than once he glanced over his shoulder and paused as Lanya leaned against a tree, gathering her strength and her will to fight pain and fatigue.
Lucian hadn't minded the delays, mostly glad that she was just managing to stand and walk. He had paused and waited for as long as required before she resumed her limping gait.
The trees that constituted the grove they had made for only became larger as the got nearer, far larger than Lucian could have possibly guessed. Most of the growth in this forest that they had encountered thus far was old, yes, but of the normal variety for what Lucian had encountered in this area. These trees, with dark, cracked and wrinkled bark like clay baked in the sun-
They felt old, like mountains, witnesses to all life since Pal Tahrenor had been birthed.
When they entered the ring of trees, Lucian only felt it more strongly, his gaze sweeping upward with awe at the towering trunks that stretched on into the dimming light above them. All about them he sensed an aura, stirring slightly at their presence, as when one steps into an old abandoned building where someone has lived, long ago.
It was not a hostile feeling, or one of any kind of emotion that Lucian could describe or identify. It was like... like these grandfathers of the world were sleepily aware of their passing.
This place was...
Special.
In his reverie, Lucian hadn't noticed his travelling companion's pained efforts as she sat down against one of the great fathers. By the time he did, she was already began to slip away into unconsciousness. For a moment Lucian considered trying to convince her to lay the blanket out and lie flat on it, but he remained silent instead and let her do as she saw fit.
Lucian rasped, more quietly than usual, "We'll be safe here until morning." He glanced about them once and then looked at Lanya again, as though weighing something about her, his eyes intense and focused. At length, he added in an even quieter voice, "This grove... is very old. Be careful what you say."
He stared at her for just a moment more before he turned away and walked to the middle of the grove where he sat down, unslinging the bag from his shoulder. As he crossed his legs in front of him, Lucian felt a nearly imperceptible tingle itch up his spine and then cascade down his arm, back to the ground like an invisible spider. He looked back over his shoulder at Lanya, his pulse a trifle faster as he whispered, with no small difficulty,
"Try to keep still."
He turned his head back, folded his arms in front of him, and slowly, by nearly undetectable degrees, he became more and more still. Minutes ticked by, more slowly than the imagination could comprehend, until the only movement was the slight motion of his breathing and the small clouds of condensation that he exhaled into the chill air.
The rain fell softly, almost muted. Time stopped visiting the grove, and nothing moved.
Lucian hadn't minded the delays, mostly glad that she was just managing to stand and walk. He had paused and waited for as long as required before she resumed her limping gait.
The trees that constituted the grove they had made for only became larger as the got nearer, far larger than Lucian could have possibly guessed. Most of the growth in this forest that they had encountered thus far was old, yes, but of the normal variety for what Lucian had encountered in this area. These trees, with dark, cracked and wrinkled bark like clay baked in the sun-
They felt old, like mountains, witnesses to all life since Pal Tahrenor had been birthed.
When they entered the ring of trees, Lucian only felt it more strongly, his gaze sweeping upward with awe at the towering trunks that stretched on into the dimming light above them. All about them he sensed an aura, stirring slightly at their presence, as when one steps into an old abandoned building where someone has lived, long ago.
It was not a hostile feeling, or one of any kind of emotion that Lucian could describe or identify. It was like... like these grandfathers of the world were sleepily aware of their passing.
This place was...
Special.
In his reverie, Lucian hadn't noticed his travelling companion's pained efforts as she sat down against one of the great fathers. By the time he did, she was already began to slip away into unconsciousness. For a moment Lucian considered trying to convince her to lay the blanket out and lie flat on it, but he remained silent instead and let her do as she saw fit.
Lucian rasped, more quietly than usual, "We'll be safe here until morning." He glanced about them once and then looked at Lanya again, as though weighing something about her, his eyes intense and focused. At length, he added in an even quieter voice, "This grove... is very old. Be careful what you say."
He stared at her for just a moment more before he turned away and walked to the middle of the grove where he sat down, unslinging the bag from his shoulder. As he crossed his legs in front of him, Lucian felt a nearly imperceptible tingle itch up his spine and then cascade down his arm, back to the ground like an invisible spider. He looked back over his shoulder at Lanya, his pulse a trifle faster as he whispered, with no small difficulty,
"Try to keep still."
He turned his head back, folded his arms in front of him, and slowly, by nearly undetectable degrees, he became more and more still. Minutes ticked by, more slowly than the imagination could comprehend, until the only movement was the slight motion of his breathing and the small clouds of condensation that he exhaled into the chill air.
The rain fell softly, almost muted. Time stopped visiting the grove, and nothing moved.
Yar, says I.
-
Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Lucian's words jolted the woman back to wakefulness, but only for a moment, as she sank back down within her mind. In another moment, she was asleep, finally beyond the exhaustion and pain that her body now represented.
It was a distant dreamscape, and Lanya recognized the fields she stood in. Her family's farmhouse sat in the distance, a quaint little home brimming with life and leisure. Lanya had wandered for many, many years, and now she had finally come home.
She hobbled to the doorstep, for one leg moved with the stiff limp of a severe injury that never healed properly. Her staff, forever present, leant her the strength to remain upright and knock on the door. She wondered if her parents were alive, and if they'd be happy to see her.
The door opened, and Lanya couldn't stifle a gasp of shock. It was herself, young, lean and not a single worry-line on her face. The younger stared at the older, her belly expanded to its maximum from the child within. Lanya, standing on the doorstep, clutched her own flat belly - she had never bared children.
The younger's mouth opened, and laughter poured out. In the background, a man's voice asked what was the matter, and who was at the door. The young Lanya just continued laughing as she shut the door.
"Nobody."
Fitful and restless, Lanya twitched as the dream picked apart her every fear, laying the out for her to peruse as it did every night. Had she made the right choice, by wandering? Had her family forgotten her? Would she ever bear a child? The woman remained silent as even her subconscious worried the issues that Lanya considered while awake.
It was a distant dreamscape, and Lanya recognized the fields she stood in. Her family's farmhouse sat in the distance, a quaint little home brimming with life and leisure. Lanya had wandered for many, many years, and now she had finally come home.
She hobbled to the doorstep, for one leg moved with the stiff limp of a severe injury that never healed properly. Her staff, forever present, leant her the strength to remain upright and knock on the door. She wondered if her parents were alive, and if they'd be happy to see her.
The door opened, and Lanya couldn't stifle a gasp of shock. It was herself, young, lean and not a single worry-line on her face. The younger stared at the older, her belly expanded to its maximum from the child within. Lanya, standing on the doorstep, clutched her own flat belly - she had never bared children.
The younger's mouth opened, and laughter poured out. In the background, a man's voice asked what was the matter, and who was at the door. The young Lanya just continued laughing as she shut the door.
"Nobody."
Fitful and restless, Lanya twitched as the dream picked apart her every fear, laying the out for her to peruse as it did every night. Had she made the right choice, by wandering? Had her family forgotten her? Would she ever bear a child? The woman remained silent as even her subconscious worried the issues that Lanya considered while awake.
His breathing was so slight that it was barely detectable, only the slightest trail of condensed exhale marking the act. Lucian's eyes were closed, every part of him still.
This was one of the things he had begun learning as a child. Being perfectly still so that you ceased to conform your surroundings to you and your passage and allowed your surroundings to conform you to its passage. All things living contained the beating pulse of Pal Tahrenor, flowed with their own stream of life and motion.
It was in the hands of men to sense it and adjust to it.
Time lost meaning for Lucian. Rain ran through his hair and down his face, dripping from his nose and chin, but he payed it no more mind than a tree does the water dripping from its boughs. He quieted every thought and sensation, slowly, gradually, drifting away from the constraints of his body, letting his mind drift and his thoughts seek outward from what his skin or nose or eyes could tell him.
And then he felt it. So slow, so ancient that he barely understood, but there it was-
He felt the flow of life through this grove, passing over and around him as he became one with the grove floor. Lucian let his consciousness drift from his body and into this flow of life, vaguely green and gold in his mind's eye, following the path it ever so slowly took, weaving in and out between the mighty Grandfathers of the Wood. He felt the presence of a dozen or more nesting birds as well as a few squirrels in the midst of the trees' leafy expanses. They had grown here for longer than Lucian could understand, the sires of much of the wood that surrounded. Lucian was tempted to let himself follow the streams that flowed further out into the wood, but he was not strong enough to wander so far from his body and be sure of his return.
But as he followed a stream back to the grove floor, he felt something... else. It was not different from the life that he felt from the Grandfathers, to the contrary- it was the same. But as he focused on its pulse, on the subtle ebb of its existence, he singled it out, seeing it in his mind's eye as the slightest shades of pale yellow and soft green, wreathed around and within the life that flowed from the Grandfathers, nearly completely undetectable-
But it, he realized, the weight of it settling over him, was what he had sensed when he first entered the grove.
This was the awareness he had felt.
Slowly, gradually, Lucian's consciousness settled back into his body, feeling himself gently reconnect with his physical senses. He remained still, his thoughts centered on the awareness and what it meant. It was a mystery to him, what was conscious in the capacity that he sensed there, but so intertwined with the life of these Grandfathers. The more he considered it, the more he realized that it had felt like the awareness was... dreaming. Drifting in a long slumber that it had no reason or inclination to wake from.
Lucian felt his pulse quicken slightly and he slowly looked upward, gazing up into the dim reaches of the Grandfathers. He knew of a way with which to awaken the forest, to rouse the Life-Spirit of Pal Tahrenor.
It might not be something we should wake up, he cautioned himself. No matter how ancient, the Wood was a being all to itself, and not always pleased to be bothered. And whatever this was that he sensed might be doubly displeased to be stirred from its sleep.
But he was already standing, his legs coiling beneath him as he gradually rose. Something deep within him needed to know what this was- this consciousness he sensed nestled within the life-spirit of these Grandfathers.
And he began to move. Nearly imperceptible at first, only barely fast enough register as he felt the flow of the grove, the direction it took around and about him. By degrees the movement increased in pace, still slow and quiet as he turned and dipped, spreading his arms wide as he came up.
It was no set pattern he began to dance to, no routine that he had learned so long ago among the other gypsies. He did not step until he felt the motion of it become natural, and did not turn or bend until he felt the sweep of it become irresistible as he bent and threaded his way among the tendrils of life weaved in and out between the Grandfathers of the Grove.
Lucian's eyes were shut as he saw in his mind's eye the nearly imperceptible change of the life-flow in the grove, vaguely curved in the path he had taken, pulled by his passage through it.
He released his concentration and allowed himself to seemingly drift, ever so slowly quickening.
This was one of the things he had begun learning as a child. Being perfectly still so that you ceased to conform your surroundings to you and your passage and allowed your surroundings to conform you to its passage. All things living contained the beating pulse of Pal Tahrenor, flowed with their own stream of life and motion.
It was in the hands of men to sense it and adjust to it.
Time lost meaning for Lucian. Rain ran through his hair and down his face, dripping from his nose and chin, but he payed it no more mind than a tree does the water dripping from its boughs. He quieted every thought and sensation, slowly, gradually, drifting away from the constraints of his body, letting his mind drift and his thoughts seek outward from what his skin or nose or eyes could tell him.
And then he felt it. So slow, so ancient that he barely understood, but there it was-
He felt the flow of life through this grove, passing over and around him as he became one with the grove floor. Lucian let his consciousness drift from his body and into this flow of life, vaguely green and gold in his mind's eye, following the path it ever so slowly took, weaving in and out between the mighty Grandfathers of the Wood. He felt the presence of a dozen or more nesting birds as well as a few squirrels in the midst of the trees' leafy expanses. They had grown here for longer than Lucian could understand, the sires of much of the wood that surrounded. Lucian was tempted to let himself follow the streams that flowed further out into the wood, but he was not strong enough to wander so far from his body and be sure of his return.
But as he followed a stream back to the grove floor, he felt something... else. It was not different from the life that he felt from the Grandfathers, to the contrary- it was the same. But as he focused on its pulse, on the subtle ebb of its existence, he singled it out, seeing it in his mind's eye as the slightest shades of pale yellow and soft green, wreathed around and within the life that flowed from the Grandfathers, nearly completely undetectable-
But it, he realized, the weight of it settling over him, was what he had sensed when he first entered the grove.
This was the awareness he had felt.
Slowly, gradually, Lucian's consciousness settled back into his body, feeling himself gently reconnect with his physical senses. He remained still, his thoughts centered on the awareness and what it meant. It was a mystery to him, what was conscious in the capacity that he sensed there, but so intertwined with the life of these Grandfathers. The more he considered it, the more he realized that it had felt like the awareness was... dreaming. Drifting in a long slumber that it had no reason or inclination to wake from.
Lucian felt his pulse quicken slightly and he slowly looked upward, gazing up into the dim reaches of the Grandfathers. He knew of a way with which to awaken the forest, to rouse the Life-Spirit of Pal Tahrenor.
It might not be something we should wake up, he cautioned himself. No matter how ancient, the Wood was a being all to itself, and not always pleased to be bothered. And whatever this was that he sensed might be doubly displeased to be stirred from its sleep.
But he was already standing, his legs coiling beneath him as he gradually rose. Something deep within him needed to know what this was- this consciousness he sensed nestled within the life-spirit of these Grandfathers.
And he began to move. Nearly imperceptible at first, only barely fast enough register as he felt the flow of the grove, the direction it took around and about him. By degrees the movement increased in pace, still slow and quiet as he turned and dipped, spreading his arms wide as he came up.
It was no set pattern he began to dance to, no routine that he had learned so long ago among the other gypsies. He did not step until he felt the motion of it become natural, and did not turn or bend until he felt the sweep of it become irresistible as he bent and threaded his way among the tendrils of life weaved in and out between the Grandfathers of the Grove.
Lucian's eyes were shut as he saw in his mind's eye the nearly imperceptible change of the life-flow in the grove, vaguely curved in the path he had taken, pulled by his passage through it.
He released his concentration and allowed himself to seemingly drift, ever so slowly quickening.
Yar, says I.
-
Lanya Caliope
- Fugitive
- Posts: 266
- Joined: Thu Jun 16, 2005 12:49 am
- Race: Human
Lanya's fingers twitched convulsively as her dreams delved deeper into her psyche, finding the fears that she ignored each day to remind her of them while she was unable to fight. In one hand, she gripped the wooden Flame, and the other hand lay on her lap, palm up and fingers curled. The individual fingers twitched and flickered impulsively. She was only ever at peace while playing music, and now, within the dreamscape, she was sitting by herself, in a quiet room, strumming her family's heirloom guitar, passed from generation to generation and made by a race long forgotten.
The room was still and small, but cozy and warm. She was enclosed, and safe, in her element. As she played, a gentle strumming tune which helped to center her inner landscape, the heat began to drift away, leaving the room colder by the second. At first, the temperature drop was nearly imperceptible, and she played on until finally she was shivering much too hard. Unable to control the shaking, she stopped playing. Behind her, a door creaked open, and a blast of warmer air crept across her lower back. She didn't care to turn around; she didn't care who stood behind her. It didn't matter, because the guitar would kill them anyway.
The guitar shifted now, and it wasn't her family's heirloom, a loved instrument that had been crushed to pieces over a year ago. No, this was a living thing, something versatile and emotionless which didn't bother to care if its actions did more harm than good. It thrummed against her chest, the silent monster. And then a hand touched her shoulder.
The strings burst from the guitar with a furious twang and slung around and up the wrist, instantly engulfing the victim. Their scream was blunted by twine around the throat. When she'd first started having this dream, she'd always turned to watch the events unfold, watched helplessly as the intruder was cut and bled out. Now she knew better. She knew who it was who died, and she knew that she could not stop it. She also knew it was just a dream.
A wolf's mournful howl of pain rose up behind her, and she turned in surprise. This wasn't normal; no, it was normally....but there was Wolfhound, her would-be protector, dying before her as strings the strength of steel wrenched into his flesh.
Her guilt brought her gasping to wakefulness, but it was a fevered awareness, dripping with water and the haze of a body trying to mend itself while it fought off infections. In another few moments, the pain from her knee would bring her to full alert, but some part of her was aware of this, and she with a cursory glance around the clearing, to be sure she was still in the same place, she sank back down.
She'd seen the wood elf again, in that moment. It had stood several feet away, communing with nature and dancing with the natural sort of rhythm that Lanya could find only when she created music of her own. His movements were bringing forth something alien, yet natural. Something which had dwelled her longer than the ground beneath her. She sank deeper into an actual restful sleep, as the presence came closer and closer, filling the little alcove with its own sense of old, deep power. The type of power that indicated a creature born into magic, not taught magic over the years.
Dreams were left behind, screaming for her attention until she perceived nothing at all.
The room was still and small, but cozy and warm. She was enclosed, and safe, in her element. As she played, a gentle strumming tune which helped to center her inner landscape, the heat began to drift away, leaving the room colder by the second. At first, the temperature drop was nearly imperceptible, and she played on until finally she was shivering much too hard. Unable to control the shaking, she stopped playing. Behind her, a door creaked open, and a blast of warmer air crept across her lower back. She didn't care to turn around; she didn't care who stood behind her. It didn't matter, because the guitar would kill them anyway.
The guitar shifted now, and it wasn't her family's heirloom, a loved instrument that had been crushed to pieces over a year ago. No, this was a living thing, something versatile and emotionless which didn't bother to care if its actions did more harm than good. It thrummed against her chest, the silent monster. And then a hand touched her shoulder.
The strings burst from the guitar with a furious twang and slung around and up the wrist, instantly engulfing the victim. Their scream was blunted by twine around the throat. When she'd first started having this dream, she'd always turned to watch the events unfold, watched helplessly as the intruder was cut and bled out. Now she knew better. She knew who it was who died, and she knew that she could not stop it. She also knew it was just a dream.
A wolf's mournful howl of pain rose up behind her, and she turned in surprise. This wasn't normal; no, it was normally....but there was Wolfhound, her would-be protector, dying before her as strings the strength of steel wrenched into his flesh.
Her guilt brought her gasping to wakefulness, but it was a fevered awareness, dripping with water and the haze of a body trying to mend itself while it fought off infections. In another few moments, the pain from her knee would bring her to full alert, but some part of her was aware of this, and she with a cursory glance around the clearing, to be sure she was still in the same place, she sank back down.
She'd seen the wood elf again, in that moment. It had stood several feet away, communing with nature and dancing with the natural sort of rhythm that Lanya could find only when she created music of her own. His movements were bringing forth something alien, yet natural. Something which had dwelled her longer than the ground beneath her. She sank deeper into an actual restful sleep, as the presence came closer and closer, filling the little alcove with its own sense of old, deep power. The type of power that indicated a creature born into magic, not taught magic over the years.
Dreams were left behind, screaming for her attention until she perceived nothing at all.
Lucian left streaks of condensation in the cool air as he spun and leapt upward, gracefully performing a no-hands cartwheel in the endless chain of flowing motions that he executed, his eyes sealed shut. Sweat ran in rivulets down his body, intermingled with still-falling rain, but his pace only quickened as he went on, steadily growing more and more furious with his motions.
He could see it in his mind, see it changing. The intangible green and gold threads woven back and forth in the midst of the grove were changing shape, changing form. They bent in the path he took, pulled by his movement and will. As he quickened and swept through the grove in a figure-eight pattern, the life-flow swirled behind him, drawn into his wake.
Time held no meaning for the gypsy, lost to the dance as he leapt high once more, always at the nexus of the figure-eight where he would have been clearing the fire that he normal performed this ritual around. But fire would not have been accepted here, not among these old masters. He dipped and spun, mesmerized by the effect he saw in the life-flow around him. It was no longer merely floating, drifting-
It was rushing, streaming- it whirled about him like an imperceptible gale, gathering speed and energy, white tendrils spiking out fantastically between the trees, flowing in and out and corkscrewing around him.
How much longer he danced, whether ten minutes or two hours, he would never know. The roar of his movements grew louder in his mind, the Grandfathers bursting with renewed vigor and life as they flowed with energy like they had as sprouts back at the beginning of Pal Tahrenor. The mosses and small plants under Lucian's swift feet seemed to swell and glow a more vibrant green, awakened and overflowing with the aura of life.
Until at last he abruptly spiralled through a back-handspring and handed in a crouch, his arms spread high above his head, fingers splayed, head bowed. His eyes were closed, his chest heaving clouds of thick condensation into the air as he did not move, his limbs untrembling.
The grove was utterly still.
Then slowly, as though reluctant to let it end, he lowered his arms and raised his head, allowing his eyes to slip open and behold the physical world again. He was exhausted, sinew and muscle quivering from the exertion and focused he had excersized, but his spirit was thrumming with renewal and revitalization. It had been months since Lucian has last danced like this.
Everything looked as it had when he had first entered the grove, Lanya lying where she had settled when they entered, although her face appeared far more peaceful now, true relief and rest showing in the relaxed lines on her face. That made Lucian smile.
Though no longer looking beyond his mind, he could feel the difference in this place, no longer quite so stagnant and unmoved.
He was about to stand when he abruptly paused, sensing... something... there!- a flicker out of the corner of his eye that he spun to face, but nothing aside from one of the Grandfathers, as unmoved as stone. He could feel it though, that awareness from before, the slight tinting in the life-flow amidst the Grandfathers. But it was beyond aware now, he sensed, glancing about himself.
It was... watching.
There! again, he spun, detecting the slightest motion out at the edge of his peripheral vision, but he faced only a dim pathway between two of the old masters, leading out of the grove.
He breathed deeply, searching for some identifying scent, some clue as to what it was that he had roused, but still, nothing. The elusive phantom seemed quite content to keep him spinning this way and that, glancing upward and then over his shoulder in a vain search from something beyond the brief flicker that he caught twice more just beyond line of true sight.
At last he stopped turning, dropping both of his knees to the ground and resting his hands on his thighs. He laughed softly to himself, glancing around once more. It was not going to be seen unless it wanted to be seen. He sensed no malevolence, no hostility, just... observation.
So he let himself relax, lowering his head and easing the tension on his body. He sat in silence a moment longer and then, so softly it was nearly inaudible, he began murmuring a verse from an old lullabye that the women of his caravan used to sing, hearing the melody in his memory and whispering the words in a soft rasp,
"My eyes shall not find ye, though
long should my search be
Ye'll hide away from I, quiet
watching for myself to flee
Lo, I listen for ye now
though I hear not a breath
Secrets masked by silent vow
passing over life and death"
He smiled as he whispered it, remembering the lullaby was part of a story about a young girl who had lost her way in the ancient forests, and to find her way out she was forced to search for a particularly elusive faery who was sworn to help whoever could catch her. It was a very old story, much older than any of the women he had heard sing it in his youth, older than any they had ever heard sing it.
There.
He sensed the movement and looked up, slowly. At first he thought he was being tricked again as he was facing perhaps the most prominent and imposing of the Grandfathers but no sign of anything else, but then he saw.
The bark of the tree shifted.
And he saw the outline, the shape of a body against tree- she stepped out from it, so smooth and graceful that the motion she did so with was nearly imperceptible.
Her skin was a pale, so pale that it seemed to absorb the slightest tints of green from the deep green cloth that was draped around her, almost as an after thought. Her hair grew in long chestnut waves that reached down past her waist, twigs and leaves entangled in the flowing expanse. She features were perfectly aligned, as though they they had grown in perfect portion to the rest of her long and lithe body.
But it was her eyes- crystal, hypnotizing eyes, seemingly a hundred different shimmering hues of green at once- it was those eyes that captivated Lucian. For a moment he panicked, memory surging back to his childhood, to that his little death at the hands of eyes that eyes that daemoness. But then he realized; he was not immobilized as he had been on that day, rendered a lamb by enchantment- he was captivated, held by his own nature, not imprisoned by her's.
A forest spirit. One of the native guardians of Pal Tahrenor, an ageless animation of the life-flow of the planet.
She smiled then and Lucian felt himself relax completely, sinking to sit cross-legged on the ground once more. She glanced around herself once, eyes sweeping the dim expanses of the tree boughs far overhead, and she looked back at him again and flashed another brilliant, even smile. Though her mouth didn't move in the slightest to form words, Lucian understood keenly. She was pleased, even joyful, with what she saw in the grove, the exuberance with which life now flowed, awakened by his dance.
Almost gliding she moved forward until she was within a meter of him. Lucian fought the reflex to panic and scoot away as she knelt down in front him, inhuman eyes focused so intently on his own. For a moment neither of them moved, and then the dryad leaned forward, her aura so fixated and drawn that the gypsy found it exceptionally difficult to remember to breathe. A scent wafted about her, like wind through leaves and dew on grass, gentle and drawing.
And then she leaned forward just ever so slightly more, dipped her head in closer and pressed her lips against his.
Lucian unthinkingly closed his eyes as he vaguely tasted sweet honeysuckle and soothing lilac. He had never experienced anything like this, this soft and delicate kiss. It lasted but a few seconds and then she pulled back, her eyes still as intense and watching as before as Lucian unwillingly opened his eyes to look at her, but in those few seconds... a chill chased its way up Lucian's spine and through his skull, burning him with some inhuman sensation. He closed and opened his mouth, attempting to form some kind of speech, but she raised a hand and rested its fingertips against his lips, silencing him before he began, her lips gently pressing together to form the shape of a sound.
Shhh.
She stood, taking one of his hands in each of hers and guiding him to his feet. In the motion of standing he felt... different. As though more intensely aware of what the moss felt like through his calloused feet and more effortlessly balanced as he straightened, still unwilling to break gaze with this enrapturing creature. She then took his right hand in both of hers and guided it to her chest, just above her left breast and pressed it there, holding against the warmth of her skin.
And Lucian felt it. A heartbeat so deep, so soft, so vibrant and powerful and awe-filling that he fought to keep tears from his eyes. He felt the heartbeat of the Forest, of Pal Tahrenor. Of the Life of the Planet. He felt it course through his being, imprint itself on his very soul. She held it there, letting him feel pulse of this world's spirit, for just a moment longer and then released his hand and stepped back, the simple act nearly breaking the gypsy's heart.
Another minute passed where she did not break his gaze, and then she smiled once more, her face glowing from the joy it conveyed. It was nearly more than Lucian could bear to take in.
Then she turned and slowly, gracefully began walking back toward the grandfather from which she had issued.
Lucian's lips moved soundlessly, wordless entreaties to stay, to sit and share and understand- but then she stopped and looked over at the sleeping form of Lanya, face so peaceful and at rest. The dryad turned her head to look back over her shoulder at the gypsy, another smile creasing across her face as she turned and walked toward the red-haired woman's sleeping form.
Lucian watched wordlessly as she knelt down over Lanya, seemingly floating above her. Again she glanced up at Lucian, smiled, and looked back to Lanya, bending down closer to her, focused on Lanya's tightly clenched hand that lay in her lap. The dryad seemed to shake her head at what she saw, and then covered Lanya's one hand with both of hers, lowered her face nearer, and softly blew, a breeze rippling through the grove at the same instant, causing Lucian to briefly glance upward and behind him before turning back to find the dryad already rising from beside his companion, that smile softly playing across her face.
Once more she faced Lucian, boring into him with her eyes, and then with a blindingly quick spring, she melded back with the Grandfather she had issued from.
For several minutes, Lucian stood completely motionless, staring at the tree, wondering briefly if he had just seen a vision, if he was dreaming. Slowly he let his gaze wander back to the sleeping form of Lanya, and there paused as he looked at the hand folded in her lap. The hand that led something... that moved...
He could see it in his mind, see it changing. The intangible green and gold threads woven back and forth in the midst of the grove were changing shape, changing form. They bent in the path he took, pulled by his movement and will. As he quickened and swept through the grove in a figure-eight pattern, the life-flow swirled behind him, drawn into his wake.
Time held no meaning for the gypsy, lost to the dance as he leapt high once more, always at the nexus of the figure-eight where he would have been clearing the fire that he normal performed this ritual around. But fire would not have been accepted here, not among these old masters. He dipped and spun, mesmerized by the effect he saw in the life-flow around him. It was no longer merely floating, drifting-
It was rushing, streaming- it whirled about him like an imperceptible gale, gathering speed and energy, white tendrils spiking out fantastically between the trees, flowing in and out and corkscrewing around him.
How much longer he danced, whether ten minutes or two hours, he would never know. The roar of his movements grew louder in his mind, the Grandfathers bursting with renewed vigor and life as they flowed with energy like they had as sprouts back at the beginning of Pal Tahrenor. The mosses and small plants under Lucian's swift feet seemed to swell and glow a more vibrant green, awakened and overflowing with the aura of life.
Until at last he abruptly spiralled through a back-handspring and handed in a crouch, his arms spread high above his head, fingers splayed, head bowed. His eyes were closed, his chest heaving clouds of thick condensation into the air as he did not move, his limbs untrembling.
The grove was utterly still.
Then slowly, as though reluctant to let it end, he lowered his arms and raised his head, allowing his eyes to slip open and behold the physical world again. He was exhausted, sinew and muscle quivering from the exertion and focused he had excersized, but his spirit was thrumming with renewal and revitalization. It had been months since Lucian has last danced like this.
Everything looked as it had when he had first entered the grove, Lanya lying where she had settled when they entered, although her face appeared far more peaceful now, true relief and rest showing in the relaxed lines on her face. That made Lucian smile.
Though no longer looking beyond his mind, he could feel the difference in this place, no longer quite so stagnant and unmoved.
He was about to stand when he abruptly paused, sensing... something... there!- a flicker out of the corner of his eye that he spun to face, but nothing aside from one of the Grandfathers, as unmoved as stone. He could feel it though, that awareness from before, the slight tinting in the life-flow amidst the Grandfathers. But it was beyond aware now, he sensed, glancing about himself.
It was... watching.
There! again, he spun, detecting the slightest motion out at the edge of his peripheral vision, but he faced only a dim pathway between two of the old masters, leading out of the grove.
He breathed deeply, searching for some identifying scent, some clue as to what it was that he had roused, but still, nothing. The elusive phantom seemed quite content to keep him spinning this way and that, glancing upward and then over his shoulder in a vain search from something beyond the brief flicker that he caught twice more just beyond line of true sight.
At last he stopped turning, dropping both of his knees to the ground and resting his hands on his thighs. He laughed softly to himself, glancing around once more. It was not going to be seen unless it wanted to be seen. He sensed no malevolence, no hostility, just... observation.
So he let himself relax, lowering his head and easing the tension on his body. He sat in silence a moment longer and then, so softly it was nearly inaudible, he began murmuring a verse from an old lullabye that the women of his caravan used to sing, hearing the melody in his memory and whispering the words in a soft rasp,
"My eyes shall not find ye, though
long should my search be
Ye'll hide away from I, quiet
watching for myself to flee
Lo, I listen for ye now
though I hear not a breath
Secrets masked by silent vow
passing over life and death"
He smiled as he whispered it, remembering the lullaby was part of a story about a young girl who had lost her way in the ancient forests, and to find her way out she was forced to search for a particularly elusive faery who was sworn to help whoever could catch her. It was a very old story, much older than any of the women he had heard sing it in his youth, older than any they had ever heard sing it.
There.
He sensed the movement and looked up, slowly. At first he thought he was being tricked again as he was facing perhaps the most prominent and imposing of the Grandfathers but no sign of anything else, but then he saw.
The bark of the tree shifted.
And he saw the outline, the shape of a body against tree- she stepped out from it, so smooth and graceful that the motion she did so with was nearly imperceptible.
Her skin was a pale, so pale that it seemed to absorb the slightest tints of green from the deep green cloth that was draped around her, almost as an after thought. Her hair grew in long chestnut waves that reached down past her waist, twigs and leaves entangled in the flowing expanse. She features were perfectly aligned, as though they they had grown in perfect portion to the rest of her long and lithe body.
But it was her eyes- crystal, hypnotizing eyes, seemingly a hundred different shimmering hues of green at once- it was those eyes that captivated Lucian. For a moment he panicked, memory surging back to his childhood, to that his little death at the hands of eyes that eyes that daemoness. But then he realized; he was not immobilized as he had been on that day, rendered a lamb by enchantment- he was captivated, held by his own nature, not imprisoned by her's.
A forest spirit. One of the native guardians of Pal Tahrenor, an ageless animation of the life-flow of the planet.
She smiled then and Lucian felt himself relax completely, sinking to sit cross-legged on the ground once more. She glanced around herself once, eyes sweeping the dim expanses of the tree boughs far overhead, and she looked back at him again and flashed another brilliant, even smile. Though her mouth didn't move in the slightest to form words, Lucian understood keenly. She was pleased, even joyful, with what she saw in the grove, the exuberance with which life now flowed, awakened by his dance.
Almost gliding she moved forward until she was within a meter of him. Lucian fought the reflex to panic and scoot away as she knelt down in front him, inhuman eyes focused so intently on his own. For a moment neither of them moved, and then the dryad leaned forward, her aura so fixated and drawn that the gypsy found it exceptionally difficult to remember to breathe. A scent wafted about her, like wind through leaves and dew on grass, gentle and drawing.
And then she leaned forward just ever so slightly more, dipped her head in closer and pressed her lips against his.
Lucian unthinkingly closed his eyes as he vaguely tasted sweet honeysuckle and soothing lilac. He had never experienced anything like this, this soft and delicate kiss. It lasted but a few seconds and then she pulled back, her eyes still as intense and watching as before as Lucian unwillingly opened his eyes to look at her, but in those few seconds... a chill chased its way up Lucian's spine and through his skull, burning him with some inhuman sensation. He closed and opened his mouth, attempting to form some kind of speech, but she raised a hand and rested its fingertips against his lips, silencing him before he began, her lips gently pressing together to form the shape of a sound.
Shhh.
She stood, taking one of his hands in each of hers and guiding him to his feet. In the motion of standing he felt... different. As though more intensely aware of what the moss felt like through his calloused feet and more effortlessly balanced as he straightened, still unwilling to break gaze with this enrapturing creature. She then took his right hand in both of hers and guided it to her chest, just above her left breast and pressed it there, holding against the warmth of her skin.
And Lucian felt it. A heartbeat so deep, so soft, so vibrant and powerful and awe-filling that he fought to keep tears from his eyes. He felt the heartbeat of the Forest, of Pal Tahrenor. Of the Life of the Planet. He felt it course through his being, imprint itself on his very soul. She held it there, letting him feel pulse of this world's spirit, for just a moment longer and then released his hand and stepped back, the simple act nearly breaking the gypsy's heart.
Another minute passed where she did not break his gaze, and then she smiled once more, her face glowing from the joy it conveyed. It was nearly more than Lucian could bear to take in.
Then she turned and slowly, gracefully began walking back toward the grandfather from which she had issued.
Lucian's lips moved soundlessly, wordless entreaties to stay, to sit and share and understand- but then she stopped and looked over at the sleeping form of Lanya, face so peaceful and at rest. The dryad turned her head to look back over her shoulder at the gypsy, another smile creasing across her face as she turned and walked toward the red-haired woman's sleeping form.
Lucian watched wordlessly as she knelt down over Lanya, seemingly floating above her. Again she glanced up at Lucian, smiled, and looked back to Lanya, bending down closer to her, focused on Lanya's tightly clenched hand that lay in her lap. The dryad seemed to shake her head at what she saw, and then covered Lanya's one hand with both of hers, lowered her face nearer, and softly blew, a breeze rippling through the grove at the same instant, causing Lucian to briefly glance upward and behind him before turning back to find the dryad already rising from beside his companion, that smile softly playing across her face.
Once more she faced Lucian, boring into him with her eyes, and then with a blindingly quick spring, she melded back with the Grandfather she had issued from.
For several minutes, Lucian stood completely motionless, staring at the tree, wondering briefly if he had just seen a vision, if he was dreaming. Slowly he let his gaze wander back to the sleeping form of Lanya, and there paused as he looked at the hand folded in her lap. The hand that led something... that moved...
Yar, says I.