(no subject)

[npc-excolo.livejournal.com]

Time has little meaning here, though your body back home may disagree.

Dream.

A forest.

A forest of the oldest sort, thick with brambles, trees snarled with centuries of life. It stretches for miles, many of them very dark, because the trees grow so close that it is hard to see. From a high vantage point, on one of the hills of the forest, one may glimpse a tower at the heart of the forest, a great graceful column of grey stone. Here and there there are clearings, bright with sunlight, and streams running with clear water. But mostly there is dark.

In the distance, the howl of a wolf.

[OPEN TO ALL]

Comments

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

"It's a very dense forest, and there's some surety to that. But no, I do not like it. I understand how to live in it, is all."

"Well, in that respect you have the advantage of me," I say, and then we are at the foot of the hill.

"Thank you," I say, and then pause, tilt my head. I have hunted since my boyhood, and - "there is something following us," I say, very low. "It might be wise for us both to go to higher ground. Will you come with me?"

I begin the ascent. It seems a very great hill, though it didn't look so big from the bottom, and there is sweat between my shoulderblades and under my arms as I reach the top.

I can see the tower, and it does not look so very far away, though I know everything seems to take longer than it should in this forest. It's the best view of the place I've had, and somehow it makes me feel sick to my stomach. It's stone, but there's something wrong with it, like looking at meat turned to rot. I don't want to go there. I have to go there. If only because I look all around me, and the forest spreads to the horizon in every direction. I no longer know if there's a way out.

[john-thiess.livejournal.com]

Sounds and sounds and scents I have a scent not pack scent but brown and red and not sharp yellow bright like flying like wings bright on dark like puppies rolling heads over heels I am not a puppy and so I follow them to see paths hunting paths springing red salted brown paths up hills thinner trees but I am a clever hunter grey and red and low careful steps my nose sees my path too.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

"Thank you," he says, which is nice in the same unnecessary essential way as having my name aright and as bowing, and then he adds so low he is scarce more than breathing "there is something following us," and I do not turn to look (nearly, but I do not), and nod in answer to his question.

And the road is very long.

I have seen woods that stretch like these before, branches thick enough to choke the horizon, but only when standing at the bottom of a hollow so that the land all around seems to reach out as far as the sky. I do not think the woods ought--

I do not think the forest had quite this look, before. It has always been a wasp's nest, with things somewhere out of sight hurrying along, but the air seems faintly oily, and the shadows but not the light grow fervid. I imagine this is how people who cannot see in darkness feel about the night.

I shake my head a little, and look around. The trees are thick but I can pick out the dotted hawthorns that grow black, the small gap in the trees that mark the thorns (whose red is not from roses), the thin ash-white scorch of the clearing far north-east. So I know where we stand, at least.

"From here," I say, "you can strike straight for it, or else there is a stream that runs quick but shallow that passes near," and I trace the line of the river against the canvas of trees. "River stones are clearer path to walk than cutting through the forest, even if there may be things waiting for water." And if we are followed, well, call it a matter of chance whether it's by something that shuns water or something that suits it.

[fairy-fiona.livejournal.com]

I'm in a tree on a hill near a stream and my feet hang down but I've flown up high enough so that they don't touch the ground but not so high that my wings would get caught in branches and twigs and hurting things.

The tree hasn't told me her name yet. I wish she would but she's too sad to talk, even when I tell her stories and hug her and it isn't just 'cause she's scared to give away her name. She's just too sad. The whole forest is sad and I don't think it was always like that. I think it might be because of the tower.

I look down and see people coming.

Far back there's a boy who doesn't look like a boy. Close up there's a prince who doesn't look like a prince and a lady who looks like she really is. She looks like the kind of person who won't tell me her name 'cause she's careful about everything.

"From here, you can strike straight for it, or else there is a stream that runs quick but shallow that passes it. River stones are clearer path to walk than cutting through the forest, even if there may be things waiting for water."

"Go in the water," I tell them. "The water's happier than the trees."

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

Glas gives me directions, and I wipe my sweating brow and nod.

"I'll follow the water, I think." The route may be a little longer, but I think it may be safer, or at least surer. "Will you stay here, or would you care to come?" She's a strange sort of woman, this Glas, but I've been alone for so long, and she has been - not kind, but true, and I think that's better for this place.

And then there's a soft voice from high up in a tree, and my hand goes to my sword as I look up.

"The water's happier than the trees."

She's a fae child, and I look with wonder at her wings.

"Yes," I say. "I think so." I dip a bow to her, because it's wise to be polite to faekind, for they are full of mischief.

[john-thiess.livejournal.com]

Blue cool running water scent ahead and stopping hiding creeping closer not pouncing still wondering lost not me them and then more voices and wings and bright blue sun shining gold in my nose dust and wings and a-choo hunters don't but I do and then there are brown grey dry underfoot snapping with sounds smells of old earth and brown rot good rot not flesh red orange brown rot and I'm falling back to my feet but not in hiding anymore.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

"I'll follow the water, I think," he says after a moment. "Will you stay here, or would you care to come?"

"I'd come along," I say. Because I think something begins to stir, and he was well lost when I found him, too much for it to have been a trick, and there's something following us. I keep clear of the tower, but I am not sure the tower is confined to the stones of its walls, now.

"Go in the water," a voice says, high from the trees, and spin and look and she's small and bright and not showing teeth. "The water's happier than the trees." Take a step back and cock my head to one side, watching her as Valmont answers, and then there is a soft dusty sneeze and a scrabble behind us, and turn again to find a wolf standing there, and for a moment I don't breathe. But it's like one I have seen before outside the woods, ago and away, and not so much like the worst of the wolves you can find here.

"You startled me," I say after a moment, straightening and looking between them, and then I add "Good day to you." Gesture to the wolf and keeping one eye on him as I look to her. "Is he yours, lady?"

[fairy-fiona.livejournal.com]

The boy sneezes! I giggle. "Sorry!" I say to him and to the lady too 'cause she says "You startled me."

Then I see that the prince has a sword I can feel the iron from here. Better stay away, even if he's kind and polite and bows like a real prince would. He might not know those rules, either. I shiver and hug the tree closer, and pet her trunk.

"Good day to you. Is he yours, lady?"

"Oh no. He's not mine. He belongs to himself. Only I belong to me. Hello, boy," I say to the boy who's a wolf. "Do you want to drink? The water won't mind. It's safe to drink the water, you know," I tell the prince, 'cause I don't think he does know. "You look sad too. Are you sad?"

[valmont-vicomte.livejournal.com]

There's a soft sound like a dog sneezing, and I turn and see a wolf just standing there looking at us. My hand is still on my sword, and I'll use it if I need to. He's a young wolf; I think I could take him if I have to. But he just looks at us.

"Oh no. He's not mine. He belongs to himself. Only I belong to me. Hello, boy. Do you want to drink? The water won't mind. It's safe to drink the water, you know. You look sad too. Are you sad?"

"A little heartsick, miss, from weariness," I say. I look at her thoughtfully. "You can fly," I say. "Have you ever flown near the tower? Do you know what it is like?"

[john-thiess.livejournal.com]

Sounds and eyes to me and the sky bright flitting gold, and there is meaning like wolf-talk and I eye them as I pad past to sniff towards water clear blue some rot blue black brown but sweet to drink still. Wary prey hunter movements from the yellow sharp man paws touching tooth bright sharp smelling tooth but he makes sounds instead and he should swim in clear cool water.

[glass-beddau.livejournal.com]

"It's safe to drink the water, you know."

I murmur agreement--less for her sake than Valmont's, I confess. She is telling the truth (this stream is one of the sweet ones), and that eases me a little, and she is coming no nearer. "If you've a drinking skin, I'd fill it now, I think," I say. The wolf threads past us to the water, looking cautious but I would not say afraid, which is all to the good. Frightened animals are dangerous.

"You look sad too. Are you sad? (http://community.livejournal.com/estdeus_innobis/405098.html?view=10261866#t10261866)" the fairy-girl asks.