bakerstreet | (no subject)

((OOC: I hope enchanted forests have cell reception))

[ He made a little grunt as he sat on the ground inside the cave, the rain continuing to pour down on the forest just outside the entrance.

It wasn't ideal by any means (at least not compared to what they were used to) but it would provide shelter for them until the weather cleared.

Arthur looked over to Irene, ]

Sorry about your shoes.

[ The forest was not particularly fond of Irene's choice of fashion, apparently. ]

[Irene just gives him a Look at the reminder of the shoes. The damp chill of the cave is bearable, at least for the moment.] You'll just have to replace them when we get out of here.

Though I will admit I never expected Italian footwear to be quite that effective against rabid cobbler dwarves.

[ He is apologetic for using her shoes but not for enabling them an escape from whatever those dwarves had been planning (their manner had been telling enough, though).

But he nods, taking off his jacket, ]

Felt it was best to save the bullets I have in case we run into anything... larger.

[ He then offered his jacket to her for added warmth. ]

We might be here a while, though.

Are you sure our bullets will fire here at all?

[She takes the jacket with a nod of thanks, and pulls it on. Irene Adler is definitely not the type of woman who dresses for enchanted forests. More urban jungles. She stares out of the cave at the silvery curtain of pouring rain.]

As long as the Jabberwock keeps its distance, I think we've got a chance.

[ He snorts softly at that, amused despite the possibility she had raised. He rubs the back of his neck, looking out at the rain, as he mulls it over. ]

I don't see why they wouldn't. There's no telling if they'll do any real harm to the creatures that might be in this forest but at the very least they could slow them down.

[ Hopefully. ]

[Eventually, she gets tired of standing, bare feet against rough rock, and takes a seat near the cave wall. Arthur's coat has seen better days, but then there were other things to worry about than that, at this moment.]

And how slow do pipe smoking caterpillars move? Or big bad wolves, I wonder. [She glances at Arthur.] Assuming we can get back at all, of course.

[Whatever might have led the little lady to wander, she's found something now: a white-haired young man, resting against a tree trunk, his sword lying across his knees. He might almost be napping, except that the fallen leaves half-burying him suggest he's been there for a while.]

[Arthur's still drenched from having to ford the river since the bridge had been washed out. He'd passed fellow travelers going in similar directions, each with their own task to complete in order to gain entry into the village nearby.

He stops under a tree to wring out his clothing, the water splashing out onto those on the path. In this case, Alanna.]

Powers, I'm sorry about that, at least you can't get any wetter?

*Philemon has been following Alan Wake for some time now, in the form of the gold butterfly that is always on the outskirts of his vision, glowing softly in the darkness. Following? Maybe that's not entirely accurate. More like leading him. The man has had a hard time... Philemon feels for him in the way a god might take pity on one of its creations. He has a good heart. Touched by shadows and darkness of course, but there is still a strong light within him.

So he flutters down a trail. Toward a castle that hadn't existed until recently. A safe haven for those Philemon determined to be in need of respite, a place between dream and reality...similar to the Dark Place, to the den of the aspect of the Crawling Chaos, but this was a place of light, not darkness. The indication is still the same.

Follow me.*

[ He's slipping through the forest, trying not to make too much of a racket. When you grow up in an enchanted one, you quickly figure out that the last thing you want is to draw attention. ~~No sing-along songs with the cute little forest animals in particular~~. Because that's when crazy stuff goes after you. So, he makes his way gingerly on light steps through the thicker foliage, hoping to find a good bite to eat. Doesn't feel much like catching anything today, so he might settle for some nuts and berries. Maybe some mushrooms if he can find any good ones. ]

[Kairi made her way through the forest with one goal in mind - collecting berries. Treading lightly through the brush, she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear as she made the familiar way to the bushes she required.

Being of such kind and pure heart, the little forest dwellers seemed to rejoice in her presence and a rush of butterflies fluttered around her as she smiled at them and let them land on her outstretched hands. The darker denizens of the forest rarely troubled her these days so she was not on full alert, entranced by her fluttering friends.]

Edited 2012-03-24 23:02 (UTC)

[ guess what every fetch quest wouldn't be complete without!! AN ANNOYING COMPANION FAIRY... ]

Hey, listen!!!!!!!!

[ Ffffffffff Not this thing again. Swats at Vriska, as if that would do much, burying her head under a pile of pink pillows. She is well aware there a fetch uest that needs to happen, but she will just lie down for a little blackout.. ]

vriska no
its too early
adn i am
too drunk for whatevr ur gnna tell me

[ too bad she'll just be buzzing around Roxy's head, sprinkling faerie dust everywhere and hoping it gets in her eyes/nose >::::| ]

It's almost noon, you loser.
Time to get going, or do you want whats-her-face to be die? It'll 8e aaaaaaaall your fault!

[ Groans and covers her face with a pillow. Or a cat. Either will do. ]

pleeeeeease tell me whatsherface in liek
this scaneiaro is you
cause then the asnewer is a resousnding yes

Wow, ruuuuuuuude! And here I was thinking that you would even give a shit a8out your friends.
Not that I'm enough of a sucker to 8e one of them. So I guess Jane is screeeeeeeewed after eating that poisoned cake, all 8ecause you can't 8e assed to get the antidote.
Sucks to 8e her!

[ Small pause before Roxy sits straight up, cats flying every which way. Slow, measured stare to Vriska. ]

poisned cake?
janey?

Uh, yeeeeeeeeah?
I mean, that's kiiiiiiiinda the whole point in coming to this Forest of 8oredom and Murderous Plants or whatever the hell it's called. Why else would we 8e in this shithole????????

[Slow, dawning realization. More like this is a forest of gin and forgetfulness. Fuck! On her feet in and instant- whoa.. Headrush. Little moan. ]

okay oaky
i remembwr now
janey
posioned
got it
so waht am i listenng for?

[ man, good thing Vriska's trying to beat Terezi in a helpful-off or she wouldn't even have bothered with this quest. but she can too be a useful fairy companion, just watch! ]

Ugh, you must've gotten reeeeeeeeally plastered last night. Fine, I might as well tell you!
The key antidote ingredient is the slime of a paradox tree frog. They live in the deepest, smelliest, swampiest part of the forest, so you'd 8etter get moving.

[ What is this! A helpfulness event! ]

ugh
of cuorse thats where it is
not leik i wore white

[ Okay, up and ready to go, heading deeper into the forest, where the ground begins to squish and squelch under her feet.

Glances over her shoulder, grins. ]

cmon
catn do this without u
can i?

[ well good at least someone recognized her helpfulness!! navi hasn't got anything on her damnit. ]

Well
Well uh, oooooooo8viously not.
I mean, you only have the most knowledgea8le and 8eautiful fairy in the land to put your ass on the right track, of course you're going to need me for this quest!
A8out time you realized that!

[ Rolls her eyes and gestures for the girl to scurry on after her then. Geez that fairy talks a lot.

Shoving her way through the underbrush of the Forest of jackassery and bullshit, calls back to Vriska. ]

so leik
how much time am i lookgin at
for this daring resscue

[ she'll just be fluttering in and out of the forest branches as if taunting Roxy with how much faster a fairy's progress is. haw haw! ]

Time 8n't my thing, Rogue!
If you're talking a8out how long it'll take for you to get the slime, that depends on how sloooooooow you are getting there and how dum8 the frog is.
If you're talking a8out how long it'll take for Jane to croak, then... are you suuuuuuuure you want to know?

[ Shoots a glare to Vriska for that snarky little remark. She's always been the bitchy fairy, but this isn't her favorite thing to be flippant about- her best friend's life. ]

janey
how muhc time has she got

[ hey, vriska can find a way to be flippant about everything. tact, what tact?? ]

Two days. Tick, tock!
I'm sure that information won't make you do a fucking pirouette off the handle or something like some panicked gru8.
Instead if you'll concentrate and get on with this dum8 quest already like a proper fairy sidekick is supposed to, that'd 8e pretty gr8!

[ Not gonna lie, that time limit does make her panic a little. But she's still a Lalonde, no matter what universe this is, and Lalondes have to keep their cool. At least on the outside. Inside she's going full grimdrunk panicked about two days, it took a whole day to get this FAR!- but she's not gonna flip out just to have Vriska gloat. Also it's not gonna make anything go any faster!

Sloushing through the weedy part of the forest, muck starting to reach up to her knees now. There's gotta be some frogs around here. ]

god u have leik
fairy tale dsymorphia
im the hero
and u aer the suuuuuuuuper helpeful sidekick
the fact ur a fairy at all is the big fucking tellign factor here

[ shhh don't worry they'll probably have a neat cutscene that transports you str8 back to jane's bed after you get the quest item or something! video game logic! ]

Okay, just 8ecause I'm the one helping you out here doesn't make YOU the hero.
Who says a fairy can't 8e the hero? That sounds preeeeeeeetty speciesist to me!
The only reason I'm even tagging along with you is 8ecause I'm too small to lift a frog. You're pretty much the muscle and nothing more, so can it!

Oh my gosh, this is why you don't ever let the friendleader actually lead, I am almost positive I have seen this tree four times.

No, no, I left a little vodka trail... [ Squints back behind them. ]

Wow how do you even have that much vodka, Rox.

I don't! I'm doing this just for us.

Wow, thoughtful! Thank you so much, for that.

[ Although... using clear liquor to mark a trail isn't the great idea she was thinking it could be. Pauses to take a swig form the bottle as she thinks this plan over, looking back the way they came. ]

Hmm.

[He stops and turns to give her a sort of despairing look.]

We're hopelessly lost, aren't we.

[ Doesn't even sound surprised. ]

Ho yeah.

[He huffs a little.]

Stay here a second, okay? I'm gonna go check above the trees to see if I can see anything... [Because he can totally still fly.]

[ Well she can fly too! In her sleep. But oh well, nods for John to go ahead, guzzling the last bits of booze out. ]

[He sighs a little at her guzzling, but engulfs himself in a small flurry of wind and moves above the tree cover to look at this forest they're lost in.]

[And... it... basically tells him nothing.]

[Well it wasn't an Enchanted forest for nothing. He glides back down.]

Welp, that was basically pointless.

[ Yawns. ]

I could've told you that. This whole place is utilizing the void to keep it from being able to easily navigate, let alone pick up our position from above.

[ Hiccups. ]

[Sulks a little at her.]

Well gosh maybe I didn't know that. I thought it would be helpful.

...we should probably get you some water, you've been drinking nothing but vodka since we got in here.

[ Glum look at the empty flask, nods. Hydration is important! Takes John by the hand and starts leading him off the path. ]

Good thinking, fearless leader!

Wh-- so why are we going this way.

Well, it's not like the path would LEAD to water, right?

...yeah I guess you've got a point there.

[ Roxy dutifully leads John deeper into the forest in their search for water. After a few minutes, however, it should become apparent this is only getting them more lost. Apparently a hero of Void plus a voidy forest don't equal a positive. Or maybe Roxy's purposefully getting him evn more turned around. ]

...Hey, um, Roxy? I don't really think we're going the way we should be... [He tugs a little at her hand.]

[ Ignores the tug, pushing on further. Nope, she knows what she's doing, nevermind the forest is looking darker and more ominous the farther she pushes in. ]

No, it's definitely this way.

[He digs his heel into the ground.]

Roxy, are you even watching where you're going? Let go.

[ Blunks back at John like she's never seen him before. Tigs her hand away and peers at the foreboding landscape that surrounds them.

Where are we?

[B|]

Oh my God, are you kidding.

[ Takes a step back from John! What's happening! Frightened glance around them, putting distance between them. ]

... [Blinks, and looks less cross, worry crossing his face. He reaches a hand, slowly, toward her.]

...Roxy?

[ Flinches away from the hand! Up go the fists. ]

Who's Roxy?

[ You don't remember your name but you remember fistkind! ]

[He takes a small step backward and puts his hands up submissively.]

--whoa, okay. You're Roxy, last I checked. Hi. I'm John. I'm not gonna hurt you. Please don't hit me?

[ That's just pathetic enough to work. Making no motions to start swinging, but not putting her fists down. ]

How did we get here?

We're lost.

[To note, War's more likely to be chasing something than be chased himself. And whatever your roll, he'll be sitting atop his fiery steed.]

[It would be nice if this wasn't a common thing, but Bianca is accustomed enough to getting slightly sidetracked into weird locations throughout her journeys that she's not panicking too much, yet. She's just a little lost, after all.

Although these woods are unfamiliar enough that she releases Musharna from her pokeball for company. However, that doesn't make her any more attentive, so she's not likely to notice N much before she walks right into him.]

[N himself, though he's paying more attention to his puzzle box than to whether anyone's around- hardly anyone ever comes here, anyway- does notice the two of them before actual collision threatens.]

Who are you? [Oddly, he appears more interested in Musharna's answer to that question than in Bianca's.]

[She jumps a little bit, not expecting a question out of nowhere. At least she can actually see N. That does help some.]

I'm Bianca. A-and this is Musharna. [The Pokemon in question is staying close to her, perhaps a little curious in N, but knowing full well that her friendly trainer is freaking out enough to need her companion to stay close.]

Hmm. [He gives them a long, somewhat uncomfortable look, then shrugs when Bianca doesn't appear to have some sort of hostile intention.] I am called N.

Ah.

Are you lost, too?

[Because if you're not, you could be helpful and she might have to be your friend.]

I know exactly where I am.

[Which is where he lives. But if strange people out in enchanted woodlands weren't cryptic, where would we be?]

... So where is that, anyway? I was told there was a shortcut I was supposed to take to meet up with the Professor, but I must have lost it at some point, because this isn't very short.

This is the Entree Forest. [N's expression says: How did you get here by accident?] What professor is that?

Professor Juniper. She's waiting for me in Opelucid City.

[Well - you've certainly wandered into a dark refuge, princess. The trees are almost overwhelmingly tall, aren't they? Almost like they swallow all the light they can - and it only gets darker, the further in you go.

At the moment, the only light you can see in the trees are from passing bugs or weird plants.
Or if you're very unlucky, a pair of shimmering, red eyes.

It's unknown exactly where he is - but this is definitely a demonic voice echoing in from the darkness.]

What are you doing here, so far from your light...?
Shouldn't you be in your kingdom, princess...?

[it's gotten darker as she's gone deeper and the part of her that she hides deep inside is frightened at the loss of light. Caught by the Twilight before, now she finds both that she's more comfortable in the shadows and the night and yet that she dislikes it so much more as well. Her choices are limited though and if every part of Hyrule is hers than that includes the darkness in it's heart as well.

Given how much her mind has been giving her all kinds of monsters hiding in the shadows with glowing eyes that turn out to be bugs or moss or glow worms though, she's ignored the red pair until the voice actually speaks. Eyes wide she spins to face it entirely, heavy cloak swaying around her ankles and heart in her throat. The last thing she can do as a princess though is actually show that fear. It's years of training that have her voice calm as she answers:]

My light comes with me. Who's there, please?

It doesn't matter who I am, princess.

What matters is how far you have traveled into the dark.

[He doesn't mind materializing in front of her - but as deep as they are in the dark, his eyes and what their light falls on are all that are visible.]

I'm sure you are aware how dangerous this is for someone like yourself...

This is interesting. I never thought I'd see this in a million years.

[It was the old castle everyone kept on talking about, the one that was sought out time and time again though never actually found. She never really believed that it existed in the first place, word of mouth from villagers and all, but here it was standing off in the distance smack down in the middle of the forest. It looked run down and covered in moss, but still sturdy enough to stand for years to come.

The woman's silver eyes diverted from it to the other lady she was with.]

What do you think?

{Tifa liked to ground herself, prided herself in fact, on being practical and sensible. So, standing there in the clearing that let them see further than they had up to this point, she was just as surprised as her companion at the existence of something she was pretty sure shouldn't be there.

It obviously was though, looking solid and real enough from this distance and with night falling fast, Tifa might be willing to look a gift horse very carefully in the mouth but it didn't mean she wasn't going to accept it anyway.}

I guess we go take look. {just saying it had her curiosity perking its head. Sensible or not, this certainly wasn't something you got to see every day. Galatea got a smile.} We need somewhere to stay tonight anyway, right?

[Well she had a point there. Although Galatea was really more accustomed to camping out in the woods, staying somewhere a little less abrasive would have been a nice change for once. Plus it wouldn't be too fair to her comrade to stay out in the cold.]

Hn, perhaps taking a look around first would be wiser. There might be something living in there.

[She emphasised 'something'. Finding monsters around was still very possible, especially in a forest such as this.]

{Tifa catches the 'something' and she agrees. Magic castles that appear and disappear at whim aren't exactly the kind of thing you expect a warm welcome and no problems from. Like Galatea though, she isn't going to protest not sleeping out in the wilds tonight if they don't have to and if there are monsters - or whatever else a disappearing castle would have in it - she's willing to find out at least.}

Mm. We'll be careful.

{at least as careful as someone heading in the direction of a magic castle can be.}

[That was a cue for her to take a couple of steps towards their destination. She would hope careful was the only thing the other woman would be, some of Galatea's other comrades were...mostly the opposite and always got into some kind of trouble because of it. But Tifa was the type that didn't seem very brash at all, so that was good]

I'm sure we can take care of whatever is in there if anything, if worst came to worst.

[She gave a nod in her direction]

{Tifa had certainly done some brash things in her time and she had the scar to prove it. On the whole though, she was older now and would at least like to think, if not wiser, at least wiser about what she would throw herself into a fight. So she fell into step next to Galatea, keeping pace as the woods closed around them again, growing darker and deeper as they headed in the direction they had seen the castle. The comment from her companion earned a smile though.}

Mm.

{she had faith in her own abilities and she also had a very healthy respect for her friend's. If they did get into trouble she believed they could get back out again. It had her looking forward to seeing what was ahead.

What was ahead seemed interested in them as well because it wasn't long before the strange smell of rose began intruding on the deeper, older scents of the forest around them and soon the roses themselves had begun to appear, at first scattered and hidden but with growing regularity along their path until their vines were twined around ancient pines as thickly as grass.}

[ He hadn't meant to let her sleep for so long.

The fearsome blizzard has long since died, melted back to the earth, and the sun shines new with spring even in the depths of his hollow, but though she should have wasted away, without nourishment or waking, her sleep has been as healthy and static as he can manage. As easily as he can sicken, he can heal (though occasion for the latter is, admittedly, rare), and so long as he may still justify it all so precariously as repayment for those curious little favors collected in offering over the years, it's not enough trouble to avoid.

Her initial trespass has even become a bit of a blessing in disguise (a turn of phrase he doesn't know, but a conclusion that's obvious still), as the winter went on uneventful afterward. The wolves' attack on the villagers after her must have frightened the rest of them but good - and that really is well enough.

But now the wolves are gone, roaming freely of the wood, and it's high past time to unsettle their curious guest with the thaw. Crouched behind her on the hardpack dirt floor of the den, he reaches out with a hand to take her by the shoulder, eyes the same hard, green shine in the darkness as he gives her a shake. ]

Wake up.

[ It occurs to him only belatedly that he doesn't even know her name. ]

{she would have thanked him, or - learning - been silently grateful, for the fairy tale sleep if she had known. There have been no dreams, no sense of loss, nothing but hollow darkness to swallow and smother her and her mind has turned into it and embraced that sense of nothing with a desperate need. It's not running away if it's sleep and she can't brand herself a coward if all she's doing is what's natural for a body worn out. Her spirit was worn so much thinner.

Unlike any enchanted princess though, she has no reason to wake. No prince, no home waiting to spring back to life, no friends or family anxious for her. No future if she would let her mind go that far and she won't. If she doesn't wake, she doesn't have to face either her cold, unfriendly present, her lost past, or her utterly terrifying, hopeless future. She can be nothing and feel nothing and it's allowed because it's only sleep. Everyone sleeps. There's no shame in that.

So the magic her subconscious was so eager to embrace and drown in leaves but there's no part of her that follows it out. If anything she sinks deeper, utterly boneless, hiding away, willing to sleep for eternity because it's the only escape that she's allowed and if she never wakes, she loses nothing at all. He may as well shake a fallen drift of leaves. There's nothing in the waking world worth waking up for.}

Hm.

[ Well, that's a problem.

Her vital signs are the same as any animal's, and he can read them just as well for what they are - the shift means she's supposed to be opening her eyes, now, coming to. But she seems almost to be willfully refusing, an action so baffling and backwards that he can only imagine it must be another of those self-destructive human tendencies he'll never figure out. As if he'd ever want to.

Or- On second thought, maybe it's something more than that. He's admitted before that he doesn't know for certain the intricacies of human life, and putting it that way is still rather generous.

He lets go of her shoulder, pale, ocher-veined hand withdrawing - a second or two before an arm slides underneath her, callously intrusive, and then the other hooks behind her knees, and he lifts her bodily off the floor. Cold-blooded creatures and delicate-petaled flowers fair better in pure sunlight; if the rough (but not completely careless) treatment doesn't wake her, perhaps a few hours of warming over in the patches of brilliant, concentrated light that shine down through the solid canopy above the dark heart of the wood might do the trick. ]

{no. The handling causes instincts deep inside her to stir, warning tendrils that someone's touching her and no one should be touching her, that's a bad thing, always a bad thing and -

and even that doesn't seem as important as staying black and muffled. It fades in importance in fact when there's no pain or invasion following and, strange foreign almost-skin against her skin or not, it's still a surprisingly comforting position she finds herself settled into, the closest to an embrace of any kind she's had in a very long time. She'd claim she wasn't starved for even something that pathetic - but it doesn't stop the way her body tucks closer in conscienceless need, too deeply sunk in herself to lie.

She does feel the sun though, smattered and transient as he carries her and something inside knows that that's wrong somehow. There shouldn't be sunlight buried away forever under the frozen ground the way she is. The whispered hints of it across the small portions of her exposed skin lure her though, like a siren's song and, buried deep, a part of her rouses, curious but still not sure the darkness is worth giving up.}

[ It's a simple trick to shift them both to a smaller size, so that the close, roughly dug tunnel that leads out from their place beneath that great tree becomes cavernous, and the winding walk a span of more than just moments. But then the trail ends, open under the same great, gnarled tree root step, and there is another barely detectable change in the deep shadows that grow heavier, though far less oppressively so as in winter months, between shafts of blazing sunlight.

There's moss where he sets her down, not exactly gentle. (The alternative method he'd considered, for dragging her out as a wolf by the collar of her coat, would still surely have been far more objectionable, though.) He lets go of her, there, in the concentrated light, and then quiet, bare footsteps retreat, again.

He's more alive in the spring, just waking, but still essentially the same stiff-backed individual who'd unintentionally pulled her out of the fire, some months before. The only creatures to whom he's ever shown proper affection were those too young and weak to fend for themselves, and comfort is a luxury he can ill afford, all too often, so it's easier just not to attempt. Stealing away to a sunny patch of his own (the high ground of another of those massive, arching roots, large enough to be bridges over the ground mottled with their thinner siblings), he sets himself to face half away, indecisively. He can wait. ]

{Any roughness in his handling is just filed away in her mind as expected and it makes no more dent on her hiding in the darkness of her mind than the sound of his voice had before. Unless physical pain levels go over the hurt in her heart, she'll hide to avoid the more tearing of the two and her body lays exactly as he left it, loose jointed and all but forgotten by her at least.

Slow, her skins warms in the sun though, heat that's not furred and stolen soaking slow and heavy down over her, stealing away the chill at finger and nose tip, whispering down her throat and into her lungs, pooling in the folds of her winter clothes. It coats her hair, slowly sifting down through the dark strands, silently promising the beginning of a new day and a sunlit future.

The gentle warmth is hard to resist. It's a powerful counterbalance to the fear and the loneliness, the hopelessness, that's held her heart all winter long. She hasn't wanted to give up, she just hasn't had any reason not to and the growing warmth through her promises at least the possibility of things working out for the better in the long run. It's the shift in her breathing first and for a long time that's all. Under the heavy layers of clothing her body starts to grow a little uncomfortable but even that's a welcome change. Too hot is better than too cold. Slow, her eyes open, half hidden by fallen hair and lashes, shadowed by the way her face had been turned when she'd been set down. The color's muddy, lacking light, and for a long time they don't blink or focus. When they finally do, she sees... moss, like the tops of tiny elven trees, so close that the pattern of them is brilliant and beautiful. Slow, her fingers closest to her face move, brushing over that color. For a long time, that's enough for her. She remembers what happened - it's just easier to be pleased by how delicate and detailed moss is. The jacket finally gets too hot though and she sits up gingerly, expecting aching joints and protesting muscles. It should be the dead of winter, not sometime in the spring and her body should be withered from inactivity. The thought that it might be scares her - but there's no such thing. Only the feeling of renewed sensation in her as she carefully moves. The heavy jacket and scarf come off though she's careful to keep them close, ready to snatch them up and run at a moment's notice. She's afraid to search her surrounds too closely yet, sure she's abandoned and will find herself more than a little lost. It's easier to focus on the immediate and that's peeling her gloves off. She half expects everything, herself included, to fall to dust, remembering clearly stories about the fact that time passes different in the fey world than it does in the mortal one but everything stays solid and only looks as worn and weathered as it did when she put it on. If she went back to her home would it be rebuilt with people generations ahead of her living there now?

Except there's no going home and the reminder has the weak little sound coming out of her in her shaky exhale. She utterly alone and on her own now.}

[ At that first sign of stirring, he feels a tad vindicated. Just as with every flash of minor triumph in his inexpert care, it lifts the apparently constant pall on his sulky demeanor, and he watches her waking from his high perch with something more like curiosity than the casual indifference of winter.

Many things are different on him, now, though. The color has risen under his pale skin, traced with a pattern of delicate, yellow-green veins; his hair is overgrown, trails of flush, blooming yellow moss and lush feathers that put his dormant form to shame. Even his eyes are a little brighter, sky blue when they aren't flat and hard and green, and the sunlight catches the fluttering of insects gathering in a constant aura around him, shimmering brighter in the isolated dust motes.

If he knew what she was thinking, just then, he might have sympathized (perhaps, though evidence of it might be more difficult to pick out). Having nowhere and nothing to return to, being torn so suddenly out of life as a child, as only you've ever known it-

Well, perhaps that would've been a little bitterly sweet, too. At least it isn't only other kinds the humans treat in such hateful fashion.

Fortunately, however, no such thing crosses his mind - he can no more read her thoughts than her expression, in the moment, as she seems very gradually to return to their waking world. His patience is easy enough, having waited over her for whole months, already, and a few moments more make no difference. The sun is relaxing, and his temper is mild, and she's far from alone, with all the creatures in the trees and the grass and even the patch of moss where she sits, silent - but mostly under his diligent watch, as he doesn't realize until much too late that his gaze hasn't wavered since she started to move, again.

Unfolding his arms from where they've been tucked close over his chest, he shifts not so subtly up on his arching overlook. ]

Awake?

{already mentally bracing herself up about being alone the voice startles her even more than it would have normally and she starts hard enough to drop her gloves. Wide eyes, not that far off from bolting, come up and - oh -

Oh.

For her it's only been a day since she saw him last and the change is dramatic in that comparison. For a long moment, she can only stare because...

he's beautiful.

For that long moment, it takes the place of everything else because of course she's heard stories about the creatures that sidestep through the human world but of course nothing prepares you for actually seeing one and here and now, he's so alive compared to her first vision of him that it's literally a bit stunning. Memory of the personality that goes with that form however returns quickly enough and her shoulders are already hunching defensively inward, chin tucking. She still owes him - something or other too and if she was smart she wouldn't forget that either. If she's fair though, which she tries to be, she knows that he not only saved her life however long ago it was but that he's keep her safe through however many winters may have come and gone since then. If she's painfully fair...

it's actually nice to see him because even if he's abrasive at least she's not all alone for a little while longer. It has her shoulders relaxing a little, though not completely by any means, still waiting for the indication that she's useless and an unwelcome nuisance. Manners are ingrained though and they have her pushing her hair away from her face to try and be presentable and:}

Yes. Tha- {it's a fight to not say it. Again. Even knowing he hates the sound of it. In the end, she manages to par it down to:} It's very nice. I - slept longer than I thought I would.

[ Whether or not he picks up on that fragment of misplaced gratitude, he doesn't let on, lifting an arm to wave a hand at the air dismissively and disturbing the flight pattern of a confused moth, in the process. She's been asleep; even he isn't unfair enough in his judgement to think she should have learned any better, unconscious.

He isn't even certain he heard her dreaming, in all of that time, but she's been less of a hassle, because of it.

In the same offhanded way he seems to deliver all of his blunt assessments, he adds, ] You were sick, for a while.

[ Though with cold or poison, he doesn't hope to clarify. In truth, he isn't certain whether it was her own fatigued body that failed her, or his naturally poisonous attributes. Toxicity is assured of his long-time familiars, and most species of his forest, yet, but she is still something new and different from the rest. It's an impossibly careful dance, mixing disinterest over his fleeting attempts at genuine concern, to keep any underlying kindness masked.

It's a matter of survival, now, though - whatever he decides to do with her. And for him much more so than she might think. Letting her go has become an increasingly difficult prospect to imagine going smoothly, since she first fell asleep under his watch. He knows no remedy to erase memories (or at least none that mightn't also destroy her mind), and if she's remembered in the outside world, the other humans might inevitably become curious as to just how she lived so safely for so long in the indefinably dangerous woods.

It's a matter of reputation, and he doesn't intend to let that go lightly.

Standing up and stepping unhurriedly down from his overseer's position, he crosses into the shadows of the trees, once more, the glow around him fading and rendering him solid and much less ethereal in presence. ]

Are you hungry?

{she isn't sure how she should take his statement about being sick. She knows that she wasn't before she ran but for all she knows 'sick' could mean frostbite or the like to him considering he seems fairly unused to humans. She's just not sure if he's blaming her for it or not.

If it were anyone else that thought wouldn't even occur to her but he had been confusing the last time they'd talked, leaving her with the impression it was her fault he'd burdened himself with her in the first place and maybe being sick runs along those lines too? He doesn't pursue it though and so she simply nods, trying to quietly go over herself inside to see if she still feels sick. All she feels though is sun-warmed and rested, if a little sick to her stomach but she knows herself well enough to know that's only nerves and no one's fault but her own.

The fact is, she's not sure what she's supposed to do now. She either owes him - something, which he can collect or have her work off in debt, or else she's free to go - somewhere. If she's free to go somewhere, she has no idea where that will be. All directions but one seem equal. She's never traveled outside her village before and the names of places beyond it and the other edges of the wild woods are just as much fairy tale to her in some ways as he is. Real but not permanent or predictable. Surely somewhere needs a healer or at least a pair of willing hands and the ability to work. Anywhere she goes will view her as a stranger and suspicious though and if it's not far enough away, news of who she is will eventually find its way from her former life into any she builds within gossip's distance of it.

It's still worrying away inside her mind, chasing its tail, when he steps down and she tenses again, not at all sure if she should bolt or not. Deer on the edge of the treeline probably look a great deal the way she does, hands tightening on the fabric of her discarded jacket. It still comes down to where would she run? These are his woods. If he's decided to be fickle and have some fun with hurting her now that he's active and not as gray as he was when she last saw him, where in woods that he rules would she find safety from it?

It doesn't mean she won't still run. She was obviously unwelcome the last time they talked and her soul's a little too raw still in that area to want to take much more of it.

It helps when he steps into the shadows simply because he seems... approachable, except that's not the right word. She certainly isn't entertaining thoughts of approaching him. The question surprises a mild frown out of her though, brows coming down a little over her eyes. Is he being... thoughtful? It's only common courtesy but even that small kindness is powerful after being driven away by people who were supposed to - supposed to nothing she supposes but it just makes his gesture feel that much more important to her. The frown fades leaving her simply looking a little confused and not sure if she can trust his attention.}

Yes? Please.

[ She isn't as insistent as before, somehow, and he wonders if maybe she's still ill in some other way, beneath that placid surface. Poorly as he's learned to convey his own emotions (or not so, as is obviously and far more often the case), he sees more than he'd like to, or would likely ever admit, in others. Even others of generally abhorrent, alien species.

He doesn't pretend to know how to proceed after that errant supposition, however, and so the stalemate keeps. It's more comfortable, on his end, at least. He's spent a couple hundred years without moving forward or back for any damned thing; one unfortunate, lost woman is unlikely to change that. ...But even as the certainty strikes him, that he likes things just the way they are - so does the sinking suspicion that there has already been some fundamental, monumental shift in the way of his world, and it's not one so easily come back from.

Another meek response sends him shaking out of his deeper silence before he can quite put his finger on just what that irredeemable damage might have been, though, and he shrugs a shoulder in another of his ambiguous invitations. ]

Come on.

[ Diet is one of the very few matters on which he does possess a certain, if small, window of experience upon, where the villagers who live on the fringes of his territory are concerned. They're often enough in the woods after one thing or another, after all. She'll have to settle for little variety, this early into the warming season, but he doesn't suppose that she's really in any position to be picky.

(To his credit, he at least has enough sense not to offer up fresh meat, right away, to remedy that situation. It probably wouldn't go over well.)

With carefully cultivated indifference, he turns and starts out of the dark hollow, toward the lively, green (and perhaps more familiar) forest beyond, where the songs of birds begin to filter through the trees along with the fuller sunlight of some clear sky, early afternoon.

And he only glances back over his shoulder a time or two, to see if she's following. ]

{there's a part of her, small and stubborn and self-protective, that momentarily thinks about staying put. In the end, it's manners that drive her to her feet, because he's still her host and she's still his guest even if his house is larger than any she's ever known. It's also common sense that drives her after him, albeit with hesitance. He knows this world and she doesn't. She knows she won't get far without him despite knowing the edges of these woods well enough. This deep though she's reliant on him and that frightens her, not because she's frightened of him as he is but rather because she doesn't think he cares for her and one careless, thoughtless moment on his part will be her problem to deal with after. She's used to having no one but herself care about her, but she's usually in a better situation where it doesn't matter quite so importantly. It hurts... not being cared about but it's hurt for a long time, oh so much longer than her current guide and guardian, and hurting doesn't mean you get to give up or quit. It's that last that has her scooting up to follow close enough behind him to reach out and touch though if she stretched. She doesn't like being alone. She's learned to take what she can get and right now he's all she has. Even she knows how pathetic that makes her but she's a beggar by this point and not allowed to be choosy.

The jacket's a bit of a bother to have to carry, with her scarf and gloves tucked in its pockets and the heavy overskirt is annoying in the way a small child finds heavy clothes on a beautiful spring day annoying but she's not about to complain or leave anything behind. Literally all she has left to call her own is in her arms and, put that way, it's a miserably small collection.

She wouldn't mind a wash though. Her clothes, and she's sure her hair, smell distinctly of dog, or wolf in this case. She's not ungrateful enough to mention it though. She knows they saved her life when they didn't have to and the burst of warmth she feels for them because of that when it felt like the rest of the world had turned away from her is still strong. She's not in any hurry to see them again though considering that feeling may not be mutual anymore and she's not silly enough to imagine it would be.

Walking behind her guide, she steals glances at him between watching the waking world around them. Both seem, to her, to be almost entirely different creatures from what she remembers from that sharply cold and stark winter she came here. There will be fresh herbs and mushroom poking out in the quiet places now... there's an ember of anger that the carefully collected ones that had taken her years to build a store of are probably so much ash and forgotten smoke now but it fades. That's a different life from the one she has now and mourning it won't bring it back. She's not even sure what she is anymore if she's not the village's healer and dead Maddy's herbal apprentice. If she doesn't have a place, she doesn't have much of a sense of who she is. She doesn't draw her sense of self from herself, relying on her role in other people's lives for that. Not belonging anywhere - it leaves her feeling out of place and time, ghostly. So, hugging her jacket to her chest for unconscious comfort, it's easier to concentrate on see if she can spot those vines on his back through the fabric holes of his shirt - and someone really ought to make him a new one because like a man he'll probably wear that one until it's just threads, and in taking in the world around her both hoping for a familiar part of forest she would recognize and trying to find herself in this one in case he disappears and she ends up lost and on her own sooner than she's anticipated. Though to be fair, he's stayed with her much longer than she would have expected and he hasn't, not once so far, given one of those mental sighs of his that she can hear without even needing ears. When compared - he's actually being rather pleasant and she's not sure what to make of that.

It doesn't take her all that long though to ask:}

Where are we going?

[ Well, that's a rather crude assumption - but she's more or less right on the mark, no matter. He's dressed in the same shabby, threadbare peasant's clothing as the last (and first) time they spoke, if the set's a few months more bedraggled, by now. Maintaining any semblance of either fashion sense or human hygiene are not exactly among his higher concerns, though, and wearing one outfit until it literally unravels around him is simply the least bothersome method of remaining clothed.

(On that note, of course, she might be interested to know that he does only dress at all for custom's sake, not exactly learned of modesty, either - and so mayhap she should simply be grateful he isn't apt to go out of his way to add indecent exposure to his list of crimes.)

Without the green wood axe hanging among them, the vines spilled from his back have mostly retreated, for the moment, easy to catch a glimpse of through ragged holes as fabric sways with his walking, but not exactly on display. A few that have sprouted curious, green buds do stick in the coarse cloth, though they are all at present closed up tight, night-blooming flowers.

At her question, he casts an impatient glance back over a shoulder, a sharp gesture that might as well be meant to dispel any mistaken delicacy of his person. So much for that amiable shift in personality. ]

To eat.

[ Wasn't she listening, before?

He doesn't say so aloud, but he's rather of a mind she's a bit slow, on waking. That's probably his fault, though - after leaving her sleep for so long, not knowing exactly what the comatose state might do to a human mind. It's a definite concern, but he doesn't wear it well. ]

Sunlight's not enough for you, right?

{the look she gives him before she can stop herself isn't friendly. Long winter's nap or no, she's scared, she's alone, she's unsure about her future and yes, she's starting to actually realize she's hungry. As nerves go, hers are thin and given their first interaction, her immediate reactive instincts with him aren't to assume he means well. Then she sighs though and her arms shift to hold her jacket tighter against her chest. She's being unfair and she feels guilty for it.}

Yes. I suppose that's as good an answer as any.

{somewhere specific would have been reassuring, especially if she'd recognized it. The place where the foxglove grows or near the odd circle of oaks or back to my tree or even someplace you've never heard of but this is my incomprehensible name for it that sounds like I'm hacking up a lung. Those are touchmarks for her though, simply a solid something so that she can pretend she's a little less lost and separate in the world, and for all she knows the entire forest is just one big single piece to him, and asking where they were going in it was like asking where on a chair someone was supposed to sit.

It was kinder reasoning than assuming he thinks she's an idiot - which he might simply be doing but it's easier to keep trying to be polite and open if she doesn't think that way.}

Hm?

{So busy mentally defending him from herself, it takes her a long moment for his question to sink in and the look she lifts to him is dubious. He doesn't look as if he's mocking her though - and saints knew, she suspects he won't bother hide it if he is any more than he hides it when he's tired of her. She's just assumed that leshy are familiar with humans. At least they are in the stories but maybe the stories are only about leshy that humans have had contact with so of course those would be familiar. The ones that aren't wouldn't be around humans enough to make it into stories. So, she supposes it's safe to say this one at least probably hasn't recently kidnapped any women or tickled any wood cutters to death.

Though, to be fair, she supposed you didn't really need to know what someone ate if you were only interested in tickling them to death.

And who tickles someone to death anyway?}

Oh. No. I'm sorry. Sunlight's really not enough. I'm closer to animal than plant.

[ For the most part, her secondary assumption is the more correct. He doesn't have much need to designate between any one space of the expansive forest he presides over, when it is all but a physical extension of him. He is by the edges of rivers and lakes and over the strange, familiar formations of boulders and beneath the hollows of canopy where her favored herbs grow as much as he is strolling through the widening paths between trees, before her, now. He has sewn himself to this place, by the very fabric of his elusive being, and it is impossible to remember a time before that oneness became merely a backdrop to his greater sense of self.

The sounds of the narrow brook running down out of hilly ground to travel alongside them and leaves rustling as the birds congregate overhead must serve as landmark enough, unfortunately.

Her answer and her glare slide off his back easily; an animal that is cornered, starved, and alone will bite any hand that strays close enough, whether it means well or ill. He's had the scars to remember that lesson by since he was no taller than the saplings he weaves incautiously between may be by the end of spring. It's still a trouble to tell the important things she says from those that mean less, but he thinks he's catching on. Beginning to, at any rate.

Familiarity with humans is a far cry from even the beginning of understanding them as a species, however. His dealings with them are all few and far between, and even those are only the kind of correspondence held in left offerings and his vague partiality toward their livestock, in exchange for the generosity. And the token show of respect it represents.

Slowing to a stop at the edge of the first real clearing since the dark confines of the otherworldly hollow that housed the wolves' den, he looks back to her, again, scratching the back of his head with an uncertain hand and sending up a tiny, fluttering cloud of grass bugs. She seems to be waiting for something. ]

Don't hold back on my account.

[ It's not quite permission to go, but it's certainly leave to forage.

He's seen a fair few humans wandering or lost who've not known the difference between poison and sustenance, but he doesn't believe her to be one of those. Even though he's led her in the opposite direction of that past winter night entirely, the plant life here doesn't differ so greatly from that on her village's edge. She shouldn't have any trouble finding her own meal. ]

{the walk helps. It's fresh air and sunshine and green growing things and it lets the feeling of spring soak deeper into her lungs and through her skin. It's not easy but the cold choke hold of winter and the terror and loss of it ease a little in that renewed life. It's hard to resist the hope and promise of spring and it has always been Tifa's favorite season, a time of change and new promises. The fact that she doesn't get any more comments from the form in front of her or the annoyed looks help too and she can follow him and pretend at least that things can only get better from here on out.

The long winter though, magicked asleep or not, had taken its toll on her all the same though and she founds herself tiring faster than she usually would, starting to feel a little shaky with the growing gnaw in her stomach. She's too stubborn to say anything, not about to give him yet another excuse to give one of those silent sighs and look at her as if he's wondering why God bothered put her into existence but she's grateful when he finally comes to a stop even if she has no idea why he has. The clearing and the chance at unfettered sky is welcome but she has no idea why here is any different from anywhere else when she peeks past his form to look.

His gesture is strangely familiar, even if the quick halo of small bugs isn't, and for half a second, she almost thinks he's unsure and just as trapped and confused by all of this in his own way as she is. It's a nice thought at least even if it's probably entirely off. His words have her eyes lifting back up to watch his though, not quite sure what he means. Considering he's only said less than a handful of sentences to her since she woke up though it doesn't take long to put it together.

It's... a bit like rifling through his cupboards though, isn't it...?

Though, if she's going on that assumption, she's done it before. Dubious, she looks past him again, holding her jacket a little tighter against herself. It could be a trick. She only knows the very edges of etiquette when it comes to dealing with fey and what will preserve your soul and what won't. Except of course she's already stepped far past that safety when she promised him anything last winter... With a fortifying inhale, she steps past him and when she steps into the clearing nothing jumps out of the trees at her and the earth doesn't open up under her feet to swallow her whole. She realizes she really isn't worth any of that considering how far trapped she already is but her natural instincts are still there. Still, the area presents itself as nothing more than a clearing like any other in the woods and when her eyes take in the first familiar type of herb, something in her pale, tight face relaxes for the first time. Her first steps are cautious but the further she goes the more settled she feels. This is familiar. This is something she can do, that she's actually good at and comfortable with. So it's not long before the jacket and heavy overskirt are neatly folded to the side and she's rolling up her sleeves and twisting her hair into a loose knot to keep it out of the way.

The stream gets her first exploration, grateful to wash her hands and her face. She's starving but some things are even more important to someone like her and being the littlest bit cleaner does wonders for her mentality. The water helps a little with the hunger once she's had a careful drink and there's mint to chew against it as well near the bank, careful not to pick the flowering bits that will grow more later. A forest clearing in spring isn't exactly a table sized meal but she knows what she's doing and it's as fulfilling to her soul to be at it again as it is to her stomach as she slowly works her way along, carefully taking a little bit from each spot so that she doesn't damage the plant or its chance to flower and seed later.

do not pick my rosemary, do not pick my rue
For I need it for myself and I have none for you

She's aware of him still, there on the edge of her vision, but he seems more like one of the trees than a threat. She still doesn't stray far. Not yet. She made a promise and even if the smart thing to do would be to run, she's too practical to think she'd get far and more importantly a promise has to mean something or what's the point anyway? She thinks she saw his roots burrowing into dirt last winter but she also thinks she was pretty delirious at the time and even if they did, he still has a mouth - and teeth it's finally occurred to her to worry about the sharpness of. So he must eat that way too? Carefully picking through a patch of sorrel near the river bank, she turns her head to look over her shoulder at him for a long, dubious moment. She's not sure of the reception but it doesn't feel right not to ask.}

There's enough for two. If - you wanted some.

[ While she minds her business, he does his own. She's come and gone in the past often enough that he trusts in her prudence with his pantry. She was never the type to unearth entire plants or turn the soil over needlessly in her wake, before, and there's no reason for him to think that's changed, yet.

Though he must suppose something significant has, if she isn't yet practically twitching with the chance to bolt from him. (Though he doesn't know yet, for certain, whether he'd even bother to put a halt to an escape, anyway, so perhaps that's really for the best.) He never did put much thought toward what it must've been that those men had been hunting her for. Not food, he supposes, as he stalks to the center of the miniature meadow they've stopped in. Cannibalism is mostly only judicious when it's of the young, and even that he only acknowledges as a fact of harsh, natural life.

A few passing birds scatter around his feet by the edge of the widening in the brook, bathing and drinking in the shallow pool, and one settles into the messy crown of yellow feathers and moss atop his head. The idea that she'd been weak and the hunters had meant to cull her from their herd does cross his mind, but he dismisses it immediately. There's something hard in her that remains unbroken, still, and he thinks if this is their concept of weakness that it was only right to set the wolves upon them.

With his toes in the water and the nondescript brown bird taking turns preening itself and the crest it's perched itself upon, he may as well be a fixture, tree or statue, until she finally speaks up, again, and calls back his attention.

The tiny flock of birds take off (including his passenger) as he turns his head, apparently taken off-guard by the offering. Memories of the loaves of bread he'd shared with skittish prey come back curious, and after another lengthy pause, he nods slightly. ]

...All right.

[ It's not some rare delicacy, just roughage from his own wood, but he doesn't abhor modest tribute nearly as much so as he seemed to her less meager promises. Stepping clear of the water, at his end of the stream, he crosses over to her spot on the bank unhurriedly. And holds out a hand as he arrives.

Table manners aren't a specialty of his, either. ]

{if he were to ask, she could tell him why they'd been chasing her for two reasons, one of which she could acknowledge and the second which left her raw instead and she'd rather ignore. Whatever the reason though, she'd certainly been driven from her 'herd' with no hope of return and she knew both that it left her vulnerable without the protection of a group and that it left her alone, which seemed almost worse. She wasn't entirely alone though, not yet at least, and her offer had been as much because of that as manners.

It still surprises her when he accepts.

It's a good surprise though and the small smile, tired and not sure of its place yet, touches her lips as she shifts a little on the bank of the stream so that she can face him where she's resting on her heels as he approaches. It's only leaves and shoots she has to offer him, things that are his already, but it's still been a while since she's shared a meal with anyone and she's missed that too.

The outstretched hand has the smile changing and growing a little bit. Again, for a moment, he reminds her of a little boy. It's not a bad thing. It's another of those moments when, if he's not human, he's still relatable and it's what has her patting the bank near her.}

You can sit down. We might as well make a meal of it if there's no rush.

[ He couldn't claim to have somewhere else to be even if he knew it as an option, so he pulls his hand back and takes her lead, instead. Reluctantly, and careful to position himself safely out of arm's reach (or close enough that reaching him might require a significant lean), he sits down on the shore of the chattering stream, knees pulled up halfway to his chest.

It probably isn't helping to deter her from imagining him as a child.

A sullen one, who digs his pale, yellow-veined bare feet into the watery silt that dips down under the brook's edge, again, before appearing to settle entirely. The fluttering brown birds that visited upon him, before, also return to ground as he does, bouncing cautiously upstream on his far side, in deference to the stranger's presence. His wariness might as well be a current between them. ]

Thank you.

[ A pause, and then he starts again to clarify, lest she mistake his intent as he looks away solemnly over the clear, sparkling flow of water: ] For not uprooting them.

{she has to wonder, briefly, if he draws nourishment from the water and muck as well, but it's passing, not the focus of her concentration. He does look young the way he sits and for the first time she wonders how old he is. Older than her and perhaps older even her grandmother's grandmother maybe but she doesn't know if that's old for his kind or not. For all she knows, he could still be young by his own standards and in a way, if she thinks of him that way, it's easier to deal with the obvious barriers between them when it comes to interaction. She's busy setting out what she managed to forage when he speaks and the voluntary move on his part surprises her enough that she doesn't answer right away from automatic habit - which turns out just as well because his clarification makes it obvious she was busy misunderstanding what the thank you was for.}

Mm. {she makes the noise because it buys her time but also because - it was nice to hear, especially from him. He's not all harsh looks and sharp angles apparently and she feels almost guilty for thinking so badly of him during the winter. Almost. Her entire spread is laid out between them in offering before she finally answers.} The woman that took me in taught me that. She taught me what I know about plants, this forest, you. She was very strict about being respectful.

She started coming less when you showed up.

[ It isn't accusatory - merely a statement of fact, maybe even a clumsy attempt to admit he understands. Up until the disastrous string of events (most of which he still supposes he isn't really privy to, except at the end) this past winter, the only capacity in which he had known the unutterably strange woman sitting on the bank with him, now, was as her elder's disciple. They'd visited together, often enough; he couldn't help eavesdropping (even if he'd tried).

Reaching toward the makeshift meal she's lain out, he selects a very modestly sized mushroom after a moment of consideration and stuffs it unceremoniously into his mouth. His teeth are sharp and white - but no more so than an ordinary human's, and he chews in a thoughtful but artless fashion. ]

It was the same when she was young.

{somehow that little indication that he had paid attention to a woman that had been precious to her, that he remembers her still, goes a long way toward making Tifa like the strange man in front of her. Maddy had been her home for a long time and even though the village had remembered the old woman after she had passed as well, she can't help but feel as if the creature in front of her might, possibly, remember the healer closer to the way she does. As someone that had been familiar instead of someone that had provided a service.

Or maybe she's just reading too much into his words because she wants to find that with him.

She helps herself to some dandelions before answering, taking her time because there doesn't seem to be a need to rush talking with him. It's a relief too that she doesn't see fangs when he opens his mouth the way she's been half expecting to. There aren't any stories about leshi eating humans that she knows but that doesn't mean it hasn't been a thought that's crossed her mind all the same. Seeing him eating a mushroom instead isn't just reassuring, it's almost touching. She's always wondered what happened to the gifts of food she left behind after herb hunting in his woods. It makes her want to ask him what his favorites were -

as if she'd ever have the chance to make them for him again... It still feels nice to think that someone might have enjoyed her gifts.

Thoughtful herself as she chews, she watches the sunlight on the water for a minute before reaching down to take off her own boots and socks, slipping her feet in the water in mimic of his after a moment longer, though her toes stay out of the silt, pale and small in the chill water. It feels good though and she turns her head to peer at him though a fall of loose dark hair.}

Did she ever see you? I mean, and know it was you?

[ The birds that have come close enough, in their little hopping jaunt along the riverbank, finally begin to settle on him once more just as he shrugs a shoulder and disrupts all but the one who flaps its way up into the tangled nest of undergrowth that serves as his hair.

He does pay attention - or did, as it were - to those smart enough to know the proper way to curry favor of his kind. From minding their lost livestock (his last three sets of clothes had come from a struggling young farmer on the far outskirts of her village's territory), to replenishing and maintaining the places where the rarest herbs grow (and the food he distributed to the creatures that would have it, as often as he made the appropriately mannerly gesture of actually consuming it, himself) - he keeps to his private nature, but isn't neglectful of even the lowest request.

A brief, terse silence comes with his recollection, before, cautiously, he admits, ]

I don't know.

[ The lifespans of humans aren't the shortest, but it's still easy enough to miss them in the interim. (A hint, perhaps, at his almost grudging fascination with the one within his presence, now.) The woman she knew had either been too young or too senile to think for certain that she might've recognized him, in the spare few times he had run across her so directly. ]

Don't make it a point to introduce myself.

No. I suppose not.

{but she smiles when she says it, not surprised. Maddy had never mentioned seeing him directly, only murmurs of caution and warding when the subject of the creatures of the Wood came up in her lessons. Tifa supposed, in fact, that she should be flattered, not only for having seen him completely but for his continued presence. She's still not sure what to make of it, or him, though and she's fairly sure flattered probably isn't the proper response to any attention from Wood spirits and fey. It seems much safer to mix caution with a little more caution and find a way to get loose of both Wood and its inhabitants as soon as possible.

- but for the fact she still has nowhere to go and nothing to make her way there with even if she did know a place. There's also the fact that she thinks, maybe, she might actually come to like him, with his bird hair and his awkward moments of movement. Winter's not entirely gone from her yet and there's a part of her waiting still for him to draw back and away, as locked down as the frozen earth. He's not human, not even close, probably so much further from it than she even realizes, and she shouldn't think of him as such. It's still impossible for her not to realize and appreciate the fact he's taken small, tentative steps toward her since she woke in sunshine and it matters to her. It matters to her more than she can say or even explain. Heart still raw, even that quiet hidden kindness feels gentle, maybe all the more so for being so quiet and hidden.

She hopes he's really doing it and that it's not entirely her wistful thinking. She doesn't imagine for a moment that she'll be staying any length of time with him, possibly not even beyond this meal, but it would still be nice to find someone at least close to a friend and she thinks he would make a good one. It's not as simple between them as simply having gotten off on the wrong foot, she knows it, but there's no reason not to make that better. It's what has her pushing the berries she'd managed to find closer to him before lifting her eyes to look at him and his bird hat - which also has the edges of her lips quirking upward.}

I think we're past the point when giving you my name could be any harm. So - {she offers her hand} I'm Tifa. {to her there's a gap on the end of that name and her shoulder shifts} Of nowhere anymore, I guess. I'm just Tifa now.

What would I do with a name?

[ He bristles again, at that, and his drab brown cowbird passengers scatter, but the prickly reaction seems more born out of his natural skepticism than any token offense. More human superstition, perhaps, as if he were more like the the huldrefolk or finwives and held the remotest interest in regards to human dealings - the kind that didn't overlap into his territory, that is.

In spite of his less than polite dismissal, though, he isn't utterly ungracious in the face of such an obvious offering of good will. Mimicking her gesture, at length, he holds out his own hand in similarly static fashion, after a brief study seems to satisfy his suspicion that this is some manner of formal greeting.

His own name holds no similar pall over his quiet existence, though there are plenty of voices in which he could wish never to hear it again, so he offers it without a whit of the same cautious mind. ]

Cloud.

[ If he harbors any empathetic notions for that glimpse of her deeper present plight, they remain hidden - but not entirely. There's a noticeable shift as he drops his hand (weird greeting), reaches for an under ripe berry, that might be uncertainty or discomfort.

But like all of the little concessions he's made, he does his best to cover it up, in the same moment. Chewing not thoughtfully, but almost sulkily, as he speaks. ]

They're probably convinced you're dead, by now.

[ Even if she doesn't look weak, isn't, by all appearances, to have survived the winter over- Which brought up all sorts of other questions. ] Why'd they chase you off, anyway?

{there's the momentary indignant flare inside her at his defensive response. How is she supposed to know what's safe and what's not when it comes to something she's obviously never had direct dealings with before? It fades almost as soon as it comes though because, how is she supposed to know? For all she knows she could have just insulted him terribly without meaning to. She's always thought she was fairly good at conversation and making others feel comfortable but she can't seem to say more than a few sentences to him without ruffling his feathers - quite literally in this case as his birds take flight. She's not sure whose fault that is and she's still trying to decide if she should be annoyed or not when he offers his hand.

She's not the only one that obviously isn't aware of the others social mores. The awkward gesture has the smallest of smiles touching the corners of her lips and her exhale is at herself as she looks back up at him.

Maybe they're both figuring this out together. That's not so bad.}

Cloud. {she repeats his name, watching his face as she commits both to memory. It's not that she's likely to forget so much as an ingrained habit to make sure she remembers. It's also the first time she's let herself truly concentrate on what she sees when she looks at his face. It's an easy face to get lost watching, so close and yet so eternally far from human and, watching, she thinks she catches the hint of more subtle emotions than just annoyance and irritation. His next sentence though has her chin ducking, eyes falling, and she pulls her feet out of the water, wrapping her arms around her legs to pull them close to her chest. It hadn't been the whole village that had come after her. She knew there were people that would miss her, worry about her. They just... hadn't bothered try to stop what had happened...

At least his words indicated they're still alive so perhaps she's only slept a single winter. His question has her chin ducking more as she tucks into herself, though, for whatever reason, it doesn't occur to her to avoid his question.}

I'm different. If I have the power to heal, than I must have the power to hurt too. If something bad happens and no one can explain it, people still want a reason. {not everyone, of course. Not most in fact. Just enough to plant the seeds that would wait for something terrible to happen to spring to life. The thing that had set the group that had come for her off though - that's harder and her fingers move restless over the fabric of her skirt caught between them.} And I hurt a man. An important man's son. {she'd had to enforce her 'no' with a water bucket to the side of the head and, briefly, it occurs to her to wonder if he survived that. Briefly. Frowning, she looks at the water meandering past in front of her and rests her cheek on her knees.}

And now I don't know where to go or how to start over.

[ Her explanation makes more sense than he expects, and for one very long moment, he doesn't say anything, instead looking out over the water with those hard, green-shine eyes in silence. There are a great wealth of things that do not translate, but wrongful accusations he's heard and suffered on his own terms a long time. The fire was started because of that same brand of empty blame. Even the reason he was driven to his relative solitude, now, lies in similar tracks.

But he isn't overly sentimental in such matters (or does his best to pretend he isn't, one way or another), and eventually breaks his own quiet contemplation. ]

Go wherever you want.

[ He doesn't turn to look at her as speaks, the strange quality of his reply that of an ordinary man caught not entirely in the moment. It's advice as good as he's capable of giving, though, and well enough meant.

Leave, take off, do as you like - she still considers him dangerous, to some degree, and just the thought lightens the weight of her presence by increments. She won't go telling her people of him like he's done some good deed, if that bewildered seed stays planted. He won't have to worry about hunters invading after him, instead, come next winter; they'll stay afraid of the dangerously fragile creatures of the darker wood, keep to their own for fear of monsters only their own minds have made invulnerable.

He'd rather be something like that (even when he wouldn't).

Shrugging a shoulder beneath his colorless, unraveling tunic, he pauses to lean back on his hands, digging his fingers into the muddy bank without taking notice. ]

Once you've pulled up roots, what other choice do you have?

{no. She wouldn't tell anyone about him and the strange things she's seen in the deep woods and that has less to do with fear and more because there are some things that simply aren't shared. She understands human nature enough to know that no matter what she said about what she's seen and who she's met this winter, someone would feel compelled to go see for themselves and the first rule she ever learned about the forest was that you left as little mark of your passage behind in it as possible. Leading strangers to poke about in it, with a great deal less care than she tried to have, she suspected, was certainly not leaving no trace of herself behind.

She also suspected that if he found her a tiresome companion, he'd find everyone else the same way and she had no desire to send him annoyances. He didn't seem the kind that wanted company as lonely as that seemed to her. When she left, he'd have even less of it because she had been the only one in a long time to venture into his trees and leave her thank gifts in exchange for anything to start with. Whatever life she made for herself, if she wanted to stay secret, it wouldn't be in herbs and it wouldn't be within the shadow of his woods.

For a moment, that hurts. In some strange way, this forest has been her home as much as her cottage and as comfortingly familiar until this winter. When she leaves it behind, she'll be leaving a large part of herself as well, sacrificed to clear the way for a new life and a new identity.}

Easier sounding than done. {she tipped her chin on her knees and looked out over the water as well, telling herself to ignore the new bolt of homesickness that realizing she was leaving wood as well as home made her feel. An exhale. What's done is done and there's no use crying now.} But you're right. If you'll tell me where I'll find the road. I'll find a new life. I'll make one.

{awake, she couldn't hide from the responsibility anymore. If she was alive, then she had to move forward. He was right. What other choice was there. Brows down, she frowned, forcing herself to think about it. Talking out loud helped her organize her thoughts even if he hadn't asked and probably wouldn't care.}

I'll go east. There are towns that way. Maybe go as far as the city. I'm not afraid of hard work. I can cook and brew. Maybe I can find a tavern in the city. No one asks questions in a tavern.

{it seemed as sensible as any other solution and it was about as far from her previous life as she could imagine. Leave the past in the past. Leave it buried under the ashes of her old life. Forget about it and become someone new. There was just - }

But I made you a promise. {her old life wasn't over until she could close the ledger. Turning her head, she watched him.} I can't go until I find out how I'm supposed to keep it.

I can't help you.

[ This he says quite matter-of-factly, even if he ducks his head again as he does. The truth is rarely, if ever, taken well by her kind, but there is little else for the matter. The truth is - his territory ends well before the eastern edge of the forest, and no manmade roads cut so close to the heart. He'd have better luck trying to lead her over the mountains, up past the treeline where they'd both be left in a weakened state, equally unfit to fend off whatever dwelt beyond the woods' reach.

Besides - he hasn't got any reason left to rationalize going and sticking his neck out for her. If nothing else, her words certainly cement that much in his mind, and when he stands up abruptly to abandon late afternoon lunch with an interloper, his demeanor is as cool as the clear spring water. ]

And I don't want anything from you, either. I already told you that.

[ If she took his irritation as at nothing more than the grating nature of needing to repeat himself so often, so much the better. The reality of it was more rooted in a feeling he wouldn't so much as acknowledge, himself, buried closer to his total confusion with her apparent desperation to be indebted to him. Ordinarily, it was favors, favors, favors, and he was lucky when the proper payment was left, in turn.

(And if not, that the recompense he took came willingly enough. Fouling livestock wasn't a favorite pastime of his, but more often than not it was entirely too troublesome to simply relocate the stubborn, domesticated beasts.)

Without looking back but for one arch sliver of a glance over his shoulder, he folds his arms over his chest and adds, ]

You couldn't afford it, anyway.

{his blunt answer when it comes to a road has her blinking at him for a moment but she's not truly surprised. The woods are deeper than the ocean it feels sometimes and even flirting around the edges of it the way she had, she can imagine there are vast untouched parts of it. Either there aren't any roads nearby or else it's something manmade and abhorrent to his kind or some rule they have to abide by that she doesn't know. The point remains that she's sure that, if he thought it would get rid of her faster, he'd set her on the path himself if he could and that he simply means that he honestly can't, not that he won't.

He's really not such a terrible person and, for just a moment, it had seemed they were actually comfortable together. It had been - kind. It had been kind to her heart to not feel rejected and chased off. She tries to hang on to that now because it's all she has. It's nice to imagine his abrupt withdraw has more to do with not knowing how to say goodbye than an overeagerness to do it - even if she is fairly sure that's wistful thinking on her part... though - what else does she have at this point? A little last wistful thinking before harsh reality sets entirely in can't hurt really. Damage is already done.

Careful, not wanting to jar herself out of the delicate balance inside she's found, she draws her feet back and sets about carefully drying them before starting to slip back on her socks and boots. It will be a very long walk ahead if there isn't even any road. As much as she would have silently clung to the company, even her wistful thinking doesn't expect him to walk any of it with her. At least not openly. Something tells her he'll escort her invisibly a ways if only to keep trouble from bothering his home more.

He's very insistent about wanting nothing from her. She should be relieved and yet - stubbornly - it bothers her. It bothers her that he would do her the great kindness, intentional or not, of saving her life and she do nothing, even small, in return, it bothers her because she's been trained from the moment she set foot in the wood to always give something in return and it bothers her because, for some reason she won't think too hard about, she wants him to remember her now that she's never going to come back again. Silent, she laces up her boots, brows low over her eyes. Why does she want to prolong her brief passage through his life? Is it because he seems so lonely without even knowing it - or is it just selfish on her part because he's, as strange as he is, all she has left of a life she's loved?

Boots finished, she stands up, gathering up the leftover food for later and folding it into the makeshift bundle of her winter overskirt. Her tone is conversational as she works.}

If you think I can't afford it, then there must be something to afford in the first place. You really won't know unless you ask.

[ He'd help if he could, even if he doesn't know why. Humans are impatient and ungrateful and even when they pay proper homage to the creatures of the wood, they half the time do it in a facetious way - as if it's all make-believe and they know better, even as he holds true to their pacts and collects their offerings. They call it happenstance, luck, just a pointless ritual that helps them to sleep a little better at night. Even the true believers doubt, with age, and they pass that doubt on as they pass. And though they still vastly outnumber the so-called practical, who consider him nothing but a fairy tale (as if the tales fairies tell are so mundane), they alone aren't enough to curb that laughing spite.

But she isn't like that. So he'd help her. If he could.

Can't is more correct, as she assumes, no matter how hard he tries to make it seem otherwise.

That bare suggestion of a look back disappears back behind the curtain of sunny moss and finely spun vine framing his face as he resumes his survey of the far edge of the glen - looking anywhere but at her, in less avoidant language. ]

You want to die here?

[ Stiff, curt - he's been by his own definition frustratingly patient with her, but it's getting to a point. Or maybe it's he that should; there's only so long it feels worth it to spare her the slap in the face that comes with the bald, unpleasant truth. ]

You've got nothing else left to give. So I say you can't afford it.

[Her eyes flare up, larger, at the question, crimson in the dappled light and even in that sunshine, she feels the shiver. Of winter day gone by and wolves and blood on the snow and screams. There are deep things in the wood, old things, and he's one of them. Older times when villages didn't leave trinkets out for the walking things of legend but much more precious and hard sacrificed blood instead. It's a sharp reminder of older, darker times that may not be so far away to someone like the creature that's in front of her now. His reminder is that winter chill under the door that whispers of hungry things out in the wilds.

Except.

Except if he wanted her blood or bones or body, he would have had them already. She'd made her bargain in desperation but she'd made it honestly. If he'd wanted her that way, he would have had her already, green man of the wood, and he wouldn't have waited so long at it either. So after the first bolt of fear, she recognizes his words for what they are, a push away, rocks thrown to drive off the stray that hangs too close and her eyes fall and she goes back to her work, folding up the skirt and tying it close for easy travel. She doesn't know how many days it will take her to be out of the woods but the sooner she starts, the sooner she ends and clinging to her last traces of familiar and home - she hopes the walk is long enough to let her make peace with leaving it all behind though she doubts she ever will. She's not a city girl and she doesn't look forward to making herself over into one. He's right though. She needs to stop lingering.

He's wrong though if he thinks gifts are all material, if her having no possessions left means she can't be grateful. Taking her life would be the cheapest way of restitution. It's in the living that labor can be done and debts accrued. Straightening, she hoists her makeshift bundle over her shoulder and looks up to gauge sun and direction. A journey is only a step at a time and if she only thinks of it in that small way, she can manage what's ahead. But before she does, she turns to her last remnant of home and her eyes search for the hidden springtime sky behind the pale moss and feathers over his lean face.]

Call me. If you ever have need of me, call me and if I hear you, I will come.

[Perhaps it's arrogant but her willingness is all she has left to give him. Why the wood, or its guardian, would ever need her, she can't imagine - but stranger things have been needed before and even the mouse had its use from time to time.

She's thanked him before and he's taken it ill, so she doesn't make the offer again. Instead she nods, more for herself than him, firming her determination in her mind to move instead of trying to stay longer, and she turns and takes that first step away and into the unknown.

Each step that follows comes a little more naturally.]

[Yes, following Katniss into the woods WAS THE BEST IDEA EVER. Truly, he is a genius for even considering this.] Hope this is worth it.

I wouldn't be out here if it wasn't.

[Walking pretty quietly with her bow in hand. She missed her bow when she was in the Games, so much easier to use than what the Capitol provided.]

Of course not. You need an excuse to be in the woods as much as I need an excuse to drink. [Hopefully, she doesn't plan on hunting anything. If Peeta has heavy footfalls, it's nothing compared to Haymitch.]

It's better than being cooped up doing nothing.

[She was kind of hoping but God Haymitch you're loud. Oh well, better to be armed and run into nothing than the alternative.]

Twenty-five years of doing just that was never a problem until I met you. [If you can sound wistfully sarcastic, then yep. That's Haymitch right now. A branch nearly hits him the face and he... Just barely catches it. Oooh he still has reflexes. GOOD TO KNOW.]

Well, it's not like I twisted your arm to get you to come out here. A little fresh air, without alcohol fumes, could be good for you anyway.

[Glancing back at the sound. Oh hey, that's pretty inpressive from Haymitch.]

See? You kept a branch from beating you, definitely a step in the right direction already. Since your wild knife swinging when I dumped water on you never caught.

Never have I been so happy to have terrible aim. [Because if he didn't... Katniss would probably be dead and his life would be an emptier, but less frustrating place.] Surprised you didn't lose your taste for this after the arena. [He never even did anything in the woods and he's pretty sure he never wants to see trees again. And yet here he is. No one knows why, except him, obviously, because he's always two steps ahead, even as he's sitting in a cloud of wine fumes.]

It's actually a bit hard to but they aren't like people. Nobody is forcing me to hunt for the Capitol's entertainment.

[It was hard though, the blood now bothered her more than it used to. And hearing the Mockingjays always reminded her of Rue.]

[Something moves out of the corner of Haymitch's eye and he tenses, although his reflexes aren't quite that good, so it's more of a pause than an actual muscles-locked-deer-in-the-headlight-look-of-fear. He's wary is all and when it passes, he's as gruff as ever.] All starts looking the same after awhile, Capitol or no Capitol. [But the woods were never a piece of his life like they were Katniss's. He had his own way of providing for a starving family, but it was all cleverness, not because he ran off into the woods to hunt.]

[Just the change in sound, when he tenses up, causes Katniss to turn with an arrow ready to be pulled back.]

Only if you let it. I'm not gonna let the Capitol influence any more of my life than they did before.

And it's your prerogative to be optimistic about our situation. [That's accompanied by a dry laugh. Katniss Everdeen- the voice of optimism. That's rich. Of course, Haymitch is cynical enough for everyone and Peeta... Well. That's Peeta.]

[A forest. It's been a long time since War's seen one. This is good. This can work - many who hunt him have wings. The forest is dense, and while a trail's cleared, it hasn't been kept in years. Roots stretch across it, ferns and ivy beside it. A broken carriage lies not far from the path. Should War have looked, he'd learn its coachman hadn't the fortune to leave.

It's not quiet, either. Plenty of buzzing, summer being as it is. War's astride his steed, Ruin, from whose hooves, eyes, and nostrils trail fire. The horse snorts deeply, shakes his head. Foul flies!]

At ease, Ruin. Have you grown so sensitive?

[He rumbles deeply, flicks his ears back. They continue their walk, slow and cautious. Cautious - but not worried.]

[ Altaïr was doing some hiding of his own. Once in the trees, it was easy to lose the soldiers that had been on his trail moments before.

Still, it was best to be cautious in case they were still loving for him. He's perched in a tree, the thick foliage covering the white of his clothes easily.

The sight of War, however, is almost enough to make him fall out of the tree in shock. His horse was on fire. Even if the rider had been in no way remarkable, that would be enough to draw the Assassin from his hiding spot to follow cautiously, deftly leaping from branch to branch. ]

[Mysteriously, the only effect of said fire is to toss embers on the path behind them. War has no idea they're being watched, far less followed, and Ruin...well, if his horse senses know, he makes no indication of it.

So they trot on through the forest, ~~stomping on the field mice~~ until, HO! A crossroad. War halts his horse, frowns. Considers flipping off left and right by going straight.]

[ And so intent is he on watching this stranger as he pauses at the crossroads, he leans just a little too far and one of the branches he was using for support snaps. He tumbles off his perch, one hand shooting out to catch the next branch.

It halts his fall, yes, but now he's in plain view. ]

[Ruin squeals at the tumble of movement, jerks from the flash of brilliant white. War yanks the reins to still him and peers at this...fellow. Well. Hi.]

Has curiosity alone spurred your follow?

[War doubts it - it's clear the man's hood is meant to hide his identity. And if War noticed him only now, who knew how long he'd been tracked? He hopes his doubts are wrong.]

[ Having been found out, Altaïr lets go of the branch, dropping soundlessly to the ground. He stares up, up at this stranger. Frankly, it's a bit terrifying, but he'd be damned if he let that show.

He can appreciate his forwardness, though, and answers bluntly. ]

It has. Surely one such as yourself is used to attracting attention.

[Hmm. Skill to back up the image. It's surprising enough to run into a human. Or, something in the guise of a human, at least. But why?]

Rarely the wanted. Now that you've fallen, what's your course?

[Why they'd send a human, guise or not, is simple enough. To force a reminder. A hesitance. It's smart, actually. War looks at Altaïr, his expression softens a little. The man's outfit certainly looks official, and the skill of silence, certainly possible...perhaps the rest of him is real, too.]

I sought refuge in the forest and instead came across a man whose horse is on fire. [ he angles his head a bit, watching the rider ] I suppose I am still curious as to who you are- what you are- but I have no real business with you if that is what you wish to know.

[War blinks, frowns again. There is no 'instead.' Might as well answer both those questions at once, though.]

I am War. Who do y-?

[A shout, not far, clearly heard, severs the rest of the Horseman's words. Ruin shifts, ready to move. That was the sound of spotting something, of calling reinforcements. Those soldiers? They didn't give up.]

[ He could kick himself for being so careless. Hell, Malik will probably kick him for it anyway. ]

It's me they're after- I thought I had lost them- but either way you would do well to make yourself scarce, as I plan to do the same.

[War grips the hilt of the sword on his back.]

Who are they?

[Not. Moving.]

Soldiers from a nearby camp.

[ A pause, as he weighs his options. He's inclined to believe this man really is War. It's hard to doubt it by looking at him, and what does he have to gain by lying to such a person? ] I assassinated their general.

Soldiers?

[War's tone lightens considerably. Surprise. Relief. His grip loosens slightly. There's another cry, one, two. The soldiers will be upon them soon. Blame the steed of War.]

Why?

I-- [ Any reply is cut short as an arrow whizzes between them. Altaïr skirts back a little, tensing, ready to flee as armored soldiers emerge from the trees.

However, they don't give the assassin so much as a second glance. Their eyes fall on War. Some are shrinking away, others cast looks of uncertainty at their comrades. Someone whispers the word "demon". ]

[Damn, words sure are getting cut down here. Ruin whinnies, startled by the arrow, and rears for a few moments, paws the air, scatters embers. War looks at the soldiers. Arrows...they aren't ready for what's to come. It's already too late.]

Why did you kill their general?

[Yeah, War isn't going to let that question go. He assumes Altaïr hasn't slipped away while the soldiers were distracted. In the current situation, War sees no reason to help either side. But ultimately, given the choice, he'd see they all leave this forest alive.]

[ His mere presence is enough to at least keep the soldiers at bay for now ]

He was a corrupt man indenting to turn his soldiers against his superiors, for his own gain.

[ his eyes flick up to War ] Satisfactory?

[War keeps his focus on the soldiers. Watches their reactions closely. He takes people at their word - so satisfactory, yes. But should it come to light a lie, well. Life will tumble.

Ruin nickers in warning. War looks, then listens, and down the left path sounds a growl and slicing. A crack of wood. War dismounts, readies his blade. Glances at Altaïr, looks back at the soldiers.]

Demons. Stay if you wish to see.

[Perfect timing, really.]

Demons? [ he can't quite keep the surprise off his face. Very suddenly one of the soldiers is violently pulled into the underbrush ]

[The soldier screams, and it...no. No, it doesn't end. He's kept alive. War doesn't see Altaïr's surprise, for three figures step forth. Two are little shorter than a man, crude and horned, armored skin and vicious claws. They carry axes nearly large as themselves, bear deep red war paint. The other is smaller, swifter, with large shoulders and spindly arms, moves on all fours or leaps on two, looks like it's cobbled together of various creatures. And where there's one of them, there's often four or six more.

Foot soldiers. War should have guessed. He moves to engage them, blocks a blow, severs an arm. Meanwhile, Ruin has disintegrated in a pile of ash. The foliage's too thick to fight.]

[He was going somewhere. Somewhere important -- to his mission, to Hawke, to... something.]

[But now all the paths look alike, and the mage has no idea where he is.]

[ And somewhere down the path, shouting can be heard! If Anders cares to investigate, in a clearing not too far along, he would find a man in a white hood, knife in hand, blood seeping from a shoulder wound, surrounded by no less than five fully-armored knights with red crosses emblazoned across their chests.

One steps forward, sword raised. Altaïr counters and drives his blade into the man's throat. That still leaves four. ]

[Shouting?? INVESTIGATE!]

[He hurries along, until he reaches the scene, looking around... And in typical Anders fashion, the man in the hood becomes a mage. Therefore, the men in armor...]

[Blue light flashes, blinding and billowing like smoke. More of it gathers like veins over the mage's skin and eyes. A wall of pure, magical force smashes into the nearest armored man, sending him flying against a tree with a sickening crunch.]

[ HOLY SHIT.

Not that Altaïr is going to complain about the assistance. While the men are distracted, whirling around to face Anders, he drives his hidden blade into one at the base of the skull ]

[Apparently oblivious to Altair's moment of HOLY SHIT, Janders promptly sets about smashing armored men. With his magic.]

[Anyone left is a fair target for the onslaught of pure force, driving them down into the ground, or the trees nearby.]

[ Altaïr has backed himself away from the onslaught. The men are quite dead, and the assassin just can't stop staring ]

[Once it's clear the men aren't getting back up, the blue light vanishes, and the mage slumps a little, bracing his staff against the ground.]

[After a few deep breaths, he looks to Altaïr.]

Are you all right?

... I am fine. Thank you for your help, friend.

It was nothing. Are you certain you're not injured?

[ His eyes flick to his shoulder, which is bleeding quite freely now ]

Nothing you should concern yourself with.

On the contrary. I'm a healer. It's of great concern to me.

You've already done me a great service. I wouldn't dare ask more of you.

You're not. I'm demanding I see to your shoulder. There's a distinct difference.

[ Altaïr watches the stranger. There's something critical about his gaze, even from under the hood. ] Forgive my hesitance, but... I don't fully understand how you were able to do what you just did to these men.

Magic.

[He says it simply enough. As if the answer should be obvious.]

I'm a mage.

And you can use this magic to heal as well as to harm?

I can. I'm a healer, by default. That's where most of my ability lies...

[Except when Justice decides to crash the party.]

[ He glances at the fallen knights ] Very well, but why help me?

Let's say I have an... issue... with well-armed men bullying less armored men.

You have my thanks. I am in your debt.

It's nothing.

[He holds a hand out.] Now, let me see to that shoulder.

[ He considers this a moment- if this man had wanted to harm him, he would have done so already.

So he turns, offering Anders his wounded shoulder ]

Thank you.

[And, without another word, he gathers the proper energies. The light is, once again, blue, but softer, this time. Paler. And it stays confined to his hands.]

[Instead of blasting the assassin across the clearing, it works into the wound, knitting flesh and muscle together again.]

[ Considering some of the things he's seen recently, the whole concept of "magic" isn't too far-fetched. He watches Anders intently. After a moment, he speaks. ]

My name is Altaïr.

Anders.

[Honestly, he sounds a little distracted until he finishes his work. But when the light fades, the shoulder is whole and healthy again.]

There.

Anders. [ a nod ] You have my thanks.

[He nods back, then asks...]

Just who were those men?

[ He rolls one over with a foot, exposing the bright red cross on his chest. ]

Templars.

Tem--

[The surprise on his face quickly turns to disgust.]

Good riddance.

[ Aedan squats down amidst the overgrown fern, examining the map spread out on the ground before him. His gloved fingers attempt to trace back along their current route and he finds himself frowning. ]

We have taken a wrong turn somewhere.

[ Wynne watches over his shoulder for a moment ]

Perhaps it would be wise to retrace our steps.

[That. That is a big goddamn ogre. And it looks like it has a strong desire for elven blood. And mage blood.]

[ She's trying to figure out where the rest of their party went. The Warden and Shale would be nice to have around right now. ]

... I think we had better run, Zevran.

... I am inclined to agree, given our lack of large, angry Qunari, or cranky golems.

Shall we?

Yes, we shall. [ She can still book it for being an old lady! ]

[Despite his short stature, Zevran can be pretty quick. However, he chooses instead to lag behind Wynne.]

[For once, when he says he's covering her rear, he doesn't mean it as an innuendo.]

*Jun is glad for Wynne. Her warmth and concern remind him of Maya. ...if Maya were much older. Ever since he found himself in this strange world, he's been glad for her company.

Even though he hasn't really said anything about himself. Who would believe him? He can still summon his Persona at least, but...being the Joker and rumors coming true? Things like cars and airplanes? They'd think he was insane.

He's so homesick. He misses Tatsuya and the others...

And so he's mostly staring at the road, thinking about his friends. Tatsuya. Maya. ...Even his mother...*

[And trailing behind Reyson, trying his best not to let the hem of his robes get caught on any inconvenient thistles or branches, Rafiel pauses a moment to catch his breath and glance at their surrounding scenery.]

... I'm afraid this seems familiar for the wrong reasons.

[ yes, you know this would be so much faster if you could fly, big brother. why you gotta be such a girl.

reyson sighs and pinches the bridge of his nose. ]

.. It would seem that way. How are you feeling?

[It is not his fault he is appropriately delicate enough to be incapacitated by a headcold. ... or whatever it was.

Also, he heard that sigh. Not that he needed to to know how you were feeling, but still. :(] I am enduring. Thank you for you patience, Reyson.

[ GOSH WHY YOU GOTTA BE LIKE A HERON IS SUPPOSE TO BE. IT'S INCONVENIENT.

.. oh and now he's feeling guilty. reyson stops, drops his hand, then quickly shakes his head. rather than taking his impatience out on his considerably more fragile big brother, he should be supporting him, and figuring a way to get them out of this mess. ]

It's.. nothing. I'm sorry, I hadn't meant to snap at you. Take a moment to rest, I'm going to fly over the canopy to see if I can get a better look.

[Because someone in this game had to show the fanbase what a heron is supposed to be like and make your circumstances all the more tragic. ... or is it the other way around?

At Reyson's apology, Rafiel gives his brother a small smile tinged only with the concern he feels at their situation. He knows his brother suffers from impatience but he cannot fault him. Their situation is very taxing and, to someone as spirited as Reyson? Probably just as frustrating, especially when slowed down by Rafiel's slow pace.]

It is alright, please be careful. [Because his inconveniently delicate heart would break if Reyson got hurt.]

[ bah. ]

I will.

[ without another word, reyson snaps out his wings and takes to the air, weaving between branches and using them as kickoff points. it's difficult not to get tangled, but reyson is agile and careful; soon enough he's hovering over the canopy.

and to his utter dismay, he sees nothing but trees. trees all around them from horizon to horizon. if only rafiel could fly..

scowling, reyson dips down and begins his descent through the branches again. ]

[Rafiel watches Reyson fly up, unable to keep himself from feeling the slightest bit of envy as he watches him soar so easily through the trees. He truly has become so dependent on Nailah...

Releasing a soft sigh of his own, he finds an upraised root to take a seat on and straightens his robes before settling onto it, taking the opportunity to catch his breath. In that brief moment of respite, he tries to sense... anything. The emotions of life beyond the animals living in the trees and soil, to see if he can find either beorc or laguz. Unsurprisingly, except for his brother, there is nothing to be found.

And given his brother's expression when he descends again? They're in trouble.]

[ in trouble indeed.

reyson alights on the forest floor and folds his wings neatly against his back, both arms crossed tightly over his chest. it's time to search for a little patience. ]

There was nothing to see. Nothing but trees in every direction.

[ at least herons can survive well enough in the forest, but reyson is worried about tibarn - if they don't return soon, the hawk king is liable to start tearing off heads. but for now it seems as if settling in for the night is their best option. ]

.. Evening is coming. We can walk a bit longer, if you're up for it, but it would probably be wise if we began searching for a place to spend the night.

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Irene Adler || BBC Sherlock

6~

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April Ryan | Dreamfall: The Longest Journey | OTA

sansa stark • asoiaf

onze?

alanna of trebond • the song of the lioness

01 - Alanna!!

Alan Wake | Alan Wake | OTA

4 | I couldn't resist tagging an Alan! :D

Kairi || Kingdom Hearts Series

9 - I can start it, but did you want her to be the one living in the forest or him?

she could be? if I don't tag back right away, I'm off to bed soon but I will tag back tomorrow :D

Works for me! I'm kinda in super slow tag mode. |D;; Let's try a reverse thing for kicks?

sounds good to me!

Roxy Lalonde | Homestuck

1

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deux - hello again darling.

hello my darlingest!!!

<3! how have you been.

pretty great! just finished up spring break. you?

enjoying staying up late. *A*; also i've been meaning to ask, do you use plurk? :O

always fun! and i do- my plurk name is "derogatory"

yes good. also \o/!! i'm wrinklefucker and i am adding you and there's nothing you can do about it.

you are the cutesttt

wow shut up!!

nevvvvvvvver

gosh >(

chuuuuuuuuuuuuu

chuuchuu

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War | Darksiders | Roll for either

Izumi Curtis | Fullmetal Alchemist

Hanna Heller | Hanna | OTA (No smut)

Alice Malvin | Pumpkin Scissors

Haymitch Abernathy | The Hunger Games | OTA

N | Pokémon Black/White

deux?

deux it is!

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enjoying staying up late. A; also i've been meaning to ask, do you use plurk? :O

gasp such a rebel!