he castle echoes with the sound of the rain, tap, tap, tapping against all the glass windows like it’s begging to be let in. She can hear it calling to her, like deep calls to deep, and it is the only sound echoing against the stone walls. But every window is shut and locked - and it feels to her that they’re meant to trap her inside, rather than to keep out the wind and the rain.
Maret presses her muzzle against the cool glass, but it doesn’t budge. Her breath fogs up the glass, until the already-gray world outside is obscured, until she can no longer see the streaks of raindrops running down to pool at the windowsill. Only the sound of it persists, knocking on the window, drumming against the roof. Threatening to tear the entire place down, brick by brick, root by root.
For half a heartbeat, she wishes that it would.
And she wishes it would flood the gardens, drown the castle - and her - along with it. She wishes the Rapax rushing past the court would change its course, or overflow enough to sweep them all into the ocean.
What does the bottom of the river look like? she wonders idly, drawing shapes in the fogged up glass. Are the kelp forests of the sea as grand as Viride? Do they have their own monsters lurking the shadows? She had read once of a city, buried far beneath the waves; with its castle made of living coral and carpets woven from seagrass. There the horses had fins of every color and fish took the place of birds (do they sing the way birds did? Fill the air with music? Or was there only the song of the ocean, the crashing of waves, the dance of the currents?) Even if text, even if only in theory, it had seemed to her a thousand times more interesting than Delumine.
But then again, Maret was always losing herself in stories, and each of them had always been more exciting than the real world.
She loses herself now in the sound of the wind as it picks up across the meadows, pressing storm-whipped flowers deep into the ground and screaming through the hollows of the castle. The sky grows darker and darker as the strength of the tempest draws closer, until the light in the sitting room grows too weak for her to bend. She draws fish on the glass, and horses with fins for legs, and wishes she could paint the mist with colors.
And the longer she sits pressed against the window hoping to see a new world emerge from the rain, the longer she spends listening to the rain beat itself like something desperate and dying against the closed doors - the more she wants to break the glass and fling open the windows and invite the rain inside.
A cluster of ice crystals leaps from her skin to the window when she finally pulls away.
He stands in the rain, uncaring that it drew a chill to his too-thin body, wanting only to feel something different and something real for a change. Pan had escaped. From where, he couldn’t say… but he was back to something familiar once more. The boy had no real idea of how much time had passed, but his feet had traced the way back to his cave, each memorized step bringing warm thoughts of home to him once again. Through the weariness of travel, he had pressed onward to Delumine, winding his way at long last toward the hidden cave, long abandoned in what seemed like a different lifetime.
Pan had stepped inside, pushing away a rough collection of brambles and leaves which had collected in his absence. He had wound through the twists and turns of the cave, feet falling almost soundlessly on damp mosses as he wept silently as memories wracked his mind. Gone were the voices of his past, gone even were some of his treasures. Those which remained were covered in dust, long forgotten by whatever curious seekers might have stumbled upon them. Perhaps the green scaled boy had been forgotten by Novus as well. Only time would tell.
For several days, he’d slept unbothered in the security of his once-home, tossing on a fresh bed of leaves as his otter snuggled close for comfort. He’d listened to the soft patter of summer rain, drawing the scent of damp earth into his chest. He’d cleaned the dust from what remained of his collection, and nibbled on the remnants of a days-old pastry he’d acquired at Summerfest in Denocte. And now, after building his courage, the boy had ventured out into the world once more.
The pathways to the Dawn Court were familiar, and yet the entire land had changed since Pan had been away. His feet led him through the muddy paths, deep into the heart of Delumine until he once again stood before the towering Dawn Court castle. As the summer rain stilled around him, the boy simply watched for signs of life, smiling wistfully as he remembered the best times he’d had in this place… before the murders, and before the chaos that had driven him from Novus in the first place.
Now, he traces the graceful archways with wiser eyes, seeking and yearning for belonging even as his vagabond heart pulls him from aligning himself to one court or the next. And then, those eyes find hers. Curiosity piques from the boy to the girl, as he offers her a friendly sort of smile, rain dripping from his alabaster mane as it runs in rivets down his Arabian frame and tangles in his scales. He watches her with interest, cocking his head playfully to the side as Oliver (his trusty companion) slinks from his bag and settles like a cape around his neck, as if challenging her to step from the castle to greet the summer rain.
It seemed the lost boy was home, and maybe not so lost and alone as he had once thought.
he doesn’t think he is real at first, smiling at her from beyond the window. She thinks he might be a dream, or a figment of her imagination - her tutors always did tell her she had too wild of an imagination, spent too long daydreaming when she should be studying. And for only a moment, she is afraid to believe that he might be real.
Her heart trembles inside of her chest, stuttering; she holds her breath (even though she has been told to not, when the “episodes” come on), and counts. Six long, trembling half-beats, six sharp clenches - and then it evens out again. She lets out her breath shakily, and still the boy is there, rainwater dripping down his pale face, green eyes shining like a secret he can’t wait to tell.
He smiles at her.
Maret’s lips twitch into an almost-smile. But then it falters, slips away before it can become something more.
She stares at him, mismatched eyes trying hard (too hard) to be blank and uncaring, so hard they fail. All of her emotions are there for him to see: her longing, her uncertainty, the sound of her parents’ voices telling her to stay inside echoing painfully in her mind. ”Doctor’s orders,” her father had told her, and ”we just want you to be safe.” She didn’t understand why a cold was so much more harmful to her than the other kids her age.
She huffs at the boy, envying him, half expecting him to disappear like a cloud of her imagination taking off into the sky. But he stands rooted there, absolutely still, only his otter swinging like a scarf from his neck. But he is outside, and she is not - she bet he didn’t have parents telling him to stay indoors all the time, when all he wanted to do was run.
For half a heartbeat, she considers turning away then and pretending he didn’t exist after all. But something in his eyes has her leaning into the window again, and whispering to him through the glass -
"Are you real?"
Why, oh why did her heart clench tightly at the words once again? Was it, too, daring to hope that he would say yes?
{ @pan "speaks" notes: Still trying to feel her out ahh sorry. has the chance to become something more. }
Despite his loneliness and longing for company, Pan remains a chipper sort of creature. As he watches the girl in the window, a warmth rises to his eyes and his lips twitch in a teasing sort of smile, one that dares her to defy the confines of her palace home and embrace the rain-soaked world. Still, there is a curiosity that edges him closer, as he wonders why she watches him with a cautious stare instead of joining him in the summer storm. It is this emotion which gives him pause, and piques his interest even more as he steps to meet her at the glass, his breath fogging against the misty pane.
Are you real?
Her question draws a laugh as he shakes his head, sending rain drops flying in all directions. Pan’s grin widens now, as he whispers against the glass with urgency. Stay right there… and the boy turns to race from the window, leaving her to wonder where he’d gone.
He steps confidently into the Dawn Court citadel, finding his way easily through the weaving hallways until he stood in the doorway. Here, he could see her from inside, and the boy cleared his throat so as not to startle her. I am real. he says slowly, offering a friendly smile as he steps into the threshold of the empty room. And you… why are you inside? You can’t be scared of a little rain? He teases her before shaking like a dog, water flying from his mane as Oliver chirped indignantly at his lack of manners.
I’m Pan, and this is Oliver. There is an easiness in the way he speaks to Maret, as if the two had been friends forever. Personable to a fault, the boy cannot help but approach strangers with an inquisitive and kindly spirit. It simply wasn’t in his nature to take caution when meeting others.
For a moment, the scaled boy seems to drift off in his thoughts as he wonders at how much the palace had changed since he’d been here last. Were there any familiar faces here anymore? Would they welcome him back? Pan shivered as he remembered the horrors he’d witnessed when last in the Dawn Court, eager to put the image behind him even as it had haunted him for the last several months. In a way, it was good to start over, he decided. His gaze returns to hers once more, as he seems to shake away the darkness, an easy smile replacing his daydream stare as he waits for her to introduce herself.
he tease in his eyes as he stares at her through the window, with rainwater dripping down his face and plastering his hair to his skin, about makes her heart stop. She can feel it beating, aching, can feel the heat rising in her cheeks when begins to step forward again. She holds her breath, as if any movement might scare him off, as if he might disappear the moment she blinked -
But he doesn’t. When she opens her eyes again the smiling boy is still there, breath fogging up the glass that separates them. Her heart sighs.
She presses her face against the wind when he spins around, but it only takes a moment for him to disappear into the rain. Somewhere a tree branch is tap, tap, tapping against a windowpane, begging to be let in - she almost does, this time. She almost flips the latch on the window and lets the wind and the storm rush in, so that she might lean out the window and see the boy standing in the rain once more. Already she is creating the scene in her mind, words spilling like an overflowing river -
He coughs from behind her, and Maret spins around. Her brown-and-blue-eyes widen, something almost like relief rising inside of them when she smiles. It falters only when he begins to speak
“My parents have told to stay inside. They say I’ll only get sick again, like when I was a baby.”
She wonders, when she tilts her head to look at her hooves, if her two-toned eyes do anything to hide the emotions that flash like lightning through them. Her magic tightens like ice around her heart, freezing her from the inside-out. It makes her want to leap and dance and blow away the frost like dust, but her legs only tremble at the thought. So she smiles instead.
The black feather swings from her neck when she looks up at him again. “I’m Maret.”
There’s something different about the boy, about the ease with which he spoke to her and the soft lapses in between his words. He reminds her of herself - a little bit quiet, a little bit pensive - and Oliver, too. Maret wonders if the otter is his best (only?) friend. She would understand if he was, she didn’t have many friends, either.
In the momentary silence, when a hundred questions rush like a river through her mind (most of them which she discards quickly for being too simple, too childish), one seems to stay stubbornly in place.
In the moment he stands in the doorway and watches, she looks like the princess in a fairytale, locked away from the world. Pan doesn’t have to wonder for long why, as she quickly explains, My parents have told to stay inside. They say I’ll only get sick again, like when I was a baby. He snorts and chortles with something akin to laughter, haughtily replying, "That’s parents for you… always too overprotective and worried. Besides, if you get sick, you just have to go to the hospital. There are healers who can fix you right up!”
It seemed like such an easy answer for the boy, who knew nothing more of her condition or her past, just as he knew nothing of parents or their rules. "Do you stay in all the time, or just when it rains?” Maybe they were at least somewhat reasonable – for Pan could not imagine being locked away at all hours of the day, unable to feel the caress of sunlight on his face, unable to hear the whisper of wind in the trees or the birdsong in the morning air. He lived for such peaceful moments, drawing inspiration from everything around him and wanting to experience all which life had to offer.
At the mention of his name, the otter scurries down his master’s side and curiously approaches the girl with quiet chattering. In his furry hands, he carries a smoothly polished river stone, which he carefully places at her feet as a gift before turning to discover the rest of her castle room, obviously unused to the finery… for the boy and his otter lived in a cave, wet and cold even in the best of conditions. Pan had done his best to make it homey (and Oliver wasn’t complaining) – but it sure wasn’t as nice as the citadel.
As his companion explores the room, Pan turns his attention back to the girl, floored a bit by her next question. What does the rain feel like, in summer? Rather than exclaiming his surprise that she’d never experienced a summer rain before, Pan thinks over her question. How could he explain to a blind man what the world looked like, or to one without the ability to smell, a flower’s sweet fragrance? His pause is thoughtful as he considers before answering.
"It feels wet." He offers her a playful grin, but continues. "But warm as well – like a hug or a soothing bath. It’s definitely the best kind of rain for splashing and playing – the kind that doesn’t leave you chilled to the skin… I’m not a fan of cold, myself."
He takes one daring step toward the door, looking at her with a playful wink that dares her to follow. "But don’t take my word for it… come, see for yourself. A little rain could hardly hurt…"
aret can’t help it, the sudden pride that rises inside of her at the boy’s words. It makes her frown.
Maybe if he knew how she had laid in bed for weeks, unable to lift her head for a drink of water, maybe he wouldn’t laugh the way he did. Maybe if he had a heart like her’s that stuttered every time it dared to make a wish, he might have understood. She almost tells him, almost lifts her head in the same haughty manner as he and asks him what do you know of my parents? of my life? — but she doesn’t.
She just drops her head until her forelock covers her eyes, and goes back to staring out the window. Frost glitters along her eyelashes like tears.
And she resolves to ignore the boy with the green scales sparkling beneath his eyes and water dripping from his mane onto the floor below — but her resolve is gone in an instant when the otter creeps towards her. Maret turns her head back away from the window and watches curiously as he comes forward, pricking both ears forward at the strange chattering he makes.
She doesn’t want to like him — it’s easier to feel sorry for herself, it’s easier to resent him for having a life of freedom — but oh, she can’t help herself. She never had been a very resolute girl, her emotions were far too fickle for that, always changing, like a cloud passing over the sun, over and done with in an instant. Her smile spreads like the glow of dawn brightening the horizon.
"I’ve never minded the cold," she says still with a shrug. What she does not say, is it’s all I’ve ever really known. But the ice crystals that hovered around her feet were beginning to melt now; the bits of frost limning the window fading away like nothing more than wisps of fog.
She eyes him as he edges towards the door, her brow creasing at the wink he tosses so casually her way (if only to hide the way it makes her heart skip a beat, she still doesn’t want to like him, after all.) But oh, oh, that one daring step he takes turns into one of her own, nose pressed forward eagerly like a wolf pup taking her first step free of her mother’s den.
"Are you sure?"
Her voice is as tremulous as her heart.
But perhaps there’s a rebellious streak inside the girl, after all, as she presses against the boy’s side and starts towards the doorway. "Only for a few minutes," she tells him —
But somehow, she already knows it is a lie. And while it may be the first time the girl has ever told a lie, it certainly will not be the last.
He knows the moment she softens, the moment her haughty coils fall to the floor, and almost catches a hint of a smile. He’d take it, Pan decided… for he knew that the girl was one who seemed too proud to give him more. Still, there is a teasing affection in his voice, and he nods reassuringly as she takes a first unsure step toward him, then a second. She brushes against him, almost trustingly, which is all the encouragement he needs.
With a twinkle in his eye, Pan whistles to his otter who quickly scurries up his leg and settles on his withers. Come on then, what are you waiting for? And with the challenging words, he turns and begins to trot playfully down the cobbled hall. His hoofbeats are light as he makes his way past the throne rooms and libraries, winding his way through the familiar castle with an unexplained ease. For though Pan is a vagabond, he had always considered himself a Delumine citizen at heart – though one with wanderlust in his blood.
The boy turns to make sure his new friend follows, weaving his way toward the gardens and waiting only for a pause in the final doorway as she presses closer to freedom. You ready? He asks only once, stepping back into the rain as it once again covers him with its warmth. The summer sun is hidden behind thick clouds, but there is still a warmth to the air which only summer can bring. All around them is the unmistakably earthy scent of wet foliage, and it sings to his soul as he longs to splash in the puddles and wallow in the muddy soil. But he doesn’t – not yet. Instead he waits uncharacteristically patiently for the sheltered girl to join him before tossing another challenge to her.
Come on, catch me if you can! And the boy races away into the wilds of Delumine, daring his new friend to follow.
@Maret - sorry I have been so absent over the last few months... Figured we can wrap this up since she's all grown and moved out now... but Pan is happy to do another post at some point now that my life has calmed down. Thanks for your patience <3
erhaps one day she will look back on this moment and wonder at how long it took her to say yes. Or maybe she will remember only his sea-green eyes, and the way they laughed and teased and dared her to dream about worlds that were different than her own.
Her shod hooves echo painfully loudly on the marble tiles, and with each step she wonders how long it will be before someone comes to chastise her. Or, worse — that they would let her go on, and only later would she find out that they had told her fathers.
But each step makes her braver, bolder, head lifting higher. And when the door swings open with a creak, and the boy turns back to her with a smile that is as mischievous as it is kind, she does not hesitate.
And oh, how wonderful that first step is.
The summer rain hangs like a veil around her shoulders, misting her hair and hanging like teardrops from her eyelashes, light as wishes and as bright as the stars on which they travel. She follows him awestruck through the gardens, looking at a world that seems not her own (it’s so different now, in the rain rather than the sunshine.)
She would walk in it forever, if the rain lasted so long. But Pan’s laughter fills the air like breaking glass, and when Maret turns she sees him racing away, past garden flowers and verdant hedges, over sodden ground as dirt paths turn to untamed grass. There is a moment where she balks, and looks over one shoulder back at the castle. A slip of movement catches her eye in the window she had previously sat in on the other side — but when she turns, it is empty.
She imagines it was a ghost, her ghost, watching her.
So Maret smiles. And she tosses her head back so the rain could fall upon her face, only a moment before racing after the scaled boy.
{ @pan "speaks" notes: not at all! thank you for a lovely thread, I’d love them to meet again sometime. <3 }
