He found his way here, because of her. Because of his best friend, and the way she’d spoken of home. If Pan had his own way, he would have convinced her to stay with him by the sea. Where they could be young again, where they could reminisce on times past. But Florentine was a social flower, one which needed to bloom somewhere. She couldn’t be happy with just him… she had to have others in her life. Pan did too, he supposed. So as he turned away from the sea, he sighed whimsically just once, her words floating in his mind. I miss Neverland. He did too, so much he felt at times his heart would burst. He missed the hushed whisper of water against white sand, the distant mermaid songs… the way things were. But nothing was the same anymore, and nothing would be the same.
Sighing, he took in this new place – another temple. It was different from the dawn temple, shrouded with murky shadows and an ethereal sort of fog. Pushing away his gloomy thoughts from before, Pan began to poke around the edges of the rocky spires, drawing the smell of damp clay into his lungs. It was wholly different from the place he’d chosen to make his home, and yet there was something oddly comforting about it. A strange choice, he thought to himself, for the girl of sunshine and flowers. But he could see the charm of this place too.
If Pan had come on a brighter day, he might have been taken with the green fields and the sea cliffs, but his journey had taken longer than expected, and night was beginning to fall in this place. Looking around, he whispered to the impending night. ”Flora? Are you here?” Remembering the goddess of this place, he hurried to add, ”Vespera… it’s me, Pan. I don’t mean any harm. I’m just visiting… from the Dawn Court. Kasil sends his regards.” Hopefully it was okay to address Florentine’s goddess. After all, Pan knew now that there were four gods at Novus. And he knew better than to be disrespectful to any of them, even if he was supposed to follow Oriens above all others.
His mind began to wander as he waited, dwelling on the suggestion that he should consider being a warrior. It wasn’t his path… he knew that. But maybe Flora could teach him more about healing. After all, he liked the idea of helping people. Maybe in time, he could learn to be good at it.
Pan was late. Where once Florentine might have been bossy, reprimanding the colt for his untimely arrival, well, now she took the delay as an opportunity to sleep.
The role of Emissary, with all of its demands, was exhausting even on the girl for whom adventures were made. So it is that Pan would find her, nestled into a dark corner of the damp swamp, one wing swept over her body and face like a blanket.
The sounds of night here were as loud as the day, for night flies came when the day flies went. They glowed and danced like fairies lit with starlight. About and about they swirled and twirled, tripping over the murky waters. The shallow pools bubbled and lapped with the stirrings of night creatures rousing in their depths.
For a long while Flora listened to the wild orchestra, her mind upon a boy with a cut shoulder and bruised fruit. She wondered where Auru was now… was he still tending his wound from their encounter? It seemed the twilight girl had only bad luck with boys since she arrived here.
The sound of a familiar voice, high with youth yet soft with secrecy, crept its way into her fitful dreams. From the pool of sleep-imbibed thoughts the girl began to rise, a wing falling away as one bleary eye settled upon the distant form of her friend Pan.
Rising from her place of rest, leaves and mud clinging unkemptly to her skin, Flora takes a step towards him. The yawn that parts her lips is muffled, yet not contained, and after she smiles sleepily at her friend. “Here Pan. Let’s go.”
Deep into the swampland she leads him. Over bramble and brush, hanging vines and lurking pools they step. Her way is slow and wary; for it is easy to believe that dangerous things lie in the dark of this swamp. But only one girl would know for sure…
“Yana.” Florentine calls, her voice too melodic for the chirping and buzz of insects. They quieten, as if to here the girl’s call once more. “Yana, I have brought a friend, I have a favour to ask of you…”
She licks her lips, amethyst eyes bright even in the dark silver of this murky woodland. “Will you join us?”
The midnight maiden grumbles as she tends to a patch of yarrow, " ‘You must rejoice during summer!’ they said… ‘Fewer ill, and plant life flourishes!’ they said…” A dark hoof burrows into the ground to form a small trench. “Imbeciles. My swamp dies in the heat.” Though her words are wise they do not reflect the whole truth: the mossy floor still holds moisture from the last spring rain, and though the yarrow has begun to wilt it is in not in any danger yet. The young Champion is paranoid, and rightfully so; she lacks the stock to treat major wounds, and drought season is fast approaching.
That’s ignoring the fact that I’m limited to a scarce selection of medicines. I’ve enough cattail leaves and turmeric to treat an army of wounded, but not much regarding antidotes for poison or chronic pain. She connects her crude aqueduct to a wide pool surrounded by willow trees. Finnian’s lucky that I even had enough to treat him. If he has any internal trauma, though... A cough catches in her throat at the thought, and she sputters for air whilst it works its way out. He needs something to ease the pain. I’ll have to ask around, make the other caretakers do some work around here. Maybe Florentine knows where I can find something to remedy that.
As if on cue, the starry girl’s name drifts through the hairlike tendrils of the trees to steal her from her duty as gardner of the bog. Perhaps another may have balked at the melody of their name amidst heavy fog and treacherous green pools, but not the hag who calls this land home. An annoyed snort drifts from her nostrils instead. I count the days until I am able to enchant that black pillar. The obelisk may not yet serve to ward off intruders or greet my guests, but some day I’ll put it to good use.For now the little witch must do her own bidding, and she abandons the cluster of yellow plants with a flick of her tail.
She does not have to travel far before she is met by the young Emissary and her companion. Her eyes reflect the same greys in the ashen trunks as she scans them both for injury. As she always is in the presence of the radiant flower girl, the witch becomes acutely aware of the muck and grime maring her own coat. Not that she would have washed herself prior to Florentine’s arrival if she had known she was coming. Milk and honey will always taste better than tar, no matter how you prepare it.
“You may want to consider the time of day before you begin asking for favours. Fortunately, I have no plans to retire early this eve.” As much as the hag wants to berate the girl for her inconsideration she is careful to hold her tongue; Florentine is not the only one capable of making requests. Dark eyes stray from the girl’s twin amethysts to address the colt, “We haven’t met. Not that that says much: I prefer the solitude of the swamp over the bustle of the temple. Most come find me here if they need me. ...I never find them...” Her last sentence trickles out slowly like a shallow stream when she notices the scaling on his body. It isn’t the first time she has seen someone with this affliction, and panic shoots through the caretaker from white crown to tail. Is there some sort of epidemic I don’t know about? She glances at the slender girl who has brought him here, wondering if the favour she has in mind is to treat the sickly boy. “I’ve something I need to ask of you as well, but let’s sort out your business first.”
The stars are blind my love, you will learn to crawl under oceans above
Pan was immediately impressed by Flora’s Yana. In his mind, he’d painted a picture of a hedgewitch, buried deep away from society, brewing some concoction and stirring up some magical spell. Perhaps she could cast a sleeping draught on an entire village, freezing them in time until the spell could be broken. Or maybe she could turn frogs into her minions, or cast eternal winter on her enemies. The ideas that poured through Pan’s mind were enough to draw a boyish grin to his lips… and as Yana greeted them, his imagination raced. Far from waning, he was drawn to even more intrigue by the dark creature of the swamp.
I’m Pan! He offered his name easily and without hesitation, the words bouncing joyfully from the eager colt’s lips, in a way that seemed uncharacteristic of the dark and ominous swamp. Flora’s bestest best friend… I’ve known her since she was just a baby… and I knew her mom before that. It was a strange thought, looking at them, for it was clear now that Flora was older than the scaled boy Pan (or at least their looks alone would suggest it)… but Pan was a timeless thing, cursed forever by the mantle of youth.
I came from the Dawn Court. We’re your neighbors, to the North I think. And Flora told me that you were the greatest healer there is… Nevermind that he may have embellished that thought, but it sounded good, and Pan truly believed it. Our Sovereign Kasil wants me to find a path in the herd, and I think I might want to be a healer too… we were wondering if maybe you could teach me some of what you know – about the plants, and helping people… I promise I’m a good student.
And he was, for Pan was an inquisitive creature, with an insatiable thirst for knowledge. If he were honest with himself, he was probably best suited to be a sage… but it was difficult for Pan to imagine being a sage in a sea of other sages. Delumine was known for intellect, and their land had far more sages than they needed. Since war was not his flavor, that left healing… and it sounded like a good idea from where Pan was standing. His eyes were bright and hopeful as they locked onto the dark mare’s pleading almost for her to take up his cause. But still too, there is a niggling in his mind… for he wondered about what favor she might be asking of Florentine.
She wades through the dim swamp with Pan, the final vestiges of sleep only just beginning to slip from her body. It is only when the shadows begin to grow, enough to cast the bog into near black, that Yana appears.
In the black, her star-white dots masked by mud, the witch is a being held together only by shadow and the will of the fetid waters in which she made her home.
The flower girl sighs, soft and suitably chastised, for indeed it was late and she would also be most perturbed by a someone knocking upon her door this late. Unless it was – Florentine shakes her head, to clear such thoughts from her mind. It had been increasingly had to stay away from the Night King since his note. Her yearning grew with every beat of her strange new heart and her breath was little more than a flutter when thoughts of him pervaded her.
Florentine’s lips curl as Yana speaks and she remembers the first time they met upon the Sussuro Fields, “It is true,” the flower girl turns to Pan, adding unnecessary truth to the witch’s comment. “I have only ever seen Yana out of the swamp twice in the whole time I have lived here.”
Sweeping her gaze back to the slender black witch, beautiful, even with the mud adorning her skin. “How has your home been suiting you? We are grateful for all your work so far. Dusk’s mastery of healing is becoming renowned and that is due to you.” Her words are filled with adoration, with respect. The Dusk girl’s skills were meager by comparison and yet she knew what art – what skill- it took to save a life and nurture the sick.
Her lilac eyes, impossibly dark in the gloom of the Swamp, flit to Pan before returning to Yana. “He will be a good pupil, but tell me what it is you ask of me. I will, of course, help where I can.” With that her lips press to the curve of Pan’s nape, a gesture of affection, of encouragement for the boy who was her friend, even before her birth.
@Pan @Yana - oh wow I had such muse, and then it died :( I am sorry, this is so sub par
The witch’s ears flicker whilst the conversation progresses, but in truth her mind is elsewhere. The mud squelches under her feet as she approaches the emerald boy; she might as well make the most of this visit and give him an exam while he’s here. She listens to his cheerful introduction as she looks him over. The boy’s tone is youthful; no grunts to indicate any pain. A nod. Time to move down the checklist. Perhaps a little excessive with the merriment, however. Best not to mind the opinion of a bitter recluse.
Just as an ink stained muzzle is about to prod at Pan’s shoulder, an interesting tidbit slips past the boy’s lips. The hag lifts her head to meet his gaze. “You knew her mother?” The bog falls silent when she poses the question, as if holding its stale breath with anticipation; the eerie orchestra of mosquito and toad culminates with one last echoing warble. How is it possible? The Champion briefly turns to Florentine as if to ask, is he serious?“You look… Quite young, then. For your age, I mean.” She isn’t certain if she should be more concerned about the boy’s scales and green complexion or his mental health.
Her patient doesn’t appear to be troubled by this particular condition, however, and the witch is actually thankful for his talkativeness; the frogs must interpret his words as encouragement for they return to their songs with vigor. It is difficult for the mare to ignore his confession from earlier, but she attempts to smile in response to the compliment nonetheless. “You are kind to say such things. I hope I have proved my worth as a Champion of Dusk--” her eyes roll at that, for it is a title she did not want but has been forced to fulfill, though her duties have become second nature by now -- “as of late, it feels as if I am good for nothing more than tending moss.”
She turns her starry head to face Florentine, holding back most of the exasperation in her tone when she voices her concerns. She’s offering to help, after all. No need to punish her for that. “The swamp suits me just fine, but it is limited in resources. I need more supplies. I have plans to establish trade routes with the other Courts, but I despise politics, so tell me who it is I need to avoid and who I can seek for partnerships.”
A cough interrupts her demands, and she spits out a wad of phlegm before turning back to the green-scaled lad. She isn’t particularly interested in taking on an apprentice, but if she can get him to fetch herbs with her, why not?It’s not as if the other healers have offered much of their time.“If you’re committed to this, we had better start with the plants from your home. You’ll use those most often. If you believe your healers are willing to come to an agreement with me, we’ll leave at first light."
The stars are blind my love, you will learn to crawl under oceans above
Pan was so curious about the starry mare. She seemed a conundrum to him – like some cross between a witchy fairy-godmother, and… well… a witch. While at first, she’d appeared a bit thorny, it was clear that his charm was doing its tricks on her, and he was pleased to see her coming around – for there was little Pan wanted more at this time than to learn to be a healer. After all, King Kasil had given him a job, to find his place in the world. Pan needed to have a job, and he wanted to be a healer so that he could help others. While it was true that the Dawn Court could probably use more warriors than anything else, Pan knew he didn’t have it in him to hurt another.
Flora’s mom is Karou – one of my oldest friends. We met in Eirhelm… that was one of my first homes. Then, we went to a new place after we fell through the sky, called the Rift And that’s where Karou met Gabriel, Flora’s dad… and, well you know – they made a baby! Pan wasn’t sure exactly how baby-making worked, but he remembered the way it felt to press his muzzle against the antelope mare’s belly and feel the movement. And, he’d met Flora even before she was born, when she had time traveled to find him. It was all very far fetched and confusing to an outsider. But he and the flower mare knew the truth about all of it, and he’d promised long ago not to tell Flora’s secret about the rift tide and the dagger. Adding the time traveler to the immortal boy, you had quite the conundrum of time.
We have lots of plants where I live! He changed topics as if it wasn’t weird at all, easily perking up at the thought of being helpful. And I brought a book that I found in the library… Rummaging through his satchel, he drew out a delicate bird skull, a shimmering fish scale, and a jagged-edged mushroom before finding it. Here! The book was old, with yellowing pages and scarred lines on the cover, but within its pages was a handwritten journal that talked of the plants around his home. I haven’t read the whole thing, but I found some of these already… see? He flipped the book open toward a technically drawn picture of Culver’s Root, drawing a wilting flower to match it from his bag. Ever grateful for learning to read, he looked up from the pages with puppy-dog eyes at Yana, and back at his bestest-friend Flora, wondering what came next.
About the trio the evening stretches on. Midnight ticks closer, counted in by the rolling clouds drifting sleepily by and the rhythmical lapping of water upon the swamp banks.
Florentine feels nothing of the aging night, it seemed her nap was enough to dust the cobwebs of sleep from her mind and her lashes. Her limbs are no longer laden with the weight of slumber and she sets her amethyst eyes upon the healer with her star-strewn body.
“Oh no, I am only three - in this life anyway. I am older in my other lives, but this one I am only three. I did die when I was one, but I managed to survive second time around.” She offers the swamp witch a glowing smile as though her words were less a conundrum and more a statement as simple and obvious as her name.
“I could give you another role – if moss tending is not entertaining?” Florentine’s blink is a picture of sincerity. Her voice genuinely curious for, really, Flora could not find anything more boring than tending moss. Though the moss around the swamp was in frightfully good condition – a testament to Yana’s skill.
I was true that Flora dabbled occasionally in healing, but really her passion lay only with adventures – not even politics. Her appointment to Emissary would forever remain a mystery to the flower girl.
And yet, politics was where Florentine was so suddenly immersed. It seemed an unavoidable topic and a soft sigh escaped the flower girl as her eyes drifted between her best friend and compatriot. The flash of a book, its pages as pale glow in the moonlight, capture the Dusk girl’s attention and she hums softly. “Well, I think we had better go and meet Po in the Dawn Court. We can discuss with him the exchange of training Pan in exchange for access to their herbs and remedies.”
