Although usually measured in increments of distance, Thomasin - the budding dryad - would measure this quest not by the number of footsteps, or the hours that would pass, but by counting how many times she would fall apart in a meltdown.
The first time? She cried over tripping over her own feet as she scaled the treacherous heights of the Arma Mountains – the fall had scraped up her knees and knotted the length of her tail. She persevered through the tears, decided to braid her tail to keep it out of her way, kissed her own boo-boos like her father would have, and then set out to continue her journey.
But shortly after the sun slipped away to sleep, she found herself in tears again as the wind had extinguished her torch and left her alone in the dark; even though she was a Denoctian and naturally enamored with the night, the unfamiliar territory had rendered her terrified, so she had snuck under the gargantuan roots of an ancient tree, curled up and cold, a sniffling and weeping mess until morning had come.
As daylight breached, she chose courage – what little she could muster – and pushed herself to reach Terrastella. The lamb’s map was muddied by the flurries of snow that trickled from the clouds, and she found herself in the bordering tree-line of a vast field. The sky was a pillow soft gray, but it was soon giving away to a bleached, sunny sky. The snow had stopped falling, leaving these fields in a ladled blanket of white.
Like a deer with an innate sense of doom, she waited in the shadows of the winter brush, quietly watching. Thomasin knew better than to just walk out into the open, especially when she was such a sickly, fragile thing. She had to be still and observant before crossing the wide -
A large growl caught her by surprise.
Alas, it was only the festering hunger of her own stomach.
With a sigh, she peeked back to the basket she was carrying. She had forgotten to bring herself rations for the trek, but to be fair, she was supposed to have been in Terrastella last night. And, obviously, that didn’t happen. In fact, the bread was supposed to be a gift to a friend she had promised to visit. A pang of guilt flicked her heart as she longed for the meal so conveniently laid out for her. “A bite won’t hurt,” she whispered.
She tore the loaf in half, admiring the structure of the crumb she had created, before the water began to well in her overcast eyes. The crust was perfect, the sponge inside soft and simple – though no longer warm – still delicate, still smelling of yeast, rosemary, and salt.
Vampires probably wouldn’t like bread anyways. Stupid choice.
Thomasin bit her lower lip in a desperate attempt to stifle herself, her ears pinned to the back of her head as she caved to take a bite. With each bite, a fat tear ran down the curve of her toffee-colored cheeks.
A bit lost, and eating the gift she was supposed to have brought last night, she felt very overwhelmed.
A flock of birds had abruptly seized her attention, and not wanting to be selfish, she chose to start tearing up the remainder of the loaf.
“At least someone will appreciate my bread.” She mused quietly, a pained smile growing on her rose petal lips. She softly called out to the birds as she began tossing pieces, “I have plenty to share – “
The distance between Denocte and Terrastella was, approximately, three meltdowns.
☾✩☽
"talking."
tagged: @Odile - and anyone else feel free to join!
someone holds me safe and warm,
horses prance through a silver storm
figures dancing gracefully across my memory
Wings glimmered, as white as the snow the swan flew over. His black beak standing out in the otherwise brightly lit winter day. If you were watching, you'd have noticed the way he doesn't seem to be part of the real pack. You watch as he sores free from the other flocks, you would be in awe of the intelligent way he seems to swoop down and entice the other birds to chase, to play - as if youthfulness had been captured by that ivory bird. The tears that leak down your face likely help to obscure some of these features however, and as he sees others flock to you, after the treats you tear off for them, he ignores those small crumbs, dark eyes instead focus quietly, curiously on those tears streaking coffee and cream tinted cheeks.
The swan honks, wings waving, but it's not a display of aggression. Instead he seems to be motioning the other birds back, to not crowd you, to give you space, to let you gather yourself, least you become too overwhelmed. Only then does he approach you. His dark features almost obscure the onyx eyes that stare up at you with more concern than most birds may experience, most birds may feel. Are you struck by those eyes, or does your own tear-filled gaze blind you to the fact he's more than just a bird. The swan doesn't hesitate to broach your space, himself; however. He approaches with out fear, walking right up to you, his wings slightly out to help assist his awkward balance as he waddles on his legs.
This creature, normally so graceful when in the sky becomes a klutz when he's forced to land. Those wings are soon wrapping delicately around your limbs, that small head nuzzling your knee as if to offer comfort. "Where I come from, pretty princesses are never allowed to cry - so why do you shed tears so freely, m'lady?" The little swan asks, his tone betraying concern, even as his compliments are meant to try to encourage a smile from those milky lips you possess, to gently encourage you to slow those tears, "Do you need any help? You're not hurt are you? Oh, I'm sorry, my name is Odile. I don't mean to intrude, I just don't like to see ladies cry." It always broke the heart of the horse-turned-swan, and his only interest now was to see you smile again.
It was a surprise to Thomasin to be approached so boldly by a swan. She had fed plenty of birds in her alone time back home when she wasn’t allowed to leave the house – she was by no means an avid birdwatcher. In fact, the only birds she could call her favorite were ducks – specifically ducks that were noodle-like in shape and waddled awkwardly. So it was natural for her heart to lift when she saw the ambling avian, a genuine smile pulling at the corners of her lips as she prepared to tear more bread off.
Yet, her delight metamorphosized into curiosity as he seemed to part the sea of white fowl, and then it changed into confusion as he spoke to her. She had never heard a swan speak, and she jumped at his forthright embrace. But as he laid his head on her knee gently to avoid irritating her small scrapes, speaking of princesses and distant kingdoms, black beady eyes looking up to her with a sort of intelligence that seemed sentient. Thomasin paused in her guffawing and huffing, blinking away what tears remained before her saucer ears swiveled towards him, eating his words, and a soft chuckle rose from her throat.
“I am certainly no princess. Just a baker.” She humbly murmured. “You must be a special swan, Odile. I’ve never known a swan who could talk. Tell me, is Terrastella full of magical creatures like you?”
She knew of only one magical person to live in these lands. Perhaps the lands were abundant with pleasant surprises. The lamb shifted her gaze to the horizon, still aware she was out in the open, quietly paranoid, before redirecting her attention back to the bird.
With a sniffle, she pressed her face into her opposite leg to try and clear her bleary face. “My name is Thomasin. I’m not hurt, really, but I am a bit lost.” Both ears half-cocked in embarrassment, a sheepish expression playing on the coffee-house colors of her face.
someone holds me safe and warm,
horses prance through a silver storm
figures dancing gracefully across my memory
This little swan was an eager swan, wanting to interact, and make friends. And so while the other birds may have been content to pick up snacks, he had waddled his way towards the little mare (likely smaller than even he was when he was in his normal form). His large black eyes shined with warmth, seeing her genuine smile, but the tear treks remained, and he knew pretty ladies weren't supposed to cry. And so he had approached, he had spoken, and he had embraced her. She was startled, of course she was, but he couldn't deny the need to comfort, his head against her knee, eyes looking up at her. She seemed to pause, to blink at the tears, before she'd started to chuckle.
Laughter was better than crying at least. He would gladly accept the laughter. He pulled back as she mentioned she was just a baker, not a princess, before asking if he was special to be able to talk. "Of course I'm special! But you wouldn't believe me if I told you how. And just because you're a baker doesn't mean you can't be a princess!" He added, before plucking one of his own feathers and holding it out as if a sword, "So what scallywag has made the princess cry! Point me in their direction, and . . . well, it's only a feather, but I could tickle them to death in your honor!" He stated with a flamboyant energy.
He did settle shortly after, her face pressed to her leg, as if to hide her tears, and he gently lowered that feather, dropping it so he might press his tiny head against her small face, "I'm sorry that has upset you so much, miss Thomasin. I haven't been in Ter-ah-what's-it-called, Dusk Court; but maybe I can help you? And if not, I can take you to Liam, he's super nice, the king of this place, and I bet he'd love to help you out. What do you say miss Thomasin, can I be your knight in white feathers, and save your day? All i ask in return is you tell any handsome stallions you meet of the kind white knight named Odile in Dusk, and how he's devilishly handsome, and single. You can take my word for it, when I'm not in swan form, I'm super, super, duper handsome. I promise."
Kill two birds (metaphorically, please don't kill the birds, Odile would be most disappointed) with one stone here - help the poor maiden, and maybe find his future boyfriend. What a good start to his day!
The bird’s flamboyant nature couldn’t help but draw a content smile on Thomasin’s small mouth. She would give the swan a nod at his declaration of princesses and bakers being of the same thread, choosing not to challenge his views on her, instead a quiet indifference. His feather sword would at best, tickle her giggle-spot, and allow another choral of laughter to leave her lips.
“Oh, I’m sure I would believe you. I’ve had quite the spell of unbelief lately – “ she drawls, gaze again downcast at the newly acquired knowledge of the dead being able to still walk the earth. Her fairytales had at least prepared her for talking animals – but of monsters? Of shadows and life-robbing immortals?
She knew not how to handle a rabbit willingly crawling into the mouth of the wolf.
Thomasin would lift her head, dismissing the imagery in her imagination like swatting away wisps of smoke. Her overcast eyes would settle on the swan, Odile, and how every word that was announced from his beak was full of whimsy and compassion. He offered to assist her, to be her knight-in-white, and deliver her from this befuddling predicament.
I wish to be strong enough to save myself.
“Of course, Odile. I would be honored to have an escort.” A bitter-sweet smile, and a small nudge of her nose against his soft head, would encourage the dryad to lift herself from the frosty floor, shake herself off, and give him a confident nod. “I’m in search of a manor, rumored to house-“ she paused, realizing the mistake in her words, the catch in her step. Perhaps it was best not to announce the presence of a vampire. What if they wished to steal her away? “House De'Chrys, it might be called. I’m not sure who all takes residence there. If you could help, please, lead the way. Although – “, she hesitated, her brow knitting as she digested his strange request.
“Why does a swan seek the companionship of a stallion?”
Not that Thomasin knew many men – her father was a very handsome man, strong in his faith and stature, but she wasn’t sure what the fowl would need him for. And he especially wasn't single. Thomasin was not one for usually keeping the company of studs, finding herself uncomfortable and unsure of how to communicate with them. She assumed that most of them blubbered on about warfare and battle, seeing who had the greatest feat amongst themselves, bragging about their wives like valuable treasures. They tended to be loud, too barbarous, and care little for baked goods – most of them, at least.
Thomasin was not made for the likes of men, that she knew was certain.
But a strong woman? She had met quite a few. Elusive and feather-light, the wind tangling their hair with delight, either a slice of the moon or a dagger in their smiles.
One with hungry eyes.
As she awaited their journey to begin she found herself returning to the daydream of the rabbit making a bed in the mouth of its hunter.
someone holds me safe and warm,
horses prance through a silver storm
figures dancing gracefully across my memory
Odile was full of energy, but then again when wasn't he. But he found this energy to be more than acceptable when it pulled a smile onto the muzzle of the distraught mare. She didn't argue again that she wasn't a princess, and he took it to be a moment of victory - furthering his sense of victor when his feather sword cause laughter to leave her lips like the sweetest nectar from a bottle. Pure, unspoiled, and deserving to be cherished. At her declaration she had experienced a lot of unbelief lately, the swan's eyes grew wide and instantly he sat eagerly at her feet, wings folded in front of him in a very un-swan like way, "Really? What tales of disbelief do you have to share?" He asked with wide, eager black eyes, his grin bright, friendly and curious.
Still the swan wanted to help. At her declaration of being honored to have an escort, nudging her nose to his head he happily stood up, shaking out his feathers and tilting his head curious at the request. A manor, potentially called House De'Chrys. "I'll be honest, Miss THomasin; I'm not sure if I know the place. But I know where a lot of manors are and we can look around together," He paused then at her request, and this time he laughed, winking at her in play, "Because I'm not a real swan," He stated playfully, before he sobered slightly, his beak losing the smile. "Miss Thomasin, I take it you've learned that not everything is as it seems around here. Well, the same could be said about me. I may appear a swan, by the sun's rise. But I am much more than that."
He grinned then, eyes dancing, "And most importantly, I'm a man who prefers the touch and company of a man, if I may be so bold to delicate ears. So you'll have to forgive me for scoping out what Novus has to offer. I'm hoping for a few gorgeous blokes to flirt with through out the night." He stated with a grin, tossing back his head as if he were tossing back a mane of wild curls, his grin infectious and all play. "Now then, onto your manor. Most of them I've seen in flight are on the outskirts of the main Court. So we'll wander that way!" He declared, before pointing in the direction, "That way to be exact. Say, mind giving a guy a ride on your back, it'll be easier than met trying to waddle beside you, or fly ahead!" He added with an easy grin.
Tales of disbelief? An audible swallow could be heard as Thomasin shuffled uncomfortably. How would she find the right words and still be considerate of the newfound lady friend she had acquired? Her gaze would fall as she combed her vocabulary, warring with herself as she wondered if Caligo would forgive her if she told lies.
No, not lies, she would decide. Just share enough to satiate the swan’s curiosity, but guard any information that might compromise her budding friendship. She would amount it to a knightly duty – Thomasin: a guardian of secrets, protector of vulnerable monsters, keeper of the night-walkers.
“I believe I’ve come to realize that there is strange magic in this world.”
The lamb would return her gaze to the waterfowl, a kind simper on her face. “I’d be grateful of any help, thank you,” she admits sheepishly. If she had to go door to door to find this manor, then by Caligo’s might, she would – she’d more than likely faint in between each inquiry, but she’d gather the courage eventually, of course.
Anything for Valan.
At the mention of things not appearing as they seem, she would refocus her attention, a curious tilt to her head. “And if not a swan when the sun falls, then what?” she would ask, anticipation laced each word as she was half eager to hear his answer, half apprehensive at the possibilities.
With the mention of man’s touch and company, it would suddenly dawn on the lamb what he was hinting at. All the blood in Thomasin’s body rushed to her face, delicate head reclining into her chest as she tried to hide her bashfulness. “I – I’m not sure I’d be the right mare to ask. I certainly don’t know any gorgeous blokes, and I just –“ she flustered amongst herself, words failing to form as her lips buzzed quietly in embarrassment. Was she sweating? Why did that statement make her feel so hot?
Perhaps it was because suddenly visions of women danced in her head – lithesome and wild, gentle and brimming with feminine magic, hair as untamable as the wind, laughter that is both tender and mighty. Mares with their mothering touches, and lips that spilled spells of entrapment. Definitely - ladies were the only company she wished to keep.
A nervous string of giggles finally erupted from her smile, her cheeks sore from the grin she couldn’t seem to shake. “Well! I certainly hope you find the company you seek.”
And with Odile’s proposal of a piggy-back ride, Thomasin would easily oblige, bending at the knee once more to allow the bird to clamber aboard her back; a subtle side-eye was wary, watchful to make sure he didn’t accidently stumble on her exposed parts. Asking kindly, she’d try to hide the paranoia in her voice. “Please, be careful of your step. I’m a bit, well, abnormal.”
When Odile was ready, she would rise to her feathered feet and continue crossing the frosty fields, her head a gentle bob as she hummed quietly to herself, patient for his contribution to their strange and eccentric conversation.
someone holds me safe and warm,
horses prance through a silver storm
figures dancing gracefully across my memory
Odile was curious - no, not just curious. He was overcome with the desire to know, to learn, to hear what fairy tales she had indulged in, in real life. For a stallion who grew up thinking he would get his own happily ever after, only to be caught up in a much more significant, and less visible-happy-ending story, he hoped her tales of disbelief were less . . . . painful. But she does seem to struggle with wat to say, merely stating that she'd come to recognize strange magic. The swan smile gently, "It's okay, you don't have to tell me what you experienced. I should have realized it would have likely been personal to you." The avian-stag stated with a dipped of his beak, his black eyes shining warmly, sincerely - taking no upset at the lack of a story time.
Instead he eagerly takes on the duty of being able to help her, smiling brightly and nodding eagerly, "Then your knight in ivory feathers I shall be!" He declares, ever the one eager to mask his own self-worth issues behind a bravado of never ending cheerfulness, ignoring that cold, cruel voice in the back of his mind that wanted to creep up, to ask if he really was so galliant, so knightly. Can he really help others. For a moment that control slips, as Deryc's words come rushing back, You're always getting into trouble, can't even help yourself . . . . It's like a job, having to take care of you all the time . . . . An accident waiting to happen . . . . can't you go out for ten minutes with out needing someone to save your ass . . . . you exhaust me, Odile . . . . We're expected to get married, isn't that reason enough. The final words echoed, chilling him to the bone as if a bucket of water had been tossed over him.
But he would prove otherwise. He would help, he could help miss Thomasin right now. So he shook of those negativies, locking them in a box to address at a later time (to always plan to address at a later time, ignoring the way they continued to rot away his self-confidence, his self-worth, his self-love). When she does ask what he is after the sun sets, he awkwardly chuckles, shifting his wings, "Depends if I'm on water . . . He admits, his smile turning sad, "If you promise not to tell others, though . . . I'll share . . ." He adds, if only because he feels a sense of ability to trust the lamb-like mare, with those wide, doe eyes. "If I'm on water, when the moon rises - as soon as the moonlight touches my wings, I return to my normal form . . . a stallion, although I am relatively small for one." He pauses to eye her critically, "I might be just a little taller than you - not even by a full hand." He adds.
He does chuckle when she suddenly turns bashful and he gently rubs his head against her leg again, reassuring, "It's alright, I was only joking anyway. My heart still belongs to my ex . . . I'm afraid I'm just not cut out for romance I guess." He states playfully, despite the shadows in his eyes. We're expected to get married, isn't that reason enough. He chuckles, before looking up at her, "I'm happy with any friends I can make, to be honest. And as long as I find good company to enjoy my time with, I'll be happy. And I met you! So, already my days seem better." He declared warmly. As she turns to her side to allow him up, he pauses in surprise at the foilage coming from her exposed side, eyes wide and surprised before he smile, "I'll be careful not to hurt your pretty flowers." He states, flapping his wings and awkwardly pushing himself into the air, so he won't have to clamber up and risk damaging her. He soon lands delicately between her shoulder blades, the swan instantly snuggling down in the natural nook there, his long neck pressed against her spine, so his head is perched between her ears, and his wings trail down her sides, unintentionally obscuring, and shielding that very exposed portion of her side as he relaxes. "And I wouldn't call you abnormal, I don't think there's a such thing as normal in general. You're perfect just the way you are, Miss Thomasin. Now then, shall we go find your friend?"
As the long-necked water fowl continued to speak, Thomasin would regard her new found friend with small nods and timid smiles. It wasn't that she didn't want to share, but as a guardian of precious information that could potentially ruin her vampiric friend, the petite mare would not risk it. She'd blink her duo-chrome lashes in a slow and sleepy fashion, a gradual simper growing on her pallid lips as she listens to the bird on her back.
"If you promise not to tell others-"
Suddenly, her worth weighed more in the palm of her hands - no longer just a baker, just a dreamer - the dusty dryad had been strangely knighted as a keeper of secrets. There was something delectable about other's trusting in her, confiding in her, burying their guarded truths and whispered stories.
Despite what her mother insisted, Thomasin was more than just a wall-flower.
The promise of trusting in one another was a heart-song that her floral organ danced to.
Yet her own tiny victories would be saved for later as she indulged in the words coming from the avian's beak. "Strange magic indeed," she muses to herself, before asking aloud, "So you choose to be a swan by day? Why only a stallion at night?" - she inquires carefully, retracting some of her words when she decides she is being too bold. "I am deeply sorry, I guess what I am meaning to ask, is why the transformation takes place? But you do not have to indulge me if it is too heavy a burden."
At the mention of romance, her face once again flushes, though not as violently as it had before. As Thomasin glances back, she notices the subtle change in his facial structure, and chooses her words carefully. "I've never been involved romantically. Perhaps I am also not cut out for love stories - " she jests quietly and playfully. Her brief smile fades into a contemplative expression as she day-dreams behind those cloudy eyes. She may not believe she is cut out for romance, but she has had just a taste, a smidge, a fleeting sample of those raging stomach butterflies and lightning heart palpitations.
With a subdued wince, she painfully accepts Odile's compliments about not being abnormal and pushes on to the horizon, taking note of the growing silhouette of what she could assume was Dusk Court's capital. Her jaw works as she contemplates her next string of words. "Why is your ex - well, your ex?" naively, she asks, assuming that perhaps they didn't see eye to eye on how many children they wanted, or the other was not keen on the swan form - oh, but what if it was scandalous? An affair in the moonlight, an illegitimate love child?
What if it was worse? Did he try to hurt Odile?
Thomasin's gaze was downcast again, brow furrowed as she made connections between Odile and Valan. Did love really turn some people into monsters?
