Up, up, up the fae girl climbs. The world falls away beside her, clattering down with the chime of tumbling rocks. Most of the mountain slumbers beneath a blanket of cloud, but up here, near Verenor’s highest peak, there is nothing but blue, blue sky.
The flower girl peers beyond the last of the mountain’s rising stone, up beyond the last gold of sunlight. Her gaze keeps climbing until she drowns in a blue that ascends and ascends. Oh to swim in that celestial sea – to drift out upon forever’s tide.
But the clack of feet distract her. They pull the flower girl’s attention away from the limitless skies and down to a shadowy figure ahead. He is silhouetted by sun, a dark shadow sculpted by Calligo and framed by Solis’s light. There was no sign of his god here – nor hers for that matter.
With a smile upon her lips Florentine moves on. Her steps are a dance as she weaves her way up the rugged, mountain path. To spread her wings would be to catch him easily and what a temptation it is! It has been too long since her eyes have fallen upon his ebony skin and heard his laughter in her ears. To accompany him up the mountain is temptation indeed.
See, Florentine knows this boy of shadow, she knows the flare of his wings – one great and one he always holds close, close to his side. His silhouette is one she could draw herself. Florentine knows her boys, the two other parts to their triad. They were missing one today, and she feels Somnus’ absence keenly, but she has also seen the gilded king more recently, unlike Ulric.
Her small feet merely sigh over the stone, balletic and nimble as she moves, closer, closer. His name plays upon her lips, it resonates in her heartbeat. It begs to be called out and alert its master, but she keeps the name tight, tight to her lips.
And she creeps ever closer.
There is hope for her here. The winds begin to blow down the mountain face, away from him and on towards her. It charges into Florentine and Ulric, beating against their chests, pulling at their manes and roaring in their exposed ears.
Ulric looks down, studying his steps and her chance is fleeting. The flower girl lunges forward, light as a cat, her amethyst eyes bright like a predator’s watchful stare. She is leonine now: her lips curled into a wild smile and her body a canvas of mud and pollen. Florentine is elegance and grace as she surprises him. The girl reaches him, silent as a wraith. A wing flares, a feathered tip dropping to suddenly run along his spine as she dances past him, “I thought I recognized that butt.” She turns to him, her smile wicked, he was never one to blush as much as Somnus. Her quips always landed more gently upon his skin. “I know it almost as well as Somnus’ ” A slender hip nudges him as they both ascend the final steps to the peak together. Sunlight drowns them in cool, cool gold.
Flora looks to him and they are black and gold upon the ceiling of the world.
The winds grasp her mane, tugging lavender petals that fly off the mountain’s edge. She watches them go with a smile that does not fade for she is quite content here, in this moment. “I have missed you Ulric. I haven’t seen you since Dawn’s festival.” The fae girl pauses, her eyes narrowing in mock offence. “You haven’t been avoiding me have you?” A comical pout flares her lips, but it is gone in the blink of his golden eyes.
Those wicked, honeyed lips of hers curl into a smile that laughs and laughs and laughs. The silk of his scarf passes across her wing, “Are you here to worship?” Flora asks of him as her eyes track the rippling silk. “I hope not.” And, quick as a bird, Florentine reaches forward to catch the end of the scarf between her teeth. In a swift pull, the scarf unfurls from his mane, flying free. The wind catches it pushing it against her neck. Swiftly the girl is gone, dancing down the mountainside, his scarf her most prized possession. Only her voice floats back to meet him in song, “I think it may suit me better, y’know, my kind of purple. I hope it was a gift.”
Not once did the flower girl stop to think that it might be a dangerous thing for them to be here, without Somnus.
@Ulric - I am dying with excitement over here. Don't mind me. eeeeeee !!!
Aim, throw your best shot right at me
'Cause pain, I can take it easily
Did you really think I'd fall to my knees
Just to pray for some sweet simplicity?
The grand peaks that lay at the center of Novus are a grand sight to behold in the early morning hours of Delumine. They are distant, but their silhouettes against the rising sun are brilliant nonetheless. Ulric always looks upon them with forlorn eyes of gold; if he were able, he would rise into the skies fulfill his thirst for an adventure in those splendiferous mountaintops, and be back in time for his routine nightly patrols… But alas, it simply isn’t possible, at least not for Ulric.
He had argued with himself on going at all, torn on staying behind to prepare their newest members for patrols of their own, confident that should he take a short leave, something terrible would surely happen. Even Ulric himself wasn’t sure what had caused him to change his mind in the end and say to hell with it, but here he was, ascending the highest peak in the range like the fool he was. It was breathtaking, really, the sights that such a height had to offer through the clouds that formed a mostly solid ring around the peak. To the east, the heavy forests dissipated and the soft ground turned to sharp, jagged crags. To the west, mighty pines stood tall, even though they looked like nothing more than specs against his vision from this elevation. Above him, the sky stretched on endlessly in a sheet of unscathed baby blue. Below him… well, he preferred not to look that way, because as proud and otherwise fearless as the Warden might seem to some, he had never been comfortable with heights for good reason.
Yet here he was, ascending the tallest peak in Novus, alone with the earth falling away beneath his weight with every step. Good job, Ulric.
So focused as he was on placing his feet exactly where they needed to be lest he fall, the roan was nothing short of clueless as gilded Florentine crept up behind him, ears pressed against his nape to block out the worst of the relentless wind. When she finally goes for her window of opportunity and leaps forward, Ulric is a feline suddenly sprayed by an icy cold blast of water. He leaps forward as frantic feet clamber for purchase, muscles tense beneath the strain of fear. The roan prepares to fight, even though this is the last place he ever wishes to do such a thing, only… Only this is no attacker at all, but sweet, sweet Florentine, who seems all too impressed with herself.
Swallowing back the heart which had leapt into his throat, Ulric stands for a good moment as his soul attempts to realign itself within his body before he finally finds the strength to move again. Her playful remark is nearly lost to the winds, but finally it registered in the Warden’s mind as he slowly continued up the mountain after her, both wings are now held tightly against his sides. “It might be in my best interest to avoid you at the top of monstrously high mountains,” he quipped, a soft, short laugh filled with nerves following his words. There was no malice towards Florentine, he wasn’t sure there could ever be, even if she had nearly driven his heart to give out.
With a deep breath Ulric sought to chase the feeling of imminent death away, focusing instead on Florentine’s now comforting presence as well as her closeness. “But, no, I haven’t – I promise. I’ve missed you, Flora, and I’ve been meaning to drag Somnus out of the citadel for a while and come find you, but…” He gave a shrug of tense shoulders. “I don’t really have an excuse. It's been far too long."
Her following question is met with a shake of his dark head, but before he can even think to say anything, the ribbon threaded ever so carefully into his mane is tugged away by the Dusk lady. Worry is wrought across the Warden’s face as he watches her turn and head swiftly, fearlessly back down the steep mountainside. You see, the ribbon Ulric wears in his mane is no simple fashion accessory, but a gift bestowed to him by his sister on the night of his abandonment. It’s his most cherished possession, and to think of it being lost to the brutal winds or destroyed in even the smallest ways hurts him in a way he can’t really explain. But this was Florentine, and other than Somnus, there is no other that Ulric trusts more.
With great care he turns around, front legs splayed out in front of him as the rock gives against his weight before he starts after her. Every step he takes brings him a little bit closer to Florentine, and the further they descend, the more confident Ulric becomes in his balance and picks up a little more speed. Pursed lips turn upwards into the beginnings of a grin, and then he’s laughing, determined to chase Florentine down and retrieve her stolen prize.
“Gotcha now!” His voice carries against the wind now at their backs, pushing him ever onward. Soon, he finds himself nearly even with her, and after a few failed attempt to snatch the ribbon back within his teeth, the Warden pushed his shoulder into Florentine’s own in what was meant to be a playful shove, to show her that she’d been caught and there was nowhere else for her to flee.
Her laughter resonates about the mountain. It dances with the wind, swirling this way that that. It might have died, or been stolen away upon the breeze, if she stopped, but she doesn’t. The girl wonders if she might ever stop laughing in Ulric’s presence.
“Oh, most probably.” Florentine declares with an impish smile curling the gold of her lips. She is caramel here, warm and soft and bright, against the jagged grey of the mountain’s face.
Her wing still tingles where they touched, her heart still thunders in her chest, but her eyes still blaze with the memory of his, burning like suns – startled and wild. She does not linger to consider his words, for already his scarf is between her teeth and she is running.
Her fae-feet skitter as she flees, gazelle-light, over rock and stone. She weaves between coarse grasses and over snow-capped ridges. Behind her, Ulric’s scarf ripples out, amethyst and bright. It calls for its owner, snagged upon the wind, but the thief carries it on with her, her heart a wild tattoo in her chest as she hears him take up pursuit.
Florentine recalls the memory of his pursed lips, his words to show how he had missed her. They were spoken with a serious honesty she hoped to change. And she does. For soon his feet are gaining, the mountain clattering with the sounds of their twin descents. The Dusk Queen pushes harder, her eyes widening, for there was always a tinge of fear with being chased and it sets her body ablaze. Her skin tingles, her nerves become wildfire and through it all she laughs and runs and laughs and runs. On and on the Dusk girl goes.
But Ulric is close, close. So close in fact, she feels the heat of him, the rush of his breath against her side. She would cry out, if she had any more breath to give. Yet she is laughing and breathing and running and there is no space in her for anything else. They are a blur of colour and motion. So fast Flora does not even register when he draws level, and when she does, she is too regrettably slow. Their shoulders meet in a shove, rough in play, and Florentine staggers, unbalanced and startled.
It is only moments, split seconds, that the girl is unbalanced, but up here, with the whole of Novus stretched out miles below, Florentine feels like its an eternity of struggle. Though finally she stops, finally she finds her balance. Even that moment of peril and fear was not enough to stop her laughter, or relinquish her prize.
Deftly, she leaps into the air and releases his scarf. Her telekinesis keeps it close. Between them, around them, it moves with the wind. It makes something invisible, visible, and she watches as it swirls, as it dances with this high-altitude air. There is a grace to the wind and its new partner that Florentine has never seen before.
She lets the elegant scarf dance, swirling close to her friend before the wind pulls it away. It flies between them, around them, close enough to touch, quick enough to never be caught. The fae-girl keeps it with them, but away from its master and slowly she takes it from the wind to hang temptingly close to Ulric.
There are no words, just a dare for him to take it. And a brow that rises in challenge before she finally says, though a grin and a laugh, “Think you got what it takes, hmm, Ulric?”
@Ulric - I think I am in love with the imagery of the scarf dancing in the wind between them - so prettyyyy
Aim, throw your best shot right at me
'Cause pain, I can take it easily
Did you really think I'd fall to my knees
Just to pray for some sweet simplicity?
The delicate fabric of the ribbon ripples in the violent wind that roars down the face of the mountain, yet it resists coming apart beneath the pressure, much to Ulric’s relief. Faster and faster they go, black and gold barreling down the rocky terrain that crumbles and rolls away with their every step. Were it not for Florentine’s constant, merry laughter, the roan would surely not have been able to put their height above the earth behind him and have been frozen in place as he’d been before. But with her, he finds in himself a sort of comfort and confidence that could, quite honestly, be mistaken for pure stupidity on his part.
Or maybe, simply put, that’s just what it was – stupidity.
So lost in the moment, so distracted by her laughter is he that he doesn’t notice the way she nearly goes tumbling down the several hundred-foot drop beside her. It’s a fear that had been resting in the back of his mind since he began his ascent of the mountain, a near crippling one even, and so the Gods can only guess why he so foolishly has chosen to become brazen now of all times.
Abruptly Florentine leaves the ground and ascends with wings outstretched, and immediately the Warden puts on the brakes, leaving two long lines in the snow behind him before coming to a halt. Turning as quickly as he was able without slipping, he cast a narrowed, daring gaze to the golden girl. If he were bitter, he might feel something akin to resentment for her tactic considering he was unable to follow suit. He only accepts her challenge all too eagerly, however, and offers no immediate words as he positions himself. The ribbon would undulate and snap in the current of the wind, mere inches from his face at times, but Florentine would simply jerk it out of reach if he attempted to snatch it within his teeth from where he stood.
Instead, he turns so that they face the same way, standing partially beneath her as he raises himself as high as possible on his hind legs, intending to knock her away just enough to secure the ribbon, or at the very least break her concentration long enough. A wild grin slipped across dark lips as he bared his teeth and again, aimed to grab his prize within them – forgetting completely about the drop-off directly behind them.
i'm a pretty flower girl
check out my pretty flower curls
Her heart runs to the beat of a thousand hooves as adrenaline courses like spirits through her veins.
Each amethyst eye glitters brightly, gems brought to light from the dark of the earth below. There is no part of Florentine that does not glow, no part of her that is still shadowed.
The girl has begun to live for these moments. For when the weight of her sovereignty does not press down upon her skull, bringing her low and bowing her down to earth with its demands. She lives for the moments when she laughs as free as a lark upon the wind. There is no place her joy cannot go, no place within her that does not tremble with her laughter.
The ribbon ripples and snaps with the wind. It dances wild and free, held at one end by her magic – a gentle, invisible thing. Her wings hold her up, her feet dangling as she watches the ribbon move with the breeze.
It is a moment of distraction, but a moment enough for Ulric’s body to find her feet and push. He catches her hard and her wings do not right themselves fast enough. They do not tip to catch the wind and she stumbles as if on the earth. She pitches like a ship at sea and soon she tumbles from her vantage point like a bird struck by an arrow.
There is no feline grace to Florentine. She has never been able to fall with elegance and so the flower girl tumbles to earth in a shower of feathers and petals. Her wings flap with fledgling youth as she scrambles on the rocky earth for grip.
IF she were any other girl, Florentine might have been embarrassed, she might have realized how un-queenly this moment was. Yet she doesn’t, she registers only when her limbs tangle with something else and in the confusion wonders if it was Ulric she hit on the way down. The ribbon is a crinkle below her – oh she can feel the silk of it against her upper limb. She strains for it, but her fall has made everything chaotic and Ulric is there but his prize is hers, she thinks, if only for a moment longer.
Flora will give him his ribbon back, but not just yet.
@Ulric - if you are not sure what has happened - that is fine! I left it intentionally vague as i did not want to power play Ulric's reaction. What i imagine has happened is Ulric has knocked Flora off balance which has caused her to crash land - possibly taking Ulric out in the process and since her wings were all out then she has kinda become rather ungainly as she tries to keep the ribbon from him and get up and away before he can catch her. So make of the chaos what you will and what suits Urlic! xDD <3 <3
Aim, throw your best shot right at me
'Cause pain, I can take it easily
Did you really think I'd fall to my knees
Just to pray for some sweet simplicity?
The next few moments pass in a flurry of color and commotion. Honestly, Ulric isn’t sure what’s happened, only that Florentine had come crashing to the ground in gauche heap and in the process, managed to knock his hind legs out from beneath him. In his surprise the warrior gave a grunt as his hind-end buckled beneath the impact, scrambling hooves failing to find purchase against the slick ground that lay beneath them. His first thought was to see if Florentine was alright – she had collided with the earth rather brutally after all – but with one look towards the flower girl and the grin that remained ever present on her face, Ulric knew that the fight wasn’t over yet.
Coiling his legs beneath him, Delumine’s Warden struggled against the slick ground to right himself once more, wings removing themselves from his sides for better balance in a rare feat, relentless in his pursuit to reclaim what was his. Oh, if Florentine were naught but a stranger, he would have already laid claim to his pilfered ribbon. Through the years it had been his one, single reminder of the only light of his colthood, a sister whom he had loved so deeply who would eventually be made to leave him like the others.
But those thoughts didn’t cloud his mind, not now.
Turning on his haunches, Ulric set his sights upon it, laying innocently across Florentine’s leg. For a splint second she might see the way his eyes spark to life and a positively devious grin twists the black of his lips, and in the next, he lurches forward in what he hopes to be one last, valiant effort to snatch the item of their tussle within his teeth.
@Florentine Let me know if I need to edit to benefit you in any way! :)
i'm a pretty flower girl
check out my pretty flower curls
They are a tangle of limbs and bent feathers. The earth is hard beneath them. Stones jab their disapproving warning in the horses’ backs and legs. It tells them not to fight. It knows what they do not.
The wind blows. Florentine is sure she hears it laugh (a whistle through the rocks) as it tugs the ribbon. Her heart is a thundering beat as she clasps the fragile cloth and leaps up, victorious.
Each wing is still bruised from her fall. They reach out as ungainly as a child’s. For too long Florentine watches her prize – such a small reward it is for the chaos of their play-fight (and what is to come). For a girl who knows the future, whose dagger can warm and find any world she chooses of it, she is remarkably shortsighted.
The mountain resounds with the clatter of feet. One look is all that is needed. A glance of Amethyst to gold is enough to warn her of the future. Her mouth pops open, her spine shivering. Hairs along her back rise like hackles, only there is no ire within this girl of gilded gold. There is only mild fear for her hind feet are close to the edge…
Her thoughts, her worries, seem to stretch on for an eternity. Ulric’s advance lasts only seconds too, but he is slow to her as he lunges forward. Scant seconds it was, only enough time for Florentine to inhale, ready to shout. But all that comes out is a loud squeal as his body meets hers with a heavy thud. His momentum propels her back - there is no tangle of feet, there is no graceful leap or fall like she is so accustomed to. No, Florentine staggers back and drops off the edge of the mountain in a mess of flailing limbs and a wave of tangled hair. Petals hover in disarray, startled by their sudden freedom, slowly they begin their floating descent, following their plunging mistress.
Open air beckons Flora down, down, dow. Clouds rise up to cover her whole and in a roar of wind and ripping feathers Florentine is plummeting down the mountainside.
@Ulric aaaaand Flora is gone with an echoing squeal xDD <3 <3
