I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
The whispers of the trees drew him inwards. He’d never seen such enormous trees. Their branches reached out to him welcomingly. The denseness of trees was something he’d never felt before. Otherwise it would have been uncomfortable for a larger creature to feel trapped. But that's not how this place felt. He felt sheltered, enclosed. It tickled his curiosity to investigate further. The chirping of the little creatures with snouts and ears disturbed him slightly. They were so much smaller he felt he had to take extra care to ensure not to step on them.
He nickered to them softly, greeting them. He gently pressed deeper into the trees unsure if they could understand him. His skin was still sensitive and peeling in burnt chunks. The exposed flesh beneath was tender and vulnerable. What exactly he was seeking here he was unsure. He felt lulled in here, as though he had followed the whispering trees for centuries. It was as though he was supposed to come here all along. Deep red eyes scanning the hollows of the trees.
What was the purpose of this place? Why did he feel so drawn here? He snorted softly and tried to sift through a pile of papers with his upper lip. Who was this place designed for? He squinted at the symbols on the paper and sighed. It seemed to follow patterns but he didn’t understand it. He couldn’t read it.
One of the many hanging lanterns caught his eyes. He watched it deeply, listening to the chittering of the trees. He tucked his wings in tightly and flopped himself down in one of the patterned blankets. He scratched his itching growing horns gently against a tree trunk, he closed his eyes overcome with the relief of the sensation.
The trees of Viride had become as close to home as Torielle dared believe in a home as her time continued in Novus. Even more so she found comfort in the halls of the library where the branches wove tightly together to keep out even the chill of the winter snows. It reminded her of the catacombs of the Sage’s temples and the many nooks where she had often studied. She found herself spending more and more time among the carefully crafted shelves, though if they were carved by earthly beings or by some unseen force, she never could tell. It felt to her a little bit of both- trees shaped by needy hands to hold tomes and then healed and continued growth. It felt like a perfect microcosm of symbiosis. It was one of the few things that made complete sense to her and she welcomed that. The smell of the forest lingering with the ancient taste of dust in her mouth from long forgotten volumes put her at peace.
She didn’t often see other figures wandering the halls, and those she did were usually of a scholarly lot. It was a rare thing to find a youngling; though perhaps by Novian standards she should be considered one herself- a thought for another day. As she meandered through the shelves looking for nothing in particular, a shape in the distance caught her eye. She paused, watching the figure as they did the most peculiar thing.
Though their frame was sturdy, save for a set of wings that seemed perhaps a slight too small for them, it was hunched over a pile of loose pages. Perhaps some kind of set of research papers? This assumption was quickly dashed though, as she realized that they were not studying them, but rather… nuzzling them? The figure seemed to grow tired of this and after admiring one of the many hanging lanterns, turned and made themselves comfortable upon a pile of blankets.
The page nuzzling behaviour was so bizarre, Torielle felt compelled to speak to them. She had to know what the figure was thinking. She enjoyed the smell of old tomes as much as any scholarly type, but she had never thought to put her nose to the pages. At least, not in a way that could have been so publicly. The rustling of coins that decorated her person and the bells woven into her antlers sounded her approach. As the mare grew closer she realized the coat that she had believed to be painted or chimera in nature at a distance was actually quite burned. They didn’t seem to mind this so much, as they scratched the itch of their horns rather than the flesh of their body.
She smiled, her features gentle. The woman remembered when her antlers were still coming in- no tree or rock was safe from her. Torielle stopped at a sociable distance, her banner flicking pleasantly behind her.
“Hello.” Her tone was soft, inviting and curious. She didn’t want to startle the creature. Up close she could tell that they were quite young, still growing into their features. Beyond the blackened flesh, she saw toned muscle that spoke of strength similar to the mountain tribes of her home. Wherever this person had come from they had some experience on rocky cliff-faces, of that she was almost certain. It brought her some kind of great hope, that perhaps she was not nearly as alone in Novus as she had once thought.
“Enjoying the library,” she asked, unsure what else to say to them, but knowing better than to be completely tactless and ask about either their healing injuries or the paper sniffing.
I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
He hadn’t heard her approach well and truly engrossed in his scratching. With the sound of her voice he stopped mid-scratch, opened his eyes and quickly drew his head away from the tree. Assuming that maybe the word library was a reference to the type of tree he had been scratching on. “Uh, yes.” he said, unsure of exactly what to say, then adding “The trees are whispering to me, and I feel as though I could just sleep here. I don’t think they mind my scratching. They drew me here. I feel like I was meant to come here.” He surprised himself with his honesty and openness and the amount of words that he had spoken.
The jingling of the bells caught his attention. The sound was so bizarre and foriegn to his ears. It was not all-together unpleasant, just odd. He eventually put the connection together that the dangling things were doing the jingeling. The bells drew his attention to her horns, they were unlike his own kin. They were branching and longer, rather than curled. His gaze lingered briefly at her bright clear eyes, friendly and inviting.
“Why do you think the trees whisper? They don’t feel like other plants.” He asked inquisitively, letting his gaze meet hers again. He felt that she was open to this interaction, but that somehow he was undeserving of this attention. It was unusual for adults to be interested in the youth. Foals were irrelevant until they could prove their strength, fly and keep up with the adults. Most born were able to fly within a reasonable time frame. Most of those who could not fly perished from one thing or another. Aeon had managed to survive, until the disaster with the volcano had shaken him from the existence he knew.
He noticed her nose ring. Its purpose eluded him. Everything attached to her matched her beauty; but the items still seemed to hold a purpose. The drape he reasoned could keep the sun at bay a little, or keep her mane out of her eyes in the wind. The bells, maybe she wanted to be heard coming. But the nose ring - it seemed to be entirely for fashion. Unless there was something he was missing all together. He tried not to stare, but in his youth he wasn’t entirely sure where to hold his gaze. Or at all why she might be interested to know of his enjoyment of this place.
Torielle chuckled, amused that the young lad seemed, perhaps not shy, but at least a bit self conscious that she had caught him scratching his growing appendages. His words spoke of a curiosity and an understand that only children could have, and it was incredibly refreshing. It was the kind of feeling she hadn’t realized that she had been missing and there was a sharp pang in her chest. Before she had walked the astral, there had been a few of the younger students that she had taken a liking to in her temple. The Sages hadn’t been pleased that young minds were drawn to her, but they had hoped providing her with some amount of responsibility would keep her mind in books and out of trouble. Her soul ached for the loss of these children, who saw the world in ways that she had long since forgotten how to see. She found a little bit of that magic here in the way this colt spoke, and while part of it pained her, it was like that of an ember, burning warm in the hollow of her chest.
“No, I don’t suppose the trees mind at all. They are far older than we could fathom and I imagine you are not the first creature to have sated their urges with their bark.” The mare kept her warm visage as the young boy’s gaze wandered, and she supposed that perhaps she might look a bit different to what he was used to. The way he spoke echoed of other worlds, of places that she may have visited while Planes-Walking, in a time before Gaia pushed her into Novus. It solidified her theory that he was not native to Delumine, at least, if nothing else. In this, they shared a bond, and she was more grateful to have it than she wanted to admit.
She moved slowly to a stack of pillows near to him, aiming to settle down among the plush fabrics that had shown comfort to many an equine before her. She didn’t want to intrude on his space, but she felt that they may talk for a while and though she had an inkling he might stand as tall or taller than she, he was laying down and Torielle was not in the business of looming over anyone. The maiden made sure to position herself in such a way that he would not have to shift much if at all to continue speaking with her. Though he gave no outward sign of discomfort, the flaking of burned skin could not be an enjoyable sensation, and she didn’t want to exacerbate it at all.
“I believe that all living things can breathe, and think and feel and speak. It’s mostly a matter of whether or not they do so in a way we understand.” She lifted her tiara to a branch above them where a winter bird was preening itself, uttering little sounds as it did so.
“Take her, for example. Birds can speak with other birds through song. While we can hear it and appreciate it, unless we are blessed with certain gifts, it’s not likely that we will understand them.” The mare lowered her gaze once more the colt, cool blue meeting vibrant red. “Not unlike how she can hear us conversing, but probably does not know what we say.”
Her eyes passed over the trees around them as she continued to speak, the tinkling of the bells soft as they swayed between her antlers. “These trees are far older and I’d bet wiser than we. I would not be surprised if they have found a way to speak to those who listen.” The mare beamed as she returned once more to the would-be pupil in front of her. “Not everyone knows that they can hear them, but places that are old hold a certain power to them. There is ancient magic from when the earth was created buried deep in the soil, and the oldest trees know those memories. I think that when we pay attention, really stop to listen, we can feel that same pull in our bones. We come from the earth and will one day return to it, so do we not share a little bit of the same magic in our blood?”
Torielle cocked her head slightly, eyes brilliant with a delight she had not felt in an age. Perhaps it was the memory of her studies, a desire to teach something new to a fresh young face. Maybe she was too influenced by the nostalgia for her home and the words she had spoken would be too much for the unknown colt. It did seem, upon reflection, at least a little pretentious on the surface. But something about this young lad told her that he was much like her at his age- a sponge for new experiences. Not everyone was drawn to the old places, and there was a certain level of comfort and familiarity in that- those who found themselves pulled to the ancient parts of the land always seemed to share a kind of kinship. At least, that had always been her own feelings on the matter, and it had been solidified by her upbringing.
Whatever the case, her soul felt the most bright it had been since she had come to Novus. Relaxing under the canopy of the library trees, conversing with a young and eager mind, she felt at peace. Dare say, she almost felt at home.
I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
He listened intently to her talking, he could simply sit and listen for an eternity. Her voice was soft and lulled his mind into a true ease. He was only two, but in his time he had seen a wash of violence and struggle. His kin were as volatile as the volcano they inhabited. It wasn’t unusual for fights to break out regularly, and the power balance of the herd was evershifting. Those who birthed and sired him never took the time to explain much of anything. What was explained was how his failure to thrive guaranteed his place at the bottom of the ranks. Less than sentient. She listened, she replied - she seemed to care. This was a foriegn feeling, he pushed forcefully back feelings of unease and distrust. What would this mare have to gain by speaking to him after all? It would take some time for Aeon to not be distrustful of those around him.
He sighed with relief when she said she didn’t think the trees minded. He felt as though he had been caught with his horns in places they shouldn’t have been. It felt primal and right to be able to scratch those itches. Perhaps many before him had also sought their comfort. Younger trees hadn’t been able to withstand the force, they had bent on his itching.
He watched her move to a position of comfort and immediately felt his own easiness settle further. She wouldn’t lay down if she meant him harm, in fact it made her more vulnerable as a whole. He listened to her intently as she talked about the bird. His ears swiveled to take in the different noises. He hadn’t even noticed the presence of the bird either until it was drawn to his attention. Had it always been there, or had she made it appear? There was more and more about this world that was mysterious and a little frightening.
“They don’t speak with words, when their branches brush it makes me feel…something stir” He lacked the vocabulary to properly explain the sensation. “Like, they want me to go onwards and walk beneath their branches and rest here” He held no power, no special abilities; but he did have instincts for survival. Perhaps it was that that drew him onwards truly.
Magic in blood. What was magic? He knew blood to be the liquid that fueled living creatures. He had seen the consequences of it being drained. Magic on the other hand he didn’t know personally. There were rituals the higher ones attended to, but nothing he was privy to. Of those he knew, what he could observe was that they didn’t have much actual effect. That they would sacrifice creatures for good weather to only have it storm the next day; causing the herd to be unable to fly. “What is magic?” He said, cocking his head, emulating her body language subconsciously.
Torielle was happy to see the young colt relax as they spoke. She saw a little bit of tension leave his shoulders, though not entirely. He seemed fairly alert, and why shouldn’t he be? It appeared that he was in a strange land, and the more he spoke, the more she believed that he was not of Novus, just as she was. The mare pondered for a moment what that must be like.
When she had first come to this land, it had been so startling, in such stark contrast to what she knew in so many ways. It had shaken her to the very core of her being. While the earth still lay beneath her hooves and there was an infinite sky above her head, it was foreign. Though trees swayed in the passing breeze and flowers bloomed in spring and died in the fall, they were different plants than she was familiar with. It was as if everything in her world had been skewed just a little to the left, her perspective shown as perhaps if she had been born to another set of parents other than her own. It had been the sort of alienating feeling that had nearly broken her, combined with the loss of her goddess… it had been almost an unbearable tragedy.
She had many years on this colt. He was just a boy. It saddened her deeply to think that he might be feeling the same fears that she did. And yet, when she looked into his eyes, there was not as much fear as there was curiosity. It seemed instead of being crushed by this new world, this child sought to understand it, and his place within it. The Sages would have loved that kind of knowledge-seeking. It strengthened something within the mare that her long self-induced exile had weakened. Slowly, hope bloomed in her chest.
“The trees rarely speak with words we understand,” she mused. “Feelings, though, that is something that you, and I, and the trees can easily understand.” Her tail flicked briefly, the coins that decorated the copper locks clinking loudly. If the bells were soft and sweet like a whisper, the coins were heavy like a booming laugh. “I’ve found it is often best to listen to what the trees have to say. And the library is a safe place to snooze if you feel compelled to.”
His question gave her pause, however. It was not one that she had ever been tasked with answering. While magic was not nearly as common in her homeland as it was here in Novus, it was something that she’d had almost inherent knowledge of growing up. How did one explain the existence of something that was so diverse, but by all accounts, truly unknowable?
Torielle hummed for a long moment, choosing her next words carefully. “That is… a difficult question. Magic is many things,” she spoke slowly at first, deliberately. It dawned on her that how she chose to approach this topic would likely shape the colt’s ideas and understandings about the world. Perhaps not very much, but in the case that he took the proffered knowledge like a fish to water, she wanted to make sure that the words she used were the ones that she truly meant.
“Some use magic as just a word to describe a feeling they might have. To say a moment was ‘like magic’ or was ‘magical’. It’s usually a good feeling,” she said, deciding this would be the easiest place to start. “When I use it as a word to describe a feeling, it’s usually a happy feeling, like being warmed by the sun. But not just my coat, but inside, in my soul. My heart feels happy when something is ‘magical’ to experience.” The mare smiled, giving him a moment to process that sentiment before continuing.
“But when I say that the trees have magic, and that we have magic in us, I speak more of a ‘something’. It’s similar to a feeling, sometimes. Like you felt a pull to the library. You didn’t hear words, but you had a feeling that this place would be safe for you, and that it wanted you to be here.” She bobbed her head, bells tinging. “Some would say that is a form of magic. But when magic is a ‘something’ it can be a lot of things. When I first came to this land, I saw a stallion who had lightning that decorated his wings. It danced across his feathers, but it didn’t harm him. That was a kind of magic. The kind that was gifted to him, either by his birth, or from the gods. I have seen others that can grow things, or talk to different creatures with their minds. These abilities, in one way or another, however they came to have them, are in their own ways, magic.” She paused, mulling that over for a moment, and then proceeding.
“That kind of magic, though, is special. It seems to be more common here than where I come from, but not everyone has those kinds of gifts. Not like the simple magics we use in our daily lives, the ones we are all born with.” She cast her gaze around the nearest shelves and her eyes landed on a slim volume a few feet away. If he were to follow her head movements, he would see the book easily slip free from the shelf and hover in the air for a moment before moving slowly closer and then gently being lowered to the pillow in front of her by some unseen force. She glanced at the worn leather cover and saw that the tome was a short book of fairytales- how fitting. Torielle smiled.
“Things like moving small objects, or wearing jewelry or baking breads, or other small tasks we do every day are a little bit of magic. We don’t often think of it like that, but it’s true. The little part of us that’s in tune with everything else in the world is what makes us magic.” She looked back up to the colt.
“So you see, there really isn’t a simple answer. Magic is a feeling, but it can also be a gift or a skill you have that no one else does, but it’s also the part of every one of us that makes us who we are. Not everyone believes it, not all the time, but I think that part is okay, too. Magic is something that comes from before any of us were ever born, and will be here long after all the creatures of the earth no longer wake with the sun and sleep with the moon. It’s all around us, and it is part of us, and it is part of what we can do, and what we can see. It’s a feeling that you hold in your heart, and it’s sometimes something you can touch. Magic can be anything and everything, all at once, and I think that is pretty neat.”
She let the idea hang in the air. Perhaps she had been too long winded, or hadn’t explained anything at all in the end. It was never anything she’d had to think about before, and in needing to explain it, she’d found it was something she had never really questioned. Magic had always been something that was- she’d never needed to really know how it worked, or why, just that it existed. Being asked to ponder the very being of it had sort of twisted the mare’s brain in circles a little bit, and her expression turned apologetic.
“I’m sorry if that was quite confusing; if I can I’d like to explain it better, if you have questions. We all understand things differently, and perhaps the way I have spoken to you about it was not very helpful.”
I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
His questions were rewarded with the sound of her speech. Ears swivelling and paying attention to each word she spoke. He could feel in her tone that she was speaking of something she was passionate about, it was as though he could see her soul alight with excitement. It was the feeling he had emerging deep within as he listened to her speak. She seemed so other worldly so wise, he wasn’t even sure she was flesh and blood like himself. Maybe she was something more divine. The ancestors spoke of elders of great power, but none had ever been seen - as such their existence was not confirmed for Aeon.
When she said his next question was difficult to answer, he cocked his head again and listened. The mare before him seemed to have all the answers, so something that was difficult for her to answer seemed particularly interesting. “I feel that inside when you speak.” he said, referencing her first definition of magic.
He snorted as the book floated off the shelf. What on earth was this? He was bewildered; he didn't know to be impressed or startled. Maybe she was truely something other and amazing. “What are those for anyway?” he said, referencing the books. “The symbols seem to have a pattern but nothing I can make sense of.” His mind circled back to the fact he had just seen a book float through the air.
“How do you do magic? You say this as though everyone can move items with their magic.” he asked with a tone that conveyed his confusion. He felt as though he had stepped through a portal into another land, with different rules. He had no idea all this would be waiting for him after one tumble down a volcano. Perhaps he had really bumped his head too hard. Here he was dreaming of a beautiful mare telling him sweet secrets of the world he had found himself in. It was almost too good to be true. “Did you make this place…the library?” he asked softly as a follow up question.
It warmed the mare’s heart to hear the young colt speak that her words made him feel the wonder of magic. That, in her opinion, was the best possible thing. She had heard a thousand different compliments, but to know that her words could spark magic inside another being was perhaps the only one that really mattered. She was delighted to see, too, that he seemed to take in the information relatively well, even if she rambled on. The concept of magic was a tricky subject and would likely take more than one overview to really get down proper.
As the colt continued to ask more questions, Torielle became more certain that he was not of this land. In fact, he must have been from somewhere else entirely. He had no knowledge of the written word, which was unfortunately somewhat common in some places, but without awareness of inherent telekinesis? The woman could not think of a time when she hadn’t been able to move objects or interact with her world in this way. Suddenly the page sniffing she had seen earlier made sense. He had not been indulging in the smell, but rather had been trying to figure out what was written, and how to move the pages.
She smiled softly, listening to his queries and mulling over which question to start with. He asked them with curiosity, if not a little bit of hesitancy. His reaction to her grasping a single book had clearly been something startling. Perhaps with that she could tie two of his questions together. The easiest to answer was his last, however, and so she spoke with a chuckle.
“No, I did not make the library.” She shook her head, bells jingling. “We have them where I come from, though they are often made of stone. Some other force here from this land created this place, and I am eternally grateful to them.”
The mare looked back down to the book in front of her and carefully lifted it once more. “The library is filled with books, on which stories that have been passed down orally can be written, so that they may be shared long after their story tellers pass into the next life, or can travel beyond where those stories come from.”
She flipped open the book and turned it to face the colt. On the two open pages there was an illustration, though faded, of a colourful butterfly leading a small band of foals somewhere through the woods. On the opposing side there were a few paragraphs of text.
“The words we speak have symbols when written, that can be used to tell those stories. Much how your voice can tell me things, when we write things into books, in a way, we give the books a voice, and it can tell others things, if they choose to read them.” She set the book back down. “Learning to read and write is something I could teach you, if you like.” She grinned.
“And I think I can try to teach you how to use your magic.” The mare took a deep breath, thinking about her next words for a moment with eyes closed. When she came to a decision, she opened them.
“This kind of magic, the kind we all have, is sort of like a feeling, and sort of like a thought. It’s an extension of yourself, of your desire to do something. And in that way, when you recognize that as part of yourself, you learn to use it like any other part of your body. It’s somewhat difficult at first, and it can take time, but once you become comfortable, it’s as second nature as walking,” she smiled softly. “I promise.”
I'm ready to bleed to make amends And sleep in this dirt we call our bed So tell me your secrets And join me in pieces
To fall and rewrite the bitter end
He was taken aback by the new information. He could learn to read and write? He could use Magic! Doubt still swirled its way around within him, but he very much wanted to trust the mare. With each moment in this new world he could feel his grief for the previous slipping away. There wasn’t much to leave behind to start with. His heritage would one-day show stronger as he grew, he knew deep within himself his wings wouldn’t always be useless. The grown adults of his kin seemed larger in stature than those of these lands. Little by little he could feel his attachment growing to a few select adults. It would take some time before he would fully let himself be submerged in what Novus had to offer.
Writing down the stories of the past was an interesting concept. "What would stop someone just writing down whatever it was that they wanted people to remember? How much of it was true? What kind of existences did folks lead that were interesting to read about anyway? Was there magic in the books?" His young brain whizzed in circles at so many questions that his lips couldn’t keep up.
“I’d very much like to learn.” He said eagerly, his eyes bright and hopeful. No one had ever taken the time to teach him anything. “My name is Aeon.” He added feeling odd that they had connected on this seemingly deeper level but he hadn’t said his name. He felt waves of tiredness starting to pull at his eyelids. The trees had begun to whisper to him again, that it was time for rest. That he would be safe here. He rested his head lower to the ground and snuggled his nose into the blankets. He was very tired and the answers to these questions would have to wait for another day.
The mare chuckled at the colt’s enthusiasm, a bubbling fountain of words as he tried to ask so many questions. Good ones, too. She loved that he seemed so interested in knowing more, and it took her a moment to realize that he likely hadn’t had this kind of invitation before. An equine that didn’t know of his own basic magic, or how books worked, or, it seemed, really much of anything about the world. The woman had seen many younglings who had been sheltered before, but nothing like this. It was almost as if he had been… neglected in some way. And with the extent of his burns, and the slightness to his wings, she supposed that it was possible he might have been completely rejected or, Gaia curse the thought, been left to die somewhere.
The image of this eager and overwhelmingly sweet young mind being left helpless, probably afraid, and then terrible things happening to him… It was nearly too much to bear in her heart. She’d heard and seen in some places that if one could not contribute, it was for the greater good that they were not a burden on the rest. She’d never agreed with the notion, and it had always been difficult to be an observer in such situations when she had been Planes-Walking. However, this was different. This child was in front of her, here and now. And she could do something about it.
As he lowered his head to the comfort of the blankets, it was decided. One way or another, she would help to teach and protect this colt by whatever means she could. She smiled, her tone soft.
“My name is Torielle. It is a blessing to meet you, Aeon. Now sleep, for the trees and I will make sure you are safe, and when you wake, I can answer all of your questions.” She wasn’t surprised that he nodded off, and she was half tempted to do so herself. The library was a very comfortable place after all, and the pillows were quite divine. But she had promised to make sure he slept soundly, and while it was perhaps not wholly necessary, she decided to stay for a while and watch over him, mulling over all of the things he had asked about, and all of the wonderful things she would tell him.
