is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
So he pressed on, kept going forward, lookimg around and shuffling through what shubbery was around in attempts to find something that could prove useful. Lasairian had gotten well versed in what most plants and herbs looked like that could be used in a medicinal way -- as well as what they could all be used for and how much -- but he had relied too heavily on his rune and blood magic before, and with it gone now, he was wishing he had relied on it a little less back then. Yet he had been young and entralled with magic, so it was an easy mistake to have made. How was he to know that magic would be later gone?
There had been no indication of such a thing happening, and he had broken no rules to have it taken away from him by anyone who had been strong enough to do it, either. Instead, it had gone after he had left the Bheo, sometime between that and getting here. Lasairian still wasn't perfectly sure how he had gotten here to begin with, but he had been able to settle in and fit in well enough. Too well, maybe. Things had fallen too easily into place for him, which was a little concerning in retrospect, but what was he going to do about it? Complain, when it was going well and had opportunities open to him? No. He kept going, reaching, hoping.
There was a wolf howling somewhere out there, but Lasairian did not feel the urge to go and hunt it down anymore. Not while he was like this. Had he remained the way he was before these lands, he might have gone after it. Now, however, he doesn't think it is the best course of action. He proceeds onward as he had been going, soon enough finding himself in an area that does not look well traveled at all. The shapes under the snow and the stone bared in spots told a story of a structure that had once been here, and Lasairian pauses at the archway, the only thing that really gives it away. The rest might be confused for a rocky hilltop, but not this.
Or most of the rest, anyway, because there was a vine entangled statue of an equine figure of sharper angles not far from the arch. It drew Lasairian's gaze and his curiosity, because it was a good portion buried under dirt, rubble, and snow. Makes him wonder how long all of this has been left here, and what it must have been. Lasairian knew he could look into the books and see what was recorded there of all this, of whatever history was here before the Dawn Court, or even with it long ago. He doesn't know how old or new the court itself is, but he was sure that at least that much was written down somewhere in one of those books.
The vibe of the place might have affected Lasairian, if he wasn't used to and in tune with old structures and things that bespoke of what had been before; but he was used to it, because that was where he had come from, some place like that. Ancient and primal, thousands of years at it's back. A place so old that it was living in and of itself. The sithen was nothing to shake a head at, though for his childhood, up until recently enough, it was all that Lasairian had known. All of that, though he was quite young as opposed to most that he had grown up with. Growing up there was it's own story, though.
Lasairian is shaken from those thoughts by the rumbling and shaking of the ground, the way the statue emits a blue light. Perhaps he had woken it by being here, though Lasairian had touched nothing and had meant no harm by his interest and curious nature. The lit up runes catch his eye -- he had been a runemage before now, one interlocked trio of runes carved into his left shoulder still -- and he is interested further, but cautious. Lasairian knows what runes could do, how they could be used, and he was instantly more wary about what had been woken up. He no longer had his magic to fall back on, which made him uncomfortably vulnerable now.
At least he is not too close to the granite creature now, observing from where he had frozen to the spot to watch and get ready to run if need be. He was still unsure on that matter, and taking it one moment at a time, wondering if he had been noticed at all or not to begin with. It was out of the ground now, a tall thing, even to him, and Lasairian tries not to move when it swings it's head to look around. Hesitates when he heard the jumble of what might have been words. It sounded like words, but none that Lasairian knew. His roots were Gaelic, and certainly not that. Still, it did not sound angry, whatever had been said. So Lasairian took a small step forward, "hello?" he tilted his head and waited.
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