Callynite
The doe tilts her head at the stallion when he seems to return her questions with his own, of why the terms male and female beyond just equine is used - and then relating it back to their fawns . . . er, foals. Cally nods slowly, thinking, "I suppose, when you phrase it like that, it makes a little more sense, might take some getting used to, but I'll get into the swing of it at some point." She mused, and slowly she is relaxing.
And as he seems to follow suit, she glances at the forest around them, and at the motion of the stallion pressing against the bark, his eyes closing, and something sharp twists in her heart as she forces herself to look away. He clearly has a close tie to the forest, a tie that she can no longer experience. Even as the wind sighs through the trees, the sound seems so dull and simple. The crescendo of the trees voices are lost to her ears, the land is still to her, and she yearns for a touch of that connection she once had. To hear even the softest of whisper from the vegetation, to feel the forest around her - to not be cut off from it's touch.
Her nose can press to bark, but all she will feel is the cold edges of the bark. No emotions, no welcome, no presence. Just dead earth, the pain of that is greater than she can say when she knows it lives wild and free around her, an un-containable force of power and life. Just not a force she can touch. So she distracts herself from that company - and as he steps away from the trees, she tries to hide the yearning in her eyes for even a touch of what ever connection he must hold.
A druid who can't commune with earth, she's become a joke. She focuses her attention fully on the conversation, and she puts that attention into the pronouncing of his name, careful to get it right, memorize the syllables and sounds to memory so she would't stumble over it in the past. His quip offers better distraction as she grins at his laugh, shrugging it off, with an amused smile, "Hmm, I suppose the vocabulary would give me away, wouldn't it? I'd promise to work on that, but I wouldn't keep it." She returned his quip with her own sass, a grin easily fitting onto the delicate muzzle, her large doe eyes gleaming with mirth.
She did nod in agreement to his assessment, "No, not long at all. Enough to get my hooves under my feet and to not jump every time I see my new reflection." She agreed. And then he asks a question she wasn't prepared to hear, and her expression shifted to something more forlorn, regretful, but she nods, "I can . . . it's a lot like Delumine actually. It's why I ended up making roots here." She had to be careful not to flinch at that poor word choice as well. In the Thicket, it would have been met with laughter, the druid making roots. Here, it was a dead joke at the expense of a stolen magic.
"Collectively, the land was named loosely, just called the Thicket. But . . . it was a magical place. Small villages scattered about for different herds, but primarily it was open lands . . . I'd spend days in the forest and never grow bored. Even alone there was a comfort to experience with the land, with the nature." Her gaze turns far away as she talks, "Jokes had been made that I was better friends with the trees than with the other deer of the forest. Not that it surprised them, druids are meant to be part of the forest, after all. The land was warmth though, and the forest protected what it had claimed. I miss feeling that, it's presence . . ." It would be as close as she could admit to the kind of connection she had lost when stepping through the portal, but if she had seen what she had thought between the buck, er stallion; and the forest, she was sure he'd likely know what she spoke of.
She turned back to him after schooling her features, her head tilting faintly, "Your turn. Tell me all of the secrets of Viride. What's Viride really like?" Many may be confused at how she could personify nature, as if speaking of an individual and not a selection to land - but when it came down to it, Cally wanted to know more than just what the forest looked like and where things was . . . she wanted to know the forest, even if by second hand.
"Speech"
@Ipomoea
And as he seems to follow suit, she glances at the forest around them, and at the motion of the stallion pressing against the bark, his eyes closing, and something sharp twists in her heart as she forces herself to look away. He clearly has a close tie to the forest, a tie that she can no longer experience. Even as the wind sighs through the trees, the sound seems so dull and simple. The crescendo of the trees voices are lost to her ears, the land is still to her, and she yearns for a touch of that connection she once had. To hear even the softest of whisper from the vegetation, to feel the forest around her - to not be cut off from it's touch.
Her nose can press to bark, but all she will feel is the cold edges of the bark. No emotions, no welcome, no presence. Just dead earth, the pain of that is greater than she can say when she knows it lives wild and free around her, an un-containable force of power and life. Just not a force she can touch. So she distracts herself from that company - and as he steps away from the trees, she tries to hide the yearning in her eyes for even a touch of what ever connection he must hold.
A druid who can't commune with earth, she's become a joke. She focuses her attention fully on the conversation, and she puts that attention into the pronouncing of his name, careful to get it right, memorize the syllables and sounds to memory so she would't stumble over it in the past. His quip offers better distraction as she grins at his laugh, shrugging it off, with an amused smile, "Hmm, I suppose the vocabulary would give me away, wouldn't it? I'd promise to work on that, but I wouldn't keep it." She returned his quip with her own sass, a grin easily fitting onto the delicate muzzle, her large doe eyes gleaming with mirth.
She did nod in agreement to his assessment, "No, not long at all. Enough to get my hooves under my feet and to not jump every time I see my new reflection." She agreed. And then he asks a question she wasn't prepared to hear, and her expression shifted to something more forlorn, regretful, but she nods, "I can . . . it's a lot like Delumine actually. It's why I ended up making roots here." She had to be careful not to flinch at that poor word choice as well. In the Thicket, it would have been met with laughter, the druid making roots. Here, it was a dead joke at the expense of a stolen magic.
"Collectively, the land was named loosely, just called the Thicket. But . . . it was a magical place. Small villages scattered about for different herds, but primarily it was open lands . . . I'd spend days in the forest and never grow bored. Even alone there was a comfort to experience with the land, with the nature." Her gaze turns far away as she talks, "Jokes had been made that I was better friends with the trees than with the other deer of the forest. Not that it surprised them, druids are meant to be part of the forest, after all. The land was warmth though, and the forest protected what it had claimed. I miss feeling that, it's presence . . ." It would be as close as she could admit to the kind of connection she had lost when stepping through the portal, but if she had seen what she had thought between the buck, er stallion; and the forest, she was sure he'd likely know what she spoke of.
She turned back to him after schooling her features, her head tilting faintly, "Your turn. Tell me all of the secrets of Viride. What's Viride really like?" Many may be confused at how she could personify nature, as if speaking of an individual and not a selection to land - but when it came down to it, Cally wanted to know more than just what the forest looked like and where things was . . . she wanted to know the forest, even if by second hand.
"Speech"
@Ipomoea
