i have been wearing the ocean all day
Boudika has come not as a woman, but an osprey.
Still, it is strange to see the bird of prey so far from a large water source. Still, it is strange to see it so fearless in its approach of something so inherently magical. Perhaps it is because it is magical, and it is not an osprey but a woman, a monster, a myth.
Boudika comes to see the tree not because of curiosity; but because she remembers the Island, and the magic, and being close enough to touch the relic of Tempus and yet—so far from actually grasping it. She sand, the bear with bejewelled eyes, the mad chase. All of these things belonged to a woman of a different era, to Boudika before she had been Made. And yet—
They hold the power of a revelation.
The osprey lands upon a lower branch and stops. In an osprey’s eyes, everything seems magnified a thousand-fold; she perceives colours unimaginable, and detail that belongs not to the natural world but something synthetic; to microscopes; to telescopes; to stars and dreams. Yet here Boudika is, with her osprey eyes, staring at a tree that does not seem as if it can be real. The bark underfoot feels as if it is real; an oak, or an elm. But her eyes perceive the thousand shades of twilight dancing in the transparent glass.
Boudika does not know how long she remains perched there, in the branches; it is long enough to watch the comings and goings of many equines. It is enough that she finds herself waiting for one, in particular.
Tenebrae.
His silhouette mounts a distant hill; he walks steadily, as if there to worship. She admires her with her too-bright eyes, from her alcove in the star-like leaves. Is it sacrilegious she wonders, to roost in this tree? It has not yet shed her from its branches, and so she does not leave them. Besides, the magic of it breathes in to Boudika the wonders of life; she feels the pulsation of it, the endless circle of tree-to-earth-to-sky-to-sea and hopes it is not imaginary.
Tenebrae’s lips move. He does not come near enough for her to touch; only stands at a respectful distance. She wonders if he is praying. There is something humbled about him when he turns to go. The osprey launches from the branches with a characteristic, high-pitched keen. And then she is gone, borne back toward the sea.
***STAFF EDIT
@boudika has been awarded +1EXP!
