He does not think of anything but the flight. (Three flaps, then glide. Three flaps, then glide.) The sad man had chosen him to fly, not to think.
So he flies.
The eerie cold of Solterra persists until the Armas, where it suddenly becomes a normal cold, the plain old chill of altitude. The little crow could not say how he knows the difference- it is just something you feel in your feathers. He looks around with his one good eye, careful to avoid ravens and hawks and the like-- everyone knows they are particularly troublesome here. But it is a quiet evening and everyone seems too busy hunting or socializing to bother the messenger.
Once he's over the mountains, it is a straight shot to the court. Usually he goes directly to the rookery, but this time is different. This time he is to go to the library, and look for a very distinctive lady. His client had the most remarkable gift of showing him an image, in his head, of the woman. When he finds her, in the library as expected, he is disappointed that she is not quite as beautiful as he was expecting. But he knows all too well that boys sending letters (particularly the ones who send flowers as well) to beautiful women are typically not fully grounded in reality.
He sits on the windowsill and squawks loudly, first to get her attention and then to tell her of his journey in a language she won't understand. He tells her of the man with sad eyes who sent him. He doesn't get chosen as a messenger very often, you know, because of his missing eye and mangled feathers and all that, whatever, but the sad man must be a smart man too, because he looked the little crow in the eye and he just knew that this, this was a fellow who would get the job done! And here he is, despite the downright creepy weather, really once in a lifetime stuff, and--
the mare clearly doesn't understand him so he stops, disappointed, and hops to a large wooden table where he unties the letter from his leg. It had not been properly sealed (the crow tuts, finds this insulting) and it uncurls neatly as soon as it is untied. He looks at the scrap of paper, ruffles his feathers (a few fall out, he can never seem to keep them) and watches the woman read. He's hungry, and rather upset that he flew all this way for this-
Moira T,
The jasmine has stopped blooming here, but I still close my eyes and try to remember how it smells. I don't think it helps me sleep but it reminds me of you.
Please let me know you are alive and well. The world would seem much darker without you in it.
I would like to see you again.
Eik
@Moira <3 long overdue! He... he gave up trying to spell Tonnerre x'D
By the light of candles and starsong, the world shifts and dances like the flames licking the walls in their sconces. High above they watch like sentient shadows that never leave these isles. Ah, and among the dust motes and forgotten passages she moves, she sways, she breathes into the stillness and exhales life with every step. Broken wings can be mended, but broken souls are much harder to fix. Isra is a gallant Empress, and the sun-blessed girl is determined to help in any way possible.
Of course, that does not mean she cannot have a reprieve. Retreating into the ancient corners long since abandoned in the library halls, she rests in a pile of books on a nest of old scarves, tattered remnants of drapes long since fallen, and who knows what other horrors beneath her. It is almost as cozy as the chaise from the Estate...it almost feels like home.
So much happened in the previous days, the phoenix did not expect to hear from any outside of the Night Court's borders other than Dusk. Bodies were funneling into the streets to fill them with life (if not weary beings) once more after the disasters. While joy soars in her heart, there is also trepidation and weariness. Not meant for the crowds, the many faces peering at her, leering at her, whispering at every corner of the horrors that this gypsy home might hold, she seeks to help them from a distance. Buried within the books on plants of this land, creatures who could hold cures, and much lighter novels on prominent figures in the Courts, Moira Tonnerre does not expect the tapping at the window. It is all but drowned out with the low humming that fills the candlelit area. All too soon the crow is on the table she should be at, glaring at her with an adamancy that demands she respond.
Delight sparks in those honey eyes as she looks over him. Not as large as the others, and only a single eye, but a fine creature nonetheless. There is spirit in him, she can feel it with every chirrup. Shaking out sore muscles, the woman rises from her nest to join him. A small smile rests on carmine lips as she listens and listens, only letting out the sigh as silence rings true once more. "I wish I could understand you, my friend. What stories you must know from other places !" With that, she graciously accepts the letter and lays it upon the table.
Hungry are the eyes that read it; soon they turn into a soft, simmering amber that shimmers with unshed tears and unspoken joy. Immediately she turns, looking to the crow while nearly prancing out of her skin.
"I must reply at once, of course. Please... Please wait here while I fetch supplies and food for you." Bounding down the isle, a great wave of dust stirs from the ground as she leaves.
Within minutes Moira returns, a small parcel of bread and bowl of water float to the table where the messenger sits, and opposite him her paper falls with ink and quill at the ready.
Pacing but a moment, she begins to write...
My dearest Eik,
Supplies are low here, have you heard of the waters that threatened to drown us? We're safe, mostly, and the wounded have been cared for. Those that are still healing hurt dearly for all we have lost, but we are strong and will rebuild. May I send you jasmine when we have recovered? Knowing you sleep poorly is heavy on the mind, but knowing you think of me so fondly is a blessing that helps ease it.
I have not been outside of the Court since before the storms and disasters, what's befallen Solterra? Are you alright?
I send this with you at the forefront of my mind, and in hopes that you rest easy knowing I am as well as can be. Tell me where to meet you, and I'll go as soon as possible.
Or you could come to Denocte ! We are not so broken that your charming company would be unwelcome. Send word with your decision when convenient.
With love,
Moira Tonnerre.
Blowing on it until dry, she smiles at the words on the page and pulls the flowers he sent near to smell them. They are delicious and nothing like what grows in Denocte - delicate, yet hardier than those she's seen here. Quickly the letter is sealed and she looks to the crow. "Rest for the night if you wish, there is room for many in these ancient halls, I do not think I would mind the company. When you are ready, my friend, would you deliver this to the man that sent you?" And with that, she ties the parcel about the crow's ankle, returns to her pile of blankets, and gently nudges a smaller area for the crow to join if he wishes.
He wanted to send a message to Moira the moment they parted ways. One sunrise would never be enough for him-- he always expects nothing, wants everything.
(Oh, if he could be defined by one thing, it would be want. )
He wanted to send a message but he did not. It was easy enough to ignore his heart- he has practiced this throughout his life. He told himself she was fine, he was fine, and life plodded along as usual. She wasn't gone, though. He let himself think of Moira Tonnerre in the quiet moments when there was not anything else to think about. She began to haunt him the way Asterion did, and Calliope, and Turhan. (Seraphina would likely haunt him the same way except she always felt close at hand, less like a ghost and more like a scent in the air that he couldn't quite trace) In this way he would be reminded of her, of them, by certain and very specific things: the afternoon light falling across the canyons would remind him of Calliope's rage. The breeze from the northeast, when it blew, would remind him of Asterion. And at night, when a star would fly across the sky in a glorious rush before becoming one with the dark, he would think of Turhan.
But then the snow came and the jasmine died, the one that reminded him of brilliant Moira Tonnerre. Things changed, and life was no longer plodding along obediently.
-
The days that follow the crow's departure are accompanied by a faraway buzz-- he grapples with fear as he realizes what it would mean if there is no message in return. When the crow flies home with parchment in claw, relief is a palpable wave through his body. The small bird lands unceremoniously on Eik's rump and begins to chatter excitedly until the stallion closes his eyes and reaches out with his mind- "Thank you, friend. It would be easier if you show me."
For a few seconds he sees Moira as the crow saw her: the candlelight illuminating the lovely intensity of her face as she reads the short letter. The crow's thoughts quickly move on to food in great detail, ignoring Eik's silent complaints, but then to the stallion's delight he is taken on a flight around the court. For a moment he is enraptured with the feeling of flying- it is everything he had dreamed, and more. When the novelty of it fades to the background, he focuses on what he is seeing. His heart aches to see a place he's never been to, thoroughly damaged by nature (or the opposite of nature?) and it lurches at the brief glimpse of a bay with a familiar-looking star, walking next to a unicorn.
Asterion? And--
"Go back," he asks, but memories don't work like that. "Back to the start, please--" He is brought back to his body with a rude peck on his rump. The crow drops his letter on Eik's dusty back and pecks at him again, impatient.
The grey's heart races in excitement (he was so absorbed in the memory, he had forgotten the message!) and he quickly but carefully unravels the parchment. His eyes widen at first glance of Moira's delicate writing. Eik has never received a gift before, and although it may seem like a simple act of correspondence, this is a treasure to him.
He reads the letter three times, pausing each time to re-read particular sentences
"With love,
With love,
With love,"
but his mind was made up before the first word.
-
The crow, looking even more haggard than usual, returns to Denocte. The letter he carries this time was hastily written and lacks the precise penmanship of the first. One might think that an entirely different hand had written it, except it shares the same brevity.
Moira-
It is a relief to know you are alive and well! Solterra is covered in snow. We are cold and short on supplies, but managing for now. Sleep is the least of my worries.
I am coming to you, not long after the crow. I think his name is Martin.
