Somehow, in all his years in Novus, Asterion has never stepped beneath the boughs of Viride Forest. His only foray to Delumine was a spring festival two years past; if he lets himself he can still see the lights and lanterns hung between the saplings in the meadow, can hear the music he danced to with Florentine, can taste the icing Moira smudged on him.
He is not sure when he became a man of memories instead of dreams; he’s less sure that he cares for it. They weigh more than thoughts of the future, sweet and gone. They ache like the beauty of an autumn tree, and Asterion is tired of aching.
Maybe that is why he walks until the dark wall of forest becomes individual trees, and keeps walking until he is swallowed up between them. The bay needs something new, something unknown - a new path to focus on where his mind can’t wander, lest he trip over the root of a century-old cedar. He is not afraid of what he mind find there (or rather, what might find him); after the island, after the riftlands, Asterion isn’t sure he has room for fear. Not for predators or monsters, anyway, not for shadows on the trunks or high up in the canopy.
So he wanders with no particular direction, passing through patches of ferns whose wide palms brush his sides and out into sudden meadows where the last of summer’s wildflowers still nod in pockets of sunlight. Eventually he finds a stream and lets it guide him, and the chuckle of the water keeps him company until he rounds a bend and there, across the brook, is another horse.
He recognizes her at once, or thinks he does; it seems so out of place to find her here, in the middle of a forest in the Dawn Court, but then, the island had been no less strange. Her back is turned to him, and she is dappled by shadow, but there is the familiar shape of Hasta on her back.
“Corrdelia?” he calls, and despite himself he’s already beginning to smile.
There is a part of her tugging at her reality, wanting to rip it apart and show her all the rotten things inside of it. She hasn't been letting it because it's too great. It's too much to handle. It makes her heart sink like it did that frosty winter day when… when.
Her mind shuts it out. All those memories and what really happened when she first met Po. She can't. Her mind won't let her.
So she has settled here for a new start. Corr thinks it's the forest calling to her in a different way than the swamp did. She thinks it's the bird and elk spirits asking her to follow more than the toads and the cranes. It had been hard to say goodbye to them, but these new spirits welcomed her immediately. Over the season, she's been able to finish moving in and calling this place home. There's still work to be done, but it's already starting to feel more comfortable.
But there is something lingering on her mind as she stands by the stream. Corr tries to ground herself and listen to what it's trying to tell her, but there's nothing. She supposes she's been better at listening to the emotions of others than the emotions or voices of the world around her. It makes her a little jealous of Po's abilities, but she figures she'll just ask him to manifest a flower or two for her sometimes.
So when something sparks in her like a gentle nudge from an old friend, it comes as a surprise. Her concentration is broken and she turns around to come face to face with a ghost. It probably shows in her face as all the blood rushes out of it and her heart stops for a moment.
It can't be, can it?
But it's his voice and it's his aura. She would know it anywhere, only it appears to be an even more vibrant shade of violet, but it's still his shade of violet.
"Asterion?" she breathes, hardly believing this moment to be real. The crow witch remembers the altars in Denocte and placing sea shells by Asterion's stone. She remembers meeting Rhone and how he grew a lily there. While there had always been a part of her that didn't believe he died, she had come to some type of closure then that he wasn't coming back.
Yet here he is.
Corr can no longer contain herself, so she rushes towards him with the biggest smile on her face. Hāsta bounces around on her shoulder, but remains attached by the extra cord she tied around her neck and to the crow's feet. The bird always seems so clumsy these days, so it's what she's had to do to make sure she keeps her balance while Corr moves around. She's not paying attention to what her bonded is doing at this moment though, so the bird's body is hanging sideways. Perhaps a grim greeting for poor Asterion who won't know what's happened. Clearly from the expression on Corr's face, she is oblivious and doesn't mind it at all.
She embraces Asterion in a hug, feeling the warmth of his skin and seeing his aura shine so brightly in front of her eyes. He has to be real. "They thought you were…" Dead, the word is hard for her to grasp. "Welcome back," she says instead, trying to find the right words while thousands of questions swim around in her head.
His name is just a whisper on the breeze, half imagination by the time it reaches him; but the surprise etched on her face and the smile that blooms there after is pure and clear. A tautness he hadn’t realized was in him suddenly dissolves, and his own smile grows broader as she runs to meet him.
“Corr, he repeats, almost laughing at her exuberance; Hāsta's unnatural limpness goes unnoticed for the moment, hidden between the mare’s shoulders. Gladly he welcomes the hug, tucking his neck around hers. Asterion catches a whiff of something then, dusty and dead, feathers and bones. But still he doesn’t realize, because there, too, is the smell of Corrdelia, and forest-shadows and medicinal herbs. There is no trace of Terrastella on her skin, and that makes him a little sad - until he realizes there isn’t on his, either.
At any rate, it isn’t hard to fill in the word she skips.
“I don’t blame them,” he says, “but I’m glad they’re wrong.” His smile is more subdued when he steps away to look at her - not only because of subject matter but because that word, that unspoken word, makes him think of the not-dream (vision? He has no adequate word for the experience) with the strange mare and her god-light eyes, the one who was Death, and told him to choose his own.
“And how are you, my friend? How is -” and that’s when he realizes, when he leans around her to look at Hāsta, expecting to hear the crow, or at least see a flap of wings and those bright corvid eyes looking back at him. Strange, that she’d be so still -
But it is not strange, because the bird is clearly dead.
He wears no smile now, only a brief little o of horror before his expression creases with concern. “Corrdelia, What happened to Hāsta?”
It feels like a dream. Like he is made of stardust and they are in a Delumine that's not Delumine. Or she's managed to travel into the spirit realm and she's communicating with his ghost. Then when they embrace in a hug, it makes him tangible. He's really here.
"Me too," she says, feeling glad that everyone had been wrong about the man's death. There had always been something tugging at her saying that he wasn't really dead. Just… lost. Now he's found his way back from wherever he had been.
She's about to tell him all of the things he's missed when his expression changes. Her smile turns to a frown and she can't help but soak in the emotions he gives off. Corr turns around, thinking maybe something is coming for them and it's behind her, but she just sees the forest as it always is.
When he then asks about Hāsta, her worry slips away and she just laughs. "You know, you're probably the fifth one to ask something like that. I don't get it! She's fine, see?" she says, nudging Hāsta with her nose. In her own hallucinations, she sees the bird fluff her feathers in retaliation, but in reality, the corpse just flops a little more to the side.
Her mind is no longer able to process what really happened, so it all just feels like a blur whenever she tries to recount it. Instead, she shrugs it off with a smile. "Same old Hāsta. Grumpy as ever, of course," she adds, thinking to the conversation they had not too long ago. She wouldn't have it any other way with her companion.
Her smile starts to fade when she realizes that Asterion doesn't know she's left the Dusk Court. Is that why he's so far from Terrastella? They were never close close friends, but she had made quite an impression on that Court.
"I'm sorry I'm not in Terrastella anymore," she confesses, feeling guilty. "I decided on a change of scenery with Dawn. Have you…" she trails off, unsure if this might be a sore spot for him or if he's in hiding. "Do they know you're back? Marisol is Sovereign now."
There are many more questions she wants to flood him with, the biggest one being what exactly had happened to him, but she waits for now. The last thing she wants is to stress him out after his return, especially if where he had gone was rough.
His initial horror subsides when her reaction doesn’t match it, but the concern in his features doesn’t go away. She’s fine, Corr says, and turns to the bird, which Asterion watches flop grotesquely, slipping so that it sits crooked on the mare’s back.
Clearly, the women is unwilling - perhaps unable - to process whatever has happened. The bay pities the others she mentioned, who must surely have felt the same distress that he does now, and undergone the same struggle: to press the issue and risk causing distress, possibly anger, or to let it go. One of his ears flicks at the buzz of a fly; the sound make him a little nauseated.
For now, he says nothing, but he doesn’t try to fake an expression that hides his worry. It feels wrong to meet her eyes, to studiously ignore the sad little sack of bones and feathers on her back. Only in trying to does he think of his own, still missing, companion - and that’s enough to convince him to say something, only she’s already speaking again.
After seeing Hasta, it does not surprise him that Corrdelia has left the Dusk Court. He tries not to wonder if this might not have happened if he had stayed, or she had - that line of thought was a long road ending only in darkness.
“Marisol knows,” he says, and saying her name is somehow like a bruise. “A change of scenery sounds nice. I’ve never had the chance to explore the courts as I would have liked…Dawn is very beautiful.”
Oh, he’d like to avoid the elephant in the room, but every time he catches a glimpse of the crow his heart lurches. Softly, with difficulty - for he has not spoken of her since returning - he says, “I haven’t seen Cirrus since I came back. Did you ever, before you left Terrastella?” It occurs to him that she likely would have no idea, as the gull looked the same as any other, but if it opened a conversation about the crow then it would be worth the little mingling of guilt, hope and heartache that he feels when he thinks of Cirrus.
When Asterion mentions that Marisol knows, it makes Corrdelia wonder how that conversation had gone. They had all been distraught of his disappearance. After many had tried to find him, they presumed him dead. The whole Court mourned him and Marisol took on the title of Sovereign despite her heart still being with the Halcyon. Yet, here he stands after all this time. She's not sure if the mare would've been relieved or upset or both. Maybe it's not Corr's place to know. At the very least, she's happy to have him back and to see a familiar face in a still somewhat unfamiliar place.
"It's very beautiful," the mare replies, looking all around them and breathing in the fresh scents of the forest. She had grown so used to the dampness of the swamp, it surprised her to find that she enjoys the woods just as much (if not more). "I will always remember my home in Terrastella, of course. But there's just something about Delumine… I don't know how to explain it." And she doesn't. It's like a gut feeling inside of her that drew her here in the first place. Now she can't bring herself to leave.
Her sense of serenity fades when he asks about his own companion and the crow witch shakes her head. "No," she replies with a frown. "I'm sorry. Do you still feel him?" She's referring to the mental link (or even a link to the soul, as some would describe it) that all horses share with their bondeds. She knows Asterion will know what she's talking about, but she's afraid to hear him say no and what that could mean for poor Cirrus.
Part of her feels compelled to change the subject for his own sanity. "Here, I've got a fresh batch of tea in my pot inside. How about I poor you a cup and you can tell me about all of your travels? Or where you want to travel to next?" Corr offers, hoping he'll take her up on it and therefore take his mind off his worries.
Marisol had not seemed relieved. Even just the mention of her name had one of his ears flicking back, uncertain, though the quiet lines of his face never changed; their business was between them, and not for friends to worry about. It is only another stone to add to his cairn of regrets. (Still it eats at him, an aching tooth, something rotting beneath the leaf-litter of an autumn forest).
When the gray mare’s eyes slide away to scan the forest, Asterion follows her gaze with a quiet exhale. “I know what you mean,” he says softly, and he does - there is something different about the forests here, a quiet sense of wakefulness he never found in Tinea, or the short pines that marched up to the cliffside. It feels ancient but not malignant, though perhaps that is the work of the stream that runs beside them - that laughing water, he thinks, could never sound sinister.
The shake of Corrdelia’s head doesn’t surprise him, but that does nothing to keep his heart from sinking. Sometimes, he thinks, the wondering is worse than the knowing - there are too many awful endings his imagination can conjure, too many images of Cirrus searching for him. Better to think that she’d just…given up on him. It’s hard to meet the dappled mare’s eye at her question, but he does, and shakes his head, though Asterion doesn’t speak.
He appreciates her offer of tea - it makes him think of Fiona, and of all the things he’d loved about the Dusk Court. The way they cared for each other as best they could, not extravagantly but with such gestures of care. “I would love that,” he says, carefully ignoring the blank, unseeing eyes of Hasta, and summons his best smile. “I haven’t had tea in a long, long while. And I’d like to hear what you and Novus have been up to.”
As he follows her to her home, he reaches out, briefly, to touch her cheek. “It’s good to see you, Corr,” he says.
Asterion doesn't say no, but he shakes his head and it still makes her sad. She can't fathom being separated by her bonded and can already feel the anxiety from him through her magic. Corr is glad that he agrees to tea so that they can hopefully both shake off this feeling.
"Ah, yes, well that's because my tea is the best you've ever had, so you don't need to have any other kind," she says with a laugh at the end. The woman takes pride in her tea making for sure, but it's because she puts so much care into all the steps, including growing the herbs herself.
When he briefly touches her cheek, Corr smiles and envelopes herself in the feeling of friendship. "It's good to see you too." While her solitude is nice and is necessary for her meditations, it does get lonely at times. It's so nice to have a familiar face here and have a chance to exchange stories.
"Hmm, I don't know where to start. You've been gone quite a while you know…" she starts as they leave through the woods. Corr will go on to tell him the series of events the best she can, leaving out the more grim parts for the more positive stories. He's been through enough after all and could use a little more happiness.
