over the moaning bones
of those who quit and chose to remain
If there was one season Atreus loathed more than the rest, it was undoubtedly winter. The bitter chill and blustering winds could be relentless, and the snow that oftentimes accompanied it covered the ground for weeks on end. It made his job all the more difficult, especially when one considered that this was also the time everyone was more susceptible to illness. Much to his dismay, his sleek coat of lavish, silvery red grew longer, and there was a good chance that that was the potion master’s most hated reason for the season.
Still, he had a reputation to uphold as Champion despite it all, and so when one morning came that was a little calmer than the rest, he set out for the snow-blanketed fields due north of Terrastella’s capitol with basket in tow. No amateur, Atreus had gathered a plentiful supply to maintain the Court’s residents until spring came and the annuals returned in bloom. For now, the Ilati man was focused on gathering the more common perennials that dotted the land and weren’t quite as precious to him. Rosemary, thyme, mint, basil and more – they all persevered throughout the cold months, and each were highly revered in their medicinal properties, as they could be used in a variety of remedies if curated and prepared properly.
Uttering a soft curse as an unpleasant gust whipped his side, Atreus set to his search, beginning first at the base of a group of trees, carefully scraping the layer of snow away to reveal the earth and what remained beneath it.
“Speaking.”
@Theodosia and anybody else who wants to gather some herbs or whatevs!
The air up above Terrestella is winter-chilled even through her armor, sneaking in between the chinks of the iron, but she grits her teeth and continues to soar above the land she calls home -- there is no time to surrender to her discomfort, no leeway to breathe when it feels as though war is looming around every corner.
She feels as though she is drowning beneath the weight of duty and obligation, beneath the new tasks of her title, and she is barely treading water between the Halcyon patrols and trying desperately to take control of the land troops that they have precious few of. The wound still healing on her flank aches in the winter cold, sending chills clawing up her backbone every time the muscle flexes.
She catches sight of a figure below her, and when she adjusts her wings to drift downwards in a slow spiral, she begins to make out snatches of detail that she recognizes as the resident Champion of Healing. She folds her wings fully so that her lazy spiral begins a dive, landing a few feet away from the man and trotting the last few steps towards him as her wings fold against her barrel.
“Atreus,” She greets him as she stops short just a foot away, the metal of her armor rattling slightly, and her head is cocked slightly to the side. “It’s a cold day to be out gathering supplies -- would you like some help?”
over the moaning bones
of those who quit and chose to remain
It was the gentle ruffling of feather overhead that gave her away. By the time he raised his head to look up she was already descending upon him, coming to a halt and standing with poise near him – too near, if he were being honest, but his features gave no indication to the fact of the matter. It was odd that anyone would approach him at all unless they needed some sort of medical attention, but save for the mark across her flank, she appeared just fine to him. A part of him was suspicious, remembering well the looks she and Israfel had shared upon their arrival in Delumine months prior. “Theodosia,” he spoke her name to return her simple greeting, “I would argue it’s too cold to be out for a flight, yet here we are.”
He quirked a brow at her offer, taken by surprise. For a moment he pondered turning her down and going back to his task in comforting solitude – because that was simply what he preferred sometimes – but as yet another brutal wind hounded him, he was quickly reminded just how much he would rather be back at the hospital surrounded by four sturdy walls. “A kind offer, my friend; I would appreciate the help.”
Glancing down at the basket filled with only a couple stalks of rosemary, he moved it so that it sat between them. The Champion returned to the task at hand then, pulling back the snow which lay piled up around the base of the trees as he continued his search. “I’ve been getting complaints of aching joints and congestion this past week. Are you familiar with the plants basil and thyme?”
Perhaps she might have judged Atreus for his relationship with his brother, but the truth was -- well, she’d never exactly had the best of relationships with her siblings either, had she? She doesn’t know either of them well enough, not when she knows how easily an individual could hide behind their reputation: hell, just look at how many people had sworn her sire was a good person and a merciful deity.
If only they had known what he was truly like -- a sadist who toyed with minds and emotions for his own twisted pleasure, a narcissist who only cared about his own delights.
They wouldn’t have believed her either.
“The borders won’t patrol themselves,” She replies with a shrug of her wing before it tucks back against her sides, the feathers and her armor an inadequate protection against the chill bite of the winter air -- but they are better than nothing at all, she supposes, and her attention turns back to him as he sets the basket between them.
“Yes -- my mother would use them, whenever I was sick as a child, and I often helped him gather the leaves.”
She turns her attention to the base of another nearby tree, using her cloven hooves to carefully pull back the layers of snow that blanketed it, seeking out the woody stalks of rosemary that might still remain despite the chill of the season. When she finds a small clump of the leaves, she carefully plucks them from their spot nestled into the roots of an old oak tree, bringing them over to the basket between them.
over the moaning bones
of those who quit and chose to remain
“No,” he offered, rolling a shoulder after a moment of consideration, “I suppose they won’t.”
His question asked, Atreus expected one of the usual answers he received, bordering from a simple ‘no’ to a prideful claim that they knew every plant when in reality, they couldn’t tell wild blueberries from tutsan. As he dug, he glanced toward Theodosia as she gave her answer, wondering if she might be amongst those latter few – but she seemed far from the type, despite how little he knew of her.
Dragging his hoof carefully against the top layer of snow, the roan worked diligently to unearth a clump of basil, now void of its lavender flowers but still lively enough to be used. Silence fell momentarily over him as he uprooted the plant, assuring he retrieved the entire plant before placing it in the basket. Only then did he continue to speak, offering a brief inclination of his head. “If I may inquire, where is home for you? Are you from Terrastella as well?”
She pauses at the question, eyes shadowed for a moment, and her teeth grind together briefly at the memory of her homeland -- when she turns to him to reply, it is with carefully chosen words. “Terrastella is the first place I have considered my home, but -- no. I was born far from here.” She had never considered Dead Horse Ridge to be her home, had never once felt comfortable there -- it may have been her birthplace, but it was not her homeland. Her hoof digs into the snow at the tree’s roots, digging around to see if any other plants might be found beneath the blanket of white, and the corner of her mouth quirks upwards.
“It looked pretty close to this, though -- it was the domain of the God of Late Winter, so it was always blanketed in snow and ice.” The remark is off-hand as she moves to another tree, using her antlers this time to help scrape away some of the snow, and is rewarded by the sight of pale green leaves. She uses her telekinesis to carefully lift up the thyme flowers, following them to their roots and pulling those as well, before she returns to the basket.
“I'm guessing you and King Somnus aren't entirely native, either?”
