the most dangerous woman of all is the one who refuses to rely on your sword because she carries her own
The slopes and woods that lay faithful in the day are darkly ominous by nightfall. The routes that were dappled with dashes of sunlight were wholly obscure now. The silvery luminescence of the moon granted no relief, its sugary light not even a trickle now, as Maerys's lanterns conform to the abrupt and absolute lack of light. The squinting of her mauve orbs did nothing to focus the gloomy and uncertain path ahead.
The darkness drew closer to her every instant, pressing down on her haunches and spine and then she knew suffocation of the senses was just as prominent a menace as the latching and squeezing of her trachea. Her cerebrum swirled from the smog of her thoughts, the smoldering embers of an era where there had been other presences with her and around her, the proximity of those she cherished and attended for intensely and entirely. The umbrae eddied about her slender silhouette, tendrils of ink; bleak warnings of her seclusion.
The trees that were luminous in the sunbeams rose over the mare's back threateningly now and the dense bark of their trunks extended no shield from the icy breeze that proceeded to ripple around her. The only din in her hammers was the syrupy sound of white noise which helped little to alleviate the stillness. The silence had the tranquility of a necropolis.
Though the forest was dark and foreboding, there was a sense of harmony and unity in its sullen ambiance.
Her gaze flicked to the tree before her, the dark body expanding upwards into leafless boughs that interlocked with its neighbor's like the arms of well-acquainted compatriots. Though the trunks were densely packed, there was sufficient space that would permit someone to maneuver through the gaps where the trees neglected to defend. Her tapered snout reached for the unpolished base of the tree, her velvet flesh grazing the tree with a fragile mellowness. The forest still emanated must from springtimes past, noting to those who progressed that rain had once been here and would come again. It was the reek of life. The forest teemed with it.
As she digressed through the thick masses of foliage, blundering on rootstocks and collapsed limbs, the crisp raw soil underfoot, the raven heaven heeded her diligently from overhead (the shaded seraph of this Delumine forest).
is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
He feels utterly safe out here in Delumine, and if that's a good thing or bad, Lasairian doesn't feel concerned. There were most certainly things out there that could cause harm; things that Lasairian could no longer go toe to toe with, but he doesn't think of it here. This is not the forest close to the Bheo with the free for all rules and usual killings, the one place close to his birthplace where anything and everything is tolerated. No, this is something else, this is the forest of the Dawn court, nighttime or not, and that makes all the difference.
At least to Lasairian, it does. Maybe the rules don't concern everyone, but there were enough reasons as to why this forest feels too much like home for Lasairian to feel true concern. This was the forest that shifted into the library the closer north one went, and there was no place like it in all of Novus. It was his favorite place, and he spent more time there than anywhere else. It called to him, that library with all it's books and knowledge, and Lasairian could not turn away from it. He would not, because it was more his lifeblood than anything else here.
For that reason, the inky dark of it isn't as terrible as it could be. Lasairian knew these trails well enough -- admittedly because he had gotten lost within this forest plenty of times trying to get to the library in earlier days -- so he had been pressed to sort it out for himself, map out within his mind where he was and any landmarks that spoke out to him on his numerous travels. His hooves know where to take him, and Lasairian trusts that by now. It's a strange form to be contained within, but he felt oddly adjusted to it already.
Like most of his new life here, that Lasairian had not expected to go so well. But so much of it seemed to work out in his favor, and he was ever so grateful for that fact. The chill was normal by now to him, though he could not have always said such a thing. There had been no real cold at the Bheo, so it was a weather that differed from what he knew growing up, and something he had been taught to fear. Here, however, Lasairian learned that he could withstand it much better than he had thought possible. Sometimes it even felt nice through his fur.
Eventually, he can see the light out there, something that isn't natural in the musky forest, between the shafts of normal moonlight through the breaks of canopy above. Lasairian moves closer, curious as always, to see what it's all about. Nothing that seems nefarious, once he can make out the lantern shape and the way it glows off an equine form. Lasairian calls out a gentle greeting, unwilling to spook the other in such a setting as this. He means no harm and wants to instill that fact in the other, "hello there," and he proceeds slowly.
the most dangerous woman of all is the one who refuses to rely on your sword because she carries her own
It commenced with a scanty shimmer as if the space in front of Maerys was being warped and distorted. Then, in a flash of spectral, silvery luster, a man loomed before her, a man which she did not recognize. Gradually he came into focus in the same style as a subject studied through a telescope, but this phantom was near, very near. The uninterrupted blackness shielded her from identifying him earlier thus establishing his presence suddenly and without caution. Her mauve sights stretched wide and she flinched lightly away from him as he developed from the obscurations.
At first, his tongue susurrated sounds she did not understand, akin to the soft racket of the wind in the trees, then as she focused more dearly and rallied her scattered attention, the ghost became more clear, the murmur registered in her mind as an everyday voice (merely a voice that had caught her off guard, by the looks of it). His mass, easily apparent now, was of expensive silver and succulent peach. Even in the forest, the dulcet finish of his flesh gleamed softly at whatever light it managed to latch onto. His eyes were novel and somewhat otherworldly, though Maerys met them with dedication. "I did not see thee coming, pardon my fear." The words tumbled gradually and tentatively out of her mouth, each one encased in a delicate blend.
Maerys thought the man to be (at tiniest) half a heel taller than herself just by promptly eyeing it. He was more perfected than herself, aged well like the abundant and earthly wine from her homeland. His tresses fell from his crest and dock sleekly, thin filaments of silver (more radiant than her own). As she subtly heeded his presence, she questioned what he was doing in the forest now. She estimated he would not bring difficulty by the lack of mischief that lurked in his eyes and lips though such could be veiled like the heavens behind the fogs. Had he wanted to maim and murder her, he would not have manifested himself so obviously (she assumed). He appeared so removed from wicked that Maerys dropped her guard marginally, her nerves pacifying and her reserved demeanor flourishing.
"Maerys is mine own name," she submitted to the stallion, praying that he would return with his own title. "I am a squarer in the lands," her lilt came again. "A soldier, officially." She wanted, needed, to discern if he was a member of Delumine or some other estate. Beyond requiring her home to be safe because it was her responsibility as a warrior, she wanted her home to be safe for all those that resided in it. She cared intensely for the children, dams, sires, and outcasts that took refuge in the manor walls as Dawn Court brothers and sisters. She ached to identify if this stallion was a menace or not but she had no means of telling if he was (or wasn't) part of Delumine unless outright told.
is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
Her slight flinch away from him as he approached was kept in mind, as he was unwilling to make the same mistakes and cause her to be more wary of him if he could at all help it. There might be no getting around it, though, which he would understand if that was merely how things went for her. Otherwise, Lasairian was trying to be aware of what made others uncomfortable around him, adjusting his actions and mannerisms around what he knew, what he was learning. A slow task, perhaps, but he was still very much learning as to what made those in these lands tick and so forth.
He wanted to better himself in fitting in here, so observing even these small things like those little reactions mattered to him. He was keeping an eye on what he could, wanting to assimilate into the culture and learn from it. This could help him become a better medic, and be more approachable to those that might eventually seek his assistance. That was half the point of his taken job, wasn't it? Having a good bedside manner was crucial in this kind of work. Lasairian took that responsibility seriously, and wanted to present the fact that he did. He also wanted others to feel safe around him, even in conditions like this, where it was not so easy to see what was out there.
When the mare spoke in response to his greeting, Lasairian's gaze was thoughtful over the manner she spoke, but not at all put off from it. There hadn't been any he knew of here to speak that way, but that didn't hinder him when he had known some to speak in that manner at the Bheo, as if still clinging to the past in which they had been prevalent in. Those that had stopped going out into the world or refused to change with the times. Lasairian isn't sure he can blame them for it, as even he did not wish to go until he felt he absolutely had to. That was why he had found his way here, after all. Pushed to it, though he was at ease with the choice by now.
He shakes his head as if to show her that there is nothing to pardon, offering a light smile her way instead. She gave her name to him, and told him that she was a squarer -- he had to quirk an eyebrow at that for a moment, brief as it was -- then she was saying it was officially a soldier, which made more sense to Lasairian. Therefore, he nodded to her, storing away this information. Knowing it was only polite to give his name and rank, Lasairian does so, "I am Lasairian, a medic," he spoke up to her, giving no other information on it, since she had not given more either. He could, however, give a reason for being out here, so she knew he wasn't intending to be a creeper, "I was headed towards the library, though maybe a bit off the normally beaten path," he added lightly.
the most dangerous woman of all is the one who refuses to rely on your sword because she carries her own
She'd met doctors before. Their tendencies were all pointedly purposeful, probing and offering a perfunctory beam. Most doctors she had met seemed weary of their projects, orbs as somber as gunmetal and a center saturated with apathy. Reasonably, the intense devotion that propelled them into the profession withered as the years ticked by like seconds on a timepiece; paint on an aged house bleached from the sun following years of vibrancy. Would the years wear on Lasairian's soul too? It must've been painful to preserve a life and then for all the credit to go to a faraway god in the style of an unheard orison. Just as it must've been unmanageable when it was impossible to save a life- to receive criticism on top of self-assigned guilt that decayed like an open wound feasted upon by maggots.
Medics weren't the delicate ballad of birds in the skyline or the beautifully painted heaven at dusk. They weren't the swinging of hips to delightful songs or plummeting in love. No not at all- medics were clear air and fresh water. They were the thick, fertile loam and the syrupy spring rain that bred the next generation of germination for our gut to devour. Medics truly were things we didn't know we needed or loved so dearly until they disappeared. It was just too easy to die of infection, disease, ailment. Underappreciated, the medics were. From these thoughts was born unalloyed recognition: "Thou art kind to care for your brethren in such a way." The very lips that spoke this compliment smiled respectfully now (that spark of initial fear and shock now subsiding with the passing seconds).
And Maerys knew that should he ever grow tired of his rank, the warriors would accept him gladly. After all, doctors knew where to poke and prod to end a life with minimal effort.
Maerys is promptly drawn from one succession of thought and propelled into another as Lasairian mentions the library... row after row of neatly lined up books with their thick spines facing outward. Fastened with leather, the chapters must be cracked and dry with wear, perfuming faintly of grit and age. They must lie patiently, their pages brittle, eagerly waiting for someone to flip back their covers and indulge in the knowledge they have to offer. Each one's assertions invite further conservation, a fresh perspective, and perhaps even a unique variety of wisdom and understanding. Books are the preservation of their creator's philosophy, a timeless glacier of evaluation that would otherwise be as fleeting as a faint zephyr over the grassland. Though she had yet to tour Delumine's library, she felt that it must be no less eccentric and whimsical than the others she had seen (at least she hoped not).
"I wouldst misprise to keep thee from thy studies." The absolute last thing the femme wanted to be was an inconvenience to the stud. "I mean not to hinder thee," she continues unobtrusively. "Shall we walk, Lasairian?" The inquiry flutters in the space between them for a note before Maerys begins walking, her cranium motioning for him to join her at her side.
is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
Perhaps Lasairian wasn't old enough to be wary of his chosen occupation, or hadn't gone through enough losses during it to feel like it was wearing him down. He had only helped with healing others so far -- watching, learning, assisting -- and never on his own. Lasairian had taken up the medic role after arriving here, because while he had learned a great many things about it over his years, it had not been his first choice. It was what he knew, yes, but before Novus, Lasairian had been more immersed in magic studies. That had been his passion, and in many ways it still was.
He simply had more to study now, and without magic of his own, he felt he would be of more use in what else he had known. Hence the medic rank. He knew what it was about, had the teachings and the skills. What better to keep learning and follow through with than this, if it was the best option left to him? That wasn't to say he did not know how to be anything else, because it was entirely possible that he could be able to swing a more warrior lifestyle if he needed to. He had enjoyed the sparring back where he was from, after all.
Yet that did less to help others, and Lasairian wanted to be that sort of person, instead. He wanted to learn more, and a medic seemed more appropriate for that way of thinking. At least for now. Would he eventually grow tired of becoming a medic? Worn down from it? Maybe. He couldn't see it now, but it was always something that could still befall him. He had things to fall back on if so, and had no true concerns over what it would mean. At this point, however, he would keep going as he was, and soak in the knowledge that he could obtain.
He thinks, also, that this would have made Caydren smile to know of, too. A healer and a witch -- because even without magic all of that did not just die or wither away, it was too ingrained in who he was -- and Lasairian still had his views, the ways he would look at things, pray, even. He would still brew his teas, still collect crystals and find glowing lights something to be fond of. He would still research magic where he could, still reach for it and remember what it felt like to have it. Lasairian would not forget any of these things, just hold onto them for now.
Listening to Maerys speak, telling him that he was kind to care for his brethren in the case of being a medic? It made Lasairian nod, because while he might not have grown up around other equines, they certainly were his peoples now. He had taken to this sort of life with relative ease, and he hadn't expected to. There was so much about this place and how he was now living that he had not expected to warm up to so soon. But here he was, doing it. He was still figuring things out as he went, but it was interesting and somehow all still made sense.
So he nods to her, not sure if there was any appropriate way to vocally respond to something like that where he wasn't being flippant or self deprecating. A nod seemed safe enough, and so he left it at that. More words from Maerys and Lasairian almost objected over it -- he was always happy to give pause in his studies for a conversation, a moment to socialize and possibly learn from others -- but she had continued, and spoke of walking. To which, if she meant to walk with him to the library, Lasairian was all for that, "that sounds like a great idea, Maerys," he said, beginning to walk alongside her.
the most dangerous woman of all is the one who refuses to rely on your sword because she carries her own
Their discussion was standard in every sense of the word. It was not love bleeding through the air, braiding their hearts into one. When he gazed at her it was not as if every sigh was cut from her lungs and launched into the wind like midnight smog. They hadn't touched yet, though the girl concluded that the world would not cease and quake with anticipation and fervor if he moved for her flank in this very moment. There were two sides to every coin: if it wasn't love between them, was it hate? Her eyes peeped at him and she did not feel animosity and enmity well up in her heart just as she did not feel fury burning through her veins.
If they could, the trees would laugh at the girl's thoughts now, dressed in their skimpy attire, the nakedness of winter apparent on their branches for even though Maerys was a child of reflection and contemplation, everything she did and spoke was over-thought, every outcome previously foreseen. When she had little to reminisce about, she explored the realm of infinite possibilities. This was not the approach to a fulfilling course, but the girl was a mere infant in experience and would hopefully determine quickly that over-thinking may not be the most satisfying way to exist.
Beaming tenderly as he joins her at her side, they walk towards the Library, her step equaling his.
As they progress, the scene (though drastically modified) reminds the girl of her brief stay in the Illuster Meadow. It had been her and one other (Fia, she recalled), the same as now, but everything else had been changed. The daylight had wrapped Maerys in a blanket of sunshine and the snow underhoof bit with each hoof fall. The trees were remote and few between, offering irregular shelter from the downpour of sugary snowflakes (not that shelter had been at all desired at the moment). The breeze had felt lively and cool, a rousing sigh of clean air. There'd been nothing alarming about the scenery, but her company at the time had divulged that certain malicious beasts- "Doth thee know of monsters that lurk here?" The question fell from her lip mid-thought. It would seem undeniably random, but the girl's curiosity begged her to inquire. Could she just ask about monsters and still be taken seriously? Fia knew of monsters, but did that mean Lasairian would? "I am new to these regions and have heard murmurs of such creatures." Such was true, she'd only arrived less than a couple weeks ago. Everything seemed so typical to all the others she had met, but it was all complex to the girl. In her homeland, they had monsters, of course, but she knew how to evade them or conquer them. She'd known thieves and murderers but knew well she could guard herself against them. There were poisonous sprouts in abundance, but she could identify them all. In Novus, she felt as though she was leaving everything up for a gamble.
Lasairian appeared knowledgeable due to the fact that he seemed to venture to the library so often. To the girl, this signified that he had plausibly read something at least once about monsters. She watched curiously, waiting to see what the stallion had to offer.
is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
It couldn't be anything more than standard, because there was only so much that Lasairian could offer anyone here. Friendship, conversations, medical assistance, possibly directions or other information; but he was a little more limited than other equines. Certainly he had done this to himself, and he did not regret it, but he was never going to be anyone's romeo here. There would be no trysts or courting, because he was too devote in his beliefs to have anything but virginal blood in his veins. Before all of this, before Novus, it was blood and rune magic that he had immersed himself in, for healing and otherwise. He held to that even now.
Even while he had no magic to speak of, nothing to suggest he might ever gain it back, he holds to this. His belief was wrapped up in more than religion, of course, but he had known of his sacrifices for it all long ago when he had made those vows. Yes, there was one, and only one way around it, but it was not obtainable. Perhaps he had done it that way on purpose, so that he would never be more than slightly tempted. So that even the temptation of it all could not sway him from his path. He was centered in what he had chosen. He was at peace with his choices in this manner, just as he was with his taking of the medic rank here.
Having something else to fall back on in the rank department was always a good thing, and while he felt that he could settle into a warrior type rank, he did not expect to want that anytime soon. He had done his time in the fighting pit of the Bheo, and while he was proud of his accomplishments there, he did not feel the need to have any such things here. Not to say that Lasairian did not want to be accomplished in a medical field, because he most certainly did. He was still trying to debate which specialty he would go for, if ever he got that far up. It didn't seem all that easy on one's own merits, though. A system based more on teamwork made that much more complex.
He wanted to rise up on his own work, but since that wasn't really how things worked here -- at least for his field and several others -- he had to give thought on finding another medically inclined in which to work with. Something that he hadn't been giving enough thought to, though he knew he should be. Another day, perhaps. He just needed to get to that point, to find someone that wouldn't let him down. A work in progress, but he believed that eventually, someday, he might get there. Slowly, in time, his skills might be put to use, but Novus felt very quiet to him at this point. Maybe healers weren't all that needed, but he held fast in it.
Lasairian walks alongside Maerys in calm silence for some moments, until she was asking him if he knew of any monsters that lurked here. Now Lasairian had a different view of what monsters were than some others might, but he didn't want to talk about the kind of unknowns that made people think monster based one one bit of information. He did not believe that any of this forest's inhabitants were monsters -- just creatures looking to survive in any ways they knew how -- but he knows better than to say that here and now. It's not what she was seeking. Easier to just go with the flow of it, to cater to what he knew was being sought out.
So he clears his throat gently and gives her a thoughtful look, "I know there are creatures here that are massive and dangerous. They might not be what I consider a monster, but something that others might. The Bramblebear, for instance. It is not quite a bear, but something different and more. Some would consider it a monster here, though I think it's merely the biggest predator in the woods, and it, like all of us, needs food to survive. Unfortunately, that means it would most certainly eat any of us, if it can catch us," he responds to her questioning. He'd only caught a glimpse once of what he thought might be the creature, but otherwise had seen drawings of it within the library. Warning signs, as it were.
she was powerful not because she wasn't scared,
but because she went on strongly despite her fear.
Did monsters pursue them now, hushed as the twilight, dancing between the trunks as the pair of equine did? Did they dissolve into the blackness of shadows when the sun began to climb over the horizon, disappearing into nothingness? Were they striking and intrepid, predators just as arrogant as sunbeams themselves? The questions that lingered in her thoughts doubled, tripled, quadrupled- Maerys decided that research was really her only way to find answers. Curled up within the aisles and aisles of books, she would read hundreds of pages, perhaps thousands even, to find her answers.
Maerys was never the master of her own thoughts as fate brought new revelations and possibilities far too often for the girl to ever control her imagination, today thrusting Lasairian her direction. Her orbs kindled at his concept, and it was evident that an excessive number of distinct ideas were gushing through her mind. She had perceived something in a new light now and it produced a twinge of delight in her heart (after all, she relished seeing the best in everything).
Most thought of gloom and dread when they thought about monsters, but Lasairian saw vibrancy and the shine of silver. The girl was captivated by this man's description of monsters. It was easy to think of a bear, much less a bramblebear, with ivories that were keen, white blades, jutting out from gums inside a voracious maw ready to slice through flesh until it was time to feast, but there was regularly a buried layer. It could be a mother desperate to feed her children, it could be a starving bachelor or a lost child. Undoubtedly, these animals were just as complex as the horses that surrounded them which meant yes- some were reasonably evil, just as the horses that lurked among them could be but this didn't mean they all were. These animals were not monsters as much as they were predators endeavoring to survive in any way they could.
Maerys understood that concept well.
The man spoke so easily and fluidly about the creatures that Maerys speculated if this was all he thought of them. She recollected Fia's series of questions, inquiries meant to discern what could possibly drive a young mare out into the open when monsters lurked about. She had instilled a spark of fear within the girl that had yet to fully diminish. "Thee aren't afeard?" The question is not laced with malice, but genuine curiosity. "Shouldst we call those folk predators over monsters, I shall admit, I bethink mine own dreams wouldst still beest haunted in the same way." Would thinking of them in a new perspective change the way anyone felt about them? Maerys doubted it. Yes, she understood why they did what they did, but they were no good for the horses and as a warrior, Maerys knew she would not be able to show mercy to these beasts should they reveal themselves to her.
is this a natural feeling or is it just me bleeding?
Lasairian did not think that they were being followed or stalked by anything that others might consider a monster, but it was always possible that they were. How would he know for sure when he was distracted by conversation and Maerys, not keeping an eye on the forest around them or listening intently beyond their words? No, Lasairian could not feel sure that there were any creatures following or not, but he wasn't going to be worried about that now. No reason to live in fear of those things if they hadn't yet happened, after all.
Plus, there were two of them to face anything that came, and Maerys already said she was warrior oriented in rank. That was a plus for their side, wasn't it? Lasairian liked to think so, but he also had some understanding of how such creatures might attack and fight. Not that he was in a position or body to do much about the fighting back part, but he could probably keep out of the way long enough to figure it out. Or that was what he was hoping right now, anyway. That might be a bit too bold, a bit too confident, but there was always running the last however length it was from here to the library to seek shelter there if need be.
Most creatures did have some reasonable explanation for hunting and taking down prey, so Lasairian couldn't just write them off as monsters for that. They had a nature to work with, and if that was the carnivorous kind, then it was hardly their fault for being made that way. Some were simply living their lives the best that they could, and Lasairian respected that. He wasn't going to make for an easy meal if they came after him, but he wasn't going to hold a grudge over it. Not unless they were of a mindset to be terribly nasty about their attempts, and without any honor. That made a difference.
Maerys was asking if he was afraid or not on the matter, and Lasairian did take a moment to think about the question. To really ponder it over as he listened to her continue on how she saw it. Lasairian figured that if he had been born in a herbivore body such as this, then yes he would indeed be more afraid. If he didn't know of such beasts that seemed fantastical, then yes he would feel fear of them being around. But he did know of those types. He had lived with them, been something like them once, and had even loved one of them from a distance.
He had watched them fight and learned about all those things. Had adored and looked up to one the size of an over-grown bear, with the shape of a fox and decked out in feathers. These were not unusual things to Lasairian. So he looks at Maerys and smiles gently, "I am not innately afraid of the idea of them, no. I should be, being what I am now, how weak this form is, but I used to thrive among such creatures without a fear of dying.
It's no longer a healthy perspective, considering that death is quite possible with the things in this forest, but I think I would have to be faced with it to be afraid," he confesses lightly, wondering what she might think of those words.
