He said "I bet you don't remember me"
Remi’s stride stretches long and sure as he dives into the Wildwood. The forest leans in around him, all golden mist and beckoning boughs, and the scent of rich, living soil curls sweet and familiar in his lungs. He breathes it in like a secret.
Slowing just enough to brush his fingers against a thick-trunked birch, Remi whispers, the sound threaded between the rustle of leaves and the firefly flicker of Will-o-Wisps. "Do you remember that dragon who used to live here?" Remi murmurs, mouth curled at one corner, his voice pitched soft as honey. He ducks beneath a gnarled branch, then twists, weaving between mossy trunks with practised ease. "Tore through here more than once in a temper. Knocked a dozen of you over, maybe more. I did try to stop him, but you know how he gets." The grin in his voice is unmistakable, fond and fiendish. "Well, he’s back. Just ahead of me now, stomping about like he owns the place."
Another low-hanging branch brushes his curls. Remi leans into it like a conspiratorial shoulder-bump. "If you could see your way to slowing him down—nothing cruel," he adds quickly, "just… tangle his laces a bit. Encourage a little wandering. A loop or two, back where he started. I’d consider it a personal favour."
The wind stirs gently in answer, or maybe it’s laughter, or maybe just the trees shifting in their eternal whim. Either way, Remi presses forward with renewed lightness in his step, content in the knowledge that the Greatwood—at least for now—is on his side.
Slowing just enough to brush his fingers against a thick-trunked birch, Remi whispers, the sound threaded between the rustle of leaves and the firefly flicker of Will-o-Wisps. "Do you remember that dragon who used to live here?" Remi murmurs, mouth curled at one corner, his voice pitched soft as honey. He ducks beneath a gnarled branch, then twists, weaving between mossy trunks with practised ease. "Tore through here more than once in a temper. Knocked a dozen of you over, maybe more. I did try to stop him, but you know how he gets." The grin in his voice is unmistakable, fond and fiendish. "Well, he’s back. Just ahead of me now, stomping about like he owns the place."
Another low-hanging branch brushes his curls. Remi leans into it like a conspiratorial shoulder-bump. "If you could see your way to slowing him down—nothing cruel," he adds quickly, "just… tangle his laces a bit. Encourage a little wandering. A loop or two, back where he started. I’d consider it a personal favour."
The wind stirs gently in answer, or maybe it’s laughter, or maybe just the trees shifting in their eternal whim. Either way, Remi presses forward with renewed lightness in his step, content in the knowledge that the Greatwood—at least for now—is on his side.
and I said "only ever other memory"
Speaks with a thick Italian accent.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
Force and magic can be used against Remi without permission.
