Take Me to the River

The child is observant, astute. Green eyes monitor the lines on his silver-framed face for movement, change, ever alert to the temper of their meeting; illegal or not. When his lips contort with unexpected wryness, even slightly, the crippled core stiffens within her generous covering, not because she worries, but because she wonders what about her question, provokes such a shift. The Fae begins quietly to suspect that his kind are indeed responsible for the barrier and the destruction beneath it. He speaks though soon enough, and with one peaked ear tipped a little forward Hazel attentively listens. Her eyes travel yonder with his, guided towards the Gryphon, and a pang of sadness touches her heart for the  innocent young creature’s lack of freedom; a deserved life among Caido’s stunning wildlife which she would never realise. Still, she is glad too, for Jigano seems to be tending to her well. This thinking provokes glimpse of a thoughtful, satisfied (enough) smile; sight of the solemness stealing his own, though, when it returns from riverside, robs this away. Outlanders… The word spreads an itch across her skin, like an invisible rash that she longs to claw. This Fae, having lived her life so sheltered in the wilds of The Greatwood, can hardly imagine the event he describes: a portal (presumably a gaping fissure opened up in the earth?), and the possibility of someone being thrown across dimensions, personal possessions severed from their hand. It moves within her a new sense of sorrow, for the loss he describes is one she’s never known. The Outlander’s demeanour transforms again, and the smaller native is glad for the relief his chuckle brings to the topic; a titter falls in turn from her lips- Both die suddenly. “With the barrier, came wild storms above my home, well Caido.” She answers almost gloomily, though the voice of reason within her mind (of the figure in Undercroft’s belly), rises like howling wind through the cold silence of dead night. They are demanding… righteous… it reminds. In turn the posture of the crippled child changes, hardens, and she wishes in that moment that Jigano was only Fae like she; without the questions or self-entitlement her kin had alluded to.   Mordo’s weight rocks beside her, against the palm still upon his shell, and Hazel is glad for the sudden distraction. She turns her eyes briefly from the not-Fae to her friend, smiling tenderly. “He is restless,” gentle words explain, and quietly she sets about untying the basket from his back. “They help my family in exchange for food and healing (when needed). He is free to come and go - whatever is his desire. “ Once free, the giant beetle lingers in place momentarily and then treks slowly away through the trees. “Free food is his preference. “ She assures without worry, returning with a shrug.