A Holy Journey (Open)

Hazel is no stranger to the strange-looking folk who dwell beyond her sacred homeland, she has after all spoken with a few (Lily, Jigano and Arduinna’s Ianto). The sight of the alien’s ghostly skin, however, so unlike the soft golden-olive she is accustomed to (and so much of it!), draws upward a crude sort of curiosity that she barely knew existed. Where she stands, still, unwilling to break the barrier of distance between them, the Fae-girl watches him emerge fully, modesty kept only by a leaf of fabric; then he sees her and soft cheeks blush hot, red, before she turns her face visibly towards the makeshift campsite which had been the target of his focus moments before. Why does he stare so? Though lowered, as seems to be the tradition of his kind, there is an undeniably intimidating enormousness to him, that she can’t quickly overlook. It is while her eyes are averted away, that a flicker of light, maybe movement, on the shoreline strikes her own interest. There is no animal to be seen, no bird to shed a feather or wind enough even to scatter the leaves; her kind notice these things easily, they are as much a part of this forest and this forest is apart of them. Hazel is torn and shifts uncomfortably, drawing into her cloak a little further. “Hello?” For the slightest of moments she thinks she can trace the outline of another human silhouette, not-Fae, but like a mirage, the line wavers and she questions herself. And then it seems to turn; she is surer about what she has seen now. “Why are you hiding?” the child asks warily.