NEPHELE
down in the forest we'll sing chorus
His accent catches pleasantly at her ears, and she merely nods in acknowledgement of his thanks. Though she was protective over the rose, and perhaps more so of Mathair, she would not allow herself to be too bothered by his presence. Not when the rose in his own hands held such importance, such potential. Planting it near the Mother Tree had been a wordless instruction from the moment her hand had touched the stem of the rose she had planted, but it would have been one of her destinations regardless. Nephele feared to lose the tree that had been her home, her playground, her shrine. If Vi's strength could not sustain her, nothing would.
Ianto's wink and the transformation of his hands both take her by surprise, but it is a delighted sort. Her wings flutter and bring her closer, feet skimming across the snow as she stares in wonder at the masterful shifting powers he has. Fae - often the oldest, the wisest - had the power to transform. But so few displayed it, and they were not so tight-knit of a community that it was commonplace. "Wonderful," she murmurs pleasantly, unashamedly watching him go about digging a space for his rose. Hazel eyes flit upward as he introduces himself, and she smiles beatifically at being awarded the information she had wanted.
"Clearly the pleasure is mine," she laughs softly, gesturing towards the little display of his that had so enamoured her. Nephele watches over his efforts, the tension still tight in her shoulders. It draws a similarly themed question from him, and Nephele frowns at the empty horizon, distrusting. "The Blight and its carriers have destroyed everything I hold dear," she says, voice low and tensely controlled. "There were many traveling to the Shrine as I flew away, not all of them well-intentioned. I'd sooner die by their hand than let them destroy our chance at healing." There are no heroics to her words, a simplicity and acceptance of the idea of death ringing in her tone. Whether they followed or not, her suspicions would not ease until her task was complete.
Shaking her head slightly, fiery hair dancing around her, she refocuses on the last softly spoken comment from the handsome man. He's interesting enough to keep her where she is, though she can still feel the call in her blood to plant the remaining two roses. "Vi and Rae work in perfect tandem. He gives life, and she allows him reign when winter would sooner kill them," she says softly, kneeling beside Ianto and reaching one hand to delicately trace one of the petals with her finger, a warm smile on her face. Vi had her faith, her trust. She sends a quiet prayer that they succeed, that the Blight will be pushed from her beloved forest and that her sister would be healed.
Ianto's wink and the transformation of his hands both take her by surprise, but it is a delighted sort. Her wings flutter and bring her closer, feet skimming across the snow as she stares in wonder at the masterful shifting powers he has. Fae - often the oldest, the wisest - had the power to transform. But so few displayed it, and they were not so tight-knit of a community that it was commonplace. "Wonderful," she murmurs pleasantly, unashamedly watching him go about digging a space for his rose. Hazel eyes flit upward as he introduces himself, and she smiles beatifically at being awarded the information she had wanted.
"Clearly the pleasure is mine," she laughs softly, gesturing towards the little display of his that had so enamoured her. Nephele watches over his efforts, the tension still tight in her shoulders. It draws a similarly themed question from him, and Nephele frowns at the empty horizon, distrusting. "The Blight and its carriers have destroyed everything I hold dear," she says, voice low and tensely controlled. "There were many traveling to the Shrine as I flew away, not all of them well-intentioned. I'd sooner die by their hand than let them destroy our chance at healing." There are no heroics to her words, a simplicity and acceptance of the idea of death ringing in her tone. Whether they followed or not, her suspicions would not ease until her task was complete.
Shaking her head slightly, fiery hair dancing around her, she refocuses on the last softly spoken comment from the handsome man. He's interesting enough to keep her where she is, though she can still feel the call in her blood to plant the remaining two roses. "Vi and Rae work in perfect tandem. He gives life, and she allows him reign when winter would sooner kill them," she says softly, kneeling beside Ianto and reaching one hand to delicately trace one of the petals with her finger, a warm smile on her face. Vi had her faith, her trust. She sends a quiet prayer that they succeed, that the Blight will be pushed from her beloved forest and that her sister would be healed.
