Nephele
the world will not be destroyed
by those who do evil
by those who do evil
She is not here.
It is evident even from a distance. The aura, the life force that had once belonged in the grand structure of the tree, it is missing. Leaving what feels - to Nephele, to all the Fae - like a carcass, desecrated and strung up in mockery of what it used to be. Not even the decency of seeming like a grave or a shrine. Only a gaping wound that cannot close until she is returned.
Nephele desperately wanted to be part of the group that went to find her, but she knows that even with Ludo's gifts she is too weak for such efforts. Instead, she intends to finish the quest it had given her, and make herself stronger. For the future.
Her wings carry her nearly soundlessly as she descends through the branches overhead, her fingertips gently tracing the tips of the Mathair's limbs as she goes. Once her feet are upon the forest floor once more, Nephele looks up at the giant tree, and considers anew the question she has agonized over for days - how to harvest a branch in a respectful manner. Hands on her hips, cloaked in Ludo's impossibly dark rags, Nephele considers the branches in immediate view. Perhaps one already wounded? So that it can be removed and new growth can occur, like pruning?
It is evident even from a distance. The aura, the life force that had once belonged in the grand structure of the tree, it is missing. Leaving what feels - to Nephele, to all the Fae - like a carcass, desecrated and strung up in mockery of what it used to be. Not even the decency of seeming like a grave or a shrine. Only a gaping wound that cannot close until she is returned.
Nephele desperately wanted to be part of the group that went to find her, but she knows that even with Ludo's gifts she is too weak for such efforts. Instead, she intends to finish the quest it had given her, and make herself stronger. For the future.
Her wings carry her nearly soundlessly as she descends through the branches overhead, her fingertips gently tracing the tips of the Mathair's limbs as she goes. Once her feet are upon the forest floor once more, Nephele looks up at the giant tree, and considers anew the question she has agonized over for days - how to harvest a branch in a respectful manner. Hands on her hips, cloaked in Ludo's impossibly dark rags, Nephele considers the branches in immediate view. Perhaps one already wounded? So that it can be removed and new growth can occur, like pruning?
but by those who watch
without doing anything
without doing anything
