with a reverence unimpaired

DELAH

Delah raises a brow, an amused smirk spreading across her face colouring it a shade of beautiful for one hostile moment. "Your people will be fed to the tulmhainar. You are not in a position to barter for their freedoms." The fae replies with all the self assurances of one who knows precisely how many stand at the ready to attend to her every word.

Then, perhaps, she softens.

"Would you care to see it? The tulmhainar? " She asks, her smile feral but inviting.

In places deep
With roots entwined
I live the life I left behind

And there it is again: staunch rebuttal, coupled with a dangerous smile. Amalia has reached a point where she does not care. Tired, angry, she merely stares, a firm determination hardening her face. She will get her people out, no matter what Delah says. She will just have to find another way. The fae is feral, almost lovely in her wildness. Under different circumstances Amalia might be fascinated by that, but as it is she can only nod, trying not to let the wave of emotion she has so carefully contained from breaking through to her voice. "Yes."[/say.] If the tulmhainar is what keeps her people here, then she will find a way around it. Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.

DELAH

"Come then. And see." Delah says with a reverant pause, her dark gaze tantalizingly wicked as she turns and moves through her warriors guarding the pit. No one dares move against their chieftess despite how their wary eyes fall upon the tall woman so suddenly having her revoked permissions returned to her.

In silence Delah walks, her small stature doing little to hide the intimidating presence she wears like a second skin. Meandering to the outskirts of the village, they come suddenly to a copse of trees that appears quite thick but also symmetrical, as if planted in such a way as to create a ring.

"Ready?" Delah asks with a wry smirk.

In places deep
With roots entwined
I live the life I left behind

This is a bad idea. Every fiber of her being knows this: her gut boils with it, her muscles ache with it, her heard hammers with it. Delah's feral pleasure is a sure sign of her mistake: why would the fae be so secure, confident at last, silent and alive? Wordlessly they pass through the watching fae, Amalia holding Jyoti close, dread growing stronger with each step. The starlit child senses her disease and trills a soft cry, trying to burrow against Amalia's chest Maybe if she were the leopard she would be brave, but Amalia the human is terrified. At last they stop before a copse of trees, clearly intentional, eerie in their regularity. Amalia swallows, trying to keep the anxiety from her face. No! she is tempted to explain, but the memory of Kiada in her arms holds her tongue. She cannot let them down, and this is her best chance at learning more of the threat that faces her friends. Amalia releases Jyoti and mentally instructs her to run if there is danger; the whale instead releases another star and begins to sing a young but soothing tune. Emboldened by her companion's light, Amalia stares at the trees and nods. 'Yes." Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.

DELAH

"Alright then." Delah says, nay sings, a bizarre twist of glee on her small features. Pressing through the trees, her magic bending the boughs away, Amalia is treated to a truly strange sight.

It was this: beyond the wall of trees was what can best be described as a magically sustained terrarium. A waterfall splashes from the clouds, the grasses melt into moss and though it is clear the ground couldn't possibly support it, there is a gulf that you are fairly certain is miles deep. The entire area probably has a diameter of 500m, but the bizarre scope is not the most impressive feature.

The most impressive feature is of course the tulmhainar.

An ancient fae word meaning earth, and world, and turtle, the tulmhainar is a massive creature, with a shell that looks exactly like a mountain range, and skin the colour and texture of boulders. Its eyes are the colour of a shallow sea during a storm, its expression intelligent. It moves with all the hurry of a glacier as it turns to look towards Delah, eyes moving slowly from the fae to the human who accompanies her.

Is she for me? it asks in a voice that hums through the air; a wave of sound that is warm and gentle.

"Yes." Delah calls out, a wall of air suddenly behind Amalia should she try to run. "She and her group entered our woods. It was her companions who I was going to bring to you, but I think you will find this one much more satisfying to dine on."

The tulmhainar—its voice not quite male or female, but certainly ancient sounding—nods with wizened understanding. I see It hums across the grasses. Approach then. It encourages Amalia in a grisled tone that sounds like waves lapping against a shorline.

In places deep
With roots entwined
I live the life I left behind

She can't say what she expected, but once again, it is not this. "Vi." Inhaling sharply, Amalia's eyes go wide: she is left mystified by what she sees, utterly entranced, awed and amazed. It has been a day of wonders, each more incredible than the last, and all the girl can do is blink, open mouthed, at the majesty of the tulmhainar. Jyoti has no such reservations. Vocalizing a strain of low, sweet notes, the little whale swims in an eager loop, excited to be seeing another new thing. It circles Amalia, urging her closer, but the girl remains where she is. Fascinating as the infinite creature may be, the baker has not forgotten the threat of eating and blood. As the tulmhainar's voice washes over her like a wave she feels an almost irresistible pull, a longing to approach the mountainous beast and fall on her knees before it. It is Delah's magic against her back that leads her to resist, the push a sharp reminder of the danger behind the beauty. So when the creature calls her near it is with quivering reluctance that Amalia steps closer, her almond eyes peering intently at the creature, reverence and uncertainty equal in her heart. Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.

The wall of wind increases, though as Amalia takes her fate into her hands and steps forward, Delah blends into the background. Whether magically or simply because the baker's focus is elsewhere is unclear, but for the moment event Jyoti is an afterthought; not in the sense that the starwhale is unimportant, but that there is so much to see and comprehend. The tulmhainar is as amazing as it is incomprehensible; a creature of earth and stone and the other muck and mire that are the building blocks of the world, with an expression that is rife with intellect and the long-sight that comes from years of life. Come now It urges, and in your mind you almost imagine a porch with a swing and a few chairs nearly falling apart, with a dark-skinned creature beckoning you closer and pouring a pitcher of lemonade into two dusty glasses. This you imagine as you walk and suddenly you think there are wheat fields and perhaps mountains nearby, and that the creature before you has completed a long day's work with a plow and is probably about to bring out a guitar from somewhere. What is your name, child? It asks in that same golden tone as Amalia eventually makes her way over.

Amalia takes a half-step forward, then another, reluctant yet utterly unable to resist, her bare feet pressing into grass inexplicably soft, soil inexplicably rich. It is bewilderingly beautiful, entrancing and overwhelming. The tulmhainar is the entire world, every smell and every taste and every molecule of being: and above it all, the tulmhainar's voice ripples in her mind. Inhaling deeply, her eyes flutter closed, dark lashes brushing against her cheek, and when she opens them again she is somewhere else, and the tulmhainar is there but not there, a dark figure rising against the setting sun. Amalia spins around in surprise, taking in the change of scenery and trying to understand. "My name is Amalia," she answers softly, drawing nearer to the table but not quite willing to sit down. "Where... where are we?" she asks aloud, wary and intrigued. "Is this the work of the gods?" For what else could it possibly be? Who else could be responsible for such strange beauty, a world concealed in the woods upon a turtle's back? Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.

Amalia... It sings back, as if trying on her name for size. Though its facial expression is limited to the rocky crust that covers its exposed skin, still it smiles. In your mind though it is a man who looks at you, leathery skin pulled tight into a wide smile, with eyes that seem genuinely happy to have learned this new information. To have learned something about you. Glancing around, the tulmhainar offers Amalia one of the glasses of lemonade, sitting down in a wicker-backed chair and crossing his feet at the ankle. You can almost hear his body sigh audibly as he relaxes. We're in the same place really. This is all in your mind, or in my mind, if you want to be technical about it. The words have a slight drawl to them, like if molasses and cigar-smoke had a voice. The magic of the world you are in, this grove, was a gift from Mort. Being in here though, that's just me. Gesturing at the seat for Amalia to sit, the tulmhainar took a breath and as he exhaled, a breeze rushed through the golden wheat fields causing crows to scatter with noisy caws of disapproval.

Amalia takes the lemonade cautiously, not sure what else to do. She is still uneasy, still on edge, her dark eyes leaping from scene to scene as she tries to make sense of what has happened, where she is and what it means. The tulmhainar's voice is deeply soothing, but it is the mention of Mort which soothes her nerves; at last Amalia begins to relax, though her body remains tense. Settling carefully into the chair, the baker clenches her fingers around the glass but does not take a sip. "What are you?" There is no piece of research in her lexicon to have prepared her for this, no knowledge she can draw on to know what she must do. Mort, please keep me, she silently prays, reaching out for her lifeline of faith. "Why did the fae say she would sacrifice us to you?" And then another thought, strange and terrifying, freezing her in place. "Am... am I dead?" Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.

Tipping the glass back to his lips, the tulmhainar drinks deeply and you can practically hear the way it quenches his thirst. Ahhhhh He says with a grin, lips shiny from the liquid. Glancing towards Amalia, frowning at her decision not to drink but understanding it, the tulmhainar reaches behind the chair and produces not a guitar, but a mandolin. After plucking the strings a few times and tuning, he begins to play a simple melody that seems to come more from his fingers than his mind. I am a tulmhainar, though these days the fae have taken to calling me the tulmhainar as I am the last. He shrugged. In this galaxy anyways. Normally star systems can only support a few of us as it is. Waving a hand around to indicate the illusory landscape, the tulmhainar continued to play the stringed instrument. It is why we have been given the ability to be so....inventive in our own minds. Glancing up towards Amalia, the tulmhainar's expression was casual. So that I don't die, I expect. Everything needs to eat. Sacrifice is probably a bit strong of a word, but based on the looks of you, I take it you aren't of the fae, so my guess is that they wanted it to seem like a punishment. Again he shrugged and continued plucking. however as she asked if she was dead, the strings twanged mournfully in his clearly-skilled fingers and his frown was wounded and deep. Dead? Why no child, of course not. If you prefer, we can speak like this— Waving a hand the illusion would falter and Amalia would find herself standing penny-small in the wake of the gargantuan creature.

The instrument is unexpected but not unpleasant, plucked notes adding to the bizarre tranquility of the scene. She watches as his fingers work, listening both to the music and his tale "It must be lonely," she whispers softly, empathy in her almond eyes. "What happened to the others?" She is the last, in a twisted way, the final drops of a once-proud bloodline carried in her veins. When he looks at her his expression is casual, but the things he says make her stomach flip. Amalia's hands retract protectively, twisting anxiously over her arms, the fear she felt outside this place rising up anew. "What do you eat?" she whispers, though she suspects she knows the answer, terrible as it may be. Ah, but she is not dead, he tells her, which means... ...which means... ...she has no idea. Before she can make sense of her thoughts they are back in the outside world, Amalia once more a tiny speck beside his glorious, gargantuan form. "You are incredible," she exhales, awestruck, her deep voice rich with equal parts reverence and fear. "What do you want from me?" Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.

Some of them have moved on to other worlds. Some simply could not find enough food to sustain themselves and so they became rock and stone and mountain. Like all things the tulmhainars return to the earth when they die. Unlike most species though, their bodies give rise to new topography. Oh, different things. He replies with a shrug. Memories mostly. The best are happy ones.. This he says with a wistful and golden smile, his voice easy and leathery. With an eye-blink that lasts nearly a second its eye is so large, they are back on the porch and the tulmhainar has reclined the chair onto the back two legs, balancing easily. I would like to talk, if you have the time. To hear the memories of your life. I suspect Delah won't want to let you leave until we've talked, and I must admit that I am mighty hungry, but I can't force you. He shrugged his shoulders again in that easy and dusty way, rocking back and forth on the legs of his chair.

"Does... does our world grow on a tulmhainar? Do you house a world?" It seems probable enough to the girl, looking once more over his form, the crashing water and towering peaks which loom impossibly far overhead. At this point Amalia has nothing but theories, straws to explain this creature and its purpose, to Mort and to the Fae. The next thing he says makes her blood run cold. As they return to the field in a slow, slow blink, Amalia stands frozen between landscapes, her heart thundering painfully in her chest. "Memories?" the girl repeats, chokes, her hands landing on the back of the chair. She swallows, thinking of - trying not to think of - the memories she cherishes, the things that have made her who she is. Still standing, still tense, Amalia stares wide-eyed at the man, her voice a questioning whisper on the breeze. "I want to help you, but I... I don't want to forget." Amalia Her eyes, they know too much. She'll treat you like somebody but you just can't touch.