Take Me to the River

As fast and deep as the Stonesong was, there were still places along it where the water raced over shallows that had not yet been worn down into the greater channel of the mighty river. The singing rocks helped block some of the force of the current, creating little pockets of quiet where the sunlight struck down through the clear water to sparkle off the sand and pebbles below, whether an inch or a foot deep. Sometimes great goldfish swam through the deeper shallows, resting on their journey downriver...

And sometimes the other animals of the Wildwood took advantage of them, too.

Two foxes stood still in a protected arm of the river, one red and one white as snow. They were belly-deep in the water, noble tails held up and quivering as they waited, tense and excited, for one of the large goldfish to break free of a passing school and seek a moment's rest amidst the shoals. The white fox waited a little further downstream of the red one, and almost seemed to be directing its companion as pupils pinned and whiskers trembled in excitement.

On the shore a creature of a different stripe waited in the early afternoon sunlight, pale and fluffy and pacing eagerly. Her long, thick feline tail twitched with impatience and she folded and refolded her wings as the little gryphlet watched from the safety of the dry bank, studying her companion and his assistant in their hunting, and occasionally leaping onto a higher rock to try and get a better vantage before jumping restlessly down again, reep! softly with hunger.

Hazel

The warning, the fact that everyone knows, that the not-Fae are infiltrating our home like poison through the vein, weighs heavily on my mind. There have been several occasions now, when the barrier-folk have crossed paths with me in The Wildwood. In truth, neither seemed to be overly threatening (not like the villainous, blood-thirsty, weapon wielding monsters my imagination had accounted for), yet, I have taken necessary measures to protect myself better. Daily, I undress, hidden from the eyes of others (shame adds further burden to my figure), and flex each wing at the joint. Already their strength improves. By my fiftieth year, it would please me to break the shackles which hinder, nay, that debilitate me, and fly. In the meantime though, I travel with company, albeit slow and dim-witted; my warm palm rests against the smooth, black armoured head of the old beetle and we walk almost as one, pace well-matched. Only recently, I’ve fitted him with a name, Mordo (shadow), an idea inspired by a human once met in Ludo’s Woods and the young Gryphon in his company. There is a sliver of me that would like to sit with Jigano and Isuma one more time; a guilt inducing desire I could never admit with voice. Memory of his finely chiseled face and moon-silver hair linger within me, tempting surges of putrid excitement and wonder, and try as I might to reprimand each blasphemous rumination when it begins, my heart aches to understand further the strange mystery of his culture. I wonder if they remember me? It is early in the afternoon, two days and six weeks, since my second encounter with barrier-folk. Half that, since I spoke with the war chief. The air around us is milder than usual, pleasant after a run of cripplingly hot days, and the long cloak I wear is pushed back behind my sunken shoulders so that the softly whispering breeze might cool the sweaty-dampness beneath. Tethered tightly to the humped shell of my companion is one of the larger of my baskets (one that wasn’t quite finished to Mother’s liking, enough anyway for market). I have already collected a good quantity of fresh reeds and vines today and bundled into carefully bound balls, these sit hidden behind the brown, textured vessel built from the same. I’m usually the one to gather material for our craft. Mother hasn’t the time. It is a fair trade. The Stonesong’s glittering surface lures my appreciative eye as we, Mordo and I, pick a path along the rugged shoreline. Wrens and other small birds cling to the long spears of grass as I pass, unbothered and unafraid. If I were that way inclined, it would take no effort to reach out and seize them; I smile for them, not at all a predator and their trustful twittering fills my listening ears. Another worthy tussock brings this ambling walk to a halt, but as my free hand moves nearer, a familiar sight steals my notice clean from duty. With a brightening expression and a straightening (somewhat), spine, my childlike voice cries out unabashed, “Isuma!” While I beckon for the small creature who bounds from one boulder to another, these green eyes scan both tree and water line for the familiar face of Jigano. For the moment, two foxes fishing, are naturally overlooked. So too was the warning I’d intended to heed.

The foxes were focused on their hunt, though their ears flicked at the voice, high and sweet, that cut across the rushing of the river and the singing of the stones around them. Intent on their task though they were, Isuma was far more carefree, and had nothing to keep her attention on the waters. She didn't like getting her feathers wet, even in the summer heat, and despite her hunger she turned happily from the Stonesong to half-bound, half-fly towards Hazel , chirruping a joyful greeting at seeing a familiar face again.

Her exuberant passage startled the songbirds along the grasses and reeds, a cloud of scolding wings and feathers rising in a swirl of color and motion that settled again after she had passed, wary of the tiny predator but unwilling to give up territories they had sung so hard to claim. Oblivious to the commotion she had caused, the gryphlet made a mighty, wing-assisted leap to the top of the beetle's head, where she promptly presented her soft and rounded ears for scritches, no less trusting than the birds she had so dismayed with her antics.

The foxes remained in the water during this, until the red one stiffened and made a splashing hop towards a flicker of movement in the lazy current. A particularly fat goldfish dodged gracefully-- Right into the teeth of the white fox, which suddenly found itself wrestling a more challenging opponent than it had expected, jaws locked stubbornly behind the thrashing fish's head. The fox wasn't strong enough to drag the golden-scaled beauty out of the water on its own, and its companion danced and barked excitedly at the splashing, flashing scales, unable to dodge in and help the white one without getting slapped in the nose with a flailing tail.

Through it all Jigano was nowhere to be seen, though surely he had to be nearby...?

My smile lengthens freely in the company of the young, feathered mammal, perhaps more even than it might have before her  two-legged friend, and I giggle an auditory hug; a stone bouncing across a smooth pool, creating ripples of mirth where there had been none. Steadying Mordo’s armoured body as it begins to sway, balance startled by the arrival of the Gryphon, my free hand remains pressed calmly against his shell. The other moves to lean my old stick where the joint between his throat and body dips, after-which it ascends to provide obligatory pats and scratches around Isuma’s velvety ears. The fact that I was again touching a fabled creature such as she, fills me further with feelings of joy and wonder. “Well hello again little one,” I soothe with a much lower tone. Only very briefly, my fingers retreat to fish around bottom of the bag slung across my shoulders. They return with a  small portion of fresh peppermint bark wrapped in snow moss (a special habit of mine), and opening the parcel I invite it forward towards her. “Not your usual taste I suppose, but a treat none the less - for anyone!” The bark is in plentiful supply at the moment, though some trees I frequent around the Wildwood have turned a little sour; the bark from those I discard. Perhaps it is the tread of the barrier-folk ruining the soil. The thought is pushed aside for now though as I lift my eyes suddenly, this time to find the source of the commotion in the river. Two foxes who’s presence before I’d barely heeded, were fussing over the golden-scaled body of a fish. At first glance, there seemed little about them to rouse my interest, but when my narrowing gaze is drawn again, I realise with a look of astonishment, that one of them is white. “The white one again?” I whisper pensively; perhaps to Isuma, but more to myself.

Isuma was more than happy to receive attention, the cheerful little creature purring contentedly as Hazel's small fingers worked into a particularly itchy spot that made her haunches wriggle with delight. When those fingers lifted away, even for a moment, golden eyes opened to give the Fae a look of pitiful betrayal - shameless begging that Jigano had been too soft-hearted to correct in his little soulmate. The attempt to guilt Hazel into continuing faded quickly as a treat was proffered instead, the gryphlet letting out a little chirrup of curiosity as she examined the twist of snow moss with quick, avian tilts of her head to study it from all angles before she extended her neck to nibble it cautiously. It smelled like some of the flavored hot water that Jigano sometimes drank, much to her bafflement, but it was a familiar, soothing scent because of that.

While she investigated the peppermint bark treat, Jigano was entangled with the beast that he'd hoped to make her meal, his pristine fur soaking wet as he fought the large fish with a desperate stubbornness while his fox friend yipped in excitement and only added to the chaos. He backpedaled as best he could until loose pebbles shifted under his paws and he lost his balance with a yelp - and with the yelp, lost his grip on the fish. The wounded creature thrashed away from him desperately, but a mental command sent his fellow after it, and the stockier red fox leapt with glee on their prey, pinning it until Jigano could once again get a firm grip on it. This time he was able to shift his jaws into position to bite down on the goldfish's spine, cracking the bones and neatly severing it as the creature gave a final flop and then went still.

Exhausted but triumphant, he dragged it onto the shore while his assistant frolicked around him. Letting the fish fall to the dry pebbles he looked up to call Isuma over to her meal--

And blue eyes found Hazel instead, widening in shock. The lithe creature tensed, but it was Isuma who chirruped reassuringly from her place atop the beetle's head, chewing at the peppermint bark treat, though from the faces she was making she wasn't sure what to think of it. The white fox licked his muzzle nervously, cleaning the blood from his fur, but another encouraging reep! from Isuma seemed to decide him. He gave the red fox a look, and the other creature sat back from where it had been sniffing at the dead fish, attentive to the white one's instructions even as Jigano trotted back along the shore and into the shallow water, ducking behind a large singing stone.

It was not a white fox that emerged from the other side of it, but a wet and somewhat bedraggled human who peeked out sheepishly, offering Hazel a tentative smile as he slogged back to shore, though only as far as the fish and the red fox who watched him expectantly. "Ah... hello again, Weaver. I hope you have been well?" Blue eyes flicked curiously to the giant beetle at her side, but he returned them to her almost immediately as he offered a dripping bow before settling himself on the ground next to the fox who remained.

My eyes are still set upon the silvery fox figure in the stream and the other, the common red. It has never occurred to me before now, that fishing, a recreation I am not partial to myself, could be as difficult as their struggle suggests. With a furrowed brow and an anticipatory gulp, I witness the team effort to reclaim victory over their victim. From my perspective, the dying fish, scarlet blood starting to visibly stain the flow of water, is the only loser present, and a small part of me wants to hurl a sharp stone at the pair of wild dogs in reprimand. I know better than to medal with the laws of nature though, and with a resigned sigh, turn my focus back to Isuma… Movement beckons my return, however, to the white, sliding away through the shallows and vanishing on, behind a  sizeable stone. Forthright, it seems that the slender beast is quite shy- That is, until the almost gangly, familiar impression of Jigano reemerges out from the same. A hesitant smile quirks the corner of my pale red lips. We, the Fae, are not unfamiliar with the art of shape-shifting, though, of course, only the most revered of our kind (usually the elderly, or those belted with experience or wisdom), are truly capable; like magic, the gods only bestow abilities upon those who’ve proven worthy. Old Mother’s soul-beast was a sweet little door mouse. Mother can soar to heights my own mind can’t even fathom, on the blue wings of a heron. Both were and are, very capable healers. “Jigano,” I hum forth across the little distance in response to his equally uncertain greeting, nodding gently all the while. “The red has a name also?” Green eyes smile towards the (other?) fox as it waits with unnatural patience for the feast to begin.

He was afraid that she would shy away from him, perhaps reprimanded by Delah or disgusted by his bloody battle with the large fish. Instead her smile was a gift that sparked his own, rueful and a bit embarrassed as he tried to squeeze the water from his dripping tail of hair. "This one? None that human mouths can manage," he admitted with a chuckle. "More of a scent than anything vocal. I've asked his help before in fishing, and since he gets a good meal out of it he's usually amenable. Though at the moment I'm trying his patience rather sorely." With a sheepish grin he called out silently to Isuma, who Reep!ed excitedly and leapt from the beetle's head, flapping her blue-tipped wings to fly - clumsily, but steadily - over to the waiting fish.

Only then did the bard nod to them both, grinning as fox and gryphon both tore into the meal with gusto. A touch of his thoughts reminded - strongly - the fox to be polite to the gryphlet and let her have a fair share. He turned his attention back to Hazel a moment later, sighing with the contentment of a job well done. "I've been promising her a proper fish since I had one here a few weeks ago, when I was fetching some scales for Ludo," he admitted. "The ones in the barrierlands are small, faded things, without much flavor." He hesitated, then gave a humble half-bow, in a way that few within the barrier would recognize from the overly-confident persona he usually projected there.

"I'm sorry if I intruded. I hoped no one would mind if I stayed as a fox... or at least, that my presence wouldn't frighten or offend anyone. I didn't expect anyone to come along this stretch of the river," he admitted, genuinely sheepish at having been caught. "Though... I'm glad it was you." The smile he offered was genuine as he rested his wet arms on his knees, already beginning to dry in the summer heat. "I was worried about you getting him safely after last time."

(okay, changing it up <3) The child-like Fae hides well her distaste for Jigano’s nominated affair, here by the Stonesong; turning a blind eye, in truth, turning both away from the feeding creatures completely, Hazel returns the remaining bark left by Isuma to the earth before delving into the belly of her bag for another parcel of the same. In a thoughtful gesture she extends it forward, leaning gently, on the palm of her small, slender hand. “It’s peppermint bark,” she reveals quietly, retiring shy eyes only briefly from his own. Though she stands on the bank, well higher than his seated position on the shoreline below, they are still similarly elevated. Really, aside from the stark colouring of his coat, fox-Jigano appeared no different to other natives of The Greatwood; a fact that should’ve struck Hazel as unsettling. “My kin shift also, blessed by the gods to do so, though only those who have proven worthy.” The Fae’s tone is noticeably smoother, calmer, maybe at peace given the mutuality of the topic. Her eyes have again come to rest on his angular features. As an afterthought she adds, “I often wonder which shape I’m to take when it's time…” A beetle? A bird? A bear? Thoughts are triggered by his mention of their previous encounter and a smile stretches idly above the soft point of her chin; in the same instance, one hand finds the smooth surface of the beetle’s curved shell. “The trees allowed me a fast route home,” Hazel tells him of her evening after they’d parted. Then she hums meekly, “…you made it to Ludo’s shrine the next day?”

Though as much fox as man, and therefore hardly squeamish when it came to the feeding habits of his distant cousins, he did notice Hazel turn away from the meal in progress, and he chastised himself for not thinking of it sooner. Surreptitiously, while she was digging for her bark, he shifted to place himself between her and the hungry carnivores, providing a visual barrier with his body. His eyes lit up at the proffered peppermint bark, and he took it with a murmured thanks. "We have it within the barrier as well. I like to make tea from it," he explained with a smile. "Are you a tea-drinker yourself?" There was no question in his mind that the Fae had tea. They were a civilized people, after all. But individual tastes did vary, and preference was subjective. He popped the treat into his mouth, and then blinked in surprise at the robust flavors that that sparked on his tongue. "It's nothing as strong as this, though!" He savored the treat happily for a moment, though he listened to her information with quiet curiosity, and a nod of understanding.

"There are humans within the barrier who have been blessed by the gods as well," he offered in return. "Safrin and Ludo and Frey... though not unless they seek out the gods and pray for such a gift." His smile returned at her pondering her own future fate, and he tilted his head thoughtfully to look her over. "A bird, perhaps? Or a lynx?" Shy creatures, but not without courage, he thought. Perhaps they would suit the gentle basketmaker... or perhaps she would surprise them all with a mighty bear or proud wolf?

He scooped up a pebble from the bank, rolling it in the palm of his hand, bowing his head towards the forest in a gesture of gratitude for letting his petite companion reach her home swiftly and safely that evening. As he turned back to her, Hazel's question caused his smile to slip towards solemnity as he thought back to that day. "I did. And Ludo was pleased with my offerings. I have been wondering..." he paused, putting his thoughts into order before he spoke again. "I appreciated your warning of the Cat Sith," he said slowly. "And it got me to thinking... how little I know of the dangers of the Woods. And how little we know of whether the dangers within the barrier are normal, and how many were the result of... what we were trapped in there with," he said tactfully, though not without a frown.

"Long Night, in particular, was - is - a time of great fear and danger. Not merely of darkness, but of angry spirits and unseen monsters that make the week one of terrible loss. Is it that way in the Woods as well? Is... do you even have Long Night?" he asked, suddenly uncertain that the blood-soaked winter's end even existed beyond the barrier's walls... Ludo had shown him a vision of the first such night, untold ages in the past, but perhaps that danger, too, had been confined to the barrier for the past 300 years?

Indeed they have tea, and not only the sort made with peppermint bark! Hazel can think of twelve varieties in  Mother’s larder right away, and nods, “yes, many sorts. Each season brings a fresh array of flavours. Peppermint is my favourite.” She wants him to accompany her one day. All of the finest ingredients (not only for tea), lie in plain sight and she feels it would quench a little of this thirst for knowledge, for lore, that he has. The girl too has an insatiable appetite for learning and exploring; for understanding this world around them. Perhaps they will sit and muse over tea together one day (the dream is wicked, she knows).   Also, she is quite familiar with the heralds her company mentions, though her knowledge and understanding of the trio is not as thorough as with Vi, Mort and Rae. Many among the Fae pray to one of these exclusively, leaving their various offerings at shrines and uplifting frequent praise, but Hazel, herself, is yet to realise why any might suit her better than another. If she prays, it is to them all. Jigano, she thinks, prays to Ludo, and while she listens to him speak with her face tilted thoughtfully, the small native can’t help but wonder what compels his choice. A pause. She is considering his statement, the reference to Long Night, and her smile grows still as if spell-bound. “Long night? Aye- …Thoughts churn through memory of it, nervously imagining the week cloaked in darkness; before hand, stockpiling food and trading woven craft for skins and thread, gathering and storing snow moss to aid with silent travel, searching for glow stones (if you’ve been good). In the months to come, they, the Wild Fae, will be leaving food out for the Luxere. Hazel’s expression grows as dim as the borrowed beams of moon or stars. Savage, monstrous, creatures woke during Long Night. “...at Deepfrost’s end.

"Ah, your tea brewers would do a fine trade with the barrierfolk, if we have anything they would want," Jigano said, delighted at hearing of seasonal blends and brews. "A good friend of mine makes a very nice apple tea that we drink in my Guildhall. Apples are one of the few things that seem to grow almost healthy in that land," he let slip with a wry grin, for he enjoyed sharing tidbits of knowledge with Weaver, as much as he had with Eliza - if not more, for his conversations with Weaver were not shadowed with the fear of lost friends.

Although there were some secrets he would keep, both his own and those given into his care, he was mostly happy to share lore with those who desired it. Although some things were too dangerous to let loose in the world, they were far fewer than the simple, useful things that he hoped would be helpful. If not useful in some tangible way, then at least contributing to breaking down the barriers of ignorance and misunderstanding between their cultures so they could find more common ground.

Though her smile did not fade, the very way it froze gave him a clue to her answer before she spoke, and his shoulders slumped a little as he nodded. "Yes," he agreed, voice soft with regret. "I suppose it was naive of me to think that it was a punishment unique to the barrier... Well. This coming Deepfrost we will be more prepared, at least." The Outlanders would be, he meant. The Naturals had done what they could to help their uninvited guests prepare for the terrible week, but some lessons had to be learned the hard way. Something he was reminded of every time his fingers traced the scars on Rory's face and chest...

"I am sorry for bringing up such an unpleasant thing," he said gently. "And for doing all the talking today! Are there any questions you would like to ask of me?"

…questions? There are so many. The young Fae visibly withdraws into a sea of thought, at the centre of which spins a tight vortex, a whirlpool of guilt and apprehension that threatens to suck away it all; but she is wise enough to dabble only at the edge. All the while, a curious quirk tweaks the corner of her pensively stiffened mouth. Perhaps the greatest question of all, and the least likely to find resolution today, is, “How did you and Isuma come to be in the barrier? How did you all get there? Though on the surface, that is, from the perspective of the soaring bird, the Greatwood appears as one mass of evergreen carpet, there are indeed nooks and crannies to be found if one travels the right avenues. Likewise, there are hills and valleys, and it was while she was poised atop one such ridge (nearly two decades ago), that Hazel had, for the first time, caught sight of the wasteland which was the Hollowed Ground. There she had seen a stark divide between the beauty of her homeland, and the damaged world which the barrier-people had settled; had assumed also, that the reason for the decay around the Spire had been exactly their doing. “…and why?” The words come as one might expect from an enthusiastic child, swift and without filter; there is eloquence present, however, both spoken and thought, which suggests maturity beyond the sweet, small age of her face. Since the passing of Old Mother, Hazel has sought to put together the puzzle of her fractured education, and she feels that the pleasant acquaintance found in Jigano will help the venture progress. Green eyes are smiling forward, even though an element of seriousness lingers in the expression surrounding.

He tilted his head at her first question, realizing that the Fae simply didn't know much about the humans of the Barrier. Which might be why Delah was so set against them. Then again, maybe it was because Delah did know about them that she was so adamant at keeping them out of the Woods, to protect Fae like Hazel. His lips quirked towards a wry smile at her immediate follow-up, before he could even begin to answer her first question, but he nodded at both of them as he gathered his thoughts.

"The answer is different for Isuma than it is for me," he began, smiling wryly as he felt her through the bond, filling her belly until she was too fat to fly. "From what we know of the Barrier, nothing could go in or out of it, so I assume that held for those nature spirits trapped inside it as well. Her egg was given to me by a... a frost-fairy, for lack of a better term, after I had been here for little while. So she was born here, at least." He glanced over his shoulder, gaze fond as she burped and then began waddling back to them, leaving the fox to finish its meal in peace.

When he looked back at Hazel his expression was more solemn, though his eyes remained warm. "For myself, and for most Outlanders I've spoken with... well, we weren't given much choice in the matter." He scooped the stuffed gryphlet into his lap, tickling her ears as she peeped sleepy contentment. "A portal opened up beneath my feet as I was walking down a forest path on my world, and I fell through it to... here. Near the Spire," he clarified, nodding in the general direction of the Hollowed Grounds. "My ability to use magic was gone, as were all of my enchanted items and most of what I had been carrying in my enchanted pack." That was said with a wistful tone of lament. "My mandolin, as well... but though I did not choose it, I have come to be glad for it. This world is not my own, but there are people here - in all shapes and sizes," he added, chuckling at Ismua's smug chirrup, "who I have come to care for quite deeply. Who I would not have met, if I had stayed on my world."

He hesitated, then looked up at Hazel again, and this time the smile faded slowly, leaving nothing behind. "Unfortunately, it was not the old gods who opened those portals, kidnapping Outlanders and depositing them here, whether we wished it or no," he said, voice becoming quieter. "But we didn't learn that until after the Barrier had fallen, and by then it was too late." He hesitated, pushing a length of wet hair back as he regarded Hazel solemnly. "The records of the humans who lived in the Barrier are incomplete, damaged, or simply lost. There is much we didn't know of what led to the Barrier being raised... much we still don't. Can you tell me what you know of that time? I would like to hear the story from the Fae perspective, if you're willing to share it."

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.