They say blood makes you related but
loyalty makes you family
The voice startled him, though not as much as the person it came from: a beautiful woman, even in the unflattering clothes she wore now, who, with the help of two pairs of wings, was hovering just above the ground. Loren’s song cut out, but his mouth remained open as he gaped at her. This must be one of the fae, and she was as wondrous and mysterious as he’d been lead to believe.
Her words finally penetrated his skull, and he closed his mouth with an almost audible snap. Immediately flushing from embarrassment, he looked down, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. ”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare!” Hopefully the pure contrition in his voice would appease her. ”And it’s a song from...from the world I came from.” It was odd: Loren rarely thought of Northaven and didn’t necessarily have the fondest memories of it. But thinking about it still filled him with a pang of homesickness, even if it hadn’t been the first world he’d passed through. But it had been home, for a time at least.
His embarrassment was not helped at all by the fact that he was dressed plainly, in a brown cloak and black clothes under it, nor was it helped by the fact that he hardly the most handsome. Indeed, in that moment, he made a rather poor ambassador to the fae, and this was hardly how he wanted his first encounter with the flying women to go.
Then some antlers butted against him insistently, and he had to laugh, startled back into remembering his task. Kneeling, he picked up another apple and handed it to the insistent luxere; it was smaller than most, though no less beautiful for it. Almost, Loren thought it was a fawn, but it had a full head of antlers. So it couldn’t be a baby. And (with a quick check to confirm) also not an it, but a she, and a fully formed she at that. ”Well, what do we have here, a runt? That's okay little one.” She looked at him with an almost indignant expression on her face and huffed. Clearly Loren had offended her. ”I’m sorry, my lady, I meant no offense to you. Obviously you are the most beautiful of the lot.” He reached into his pack for some hay for her, and she took it, apparently accepting the apology and the gift. Indeed, she even curled up at his feet, and he grinned at that.
But by that time the rest of the herd was demanding attention and he found himself passing out the treats he could to the eager mouths all around. Indeed, he was so caught up in that task that he almost forgot about the fae. Indeed, only periodic glimpses of her reminded the summoner of her presence. He was being rude, probably, and to a race they didn’t quite understand and really needed to remain allies with and couldn't afford to offend, but there was no helping it, seeing as the herd was no all around him, brushing against him in an almost friendly manner and dancing around the peacocks he’d summoned, which he made dance back.
Her words finally penetrated his skull, and he closed his mouth with an almost audible snap. Immediately flushing from embarrassment, he looked down, rubbing the back of his head sheepishly. ”I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to stare!” Hopefully the pure contrition in his voice would appease her. ”And it’s a song from...from the world I came from.” It was odd: Loren rarely thought of Northaven and didn’t necessarily have the fondest memories of it. But thinking about it still filled him with a pang of homesickness, even if it hadn’t been the first world he’d passed through. But it had been home, for a time at least.
His embarrassment was not helped at all by the fact that he was dressed plainly, in a brown cloak and black clothes under it, nor was it helped by the fact that he hardly the most handsome. Indeed, in that moment, he made a rather poor ambassador to the fae, and this was hardly how he wanted his first encounter with the flying women to go.
Then some antlers butted against him insistently, and he had to laugh, startled back into remembering his task. Kneeling, he picked up another apple and handed it to the insistent luxere; it was smaller than most, though no less beautiful for it. Almost, Loren thought it was a fawn, but it had a full head of antlers. So it couldn’t be a baby. And (with a quick check to confirm) also not an it, but a she, and a fully formed she at that. ”Well, what do we have here, a runt? That's okay little one.” She looked at him with an almost indignant expression on her face and huffed. Clearly Loren had offended her. ”I’m sorry, my lady, I meant no offense to you. Obviously you are the most beautiful of the lot.” He reached into his pack for some hay for her, and she took it, apparently accepting the apology and the gift. Indeed, she even curled up at his feet, and he grinned at that.
But by that time the rest of the herd was demanding attention and he found himself passing out the treats he could to the eager mouths all around. Indeed, he was so caught up in that task that he almost forgot about the fae. Indeed, only periodic glimpses of her reminded the summoner of her presence. He was being rude, probably, and to a race they didn’t quite understand and really needed to remain allies with and couldn't afford to offend, but there was no helping it, seeing as the herd was no all around him, brushing against him in an almost friendly manner and dancing around the peacocks he’d summoned, which he made dance back.
LOREN
