To Err and to Forgive (Open)

koel tryin' to take what's lost and broke and make it right Well, this was silly: Koel knelt there for what felt like an eternity and absolutely nothing happened. No manifestations, no booming voice, no real major occurences, just the silence of the woods. Which, now that he came to think of it, wasn’t really silent, but instead filled with all the sounds of life; there was the rustling of the leaves in a warm wind that swirled around him, the buzzing of insects, even this late in the year, the birdsong and the calls of other animals, small and large, all competing in a soothing background symphony. He closed his eyes and just basked in the feeling of being alone in nature—something he needed to do far more often than he did, which was never—feeling his woes fall away and his energy refreshed. He opened them at the sound of a caw and the flapping of wings; a crow was waiting there—and were those flowers new? they were definitely new—but as Koel watched, it shifted into a person. Ah. A shapechanger. Immediately, the already relaxed eagle relaxed further. He was among his own kind in a place of peace and beauty, and somehow he found it hard to worry about much of anything. But this younger man seemed very excited about something. Unfortunately, Koel was having trouble matching the crow’s enthusiasm. Of course the rapid fire questions did rouse him from his slight stupor. Or maybe it was a trance: it certainly didn’t feel like his normally overactive mind was working the way it normally did, but he found that he didn’t mind in the slightest. He worried too much anyway. Everyone said it, so they’d be happy to see him finally calm. While it might’ve been distressing to consider the last time he’d felt this way (he honestly couldn’t remember) he was just happy to feel happy for once. But he was forgetting something. Right, he had to answer the crow’s questions, but definitely in a slower tone. ”Nothing really happened. I mean, you showed up and so did these flowers I think, but that’s it.” The blooms were pretty, he decided; a hand was reaching out to pluck a few before he even knew what he was doing or thought about it. Only after he had picked the bouquet and placed them in a belt pouch did he realize the deities might not want him to do that. ”Thank you,” he said politely to the open air, though he felt foolish doing so. Maybe he could have someone analyze them, an herbalist: while they looked normal, if they were touched by the gods, or even just magical, maybe they could tell them something about this world. Then something occurred to him and he turned to the arrival with a curious look on his face. ”I don’t think you’re a god, but you showed up when I prayed, so I guess I should ask. Are you? A god I mean?” Koel was pretty sure he was right about this; gods would have a more imposing or impressive presence, he decided, though honestly he didn’t know what he was talking about. Still, there was something about this man (Jorseval wasn't nearly imposing enough) that didn't scream god. ”Either way, I’m Koel Ambray.” If this was a deity, they—or he—probably didn’t need the introduction, but the eagle felt better for giving it. Then, of course, the other man just appeared. Koel whirled around, his tranquility shattered by the sound of a body hitting the ground. Immediately the eagle was up and moving: he knelt beside the kneeling young man, Koel’s eyes scanning their surroundings for any sign of the danger that was causing the terror that was almost palpable in the man before him. Again, the scout didn’t think this was a divine being, but there was some sort of divine intervention at play. ”Hey. Are you alright? And if you don’t mind me asking, who are you and where did you come from?” Koel kept his voice pitched low and soothing, trying to channel the peace of this place into his words; if he’d known Hope, he might’ve reached out a steadying hand, but this was a stranger. Glancing at Jorseval—another stranger, but at least a less distressing one—Koel wondered whether the crow knew anything about this.