From being an Abandoned who had rarely left the Hollowed Grounds, to embracing the call of adventure, to dying and being reborn first as an Ascended and then as an Ancient, Maea has gone through quite the amount of changes in her life. One thing remains common, though, in her attempts to find out just where she belongs; she’s always had a craving for knowledge which has brought her to so many places and to meet so many people here in Caido. We can’t wait to see what else is in store for her!
Congratulations, Maea!
Credits
Court of the Fallen was created in October of 2018 by Odd, Honey, and Crooked.
Skinning and hosting by the epically talented Kaons, and functionality fanciness by the coding magic of Neowulf. If you ever see either of them around, make sure to show them some love!
02-02-2023, 05:43 AM (This post was last modified: 02-02-2023, 05:46 AM by Aster.)
will you even notice
Aster tiptoed over towards her fireplace. The apron wrapped around his neck began to itch, and as soon as he noticed her throw her clothes on the floor, he did the same. Tossing the itchy garment onto the skirts and leggings. He picked up one of the frillier pieces of clothing and put it around his neck, one of he skirts now looking like a giant bib.
It felt nicer, but still not as nice as the fuzzy vine from earlier. Not as warm, either. Then, Farrow offered the giant piece of fabric that reminded Aster of a huge, huge leaf. It was white too, and he wondered if it smelled nice.
>"This should work," she held it out to Aster and he took it, still unsure how to use it.
Aster brought the wide garment to his face and breathed in the woman's scent. It was almost like the fluffy vine. He held the tunic in front of him sideways and draped it over his shoulders like a shawl, then stood and twirled with it. He then sat on the ground, so that the shawl would also cover his legs. Confident in his new look, he smiled at the woman. The skirt still around his neck and the tunic a layer on top.
"This does work very nicely." He beamed, the wetness of his upper body now an afterthought under his warm, new tunic.
Farrow laughed as the man twirled in front of the hearth before plopping down with a grin. He looked both ridiculous with her skirt about his neck and absolutely adorable, the expression on his face full of innocent pride.
She figured that he must not spend much time in his human form, with the way he seemed unused to the general day-to-day activities of most. "I'll make us some tea, and then maybe teach you about clothes,"
Farrow moved back to the table, adding just a bit of Peppermint bark to her tea mixture and then packing a bit of it into a cloth. She then filled an old kettle with water and used a hearth hook to hang it over the flames of the hearth, sitting next to her guest to wait for the water to boil. "I'm Farrow, by the way. What's your name?"
Aster stood up and stopped over where the woman started to pack the ground herbs into another smaller cloth. Standing almost a head above her, he realized that she must have been a small human, or he a large one.
The tunic-clad youth fidgeted with the cloth wrapped around his neck, his fingers pressed against the material like a bloodhound runs his nose over a new scent. The sudden urge to touch and taste and smell everything overtook Aster, as he almost reached forward to feel the woman’s hair. An internal discomfort stopped him, as he imagined someone else prodding his feathers in his Hummingform. That may not have been the move to make upon her.
“Tea and clothes, sure.” Now that Aster’s mouth no longer fought against a bitter taste, he could pay attention to the consonants and vowels his teethed jaw was so easily able to form. Now that he thought about it, talking was still a strange experience that introduced weird words to him. He guessed the thing she was packing in the small cloth was tea.
Aster settled for running his fingers across her table instead of tampering with anything else, and observed the peculiar motion of her hanging an object over living flames.
He crouched over beside the fire, watching the flames lap upward and sometimes touch the metal vessel. “You’re called Farrow.” Aster tried to imagine how he’d sing that as a Hummer.
“Aster. I was named Aster by my parents. But that was long ago. Hummers don’t really use names.” He reached out his hands to feel the heat from the flames. Everything in him said to touch, but he knew better than to stare at the sun. It felt the same way, putting his hand close to the hearth’s dancing tongues.
“Why do you keep that so far away from the thing below… do you call that fire?” Aster wasn’t sure how he knew, but it seemed the fitting name. The word fire felt familiar on his tongue, like the green feathers he got from his mother, the birdsong he learned from his father. He wondered if they both spoke human speech like he did.
"Well I think Aster is a lovely name," Farrow said as she laid the hearth hook next to her on the ground. "And we hang the kettle above the fire so that it doesn't get too hot. It would be hard to take it out when the water boils."
And then it hit her, she probably should not give this attuned man, who had probably never spent this long in his human form, a cup full of nearly boiling water, even if the tea would need to steep for awhile.
Farrow kept an eye, and an ear, on the water from then on, hurriedly removing the kettle just as it started to squeal, not allowing the pressure to build enough for it to keen as loudly as it could. She didn't know how she would explain that to Aster and she didn't want it to scare him.
"Now, we take our tea satchet," Farrow said, showing Aster the little cloth full of tea, "and let it sit in the hot water for a few minutes so the plants and herbs flavor the water."
The minutes passed by slowly as they both sat in silence before the fire. Farrow regarded Aster, allowing her eyes to wander over the slope of his nose and the angle of his jaw, and the fluff of full golden hair on his head. He looked like an ordinary man, a beautiful one, but still the perfect picture of a functional adult. Until he opened his mouth. Farrow huffed a laugh to herself and poured two cups of tea, blowing softly on them both before giving one to Aster and watching him for his reaction.
02-02-2023, 08:20 PM (This post was last modified: 02-02-2023, 08:48 PM by Aster.)
will you even notice
Aster squatted in front of the fire, allowing the softer, hushed tone of Farrow’s voice mold over the crackling of the flames. A gentle guiding wind on a hot summer’s day. Her hands adept and skillful, at least to his eyes - unafraid of the heat and knowing just when to move. The kettle made almost a squeal, like the cry of a hawkling, and she fed it like a mother Hawk would her little one.
As they stared at the kettle, Aster held the silence as she seemed to be asking. He muttered her name under his breath. “Farrow. Farrow. Farrow.” One of the first names he’d ever tried to remember. He didn’t want to forget. If she heard him mutter her name, he didn’t mind nor pay attention. His gaze, focused on the underside of the kettle, warmed by the flames.
It reminded him of Farrow’s hands, grazing the underside of his Hummingbelly, so he looked down at them. He wondered if they felt the same should he hold them in his now. Might they be just as soft and warm?
He watched her pour the hot tea into two cups, as they stayed crouched in front of the hearth. He didn’t want to move. He felt safe, right here. With the skirt and tunic around his neck and a lot of warmth he didn’t know he’d been craving.
He held the cup. It was hot, but not too hot. As he held it in his hands, however, he remembered the last time and upon holding it to his face, looked up in expectation at the woman in front of him, whose cheeks were lit by the light of the hearth. Whose eyes, he hadn’t paid attention to until now, almost as warm as everything else about her.
“Like this?” He asked, putting the cup to his pursed lips and taking a sip.
His face wrinkled, and nose scrunched up at the assault of a new type of flavor. It wasn’t bitter. Nor was it entirely sweet. He took another sip, and allowed the heat of the drink fill his insides, and bring more warmth to another part of his being. So this was tea.
His eyes gleamed with joy as he looked up at Farrow, content. “Wow.”
02-02-2023, 10:17 PM (This post was last modified: 02-03-2023, 03:51 AM by Farrow.
Edit Reason: More stuff!
)
Plants Before People
Aster looked at Farrow in wonder ad he took his first, rather well done, sip of tea, and though he had first seemed overwhelmed by it, he took to the new flavor instantly. He looked quite content, sitting in front of her hearth, bundled up, albeit a bit oddly, and sipping tea.
Farrow smiled back at him after taking her own sip. "I'm glad you like it. My mother taught me how to make it." It had been awhile since Farrow herself had made it. Her and her mother had shared the last of kettle of it a few days before her mother passed, and until today Farrow hadn't wanted it. She was glad that her first time having it again came with such good company.
Farrow took another sip, glancing at Aster through her lashes. "So, what brings you out here this time of year? I was surprised to see a hummingbird in this cold!"
02-03-2023, 02:14 PM (This post was last modified: 02-03-2023, 02:17 PM by Aster.)
will you even notice
Aster continued to sip the tea, each sip a stroke further into the land of peppermint and new memories. The textures of the cottage, and Farrow, the fire, his human form, the new clothes around his neck, all of it were seeping into the taste, smell and feeling of peppermint in his mouth. Forever will this moment be peppermint for Aster.
As Farrow spoke again, Aster sensed the deepest twinge of loss at the mention of her mother. A mixture of remembrance and grief, as if a fresh wound. This was the first time Aster sensed a dreary coldness from Farrow, unlike the warmth from earlier.
>"So, what brings you out here this time of year? I was surprised to see a hummingbird in this cold!"
Even as she tried to change the topic and camouflage her sorrow with a smile, Aster noticed her mood stay dampened like coals that rolled away from the fire to simmer down on their own.
"Where is your mother now?" Aster asked, his eyes now watery. He began to miss his mother, though not greatly. As far as mothers went, his own was far from the level of warmth he received from Farrow. She gave him a brush of her feathers every now and then, or led their flock with a cheerful song, but no caress of his underbelly, nor closeness under a cozy roof. Only sky between them as they floated about the flowers of the Celestine Gardens.
He merely ignored her second question, still awaiting the response from the first. He wouldn't want to answer to her why he was all alone anyway, his memories of his the distant, ever lush, gardens he used to call home, as cold and distant as the wintry chill outside her door. He took another sip, the cozy memories of peppermint now stained with dabs of grief.
Aster stared intently into Farrow's eyes, awaiting their spark of warmth to return, for his next sip of peppermint to be like the first.
Farrow offered a tight, closed lipped smile now. She should've expected Aster to hone in on her change in demeanor. He was naive, and innocent, but he was insightful, and quick-witted. She broke eye contact as a wetness glossed over Aster's eyes, her own welling with tears unshed since she had buried her mother. She started into the flames, hoping the heat would dry her eyes, but the intense heat only made them gather heavier.
"She died. About a month ago." Farrow sniffed and wiped her eyes, not allowing a single tear to drop of their own volition. Her eyes felt tight and salty, and Farrow was sure her nose was turning red as it always did when she cried. She never cried perfectly. She was all blotchy cheeks and runny nose and heavy heaving sobs. She liked to stop it before it could begin. "It was always just us, and when she died I couldn't stand to stay in our house. So I left. And here I am!" Farrow chuckled lightly, though it stuck in her throat and croaked a bit heavy.
As Aster continued to stare, the warmth faded more and more until it was replaced with deluge of indescribable bleakness. This emotion didn't even seem cold anymore, it was almost numb. As if staring at an abyss and peering down into it, Aster grew terrified, clutching the body of his teacup with tremendous uncertainty.
>"She died. About a month ago." Farrow sniffed and wiped her eyes, not allowing a single tear to drop of their own volition.
Aster recognized the absence of thought when she mentioned a month ago. As if disbelief stained her imagination, robbing it of even the memory of time. Aster had never seen such emotions before, blinking in his own disbelief. He put the cup down and held onto the hem of the tunic around his neck, leaning back slightly. Almost terrified of what he was seeing. He didn't want to fall into it, which was strange for him who was so used to flying.
>"It was always just us, and when she died I couldn't stand to stay in our house. So I left. And here I am!"
The intensity of denial was like a thunderclap for Aster, and he hid his face behind the cloth. He was afraid to look further into her eyes which were leaking, and leaking nothing he thought was good.
He was almost afraid to utter the question on his lips, peeking out his eyes from behind the tunic now stained with his heavy, peppermint-laden breaths.
"Died? What does that mean?" He had no concept of the word nor the emotion, every past memory failed to conjure an equivalent. Was this like the time his youngest sister disappeared into a brush and fell asleep, when their Hummingparents were calling all for their daily tour around the Celestine? Or when he'd forget yesterday, only to be reminded of it again later? Aster was unsure, and so he pushed the almost-finished cup in front of him with his toes, creating a makeshift barrier between him and the response she was ready to give.
"Oh, oh no, I'm sorry!" Farrow said, disposing of her own cup and scooting towards Aster, who had now cacooned himself away in her shirt and skirt, baracaded either from her or her display, she wasn't so certain. "We don't have to talk about it anymore."
Farrow fell easily into the soft placating tone she adopted as she learned to treat injuries and sickness. It was even, and low, though more assertive than a true whisper. she places her hands on Aster's forearms, pulling gently in request for him to come out of his hiding place. "I promise it isn't so bad. Good things have happened since. I-I have moved to a beautiful new place and met many kind people, I met you." Farrow sat back on her heels and tilted her head, hoping to peek through his arms and glance at his face.
She didn't answer him his question. He was obviously unfamiliar with death, in the human sense at least, and with how much he had already suffered today she refused to burden him further.
And she was telling the truth. The first few days Farrow had grieved heavily, but much had been purged as she gently laid her mother in the grave Farrow herself had dug. Her grief and raw hurt cleaved from her as she cleaves the earth from the ground. She had made her peace, for the most part. Now she just battled with the spontaneous melancholy that came with losing anyone. She was healing, and so very grateful for where it had brought her now.
Aster sensed a reprieve from the outpouring of ill-feeling emotions, emotions so heavy Aster couldn't imagine being able to fly with them heavy in his heart. Though, the reprieve seemed almost temporary, an intentional guard put up between the two to protect any more of the emotions from leaking out. It wasn't as if the emotions themselves, the ones pertaining to the idea of having "died", had actually disappeared.
Of this, Aster grew wary. Who was this person who could hide such emotions with a fierce tenacity. Her words were like war cries now to him, as if to ward away feeling of distrust and confusion, yet only bringing about more.
>"I promise it isn't so bad. Good things have happened since. I-I have moved to a beautiful new place and met many kind people, I met you."
Aster placed his arms down, letting his barrier rest for a moment as he tried to discern the truth of her words. Yes they seemed sincere, if not brought about by a severe strength also unfamiliar to the Attuned.
"Yet you still suffer. Inside." Aster reached out towards the female, a new strength in his bones beginning to surge as well. He looked her deep in the eyes, and placed a hand on her shoulder. He began to notice something he didn't notice before, a broken-ness, a disorientation in her eyes.
And for some reason it sparked a new flame in his heart. He puffed up his chest and took in a deep breath, his body prepared to protect what he once thought was a stalwart creature, but now seemed to him just as fragile as he in his Hummingbird form.
"Please. It's not good to keep your hurts inside. They need to be set free, or they'll never want to leave." Aster did his best to push past the hurt he had experienced from her to give her a warm smile. He tried to muster in himself, the same warmth she had expressed to him earlier.
Warmth from the fire, from the hands that rested against his belly.
Farrow blinked once, twice as Aster's demeanor changed, as he reached out to grasp her shoulder firm, a grounding weight that trapped her hands up against him. He was warm, and where the hummingboy had once seemed unsure and frightened, he now seemed stalwart, an uncanny bravery flooding the sky of his eyes.
Farrow had no choice. She leaned forward and grasped Aster, hugging around his shoulders, allowing anfewntears to fall. They slipped down her cheeks, disappearing into her skin before they dropped onto Aster's skirt-clad shoulder. Learning about clothes could wait. It's been a long day.
"You are quite astute for a bird," A new levity coloring her tone, a bright, truly chipper smile adorning her face as she pulled away. "you are right, though," Farrow said, her smile softening to something less joyous and more fond. "It does hurt still, sometimes, in here," Farrow placed her hand against Aster's chest. His heart beat steady and strong, no longer fluttering wildly as it had while in his bird form. "But I promise it does not hurt badly, and it gets better everyday."
Farrow moved then to sit beside Aster again, shoulder to shoulder in front of the crackling fire. It was bright and warm, and as her lulled to rest againt Aster's upper arm she whispered, "You're a good friend, Aster.
02-15-2023, 01:22 PM (This post was last modified: 02-15-2023, 01:28 PM by Aster.)
Aster
If I wait for you Will you wait for me too?
Aster's hand and arm slipped over Farrow's shoulder as she leaned in for the embrace. Her cheek brushed past the reddening glow of his own, their warmths entangling in each other.
In that moment Aster fell into a memory of bodies pressed against his, his sisters, his brothers, his mother and father. All in the comfortable warm heap that used to be his bed, a pile of Attuned bodies slumped together on the Celestine forest's floor. His ritual for falling asleep. His portal into deep, deep rest, that followed the falling of the sun and preceding its rising the next morning.
The kettle, the bitterness from before, and even the new taste of peppermint all faded into a pale shadow. The warmth and newfound smell of Farrow's soft hair against his jawline began to drag him down into a deep and familiar rest, yet tinged with newness and uncertainty.
Tears began to well up into Aster's eyes, little iridescent pools of nostalgia, but as quickly as she leaned in, she quickly retreated.
He almost pulled her back in, his strong arms no longer the briefly beating wings of a hummingbird.
As she placed her hand on his chest, her words all blurred into the background like the distant warbles of benign songbirds. With this gesture she reached for his chest. Her hand became a torch that melted its way through his chest cavity. He hadn't felt a pressure against his sternum like this for what seemed like moons now.
The only sounds he made were unsteady breaths as more tears welled into his eyes.
She then turned to face the fire, placing her shoulders against the frame of his own, and his whole being, from his shoulder blades down to the gaps between his toes, wanted to collapse into her.
>"You're a good friend, Aster."
He could no longer sustain his composure. As the fire crackled, Aster's eyelids fluttered shut as he floated his head downwards, orchestrating his whole body to reside flat against the floor. His head fitted snugly against her thighs. The rest he had been seeking, sucked him into a dark and tempting rest.
Farrow pulled back a bit as Aster slumped over into her lap, and remained unmoving for a few moments, staring down at him. His golden hair lay fully against the side of his face and over his forehead, soft curls dotting along the line of cheek and the cut of his jaw, nose sloped towards he knees, nostrils flaring with breath, a unmistakable bird-chirp snore escaping the parting between pink flushed lips.
Farrow chuckled and ran her hands through his hair. It was soft, downy, not unlike the underfeathers of his bird form. Here she could see the length of his eyelashes as they fluttered with dreams over the curve of his cheek. Dark and thick.
Farrow let him rest there for a while, running her fingers through his hair, coaxing him into a deep sleep, until her calf began to tingle and she was certain he would not awaken. She carefully slide him from her lap and retrieved her rolled up floor mattress where it was rolled up and leaning against the wall, and unfurled it over the space in front of the hearth that was just now beginning to dwindle low. She stood over Aster's form for a moment, bottom lip stuck in her teeth as she debated the best way to move him.
Finally, she dropped to her knees behind him and rolled him over onto his stomach, pushing his body onto the thin mat. It wasn't much protection from the hard floor, but it would do for now. Farrow herself balled her scarf under her cheek andnlaid beside Aster on the floor. Allowing th crackling din of the fire and the chirrupy snores of her companion to lull her into her slumber.
