Private Tales Chasing Shadows

[Aethiriin]

His words were music to her pointed ears. Thiri's smile persisted in pleased enthusiasm, barely giving an inch as her host fluidly stepped from his repose and uttered incoherently to his shadows. It seemed like an unknown love language almost too intimate to eavesdrop on, but she was a creature of curiosity and so listened intently. Her rapt attention shifted to the dancing of the shadows next, following their progression around and about before taking a step tentatively as it snaked about herself.

Aethiriin lifted her arms, looking down as the darkness wrapped around her, layering over her own black ensemble in a fit as perfect as a gown from the modiste. Alarm was not precisely the right word, but she was most definitely intrigued. Shifting, moving, twirling about once, Thiri marveled at the feel of the fabric and how its dulled shimmer followed.

She had never worn shadow before, but she had often retreated into the darkness of the world around her to be alone. This cloak felt similar to that - welcoming, comfortable, like a hug - only this time it was mobile. Her little sanctuaries could only ever be in one place.

"Ha!" expelled from her lips in delight, "I love it!" and her feet moved swiftly to catch up with him, pleased to also be on her way at last to see her Godmother, "Is this your magic talent? I did not know black shucks had them like duannans do."

 

[Oryn]

Oryn watched her with a quiet amusement as she marveled at the shadows that now adorned her like a living garment. Her delight was infectious, a rare spark in the otherwise somber landscape of his existence. "They like you.." he rumbled, speaking of his shadows as though they had a mind of their own.

When she caught up to him, her feet barely making a sound against the shadowy ground, Oryn’s lips curled into a small smirk and he chuckled, a low, melodic sound that echoed softly in the darkness around them. “Magic is woven into the very essence of what we are, little ghost. They came to me when I needed them most. Are as much a part of me as the blood in my veins.” He paused, his golden eyes reflecting the soft glow of the shadows that clung to her. “It’s not just a talent. It’s… a bond, of sorts. A symbiosis between myself and the night. The shadows listen to me, as I listen to them.” he explained pensively.

He tilted his head slightly, observing her with a mix of curiosity and something deeper, almost like admiration. “The black shucks, we’re guardians by nature, protectors of the thresholds between life and death. Our magic is tied to that duty. The shadows help us travel between worlds, slip through the cracks unseen.."

Oryn reached out, brushing a stray lock of her hair back into place, his touch as light as the shadows that cloaked them both. “And now, they’re here for you too. Consider it a token of our alliance.”

He stepped back, the shadows swirling around his feet like a living mist. “Shall we? The night is long.” His voice was gentle, trailing off as he continued onward, murmuring distantly to himself.

"Where shadows weave and silence sings,
The night unveils her hidden wings..."

"In darkness deep, where secrets lie,
We walk unseen beneath the sky.."

 

[Aethiriin]

“The black shucks, we’re guardians by nature, protectors of the thresholds between life and death. Our magic is tied to that duty. The shadows help us travel between worlds, slip through the cracks unseen.."

These words slowly let the light out of her expression like a candle flame dying at the bottom of the wick in a pool of its own melted wax. Her mind silently went to her father. Did he have such powers? Had he also been a guardian and protector? Asemir and Veithir had only told her so much about him and both seemed ... hesitant to ever speak in too much detail. One day she hoped to meet the Erlking face to face and ask him for the honest story.

Baenon had, afterall, been the longest lived and longest serving black shuck in the Autumn Court - apparently outliving every age expectancy of his kind. And not just by a few years, but a millennia at least.

She smoothed her hands over the lengths of shadow wrapped about her arms, thinking it felt rather like velvet ... only slightly softer. Rabbit fur seemed a good likeness. Her gaze immediately lifted as he reached out, showing no sign of alarm of wariness toward the touch, but instead faint confusion.

"So I... can keep it... them?" did it work like that? Keeping shadows... it sounded quite strange, even for a fae. As strange as using the term alliance for whatever this exchange was. How was one meant to feel about having an ally? It felt rather more formal than simply saying acquaintance or friend. Like there was a war she wasn't aware of that having allies made all the difference in.

"Do black shucks not run in packs?" this next thought came to her rather suddenly, a recollection of the warning Asemir had given her about shucks, "You were by yourself. Are you not part of a pack?"

 

[Oryn]

Oryn's golden eyes gleamed as she asked if she could keep his shadows, his brow arched slightly, and a playful smile tugged at the corner of his lips.

"I... suppose you can," he replied, his voice carrying a note of surprise. He had never given anyone his shadows before, and the thought of it intrigued him as much as it amused him. "Not freely, of course," he added, his smile turning devilish, "but we can add that to your growing pile of debts."

The lightheartedness of the moment was abruptly dimmed by her next question. "Do black shucks not run in packs?" The words, innocent as they were, struck a chord deep within him, one he had long kept buried. For a brief moment, a shadow of something darker than magic flickered in his eyes, and his expression grew distant.

"Generally, yes," he responded, his voice lower, touched with a note of melancholy. "But I prefer the company of my shadows." There was a pause, the silence between them heavy with unspoken truths. Shadows, after all, could not betray him. Shadows could not hurt him. They were loyal, silent, and ever-present, unlike the living, who had proven to be anything but.

"Remind me what the purpose of this trip is, exactly?" she asked, diverting the conversation.

 

[Aethiriin]

Growing pile of debts.

Thiri thought it odd to weigh a boon against a proclaimed token of alliance and her eyes narrowed at this, mouth preparing to blurt out that stream of consciousness but withheld as she noted the shift of his expression. Instead she waited and listened to his response. He'd said as much earlier, but it still didn't explain why...

Why did he prefer the shadows?

Was it because he was also an ill omen like herself?

"My fa-"

"Remind me what the purpose of this trip is, exactly?"

She blinked back the derailment of her words, having realized she'd been about to offer something toward the conversation that was so rarely ever verbalized. Thiri wasn't sure if she was mad or grateful for the interruption and her brow furrowed from the internal churn of feelings.

"To see... my Godmother," her gaze turned to look ahead, even if there was rather little to see beyond his shadow realm, "she's been very ill and in torpor since before I was born and I heard my Godfather speaking about her the other night. That she might finally be waking," a frown took her face as well, "but he won't take me to see her."

 

[Oryn]

Oryn's golden eyes shifted to Aethiriin, studying her as she spoke. He could feel the weight of her words, the frustration and sadness mingling in her voice. He remained quiet for a beat longer than necessary, sensing the unspoken tension.

"Your Godmother," he repeated, his tone quiet but curious. "Interesting" he commented with a quirk of a brow... "I wonder what sort of dreams she’s been weaving for so long.."

He let the shadows pulse around them, his gaze grew thoughtful, and the darkness seemed to close in just a fraction tighter around them. His voice softened slightly as he continued..

"Why do you assume he would not wish you to see her?" he asked, playing with the shadows on his fingertips..

 

[Aethiriin]

"Because she will tell me what he refuses to," Aetheriin did not even need a second to think on her response. It was something that had swirled about her thoughts, keeping her up when she was meant to sleep. All the things her Godfather refused to speak on.

Her father.

Her mother.

Their past and history. What made them who they were.

What happened to them both.

Why had they lived outside of the Courts when both had been revered members within?

Why wouldn't he tell her anything?

It left her as a sapling without any roots to find her foundation. She felt forever strung into the winds, listless and ungrounded.

"The truth."

 

[Oryn]

Oryn hummed low in his throat, an almost knowing sound, though whether it was agreement or amusement was unclear. His golden eyes lingered on her, searching, as if he could glimpse the shape of the questions that haunted her—unspoken yet heavy in the space between them.

"The truth," he echoed, rolling the word over his tongue like a rare, exotic fruit. His lips curled, but the smirk lacked its usual bite. "Dangerous little thing, that. Have you considered that whatever truths she holds might be worse than not knowing at all?"

His shadows coiled and stretched, slithering along the path ahead as if they too were whispering secrets just beyond reach. "I've learned that most who keep their lips sealed do so not out of malice, but fear," he continued, watching her reaction closely. "Fear of what the truth might do to the ones they keep it from. Fear of breaking the illusion that silence so carefully preserves."

He tilted his head, stepping closer, his voice dipping into something quieter—something meant only for her. "And what if you don’t like what you hear?"

But even as he posed the question, he already knew her answer. He could see it in the set of her jaw, the determination simmering beneath her skin. She would seek it out regardless, no matter the cost.

 

[Aethiriin]

"I've learned that most who keep their lips sealed do so not out of malice, but fear," he continued, watching her reaction closely. "Fear of what the truth might do to the ones they keep it from. Fear of breaking the illusion that silence so carefully preserves."

Aetheriin's brow furrowed at those words, feeling them an echo to some other sagely, adult advice she'd received likely from her Uncle. He who also refused to speak on things, though she suspected it was more due to her Godfather's wishes than anything else.

"Not him," she shook her head in a glower, glancing up at the taller Oryn and wishing he wouldn't try to be that person. For once could someone simply indulge her petulant needs?

"My Godfather doesn't feel fear."

If anything, his lack of fear made him horribly unfun in the worst ways possible. Though he wasn't unpleasant most of the time, but her better in every way where stubbornness was involved.

"And what if you don’t like what you hear?"

"I WOULD RATHER KNOW!" her bubbling temper exploded into a boil, churning a vehement acid in her gaze. Thiri looked him directly in the eye, her face made hideous by a heated scowl, "I didn't ask for your advice! I have a right to the truth about my parents - it's not for anyone else to decide!"

Her chest puffed from the emotional exertion, disappointment melding into the anger, "If you're just going to talk down on me then fuck off!"

 

[Oryn]

Oryn blinked, his expression unreadable as he watched her temper flare. He didn't flinch, nor did he recoil from the heat of her words. Instead, his golden gaze swept over her with something far more detached—curiosity. The kind that wasn’t swayed by emotion but rather dissected it, studied it like a specimen in a glass jar.

His head tilted slightly, the edges of his mouth twitching as if contemplating whether or not to smile. "Touchy," he murmured, more to himself than to her. He made no move to step away, despite her command to fuck off.

"You're angry." His voice was steady, observational rather than judgmental. "You think you're owed something, and the fact that it’s been kept from you—whether for protection or control—feels like a cage, doesn't it?"

His shadows writhed lazily at his feet, responding to the ebb and flow of his quiet amusement. "You misunderstand me, little ghost. I've no wish to talk you down.. Everyone deserves the truth." he looked down at her with a light smirk.

Oryn let the silence stretch between them, the air thick with the remnants of her outburst. Then, with the barest tilt of his head, he murmured "You're pretty when you're angry," his smirk lazily curling at the edges. "Your nose scrunches like a Wisprat."

He watched her, head tilting just slightly, golden eyes glinting with mischief. "Funny little creatures—soft as dusk-moss, all fluff and twitchy whiskers. They puff up when provoked, too."

A slow grin. "If you still wish me to fuck off, I suppose I could… but I think you’d miss having someone to bare your teeth at."

 

[Aethiriin]

At some point she was angry just to be angry. A high tide she couldn't control and had for many years found it much easier simply to let it flood over rather than try to hold the waters back. It made for strained relationships with others, but Thiri had yet to find a better way.

When she held it in, it ate away at her from the inside.

The emotion continued to darken her face and sharper her eyes, but she did not interrupt him as he spoke. His voice found the way through those waters, cutting past without further disturbance. At least until the comment about being pretty - and her nose did exactly as described in response.

"Being pretty fixes nothing," she said, looking away from him, the fleeting curiosity of did she know what a wisprat looked like? passing through her thoughts. Her appearance had ever only mattered when it came to spending time with the Princess. Wanting to fit in meant looking the part. It was the only time she let her Grandmother dress her up and fix her hair.

But being pretty had never given her any answers to her questions.

He was right, though. She found the prospect of being alone once again somewhat daunting now that the initial surge of her anger had cleared. He was helping her, after all, and his company was much preferred to that of her Godfather who would have insisted on taking her home and not to where she wanted, needed to be.

"No," she groused, the waves had settled and were presently muddling her mind, "I don't."

Another short glance at him, "Stay..." and just to prove he was right, she flashed him a lazy glance of her teeth that she apparently so liked to bare.

 

[Oryn]

Oryn’s golden eyes observed her closely as she spoke, the subtle shift in her energy not lost on him. She had been angry—he could see that much—but now the anger was a receding tide, leaving behind something less volatile, less defined. He found that interesting, in the same way one might watch a leaf float along the surface of a stream, carried by currents too complex to understand.

When she spoke again, the words were quieter, less sharp. 'Stay.'

He tilted his head slightly, his lips curling into a faint, knowing smile. She still carried the fire beneath the surface, but for now, it was a gentle smoulder..

Oryn smirked, the dimple in his cheek deepening as he watched her bare her teeth—again. Endearing, in its own way. Like a creature that wanted so badly to bite but never quite did.

"Alright then," he murmured, amusement laced in his tone. Without hesitation, he extended a blackened hand toward her. The leylines were close, and slipping through them would be as effortless as breathing.
In just a few steps, they'd reach the border of her Godmother's court.

"Shall we?"

 

[Aethiriin]

Perhaps she was not really all that good at reading people. Maybe she simply did not get enough practice. Or maybe she was too caught up in her own problems to make the effort.

But something told her he was amused at her anger and she disliked it.

That fucking dimple.

Aethiriin stared at him, the steam still brewing beneath the surface, and glared at the spot on his cheek as if it were simply a secondary grin. A sign for all the world to see that she was just an amusement. She really wanted to smack it off his face and the initial movement of her hand had been for that specific intention.

But then he offered his own hand and she realized that smacking the person who willingly offered to take her where she wanted to go was probably counter-productive to the entire purpose of this little jaunt. So she took his hand instead.

No words. No nod. No affirmations. Just the confidence of someone so deeply entrenched in their own stubbornness to refuse the idea that taking this man's hand would lead to anything other than what she'd set out for. That was how the world worked, right? Fucking mind over matter.

Manifest destiny.

She squeezed his hand with a willful grip and followed his lead into the leylines. That ever-present pull at her ethereal being sending her reeling through time and space as she, like some petulant little tooth-baring kite tailed after him across the globe.

When they arrived she did so gracelessly, knees giving out from beneath her and stomach lurching up into her throat. Thiri made several unbecoming sounds as she attempted to keep her breakfast down.

Who the fuck taught him how to drive?

 

[Oryn]

The shadows were never silent. Not truly.

They clung to him like living things, curled around his limbs, slithered over his skin like ink bleeding through water. Using them was second nature, as simple as breathing, but sustaining them—keeping them stretched so thin, wrapped not only around himself but her—that was different. It was an exertion, one he felt in the marrow of his bones.

And the moment he took them into the current of a leyline, they noticed.

The whispers grew louder as he stretched them that bit too far, winding through his mind like vines, creeping into the spaces between thoughts. They slithered through his ribs, his spine, cold tendrils wrapping around the base of his skull. Soft at first, then insistent.

Too much. Too long. She is not ours. Let her go. Let her go. Let her go.

A dull ache started at the edges of his temples, a slow, steady pressure like the build of a coming storm. His breath hitched slightly, a flicker of something unreadable in his golden gaze before he exhaled, steadying himself, pushing the voices back. Not now. Not yet.

But they were patient.

He clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of the shadows like a second skin, suffocating and comforting all at once. He was used to this, had lived in the darkness for so long that it had become part of him. But it took. Every time, it took something.

Patience. Reason. Pieces of himself.

Oryn’s smirk curled, but it was a mask. A thin, fragile thing. The shadows writhed, whispering, clawing at the inside of his skull. Let her go. Let her go.

His fingers twitched. His skin ached with it, that familiar gnawing hunger that came when he stretched himself too thin. They were fraying at the edges, unraveling in ways he knew he couldn’t afford.

Enough.

With a slow exhale, he pulled.

The shadows snapped back like a recoiling beast, uncoiling from Aethiriin in a rush of cold air before sinking into his skin like ink bleeding into parchment. His body tensed, a shudder running through him as the darkness returned home, filling the hollow spaces inside him, slinking into his veins, his bones.

The voices roared, deafening in their relief.

Ours. Ours. Ours.

His head dipped forward, golden eyes slipping shut for the briefest of moments as he steadied himself, fingers flexing at his sides. He could breathe again. Could think again. It was quieter now—not silent, never silent, but quieter.

His smirk returned, slower this time, something lazier, almost drowsy as he cracked one eye open to peer down at her, the rims of his eyes far darker than they had been before. "Need a moment, Wisprat, or should I start digging a grave for your dignity?" he asked, his head tilting slightly.

The shadows laughed in his mind.

 

[Aethiriin]

Much as she tried, she couldn't keep it down. Aethiriin sputtered over a surge of stomach bile that poured from her lips a deep, nearly-black ochre. And while vomit never tasted good, she couldn't help but think that this tasted worse than usual. Like char. What had she eaten that would come up like that?

At his words she shot a glare up at him through bleary eyes, a hand clutching at her stomach from a sharp pain that had taken hold just as they arrived through the Leygate. Something right at the end of the journey had happened, and while she'd yet to notice that her new coat of shadow was now missing, she had noticed that things had gone awry.

With a pained grunt she pushed herself to her feet, muttered at the shuck to go chew sand and wiped the residue from her lips onto her sleeve. Now standing within the realm of Spring, the air here smelled different. Not so crisp as Autumn, not so humid as her home at her uncles in the Ixchel, and certainly more aromatic than the canyons of Kor Aren. Still holding her stomach, she blinked as she looked around and suppressed another minor urge to hurk.

"Who are you?" ah but how could they have ever hoped to show up in Spring Court without being noticed?

Thiri turned her gaze, currently swirling a sickening greenish-orange color, to the one that spoke: a fae bearing spiral horns and a goatee. Not a faun, then what? Perhaps a puca? Clearly some kind of guard.

"Thir-" she quickly held the back of her hand against her lips, wincing against the sting in her chest, "Aeth ... Aethiriin, of Dusk Court. Goddaughter of King Asemir and Queen Eske."

Inhaling slowly through her nose, she found the dignity that Oren was so ready to bury and straightened herself, "I've come to see my Godmother."

 

[Oryn]

Oryn’s brow quirked as he watched Aethiriin sputter and retch, his head tilting slightly to one side. A flicker of something almost like concern ghosted across his face, but he made no move to help. She would either recover or she wouldn’t—either way, it was not his place to interfere. He opened his mouth, about to ask if she was alright, when someone else spoke.

'Who are you?'

His posture stiffened, muscles coiling with instinct as he turned abruptly, golden eyes snapping toward the source of the voice. A fae stood before them, spiral horns catching the light, his expression unreadable but watchful. A guard, no doubt.

Oryn’s hands slid into his pockets, but his gaze remained sharp, his mind already spinning through the possibilities. Fight or flee, which will it be? Fight or flee, which will it be?

But before he could decide, Aethiriin spoke first.

Goddaughter of King Asemir and Queen Eske.

His mouth went dry. Well. That was an unexpected detail. He glanced sidelong at her, his lips pressing thin.

With a slow, measured breath, he tilted his chin up just slightly, schooling his expression into something more composed as he looked back to the horned fae.

"And I..." his voice was smooth, practiced, as he dipped his head ever so slightly in acknowledgment. "Am her escort. Oryn. King Midir’s Lord of Retribution."

A title, a shield—one that he hoped would grant him the weight he needed. The last thing he wanted was trouble in a foreign court, but if it came to that… well, he was no stranger to making things difficult.

 

[Aethiriin]

Aethiriin purposefully did not look at Oryn. Not even when he dropped his own title. His was perhaps a bit less of a shock than her own - she already knew he was a member of the Sluagh and Midir seemed to hand out titles like candy, or so she'd heard a few of the members say in passing. Instead, she focused on maintaining what little of her composure remained as her stomach churned sour, threatening another bout of sick.

The guard quietly gave both their due consideration before giving a short bow, "I must speak with my Liege, please wait here." He turned then and shifted into the forest, swallowed by the greenery.

Thiri did not suspect that Spring Court protected its lands and denizens with the same amount of obnoxious tenacity as the Dusk Court, but the trees surrounding them did give off a similar feeling. She felt more than she knew for a fact that walking in any direction would likely lead them straight back here. Fae liked their secrets and Queen Eske's presence here was one of Spring's.

With a sigh, she moved away from her puddle of dark yuck to sit on a nearby moss-covered log, holding her stomach with one hand and her head with the other.

The frisson of energy she felt about her, at being this close to the truth and the fae who kept it, was making her feel even more uneasy. Doubt had crossed her mind before, that Eske would not wish to tell her about the past any more than Asemir did. What if she turned her away? She'd never met the Queen of Dusk before, and though rumor held that she was benevolent and kind, there were also just as many stories of her wrath and aloof nature.

Or what if her long hibernation had affected her mind and memory? Could extended torpor do that?

What if no one would tell her? What if she was made to live in this void of the unknown forever? Stuck in this spiral of wanting meaning and purpose and being denied at every turn because of something that happened when she was too young to remember.

Thiri began to rock back and forth where she sat as the anxiety set in.

 

[Oryn]

Oryn dipped his chin in acknowledgment as the guard departed, watching until the fae disappeared from view. Only then did he turn, lazily pivoting on his heel to face Aethiriin once more.

She was unraveling. He could see it in the way she held herself, in the way her body curled inward as if trying to keep something from spilling out. She had been full of fire before, all sharp glances and bared teeth, but now she rocked where she sat, her mind a storm tearing through her.

He knew that feeling.

Oryn strode toward her with slow, deliberate steps, his movements careful, almost lazy—measured in a way that spoke of familiarity with frayed edges and fragile things. He came to a stop a few feet away, tilting his head as he studied her. The shadows coiled and pulsed at his feet, restless echoes of his own mind.

"You kept secrets, Wisp."

His voice was quiet, neither accusing nor scornful, merely… curious. He was not angry—anger had been beaten out of him long ago, burned and broken into something else. But curiosity? That, he still had in abundance.

His golden eyes flicked over her, drinking in every subtle twitch, every strained breath.

"How is it," he mused, lowering himself onto his haunches, arms draped over his knees, "that you came to be the goddaughter of Kings and Queens, hm?"

His blackened fingertips twitched absently, shadows curling at the tips like smoke drawn to a flame. He watched her, waiting, patient as the dark that ever lingered at his back.

 

[Aethiriin]

"You kept secrets, Wisp."

"You. Never. Asked." she muttered back at him without looking up, a word for each tick of her metronome movement back and forth.

The sour feeling of her stomach seemed to be abating now that she'd had a chance to sit down, but the coiled frequency of the heart palpitations driven by her rising worries had taken its place. Like an incessant buzzing of an insect somewhere near while one tried to sleep. Persisting through the silence, profoundly rattling her from the inside.

How did she come to be the orphan child taken under the wing of Court royalty? Why was it that a nobody, bearing blood from no royal or even noble line, had come to live her life among those of the highest stations? Taking trips to Winter Court to play with the Princess, spending her days at Dusk under the watchful eyes and ears of the King and his closest, most trusted companions?

"That's what I'm here to find out..." Thiri managed, her oscillated movement slowing to a pause as she looked up, pulling both hands to fold in and twist together at her middle as she grimaced into all the possible what ifs, "What if they won't let me see her?" said through a strained whisper, "We came all this way."

 

[Oryn]

Oryn watched her with the same quiet fascination he always did, like one might watch a flame flicker and dance, waiting to see if it would grow or sputter out.

He huffed a quiet chuckle at her answer. "Fair enough," he conceded, though the corner of his lips twitched in amusement.

'What if they won't let me see her?'

Oryn let the silence stretch between them, watching her wrestle with the question as though speaking it aloud had made the fear all the more real.

'We came all this way.'

His golden gaze flicked toward the trees where the guard had vanished, then back to her.

"Then you’ll fight to be heard," he said simply, his voice even, lacking pity or empty comfort. Oryn did not believe in wasted effort—if she had come this far, she would claw her way forward or turn back. That was how it worked.

His blackened fingers flexed absently, shadows curling and twisting in response to the restless energy beneath his skin. "And if they still refuse?" he mused, tilting his head. "Then perhaps we take a different approach."

His smirk was slow, wolfish.

"Not every door needs knocking on, Aethiriin. Some just need the right shadows to slip through."

 

[Aethiriin]

Fighting to be heard.

Slipping through the shadows.

Neither concept was unfamiliar to her. She'd nearly broken her voice more times than she could count in an effort to be heard, but most who listened had completely different definitions of what it was she'd done. Given enough time to let her mind churn through the inner turmoil, she'd have come to similar answers she supposed. How many times had she snuck through Veithir's awareness to escape out into the jungle?

How many times had she eluded Asemir when he'd moved to hunt her down for various slights or offense against others?

Though she supposed Oryn's way of going was far more... effective a solution. Thiri could only hide in shadow, but she could not move through it. Looking at him and his hubris, she felt the frailty of herself all the more loudly. Was he always so composed? So sure of his actions and choices? Didn't he ever worry? Or was he like Asemir and incapable of that fear, only able to step forward knowing potential consequences and feeling nothing to their effect but certainty.

Sometimes she wished she could be like that.

Her gaze dropped to his hands where they rested at his sides, watched the dark fingertips curl and flex. Saw the tangles of darkness wound about them like a lover's tresses.

It was the waiting on the unknown, she decided, that upset her the most.

She was on her feet again quite suddenly, closing the distance between herself and her escort, and reaching to grab his nearest hand, "I'm not waiting for rejection." And if given no fuss or rebuke from him, she'd pull him away from the clearing not back toward the leygate, but into the trees where she'd watched the guard disappear, intent on finding a pathway in and through to her Godmother.

 

[Oryn]

Oryn felt her movement before he saw it, a subtle shift in the air, the way her tension suddenly pulled her upright. He didn't flinch, didn't react in surprise, simply waited for her to make her decision. Her hand came out toward him, and his sharp gaze caught it mid-motion, not with hesitation but with a quiet sort of amusement.

Her fingers wrapped around his, and without a word, he moved.

There was a moment where the flicker of something dark—something wild—passed over his features, the shadows reacting as though they were his very own pulse, eager and instinctive. He glanced back at her, the faintest smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

Oryn’s steps were measured but relaxed, even as the shadows began to tighten around them. His hand, still held by hers, flexed with a small tremor as if the darkness were eager to coil around him once more, almost lovingly. It wasn’t until they were deeper in the trees that the shadows whispered louder—his own thoughts blending with their voice.

A brush of unease crept over him, but it was quickly smothered by the familiar, intoxicating caress of the darkness around him. He had spent more than enough time among them. Too much time. They hung heavy around them, thickening as they moved deeper into the forest. Oryn, despite his usual cool composure, was keenly aware of the ever-encroaching weight of the darkness that pressed against him. It was almost like a hungry thing, coiling around him with increasing comfort, eager to guide him, to claim him entirely.

They easily picked up the faint trace of a path—a disturbance in the undergrowth, subtle but clear. The guard had left behind a thread of something—a scuff of leaves, the slightest movement in the branches. Oryn whispered as they followed..

"Tiptoe, tiptoe, where’s the door?
A door? A door? I’ve seen no more..

Quiet as a mouse, step so light,
But the wisprats...oh, the wisprats bite.."

 

[Aethiriin]

He was rhyming again. Curious little tick of his.

Aethiriin pressed on along the subtle path, shoving through the overgrowth of the forest and noticing as it nearly felt to shove back. The further and deeper they went, the more it resisted her passage, until at last she came upon that of a woven growth, thick and impenetrable as a stone wall.

Fuck.

She released Oryn's hand to try and pry through, tugging and pulling and pushing to no avail. The Spring court had it's defenses just as any court did, and if the Guard had returned to discover them gone, it was likely he'd raised the alarm. Yet determined not to be shunted nor to give up so easily, Thiri took a step back to look up.

The woven wall rose high into the canopy where it became one in the tangle of branches. There would be no climbing over.

Meeiiiioooowwwwl.​

The sound echoed through the darkness of the thicket and from further down the wall to her right, Aethiriin turned to spy a strange green light bobbing along in the dark.

Meeeaawl.​

She narrowed her eyes and peered through, a glance given back to Oryn in question. Was this his doing? His shadows?

A third mewling sounded as a small catling stepped daintily forth from the brush, it's skull surrounded by a gentle green flame. It hopped up upon a knot of roots and took a seat, tail curling about its feet as it lifted a front paw and mimed the motion of cleaning it, though it lacked any form of tongue the flames seemed to play the part.

"Cinpher!" Thiri hissed in a whisper at the catling, "What are you doing here?!"

Cinpher passed the paw over its skull, briefly interrupting the slow dance of its flame, and turned its hollow gaze upon Oryn, seeing not the black shuck but the shadow that suffused him. A creature of similar nature to itself. A new familiar for Thiri, perhaps?

Whatever the case, it appeared undisturbed by his presence. Rose to its paws once more, flicked its tail matter-of-factly, and turned to look back along the path from whence it came. A mewl sounded, a glance back to Thiri, and off it bobbed.

With brows furrowed over a landslide of questions that would likely never get answered, Thiri heaved a sigh and looked back to Oryn, "She wants us to follow her." No further explanation given as she ducked in through a new path that appeared to be opening in response to the familiar.

 

[Oryn]

Oryn’s eyes narrowed as the catling appeared, its flame-touched skull flickering with eerie green light. He watched it with a quiet, unsettling fascination, his grip on the shadows around him tightening as if the air itself was thickening with the strange presence of the creature. His usual calm was fractured, something darker crawling beneath his thoughts.

“And you trust this thing?” He muttered, the words coming out slower than intended, his voice raspy, like he hadn’t spoken in days. His gaze lingered on the bobbing figure of Cinpher, the flickering fire that seemed too purposeful for something so small.

There was something off about it, something unsettling in the way it looked at him—too knowing, too aware. Like it saw him, not as Oryn, but as something else. Something familiar, yet foreign. A sliver of recognition pulsed through his veins, unspoken, dark.

Still, he followed without hesitation, though every step forward felt heavier than the last. The shadows seemed to follow his lead, creeping along the ground, curling around his ankles like they had a mind of their own, as if they too were uncertain about this little creature and its cryptic invitation.

He let out a slow breath, eyes flicking to Thiri, then back to the strange creature leading them deeper into the forest. "I’ll follow, but don’t expect me to like it."

 

[Aethiriin]

“And you trust this thing?”

The question caused Thiri to pause as she followed along the path, stooping to fit through the tunnel of vines, bramble, branches, and foliage that had been made only moderately bigger than the catling itself.

"I guess?" she said, not terribly certain of that answer, "She came to me when I was-" cut herself off there before saying anything more. There were some things you just didn't tell people. Took a breath to reconsider her words, "when I was lost and never left after that," her gaze shifted back to the catling's flame as it bobbed along the path ahead, "My Uncle Veithir calls her my familiar, but I didn't make her."

At least, she didn't think she did, but time spent in her beastly form was not time well remembered. Things happened that she often had no recollection of. Looking back to Oryn, she gave no indication that she felt anything was amiss. That he was on edge about it didn't particularly register with her, but she was rather distracted with her present goal of finding her Godmother. She hoped that was the catling's destination and she would worry about how Cinpher followed and found her all the way out here.

So far as she was aware, familiars didn't travel by leyline?

Mrreeeow.

Right, following. Thiri pressed on, shaking any doubt from her mind with force, and continued down the tunnel. She didn't realize or could even sense or see that the tunnel itself was closing off some distance behind Oryn, so they now had little choice but to follow either way. It seemed to go on for quite some time, twisting and winding. Every so often she lost sight of the green flame as the tunnel carved a turn through the forest.

Thiri was beginning to feel nearly claustrophobic until at long last the tunnel opened up into a clearing and she nearly tumbled forward down an embankment as she climbed through. The catling was nowhere to be seen, but where she found herself was quite bright and wonderous. A pond surrounded by trees with beams of light filtering through the canopy down upon the waters. Everything here was lush and bright ... everything except for a large and wilted willow tree at the edge of the water.

Beyond the strangeness of the willow tree, it was very quiet and still. Thiri took a moment to brush leaves and twigs from her figure, missing a few stuck in her hair, and looked back to Oryn, "I lost her."