It was not really possible to call
Arethil an alien world, and it had not been conceivable for more years than she could recall. For her, that was saying quite a bit.
The woodlands of the
Falwood were not her home, not anymore than the savannah or the desert, the mountains or the sea. All were reminders of things that had gone long, long ago. Home was where she tread in these uninhabited lands, typically far from any habitation beyond village or small town. Such were the majority of her people on this world, except perhaps for those born of it, not stranded on it. It was the subject of many long hours of contemplation in the silence of an empty world, a silence only broken by the soft whicker of her horsey companion. She had worked her magic on the beast, and what was once a ridiculously oversized mount for her had shrank to something more resembling a pony, although this pony had the build of a warhorse.
She paused by a stream flowing through the heart of the gentle hills in this part of the forest. The horse took the opportunity to run a wet nose over her shoulder, a single liquid eye fixing on her as the beast stood over her. Intelligent eyes, far more intelligent than a beast of burden should have. The diminutive fae grinned helplessly at her mount, wondering for a moment what Drae was up to. They had parted ways for a time, to attend to their own things with an understanding to meet up again before too long had passed.
There was no rush, or at least there seemed to be none. He had a few hundred years left, at least - more if she could do anything about it - and she herself, well...
Best not think about it too much. The trouble with remembering such human sentiments as love and affection came with their own pathos, pain-in-waiting that would strike eventually. Time flowed one way, after all, and while she could not remember every lover she'd had over the immeasurable span of her life, the pain of each remained, duller as millennia passed but never completely forgotten.
The horse heard it first, of course; Respite had been altered through subtle use of the Art to be much more than a simple beast of burden. So long in the wilds, she had need of something that could protect her in the
event the sorcery was not enough (a horrifying thought, but the reality of this world had long since been acclimated to). The head of the not-war-pony turned and looked into the trees without so much as wavering, and Seska cast pale amethyst eyes in the same direction and saw what it was that Respite had found so disturbing.
The ancient sorceress stood impassively, and observed the orc from afar, neither trying to hide nor approaching. It was rare to encounter anyone out here, and so her curiosity was piqued - a little, at least - but she also was wary of that particular race of people. Most memories faded as years grew longer and longer, but she could still recall pitched
battles against hordes of the like, whole
cities sacked and burned to slake the thirst of some ancient God that was now long gone.
If he was friendly, well, conversation was always welcome. If not, well, it might well serve her better to slip into the woods like a wraith and vanish.
Urmugh