[ P ] Coffee and Old Passages

Fall had fluttered away but the cold rush of winter seemed slow to the race. It still felt like a perfect crisp autumn day where the sun cast a brilliant array of light between the leaves and branches of the canopy above, mixed with hues of red and purples. Her favorite time of year, if only it wasn’t so quick to flee, knowing it would only last a couple days longer. It brought back childhood memories of being enveloped by pages upon pages of books, making her vaguely homesick as she had planned to travel back to the Red Wood but kept prolonging it. Ears flicked to the soft chirps of birds and the scurry of prey, rustling of foliage causing her gaze to dance from one bush to the other with a smile plastered on her face. It only drew wider as a field mouse jumped out of a skull a certain witch had splayed out to keep away intruders, finding it rather cute as it ran back inside claiming the body part as a home. Slowly she moved toward it, watching the nose stick in and out of the eye socket, knowing it was panicking, not knowing whether to run or stay hidden in it’s nest. With a sway of her tail, her paw would press onto the skull, hearing the hiss of stress from her weight on the fragile bones, waiting to see what the critter would do to the disturbance. It continued to act spastically, hopping out then running back in through the nostril cavity.

“Hmmm...a little nymph you are,” she hummed softly, withdrawing her paw before the dry brittle bones could snap under the pressure. Gently she brushed some decaying leaves over the glossier parts of the skull to make it look like the little house had been there for a while. There was no point in killing such a little mouse, it would fill no stomachs plus she just wanted to see what became of her new little rodent friend that looked in confusion at her since she didn’t end its life.

Shaking out her pelt, she went back to what she had been doing, gathering some herbs before frost could kill the crops with intent to dry them later in the day when the sun had far more scorn in her blaze. Where she did not worship the sun as much as she did the moon, she still had mass amounts of respect toward the goddess; for without her all life would crumble from the cold. Carefully she pulled off a few scraps of dying bark from a trunk of a tree, knowing if crushed to a fine fiber when dried, it could be used to stop bleeding, often better than any pulp mixture could. Adding it to the prized pile, she glanced back toward the mouse that watched her curiously from the shadows. With a shift in winds carrying new scents her way, she had a feeling they wouldn’t be alone for much longer. There was one scent she was a little more focused on however, the scent of berries that may have reached fermentation, resulting in her vanishing into the brambles to have a more thorough examination of the sweet specimens.

@Haricott

The Fae Forest isn't the place for a hunt. In fact, it would be disgraceful to do so in such a place. The bleached huntress had been raised within the Fae's reach, her absent mothers always having a hand to guide the hunter away from the luring songs of the mythical creatures. Nonetheless, this place had been where she had grown, blossomed into who she was now; even if she was still so young. She was never alone within the brambles and low-hanging trees. Even if it felt like she was alone, there was always the inkling that eyes were on her. That everyone within the Fae Forest was being watched - by whom? Haricott always knew it to be the Fae; waiting for someone to wander into a spot that was too darkly wooded or a rustle that would distract parents from keeping their children close. At the very moment, the woodswoman was perched in a low-hanging tree, laying across one of the overhanging branches. It was sturdy, a tree that had been here since the beginning of time and was old enough to be considered the mother of the forest; she often found herself here, meditating. Whether it was before a hunt or just needing a moment of silence and peace. The smallest of rustling didn't bother her; but a voice pulled Hari's lime eyes open from the dark. She couldn't make out all of it; but heard some of the voice, 'nymph you are...' Were the ones she'd made out. Curiously, she raised her shoulders and head, eyes scanning the area around her with precision. She is quiet; as noiseless as the cold chill of winter's coming onslaught of autumn. Haricott's muzzle lifted into the air, and she inhaled deeply, her eyes fluttering closed once more. It helped her focus all her energy into the one sense she relied on most. A whiff of smoke and faint scent of a sweet bloom she'd dipped her nose down to smell once, long ago. It reminded her of a sunny day and a good meal in her stomach. Her head every-so slightly turned to find where the scent had been coming from before her eyes flittered back to the soft sun-glazed sight of the Fae's forest around her. Measured, she lifts herself atop the branch once more, slowly padding to it's lowered ends, before hopping down into the moss-covered ground. Her descent to the ground is graceful, but not all as silent. Her paws hit the ground softly, but a few birds stop singing to look over to her and the grass that crunched underpaw of her. She gazed to them with a small chuff, before she continued towards the scent, peering through rose bushes to conceal herself. Her muscle didn't allow her for the silence she needed sometimes, but if she was trying hard enough, she could find the right steps to be quiet. Hunched, she peers, and sees a woman older than herself, looking at the herbs the Fae offered to young College students. Whomever she may be, she is tiny; even if Haricott is younger than her. She is small in stature and weight, but seems to know where she is, each herb being graced with the gaze of the stranger. Hari slowly moves through the bushes, but again, not silently, as she wants to be known. She doesn't say anything for a few seconds, not that she has to. She's more of an introvert, but something about females; curious ones, caught her interest. "Lots to see, isn't there?" Her Highlander accent thick, and hard to hide; not that she ever feels she needs to. She is proud of who she is, and she can already smell the Mainlander on the women. Something she hadn't before. Her lips twitch, invaded by a culture that didn't truly respect all of the Fae, but, maybe she was different. Those in the College, they sometimes were. Intrigued by the creatures such as Fae. So, she gives her a chance. Viridescent eyes flickering to the herbs that she knew of, their blooms and fading colors remind her of lessons her mothers used to speak fondly of. Some of them, past plants she found for them; sent on "scavenger hunts" whilst her moms were busy. She doesn't think about the one day she had been sent on one and, they hadn't been there when she got back. She focuses back on the woman in front of her, her gaze hard to read - but overall, monotoned. "Speak and be heard."

ART ➤ AMPHI

@Wisteria

The woman was tending the bushes when she heard the movement from the opposing direction, leaving her dear little rodent friend unguarded from whatever fiend might be lurking in the groves but she didn’t bother to acknowledge it just yet. Her tail swayed at each little crush of a leaf, a clunky step that didn’t attempt to hide the intruder at all, making her think for a second it wasn’t a hunter prowling on her friend. Maybe a child but the weight of each step made it unlikely unless she was to stumble upon a giant of one. Her ears flicked the closer and closer the noise became, till her presence was growing suffocating on the air. Was she the prey now? The other was doing a poor job or perhaps was being the perfect hunter when it came to seeking out another. Who was to say getting attention couldn’t be just as useful?

Even as the thick rasp of a northern accent entered her ears, causing them to flick and flutter, she didn’t turn to the culprit as she instead vanished into the bushes. A young girl, that much she could tell off of voice alone, a native more than likely. Her fur wasn’t so well blended in the fae forest like they were where she was born much further south in the Redwood, making her fur burn like fire as the sun bounced off it. If her gaze was not the color of her namesake, perhaps if she remained silent she could be mistaken as a Highlander off of looks alone. She hadn’t stepped into the Mainlands in two years and she was in no rush to return any time soon. Having to go back to Melrose briefly had been agitating enough, the last thing she wanted to see was potentially her kin.

“You tell me, little lamb,” she crooned back, her voice having a hybrid of german and irish intonation.

Once she found the scent of fermentation’s origin, she would snag a couple dried out sprigs, carrying the over ripe berries into the open and directly toward the pile of medicines she had already gathered. Carefully she would take one of the berries and offer it to the skull that houses the mouse before she would finally give the other the time of day, pale amethysts dancing in the sunlight like purple fire yet wholly welcoming, inviting as a smile graced her features. At first she had thought that the other was albino, something she might have found a bit more fascination in but as the peridot gaze of the other with what looked almost like raccoon markings came into her view, her intrigue became greatly lessened. “Not lost are you?” she asked, glancing the young girl up and down, noting there was nothing about them that showed signs that they didn’t know where they were. They seemed confident in their existence here, nothing amounted to fear or distress. It fairly irritated her, recalling when she was an adolescent and this place wasn’t frequented as much, mostly Elwynn’s family the only ones she bumped into on the regular but the scents of intruders were pungent the more she focused on them now.

Was it any wonder nature was full of unrest and the fae equally so? Filth strayed where it shouldn’t.

This one was different though. Intruder wasn’t quite the word she’d use for them, for she blended. There were no signs from the fae themselves that they wish a sacrifice be brought to them, not even a single mushroom nearby or hollow. The strangers scent embossed into the very earth, proof the other was regularly here. Her tail swayed curiously, slowly gaining some interest in this stranger that was so bold as to tread on sacred land where warnings to keep out were well passed. “Of course not, you are well at home here. What a rarity,” she’d answer her own question, gingerly moving closer till little space remained between them.


@Haricott