[ AW ] Say That We Are All That We've Become (Ara)

Eternal love only exists in distress

Leaves crunch and crumble beneath his step. He moves with the same effortless grace of a shark in the water, drifting almost thoughtlessly through the forests. He has been indisposed of, having missed the worst of the heat waves--which is a mercy, for his dark coat would have made things worse. Regardless, here he is now and he seeks his way back to the lake--however far away from it he is. He cannot know what or who has moved in in his absence--nor does he truly care. It is not his place to dictate the lives of others, nor can he decide what time has in store. He can only peer past the veil, take a quick jaunt through the possible and impossible. And perhaps, bring some knowledge back to that silly young scholar--whatever was his name? Ah well, he'd recall another time. For now, he decides that the rhythm of the earth is the thing he should focus on the most, and he snakes his way up and over fallen logs until he finds himself settled atop the remnants of a hefty old heartwood, the brittle bark cracking beneath his touch and the dried, aged wood pressing back against him with the threat of rot. Perfect. This is the end and the beginning; a death that spawns a life.

And briefly, he closes his sightless eyes and tilts his head back to listen, a rustle of wind coaxing its fingers through his coat and whispering sweet nothings into his ears. But what ho? A subtle whisper on the wind, a ghost of a thought that tickles the back of the seer's mind and he finds himself intrigued by it's promise-- the promise of another in the nearby midst. With vigor now! With enthusiasm, with gusto! He carries himself in the direction the wind speaks, promises rippling through the earth beneath his feet until he comes to rest. Yes...This should be good enough. Close enough.

@Ara

"Do not venture out on your own," murmured the ghost of her Mother as an errant memory gave life to the deceased matron. "Such spirits of the fae may easily steal you away." And while that turn of phrase could be positive during practiced rituals, it could be negative as well. Surprises were wonderful in moderation, but to find one when unprepared could lead to dire consequences. Consequences that Ara had been quite wary of as a child. Now... well... she missed her changeling. Perhaps if she was lucky, he would appear before her—but she truly feared that the heat had scared him away.

"Hmm!" Her eyes widened as she saw what looked like a faerie circle. Moss covered stones formed a near-perfect circle and red-capped mushrooms grew within them. Several beads of dew glistened upon the ruddy little fungi. She swallowed, torn by the desire to steal the water and overcome with fear of disturbing the Fae's domain.

"A mortal's desire is nothing compare to the Fae's ire," echoed another of her Mother's fables. An ear twitched and her brow furrowed.

Forcibly, she looked away with a huff—and perhaps it was with good reason that she did. Amidst the brittle branches, she caught a glance of dark fur. Her ears flared forward and she stiffened somewhat. Perhaps that Fae had already come to punish her.

@Mercury

table ; bunny

Banshee

From within the thick layer of heat that distorts the horizon, a white wolf appears, her cheeks streaked with tears. She does not yet see you, yet her wails send chills racing down your spine.It is difficult to tell if she is real... and perhaps it is best to leave her to her grief.


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A SILENT SCREAM

The Banshee turns to face you. A sudden silence falls over the area, her cries choked to an immediate death. You cannot hear a single sound. Just as her lips begin to part…the figure wavers, vanishing into thin air. Everything snaps back to normal.

Eternal love only exists in distress

How...unexpected. He expects company, expects the somewhat clumsy advance of another--but he does *not* expect the ghostly encounter that chills the air and stills the natural sounds of the forest. It is wrong--a perversion of the natural order. Or nature. There is a deep sorrow in those bone-chilling wails, a sound that reminds him of one he has only ever heard once before--the sound of a broken heart. It does not fill him with fear, no--but with pity. A poor creature, broken and destined to wander until it finds what it is that has been stolen from her. And he cannot help.

But just as soon as it started, it was done, and the forest returned to it's rightful state. He cocks his head, scarred lips pulling into a thin, tight line.
"What a poor, wretched creature." he sighs, dramatically sliding to the ground and collapsing bonelessly to his side,"Alas, I am afraid it is beyond my power to do anything for the piteous thing." But his attention comes to rest upon the youth wandering past. Ah, THAT was what the wind whispered of! Not the banshee, but a being of flesh and blood. "But you! You are a different story." Click click click said his nails upon the bone of the skull beneath his feet. His sister came everywhere with him, after all. "What say we introduce ourselves, yes? Yes."

@Ara

An icy chill winds down her spine and her gaze is dragged away from the dark fur—which quite honestly might have been a leaf—and falls upon spectral white fur. It seems to glow, and despite that eerie beauty, Ara feels her heart rate rise to a fever pitch. She stares in horror at the dark, empty eyes. They seem to bleed out onto her cheeks, and as she parts her lips, she screams. It causes Ara to flinch and yet she cannot run despite the fact that every neuron yells at her to do so. Ara can barely breathe. She hardly speaks, stuck in a horrified trance.

She swears the woman—no, ghost—no, wendigo—no, banshee—looks at her... and then she is gone.

Ara shivers, trembling, completely unaware of the man that arrived until he spoke. "what a poor, wretched creature."

At last, Ara moves and she jumps to the side, whirling around. A squeak leaves her lips as she takes in his scarred visage, at once nervous that this is the banshee's friend—or the one fiersome enough to scare her away.

But as he drawls again, she is forced to take in the timbre of his voice and the scent of earth and forest. The lack of spectral chill that the banshee had emanated. A man, perhaps. She hoped.

Her heart was still racing within her chest while he looked unruffled. In fact, he spoke as if he was acquainted with the thing. "You've seen it?" Ara asked, ears perked and eyes wide. "Before?"

Pale eyes were drawn down for a mere second before they popped back up. The skull he carried was unnerving, but she feared offending him. If he was fae, it was best to tread lightly—but to do as he said. Although her mouth felt dry, she swallowed and did her best to offer an introduction. "Ara," she murmured softly.

@Mercury

table ; bunny

Eternal love only exists in distress

He lifts a brow, and cocks his head almost owlishly to one side, then the other, the action uncanny and causing his neck to look...too long. The permanent grin on his face catches the light in an uncomfortable fashion, and one may have the distinct impression that the banshee might have been the safer of the two. But no, he is of flesh and blood,like her, and he laughs softly-- a low, silken sound like crushed velvet dragged over gravel.

"Me? See? No no, I don't see anything in this world." he lifts a paw to poke a nail into one of his own eyes, the tip of a claw resting upon the surface of the almost-glowing orb and pressing down on it, causing the skin over the surface of it to ripple and threaten to pop like an overripe grape--yet he stops before this happens, and his laugh--which has somehow echoed right back to him-- catches in his throat and he stops abruptly. "That is what we call 'الشجر (alshajar). But I believe in the more common language around here, it's called a Banshee." he cranes his neck towards the canopy, his nails now tap-tap-tapping on the bone beneath his foot. Ah yes, the bone. The skull. A disembodied skull of a young female, resting so gently beneath his paw, and he tap-tap-tap-taps on the cranium of her skull as if he is in deep thought. "...Though I cannot at all imagine what one would be doing here. And here I thought this land of Fae would be boring!" he cackles, before craning his head down towards the skull to listen.
"Hm? Oh, quite right. How rude of me." he slips down from his perch, almost slithers with each foot hitting the ground so rapidly that he almost appears to be running-- but no, he simply moves with all the fluid grace of ink spilling into water. "It's best we go. Banshees are ill-omens, they forewarn of death and sorrows in the future to come. You are young and small and spirits often give no quarter to those they are jealous of. And I don't know about you, but I do not wish to stick around. I have a few things to live for." he sweeps a paw off to the south,"There is a clearing that way, where the animals find sanctuary and thus I suppose you shall, too."

@Ara