[AW] ☆ of birds and flowers

[Illu]

Night came surprisingly fast, in fact it was more than that, it was alarming. One second the sun hung lazy just past noon, the next I gazed upon the remnants of dusk as it set too quickly beneath the horizon. The moon was suspiciously missing this night and I found the blackness more oppressive than normal. It seemed to close in much faster with a palpable sense of dread settling firmly in my gut. This place was strange, as strange as Novus had been-still was-at first. But there was something deeper than just strange here, it was less of a fact and more of a feeling that laid it's head across the land as the stars winked into existence, one by one.

Eyes peered out from beneath large fronds and thick bushes. All manner of unfamiliar noises assaulted my senses as I stepped, cautiously, through the dark. Ears twisting, nostrils flaring. Each step was made tentatively, feeling the ground before me in the fear that my eyes might miss something. I had a suspicion and was unwilling to risk it being true. I may have been getting bigger, I could feel it in the aching of my bones as the Spring weather brought pressure changes and early spores to Denocte, but it did not make me any less able to defend myself. The art of self defense had been a required course from the Academy, a class none of us had gotten to take as it was later in the year and- I shook my head, vigorously, rolling the rotten memories somewhere darker, to a place less traveled by. I had no desire to reminisce in such horrific images, especially with low growls and quiet shuffling behind the flora.

In the day it had been colorful and full of life, all kinds of creatures with no names or particularly distinct characteristics roamed free, unafraid as I tromped through the grass. In fact it was that very thing, I wondered, that put my nerves on edge. That little something in the background, unseen, unheard. The something that made my insides churn, twisting into tight knots as sweat dripped down my brow. Nothing about this island made any real sense. It was a massive amalgamation of everything, everything you could think of seemed to have been spliced together to make something new. Something not real. It was disarming at first, but I could see how the neon colors and bright, Utopian appearance could easily cause those unfamiliar to forget. Pass it off until it was too late. I whipped my head around as something screamed, a long, loud, undulating sound that remained in my ears even after it died away. I was reminded of the screams of my classmates, of the horses and other animals as they raced through paved streets in an effort to save themselves from slaughter. My heart thundered, I could feel the blood rushing through my veins as I stood still, so still that perhaps I might be perceived as statue.

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ooc; and things that go bump in the night. Open!

[Asterion]

 
Everything is different after dark.

Of course he had known it might be dangerous, this island - he is no stranger to feral magic, though it’s been years since he tasted the tang of it. But Asterion had allowed himself to get swept up in the excitement of it, had loosened his defenses to let in awe, had begun to hope that nothing here would hurt them. And perhaps, with rumors now swirling of Tempus’ relic, that is the truth. Yet the prospect of such power brought a new kind of danger, a predator no more than the greed in their own hearts.

So the king is alert, as he continues his exploration of the island.

Asterion stills at the scream, save for a twist of his ear, and he does not breathe again until it is done. Afterward the night seems to echo it, but perhaps it is only the reassuring shush of the distant waves. It is only a fox, he tells himself, or one of the strange cats he’d glimpsed earlier. Not something dying, not something dead.

But he is still more careful, when he starts forward again, and his magic coils tightly within him.

It is not a monster he finds. It is a foal, white-faced and stock-still, that his searching gaze falls upon as he steps through ferns tall enough to brush his withers. In the dim her white spots are milky, moon-colored; he is near invisible, but for the star on his brow and the gleam of his eyes.

For a moment he only regards her, head half-bowed, a posture that says I am no threat. The king has had limited experience with children; even the flocks of them in the city are foreign to him, joyful and strange. He thinks of what Florentine had told him - that he will be an uncle, soon. He lets the thoughts go no further before he can wonder if he will ever be a father.

“Hello,” he says, softly, and the night is still hushed around them - but slowly, slowly, the insects and the birds begin to sing again. “I’m Asterion. Are you alright?”




@Illu <3

and hardly ever what we dream