two falling sparks - mast & family/any

[Finner]

Heaven’s Gates is different from his childhood. The whispering river of gossip reached even his wandering, exploring ears. How the Chamber had infiltrated the light kingdom (despite the long-standing alliance), how a Chamber member had set fire to their precious Mother Tree and her family (that generous, loving, grandmotherly tree that guarded over the kingdom), how they had fled with his aunt, Fiasko, who had been placed as queen there next to his father since his mother fled. He’s heard the stories, spread and scattered a twisted throughout Beqanna.

No story could have prepared him from the devastation of what he sees. Although the destruction of fire is obvious, the debris has begun to drown under the green ocean of new life. Still, the hollowed-out trunk of the Mother Tree tugs at his heart. His ears flatten toward the mass of dark, tangled locks piled on his head. He should have been here to protect the Mother Tree. He should have been here to fight for his aunt. He should have been here to comfort his father and offer his arms and do everything he could to help the Gates.

Instead, he returns while they are rebuilding.

He doesn’t bother with the borders and calling for someone to greet him. He steps past the border line and feels his chest relax. A breath he didn’t realize he was holding is let out as he steps deeper into his home kingdom. The scenery is familiar and yet not. The tree nearest his left shoulder looks vaguely familiar (he remembers watching a squirrel climb up that tree to grab a nut in his first year of fall) and yet riddled with differences (a scorched trunk, a scattering of leaves, the bush below it no longer decorated with fragile white flowers).

He heads toward the Mother Tree, dark brown eyes scanning the landscape for any of his family. His steps are slow and measured, yet there is no degree of hesitancy in them. They are steps taken by someone who knows every dip and rise of this land very well, and yet the face of such a someone is a face like a stranger.

FINNER.

[magnus]

you and I both know that the house is haunted
and you and I both know that the ghost is me

It has been two years since Magnus was washed up onto the shores of the beach, spitting saltwater from his lungs, and sometimes it feels like his death was yesterday. He can feel the fear, the way that it crawls up his veins and injects itself into his heart; he can remember the terror of watching Joelle fall to the wayside—watching Trashlip loom over him. The moment he realized that all of his worst fears about himself were coming true: that he actually could not protect those that he loved. That he had failed.

Even in this life, he carries that weight with him. It settles across his shoulders and sinks in his belly; it guides him in every choice that he makes. Perhaps that is why he has fallen back into his habit of walking along the borders of the kingdom; perhaps that is why he still cannot shake his insomnia—why he still struggles to sleep, grabbing an hour here and there. It does not take him long to see the grullo walking into the kingdom, and he watches him from afar for a few minutes, watches him walk around the areas that had received the worst of the burning—the areas that still had not yet fully recovered from the attack.

Nodding to himself, the buckskin made his way over toward him, giving him a shadow of a smile as his way of greeting before coming to a stop. “Hello there,” his voice honeyed whiskey. “I’m Magnus.” He liked that the Gates had, mostly, an open-door policy. He liked that they did not close their borders down to anyone who entered, but he still recognized the risks—still did his due diligence when he saw someone that he had never met before. “I don’t believe that we have met before. How can I help you?”

MAGNUS

once general. once lord. once king.

[Mast]

I've heard there was a secret chord
that David played and it pleased the Lord
but you don't really care for music do you?

There were lots of things he valued in life, but none more than his family. They were his shelter from the storm, his rock when the ground began to gave way. He hadn’t known much about his birth father, and even less about his birth mother, but he at least owed them thanks for giving him life. But it had been the Gates that had breathed the air into his lungs, given him the tools to rise to the top, like cream. His family here, they were his safe harbor. From his lover to his children, and everyone in between, he loved them all. Without them he was nothing, and he surely would have faded into nothingness.

The day was pleasant as he took Topsail around the kingdom, trying in vain to show the child something noteworthy. She was a wild thing, and had Mast not already been gray, then she surely would have sent him on the path to it. The deer king had almost given up, when a familiar face caught his eye. His mouth split into a wide grin as he turned to beckon Topsail to follow him, and to do so quickly. She of course scowled, angry that whatever mischief she had been planning had been stymied. Mast didn’t look back to see if she was following, but trotted quickly to the young stallion crossing over the borders. Magnus beat him there, but Mast paid him no mind for the moment. He wasn’t being rude, but this was his son, his very first child. “Finner, my boy.” he exclaimed, giving the grulla a bump on the shoulder with his nose. Turning back to Magnus he smiled sheepishly, as if somewhat embarrassed by his lack of composure. “Magnus, you’ll have to excuse me. But this is Finner, my son.” he said proudly. “Topsail, come here…now!” His ears flicked back to his head, impatient with her petulance for once. “Topsail, meet your brother Finner, and Magnus.” The grulla filly frowned at her fathers urging, but she came nonetheless. Dipping her head she greeted them both, but for now she was silent. Mast returned her frown momentarily before turning back to his son. “Its good to have you home, son.”

M A S T