The bark wore against me, harsh in places. Like the rough touch of a wanton lover. Every stride through the cove of trees, their gnarled fingers seemed to hook me, fine, bony twigs scraping across my side. My silvery tresses, adorned with a star-shine of teal and purple, was strewn across my neck, like gossamer threads. Dark frame, felt like an inky shadow, blending into the crisp umbra of the trees. It was here, like a witch within her darkness, I felt quite at home. My purple horn, a deep wine, like a shadow of the setting sun upon a crisp autumn eve, pressed against the bark, digging into the solid wood. Scrape. Scrape. I continue to carve, engraving every tree I pass with a symbol. A circle here, a triangle there. I engraved every tree I passed, all except one. This solitary oak stood robust against the rest, it's naked limbs like hooked arms draping over me, concealing me from the bright afternoon sun. It was this tree, I did not mark, instead my viridian eyes watched, a sharp vigil against the natural landmark.
He was aged, every nook and line, bore tales, secrets within it's trunk. I pressed my shoulder against the cool, course wood. It drove a fire through me, livened my senses as I felt the energy of the earth course through. Of course, it is the necessary spur of life that courses through the tree, like a throb of life, like a single, vulnerable thread. Life was fleeting, it comes and it goes, it bends with the wind. Life, it was all and it was nothing, and this surreptitious thought crept like a dark mark across my mind, like worn fingers, touching all the nooks and crannies of my skull. I thought then, that this old, worn oak, had to be claimed, had to be known. A name, a dubbing.
Aiken. Made of Oak. Strong, robust. I licked my dry lips and with a satisfied smirk, I pressed my forehead against the tree and scrawled, each letter digging into the tree's flesh. He is Aiken, he is strong, and he is named. Once complete, I left him, left all the marks against the trees, with a snap of my multi-toned tail, sharp against my loins. Each step took me closer to the brightness of the field. I was wary when I met the tree-line, almost tentative did my form idle by the breach of shadow and light.
I may spin fair tales across my spidery fingers, but out there, the sunlight, it burns, it burns the witches, the dark. And right now, I was not in the mind of getting burnt. So here, in the safety of the darkness, I stand. Head held a little higher than normal, green eyes watchful as they studied the field with a sharp scrutiny. Many lurked, crowds mingled and not a single one caught my attention.
Were they all like this?
.
j y n x s
here in the forest dark and deep, i offer you, eternal sleep
OOC: This was a strange one o_o