Oaks
06-14-2024, 09:32 AM
Perhaps unsurprisingly, he is not left alone for very long. While Beqanna is a quiet place, much calmer than he remembers from his youth, there seems to have begun a gentle stirring of life upon his return from his self-imposed isolation. His initial meeting with Zain and Beyza had marked a new chapter of his life and, apparently, added a mild new flavor to the continued peaceful phase their world currently endures. As days pass, it seems even more life returns to the land in quiet trickles and streams, a subtle new voice here and there.
Oaks can only hope this will continue (and that his curse will not silence any of these new additions to the world’s choir).
He stands there staring with a rattle to his breath, an audible cue to the fluid pooling in the back of his throat, fully unaware of the illness brewing in his chest. The unintentional exertion from before, when his magic had worked without his knowledge to claim the life of his only friend, had inadvertently recoiled upon himself as well. While not as severe as the afflictions it had put upon Zain, the rebound of magic upon itself has left its host with a sickness rapidly maturing in his lungs. Although he can feel it, he does not identify it outright as a disease of its own making – ever oblivious, he thinks it something minimal and easily fixed.
But any passing thoughts on the matter are soon swept aside by the arrival of Awi.
The distinctive crack of a fractured tree limb alerts him to the sudden arrival of the small mare behind him and he turns. It hurts a little, shifting his weight to the protest of his fevered joints and lowering his head which feels decidedly heavier than it ever has before, but he moves slowly to face her as she fumbles to gather her feet beneath her. She looks the epitome of ‘lost’ and it brings a gentle smile to his face, for he is certain he’s worn that same expression at some point before. Her words back up this impression, a soft voice laced with bewilderment and uncertainty, and he nods reassuringly in response (though the motion is a bit stiff and shortened).
“I…” he begins to answer, but further movement from his right side draws his attention and he turns his heavy eyes to observe the male approaching. A silver-red male with enviably brilliant wings has also emerged from the treeline not far from the deadened tree which Oaks had been lamenting, curiosity tracing the edges of his expression. Joining them, his question falls into a similar vein as the spotted girl’s words and Oaks tries to nod again. Normally he might have drawn away from them, wary of bringing harm upon them with his mere presence, but exhaustion has wound its way too firmly into his muscles to warrant any form of expeditious movement.
So he stands to face them and remains surprisingly close (at least, anyone who knows him well enough might have been alarmed by the sudden change in his predilections) as he answers them both.
“Everything is fine.” A lie, of course, for he knows that he is unwell (just not how unwell, not yet). Surmising that they must be newcomers here, unfamiliar with the peculiar world around them, he continues: “We are in the lands of a place called Beqanna. In the Meadow, to be more precise.” His voice is slightly more roughened than usual, a definitive hoarseness chipping at the edges of his almost-too-deep tenor. “Horses come here mostly to socialize… at least in my experience.”
He is left vaguely breathless by the effort of speaking, another new development, but he presses on even after a faint shiver licks over his body. “You two must be new here,” he observes with another soft smile. “Allow me to welcome you. My name is Oaks.”
In the back of his somewhat addled mind, he wonders whether he should apologize for the state of the tree that reaches around them. Its downfall had been his doing, after all… but in the interest of preserving his energy, he decides against it.
Oaks can only hope this will continue (and that his curse will not silence any of these new additions to the world’s choir).
He stands there staring with a rattle to his breath, an audible cue to the fluid pooling in the back of his throat, fully unaware of the illness brewing in his chest. The unintentional exertion from before, when his magic had worked without his knowledge to claim the life of his only friend, had inadvertently recoiled upon himself as well. While not as severe as the afflictions it had put upon Zain, the rebound of magic upon itself has left its host with a sickness rapidly maturing in his lungs. Although he can feel it, he does not identify it outright as a disease of its own making – ever oblivious, he thinks it something minimal and easily fixed.
But any passing thoughts on the matter are soon swept aside by the arrival of Awi.
The distinctive crack of a fractured tree limb alerts him to the sudden arrival of the small mare behind him and he turns. It hurts a little, shifting his weight to the protest of his fevered joints and lowering his head which feels decidedly heavier than it ever has before, but he moves slowly to face her as she fumbles to gather her feet beneath her. She looks the epitome of ‘lost’ and it brings a gentle smile to his face, for he is certain he’s worn that same expression at some point before. Her words back up this impression, a soft voice laced with bewilderment and uncertainty, and he nods reassuringly in response (though the motion is a bit stiff and shortened).
“I…” he begins to answer, but further movement from his right side draws his attention and he turns his heavy eyes to observe the male approaching. A silver-red male with enviably brilliant wings has also emerged from the treeline not far from the deadened tree which Oaks had been lamenting, curiosity tracing the edges of his expression. Joining them, his question falls into a similar vein as the spotted girl’s words and Oaks tries to nod again. Normally he might have drawn away from them, wary of bringing harm upon them with his mere presence, but exhaustion has wound its way too firmly into his muscles to warrant any form of expeditious movement.
So he stands to face them and remains surprisingly close (at least, anyone who knows him well enough might have been alarmed by the sudden change in his predilections) as he answers them both.
“Everything is fine.” A lie, of course, for he knows that he is unwell (just not how unwell, not yet). Surmising that they must be newcomers here, unfamiliar with the peculiar world around them, he continues: “We are in the lands of a place called Beqanna. In the Meadow, to be more precise.” His voice is slightly more roughened than usual, a definitive hoarseness chipping at the edges of his almost-too-deep tenor. “Horses come here mostly to socialize… at least in my experience.”
He is left vaguely breathless by the effort of speaking, another new development, but he presses on even after a faint shiver licks over his body. “You two must be new here,” he observes with another soft smile. “Allow me to welcome you. My name is Oaks.”
In the back of his somewhat addled mind, he wonders whether he should apologize for the state of the tree that reaches around them. Its downfall had been his doing, after all… but in the interest of preserving his energy, he decides against it.
OAKS
@Awi @Quetzalli