Set
It is perhaps considered by some cruel to wield the fish, living creatures, as (albeit harmless) weapons, but he does not see it as such. Not any longer, at least. When Beqanna and her fairies had shifted everyone’s magic, he’d suddenly found himself more in tune with living creatures, even more so than when he had been when shapeshifting was the only trick up his metaphorical sleeve. At first it had been overwhelming and he had lost control, drowning in a cacophony of thoughts and hopes and heartbeats. He’d left Beqanna for some time then. Fled, perhaps, being a more proper term, because even the more evolved, the changed, the different - all that resembled an animal in one way or another - had clamored and vied for his attention, threatening to drive him to madness. And maybe he had. Gone mad, that is.
He'd learned to remaster the heavy, living, pulsing magic within him; learned to extricate himself - his essence - from the morass, and returned.
He watches the goat-mare leave with an odd half smile, whiskers twitching once and then again. A rather uninteresting creature, that one, despite her outward appearances. Though he can empathize with the weight of the crown that sits atop her head and all the responsibilities that come with it, he finds her cold formality distasteful and her exit discourteous to her guests. No matter he’d just thrown two fish at her. He abruptly turns back to Orieta.
“Bit rude, that one. I could help you, I think,” he says, turning in the water to scan the banks with a thoughtful expression. “It is lovely here, even in the winter,” he makes easy conversation as he probes at the sides of the lake with small threads of magic, searching. “I was born here, a long time ago.” He’s still holding on to the otter's form, his squeaks and chatters made understandable even to those who are unable to talk with the lesser animals. There. At the southern edge of the lake, he finds what he is looking for. The dry seasonal creek, where usually the Chamber’s lake, fed by the frigid northern waters and mountain snowmelt, drains south, toward what he thinks is now the Dale. His tongue slips between his teeth in concentration as he pushes at the hard-packed bed, simultaneously opening his “net” wider to channel more energy from nearby burrowing creatures.
It’s a rare moment, this time and effort he’s taking, expending power on someone outside of his family, for something that helps rather than harms. He does not further examine the protective feelings the shy, seemingly innocent, girl elicits in him, or why, only continues his work, treading the cold lakewater and chittering away. “Have you ever been on land? Where are you from?” he asks, rather than taking from her what he can.
He'd learned to remaster the heavy, living, pulsing magic within him; learned to extricate himself - his essence - from the morass, and returned.
He watches the goat-mare leave with an odd half smile, whiskers twitching once and then again. A rather uninteresting creature, that one, despite her outward appearances. Though he can empathize with the weight of the crown that sits atop her head and all the responsibilities that come with it, he finds her cold formality distasteful and her exit discourteous to her guests. No matter he’d just thrown two fish at her. He abruptly turns back to Orieta.
“Bit rude, that one. I could help you, I think,” he says, turning in the water to scan the banks with a thoughtful expression. “It is lovely here, even in the winter,” he makes easy conversation as he probes at the sides of the lake with small threads of magic, searching. “I was born here, a long time ago.” He’s still holding on to the otter's form, his squeaks and chatters made understandable even to those who are unable to talk with the lesser animals. There. At the southern edge of the lake, he finds what he is looking for. The dry seasonal creek, where usually the Chamber’s lake, fed by the frigid northern waters and mountain snowmelt, drains south, toward what he thinks is now the Dale. His tongue slips between his teeth in concentration as he pushes at the hard-packed bed, simultaneously opening his “net” wider to channel more energy from nearby burrowing creatures.
It’s a rare moment, this time and effort he’s taking, expending power on someone outside of his family, for something that helps rather than harms. He does not further examine the protective feelings the shy, seemingly innocent, girl elicits in him, or why, only continues his work, treading the cold lakewater and chittering away. “Have you ever been on land? Where are you from?” he asks, rather than taking from her what he can.
@Orieta