06-09-2015, 10:11 PM
Oh look, oh my star is fading
She can’t quite smell ghosts (that would be a bit much for a simple medium), but she can almost hear it, scratching at the edge of her consciousness like an itch you can't quite reach, or like the radio in your car when it's turned almost (but not quite) all the way down. And so she heads off, leaving the jungle's warm embrace behind as she heads, rather more than less blindly, in the direction where she thinks this strange static might be coming from. She chatters to Rain as she goes, but Rain is no help to her here. Rain hadn't known anyone who knew Ramiel; there's no way for her dead sister to share any information about the boy.
Once Wrynn reaches the meadow, it is almost sunset. She pauses on the edges of it, glancing around, feeling sure that the source of the static is here – and then she spots him.
It's truly easy, considering the way he looks. She recognizes him now (well, sort of), one of the others from the quest, and she immediately narrows her eyes. He sure doesn’t seem dead, and the dead aren't allowed to be up here, so that means he can't be dead. But he's also decidedly not exactly living. Otherwise she wouldn't feel itchy-scratchy like she does. Whatever he is or isn't, she knows already that she needs to approach him. He seems to be a little bit disconcerted with whatever is going on, and if she can help him in any way, she's going to.
Rain and her friends fall into the background as the bay girl approaches the boy. They are almost of an age, he perhaps slightly older than she, but this doesn't concern her. Wrynn has never been much of one to be fearful; timid, yes, but not fearful. And that timidity is obvious in the delicate way that she approaches him, walking carefully, quietly, almost as though she's afraid she might wake him from a dream. She is a pretty thing, small for her age, bay with just the slightest hint of greying. Around her barrel snakes a still-healing wound from a tentacle in the ruined land where they'd both fought monsters, and her delicate knees are still healing from the skinning they'd endured as she had leapt from hiding place to hiding place to dodge the all-seeing eye monster. But her eyes – bright, interested eyes – are as deep and beautiful as ever, their colors a shifting diaphanous rainbow array of colors.
She reaches him and notes that he looks even more ghostly up close. She wonders for just a moment if she'd be able to speak with him the way she does with Rain and the rest of the dead, but then decides that it's just easier to speak aloud anyway. She watches him in silence for a moment, knowing that he'd likely recognize her just as she'd recognized him. Especially the final ones, they'd all know each other. They'd all know. "Do you think you're a ghost?" She asks, gently. Her voice is small, quiet, but soft and pleasant. She speaks like someone who is used to being ignored, or told to quiet down, even though she's never been told that in her life.
Inside her head, the static drones.
wrynn