12-12-2018, 08:48 AM
Eurwen
in the winter, far beneath the bitter snows
There have been stories told about fairies. Papa tells them of course, so, one best not take them too literally. Still, when they call... they're going to heal the world of the sickness, right? The one Mama and Papa are so scared of that Oisín and she will get it. Honestly, she hasn't seen much of the sickness in her young life just yet. 'Seis has it, she thinks, but it's probably not that bad or their older sister wouldn't want to play with them - wouldn't be able to, in fact, come to think of it. Eurwen sincerely hopes it will not worsen. What if it gets worse?
All in all, she just has to admit that she's curious to see the fae. Their call comes from a faraway place, the Mountain, but it is also a magic place, one she'll want to see once in her life at least. Looking around, it looks like her parents are sleeping when she gets up one morning - Grammama not around either. Good. She doesn't want them to worry, but if she's going to make a long, long journey, then they can't know that she's leaving or they might stop her.
But Papa could do it in the ice. Surely she can do it when there's not ice.
Of course, she has not idea how close he'd come to death while doing it. Freezing, wet, sinking. That this will be no less dangerous, that this is not just an exciting trip to see the fairies and help them with a simple task and then go home. But she's not a half year old yet. She's scared and brave and curious in one. Most of all, just so, so naive.
Slipping away, she wonders one moment if perhaps she should have asked her sister to come. Either of them; she would have felt braver. But she's already stepped away from them and she won't risk sneaking back in for Oisín or snooping around Nerine and call Chryseis. They will know. They will find her. They will stop her. Best not risk it.
The little girl, gold and white as is her namesake, darts over from the foresty area near Nerine's borders to the Taiga woods. Eerie and cold, they spook her a little; but once her mind is set surely she can't really go back?
A shiver runs down her tiny spine, but then the pink-spotted filly moves. She can't stay here. She's going to see a fairy!
The path is disorienting and dwindling; but she keeps going... roughly south. This land is nearly unoccupied; not marked with scent borders, she is free to travel here. By daylight it would have been easier, now the moon throws shadows between the trees and it's slow going, she swirls between trees, finding footing slowly between the soft forest ground and it's roots. Sometimes an owl hoots; sometimes, she watches rabbits get scared and run away from her, but all in all she is not held up too long.
A mountain lures and she knows she's made it. With renewed energy and a girlish giggle, she walks up to the gathering.
Not many horses have arrived yet, but she hardly pays attention to them anyway. Instead she stares at the fae; she doesn't see an ice fairy or a winter fairy like Papa had encountered, instead there is one very rocky one - his voice deep and going through her whole being with an urgency she can't quite explain. A task, he has, for her, for those around her. She stares at him, trying to assess his features. But it's urgent, he adds. So urgent, she immediately nods to him and turns around. Perhaps he hadn't been talking to her specifically, or only meant for adults to come - but she is, for once in her short life, certain about something. That she will go and find the things.
She doesn't tarry. She doesn't go very fast, because going down the mountain is harder than going up with spindly legs like hers. But she goes at a steady pace of her own, like she always does. Slow and steady wins the race, Mama might say. Oisín would say she wouldn't win anything that way, probably. Chryseis too. Wenny would just stick out her tongue (but from behind her Mama or Papa). And now, she's going to prove them wrong. Maybe.
Down the mountain, to the east where everybody else is going so that must be the way, there is a sick land. It stinks. Stinks of... she doesn't know exactly. Sickness smells, and death smells, and cold sweat and fear and oppression.
Hurry. Go fast. Eurwen isn't the fastest horse, however. Not even because of her age, but because she wants to explore whatever she encounters and decide it's safe to continue, before actually going. So she looks around a lot, avoids a crevice in the earth she doesn't trust - another might have jumped over it, she goes around - and when a sick-looking, coughing horse approaches her, she freezes.
There's nowhere to hide away when you're practically white and have mane shining gold. It's the downside of her beauty which she will yet have to discover; for now she's just a child, accepting the way the world is, the way she is, without question. So she accepts Chryseis' sickness. But this horse is new.
Towering over her like all adults would, the spotted filly trembles with fear as they approach. They seem to stop at a respectable difference, but without any of her family to stand by her, what does she know? Is it a trap?
Coughing reaches her ears, and she's scared. She doesn't want to go any farther. How can she possibly safely go around? Any delay will bring ruin. She tries to speak, and a pathetic squee comes out. Shaking her head, she goes sideways; her wide, near-black gaze never leaves the horse when she does so.
"Help." They say; but the filly is in fact too scared of them. Loss of hair and an obvious drool on their lips, as well as coughing blood - it's nearly too much. So scared, she is, that she can barely move; she surely isn't able to speak. She shakes her head. Must not tarry. Time is of the essence. When she's finally around the sick horse, and hears more coughing from somewhere behind her (imagined or no), she can't hold it up any longer. Spooked, she kicks into a short race, and she doesn't stop until she makes it into the Cove.
All in all, she just has to admit that she's curious to see the fae. Their call comes from a faraway place, the Mountain, but it is also a magic place, one she'll want to see once in her life at least. Looking around, it looks like her parents are sleeping when she gets up one morning - Grammama not around either. Good. She doesn't want them to worry, but if she's going to make a long, long journey, then they can't know that she's leaving or they might stop her.
But Papa could do it in the ice. Surely she can do it when there's not ice.
Of course, she has not idea how close he'd come to death while doing it. Freezing, wet, sinking. That this will be no less dangerous, that this is not just an exciting trip to see the fairies and help them with a simple task and then go home. But she's not a half year old yet. She's scared and brave and curious in one. Most of all, just so, so naive.
Slipping away, she wonders one moment if perhaps she should have asked her sister to come. Either of them; she would have felt braver. But she's already stepped away from them and she won't risk sneaking back in for Oisín or snooping around Nerine and call Chryseis. They will know. They will find her. They will stop her. Best not risk it.
The little girl, gold and white as is her namesake, darts over from the foresty area near Nerine's borders to the Taiga woods. Eerie and cold, they spook her a little; but once her mind is set surely she can't really go back?
A shiver runs down her tiny spine, but then the pink-spotted filly moves. She can't stay here. She's going to see a fairy!
The path is disorienting and dwindling; but she keeps going... roughly south. This land is nearly unoccupied; not marked with scent borders, she is free to travel here. By daylight it would have been easier, now the moon throws shadows between the trees and it's slow going, she swirls between trees, finding footing slowly between the soft forest ground and it's roots. Sometimes an owl hoots; sometimes, she watches rabbits get scared and run away from her, but all in all she is not held up too long.
A mountain lures and she knows she's made it. With renewed energy and a girlish giggle, she walks up to the gathering.
Not many horses have arrived yet, but she hardly pays attention to them anyway. Instead she stares at the fae; she doesn't see an ice fairy or a winter fairy like Papa had encountered, instead there is one very rocky one - his voice deep and going through her whole being with an urgency she can't quite explain. A task, he has, for her, for those around her. She stares at him, trying to assess his features. But it's urgent, he adds. So urgent, she immediately nods to him and turns around. Perhaps he hadn't been talking to her specifically, or only meant for adults to come - but she is, for once in her short life, certain about something. That she will go and find the things.
She doesn't tarry. She doesn't go very fast, because going down the mountain is harder than going up with spindly legs like hers. But she goes at a steady pace of her own, like she always does. Slow and steady wins the race, Mama might say. Oisín would say she wouldn't win anything that way, probably. Chryseis too. Wenny would just stick out her tongue (but from behind her Mama or Papa). And now, she's going to prove them wrong. Maybe.
Down the mountain, to the east where everybody else is going so that must be the way, there is a sick land. It stinks. Stinks of... she doesn't know exactly. Sickness smells, and death smells, and cold sweat and fear and oppression.
Hurry. Go fast. Eurwen isn't the fastest horse, however. Not even because of her age, but because she wants to explore whatever she encounters and decide it's safe to continue, before actually going. So she looks around a lot, avoids a crevice in the earth she doesn't trust - another might have jumped over it, she goes around - and when a sick-looking, coughing horse approaches her, she freezes.
There's nowhere to hide away when you're practically white and have mane shining gold. It's the downside of her beauty which she will yet have to discover; for now she's just a child, accepting the way the world is, the way she is, without question. So she accepts Chryseis' sickness. But this horse is new.
Towering over her like all adults would, the spotted filly trembles with fear as they approach. They seem to stop at a respectable difference, but without any of her family to stand by her, what does she know? Is it a trap?
Coughing reaches her ears, and she's scared. She doesn't want to go any farther. How can she possibly safely go around? Any delay will bring ruin. She tries to speak, and a pathetic squee comes out. Shaking her head, she goes sideways; her wide, near-black gaze never leaves the horse when she does so.
"Help." They say; but the filly is in fact too scared of them. Loss of hair and an obvious drool on their lips, as well as coughing blood - it's nearly too much. So scared, she is, that she can barely move; she surely isn't able to speak. She shakes her head. Must not tarry. Time is of the essence. When she's finally around the sick horse, and hears more coughing from somewhere behind her (imagined or no), she can't hold it up any longer. Spooked, she kicks into a short race, and she doesn't stop until she makes it into the Cove.
lies the seed that with the sun's love
in the spring becomes the rose
in the spring becomes the rose