Oriash
they promised that dreams can come true
“I only looked like a tree,” she clarifies, laughing slightly at the ridiculousness of being a tree. Though perhaps in Beqanna it’s not so very ridiculous. Surely someone can shift into a tree. Ori has heard stories of far weirder traits than becoming a tree, and she knows well of the nature magician who recently ruled Tephra. After all, Ori had been caught in the maze of vines and flowers and plants that had suddenly erupted across Loess, a maze that had nearly killed a few of the children that called the place home.
I think I prefer you this way, he says, and she suddenly realizes that he prefers her for her. If he knows her parents, he has not mentioned them, and she is struck by the idea that someone might actually like her simply for her. That is a new concept in her life, except for Petron who, though he knew her mothers, did not judge her based on her mothers. Did not judge her based on Kagerus. Her mother’s shadow loomed so large when Ori was still a child that she had doubted there was any escape from it, and yet as time passes, it grows smaller.
At least, she assumes her mother’s shadow must finally be growing smaller because Ori hasn’t grown any larger, figuratively speaking. She hasn’t quite sorted out how. How does one become something, become more, become known? How does one break out of the shadow two parents who had loomed so very large?
“Kildare is a good name. It doesn’t need a nickname,” she says, realizing she’d probably been silent for a moment too long. Funny how an unintended kindness can strike her silent and dumb, not that Ori ever tends to talk very much. “No, I am not usually a tree. But I often paint,” she grins, a little mischievous, and around them the trees shift and change, reaching impossibly high into the air, their trunks growing so large around they cannot see past one. It is a redwood forest now, but more impressive than the redwoods of Sylva, for these redwoods are not limited by reality but only by Ori’s imagination.
After another moment, she lets the illusion go. “Do you often stare at trees? Or mare’s that look like trees?” There’s a playful tone in her voice at the question though, finding it easy and pleasant to talk to the young stallion. He doesn’t seem like the type to be easily offended, and she likes that.
but they forgot that nightmares are dreams too.
@[kildare] oh look, I'm just as slow if not slower...whoops
Use of mild power playing is allowed; no injuries without permission