all things are poisons
for there is nothing without poisonous qualities.
Iris has never met her father, but unlike so many she does not particularly care. Her mother had told her enough about her father. Weed, a man who came and went like a wraith, was everything Iris would have wanted in a father. Ruthless and cool, capable of growing a forest around him but far more likely to wither the ones that existed instead. Truly, if any man caught the attention of her mother, then Iris imagined he must indeed have been something special. He gave Iris life, and she needs nothing else from him. Should she meet him one day there would be no hard feelings, though she would be curious to meet him, to see if he lived up the tales inside her head. Perhaps it is better if she never gets to know him at all. Never meet your heroes, they say. It only leads to disappointment.
Today Iris finds herself in the forest. Why, exactly, she does not know. The shared forest of Beqanna feels like a far cry from the forest of the Chamber, which feels more like home to her than she might have thought possible. Her blood runs thick with Chamber history though, and she feels as if the land belongs to her and she to it. Perhaps she does, finally, understand what drove her mother to try and resurrect it.
If not for a change of scenery, perhaps simply because the Chamber is quiet, and there are other souls to find in Beqanna. Today the ghosts are somewhat quiet, noting nothing of particular interest as the nearly all-black mare winds through the shadowed woods. Eventually one of the ghosts chitters in her ear about a boy like a tree not too far away. The voice is amused, giggling at how he stands like he might be trying to grow roots.
Iris grins at no one, though the ghost knows it is in response, and she turns her course to indeed find a young stallion standing beside a tree simply…watching? It was hard to be sure just exactly what he was trying to do. “If you stand there much longer, the ghosts of this forest are going to start taking bets on how long until you turn into a tree. Is that your goal?” Her voice is mildly amused, though still it’s usual deep purr, not entirely unlike her mother’s. They share many things, though most are not particularly visible. Nothing but the eyes, anyway.
Today Iris finds herself in the forest. Why, exactly, she does not know. The shared forest of Beqanna feels like a far cry from the forest of the Chamber, which feels more like home to her than she might have thought possible. Her blood runs thick with Chamber history though, and she feels as if the land belongs to her and she to it. Perhaps she does, finally, understand what drove her mother to try and resurrect it.
If not for a change of scenery, perhaps simply because the Chamber is quiet, and there are other souls to find in Beqanna. Today the ghosts are somewhat quiet, noting nothing of particular interest as the nearly all-black mare winds through the shadowed woods. Eventually one of the ghosts chitters in her ear about a boy like a tree not too far away. The voice is amused, giggling at how he stands like he might be trying to grow roots.
Iris grins at no one, though the ghost knows it is in response, and she turns her course to indeed find a young stallion standing beside a tree simply…watching? It was hard to be sure just exactly what he was trying to do. “If you stand there much longer, the ghosts of this forest are going to start taking bets on how long until you turn into a tree. Is that your goal?” Her voice is mildly amused, though still it’s usual deep purr, not entirely unlike her mother’s. They share many things, though most are not particularly visible. Nothing but the eyes, anyway.
it is only the dose that matters
iris
@
Juice