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  • Traveling Through Space


    Samithel

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    August 14, 2019

    6:08AM

     

    It was a dull insistent pain in the right eye, less like rock repeatedly striking head, more like some extremely heavy object passively resting on it, which eventually dragged Samithel’s attention to the solid wall of green, the world, which gradually fragmented into ill-defined globs of the same color.

     

      Senses arose with the steady surge of a flowing river. Resolution came next. Circles gained sharpness and focus, losing abstractness, and acquiring context in the form of leaves, painted shimmering with quickly evaporating condensation by a stretching morning sun. Shot through with the lightning colored presence of life, the leaves grew from branches, a river emptying into a hundred outlets, emptying into the sea; a fuzzy nimbus of aura, like a thick fog, clung to each tree limb. Then scope sifted through, revealing not one branch, but a wild canopy of them, a filter for the early morning light.

     

      Scope brought perception, other senses beyond sight, both arcane and mundane, joining the cacophony of regained consciousness. The feel of an ancient tree root, ridged and pitted with age immemorial, pressed uncomfortably against her upper back, at once like and unlike the rock-studded ground beneath it. The smell of wet forest, damp earth and damp leaves, mingled with the far more ephemeral scent of impending daybreak. The distant sound of running water the only native ambiance -- no birds or insects, no wind rustled branches. Breathing, Samithel’s breathing, also came and went in her ears; therein lay the problem, for she felt certain the sound brought no such familiarity as that of the water.

     

      And if that feeling could be extended to every facet of her situation, it would describe it quite aptly. No particular reference sprung to mind, no exact image of where else she should or could be made itself known. By all accounts, it would be perfectly normal for her to be, for some undefined reason, lying in the dirt in some random forest, or park, or similar environment conducive to the growth of trees. Yet something with even that thought felt off…this cycle of internal second, third, fourth, and nth guessing went on for some time, until, with far from the final mental climb out of that particular trench, Samithel pushed herself into a sitting position.

     

      The action made her realize it was a lot more than her eye which happened to be in agony at that moment. Her back, her arms, shoulders, head…everything hurt. Looking down brought to her attention the fabric of her jacket, a green several shades darker than that above. Although it hid the lashes on her arms, it did not mask those on her hands. Traces of grimy blood covered them, and, likewise, the start of a hot humid day was not the only thing contributing to the adhesiveness of her clothing.

     

      Her breath came loud and painfully. Only then did Samithel realize it, and she waited until breathing felt natural again before getting to her feet. Pain, bright and pulsing, bit into her back, a vicious barbed spike of it lodged at the spine, just between the shoulder blades. The immediate consequence of this was Samithel’s inability to stand on the first try.

     

      Nor the second. Pushing up with her hands only caused the star of agony to go nova. Her vision, already dancing, wavered slightly, until she relaxed her muscles again. So she clenched her teeth, tried not to breathe in too deeply, and tried again.

     

      The rest of the process blurred into a fiery haze of pain and half-conscious determination. Perhaps three truly was a symbolic number, or perhaps the number of times it took blurred into each other, her brain too overloaded to bother keeping count. Whatever the case, between that and constant support from the tree beside her, Samithel eventually got to her feet…and almost fell right back down.

     

      Instead, she leaned a shoulder against that same tree, trying to move as much weight off her feet as possible. That still hurt, just in a different way. Original plans were to start walking towards the water source; only her gaze searched, wandering and uncertain, losing itself between the spinning trees --- had she hit her head? Probably. Her body remained half-slumped against the tree, taking measured breaths in an attempt to keep all the different alarms from becoming overwhelming. Her only comfort lay in the fact that at least she felt something; at least she wasn’t still on the ground, unable to feel anything from the neck down. Once or twice she caught herself drifting, almost falling again, only to catch herself, forcing her attention back onto the smoldering coals of reality. There was little else she could do now, little but hope and wait for someone, or something, to appear.

     

      Hopefully water still meant something living had to be around. Not necessarily of a kind disposition to her predicament, but anything was better than feeling lost. Maybe she'd try walking. In a little while...just let the world settle...

     

    (OOC: Always open to suggestions and constructive criticism on my writing, thanks.)

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    From above, hidden within the branches and leaves of a tree, Ishsa lounged. It was early, the gawkers and interlopers had not yet arrived to inundate the Park and her ears with needless noise. All was quiet and serene as the Fae rested with her back against the solid and shadowed trunk. Lazily she brushed her fingers along the rough bark, as if it were a favored pet that she idly stroked. Nothing would she do this day beyond this! Perfectly with eyes closed, she inhaled the scent of green foliage and knotted wood, and breathed out contentment.

    But another smell was laid upon the clear air. Another smell, foreign and new wafted upwards to her perch within the tree. Blood! The Fae frowned and turned her gaze downward to investigate. There was nothing suspect, nothing to arouse suspicion. Until Ishsa’s sight picked out the source, a girl in camouflaged green lay upon the ground unmoving. Below her very tree she lay! For a time Ishsa simply watched, as still and silent as the girl beneath her. Yet nothing happened. Perhaps she slept? Perhaps she meant to trick Ishsa, to lure her down from safety’s haven?

    Ishsa waited, patient as the stars and observed each detail, every slight movement the girl had begun to make. Soon it became obvious, the girl was unwell – either sick or hurt. The Fae knew not which. Looking brought no answers, only more questions. And the sporadic movements upon the ground intrigued the Fae, and like the moth to flame she was drawn slowly downward. Quietly she moved, silent as winter night she descended the back side of the tree, so the girl might not see her just yet. Ishsa had to be sure…

    Slowly Ishsa’s head rounded the tree, though her body remained hidden behind it, ready to flee if need be, as if she were a child playing games. But instead of high-pitched laughter, the Fae sniffed at the dark-haired newcomer, though her eyes brown and golden sparkled like a child's upon the beginnings of a new and interesting Game.

    Blood.

    Outward she danced from her hiding place unafraid, and teased, [ishsa]You have not taken very good care of yourself it seems. Smelling as you do… you will draw the questionable ones near…[/ishsa] And her pale fingers curiously reached out to touch upon one of the girl’s battered hands.
     

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      Had she just zoned out again? The tiny part of her consciousness not struggling to stay afloat on the ocean of brain signals or dealing with the exterior world was vaguely bothered by that. Samithel was no doctor, but she felt fairly certain potential concussion and sleep were not two words that should be associated with each other. Either way, something had drawn her out of that half-stupor state, so she martialed her attention towards that particular focus.

     

      Her gaze struggled to extract itself from the meandering lines of tree trunks, and towards the person beside her. She had to concentrate to pick out details – the white hair, the translucent wings, and the wild, free-spirited aura of the fae. The colors there were almost entrancing, and in her current mental state, their distraction was almost welcome.

     

      With an arm using the tree trunk for support, Samithel only had one hand with which to respond to the stranger’s comment about danger. Carefully she raised it, and gave the white haired woman a lopsided thumbs up. IN contrast, the other hand, when touched by the fae, inched itself downwards across the rough tree bark, a gesture more symbolic than effective.

     

      Samithel’s eyes remained focused on the woman’s face, guarded, but not hostile.

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    Strangely the girl focused, as if she were a newly birthed foal just entered into the Wood. The Fae had witnessed these little deer as they first attempted to stand on wobbling legs and uncertain of everything around them; this girl was the same, but she was no deer and certainly not newly born. Exhalation was pronounced and weighty as she pondered this and with her attention trained upon the human, Ishsa watched the hand as it rose and the thumb lifted. The Fae’s chin dropped in surprise and she took a step backwards. Thumbs up. The words danced upon memory. But in this instance, she had to question its meaning… Why did the girl use it now, when she was obviously unwell?

    Her other hand, moved also, but downward upon the tree, slow and precise as if in signal. Just as deliberately Ishsa lifted her eyes to the girl. What did the hand mean? Between the two females now, all communication was silent, easy to misinterpret. Was this her tree? Did she claim sanctuary within its leaves? The Fae could not contain her interest, and she wondered aloud, [ishsa]This tree -- is it yours?[/ishsa] It was not a stunning specimen nor near the great bulk of her Endride. A puff of pride spread her wings wide and proudly at the thought of him. But like an animal with no hurry, the Fae blinked and her long, dark lashes fell and rose with calm purpose.

    The girl was peculiar! Again, Ishsa swayed closer to study and assess this one’s worth. Too near she stepped, for what was personal space to a Fae, when life all around her was connected? And what cared she if someone was uncomfortable? Such things meant nothing to her. But the woman only observed her in return and said nothing. Perplexed, Ishsa’s head cocked to the side in an effort to understand. Serenely her breath traveled easily, unbothered by the awkwardness of the situation; the Fae was in no rush to solve the riddle this girl represented.

    A noise caused Ishsa’s head to turn quickly, and for many long moments she stared into the foliage. The Fae had not lied; wicked creatures lived here also and would be drawn by the smell of blood. [ishsa]You had best climb the tree…[/ishsa] she offered helpfully. But one had to wonder if the girl could manage such an endeavor. Half standing as she was, she would not make it very high, if she could climb at all... And she had no wings with which to fly! The Fae’s own wings fluttered prettily, as if to make an inaudible point as she frowned.

    They were too near her own Tree! The dangerous ones were sure to draw near. It was not out of kindness Ishsa acted, or compassion. Those things were no longer a part of her. Out of self-preservation she finally said, [ishsa]Do you wish help?[/ishsa] It was almost a dare and a sharp edge sat within her voice. The girl would owe her of course for her troubles. Ishsa touched an arm, this time gently. [ishsa]Come. I will take you to the water,[/ishsa] the Fae said softly, [ishsa]to wash the smell away. [/ishsa]  

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      Her tree? This place was not her home – some half-realized memory made her certain of it, and she was inclined to trust it – so she could only surmise that the first time she’d encountered this particular tree had been…when, exactly? Come to think of it, what was the date?

     

      Noise from the brush – what could it be? Already on edge, the other woman’s reaction worked itself into Samithel’s inner narrative, nurturing the seed of concern.

     

      Concern blossomed darkly, becoming fear. Samithel searched for the source of the disturbance, finding enough calm in the sense of purpose to disassociate from the feeling and center herself. Fear, certainly, but perhaps also a hint of something else; she knew she would rather plan against the realized than react to the unknown.

     

      Climbing the tree appeared very unlikely. She spared only a glance upward from her position at its base, but by her estimation, the trunk alone had to be at least highly improbable meters tall. Although her eyes did not stop attempting to track the source of the sound, the flutter of wings that accompanied the statement snagged her attention, and the irony in the motion was not lost on the magus. Besides, if danger lurked nearby, climbing up a tree just sounded like cornering herself. No water, no food, lack of sleep, something would eventually get her back to ground.

     

      The next phrase – the offer of help – only lodged in her brain because of the shift in tone. Help? Yes, she could use some of that. Definitely lost, probably injured, clueless as to the true nature of the danger, yes, Samithel certainly needed help, but from a stranger? What if the stranger was herself the threat? Why would anyone offer her help in the middle of possibly nowhere, and what possible motives could they have? And what had that sound been? It bothered her, not knowing.

     

      She knew little of fae, but what she did know involved deals; debts. Samithel hated debts. Not that it mattered, given the circumstances. The thought was a bitter one, and the brush of resignation made her want to reflexively reject the offer, just to get as far away from the feeling as possible.

     

      Samithel was no master of facial artifice. Although her expression had at first been closed, the presence of fear, suspicion, and internal conflict cast the nature of her features differently. Time past, as perceived circumstance battled mistrust. But, as surely as water wears away stone, her rough-edged decision took form; a chunk of determination shot through with uncertainty and foreboding, like impurities in a piece of ore.

     

      Eyes back on the fae’s face, Samithel took a heartbeat to gather the willpower, and nodded. That physical hurt, even when she’d been expecting it, meant nothing when compared to the prickly crawling terror of owing some random person – some random fae – a life debt, but it ranked somewhere up there.

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    • 3 weeks later...

    Not long did the woman gaze upward. Ishsa might have looked at the dappled leaves forever given the chance, but not this stranger. Did the trees not hold her attention? There would be no climbing this day; this one would not be up to the task, not even to help herself. Ishsa waited for an answer. She would not press her own council upon the woman, for it was best when others made their own mind. It was one of the rare instances the Fae could be and would be forever patient. A debt was a debt. How much sweeter the obligation was when a person willingly and without force chose it themselves. The Fae answered to no inner conscious; there was no right or wrong in her mind, there was no guilt. Ishsa would help or not; to leave the injured woman to her own devices was nothing. Though Ishsa’s interest in the stranger would not stop even then, she would remain curious for certainly there was a story here for the telling. If the woman declined the offer of help, Ishsa would find another distraction. Or the Fae could always follow along unseen…

    The stranger’s face reflected an array of emotion and Ishsa smiled to see such things appear. As if the emotions that paraded across the woman’s features were simply there for Ishsa’s amusement. Emotion was always better than solemn stoic-ness, for that would be a dreadfully dull show. The Fae watched and waited, silent and eager both. Time meant nothing, she had neither deadlines or worry. And the small details of the woman’s changing face were pleasantly entertaining. Conflict played there too, as did fear and mistrust. Ishsa loved them all!

    But the expression changed and solidified into something more defined. A decision. Almost disappointment flickered across the Fae’s features because the emotional display had ended. The woman nodded, the answer given. Ishsa returned a silent nod of her own to seal the agreement. And while pain flashed across the stranger’s face once more and overcame the other emotions that had been present just moments before, Ishsa’s face lit with a happy glow. Acceptance! As soon as the offer was accepted, Ishsa moved.

     

    Slow and cautious the Fae approached, alert as a beast, least the stranger snap like a wounded fox. A hand reached out to lightly take the woman’s arm, her other hand looped around the woman’s waist to help support her. The small Fae was stronger than she appeared. [ishsa]Do not worry, [/ishsa] she cooed. [ishsa]Now is not the time to fret, Ishsa will see to your needs. All will be well.[/ishsa] The Fae spoke simply, as she thought the woman slow witted and perhaps unknown to speech. This other certainly did not understand the trees.

    The unknown sound had retreated; the Wood was once again silent. But the Fae knew better than to trust such an absence. Though she would not worry herself senseless. If an undesirable creature came upon them, she could always leave the woman as a slow-footed distraction, while she herself escaped into the safety of the trees.

    [ishsa]Come… come with me. I will take you to the water. [/ishsa] Ishsa’s voice was melodic and lively, like little birds that played among the puddles. [ishsa]Take the first step, the rest will follow…[/ishsa] But Ishsa, like a beast, could smell the blood that dried upon the woman as she tried to lead her away.

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    • 5 weeks later...

      Where her actions had been uncertain before, they seemed surer now; driven by determination, if not quite confidence. Samithel had made a decision, and there was no point going back on that now. Her arm dropped from around the tree as she entrusted her weight to the woman, despite the weird smile. Truthfully, she had doubted the mechanics of the other’s plan, but, fae. You don’t trust those for a reason, she reminded herself.

     

      Instead, her hand found its way to her jacket pocket, fingers feeling between the segments of notebook spine there. Between them, the familiar brush of plastic amidst the pad’s metal rings – the pen always sheathed in the space between pages and bindings – was acutely absent. Samithel looked downwards, searching the space beneath her feet, for however briefly, for the lost writing implement.

     

      Nothing. Something in the back of her mind gave her the uncomforting certainty she would know if it were nearby, but, amidst the twigs and pebbles strewn across the surface of the dirt – a coat of husks and inanimate things for the living to squat in – she saw nothing of the pen.

     

      Gone, like all her memories. It was not so much that this hit the hardest, but that it solidified everything else. It anchored all of the more nebulous parts of this whole situation somewhere in reality, making them feel somehow more real by proxy. There were a million things which, alone, would make the loss of a pen a trivial thing. And it was trivial – why should she care so much about a pen? Except the bitterness festered less from the loss of a pen, and more from the severing of the very real connection she held with it. Explaining the loss of memory? That was hard, not exactly set in stone. Losing a pen though, that was simple; she had it, and now she did not.

     

      Damn it, she liked that pen.

     

      Even if she had seen it, what then? Give the fae another bargaining chip, another thing to drive her deeper into debt? No, she’d just have to work around it, somehow. Hand still clenched around the rings of her notepad, Samithel tried to remember. She never learned sign language – stupid of her, but she had never claimed herself not guilty of pride. How many others knew sign language, anyway? Whatever the case, that wasn’t an option. She couldn’t remember the exact contents of the pad, but maybe she had pieces of old conversations? Those might prove useful, if she could somehow recycle words to communicate.

     

      Whatever she decided on, she had time yet. The only think a fae values is their existence, she thought, rather morbidly. It would keep her relatively safe in this particular circumstance, but Samithel could not conjure a clearer example of a double edged sword.

     

      But she had the pad; at least she had that. Her hand squeezed it where it rested in her right jacket pocket, as if holding it tighter would help the half-chewed lump of thought she associated with the object impossibly regenerate.

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    • 1 month later...

    The woman trusted her! Ishsa purred encouragement as her charge released her hold upon the tree. Nodding and smiling benevolently as a nursemaid, the Fae exclaimed, [ishsa]That is it, yes… over there, just beyond the poppies at the old stump, there is rest for your weariness. [/ishsa]

    Not a single step had yet been taken when the stranger gazed downwards. At her feet? Did she fret it was too far? Ishsa misunderstood the reasons for the delay, [ishsa]They will work to carry you. Do not let worry or apprehension stop you. Ishsa will guide you. [/ishsa] The Fae supported the woman firmly with an arm wrapped around her lower back and a gentle hand held upon the elbow to assist. [ishsa]This way. This is the way…[/ishsa] Insistent, Ishsa led the woman carefully away from what the Fae considered a derelict tree.

    The woman was not contrary; there was no reason yet to use helpful Magicks to assist her. But the encounter was scarcely entertaining; the Fae as a rule was not a compassionate caretaker. That the strange woman was a mystery saved her from Ishsa’s darker instincts. Curiosity overrode boredom and the desire to learn more spurred her on. Who was she? Into the woman’s face Ishsa peered. [ishsa]What has happened to you? Do you speak? [/ishsa] the Fae asked as they shuffled along at a snail’s pace upon the deer path. [ishsa]Do you understand words? [/ishsa]

    With a wrinkled nose, the Fae smelled the injuries; unclean cuts were foul things! Her eyes fell upon the girl’s hands and saw again the marks that appeared to lead up her arms, until hidden by the jacket. Another step was taken and Ishsa whispered as if in confidence, [ishsa]Was it… the Iron that struck you?[/ishsa]
     

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