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[ P ] Pray For Us
Holly
Fairfolk
Kin
19
Posts
Male
1
#1

before ACT II. SCENE I.

Blithe stared at the ash beneath his paws, his brows brought together in a tight knot. When he had fled with Galiene, he never once looked back. He could not bear the site of the old god being struck down and consumed by flames. Now as offered a silent prayer to the eldrich tree, wishing him a long and peaceful rest, he wished he would have taken one last glance. A hollow feeling lingered in his chest. When he prayed to his gods in the past, he knew they could hear him. Sure, they might elect to ignore his pleas, but he believed his voice reached them. Now his voice would never reach the eldritch, the most forgiving of the gods.

'Pray.' Galiene's words still resonated within his mind, the dark look in her eyes burned into his memory. He prayed the earth had not been scorched so that nothing else could grow in its place. He prayed that the eldritch tree's death had not been in vain. He prayed for the stars forgiveness, that they might allow him to walk in the light a little longer, that they remember his service to them. He prayed his family would never abandon him, or strike him down. Head bowed, expression soft; he prayed his fate would be kind.

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@Tristan
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Scamander
Fairfolk
Kin
52
Posts
Male
3
#2
It was as if he walked upon the remenants of a barren battleground, the clashing of titans, a war unending until at last, there was nothing but lifeless husks and ash. How many times had he walked these halls? How many times had he knelt before the alter of the Gods, whispering words to their strength, their wisdom, their forgiveness? Their lives were long, eons upon centuries he could not fathom. And yet, it was they who had offered a moments peace to the warring spirit within him. They had seen fit to give life to the ruin that he had become, and while he hated them truly for it, Tristan found comfort beneath the shadows of the stars that knew more than they possibly could.

The Eldritch Tree was gone now, the splintered, charred remains rising like a spear of obsidian from the gnarled earth. In their time of confusion, the Fairchildren had prayed to the Father for guidance, for surely, this was a war they could not hope to win, only to find their ailing deity struck by a cold fire. An execution, or a mercy kill? He could not say any longer. It hurt to be here, his soul split in two rebelling, one half wishing to turn back, to never again step foot upon this holy earth, to raize those responsible from Cyrileth, whereas the other sought to fall before his knees, weep tears that had refused to fall and be consumed by his grief.

The Norr, did neither of these things. The rage that brewed beneath the surface would offer no answers to his pain, not know, not when they knew so little. And yet, the God deserved his presence, deserved a send-off that resulted in more than this staggered trail of wolves finding private solace at the unmarked grave. Mortal were selfish creatures however, blinded by their own concerns to care for the faults of others. The male knew this, and so, he made no strive to gather his family, leaving them to their own devices and made the journey. It was tragic, to see the path that connected the Tears to the Red Wood laid so clear-cut only after the loss of that which was most precious had occurred. Here where the air was still and dry, acidic against his throat with each inhale at the ash that stirred upon the ground. His limbs were sullied, caked with the remains of the forest, the charred wood and blackened soil creaking, secret pockets of embers popping where they endured the downpour that had saved the rest of Cyrileth.

He didn't expect to find anyone there, in that silent clearing, and yet, a familiar face stood stark against the black. Blithe, the unblessed Fairchild, kin in name only, he was so many things, welcomed and yet always looked upon with scrutiny. It was clear there would always be a divide between their blood and those who joined their cause. Tristan knew that haunting weight well, the eyes watching him as he passed, the cursed. It had not occurred since he had arrived at the Tears. It wasn't the same for him. Tristan stepped forward, making no move to interrupt the other's prayer, his own crown tilting down, resting upon his chest, and he let his mind wander. He sought no answers to his questions, only, the silence of a respect due to the departed.


-No wolf with the ability to reveal constellations can foretell Tristan's as his gaze is always held down-
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Holly
Fairfolk
Kin
19
Posts
Male
1
#3

Blithe spoke, without rebuke, "You weren't at the Solstice." Obviously, he was curious as to 'why' but he wasn't so bold as to chastise Tristan who was two years his senior. Despite their close upbringing, Blithe could not joke about Tristan's absence or gently tease him into telling him why he had not attended. They were not friends, they did not bicker and care for each other as siblings. Whatever hope Blithe had in finding a brother in Tristan had been squandered, dashed by Tristan's stoic detachment.

The pair did not look at each other. Blithe had raised his head to observe the clearing and Tristan kept his eyes downcast. There was no camaraderie between them. Blithe regularly interpreted Tristan's silence as contempt, but at this point, he knew better than to take it personally. Regularly it was up to Tristan to 'guide' Blithe, and more often than not they were inseparable, but it would be hard to tell they were apart of the same family branch. The constant tension between the two wasn't antagonistic but it was an interesting mix of pent-up emotions and unspoken words. Being 'friendly' with an unblessed child conscripted to the family might bring unwanted hardship on Tristan, but their proximity only made Blithe feel more alone.

"What's next?"


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