Venture -- Birch Glen

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Date Posted: 23:13:00 06/27/02 Thu
Author: Radames
Subject: Venture

A tall, light haired young man wanders through the forest, soaking in the resplendent sun and enjoying the solitude of the woods. He pulls from his belt a small, finely shaped flute, made from the hollow leg of a bird. He brushes his fingers along the surface of it, testing for any cracks or damage before putting it to his lips and beginning to play. The sounds float across the leaves and flicker up to greet the wind with easy familiarity, and Radames smiles and claps in his own joy of the moment. The forest, the trees, everything seemed to be humming with his newfound freedom.

Continuing on, he notices with some approval that the woodlands are fresh and secluded, a perfect spot for a soul such as himself to enjoy his time. But something....something seemed to trouble him, a tug at his heart towards darker thoughts and crevasses inside his mind, the drenching damp of lonely nights. It was one thing to have the freedom to be alone, it was quite another to have too much solitude altogether. These thoughts seem to cloud his good mood and his walk through the forest, but he keeps moving, trying to will the thoughts to drift by like the summer clouds. A hand unconciously goes to his cheek, tattooed with the permanent reminder of his link to the past, to shameful and menial tasks endured as a young child. The mark seems almost to sting and burn under his fingers, and he flinches for a moment, tracing the curves with paralyzed fascination, frozen in the woodlands.

Noises bring him out of his horribly still trance, sounds of rustling brush and voices. The young man's head snaps around to search for the tallest, sturdiest tree he can find, something instinctive now after long years of practice. If it was a party of sentinels out for his blood, they'd have to climb like wildcats to reach him. But upon edging slightly closer to the source of the noise, he finds the voices to be happy, and somewhat hesitant, but not harsh and grating. Maybe he could get a bit nearer to everything. With caution born of the escaped prisoner, he slinks forward ever so slowly, trying to imagine soft pads for feet. He wanted to see whatever was moving and talking, before it saw him. Flecks of color skid through the leaves, arresting his vision in their briefness. What could be so colorful as that? Certainly no rabbit... Edging ever closer, he bends on his knees to get a better view of the area in front of him. An audible gasp escapes him, and it is all he can do to stay upright.

There, before his eyes, is a creature born of dreams, nothing he had ever seen, surely, in all his nineteen years. A rich, effortless red, and a maternal tenderness that seeped through the Rian's body language as water seeped through a cloth. And playing beneath her watchful and somewhat tired gaze are twelve of the most intoxicatingly arresting youngsters his mind had ever conjured over. Strangely, in the presence of such magnificent creatures, Radames feels no fear, only an aching sense of something he can't put his finger on. Loneliness? Inferiority? Whatever the feeling, it inches him up from his crouch, pulling him irrevocably towards Cariad's line of vision.

Gulping and breathing deeply, he resolves to investigate fully, and get nearer to the wonderful creatures. He glimpses Jallya suddenly, the slight form of a Dwi beside these beings is a sharp and jolting contrast. His mind races to make sense of the situation, why would a large creature, even one that didn't inspire fear, let someone else near. As he thinks, his eyes track the movements of the other people in the glen, new arrivals and those presenting themselves to Cariad. What did it mean? And then, in a burst of sparks and smoke, the knowledge comes to him. The Wytti! She's the mother, and the young....you bond with them. The race that restores the Balance, side by side with the Dwi. And you've found a litter! With nothing like joy, Radames takes in the scene with his new spin of knowledge. He keeps moving forward, compelled and betrayed by feet that will not stop. Taking another deep breath, his slow progression lands him square in front of the maternal pair.

His mind dries for only an instant before he speaks a bit unevenly. "Hello. I am Radames, good mothers. May I...may I stay and watch your arrestingly amazing young ones?" He inquires, his voice smoothing and returning to its old fullness with every word. For a brief second, his hand flashes to his cheek to cover the scrawled emerald, but he disciplines it down to his side. As he becomes more adjusted to the strange and unexpectedly fortunate situation, he sees that the others had brought gifts, either for the youngsters, or for the Bonded mother. Thinking quickly, he brings his flute out again, the finest he had ever made. Perhaps it would be a good gift. Well, there was only one way to find out. He holds it out in front of him and explains. "And this is my gift to you, a flute hand carved from the hollow leg bone of a bird. It has been pained over, to insure that the sounds are the clearest and the brightest they can possibly be, and there are even some carving designs on it's top. Very delicate, it was a loyal companion to a desperate young boy once, but now it is time to pass it on. The least I can offer."

Smiling, he finds a strange sense of peace at relinquishing his home made instrument, for as he observes the Plenyt, the flute seems hilariously trivial. He was ready to give up everything, just for an afternoon with these creatures, with their presence and approval. The feeling shocked him, he had only thought so passionately about one other thing, which was his freedom, and now that he had that...

"Please, enjoy the gift." He says heartily, a soft, dreamy smile lighting his face.

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Replies:

... -- Jallya::Cariad, 21:53:55 06/28/02 Fri
- Aback -- Radames, 22:55:06 06/28/02 Fri
  - ... -- Fach, 17:15:08 07/01/02 Mon
    - Chase -- Radames, 19:53:30 07/01/02 Mon