May 20, 2013 - 9:01am — darkzorse
Authors Note: Metis is a young adult by the time she reaches the endless forest. This is a story I put together for how she came to have the appearance of a spotted owl. I have another story in the works about her ultimately being raised by the owls. Either way, I enjoyed putting this background story together on Metis, and I hope you enjoy it!
It was a warming day in spring in the scrubland. Scrub jays screamed at each other and dove through the brush. Jackrabbits stood quiet sentinel under the shaded manzanita groves, occasionally nibbling the sparse grass they sat in. The air was warm and dry, and the cicadas sang loudly in the silence. It was here, that if one looked for long enough and carefully, that they would see the occasional flash of brown - a mule deer crossing the dry ecotone from the lush creek beds to rest during the warm of the day up above the conifer line. One such deer did so slowly, and with extreme care.
At 15 years of age, the doe might very well have reason to be tired just for the daily move from graze to water, but the bulge in her belly belied another reason. She was old to be carrying a fawn - too old most would say. Yet, she still made the trudge on a daily basis to find enough food for herself and the daughter she knew she was carrying. It was a many mile walk, that she had begun well before the sun had risen, knowing that before long she would need to recline in a cool copse of fir trees. Occasionally she would pause and flinch, swinging her head back towards her flank as she seemed to shiver in the warm spring air. She had extra impetus this day to get to the safety of the woods, but her old bones could only move so fast. She knew today was the day she would see her first, and last daughter born.
The pregnancy had not been an easy one. As a young doe, she had contracted the disease that most humans know as brucellosis. Sometimes fatal, the disease causes the abortion of the unborn.
May 19, 2013 - 11:03pm — SarieBearie
[=10]“So?”
A single word. It came from Azalea, who was just as lilting and ethereal as her voice. She and Vipin were alone, in the midst of a clearing, at the end of the forest—Vipin loomed. In his stay in limbo, he had regained much of his lost beauty. Some of his scars had faded and others had defined themselves. The markings on his sides shimmered white, and his eyes were forever that calm, mild blue. So common, but entirely too beautiful, and entirely too wearied.
“We’re going to stay here, indefinitely,” he responded, after a pause. He was staring off into the trees, his gaze drifting idly, searching. For what, he knew not. Searching for answers to questions he still did not know, perhaps. The wind hissed through the leaves, as if to deter him.
Azalea seemed surprised, if not bewildered. She looked around, quickly, like a joke had been played, or like she had misunderstood. When she looked back, Vipin had not moved. His jaw was clenched. The dame struggled over her words, and they came in stumbles. “But…Her. And Magnet, and Spade and Devi, and Vessel, and Chanse and Ketan—“
“We know.” Despite himself, Vipin wore a smile. It was vague, and sad. Azalea had seen it many, many times before. “We know, and we know very well. Of course. But we’ve done all of them, collectively, more harm than we could ever do good. They watched as we ruined ourselves over things we could not help. Not only them, but the others. The bystanders…the friends. Them, as well…it’s better like this. We never fit into that world. We tried. And we couldn’t.”
His eyes fell to the ground immediately before him. Poppies. They had been wrapped around his antlers so many times, in times of mourning, in times of battle. They mocked him.
They were martyrs, he and his sisters. They fit into the gray world of limbo, not the stark black-and-white of the other. They were not inherently good or reputedly evil. They were a wash of gray.
