The Green and The Green (Dragonsong!) [m]

[DaGlobster]

The crashing of bushes and snapping of twigs and branches preceded the arrival of a bull elk. The creature was large, but it bounded through the underbrush with surprising agility, tan fur lightening and darkening under the variable sunlight that filtered through the canopy. A single throwing spear jutted from the creature's. Red flowed onto the creature's belly and onto the grass below as it ran. The elk bounded before turning off into the deep woods, disappearing into the mid-afternoon dimness beneath the thicker trees.

Just moments after, a group of four figures came running, following the sounds of the elk. They carried a variety of ranged weapons, just as their skins were a variety of greenish shades. Orcish hunters from the Red Sun clan, they kept low to the ground, vibrant red body and face paint concealed under dark cloaks made of leather and fur.

One orc raised up to fire an arrow at the elk, but the shaft found nothing but a tree trunk as the elk ducked away. Curses followed, and a fifth figure came in from behind, standing head, shoulders, and chest over his compatriots. Dressed in a large fur cloak and fur clothing, Motark carried his shield on his back and personal axe on his hip, but in his hands carried around four javelins, three bundled in one hand and one at the ready in the other.

"Where is it?" Motark said in orcish, and a hunter with a crude bow pointed into the deeper woods.

"In there, chief. The dark woods."

Motark looked over into the dim woods, and let out a thoughtful hum.

"Let's track it, then. The summer festival will need the meat."

The hunters were more superstitious than Motark, but they made no mention of their worries. The deep woods always carried with them a different energy than the wider forests, and there were always the tales of territorial spirits and hunters going missing, but their chief had made his decision and none of them were to argue. The festival would have its elk.

They set off into the deep woods, following the Elk's trail as they crept through, spreading out to cover more ground. They were confident that the beast couldn't have made it far anytime soon with its wound, but they had a certain hustle to their step nonetheless.

[DragonSong]

The distress of the elk almost called to her, and Fiala went very still, ears and tail perking up as she turned her head from side to side, trying to pinpoint the sounds.

Then, in a sudden burst of movement, she was off, bounding over the undergrowth toward the animal. She had never been so far from the grove, a fact she realized only vaguely as she passed a copse of blooming oak trees that she had never seen before.

But she didn't have time to dwell on it too long. She found the elk collapsed by a fallen log. He seemed to have tried to jump and caught a back hoof, sending him sprawling. The scent of blood hung thick in the air and the young fae woman paused, her hooves scratching nervously at the foliage beneath them. Then she steeled herself and moved forward, kneeling at the dying animal's side.

And he was dying. Blood loss and panic had taken their toll, and she could feel the life ebbing from him. Her eyes filled with tears that she hardly noticed as she lowered her head to press her brow to the noble beast's, their antlers clacking lightly against each other. She could feel his heartbeat in his chest, his labored breath, his fear and desperation. She could feel every summer her had lived, every winter borne through with the cows and their little ones, every spring welcomed with joy and trepidation for the year to come.

Fiala smiled. "You have lived well, brave one," she whispered to the massive buck. His breathing began to slow, his heartbeat pulsing in a less erratic rhythm of her magic washed over him. "You have earned your rest," she continued, stroking his neck. The elk sighed, his eyes drifting closed. His heartbeat slowed. "Sleep now, brave one. It's alright. You can rest."

The elk died content, without the fear of the hunt nipping at his heels. Fiala cried as she stroked his thick fur, but she could not say she was grieving, exactly. As much as her fae heritage connected her to the creatures of the wood, she also had lived and seen enough to know that the hunt was simply the way of nature. Predators ate prey.

Her eyes flickered to the spear still lodged in the buck's side and she reached out curiously to brush her fingers against it. Her vision was still a little blurry, and she raised one hand to brush the tears away.

She understand the nature of the hunt, but she had never really seen something like this before.

[DaGlobster]

Motark crept through those deep, dark woods, surprisingly quiet for such a large orc. The other hunters had spread out. The trail was Motark's, and the others had fanned out behind him to catch sight of the large animal.

What stopped Motark in his tracks was the soft sound of someone quietly crying, the source concealed by tangling briars and thick bushes ahead. He shot a hand up, and as everyone stopped and went silent they all heard the sound too.

Their hands tightened on their weapons, a tension entering the air around the group of hunters. Mysterious crying in the woods was almost never a good thing. All eyes were on Motark, and he lowered his hand, giving it a few waves to tell his hunters to wait.

Steeling himself for whatever may lie ahead, he moved through the briars to follow the elk's trail. He tried to be quiet, but he was big and the underbrush thick. Worries of stealth, however, melted away once he stepped through.

The sight of a small, womanly figure knelt over the elk gave him pause, rooting him to the spot. In his life, he'd never seen such a creature. The features of human and deer and the soft sound of her crying had him spellbound. Wondering at the scene before him and trying to determine if he should just walk away.

If Fiala was observant, she'd be able to notice that the spear inside the elk was very much a match for the throwing spears Motark carried.

[DragonSong]

The young woman's head snapped up and immediately turned toward the sound of crackling underbrush, ears swiveling forward and standing upright from her hair. The sight might have been comical, were it not for the clear sorrow in her eyes and the sheer irrealism of her face. A creature both of the natural world and of the fae, both here and somehow distinctly...not.

After a moment of silent staring, Fiala tilted her head at the stranger. Her eyes moved over his form, glinting amber in the dappled sunlight. Slowly, she rose to her feet, carefully laying the elk's head on the soft moss, pressing a kiss to his brow between his antlers before she unfolded to her full height.

She was not so much impossing, standing there beside the felled buck, all delicate limbs and large, amber eyes. Even her antlers seemed so fine and elegant as to snap in a strong gale. But there was a power to her that could not be denied, something connected to every twig and root around her that almost seemed to shimmer around her in soft, golden-green light.

She didn't wear much-- what need had she for clothes?-- though her cascading mahogany hair provided some semblance of modesty where it fell over her breasts. Though her legs were clearly deer-like in nature, toward her upper thigh and hips they melded seamlessly into her more human anatomy. Her only garment was a loose loincloth of sorts, tied around her waist with a strip of green cloth to fall down her front, ending at about mid-thigh.

Her head tilted the other way, and for a moment it seemed that threads of gold in her antlers caught the light. "Who are you?" she asked softly. "You do not belong here."

It was not a threat, or even a judgement, merely a recognition. Orc-kind did not often venture so far into the dark wood, and those that did rarely returned. 

[DaGlobster]

Yes, Fiala was definitely not intimidating to Motark in the slightest, at least not conventionally. What gave him such pause was the sheer lack of knowledge he had about these sorts of things. The druids back in Bloodmorrow would know, but Motark himself was uncertain.

Was she going to level a curse at him? Cause branches to skewer his flesh? Set the beasts of the forest upon him? She was crying over the elk he himself had just killed, he couldn't help but think he'd wounded her personally.

Then, she stood. The tops of her antlers could probably tickle Motark's chin, but that was the least of what Motark saw. Her features struck him as completely alien, and the way the greenery seemed to twist and bend in towards her...

She spoke, then. Tone even but words ominous.

Motark considered them for a moment. Then, he sighed and staked his javelin into the ground, disarming himself. He was hesitant to give this spirit his name, for fear of it being able to use it against him, but he spoke nonetheless.

"I am a hunter," he started.

"And I will leave this place as soon as you let me leave with my quarry. I'm not looking for trouble, spirit."

[DragonSong]

“Spirit?” Finals tiltef her head the other way, brow furrowed slightly as she seemed to be trying to process the word.

Then, suddenly, she laughed.

Shaking her head, the young Fae woman smiled and told him, “I am no spirit, hunter. I am flesh and blood, same as you.” Well. Not the same, exactly, but fairly close.

An older one of her kind would have been more wary, hesitant to reveal what might be seen as a weakness. But for all the mysterious allure the forest gave her, for all the power she could wield, Fiala was still in many ways young and naive.

She looked between the orc and the fallen elk. Her frown came back. “Why must you take him?” she asked eventually, looking up to Motark. “Surely if you are hungry you can consume your meal where he has fallen. Then his remains may return to the earth.” That was the way of things, after all.

[DaGlobster]

Her laughter set him on edge, but then the words she spoke after had the opposite effect. Another creature of the woods, then? Either way, he was emboldened by the revelation.

He stepped forwards cautiously, crossing his arms. He let his fur hood down so she could see him. He was far from the usual specimen of orc, sporting larger bottom teeth than most of his kind and a face that was rectangular in shape. He sported no hair. Not shaved, he just lacked it altogether.

"He'll return to the earth, but not today," he started, continuing to take slow paced steps towards the fallen elk, ever wary of Fiala.

"The summer festival needs his meat and his fur."

[DragonSong]

"Summer...festival?"

Once more Fiala let her head tilt to the side, a small, considering frown stealing across her face. "What is this thing you speak of?" She glanced to the elk again. "Why is he required?"

She understood taking the meet, but the fur befuddled her slightly. She wasn't entirely unaware of human-- or in this case orcish-- custom, but she couldn't really think of a use for that. Her own clothes were woven from magic and plant fiber after all, so it couldn't possibly be that.

[DaGlobster]

Again, she didn't stop him. By this point, Motark was still wary, but at least confident that she posed no immediate threat.

He stepped past her, keeping her at arm's distance as he went to grab the elk around the midsection and just hoist it up onto his shoulder, an impressive feat given the size of the animal.

"His meat's needed for the feasting," Motark said, turning to face Fiala.

"We'll use the hide to make a costume for the Stag Dancer, and his heart will be sacrificed to Shok for good harvests and healthy births."

[DragonSong]

Fiala blinked. This man used so many strange words!

"I do not understand," she huffed quietly. Then she shrugged. "But I suppose that doesn't truly matter. This is none of my affair."

She twisted around to watch him as he moved, amber eyes bright with curiosity. "You do not belong here," she repeated. Again, her tone was even and nonthreatening. "Where do you come from?"

[DaGlobster]

"I come from a village, a fair distance from these woods." Him and his group had traveled rather far by boar-back to reach the tribe's favored Elk grounds. Motark took all the festivals very seriously! He loved the celebrations and periods of peace that they brought on.

He spared her a look, before turning his gaze to where he came from. He stepped over, pulling his javelin from the ground and holding it to his side.

"I need to get this back to my village, while the kill is fresh..."

He paused. After a moment's thought, he put his fist to his chest, still clutching the javelin.

"But my name is Motark Bloodspear. I've never seen anything like you and that makes me curious. I may yet return."

[DragonSong]

The fae creature smiled, and the gold-green glow around her shimmered and twisted. "I am Fiala," she told him with a slight dip of her head. "I have never seen anything like you either, Motark Bloodspear."

She turned to walk back into the trees, back toward the glen, then paused. Her tail swept up in a flash of white fur as she looked back over her shoulder. Her lips twitched up on one side, eyes glinting.

"I may be here when you return."



[Time skip?]

[DaGlobster]

[yeyeye]

Motark returned. The summer festival had happened the very next day that he'd returned from the hunt. By a twist of fate, he himself was selected to be the Stag Dancer for that year. Even though he was notorious among the tribe for being way too large to dance too well, he gave it his all and everything was good for a night and he didn't have to worry about the looming conflict. By sheer coincidence, the large elk's pelt was a great fit for the large orc, and the village elders and druids all concurred that the festivities had been a success.

So it was with high hearts and a desire to know of everything around his tribe that Motark entered the druid's tent to ask about reclusive, half-fawn forest dwellers, only to get differing accounts. What the druids did agree on was that the children of the forests were borne from magical groves, where the power of nature coalesced.

Power or not, Motark had the intent to at least scout out the deeper woods, which is why he returned by himself, again with his weapons but still no armor, just dark-stained leather and earthy furs to cover up in.

He hitched up his riding boar against a tree with a dense cluster of mushrooms growing on its base. He stood at the precipice of those woods once more before stepping through.

[DragonSong]

Fiala was waiting, as she said she'd be. She had kept her encounter with the orc quiet from her cousin, not wanting to worry Lakali— and also perhaps fearing that if the elder Fae creature learned of her ever more frequent explorations she might be panned from leaving the grove altogether.

Of course, she wasn't sure Lakali could do something like that, but she didn't exactly want to put it passed her.

So she slipped away for a few days at a time, never too long to around suspicion but long enough that she could press further and further away from her home each time. On this particular occasion, she had been away from the grove nearly three days already when she heard the telltale heavy tread of the orc.

Grinning impishly, Fiala kicked out her hooves from where she perched on a branch looking down at the twisting forest paths below. She whistled, a sound somewhere between the call of a lark and the trill of a robin.

[DaGlobster]

It was an interesting experience, to walk through those woods alone. The large trees blocked the wind, reducing it to a light breeze that barely shook the branches. The thick, tall canopies provided for trees that just grew up into the darkness and let in light in slivers and splotches.

It was quiet, peaceful and unnerving all in the same way.

Then, Motark heard what he thought was a large bird call from up above him. He rest a hand on the nearest tree and looked up. It was dim up there, but he saw a faint shape, legs swinging and golden eyes glinting down on him.

"Fiala?" He said, unsure if it was her or some other dweller of the forest.

[DragonSong]

She smiled, revealing a flash of canine's that were far too sharp to belong to such a doe-like creature.

Easily, she swung down from the branch and landed before the orc. For such a sharp drop, her hooves made almost no sound when they connected with the loamy earth.

"I am here," she told him, cocking her head in an almost birdlike gesture. "I will admit, I almost did not expect you to return."

[DaGlobster]

That was... impressive. How she could just jump down like that, even Motark didn't think he could stick a landing like that, and nowhere near as silently.

Still, he took his hood down again, stepping up to her and folding an arm onto his abdomen, giving her a slight dip of his head to greet her.

"And I wouldn't have been surprised if I didn't see you, as well. I am curious of your woods, and came back to explore."

[DragonSong]

Rather curious herself, Fiala mimicked his gesture, crossing her arm over her midsection and bowing her head slightly.

At Motark's words, she smiled enigmatically and shook her head, already turning to step away into the trees. "Not my words," she corrected blithely. "Though there are certainly a number of those like me who keep these wild places safe."

[DaGlobster]

"They are the woods you live in, at any rate," Motark said. She was a stranger, so it was natural for him to be gruff and curt.

He stepped closer, arms crossed. He was confident now, and he didn't hesitate as he sought to test the boundaries a little by dropping his guard and approaching her plainly. An exercise in minor trust.

"I will be honest with you, I came to scout out these woods, to explore them. Will that be a problem?"

[DragonSong]

Fiala hesitated, turning her head to look back over her shoulder at him. "Scouting for what?" she replied slowly, almost warily.

These woods were not hers to protect, true enough, but if someone came to them with malicious intent, she could hardly just stand by.