what are you doing here?

[small_magics]

Isibel has never seen an odder collection of fauna. She has not traveled extensively, but she is sure that creatures of this size - lizards as heavy as ten elves together, beavers eight and nine feet long, turtles with shells the size of small houses - are not customary. Yet the island is riddled with them.

The creatures have no particular fear of elves, but nor do they seek them, and none of her party have been attacked; she feels safe enough traveling through the forest on her own, stepping lightly, looking for the sweep of the treeline and any springs that might be useful for settlers if elves settle here. Besides, she is a student of the small magics, some of which may be cast quite rapidly if there is need; she could frighten away an animal that took too much interest in her. The ribbons tied around each of her knees and ankles (blending seamlessly with the rest of her travel outfit) are some of her finest small magic, guiding her steps so that she may place her feet as elves ought to be able to and bring no embarrassment to her House. They don't make her truly graceful, but she can walk, and care will do the rest.

She's deep into the forested part of the Unknown Island when she starts finding statues. Old statues. The trees have grown up around them, it looks like, they've been here that long; they're worn and weathered and have lichen growing on them.

And they're all of unicorns.

The oldest sculptures are none too skillful, but as she proceeds inward towards the center of the island, they become newer and better and it's plain to see that they're not of unicorns, but a unicorn. A unicorn with a broken horn; this is not, it soon becomes apparent, random damage to early statues. Someone has carved a specific unicorn, dozens - hundreds? thousands? - of times. And the art has been made with such intense love, and the newest of the statues are so delicately done that they look almost like real unicorns, with all the magic that implies, though they hold still and are on closer inspection all still carved from stone.

Someone loved this unicorn, and lived on this island, and made a thousand statues of her, and now the place is inhabited only by giant animals that certainly could have done no such thing. Isibel wonders what happened to the sculptor. To the unicorn, too.

On she walks.

Comments

[small_magics]

Isibel attempts to think of ways to present this notebook to her expedition leader. Maybe she should claim she followed a mousealike watching it eat. Thirty times.

[endragoned]

She will have a little more trouble with that in a minute: lacking a common language in which to describe colour, he strokes the paper gently with his talons until his drawings colour themselves.

[small_magics]

Isibel sighs. That's the sort of thing small magic could do if she chose to take the trouble, she supposes. She does still have the issue where this is not her drawing style - not any elf's drawing style - but maybe she will just copy everything into a new notebook.

[endragoned]

He offers her the notebook with a wry grin.

[small_magics]

She reads through it, nodding her comprehension, and then looks back the way she came, frowning. She mimes showing the notebook to an imaginary elf and then splutters (may as well talk aloud, for effect) - "No, I only have a feeling about these things, no, I didn't find a Wildmage on the island, please just don't eat the berries." She throws up her hands again and sighs.

[endragoned]

He laughs, and nods, and shrugs.

[small_magics]

She then draws a party of elves finding the unicorn statues and looks quizzically at him.

They're going to find out that someone was here anyway.

[endragoned]

He smiles wryly and spreads his hands.

[small_magics]

Isibel thinks.

Then she mimes showing the whole notebook to an imaginary other elf. Start to finish. And she then tucks the notebook under her arm to clasp her hands in a pleading motion, also directed at the imaginary elf.

She's not sure if they'd believe her, but she thinks they'd probably at least ask a Wildmage to check her for Taint before killing her, and it might work.

[endragoned]

He rubs his face and frowns in thought.

[small_magics]

Isibel waits. She'll think of something else if he doesn't want her to try this.

[endragoned]

After some contemplation, he throws up his hands and nods. He doesn't like the idea, but he can't think of a better one.

[small_magics]

She takes two steps, then looks over her shoulder: should she go now, or is there more to say?

[endragoned]

He shrugs.

[small_magics]

She thinks of something herself. She draws the island, and a vague sketch of half her path to the camp on the beach (not that they'd be hard to find, but she doesn't want or need to direct him right to them) and then a path back. Then she looks at him. Where will he be if they come looking? (So she can direct, or misdirect.)

[endragoned]

He shrugs again, stretches his wings, and points back toward the dragon's cave.

[small_magics]

She nods. She waves.

And off she goes, looking for the expedition leader as soon as she's back in sight of the tents on the beach.

[pythbox]

Magania's tent flaps are pinned open, indicating the approachability of the occupant; she is sitting inside, taking tea.

[small_magics]

Isibel stands in the doorway and waits for her presence to be acknowledged.

[pythbox]

"I See you, Isibel," the older woman says politely. "Enter and be welcome."

[small_magics]

"I See you, Magania." Isibel enters. "I apologize for my bluntness, but I fear that some among us may be liable to eat of poisonous plants or animals from the island, expecting safety in the way more typical of island-dwelling species."

[pythbox]

"...It would please me greatly," says Magania, "to hear all you may wish to tell. Come and take tea." A hint of a smile touches the corners of her eyes. "It was brought from the mainland and should be quite safe."

[small_magics]

Isibel sits and accepts tea. "Thank you. I went into the forest along the south side of the island, exploring, and I found a great many lovingly-carved statues of a unicorn, and when I went further in, I found their carver. We shared no language, but communicated through mime and pictures, and he was able to tell me which things that grow here will be edible to elves." And Magania's certainly not going to ask her what the sculptor was if not an elf. She can come at this information as slowly as she likes. "He has been living here for many centuries, and did not volunteer his name."

[pythbox]

"I am grateful for this knowledge," Magania murmurs. "It would please me to hear more, and perhaps to meet this person myself, if he is willing. But the knowledge of what is and is not safe to eat is the more urgent matter."

[small_magics]

"It is," agrees Isibel. She turns to the relevant portions of her book and tears out the color-touched index of potential food and potential deadliness. "He first showed me by gestures the berry that appears in my own lines, and then drew the remainder himself; without a language in common to describe the items beyond their shapes, he changed the color of the paper instead."