small_magics | what are you doing here?

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.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

endragoned

He grins, and says something in his own language. By tone it could be either an apology or a flirtation.

From:

small_magics

Isibel looks away. "I do not understand you," she says.

From:

endragoned

He shrugs.

From:

small_magics

"I would like to hear what else you'd like to learn," she shrugs.

From:

endragoned

"I don't know how to say."

From:

small_magics

She offers him the book. "Perhaps you can draw it."

From:

endragoned

He shrugs helplessly.

From:

small_magics

She tilts her head. "Maybe when I've taught you more you'll know how to say what you want to know," she shrugs. And then she teaches him systems of measurements, and "heavier" and "lighter" and "farther" and "nearer", and when that's exhausted she draws and names houses, temples, chairs, tables, and the things that may be done with these and other objects. And then she thinks of a historical event she forgot, and goes back and covers that.

From:

endragoned

The demon pays attention to all of these lessons.

From:

small_magics

The next time she runs out of ideas, she thinks for a minute, then says, "We could make a story. Like a history about something that did not happen. You can make part of it, then I can make part of it, and then I will see what I need to teach you to say."

From:

endragoned

The demon laughs, and nods enthusiastically.

From:

small_magics

Isibel makes an inviting gesture. "You may start," she says.

From:

endragoned

"Eleven thousand years ago," he says, and flicks his tail against the bench, and smiles.

From:

small_magics

"Perhaps you would prefer to tell me a history of your own," laughs Isibel. "I would be happy to listen."

From:

endragoned

He nods.

"My father's name was Uralesse," he says. "He wanted me to be alive. Then I was alive. Then I was me. Then he did not want me to be alive."

From:

small_magics

Okay, maybe "happy" was an exaggeration.

"Born," she reminds him faintly. "You were born, and then you were alive."

From:

endragoned

He nods again. "I was born," he agrees. Then:

"Demons have magic. I have magic from my dragon. I did not have magic from my dragon then. Other demons did not have magic from dragons. We had magic from—" and he rubs the burn scar on his palm.

Edited Date: 2013-04-11 12:27 am (UTC)

From:

small_magics

Isibel knows how this works.

"Pain," she says quietly. "Demons got their magic from pain. They hurt other people, and those people were in pain, and then the demons had magic to use."

From:

endragoned

The demon nods some more.

"Demons hurt other people," he says. "Demons hurt elves. Demons hurt unicorns. I hurt me."

From:

small_magics

"You hurt yourself -" She bites off the questioning, incredulous inflection at the last moment, makes like she was correcting his grammar. "I did not know that would make magic."

From:

endragoned

"Demons did not know that would make magic," he says. "Demons were angry. Demons were..." he frowns; shrugs. "I was other people. Demons hurt other people for magic, I hurt me for magic, I was other people."