Wallflower
Destyn had thus far resisted the mighty urge to take advantage of his new travel toy- An Amulet of Wandering gifted to him by Torin- which employed some of the same abilities accessible to practitioners of Traversion. He had a dedicated beacon stone in Sivan’s garden and one here in his quarters on the Duck, which presented as a vast, lush jungle, which despite of dedication and working wings, he had yet to fully explore.
Destyn’s jungle was comforting chaos. At once familiar and alien. Although the flora and fauna of this place was unlike any he’d encountered on his treks through the North, which he had consistently travelled for most of his life, it still felt more like home than the city of Kalzasi he’d inhabited since being rescued from massacre.
The plants were different than those he’d known, but plants were always, what was known in his second tongue as, mercurial. They were queer, esoteric things that communed more mood or desire than thought. They were a chorus of voices, crying out for the same, simple things, and simplicity was not always tantamount to comprehensibility.
But on the 5th of Ash, as he was seated upon a high promontory overlooking the verdant canopy of the greater jungle, a vine began to snake up from the cliff- slithering around his wrist in a gentle caress.
“Hello, the Duck.” He spoke aloud, though he needn’t to be understood by the host ship. He sensed its intention and sighed,
“But I am not lonely in this paradise you have granted me. There is so much to explore, here. If I wanted for conscious company, I could, you know, flit back to Kalzasi.” The vine withdrew slightly,
“Oh, I am sorry! But that is to say you have given me so much, that I need not quit my quarters. Besides… complicated people confer complicated feelings. They are, sometimes, judgmental or cruel… not out of need, but out of malice. They are…” He paused, “You know…” He hesitated, “Scary.”
The vine tightened around his wrist- a leaf extending to gently, consolingly stroke the top of his hand. He knitted his brow, as the Duck sent further clarify into his consciousness.
“You won’t? But… but I thought we would be together the whole time! Why would you leave me with the scary people?! I will leave a beacon stone in this place, so I can always return to you.” The Duck didn’t answer that declaration, but the vine tugged at his arm- urging him over the cliff.
“Very well.” He sighed grumpily. “I will try. But do not make me meet too many at once, or I will be frightened. And I will not tarry long amongst them. And if they hurt my feelings I will return here straight away.” He pushed himself off of the cliff and beat his rapid wings to sail the winds toward the door in the distance, continuing to rattle off his conditions for leaving his cabin to meet other adventurers all the way.
He pushed the door open only a crack, and peeked outside. The galley without had been catered to his comfort. The walls looked like great, interwoven tree roots arching overhead. Moss filled out any gaps between the wood, and dimly glowing lichens cast moonlike luminescence throughout the room.
“Oh…” He pushed the door farther open, pleasantly surprised that it looked more like something found than something constructed by the hands of men. His bare foot stepped from the grass of the jungle to a carpet of cool moss. Across from him a stony slab of a table was festooned with fresh fruit.
“Yummy!” He exclaimed, as a slow, lazy cicada hovered in front of his face. He snatched it out of the air and stuffed it into his mouth with a munch, as he began padding toward the slab of refreshments.
5 Ash, 122
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Destyn’s jungle was comforting chaos. At once familiar and alien. Although the flora and fauna of this place was unlike any he’d encountered on his treks through the North, which he had consistently travelled for most of his life, it still felt more like home than the city of Kalzasi he’d inhabited since being rescued from massacre.
The plants were different than those he’d known, but plants were always, what was known in his second tongue as, mercurial. They were queer, esoteric things that communed more mood or desire than thought. They were a chorus of voices, crying out for the same, simple things, and simplicity was not always tantamount to comprehensibility.
But on the 5th of Ash, as he was seated upon a high promontory overlooking the verdant canopy of the greater jungle, a vine began to snake up from the cliff- slithering around his wrist in a gentle caress.
“Hello, the Duck.” He spoke aloud, though he needn’t to be understood by the host ship. He sensed its intention and sighed,
“But I am not lonely in this paradise you have granted me. There is so much to explore, here. If I wanted for conscious company, I could, you know, flit back to Kalzasi.” The vine withdrew slightly,
“Oh, I am sorry! But that is to say you have given me so much, that I need not quit my quarters. Besides… complicated people confer complicated feelings. They are, sometimes, judgmental or cruel… not out of need, but out of malice. They are…” He paused, “You know…” He hesitated, “Scary.”
The vine tightened around his wrist- a leaf extending to gently, consolingly stroke the top of his hand. He knitted his brow, as the Duck sent further clarify into his consciousness.
“You won’t? But… but I thought we would be together the whole time! Why would you leave me with the scary people?! I will leave a beacon stone in this place, so I can always return to you.” The Duck didn’t answer that declaration, but the vine tugged at his arm- urging him over the cliff.
“Very well.” He sighed grumpily. “I will try. But do not make me meet too many at once, or I will be frightened. And I will not tarry long amongst them. And if they hurt my feelings I will return here straight away.” He pushed himself off of the cliff and beat his rapid wings to sail the winds toward the door in the distance, continuing to rattle off his conditions for leaving his cabin to meet other adventurers all the way.
He pushed the door open only a crack, and peeked outside. The galley without had been catered to his comfort. The walls looked like great, interwoven tree roots arching overhead. Moss filled out any gaps between the wood, and dimly glowing lichens cast moonlike luminescence throughout the room.
“Oh…” He pushed the door farther open, pleasantly surprised that it looked more like something found than something constructed by the hands of men. His bare foot stepped from the grass of the jungle to a carpet of cool moss. Across from him a stony slab of a table was festooned with fresh fruit.
“Yummy!” He exclaimed, as a slow, lazy cicada hovered in front of his face. He snatched it out of the air and stuffed it into his mouth with a munch, as he began padding toward the slab of refreshments.
