10th of Ash, Year 122 Steel
Sivan's Enchanted Garden
Sivan's Enchanted Garden
It had been a full season since Flower had emerged from the Living Grave, the enchanted tree that now dominated his garden. It was hung with wind chimes, crystals, and bits of mirror that played with light and sound. The bees were always buzzing in the hive high in the branches. Birds chittered, chirped, and sang. Steel sang through the moon gate that now led into Laurevere's yard. The spirits had overtaken it at his invitation, though it was not yet as lush as Sivan's garden; perhaps next year it would be so.
A curse in Mythrasi, and the steel song ended. Laurevere's tone was mixed between affront and admiration. "Well, I suppose I have taught you too well..."
The platinum elf followed Sivan into his garden and took a seat on the stone bench, his curved blade sheathed and resting across his knees. He watched as Sivan began to tend his garden. They spoke sometimes; others, he just relaxed, watching. His eyes often crept to the newest of Sivan's Runes, the only one visible, etched into the skin between his shoulders as well as his soul. If he had thoughts on the Rune of Animus, he didn't voice them.
Instead, "Why don't you just delegate all this work to the spirits, my friend?"
Of mixed ancestry himself, time spent with Sivan had loosened Laurevere up when it came to Dratori, but sometimes his friend's activities confused him still. All the same, he admired how, on his day off from making wonders at Kilvin's forge and teaching, Sivan found time to practice with the blade and go immediately into the dirt, barefoot and at one with the natural sanctuary he had cultivated into existence.
"Oh, I could," he said, "but I like it, and the spirits think of me as... hmm... a guide... an elder... more than a master. We work together and they learn and grow. This is their home now, and they could maintain it if I were to leave, perhaps even change it to be more to their liking."
Sivan could sense far and wide now, but he tried just to let his senses extend through their adjoining properties. His garden, Laurevere's yard, his ever-growing tower, and Laurevere's larger house. He had a sense for the spirits, for the plants and animals, for the dormant IX, for the elderly elven servants next door—Laurevere liked hiring servants who came over, but then left him to his devices when their work was complete, and helping people of his race here in the more cosmopolitan city—and even Flower, who had been drifting about the place ever since he awoke.
It seemed the Fae'ethalan was drifting toward them now, which made Sivan smile. Flower had met Laurevere, but new people only seemed to make him more confused, so the platinum elf had kept mostly to himself. Perhaps the Fae'ethalan was growing more comfortable around him now.
