Fig

The lush, frost-laced grove surrounding the Rotunda was more than delightful, it was enchanting, and long after Rhoa the little Dragon colt had vanished from her sight, Fig had lingered on to explore.

In true Lignea fashion, the young Aborun lost completely all track of time. The season began to shift around her; songbirds returned from their winter escape, buds began to emerge along the cold mahogany wood of sleeping, deciduous trees, and the sheet of ice that she had broken to access the sweet pool’s water began gradually to melt. Fig revelled in the transforming wonderland, distracted, and wondered with an ever hopeful heart if somewhere beneath the tangled undergrowth and dancing kaleidoscope of lights, her Soul Plant lay quietly.

One afternoon, as she stood away from the concrete and glass structure dozing in the warmth of Birdsong’s sunlight, Fig heard the hum of strange voices. The shaggy girl, still clothed in winter mats and old dead thistles, opened groggily her eyes and turned to where the sound had come – the rotunda, guided by keen, swivelling ears. A curious thing was happening and she woke properly with a start, snorting softly as heavy, feathered legs carried her nearer.

Spiders?

She could barely make out their identity in truth; they were working furiously – a blur of black and white, and though her curiosity was growing by the second, she dared not move closer in case they were disturbed. Astonishingly, as she watched on, the creatures wrapped the entire structure in web and (she thought) in no time at all, vanished, into thin air. Fig snorted disconcertedly, stomping one leg hard enough to cause the sprawling canopy of her Body Plant above, to tremble.

Even before she gathered courage enough to approach, a few others arrived. She watched cautiously, inquisitively as one mare brightly coloured mare drew unnervingly close to the web and one ear turned forward when the sugar tones of her voice spilt through the area. Shining eyes danced eagerly from the mare to the web, and again back; unsure just what exactly she was talking to.

Fig drew forward a few paces, heaving her enormous load and the roots skirting her stride carefully between dense, low growing thicket. She noticed them the glow, the orb which hovered safely behind the guard woven by the creatures. Another came by then, a mare who thought perhaps singeing the intricate, beautiful web was a worthy idea. “Oh no!” Fig cried out gravely, urgently, as flame burst to life horribly near to strange wall.

Powerful shoulders thrust the pure-hearted Lignea forward at a rate not often achieved, but as sturdy hooves found the lip of concrete, another had joined them and she watched intently as the dark stranger tested bravely the substance; her nose first and then the sharp tip of the horn upon her forehead. All attempt to pry through seemed futile, and she watched with a cringe spilling through her expression as the mare climbed unseen thermals above and turned, preparing to lunge; to plunge down, presumably through the web.

A very pale horse had stepped among their curious group, and the earth seemed to rumble with her step. Fig turned her focus to the words which slipped from her smoky maw. Yes, this web, she answered thoughtfully, eyes examining the other confusedly. Could she not see the phenomena for herself? Fig knew nothing of blindness – and she had seen creatures of this land who saw well with no pupil at all (Midas).

It was a curious thing the palomino suggested next, and though not necessarily something the tree-girl might have preferred. Fig noticed how ineffective the twig hurled was against the web was and sent a quivering nose forward in effort to quell the activity. She realised then that the Equine could not see... “The twigs are too frail,” she cooed softly, smiling pointlessly, and lowered her nose to brush any others away that might have been accessible. There was no point in ruining nature – even the non-living wood had a purpose in the world.

Then she suggested quite against her better judgement, “Perhaps the limbs upon my back would hold stronger if one of you angled them through?” She regretted the idea immediately of course, and hurried a glance by the airborne Hybrid. Fig called with exaggerated enthusiasm, “... BUT WE WILL SEE HOW YOUR IDEA WORKS OUT FIRST...” and giggled softly, nervously, backing away.

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Summary: Fig watches Alija speak to the web, Parelia try to burn the web and Rhea test it for access before flying into the air. When Rasta arrives and throws twigs at the web, she moves any remaining away from her reach and suggests using the branches in her canopy instead – and then regrets it. She waits for the mare in the sky to try to barge through.

Wishlist
[Magic: Earth | Vines: Can animate the roots of her body plant so that they become like tentacles and are able to reach for and grasp items]