Fig

Hot, foggy breath seeped through fluttering nostrils as she regarded the young lad both curiously and calmly. Outwardly he was certainly both polite and diplomatic - each of which Fig appreciated immensely. She felt as though there was some common ground between them, a mutual and natural elegance that was encouraging given how completely foreign the population of Helovia truly felt to her. The culture of this world was entirely different to the comfortable harmony existing through the whole of Prim’sylva – she was both an innocent and pure soul, who had been thrown into a bewildering mix of chaos and corruption, and she was well and truly out of her league. They were not all so wretched though, and the thoughtful Lignea had not the conscience to tar them all with the same brush. Those from World’s Edge who had welcomed her so warmly were dear to her heart, and like them, Rhoa’s refreshingly clean attitude was a relief.

He explained that the lush region around them was not in fact his home; that he hailed like Bucephalus and Morrigan from Dragon’s Throat, and this time she laughed inwardly as the same vision of gaping serpent mouths, teeth and flame descended before her shining green eyes. It interested her also to learn that the Throat held metal wielding crafters; a far cry from those of the Edge, whose delicate minds sculpted glass wonders as enormous as the wall which had so unluckily been shattered during her time away. “Oh?” she uttered softly, visibly intrigued as he went on to suggest that the beauty around them was the product of her home. Perhaps he was right, although the only glass she could find was that above the rotunda, stained with all the vivid hues of a rainbow.

“I have travelled from World’s Edge,” she chuckled pleasantly. It had been a long, difficult journey, and in all honestly she was not looking forward to the return. The snow lay in thick drifts along the ground to slow down an already sluggish gait, and above the naked stiff arms of slumbering trees twisted tightly through her passing canopy. The rainforests of Prim’sylva (and even parts of the Edge), grew far taller than the spindly, straggly old wood cluttering Helovia. Nevertheless, they were the closest to family she had now, and though they were frightfully shy and their eerie quiet was unnerving, she made every endeavour to pass them by respectfully and without harm. “It is northwest of here,” she clarified, irrespective of whether he was already aware of the place or not. “...resting above the ocean. I am sure the world ends there. Even when I concentrate my entire being on the horizon beyond, I can see naught but a haze of sea mist and beneath, churning waves that pray nobody would be able to negotiate.” The concept of flight was as unfamiliar to her as was that of murder; it would never have entered her mind that a winged like Rhoa might be capable.

“And what of your home, Rhoa? Maybe I could visit you there one day.” she asked, heavy forelock falling to the left of her thick white blaze as she leaned her great skull in the same direction.

[Tell her about the Academyyyyyyy!]