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She was out, beyond the confines of the World’s Edge. But it was hardly a prison; from the sky the earth was endless. And the prisons merely constructs of the emotional bars, preventing the girl from expanding new, inner truths that lay dormant and decaying inside of her.
Ru found escape and bliss in the heavens instead. The sun breaking through the heavy, pregnant clouds, sending reminders of Birdsong, the distant roar of Tallsun. With renewed vigor, she embraced the sky with abandon – forgetting, recapturing the swoons of wind brushing by. The endless, possible movements of one who sought to capture nothing – and experience it all.
The feathered youth dove from high places, and careened through the coolness that day. Eventually making her way towards the Thistle Meadows, by happenchance. Memories of dragons, long ago, pass her by as she lowered her elevation – and the flat lands once more, came into view. Except this time it was filled with bodies, so many, swarming about a great and giant turtle. Adorning a tree with trinkets and things – how strange.
Preferring to inhabit the air, she watched them as she circled. The turtle, obviously, contained some or all sorts of magics that appeared to have an effect on the surrounding land. She swore she could catch glimpses of equine along its shell, but their voices couldn’t quite reach her ears – nor the images reach her eyes, in an uninterrupted flow. Rather snap shots, unknown to the youth and swathed – furthermore – in mystery that made her heart throb with want. To know, to understand…
At last, as the turtle spoke with a voice so loud and rounded, with its deep hum, she settled at the gathering’s outskirts. Steadying herself, hovering and plopping her feet atop the earth. Her gaze rested on the tree, the turtle’s words settling, quiet and still in her mind.
Magic day…?
She wonders what she could possibly offer the mythical creature. Mind numb, slow, bewildered that they would be visited by such a massive creature on this wintery day. Ru had arrived into Helovia with nothing; she held nothing, then, besides the memories and experiences that made her. She wonders if the tree will think any less of her, should she not have the beautiful trinkets that each of these strangers are offering. It worries her, perhaps, for the girl wouldn’t mind something small in return.
With a wary sigh, she stretches out a wing – neck bending, lips snapping for one of her feathers. She’d only ever offered these to friends in the past, a piece of herself – a portion of her soul trapped, somewhere within their feathery folds. Tentatively she approaches, trying to avoid any stares or glances. Large, murmuring groups – a nuisance for the one who’d spent most of her life sequestered into the oblivion of the wilds. Or the silence offered in the recesses of her chosen herd lands.
Quickly she lodges the feather into a branch. And pulls away to settle herself along the group’s outskirts. Not thinking that the tree might hear her thoughts, let alone the magical turtle. She’d merely placed the feather in good faith. And waited, watching as the others entered.
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