The Sentinels and all the living creatures, look on with mortal fear

open!

although time had come and gone, the nightmares remained. deirdre was more reclusive than ever, keeping to the woods and returning home to sup quietly alongside her family. the youth, when not with tachyon, had fashioned a friend out of the breeze; she ran with it this day until it stopped, and she stood panting heavily. something dawned upon her, then; tachyon had come and visited her moreso than her brother, casmir, had. her heart worried at this, and a gentle wind traveled through the forest. if she had been told, her trauma had caused her to forget it; a clear tear fell upon her whisker as she looked to the sky and wondered what the purpose of this hurt was for. she missed her mother and her father terribly, but wednesday's mark ran deep beneath the surface where an ugly imprint lingered.

The forest he had been reared within had fallen. The world had met its end in an apocalyptic event long anticipated by his kin. But he, the oldest owl of the wood, was the forests guardian. It was his calls that had let others live; but he had seen many fall for it. The old Owl had seen much, and been taught more. Prophecies and witchlore. Owl had been told things by the mice he had picked off and let live; those creatures ran everywhere, and heard all that he could only see from above. The forests end had been havoc; his apprentice had been caught beneath a felled tree. With all done and destroyed, Owl had rest in a gnarled tree half-destroyed and asked for guidance. What was his purpose, now? He had lived for so long, and still he lived though others younger had died. He wept at the unfairness of it all.

Spirits came to him and told him he must survive yet. His apprentice was dead; he must take another, teach him The Ways, give them The Sight. He dreamed of a forest, and when he woke, he took flight.

Months it had taken him to find it. But from above he recognized it, felt that he had seen this before (long ago, his family had traveled and lingered in these same woods, but he did not know his dream was only a recollection). And so he descended, lingered in the trees. He slept for some hours, but woke when the world grew quiet. He had not known such silence as this. It gripped his heart; the superstitious man felt there was power here he had missed. But as his keen gaze combed the woods, he saw only a child there. The little one looked heavenward, and he felt the spiritual call of the question that begged an answer.

He flapped his way to a branch just overhead, but out of her reach. He had not survived this long by being a fool. We see you weeping, he spoke in his deep voice. We have all of the answers you seek. A presumptuous claim, but one the enigmatic, aged owl believed. What was it that a child could wonder? Simple things, sweet things, surely, from such an angelic cherub that stood mournfully beneath him!

deirdre startled at the heavy wingbeats. many a time the cub had interacted briefly with avian creatures who lingered near her, but flew away when she clumsily drew too close. she was simply curious but had the best and kindest of intentions; the babe wished to befriend anything that breathed and that was smaller than herself, because those things were not quite so frightening. a deep voice spoke then, and not feeling ashamed for her tears she did not seek to hide them from him. who??? she asked in a wobbly voice. she was unsure of this creature, but he was marvelous to look upon. waiting a beat, deirdre sniffled and pressed: how????

There was no alterations to his expression, as the beaked animal could not smile. But his heart was warmed by the sweetness of her voice, and the genuineness behind her curious queries, something that could only truly be believed within one so young. His mistrust of others was what kept him alive, but children, he believed and had been told, could not lie. Beings were not born cruel, but made into such things.

We, he responded, For many speak through this body, the vessel. We are we, and never I. We are but a watcher, and an influence when permitted... he boldly looked upon the sylph, sensing something to her. Why, it was her ilk they served and taught! We perhaps have been brought to teach you. We will see, for though they perceived they knew all, in children it was difficult to detect. In her, though, he perceived a great strength; he could smell her power! He was ruffled, and side-stepped, clicking his beak. It had been a long time since he had felt such a way. His late apprentice who was found earlier than she was nothing in comparison... it was he who marveled, then, and he caught the beryl sheen of her eyes and let out a hoot. How, indeed... he drawled, talons wrapped tightly around the wood. You will learn this for yourself. The White Witch of the wood; said to hold the spirit of the forest destroyed, its strength and its years and years of Knowing! The viridity of the place in both eyes, a being filled with dread; its death had been painful, and long, but it lived and bloomed here. We would know why you weep, but our eyes have been closed; we are awoken, now. The forest sings as the Olde Forest once did! It keened with her; forest mourning with forest, like speaking to like.

the cub was too young to understand what it was he meant, but she believed in his words, and nodded to them. still, her expression was one of uncertainty; she thought of her fathers words and teachings, and she stared at him. she and emaleth were witches; he regarded none other this way, but she wondered if this before her was one. is you... a witch??? she whispered, her tail waving. it did not occur to her that a witch might not ever be a wolf; she forgot her revulsion of her father for the time, thinking she might ask him. em come???? her dependency on her sister remained, though few knew of it. deirdre loved home, despite what had occurred, and had only come this way without emaleth because of the burden she would not have emaleth know of. he spoke of something she was familiar with—the forests song—and her eyes widened. he had asked her why, but she could not answer that; her tongue turned to lead, and she looked away from him at once, though she had been compelled to admit to the open creature her woe.

The question asked caused the old creature to look upon the cub with different eyes. She knew the word; his presumption about her had been correct, but who else might have supposed this? We are no witch, came his deep tones, tinged with wonderment, We are servants of the witches; we are guides. We have been taught of all powers, though it is not for us to work the witches magic. He was not ashamed of this; the great gray owl knew his place and his purpose. In all of his years, he had not found the proper pupil. He imagined this was why he lived to this day; for he had never met another quite so old as he. His father he did not know of, and his mother lived on in another. The known cycle.

He did not know who the other spoke of. A sister, perhaps. The magic might live in the bloodline, though he had his doubts on the other witches strength. We will see, he decided. The owl found himself entranced and enchanted by her, but when the youth looked away the spell was broken. Wordlessly he took off into the sky, feeling the energy of her devils magic. No charlatan or trickster was this cub, and she had claimed nothing to him. The old creature knew he had found his home, here, and felt renewed.