celtic lore

Caoimhe moved through the forest, a wisp of a thing in her environment. Her paws struck lightly against the earth, mindful of the world around her. The forest was alive. Its sighs were in the dragging of wood against wood when the branches mingled with one another, and its cries were in the songbirds call. One must heed the wood and its heralded warning, as well as all else it might tell. The wood knew. The wood was a thing that survived, even when they passed. And where did the wolves go? The earth took them past their rot; the body of all dead things fed this place, so that the circle would go on and on. The death of one in this body was not death entire.

This was not the place of Tuath Dé. It was a place far older than that. Lore told of those Gods bringing to a near end the old, until a compromise was made. The Old Ones lurked in different realms, while the Tuath Dé survived and thrived in the Wood of where she was born. It would be foolish to discount either, as a mystic, as a druid; she was meant to abide by the New Gods, but her curiosity made her listen well to the ancient hum well beneath her in the roots of this place.

Others watch.

It could have been intuition. She might have believed it, but the deep vibration of the voice had the woman look firstly toward Ancalagon—whose name she did not know, naturally—and her eyes seemed to widen in surprise. Her own mind leaped to reach at the thread she was given. She had been spoken to! For the first time! And she prayed that this would not be the last as she grappled with her own mind, asking desperately: Does he mean harm? Who is this? And he chuffed to her in greeting. Caoimhe herself was a deer in headlights, shy and nervous as a young girl could sometimes be. The woman was about to depart, to escape in the depths of the forest so that it could shield her from her fears... but it was then the druid felt something more, and turned her head to see the gaze of the forest captured within the others eyes.

One leg had been lifted, but she was held, there, by his look: in his visage she saw the world she knew, and the wild at play in the lush verdant green of them. It was strange, truly, to see such a degree of familiarity... but it validated her further. Caoimhe had come to the right place, she was certain of that now. Even still she was a taut bow, ready to be released into this coniferous wild should her anxieties play at the chord, and would spring free of them as an arrow would should they join on her own minds manipulation.