Chimera Fields Until you step into the unknown, you don’t know what you’re made of

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Mato is drawn from his thoughts and their poetic and verbose ramblings as her voice breaks his concentration, reminding him that he is, in fact, not alone. Verdant gaze rises from the chimeric earth to rest upon her once more. Of course it makes sense, Mato bites his tongue to keep the words from spilling from betwixt his lips. The thought is particularly harsh and unfair. It is a perfectly normal thing to wonder: he, too, wonders what happened here. He is not sure where the scathing thought came from. He has been taught better manners than that, and he knows that not all are as attune with nature as he. The druid’s ears cupped forth, politely attentive as she breaks the silence once more. A herbalist or something. A herbalist or something. In her defense, it is a fair observation. A fair question; and botanist isn’t — technically — that far from geologist. The empyrean draws back slightly, brow furrows and ears smooth against his skull. The self proclaimed king of starlight understands she did not mean it to be an insult (and truly it shouldn’t have been as were they not of the same vein his aspirations and botanist were all different facets of the naturalist trade) but he is like an imperious house cat: gossamer pride so easily affronted.

Her fascinated observing of him does not slip from beneath the druid’s notice and his riposte withers where it burns against his tongue. “Not quite,” The starlight king corrects her as conciliatory as he can manage. She is inquisitive and he appreciates that. “A botanist, or herbalist as you called it,” Mato pauses to draw his salmon pink tongue across his jowls. “they are specalists in plant care and identification.” He remembers what he deduced of the balance of nature — of the cycle of life and death. “I am a guardian of sorts, attuned to the earth and the balance to nature.” He thinks to the duties he has taken upon himself since that day with his father: of going through the Fen’s caches and sorting out rotted meat from flesh still good for consumption, burying the rotted meat so it might give life. “As the earth nurtures us so must we nurture her.” That way it remained a symbiotic relationship instead of a parasitic one. “And I am a navigator of the stars.” He was no master (not yet) but his navigation skills are improving, he has noticed. He is still curious about the untold stories the constellations hold but as he ages the druid has begun to seek more practical uses of his chosen skills.

“You have yet to give me your name.” He reminds her after he has fallen silent, giving her some time to interject and inquire as she wishes.

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