The Sentinels and never mind how high the cost may grow

when the twilight touched the edge of the thin-boned trees, lasher called for @Deirdre to meet him at the borders. the witches must be taught separately now, and at certain times -- he understood this. as deirdre held the light of day within her, the teachings he would impart must be given beneath the cover of night; likewise, dark emaleth would be taught in the heat of noonday, and so would balance be achieved.

tonight was a simple enough lesson, one he hoped would be of importance to her. the pack grew thin and weak with hunger -- it was time for magick. chaos bred it, and so he would awaken this in his daughters. he would teach them as one witch to another, and shivered to think of it.

she was nestled beneath the roots, talking to them. the small moonhued cub was relieved to know that those that lived through this were not saddened; but there was a heavy burden discussed, one she was not sure she understood. it was an electric undercurrent that made her feel tense at each unspoken mention, and caused her to worry and wonder at its meaning. but she did not have much time to fret; her father summoned her, and she rose to all fours to depart the tree she had inhabited for the time. it never was goodbye, and so she did not speak it, and her father was not so far from her that it took her too long to arrive.

emaleth had returned to them, and her heart was once again full. with her spirit sated, and happiness remembered, deirdre peered upward at her father with patient eyes, smiling warmly at him.

she came to him, she attended in silence, and lasher led her along the treeline to a darkened ring that would have been rife with violets had not the locusts came. it had happened naturally -- he had not created it -- but he knew what had, and motioned to it. "what made this?" he asked, looking at his daughter.

nearby he had collected five pebbles, and he gestured to them. "place these at the four positions of the wind around the circle, and its heart."

the growing girl looked to the path ahead, intuitive to her fathers movements and easily following his lead in quiet. her soul knew what the night would bring, and it veritably sang in its thirst for it. in time, they had arrived; a dark circle that stained the earth, and yet 'twas not filled with the darkness the locusts had wrought in their Great Devouring. she looked to him, puzzled. you know? deirdre asked, and when he gestured toward the stones he had plucked, she turned to them.

heeding his instruction, she did as was asked. she had been taught of the four winds for hunting, and though she was no apt huntress herself—too young yet to boast of such accomplishments—she knew of these winds, and perhaps might have known anyway, for they each sang a different aria to her as they came! she was ginger and delicate as she placed each stone down: north, east, south, and west. lastly, she placed a pebble down at its core, and looked to him from this place, feeling strange and euphoric.

he watched as she lay the stones, warily, and saw the flicker of energy in her gaze as the child turned to meet his eyes with her own. "yes, i do," he murmured, stepping to inspect her work, turning a pebble here and there until it sat corrected. the middlestone he let be, for this was her work -- this was her source of power for the lesson. 

"do you?" he inquired, even as he bowed low before the circle and began to call the elements so marked by the little stones. "element of earth, we call to thee -- attend and remember. element of water, we call to thee -- attend and remember. element of air, we call to thee -- attend and remember. element of fire, we call to thee -- attend and remember."

here he paused; he looked to deirdre. "what is the last element we must call, do you think?"

she watched as her father adjusted what she had cast, her eyes sharp and observant. every move he made she would one day mimic so she could create her own perfect circle, one that would please his eyes the very moment his gaze met it. he responded to her query vaguely, and asked her another one; her father, the riddler, could be maddening to any other but she with the patience of a trueborn saint, witch.

she shook her head at his question. the Little People spoke with her frequently, but had never given her a name; deirdre had never thought to ask! but she would play with them for what felt like hours, only to return to those she loved mere minutes later.

and he spoke again, speaking in his magick voice, silk spilling over her ears. it caused a stirring in her soul, and an old part of it came to life as she watched him, rapt. spirit, she responded, somehow knowing the word. it sang in her, and as she spoke it, it felt right.

he nodded with a gentle smile. "yes. and now we have a circle, open for the craft that is the lot of all witches. fairies made this ring; when the flowers and the grass return, it will hold nothing within it, but will be ringed in a blossom of a pretty shade. usually violets grow 'round fairy rings."

"now then," he went on, shifting himself nearer to her. "we shall work today and ask for the growth and the green and the herds to return. what do you think?" and here he looked to the child, for she would be the one to say the words and call down the magick this night; he would only guide her.

fairies! she echoed, and her mind buzzed with some faraway and yet near memory. deirdre delighted at his words, and her eyes traced the circle slowly. violets. she remembered violets; she remembered the world in color, not stripped to its bare bones. and yet it was still beautiful to her; the tragedy lay in how it had come, and that it was so cruelly done. her father had taught her now of death, and she understood it well enough to know of its necessity. the circle turns and turns.

his speech caused her to stir from her reverie, and the youngest mayfair looked from the circle to him once again. how? she asked in a quiet whisper, wondering if there were words said through the ages that he would teach to her this night, or if it were something she must search for in herself.

she answered his query with one of her own; lasher realized she had gone back to the subject of fairies, or so he thought, and smiled at her with an indulgent fondness. "with their little feet, of course! they dance in a circle until all the grass is gone, and their touch is enchanted, so it never grows again." it was upon the tip of his tongue to ask if deirdre had ever seen one such being before, but kept silent -- he did not wish to influence her vision of them.

eyes rested upon her now. "little one," he said softly, "i will teach you words to say, but first: do you believe in your heart that the famine will end?"

he answered a question that perhaps she might have known, but to hear it, she knew the truth of it, felt in a dizzying way the familiarity of his very words and felt, i have seen this, but the thought was gone as soon as it had come!

his question asked was met with a look of warmth. she took a deep breath of air, her toes pressing against the loamy earth. i do, she said in a passionate little whisper. the colors we know will come again, and the famines end will follow, she prophecized, narrowing her eyes, believing this wholeheartedly; for the land had been stripped like this before, in winter, and from the devastation of the biting cold the world had bloomed before her eyes!

he closed his eyes as she spoke -- he believed it, believed it! -- but he could no longer envision the colour, and the despair had robbed him of his ability to imagine a world that was green once more. he would never tell deirdre this, however; he would not steal from her what the famine had taken from him, but her father had lost all hope, and was wretched. 

he drew his little -- though perhaps not so little now -- witch toward him, and embraced her, and was quiet with all the weight of things he could not say, and his love for his daughters.

she had never seen her father this way before, and so found herself in her own silent despair. the empath could feel pain, and yet was not sure of it; she opened her eyes as he leant into her, and then deirdre moved to gently kiss his temple, loving him greatly. in not understanding, she had not even the words to ask him; she understood, too, that some things he would not yet share with her. it wounded her, though she did not question why as she knew the answer. deirdre was wise before her years, an old soul--and yet even still there was so much for her to learn!

deirdre sought to distract him with their task, and asked him, what are the words i must say?

fade after another round? ;__;

"mi a 'faighneachd sìthiche bho fiadhaich
a 'tighinn agus buailteach a bhith beag seo ròs leanabh
leanabh adhair i an-diugh a 'soirbheachadh
freumh a h-anam anns na ban-diathan ' crèadha
sìthichean a dhèanamh an àite so do sgàil
le bhith a ' agaibh draoidheachd bithidh àm faic i flùr!"

by the rose of course he meant the earth, and deirdre also; perhaps she would know this as she spoke the words. he was soothed by the girl, his countenance brightening beneath her kiss and her eagerness to learn all that he would teach, and not for the first time did lasher feel no doubt surrounding his choice to step from his role as druid and into the stance of mentor and of teacher.