Silverlight Terrace charm’d magic casements

set some time before this thread

while lómëvása does not believe the roimë would dare to follow him this far from the territories they cycled through like they were following a migration pattern of their own making ...the nightingale remains both flighty and alert; painfully so. his muscles ache from the tensions that has pulled them taunt like the draw of a bow string held and poised.

the caress of a hawk's wings as it soars overhead; spooks him. nervously and weary, lómëvása's disfigured doe-like tail gives a harsh swish; lacking the elegance it once held.

too bitterly, he remembers what it meant to refuse the arquelion — taking majority of his tail was both a humiliating and shaming stigmata ...and lómëvása is left with the chilling fear that to be caught after having left them would call for his lifeblood to be spilt upon the earth and for his soul to join those among the stars.

the feeling of safety eludes him in the shadowing blanket of night; and he constantly peers over his shoulder as he investigates the terrace, pausing at a small rain-made puddle to drink from the water mirroring the sugary sweet moonbeams that the rockwall to his left captures and reflects; selflessly.

It had been some time since joining Moonglow and strangely enough, that lingering feeling of self-isolation didn't get worse as predicted. The opposite, actually -- Luna was strangely at peace ever since arriving. Happy-go-lucky wasn't the proper wording to describe how the moon nymph felt about joining after so much pondering, but after finally getting to meet Kukutux and letting the duck invite her to a home of many, all those stale emotions about not belonging were beginning to fade. All along it seemed like the only remedy she needed was to suck it up and stop feeling bad for herself...

As usual, Luna sought solitude tonight to find her place amongst the stars -- though instead of finding solitude, she found a rump turned to her with the strangest looking tail she'd seen in a while -- was it an injury, or just for decoration?

Well, didn't matter. Wasn't going to stop her from striding up behind them out of pure curiosity -- though she wasn't stupid enough not to chuff before closing the distance to let them know she was approaching. A bite to the face was not on her to-do list...

the tense quiet of the terrace, draped in the silk sugar of moonlight, which lómëvása drinks up eagerly; tasting silt of damp earth is interrupted by a chuff and the empyrean startles, panic tangling with his breath in his throat; captive —

lómëvása turns quickly; guard hairs prickling as carpathian grey eyes rapidly take in the shadow draped woman; heartbeat shuttering in his chest.

for a moment, verbal language has taken flight from him like spooked songbirds until he draws in a small, shallow breath; uneasy.

she does not draw to mind recognition and thus he assures himself is not one of the marauders. after all, he spent the last half an hour going over and over the assurances that they would not dare track him this far from their claim.

even so, her approach behind him — the fact that his stigmata was the first thing to draw eyes, burns within him; quietly. d`you always sneak on strangers like zat?

Before she'd be able to tread closer, the raven paused when the boy finally swiveled around to look at her. Panicked, she took note of, like Luna had approached to bite a chunk out of his behind -- which wasn't her intention, but understandably, how could he have known that? The huntress might've just been too direct for her own good.

'D`you always sneak on strangers like zat?', asked the boy -- with the slightest accent that made her ears twitch a bit. It reminded her of a woman she'd met somewhere near these mountians, Shikoba,  who also drawled an accent she never heard before. Though whether it matched his was not to her extensive knowledge. 

"Why of course not. I called before approaching you, didn't I?" The raven asked, tilting her head with a slight smirk. It would've probably came off the wrong way as he already seemed on edge and cracking jokes wasn't the route Luna should probably go for -- though sometimes she couldn't help it.

She stood idly, forpaws pressing lazily against the soft earth while teal depths visually assessed the boy from a distance, before a sigh passed through her lips. "I suppose you have a right to feel on guard though, I'm a little too good at being stealthy for my own good..."

"What brings you here? I've never seen you around before." There were probably many faces she hadn't seen by now, but someone like this had to hold something interesting to tell, right? "Just fetching a drink?"

only in the moments that follow his question and her response, does lómëvása realize that he might've overreacted; though he is quick to jump to his own defense. though unlikely the chance still exists — no matter how fractional — that the hunters were after him.

it came down a simple cause: whether they thought he was worth the time and the effort ...or whether it was better to let him go. he hoped, for his own sake, that it was the latter.

lómëvása is quiet as she draws her own conclusions; and it was true that he hadn't heard her until she'd chuffed to garner his attention but it wasn't entirely why he was so easily spooked. just because you `ave never seen me does not mean zat i `ave not been around. lómëvása teases, surprised by the easy way in which the coy words spring to and spill from his tongue without thought.

she was right — he wasn't from around here ...at all; not real sure where here was. still, to be lighthearted eases some of the tension from his shoulders; unaware that the weight bears down on him endlessly as if he were atlas and it was the sky.

ah... yes, lómëvása responds, gesturing to the rainwater puddle with a sweep of his paw. ze water is not ze cleanest but it is water, he pauses here, feeling more of himself than he has in quite some time. but ze water is not why i came here. i `ave come seeking a home. as going back home was no longer an option. he was the vanwa haryon for a reason.

To the boys reaction, her side grin turned into a full blown one as she resisted the urge to snicker like a Sly fox. Even her tail began to wave a rhythm or two behind her. "Blasphemy! I'll have you know that everyone in these wilds has not breathed without seeing this gorgeous smile of mine. I'm quite popular around here, I'd recognize a face when I see one~" Luna proclaimed, puffing her chest out with a paw on her scarred breast for added dramaticism. No not really. That couldn't be remotely close to the truth, but what's the fun in revealing that now?

The moon nymph dared to take a step or two (or three) closer to the bluish augoti boy, though her bright gaze trailed back up every now and then to see if that was even okay -- and in the insecurity of not being too sure, she stopped after a few feet. He looked a little more comfortable, from what Luna could tell, but who's to be sure? 

To her ladder question, he didn't seem too enthusiastic about the water he was slurping up just a moment ago, which made her question why he'd chose to drink leftover rain rather than from the lake nearby.....was she right about him not being from around here, then? Though a puddle of dingy water didn't seem to be his motive, according to him. No, he sought out a home.

In response, round eyes of stardust sought his face curiously. "I'm sure this seeking a home thing has a story attached to it, no?"

"Where'd you come from before?"

her proclamation is made with pomp and grandeur that brings a small smile to lómëvása's face; fight it though he does. he knows better than to allow himself to be so careless. careless was how he ended up tangled with the marauders; and that looms in the not-so distant past too close. far too close.

lómëvása does not draw back as she approaches; judging that there is still plenty of distance between them even as she ghosts a step, another ...and a third. his disfigured, doe-like tail gives a flick; the nervous effect lost without the length it should've had.

her next question draws with it instantaneous and sinking regret that chills lómëvása to his bone marrow. to speak of them, to draw in the icy breath and expel it into the air might be like a spell to summon them; like the cruel demons they were. zere is no story. lómëvása speaks the lie as if he is disinterested; hoping that he is convincing and that less is more in this situation.

Curious eyes were attended undividedly towards the lanky boy, expecting the answer in which she searched for -- but receiving nothing.

He speaks dismissively at the moon nymph's inquiry, causing her to flatten her ears, both quizzically and fretfully. It looked like she asked too much, judging his reaction, and it would've been wise to not push further. It did admittedly sting to be cut off so quickly, but who was Luna to judge? They did not know each other, and it might've just been a case of Luna being too nosey for her own good.

So, with closed eyes and a knowing smile, she blew a breath from between her dark lips and lowered her haunches to sit. 

"That's fine, then. Not everyone's story begins at the very beginning....that's why you came here in search of a home, right?" She asked, still going with the assumption that he was new here. "Though maybe our storyteller has a name to share to his listener? In return, she can share her own." The moon nymph poked with a slight cant of her ears towards him, and a playful lith in her softened voice.

Her eyes opened then, to look at him as a plush tail swayed over her paws.

"I am Lunaria."

yes, lómëvása breathes in quick reply, considering her words as they linger 'round them. that not all stories began at their true origins. the nightingale could have his story begin where ever he so wished it too and that power lingers now, hazy and buoyant; an easy thing to be intoxicated by if he wasn't careful. the chapters spent with the wolves of fire-fading august are ones that lómëvása would like to not revisit; he would keep them firmly sewn shut — cursed with archaic magicks so that they were never reopened and their ink is not spilled upon these wilds; dark blood red and full of agony.

his and others own.

doe-like tail twitches as the conversation then moves to names; powerful things in their own right, and lómëvása wonders what makes others so quick to give them ...even if it means earning the others in return. even so, she offers her first and for a moment lómëvása lets it wash over him before seeking to break the spell with his own. he likes the sound of her name; finding it moonsoaked and soft.

without knowing it's meaning — or even if it had one — he thinks that it fits her.

i am called ze sun at dusk, the literal common translation of his name rolls off his tongue, thinking that it sounds so much more musical in the tongue of his homeland. ❝lómëvása.❞ he offers with a soft hum in his throat.