Firestone Hot Springs he’s still leading me for

set at the same time as this. location is between neverwinter forest and firestone hot springs. tag's for reference <3

Aside from the struggle for meals, this month has been kind to the young juvenile. He was slowly but surely regaining his health. No more was the boy who struggled to walk or shook in the night. He travered these lands alongside his guardian—slowly, cautiously, but he still moved. That's all that mattered. 

This newfound strength inspired him to work on his speech as well. He would listen to everything @Pan had to say and when left alone in the night he would recite everything he remembered to his bird.

Phillip. That word was his favorite of the bunch. It was unique, wonderful. Something he was referred to as. It made him feel like someone rather than this entity unknown to this earth. 

Phillip was left to his own devices that day (he had fallen behind yet again). It didn’t bother him as much as it used to. As long he had the comfort of knowing Alarian would return he would be at peace. With that in mind, the boy decided to spend his time exploring the surroundings.

It was a peculiar location to say the least. While the rest of Teekon cooled, this little patch in the earth kept warm. It could have been perfect if not for the awful rotting smell. That's what ultimately kept him near the tree line. Oh well. At least his owl was there to keep him company as he sat in the shade. Every few minutes he would glance up the tree where she was perched and smile.

timelines & nice posts? at 3am?? idk her
ig it'll be set after this so lets just say this is a few hours l8r

If not for the clobbered boy far before her, Andraste might have let her own shorn features surrender to the anguish that sulfuric tang so wished to coax. If not for the marring upon his temple, she might have mistaken him for he who had once been her own; she might have, too, kept that previous distance out of an unease that she did not keep for herself.

To suggest that the stricken was now impervious to the movings of all that once moved the heart of Aurëwen was inconceivable—

As it were ... the scuffed planes of lune remained, assumingly, lax; a chirrup of curious greeting fluting from wax throat. Did not allow the past rattle of her heart make itself heard within it; the veils of paltry formality were all but half-donned.

His feathered owlet went quite unheeded, at the moment.

Again and again he looked to the branches, making sure the fowl's drowsy form didn't leave its perch. Part of the reason why he didn't loose his composure when he was alone was the fact he wasn't truly alone. Those large eyes were always on him, whether that he in the sky, tree, or say upon his shoulder. 

Moments passed and Phillip slowly turned his head towards his companion only to catch a glint of light in the trees. But this was no light, it was a stranger, one who greeted him. A shocked gasp left his throat and he quickly curled into himself. He was always wary of new faces.

At the same time the bird called from above and gracefully glided down towards him. Those delicate claws perched upon his shoulders gave him some relief. Phillip sighed before his eyes flickered towards the woman.

You- you... The words were caught on his tongue. He swallowed before he continued, won't hurt?

Shying, serpentlike;
only for unassuming fowl to perch upon darkling's shoulder and this reminds the stricken of Aegelius, and where-ever that mourner had gone once she had winged him away with the musiker. But, here: thin ears quiver away from rubied crown, for though it has been some time that the sight of her has unsettled another  (or, so she assumes in this instancs), she is not so heartless as to wield it over another. ... Truthfully, she is everything but fearsome.

"No,"  hushed tones, nevermind sulfur,  "I will not harm you."  She has been here thrice now to the scorching plains, and thrice not for too long a stay; wonders what-ever the gangling himself was doing about these fumes. If allowed, the stricken would arrange herself into a delicate sit —  "Ze warmth of earth here ... it is a shame it chokes ze nose."

So long and too little had it been since last Andraste spoke to younger-than-yearlings; a bit uncultivated, then, with how to better conduct herself.

G-good. It seemed like everyone and everything wanted to harm him. From Midar to the sickness in his body. Even the universe had stripped him of identity, if he had any in the first place. He briefly pondered over his name and wondered if that had been in before—well— he wasn't exactly sure what before was.

Daydreaming has taken over once again. He was lucky to have heard what she had said next. Phillip blinked as the fur on his nape began to rest. Her soft voice and promise kept him at ease for now.

Phillip bobbed his head in agreement. It was unfortunate. Resting near the springs after days of traveling could be nothing but satisfying. But of course he couldn't be sure, that aroma was enough to keep him under the trees. I wanna go, he said in a disheartened tone, then looked towards the plumes of steam.

The look of longing, of being anywhere but here;
it clanged within the chasm’d cornerstone of Andraste’s very self; was was of the very few facets of essence that could be stricken out even by the cleaving skies. The voice, wisping, wishing, not at all petulant; the certain cant of that demure head, the eyes ... the eyes! Mouthless; meant entirely to wonder and ask after where he wished to return to, if ever he had resting place. But! O! This was—!

“Aeryn.”

Though this was no longer an owl-eyed bairn, this gentled darkling quivered quite the same as that child had, beneath the shadow of a willow-woman she'd yet to reach within her mind. Thusly to the fée, children were remembered; even to she who had forsaken herself from her own. Still ... soultreading that tattered, half-known cord of mothership, of that faraway mem'ry; Andraste let herself fall featherlight to the riverland loam; mimicry of when she had first sighted him with eyes that still saw all.

“I ... know your face,”  lips parting with weakened words,  “from ze Elysian willows.”  Thin ears flickered forth, rarity; wishing to soothe, not startle. And yet ... it must be him. It must—

He continued to stare at the vapor that rose from the earth, examining the way it contorted and vanished into the blue sky. Again he is put into a trance (oh how quickly his mind wanders) and again it is up to the woman to pull him back into a conversation. And she does so in the most cryptic of ways.

Aeryn. He turned to her with a puzzled expression. What? It is unlike the handful of vocabulary he had picked up on. It was new, hard to understand and therefore frightening. He took time to dissect the word and ultimately came to the conclusion that it had to belong to someone. It was unique, like Alarian or Midar. Only now he had no clue as it who it belonged to. 

There was no room to ask questions. The woman went on claiming she knew him from a place called Elysium. His gaze fell as he tried repeating that word softly. Ely- ely some...?

No this can't be right. She must be mistaken. Phillip was nobody. A phantom bought to the world on a gentle wave. There was no life before that. Try as he might, he could remember nothing.

W-who is that? He recited the name a few times to himself before uttering, Aeryn?

Shorn head gave a pale nod;
the vaguery with which she knew now seemed ever-present within Aeryn (as she so believed)  was not, supposedly, unlike her own. And yet it was so very profound; so reaching into the depths of him that he seemed entirely unable to meet her in the midst of said chasm of mem'ry. Frostlight ears swept back; halfsight melting to a tempered and argent warmth.  "You,"  the fée wisps.  "You were ... a part of a litter. You were Aeryn."  Blushed nose scuffing delicate the down of her own wrist:  "And I ... I was Aurëwen."

Nevermore.
Was it so with him?

Herbalist she might be, the silver cannot yet smell his sickness through this sulfur. Like most, she has seen much in her life; and at present she sees before her the unraveling wonderment of a boy with past unknowable. She did not wish to agitate him further — but for now, she remained silent, sighless.

Such a simple proclamation was so much for the boy to wrap his head around. Not only had the woman, Aurewen, claim he was from somewhere, part of something, she claimed he had existed as someone entirely different. A boy called Aeryn, living in a world unknown to him with wolves that were strangers. A litter, what was that? Phillip had no comprehension of mothers or fathers, sisters, brothers. He was not familiar with the concept of birth or death or anything really. A life before Phillip may as well be a myth.

No. His voice was soft, perplexed, a bit shaken. I don't—I can't — Remember. Phillip fell silent, staring at his paws and back to the woman, then back again. What's it look like? Elysome? Perhaps a description of this place would trigger some long forgotten memory.

let me know if yall arent okay with this & i'll delete it <3

The realization that he'd more or less forgotten about his ward settles like a cold stone in his stomach as he searches for the boy, and he suddenly isn't sure where to direct his thoughts. There isn't anything in his mind that he doesn't want to avoid right now, nothing he hasn't boxed up to the best of his abilities in an effort to keep from dealing with it. He certainly doesn't want to think about how awful he is at being a child's guardian.
His thoughts drift back to Mal, and Delight, despite his best efforts. It'd been easier to focus on Mal in the moment, and he'd even felt a little pride, then, at the fact that he hadn't crumbled as he might have before. But it feels wrong, too. He can't help being reminded of how much it had disturbed him to hear the words spilled so apathetically from Mal's lips; to see it reflected in his own heart bothers him, even if he wishes it didn't. Delight is dead. Dead and gone. Does it hurt? No. Yes. The box shakes, loosening, and he quickly tucks it away again. It can't hurt.
Phillip's scent is stronger now, and it's a welcome distraction. Even the unfamiliar voice that reaches him is welcome, too, simply for the speed with which it rips his thoughts away from the past. His pace quickens until he spots the pair, and he hurries toward them without hesitation. Phillip? He calls, trying not to sound worried as he glances over the pale wolf in his company. The boy doesn't seem distressed, and in that case, he would rather not make a big deal of nothing. Still, he dislikes the idea of him meeting strangers alone.

ur good!! im just blind lmaoo

“Tears of willows, wishing to reach you. Hold you,”  the stricken muses, halfsight looking through the delicate soul settled apart from her; eyes misted, faraway; sheltered by the dark swoop of lashes now low in that mem’ry; of many and more.  “Dawn and eve are a likewise lull, and ... when slumber takes you, there is no fear within ze solace. Within sanctuary.”  Sights veiled, now, breath stuttering soft within lungs of longing—
—though she lapsed upon the intrusion, the peal of Phillip? and only managed to look upon the newcomer once her mind ushered her back to this Below. 

Other than the maiden of the dark wood, so rare had it become that she would happen upon another so profoundly scarred as she  (and more!)  She might have let her eyes linger upon those that the argentcloaked male bore; might have wondered at the stories untold therein. But Andraste only murmured some foreign greeting in the face of his evident agitation.

Might he be family, or else?

He imagined a place that can only exist in a fairy tale; skies of purple and pink, cloudless, crisp air. And the trees, it's branches came alive. They reach out to brush your cheek. It sounds like some sort of heaven, one that he had never known. 

Phillip opened his mouth to question further, but he was cut short by Alarian's arrival. He turned to him, wide eyed and confused. Alarian, what is she talking about? The child had been in his care for as long as he could remember. Surely he knew if he everything about his life? He could be the one to prove Aurëwen's word right or wrong. What is Elysome?

leapfrogging over pan <3 lmk otherwise!

At the present, there seemed to be no answer forthcoming; and she had already given her say, had she not? Perhaps the willow-lad believed her words to be nothing more than fanciful figment; there was no way that she might discern whether or not he wondered as to how true her own words might be spoken. However ... she was not so sure that she should reveal to either the name she had been rebirthed beneath. It might be good, that the boy remember her as one named Aurëwen, should his mem'ry return in full.

"There are none who remain at ze willows, I fear, save for those who rest deeply,"  cryptic words, handled with care.  "However ... if ever you and your guardian should seek hearth and healing, my Court rests quite near Elysium's once-hold. In ze ... Northstar Vale, I believe it is called."

Whether they heed her invitation or no, the fée kept faith that either boy or man would, at the very least, remember the way to it that she has proferred.

He awaited an answer on baited breath. All of this new information was so overwhelming and confusing. He could not make sense of any of it but maybe Alarian could. He had to know. He was there since he gained consciousness. If there even was a before his guardian would surely know about it.

The answer did not come, not now at least. Aurewen went on about this mysterious place, saying how it was vacant and—oh?—save for those who rest deeply? Whatever did she mean? Not knowing the concept of which she speaks of, Phillip is satisfied with a more literal answer. How long has they been asleep for and why? Perhaps he should see for himself, if only he built up the courage to do so. 

He turned to Alarian with the same dumbfounded gaze.

last from me for this unless they have more to ask!

"Should you wish answers to your questions, you will find me there,"  the silver murmured, rising to paws that again ached to wander; to return to the Court who must surely now need her guidance in some manner. With a quiet nod of farewell to the boy and his vigilant elder, Andraste would not cease her slow retreat unless either wished to pursue after her in some manner.