Barrow Fields staring in the eyes of my poor soul

@Eleuthera

Tensions had been high in the willows, lately, and now there was this — a storm system that just wouldn't quit. There was no way to keep permenantly dry, or to dry of completely, so Kincaid had suggested they embrace it, at least for the time being. If they couldn't keep dry, they might as well get soaked.

The ruddy rambler had lured his lilac lady out of the territory to do just that, his bait being the promise of new things and unknown lands. Doubtlessly, Eleuthera had passed through this way before, but that didn't mean they couldn't make an adventure out of it.

Presently, they stood in the Barrow Fields, which were a different sight altogether under a curtain of rain. Thick grey haar rolled in from the sea, and thick white fog rose up from the loamy hillocks, and thick, black clouds bore down from above — the uncomfortable feeling of being watched that Kincaid had felt before was much heavier under that sort of cover, when there was no telling what might be standing a hundred yards or even a stone's throw in front of them.

"You feel that?" he asked her, his voice a low rumble underneath the incessant drum of the rain.

✹☾❂

 

Suddenly, for Eleuthera, the drama with the saints had taken a swift backseat. Now her annoyance was with the rains. Eleuthera loved the rain, it was true, but only when there was sun and dryness to balance it out. At this point it had been days of rain upon days of rain, perpetual dark gray skies and the near constant din of water falling for miles and eventually coming to splat upon the ground. It was threatening to sour Eleuthera’s good nature — which was a part of the lilac shewolf that was not eager to expose to Kincaid. At least not so soon.

When the Rambler suggested they take a small sojourn, to create an interlude in the annoyance and anxiety that was so common in the rainy willows these days, Eleuthera was almost out the door by the time he finished his sentence. 

Eleuthera did desire change, and not only of scenery and mood. Eleuthera had spent far too much time showing Kincaid the things which had borne her — but Kincaid was an even better storyteller than she, with more road under his belt. Eleuthera desired, more than most things, to view the world from his ruddy, roan point of view. She allowed him to lead, and followed him like a love-lorn pup.

The rain didn’t stop as they became nearer to the coast. In fact, it shifted and came down even harder, now that they were in the fields without a canopy of trees to shield them somewhat. There was still a doming, looming cloud form that hovered close to the earth, releasing its rolling thunder and deluge upon them. Eleuthera squinted her lavender eyes into slits, to avoid water from splashing or dripping into them. It looked, from what she could see in the low-light, to be an alien landscape though she had been here many, many times. 

“I feel it," she agreed with the man, feeling the reverberation of the thunder in her twiggy, sodden legs. “I see it. I smell it," at this point, Eleuthera had cracked a wide smile because when the constant rain was infused with a sense of company and adventure, it wasn’t entirely dismal. She smacked her lips. “I taste it." Then, she took another step into the field, as if to face nature’s fury itself. “It looks like a storm cloud, but hugging the earth." she commented, throwing her words over her should to Kincaid upon a strong gust of wind.  “...and coming right for us!" she barked into the rain, lashing her tail behind her, slinging water in every direction. 

Kincaid let his tongue loll to pant in the humid air. Now that Eleuthera mentioned it, the storm cell was rather oppressive and all-consuming. It was an interesting phenomenon, and not one he was sure he really appreciated — but these would all be memories, eventually. Stories to tell. He tried always to keep that in his mind's eye, allowing it to color his perspective.

"Oh, it's got us, darlin'," the male laughed, directing his attention to the clouds and then giving himself a firm shake. "But no — not that. The presence. Like somethin's watchin' us."

He gave this a moment to sink in before adding, "Y'know, I met a witch the last time I came up this way."

✹☾❂

 

When he laughed, and then got kinda serious about it, Eleuthera picked up a single forepaw into a pointed stance and craned her neck to look back over her shoulder. He felt a presence? Kincaid, feeling a presence? and then a witch? Oh, she simply must know this story. With a healthy respect for magic (I mean, considering who raised her), Eleuthera had even met a few witches of her own during her roaming with Séamus. In fact, a small part of her considered the Faeries very witch-like, in many regards.

Kincaid’s seriousness about the omnipresent force did not go unnoticed, but as always, Eleuthera would try for a joke, first. “Oh?" she questioned at both his assertions — to Eleuthera, they appeared to be inextricably linked. Then, a slight cock of her brow. “Did she hex you?" Eleuthera peeled herself around entirely, back towards the distant coast, facing Kincaid as if he were land and sea combined. He amused her so, hexed or not. 

She shook her head, to rid herself of water that tickled the pink of her ear, the blithe grin upon her maw never fading. “Perhaps this witch is why you do not leave the willows and return home — she cursed you to stay in one place, for all the rest of time." Her pale eyes flashed despite the glint of the rain all around, teasing him and loving it. It didn’t that they were currently not in the Hushed Willows; to travelers like them, the distance of one territory over was nothing compared to the open road. It was a truth they were both well aware of, and currently attempting to thwart with this small trip to the fields. “How perfectly awful for you." In fact, he had been here, with her, for quite a while now — so long that, in fact, the heat between Seelie Court and the Saints seemed to have cooled significantly. Was there even a threat, now?

Still, Kincaid was here — a fairy due to initiation, with an official pledge somewhere else far beyond the mountains. Eleuthera pranced back closer to him, appreciating any time he deigned to shower upon her. After Séamus’s death, every happy moment with a loved one was worth its weight in gold. She wished to go to him and lick the raindrops from his cheeks, but first, she wanted to hear whatever saucy retort he had for her relentless teasings. 

Eleuthera made light of the encounter, which had the dual effect of both soothing the ruddy traveler and rubbing him the wrong way. Part of him wanted to laugh it off with her, because it was ridiculous to listen to the words of such a young, foolish creature. But at the same time, he was sure she'd said things she couldn't have known; things about him, and Nine, and about Eleuthera herself.

Well, no, he said at length, after sharing an uncertain chuckle with the young woman. She... well. She told me my fortune.

See? How ridiculous was that? Saying the words aloud made him doubt her all over again, and the male was ever more certain he'd been had by the young huckster. He turned an easier smile on his cohort, giving a few flicks of his sopping wet tail.

She didn't say nothin' about stayin' in one place, he added, but in reality, he wasn't quite sure. He couldn't remember all the details; only the ones that had played on his biggest fears.

I am gonna have to go back one of these days, he reminded her, his voice a little gentler. But that don't hafta mean nothin'. Ain't like I won't be back t'visit.

✹☾❂

 

Kincaid didn’t bestow her with a clever retort — instead, he gave her a realistic one. His inevitable departure was always something that existed between then. He had not put down roots, as she had. The rambler hadn’t an inclination. This, they talked about often — but it wasn’t a happy topic, because Eleuthera knew if she gave in to her whims, she would likely be right beside the man in all of her travels. It’s all she ever wanted or asked for: travel and companionship with a kindred spirit.

“I know," she admitted, unhappy that she had even brought it up in jest. But, as Kincaid was oft to mention, this would not be the end of them. That, at least, she could hold onto. The hope of seeing the ruddy cowboy even one more time. “Maybe I can come visit you, one day in the not-too-distant future." If he was being this flexible with her — this man, well into his years and cemented into his ways — then it was something she could eagerly return back to him. That was the effect of Eleuthera’s love. She gave what was given to her, and returned it a thousand-fold.

Plus, it sounded fun too, so Eleuthera easily convinced herself. “I’ve heard of Easthollow from my childhood. I’d love get to know them. Learn their ways." A smile and a kiss upon the cheek was given her the lilac fan’s reddish lover, hoping to dispel any lasting discomfort of such a topic. However, at this point, Eleuthera and Kincaid had weathered a near-war, a mountain lion invasion and a veritable deluge. Why was nitty gritty interpersonal stuff always what got her?

Still, there were two things she wondered about, standing here in the rain with the man who spoke of witches, and a telling of his own future. “What did this witch tell you of your future, if it is not forever in the willows with me?" Kincaid was the seriousness to her playfulness, and she could not help but color the question with a light sense of self deprecating humor. Eleuthera couldn’t be expected to be serious something the first time it was brought up — or even the second, or the third. Maybe the fourth, but who knowsssss.